Features & Bugs (Part 3)

The office was small, and the man’s desk had been against a wall to the side. The man was there in his chair, staring at his computer screen–his shirt was unbuttoned, his fly too, and he was jacking off. Something was playing on the screen, some video, but at the angle I was crouched at, I couldn’t get a good look at anything other than him…and something was wrong with him. When I’d helped him the day before, the guy had been young, slender and wiry, clean shaven and hairless as far as I could tell. Looking at him now, I wondered if my memory was simply wrong, or if something else had happened to him. His body had grown larger, more muscular, and was much hairier than I would have expected. He had more than a five o’clock shadow–somehow he’d grown a short beard overnight. He must have been older than I’d thought as well, because it was flecked with grey, and I could see his hair receding slightly. But then something else happened, something I knew I couldn’t explain as easily as all that.

I could see him in profile, and he twisted towards me slightly in his chair. For a while I was focused on his cock–easily the same size as the dildo I’d had in my ass the night before, if not a bit larger. But something else caught my eye as well, something happening on the gut he’d grown overnight–there were lines on it. Black lines. I thought they were a shadow, but shadows didn’t move like this, they didn’t…grow. They were forming shapes on him, which I didn’t recognize at the time. The sight was enough to jolt me away from the crack–I stood up and slipped the door closed again…and only then did I realize I’d had my cock out as well, jacking off while I was watching him, right here in the damn hallway! Thankfully no one had seen me; I zipped back up and fled back to the IT department, where I ran into Austin. I tried to tell him what I’d just seen, but couldn’t get the words out, once he started toying with me. He ended up fucking me in the bathroom stall, and then suggested we get an early start on our weekend, and I was only too eager to agree, and what I’d seen had slipped to the back of my mind.

I…don’t remember much of that night. We had dinner somewhere, but I was so horny all I could think about was getting back to his place for sex. He told me he had a present for me, sat me down in front of his computer, and showed me a twenty file movie collection, he had queued up for me…and I watched all of them, in a row, all night long. Most of them had that same pig in them, but some had others. They were all pigs too, but some were different. One had a fat pig bound up, getting stuffed with food. Another pig got whipped, and spanked, and pierced, and bloodied for over an hour. Always there was piss. Always there was rubber. Always there was humiliation and abuse. Always, there was this odd…flicker, that I noticed on occasion, but it never held my attention for very long. I didn’t sleep once. I think I remember Austin leaving me there and then coming back. In the morning, he set a heaping plate of food by me, and I devoured it with one hand and stroked off with the other. In my mind, I’d gone from admiring these pigs, to identifying with them, experiencing their humiliation and abuse vicariously, and then, I actually started to feel like I was one of them. Like I’d entered the videos myself, like I was watching videos of things that had happened to me. I ate again, at some point, and eventually, Austin turned off the videos, and the only sound in the room was me snorting, the sound of me groping my pig cock.

“That’s better pig,” he said, “You feeling more like yourself now?”

I didn’t know how to answer that question, but his cock was there, and just seeing it made my mouth drool. I swallowed it, sucking hard, and a minute later my mouth flooded with piss for the first time, and I drank it down, the taste so familiar even as the newness of it struck me. I felt different, I didn’t feel like me, but I didn’t know how to explain it in terms anyone might be able to understand. The flow slowed, and he went back to fucking my face. He was brutal, choking and gagging me, but I just took, enjoying the roughness, enjoying being treated like a pig like me deserved to be treated. The first time I thought of myself as a pig, the first time I realized that’s what I was, I came with a huge grunt, I was so happy to have figured it out!

Austin didn’t cum, he just pulled out, and told me that he wanted to go out that night. He’d laid out a few outfits on the bed, and he wanted me to pick what I wanted to wear, we’d eat, and then head out. I got up from the chair where I’d been sitting for a day–it was sopping with piss and cum…I must have been sitting in my own filth this entire time, but for some reason that didn’t bother me. I didn’t even think of taking a shower–I just lumbered down the hall to the bedroom, and there, sure enough, were a few sets of clothes: a business suit, some shorts and a t-shirt, and finally what looked like a collection of rubber gear. I made a beeline for that of course–why would I want to wear any of that other stuff? It ended up being a rubber singlet, black with a red accent up the side, like a tuxedo stripe, and the ass was open. It had seemed…big, when I started putting it on, but when it was finished, it actually seemed a bit small. I pulled on some black army boots to go with it, and felt…good, surprisingly. Sexy even. I’d never felt sexy in my life, I’d thought, what in the hell was wrong with me?

It had always been Dave’s dream to retire early. Hit his fifties, get out of his boring middle management job, and do everything he’d always wanted to do. Travel the world! Play as much golf as he wanted! Get back into shape! Fix up his house! He could do anything he wanted, but when it finally happened…he discovered that more than anything else, he was bored.

