Arctos Audio 2: True Story (Part 7)

WARNING: Scat, castration, strange stuff, etc.

Paul just kept encouraging him, telling him was a good piggy he’s being, that he’s gonna enjoy having a toilet pig around the farm, and soon, Nate started to feel full, but shit just kept coming anyway. It was backing up his throat, and he couldn’t breathe–the panic was momentary, however, as he quickly found that he didn’t…need to breathe. In a few minutes, his throat was packed up to his snout, and try as he might, he couldn’t take anymore. Thankfully, Paul finished up soon after, and stood back up, not minding the shit coating his ass, turned around, and looked at the rubber pig on hands and knees, and grinned.

His massive load of shit sure had done the trick. The suit which had been hanging off the pig’s body before was now stretched tight–and the pig had probably doubled in size, it’s massive gut nearly dragging along the ground as it felt it’s stuffed snout with one trotter, trying to figure out what to do about it’s predicament. “Here piggy, I can help ya wit that,” Paul said, and shoved his rock hard cock into the packed snout and began forcing the shit down into the pig’s throat roughly. It worked–Paul could feel it working it’s way deeper into him, and the taste of Paul’s nasty cock was enhanced by the shit covering it. It was even better when he let loose a load of piss, helping to liquify a bit of the mass and wash it down. After a couple of minutes he pulled out, huffing a bit, leaking precum, and Nate could lick his snout clean, and tentatively, he got his strange legs underneath his huge frame, and he stood upright.

He was nowhere near the height he’d been before–with his much shorter legs, he was probably barely five feet tall, but with the massive gain in weight, he was easily 500 pounds, if not even larger. His arms were shorter as well, and could barely reach his face, much less the rest of his body. They felt useless. Still, he pressed on his body with them, and he felt the mass of filth inside him shift around slightly. How in the world was he holding all of it? Was there…even a flesh body left inside of him? He recalled how he hadn’t needed to even breathe, when the shit had filled him up, and he concluded that his body…wasn’t really a body anymore–it was just a cavity, a vessel designed to store filth. He could feel his piggy cock hardening at the thought, and pressing through…something against his body, hugging it, and realized the suit had formed a sheath around it–the only bit of his old body still hanging free, and touching the air, were his balls.

Paul hefted up Nate’s gut and looked under it, at them hanging there, and grinned. “Guess we only gots one thing left tah do, right piggy?”

He backed up, unsteady on his feet, turned and started to waddle away, but Paul tackled him to the ground, compressing him slightly, and he felt shit push back up his throat and into his mouth, as well as squeeze out his ass.

“Now, now, if ya wanna make yer farmer happy–ya should know I only wanna fuck hogs. The sooner it’s over with, the better ya will feel–I promise.”

He grabbed hold of Nate’s sack and pulled it tight, before stretching the rubber ring from the package out and looping it around them. He let it go, and it snapped tight–very tight–and merged with the suit, trapping his nuts on the outside, as the rubber squeezed every blood vessel shut. It hurt, and he squealed and groaned, but there was nothing he could do as Paul forced him to roll over onto his back, arms and legs flailing in the air, and he stroked Nate’s pig cock. “One last load for you, piggy,” he said, and Nate could feel it building. With a painful squeal, he came, spurting cum all over his belly, and Paul took out his knife and cut off the entire sack, now dark blue, and a moment later the rubber closed up, sealing smooth like there had never been a break at all.

He expected to feel fear, and anger, and sadness–but instead, all the hog felt was calm. A deep, complete calm, a kind of peace that can only come from a complete loss of self, and identity. He wasn’t a man anymore. He wasn’t even a pig. No–no, he was a hog. A hog for filth. A hog for fucking. A rubber hog to be abused and roughed up and toyed with. A hog who could take anything and then squeal for more. Crave more. The hog rolled over onto it’s gut, feeling more shit squish out of it’s ass, and it wiggled its tail, letting the farmer know what it needed–and Paul was only too happy to give it to the beast. He rammed in deep, pushing through a short rubber canal and meeting the warm shit filling the hog to capacity, and shuddered.

“Awww fuck yeah, I’s a proud fuckin’ hog fucker, yes I fuckin’ is!” he shouted, whooped, and slammed in again, the last remnants of the hog’s human mind disappearing, leaving only the simplest of desires. A need for filth, a need to obey its owner, and a deep aching desire to be filled at all times. Still, its story had ended well–it was going to be very happy, it was certain. Paul came after a while, pulled his shit coated cock out and the hog cleaned it up, mostly–then it followed his master out, waddling on its hind legs. Together they managed to get its huge frame into the bed of the truck, and it settled down for the long ride to Master’s farm–happier now that it was truly a hog, happy that at least some horror stories could have a happy ending.

Arctos Audio 2: True Story (Part 6)

WARNING: SCAT, RUBBER, STRANGE STUFF

“Ain’t never thought ‘bout havin’ a rubber hog before,” Paul said, looking at the gear, “But fuck, rubbin’ my cock against mah waders does sure make me nut hard–so I reckon I could give it a try.”

