God of Fantasies II – Reconciliation (Part 5)

“Fuck…fuckin’, what the fuckin’ hell’d ya do tah me?”

“I gave you what you want, Ed. I gave you both what you want–that’s what I do. That’s my gift, giving me their fantasies, no matter how strange, no matter how perverse. I free them from their mundane, boring, simple lives and give them all of the pleasure they could desire so that they might please my god.” He placed a hand on Will’s head, and he instinctively leaned in, mouth open, tongue hanging out, searching for his next cock, hungry, desperate to be used. “Still, don’t assume we’re finished yet–after all, the deal wasn’t just giving the two of you what you each want–we’re looking for a way towards…reconciliation, right?”

“Nah, not this, I wasn’t meanin’ nothin’ like this!” Ed said, “You fuckin’ faggot! Just fuckin’ leave me the fuck alone!”

Oliver looked down at Will, still blindly searching for his cock, and then back at Ed. “Well, what do you think Will wants? This rubber–it’s sucked most of the mind out of him at this point–he doesn’t really consider himself to be anything more than an object really–a cumdump. He never has to worry about those big human problems again, he never has to worry about much of anything–but he does need a master, don’t you, you little rubber slut?”

He gripped Will’s head, and made him nod along, and with a tap on the crown, Ed saw…something push it’s way out from Will’s skull–from his mind really, the same way the bathroom had materialized around him when Oliver had touched him–but this was something else, something much…darker. The ring pushed past where Eddie was sitting, and he dropped, the chair below him no longer existing, and he pushed himself up from the rough concrete floor where the kitchen tile had been, and looked around at whatever it was that Will kept cooped up in his head.

Eddie had always known that Will had something…strange in him. Maybe not as strange as a fantasy about getting raped by rednecks, or becoming a redneck, but something strange all the same. He’d never really known what to make of his obsession with rubber, in particular. When he’d tried wearing it in the past, to satisfy Will’s constant badgering, it had just felt hot, and sweaty, and gross–not sexy at all. Will had never really been able to explain what he liked about it either, but perhaps it hadn’t been an inability to say it–maybe he’d just been ashamed, or as terrified of his own desires as he was sure Eddie would have been, if he’d known.

The room Ed was in now, was a dungeon–a sex dungeon, but one which didn’t seem to be the sort of play space some gay couples assembled. No–something about this felt very, very real. Will was in the middle of the room, still in the gimp suit, but now, he was also bound in chains bolted to the floor, held immobile, aside from a metal clasp in his mouth stretching his jaw to the limit, a posture collar forcing his head high and rigid–ready to accept whatever someone might give him.

“This is what Will wants,” Oliver said, in the darkness. “He doesn’t just enjoy rubber, Ed–he doesn’t just want to be rubber, either. He wants to be owned, and controlled, and used. He wants to cease to exist as a person–as an agent, and just become a slave. He’s never admitted this to anyone, not even you, not even really to himself. Part of the reason you getting beat up like that bothered him so much? It was because, in a way he couldn’t even understand, it had made him jealous.”

“Look man, I don’t know what kinda fuckin’ game this is, but I–I’ll be the redneck, a’ight? Just drop me off on a farm somewhere, I don’t even give a fuck! But I ain’t doin’ none a this faggy shit, got it? This shit is fucked up.”

“Ah, see? That’s where you’re wrong! This isn’t faggy shit, Ed–your masculine pride can remain intact–because this isn’t a man, not anymore. It’s just an object, something for you to use–and something that wants you to use it more than anything. Or at least, it wants someone like you to use it, but I don’t think a big redneck bruiser is quite what Will has in mind–right Will?”

The gimp nodded–the first sign it had given that it was at all aware of what was going on around it in the room–and when it did, Ed heard something, a soft flutter, and then it was on him. It was rubber, but it wasn’t just a sheet of the stuff, it was clothing, and it was…alive. Two thick, industrial style gloves, not unlike those Will had worn that summer spent inseminating cattle, shoved their way down over his hands, while the flannel and denim he was wearing was torn off, a pair of rubber overalls and waders taking their place–though the crotch on the overalls was missing entirely. It left his cock and balls vulnerable to the massive, foot and a half long rubber strap-on to slide over them, encasing them in hard rubber, and the strap cinched itself tight around his legs and waist. He grabbed it in his rubber gloved hands and tried to tug it off, but only succeeded in sliding them down the length of the shaft, making him groan and shudder. The rubber cock–he could feel it, somehow, and it was more sensitive than his real cock had ever been. His attention was so caught by the pleasure, in fact, that he didn’t see the mask until it was too late–it flew at his face, covering him, the straps wrapping around his head tight.

He tried to tug it off, but it was cinched so close he could feel the rubber digging into his skin, and he couldn’t even find a buckle to release the straps. It was a gas mask of some sort, and he could feel a long hose whipping from the mouth of the mask, and when he breathed in, the air…was stale, and stank of rubber and sweat and musk…it made him feel lightheaded, and also incredibly horny. The lenses of the mask were tinted, making everything in the already dark room even more difficult to see, but he could see the slave there, chained to the floor–his rubber gimp.

Muse of Fantasy II – Reconciliation (Part 4)

“You fought back. You swallowed that inner faggot of yours, and you started beating him up too. You straightened out and manned up, and dumbed down. By the time you dropped out of school, you weren’t little Eddie, that fucking faggot anymore–no, you were Big Ed, beating up the rest of the weak faggots with your big brother. The only difference is that you promised to go a bit easier on them next time, if they sucked you off in the woods after school.”

“Nah, fuck, that shit ain’t fuckin’ right! I ain’t one a ‘em I fuckin’ hate ‘em!” Eddie said, and tried to turn away from the mirror, but even though he could feel his body moving, the mirror and the room turned with him. He couldn’t escape the face, his face, the big, hulking, sexy fucking brute in the mirror. Was…was it really him? Could it be him? He’d always…thought about it, what might have happened if he’d stayed, if he hadn’t focused on school and gotten out as soon as he possibly could. Is this…is this really what he could have been? He knew it should have horrified him, but all he felt was so fucking horny.

