Twelve Months ‘til Christmas (Part 10)

~~October 28th~~

He needed to do something, right? He couldn’t just…stay here. John was plowing Santapig’s ass, but the action was rote at this point. At least with his fifteen inch pig cock buried in a hole, the desperate desire to fuck receded enough to allow him a chance to think, but lately, even that was becoming difficult. The long summer days had returned to a more natural day and night cycle, and now the days were incredibly short–just a few hours at a time. His mind felt similar–John was descending below a horizon of the mind. At first, he’d worried that he’d be subsumed by “Claude”, by some personality dictated by Santapig, but the reality was turning out to be far worse. Whatever magic had restored the previous Santa’s mind, over the last month is was clearly beginning to fade. Santapig barely spoke any longer, and his appearance was devolving further, his snout and tusks longer, hide thicker, and he rarely walked on two legs any longer. This change in him had, in turned, affected his desires, and John too, was changing.

The room had no mirror, but from where he was standing he could see a transparent reflection of his head and torso in the window, and he no longer…looked particularly human. Even the features of Claude had begun to fade, and he was looking more like a stocky, brutish boar–even his hands and feet were beginning to curl up, the nails of his fingers growing back up along the fingers, threatening to become true trotters. He turned away from the window, and over to the other wall, where the urinal was…where the eggs were still growing. They hadn’t burst yet, but the outside had become translucent, and he could clearly see things squirming around inside of them. They looked like bugs of some strange variety, and given what they were coming from, he had few doubts regarding what they might do to someone they found once they hatched. He was trapped between the beast he was becoming and the strange things growing–one or the other would finish him off if he didn’t leave, but how? The door was locked, and the window didn’t open, but maybe…maybe if he wasn’t too far gone, he could still try and talk some sense into him.

It hurt to do so, but he hauled his cock free, feeling that scratching, aching voice start up in his mind again, that desperate desire to fuck, and Santapig looked over one shoulder. “Not finished–keep fucking!” he said in his guttural voice.

“No–No, we have to get out of here, we can’t stay here. We have to get out,” John said. It wasn’t the first time he’d tried to talk to the pig about this, but all signs indicated that this attempt would go as poorly as the others. Already, his hand was lining his massive cock back up with the hole, hungry to back inside him…but he fight harder, and stepped back, turning to the door, pounding on it with his fists. “Dad….Dad! Please, I know…you told me to stay, but please, you have to let me out now!” Again, this wasn’t his first attempt at rousing his father, but that too, had proven fruitless.

“Stupid boar–boar only good for fucking! Now fuck!” Santapig said, and at the words, John felt the amulet around his neck warm up again, his mind…draining further than it had already, and a stupid grin spread across his face. Yeah, he did need to fuck–what had he been thinking? But still, he hesitated, trying to grasp at the straws of his mind–but it was too long for the pig’s preferences. “I said fuck!” Santapig said, and got off the bed, stomped over, grabbed John by the shoulders and threw him at the wall beside him. He collided with it hard enough that one of the eggs hanging from the urinal snapped off, dropped to the floor and shattered. Something resembling a centipede coated in shiny black and yellow rubber uncurled itself, and began slithering it’s way across the floor towards John, who stepped away. Santapig tried to get in his path, but John just grabbed him and threw him behind him, his heart aching at what he was doing, but he…wasn’t going to become one of those things.

Santapig stumbled forward, snout open–the creature sensed him, and leapt. As he fell, the thing shoved it’s way into his mouth and down his throat, the tail in unfurling into a funnel with sharp hooks that embedded themselves around the pig’s mouth, as he struggled for air on the ground. After a minute, the creature erupted from Santapig’s asshole, swiveled for a moment, and then drove into the floor, dragging the pig down with it and anchoring it in place. The remaining changes…took several hours. The funnel began to secrete a rubber solution which began to coat the pig’s body–from the look on his face, and judging by how much cum he shot, the experience must have been…quite pleasurable, but from the outside, John could only watch on it horror as his facial features were sanded down, his back bent back at an impossible angle, arms and legs adhered to the body until all that remained was a standing toilet, ready and eager to be used. And for the first time in months, John was also alone.

His mind returned quickly, and he realized that the obvious step was to simply break the window. He did so and managed to squeeze his way out into the cold snow, before returning to the house through the back door, searching for Stanta, but the house was empty–and seemed to have been empty for quite some time. Worried that the worst might have happened, the pig crept to the workshop and investigated, and saw his father dressed as a rubber gimp, bound to the floor of the workshop, as a line of elves waited to use his mouth either as a cumdump or a urinal. The anger he felt surprised him. He hadn’t expected to ever care that much about this man, and yet…he did, and seeing him there, like that, it gave him an glimmer of an idea–but how would he even manage to do something like that?

“You must be John.”

He spun around, and found himself facing a wiry elf. He didn’t know what to say, other than stammer, but the elf calmed him.

“My name is Petey. I did some…investigating around the house, and noticed your situation. I wasn’t going to intervene unless you managed to escape. You can see that…Stanta is in a bit of a bind. It isn’t, in my opinion, the best option, but unless we can get rid of the elves supporting Lenny, it’s the situation we will have to endure. You can return to the house, if you’d like. As long as you don’t interfere, I can guarantee you a measure of safety and comfort. But if you’d like to…resolve the situation you can see in the window, we can discuss a few plans I’ve drawn up.”