Nate looked back and forth, trying to understand what had happened to his husband. How had he gone to work looking perfectly normal, only to arrive back home looking like this? And…and why was looking at this new version of Paul turning him on so damn much? Nate could smell him from where he was on his hands and knees, and his mouth was salivating more than it had while he’d been stuffing himself. Paul walked over, the stench growing stronger, and as hard as Nate tried to back away, he couldn’t–his face was right at the crotch of Paul’s muddy overalls, and he could see the bulge of the redneck’s big cock tenting them out, and he wanted to taste it so badly. He shoved his head forward, but Paul caught his snout and shoved one of his dirty hands into it, and groaned.

“Damn piggy–that a rubber mouth ya got? Rubber inside and out?”

He grabbed hold of the top and bottom of Nate’s pig face, and pried the jaws apart roughly. Nate…felt them bend and stretch past the point they should have been able to open, like they had no bones inside them, and Paul pushed his hand inside Nate’s gaping mouth and down his throat, which stretched to accomodate it further than it should have been able to, nearly to Paul’s elbow.

“Gawd damn, gotta be careful ‘r I might blow a load already. Let’s git ya dressed up, piggy–ya gots me all excited now.”

The rubber suit had a zipper that ran all the way down it’s back–Paul undid it and laid it down, before grabbing Nate’s arms and legs and guiding them through the four holes. He knew he should be fighting this, but at the same time…he was excited. Thrilled. Hadn’t he wanted this? Not…quite this, he supposed, but a moment ago, with his…his farmer shoving his fist down his throat, feeling that violation, his cock had spasmed and spurted precum all over the floor beneath him. With his arms and legs in the sleeves, Paul pulled the suit up around him and zipped him up–and as he did, the suit melded seamlessly together, with not a single sign that it could even be parted. When it reached the nape of his neck, and the rubber base of the mask which had adhered to his head, the zipper disappeared, though the suit…hung off his body and was far, far too loose. Nate knew that it wasn’t that the suit was too large–it was that he was too small.

“Looks like somebody’s wastin’ away!” Paul said, tugging at the loose suit, “Still–I…yeah, I know what’ll fatten ya up real quick, but first, we better git yer hands ‘n feet fixed, right?”

Nate nodded, and allowed Paul to put the gloves and boots on him as well, and as he did…he noticed that something about the length of the boots and the sleeves of the suit seemed…a bit off. On his arms, the sleeves were quite short, and the gloves weren’t quite long enough to reach his elbow, and yet somehow they managed to meet and seal together. The same with the boots–which were even stranger. The suit ran down his thigh, but the boots…they felt like the weren’t even made for a human foot. Paul shoved and tugged them on anyway, and they too connected up with the suit, and looking back, his legs seemed…a bit shorter, and crooked. Still, he didn’t have long to think about that, because Paul was unhooking the clasps of his overalls. Rapt, and oinking softly in anticipation, he stared as the bib came down, allowing his massive gut to spill out, and then he shoved them down, giving Nate his first view of his massive, ten inch cock with a hefty overhang of foreskin, with two balls hanging low below that looked like they’d belong on a boar, not on a man.

“Judgin’ by that kitchen thar, I’d say ya probably ate everythin’ in sight, ya gluttonous fuck–good thing I got yer dessert right fuckin’ here,” he said, smacking his fat gut, and making it jiggle. He turned around and bent over, “judgin’ by the state a yer crack back there, I don’t think yer gonna mind, right piggy? Go on, nose up ‘n git lickin’. Looser I is, the sooner ya’ll git fed nice ‘n fat.”

No–not this. He wasn’t going to do this, was he? But the hunger he’d felt earlier was now even more intense–it felt like the suit had created a whole new stomach inside him that was aching to be filled. He hobbled forward on his strange hands and feet, feeling them beginning to go oddly numb, and shoved his snout into Paul’s wide, filthy asscrack. His slick tongue started running up and down, and he was surprised by how long it was–probing Paul’s hole, he slid it inside, listening to the redneck groan around his cigar, grunt, and start to bore down–the shit starting to ooze out after a moment. He did his best to fight, but his body knew what it needed–his tongue happily licked it up, and he grunted and squealed in delight at the disgusting taste, feeling it slide with ease down his rubber throat and settle into his gut, where it…seemed to be burning. The shit kept coming. He didn’t know where Paul had been keeping it all, but the filth kept pouring out and he kept swallowing it down, feeling it settle into his gut and spread, and soon, he found a happy rhythm, and enjoyed the sensation of fullness spreading through him.

Arctos Audio 2: True Story (Part 4)

WARNING: Things get nasty / rough / strange from here on out! Scat etc.

*Meanwhile, with Nate*

Nate was on his hands and knees in the bedroom, just staring at himself in the mirror. He had to stop this–he couldn’t let this fucking nightmare go on any longer…but fuck, it felt good to let go, it felt good to be a pig for once in his life. He wasted so much time keeping everything clean and organized and tidy for Paul and himself, and these last few hours in this gear, oinking and squealing as he emptied to cupboards and fridge, stuffing himself with everything he could find–he was so content, and so full! He let off a belch, disturbed at how the mask’s mouth moved along with his own–and he realized, for the first time, that he’d eaten his entire meal through the mask, and it hadn’t bothered him or gotten in the way once. If anything, it had seemed…easier, to just shove his masked face into whatever he was feasting on at the moment and scarf it straight down, not even bothering with utensils, or even his hands for the most part, aside for opening packages.