“Yeah, you do hate them, those faggots.”

“Nah that ain’t what I meant! Don’t go twistin’ round mah words like that, this, I didn’t wanna be this fuckin roughneck son of a bitch.”

“Come on now, Big Ed–it didn’t happen. You didn’t end up like those faggots, you can relax,” Oliver said, stroking the side of his bearded face gently, seeing some of the intellect and memory in Eddie’s eyes dim back further. “You’re a real man, isn’t the right, Big Ed?”

“N-No, I…I was a…”

“That was just a bad dream–a nightmare.”

“Y-Yeah…yeah, I’m a real man.”

“And you do everything real men do, don’t you? You smell like a man, you smoke and drink like a man, you swear and growl like a man–you even fuck pussy like a man, on occasion, ain’t that right? Of course, you can’t stand women, not really–that’s the real problem, isn’t it?”

Eddie could smell himself now, standing there. The boozy breath, the lingering smoke in his beard. The musky pits, the dirty, muddy clothes he had on. It made him feel better–more secure. Oliver was right, he wasn’t a faggot–no fucking way was a real man like him a faggot. But what the fuck was he talking about? Ed had been with plenty of women! Of course, he’d…never really been able to get hard easily, but that’s because he was usually drunk, but fucking them in the ass usually did the trick for him, and if they complained? A few smacks would sort them out quick enough.

“The real problem, is that the faggot is still in you, deep down, and you’ll never be rid of him.”

“Shut yer fuckin’ trap,” Ed snarled at him, but there was a quaver, a bit, at the end of his drawl.

“That’s why you come here, that’s why you find the mouths on the other side of the stall, that’s why you did it that night, isn’t it? Listening to him moan around your cock, listening to how much he was enjoying it–it drove you nuts, because you want to enjoy it too, instead of all the shame, instead of all the self-loathing…”

Ed gasped, and realized he wasn’t in front of the mirror anymore. No–now he was in the stall, his cock in the gloryhole, listening and feeling some disgusting faggot slurping on his fat rod on the other side, the wet slap of the faggots hand on his own wet cock–he hated it. He fucking hated it. He hauled his cock out of the hole without warning, walked to the stall where the faggot was, and kicked in the door with one solid slam from his boot, the door slamming into the bitch, stunning him. Ed reached in and grabbed him by the collar, hauling him out of there with a snarl–and froze when he saw the face of the faggot, froze when he saw his face, his old face, looking up at him in terror.

“This is what you’ve wanted, ever since that night, isn’t it? This is why you can’t stop thinking of it, why you can’t stop dreaming of it. So do it. Fucking do it, be a man, show that faggot you mean business.”

Ed didn’t want to look at that face, he didn’t want to see that version of him anymore–so he started punching it. He punched it until it was broken and bloody and almost unrecognizable, and then he rolled it over, hauled down its pants, and started fucking it roughly, his thick, calloused hands gripping the thing’s hips hard enough to bruise, so hard he could almost feel his own hands on his own hips, but he didn’t think about that, couldn’t think about that, wouldn’t think about that, and he came deep–and the bathroom was gone, and Ed was left in the kitchen, his cock planted deep down Will’s throat, watching the gimp choke on his massive load, its erection still clearly visible in the rubber suit below. He hauled his cock free of the thing’s mouth, watching it slurp the cum down with a moan, and he fell into a chair behind him, looking down at his hands, his massive fucking hands, from years working on farms and construction sites. He could…remember everything, everything about this new life, and all that remained of his old one were just fragments, shards left over from the mental beating he’d given himself. He looked back at the gimp in front of him, at Oliver standing beside him, smiling, pleased with himself.

Muse of Fantasy II – Reconciliation (Part 3)

“Leave him the fuck alone!” Eddie shouted, and pushed himself up from the table, ready to intercede, but Oliver just smiled at him, “Take that…shit off of him, and get the fuck out of our house, you fucking freak.”

“Sit down, Eddie,” Oliver said, gently, but the words had force of their own. Unable to understand why, he did as he was told, and took his seat again at the table, while Will rubbed his mitts against the suit covering his body, the rubber pants growing down, over his feet, becoming thick soled waders connected seamlessly to the rest of the suit. “Now Will, how does it feel? And be honest.”

“It…feels amazing, but how did you do this? This isn’t possible…” Will looked down at himself, and then back at Oliver, “Who…are you?”

“Just a servant of my god, Will–you’ll meet them soon enough. But for now, why don’t we tuck you away for a bit, while I have a chat with your husband?”

Will felt the rubber squirming around his body again, and it rose higher, up his neck and onto his face. It forced his mouth open, filled it, forming a thick, cock shaped gag inside, and then sealed itself around it, Will moaning and protesting as the rubber enveloped the rest of his head, with just two holes for his nose, allowing him to breathe. He swung about a moment, blind and useless, but the rest of the suit was changing as well–tugging his arms down to his sides, where the sleeves sealed themselves to the sides of his body, locking them in place, and then Will fell to his knees, calves and thighs sealed together similarly. Where Will had stood a minute before, there was now just a motionless rubber gimp, trapped on its knees, moaning softly around the gag in its mouth, feeling the last of the rubber worming into his ass, forming a thick plug inside there as well.

Olive admired it for a moment, and then turned back to Eddie, who was still trying to get himself out of the chair, terrified and shaking. “Please, just…just let us go, I was only doing this so he’d fucking shut up about it!”

“Yeah, it can be…eye opening, the first time it happens,” Oliver said, “the first time you experience what you really want, the first time you feel real…pleasure. Because you did like it, didn’t you? There in that bathroom, two big fuckers kicking you, tearing at your clothes, right there on the tile floor.”

Eddie froze, staring at Oliver. “How…how do you know that…”

“I know everything about what you want, Eddie,” Oliver said, “I know things you want, that you haven’t even realized yet.” He reached out and touched Eddie’s temple, and when he did, Eddie felt…something inside his mind suddenly open up. Something expanded out from his mind, like a projection, and a moment later, the kitchen was gone, Will was gone. They were back there, in the rest area where those two roughnecks had hauled him out of the stall, beaten him up, and raped him. He could smell the piss, and see that…odd patch of wall he’d locked eyes with, when he’d tried not to think about what was happening to him, about how much he enjoyed what was happening to him. “You have a good memory,” Oliver said, looking around, “Have you been back since?”