“No, I have a plan. Come with me,” John said, and he led Petey back to the window, hoisted him up so he could see the remains of the room, and explained the outlines of his idea.

“Ah, yes…poetic, and feasible,” Petey said, “If you invite me in for tea, we can see about making it happen.”

Twelve Months ‘til Christmas (Part 7)

~~June & July~~

Summer at the North Pole was an odd kind of misery, particularly for those who hadn’t experienced it before. The sun never set, it only traced a strange, wavering path in a circle around the sky, never quite rising fully, and certainly never setting close to the horizon. It made every day blend together, particularly because sleep was largely impossible. As immortals, the inhabitants’ bodies had entered their own kind of perpetual state, with no need for the basic necessities which had governed their entire lives before. Now, their bodies had no need for anything, and with the sun never setting, sleepiness never came, leading to a strange twilight of the mind, the sensation that this was a day doomed to last forever.

For the workshop, this strange mania was necessary–from the month of May to September the elves largely worked non-stop in the omnipresent sunlight, producing nearly all the toys and gear for the next Christmas in those few bright months. It was a time for Stanta and the head elf to be near constant presences on the workshop floor, but with the sudden, unexplained disappearance of Timmy, that left the entire task of guiding the elves to Stanta himself. Of course, all of the elves knew what must have happened to Timmy–even if they didn’t know the details. The last several years of strife led them all to presume Timmy’s plan of subjugating Stanta had failed, or backfired, and he had been taken out of commission as well. It was lucky, in some ways, that their new Stanta possessed a strong authoritarian streak, or production would have been derailed entirely–they likely would have never made their yearly quota. This was complicated by the fact that Timmy, in a breach of protocol, hadn’t bothered to name another elf to act in his place should something happen to him–this meant that the elves would need to hold elections for a new head elf, but they were barred from doing so until 90 days had passed, placing the election date in early August.

Inside the house, a different sort of hell was emerging for John. Despite having dealt with Timmy, his father still had not returned to free him from his forced cohabitation with Santapig, and he was quickly learning that the effects of the mirror pendant he was wearing only grew more intense with sustained contact. His only way of juding the passage of time in the room, without the presence of night, was to try and keep track of each time to sun passed through the single window in the room, shining across the increasingly filthy room each day, where the two men spent nearly every moment fucking. Santapig was insatiable, and clearly, his mind had been relatively shattered by his experiences over the past few years. He insisted on addressing John by the name Claude, and would grow violently angry should John try to assert his true identity to him. But to make matters even more confusing, the pig harboured deep, emotional sentiment towards both of the Claudes in the room–John was certain, in fact, that the pig loved the strange urinal on the wall far, far more than he could ever love him.

The pig insisted the urinal be fed–he claimed that he could hear when it was thirsty, and he would milk Claude’s cock into the thing’s funnelmouth, demanding that he piss for him, demanding that he feed his lover, demanding that he feed himself. John found his own mind beginning to warp–at first, he thought it was simply the fact that he was trapped with this insane pigman as some form of Stockholm Syndrome, but he became convinced, with time, that it was largely the doing of the amulet. He was, it would seem, still changing. Each time Santapig grew unhappy with him, or dissatisfied with his performance, John would change a bit more. He wasn’t even sure that the pig was aware of what he was doing to him–at least, he never mentioned it, but as the months wore on, John noticed that as his mind was beginning to twist, his body was shifting slowly as well.

His cock was the first thing he noticed. First, it was massive–after all Santapig, despite his control over the entire relationship, had remained a resolute bottom in bed. He demanded constant satisfaction from John, and in turn, found himself in a state of constant horniness, needing to fuck at all times to even be able to think about anything else. But he noticed, soon, that at some point his cock had ceased to be human, and had taken on the same corkscrew shape as the pig’s. He noticed other shifts as well–increased muscle mass, short tusks pushing out from his mouth as his skull began to form a snout. He was becoming the same sort of monstrosity as Santapig, and worse, he…liked it.

His mind was slowing. He didn’t need to worry about anything, really. He just needed to be Claude–or half of Claude, really. He could never be complete, he knew that, somehow. He too, found himself developing an odd attraction to the urinal, but rather than wanting to care for it, he found himself…mourning it, somehow. Trapped within that rubber, was himself, a piece of himself he needed to reclaim in order to be complete. He could only ever really be Claude’s body, but his soul was there, deep inside, and the loss he began to feel was indescribable, even as he desperately tried to tell himself it was deeply irrational. It was in late July that John noticed something else–the urinal…something was happening to it. Around the base, where the body adhered to the wall, strange bulges had appeared–and more began to appear as well, all over the surface. Once, he felt one of the bulges stir, as though something inside it was alive. In his strange midsummer dream, he felt an odd sense of joy–part of him, it was alive, there, in these strange mounds of rubber. They continued to grow, however, and alongside the joy was a constant dread. They were eggs–he knew that, somehow. He also knew, that he didn’t want to be in this room when they hatched.

Five Film Contract (2 of 2) WARNING: FILTH, BESTIALITY

Just one more, Evan was telling himself. Just one more film, and he’d be done. The contract would be over. He could…be normal again, himself again. He wouldn’t have to keep doing this, why was he still doing this?

