I Dream of Bacchus (Part 7)

He hid the truth from his roommate for as long as he could. He had some savings at least–if he managed it well, he’d be able to scrape by for a couple of months at least. He pretended to go to work each morning, and then would usually head for the liquor store, buy some fortified wine, and then sit in a park for most of the day, sleeping on a park bench. He felt most at home there–close to the trees, playing with the beasts, demanding they fuck his holes, and the beasts were all too happy to oblige. In the afternoon or evening, he’d return home and watch Jared get fucked by a guy or two, and then sleep–it was as close as he could get to an ideal life, he supposed, but it came to a crashing end, when Jared found a notice that they were behind on rent–Raury had skipped a payment in order to pay Jared–watching him get fucked was more important, right?

He’d had to tell him the truth, Jared was furious–Raury tried to console him. He could find another job, right? He’d be able to keep paying him, if he was just patient–but Jared stormed into his room, packed a bag of things, and said he was moving out.

“I don’t even know why I live with a disgusting fuck like you–I get offers from guys every day of the week to live with them, and at least they wouldn’t disgust me on a daily basis. If I ever fucking see you again, you’re going to fucking regret it.”

Raury pleaded with him, got on his knees and begged. “Please! I..I need you Jared, you’re all I have left. If I didn’t have you, I…I think I’d go insane, please, you can’t leave me!”

It was the truth. Jared was the only person he felt a connection to anymore. He spent the rest of his time speaking to beasts that were only real to him–everyone in the park assumed he was a lunatic, and he’d nearly gotten arrested the week before, when he’d mistaken a policeman on horseback for an especially handsome centaur, and begged the beast to fuck him. But he knew Jared was real–he was the only thing holding him here. If he didn’t have that, then who even was he?

“You’re ours, our Bacchus!” he heard the beasts shout around him. They had appeared in the apartment around them, and Raury looked around in horror, “You only need us, Bacchus, we’ll keep you happy, we promise.”

Jared stepped around him, and Raury grabbed him around the knees. He kicked him off, leaving him with a bleeding nose, and then left–slamming the door shut behind him, abandoning Raury to the beasts around him, who began to close into a ring.

“You don’t need him.”

“We’re all you need, all you want.”

“We make you happy, only we know what you need, Bacchus.”

“No!” Raury shouted, sending them all scattering back, “Him! I need him! The rest of you all get away from me, get away!” by the time he’d finished shouting, the beasts had disappeared, and all he felt instead, was loneliness–he hefted himself up, got a bottle of wine and chugged it, and chased it with another–with a couple of hours he was passed out on the couch, and again, found himself in a dream.

It had been months since he’d last experienced one so vivid. The smell of the forest, of the loam–it was welcoming, and yet, he couldn’t suppress the terror welling up in him. He wouldn’t be able to resist them for long–he knew this, but somehow, the loss of Jared had brought back some of his old sense of self. This…wasn’t the way things were supposed to be–it was Aarin’s fault, he had done this to them both, he’d cursed them. If he could just find him, maybe there was a way for him to fix this, to make it right for them both. He hadn’t really wanted to hurt anyone, with his cheating; he’d just cared more about his own satisfaction than anything else–but he could change, couldn’t he?

His feet were dragging him closer to the center of the woods now, and he could see the flicker of the beasts’ bonfires, the sound of their warped, jittery tunes. Even at his current size in this strange realm–at least 500 pounds, if not larger, rolls upon rolls of fat falling off him, he felt lighter than air, and he began to dance and skip as he approached the circle, though he hardly felt like dancing at all. The beasts were waiting; he took his honored place in the midst of them, lounging upon his pillows and carpets, expecting to be taken immediately as usual–but this was different. It wasn’t that the beasts were angry with him–but they seemed…nervous. There were fewer of them than usual, as well–he’d learned their names and forms at this point, and several of the more powerful satyrs were missing from the circle.

“We want you to be happy, Bacchus.”

“Happy with us!”

“If we do this, you have to stay, you have to become ours, forever, beyond the contract.”

Contract? He didn’t know what that meant, but before he could ask, he heard the sound of pipes, and a moment later, the missing satyrs came skipping into the clearing, and following them dancing along with the tune, was Jared. His face seemed sleepy, eyes unfocused–what was he doing here? Raury looked around, expecting Aarin to appear as well, but no one else came.

“He can be yours Bacchus.”

“We can make him yours! He will desire only you, like all of us.”

“Like us! Like us!”

I Dream of Bacchus (Part 5)

All three of their orgasms came in tandem, bucking to the beat of the drums as the music became a cataclysm, and before Raury could even lick his own cum off his hand, the beasts had descended on him, desperate to make it up to him, to feed him, to give him wine, to tell him that he didn’t need those humans to be happy, that they would serve him, and delight in him, and fuck him, and abuse him. He tried to pull away from them, when he saw Aarin help Jared up from the ground and lead him out of the forest, but in his heart he knew it was too late, and when he woke up, Jared would be gone and he’d be alone–alone with these things, alone with his dreams, and he didn’t know if he was thrilled or terrified at the thought.

The beasts began to wind down, slowly, and Raury could feel himself beginning to rise out of the dream, and fade back into real life. There was sun, but he wasn’t on the couch–he was in a bed, alone, but not the bed from his apartment. It…stank. The room stank like a barn. Like manure and mud and straw, but rather than disgust him, he actually found himself relaxing into it. At least…now, he could be alone, right? He wouldn’t have to feel bad about giving in anymore, about the weight he’d gained, about his drinking, about his sexual obsessions and constant sleeping. He was so comfortable, in fact, that he almost allowed himself to drift off again, but he needed to piss, so he got up, naked, and went into the hallway towards the bathroom.