But still–he’d shot his load, he was done. He had to be done. Paul was going to be home soon, and he was filthy–fuck, the house was a fucking sty! How was he going to explain this? He tried to figure out some cover story, but his mind felt like it was slogging through mud. He was just so full…and feeling so full felt so good…and feeling good was making him horny all over again. He reached down and felt the pig cock sheath, slick with precum and tried to pull it free from his own cock, but it was so slick that he couldn’t get any grip. Was it stuck? It had just slid over his cock, hadn’t it? It shouldn’t even be able to hold on that tight. He looked between his legs at it, but he couldn’t really see it past his belly–in the end, he managed to lay down on his side, and in the mirror…he saw his cock was wrong. The sheath wasn’t there–or rather, it was still there, and still made of red rubber, but it merged seamlessly with the skin around his crotch. He tried again to pull it free, and only ended up jacking himself slowly, oinking and snorting as he did.

The buttplug then. That…that had to come out. He certainly felt full back there still, so it couldn’t have come out. He got back on all fours and bore down, expecting it to pop out, but instead he felt shit start flowing out of his ass, and as soon as it had started, he couldn’t stop it. It ran down between his ass cheeks and his thighs, pooling behind him on the carpet–it reeked, but the stench didn’t disgust him. It smelled…comfortable, and with one hand still stroking off piss started gushing out of his cock as well, soaking the underside of his gut and the floor below him.

But then what about the tail he could see behind him? Ignoring the mess he’d made, he reached back and felt the curly black tail, following it to the root–where it met his tailbone above his ass. It was a tail–an actual rubber tail, and he could even make it wiggle. “No–no no no!” he said…or tried to say. The mask contorted the words, and with both hands he tried to pry it free of his face, but to his horror, he couldn’t find the seam there either.

The story–the fucking story. The guy had stolen that pig’s carcass, and sewn the pig’s parts over his own–and they’d become his own. He’d started becoming a pig, and now…now was it happening to him too? He stared at himself in the mirror, covered in sweat, food, piss and shit, trying to convince himself that this was all so fucking wrong, but his mind was changing. There was…nothing wrong with this, was there? If anything, he needed to go further. Now…now that he’d gotten a taste of being a pig, didn’t he want so much more? Isn’t this what he’d wanted? Isn’t this why he’d put this stuff on in the first place? Because deep down, ever since he’d read that fucked up story, he’d wanted…he’d wanted to turn into a dirty hog too. A filthy hog. The filthiest, most perverse hog he could possibly be.

He sat back in his shit, wiggling his tail in the much and squealed in delight, scooped some up in his hand and started jacking his piggy cock with it. His gut was distended from his massive meal earlier–but it was larger than it should be, even given everything he consumed. He realized that he was even fatter than he’d been in the morning–and it thrilled him. He smeared shit over his belly, and then licked it off his hand, coating his snout, smelling all of it. His rubber snout was so much more sensitive than his flesh nose had been before, and the stink of his own muck pushed him over the edge, his piggy cock spurting another massive load of cum all over his hand–and he licked that up too, tasting the shit and cum together, and grunting in delight.

What was he doing up here in the bedroom anyway? He should be back downstairs in the kitchen; he should be eating. After all, he still wasn’t really large enough to be a true hog, and there was certain to be some food he’d missed before. He crawled back down the stairs, dragging shit along as he went, and started scrounging around in the cupboards for anything he had missed.

Arctos Audio 2: True Story (Part 2)

It wasn’t the reply Nate had expected from the company, but then again, what had he expected? Why in the world had he written to them in the first place? He felt ashamed at daring to admit what had gone through his head to anyone, over the last few weeks, and now the same company which had cursed him with this fucking obsession was sending him a gift? He was sick to his stomach, when Paul came home from work to discover his husband in a fit of–well, Paul didn’t know what was wrong with Nate, but he was concerned. He hadn’t been sleeping well, and his mood–and appetite–swung wildly. On some nights, he wouldn’t be able to eat anything, and on others, he’d arrive home and find Nate laying on the couch, binging on snacks, with an obvious hardon in his underwear. That night, however, it was clear that something was worse–but like before, Nate refused to discuss it, and simply disappeared into their bedroom, leaving Paul to fret on his own while he prepared dinner for himself, his mind running through a whole list of worries. Still–what could he do, if Nate wasn’t willing to be open and honest with him? He went to bed late, and found his husband tossing and turning in bed, as had become common, the sheets wet with sweat, and smelling of cum. Disturbed, he decided to sleep in the guest room instead–at least that way he wouldn’t have to put up with it.

The next morning, Nate awoke late to discover that Paul had already gotten up and left for work without disturbing him. The night had been even worse than usual–it seemed like he’d relived the entire story from beginning to end in his mind, trapped in the horror, unable to wake up. He groped for his balls, and gave a sigh of relief when he felt them, and then looked at the rest of his body. He was normal–a bit worse for wear, after his sudden binging habit which had kicked in, but…himself. Why did that…upset him so much? He felt better, at least–more focused. Today was the day he’d turn it around, he decided. He’d put it behind him. He could do it. He wouldn’t worry about Arctos or their fucked up books anymore, and he’d be Nate–himself…right?

He spent the morning catching up on the household chores he’d been neglecting, and with a cleaner house, he felt cleaner himself–especially after a nice long shower. Maybe writing that letter had been what he needed to do–maybe just getting it out of him and admitting it had gotten him to a place where he could finally move on. It was around eleven that he’d gotten dressed and ready to run some errands–and get back to the gym, of course–when he opened the door, and found a large package on the stoop in front of him.