“No–Will wouldn’t…let me.”

“But you wanted to, didn’t you?”

Eddie couldn’t reply.

“I can make it happen to you again, you know. You can relive it. It can be rougher this time, grittier, they could drag you out of here and turn you into their little faggot slave. You’ve thought about all of that, I can see it in you, Eddie.”

The door to the bathroom swung open, and Eddie spun around, terror in his guts, but there was no one there.

“But that wouldn’t help the two of you reconcile your…differences, would it? What would happen to poor Will, left as a gimp on the floor of the kitchen? I could, perhaps, find someone willing to take him, but you two do seem like such a good fit. Besides, that would be too easy. They wouldn’t be happy with that.”

“You crazy fuck, just leave us alone,” Eddie said, “Please, we have money, we’ll pay you, but just fucking stop this. Just fucking go away!”

Oliver just smiled at him, and came closer, “You thought you deserved it. All of it. All that teasing when you were a kid, all the guys calling you a faggot growing up. How small you are, how weak you are, you wanted them to rape you, because it confirmed for you exactly what you are–a faggot, a bitch, a weak piece of shit–but that’s not what you want to be, is it Eddie?”

Eddie tried to speak, tried to deny it, but all he could do was shake his head no. It was true–he…hated himself. He always had, and those two fucks raping him…abusing him. It had felt…exactly like what he deserved for being so…weak.

“No–well, you can be anything here, Eddie. You don’t have to be weak anymore. You don’t have to be some small, prissy, meek faggot. This is your fantasy, Eddie. This is your chance to be who you’ve always wanted to be.” Oliver walked over to the mirror, and waved Eddie over, “Come on, come have a look with me. I think you’ll like it.”

“No–No, I don’t want to look.”

“Yes you do Eddie. We both know what we’re going to see. Now come over here.”

Eddie walked, one step at a time, the footfalls sounding…heavy on the tile. He stood next to Oliver and turned to the mirror…and the person in the reflection beside Oliver…it was…him. His face, but a different life. One where, instead of giving up, he’d…given in. He’d embraced his roots, buried his sexuality, turned into a real man like his brother, like his father. His hair was buzzed down to the skull, and he had a thick, ragged beard all over his face, growing high up his cheeks. He wasn’t wearing the relaxing casual clothes from before, but instead had on a grubby t-shirt and a pair of overalls. “Fuck, nah fuck, that fuckin’ piece a trash ain’t me, I ain’t!” Eddie said, seeing the stranger contort in anger, the new voice betraying his background despite his denials.

Winter Vacation (Part 6)

Brett and Nate left the kitchen, and while Brett peeled off and headed upstairs, Nate continued on the ground floor, which seemed…odd to him. Usually bedrooms were upstairs, right? But something was telling him that his room–the right room–was down on the ground floor. He found a small mudroom with two doors. One had a small window that led out into the backyard, and Nate took the other one, which entered the garage.

For a cabin in the mountains, it sure was a spacious garage. It had three doors, and much to Nate’s surprise, there were already vehicles parked inside–an old pickup, and then four motorcycles in the other two spaces. But why four? There was only him, his little bro, and their daddy in the house, so didn’t they only need three? He spent a moment trying to sort out who, exactly, would need the fourth bike, but the dull buzzing in the air made it hard to keep the thoughts and numbers straight in his head. Instead, he saw another door on the other end of the garage–and that, he somehow knew, was his room.

He weaved through the motorcycles, all of them sizable Harleys, and went into the room–into his room, his head corrected him. It was completely disconnected from the house–the only way to get there was through the garage. That was…strange, right? But then again, it seemed…logical. Didn’t…he spent most of his time in the garage anyway? He wasn’t sure where that thought came from, exactly, but it didn’t seem right to question it either. The room itself was small, with a double bed in a corner with flannel sheets, a closet and a dresser, a stereo and a TV set. The one nice luxury was an attached bathroom–but it didn’t have a shower, just a toilet and a sink. The air smelled like grease, and it was cold–he should put some clothes on, shouldn’t he? His clothes were back by the front door of the house, though…it would be better to just see what was in the closet.

He went to the closet, unsure of what to expect, exactly, but when he opened the doors, he was mostly surprised by how…little there was inside. A pair of jeans, some flannel shirts, some pairs of boots, grubby pairs of overalls and coveralls–and leather. Lots of leather gear he might imagine a biker wearing, and all of it was well worn, and…smelled. The same odd smell of the room, but he grabbed a pair of stained briefs, an undershirt, and one of the pairs of overalls, and started to get dressed. They seemed…massive, and yet fit him snugly. He wasn’t entirely sure if it was because he hadn’t quite yet gotten used to how fat he had become, or if it was because the clothes had seemed to…shrink to fit. In any case, the clothes seemed as greasy as the air around him, rubbing off on his skin somehow. It wasn’t…unpleasant, and yet it didn’t feel quite right either. He settled on the pair of cowboy boots, pulling them on with some thick woolen socks, and when he stood up and saw himself in the mirror in the bathroom, he was a bit taken aback.

This wasn’t right. This wasn’t what he should be wearing. He shouldn’t be this fat, or this dirty, or feel this gross. He was about to take the things off, when he felt something hard in the back pocket of the overalls, reached back, and pulled out a small tin of chewing tobacco. The sight of it gave him a great sense of relief–he’d feel much better with a proper lipper. He packed the chaw into his mouth, feeling the slight tingle as it went to work, and his eyes glazed over slightly. This was right. He just…needed some time to adjust. Maybe he should give the hogs a little tune up? The family wasn’t exactly riding much in the summer, and Nate always wanted to keep everything in the garage in peak working condition. He turned on the stereo, let it blast country music out into the garage, and got to work, humming along easily with the songs he didn’t quite recognize, and soon enough he was singing along, his voice slowly picking up the same drawl as the singers–and then becoming even more extreme.

