Arctos Monthly (Part 4)

Andy was, shall we say, impressed with my new look when he came back from class–and he was even more happy when he got a taste and a feel of my new, extended cock, all the way down his throat, and shoved up his ass to the hilt. However, once we’d gone a few rounds, and were lounging around the room, smoking, I could tell he was mulling something over in his head, and I prodded it out of him–he was thinking about what might happen when he got his next package sometime in the next week. I told him to not sweat it too badly, that I was sure Arctos wouldn’t do something to him he wouldn’t like, but I could understand his reservations at the time. After all, the clothes he’d receives had all been cut from a certain…style–walking around campus, he looked more like he belonged as an extra in a country music video, or working on a farm or something, than going to college. Still, the cigar showed up in its small box, a few days later, and Andy had simply decided he wasn’t going to smoke it.

That…well, I hadn’t really considered that as a possibility. That he might just…not do it. Still…I felt a bit guilty, I admit it, for pushing him into the whole thing to begin with. I kind of expected him to just throw the cigar away, and I think that’s what he wanted to do…but instead he just left the box on his messy desk, open. I caught him staring at it more than once that day, like he was questioning his own resolve, but I knew it was better for me to just stay out of it, and let him figure it out himself. What I didn’t expect, was that by the next morning, the cigar would be different. Longer. Thicker. Rougher. Now Andy could barely keep his eyes off of it, and I had a feeling he wasn’t going to have much choice in the matter, whether he wanted to smoke it or not. Still, somehow he held off for another day–it helped, I think, that he was gone at classes for most of it, but come Saturday…well, the cigar was massive, he had it in his mouth, and I went ahead and excused myself–there was no way I wanted to get caught in that room, with him smoking that monster. Turns out that was a very good idea.

Apparently, the longer these things sit–the stronger they get. I came back and found Andy had grown well over an extra hundred pounds–hell, he was probably closer to 500 at that point. His beard was huge and long, down past his fat moobs to his chest, his hair equally long, greasy and uncombed. His side of the room looked like a fucking sty, piles and piles of unwashed clothes, and he was still smoking, sitting on a dildo, and as soon as he saw me come through the door, he started demanding I fuck his fat hole, speaking in a southern accent so thick I could barely understand him around his cigar.

From that day on, Andy…didn’t have much of a mind for school work. Andy didn’t have much of a mind at all. Sure, he tried to keep up for a few days, but his head was so empty now, he preferred sitting around the dorm room, fucking his hole, and eating—and then I noticed Mitch. I still don’t quite know what happened, but Mitch seemed…a bit changed, when I saw him next. He spoke with a slight southern accent, his usually expensive wardrobe seemed a bit grungier, and a bit more southern all of a sudden, and he was obsessed with Andy. That obsession generally took the form of ridicule and pranks, but I thought I knew what might have happened–he must have walked past the room while Andy was smoking that big cigar, and gotten a whiff of the fumes. Not enough to make a huge difference, but enough for me to decide that it was time the bully realized the truth of that old maxim: if you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em.

I didn’t tell Andy what I was planning, and I’m not sure this new Andy would have really cared all that much. The only things he really seemed to care much about now were drinking, eating, smoking and plugging his ass with my big cock, which frankly? Was a bit of an exhausting endeavour now. He was fucking insatiable, and don’t get me wrong, he was–and remains–a wonderful fuck, but damn, nothing is enough for him. It wasn’t too selfish a wish, right? That someone else might pick up a bit of the slack?

Well, a week passed. I had no way of really knowing when Mitch might get his package, or if he’d even open and use it–though as I’d seen with Andy, I didn’t think Arctos would take no for an answer. It was only half a surprise then, when someone started pounding on our door one evening. Andy wasn’t about to heft his bulk up and answer it, so I did–and found myself faced with Mitch–or the guy who Mitch was now. He’d grown taller and matched my own substantial height, and his already muscular body had grown only more so, along with a thick forest of black hair all over. He had on jeans, leather chaps, leather vest, boots and a muir cap, like he’d stepped out of a leatherman’s dream, but he didn’t want me. He pushed his way past, rolled Andy over with very little ceremony and started pounding away at his hole, Andy groaning and grunting and begging for more…and watching the two of them go at it, I realized I might have just cut myself out of the equation entirely.

Magic Show (Part 3)

Snorting and grunting uncontrollably now, he walked–though it felt more like crawling now–back to the stall, wormed his fat, hairy body between the fucker’s legs and started sucking on the dribbling cock, sucking down his cum. Despite his inhuman appearance, neither one of them seemed shocked when they saw him–if anything they were happy for the company, as the top finished his fuck, the bottom came, and both of them left Ethan in the stall to lick cum from the toilet seat where it had dribbled earlier, his head clearing a bit. That fucking magician! He’d called him pigheaded, and now this? No, this was enough, that fucker was going to put everything right, or…well, Ethan didn’t really know what he’d do, but he’d figure out something.

He was nervous about leaving the bathroom, but no one else seemed disturbed by his new appearance in the least. He wandered the club on all fours–occasionally overwhelmed by his need for cum enough to suck a load from a stranger who offered him a cock. Hell, he soon discovered he couldn’t turn down a cock even if he wanted to, but he finally found Max the magician again, over in a booth, sitting with the same bear from before–but he could see things weren’t quite going how the magician had planned it, the bear, now wise to Max’s tricks, was trying his very best to resist the magician’s wiles–so Ethan got under the table without him noticing, and bit the magician’s ankle. He kicked him in the snout but lost his focus, the bear made a break for it, but Max was faster, getting out of the booth and finally forcing him under with a direct gaze, as Ethan wiggled his way out from under the booth, defiance his eyes and cum on his chin and mustache.

“You are just–you don’t know when to quit, do you? Fuck it, this one’s not even worth it anymore–it’s only fun when they don’t know what’s going on,” Max said, looking at the bear in front of him, “Still, I think we can find a mutual use for him, don’t you?” he said, and turned his gaze back to Ethan–freezing the pig in place. “I was only going to have the pig thing last for tonight, you know. You’re the only one who sees yourself like that–everyone else just sees a fat bear crawling around, begging and snorting for cum like a fool, but I don’t think we should stop at illusion with you. As for this fucker–well, what’s a pig without a farmer to own him, eh?”

The bear the magician had been pursuing had come dressed in leather gear, looking like a biker–but the leather began wriggling all over his body, fading into a blue, his gear becoming a set of overalls, his shiny boots a couple of muddy waders. His body followed suit, his muscle bull body, well honed at the gym, dissolving into a fat apron which pushed out the overalls, his hair turning grey and thinning out, his body sweaty and muddy, smelling like a field of manure.

“Still, a pig farmer can’t very well raise a pretend pig, can he?” Max said, turning back and looking down at Ethan, “So how about we make that a bit more physical?”