“Fucking hell…you know the fucking rule, Raury! I do not want to see that fucking disgusting body of yours naked!”

He looked over, and there was Jared, fully clothed, holding a cup of coffee, and he couldn’t believe it. What was he doing here? Hadn’t Aarin taken him away? Wasn’t that supposed to be his punishment? “I…I just had to piss is all,” he muttered.

“Get back in that room and put something on, or I’m not going to let you watch for a week, and I’ll raise the fucking rate.”

Ashamed for reasons he only half understood, he turned around and went back into the room, surveying the mess. It looked a bit like a sty, really–clothes thrown everywhere. Still, Jared…called the shots. He went around and found a pair of ratty boxers, and then grabbed a robe hanging over the back of a chair–but caught his reflection in the dirty mirror on the wall, and gasped.

He’d been changing before, bit by bit, but always gradually. Here, he was looking at a different person entirely. He just…couldn’t get past the fact that he was so…so old, all of a sudden. His hair, all of his hair from his head to his feet, was grey, and he’d balded severely. His usual layer of stubble was still present around his mouth, but he’d grown in a pair of thick mutton chops which only made his face look wider and pudgier. Even his body seemed to have contorter–he was shorter, legs stubbier and a bit bowed out, posture slumped…he was a fucking slobby mess. No wonder Jared never wanted to look at him–Raury didn’t want to look at himself either.

He pulled the robe on, checked the hallway for Jared, and then got to the bathroom, determined to fix himself up slightly. He could at least get rid of the facial hair, right? Have a shower, clean himself up…but nothing worked. Every time he ran the blade of a razor over his face, he could feel the hair being cut, but it would appear right back behind the blade’s trail, like nothing had happened at all. The same with his chops and hair–he could cut it, but it would regrow to it’s new length again in less than a second. Showering proved to be equally futile–no matter how much he scrubbed, he’d step out as dirty and stinking as he’d been getting in. This was him now–his body. He’d been…corrupted, somehow, but whether it was the fault of the beasts, or the fault of Aarin’s curse, he didn’t know. He went back to his room and cried for a couple of hours, had a pleasant nap where he got fucked by a handsome pair of centaurs, and then woke in the evening to a sudden knock on the door.

“You got the fee, pervert? Slide it under, and I’ll open the hole before he gets here.”

His body knew what to do, before his mind could really catch up. He got some cash from his wallet–a hundred dollars, and slipped it under to Jared, who took it, and walked back to his room, where he heard something shift against their shared wall–and a small hole he hadn’t noticed was revealed. Curious, he got down and looked through it, and found himself staring right at a completely naked Jared, and fuck, he was so…achingly, desperately in love, at that moment. He wanted him so badly, needed him, his cock rock hard, and he started jacking off, being careful to stay quiet–any peep from him, and…his privileges could be revoked.

Ten minutes later, he heard a distant knock at the apartment door. Jared went to answer it, and returned with a young man, and they started making out together…and Raury felt his heart start to shred, even as he grew even more turned on that before. The man had a massive cock–almost as large as Raury’s had been once upon a time–and he used it on Jared’s ass for close to an hour, Jared blowing load after load watching some stranger fuck the man who had been his ex-boyfriend, but who now…well, there wasn’t really an easy term for what their relationship was now.

I Dream of Bacchus (Part 4)

Still, after a month, things seemed to have…stabilized. He’d grown to around 275 pounds, and was hovering there. His body had filled in with hair, and he seemed to have a perpetual layer of stubble no matter how often he shaved, his hair always long and greasy. He drank three bottles of cheap wine a night, binged at a near constant rate, and endured constant ridicule, but he was feeling…somewhat more sane. And then, one night, he found himself back in the wood, but the intensity was vivid again, like that first time. He desperately tried to keep his feet from walking deeper, but like he was in a trance, he ventured towards the clearing, towards the revelry–and found someone else there, amongst the animals. It was Aarin, with a cruel smile across his face, beckoning Raury closer.

“There you are–taking your sweet time. You were almost late,” Aarin said, as Raury tried to figure out what, exactly, his ex-lover was doing here in his fucked up dreams. “Fellows, why don’t you make your Bacchus comfortable, while we wait for our other guest.”

The beasts gave a great shout and cheer, rushed over and hauled Raury towards the makeshift throne they had for him in the midst of the clearing, but he twisted and fought harder than usual, shouting at Aarin, “You–You’re the one who’s doing this to me? This is all because of you?”

“No, Raury, this is all because of you, because you couldn’t be honest. You refused to bring balance on your own, and so I’m forced to take matters into my own hands, and balance the scales myself. And of course, helping out my…acquaintances here is always a pleasure. They’ve been asking me to provide them with a new bacchus for quite some time, but I hadn’t yet found anyone willing. So, I figured, why not take someone unwilling instead?”

Raury was trying to protest and fight the beasts off around him, but as much as he loathed admitting it–he was weak. Not only physically, after his rash of changes over the past few weeks, but…spiritually as well. He’d grown to like the attentions of these beasts–his dreams felt so much better than anything in his real life, and as soon as the bladder of wine reached his lips, he drank–and thankfully, some of the care and worry slipped from his mind, and he rolled over, presenting his ass for whichever beast might desire it.

