No…No this can’t be happening, it can’t. I mean, I sure as hell didn’t take the curse all that seriously, sure. I mean, those fucking “witches” and shit, it was just a bunch of fat goth girls trying to inflate their egos, and when Gina, the ringleader of the bunch, had told me they cast a spell on me, I almost laughed. So what if I had raped one of the bitches in their little coven? When she told me that I would spend my the rest of my life with the next person I slept with, I made a mental note to make sure it was a good one, and got on with the rest of my life.

Well, a few days later, I got drunk—really drunk. Blackout drunk, and now this. “Damn boy, ya sure are a fine lay, how ‘bout ya climb back in here ‘n take care a yer daddy’s mornin’ wood?” the fat redneck said, pulling out his cock from his pajamas. Worse, I wanted to tell him to fuck off and leave, but, well, I couldn’t. “Sure thing daddy,” I said instead, climbed in bed, and sucked off his not very clean cock, and all I could think about was what Gina had said as I scoffed and walked off that day.

“You might also want to know that when you wake up, you’ll be transformed into their ideal partner, so be careful what you sleep with.”

There was a mirror in the bedroom, and I almost didn’t dare look at myself. Young, obese, hairy, goatee—the perfect redneck cub for my daddy…yeah, daddy’s cock tastes so good, god I love all the cheese under his fuckin’ foreskin. Gonna beg ‘em tah fuck mah hole later, breed me real good, aw yeah, life is gonna be real good from here on out, I can already tell…

Source: bonethat

When I told my dad to “Man up,” during an argument we had a while back, I hadn’t expected the universe to take my insult quite so literally. Every day after that though, there was some small change to him, at first nearly imperceptible, but now…well, things are getting extreme–the smoking, the southern accent, the pickup truck.

Worse, I…I think it’s rubbing off on me. My clothes changed along with his a few weeks ago, my Hollister and A&F replaced by flannel, second hand jeans and muddy work boots. I’ve picked up his accent, and when he started smoking cigars, well, I got pulled into that habit too. I’ve tried to tell him what’s happening, but it’s like he doesn’t even notice it. Still we’ve been fighting a lot less, and we’ve become a lot closer, but that’s worrying me too.

I don’t know what changed today, but he keeps…looking at me in the strangest way. Mom disappeared a few days ago, leaving us alone, but that stare…makes my cock jump, and I…I want him, and…I want him to want me too, how fucked up is that? And I’m worried that when he gets home from the construction site tonight, and after we’ve had a few beers and cigars on the couch, he’s going to want my ass…and I don’t think I’m going to be able to say no.

Here’s a picture a me wit’ mah latest trespasser. He came up mah drive one night, tellin’ me his car broke down on the road, but I knew what he was, really. Another one a ‘em spies, sent by the guvment, just like the rest. Sure, it took a few days, but I beat the truth out. He says he a real sorry–the fuckin’ liar. He don’t know what it means tah be sorry, but I’ll learn him here soon enough.

I’ve been thinking ’bout the fact that I could use a fancy garbage disposal, somethin’ tah make mah food scraps intah compost faster. Think I’ll hook the spy up tah the sink, work a drain down his throat intah his belly, ‘n he can take care a that fer me. It’ll be tough gettin’ him tah fit under the sink–but a garbage disposal don’t need arms ‘r legs, right? Think I’ll get a couple more fucks outa him ‘fore convertin’ him though. He’s got a real tight ass, that one. Maybe I’ll make ’em a fuckhole instead, ‘n then move ’em intah the kitchen when his ass is good ‘n loose. Sounds like a plan tah me!

“It’s fer yer own good,” they’d told Sheriff Brady when he’d asked about what was inside the trailer.

“Well that’s fine boys, but I still have to know what’s in there.”

Kit and Rudy looked at each other, said nothing and shrugged their shoulders, looking a bit defeated, and so the Sheriff left, only to return that evening with a search warrant. The two protested and urged him not to go in, but they eventually stepped to the side and the sheriff entered the trailer.

He was in there for hours, and when he finally stumbled out, bleary eyed, it wasn’t the same man who’d stepped in. His uniform was gone, replaced by a pair of nearly destroyed jeans and a belt like the other two, a massive gut heaving over the waistline covered in grey hair. He was smoking a cigar, his hair had grown out into a messy, greasy skullet and he now had a long goatee braided down to his chest.

“It git ya then?”

“Yep.”

“Tried tah warn ya.”

“Ah know.”

“Ya need a fuck?”

“Damn straight–This hole a mine is just itchin’ fer a cock.”

Source: rednecksandrebels

Releasing the Pig

Thanks again to the awesome guy who adopted this story! Also, commissions are still open for anyone looking for a personalized story of their own this holiday.

***

Dean looked at the post again, unable to believe he was actually thinking about doing this. Once again, he told himself that guys like him weren’t supposed to think about stuff like this. He was young, hot, popular–he should just be out partying, finding girls and fucking the daylights out of them, and sure, he’d done his fair share of all that.

But Dean was bi–not that he dared tell anyone ever. He’d hooked up with a few guys anonymously, doing his best to shield his identity, but the vanilla stuff was never enough for him–he wanted something else. Something a bit kinkier. He’d stumbled on the websites by accident at first–BDSM forums, collections of bondage photos, blogs about gear and techniques. All of it turned him on way more than any girl he’d ever met, and while he’d always hoped the desires would fade over time, they never did. Eventually, he’d decided that if he just tried it out once, then maybe his curiosity would be satisfied and he could get on with his life, but making that first step was difficult. He’d chatted with a few guys, but could never work up the courage to actually meet up, but now…

The post went up a few days ago, and ever since Dean had seen it, he hadn’t been able to avoid thinking about it. The poster, named Free_ThePig had posted an ad on a forum Dean frequented looking for hookups, and the post had seemed tailor-made for Dean’s predicament. Not only was he in his area, he was specifically looking for guys new to the bondage scene, promising that he would take a novice and turn them into a bondage veteran in just one night long session. However, what turned Dean on even more was the picture Free_ThePig had posted with the ad.

It was a picture ripped from Dean’s fantasies–an older daddy wrapping him up in leather, dominating him and leaving him hard in a position of total submission. He’d lost count of how many times he’d shot his load looking at the ad and picture. Still, it was starting to feel like he would never have to guts to actually follow up on the post, but he couldn’t live with this split persona anymore. He wouldn’t be able to take it for much longer, and he had to get on with his life. This would be his best chance to get it out of his system, so he sent the guy a private message, telling him he might be interested in meeting. Dean had expected at least a short conversation about what to expect, but all he’d gotten in return was an address, a date, and a time–a few days away–and that was all.

He replied, asking for details but got nothing. He told himself he wouldn’t go many, many times over the next few days. Then he looked up the address, but only because he was curious. He cancelled the plans he’d already made for the night, telling himself he was too tired to party, and then finally came clean with himself. Who was he kidding, he was going to go–he’d always planned on going, so he dressed simply–in jeans and a T-shirt–got in his car and swallowing his fear, drove out of town. The address which had been sent to him was quite a ways out of town, the suburbs slowly giving way to farms and vineyards, and when he pulled into the driveway, he found himself on a winding gravel road leading to a old but well cared for farmhouse. It looked so innocent–he wondered if he’d gotten the address wrong. He kind of hoped he had–it would be easier that way, giving himself an excuse to back out gracefully. He went up, knocked on the door, and he heard some heavy steps coming to the door, and then there he was, the man from the picture, dressed in well worn blue jeans, a leather vest, cowboy hat and boots and nothing else. “Yer late. Git in here, pig.”

The curtness of the man’s comment threw Dean for a bit of a loop, and he didn’t know how to respond. This isn’t what he’d wanted–he’d wanted someone safe, someone who would respect his limits, and this man…he could already sense that there were no limits in there. He took a step back, trying to find some excuse caught in his throat, when the man, demonstrating no patience, grabbed the front of Dean’s shirt and yanked him inside, tearing the fabric in the process and almost tripping him on the front step. “What gives, man?” Dean said, unable to quell the tremor of fear, and was shocked with the man slapped him across the face and then pinned him up against the wall, staring Dean in the face. Getting this close to the man, it felt like he was staring down into Dean’s soul–and he really didn’t want to know what the man was looking for. He noticed that he was chewing something in his mouth, and when the man was satisfied, he turned to the side and spit a stream of dark spit onto the filthy, stained floor, and Dean’s stomach churned. What was he chewing? Tobacco? Did people even do that anymore?