The pain that ripped across his body was horrendous, but he couldn’t scream, he couldn’t do anything. What he’d felt in the bathroom, that had only been a phantom of this agony. As he passed out, he felt something close around his neck, heard a cruel, deep laugh, and then everything went black.

He woke the next morning in his pen. Of course, he didn’t know it was his pen, or even where he was–he’d slept the whole ride out of town, his new farmer master following the magician’s directions to their new home out in the country, and as soon as he’d arrived he’d forgotten everything about his old life–and knew he’d never go near the city again. No, he was happiest here, on his small farm with his pigs–especially his prize hog, Ethan.

He brought out his slop. Ethan trying to talk, but his permanent snout was more interested in eating than resisting, and his farmer–his master, climbed into the muddy pen while his hog ate and fucked his hole with his big cock…and Ethan felt his mind start draining away, as his cock started leaking cum into the mud. He looked beneath, where he saw his still human cock and balls, but his sack was changing, shrinking. With one final orgasm, his balls disappeared entirely, and from that moment on, Ethan really was nothing more than a hog–though a bit of a strange one at that. In fact, some parts of him looked outright human–particularly his now permanently soft cock, the odd mustache that formed under his snout, and the fact that it’s favorite food in the whole world was cum straight from his master–or any other man who happened by. For some reason, something about how the hog smelled, no man could resist feeding him his cum, and something about eating cum made the hog gain weight like nothing else. By summer, Ethan was close to six hundred pounds–and happy as could be in his new prison.

Jockstrap Curse (Sketch)

No one’s first spell is the greatest. A first spell is usually like first sex–awkward, not at all what you were expecting, and something you can’t take back. I was a wizard sure–but before I knew that I was a nerd, and gay, and the target of every bully in my high school. Tim was a linebacker on the varsity team, and he was as cruel as he was stupid. He cornered me after school one fateful day, dragged me into the locker room, and tried to force one of his unwashed jockstraps into my mouth–without knowing what I was doing, the world shifted between us, and suddenly it was him shoving the jockstrap into his mouth…and sucking on it…and…moaning, as he groped his cock. Needless to say, I didn’t want to be anywhere near this scene, and so I beat it as fast as my short legs could carry me.

I avoided him for days, as best I could, but he caught up to me eventually. But while I expected him to bash my head in, instead he was begging me to fix it, whatever I had done to him. I tried to tell him that I had no clue what he was talking about, but he refused to say anything. Just when I thought he might open up, Zane–another linebacker, and well regarded as one of the dirtier guys at school, found us–but instead of them both teaming up to bully me–he ordered Tim to come with him–and sure enough, Tim followed, though from his face he was none to happy about it, and more curious than anything else, I followed after them both. They went into the bathroom and took the handicap stall together–I peeped through the crack, and found myself watching Tim sucking and licking at Zane’s filthy jockstrap–crusted with piss and cum, Zane humiliating him the entire time, before fucking his throat. Zane left, leaving Tim in the stall, face coated with cum and tears in his eyes.

He told me, that at first, it had just been his jockstraps that he was obsessed with, but then, one practice, he’d caught a whiff of Jack’s–the quarterback–and immediately he’d been unable to resist him, begging his team captain to fuck his ass after practice–after worshiping his jockstrap of course. Jack had essentially owned him for a day–until he’d smelled Zane’s even filthier jock, and he’d started worshiping and serving him instead. He’d tried smelling Jack’s again, but suddenly it did nothing for him–he needed the filthiest jock he could find, and he didn’t know what to do. I, of course, didn’t know what to do either. I had no idea I was even a wizard at that point, but I promised him I’d try to do something. That was Friday–but come Monday, Tim had disappeared–he never returned to school again.

The whole town was worried–but clues were scarce. That said, I had more information than anyone else. I found out that Tim held down a part time job working at a gas station frequented by truckers–and I had a sneaking suspicion as to what might have happened to him, but who would believe me? Even if they believed me, what good could they do? I thought about telling the police, but before I could, the guild intervened and took me in for proper training–still, I always wondered what had happened to him. So when I graduated, I tracked him down with the intention of freeing him from the curse I had never meant to cast in the first place.

Now, keep in mind that I might look thirty, but I was training for close to twenty years. Finding Tim was still easier than I had expected–first spells always left a rather strong trail through the world, if you knew what to look for, and so I traced his path. I found the trucker–now in his sixties–he had rode off with that weekend, unable to help himself. After that, he ended up living at a small truck stop diner a few states over for a while, enslaved to the previous owner and chef, before someone even filthier picked him up–another trucker, who he remained with for a quite a few years, before a chance run in at a biker bar brought me to his current home.

A single wide trailer which looked like it had never been cleaned. The man who owned him was unemployed, but made a small living off running drugs with a local motorcycle gang. Tim hadn’t left the trailer in years, by that point. Even if there was someone filthier than the biker, it was doubtful he would ever have a chance to find them and escape. But I also discovered that with each subsequent owner, the spell had grown stronger–eroding more and more of Tim’s mind away until serving jockstraps–and his owner’s cock, was all he could think about. He was chained in the small bathroom beside the toilet, surrounded by a pile of filthy laundry, soaked in piss, that served as his bed. He seemed to be well fed, at least, judging by how large he was–if I had to guess, around three hundred and fifty pounds–his hair and beard long and unwashed. Still, a promise was a promise–I tried to free him, only to discover that this new mind had no interest in being free. I was at least five years too late. I can’t say he didn’t deserve some of what happened to him–but…well, that’s the way curses work, I suppose. Now, are you going to cooperate, or would you like to see what I can do to you now that I know what I’m doing?

Bart loved hitchhikers, though not for the reasons one might usually expect. Of course, not many people were very willing to ride with him–he stank like smoke and booze–it also didn’t help that he wouldn’t shower for months at a time, but there was usually someone desperate enough to climb up into his cab for a ride, but he’d only let men up. For a few hours he’d probe them for information, and ply them with a drink, and when the drug had them passed out and slumped against the seat belt in the passenger seat, he would drag them into the back of the cab, undress them, and tie them securely in the sleeper.

Those were his favorite moments, when they were well secured, but still asleep for a few more hours. He would explore their bodies with his tongue, get to know their flavors, inside and out. Suck their cocks and taste their cum. With enough prodding on their prostate, they’d eventually piss, and he’d drink that down too, just to sample it, see what kind of person he’d be travelling with for the next several months. It was always so very informative–somehow, he would be able to get a sense of them–how they worked, what kind of person he could shape them into.