But none did–or if they wanted him, they didn’t do so immediately, like usual. He looked around, and saw that several of the beasts were hungry to fuck, but they were looking at Aarin. “What, now you won’t even let them have their way with me?”

“Calm down, Raury–we’re still waiting on our other visitor. I think I hear him now, in fact.”

Raury couldn’t hear anything, but several of the satyrs’ and centaurs’ ears had pricked up. After another minute or two, true to Aarin’s claim, someone did come stumbling out of the woods and into the clearing–it was Jared. His boyfriend was standing there, naked, with a rather confused look on his face, as he stared around at the beasts and the stranger looking at him–and Raury, of all people. He couldn’t keep the disgust from his face, the sight of the chubby, hairy, dirty man, and Raury felt so ashamed of himself–but he also felt a bit satisfied. He wasn’t going to be alone in this anymore. He could live with this, if Jared had to suffer the same fate as him–but it wasn’t the beasts who went after him, as they had Raury–no, it was Aarin who approached him, pulling him to the side, a sneer on their faces as they started kissing and fondling one another, right in front of Raury.

“No–No, you don’t get to fucking take him, he’s fucking mine!” Raury shouted.

“Yours?” Aarin said, pulling away from Jared’s hungry mouth, moving his head lower, Jared kissing at his abs, dropping lower towards Aarin’s cock. “How many men have you been sleeping with behind his back, Raury? Are they all yours too? This is balance, Raury. It’s time for the ugliness inside of you to be on the outside. It’s time for you to suffer what you have made others suffer–isn’t that right, Jared?”

Jared nodded, his mouth around Aarin’s cock–but it wasn’t clear that he even understood what was going on, or if he realized how real this dream actually was.

“Alright you beasts–I gave you your Bacchus. Now it’s time for you to give me my spell, as I requested.”

The beasts grumbled and muttered a bit–obviously a bit annoyed at having to take orders from this man. A few, under their breath, even muttered apologies to Raury, that they wanted to be serving him, and not this man, but that he would still be happy–still be their beautiful Bacchus after this. The pipes and drums began, a pulsing beat faster than the relaxing tunes they preferred, and around him, the beasts began to dance in a tight circle, chanting and singing a calamitous tune which seemed to shake Raury to his bones–but what Raury was focused on–what he couldn’t turn away from, in fact–was Aarin and Jared.

They had moved closer to him–Aarin pulling Jared up off his cock so they could dance to the strange music of the beasts in the clearing, spinning faster and faster until they fell to the ground, and Aarin mounted Jared, ramming his cock into him, and Jared screamed in delight, pushing back, eager to be filled. It was…humiliating, because the only person who had made Jared scream like that before, was him. But that said, it was also hot. He was getting aroused watching the display, watching Aarin fuck his boyfriend in his stead, and unable to stop himself, he reached down and started jacking his own cock, in quick rhythm with the music and Aarin’s own thrusting. But his cock–it was smaller, and still shrinking. Soon, it couldn’t have been more than a couple of inches long, his balls shriveling up as well, but he didn’t care. He wanted…to see them fuck, wished it could be him, but it couldn’t–not anymore–now he was worthless.

Jeremiah’s Biggest Fan (Part 2)

“Are you doing ok? You seem jumpy–no one’s going to notice, I promise.”

It was a few days later, and the longer Jeremiah had stewed on the strange shit he’d witnessed in Terry’s, or Terrance’s room that afternoon, the more angry he had gotten. It was clearly a honeypot–he was hoping to get Jeremiah on video having sex, and then expose him. But what fucking right did he, or they, have to do any of that shit to him? Maybe in another life, Jeremiah would have been able to be open about his sexuality–the world was changing fast. Hell, if he did make it to the pros, maybe he could come out then and help change some minds. But it was his fucking decision to make, not some stranger’s, so they could raise their own profile at his own expense. Still, was this the right decision? He stepped into the dorm building while Terry held the door open for him, and then followed him upstairs to his room, pretending to not know where they were going after he’d followed him before.

It was that…change, which still confused him the most. How had Terrance gone from being that five and a half foot wisp of a twink to being Terry–six two, 250 pounds of muscle–in the course of a second? He still found it hard to believe what he’d seen with his own eyes. He was going to get to the bottom of it, in any case, and after a nice rough up, he was sure Terrance, or Terry, or whoever they were, would be happy enough to go find someone else’s life to fuck up. Terry unlocked the door with another wink at Jeremiah, who did his best not to look too flustered in return, and followed him inside. As soon as they were in, before the door even closed, Terry was stripping off his shirt–but Jeremiah didn’t give him a chance to do much else. He grabbed him by the head, tangled in fabric, and slammed him into the wall beside them.

“You fucker–you think my life is a fucking joke, eh? Think it’s fucking funny, ruining someone’s fucking life?” he shouted, and started kicking at him where he’d fallen and was struggling–with one solid kick to the chin, however, he stopped moving. Worried he might have killed him, he hauled the shirt away from Terry’s face and felt for a pulse–it was there, he was just unconscious for the moment, which gave Jeremiah plenty of time to find that strange device, and see if he could solve the other piece of this puzzle.

It was on Terry’s desk, where he’d picked it up before. It looked like a really thick smartphone, with an operating system he’d never seen before. As soon as he picked it up, the screen flashed a message:

“Chronivac 5.0 has detected a new user. Download manual?”

