Huey just wanted to be cool–he’d tried to be cool for most of high school but nothing seemed to work–he was just hopeless. Hell, even his tattoos had ended up coming off as “cute” instead of cool. His gauges just looking silly rather than hip. When he lamented these concerns to his friend, he recommended that Huey go to a different parlor downtown which specialized in more holistic changes. Still, he’d always liked his friend, and though he was cool, so he took his advice, and signed up at the shop for their “The Works” package.

“So, what do you want?” the guy asked when he went in for a consult.

“I wanna be cool,” Huey said, and the guy cocked an eyebrow at him.

“Well, being cool is more about believing you’re cool than anything. Still, if that’s what you want, we can deliver.”

Huey nodded, and he went to the shop on Saturday, but the entire process was a whole lot more intensive than he’d expected. They seemed to be tattooing him all over, and they even applied some strange creams to his head and face which itched horribly, but he toughed it out. When they finished everything, after hours of work, they finally let him stand up and take a look at himself, and he was horrified. “What the fuck did you do to me?” he shouted.

They’d tattooed his entire body, from the tops of his feet to the base of his neck, down to his wrists. His hair had been dyed a disgusting blonde, and his small goatee had grown out into a thick horseshoe mustache, and the color difference made it obvious his hair was a dye job. He just gaped at himself, horrified, and then turned to the guy who’d done his consultation and said, “You said you’d make me cool! I look like a freak.”

“No, if you’ll remember, what I said is that being cool is all about believing you’re cool,” the man said, and then turned on the video monitor behind him, and Huey was sucked into the prismatic spiral in a matter of moments. When he woke up, he took another look at himself and smirked–damn, he looked cool as fuck. “Hey man, ya got a cig?” he asked the tattoo artist.

“I’ll trade you one for a blow job.”

“Sure man, that’s cool,” Hugh said, and swallowed the artist’s cock to the hilt.

When the hedge fund came to take over the factory, it was billed as something which would be good for the entire community. Of course, nine months later, when all of the workers showed up for work only to discover that they had been locked out and the factory closed down, there was an uproar, but Phillip didn’t give a shit about that. He celebrated with a cigar as the fund took all of the company’s assets, including the worker’s pensions, and used it to give themselves all huge–and in their minds–well deserved bonuses.

It was a couple months later when the group of men stormed into his mansion. They called themselves the Personal Hedge Fund, and after subduing Phillip with a special drug, which left him completely open to their suggestions, he gave them complete control over his personal finances and all of his property, allowing them to completely empty his accounts and sell off all of his property, but he soon discovered that the PHF wasn’t done there–they weren’t done my a long shot.

What followed was months of mental programming. Forcing him to speak in an uneducated accent, giving him tattoos all over his body, including some on his neck and wrists that he couldn’t hide. And then, when they were satisfied, they dumped him in a trailer park not too far from the now run down factory he and his friends had ruined, and left him there, laughing all the way to the bank, and Phillip soon discovered that the other trailers were all occupied by his old co-workers–but the PHF had taken over and ruined their lives too. They soon discovered what it truly meant to be poor, in a place with no economy, and they spent the rest of their lives living in the trailers, while the PHF gave all of their wealth to the men and women whose lives they had ruined.

Poker nights can be dangerous; Travis found this out the hard way. He was just another guy–overweight, well obese, sure. More or less happily married, aside from the occasional scream-out that could be heard throughout the trailer park. Poker night, for Travis, was more than just a way to get out of the house for a night, smoke a cigar or six, and drink a bit too much Fireball–it was a chance to be around a bunch of guys just being guys, and away from women. Mick, the host of poker night this week, just so happened to agree with him about being away from women–but his idea of quality men’s time was something else entirely.

See, Mick had a funny little figurine he’d picked up at a flea market the week before, and the little spirit within it loved games–and high stakes bets. It also happened, that this week, Mick decided to play with the deck stacked against everyone else, and once the rednecks around the table were a bit too drunk to second guess themselves, they were happily playing along with him, and it was only a few rounds later that they realized they’d been played, but by then it was too late.

Travis struggled awake, disentangling himself from the sleeping bodies of his friends, sore and hung over, his asshole raw, dick tender, and he tried to figure out where it had all gone wrong. Mick was going to win the pot, but he’d bet his sexuality? What the fuck did that even mean? Looking back over his shoulder at the pile of men, he figured that he wasn’t the only guy who’d been taken. And when he saw Mick’s ass propped up, he licked his lips and felt his cock rise a bit, figuring it was time to pay back the house what he’d lost.

On the Inside – Part 1

It was hopeless. That’s what I’d been told my whole life, really. My daddy was a coal miner, his daddy had been a coal miner, his daddy had been a coal miner, ad infinitum. Heh, ad infinitum, I bet you didn’t expect me to know that one–no one does. That’s the problem, that’s always been my problem. On paper, I’m a great student. Straight A’s, I even managed to get a few courses from the local community college in my small town, but getting into a nice college? Studying? Improving myself? It seemed hopeless, because when I open my mouth, I’m just another stupid hillbilly redneck, or at least I sound like one.

I’d tried to mask it all my life, I’d tried so hard, but I just couldn’t break it. Finally, nearly defeated, I went to my counselor at my high school as I was getting ready to apply for schools, and told him about my problem. What was I supposed to do, when I had an interview with an admissions director, and I sounded like an extra from “Deliverance”?

He tried to tell me that it would be alright, that a smart person would be able to separate out the accent from the person I really was–that the superficial stuff wouldn’t matter in the end, but I didn’t believe him. Still, he did have a suggestion for me, which I wheedled out of him–the name of a speech therapist who was a friend of his. He told me that he’d had success with softening accents before, and I was willing to try anything.

I didn’t tell my parents where I was going. Amazingly, the doctor had agreed to see me for a consultation without a payment, which was good, because we didn’t even have insurance. In the office, he told me that he’d found that quite a few patients had had lots of success with hypnosis to help correct their accents, and I was willing to try anything once. He put me under…and I don’t remember what happened, but when he woke me up, I still remember what I said, it was beautiful:

“Please sir, please can I suck your cock Sir? I’m just a cum hungry pig sir, please, I’m so thirsty.”

It came out perfectly, not a hint of accent, and when he unzipped his fly and let me suck his cock, I was in heaven. I’ve been his patient ever since, and I know I won’t have an issue getting into college now, though Mr. Burroughs wants me to apply to Bellmon University–I’m not sure why though. Still, I need to go see my counselor today–I need to give him another ‘thank you’ blow job today, he loves those almost as much as I do.

To be Continued…

Identity Crises Part 2

Commissioned by Scot158f

***WARNING*** This has been pretty cleanish up until now, but it’s only going to get worse from here. In this section: inanimate TF (smoke related), farting, and scat.

Terry watched the eight foot tall man tromp down the stairs, his hair mostly grey, a massive, tangled beard stretching all the way down to his belly button, the rest of his body covered in grey hairs as well. He had a massive, taut get, but the rest of his body was packed full of muscle…and as he came downstairs, Terry caught a whiff of his daddy’s musk and felt a shiver and moan rip through him. He loved how his daddy smelled after one of daily workouts, it was the best.

“Hey son,” Caleb asked, “Whatcha watchin’?”

“Just cartoons,” Terry said, and he looked at the TV, a bit surprised. Sure, he was a teenager, but he still liked watching them, right? Then why had he expected it to be some show about food? It was strange, that was for sure. “Are you done with your workout?”

“Sure am–nice and musky, just how you like me, boy. You want my jock?”

“Aww hell yeah dad,” Terry said, “You know I’ll never turn down your stinking jockstrap.”

“Heh, well, I’ll trade you my sweaty jock for a smoke, boy. Get ready, would ya?”

“Sure thing!” Terry said, and got out of the recliner, but his body just felt odd. He was chubby, like always, but shouldn’t he be…well, fatter? And something about his cock and balls, they were…heavy for some reason, and…hard? He reached down out of curiosity, and peered over his small, soft gut and just gaped at his cock and balls–his cigar and pipes, he meant, of course. He didn’t have a cock and balls like his dad…which was…weird, right? Instead he just had a cigar jutting out from his crotch–a long one, almost nine inches, and below that, swinging heavily and clacking into each other, two massive pipes…but that was how things had always been right?