He’d gone back to his room after the second film, stunned, unable to look at his reflection in the mirror, at his shaved head. He could still smell Rick on him, and he liked it. He’d left the set still wearing that dirty jock, and he’d jacked it, trying to find a dildo large enough to make his ass happy, disgusted with himself, but more turned on than he’d been in his life, and terrified that he still had three more films to go, that…that he might lose control of himself like that, again. That, even worse, he might lose control of himself like Rick. After their film together, he’d been even larger, with huge, meaty forearms–one of them marked like a ruler, lumbering off to his own room. He didn’t want to be like that…but he could tell, the directors had something else in mind for him.

The third film he’d done better, he’d kept his head around him. He’d taken every toy the other two actors had used on him and loved every second of it, watching the two of them…shift. The rubber, the tattoos, the piercings, the dullness in their eyes, but he’d fought off the worst of it. Sure, he couldn’t…quite bring himself to take off the rubber when he got back to his room, and the rings in his nipples did feel good, but he hadn’t given in like they had. That had been a victory–he could see the frustration in the director’s eyes. But the fourth film, yesterday…

The piss…the filth…he’d lost himself in it, and they’d caught every second of his debauchery on film. He still reeked of piss and shit now, the next morning. He’d tried to sleep, but he hadn’t been able to–he’d been too…wired, looking at himself in the mirror, at his new body. His missing muscles, his paunch, how he’d aged into at least his early forties. Now he was pissing into condoms to drink later–he…he liked it cold–and working his fist back into his ass at the same time, losing himself, whatever bit of himself there still was…but there was just one more film. He could make it through one more, right?

He left his room, but instead of going to a set, he was led to a car–rubber sheet placed over the backseat–and driven out of town. “We have a special final set for you all prepared, Evan,” the director said, “everyone is going to love this, watching you collapse. You’re going to be a star after this, just you wait.”

It was a farm. He wasn’t shooting with any of his other actors–no, Evan was tied down in the muck and manure, the cameras rolling as animal after animal fucked his hole–a dog, a boar, a cow, a donkey, and finally, a horse. He lost himself in it, he felt his very humanity draining away into the mud. When they finally untied him, all he could do was grunt and crawl through the mud, rubbing his cock raw. But he was a star, when his series premiered on the internet. Most people thought it was a hoax, that he was just a paid actor, but Evan could have confirmed it, if Evan still existed. Now he was just the director’s personal pet–but rumor has it there’s a reunion special coming up–Evan and Rick, together again for one evening–the two nasty beasts rutting in the mud and filth. You should see the preorders–it’s going to make bank.

Deal of a Lifetime (Part 6)

“Alright Daddy, *grunt*, how do I look?”

The cub had finished placing the order and was just sitting on the bed, wondering again how in the world he’d ended up here in this situation, when he heard the bathroom door open…but that voice–that wasn’t the same voice of the guy he’d brought with him. The words were distorted somehow, and while the voice was pitched higher, it was more gutteral. He got up from the bed and walked over to the short hall that lead to the hotel room door and the bathroom, and there, blocking the exit, was…he didn’t know what the fuck it was, but he let out a scream and backpedaled into the room. “What…what the fuck!” he managed to say.

Carmichael squealed and laughed and grunted at his sudden fright, holding his pipe in one hand so he didn’t drop it. “The look on your fuckin’ faces! Every fuckin’ time,” he started walking towards the cub, “What’s wrong daddy? I thought you wanted to play with a little pig tonight?”

“Stay the fuck away from me, you fucking freak.”

“Oh daddy, that’s so fucking sexy, fucking talk to me like that all night long, and we’re gonna have so much fucking fun.”

“I’m fucking serious! I don’t know what fucking game you’re playing man, but we’re fucking done! Get that fucking mask off, and get the fuck out of my room! You’re fucking sick!”

The pig groaned again and gave it’s cock a little stroke, “Fuck Daddy, that’s enough pillow talk–get over here and kiss your nasty pig, and let’s get the fun started,” Carmichael took a deep lungful of smoke and pushed it out into the room, watching it fill up with a grey haze. The cub tried to get to the sliding door and out onto the balcony, but the smoke caught him first, making him cough and wheeze. The smoke was so sweet smelling, cloying even, but he couldn’t seem to get a full breath of air into his lungs, his eyes were watering–he hadn’t even noticed the pig walk over to him, shove him up against the glass. He tried to wriggle away, but not before the pig shoved it’s snout to his nose and mouth and exhaled even more smoke into him–he couldn’t help but inhale it, and once it was inside him…the world spun, and the only thing that kept him upright was the pig pressing into him, groping him, making him moan, making…making him want to…to kiss that snout, and…

He shoved the pig back, and Carmichael allowed him, watching the cub change as he coughed. His shorts blackened, growing longer even as they split along the crotch, becoming a pair of leather chaps, his briefs shrinking into a simple white jockstrap holding a sizable package. His shirt split down the center, and became a leather vest, but it affected far more than his clothes. The cub’s neatly trimmed goatee spread across his face, becoming a beard flecked with the first tinge of grey as the hair on his body filled in thicker, his abs disappearing under a definite paunch, which became a beer gut in less than a minute. Lastly, his shoes morphed into well shined boots, and leather gloves appeared on his hands, one of them holding a thick cigar that flamed into life, the cub bringing it to his lips and sucking in his own smoke. “What…am I doing? I don’t smoke?” he said, exhaled a plume through his nose, and immediately took another drag. His own cigar was harsher than the pig’s pipe tobacco, but that seemed…right. He was rougher than the pig, yeah, a rough daddy fucker. “What the fuck did you just do to me?”