It had a yes/no prompt, and he his yes–not really caring–and felt his brain start…exploding for a few seconds. When it stopped, he looked down at the device in his hands, and realized that it had downloaded the instructions right into his brain. This thing was a Chronivac, and this thing could…change people. Make them different in about every single way possible. It seemed impossible, but between his sudden burst of knowledge from the thing, and what he’d seen happen with Terry/Terrance the day before…could it really be true?

He found Terrance’s profile, and sure enough, he was currently in the middle of a transformation–a profile he’d called Terry. He reverted him, and watched as the massive hunk on the floor shrank, and a few seconds later the twink was there, moaning slightly and nursing the side of his face where he’d struck the wall. He looked up at Jeremiah, standing over him with the Chronivac in his hand–his eyes went wide and he lunged, but Jeremiah stepped back, swung, and sent him careening back, before finding the freeze command on Terrance’s profile. In a moment, he was stiff as a statue on the ground, obviously in a panic.

“You fucker–you little fuck!” Jeremiah screamed at him, “This was your fucking plan? Not only would you get me to fuck you, you were then…what, going to make a video of it? Show the whole fucking campus?” He looked around, and sure enough, there were a few small, inconspicuous spy cameras on some of the shelves around the room. He grabbed them, stomped on them, and then started looking for more. Terrance was desperately fighting his frozen body, but every muscle had locked solid–even drawing breath was a struggle. How in the world had a brute like Jeremiah even figured him out? This was supposed to be the easy one! He had a few articles that were going to take the whole year to pull off–and now he’d been brought low by some closeted fucking football player.

Jeremiah sat down on the bed, and tried to control himself. He’d done it–he’d won, but he didn’t feel any better. This fuck–this machine. It could fuck with everything. Terrance could just wipe his memory of this, he could get him one way or another. No–this…he was going to have to do something about this, to get rid of this rat permanently. He scrolled through some menus, and found the settings he needed–making Terrance obedient to his commands, first and foremost, and then unfreezing his mouth, so he could talk–after ordering him not to scream or try and get help.

“Look, we can work this out,” Terrance said, “I’m sorry–this was shitty to do, but you can help me! That’s what this was really about. I…needed an inside guy, to get to the rest of the football team. I wasn’t going to leak it, I really wasn’t!”

“What, you would just blackmail me for the rest of my life?”

“No!”

It was a lie, and they both knew it. Jeremiah was going to have to make sure this fucker couldn’t talk–or that…he’d never want to talk. A bit of an idea was starting to occur to him, and with this Chronivac thing, he could do it easily. “Well, first of all, you should know that ‘Terry’ isn’t really my type at all. If you really want me to fuck you, then we’re going to have to fix you up a bit first. But why don’t you take a quick nap, Terrance? I’ll wake you up when you’re ready.”

Before Terry could even beg, Jeremiah had put him to sleep with the chronivac, and started working on a new custom profile for the little faggot. Little did he know, but he’d just solved a few of Jeremiah’s problems–he certainly wasn’t going to have to worry about going without sex anymore–not with Terrance helping him out from now on.

Buried Treasure (Part 1)

I was older, by eleven minutes. It’s hard to tell if that was why I was always the one in charge or not, but I certainly had a habit of lording it over Mike every chance I got. I got first helpings at dinner, I got to sit in the front of the car, I got the top bunk of the bed. I…It never really occurred to me that he might resent me for it. Maybe it hadn’t even crossed his mind that he should hate me for it. He was just always so easy going, you know? But I knew what I wanted to be–I wanted to play sports, and Mike came along for the ride, because as if I was going to be in control, that meant I needed to have someone to control, right? And for the longest time, that was Mike, for me.

Of course, the real reason everything went so…wrong, was Cory–our cousin. But I need to start with Mike and I, because that’s the reason everything went wrong with Cory in the first place. See, maybe I just always hated the idea that I couldn’t be alone, that Mike was always there too, shadowing me–and as much as I wanted him there, I also hated him for it, I think. So yeah, I wasn’t the nicest brother. Hell, I wasn’t the nicest guy at school, or anywhere else. I’d fuck shit up and try to pin it on Mike–I usually got caught in the end, but it was enough to remind him of what I thought of him. If he had a girlfriend and I didn’t, I tell her awful secrets about him–true or not–and get them to break up. I deserved it, I suppose is what I’m trying to say. Don’t feel too bad for me, in any case.

Cory would come to visit us in “the big city” for a few weeks each year. Our uncle wanted him to have at least a bit of exposure to culture, so when he came over, that meant our parents would cart all three of us around to museums and zoos and shit like that. Cory looked like a big dumb lug, but he was actually really smart beneath all of that fat and stupid grin and that accent of his. He was smarter than me, and that pissed me off–so I’d tease him non-stop, mostly for being fat, but also for his stupid accent. He hated me so much, but he liked Mike–and that meant I had to get Mike to play along with me, and ridicule him too. Mike always hated to do it, but he was stuck with me for the rest of the year, while Cory could get away after a couple of weeks. It was worth the trade, and even Cory could understand that.

But then came last Spring. All three of us were seventeen, juniors in high school, and I was just ready to be done and off to college already on an athletic scholarship. Cory arrives–and immediately, I can tell something is different about him. Usually when he shows up, especially the last couple of years, he looks like he’d rather be anywhere else–and I love that fucking look, because it means I have the power again. But this time, he shows up with this old ass looking ring on his finger, and when he looks at me–fuck, all I see is pure fucking anger, enough that it actually scares the wits out of me. Mike can see it too, and he looks at me, wondering what to do…or maybe who to side with. “Hey Darren, long time no see,” he says to me–the words are nice enough, but the scowl he’s throwing at me…I can’t even speak.