It couldn’t be–how had it gotten here so quickly? It must be something else he’d ordered from Amazon and forgotten about. He checked the shipping label, and sure enough, it was from Arctos–it was his gift. Throw it in the trash, he told himself, nothing this company sends you can be any good. He picked it up–it was heavy–and with a look around to see if anyone was watching from the neighborhood, he turned around and went right back inside, found a knife, and opened it up.

When he pushed aside the packing material from the top, he tried to scream but his voice was caught in his throat. It…it wasn’t real, was it? No–no, it was black, it didn’t look like flesh–he reached in and touched the thing, and while it was stiff, he figured it had to be rubber. A rubber cast of a pig’s head, hollow, meant to be worn as a mask. Just like…like the head the boy from the story had stolen from the butcher, the boar’s head he’d taken, hollowed out, forced over his own and then sewn in place. The boar’s head which had magically come to life–and beside it, two other things–a pigtail dildo and something that looked like a dildo, but wasn’t–he discovered upon inspection. No–the last item was…was meant as a sleeve for his cock, just like the boar’s cock the boy had skinned and sewn over his own as well.

It was a cruel joke, to call such a thing a gift, and yet, looking down at them, the feelings Nate had managed to quell for the morning roared back to the front of his mind. He…he wanted to put them on–there, he’d thought it. He’d thought about it for weeks now, about what could drive someone to do such a horrific act, and now, staring down at the rubber gear–he knew. He was in the wrong body–he wanted to be a hog, had always wanted to be a hog–he’d just never known how to articulate that desire in all his life, and this monstrous book had given him the language, and the need. Or maybe it was just a brief fascination. Maybe if he tried it, he’d see how silly he’d been and be able to forget it. He was already stripping his way free of his workout gear, and had the head out of the box, feeling the heft of it, imagining the weight on his shoulders.

In front of a mirror in the hall, he lowered it over his head, and it fit snuggly. It took him a moment to line his eyes up with the holes in the mask, but when he did, he let out a snort of excitement–there in the mirror was his body–his awful, human body–with a beautiful boar’s head resting on top, just like he’d always imagined, just like he’d always needed. He grabbed the cock sleeve and shoved his hard, leaking cock inside it, and then pushed the dildo into his ass, and started stroking, amazed he could…feel his hand through the thick rubber of the sleeve, but he needed this–he’d always needed this. In his mind he knew he needed to take the stuff off, that it was feeling…hot stuffy and sticky inside the heavy mask. But he needed this, as ashamed as he was. He needed this more than anything, and he could always take it off, right?

Feeder Drones (Sketch)

“He’s out there again, isn’t he?” Max asked, when he saw Daryl fuming at the window of their apartment. It wasn’t a very good view by any means, facing another building in the complex, but that wasn’t the real problem. What Daryl was staring at the the massive fucker who’d moved in across the space from them, who right now was at the window, staring at the window, masturbating. He’d been doing it constantly, and always while looking at Max and Daryl. They’d reported it to the management, but no one had done anything about it, and it had gone from annoying to making Daryl, in particular, absolutely furious. Max figured that if they just didn’t respond, the guy would get bored eventually–he was just a pervert or something, right? But Daryl, he’d always hated fat people, and the guy had to be close to 500 pounds. The idea that someone that big could be attracted to him or his boyfriend was a deep, personal offence.

“No, fuck this, I’m gonna go solve this fucking problem myself,” Daryl said, and headed for the door.

Max tried to stop him. “Daryl, don’t fucking start anything! We’ll be the ones who get in trouble.”

“Fucking pervert just needs to be taught a fucking lesson!” Daryl said, flexing his muscle and pushing past Max and heading out the door. Max knew better than to get in Daryl’s way–he’d…gotten a couple black eyes from him by saying no before, but things had gotten better over the last year. Still, he felt sorry for the guy–Daryl wasn’t known to stop after one or two punches, especially as angry as he was.

Daryl hurried over to the other building and leapt up the stairs to the landing and pounded on the guy’s door. Should be break the fucking lock? That seemed like overkill, but it would sure as hell teach the fucker he meant business. He tried the knob, and to his surprise, it was unlocked. He pushed it open and went inside–the place was filthy, and he felt…like he’d been in here before at some point. It wasn’t just the fact that all of these apartments had the same layout either–he’d been in here, but when? Something was wrong, but the man was there in the doorway, leering at him. “Drone, report conversion process.”

“Flesh to Drone conversion complete as of 3:48 this morning. Flesh form has been archived as ‘Daryl Version Zero’.” Daryl heard his voice say, but he hadn’t told himself to say that, had he? And why had his voice sounded so fucking flat?

“Good, Assume neutral form from the neck down, drone.”

Daryl felt his entire body shiver–just just his skin, however, but everything…inside him, as well. Something was wrong with him, but he couldn’t even begin to understand what. He looked down at his hands and arms, and saw that what should be flesh…wasn’t. It looked like he had on a skin tight latex suit, but he could sense that…that it was rubber, through and through. He was rubber. He was made of rubber, he was a drone, he was…was Master’s drone. What the fuck was going on? He was trying to breathe, but he no longer had lungs. Master walked over, smiling. “Remove those clothes, drone.”