“Look, I think this was a mistake, I’m just gonna go–”

“Don’ speak. Strip. Ya don’ git clothes tahnight, pig,” the man said, shutting the door behind them.

“I’m not…I’m not a pig. Look this was a mistake, just let me go, alright?”

The man said nothing–just walked up, grabbed the tear in Dean’s shirt and ripped it right down the front, before grabbing a knife and cutting off his pants as well. Naked, Dean realized he wasn’t going anywhere, not anymore, and the realization he was trapped here with a crazy redneck bear suddenly set in, as the man brandished the knife at him. “I wasn’t plannin’ on any pain play wit ya, pig, but if ya don’ shape the fuck up, yer gonna go home bleedin’. That what ya want? Cause I can do that–ya’d look hot wit a few scars…” He said, stepping closer with the knife, and backing Dean into a corner. “So tell me–that what ya want?”

“N–No…”

“No what?” he said, pushing the knife up against Dean’s skin, making him flinch.

“No! No…Sir…” Dean whimpered. Looking down at the knife in terror…and also seeing his cock. His hard cock. He blushed, suddenly ashamed that this terror had him so horny. This shouldn’t be affecting him like this–breathing heavily, he noticed a scent on the air, something earthy and a bit dank, but as soon as he’d thought he’d noticed it, it was gone.

“Not the quickest learner, by a long shot,” the man said, mostly to himself. “Well, let’s git ya dressed like a real pig–that will do ya wonders. Follow me–head down. Say nothin’,” he said and walked off.

Dean glanced at the door, knowing he could get out–but then his feet were walking after the master. Why? Why was he doing this to himself? Curiosity? Lust? Something…something else? Still, he was walking into a small side room, decorated in wood and leather, where the bear hauled out some gear and started roughly dressing Dean in chaps, boots, fistmitts and a leather harness cinched tight against his chest. The smell was stronger in here, and the leather stank of it. Something about the smell was making his mind shift. He’d fantasized about something like this hundreds of times, and now that it was actually happening…maybe he should just let go, and enjoy himself. Revel in that side he’d never given himself permission to explore or experience. Without noticing, he gave a quiet snort, something which could have easily been mistaken for a sniffle or a sneeze, but the man–the Master–smiled slightly.

“Now,” the master said, “Here are the rules fer the evenin’. It’s obvious yer new tah this–I don’t care that ya are. Yer gonna to learn as we go, pig. Tonight, ya ain’t human. Tonight, yer a slave, a pig, somethin’ fer mah amusement and pleasure. Yer desires don’ matter. Ya do what I say, when I say it, no matter what. Ya understand, pig?”

“Yes…Yes sir.”

“Good–then let’s git started. First things first, let’s get ya restrained–can’t have a pig roamin’ round like a person now, can we?” the Master said, and quicker than Dean imagined, he’d hauled out a selection of leather bands and straps, and started binding together his limbs, arms strapped to his chest, legs bound together, and then he shoved Dean down onto his knees. The smell was stronger now, Dean taking in great, snorting, inhales through his nose, not even caring about the grunts he was making. He was right at the level of the Master’s cock, and he could see the outline of it in his jeans. He was hungry for it, so hungry.

“please sir, *grunt* can I suck it sir? Please?” he begged, but all he got was another slap to the face.

“Bad pig! What did I tell ya bout speaking? Gonna have tah fix that…” he said, and pulled a tin of Copenhagen out of his back pocket. He pulled out a big wad of tobacco with one hand, forced open Dean’s mouth with the other, and packed it in, following it up with a gag. “That’ll keep ya quieter, I bet.”

Dean started to whine, begging the master with his eyes to take it out, but the Master grabbed a hood and pulled it down over his head, cinching it tight, before shoving him down onto his face. “I think ya need some alone time tah think bout how yer gonna to be a good pig ‘n follow the rules. I’ll be back. If I hear any noise from this room, or find ya’ve moved an inch there’ll be fuckin’ hell tah pay, git it, pig?”

The Master didn’t wait for an answer, nor did he want one, nor could Dean make much noise at all with his face stuffed with tobacco. The door slammed shut, leaving him alone in the small room, the scent overwhelming him now, his cock hard as a rock against the leather. What was happening to him? Why was he doing this? Dean felt all of these desires and fantasies welling up inside of him, but it was more than that–deeper down in himself, like a second side of himself he’d never dared express which was forcing its way to the surface. He tried to tell himself it was harmless play, that come morning everything would be back to normal, but he sensed something changing, but also he felt just the same as ever. The darkness was unsettling, the inability to move terrifying, and yet, he also felt safer and more secure than ever before. The rush of the tobacco was surprising, even if it tasted foul. He quickly discovered that he couldn’t spit through the gag, so he swallowed the spit down. It was disgusting, but he didn’t mind it before long. He was happy to be of use, really. He could…he could be his master’s spittoon, maybe…yeah, that would be hot…wouldn’t it? He knew he should try to keep control of himself, but it was like the world had shrunk down around him. Even the small room around him no longer existed. It was just him, waiting. Waiting for the bear, for his master, to return and give Dean a chance to serve him, it was like nothing else mattered in the universe, like there was nothing else in the universe, even.

He heard the door open and the man say, “All right pig, how’re ya doin’? Ya’ve been marinatin’ in there fer a few hours–havin’ fun?” Hours? How could it have been hours? It felt like minutes, seconds, like nothing at all. He felt the master pull the gag free of his mouth, “Go on, git rid a that tobacco–I ain’t gonna make ya swallow the leaf jus’ yet.”

Dean was thankful for that kindness at least, and he pushed the tobacco from his mouth into the empty space in front of him. His first instinct was to speak–to thank him for coming back, for giving this pig another chance to serve him properly, but he checked himself. That would be against the rules–so he kept quiet, aside from a little whine of need. He did need…something. Needed to serve? To obey?

Good pig, I can tell yer learnin’. Now, tell me–ya wanna suck mah cock?”

“Oh…Oh yes sir, please. Please let me suck it, I’ll do a–” Dean said, begging, but the master slapped him across the face, silencing him.

“Trick question, bitch. I don’t give a fuck whether you want to suck my cock. I don’t give a shit about you. Period. You don’t tell me what you want. You should only care about what I want. So, how should you have answered that question, pig?”

Dean thought for a moment, in the dark of the hood, his mouth tingling from the tobacco, now hungry for Master’s cock. Where was it? Dean imagined it inches from his mouth, hard and dripping, ready to thrust in as soon as he said the right words. He leaned forward, desperate to taste it, but there was nothing, just empty air. What was he supposed to say? He whimpered a bit, thinking harder. He wanted the cock so bad…but that didn’t matter. He didn’t matter, not anymore. He…Master mattered. Dean was nothing. He was a pig, just an animal to be used for Master’s pleasure, if Master wanted to. “I…no, it…it doesn’t matter if I want to suck your cock, sir. Would…would you please fuck this pig’s face sir? I mean…I mean, only if–if you want, sir…”

“Fucking pitiful. Still, I do wanna piece a that pig mouth a yers,” the bear said, the derision obvious, but a moment later Dean got exactly what he wanted–a mouthful of his Master’s thick cock. He gagged, because even though he’d wanted it, the hood rendered it impossible to anticipate the thrust, and the Master was brutal, slamming it deep down Dean’s throat without any consideration for the pig’s comfort. He didn’t deserve any consideration after all and…was that turning him on? Dean realized, with some embarrassment, that it was. This base treatment, this was what he’d deserved all along, what he’d always…wanted? No, that couldn’t be right, he’d wanted more. He’d just been a little curious, this was going too far, and yet…his cock was so hard. It was hard, and he could even feel it getting close to orgasm, but he clamped down on that, knowing he didn’t want to cum without Master’s explicit permission. How mortifying–a pig like him cumming before his Master? He’d rather die.

The master’s facefuck continued, the intensity neither increasing nor decreasing. It reminded Dean of masturbation–he was nothing more than a tool for Master to get off into, not someone to please. He came without warning, just shoving it down Dean’s throat and pumping his cum right into his belly, Dean grunting and snorting in appreciation, thankful that he was at least worthy of being his Master’s cum dump. Master, breathing a bit heavy, pulled off Dean’s hood, letting him look up and him and down at himself…and Dean realized something was different.