That first day, I dread the possibility of being alone with him. He’s planning something, but I’m pretty sure I’m safe with my parents in the house–but then, he talks to my mom and dad, suggests they go out on a date and spend the night in a hotel room…and they just up and agree with him! An hour later, it’s the three of us, alone in the house, and Cory is just smiling at me and Mike like we’re fucking mice in a trap. That ring–the way it catches the light–there’s something…wrong about it, but I can’t look away from it, and neither can Mike…and when Cory suggests that the two of us take off our shirts and start making out…it just seems like the most obvious and necessary thing in the world.

I can tell we’re both fucking scared out of our wits, but that’s not stopping us at all, and when Cory emphasizes that we need to be enjoying this, that we should look like we’ve been making out with each other in secret for years–I can actually…remember all of the times before, when we’ve done this, and we’re both moaning, and I hear Cory unzip his pants and start…jacking off while he watches us…

Soon enough, I’m on all fours while Mike is pushing his cock in my ass, Cory egging him on, telling Mike how much he hates me, how much he wants to hurt me, and how I deserve it. Telling Mike how…how much he loves Cory, how much he’s always loved Cory, and then he’s inside me–raw and unlubed. I scream in pain, but Mike doesn’t care anymore–he’s too busy making out with our cousin while he rapes my hole–and it’s clear that these two weeks are not going to be ones I’m ever going to forget in a very, very long time.

“Let’s See How He Likes it” (1 of 2)

You could tell that Vince enjoyed it, that he went to bars like this on purpose. He was a twink, or maybe he just seemed like a twink in the midst of all the bears–he was more of a gymrat, really, on his own. But he seemed younger, and smaller, in those rooms, flaunting his body for all those “old faggots” as he called them, dancing alone, making them all want him–and when someone had the audacity to even approach him, he’d ridicule and humiliated them, berate loud enough for the whole room to hear–what kind of loser would think someone like him could ever be interested in a hairy old fag like that, after all? It was only a matter of time, really, before someone got sick of him, and did something about it.

It was a Friday night, and Vince was planning another raid, as he called them. He’d swing in, get those bears all hot and bothered, and then skip out to a better bar, where he’d actually find some tail worth fucking. Still, seeing how much all of those fuckers wanted him–it was a rush, really. He was everything that they wanted, and they were never going to get him–not in a million years. He was getting dressed for the evening–nice tight fitting band shirt, sexy jeans, smoking a cigarette, when he checked himself in the mirror…and gawked.

He had a beard. Not just a beard, either–it was…jet fucking white. He took off his hat, and saw a bunch of hair fall out as he did–his hairline was receding, rapidly, and the hair that wasn’t falling out was growing longer. He had to shave it, he had to do…something. He hurried to the bathroom, but by the time he got there, the beard was several inches long, and he saw that his body was changing as well, a gut pushing up his shirt, his pecs growing larger and flabby. He started clawing at the shirt, where his neck was tight against the neck, and the thing changed into a stained, grubby looking wife beater, his jeans growing to accommodate his wide ass as well, and suspenders appearing, looping over his massive gut and holding his pants up, now that no belt would really reach around his girth.

He just stared at his new, old body–easily 400 pounds, and at his new height of five foot six, he only looked wider. He couldn’t go out like this, he had to get to a hospital or something…but…but he had to go…somewhere, right? There was a nagging feeling in his head, something he needed to do tonight. He went out and lit one of his cheap, foul tasting cigars, got on his old, ragged boots, and headed downstairs, trying to stop himself, dying from shame at the looks he was getting from people he passed on the street…but little did he know, his night was just getting started.

Source: lukasgardiner

Twelve Months ‘til Christmas (Part 11)

~~November 7th~~

It took John a few days for his mind to pick up speed again, and for some of the changes inflicted on him by Santapig to regress–though he had a feeling he wouldn’t truly be back to normal anytime soon. The pendant around his neck no longer shown as brilliantly as before, when it had caught every bit of light and every eye in a room–the metal seemed tarnished, almost like it had become muddied. Any longer with the pig, under his sway, and the pendant may have lost all of it’s luster, leaving him trapped.

Petey had to keep up appearances, and so it took a few more days for him to bring enough supplies that they could unlock the door and enter the room. The late fall snows had been flowing in through the window, and everything was coated in a soft layer of white. Carefully, they dusted the dry flakes from the urinal, and began collecting the eggs, wrapping them carefully to keep them from breaking, and placing them in a case. Petey’s one concern about the plan was that there simply wouldn’t be enough eggs, but there turned out to be an ample supply. Petey would have preferred a chance to study the specimens and learn more about them–how they functioned, and more importantly, what sorts of defenses one might raise to prevent…infestation. But they had no time, and any further experimentation would have raised further suspicion, as well as exposed both Petey and John to further risk.

Lenny had been conducting meetings in a small conference room with several other of his closest associates several times a week. They were actively plotting a broader takeover of the system, focusing on ousting Petey. He’d avoided any direct attack thus far by simply feigning ambivalence, and allowing Lenny and his crew to do as they pleased, but he, and many other elves, could see that Lenny was drunk on power, and was endangering Christmas further. Stanta was now little more than a gimp slave, dressed all in rubber, always at Lenny’s heel, ready and eager to do whatever his love ordered. He spent much of his time chained down in the workshop, Lenny ordering the elves to abuse him, ensuring that Stanta was being properly conditioned to enjoy it–and need it, of course.