Daryl did as he was told, and saw that everything from the neck down–his entire body, was the same solid rubber as his arms. It still had the same shape as his body–well, aside from his crotch, which was completely flat. He ran a hand down the front of him, hearing the slight squeak of rubber on rubber–knew the sensation should make him feel sick, but he wasn’t…feeling anything.

Something in his eyes must have conveyed his terror, and so his Master offered an explanation. “I wiped it from your memory banks, slave, but this is actually the second time we’ve met. The first time you stormed over here, I infected you with my drone serum. For the last week, your flesh has slowly been converting to smart rubber–you’re not a person anymore drone, you’re just an object–my object, to be precise, and I can make you be anything that I want. But I want you to keep your mind, for the moment. I want you to know you’re mine, and I want you to service me, drone, with that tongue of yours.”

Daryl tried to fight his body, but it was no longer under his control. He got down and he leaned in, pressing his mouth to Master’s fat pad, and started sucking on his cock. He was fighting it, trying to deny it. This had to be some horrible dream, it couldn’t be true, could it? This wasn’t possible, right?

“Yeah–you and that pretty boyfriend of yours–you’re going to be two excellent drones. I got found out a few months back–had to disappear. Ended up losing almost fifty pounds! But with the two of you as my new feeder drones, I’m sure I’ll put that back on in no time. I just won’t…recruit as actively as last time, as sad as that is–so the two of you will have to be multipurpose. Drone, generate pleasure skull number one.”

Daryl disappeared, quickly, as his head turned to the same black rubber as his new body, and his face…dissolved. Mouth growing wider, his tongue growing long and falling to his chest, slick with rubbery lube. Master turned around and bent over, pushing his massive ass and crack towards the drone’s face, and it responded as it had been programmed, driving it’s thick tongue into Master’s hole, fucking him deep. It didn’t pay any mind when it heard the gasp behind it–Max had come to investigate what was happening with his boyfriend, only to find the obese man and some…rubber monstrosity with the door open.

“Fuck, I forgot to shut the door…this is what I need drones for!” Master said, “Lucky it was you. Step inside, drone, and shut the door behind you.”

Max did as he was ordered, unsure why he was obeying the massive fucker standing there, but unable to resist.

“Drone, report conversion process.”

“Flesh to drone conversion at 92%,” Max said.

“Almost there. No worries–you can watch, and when you’re finished, we’ll put you both into proper service. Dig deeper drone–you know how I like to get tongue fucked.”

Too Clever For Your Own Good (Part 2)

Even the best laid plans can hit a few snags. It turned out, that when it came to recruiting guys, Pete wasn’t much help–mostly because he had a bad habit of giving away the game, and telling the marks Eddie picked out what their plans were–and not many guys were willing to be forced into Eddie’s particular fantasy–at least, not without caveats of their own. The night was wearing down, and Eddie was feeling Pigtown…working on him. He looked down, surprised to see he’d picked up tattoos up and down his arms at some point, and that his leather uniform had become a set of biker leathers…but that wasn’t right. Pete helped talk him back from losing his place at the company and becoming a biker for good, but it was clear that he was going to have to revise his plan, if he was going to have any success. It was a risk, but Eddie was confident enough to try it, and so he parked Pete at a table in a corner of the front bar, near the door.

“Alright, look–you’re going to have stay here, and I’ll go in deeper, and start working on a boy for us. Once I have him…amenable, then I’ll bring him back out here and we can work on him together, alright? But I’m going to also need you to remember, really clearly, who I am–because I’m going to need you to help me remember when I come back out, like you did when I started looking like a biker, alright?”

“Of course Eddie, I can do that.”

“You have to be really focused, alright? Don’t talk to anyone, don’t drink anything, just sit here until I get back.”

“OK Eddie, I’ll be good.”

Could he really trust him? Did he have much of a choice? Eddie got his uniform straightened, calmed down and got focused, and headed back down into the dark, while Pete sat quietly, at least until a man who’d been watching the two of them sat down at the table, and introduced himself as Rod.

Eddie had told him not to talk to anyone, but Rod seemed nice, and it wasn’t long before he’d told the barman everything about his husbear’s plan, and how the two of them were, as he said verbatim, “Two daddies, and we’re making two cubs.”

Of course, Rod already knew what Eddie was trying to do in his bar, and he wasn’t particularly interested in having someone like Eddie trying to use the place for his own selfish ends. After all, Pigtown only served one thing–itself, and that was one thing Eddie hadn’t yet figured out. Rod had hoped that…nudging Eddie down a slightly different path would be enough, but he had been smart, bringing in a partner to help ground him. That meant, he’d have to take a different tactic. So, he kept chatting with Pete, but it wasn’t long before Pete started to feel…kind of confused. He was pretty sure about what he and Eddie had come to the bar to do, but the more Rod talked, the less sure he was. Then again, he wasn’t very smart, and he did forget things easily, so Rod drilled him until he was sure he remembered correctly. See, he and Eddie weren’t two daddies looking for cubs–no, they were two cubs, and they were here to find daddies. As a thank you, Pete got down and sucked Rod’s cock, and then waited for Eddie to return–which he did, after not too long.