Of course, they would protest once they woke up, but they quickly discovered that Bart’s drugs had left them unable to resist obeying every order he gave them. Really, their obedience was just a precaution–he preferred keeping them tied up more than anything else. Over the next several weeks, he would introduce them to their new chores–primarily as his cumdump, urinal and toilet paper. They would all discover in due time that they enjoyed their new chores more than they knew they should–something about Bart’s filthy body would drive them mad with lust. Before too long, they would be begging him for attention, asking to clean his body and suck his cock. He would tease them, listen to them squirm against the ropes binding them in the back as he drove. They always begged so nice–it was a special kind, while they still knew they shouldn’t want him, but couldn’t quite figure out how to say no to their own changing minds.

When they were finished–when all they could think about was Bart’s filthy body, he would begin training them for work. Pimping them out to other truckers at various stops, teaching them to enjoy all sorts of filthy bodies–not just his. The time spent in his truck tied up and unmoving, with a diet of mostly junk food and Bart’s filth, usually didn’t do them any favors–they would grow large guts, their limbs withered, all of them with long, grimy beards they couldn’t see themselves without anymore. When he’s confident that they’ll survive on their own, he dumps them and tells them to get to work, and make him some fucking money.

Everyone on the road can recognize one of his whores–they all wear the same collars bearing a single tag with the words, “Owned by Bart.” They cruise the roads, catching rides with any horny trucker who will have them, serving them in any way they might desire, and collect money for their Master, depositing it in his bank account at their next stop. They all do their very best, because they know his best whore gets one whole month riding with their master in his truck, tied up in the back, the privilege of once again being their master’s sole focus in the world. And the one thing they all desire more than anything else, is one more taste of their fat master’s filthy body.

I knew his type. They only come on Friday nights. Wealthy, but not wealthy enough for true luxury. Closeted out of the fear that coming out would jeapordize their climb up the corporate ladder. They only fuck men who they would never see in the city. They also want to fuck us out of a twisted desire they barely understand. They want to be cruel, they spend a career climbing up the backs of hard working men like us, and fucking us is just that last humiliating victory they need to feel justified. They don’t want our names, only give out aliases of their own, and they can’t look us in the eye. This one gave the name Dave–and I made him keep it.

He arrived too early in the day, fresh off work. Like many, he was still in a suit, smoking a pipe. I came later, and he was still looking. You see, some of us just can’t resist that aura–the fantasy. They just haven’t been burned enough. They see that suit, they see that money, that mid-shelf whiskey double in the glass, and they think, “Maybe he wants me, the real me.” But they don’t, and that hope, fuck, they feed on it, they fucking suck it out of us, but I’ve had enough of it, I’ve had enough of them, and I sat down at the bar next to him, and he smelled me, and he smirked. I was the one, he thought, I was the one he wanted, even though he didn’t really know why.

He introduced himself. I remained aloof. This confused him, and he pressed harder for conversation. I berated him, and as insulted as he was, he wanted me more and more. He bought me a drink and tried to drug it; I left it untouched. He bought four more doubles for himself, and got plastered. We ended up in the back of my truck, his tongue all over my body before I skull fucked him. He couldn’t get enough of me, and the whole time, I could see his confusion. This wasn’t how this was supposed to go. He was supposed to string me along. He was supposed to have the reins, he was supposed to be on top, this was supposed to be about him, about his manhood, about his pride, about his need to be in control. When I ordered him to cum, with his mouth buried in my asscrack, and he stroked his cock off, he didn’t want that to happen, he hadn’t wanted any of this, and yet he’d never said no. I dropped him off at his sedan without a word.

He was back on Saturday night. He hadn’t been able to stop thinking about me. He’d spent the whole day at home, mouth dry, hands shaking, horny as hell but unable to cum. He wasn’t in a suit this time, just a shirt and jeans, still smoking a pipe. I made him plead and beg in the bar, in front of everyone. I ridiculed him some more, because I enjoyed watching him want me more after every barbed insult. I got him drunker than the night before and brought him all the way home this time, to my single wide trailer, to my floor littered with beer cans, to my bed covered with sheets I haven’t changed in a year, the whole place stinking of me. As much as it disgusted him, as much as he loathed everything the place stood for, he fell into it. The sweatier and hotter we got the more of himself he lost until he was at my feet, whimpering, sucking my toes, words lost, desire at the center of his mind.

I kept him for five days. I pimped him out to my bar buddies. I made him ditch his pipe, and forced him to smoke the cheapest cigars I could buy at the reservation smoke shop. And after five days, when he reached that limit of both saturation and exhaustion, I dumped him at his car with a note. Well, really it was a to do list. Everything he had to do, if he ever wanted to see me again, if he ever wanted to taste me, if he ever wanted to smell me, if he ever wanted my cock balls deep in his hole again.

I’m sure he tried to go back. He was charismatic enough to pass off four days of missed work as a mistake, or poor judgement. But I’m also sure he dreamed about me. I’m sure he tried to jack off, over and over, but never managed to work out a load. I know he didn’t wash the clothes he’d had on, because I could still smell my musk on them when he arrived back at the bar, two months later, with nothing but a suitcase. I made him go through the list. Some of the tasks I could tell on my own–the horseshoe mustache, the fresh tattoos, the smell of him after a week without a shower. I made him tell me about quitting his job, how it had felt to flush his career down the toilet so he could taste my pits one more time. How it had felt, giving away all of his shit, just so he could live in a trailer park for the rest of his life. It was funny–he’d actually thought he’d be moving in with me, but I straightened him out on that shit real quick. No, he was moving in with Big B–he wasn’t too happy about that, Big B hadn’t been very nice to him when I loaned him out to him for a half a day–and he stormed out, and I just laughed. He came back, of course–where was he gonna go? He felt better after he sucked my cock out behind the bar, and I let him spend the night with me, on the condition he give my unwashed and unwiped asscrack a proper cleaning.

He’s settled in pretty well now, here at Louisiana Acres. Doesn’t even really remember his old name, and spending so much time with me and my filth had eroded the edges of his brain. Big B still doesn’t treat him very well–I’ll see him with a black eye on occasion, but he takes it because he knows he deserves it, and because deep down, he likes the abuse. Besides, he knows he can’t complain, or heaven forbid, leave us! If he left, he knows he’ll never get to smell me again. He knows I’ll never holler at him across the yard again, I’ll never make him crawl across the overgrown grass, and up the steps into my trailer. I’ll never let him suck on my feet or eat out my pits. He’ll never cum again, because smelling me is the only way he’ll shoot a load for the rest of his sorry life. He spends his days managing one of the smoke shops down on the road through the reservation, and his nights are spent at the bar with the rest of us. He sees the men like him come in on Friday nights, and he wants them more than anyone else. He hooks up with them often, willing to do anything they want, with the hope that some his old life might rub off on him, but they always leave him behind, laughing at him like he’d used to laugh at us, but who’s laughing now, fucker? Who’s laughing now?