The addictive cum had originally been Petey’s idea, in fact, when he’d been collaborating with Marty, at the beginning. He had, of course, synthesized an antidote which had been administered to all of the elves, but he was the sole guardian of the formula. This, Lenny could not stand, because without love, the only thing tethering Stanta to his control now was his newfound addiction. Petey also didn’t dare trust the formula with anyone else, and kept it only in his mind, and that, even more than his willingness to cooperate with Stanta, was the reason he bore a target on his back, and the reason Lenny needed to be dealt with.

And so, Petey and several of his close confidants snuck into the vents, and huddled over the conference room, until Lenny and his friends entered, with Stanta in tow. That was the true sticking point. Thankfully, when Stanta wasn’t in use, Lenny kept all of his holes sealed with a special mask and buttplug. Without testing, Petey couldn’t know if that was enough to keep him safe or not…but he could hope. Once the business of abusing Stanta had finished, and he’d been sealed up and business had commenced, the elves dropped the literal bomb down onto the table–smoke bombs first, followed by an exact number of eggs shattered on the table.

They couldn’t see, through the smoke, to know if their plan had worked. They could certainly hear screams, as the strange, rubber bugs found their newest hosts and infested them. The smoke cleared ten minutes later, and the last of the elves was shuddering as the rubber began to coat them–whether the mask and plug had been enough to protect him, or whether he’d just gotten lucky, it was never known, but where Lenny and his lieutenants had, minutes before, been laughing and plotting their seizure of power, there were now five urinals attached to the wall, ten toilets adhered to the floor, and Stanta, chained to the wall, trying to call out to his love through the mask.

Petey found the love gun in Lenny’s workshop, and used it to undo the spell of love over Stanta’s mind–only then did they dare release him from the chains holding him. If he had gotten free and seen what had happened to his lover…chances were good that no elf would have been safe. Instead, Stanta was disgusted with himself, appalled with his behavior, and surprised, more than anything, to find Petey and John, together, standing over him. Petey took one further step, to demonstrate his good will–he provided both Stanta and John with the same immunity to elf cum they all enjoyed–further levelling the playing field. Then, together, they went out into the workshop, John carrying the hard rubber toilet which had been Lenny, and dropped it to the floor of the workshop, and the elves all stared at Stanta, at his cold, furious eyes, but he steeled himself.

“The ones who deserved to be punished have been dealt with, as you can see. I desire no further conflict between Stanta and the elves. I implore you: let justice stand here, let no one seek further revenge, in the…spirit of Christmas.”

The sincerity could only be proven in time, but everyone in the room knew that there were larger stakes to be dealt with–Christmas was now only a month and a half away, and the existence of all of them hung in the balance, just as it did every year. Stanta did his best to show his good spirit, and even though the nights turned dark, and the winds colder than ever, everyone could feel a Christmas spirit warming the workshop which many had thought gone forever. Christmas, was back, and everyone was rejoicing without even realizing it.

Corporate Sabotage

“Hey, Bishop,” Frank said, knocking on the door of my office, “I just heard you landed the promotion to VP–congrats! I put my name in the hat too, but I had a feeling you were a shoe in.”

I smirked at Frank. We’d been…something between friends and rivals in the office for years now. To each other’s faces, we’re all smiles, but we’d fought hard for every last scrap–projects, bonuses, promotions–but I suppose you could say that with this, I’d finally won, in a sense. “Thanks Frank, I appreciate it. You would have been a great choice too. Who knows? Another slot might open up in a few years–I’ll certainly recommend you.”

“Heh, or even sooner,” he said, “Anyway, I got you a gift–something for you to enjoy tonight, while you’re celebrating,” he walked over and handed me a small, wrapped package, “I’d come to the party, but I’ve got plans.”

“No worries–don’t be feeling too sorry for yourself. You always fight hard.”

“You know it,” he said, with a wink, and then left. At least he had the courtesy to lose with dignity. Maybe I actually will follow through on that recommendation in the future–it’ll be dull without him around, in a way. I put the gift in my briefcase and forget about it, and leave to go get beers with the bosses to celebrate. I get home late, and only remember the gift when I see a bit of wrapping stuck in the hinge of the case. I open it up, and find a pack of cigars–nice ones, by the look and smell of them, but not a brand I recognize. Why not? I don’t smoke them often, but I deserve a treat, and I’m too wired to go to bed just yet.

Frank definitely has good taste in cigars–the first one is a pleasure to smoke. In fact, I feel more relaxed than I have in ages, and surprisingly horny too. I haul out my cock and start jacking off as I smoke, and I swear my cock seems…different. Longer, and…and with a bunch of skin hanging over the head. It feels good though, and I keep at it, feeling my head dull a bit. I take off my shirt and start tweaking a nipple, seeing…tattoos on both of my pecs. I don’t…have tattoos though, right? I blow a load all over my chest, and rub it into my skin, feeling gross as I do so, but it just…feels right. But now I have tah piss like a fuckin’ racehorse, ‘n I get up and head for the crapper–where I see a fuckin’ stranger in the gahd damn mirror, lookin’ out at me!