Dean looked down at his hairy chest, his body bulging slightly with muscle and while he knew something was strange…he simply couldn’t figure out why. His body looked so wrong, and yet it felt comfortable. He was distracted from his self inspection by the Master coming close, bringing his own naked body near the pig’s face, Dean leaning in and snorting up as much of the older man’s musk as he could, the smell so familiar and exquisite. He started lapping at his abs, and seeing the Pig’s eagerness, the Master turned around and bent over, the bound pig digging his way into the bear’s ass, grunting and thrusting his tongue as deep as possible without any suggestion at all. Dean wanted to please him so much…and yet, something kept holding him back, keeping him from going deeper. Master stood back up after a few moments and turned around, looking at the bound up pig, but Dean wasn’t noticing. He’d fallen onto his stomach and was licking his master’s cowboy boots clean, relishing the taste of leather with the aftertaste of tobacco in his mouth.

“Hmm..good progress, but not great. I think someone needs better gear–I know ya can go further than this. Really unleash that pig inside you. Follow me,” the master said, undoing the straps binding Dean’s arms and legs. “We’re going down to the real dungeon.”

Dean didn’t even consider trying to get up on his feet, dutifully following on his hands and knees, carefully navigating the dark, narrow stairs down into Master’s basement. It was very dark–so dark he couldn’t even see how far the back the room went. For all he could tell, it might go on forever, an endless repetition of whatever erotic horrors Master could imagine…god that would be so hot. Caught up in the fantasy, Dean didn’t notice Master go over to another rack of bondage gear, pull down another hood and quickly yank it down over the pig’s head. This one was different–more like a mask. Dean could see, but his mouth was covered. More gear followed–including two strange contraptions on his nipples, making them feel like they were being sucked off his body, something strapped around his waist and between his legs, a dildo shoved up his ass without even the courtesy of lube forcing out an involuntary squeal, and a chastity device Master crudely shoved Dean’s semi-hard cock into, before padlocking it closed. Through all of this, Dean stood as still as he could, dimly aware of the shame he ought to feel at the treatment, but feeling only excitement. Master was dragging him even lower, reducing him in status, rendering him little more than an object, and always that smell. Inside the hood it was even stronger, so strong Dean couldn’t help but notice it. The final addition was something heavy and metallic draped around his neck, cinched tight and then clipped closed–a chain collar, he realised, and then there was a tug, and Master pulled him deeper into the darkness, Dean heeling obediently on all fours. They stopped after a short walk, and with a click, the harsh fluorescents in the ceiling flickered to life, forcing Dean to squint, but he could make out something in front of him…some figure– a real pig, a real boar in Master’s basement. Dean was confused what was Master doing now?

His eyes adjusted slowly, and he realized it wasn’t a real boar, it was his reflection. The mask he now wore was a flesh toned pig face, one of the most realistic he’d ever seen, more than adequate to fool a passive observer, and Dean crawled forward, captivated, turning to the side to see the rest of him, see his captive cock, the curly pig tail strapped on right above his fill asshole, the thick metal collar around his neck. The lights were anything but kind–it was ugly, it was something inhuman, something which would make a common person retch if they saw it coming towards them, and Dean realized that this…this thing had been inside him all along, that he’d been hiding it in him, and he wanted to put it back, bury it away, but he…he didn’t know if he could. He tried to look away, but Master yanked the leash around, forcing him to look.

“Damn yer ugly, ain’t ya? Disgustin’ fuckin’ pig,” Master said. “This is who ya are. This is how I see ya, how ya see yourself in those filthy fantasies a yers, ‘n now this is how everyone else is gonna see ya from now on. Ya know ya should hate it, ain’t that right? That ya should fear it. But ya don’t. I can see it in your eyes, ya know what ya should be thinkin’, what society has told ya tah think, but that’s not how ya really feel is it?” he paused for a moment, coming up behind the pig and kneading his ass, “To tell the truth, ya like it. Ya know yer ugly, but ya love it. You know yer just an animal, but ya revel in it. This is what ya are, ‘n what ya want. Let it out–cause it ain’t ever goin’ back in.”

Without ceremony, Master hauled out the dildo from the pig’s ass and replaced it with his cock, already recovered from the earlier blow job, and it started grunting and squealing with pleasure, it’s cock aching to harden inside it’s tight confines. It did want this. It didn’t want to go back to what it’d been, that simpering jock with the beautiful fake life, living a long string of lies. This was simple, this was pleasure for the sake of it’s betters, this is what it would be remade for. In the mirror, it could see it’s body changing again, it’s body bulking up with more muscle, the hair filling in, a few tattoos filling in on it’s shoulders. The bulk wasn’t beautiful–it was beastial. He was afraid still, though. He didn’t want to see what was happening under the hood, didn’t want to see it’s own face. Sensing it’s fear, Master hauled away the pig’s hood, showing it it’s own wild eyes, the nose and lips curled into sneers and it grunted and snorted beyond it’s own control. It was human…and yet…it had nothing human in it. Looking into it’s own feral eyes, the battle was finally lost. Dean disappeared–consumed by the pig inside him, who bucked back, no longer holding an ounce of will, begging without words to be seeded by it’s master, who didn’t disappoint. Master unloaded deep inside him, before replacing the dildo, sealing his essence inside the pig, who happily cleaned off his owner’s cock in thanks.

It was happy–so happy to finally be free. It had been trapped in that horrible boy for so long, only let out to play in his fantasies, but now the pig was free, and he owed it all to his one true master. The sheer love and devotion in his eyes told Master that the battle was over, and that it was time to finish the pig off. It fought a bit as he started removing the gear from the pig’s body, but he slapped it down, reminding it of it’s place. “Ya don’ have tah worry–the gear don’ matter, pig. Yer a pig with it or without it. Now hold still.” The fistmitts came off, the straps, the tail, nipple clamps and chastity device. the pig stood slowly, standing on two feet feeling supremely unnatural. It looked down it it’s body, seeing it’s puny cock and massive nipples, toying with them gently, amazed at their sensitivity.

The smell was still there, that musky, earthy scent, but now it knew the truth of it. It didn’t come from the house, or from the gear. It came from itself. It was it’s own scent, the scent of mud and filth and obedience at the feet of betters. It owned that now, taking a deep, snorting breath from it’s own pits, feeling it’s cock start to harden.

“That’s enough a that, pig,” Master said, “Follow.” Master went upstairs, into the rest of the house, the pig following behind, the surroundings, the mundanity of the farmhouse feeling inappropriate, like it was soiling the surfaces by merely coming close to them. The pig didn’t belong here, he belonged down in the basement, caged up, or outside, penned up in the mud. Why was Master bringing him up here? “Sit,” Master said, pulling out a chair at the kitchen table and the Pig didn’t budge. That was meant for people, not for something like itself. the Master sighed, seeing the pig’s reaction. He might have misjudged this one–he hadn’t seen a pig emerge this strong in a long while. He hoped it would still be capable of speaking, otherwise he’d have to find a very particular kind of home for it. “You have permission to speak. Can you still talk? Ya want some chaw?”

The confusion on the pig’s face grew deeper, but contorting it’s mouth, it could utter a few words. “Yes…sir. I speak, but…why? I serve, I no need…speak.” The voice was different than the confident voice of the jock who had come in, it was low, difficult to understand. However, when the master held out the tin of copenhagen, the pig didn’t hesitate, taking a thick wad and packing it’s lip, relaxing visibly.

“Well, listen then,” Master said, and then related his story. He was a trainer of sorts. He was a master of freeing bonds that held back the sexual beasts which resided in men, and then he released them back into the wild, to find master’s of their own. As Master spoke, fear started choking the pig. Master was going to force it to leave, was going to kick it out. He’d freed it, the Pig had devoted it’s life to him, and now…now, it had to leave? Find someone else to serve? He couldn’t, he wouldn’t!

“N–No!” the pig shouted out suddenly, before falling to it’s knees at Master’s feet, knowing it had to be punished for disobedience after speaking out of turn, but no slap came, and that was almost worse. He glanced up, seeing the shock on Master’s face, and decided it had better just speak it’s mind. “I…I stay. I here with you, sir. Please, sir. I…love sir. I no worthy, I know…but please, you has no…no pig. I be your pig, sir. Let me be yours, sir.”

The suddenness of the interjection caught Master off guard. The pigs were usually eager to leave and find master’s of their own, but this one…looking down at the kneeling pig, Master did feel a twinge of…something. He’d been releasing pigs for years, and yet something about this one was different. He wasn’t sure if it would be able to even survive if he threw it out the door into the world. No, that wasn’t it…the truth was that he liked this pig. It’s spunk, it’s eagerness, it’s holes. He’d long told himself that he couldn’t get attached, that this was just a job, but maybe…why couldn’t he have a pet of his own? The pig flinched when Master touched his face, expecting a slap, but the soft stroke both surprised and thrilled him. He looked up, seeing the softness in Master’s eyes, and felt hope.