Patreon Commission: A Pig and His Sty

“Those fuckers…” Barry said, tracking mud across the floor of his friends’ farmhouse as he made his way to their bathroom for a shower. Jerry and Mac had a fondness for pranks, and he could still hear them laughing outside by the pig sty, where the two of them had grabbed Barry, chucked him over the low wooden fence and into the mud on the other side. He was covered, head to toe, and after shouting at them, they’d suggested he just calm down and go inside for a shower.

He turned on the water, and then started stripping off his muddy clothes. How in the hell had he gotten as much mud under his clothes as on them? He didn’t even know what he could wear–both Jerry and Mac were big farm boys–he’d never be able to fit into anything of theirs. He could worry about that later though–first he just had to get some of this damn mud off of him.

The water had heated up, he stepped inside and felt the mud start to sluff off him as he wiped it away. He focused on his head for while, trying to get all the mud out of his short hair and off his face, and then looked down at his body, and saw that while some of the mud had just come away with the water, large patches of remained behind all over his body. He grabbed the soap, lathered it up between his hands and started washing at the large splotches, and then grabbed the brush and attacked the mud as hard as he could, but for some reason it wasn’t coming off at all.

He inspected the splotches a bit closer, picking at the mud with his fingernail, but realized he wasn’t picking at dirt, he was looking at his own skin. Somehow, large patches of his body had turned the same dark brown as the sty’s mud. He climbed out of the shower to get a better look at himself in the mirror, but it had steamed up. He grabbed a towel, wrapped it around his waist and left the bathroom, heading for Jerry’s room where he knew there was a large mirror on the wall. As he walked, the towel kept wanting to come undone, and then it couldn’t quite fit around him at all, and Barry was left clutching it around him as best he could.

Luckily Jerry wasn’t in his room, and he gave up on the towel, standing in front of the mirror naked–but more shocking than the splotches of brown all over his body and face was the fact that between getting out of the shower and entering Jerry’s bedroom, he had somehow gained close to 200 pounds. No wonder the towel hadn’t been able to reach around his body–his flat stomach had grown past gut and turned into a full blown apron that sagged down and covered his entire crotch. He grabbed the fat with his hands, confirming that it was indeed his, and screamed.

He lumbered out of the bedroom, still naked. He had to find Jerry and Mac, he had to figure out what was happening to him. He was out of breath by the time he stumbled out onto the porch, hot, heaving for breath, and snorting loudly with every other breath of air. He stepped out into the midsummer sunlight, his skin burning and itching. He had to cool down, he couldn’t get enough air. He had to get away from the sun. Forgetting aboutJerry and Mac, he instead wandered around the farmhouse until he spotted the muddy sty, and breathed a sigh of relief. The mud would be cool, he’d feel better in the sty.

It took him a few minutes to figure out how to get past the fence. He couldn’t get the gate to work, or rather, his hands seemed too clumsy to get the latch to open, so he ended up hefting himself over, tumbling off and into the cool mud with a loud thunk. The impact knocked the breath out of him, but he was in the mud again, the cool mud. Snorting and grunting, he rolled around a few times, coating himself all over, already feeling cooler in the summer sun.

“Well look at that, bro. Looks like our friend loved the sty so much he got back in all on his own!”

Barry looked up and saw Jerry and Mac on the other side of the fence, leering at him. He rolled over and tried to stand up, but his arms and legs didn’t seem to be working right, and looking down, he realized why. He already was standing up, on all fours. The rest of his body was still human, but his arms, legs and haunches had all morphed into pig legs, his hands replaced by solid trotters. He looked up, terrified and tried to speak, but even though his mouth and throat were human, the only sounds that came out were a series of grunts, oinks and squeals.

Jerry and Mac just laughed, and started stripping off their clothes, before climbing in naked. Barry led them on a chase around the sty, the two brothers laughing, their cocks hard, until Mac finally tackled him to into the mud, and slipped his muddy cock into Barry’s ass. As soon as he did, Barry felt a pleasurable calm wash over him, and when Jerry came around to his face and presented his cock, he swallowed it and suckled happily, feeling his own cock and balls start to pulse in the mud. Jerry reached under him, and said as he fucked, “Looks like he’s enjoying himself–his new piggy cock is rock hard!”

Barry had no idea what they meant by that, but he didn’t want them to stop. Jerry shot first, milking his cock into Barry ass, and Mac shot second, coating his face with cum, that Barry found himself licking up hungrily. Then they rolled him over, but his gut was so large now that he couldn’t see his crotch at all. While Mac teased him, Jerry ran inside for a mirror.

“Dang Barry, you sure seem to be enjoying yourself. Jerry ‘n I, we were just gonna keep you as a pig part time, but from the way you’re muckin’ up, I think you might be hangin’ around a lot more than that.”

Barry tried to talk again, and found that, if he concentrated, he could just barely make out words that could be understood. mac made him repeat himself a couple of times, just to tease him. Barry wanted to know why.

“Oh Barry, so naive. Friends, Barry? We’re lovers, and we’ve had our eye on you for a while now,” Jerry returned with a small mirror and hopped the fence, careful to keep the glass from the mud. They positioned it so Barry could see his new sheath, heavy bulging balls, and the bright pink, corkscrew cock emerging from it, and he squealed in terror. “Now Barry, calm down–you fuckin’ love it,” Mac said, and went back to milking the pig’s cock. “Now give us a load, Barry. Shoot, and then you’ll understand.”

Barry fought, but his new arms and legs could only do so much, especially once Jerry pinned him down. Mac rubbed, sucked, stroked, and Barry finally gave out a high squeal, shooting a huge load up onto his gut, and when he did, he…what had he been doing? The orgasm was still ripping through him, dulling his mind, and he rolled over into the mud, settling down, snorting and grunting contentedly, as his master’s laughed and climbed out of the sty, leaving Barry to his new, muddy, life.

Long Lost Brother

“Are you gonna get the door, dad?”

Terry leaned in from the kitchen where he was cooking dinner, his son Derek was splayed out on the couch, watching TV. He’d heard the knock–he’d just hoped his son might get up off his ass for once, but no cigar. He knew the job market was bad, he knew that more and more kids were coming to live at home after college, but that didn’t make it any easier sometimes. He left the kitchen and went to the front door. He wasn’t expecting anyone–it was probably just the girl scouts or something–he opened the door, and his heart leapt into his chest in terror.

“Terry! It really is you!”

Like out of his nightmares. Evan, his younger brother.

“Well, go on, invite me in. Nice and calm now. Don’t do anything to upset anyone.”

“Come…come on in, Evan.”

“Thanks bro,” Evan pushed past him and into the living room, where Derek looked up from the TV, “And who might this be?”

“That’s my son, Derek,” Terry said, “Derek, this is your Uncle Evan.”

“Uncle Evan?” Derek asked, “You never said you had a brother.”

“Really Terr? You never told him about me?”

“Would you have expected me to, after what you did to–?”