Eddie had…run into a bit of trouble, and gotten cornered by a couple piss soaked rubber bears down there, and some of their…dirtier interests had worn off on him. He knew this wasn’t right, that he wasn’t supposed to be this chubby bear in a yellow jock and tank, thirsty for piss more than anything else, but he had lost the thread of himself–but not so much he couldn’t get back. He couldn’t quite remember everything, and so he headed right for the table where he’d parked Pete–only it wasn’t the Pete he remembered, sitting there. Where was his husbear, the grey bearded, cigar smoking hottie? And who was this chubby cub, with a small goatee, beaming up at him so eager to tell him how good he’d been at remembering everything they were here to do. Thankfully, Pete was more than happy to sort out Eddie, and remind him of what they’d come here to do, and Rod just smiled, as Eddie’s relieved eyes turned to surprise, his bearish body changing all over again, and he figured he wouldn’t be having trouble with the two of them again this evening–or any other evening in the future.

Stinkers – Coach’s Senior Gifts (Part 7)

Robinson was pleased to see that the two beasts had become so well acquainted with their new bodies, and with each other, while he’d been tending to Anton. Usually, when he did this to his players, it took a bit of coaxing from him before they sank as deep as this. The echos of the two were loud in the tiled room, and the stench of their filth was…heady and intoxicating. Despite the fact that Robinson had cum less than a minute prior, he was already excited again–but he could wait a moment longer. He dropped Sponge, his newest dummy, to the ground, where it bounced slightly, the helmet rattling against the floor. It tried to sit up, but it still wasn’t quite familiar enough with it’s new form to really understand that it no longer needed to try and move like a human. Still, it was close enough to the two rutting beasts that it could sense filth. It flipped over and started crawling over towards them, the mouthhose dragging on the ground. Erik saw it, and while his eyes were a bit puzzled, he didn’t stop fucking Paul’s hole deep. The boar, on the other hand, didn’t realize they’d been joined by something else until Sponge started forcing itself between his huge belly and the floor, Sponge feeling it’s body flatten under the weight of the animal above him, spreading wider, soaking up all of the cum and sweat that had dripped from the two of them over the last several minutes. The one part of Sponge that wasn’t at all flexible was it’s head, and that ended up in the larger gap between Paul’s thighs, the pig now driving it’s cock into the cushiony mesh of the Sponge’s jersey, and the dummy just stayed there–the puddle soaking up into its body, the pig rutting against it, leaking more cum on top of it. Here, it would be properly used, like it was supposed to be.

Robinson watched Sponge settle in, and then walked around in front of Paul, where Sponge’s feet were sticking out, and ran his hands over the boar’s face–feeling the rough skin, tugging at the floppy ears, examining the tusks and the nose. “What a nice boar you made, Paul, simply handsome–and stinking as–fuck, nothing smells quite a good as nice boar. Open up piggy, Coach wants to spit roast this hog.”

Paul was all too happy to have another cock inside him, and started slobbering all over his coach’s knob. It was hardly the first time he’d tasted it, but the smell and taste of the rank meat was so much more intense than before, and so much more pleasing. Paul had always hated the taste, but now, he couldn’t get enough of it, taking it to the hilt, grunting and snorting, bucking back to meet Erik’s thrusts, and an intense pressure built up in his groin. His nuts constricted, and he started pumping his load all over Sponge beneath him–soaking the jersey with even more of his seed, which the dummy was all too happy to store for him.

Coach could see Erik growing closer as well, and he left Paul to his massive orgasm, straddled the boar’s body, and pulled himself close to Erik. “Shame you weren’t born one of us–you should have been. You would’ve been an amazing Stinker. I can at least give you this though, you fucking monster. Now come on, cum in this fucking pig, I wanna see you breed his fucking hole, Bear.”

He grabbed Erik by the fur on his cheeks, and pulled him into a kiss, shoving his tongue between his sharp fangs, tasting one another’s rank breath, and with a muffled roar, he came, flooding the pig with his cum, his snout never leaving the coach’s mouth. Robinson pushed Erik away from Paul for a moment, his cock popping free, and he grabbed the end of Sponge’s tube, and pressed it over the pig’s asshole, as Erik’s cum was about to come spurting back out. Sponge tasted the vile filth pouring into him, and began shuddering and shivering beneath Paul–who was still in the throes of a massive orgasm, his entire weight pinning Sponge to the floor, where all it could do was wiggle.

“Fuck…oh fuck, what the fuck did you do to me?” Erik asked, looking down at himself, at his strange new body. He looked more bear than human at this point–but what in the world was he supposed to do? Go out and live in the forest? He stared at Coach, but the older man seemed to sense his worry.

“Look, hold this tube for me, and I’ll ease some of your worry, alright?”

Erik nodded, and walked over. It was hard to grip the tube with his strange hands, but he managed. Coach went back to a locker, and pulled out a jockstrap from a bag, sniffed it to double check he had the right one, and tossed it to the bear. Erik smelled it too, and knew the smell immediately. It was his–the jock he’d worn with Coach all these years. “Will this…change me back?” he asked.

“You’ll see–I’ll explain everything in a moment. But first, help me with this pig–he’s fucking heavy, and I’d like Sponge to not be a pancake.”

“Is…is that Anton in that gear?”