“Nothing I didn’t want to do,” the pig said, approaching slowly. The cub’s eyes were still filled with disgust, but now alongside that was a sudden urge to dominate, to fuck rough and brutal. “How’d you like your first taste of your pig, daddy?”

“You fucking disgust me…I don’t…know what you did, but fucking fix this, you fucking piece of shit, or I swear to god I’ll beat your ass to a fucking pulp, hog.”

“Such a sweet talker,” Carmichael said, pressed himself to the cub again and kissed him…and as disgusted as he was facing this ugly pig thing, the cub’s new instincts took over, shoving his tongue into the pig’s snout, sharing and swapping spit, spinning the thing around and shoving him up against the wall, grinding up against it’s belly. The pig’s skin was…soft and supple, but didn’t feel like human skin…it was somehow thicker–it made shivers run up his back, but whether they were disgust or arousal he couldn’t tell anymore, and the more smoke they shared, the less it mattered to him. The pig was disgusting, it made his stomach churn, but somehow that just made him want him even more.

“I…can’t stop…” he moaned into the pig’s mouth, before running his tongue down to his chest, tasting the pig’s hide for the first time, running a gloved hand over the pig’s strange cock, wondering how it would feel in his mouth, but Carmichael pushed him away, walked over, and bent over the bed.

“Now, now daddy–dinner first. How about an appetizer before our food arrives? Show this pig what a dirty daddy you are.”

“You want me to fuck you? You fucking piece of shit?” the cub said, walking over.

“No no, not yet daddy. I said eat,” the pig reached back and spread it’s cheeks, revealing it’s pink hole, curled tail swishing with anticipation, and the cub’s realized what the pig had meant. But no–no, he couldn’t. It would be so…so fucking gross, and…and disgusting, and yet that only made him want it more. Maybe just a taste, just a little one. His knees buckled, and he crawled over to the pig, Carmichael encouraging him the whole way, and after a whimper and groan of fear, unable to process what was happening to him, he dove in and started eating out the pig’s ass like he hadn’t eaten in days–and when the pig let loose the first fart, all remaining doubt disappeared into the ether.

Deal of a Lifetime (Part 5)

The elevator ride was silent. Carmichael was staring at the young man, one hand fiddling with the pipe and pouch of tobacco in his breast pocket. The young man was decisively staring anywhere other than at him, but he was sweating a bit under the older man’s stare. The old fuck was obviously a bottom, given how he’d acted down in the restaurant, but a part of him didn’t feel like he was the one in control of the situation, and wanted to abandon ship and run, but the hard cock in his shorts–fuck, he’d never been so disgusted by someone as much as this fuck, and he’d never known that disgust could be such a fucking aphrodisiac. He could give the pig a dirty rough plowing, and then send him on his way. He certainly wouldn’t be telling any of his friends about this, and he’d hook up with someone hotter later, so he could feel normal again.

“I never did get your name, sir.”

“You’re not getting it, pig. I don’t want to know you.”

“Then I suppose I will just have to call you daddy then.”

The cub blushed at the thought of this man at least thirty years his senior calling him daddy. What the fuck was he doing?

The elevator dinged, and they emerged on the cub’s floor. He led Carmichael down the hall to his room, opened it up, and went inside. “Alright pig–get naked, and get on the bed. No talking–I just want to get this over with.”

Carmichael let the door shut behind him, and chuckled, “No–here’s what we’ll do. You go ahead and call room service and order us some food. You can bill it to my room, 823. I don’t quite think I satisfied my sweet tooth yet, so focus on the desserts, daddy.”

“You fucking–” he sneered, “You’re still fucking hungry? No–this is a quick fuck, I’m not playing into your fucked up fantasies anymore. You want my dick? Get on the bed or get out.”

“My fantasies?” Carmichael said, moving quick for his size, pressing himself to the cub, feeling a shiver run through the young man, “I know how much you liked stuffing me down in that restaurant. Besides–it’s surprisingly easy to work up an appetite when you’re playing with a pig like me, so you might want some too. Now, call room service while I freshen up and get ready for you, daddy.”

The cub backed away, and walked over to the phone, unable to believe what he was doing. He wasn’t really doing this. He didn’t actually want to do this, did he? No! No, he…he didn’t, and yet…and yet he was thinking about what it was like downstairs, how much he’d fucking enjoyed watching the old fuck struggle to chew while he shoved food in his face…Fuck, maybe he did want this. It was just…curiosity, he told himself, waiting for room service to connect, looking at the menu, thinking about what would be fun to stuff in someone’s face.

Carmichael hadn’t stuck around to see if the cub called or not–he knew he would. Besides, he had more pressing matters to attend to. He went into the bathroom and shut the door behind him, pulling his piggy pipe out with a quivering hand, licking his lips. The little piggy was so eager to be out again, so eager to play. He took his time packing the pipe with his special tobacco–he wouldn’t want to ruin the moment with a poor draw. When he was satisfied, he lit the pipe, puffing gently, tasting that sweet smoke–he’d smoked this so many times, and yet this time felt…new, somehow. He took a deeper draw, his body reacting to the smoke, quivering and shifting in front of his eyes.