“Shut up Terry,” Evan said, and his brother’s mouth clamped shut. “It’s very nice to meet you, Derek, and I’m excited to get to know you. Evan’s offered to let me stay here for a while so I can get back on my feet. Unemployed, this economy, you know?”

“Ugh, tell me about it. I went to college and there’s fucking nothing.”

“Well, you can tell me all about it later. Right now, your dad and I have some catching up to do, right Terr? Why don’t we go somewhere more private, like your bedroom?”

His mouth still shut for him, Terry led his brother upstairs and into his bedroom. Evan shut the door behind them, and pulled off his shirt, then unbuttoned his jeans and let them droop, showing off his drooling cock, “Oh Terry, I missed you, you know, after you ran off like that. Looks like you’re doing well for yourself though.”

Terry scowled at him.

“You can talk, for now, but polite, please, and only at a reasonable volume.”

Terry sputtered, “You…you…how the…how did you find me?”

“Well, it did take a while, I admit, but here I am. And it looks like none of that conditioning has worn off in all these years–isn’t that impressive? Now get over here and show me how much you miss sucking my cock, bro–I certainly have missed your mouth.” Terry tried to resist, but he dropped to his knees and started blowing his brother. “And how about that boy of yours! He looks real nice, you know. I think he takes after his uncle though, don’t you? Now, don’t worry–you have a real good thing going here, no one else will even know I’m here. You’ll keep going to work at that big bank, but…well, when you’re home, you know who’s in charge?”

Terry kept sucking, and so Evan pulled his cock free.

“Who’s in charge, pig?”

Terry glared at him, but relented, “You are, bro.”

“That’s fucking right,” Evan said, and drove his cock balls deep into his big brother’s throat.

***

“That’s right Derek, just relax. You trust me don’t you?”

“S–sure…Uncle Evan.”

Terry was at work, and Evan had been living with them for close to a month now. Derek had quit looking for work–it seemed like all of his time was taken up hanging out with his uncle. He was kind of gross, but pretty cool overall.

“You trust me more than your dad, right?”

“Y–yeah…my dad’s dumb.”

“He sure is. Your dad’s weak.”

“Yeah, weak.”

“A pig. A dirty pig bitch.”

“Fuck yeah…pig bitch.”

“Go one, jack off, imagine your dad in a fucking sty, covered with mud. He’s two hundred pounds heavier, fucking obese. Did you know your dad used to weigh 500 pounds? I was so proud of him, and then he escaped, and went and lost almost all of it. Well, we’re gonna put it back on him, aren’t we? We’re gonna show that pig what happens if you disobey, right?”

“Right, Uncle Evan.”

“Now you’re in the pen too. You’re in the pen, but you look different.”

“I…I do?”

“Yeah. You’re fatter too. You have a big gut, covered with hair, but the rest of you is bulky with muscle, and you have tattoos all over your body, even your cock.”

“Fuck…fuckin’ love tattoos…”

“And you reek. You haven’t showered in months, and you fuckin’ love it. You don’t need to be clean. Being clean is for weaklings, not people like us. Not real men.”

“Nah…don’t want to be clean.”

“You’re not smart either. You’re dumb as a brick. You never went to college, you didn’t even finish high school. You’re fucking mean though, you pin down your pig dad and you rape his ass, don’t you?”

Rape his…his holes, yeah, fuck.”

“That’s a good boy–you’re gonna be one hot daddy fucker before long, aren’t you?”

“Yes sir, Uncle Evan.”

“Now open up–I wanna fuck your throat while you jack off, imaging yourself raping your pig dad.”

Yeah, Uncle Evan was great, actually. He took Derek to get his first tattoos the other day. Derek had always wanted tattoos, but his stupid dad wouldn’t let him. Well fuck him…yeah, fuck that pig. Derek was gonna do what he wanted. And what he wanted was whatever Evan wanted. That was how family worked, right?

***

Done for the day–he hated this part. The anticipation. Terry stepped out of the office building and took a moment to light his pipe. His fucking pipe. He’d quit smoking after Evan had force fed him cigarettes before, but here he was, smoking again, and he loved it. He loved it because Evan loved it, but…but he loved it too. Himself, inside all of this, and that’s what he hated most. His own complicity.

Six months now, and he’d already had to buy a collection of new suits. Two hundred and eighty pounds, and still growing. Everyone at the office just assumed he had a new girlfriend fattening him up. Her name was Claire. She was really nice, just really shy, preferred to stay at home, somewhat old fashioned. She liked his beard. He liked his beard too, or so he told everyone. It didn’t actually matter whether he liked it or not, he had to grow it out.

He’d had the chat with his boss today, about retiring early. He certainly had enough invested that he could live comfortably, but wouldn’t he get bored? No, he said–they set a target date for him leaving in another four months, and then he’d be free, or trapped, depending on who was standing where.

He got in his car and drove home, making sure to get caught in traffic jams when he could. He parked the car in the garage next to his brother’s and son’s motorcycles, shut the garage door behind him, and stripped out of his suit, throwing it in the laundry by the door, and got changed into his “pig clothes”–the overalls he had to wear when he was home, the same ones he’d been wearing for months straight, the crotch stained with cum and piss and the front matted with food stains. Fuck, he was hungry. Yeah, he was such a hungry piggy, fuck yeah. He snorted, rubbed his hardening cock through the denim, opened the door, and crawled into the house on his hands and knees, still smoking his pipe.

Derek and Evan were smoking and kissing in the living room, in their own slobbish world. The whole house was trashed, it reeked of piss and sex and sweat. Derek–he was so far gone now. He loved Evan, but couldn’t he see what it was doing to him? He didn’t even remember going to college anymore, he spoke like a hick. He had more tattoos than his uncle now, his cock and balls pierced in more places than Terry had thought possible. Still, food first–food was what pig had to think about, yeah. He crawled into the kitchen, set his pipe on his shelf, and dug into the mass of food his masters had waiting for him in his trough.

***

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Commission: Bubba’s New Pup

Commissioned by Anonymous

Officer Nate Jensen climbed out of his patrol car, hefted his belt up, and heaved a sigh. At least the beat up truck had pulled over–half the time, these crazy rednecks would just hit the gas pedal harder, and make him chase them down. Usually they were high out of their mind on meth too–with gun racks hanging in the window. What a terrible fucking job–he’d always wanted to be a police officer, but if he could go back and tell his high school self that it would mean long night shifts sitting on the side of the road dealing with dumb, drugged out, aggressive rednecks, then maybe he’d have pursued something else. Still, no gun rack in this one that he could see–and hopefully the guy was just drunk.

He went around the driver’s side of the cab. The window was already rolled down, and sitting there with a shit eating, slightly toothless grin was a hefty bubba, hairy chest, mullet, and a ragged wifebeater. But what caught his attention most was this strange smell. It was dank, like pot, but even then, that wasn’t quite right. Some other kind of drug? He looked the driver in the eyes, but his pupils looked normal. What in the hell was it? “I…Could I get your license and registration please?”