No…No this was too much. This was all too much, and he pushed back against the wave in his mind, but it was too hard, too all encompassing. He knew this was wrong, that this wasn’t how things should be. He didn’t live with his daddy…he…he was the daddy. And he had a normal cock, and it was small, or was it big? And he’d been–fatter? Thinner? More muscular? But older, definitely older.

“Boy, get smokin’–I ain’t got all night,” Caleb said from where he was sitting in his chair, and Terry blushed, rushing over to his smoking stuff, his worries forgotten in the sudden fear that he might disappoint his dad somehow. He walked over and started packing his pipes full of tobacco, the sensation of the wood and briar both familiar and…so strange. Would it hurt…when he lit his pipes and his cigar? Of course not, it had never hurt before, right? But how would he know–he’d never done this before, but if he’d never done this before, how was he packing his pipes so well, and so evenly, tamping the tobacco down carefully, making sure he could pull an even draw from his lungs once he’d lit them? Still trying to understand what was happening, he walked over to where his dad was lounging back, his jockstrap off, his ten inch cock erect in the air, and before Terry even realized what was happening, his dad had picked him up–all of him, and was dropping him down on his cock. He opened his ass like he’d been trained to, letting all ten inches slide up his ass, making him shiver, and as it did, he saw his cigar grow a bit, like it always did when he was horny.

“Oh fuck dad, that feels so good…” Terry moaned.

“Oh yeah? Well go ahead and smell this jock of mine, and tell me what you think,” he said, and pressed the wet mesh into his son’s face, watching him take it in his mouth and suck some of the sweaty grime off of it, the boy’s cigar cock growing a bit longer still, now about a foot in length, jutting up between them. “Yeah, that’s it–now how about we get you lit?”

Caleb picked up a big zippo off the table next to him, and started with his son’s cigar cock, lighting the end until it had a bright red tip, and then worked on his bowls, the smoke already pouring out of his son’s mouth by the time he had them both lit–and then he locked lips with Terry, the jock caught between them, and he inhaled, drawing the smoke up through his son’s body and into his own through the mesh, cigar burning bright orange as he sucked it down, and the same with his boy’s pipes.

“Mmmm…” Caleb said, when he finally pulled away, “Now that’s a nice smoke.”

“I’m glad you like it,” Terry said, “Your jock isn’t so bad either.”

Caleb laughed, and pulled his son close, taking one of his son’s meaty nipples between his teeth and sucking more smoke out through that, feeling his son gasp and clench his big cock with his ass, and he took a moment to admire his boy’s body. He was growing up to be a beautiful cub–not a furry or muscular as his dad, but with a nice chubby gut and moobs, and a hot set of junk, which Caleb used at every opportunity. He leaned in and took another drag off his son’s other nipple, chewing on his nipple a bit and making Terry groan, before exhaling the smoke into Terry’s mouth, filling him to the brim with it.

They stayed like that for a long while, Terry impaled on his dad’s cock the entire time. Caleb would take a long drag off his son’s cock, and relax back, letting his son spend a few minutes cleaning off his sweaty body, the heat of the pipes and cigar resting between them. As Terry’s cock burned down further and further, Caleb started spitting into his hand, lubing it up with the cooling ash and spreading it up and down his body and his cub’s, streaking them both black, and then Terry would lick it off, hungry for the smoke and anything it made. As horny as Terry was though, his cigar cock couldn’t grow as fast as his dad smoked it, but he did his best to keep it as big as he could.

As his daddy smoked him down, the worries and concerns which Terry had been wrestling with seemed to diminish slowly. This–this here–was important, not those imagined things. Being smoked by his dad, fucked on his massive cock, cleaning off his sweaty body like a good boy–those are what mattered more than anything else in the whole world. His dad was getting more and more excited, and started working his cock around in his ass, and then he wrapped his massive hands under his armpits and started fucking Terry up and down on his massive cock. The sensation of being powerless in the hands of his daddy–it was turning him on so much, his cigar was growing almost as fast as it was burning, and smoke was pouring out of his mouth and tits now. “Oh fuck dad, oh fuck! Fill me up, pump your boy full of your daddy seed!” Terry moaned.

“Oh yeah boy, burn that fuckin’ cigar down–I don’t want anything left but a fucking nub!”

With a shudder, Terry came, smoke gouting out of his mouth, and Caleb locked lips with him, inhaling as much of it as he could, his son’s sweet smoke pushing his own cock over the edge, and he pumped his load into Terry’s hole, his ass milking him as dry as he could, the cigar, now less than an inch long, burning out between their bodies, the pipes below empty as well. Still, Caleb took a few moments to suck his son dry, getting as much smoke out of him as he could, and then he let Terry pull himself up off his softening cock, and get down.

“Thanks son, that was a real nice smoke,” Caleb said, and then hefted himself up off the chair, and stretched. “Damn, I think I’m too old for this,” he said with a chuckle.

“Ha, you’ll never be too old for me,” Terry said, and gave him a hug. He only came up to his massive dad’s chest, but when the big man wrapped his arms around him too, he’d never felt so safe and secure in his whole life, especially since his wife had left him.

Wife? Wait…no, his…mom?

When Terry pulled away, he realized he didn’t know if he had a mom, and he looked up at his dad, and asked, “Dad, who…who was my Mom? I don’t…” The look of surprise that crossed his dad’s face seemed strange to Terry, almost like he hadn’t even been expecting the question. And why would he, really? It was a stupid question, wasn’t it? He just…didn’t have a mom. That was normal, wasn’t it? “I–I’m sorry, just forget I asked.”

“No! No, uh…don’t worry about it. Look, I have to go do something upstairs for a bit, but then I’ll come back down, and we can talk about it, alright? Why don’t you just get your pipes cleaned out?”

“Sure, dad,” Terry said, and blushed as his dad’s big hand tousled his hair.

The big man tromped off and squeezed his way up the stairs, and Terry thought he heard him say something as he left, “Man, I don’t think I’m cut out to be a dad–that was way harder than I thought. Being old kind of sucks–I don’t know how he does it. Still, it’s better than being a teenager.”

Terry just watched him go, wondering what in the world he was talking about. But those creeping doubts came back, and when he reached down and knocked the last bit of ash from his cigar, and worried for a minute that he’d destroyed his cock–but that was silly. All he had to do was get horny, and it would grow back, like always. Always–had it always been like this? Had he always been a teenager, with his big manly dad? With pipes and cigars where his cock and balls ought to be?

It took Terry a second to realize that he was having a panic attack–nearly hyperventilating–and all he wanted to do was run upstairs and find his daddy and make sure everything was ok, but he got a grip on himself, and walked over to his smoke gear, and focused on cleaning himself out, knocking the ash out of the bowls of his pipes, before running big pipe cleaners through them, shivering a bit. He wished he wasn’t so ticklish, but it just felt so strange, running the fuzzy wires up his pipes. It took quite a while for him to get it all clean, and he was just about done with his second pipe, when he heard his dad coming back downstairs. Good, maybe they could talk–Terry had…some questions for him, and he really wanted some answers.

The reality wave hit him again as his son turned the corner, but he barely even noticed it. One second he was cleaning out one of the big pipes stuck to his crotch, and then the next he had the pipe up in his hand. The sudden shift caught him off guard, and he just stared at it for a second, then at himself. Hell, he was normal sized–he wasn’t a short cub anymore–in fact, he seemed to be about seven feet tall now, and the sudden vertigo caught him off guard, as he wobbled a bit, rebalancing to counterbalance his massive gut with his fat ass. Wait, he was fat again? Wait, fat…again? And a cub?

It had happened again, he was sure of it now–things were changing, but how? Why? He looked down at himself, but everything seemed right…didn’t it? The brief moment of clarity was already gone, and he couldn’t hold onto any of what had just happened–this was how he’d always looked. His massive gut ganging down past his waist, several inches falling down below the food and ash stained wife beater he wore all the time, and he reached around and gave his ass crack a good scratch where it popped up over the top of his ratty boxers, and then itched one of his hairy pits for good measure. What had he been thinking about again? He shrugged his shoulders and went back to packing his pipe, and as he did, let off a big belch.

“Hot damn Pa, that was a good one. Taste as good comin’ up as it did going down?” Caleb asked, picking a cigar out of a humidor, before biting off the end and lighting it up.