“Alright…I guess if I’m gonna to keep ya, then ya need a name. How bout Spike? I think ya’d look pretty hot wit some metal studs comin’ out a that skull a yers.”

Spike didn’t care. He had a name–he had a master. He grunted and squealed with excitement. He’d found more than release here, he’d found a Master. His Master, the one he’d always wanted and needed, and he would serve him for the rest of his days, and be ever thankful for the opportunity.

July 11th 2012

The hormone supplements have produced stunning results in farmhand A in a single month, the most noticeable being the rapid muscle growth all over his body, and the bony protrusions on his temples, which I believe to be the beginning of horns. Unfortunately, there have been a number of personality changes as well, particularly increased aggression and libido. While his penis size has remained constant, his testicles have grown both in size and production, and he appears to have taken a liking to mating with the cows. Any attempts to stop the copulation are met with fierce resistance–this leads me to conclude that, regardless of the amazing physical results this test has yielded, the personality shift has rendered this particular blend unworkable. For the next month, I plan on using a slightly different formula, introducing some female hormones to promote docility and submissiveness without diminishing the physical growth.

***

August 13th 2012

I must conclude that this new mixture has been a success, even if some of the side effects are extreme and potentially untenable. The aggression previously exhibited has been greatly reduced, and is replaced by a obedience and submission which exceeded my expectations. However, the farmhand’s libido has not reduced, though he now appears to emit a pheromone attractive to bulls, leading the stud to mate him regularly in the field.

As strange as this might be, it is the new physical changes brought on by extended exposure which are more troubling. The farmhand has grown a fine pelt of fur, and the bony protrusions on his temples have extended into short horns. The addition of the feminine hormones have caused some fatty weight gain, though the farmhand’s musculature appears unaffected. Strangest of all are the farmhand’s genitals. He appears to have been rendered impotent–however, his testicles have grown even larger, each to the size of grapefruits, and they produce copious amounts of fluid, his penis functioning like a udder. Without a daily milking the farmhand appears to suffer great distress and pain. The fluid appears to be a mixture of milk and semen–and though hardly scientific, I tasted it, and found it to be quite delicious, high in protein, and naturally low in fat.

Regardless, I feel that further experimentation with farmhand A will yield little progress–it is, I believe, time to put him out to pasture. Since he has long since lost most of his human cognitive capacity, euthanasia would be simplest, but I’m ashamed to admit that I have grown fond of my daily protein shake, so I think I will keep him alive for now. In fact, I think I’ll go indulge right from the source right now. I always feel so pumped up after a good, long drink…though my temples are starting to itch. I’m sure it’s nothing though. Still, I’ll have to acquire a new farmhand for further testing when I go into town tomorrow. A breakthrough is close at hand, I can almost taste it.

Source: Flickr / phaenon

Halloween at Pigtown #2

Warning: this story contains scat and incest.