“Sure thing, officer,” the man drawled, and leaned over to the glove box. Nate tried to keep an eye out for a weapon that might appear from nowhere, but that stink was still on his mind. Where was it coming from? He was taking deeper breaths through his nose now, trying to pinpoint what it was. He realized that the redneck was holding the paper and card out to him to take–had he really just zoned out? “Ya’ll right? Ya look tired, sir. Long shift?”

“Oh…uh, yeah. Just…just tired is all,” Nate said, and took the paper and license without looking at them. “Sir, I…uh…I can’t help but notice that there’s a strange smell in the cab of your truck. Have you been using drugs tonight?”

The redneck laughed, “Nuh uh boy! That’s jus’ me is all. I’m one stinky dude, right? I fuckin’ love it though–my pits ‘r so fuckin’ ripe, ya wanna sniff ‘em?” He hefted his arms up over his head, showing off his thick bush under his arms, and a unavoidable wave of the odor washed over Nate at the window. The license and paper tumbled from his hand, his jaw dropped open, tongue out, panting a bit heavily. “Yeah, that’s a good boy, come on, lean in here ‘n take a good sniff a mah pits.”

He tried to stop himself, he tried to scream. He leaned his hands on the sill of the window and pushed his head in, sniffing deeply, tongue out. Fuck, it smelled so fucking rank, how could anyone smell so fucking disgusting? The bubba grabbed the back of the officer’s head and pulled him in, pressing his nose into his pit, and Nate felt his body shake uncontrollably. It took him a moment to realize he’d just shot a load into the front of his uniform pants, but he couldn’t do anything about that, he had to smell, and lick, and lick and lick it all up like a good boy, a good boy, yeah…He was grinding his wet crotch against the side of the truck, humping it, eyes vacant, tongue running it’s way through the hairs. The bubba reached over to the passenger seat, grabbed a leather dog collar, and with one hand, draped it across the back of Nate’s neck. He felt it there and tried to pull away, but his body wouldn’t respond. The bubba took his time, drawing the collar together tight against Nate’s neck, and when it fastened shut, his body started sliding backwards, his legs collapsing under him, until he landed on his ass and back on the side of the road.

He had to get up. He had to get back to his car, or radio for help, but his legs weren’t cooperating. He tried to stand up, but didn’t quite know how to make his body work like that. It felt so much more natural to just stay on his hands and knees, and he tried to crawl towards his car, but the bubba stepped out of the truck with a leather leash, bent down, and clipped it to the collar around his neck.

Master, a voice said in his head, and he looked back at the heavyset redneck leering down at him, and that was the word that kept repeating in his head. Master master he’s my master obey master follow master obey obey follow serve obey… He tried to shake the thoughts out, tried to push back, but it felt like they were coming from inside his head, from some deep part of his own mind that he’d never noticed was there. He tried to shout, tried to call for help, tried to do anything, but what came out of his mouth instead was a series of barks and yelps and whimpers that he would have mistaken for a stray dog, if he hadn’t heard them come out of his own mouth.

“What do ya say, Copper? Should we head on home?” Master said.

Copper? Who was Copper? He tried to piece things together, and realized he was Copper. But he hadn’t always been Copper, right? He’d had a real name, a human name, he’d been…

Master tugged on the leash, and Copper crawled after him, around the back of the truck. He helped him up into the bed, where he saw a large animal crate with the door open. “Go on Copper, git in there boy.”

He whimpered, but did as Master commanded. Bubba leaned in, shut the door behind him, and latched it. “That’s a very good boy–yer gonna git a real nice present when we git home, Copper. Hmm…actually, how about I give ya somethin’ now? We’re a hour and a half away after all, ya’ll need somethin’ tah occupy yerself with til then. I wouldn’ want ya tryin’ tah git out a there, after all.”

Master undid his belt and dropped his jeans. Underneath, he was wearing a jockstrap, which he took off too. Copper saw that Master had one of the biggest cocks he’d ever seen, hanging there under his hefty gut, with a thick foreskin. Copper whined more, Master pulled his jeans back on commando, unlatched the door, and tossed the grey and yellow jock into the carrier with his new pup. He could smell it. It smelled foul, like piss and cum and sweat, and still he pressed his nose into it, licking at the fabric, trying to get as much of his master’s sent in and on him as he could, his cock hard and throbbing in his uniform pants. He didn’t even notice Master latch the door closed again, but suddenly they were moving, abandoning the patrol car on the side of the road.

It was a long, cold ride back to Master’s home. Shivering, Copper tried to avoid the jockstrap as best he could, but his nose kept being drawn back to it over and over again. His sense of smell…every time he smelled the jock, he could distinguish more and more from the grimy fabric. Master had shot in it recently, he could sense the fresh cum slowly drying into the old stale smell of the rest. He’d pissed in it recently too, and the bottom of the pouch, slightly brown, smelt of Master’s asscrack, and he found that particularly fascinating. His cock remained rock hard the entire time, and would occasionally shoot a load into his pants, which were growing increasingly uncomfortable. He couldn’t quite figure out why he even had clothes on–wasn’t he supposed to be naked? He was glad for them, kind of. It would have been very cold without them in the carrier, but still, pups like him weren’t supposed to wear clothes; clothes were only for masters.

His head, something was happening to his mind. It felt like, as his senses grew keener, he was slowly losing his sense of self, as a human, as a person. The worst part was that he couldn’t even tell when it was happening. As soon as something was gone, wiped from his mind or memory, he could only vaguely sense that it had been there at all. As terrified as he was to know where Master was taking him, when he felt the truck slow down and turn off onto a gravel road, he was eager just to get away from the jock, to try and get his head on straight, to try and figure out what he could do for master–no, no that wasn’t right, was it? He had to get away from him, he had to try and run, right? He didn’t know why he wanted to run though. Master wasn’t a bad man, Master was good, Master was very good, and he would be a bad boy, a bad dog if he ran away, Master would be so worried!

He shook his head. This couldn’t be happening to him, it couldn’t. The truck came to a stop, and Copper saw Master get out of the cab and lumber around to the back of the truck. “How’s mah new pup doin’? Ya’ll right in there?”

Copper whined. Master undid the latch on the door, and he stumbled out on his hands and knees, reached the gate of the truck and tumbled out onto the dusty ground.

“Careful Copper–Ya ain’t used tah bein’ a pup yet, but ya’ll git the hang a it soon as we git rid a all that bad man in yer head.”

Bad man in his head? That made a surprising amount of sense to him for some reason. He did have a man in his head, but he was a pup, he was Copper, Master’s pup, right? He wasn’t a man at all. Another voice pushed back, told him he was being deceived, but Master wouldn’t deceive him, right? He rolled up onto his hands and knees Master running his hand down his back, petting him, letting him know he was being a very good boy. Copper was panting. Copper was happy. He could smell his master, he could smell him right there next to him, and smelling him made him happy, made him feel safe. Master hooked the leash back to his pup’s collar, and lead him over to a single level, rather ramshackle looking farmhouse.