His body began to lose a bit of weight–never too much, he was still wonderfully plump–but enough to make moving a bit easier. His gut no longer sagged, but rested as a taut gut, a bit of muscle filling out his frame, giving him a huskier look with thick shoulders and an even thicker neck. His clothes, rather than becoming loose, shrank with him as he condensed until they were skin tight, the fabric picking up a bit of a shine under the bathroom lights. The color of the fabric darkened to a solid black, the shine increasing until he was clad all in rubber from sleeve to pant, and then the suit began to retract until all that remained was a skimpy, rubber singlet, the word “PIG” across the back in red letters, with an open crotch giving him easy access to both his piggy cock and ass. Fuck, that fucking cock!

It wasn’t human anymore–instead, emerging from the sheath, was a slimy, spiralling pig’s cock with two massive boar balls swinging beneath. His shoes had disappeared, but they wouldn’t have fit his new feet anyway, as they shifted into trotters, his footing a bit slick on the tile, but he adjusted easily enough, watching his face start to shift through the smoke of his pipe. Ears growing larger migrating up on his head a bit before flopping over. Nose and mouth pushing out into a short snout with two tusks on either side, and lastly, with a squeal, his tail pushed it’s way out above his ass. Just a fucking little pig, that’s all he fucking was–it was so fucking good to be free at last!

As the pig smoked and groped himself, the last changes swept over his body. What little hair he had on his body and head disappeared, leaving just a soft hide behind. His head was completely bald, and his mustache disappeared from the tip of his snout…but as the hair disappeared, his appearance youthened. The wrinkles disappearing around his eyes, his jowls pulling back in, moles and liver spots dimming and disappearing, leaving him a beautiful pink from head to toe. He was ready to play, and what a fucking good time this pig was going to have with that daddy tonight.

Officer Wetzel Meets a Demon (Part 3)

Finally got this story finished. If you need a refresher, here was Part 1 and Part 2.

“What did you…do to me?” Officer Wetzel said, groaning, something deep inside his guts twisting, and he found himself gagging, and then vomiting black bile at the wall in front of him in a great gush. It tasted vile, but no sooner had he wiped his chin with one sleeve of his uniform, than a second surge hit him. Something was caught in his throat, something sharp–he hurled again and felt it dislodge and fly out of his mouth–it hit the brick wall with a soft tink, and then landed in the puddle of filth. The demon bent down and picked up the small, gleaming thing between two fingers, and examined it. “That’s…that’s mine,” he croaked. He didn’t know what it was, but he knew, somehow, that it belonged to him.

“Pity–I was hoping it would be a bit larger. I certainly didn’t think you’d give it up so easily,” the demon said, and slipped it into his pocket. “And yes, it was yours–but that body of yours can’t hold something like this, not anymore. No–not even god will love you now. Be thankful the devil needed you at all, sinner.”

The officer grabbed for the demon, but he stepped back, watching the man crawl towards him. “I know I promised you a weekend, but I still have some pressing business I have to attend to–you’ll forgive me if I catch up with you a bit later. Do try and enjoy yourself–you’ve earned it. Still, I will need your clothes…”

Wetzel tried to find his feet, but his body was feverish, his vision blurry. He nearly tumbled into the street, but the demon managed to swerve him back onto the sidewalk, and into an alley out of the sun’s heat, where he forcefully disrobed him. Wetzel tried to fight back but his body was giving out–he slumped over, retching up another massive amount of bile, but this time it was thicker–instead of flying out of his mouth, it more…oozed forth, running down his chin and onto his chest, coating his body. He tried to wipe it off, but it just…smeared around–sticky and hot, more pouring from his mouth. He tried to speak, tried to beg for mercy, but he couldn’t speak through the flow–choking and gagging, he collapsed, the filth pouring out of him, coating his body until a few minutes later, none of his flesh was visible–all that remained was a black, rubbery cocoon anchored to the filthy concrete of the alley.

The demon squatted down, and rubbed spot where the officer’s head would have been, and then stood up, looking at the small amber gem which the officer had expelled–that small little chunk of authentic soul the man had still had within him. After all, the officer here hadn’t been his primary target–no, he had someone far worse in need of punishment. After all, if God wasn’t going to bother showing his face, that meant it was up to the devil, to enforce his own idea of law and order here on earth.

He licked his lips, placed the gem on his tongue, rolled it around his mouth, and then swallowed. Immediately, an uncomfortable grumble came from his guts, the purity of the gem rebelling against his demonic nature, seeking exit–but he bound it deep inside himself, corrupted it, and pulled the remnants of goodness forth. It’s human form began to shudder, and a few minutes later his body had become that of Officer Wetzel–fortyish, paunch covered in grey hair, a bushy mustache. He pulled on the officer’s uniform, checked on the cocoon one last time, and then set off down the street, whistling and twirling his baton, cruising the leather and rubber freaks as he went. As much as he might want to abuse the last vestiges of the Officer’s form with a bit more sex, the fact was he didn’t have much time to finish the job–a few hours at most. His demonic force would eat through this skin in that time, and he’d need it where he was heading.

The demon headed away from the revelrie, knowing he’d have a chance to enjoy himself more once his work was completed. The spire of the cathedral was visible, sticking out into the sky above the lower roofs around him, and after a few minutes, the skin already chafing slightly, he found himself at the entrance to the sanctuary, and gingerly placed his hand on the door, the skin insulating him from the holy energy thrumming through the structure. Had he not been shielded by the officer’s remaining piety, his mortal form would have been destroyed, and he would have been thrown back into the pits where he’d crawled from. Instead, he pulled opened the door with a gleeful chuckle, and slipped inside.