“Ha, sure as hell did,” Terry said, and then looked a bit puzzled, when he heard the deep twang of his own voice, “What in tarnation…” he muttered, trying to figure out what had happened to his voice.

“What’s up, Pa?”

His son had it too, but he hadn’t noticed…but why should he have? It was normal for a son to talk like his Pa, right? Where else would he have picked it up? “Nah, nothin’, just bein’ thick I guess. Ya know yer Pa, I ain’t too bright.”

“Ha, that’s alright, ‘cause yer damn sexy,” Caleb said, taking a deep drag off his cigar.

Terry went back to packing his pipe, and tried to remember what had been bothering him, but couldn’t find it. His head just wasn’t quite working fast enough to keep up with what was going on, but hell, it didn’t matter–he was just horny! He lit his pipe still chuckling, when he let loose a loud, wet fart that surprised both he and Caleb. “Well damn,” he said, “Guess it needs tah come outa both ends, eh son?”

“Sounds like it,” Caleb said, walking over and wrapping his big arms around his Pa and taking a deep sniff of the air. “Damn, it’s a hot, stinky one too–I fuckin’ love those.”

His son still was the same size as his dad had been–wait, his dad? No, he was…well he was big, that was all that mattered. Big, and hairy, and musky…Terry growled low and started grinding his big ass into his son’s legs–feeling the bulge of his son’s cock pressing into his flabby back, as Caleb grabbed both his flabby tits in his massive hands and started squeezing them. His boy wasn’t relly a “boy” anymore, Terry knew. Hell, he hadn’t been a boy in years now. At 27, he was one hot bear, and Terry was just happy to have him in his life. They’d been fucking for so long Terry didn’t think they would ever be apart–he could still remember their first fuck on his son’s eighteenth birthday–that had been one special fucking day. He was so happy to have a son as gay as he was. He reached around and gripped his son’s beard–he was too short to reach much else, and pulled him closer. “Ah fuck son, ya sure know how tah git yer Pa ragin’ horny.”

“Oh yeah? Well ya know what I want Pa?” Caleb asked, “I want a taste a this big, fat ass of yours.” Caleb set his cigar off in a nearby ashtray and shoved his hand down the back of his dad’s boxers.

“Fuck…aww damn boy, ya sure? It’s pretty filthy back there…”

“Just how I like it,” Caleb said, yanking down the back getting down on his knees. He kneaded his dad’s wide ass a bit and then spread the cheeks and started rubbing his greasy, tangled beard up and down his dad’s crack, listening to the fat man moan. Terry leaned forward, bracing himself against the wall and spread his legs apart, still puffing on his pipe, giving Caleb better access to his crack, and felt his son’s tongue start cleaning out his sweaty crack, probing up his shithole, and he moaned, feeling his own large cock start pressing up against his gut.

Again, Terry found himself distracted. Big cock? He hadn’t had a very big cock last time he was this big? Last time? What last time? He’d always had a cock this size…right? Or had he…had he had a tiny cock before? No, he’d always had a cock this size, this big foot long cock. Yeah, a massive foot long cigar sticking out between his legs. How else was he supposed to fuck his son, with this big gut in the way? Yeah, he might not be smart, but he more than made up for it downstairs. Caleb sometimes joked that he did a better job of thinking with his cock than with his head, and he was probably right. Thinking with his cock was a whole lot more fun too.

“Aww yeah son, that feels so good…git that tongue up there.”

“Fuck dad, yer hole’s so fuckin’ nasty–I love it,” Caleb said, and he groped for his cigar, took a deep drag off of it, anf then locked lips with his dad’s hole, pumping his ass full of smoke, the warm air making Terry shiver. He did it a few more times, pumping Terry good and full, and then, when Terry couldn’t hold any more, he bore down, a loud, long, smoky fart streaming right into his son’s face, who inhaled as much of it as he could.

“Aw fuck…fuck that’s nice…” Terry said, smelling it himself, “Yer smoke gives me the best goddamn gas, boy.”

“Sure as fuck does, I fuckin’ can’t get enough of it.”

Terry grinned. “I know somethin’ else a pig like you can’ git enough of,” he said, and stood up, stepping out of his boxers and plopping down into his recliner, putting it up so his feet were level with his son’s face, “Go on, I know how much mah filthy feet turn ya on, boy.”

With Caleb on his knees in front of him, Terry was oddly struck by just how…big his son was. He was big, like…just really damn huge. Even on his knees, his face was still level with Terry where lounged in the recliner, and he had to hunch down to press his nose between his dad’s toes and take a good whiff of the nasty funk that had built up there. Wide too–his son was so big they’d had to keep building out the doorways as he grew up. Even now, he had to fit through them sideways, or else his shoulders would get stuck. It was lucky their house had ten foot ceilings, but he had the curious thought that his son still wasn’t done growing, even though he was probably one of the biggest men on the planet. He was definitely one of the hairiest too–his entire body was covered with curly brown body hair, which was usually matted down with sweat and grime, since he worked out close to eight hours a day. Still, Terry didn’t mind–he loved his sweaty, filthy boy, and when they went to bed, he’d usually give him a nice long tongue bath, before his son took his turn, licking the sweat from between his fatty rolls…

Terry groaned as Caleb ran his big tongue up the sole of his foot and then started sucking on his toes. In his recliner, Terry tensed up for a moment, and then let loose another fart, the stink wafting out right into his son’s face, and the look of desire that shot across it and he smirked. “God, I can’t believe I raised ya tah be such a damn stinkhound.”

“Well, yer so fuckin’ nasty dad, what else would I have grown up tah be?” Caleb said, “Hey dad, ya know, why don’t ya wear those big boots ayers fer the rest of the weekend? Even when yer fucking sleepin’? Then I can clean ‘em out and yer nasty feet too on Monday, after ya git home from work.”

Work. Where did he work again? Wasn’t it…wasn’t it doing like…cooking or a chef? No that wasn’t it, where in the hell had he gotten that idea? He was a forklift operator at a warehouse–sitting on his ass all day in the hot building–his son loved how nasty and sweaty he was after a long day of work, and his booted feet would be absolutely howling by the time he took them off. Just imagining his son sucking on his grimy feet after a long day of work was enough to raise his big cock to over half mast, and Caleb reached up and wrapped one hand around it, so he could worm a finger under his thick foreskin and collect the cheese, which he then smeared on Terry’s feet before licking away.

“Alright dad, I think yer good ‘n clean. I got somethin’ I wanna try though,” Caleb said, standing up to his full height, “Now don’t move, I want tah see if this’ll work.”

Terry watched as Caleb walked around to the side of the recliner, and then in one fluid motion, kicked his foot over so he was straddling the entire recliner, his ass towards his dad’s face. “What’cha doin’ boy?” was all Terry had time to ask before Caleb reached down and yanked on the lever, the chair ratcheting back and slamming Terry’s fat face between his son’s muscular, sweaty ass.

He didn’t have time to breathe, and as soon as he was firmly planted, Caleb let loose with a fart of his own right in Terry’s face, and he gulped it down, his ten inch cock now absolutely rigid, and Terry was lapping up the gunk from his son’s crack and probing down the hole with his tongue, listening to Caleb moan, relishing the sensation of being slammed up his son’s ass.

Then Caleb bent over at his waist, and Terry felt him start sucking on his cock, and the dual assault was enough to send shivers all over his body. It felt like his head just shut down, and all he could think about was how hot it was to clean out his boy’s crack while he got his big cock sucked off. The ten inch monster would have been rough for a normal person, but Caleb’s throat was as big as the rest of him, and he took it without a single gag. Terry waited until he had his face against the base of his cock before he let off another giant fart, listening to Caleb groan in stinky pleasure, and his son followed suit, sending him another fart of his own right into Terry’s face.

Terry was close, and Caleb could tell–his father’s big cock was gushing precum like it always did when he was about to shoot. Terry started to shake, his fat belly jiggling and shuddering as he came, burst after burst of jizz shooting into his son’s mouth, and he swallowed all of it down, and then when he finally relaxed, he let out another massive fart…except it wasn’t just a fart this time.

Terry felt the shit squirt out of his ass and squish between his cheeks as he tried to hold it back, but he wasn’t able to do anything about it, because he was still trapped between the chair and his son’s ass. He groped for the lever and was able to push himself back so he was free, and Caleb unstraddled himself from the recliner, and then took a sniff and said, “Damn that one was stinkier than usual.”