On his way home from work, on Halloween night, Robert found himself in a neighborhood he had never been in before. He had been spacing out, thinking about the new account he was managing, when he noticed that he had turned off the freeway at some point and was now driving through downtown, or more likely, through the warehouse district. Even stranger, even though he had noticed what was going on, he still couldn’t bring himself to turn around; it was like his body had decided to go somewhere, and his mind had no idea what it was doing. Before long, he parked his expensive Audi next to a meter, climbed out, and started walking towards a large crowd surrounding a bar he didn’t recognize. Soon, he saw in neon lights the words Pigtown, and remembered the invitation he had received in the mail not too long ago.
It had been an invite to a Halloween party, but after some research, Robert had discovered it was a seedy looking gay bar downtown, and had thrown it away. He had a wife and two kids; there was no way he was gay, he told himself everyday, as he oogled his young male secretary at work. Having been raised in a very conservative Catholic home, Robert had long sense suppressed his homosexuality, instead committing himself to an unhappy marriage, and a constant rage which he took out on his inferiors at work. He was not a happy person, though he tried to tell himself otherwise. However, the fact that he was being drawn to this place beyond his control terrified him more than anything. He thought he was going insane, that the desires he had buried so long were no going to explode out of him uncontrollably.
As he stepped into the parking lot however, the feeling stopped, and he was in control of his body once again. There was a large line waiting to get into the club, but Robert decided it would be best to just walk away before anyone saw him. Still, there was some part of him which told him he should go in there, but that was the voice of sin speaking, which he had blocked out for too long to succumb to now. Still, they made him hesitate for long enough that someone at the doorway saw him, and walked over. He was a large, muscular man with a full beard and short cropped hair. He was dressed all in black, the cloth catching and reflecting no light at all. “Why Mr. Barrett, I’m so happy to see that you got our invitation. Are you coming to the party?”
Robert wanted to say no more than anything, but the compulsion arose again, and pulled the invitation he swore he had thrown away from his pocket, “I sure am. I even have my invitation right here,” he said, and followed the man past the line, through the doorway, and into the club. Again, he asked himself what he was doing, but was powerless to stop himself from waiting while the man rustled through a pile of clothing, and pulled out some old, worn denim, socks, boots, and a hat, and handed them to Robert, who just stared at the stuff in his arms.
“What, you expect me to wear this?” he said, his personality reasserting itself.
“Think of it as a chance to try something new,” Rod said, and pointed him towards a dressing room, “Now go change.”
Robert tried to stop himself, but he couldn’t resist the direct order, and marched himself into the nearest dressing room. Still unable to control himself, he stripped out of his business wear, leaving them on the floor as they fell. Robert had thus far waged a rather unsuccessful fight with his family’s Italian genetics. In his middle age, he had filled out considerably, with a large gut and substantial ass. However, as he began investigating the pile of clothing before him, he saw that even at his size not even he would be able to fit into this stuff easily. Most of the pile was taken up by a pair of very large, and not very clean, overalls. Along with that was a sleeveless, gray T-shirt, though he couldn’t tell if it was the fabric itself was colored or if it was just from the grime which had apparently accumulated over the years. Regardless, both pieces smelled rank like they hadn’t been washed in ages, but he happily pulled the shirt over his head, and the overalls on next, securing both straps over his shoulders. Next came a pair of grimy socks and muddy work boots on his feet, and then the hat. He hadn’t noticed earlier, but the trucker hat had a wig attached, with long stringy hair falling down the back, and a set of thick sideburns coming down the side, which adhered to the side of his face with a bit of tape on the back. Under the hat, he found a set of those fake redneck teeth, full of black caps and crooked things, which he fit into his mouth as well. When everything was on, the door opened again, and Robert marched himself out into the throng of the party, leaving his business suit behind in the dressing room.
However, where he exited the room was not the same place where he came in. He immediately turned towards where the exit had been a moment before, but all that extended in that direction was a hallway full of revelers. Assuming that he had simply left out the wrong door, he turned around, but found that where there had been a door moments before, there was now a blank, empty wall. He would have gaped a bit longer, but suddenly he was pushed along by a crowd, and rather than fall on his face, he stumbled down the hall along with them, looking for any sign out of the devilish place.
He walked along hallway after hallway, often convinced that he was going in circles, but somehow he managed to never come out into the same room twice. Many of the rooms were decorated with different themes, though the costumes were just as varied as the locales. The crowd was also decidedly gay, which terrified Robert more than anything. More than once he had stumbled upon a group of men kissing, or worse, sucking each other off, and he had turned around and fled before, heaven forbid, they asked him to join.
Occasionally, in the hallways, he would pass by an ornate grandfather clock, ticking off the minutes towards midnight, however, it seemed like every time he passed one, the time was drastically different than he would have imagined. Several times it had actually gone backward, once more than an hour, but always they chimed with the same deep, resonant tone, and ticked with a restless urgency which pushed him onward through the bar, and into another room.
Robert, however, was quickly becoming exhausted, and knew he would have to stop somewhere to catch his breath. He found a somewhat empty room, modeled on a fifty’s diner, and took a seat at the bar.
“What can I get for ya?” The bartender asked as Robert sat down.
“Just a glass of water, if you’d be so kind,” Robert replied, and the bartender whipped off, leaving him to mop his forehead with the collar of his undershirt. The man returned a moment later and set down a shot glass filled with some filthy brown liquid, which Robert just stared at.
“What the hell is this? I asked for water, you stupid shit!” he shouted, but the man had disappeared, leaving Robert alone with his shot. He sighed, but without really thinking about it, took the glass and threw back the entire contents, which burned its way all the way down to his stomach, making him cough and sputter. Robert didn’t know why he had done that, but he hadn’t been able to even think about not doing it.
“Another?” the bartender asked, as he poured another shot, “Here, I’ll just leave you the bottle,” he added, and disappeared again.
Robert knew he should get up and keep looking for a way out, but he downed the shot in front of him and poured another, before drinking that one too. After that, he ignored the glass and just started taking swigs from the bottle. Before long, he was feeling very drunk, but very good. In the distance, he became aware of the clocks in the room chiming midnight, and vaguely wondered what his wife was doing. He should have been home hours ago, had she called the police? No one knew he was here, and he certainly had no idea how he was going to get out. Did he really want to get out? He was happy with his booze he thought, as he took another swig.
“There ya are Pa! I been lookin’ everywhere fer ya,” a voice said behind him, and a muscular construction worker sat down on the bar stool next to him.
Robert just stared at him for a moment, and felt like he should recognize him, but couldn’t. “Wh…Who the hell’er you?” he slurred, and almost slid off the stool to the ground, but the man caught him mid step and hefted him back onto the seat, all four hundred and fifty pounds of him. Robert was by no means a small man, with fat packed into his oversized overalls wherever it could fit, and his massive tits stretched his shirt to the limit and clearly outlined his nipples through the gray fabric. He had three chins on a good day which covered the collar of his shirt, and his bushy sideburns made his fat, bright red cheeks look even bigger. He took off his hat for a moment and scratched his bald head, and ran his hand through the stringy hair still left on his head. The word “skullet” flashed through his mind, but he couldn’t really make sense of it. He was too drunk to make sense of anything.
“Come on Pa, Ya had too much tah drink. Let’s get ya home,” He got a hold on Robert’s arm, but he yanked it away.