The space was obnoxiously pious. He walked through the sanctuary, where several people were praying, towards the back of the church, where the confessional booths were placed. Now here, he could taste something of his own nature, well cloaked and hidden within a false faith. He entered the booth and sat down, licking his lips, glancing at the priest through the screen–who was looking back at him, recognizing the officer’s face, even if…something seemed strange about him, at the moment. But there was an eagerness there as well, which didn’t care about those concerns, and one hand slipped to his crotch, rubbing his cock through his robes. This had become a…habit for them both, and as wrong as Father Nelson knew it was, he…he couldn’t bring himself to stop. “It’s late, Beau–I thought you might not come today.”

The demon resisted the urge to begin stroking himself as well, but he would wait. It would be better if he waited, to make sure the sinful priest was too deep to escape his grasp. When he was his, then he would have all the time to take his pleasure, and it would all the sweeter for his patience, as contrary to his nature as that might be.

Gino’s New Job (Part 2)

Winston led Gino out of the office, the bartender giving the nude, zonked out stud a sly smile, remembering his interview with the boss all too clearly himself. They stopped in front of a small closet, the boss pawed through the gear inside, on shelves and hanging on rods, before pulling out a collection of rubber gear and shoving it at Gino, who just stared at it. He…he couldn’t really wear something like this, could he?

It turns out, after some encouragement from the boss, he was more than happy to pull on the gear. The rubber body suit clung to his muscles, and the whole crotch was exposed, giving him, and anyone else, easy access to both his cock and his ass. Lastly came the waders, which were a bit big on him, but the boss said Gino would be able to use his first earnings on a new set for himself, which he liked. The boss set him down in a chair, told Gino to play with his cock, and fetched an electric razor, buzzing his hair down to the scalp, and then shearing away his beard as well, leaving him with just a light stubble.

“Yes, that’s better–can’t have a bathroom boy looking too old, can we?”

“B-Bathroom boy?”

“That’s your new position, Gino. The one you applied for? You told me how much you love drinking piss, and licking toilets clean back in the office, right? I thought this would be perfect for you.”

Gino shook his head no, but the memories were already filling in, and after both his boss, and the bartender, fed him their loads of piss, the craving was real, and aching. Since the bar was still slow, they fucked him at both ends, and the boss sent him to the bathroom to get ready for the evening.

His duties were to clean the urinals out, lick the toilet seats clean, serve the customers as a urinal himself, unless he was busy as a cumdump at either end. His first night, the Gino, the real Gino, fought hard, where he was locked away in this new identity, but the next night was easier, and the night after that too. Boss says if he keeps it up, he might even get a promotion one day, but Gino doesn’t really need one. Being a bathroom boy is everything he’s ever wanted, after all–why would he ever want to do anything else?

Source: knightsandprey

My Training Journal (Part 3)

Entry 55

Felix says I can write in you no more. He over here now helpin me move out cause i gotta go live with him now he says because i can’t go back to school cause i just a big dumb muscle slave. I guess hes write though i can’t think very hard anymore bout anythin other than working out and cocks and shit like that but I really like thinking about that stuff so maybe its ok!

I just wanted to tell you that im doin good on training and shit. I can ride Master’s fuck machine for a good hour now which is like super cool, makes me wanna jizz a bit but you know i cant. Not sure the last time i shoot but master says thats normal that i wont even wanna think about it soon because my worthless dick wont even be there much longer.

Fuck so much i wanna write but my head cant figure out how to word it. I’m gonna live with master for my own good from now on i suppose which is good. Hes helping me move out now. I dont need much really just the clothes he gave me to wear (the rubber and lycra and all the stuff thats so fuckin sexy on my huge bod, but I told you about that!) Oh! Master says i cant go back to college but that he found a night school for me instead! With classes and games and dancing and professors and everything, just like a real school but for stupid fagwhores like me! Im super excited to see what its like though. Anyway dont miss me too much!!! Master says ill be ok and happy and stuff and hes never been wrong before so why would he be wrong now, right?

Entry 56

Guess I underestimated that musclefag a bit! It’s a damn good thing he never showed this to anyone, or I probably would have been up shit creek by now. Still, whatever-his-name (I just call him Bitch usually, or Fag sometimes) has been doing really well since he moved in with me a few months back–I’m sure he’d be real proud of himself if he had much capacity for self-reflection anymore, but all of that is pretty much gone. Just a drooling idiot at this point. Even if I hadn’t taken this thing away from him it wouldn’t have mattered–he can’t even write anymore, so why would he have a journal?

Heh, I say he, but I don’t know what Bitch would really count as anymore. It doesn’t have a cock anymore, after all, or a sack. Supposedly the balls just get sucked up and still produce a minimal amount of hormones designed to keep up its muscle mass, but looking at the crotch? You wouldn’t know what it is. You should see the looks it gets, walking down the street in those tight lycra pants, tight enough to crawl up the crack of his wide, wide ass (wider now that we’ve been working in some collagen injections) but on the front, just nothing. No bulge, not even an outline. People don’t know what the fuck it is, and Bitch is too oblivious to even realize it’s a freak of nature at this point. Its pecs are massive, way out of proportion, with huge nipples. Got them pierced, and as soon as I can it’ll be swinging doorknockers from them, which will make its routine at the clubs just that much stranger and sexier. Lips too, got them inflated nice and puffy, great for blowjobs now that its gag reflex is finally gone–that took forever with this one!