Terry just blushed, and without saying anything, raised the recliner back up and hefted himself out of the chair, and when Caleb saw the brown streak on the chair, he realized what must have happened, and he just looked shocked. Terry didn’t notice, he had waddled off immediately, unable to believe he’d lost control like that, and hurried into the downstairs bathroom, where he lumbered over and sat down on the toilet, unable to believe he’d just shat all over his favorite chair. The same damn chair his dad had fucked him on, and smoked his cigar cock…right?

Terry tried to figure out where that memory had come from, but he just couldn’t. It didn’t make any sense at all. I mean…Caleb had been…his dad? And he’d had a cigar and pipe…

His head was hurting, but instead of retreating, he pushed in further, trying to separate out what had happened to him over the last few hours. He could…remember cooking dinner, but his son hadn’t been as big, and fatter. And before that, upstairs, hadn’t they…fucked? But none of those things actually seemed real–what was real was his massive, hairy and filthy redneck son, and he, his fat, sweaty equally filthy redneck dad…right?

He did his best to wipe his ass, but gave up pretty quick–he was just too big to reach around well enough, and why was he so embarrassed by what had happened? It wouldn’t be the first time he’d shat himself on accident–he and his son were trading farts so often that things had a way of slipping out on occasion, he thought with a chuckle. But then why couldn’t he ever remember doing it in the past?

“Hey Pa,” Caleb said, knocking on the bathroom door, “You alright in there?”

“Yeah,” Terry said, jus’ cleanin up.”

“Oh…” Caleb said, and after a pause said, “You…you uh, need any help?”

“No Caleb, I got it,” Terry said.

Then, the bathroom door opened anyway, and Caleb was there in the doorway, a grin on his face that Terry didn’t like the look of…and a massive hard on sticking straight towards Terry. “You sure? I think I know how to help out.”

Before Terry could do anything, Caleb had grabbed him by his fat gut, swung him around, and bent him over the bathroom counter, before slamming his cock up his dad’s ass. “Caleb! What the fuck, I’m not in the fuckin’ mood boy!”

Caleb, however, wasn’t listening, he was just fucking, and from the look on his face…he was down right enjoying the sensation of fucking his dad’s still shitty hole, and all Terry could feel was..disgust. “Caleb! Caleb, get the fuck off of me!” He screamed, and shoved himself back against his big brute of a son, who stumbled back, his shitty cock coming free of his dad’s hole.

“What the hell dad? What the fuck’s up with ya?”

“I fuckin’ said no, boy!” Terry hollered, “Now git up in yer goddamn room!”

“Why the fuck should I?” Caleb shouted back, “You’re not the fuckin’ boss a me!”

“I am yer father, boy, ‘n if I git anymore fuckin’ lip from you, yer gonna fuckin’ regret it.”

The two men glared at each other for a moment, before Caleb relented, and left the bathroom, squeezing his way up the staircases to his room, and slamming the door behind him, and then Terry let himself collapse to the floor. He honestly hadn’t expected him to stop–and Terry knew that his son was big enough that if he’d really wanted to keep going–he would have. Fuck, Caleb hadn’t always been like that, what happened to the sweet chubby loner he’d been when he was a teenager? Now, he was this hulk in his mid-twenties, still living with his dad–he needed a damn job, and a life!

Something he’d thought stuck out to Terry though–Caleb hadn’t been a chubby teenager–he hadn’t been chubby ever in his life. But still, he had a…clearish image of a son–his son, sweet hairless face, pudgy body, on the short side…but he couldn’t actually say when the image was from, because…well, it had never happened, right?

No, it had happened–it must have. But when? Again, Terry found himself looking through these impossibly tinted glass walls at the edge of his vision, like if he could turn his head fast enough and squint, he’d see something different, some other reality than his own, just as real as his…but impossible to access. But this wasn’t really right was it? He hadn’t always been this fat, filthy redneck, had he? Fuck, he needed a smoke. He got up and returned to where he’d set his pipe, finding it had gone out, and he relit it. He didn’t sit in the recliner, but just paced the room, puffing his pipe, wondering what to do about Caleb.

They needed to set boundaries–he needed to reassert himself as the father here. Sure, he loved having sex with his son–of course he did, but if he said no…well, Caleb had to respect that. There just weren’t any ifs, ands, or buts about that. And he needed to get a job–no more working out all day every day. And he needed to start picking up after himself, he figured, looking around at the cluttered den–the place was a sty. Sure, neither he nor Caleb were the cleanest guys on the planet–hell, hardly so–but they could still make an effort to improve. He smoked the rest of his pipe down, and then cleaned it out. He’d let Caleb sweat it out enough by now, he figured. Hopefully he’d had a chance to jack off, think about what he did, and realize what he’d done wrong, and they could have a conversation like real men, instead of a tantrum or argument.

He set his pipe back up on the rack, and then sighed, letting out a big belch. There wasn’t any use putting it off any longer. He hefted himself up the two staircases, pausing at the top of the second to catch his breath, before heading to his son’s room, and knocking. “Caleb, are ya in there? I’d like tah have a talk wit’ ya.”

“Sure thing dad, come on in.”

To Be Continued

“Fuck, Ah gotta stop this, Ah gotta, can’t cum no more, I ain’t gonna have anythin’ left a me!”

Taylor really should have learned to keep his mouth shut, but when someone goes his whole life, being treated like a star, one tends to pick up a very large ego, and a certain sense of entitlement. However, making fun of people in high school isn’t the same as making fun of people in college–especially when the person you’re trying to tease is your professor.

“Ah didn’t…didn’t know bin’ this hairy could…could feel so nice though, ‘n who knew a gut could turn a guy on so much? Gotta–Gotta resist it, I can’t cum anymore, if Ah do, I don’t know what’s gonna happen. Maybe…maybe I’ll just tweak these thick nips a mine a bit…oh yeah, that feels real good…”

Dr. Ralston, Professor of History, wasn’t, perhaps, the kind of person you would expect to be a world renowned teacher and lecturer, with his tendency towards an unkempt look–but with tenure, he dressed in what was comfortable. However, when Taylor had seen the elderly man dressed in flannel and overalls approach the front of the class, and start speaking with a thick southern accent…well, he just couldn’t resist. No one else in the class had thought his joke funny, and Dr. Ralston had been unfazed, suggesting that Taylor could leave if he thought he had nothing to learn. Taylor had left–but Dr. Ralston still intended to teach the young man a lesson.

“Fuck, gittin’ close…mmm…aw yeah…just stroke it a little more, ‘n…’n…Gah!” Taylor said, milking his fourth load of the night out in front of the mirror, “No! No, fuck–Fuck!” He watched in the mirror as his already long hair and beard tangled down further and acquired a few strands of grey, and when he next opened his mouth, he saw that quite a few of them had gone missing. His football shirt and gym shorts shifted around his fattening body, becoming a set of grimy work gear he wore nearly all the time, and he grinned, licking his cum off his filthy palm. “Mmmm…finger lickin’ good!” he said with a guffaw, and tucked his cock back into his jeans. Still, he had to get to work down at the site, or the foreman would fire his ass. As he left, he happened to see his high school class ring–ah, those were the days! Too bad he hadn’t gone to college though–maybe he could have made something of himself.

Gator Nights

Commissioned by Anonymous

Warning: Contains furry TF (gator), watersports, raunch and incest. Don’t like it? Don’t read it.

***

“Nonsense, I insist. Us swamp men git such a bad rap these days. Besides–it’s the middle a the night–the two a ya ain’t goin’ nowhere til mornin’ anyway,” Daryl said, as he turned the tow truck onto a winding dirt road which wove through the dark swamp, Kent and Howie watching the twisted trees engulf them. Kent and Howie shared a look, but didn’t object. The two frat brothers had been on their way to Spring Break in Miami when their car had broken down out here, somewhere in the swamps of Alabama or Mississippi. Luckily, there had been a gas station within a short walk, but the only tow truck who would come out to meet them was a local who’d come rumbling up after dusk, and he’d been everything Kent and Howie hadn’t wanted. Big beard, hefty gut, missing and rotten teeth, bad BO, grimy clothes–but they hadn’t had much of a choice, and so all three of them had climbed into the cab together and off they’d gone. Now, however, it looked like they were going to lose at least a day, if not more, depending on how long it might take to have their car fixed by a mechanic.