Inside, Copper was assaulted by a massive number of smells. Master, he could smell master everywhere, but also smoke, and also…also other pups. Other pups like him. One…two other pups. He looked around, and then up at master, whining a bit. “Yeah, don’ worry, Buddy ‘n Rover ‘r out back, in the dog run. Ya’ll meet ‘em in a bit–I’m sure they’ll take a likin’ tah ya. First though, we gotta git rid a that bad man fer good. First, let’s git them clothes off ya…”

From his belt, Master pulled a buck knife and he started cutting off the constricting uniform from Copper’s body. He felt so much better with only his collar on! Copper couldn’t believe it, and he gave a full body shake when everything was off him. He felt more like a real pup already. He panted up at Master, trying to show him how happy he was, and Master gave him a scratch on the back of his neck.

“That’s a real good boy–yer gonna be a easy one, ain’t ya?” He pushed on Copper’s side, and he sensed what Master wanted, and rolled over onto his back. Master gave him a belly rub, and Copper panted happily. “Looks like yer comin’ along nice–ya already got yerself a bright red puppy cock.”

Curious, Copper lifted his head and saw that something had happened to his crotch–where his human cock and balls had been, he now saw a fleshy sheath running up his belly, and as Master scratched around it, a bright red head suddenly poked out, a cock unlike any he’d seen on his body before. “Glad tah see my jockstink worked it’s magic on ya–but ya still got a little ways tah go before I can trust ya out back wit’ the other boys. How ‘bout ya git a taste a master’s meat, eh Copper?”

Copper rolled back onto his hands and knees, and Master dropped his jeans. letting his massive cock flop out. Copper pushed his nose against the head, and then ran his tongue up into Master’s foreskin, tasting the cheese he’d smelled on the pouch of the jock, feeling his puppy cock push completely out of his sheath. Master told him to open up, and he started thrusting the cock down Copper’s throat, and as he did, he could feel his face warping and contorting, his mouth pushing out into a muzzle, his tongue growing longer, teeth sharpening into fangs which he was careful to keep away from his master’s delicate flesh. The bad man in his head was horrified, but he was powerless. The only man Copper listened to was Master, he was the only man that mattered. Master tensed up after a few minutes and fed his new pup a load of cum. Huffing and panting, he pulled his cock free of his pup’s mouth, looked down at Copper and frowned. “Hmm…not quite done yet. I got a idea though. How’d ya like a taste a Master’s ass, Copper? That make ya a happy pup?”

He went over to the couch and bent over the side, Copper came up behind him and started licking at Master’s filthy crack, shoving his new nose against the hole, shivering with pleasure. Unable to stop himself, he reared up, trying to grapple the sides of his master and started grinding his cock against his leg, humping him, licking Master’s ass from his snout, eyes glazing over. He could feel the bad man dying away now, Master was all he needed to think about, didn’t even need to think. Just a pup, a dumb obedient pup. With a howl, he shot a load of his new pup cum across the side of the couch, and then dismounted from Master, hoping he hadn’t done a bad thing. He’d just been such a horny pup.

Master hefted himself up, and laughed. “Ya sure got spirit, I’ll give ya that. But yer at the bottom of the pack right now, Copper. Still, I’ll let Buddy and Rover break that intah ya tahnight. Come on.”

Not at all sure what Master was talking about, he walked after Master through the house. His legs felt strange–his hindquarters were nearly all dog, and he felt a tail wagging along behind him. His forelegs still looked mostly human, except for that his hands had become paws. Still, he wasn’t a real dog–just a pup. Out in the backyard, he saw a fenced area, and two sets of eyes staring at them in the early morning light. Master opened the gate and pushed Copper in, and he found himself faced with two massive pups. Master obviously liked his pups to work out–while their hindquarters were sleek, their upper bodies bulged with muscle, and both of them started snarling. Copper snarled back, but the first smacked him with a paw. He tried to fight, but in a matter of moments he was pinned to the ground as the first pup, Buddy, mounted him, and when he’d cum up Copper ass, the second pup took his turn. Master watched the show, seeing the strong will in Copper’s eyes fade away. By the time Rover had finished, Copper was a new dog–deferential, eager to please, and subservient to the rest of the pack.

Satisfied with his new addition, Master headed inside, letting the three dogs get to know each other better in the dog run. He’d start training Copper up in a few days, after he’d recovered physically and his new pup’s personality had had time to settle in. Still, he had no doubts that Copper would be as good a pup as all the rest–and after he’d sold off Buddy and Rover to good homes looking for a kinky gay pup–Copper could have his turn as an alpha, and show future pups the ropes too.

It was just one of those chat services–one of those fads that was a flash in the pan a few years ago–but Derek had always found them a bit fascinating. Sure, most of the time it was just dudes jacking off, but if you just kept at it, sometimes you stumbled on someone interesting. He’d made a number of good friends this way, all over the world–it was a good way of getting out of this small college town he lived in. Aside from the college, it was just a blue collar place full of grubby workers employed at the various factories outside of town, and he couldn’t wait to graduate and get the hell out for good.

It had been a mistake to stay here for the summer, because once the college cleared out, he was all alone, and so his internet contacts had proved more important than usual. But he’d found an apartment he’d liked, and without a subletter, his choice was to either find something in the fall when class started, or stick it out. At least his job bar-backing at a local pup paid the bills, but it was his night off and with nothing to do, he was jumping through various cock jackers online, until the “Next” button suddenly stopped functioning.

He was trapped looking at some nasty fucker, shaved head, wearing some grubby coveralls, groping his cock and smoking a cigar, nose billowing out smoke. Without seeing him type anything on the keyboard behind him, a cryptic message appeared in the chat box, followed by two more.

>> Do’t fthen hems fr y

>> Y’reon kn it,prmis

>> Ben pigste bs

And then, the screen went blank, and the feed moved onto the next cock, but Derek was so weirded out he closed the window and just tried his best to forget about what he’d seen, and go to bed. Out his bedroom window, however, he thought he saw someone across the street, just outside the street lamp light, but when he got a better look, all he saw was a dissipating haze of smoke.

***

For the next few days, Derek was certain he was being followed. He hadn’t gone on the chat site since, but every time he walked to and from work, especially coming home in the early hours of the night, he would walk as fast as he could, sometimes breaking into a jog, just to avoid his imagination.

The bar he worked at disregarded the state’s no smoking policy–and so it was a common hang out for various roughnecks, many of whom smoked cigars there. They had all largely ignored him, but now he kept noticing them staring at him, often unabashedly. Some even looked at him…like they wanted to fuck him. He’d had a suspicion that the bar catered to the small gay population of the town, but that was the first time he’d felt uncomfortable. Even the bartender–a smoker himself–was treating him different, but when Derek confronted him, he gave a series of excuses and hurried off to do something else.