As he worked, his body was changing too, slightly. He kept drooling spit down onto his chin without meaning to, and where ever the black tar went, hair grew in, leaving him with a thick mustache and a goatee after an hour. The grease and funk of the clothes was wearing off onto him as well–along with something else. Colors were beginning to appear on his skin–patchy at first, but then coalescing into patterns and images–tattoos all over his arms and chest. The hat on his head was doing wonders for his hair, as well. When he took it off to wipe his brow, a thick mullet had appeared running down the back of his head, and as he spit out some tar, he didn’t even notice a couple of teeth come loose and end up on the floor of the garage with the rest of the grease stains.

In his mind, he found that knowledge about engine repair was pushing out everything else. It was…easy to think about mechanical parts, and fixing things, but everything else just seemed so…difficult to him. He knew he wasn’t the smartest fella, but he could fix just about anything you handed him, and he was pretty handy around the house too, if something was broken. Pleased with his work, he took a break to lounge about in his bedroom, packed himself another lip of tobacco, and jacked off to some porn on his little TV, thinking about daddy and his little brother, what those two might be getting up to at the moment.

No poll today! Tomorrow we’ll catch up with Brett, and see what his slobby room had in store for him.

Pigtown – Faceless (Part 3)

It wasn’t the best head Ash had ever gotten. There was a bit too much teeth, but Dick made up for it in raw hunger and enthusiasm. After a couple of minutes, he pulled away, gasping a bit, and gave Ash’s cock a couple of strokes. “Fuck, it’s better than I fucking imagined, fuck! Could fucking do this all damn night.”

Ash took the opportunity to pull away a bit. “Look, I appreciate the enthusiasm, but I…you shouldn’t be here. I took your fucking face.”

“No, you took his face,” Dick said, pointing to Dirk’s mask, which was still lying on the table nearby. “I’ve been under there, trying to get out for fucking ages! All I needed was one good mid-life crisis, but no, he just has to keep bundling up all his shame and bullshit, like I’m just going to fucking go the fuck away! No–fuck him, piece of shit nobody. Never did fuckall with himself. Could have been getting all the damn dick this whole time, but just cooped himself up,” he stood up, and turned to the face on the table, “No fuckin’ more, I’ll tell ya that! You fuckin’ hear that, ya fuck? I’m not going back under there, never!”

“Dang man, calm down, it’s all good here, trust me,” Ash said, “You don’t have to put it back on.” Now that Dick was standing again, Ash noticed something else–that his body was changing as well. It was his skin that he noticed–it was…flaking, and when Dick idly scratched his arm, big chunks fell off, revealing more beneath it–but it wasn’t the same pink. No, it was colorful–and it took another few curls coming away for Ash to realize they were tattoos. “I think…the rest of him is coming off man.”

Dick looked down at his arms, and he started picking at the skin peeling away, and then hauled off Dirk’s clothes as well, until he was standing there naked, rubbing and picking at himself as Dirk fell away from him. “Yeah, fuck–no wonder I felt so fuckin’ itchy…” Dick said, gave his cock a few rough strokes, and the entire skin slid off, revealing a much more sizable, eight inch member with a hefty foreskin. “Fuck yeah–might need to find someone to wrap their lips ‘round this thing soon enough too,” Dick said, “You up to it Ash?”

Ash shook his head, “No, I prefer to top.”

“Whatever, it’s all good to me–I haven’t done any of it after all!” Dick said with a long laugh, and the last of Dirk’s skin fell away, leaving him free at last. There were some similarities, between the two of them. They had the same general shape–that is, out of shape–though Dick’s potbelly was closer to a proper gut. He wasn’t much hairier than Dirk had been, but he was quite a bit more rank, and his feet and hands were quite a bit larger, as were some of the features of his face, like someone had exaggerated everything just slightly, enough that any one thing would be natural, but together, it all seemed a bit..strange, and rather ugly. The lank hair didn’t help, longer than Dirk had ever left it grow, and the scruffy beard.

He looked down at Dirk’s clothes, and have them a kick with his foot. “I sure as hell ain’t puttin’ this shit back on though,” he said, “I like that, what you’re wearing. You got anymore of that?” He walked up to Ash and ran his hands along the rubber shirt he was wearing. “Yeah, fuck, I bet that feels amazing.”

Ash grinned, “Yeah, I can whip something up for you man, no worries. Rubber’s my specialty.” He got down and picked up Dirk’s shirt from the floor, and where his fingers touched it, the well-worn cotton began to shift. At first glance, in the low light, it looked like it was disappearing, but Dick could see…something catching the light in Ash’s hands, and when he handed the shirt over to him, Ash gave him a wink. “It’s be a shame to cover up that artwork, though, don’t you think?”

Dick realized the shirt was clear rubber, and he wormed his arms into it and pulled it on, loving how…constricting it felt against his skin, even though it didn’t look like he was wearing anything at all, his body just…gleaming slightly. “Yeah, fuck, this shit rocks.”

Ash was already working on the rest of the clothing, and a few minutes later, Dick was clothed again, though in a very different outfit than before. He had on rubber chaps now, his cock and balls hanging free, a black rubber vest, and two thick soled waders up his calves.

“Man, fuck,” Ash said, admiring the rubbered up roughneck standing in front of him, “It isn’t what I was fucking planning, but I gotta say, it suits you, Dick.”

“Yeah?” Dick asked, and moved in close, pressing their rubbered over chest together, “Then how about that dick sucking? You wanna give me some tips? I feel like I was doin’ that shit all wrong.”

“Nah man, I got a better idea,” Ash said, and pointed at Trey’s dummy body, still lying on the floor a few feet away, “Why don’t you have the honor of blowing the first load into that cumdumps guts, in a few minutes?”

Dick narrowed his eyes, at the limp figure, walked over, and planted his rubber wader on the side of its head and pressed down. It gave in slightly, like a solid rubber object might. “Nah, cumdumps too good for this fuck. This place is too go for him–piece a shit. We can do better than that, don’t you think?”

Ash shrugged.

“What happens if we put the mask back on him now?”

“He’ll be right back to himself,” Ash said.

“And what is he now?”