“I can get up myself, thank you very much!” he said, and stumbled up, lumbering across the bar, occasionally falling against a table for support.
He made it all the way to a doorway before he heard the man call out behind him, “The truck’s this way, Pa,”
“How do you know? I been all over this place, and it’s all a maze. We ain’t ever gonna get out!”
The man walked over, grabbed Robert by the arm, and dragged him over in the other direction, “Alright, ya had enough, now let’s get goin’,”
Robert tried to pull away, but the man was too strong and too insistent, while Robert was too drunk to know better. As he followed behind, it occurred to him that he had no idea who he was following, “Wait now,” Robert said, “Who are you again?”
“Damn it pa, I hate it when ya drink—now come on. Now we need tah get ya home. I have work in the mornin’.”
“But ya don’ even know where I live,” Robert mumbled.
“Of course I do—ya live with me! Geeze yer thick tonight.”
Robert couldn’t make heads or tails of that, but figured that this guy must be one of his kids, sent by his wife to take him home. It didn’t really make a lot of sense, but then, nothing was making much sense tonight. He didn’t really care though, as long as he got out of this crazy place.
Sure enough, his son led him down some stairs, and before Robert knew it, they were outside in the parking lot, or at least a parking lot. He tried to walk off in the direction he thought his car was, but his son was pulling him in the wrong direction. “Damn it boy,” he cried, “We done parked over there!”
“Pa, the truck’s right here,” he said, and popped open the door of an old beat up pickup. He helped his old man into the passenger door, and climbed in the driver’s side. “Ya all set Pa?” he asked, and when Robert nodded his fat face, he started the truck with a clunk, and took off down the road.
Robert figured that they would be heading home, but instead of heading towards the suburbs, his son got onto the highway and left town, instead heading into the country. Robert knew something was wrong, but he was too drunk really to think about much. Instead, he felt something else begin to brew inside of him. Looking over at his son next to him, he was suddenly struck by how handsome he was. He hadn’t really bothered looking at him in the club, but suddenly he was taking in every detail, from the close cropped hair on his head, the bushy goatee framing his adorable mouth, and his rough calloused hands. He was also very muscular, and Robert felt his dick begin to harden in his overalls. Unable to stop himself, he reached over and started groping his boy’s crotch, surprised by the size of the cock he found in the well worn jeans.
“Come on Pa, you’re too drunk for that right now,” he said.
Robert just kept groping, feeling his son’s cock begin to harden, “Come on Jimmy boy, I can’t help it if you’re the hottest guy around,” Jimmy, that was his son’s name. Why hadn’t he been able to remember that earlier? Now overwhelmed with lust, he leaned over and began licking Jimmy’s neck, causing him to swerve a bit on the road.
“Dammit Pa! I’m tryin’ tah drive, can’t it wait ‘til we get home?”
“Oh hush boy,” Robert whispered in his ear, “I know ya don’t want tah wait ‘til we’re home…”
        Jimmy drove for a moment longer, and then steered the car off the rural highway, and then a ways into the underbrush, the truck bouncing wildly. Before he could even get the car into park, be was kissing his Pa madly, forcing the fat man back against the window, pinning him there. Robert immediately began unbuttoning Jimmy’s flannel shirt, rubbing his hands through the thick forest of hair beneath. He smelled like he hadn’t bathed in a few days, but that just made Robert hotter. He buried his nose in his son’s pit and started licking up as much sweat as he could. “Yeah pig daddy, lick out my nasty pit, ya like that funk?” Jimmy said.
        “Hell yeah boy, ya know I’ll do anythin’ tah lick out yer pits. Hell, I’ll lick all ya if ya give me a chance. But what I really want is in here,” Robert said, and groped Jimmy’s cock some more.
        “Well, there ain’t enough room in here fer that. Get out, and we’ll have some fun in the back,” Jimmy said, and both of them climbed out and walked around to the back. It took some work, but they managed to get Robert’s massive frame up into the bed. The entire truck sagged with the weight of him, but he crawled forward anyway, giving Jimmy room to heft himself up after him. Once they were both up, they began undressing each other. Soon, Jimmy was naked, but he wanted Robert to leave his overalls on. “You know how hot I get with my Pigdaddy in his overalls,” he said, and the thought made Robert shiver. He loved being Jimmy’s Pigdaddy so much.
        “Well if yer so horny, get over here n’ fuck me already, boy!” Robert said on his hands and knees, “Fuck this Pigdaddy of yours.”
        “Ya want me tah stick this big, fat cock up your butthole?” Jimmy asked, as he got behind him. He spread apart Robert’s ass, exposed through the large hole in the seat of his overalls and chuckled, “Damn Pa, ya sure got yerself a dirty crack!”
        “Not like yers is much cleaner boy, now get on with it,”
        “Not so fast,” Jimmy said, as he lubed up some of his fingers with spit, “Ya ain’t quite warmed up fer me yet,” and he started worming his middle finger into Robert’s hole.
        “Oh fuck yeah,” Robert said, pushing against his son’s hand, “Get all those fuckers in there!”
        “All of them? Alright, you asked for it,” Jimmy said, and after lubing up with some more spit, worked his entire fist into Robert’s ass.
        It hurt like hell, but the drunkenness dulled the pain, and just made Robert hornier. He began to snort loudly as his sphincter closed around Jimmy’s wrist, and the hand worked deeper into his colon.
        “Yeah you fuckin’ pig! How’s that feel?” Jimmy said as he massaged his daddy’s prostate, making him pant and snort louder. Before he could stop himself, Robert felt his cock explode, cum spurting out in massive bursts, soaking the crotch of his overalls as he squealed. Jimmy reached under and laughed, “Yeah, that got you all wet, didn’t it? Now, how about I give you a good fuck?” He pulled out his fist and quickly replaced it with his cock, which slipped easily into the already wrecked hole. Even with the warm up, Jimmy’s ten inch cock stretched Robert to the limit, and all he could do was hang on to the truck while his son fucked him wildly. Despite having cum once already, he could feel his cock already hardening again, and he was struck for a moment by the wrongness of what he was doing. Not only was he having sex with a man, his own son was fucking the daylights out of him, and Robert was practically begging him for more. It still felt so right though, and he pushed back harder, relishing the feeling of his massive amounts of fat shaking with every thrust. Honestly, he couldn’t be more proud of his son, and the great fucker he had grown up to be. Before too long, he heard his boy grunt behind him and unload deep inside of him. He wrapped his arms as far as they could go around his father’s rotund form, staying inside until he had gone completely soft.
He sat back, allowing Robert to turn around and join him with their backs against the window. Robert was panting loudly from the exercise, though it hadn’t made him any less drunk, and only a little less horny. He couldn’t resist lowering his fly, which was still sopping with his cum from moments before, fishing out his cock, and jacking off.
“Damn Pa, yer still horny after that?”
“Fuck son, you know yer dad is always horny. How about you help me out with this thing?”
“Nah, I got a better idea,” Jimmy said, and held his hand, still shitty from their earlier fisting, under Robert’s nose, who took a good sniff, and sucked the index finger into his mouth. The taste of shit made him moan, and got his dick even harder. Before long he had cleaned off his son’s whole hand, who then stood up and rammed his shit smeared cock down his father’s throat. Robert just sucked as hard as he could, hotter than he had ever been in his life.
He was no longer appalled that he was sucking his own shit of his son’s cock, this is what he was supposed to be doing. He loved the taste of ass, especially his own, and Jimmy knew that. When he pulled it out a minute or two later, his cock was spotless, and Robert licked his lips. “Please, I need more, boy,” Robert gasped, still jacking his cock.
“Then eat out my crack, ya fuckin’ pig,” Jimmy said, spread his ass wide open, and pushed it up against his father’s face. Robert immediately groaned with lust and began lapping at the mix of dry and wet shit. From the amount of it, he hadn’t wiped at least for a day or two, and it was driving Robert wild. He felt his orgasm begin to build, and let loose another torrent of cum while his son cheered him on. The last thing Robert remembered before he passed out was Jimmy turning around, stroking his hard cock a couple of times and blowing another load all over his father’s face. Happy and somewhat satisfied, Robert felt himself drift off into a drunken slumber.