The drive down the road took around half an hour of uncomfortable silence, Daryl occasionally trying to make small talk–asking where the boys were from and where they were going, who they might be meeting, but neither Kent nor Howie felt like sharing more than the most basic information, until all that was left were the sounds of the swamp outside the truck windows. Even if it was early spring, the air was still hot and quite humid, neither of which helped with the stink rolling off Daryl. Howie was getting the worst of it, having taken the middle seat, but Kent, with his head nearly out the window, gave his friend as much space as he could.

It was a relief when they saw the lights through the trees. The building was something between a shack and a house–large, but still rather ramshackle, established but uncared for. On three sides, it was flanked by water–the road being the only way out. Daryl parked the truck and the three of them hopped out, Howie the most eager to get away from Daryl so he could breathe again.

“God damn, that guy smells like ass!” he said to Kent, quietly, but not quiet enough that Daryl couldn’t hear him on the other side, and Kent elbowed him in the side, reminding him to be at least a little polite. After all, Daryl was now their only ticket back to the road, unless they planned on hiking through the swamp all night long.

“Well, thanks for giving us a place to stay, sir,” Kent said, as they followed Daryl to the door.

“Yer welcome,” he said to Kent, “It isn’t much, and it might not be up tah the standards of a couple a city boys like you–” he shot Howie a glare, “But it’s our home.”

“Our home? Who else lives here?” Howie asked.

“Oh, my brother–he’s out at the moment–probably finding some dinner.”

“Where at? There isn’t a store for miles.”

“Oh, the swamp gives us most everything we need,” Daryl said with a grin. “Have a seat boys–I’ll git us some drink. Ya’ll could probably use somethin’ after yer long day.”

Howie and Kent took a seat on the treadbare couch by the banked fire, and Kent said, “You know, you don’t have to be such as asshole.”

“At least I don’t smell like one–I mean, you didn’t have to sit next to the guy dude–it was gross.”

“Still, he’s trying to be nice, and you’re throwing it in his face. Don’t forget we need his help.”

“Yeah, yeah…” Howie said, and leaned back, “What a fucking pain in the ass.”

“You’re the one who didn’t take your car in for an inspection.”

“Oh will you shut up about that? I said I was sorry, alright?”

Kent rolled his eyes, and Daryl came over carrying a ceramic jug in his hand. “Yer both in college, right? I bet ya’ll can drink. This here’s the moonshine mah bro ‘n I brew–I’d like tah know what ya think.”

“Oh, that’s nice, but uh…I’ll pass,” Kent said.

“Well, I’ll take some,” Howie said, and Daryl smirked at him as he handed over the jug. “Alright, well let me see if I can rustle up some grub fer ya. Neither a ya is a vegetarian ‘r anything, right? We only have meat eaters in this here house,” he said with a laugh.

“Dude,” Kent said, as Howie look a drink from the jug, “You know shit like that can kill you, right?”

“Oh? What happened to not throwing people’s generosity back in their face?” Howie said, stuck his tongue out at Kent and drank some more. “It actually isn’t bad–besides, it’s Spring Break! I thought we were going to party?”

“Yeah, with some chicks on Miami Beach, not with these hicks in Buttfuck, Swampland,” Kent said, shifting uncomfortably. “Damn it, I gotta shit.”

“Ha, have fun with that–I don’t think this place has indoor plumbing,” Howie said, then held out the jug, “You sure you don’t want any?”

“Nah, you go ahead–one of us should stay sober around this place I think.”

“Suit yourself.”

Kent got up and walked into the kitchen where Daryl was. “Hey, uh, Sir–where’s the bathroom?”

“I told ya, ain’t no need tah call me sir, boy,” Daryl said, “and we ain’t got no fancy bathroom–just an outhouse out back ya’ll have tah use, though I promise it won’t kill ya.”

Kent felt kind of bad then, realizing he’d been just as much a jerk as Howie had earlier, even if it might have been for a better reason. Still, what could he say? He left, found the back door and headed for the outhouse, leaving Howie inside with Daryl.

“So? What do ya think, boy?” Daryl asked Howie after Kent had left, “You enjoyin’ the drink?” He plopped down on the couch next to Howie, took the jug from his hand and had a swig himself.

“Yeah, it…it isn’t bad…” Howie said, slurring his words a bit, the room swirling awkwardly, “Though it…hits kinda hard…fuck, I think I’m gonna be sick…” He tried to lurch up and make his way outside to puke, but Dylan grabbed his hand and pulled him back down onto the couch. Howie turned to tell the man off, when he say his eyes. His gold irises, and the pupils…were they slits? “Your…eyes are all…weird…” Howie slurred.

“Really boy? Why don’t you keep on looking at them and make sure?”

Howie kept staring into Dylan’s eyes, and he realized, as the room spun around him, what they looked like–they were reptilian. The redneck grinned, showing a few too many pointed teeth, and Howie tried to bolt back, but those eyes–he couldn’t look away from them, and with the room spinning around him he wasn’t sure he could even stand up. “What…what are you? What are…what was that stuff…” Howie slurred, as the tension in his body released, causing him to slump back, though his eyes remained glued to Dylan’s.

“Like I said, it’s just a moonshine me and my brother brew for ourselves…and our family. Now son, you sure are lookin’ uncomfortable, in all of those clothes–how about we do something about that? It’s so hot in here, after all–wouldn’t you be more comfortable naked, with your daddy, just lounging on the couch?” Dylan took one of his hands, the skin cracking apart into scales and already tinged green, the nails now hard, long and black, and started ripping away Howie’s clothes, first his shirt, and then his pants and boxers, Dylan kicking off his shoes and socks, compelled by the redneck’s stare, the gator removing his own clothes as well. “There, isn’t that better?” Dylan asked, putting his arm around Howie’s shoulders, “Just you and yer daddy, hangin’ out?”

“Not…Not my…daddy…” Howie managed to eek out, but he was feeling so strange now. He could feel the liquor pulsing through him, heating him up from the inside, but his throat and mouth were tingling and aching. Dylan took one scaly hand and ran it along Howie’s jawline, smiling watching the young man’s skull start stretching into a snout, the skin growing dry and cracking apart like his own, the teeth multiplying and growing sharper.

“Ha, maybe not yet, son, but soon enough–here, have another drink,” Dylan put the jug to his lips and poured, Howie helpless in his gaze, the heat increasing in his gut, and then he realized that the liquor was doing more to him than making him sick. “Yeah, that’s it. Now, what did you say about yer Pa outside boy? Go ahead and refresh my memory, if ya would.”

“I…I said that you…you smell like ass,” Howie said, and started giggling, the drink slowly choking off his inhibitions and rational thought. Everything just seemed so…easy. He just needed to go with the flow, and have fun, and enjoy himself. “‘Cause you do kinda stink.”

“Ha, yeah, I suppose I do, don’t I?” Dylan said, taking a whiff of his own armpit, “Yeah, I sure do, but ya wanna know somethin’?” he said, then leaned in close to Howie, keeping his eye contact, “I kinda like it, ‘n ya know somethin’ else? I bet a son like you’ll love it too. Yeah, sittin’ next tah me in that truck, drivin’ over here–it was hard to resist just shovin’ that face a yers into my dirty, nasty pit, wasn’t it? I bet my funk had ya hard the whole ride over here, just like it has ya hard right now.”

Howie didn’t know if it was true or not, but in his drunk state he was in no condition to resist. His head just didn’t seem to work right, and he couldn’t quite remember what he’d been doing in the truck. Still, he was hard now, wasn’t he? And he could smell Dylan, and…and he did smell rank, but it was kind of…good? He kind of liked it? Dylan wrapped his scaly hand around Howie’s cock and started stroking it slowly, making the boy moan loudly, and watched his last bit of resistance crumble, as he lurched over and started licking out his armpit.

“Yeah, that’s good son–just let go ‘n trust yer Pa–I wouldn’t steer you wrong after all. You love my fuckin’ stink so much–just enjoy it.”

Howie felt his face ache as his bones stretched and grew, his snout crammed into Dylan’s pit, the rest of his body slowly catching up as the liquor flooded his system. His skin was the most noticeable, as his belly slowly dried out, the skin darkening, and his vision blurred slightly as his eyes changed to match Dylan’s…no his…Pa’s? What was wrong with him? He needed to get out of here, but he loved licking out Pa’s pits so much, and now Pa was running his claws along the base of the shaft of his cock and it felt so damn good, maybe he could just stick around for…a bit longer.