“It was Anton, yes. But Anton doesn’t exist anymore–that thing barely has a mind at all. It’s just a dummy now–all foam, through and through. It’s only desire is to be used for sex, and to store men’s filth inside it’s body. It takes a special kind of man to make one, and Anton, well, he was a rare bird. I’ll be enjoying him for a while–and you can always use it, whenever you visit. Too bad they don’t last longer–the will holding what remains of his spirit to the thing usually fades away after six or seven years, and it’s not too long after that that the thing will start to rot from the inside out–but the stench of that! Fuck, it’s crazy, I tell you.”

Suddenly Erik was no longer jealous for not being chosen for the coach’s special treatment. Clearly, of the three of them, he had gotten the best gift he could have imagined. Coach waved the bear over, and together they rolled the grunting and moaning hog off of Sponge, who crawled back onto the pig’s leaking cock and kept rubbing the remaining cum onto its body, until Coach shoved it off and away.

“Now, put that jock on, and then help me get Paul’s on too.”

Stinkers – Coach’s Senior Gifts (Part 6)

“Alright Sponge–not too much longer now,” Coach Robinson said, as he pulled Anton’s foam body back up, and shoved him into the chair. He felt…lighter, now–at least, aside from his head, though the piss cooling in his foam guts gave him a bit of weight. His coach leaned over and kissed him, exploring Anton’s mouth for the last time, wishing, somewhat, he could still smell the boy’s clean breath. He could at least taste him, the blank slate that he was. Fuck, all Robinson wanted to do was defile him, ruin him, but if he stayed human, there was literally nothing he could do that would leave a mark. Like this, however–well, the boy was going to be his now–an object, a dummy, a toy, a mascot for his teams to use and abuse, and he was going to love it. Well, what little bit of him would be left, would love it–there wasn’t exactly much thinking that could happen with a head full of foam. Anton’s eyes were still fearful, but resigned. Coach fed him some more spit, and Anton swallowed it down, feeling it hit the foam below his neck, and soak into him, moistening him, feeding him, nourishing him. Before, when Coach had forced himself on Anton, he’d always left feeling a desperate need to be clean, but now, for the first time, he didn’t want to be clean, he wanted…more. More spit, more cum, more piss, more sweat. He wanted to soak in it, wallow in it, be made of it.

Coach pulled his face away, even as Anton found himself seeking more. He mouthed the word “Please,” and the coach just laughed.

“Now, now–we have to finish you off first, and then you can have as much as you can get.” Coach pulled another rubber tube from his drawer–this one even thicker than the one which had been forced into his ass–and quite a bit longer–nearly two feet long. Anton…knew, where it would be going, and he didn’t…want to want it. Coach put the narrower end of the tube at his mouth and he…opened. Wide, tongue flat. “It’ll go in a bit easier if you swallow–often, and as much as you can, for as long as you can–but it’ll go in regardless.”

Anton nodded. The coach pushed the tube in, hard, and Anton did as the coach had said, and swallowed. It didn’t seem to make much of a difference, and it still hurt–hard enough that he was certain that the rubber wasn’t sliding neatly down his throat, but tearing into it–but it didn’t matter for long. The tube hit the point where flesh became foam, and the resistance picked up–there was over a foot left before the widest part of the tube would be flush with Anton’s lips, and he could see the coach, over him, bringing his weight to bear on the tube, shoving it deeper until it wouldn’t go any further, and it began to merge with his flesh. The coach was no longer pushing on the tube, but stroking it, and while it began as a tickle, soon the sensation of his hand running up and down the flexible rubber was more powerful than even his cock had been, when he’d had one.

After the tube, came a full rubber hood–much like the mitts which had gone over his hands. There were no holes for his eyes, or his nose–it was simply featureless. He could…feel the rubber taking over his skin, and then, fully choked off from the world, his face and head began to change, lighten, the flesh losing mass and becoming foam like the rest of him. He could…feel strong, firm hands on his skull, squeezing and crushing it as it changed, and he lost sense of himself, of his humanity, his brain fading, and leaving just the…need to be damp and wet and filthy. The squeezing stopped, and something else settled over his rubber head–a familiar sensation of a football helmet, his mouth tube fed through the chin strap and the face guard, and that too became part of his body, his new skull. Anton wasn’t there any longer–he was…Sponge.

Sponge couldn’t see, and it couldn’t hear, and it couldn’t smell, but it could…sense. It knew that its coach was there–no, not a coach anymore, because Sponge wasn’t a player, or on a team. Sponge was just a thing–an object, a dummy, a cumrag and urinal. But it could sense its owner, it could sense where he was, and that…that his owner was horny. Horny as fuck, looking at his newest dummy, and Sponge just wanted to be used by him, and satisfy him, over and over again, and be used by anyone and everyone. There were hands on its…tube, its snout or trunk perhaps–they were its owner’s hands, and they were putting something in the end of the tube, some attachment, and he could…feel the new end of its tube, a tight…silicone fuckhole, and its owner put his cock in it, and Sponge…felt so excited. Excited that it was going to be fed. It reached out with its mitts, pawing at its owner, trying to show him how excited it was, how much it needed to be fed, how…dry it was. It could sense how excited its owner was, as it was getting closer, and then, he came, shooting into the tube–and Sponge could taste it, taste all the delicious cum in its tube, and it dropped off the chair and onto its padded knees, and the cum ran down the tube, into its throat and soaked into the foam of its chest–and the sensation of wetting, it was ten times as powerful as it had been before. It felt like, for Sponge, that its purpose had been fulfilled, its entire life reduced to a simple mission: become wet. Hold men’s filth. Store it, and let it rot and mold within him.