Before long, he was certain that someone was tailing him everywhere he went. In the bar, he would see glimpses of a man in the shadows, smoking a cigar, face invisible through the haze, but by the time Derek had noticed, the space was suddenly empty. The man appeared in alleys as he walked home, follow him down the streets during the day. He called the police, but not only did they refuse to do anything about it, as soon as he’d told them what was happening, they simply ignored him when he called about the man. He became paranoid, quit his job, and locked himself in his apartment, and his attention turned to conspiracy.

In the chatlog of the site, he’d managed to retrieve the three strange messages the figure had sent him at the beginning of all of this insanity, and he began running them through every translation filter he could find. He asked paranormal experts, he posted on forums big and small, but no one could help him, get any traction of what was happening to him. And then, after a week of isolation, he smelled the smoke coming from his bedroom closet.

The man stepped out before Derek could bar him inside. He said nothing, grabbed Derek by the face and exhaled a huge amount of smoke directly into his lungs. Derek stumbled back, but his body suddenly was numb, and wouldn’t work properly. Paralyzed, he tumbled to the ground on his back, frozen, struggling for breath.

The man came over, holding his cigar in one hand, and he slipped it between Derek’s lips. Suddenly, he could breathe again, but it was the smoke he needed, not air. He needed the smoke in him, craved it, lived on it. His body was still frozen, but the man got down on his knees by his head, and they shared a long series of smoky kisses, passing it back and forth between them for hours, Derek’s terror slowly replaced by lust, and then even hints of love.

The man stayed with him for several weeks, and neither of them left the apartment. They had work to do, work to do with smoke, work to do on Derek. Pig work. Learning how to suck cock and take dick up his ass. Learning how good piss tasted. Learning to be a slob, ruining his body, giving him a heavy gut and aging him into his fifties, where he should be, who he wanted to be. There was a hole in Derek’s life when the man left, almost like he’d never even been there. The college’s new semester started up, but Derek was now a machinist at a factory outside of town, hanging out at the bar, sucking dick in the dim corners of the back rooms, occasionally certain he’d seen his master, the man he loved, the man the whole town loved, in the darkness, but all he ever found was wisps of sweet smoke he’d drink in hungrily.

He still loved his chat sites, but now he was just another masturbating pervert. He loved seeing people disgusted at him, at his body, at his thick, ugly cigars. He loved chatting with other filthy fuckers, bringing them to orgasm, talking about their favorite hook ups. He built a whole new circle of friends, sex addicts like him, until one day his computer froze, and a man appeared on the screen like a dim, fuzzy memory. He started typing:

>> Don’t fight, when he comes for you

>> You’re gonna fuckin love it, promise

>> Being a pigs the best

“Pull over. I gotta piss and yer gonna help me.”

“Please, I–just leave me alone, I don’t–”

“What the fuck did I tell you about talkin’ back, bitch?”

The large man in the back seat heaved himself forward between the front and passenger seat, breath stinking of tobacco. He reached forward and began kneading the driver’s cock through the ratty camo shorts he’d forced him to buy off the redneck they’d met at the truckstop fifty miles back. All it they had cost was one blow job, no teeth. They were grungy and a few sizes too big, but with a belt they stayed up.

“How about we remove a couple of inches, eh? Make you a tiny dicked little piggy? Maybe I’ll give them back when I’m done pissing.”

It was curious sensation, feeling his cock retract back into itself. Four inches? Three? Smaller. He signaled and pulled off the highway and into the rural rest area. It was early evening on a weekday, and aside from a few trucks in the other lot, largely empty.

The huge redneck he’d picked up a few hundred miles back as a hitchhiker hefted himself out of the backseat. He said it was more comfortable back there, where he could stretch his legs a bit. Plus, it let him keep an eye on his captive in the driver’s seat. “Well come on then, I need yer fuckin’ help.”

“What the fuck kind of help do you need to piss? Please, just let me go.”

“Bitch, do you want me to leave you here with a fuckin’ nub?”

He really didn’t want a nub. He got out of the car and followed the man into the bathroom at a lumber. Inside, it was all stainless steel and none too clean. His hitchhiker passed the urinals and went for the handicapped stall, and when the driver tried to wait, he grabbed him by the arm and pulled him in with him, locking the door behind them both. The man dropped his shorts and stood in front of the steel toilet.

“Aim for me–I can’t fuckin’ see past my gut.”

It wasn’t the first time he’d had to dig around in the man’s gunt and fish out his thick, short cock, but aiming it proved to be a challenge. For one thing, the man started pissing even before he had a good grip, soaking down his hand. Piss flew everywhere for a few moments, soaking the floor and the seat, before he got it pointed into the water, and waited for the big man to finish.

“Shitty job–someone’s gonna have tah clean that up, ya know?”

The driver wiped his wet hand on the camo shorts, a bit disgusted, “Did you have to piss on me? That’s fucking disgusting.”

The hitchhiker stared him down, “Ya know, I’m gettin’ real sick a yer attitude boy, we really need to find something more productive for ya tah do wit’ yer mouth. Get down there ‘n lick up the piss ya spilled.”

“No! That’s fucking disgusting!”

The man spit a wad of tobacco juice into the toilet, and then grabbed the driver’s wrist. “Get down there and lick up my piss, or the next thing you know, you’re just gonna be a toothless beggar sucking dick at this rest stop for the rest of your life. Is that what you want?”

It wasn’t. The driver got down and tentatively licked the cool rim of the toilet, and as he did, a shot of pleasure coursed through him. He licked it again, and soon he was licking happily. Not long after that, he had his cock out of his shorts and was jacking his three inch dick while the redneck stood over him, supervising and suggesting.

“Yeah, see? Doesn’t that taste good pig? Make sure you get everything you spilled on the floor too. Fuck, look at that nasty concrete, I can’t believe you’re actually gonna put your tongue on that thing.” He slid a boot between the driver’s legs as he lapped up the piss and started tapping the pig’s balls, making him groan. Before he’d finished all the piss, he’d already shot his load across the bottom of the toilet and the floor–he licked that up too, when ordered to do so.

They left the bathroom together, the driver shaking with terror and rage at what he’d just done, but when he went to tackle his passenger, he felt a curious warmth in the front of his shorts as he pissed himself. Fuck, it smelt great, maybe he could just whip out his cock for a quick wank out in the open, but he was able to control himself long enough to climb in the car. The next rest stop was fifty miles down the road, and his hitchhiker promised him they’d find a couple nasty truckers willing to give him a good soaking. He let out a quiet sob as he drove off, but the anticipation was building in him. When the sign came, he pulled over eagerly–what a thirst to quench.