“Just rubber, really. I can do pretty much anything I want with it. Why, you have something else in mind?”

Dick had picked up Trey’s face from the table, and gave it a stretch, watching the features warp, eyes grimacing in pain–or he liked to imagine they were, at least. “Yeah, I have an idea for sure. A real fucking good one, too.”

Orwell’s Demon (Part 6)

WARNING: Scat, General Filth

-Before-

Orwell did his best to lay low, after what had happened to Stewart, and Ray before that. With a new disappearance, Detective Hurlbane had started sniffing around more, and questioned Orwell, and a few other teachers, about the two disappearances. He’d seemed very suspicious about Orwell, but without a body, and without any real evidence or clear motive, what could he say? Orwell cooperated as best he could, in the ways he knew would pose no risk to him. He allowed the detective to search his house, before he could go to a judge for a warrant, and he found nothing. What, after all, was there to find? They were just…dust now. The demon said more, though…and on occasion, the demon used their voices, taunting him, urging him to give in, saying that they were waiting for him to join them, that they missed him.

Still, the heat relented, soon enough. Hurlbane backed off, and started pursuing other possible leads, and Orwell turned to other, more pressing matters–his new body. It had…needs, and desires his old one had never had before. He was perpetually horny, and his hands, if he didn’t keep them in check, would slip down the front of his pants to jack off, at any time of day, in front of whoever may be watching. The only two ways he could keep control of himself, were whipping himself at night until he bled, load after load of cum across the floor in front of him after each session, his back magically healed each morning–and by guzzling as much cum as he could possibly find.

But that, he couldn’t get from the school. No, he needed to get as far away from his normal life as he could, where, if the demon got a hold on someone else, he wouldn’t attract any suspicion. And so, Orwell became a regular at several rest areas outside of the city. The demon in his mind enjoyed it, enjoyed watching him debase himself for the truckers and travellers–and if a few fagbashers decided he needed a good working over? He’d more than happily take his beating too–although more than a few lost their interest once they discovered just how much Orwell enjoyed the punishment. But it was slim pickings at times, and it was on those nights that Orwell had the hardest time, coping with the demon inside him, taunting him, telling him that he could have any man he wanted in the parking lot, that all he had to do was ask. Still, Orwell kept his guard up–until one frustrating evening, when a trucker who we was certain would let him suck down a load had hauled off and punched him right in the face instead.

He was hungry. He was hungry, and he was angry, and before he even knew he’d done it, the trucker turned back around, and Orwell could see the red in his eyes. “Is this what you wanted Orwell? All he wanted was a chance to take a piss and a shit without being bothered–do you really think that was too much to ask?”

It was the smell that caught him next–a putrid, vile scent, like the worst body odor he’d ever imagined, rolling off the trucker’s body in waves. It singed and scared the inside of his mouth and nose, his mind roiling in the acid of it as he inhaled it, collapsing to the ground, and there, he saw that he wasn’t the only thing in the bathroom affected. The walls of the stalls…they were melting. The tile peeling under him, the porcelain of the sinks cracking and shattering behind him, and he watched as the clothes both he and the trucker were wearing dissolved away to nothing.

“Yeah, that’s more like it!” the trucker exclaimed, taking a long whiff of himself, and Orwell could see him growing, packing on fat, his skin covered in sores and lesions, thick hair filling in everywhere else. He lumbered over to a dissolving partition and looked over it, sighing, “Toilets are all busted–’n I can’t bust no load without droppin’ mah other loads. Guess that means yer gonna have tah do double duty, eh pig?”

Orwell tried to get up, tried to run, but something was wrong with him. His body–it too was melting and dissolving…somewhat. His arms and legs had withered, even as his guts had grown and sagged out into a heaving mass. The trucker picked him up, and carried him to the pipe where the toilet had sat, and shoved him onto it, Orwell feeling the cold metal slide in side his gelatinous form, and then the man turned around, shoved the ring of his hole against Orwell’s mouth, and let loose a long, noxious fart right into his mouth. He…swore he felt his teeth and jaw dissolve away, mouth hanging open, limp, as the shit began to pour from the man’s hole–more shit than Orwell had imagined possible, and all of it sliding down his tongue and throat, into his heaving body. He could…feel it in there, just resting inside of him, mounding up…and it felt good. He felt good. Lazy. Simple. Dumb. The man turned around, when he’d finished, pushed his thick cock into the shit covered toilet mouth, and let loose his piss, flooding Orwell’s body again, watching him writhe in pleasure and excitement, thrusting into the loose tunnel his throat had become until he added a load of stinking cum as well…the stink intensifying, and Orwell watched the man dissolve away into ash, leaving him alone, and trapped, in the rest are bathroom.

The scenery returned to normal, slowly, as the air cleared. Orwell’s arms and legs solidified again, allowing him to haul his way free of the pipe he’d been sitting on…but even outside, in the fresh air, he didn’t feel right. He could still…feel it, inside him. The shit and piss. He could smell it too. To his horror, as he drove home, he realized he could smell it on him–it was leeching out of him, through his skin, coating him…and the smell of it, as putrid as it was…it only was making him hungry all over again.

My Uncle’s Amulet (Part 8)

I stumble back into the room, where my brother and daddy are lying on the bed and the floor…no, not my brother, he’s my…my cousin. I have to remember that, I have to try and remember how things were, but it’s so…hard to think about everything, all I want to do is sleep. I know that if I sleep, everything will make more sense, but I need to get to Gabe. If I can get to Gabe, he had a plan, he knew something about all of this and what to do. I’m just a dumb whore, but he’s my brother! Sure, he’s…mean, most of the time, but he’s smarter than me ‘n daddy combined, so he’ll know what to do for sure. As I walk to him, I stumble and have to catch myself on the wall, trying to keep myself upright, but it’s so…hard. I can feel my skin burning, my body burning. I’m changing again, but I can get there, to the bed. I push my way there and collapse beside Gabe, shaking him, trying to wake him up…maybe I can wake him up with the amulet…but I don’t have it!