“Heh, so I smell like ass, eh? Well, I suppose it’s a good thing I have a boy who loves ass stink then, eh?” Dylan said, “You wanna clean yer Pa’s ass son? We ain’t got no toilet paper, so I sure could use a good cleanin’ back there. I know how much ya love cleanin’ up yer daddy’s rear end. Go on, lay down on the floor there.”

He had to help Howie up of the couch, and he didn’t have much choice but to lay down, since his head was spinning too wildly for him to stand for long. Looking up from the floor he saw that Dylan had fully transformed, a nearly seven foot tall, chubby gatorman standing over him, looking down at his son over his fat gut, long tail swinging behind him, and then he straddled Howie’s head and sat down on his face. The stench was horrendous, but no longer disgusting–Howie craved it, and he let out a loud moan as his long tongue started clicking the crack clean, probing his Pa’s hole as the big gator jacked his boy’s cock, giving him words of encouragement, watching Howie’s body continue to shift–growing larger, his fairly healthy gut filling out further, his long, thick tail shoving out of his lower back and down between his legs, his hands and feet thickening, the nails becoming claws, and he idly wondered what was taking the other boy so much time in the outhouse–and what was taking Al, his brother, so long in the swamp?

***

Kent wasn’t going to have that–no way, no how. The outhouse was filthy–little more than a hole in the ground, and on closer inspection, he saw that there wasn’t even anything for him to wipe with. Instead, he hiked over to the road, deciding he might as well drop his pants and do his business over there, and just use some leaves to wipe out in the dark. Unfortunately, he hadn’t expected the land to drop off into the water quite as fast as it did, and Kent tumbled down the slope and right into the murky water below, where he came up sputtering and grasping for earth. He scrambled up onto a sandbar, sopping wet, and looked around for the light of the shack, but there was nothing–just darkness. He couldn’t even tell where he’d fallen in, or where the road was. He shivered, and but there was nothing he could use to warm up, and he hunkered down for a moment to figure out what to do.

As he crouched, he realized just how loud the swamp around him was–but rather than being much of a comfort, he found it was only fueling his imagination. He pulled his phone from his pocket and was relieved when it lit up, allowing him to illuminate a small area around him. He swung it around to the side, looking for the slope up the road, but froze when the blue light illuminated something which quickly slithered out of sight and back into the darkness.

He froze, and after a few moments, his phone light went out, plunging him back into darkness, but now he was listening even more intently than before, for any sign that what he’d seen might be approaching him, swimming towards him. Had he even seen anything? Had he just imagined it? Maybe it was just a shadow, or a branch, or–

“What’s wrong little boy–what’re ya doin’ down here?” a voice said behind him, sounding so close that he was certain something’s claws were about to rip into him. The voice–it wasn’t human. It had an almost serpentine quality to it, and Kent nearly bolted back out into the water, but held himself perfectly still instead. It had to be his imagination. There weren’t really swamp monsters or anything like that, those were just tall tales.

“It’s just my imagination, he whispered to himself, “there aren’t really monsters, I’m just hearing things.”

“Oh trust me, I’m as real as you are, boy,” the voice said again, “Here, let me show ya…”

This time, he did feel the claws on him, grabbing the cloth of his shirt and ripping it off his body. Kent screamed then, and flung himself into the water, but the beast was on him before he could even start paddling, fat scaly arms wrapping their way around him, and he thought it was going to drag him under water. “Oh, don’t worry boy–I’m not ready tah kill ya yet, I like tah play with mah food first…” the voice said, and a hot, slimy tongue scraped its way across Kent’s face, and he felt something firm pressing against his asshole.

“Howie! Dylan! Help!” Kent called out, hoping his friend and the redneck would hear him, and to his surprise, a moment later the beast released his grip, allowing Kent to wriggle away and swim forward, scrambling up the slope which he crested and saw the shack right in front of him. Safe–he was safe. He ran for the door and burst inside, still sopping wet, but stopped short when he saw the scene in the living room.

“Gonna fart boy–ya wanna smell yer daddy’s ass gas?”

“Oh fuck yeah, daddy–give it to me! Give it to me!”

Howie–it was Howie’s voice–almost. That same hiss, and Kent went around the couch just as Dylan ripped off a wet fart right in Howie’s face, the younger gator sighing and shooting his second load of the night all over his new gut, Dylan rubbing his son’s gator cum into his scales, and using it to lubricate his cock as he jacked off, and he looked over at Kent, those gold irises, and he wanted to run, he really did, but he couldn’t move. Paralyzed with fear, he felt an odd warmth in his crotch, and he realized that the piss he’d been holding in had released, forming a small puddle around his feet on the floor.

“Heh, Dylan, what did I tell ya ‘bout bringin’ more guys intah the family?” the voice from the swamp said behind Kent, and if he could have turned around, he would have found himself face to face with Al, Dylan’s older brother, his beard and scales gleaming with swamp water.

“I’m sorry bro–but I was horny, ‘n this boy a mine said I smell like ass.”

“Ya do smell like ass, Dylan.”

“Well I know that! But it was the way he said it, Al–I just thought I’d teach ‘em a lesson is all, ‘n he’s doin’ real good now, ain’t ya son?”

“Oh yeah daddy, give me another fart daddy–they smell so good…”

“See he’s fine,” Dylan said, patting Howie’s belly, “This one though–I figured we’d just eat ‘em. He didn’t want any moonshine–he was afraid it’d make ‘em sick,” Dylan said.

“Ha, well he was right, wasn’t he?” Al said, “putting his clawed hand on Kent’s shoulder. He was still caught up in Dylan’s gaze, but Al turned him around and caught him up in his own, “Still, this one’s smarter than that one–smart enough to be scared,” Al said, sniffing the air, “though doesn’t smell like you could hold it in, eh?”

“Please…please don’t eat me,” Kent managed to stutter out.

“Aww, but you’d be so delicious,” Al said, grinning, “Yer gonna have tah give me some good reason not tah–show ya can be useful…” The hand on Kent’s shoulder pushed him down, and his knees buckled, bringing him face to face with Al’s thick, scaly cock and full balls. He didn’t want to, but what choice did he have? He tentatively took the head of the gatorman’s cock in his mouth, and was caught off guard when Al wrapped a hand around the back of his head and drove it down his throat. Kent tried to pry himself off, but he was no match for the gator’s raw power, and a moment later, he caught the bitter taste of piss as Al released. “Aw yeah, how about we have one son for the front, and one for the back?” Al said to Dylan, and the two gators laughed, as Kent struggled, trying to gag the piss back up. However, from the burn in his gut, he could tell that the piss he was taking in had a good amount of alcohol in it, and the only place that might have come from was…

“Here, this might help him along too,” Dylan said, getting up off Howie’s face, grabbing the jug and sticking his cock in the neck, filling the half empty container back up with his piss. Al pulled his cock out of Kent’s throat, and he doubled over, sick to his stomach.

“Hey boy,” Al said, and Kent looked up at the big gator looming over him, but for some reason, the big gator wasn’t staying still, as his vision kept spinning. “Here, I bet you’re real thirsty, aren’t you? Yeah, this’ll help ya become a big man like me and yer Uncle Dylan, drink up.”

He felt so weak. He knew he shouldn’t drink it, that he should fight back, but when Al helped him up and Dylan put the jug up to his lips, he started drinking anyway, both of the gators giving him plenty of encouragement, telling him how much he loved drinking piss, how much he loved pleasing his family and didn’t want to disappoint them. Soon Kent had drained the jug, his face already starting to reshape, and he licked his lips, before Al shoved his cock back down Kent’s throat, face fucking him while Howie crawled over and resumed licking Dylan’s ass.

“Nah son,” Dylan said, pulling Howie back, “I got somethin’ else fer ya to do. All that hole lickin’ has got me all excited–how about ya fuck daddy’s hole like a real man?” Dylan sat on the couch, his legs up and tail down, giving Howie permission to ram his rock hard cock up his new daddy’s ass. “Aw yeah, that’s it son, how’s it feel tah have yer cock up yer daddy’s hole?”