Just re-read that last entry he made! Fucking night school, what a dipshit. Didn’t have to keep up that gag for too long, once it settled into the routine. Dancing for patrons, getting shoved in a gloryhole booth for hours on end, and of course, private rentals with his favorite “professors” four or five nights of the week. It just needs a whole lot of tutoring, I suppose. Anyone who wants it for a night can have it, and the rich old fags at these places love the idea of some docile adonis worshiping them for hours on end, no cock of its own to compete with their needs. I got so many regular customers I have a waiting list two weeks long! I suppose what that really means, is that I need to grow the stable a bit, right? Well don’t worry–I got a new athlete all lined up already. A bit older this time, bit of a muscle daddy in his late 30’s looking to get bigger. Well, we can do that. Still, I think I need to diversify my product line a bit–keep the hair on this one, and a big huge cock. Might as well corner the bottom market too, right? I think so. I think I’ll even have him keep a journal too, since reading through this thing while Bitch sucks me off make me nut like nothing else. His first sessions tomorrow, and I can’t fucking wait.

Arctos: Briar (Part 2)

He made himself a snack, and went to watch TV, but he couldn’t focus, and kept looking at the box, and then the clock. Jase was usually home by six…but sometimes he went out for drinks with the guys. If he wasn’t home by…say, seven…would he really mind if his dad opened it for him? It was a breach of privacy, sure, but he had a growing certainty inside him, that whatever was in there was meant not for jase, but for him. It was his! So nice of Jase to get him a present! Sure, his birthday was still a few months away, but father’s day was around the corner. He’d never splurged on anything like this before–if it was meant for him anyway, what harm was there in opening it?

He forced himself to wait. It hurt, but it was, technically, Jase’s, after all. He might be angry if he spoiled the surprise, after all. Thankfully, he heard Jase’s truck pull up outside the house and into the driveway, and it was excruciating, waiting for him to come into the house, so he could show him the package, and ask him about it. He had to play it cool though, at least a little bit. So he waited, and Jase came through the door, and in a bit of a rush, Miles said, “Hey, some guy brought you a package today–it’s by the door. What did you order?”

Jase looked at him, confused, and then went over to the box. A intense jealousy shot through him, as he watched Jase turn the box over in his hands, and then set it down again, like nothing had struck him at all. “No idea–I didn’t order anything. Who was it from?”

“He just said it was a gift, from Arctos. Are you…do you just not want to tell me about my present or something?” he asked.

“Present? What are you talking about?” Jase asked. The question hung in an awkward silence for a bit, and then he said, “It’s not mine. We might as well send it back.”

“We don’t even know what’s in there though!” Miles nearly shouted.

“Jeeze dad, get a grip! Open it if you want, I don’t care. Anyway, I’m tired–I’m going to chill out for a bit, and we can have dinner later, ok?”

Jase headed off towards his room upstairs, but Miles didn’t bother replying. How in the fuck could he not care at all, just like that! He grabbed the box, clutching it to his chest, then went and found a knife in the kitchen, slit the tape open, and opened it–inside was a large pipe, a pouch of tobacco, and a slip of paper. He’d expected the need to ebb a bit, once he’d gotten the package open and sated his curiosity, but seeing the pipe, it only got worse. With a shaking hand, he picked up the nose, but all managed to read was:

Here at the Arctos Briar Division we strive to provide the highest quality of pipes, pipe tobacco, and accessories to ensure that any man who tries one of our products is determined to be a pipe smoker for life!

Included here is one pipe smoker starter kit, which has been provided to you at no cost, through our refer a friend program. By now, our patented smart memory chemicals…

Miles already knew what he needed to to, what he wanted to do. He was a cigarette smoker, had been all his life, and while he’d seen guys smoke a pipe a few times, he had never tried one himself, even though he’d always wanted to, right? He was having a hard time figuring that out, actually. He’d thought he’d never been that interested in pipes, and yet, looking at one now, he couldn’t help but ask himself why he’d never thought of trying one before. He didn’t know quite what to do with it, but he picked up the hefty pipe, surprised by how heavy it was, feeling the smooth wood and briar, and then reached into the pouch for the tobacco. The leaf was black and quite pungent, but the smell actually made him a bit horny, for some reason. He didn’t have any trouble packing and tamping the pipe–it was like his hands simply knew what they were doing, without him needing to guide them. At last, it was ready–he put the end in his mouth, lit it with the matches from the box, because he was too excited to try and find his lighter, and puffed it to light, drawing deep as soon as he could, and exhaling with a long plume of relieved satisfaction.

He took a few more long inhales, enjoying the rush he was getting off the smoke, so much more intense than anything he’d gotten from cigarettes before. He should have switched ages ago! He went back out into the den and sat back down on the couch, stretching out, staring at the TV but not watching anything in particular. The panic and anxiety had ebbed, and now all he felt was horny, which was strange. He didn’t exactly get horny very often anymore, and he didn’t exactly go out looking for women much anymore either. Still, it was good to know the old lizard could still wake up on occasion, right? He checked behind him, at the stairs, but his son usually camped up in his room all afternoon until dinner, so why not rub a load out? It had never occurred to him that he had never once considered jacking off where his son might discover him–he just pulled his cock through the fly of the boxers he was wearing and started stroking it slowly, leaning back, puffing on the pipe, and then pulled his balls through the hole as well, the cloth tightening around the base, hardening into steel, and the resulting cock ring only made his cock engorge further, the rest of the cloth tightening up around his thighs, turning black and slick, becoming a pair of rubber shorts which left both his cock and ass entirely exposed.