I look like a fuckin’ hick! I’m so fuckin’ pissed, ‘n I just has a feelin’ it’s gotta have somethin’ tha do with these cigars. I might not be able tah think too good, but ya gotta wake up pretty fuckin’ early tah git one past this cowboy! I find mah work phone ‘n text Frank, demandin’ answers, when I hears a knock on the door. I answer it, ‘n there’s Frank, and somebody’s with him. An old fuck, lookin’ like he just stepped off a pig farm, and…and fuck, he’s…real sexy like. He’s smokin’ a gar too, ‘n the fat fuck has me pressed to the wall in a moment, feedin’ me his fuckin’ smoke, rubbin’ mah tool, ‘n fuck, all I wanna do is taste ‘em.

“Sorry about this, Bishop, but…well, you’re the one who said I always fight dirty. Looks like that cigar of yours is almost done–how about we light another one for you?”

I know I shouldn’t, but fuck…Ah know Ah can’t help mahself.

“Won’t be much left of you after this one, I can promise you that. But don’t worry–this here’s my Uncle Eddie–owns a pig farm out in the heartland. He’s been needing a new boy, and I offered you up, in exchange for a bit of help with our family magic. He’s a mean fucker, and dirty son of a bitch, but I don’t think the new you is going to mind much. Everyone’s going to assume you cracked under the pressure, I suppose–well, at least I can take over for you, right? I’ll just let the two of you finish up here, and he’ll take you home in the morning. Have a nice, new life.”

Course, Ah didn’t hear too much a that–had mah face buried in mah…pa’s reekin’ pit, ‘fore he shoved me down ‘n gave me a right proper skullfuck. Now we’s in his truck, headin’ west–ain’t lookin back though. How can Ah, with mah face buried in Pa’s nasty crotch the whole way home?

Source: wantin2ride

The Facility (Part 6)

WARNING: Strange TF

Holden’s body seemed to be…quivering and shaking all over, and expanding. It was all fat, that Quinn could see, and it was happening so quickly that his skin could barely keep up–even tearing the flesh at parts, though it healed over within moments, leaving him covered with scars and stretchmarks. He tried to speak, but something was wrong with his mouth–his whole face really. There was blood running from his nose and mouth down his chin as it pushed out, his jaw and skull reforming into some strange new shape. Quinn couldn’t look anymore–he got up and shook the doors again, but there was no opening them. He had to fight. He had to, there was no option. Beside the door, he saw a fire extinguisher in a glass case. He smashed it and hauled it free, charging at the monster with it raised over he hurled it at the things head, dealing it a glancing blow–the thing roaring in surprise and pain, before hauling itself out of Holden’s ass and charging at Quinn.

He dodged it’s first charge, but wasn’t expecting it’s tail to move as quickly as it did, tripping him and then wrapping itself around him tightly, so tight he could only manage ragged breaths. It was strong enough that it could lift him off the ground entirely, long enough to haul him around to face the thing’s snarling mouth, before it lowered him onto it’s cock as it stood there. He kicked and struggled, but there was no fighting it–the beast impaled him on his cock, making him scream in pain, his ass loosening immediately just like Holden’s had, and then he too, felt something begin pumping its way into his bowels, some of it seeping back out and dribbling to the floor from his now wrecked hole.

It was the pleasure which surprised him the most, catching him completely off guard. He hadn’t been able to see earlier, from how Holden had been face down against the floor, but Quinn’s cock hardened immediately, he gasped, and sprayed a massive shot of cum from his cock, and then another, eyes rolling back into his head, and even the horrific pain he felt as his body swelled with fat, skin ripping and healing as he grew, couldn’t beat the pleasure, couldn’t stop him from…wanting this. The cum was still pouring out of him in a torrent, his scrotum swelling larger and larger as he spewed, his cock growing as well, even as his new fat threatened to overwhelm it. He could…smell it. He was dimly aware that he could taste blood, that something was wrong inside of him, that his face ached–especially his teeth, but he could smell so much now. Smell his cum. Smell the monster’s cum forming a pool below him, how delicious it all smelled to him, suddenly.

Apparently satisfied with the result, the beast pulled him free and dropped him to the floor, where he landed on something large and soft, before rolling off to the side. It was Holden, he realized. It had been Holden. Whatever it was, it had crawled over from where the beast had been fucking him to the puddle beneath them, and had spent the last several minutes lapping up and eating whatever cum had dribbled from them both. Both of his arms seemed…smaller, almost atrophied. It was desperately groping it’s fat and trying to reach his groin–and his own strangely deformed cock and balls, but couldn’t do so. It took a moment for Quinn to realize that he too, was desperately trying to reach himself. He could only turn his head so far, enough to see his oddly misshapen limbs flailing about helplessly, but he managed to crawl forward somehow, his own face battling with Holden’s for whatever cum it could find on the floor.

Doctor Sondew was pleased with the results of the initial seeding. Further exposure to the beast’s seed, beyond another threshold, would trigger the complete transformation of subjects two and three–their arms and legs disappearing entirely, leaving them as little more than fat worms with a single minded thirst for cum, and whatever else the dear doctor felt they deserved. Of course, their human minds were relatively untouched, though no longer in control of their bodies, which would be governed by instinct from this point forward. Still, best to leave them…recognizable for what would come next. He would leave these two in the main facility, where they would be found, where the rest of the men in the camp could find them, know what they were, so they could see what they two would become tonight when he turned his beast on them. The woods were dark and terrifying, especially after the doctor’s small EMP had plunged their camp into silence, and killed all of their communications. After that, there would only be them, the darkness, the trees, and the beast from their nightmares fucking each of them in turn, until all that would remain come morning were the monstrous worms they all deserved to be.