“Feels…feels great daddy, oh fuck…” Howie moaned, driving his cock in deeper.

“Ha, look at those two go, son–” Al said, but Kent couldn’t see anything beyond the underside of his own daddy’s gut. “Aw yeah, just lookin’ at those two fuck–can’t fuckin’ hold it–” He pulled his cock out of his son’s maw and with a couple of strokes shot his load all over Kent’s face, before getting down and licking it off with his slimy tongue, Kent groaning as his bones shifted and grew, his skin turning scaly and a deep green just like his daddy’s.

“Yeah, that’s it son!” Dylan growled, “Shoot yer fuckin’ load deep in yer daddy’s hole!”

Howie , snorting and grunting, slammed his cock in deeper and deeper, before unleashing his own load up Dylan’s ass. Kent looked at Howie and couldn’t really recognize him anymore–his goofy demeanor was replaced by–this hunger, and licking his lips, Howie got down on his knees and started licking Dylan’s ass, felching his own cum from the loose hole.

“Yeah son, you like watching your big cousin go to town on your uncle like that, don’t you?” Al said, and Kent looked up at his Pa, finding himself enraptured with those gold iris once more.

“No, please…please don’t do this.”

“Oh, don’t be such a fucking weakling–be more like your cousin! In fact, since he’s a few years older than you, I suppose you probably do everything he says. Yeah, you’re gonna be the baby of the family I think–hell, you can’t even control your own piss.” With a groan, Kent felt something shoot out of his cock, and it was so pleasurable he thought it was an orgasm at first, but the stench of urine hit his nostrils a second later, and he realized he’d pissed uncontrollably for the second time that evening. “Oh, what a naughty fuckin’ gator–get down there and clean up your mess, son.”

Humiliated, Kent got down and started lapping up his own piss, but it tasted so good he didn’t really complain. Besides, his Pa was right, he was the baby of the family, not that he minded. It meant he got fucked more than anyone else, and he did love getting fucked…right? Some other voice was telling him to resist, but it was slowly being devoured alive by his new instincts. Family came first, and he needed to obey his family if he wanted to grow up big and strong like Pa, Unc and Howie.

Howie finished cleaning his own Pa’s hole out, and stood up, strutting over to where Kent was on his hands and knees, and started pissing on him, Dylan joining his son a moment later, the two sharing a kiss while the soaked him down. It was too much for Kent, who felt his cock unload again–this time a wad of gator cum into the puddle of piss growing underneath him, which he happily lapped up as well, his head dimming as thinking became more and more difficult. When he sat back a few minutes later, the floor clean, he was just another gator–a bit smaller than chubbier than the rest of his family, and let out a loud, satisfied belch.

“Well boys, that was damn hot, but it’s a bit too late for boy’s like you to be up. Besides, I think you’re daddies need some alone time,” Al said, groping his brother’s ass. “Why don’t the two of you bunk up together in the bedroom tonight? We’re gonna have to expand the house again, dang it.”

Kent and Howie headed into the large bedroom, and before Kent knew what was happening, Howie had him bent over the side of the bed and was shoving his tongue deep into his asshole. He shivered, and couldn’t resist pushing back, eager for his big cousin to fuck him with his big cock. Still, doubts lingered, but he could already tell they would be gone by morning. Besides, he was so happy here, with his family. The swamp was his home–and he never wanted to leave.

The Family Farm

I’ve gotten many requests to expand this photo caption from several months ago, so I figured it might be a good way to get these Fridays started.

WARNING: Contains graphic depictions of incest, raunch and incontinence and scat. Don’t like it? Don’t fucking read it, and if you do read it, please don’t be a whiny bitch.

***

Grumbling a bit, Peter stepped out of the shower and towelled off, wishing he could just get his son and get going. He hated staying here, out on the family farm with his big brother–Louie. Well, that wasn’t entirely true–he didn’t mind the farm too much, it was really Louie he couldn’t stand. He didn’t know what had happened to make the two of them grow up so differently, they’d both had the normal suburban childhood, but something had made Louie fall in love with the country, and convinced him to move out and stay with their great uncle on the farm when Peter went off to college, and farm life had made his brother unrecognizable. Still, to each his own Peter supposed.

Peter had come out to the farm in late august to pick up his son, Sam, who had spent the summer here, living with his uncle. He was going through a bit of a rough patch, getting into trouble with alcohol and drugs, doing poorly at his first year of college. Peter had made a summer at Uncle Louie’s farm a requirement, if Sam wanted Peter to keep paying the tuition bills, and he’d hoped a summer of hard labor away from the city would help set his son back on the straight and narrow. Still, things hadn’t gone all that smoothly since he’d arrived a few hours ago. Hell, he hadn’t even seen his son yet–Louie and he had been on their way to the barn where he was working, when Louie had stumbled into Peter, knocking him over into a massive mud puddle. Louie had insisted that they head back to the house, get Peter’s clothes off him so they could go in the wash, let him shower, and he could wear something else in the meantime.

Peter hung up the towel, thankful that at least the house had been updated a bit from his memory. Running water was a nice change–he’d always hated having to get it from the well out back when he visited as a kid. He went into the bedroom and saw that Louie had already picked up all of his clothes to be washed–including his underwear–and left a set of his own, a flannel shirt, a pair of overalls, and some rubber boots–nothing else.

Peter rolled his eyes, and figured his brother must have forgotten what more civilized people wore. Still, it wasn’t like he needed to keep himself up for anyone, living out here all alone. If anything, he’d gone even more hick than when Peter had last seen him years ago. Louie was a big man–several inches over six feet tall, and thick, that mix of fat and muscle Peter only saw on powerlifters and farmhands with an appetite. He was hairy as fuck too, and Peter had no idea where he’d gotten it. Neither Peter nor their father could grow a beard to save their lives, but Louie’s was down to his chest, and very full and wiry. Still, Peter figured he didn’t have much choice, and so he pulled on the clothes Louie had laid out, finding them way too big for his slender frame, but thankful that they were at least clean, and headed downstairs, to find his brother out on the porch, drinking some strong smelling alcohol from a mason jar.

“There ya are, nice and clean,” Louie said, smiling, “Again, sorry ‘bout pushin’ ya earlier, I musta tripped over mah own feet.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Peter said, “So, is Sam back yet?”

“Nah, I guess he’s still dungin’ out the barn, though he’s probably almost done. Why don’t we head over there again? I promise not tah fall intah ya this time.”

Peter nodded, and the two of them set off again, making it to the barn without incident, and stepped inside. It stank–bad, and Peter did his best not to breathe through his nose, but Louie stepped up next to him, took in a deep breath and sighed, “Damn I love the smell of a barn, don’t you, little bro? Go on, take it in, ain’t nothin’ like it.”

Peter wasn’t about to do that, but surprised himself when he took a deep inhale, nearly gagging when he did, Louie pounding him on the back when he doubled over.

“Aw, don’t sweat it–you’ll get used tah it, trust me. Come on, Sam oughta be over here.” Peter followed his big brother past the various stalls and the animals there, until they came to one, and Peter initially thought it was a pig, naked on all fours, it’s head stuffed in a trough. “Here he is, Sam sure does love life on the farm–in fact, I don’t think he wants tah leave, do ya Sam?”

The pig looked up at the sound of the Louie saying his name, and Peter’s jaw dropped–it wasn’t a pig at all–it was his son. His son was naked, on his hands and knees in the barn stall, face covered with slop, his body covered with filth, and with an approving snort towards Louie, Sam went back to cleaning out his trough. Peter saw that his son was no longer slender like his father–but fat. Just…fat, well over 500 pounds, his belly actually brushing the straw on the ground. It was disgusting, and he looked over at Louie, only to find his brother lustily staring at his fat, filthy nephew, massaging his cock through his overalls.

“What the fuck Louie? What the fuck did you do to him?” Peter said, fear and anger shaking his body.

“Well, ya told me Sam was having trouble at home and school, so I took care of it,” Louie said, walking over and patting Sam on the back, “I gave him a new home here, with his uncle out in the barn, and he’s too stupid for school now, so no worries there. Trust me, he’s gonna be real happy here, and I have a good feeling that yer gonna be happy here too.” Peter didn’t know what Louie meant by that, but he wasn’t about to find out. He backed up a few steps, shaking his head, but Louie said, “Stop moving,” and Peter’s feet rooted to the ground where he stood.