I look around for it, my sight blurry, but I see it over by the wall where I stumbled, but it seems so far away now. Still, it’s my only chance…I lunge for it, and fall…but I’m just so tired, and I can’t reach. I’ll…sleep now. Sleep for a while, and when…when I wakes up, everythin’s gonna make way more sense, ‘n Gabe’ll know what tah do, cause mah brother Gabe…ain’t no one in the woods ‘round here smarter ‘n Gabe…

I don’ know which one wakes me up, the shock tah mah collar or the heavy, steel toe boot tah mah gut, but I’m coughin’ ‘n sputterin’ on the cold floor, lookin’ up at my brother Gabe loomin’ o’er me with a cruel sneer on his face, the same sneer he always gits on his face when he’s beatin’ up me or Pa. But wait–wasn’t…there was somethin’ different before, I know it, but I can’t focus well enough tah figure it out–mah brain ain’t made fer thinkin’, like Gabe always says–I took after Pa, after all. Only thing I’s good fer is fuckin’ like a good little whore pig.

“Lazy fuckin’ bitch,” Gabe says, and hocks a wad of spit across my face. “That’s enough fuckin’ sleep for you, we got customers, ‘n they’re all eager fer yer holes. Remember, if I hear another fuckin’ complaint about ya talkin’ back, or knickin’ someone wit’ those teeth a yers–ya know what’ll happen, right?”

“Yer…Yer gonna pull out the rest a ‘em bro, I know.”

He follows that up with a kick tah mah nuts, makin’ me groan, “That, ‘n I might take those jewels a yers too.”

I nod, and he leaves my room–and I’m tryin’ tah think, tryin’ tah ‘member what was happenin’ before I fell asleep, cause it was so…important, but I can’t think a anythin’! Still, this ain’t right, I know it–Gabe…he ain’t my brother, not really. I…I gotta git outta here, find mah uncle–he’d know what to do, he’d remember everythin’. I head for the door, but git stopped short when the chain catches mah shock collar and tugs me back–the chain hammered intah the concete floor, next tah the ratty mattress where I sleep, ‘n eat, ‘n everythin’ else. I’s afraid tah look down at mahself, but nothin’ shocks me…really. Not the heavy steel cage welded ‘round mah cock, leavin’ mah balls hangin’ free fer easy kickin’. Not the faggot tattoos all o’er mah pale frame. I know it ain’t right, but it feels…good, all the same. Then the door opens, the first john pushes his way in, ‘n it starts, ‘n it don’t stop fer hours.

That’s how Gabe advertises us ‘round these parts–two full service faggots, cocks locked, ‘n hungry fer anythin’ ya wanna give tah us. I been doin’ it mah whole life, as long as I can remember–gettin’ fucked, drinkin’ piss, lickin’ out nasty bodies, gettin’ whipped, punched ‘n paddled. I like most a it, even. Still, it’s a couple hours later that I see it–the glimmer along the wall, buried in some of the dust and filth around mah room–’n I ‘member the amulet. If I can git tah it–I can figure this all out, I just know it. I can put things back the way they oughta be, once ‘n fer all, fer all a us–I think I can remember how things should be at least…

That session ends after a few more hours, and Gabe comes in wit the hose, orders me ‘gainst the wall, ‘n hoses me down in chilly water–then tells me he’ll have food fer us once he’s done wit Pa. He leaves again, ‘n I’m alone–I just fuckin’ hope this chain is long enough. It ain’t quite–I end up flippin’ ‘round ‘n usin’ mah toes tah grab the chain a the amulet, but I git it. I git it, ‘n it’s…warm, ‘n I can remember more, a little bit, at least.

Gabe come back in a few minutes later, ‘n I put ‘em under, tell him tah unlock mah collar, ‘n then fall asleep on the mattress while I sort some shit out. I leave the room…’n the cabin, fuck, it’s fallin’ tah pieces, looks like no one done a lick a work ‘round here in ages, but in the livin’ room, I see him, still lyin’ there. It must have been most of a day at this point, ‘n I can smell it, mah uncle sittin in’ his own mess, right there on the sofa…and I remember what he said, when I demanded the truth. That he didn’t love me, not really. That he was just gonna make me a slave, like Gabe’s done tha me already, but I don’t wanna me a slave anymore! No–I may be a dirty whore, ‘n I fuckin’ love cock, but I…I wanna do it fer me, now. Cause I want to, not cause someone makes me. But more than that…I want him tah love me. I want him tah love me like he promised. I want him tah need me, I want him tah want me. He’s…mine. He’s gonna be mine, ‘n we’ll be happy, I can make sure a it.

My Uncle’s Amulet (Part 5)

I didn’t know what time it was when I woke up next–all I knew what that I hurt. Every part of my body hurt, but especially my throat and my ass. A moment later, the door to the room where I was banged open, and my father stomped in–but it wasn’t the father I remembered, or at least the one I thought I should remember.

The lights were out, and all I could make out of him was his silhouette–but it was massive. Six feet tall and a few inches, broad of shoulder and broader of gut, but with plenty of muscle packs into his chest and arms–I should know after all, since anytime I did something daddy didn’t approve of, I’d get a backhand across the jaw, at least. “Alright cunt,” he said with a snarl, and flipped on the light, “Have a good nap? Get the fuck ready–we got clients in fifteen minutes.”

“B-But…dad, I…” I stammered, but even as I spoke, I realized I should have known better. Daddy stomped over to me and gave me a solid smack, hard enough to make my teeth shake a bit. I’d…I’d been really good lately, he hadn’t knocked a tooth out of my head in almost a year, and I wasn’t going to start making him do that to me again. If I lost many more…he said he’d just pull them all out. The clients would pay more for a toothless whoremouth anyway, as he called it.

“Did you say something, cunt?”

“No daddy.”

“Didn’t fucking think so,” he said, and spit on my face, “Now clean up and put yer makeup on. These country fucks were promised a pretty city faggot, and that’s what yer gonna give ‘em, right?”