The Boys (Part 2)

***WARNING–Contains scat. Don’t like it? Not my responsibility.***

“Yeah Daddy, you look so hot with that beard, sucking my cock. You like it, don’t you? Do you like sucking your boy’s cock?”
“Oh yeah,” Jim moaned, running the shaft through his beard, “I like it a lot boy. I love your cock in my mouth,” he said, and then went back to taking the long dick as far into his throat as he could.
Damn, you two are fucking hot,” Gus said when he came back in, carrying a fifth of whisky in his hand, “Give it a rest for a moment. Our daddy has a bit of growing up to do,” he screwed off the cap, and handed it to Jim, who looked at it, puzzled.
“Go on,” Billy said, “Every daddy likes whisky. It’ll put some hair on your chest, too.”
Jim took a tentative taste—he had never had straight liquor before, and even though it burned, it didn’t taste half bad. He took a few more shots, and he felt the burning feeling begin to radiate, and make him itch. Before his eyes, a thick mat of hair began erupting all over his body, obscuring his chest in a forest of brown hair. Even his arms, all the way to his knuckles, were hairy. Then, he watched as some of the hairs began to lighten to white, as he felt some of his youthful strength and vigor ebb away. His hair receded from the front, leaving him with a long, horseshoe of mostly white hair, and a thick white beard with a few strands of dark blonde. Gus took the half empty bottle away, and Jim listed a bit, already feeling the high grade alcohol rush into his system. “That’s…that’s some good shit,” he slurred a little, and then went back to sucking on Billy’s cock.
“Dang Gus, you were right. He did shape up into a good looking daddy,” Billy said.
“Yeah, but he ain’t done yet. Not by quite a bit. He might look like a daddy, but he don’t really act like one yet. He’s too smart, for one thing.”
Jim pulled his mouth off of Billy’s cock and said, “What do you mean, ‘too smart’?”
“Well, any good daddy didn’t go to a fancy college or nothing. Hell, the best daddies dropped out before they got into high school! You do want to be a good daddy, don’t ya?”
“Of course, boy.”
Gus pushed Billy to the side, and sat down next to Jim. “Then here’s what ya have to do. First look at the fire. You remember the fire, don’t ya? How calming it is?”
“Yeah, real calming.” Jim droned, as he fell back into his deep trance, assisted by the earlier alcohol.
“Then here’s what ya have to do. I want you to pretend that you are holding a stack of photographs. All of them are from your life. The one on top shows you graduating from college, doesn’t it?”
“Ya. I see my mom and dad are there, cheering me as I walked across the stage.”
“That’s what’s on the picture sure, but that didn’t really happen, did it?”
“It didn’t?”
“How could it? You’re our daddy, and our daddy never went to college.”
“But—“
“No buts. It isn’t a real memory, is it?”
“I…I guess not.”
“Then throw it on the fire, and forget all about it.”
Jim mimed throwing a piece of paper onto the flames, and then Gus said, “So, daddy, did you graduate from college?”
“Of course not, boy.”
“I didn’t think so. The next few pictures are from college too, aren’t they? But that didn’t happen either. You might as well throw the next few on the fire as well.”
Jim pretended to throw a few more things on the fire, and then said, “Ok, they’re all gone.”
“Then the next pictures are all from high school, aren’t they? But those didn’t happen either. With each one, you can see all of those false memories from school, but they aren’t real. You should burn them and forget them.”
One by one, Jim threw the pictures onto the fire, erasing them from his past. And when he was done, part of him felt empty and gone. “What now?”
“Now, we fill in what really happened,” Gus said, “Now you have a new set of pictures. These are all ones that really happened. In the first one, you can see yourself in grade school, failing the third grade for the second time.”
“Wow, was I that dumb?”
“You were that dumb, and you still are, aren’t you?”
“Am I?”
“Well, you didn’t go to high school, or to college. You must be pretty dumb then.”
“Yeah, I guess so.”
“The next one shows you in the fifth grade, trying to read from a book, but you can’t, because you never learned how.”
“I never learned to read? At all?”
“Nope. You can write your name, but that’s it.”
Jim looked sad, but Billy piped in, “Don’t worry daddy, you don’t have to read here. We can’t read either! Well, I can’t, but Gus can.”
“And the next picture shows you skipping class in the seventh grade so you could go suck dick at the local glory hole.”
“Now wait…I didn’t really do that.”
“Sure ya did, all the time. You thought dick was much better than school.”
“But I liked school.”
“No you didn’t. You hated to learn things. I mean, you can’t even add!”
“I can too!” Jim yelled, and Gus grinned.
“Alright, prove it. What’s two plus three?”
“Uh…” Jim said, but for the life of him, he couldn’t come up with an answer. He looked down at his fingers, and held up two on one hand, and three on the other. “It’s uh…five?”
Gus looked impressed, “Well done, but here’s a hard one. What’s five plus seven?”
Jim looked back down at his fingers, but it was impossible. He couldn’t get that many fingers on his hands, all he could get was ten. “Uh…ten?”
“Nope, twelve.”
“But ten is all the fingers I got.”
“Don’t worry about it daddy. Now do you see why you were sucking cocks? Sucking cocks is what you’re good at.”
“I am good at it.”
“See? That’s why you’re going to be a great daddy.”
Jim beamed. He may not be smart, but he had the two best boys in the whole world. “Thanks boy. Now, can I suck your cock some more?”
“Soon, but there’s a few more things you have to do to be a good daddy for us.”
“What?” Jim asked.
“Well, we like our daddies to be dirty.”
“Oh yeah,” Billy chimed it, “Dirty like us!”
“Yeah, you have to like being dirty too.”
“But…how am I supposed to like it?”
“Here,” Gus said, “I’ll show you daddy. First, ya gotta stand up.”
It took some effort, but eventually Jim managed to hoist himself off of the couch so that he was standing before Gus. He was surprised at how weak he suddenly felt, and realized that he was shorter than he had been. Where he had been several inches taller than both boys earlier, he now stood at eye level with their chins. “Ok, now what?”
“Now, smell,” Gus said, and lifted his arm up, revealing his damp, sweaty pit. Jim took a sniff, but the rank scent overwhelmed him before he got too close.
“Damn boy, you reek!” Jim said, but Gus just grabbed the back of his head, and thrust his face into the smell.
“You may not like it at first, but it’ll grow on ya,” Gus said, as Jim struggled, but the more he breathed, the more he liked it. Soon, he extended his tongue and took a lick, and then began licking it whole heartedly, moaning as he did, “Damn boy, you were right. This is nice.”
He then moved to the other side, and licked that one clean too, and then did the same for Billy’s. When he was finished, he picked a hair out of his mouth, and then Gus and Billy each took a side, and lifted up one of his arms. “Now, it’s your turn,” Gus said, and then they both began slurping up and down Jim’s pits. A moment later, they surfaced, and Gus said, “Now you have some nice daddy pits. Smell those fuckers.”
Jim leaned in close, and took a deep whiff of the sweaty fuck coming off of them, and sighed, “Damn boys, you did a nice job on those.”
“ We ain’t done yet. Now get on our knees, daddy.”
Again, it was a bit of a struggle, but Jim made it down alright. As soon as he was down. Gus and Billy both took their cocks and started pissing on him. At first, Jim was disgusted, but soon he was trying to get as much of the golden liquid down his throat as he could, but the boys kept moving their streams, soaking every inch of his body. Without realizing it, Jim even began to empty his own load of piss right into his overalls. Eventually, their streams slowed to a trickle, and amazingly, Jim realized that he was nearly dry a few moments later. However, that is not to say he was without changes. His hair and beard were now tangled and knotted, as though they hadn’t seen a comb in ages, and his mouth now tasted like he had been sucking on a jockstrap. He also ran his tongue around in his mouth, and found that half the teeth in them had just dissolved away, and the rest all hurt like they were partially rotten. The rest of him smelt to high heaven, though the worst still came from his armpits, and what had been a fairly clean set of overalls were now ragged and filthy, with many holes. One of the straps had broken entirely, and one of the knees was ripped clean through.
“Now, you’re a good looking daddy,” Gus said, and Billy beamed.
“Fuck that,” Jim said, “I don’t want to be a good looking daddy, I want to be the hottest daddy there ever was! Make me dirtier.”
Gus laughed, “Now daddy, there ain’t no need—“
“I said, make me dirtier boy!” Jim yelled, and Gus shrugged.
“Well, since you’re asking for it,” Gus said, “We can make it so.” Gus stripped out of his overalls, and then bent over the arm of the couch, pushing his ass towards Jim, “Eat it out, if you want to be a fucking pig about it,”
Jim got down on his knees, and immediately dug into his boy’s ass, eating up all of the lose specks of shit he could find. Before long, it was perfectly spotless, and Jim sat back, a good part of his beard brown. Gus turned around, and pushed Jim back, until he was lying on the floor.
“You want to be the dirtiest fucking daddy there is? Fine. Here it comes then,” Gus said, and then squatted over Jims face, and let lose a spray of shit all over him. He moved down and repeated the process, until Jim was covered from head to toe in brown muck, which dried almost immediately, leaving him with shit caked up and down his body, and an insatiable hunger for ass.
He hadn’t seen Billy return from the kitchen with a plate, nor did he see him squat over it in the corner. But when Billy handed him the plate, piled high with several fat logs, he devoured them one by one, and then licked the plate clean.
“Only one more thing, I think,” Gus said, “If you really want to be as dirty as you can be,”
Jim nodded, “Hell ya boy, lay it on me.”
“Then stand up, and bend over.”
Jim did as he was told, bending over the arm of the couch as Gus had done. Gus ripped open the seat of Jim’s overalls, and then said, “Ok? Here it comes,” and then pushed his fist up into Jim’s ass.
Jim yelled in pain as he felt his sphincters loosen, and a moment later, when Gus pulled his hand out, He found that he couldn’t retighten them, and he felt a turd just makes its way out of his hole and, instinctively, he clamped down on it with his ass, mushing it between them. “Damn boy, what the fuck did you just do?”
“I made you a pants-shitter, daddy. The dirtiest of them all.”
“Well…fuck,” Jim said, as he felt another turd escape out his ass, though it just got caught in the mess the last one made, leaving his ass covered in shit. “Well, aren’t ya gonna clean it up, or something?”
Gus laughed, “No, you asked for it. But don’t you like how it feels, daddy? The warm shit in your crack, doesn’t it feel good?”
Just as suddenly, Jim felt his dick release a spray of urine, soaking the underside of his gut, and running down the insides of his legs. “Oh Jesus Christ, what have I become? Who am I?”
“Hush now,” Billy said, “You’re our daddy, that’s all you need to know.”
“No. No, I was someone else. Who was I? What did you do to me?” Jim said, slowly backing away from the two of them. However, before he could get very far, the two of them sprang on him, and dragged him back in front of the fire, where he closed his eyes tight, to avoid looking at the burning flames. However, Billy pulled his eyes open, and as soon as he caught sight of the dancing reds and oranges, Jim’s mouth went slack, and he forgot what had been so urgent only moments ago.
“Now daddy, what are you still hiding from me?”
“I don’t want to be a dirty hick,” Jim said, and it was true, but Gus just shook his head.
“But you asked to be our daddy. You asked to be dirty. This is what you wanted.”
“It was?”
“Of course it was. I wouldn’t do anything to you that you didn’t want.”
“But, then why do I still hate this?”
“Let’s do this daddy. Why don’t you take that part of you that hates being our daddy, and put it in your hands, and now wad it up.”
Jim did as he was told, and when he looked down at his hands, he saw a collection of things that he all seemed to remember, but not very clearly. They looked important.
“Now throw them in the fire,” Gus said, but Jim didn’t move, “Throw them!” he said again, and, almost as though it was a reflex, Jim threw it into the fire, and felt part of him scream and die, and a second later, he shit himself again, this time thrilled at the fact that he couldn’t stop it if he wanted to.
“Feel better daddy?” Billy asked.
“Sure as fuck do boys, now how about you give your daddy’s shitty ass a good fuck?”