“What…what the fuck?” Peter said, trying to move.

“You can fight all you want, it won’t work. Goodness, I sure fought it when Great Uncle Mick dressed me up in them, and Sam fought it too, trust me, but we all give in eventually. You’ll love it soon enough, bro, just trust me,” Louie said, walking over, standing close enough for Peter to smell his filthy musk, “Now kiss me bro, while that fat pig boy a yers finishes his dinner.”

Peter couldn’t fight it, and he kissed his brother, his stomach churning in disgust as it happened, keeping his eyes closed, but he could still feel Louie’s beard scraping across his face, his hard cock grinding against his own, hear Sam devouring his slop and licking the metal clean. Louie pulled away after a couple of minutes when he heard Sam finish up, and walked back over to the pig. “Please Louie, please don’t do this.”

“Oh fuck you, Peter–you’ve had this coming, thinkin’ yer so high ‘n mighty. But we belong on the farm man, this is where the family oughta be. Ya gotta let loose, give up some control. Yer way too high strung. Here, git over here ‘n fuck this pig’s ass–that’ll loosen ya up–he’s got a great hole this one, nice ‘n tight,” Louie said, and slapped Sam’s ass cheek, the pig giving a grunt of approval.

“No, no I’m not going to do this, I’m not…”

Peter took a few steps forward, his hand reaching down and unzipping the fly of his overalls.

“I’m not going to fuck my son, God damn it Louie! Louie, fucking quit it!”

His cock was hard, why in the fuck was his cock hard…and…and dripping?

“Please, please Louie, don’t make me, don’t do this…come on!”

He was there now, he could smell his son’s filthy body, see the shit caked in his ass crack. He spread the cheeks apart, his cock so damn hard, and started working it into Sam’s asshole.

“Louie! Louie, please! Don’t do this, this is so fucking wrong!”

He was fucking his son. He was fucking his fat son’s hole, driving his cock in, and it felt…so damn good. It was tight, tighter than his wife’s pussy, so damn tight.

“Yeah, that’s it little bro,” Louie said, his own cock out of his overalls, “It feels good fucking yer boy, don’t it? Yer big fat piggy son? Yer damn proud a him, ain’t ya? Isn’t he a good lookin’ pig? Ain’t his ass nice and tight, like ya want?”

Peter shuddered, listening to his big brother’s words. His mouth was so dry, he couldn’t say anything, couldn’t fight it, it felt so good.

“Ya’ve always wanted this, just let go, quit holdin’ it in, relax. Just relax, and let it all out. Trust me Peter, it’ll feel so good to just relax…”

Peter gave another shudder, and it felt like the only thing in his body with any stiffness was his cock, and then he felt it. He felt himself shit right into the back of the overalls, and then he smelled it. “Oh fuck, oh fuck I didn’t, oh fuck…”

Louie could smell it, and the grin on his face scared Peter to death, as his brother reached around and felt the load of shit in the seat of his brother’s overalls. “Oh yeah, that’s the ticket–I didn’t know ya were intah the real nasty shit bro,” Louie said, “Yer a man after mah own heart.” He leaned in and started kissing his brother, kneading the shit around in the back of Peter’s overalls as he fucked his fat son. “Yeah, now cum bro, blow that load up yer son’s filthy hole.”

Peter let out a loud groan as he came, filling his son’s ass, disgusted with himself, and yet…it was turning him on. He tried to fight it, but the clothes were too strong. They were changing him–Louie was changing him, and there was nothing he could do about it.

“Damn bro, that was so fuckin’ hot–get down there ‘n suck off yer big brother. I have a feelin’ the three of us are gonna be one big happy family from now on.”

It was hours later when Louie and Peter tromped back to the house. It was already past dusk, and they could barely see where they were going in the near dark. Peter stumbled inside after Louie, humiliated, disgusted with himself, and yet hornier than ever. He’d lost track of how many times Louie had made him cum–with his face buried in Sam’s filthy ass crack, with Louie’s cock crammed up his own shitty hole, while he was wallowing in Louie’s piss after he’d set his own uncontrollably, and he wanted more, oh fuck if he didn’t want more of everything. Still, he was hungry more than anything, but Louie wouldn’t feed him until he’d made the call.

He walked over to the phone and dialed his home number.

“Hello?“

“Hey Trish.”

“Oh hey Peter, what’s up? Why aren’t you home yet?”

“Well, Sam’s really enjoying himself here, actually. It’s been a real change for the better.”

“Really? Oh thank god, that’s great.”

“Yeah, he actually wants to stay for another…another week. And I forgot how peaceful it is out here, so I’m gonna stay here with him.”

“Oh, well alright. Tell Louie I said hi.”

“I will…Love…Love you…”

“I love you too.”

“Bye…” Peter said, and hung up the phone, licking his lips. Louie was already naked, sitting on the homemade rim seat, and Peter got down and crawled underneath, licking at his brother’s hole, his stomach growling, wishing he hadn’t had to tell those two lies. Truth was, he didn’t think he and Sam would be staying for just another week–he had a feeling it was going to be a much longer stay than that. And he also didn’t really love his wife, not any more, not like he loved his family. Family was the most important. Family was where he and his son really belonged.

Continued from here.

Yeah, the trucker was a bit ridiculous, with that ratty “Bubba” hat he wore all the time–even to bed, and his deep southern drawl, but he’d seemed nice enough to Jimmy, and considering they were both headed the same way, he figured it couldn’t hurt to ride with him for as long as the big redneck might have him. However, after a couple of days on the road together, he’d found the trucker was…well, bonding a little too close for his comfort. Sure, Jimmy was a nice guy, but he sure as hell wasn’t a fag, and even if he had been, “Bubba” sure as hell wasn’t his type. Still, they were close to his destination–one more night of unrequited love could be tolerated, right?

He shouldn’t have gotten drunk–that was his first mistake. He’d woken up from a way-too-many black out to find himself tied up in the sleeper cab of the truck, which was parked in the corner of some rarely traveled rest stop. Bubba was up front, saw that he was awake, and grinned. “Good–yer up,” he said, “God damn, I forgot how lonely it gits out on the road, though I’ve been thinkin’ that ya might be just the solution, eh farm boy?” he said, holding up a baseball cap with those words embroidered on it, and putting it on Jimmy’s head.

The effect was immediate. One moment, he was looking at his normal body, and the next, he was someone entirely different–a bit shorter, much stockier and chubby, with a good amount of body hair, wearing a flannel shirt with the arms ripped off, and mud caked jeans. “What the fuck ya do tah me?” he shouted, unprepared for the drawl that came out unbidden.

Bubba just laughed, and then started kneading Jimmy’s body, tweaking his nipples, and unable to help it, Jimmy let out a moan, and his cock hardened against the dirty denim. Bubba edged him for hours–all day and long into the night, talking to him almost constantly, telling him about how he was going to be his boy, his cub, his lover.

The hat was doing something to his mind, he realized. It was becoming harder to separate out what was real from what wasn’t. His mind was dulling, and he realized that now, he hadn’t even graduated high school, working full time on his family’s farm instead. Now though, he rode around with Bubba, his daddy, trucking across the states–but that couldn’t be right, could it?

It was right enough–Farm Boy, even dumber than Bubba was, wasn’t equipped to challenge the hat, or Bubba’s indoctrination. By morning, he was just a dumb, horny bottom cub, just what Bubba had always wanted.

I have to admit, I was suspicious of them when they rode up to give me an estimate on the renovations, but with their backfiring pickup and grungy clothes, who wouldn’t be a little suspicious. Still, they convinced me to hear them out, and when they sounded like they knew what they were doing, and quoted me a price lower than everyone else I’d talked to…something convinced me to go with them, even if my better judgement told me not to trust them.

Granted, it took a lot of trust, those first few months, and I was more than hesitant–hell, most of the time, I was outright hostile. When they insisted that I let them sleep in the house, when they told me that part of the contract was to cook them meals–naked–I was pretty angry, but I trusted them, and it paid off.

Their house is beautiful, and they even built me a place of my own in the backyard. Yeah, that’s me, down in the corner. Sure, I know you only see a dog–because that’s what they want you to see. My master’s–just trust them, and it’ll all be alright. It worked out for me, after all–what’s the worst thing they could do to you?

Source: constructionguys