I nodded, and my daddy stormed back out the room, slamming the door behind him. The room…it had changed since the last time I’d woken up, mostly with the addition of a small vanity against the wall, which I made my way over to, sat down at, and looked at my face–my new face. I was…small. So fucking small, and chubby, with two soft breasts and a hairless body. I still had some makeup on from my earlier clients, but I went back in and touched myself up, a little blush, a little lipstick, a little shadow. The roughnecks out here…daddy found it easier for them to pay if I was more feminine. I found the pair of panties I’d been wearing earlier, which one john had tore off me eventually, and tucked my puny, two inch dicklet in the front, thankful my daddy still hadn’t followed through on that promise. If I didn’t have a few regulars who liked sucking on the puny thing, he probably would have cut it off years ago.

I was trying to fight it. I was trying as hard as I could, but this one–the change was so much larger than the last, and somehow that made it even more real. My daddy–as soon as he’d realized I was a little faggot, he’d started whoring me out–at home, around the city. He’d made a deal with my uncle to work out of the cabin a couple weeks a year, to give the roughnecks and truckers around here a shot at my faggot holes…and I hated them. I hated these weeks so much, they were so much rougher, so much dirtier…but it meant I got to see my uncle too, if he had the cash for my dad…and that almost made it worthwhile.

I got back up on the bed, sitting there, waiting. I heard daddy talking to some other gruff voiced stranger outside my door, and a second later it opened, and an old man entered, a leer plastered on his face, skin tight and wrinkled from years in the son-and then he was on me, licking me, tasting me, forcing me over onto my belly, ass up, and he was inside my tight hole–my forever tight hole. Men loved it–they came from miles around for a chance at it. Tighter than any pussy, and I wouldn’t mind if…if it didn’t hurt, every time. Every time it felt like my guts were being split apart, but I craved it all the same, because…because I liked it.

Deep down, my daddy was right–he’d always known me better than I’d ever known myself. I was a whore, I wanted cock, all day and night, and I wanted it rough. I fucking deserved it. My little dicklet had tented out my panties while the roughneck pistoned into me, and after a minute he gave a groan and came deep, filling my guts up, and as soon as he was out of the room, another one came right in after him.

Truckers, farmers, old fat fucks and young bucks–I took them all. It lasted hours, and my ass was leaking cum by the end of it, makeup smeared on my face again. I’d cum twice–once when some old biker had come in and made me eat out his ass while he jacked off. I…it was so fucking humiliating, that it turned me on, and he wanted to see me blow my load, he wanted to see my little clit while I chewed on his hole. The other time was some old farmer, maybe seventy, with a ten inch dick that worked like he was twenty. He hammered my guts so hard that I was spewing in my panties before I even realized it, begging him for more while he grunted and groaned, on the edge of a heart attack, probably–but he lived. I lived. I was so…tired by the end of it. Tired and humiliated, and…and wanting more, as much as I hated admitting it, but no one else came in, until my dad opened up the door.

Alright slut–that’s all for the evening, but my bro bought an hour with you.”

My heart skipped, but I didn’t dare show it–if my dad knew how much I liked seeing my uncle–and how much he liked seeing me, he’d probably double the price. I looked over and saw my uncle step into the room, closing the door behind him, and he smiled at me…and when I saw him, I remembered. I remembered, and through the desire, all I really felt was terror.

My Uncle’s Amulet (Part 2)

The next thing I know, I’m waking up in bed. My head is aching, I feel sick to my stomach, and I can’t remember much of anything from the night before–I don’t even know how I managed to get to bed. The only thing I do remember at all clearly is my uncle with his hands down my pants outside, once we were alone…and I remember…I remember how excited I was.

It feels so wrong, I know it’s wrong, but the more I think about it, the more I try and convince myself that what I’m feeling isn’t right…the more I remember, the more everything starts to just…come clear in my head. I can taste him, the cigar on his breath, feel the heat of it as he fills my lungs and I try not to cough, and I’ve wanted to taste him for so long and he’s finally here, and I can sense that he wants me just as much as I have always wanted him.

The night is cold, but with my back to the fire and my uncle’s hot cock slammed in my throat, I couldn’t be warmer or more satisfied. It’s my first time with anyone, and it’s a sloppy job, and he’s patient, but firm–warning me about teeth, helping me understand my gag reflex, praising me, and then hauling me up, dragging me inside, throwing me onto his bed (which my dad is absent from for some reason). His cock is still wet with my spit as he hauls off my pants, and I want him inside me, I want his cock in me more than anything, I’m begging for it, and fuck, it hurts. Still, he’s gentle, sliding it into be gently, lubing it up with more of his spit, drooled onto the shaft of his cock, and it isn’t too long before I’m open, his cock buried to the root, and I cum. I can’t hold it anymore, my cock starts to spasm and explode against the sheets beneath me, but my uncle is just warming up, and being fucked by him–I feel complete. I feel so…complete, and it’s all I wanted, all I ever wanted.

I shake my head and sit up in bed, trying to get rid of the images. It had to be a dream, some fucked up dream, but it was real, somehow I know it’s real.

“Finding out how much you enjoyed yourself last night, Evan? Cause I sure as hell enjoyed the hell out of your ass, boy.”

No–no, it couldn’t be. I couldn’t look, I couldn’t, but he reached out and touched me, a hand running down my back and thigh, making me shiver with need. “I…what if my dad finds out?”

My uncle laughed. “Don’t you worry about them, boy,” he said, and got out of bed beside me. “I gotta piss–and let’s see how your dad is doing with his nephew.”

I…I had no idea what that might mean, but when I saw what was happening in the other room…it wasn’t anything I might have imagined. There was my dad, with his face shoved in one of my cousin’s grungy boots, while my cousin was fucking him over the side of the bed–it was…disgusting, and I stepped back in horror, right into my uncle’s waiting arms. “See boy? We can have the whole day to ourselves, see?”

“What…what did you do to me last night?”

My uncle laughed, “Just finally getting what I want, boy, that’s all–and making sure that asshole brother of mine gets what he deserves too. Now come on–you want your uncle’s hot cock filling that hole of yours again, don’t you?” he reached around and groped my hard cock, “Sure feels like you do, boy.”