The Boys (Part 1)

        It was just his luck. Of course you never get flat tires are roads where you might have a chance of being happened upon by someone, Jim thought, but only when you’re in the middle of nowhere, on a back road, when you can’t even get cell reception. He laid his head down on the top of the steering wheel and sighed. He had already been sitting there for a half an hour, in the middle of the day, and not a single vehicle had gone by. It didn’t help that he was hopelessly lost. In fact, he had expected his problem would be running out of gas, but a lone nail in the road had blown out his front tire instead.
        To one side of the road was an empty field, and to the other, a line of forest, but there wasn’t any sign of homes within sight. Of course, sitting there wouldn’t solve his problem, so he might as well start walking. He got out of the car, and with a brief look back at all of his worldly possessions in the back of his pickup, he shrugged and set off. It’s not like anyone will be by to steal it, he figured.
        Jim had just been offered the job of a lifetime, even in the horrible economy, the only caveat being that he had to move across the country. And now he was stuck in Kentucky somewhere, on his way to New York, but he doubted that he would ever get there now in time to start on Monday. Fresh out of college, he was just starting to get used to not having someone watch over his every move, but part of him wished he could just be back at school, where he could just go ask someone if he needed help. Out here, there was no one to help you but yourself.
        Not that the prospect of walking bothered him. He had run marathons for track and field all four years, and as such, his figure was very long and lean. He was taller than most people, about six foot two, and just under 170 pounds. In fact, he didn’t mind stretching his legs at all, it was more that he didn’t know where he was going while stretching them.
        He rounded a bend in the road and saw a mailbox up ahead. It was unmarked, with a dirt driveway leading up to into the trees, but he figured any house was as good as any other if he was going to find some help, and so he turned, and started up the drive. It wound around for a while, dropping down into the woods, and by the end of it, he could see a small cabin through the trees with some lights on, and a pickup parked outside. Glad he at least found someone who might be able to help him, he went to the door and knocked.
A moment later, he heard a bolt thrown, and the door opened a crack, revealing the head of a young man in the crack, who looked at him with an uncanny mixture of surprise and scrutiny.
“Hi, my names Jim. I was just driving by, and I got a flat on my truck. Do you think you could get me to town?”
The man looked him up and down for another moment, then grumbled, “Just a sec,” and shut the door again.
Curious, but figuring he might get the help he needed, Jim waited. He could hear the first voice talking to someone else through the door, but he couldn’t make out what they were talking about. A minute later, the door opened again, and a second man had joined the first.
The resemblance between the two was remarkable, and Jim figured that the two must be brothers, if not twins. “He’ll do,” the other one said, “Let him in,” and they threw open the door, and pulled Jim inside.
The cabin was a bit of a rundown mess, and the occupants weren’t much better. Both of them were overweight, and were wearing overalls with nothing else, and their hair was scruffy. The major difference between the two was that one had a crude mullet, and the other had a crew cut.
“Now what’s the problem buddy?” One of the men asked.
“I got a flat down the road a little ways, and I was wondering if you could give me a lift to the nearest town where I could talk to a mechanic.”
“Well, we were gonna go into town later today, but we have lunch on the stove. Why not join us for a bit of food, and then we can take ya there. I’m Billy.” Said the one with the mullet.
“And I’m Gus,” said the other, “Here, take a seat,” he said, pointing towards the sofa in front of a roaring fire, “Billy will go finish up lunch.”
“Uh, sure…thanks,” Jim said, and took a seat, Gus following him. “Isn’t it a bit hot out for a fire?”
“Nah, it get’s cold down here in the woods, even in the summer. Besides, it’s the most entertainment we get sometimes. Here, just watch it for a while,” Gus said, and Jim nodded, looking at the fire with him, “See how the flame jump? Isn’t it soothing? The red and yellow flickering?”
Jim nodded, and looked deeper. There was something even more special about this flame, something he didn’t understand. It wanted him to do something. It wanted him to relax. “It is nice,” he said, already a little drowsy.
“Now, you were gonna ask me if we lived here alone.”
Jim couldn’t remember what they had been talking about, but that was something he had been wondering. “Do you…uh…live here alone?” he droned in reply.
“Just us brothers. Our daddy ran off a few weeks ago.”
“That’s too bad…” Jim replied, his eyes fluttering.
“Yeah, it is. But you could help us, if you want.”
“How?”
“You could be our new daddy.”
Part of Jim recognized how odd that statement was, but most of him was too absorbed with the fire to care. “But how could I do that?” was his only reply, and Gus just chuckled.
“You can let us take care of that,” he said, and the whistled. Billy’s head materialized around the corner a moment later.
“He ready?”
“Easiest in a long while. Now Jim. You want to be our daddy, now don’t you?”
“I do?”
“Of course you do. You’re such a nice fella, wanting to help us out, right? That’s why you came here, isn’t it? Because you wanted to help us?”
Something about that didn’t seem right to Jim, but he had come because someone needed help. “I don’t really remember…” he muttered, and then added, “I guess that might have been it…”
“Of course it is, Jim, or should I call you daddy? I can call you daddy, can’t I? And we’re your boys now, right?”
“I guess.”
“Well, then we need you to look like out daddy first of all. Go get daddy some clothes Billy.”
Grinning from ear to ear, Billy ran over to a corner and came back with a pair of very large overalls.
“Why don’t ya get undressed and put these on, daddy,” Billy said, and the two boys helped pull Jim’s clothes off of him and get him into the overalls, which were much too large for him, and when he sat down, it really looked like Jim was under a denim blanket.
Gus took Jim’s old clothes and threw them on the fire, and as he watched them burn, Jim came to a little, and said, “But I need those! It had my wallet in it!”
“Shush daddy,” Billy said, “You don’t need those anymore, it’s not important, now is it? Trust your boys, daddy. We wouldn’t steer you wrong.”
“Oh…I guess you know best.”
“Of course we do,” Gus said, “But clothes don’t make a man. You still need a lot of work.”
“What do I need to do?” Jim asked.
“We’ll show you. First, you definitely don’t look like a daddy, so maybe we can help you out there, first. Not many daddies are as skinny as you are, are they?”
“They aren’t?”
“No,” Gus added, “Good daddies are always big and fat. You want to be a good daddy, don’t you?”
“I guess so…but wait—“
“Don’t worry daddy, just let your boys take care of everything. Come here. I have something that can help you gain weight. Nothing helps daddy’s grow big and fat like boy cum does.”
“Boy…cum?”
“Sure,” Gus said, as he hauled out his thick, seven inch cock from his overalls, “All you gotta do is suck it out like a good daddy.”
Tentatively, Jim wrapped him lips around Gus’s cock, and started to suck. Immediately, he felt the flesh go rigid, and a stream of thick liquid began pouring out, which he swallowed.
“Tastes good, doesn’t it daddy?” Gus asked, and Jim nodded, still sucking away. Already, Jim could feel the liquid filling up his stomach, but he could feel it seeping out to other places as well, even out to his fingertips. Slowly, he felt a small gut emerge, and then grow out, with two heavy man boobs following. Every part of him felt like it was growing thicker. Looking down, he could watch his thin arms begin to expand, until they looked like hams, the fingers thick and short. “Go on,” Gus said, “Feel your belly. It’s hot being fat, you love your gut. All good daddies love their guts, and you do want to be a good daddy, don’t you?”
Jim nodded, and as he continued sucking, he started rubbing his hands around, everywhere he could reach. As his gut increased and forced his legs apart, he realized that Billy had come around next to him and was stroking his dick as well. “And ya know,” Billy said, “Boy cum can help lots of things grow,” and a moment later, and other stream began to poor over Jim’s head and face, and Gus pulled his cock away, making Jim groan.
“More,” he said, “I want some more,”
Gus and Billy just laughed, “There will be plenty more, but first we need to get you all fixed up,” Billy said, and then the two of them began massaging Billy’s cum into Jim’s head and face. Before long, a beard had begun to sprout from Jim’s face, a light brown like his hair, even though he’d never even been able to grow a successful moustache in his life. His hair was growing just as fast, and before long his beard was reaching down to his chest, and his hair was nearly as long. Even his eyebrows had become thicker, and joined in the middle. Jim licked the remaining cum from around his mouth, and sat back as he continued rubbing his big belly. The overalls fit him much better, and were, if anything too small. Beneath his thick beard he had grown a second chin, his man boobs were now thick flaps beneath the straps of his overalls, and his new apron spread down between his legs. His thighs had grown into massive trunks, and his ass was now a jiggly mass, compared to the tight package he had had before.
“Damn, you’re looking more like a daddy already!” Billy said, and started rubbing Jim’s belly as well, making him moan.
“Yeah, but he isn’t perfect yet,” Gus said, “but he is getting there. Now, what next?”
“I know!” Billy said, and then got down on his knees in front of Jim, “Every daddy needs a nice big cock.”
“Billy, everyone knows that daddies don’t need a big dick. Daddies just need a hot ass and mouth for fucking. That’s what daddies are for after all.”
“They are?” Jim asked.
“Of course they are,” Gus said, “That’s one of a daddy’s main jobs! Letting his son’s fuck him, and sucking their dicks.”
“Oh. Well can I suck your dick some more then?” Jim asked.
“You can suck mine!” Billy said, holding up his still hard and leaking dick, which Jim immediately fell on.
“Just don’t let him grow anymore Billy. I’ll be back in a bit.” Gus said, and disappeared from the room.

To be Concluded…

You meet some of the craziest guys at the public golf courses–You’d rather play at the private clubs, but you can’t afford the membership fees–so you’re stuck playing a round with a fucking redneck. He comes over to you, smoking a cigar, well over 300 pounds, dressed in a sleeveless shirt and khaki shorts, and all you can do is make the best of it.

He suggests upping the stakes, and letting the winner of each hole take something from the loser. You don’t really know what he means, but you accept, knowing you’ll be able to outplay this fat redneck any day of the week.

Well, you thought you could. He birdies the first hole to your double bogey, and you ask what you owe him, pulling out your wallet, but he just grins. “I don’t want your money–yet,” he said, “First things first, I want that slim figure of yours, pretty boy.”

Great, a real nutter, you think, but something is glowing–an amulet he’s wearing, and a second later, you feel different. Looking down, you’re stunned to find that you’ve somehow gained close to two hundred pounds–all of the weight the fat redneck just dropped off his body.

“Come on, fatty–we got seventeen more holes to play.”

Unaccustomed to your fat body, you lose round after round to this crazy redneck, who starts dismantling your life. By the end of the front nine, you’ve lost your expensive clothes, your house, your car, your marriage, four inches off your cock, your college education, and six inches of your height.

There’s no hope left for you, really. On the back nine he strips you of your ambition, your heterosexuality, your dominance, your full head of hair, fifty points off your IQ, your virility, and your job. With two holes left, you’re little more than a fat, dithering idiot, hacking at the ball as best you can–and that’s when he starts mocking you, barely hitting the ball further than you on purpose. To your surprise, he lets you win, but when he asks you want you want…you’re stumped. You’re so dull witted now that you can’t even remember what he took, and then he starts talking about his cigar, about how nice it is being a smoker, how he’d hate to give that up more than anything, you bite, and steal away his nicotine addiction.

Before the eighteenth hole the two of you nip off to the woods for a moment–you’re ravenous for a cock. In return, he lets you win the final hole as well. He suggests you take his skill at golf, but in that thick head of yours, a dim bulb still glows.

“Nuh-uh,” you slur, “Gimme yer amulet–that’s wha I want.”

Surprised, but not really minding, he hands it over to you and walks off without another word. Sure, you don’t know how to use it, but maybe you can figure it out, and steal someone else’s life before too long.