Doctor Sondew would be recording it all, of course, and come morning, it would be broadcast to the entire world for them to see. To see what this company was capable of, to see what they had done. He and his beast would be gone by then, of course–and if that wasn’t enough, then he’d set the beast loose in a major city, and see how the world might respond to that.

The puddle of cum was been depleted, and both might worms had inched their way to his beast, their strange mouths and tongues licking at the monster’s massive balls. They could smell what was in them, and as much as they might fear it, they also knew that they needed it to survive. The beast was obedient, however, and refused to provide it, though it looked up to it’s master and gave a whine, telling him that it would very much like to continue with subjects Eta Two and Three. But no, there was work to be done. Two robots entered, wrapping up the Quinn and Holden and dragging them out to the room, to the elevator. His revenge would come tonight, at last.

No One Else Will Want You Now (Part 9)

Waste was surprised that he was still alive. In a sense, he knew that he wasn’t, not alive in the same sense as before, certainly not alive as the same person. He uncurled himself slowly from the ball he crumpled into on the floor, before pushing himself up on shaking legs so he could see himself in the mirror.

What had happened to him? It was like every muscle in his body had been dehydrated and shrunk to a single wire connecting each of his joints. Just from looking at himself, he couldn’t weigh much more than a hundred pounds–the curse had left him as skin and bones. His height only served to exaggerate his new physique, but the loss of muscles wasn’t the most disturbing parts–it was the concave belly with his ribs clearly defined against the skin of his chest. Somehow, the skin seemed both impossibly tight, and also loose and sagging, depending on the angle one looked at. His eyes climbed higher, to his neck, every tendon and vein visible through his much paler skin, and his gaunt face. He looked…old. So much older than he had been, with his now snow white beard growing out in wisps to his chest, his head bald aside from a few errant strands of fine hair that remained. To steady himself, he took a drag off his cigar, able to see his chest inflating with smoke, and then exhaled through his yellowed, crooked teeth, lined with gaps. Cheeks shallow and gaunt, eyes sunken deep. His eyes–he could see clearly, but they were cloudy–eerily so, and he could barely make eye contact with himself for five or ten seconds, before having to look away, but there was nowhere to look that didn’t horrify him. The only part of him that seemed to have any life left was his cock–he gripped it with a bony hand, feeling it’s warmth, feeling alive in some small way, through his shaft.

Waste. The curse had named him Waste, and now he understood. Wasting away, but also discarded by the world. Refuse. That old him, Walter, he was fading faster now, he was dying in the sandstorm, but the curse had saved him from that fate, because he could still be useful. If he didn’t want to suffer the same end, then Waste knew what he had to do, knew who he had to become.

“Sorry about that, Fuglet,” he said, looking over at his slave. His voice was dry, cracking, desperate for water. The shiver that ran down Fuglet’s back was similar to a knife running down a pane of glass. “I got…distracted. You’ve met all my conditions, slave. That’s what you wanted, isn’t it? You’re mine now–all mine, forever.”

Fuglet didn’t like this Master. Fuglet liked the old one, the one who he could tell still cared about him, but in those skeletal, cloudy eyes, he only saw hatred.

“Get on the bed–Master wants to use that hole of yours.”

He didn’t want to, but he couldn’t disobey. He got on the bed and let his jeans slip from his ass and around his knees, his master coming over, running sharp, claw like nails along his filthy skin, pressing hard enough to leave a red mark, but not a true scratch. His cock was hungry–it was the only part of him that needed anything anymore. As long as he kept his cock happy, as long as that didn’t shrivel away as well, then he wouldn’t have to worry. The curse would be happy, and Waste wouldn’t have to die too.

He raped his Fuglet for hours. When he grew tired of one hole, he would switch to another. If his slave displeased him for some reason, he would take a moment to punish him–sometimes quickly, with a sharp burn from the end of his cigar, or other times longer, with a prolonged paddling. The whole time, he could see his cock and balls swelling larger, feeding on Fuglet’s pain and humiliation until it was over a foot long and as thick as a two liter bottle, ramming deep into his ass as he screamed with each invasion. When he finally finished, and came–filling Fuglet’s ass with a massive load of cum, Waste finally looked around and realized the apartment had completely shifted around them as well, their new life becoming…clearer.

Fuglet worked in construction during the day–it was one of the few jobs someone as stupid and ugly as he was could still manage to do a decent job and not get fired in the first week. Everyone on his crew hated him, of course. Everyone in the world despised him as soon as they met him. They just…something about him, it was clear that he wasn’t right. He had no friends, he had no family. No one knew about his master waiting back at home. No one who noticed his collar had any desire to know the details or story behind it. Still, he did his menial tasks competently, he stayed out of everyone’s way, and that was acceptable. Then, when the day was done, he went home, where Waste was waiting.

Waste never left the apartment. It wasn’t clear that Waste even could leave the apartment. It wasn’t clear what, exactly, waste was, but Fuglet was fairly certain he wasn’t entirely human, even if he had been at some point. He never ate, he only slept a few hours a night. He would abuse Fuglet until he passed out, and when he awoke, Waste would still be fucking him. As gaunt and sickly as he appeared, he was stronger than any man Fuglet had met on any crew. Waste was his curse to bear, he supposed, for some sins in some past life, and he bore him willingly. At least it was someone. At least he wasn’t entirely alone. At least there was something in the world that needed him, even if it only needed him to suffer.