I did–I really did, but I pulled away, flung open the door to the other room, and yelled at my dad, telling him that we needed to get out of here, that my uncle–he was doing something to us…and the look my dad gave me when he looked up from that boot? I can’t tell you what I saw, behind the euphoria. It was…resignation. I looked to my nephew, and he too, had the same look. They knew–I was the last one to know. Had I just not realized it? Had I just been the last of his targets?

“Now now boy,” my uncle said, grabbing me by the wrist, “No need to disturb them while they’re having their fun. Now come on.”

I tried to tug away, but his grip was too tight–he hauled me close to him and kissed me, the stale smoke on his breath both vile and so sexy…and I melted into him with such relief I wanted to scream at myself. “Please, I don’t…want this, not really, please don’t do this to me…” I said.

“You got yourself a solid will, boy, I can admire that–but this isn’t about what you want, trust me. Now come on, I’m gonna have to punish you for being a bad, willful little bitch.”

He didn’t even wait until we were back in the other room–he just shoved me up against the wall in the hallway and drove his cock into my ass again. Thankfully it was still loose from the night before, but it still hurt so badly–so badly, and yet I wanted it. I could hear myself, the words falling out my mouth, loud enough that I knew my father could hear, begging my uncle to fuck me harder, and harder, and harder–and he did everything I asked, with plenty of gusto, until he filled my guts again. I wanted to cry, but instead I shot my own load all up and down the wall in front of me–and when he ordered me to lick it clean…I did.

While I cleaned the wall, my uncle went into the room, hollered at my cousin to hurry up and finish, because he needed some personal time with his dumbass brother. I tried to run, I tried to get up and run, but I had to lick up my cum, I had to–at some point, the same, strange stupor from the night before had fallen over me, and I couldn’t resist him–and I had a feeling that my uncle’s plans for us were just beginning.

My Uncle’s Amulet (Part 1)

It wasn’t a trip I wanted to be on by any measure, it was one that my dad had told me I was going to go on, and that was that. Family bonding and all of that nonsense. What confused me the most about the entire thing was the fact that my dad fucking hated his brother–my uncle. He trashed him all the fucking time as some backwoods hick fucker–told me that if I didn’t get into college, I’d end up just like him and my dumbass nephew. Of course, all things considered, my uncle wasn’t doing that poorly–he’d gone into the military, and now he worked as a consultant for a defense contractor–he flew out to DC for meetings every few months, and did a lot of stuff remotely, but it could afford him a good house out in the sticks–and also gave my nephew the ability to sit on his ass all fucking day long.

They’d had some big falling out, around the time my uncle had gone into the military, and my dad had been preparing to go off to college. I…don’t know any of the details, but I know my dad hadn’t seen my uncle since. They talked on the phone occasionally, usually around holidays. The conversations were always…tense, even if it didn’t sound like they were talking about anything much, and when my dad put me on to talk to him, he always supervised the conversation for whatever reason. Then, grandpa died, and everyone went out for the funeral…and apparently he and my dad buried the hatchet, because now, all he can fucking talk about is this fucking hunting trip.

My dad has never hunted in his life. Well, he probably did when he was a kid–I know my grandpa was a big hunter, and my uncle has mentioned hunting trips in the past that he went on with him, though I can’t remember if he ever said that my father had gone along. In any case, I’ve never gone hunting, nor have I ever desired to. If anything, I think it’s kind of fucked up, to go out into the woods just to kill a thing and mount it on your wall. Still, my dad refused to take no for an answer, so we’re all packed up and driving the four hours to my uncle’s cabin for what my dad is promising will be a “real treat.”

No wi-fi, probably not even a bathroom–what the fuck? We arrive, and to my surprise, the place is actually fit for human habitation. It only has two bedrooms, so I have to bunk with my cousin…which is a bit awkward. I mean, I barely know him at all, and it doesn’t help that he’s in his thirties, while I’m still in the middle of college. He’s big fellow–probably close to 300 pounds, and when I get there, his shit is already thrown all over the room…and it stinks, honestly, like he didn’t even bother to wash any of his clothes before he came. I shove his shit over to his side, and drop my bag on the bed–it’s pretty late at this point, the sun is setting, so my uncle suggests we have dinner and relax a while…and that’s when things start to get a bit odd–or odder, I suppose, since the whole thing is still strange.

My dad…he seems really tense, and yet he seems happy to be here all the same. My cousin breaks into the beer and starts chugging away while my uncle cooks on the grill–I don’t think he says two words the whole time, just belches and chugs. My uncle offers me a beer, and I refuse–my dad, always a stickler in most cases insists I take it and when my uncle offers my dad a cigar, he lights the thing up eagerly. My dad. The militant non-smoker. Smoking a cigar. I don’t know what to say, and so I don’t say anything. We all eat, and my uncle starts a fire in the pit as it gets dark, and we crowd around it.

I finish one beer slowly, only to have another pressed into my hand. My dad gets up and says he’s tired from the drive and wants to go to bed–I try to go with him, but he and my uncle say I should stay up a bit more and hang out with my family–I hardly know them, right? But as soon as my dad is inside, my uncle gives my cousin a…a look, and he heaves himself up and heads inside too, swaying a bit drunkenly as he does, leaving my uncle and I alone in the dark, beside each other at the fire.

I don’t know what to say, but my uncle fills the silence naturally. His words…they have a real easy rhythm, you know? I’m just looking at the fire, staring at the flames dancing, and he’s talking to me, murmuring in my ear, and I don’t even really know what he’s saying anymore. I just feel…tired. Really tired. So tired I want to shut my eyes, but I have to keep staring at the flame, right?

I try to say something, I try to say I want to go to bed…and that’s when I realize something is really wrong with me. I can’t. I can’t do anything. I’m slumped in that chair, completely relaxed, and my uncle starts rubbing his hand over my body, feeling me up, and I’m trying to flinch away, I’m trying to say no, but all I do is groan. I groan…because it feels good. Really good. His hand is slipping lower, down into my pants now, and I’m disgusted but at the same time I want him to touch me so badly. I feel my eyes finally slipping shut, and as I do, I shudder, my cock exploding in my uncle’s hand, and the last things I hear him say, before I slip under, are:

“That’s a good boy, we’re gonna be real happy together, just you wait.”