Its owner removed his cock, and then grabbed Sponge around the waist, and hefted it over his shoulder. Sponge…enjoyed the sensation, how light it had become, but couldn’t wait until it was properly heavy and sodden. They moved through a doorway, Sponge’s flexible limbs bending awkwardly against it, and beyond he…sensed others. Two fucking…men? Animals? It wasn’t sure, but more importantly, there was so much filth–and Sponge hoped it would get to suck up as much of it as it could.

Stinkers – Coach’s Senior Gifts (Part 2)

“Just…leave. You don’t have to be here, you can just leave, just fucking leave!” Anton was saying to himself, but his body wasn’t having anything to do with his thoughts or words. Then again, he’d grown used to his body betraying him around the coach. Ever since the first practice with him, he’d…sensed something strange between them, between the way they both smelled, and coach knew it too. Robinson had never given him a clear answer, regarding what, about Anton, was so special. All he really knew, was that whenever the coach was around him, he just wanted to get him as musky and stinking as possible–smearing him with the team’s dirty laundry, pissing and cumming on him, making him skip showers, leaving his own uniform unwashed…

Erik and Paul–they made sense, somehow. Neither was particularly clean, they would enjoy the sorts of things the coach did to them–especially Erik. Why not pick Erik for some special treatment? Why him?

“Ah, there’s my special boy,” Robinson said, entering the office and shutting the door behind him. The room was tight, and immediately, the coach’s musk overwhelmed the room. Anton’s breath quickened, and his desire to leave was beginning to fade, but he did his best to keep his focus.

“Sir…what…I don’t understand, why am I special?”

“Oh Anton, all these years! I don’t…find men like you very often. For stinkers like me, well, you’re a real find. So clean! Everything just…wipes right off of you. But don’t worry, I’ve been at this for quite a while,” the older man leered at him, opened a drawer in his desk, which is where he kept the sex toys he used with his harem of young athletes. But he didn’t take out a dildo–he brought out an athletic cup, but no jock to go with it. “Don’t worry, you’ll enjoy this soon enough. I’ve been needing another dummy–my last one finally fell to bits a few years ago. Sold some of his salvageable parts to a few friends of mine, but the rot! It just got in everywhere.”

None of that made any sense at all, but before Anton could get any answers, Robinson had taken the cup and pressed it to Anton’s crotch, over his cock and balls. He felt a series of stings all around it–it reminded him of how it had felt to get stitches, like when he was a kid and had cut open his knee on some glass–and when the coach pulled his hand away, the cup remained against Anton’s crotch, against gravity.

He reached down and tried to pull it free, but it was like he was tugging at his own skin. “Now now, if you get it off, it’ll be a bloody mess. Leave it alone, and stand still!”

Anton obeyed, “Sir, please…I don’t understand what’s going on.”

“I could talk at you for days, Anton, and you’d never get it,” Robinson said, “But more than that, I’m sick of listening to you. Since I can’t get to the mask yet, shut the fuck up, and enjoy this,” he stroked the front of the cup, and Anton…shuddered, and nearly staggered to the side. He could…feel that. He felt coach’s hand on the plastic cup. He realized he couldn’t feel his cock, or his balls, either. “See? It’ll all feel so very good, once it’s finished. Relax! Now, let’s get you dressed.”

A jock next–a clean one, or at least a new one. Anton noticed that it seemed…stiff, somehow, and when it was on, he felt that same…stitching sensation as before, even around the cup. He looked closer at the waistband, and it was a part of his body. There was skin, then there was elastic, then there was skin. What in the world was happening to him? He kept at it, trying to get the jock to pull away from his body, but it refused to come away.

Coach grabbed him by the wrist, and held him tight. “None of that now,” he said, “I can do your fists early, at least.” Anton was expecting gloves, but instead coach pulled out two things that looked like rubber balloons, and started forcing them over Anton’s fists. The rubber was secured with two leather bracelets, not that it was necessary. The rubber edge fused to his skin like the jock strap had, and the leather fused on top of the rubber. He kept moving his fists as long as he could, but they grew numb, quickly, and soon he felt…nothing. Just two bulbous, rubber mitts where his hands had been a moment before. He looked at his coach, terrified, but the leer on his face…it was crueler than he’d ever seen. “Still confused boy? Here, let Coach demonstrate.”

Robinson hauled out his cock, pointed it at Anton’s crotch–which was now just a jockstrap, bulging out like there was a cup beneath it, and started pissing on it. Anton felt the warmth…and felt it seep into him. The piss, it was inside him, under his skin somehow, and he just looked down, seeing the white jock turn yellow from the coach’s acrid piss. Robinson cut off the stream, reached out, and gave the boy’s pouch a squeeze. Anton moaned in pleasure, and felt the coach…wring the piss right out of his body, making it dribble from out around his fist and onto the floor beneath them.

His cock and balls–they were gone. They were just…fluff now, fabric, stuffing. What little structure the flexible cup provided was all that remained. It couldn’t possibly be true, he had to be hallucinating, but he…knew what he’d just felt, and coach could see the realization dawning on him. “Now, how about we get you dressed the rest of the way, dummy? Then we can check on those two teammates of yours, and really have some fun.”

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.