The wifebeater he had on was contorting as well, the collar pulling up closer to his throat, the rest of tighting around his hefty, hairy gut, beginning to darken. The collar detached and tightened around Miles’ neck, thickening into a leather collar studded with short spikes, the rest becoming a tight fitting rubber tank. Oblivious, he rubbed his nipples through the rubber with his free hand, feeling how huge and sensitive they were–all that effort he’d been putting into pumping them had really paid off–same with his fucking balls. His cock wasn’t huge, but his sack was bulging larger and larger, hanging lower onto the seat of the couch–he hefted them, and then gave them a tug, his cock immediately spewing precum at the sensation.

Features & Bugs (Part 4)

Now that I had been away from the damn computer for a moment, the sense that something was…different was only growing stronger. I could hear Austin in the kitchen, cooking I assumed, and so I went into the bathroom to get a look at myself, but I couldn’t see anything wrong with my reflection, even though, I somehow knew that it wasn’t quite right. I mean…later…but then, at that moment? I looked at myself–at the beard, at the extra hundred and fifty pounds, at the tattoos and piercings, at the hair falling off my head in clumps…and I honestly couldn’t see anything wrong with it, and befuddled, I found Austin and ate, and ate, and ate. Dinner was massive, but my appetite was larger than I thought possible, and I stuffed myself. In the end, it was ten at night when we were finally ready to leave the house. I had no idea where we were going that late, but I went with Austin and climbed into his car…which was now much smaller than I thought it should be, and we drove into the city, parked, and walked a couple blocks to a rundown club, in a alley, and I followed Austin inside.

It looked like the setting of the videos I’d been watching–dingy, all tile and dim lighting and bodies pressed too close. It stank of musk and piss, and my little cock got hard instantly. My doubts started to fade, and I remember I was drooling uncontrollably as Austin led me deeper and deeper into the club, men crowding their way around me, touching me, smacking me, shouting at me. I don’t really know what happened when. I drank piss. I sucked cock and got fucked by who knows how many different men, all of them raw. At some point, strangers dragged me over to what looked like a converted sawhorse. They bent me over, strapping my hands and legs to the frame, the top cutting into my huge gut, and they opened up my hole how I’d…I’d always wanted. Fingers and cocks, and then fists. I don’t know how deep they went, or how many, but I was begging for it. I was in those videos, I was one of them, my fantasies were real.

I do remember one thing. Something I now know I wasn’t supposed to see. Austin hung around a bit at the beginning, but he soon abandoned me to the mob, once he saw I wouldn’t be trying to get away or resist. I was sucking cock, and trying to keep an eye on him, in case…he needed me, I suppose. And I saw him talking to someone, an older man in a leather uniform smoking a thick cigar. I wasn’t jealous or anything–I was just a pig after all, he could talk to or fuck around with whoever he wanted. No, for a while, I wasn’t even sure what had caught my attention. I thought I knew him, somehow. Recognized him from somewhere, but why would I know anyone here? It wasn’t until Austin and the man got closer, Austin pushing open the leather jacket the man had on, revealing his firm gut and the lines there, the lines I’d see forming through that crack in a door. It couldn’t have been him though, right? There was no way! He’d been…young, and thin, and this man was old, and sexy, and powerful and…and I knew it was true, but I was too horny to think, too weak to do anything. All I wanted was for him to come use me too–both because I wanted him, and because I wanted to see if I was right.

If two points make a line, how many until a shape forms in front of you? I couldn’t really see it, because I was too close–inside the boundary of the entire event, but everything linking up around me, the room spinning…it was too terrifying, and so I pushed it away. I focused on being a good pig, but doubts don’t go away that easily.

It was four in the morning, the bar was closing. Austin unbound me from the horse and helped me stand. The air on my hole felt so strange, as he helped me from the bar. I think I shit myself, but it might have just been a wad of cum running down my leg, I didn’t want to look–either possibility was horrifying. The cum more so. If it was cum…if it was cum, part of me wanted to eat it. We got back to the car, we drove back to his place, both of us exhausted, and we fell right to sleep. Sunday, my entire body ached, but it was a good ache. It was a hunger as much as a pain. I wanted to do it again. I wanted to do it every night. The excitement scared me–I couldn’t anticipate my own thoughts. I expected to feel disgust, but all my body told me was how good it felt, how much I wanted even more. And the doubts, the shape forming. We fucked all Sunday long, but come Monday I was going to get answers.

That morning, he tried to sneak out, but I got up with him, telling him I needed to go into work too. He told me he’d already called out for me, telling them I wasn’t feeling well. I got angry, said I was going, and he got angry. Frustrated, might be a better word, looking at me like I was just another computer not working like it was supposed to. It all came pouring out soon enough. I demanded to know who that man had been, and he denied at first, and then refused to tell me anything else. I wanted to know what I’d looked like, last week. I demanded to know what he’d done to me, what he’d done to both of us. He smiled, and promised me that he’d tell me everything when he got back from work that evening, but for now, I was to stay here, and not leave under any circumstance. Then, he left and shut the door behind him, locking it.