His wife resented him for being home all the time. he had enough money to live comfortably, but not enough to really fulfill his wildest dreams…which it turned out, weren’t really all that wild. They fought, he felt restless. Two years after retiring, he decided that he needed a job again. Nothing big, nothing like what he had. Just something to pass the time and give his weeks some structure.

He picked up a job as a bartender downtown. He’d done it before, in his youth, to help him pay his way through college, and the skills were still there, even if the drinks were a bit more complicated now. He enjoyed the bullshitting, he enjoyed the long nights when he didn’t have to worry about seeing his wife, he even liked flirting with the women a bit. He wasn’t a cheater of course, but he was a handsome older man, and it boosted his ego.

Then, another chain of bars bought them out suddenly, looking to expand into a new neighborhood. The promised that all of the employees would keep their jobs, but the entire atmosphere changed. The redecorated, making everything darker and dingy. The clientele became almost entirely men, most of them dressed in some of the strangest clothing. He discovered then, that he was working at a gay bar…and that he was changing too. Men were flirting with him…and he found himself flirting back. He tried to bring himself to quit, but every time he confronted Rod, the new manager, the big brute kept talking him down, and even gave him longer, later shifts–telling him the more he worked, the more he’d fit in and enjoy himself.

The late shifts were worse. The later it got, the rowdier the men became, groping and catcalling him. He told himself he hated it, but he sucked his first cock on his second night, and kept sucking, raking in more in tips than he imagined being possible. He’d try to leave the house in casual clothes, but each time he came home, he discovered his casual, conservative attire have become some strange leather or rubber garment. He had a thick beard and a shaved head. He picked up smoking, trying to ease his growing panic. The tattoos and piercings…he couldn’t even remember where they’d come from. And now, she’d left.

She’d left, and here he was. Smoking, ready to go out, another night working at Pigtown. This house…why did he even come back here anymore? He didn’t belong here. Every night, someone wanted to take him home and plow his nasty hole…why did he keep saying no? Why did he keep leaving? He couldn’t remember, and that was the last time anyone saw Dave again.

ChatChange (Part 2)

MasturCub90909: Fine, whatever, let’s just get this over with. What do you want to start with?

DaddySugarBear: Well, I’ve been thinking about your image a lot, you know? I mean, I get the whole clean cut, nice guy image, but I just don’t think that’s what a lot of guys want to see. At least, it’s not something I’m interested in at all. You just sort of fade into the background, one more pretty face. You need an image! Something that will catch people’s attention. So when they see you, they’ll know exactly who you are.

MasturCub90909: Yeah, and what the hell do you have in mind?

DaddySugarBear: I’ll show you.

<<Change initiated…Change applied successfully>>

DaddySugarBear: There, I think that’s better, don’t you?

MasturSkin90909: Fickin A what the hell ya fuckin do! I look like a fuckin freak!

DaddySugarBear: I know, right? No one’s gonna be able to look away from you now, I can tell you that, not with that face.

MasturSkin90909: What ya mean my face?

MasturSkin90909: Holy fuckin shit Im fuckin ugly! What the fuck? When did those fuckin piercings show up? Where’d my hair go?

MasturSkin90909: Change me the fuck back right now this fuckin shit is fuckin over ya bastard Im not jokin!

DaddySugarBear: Look, just hear me out. There’s plenty of skins on tumblr, I mean, you can’t swing a bat without hitting one (though looking at that new nose of yours, I think you probably know what I’m talking about). So look, you have up the ante somehow. Those piercings are your trademark, man! That’s what makes you, you! Besides, I know you think they’re sexy as fuck.

MasturSkin90909: Well ya their sexy but i didn’t ask to look like this even if they do look fuckin hot on me

DaddySugarBear: They go perfect with your new persona though! Just a dumb, rough skinhead thug, nice and thick, little eyes, that busted nose, missing teeth. Everyone’s gonna love or hate you, but no one’s going to look away, I can promise you that. Still, we aren’t done, I mean, we have to fix that wardrobe of yours. Afterall, if you’re going to spend all day cumming on yourself, best to make it easy to clean right?

<<Change initiated…Change applied successfully>>

RbbrSkinStrokr69: Where the hell this come from?

DaddySugarBear: That’s what I’m talking about, I fucking love singlets.

RbbrSkinStrokr69: No fuck u Im takin this shit off

DaddySugarBear: You will do no such thing!

RbbrSkinStrokr69: Shut up you mothrfuck! Im donewith this shit!

<<Toggle Subject Autonomy: Obedience–Aware>>

DaddySugarBear: Sit back down in that chair, get that rubber singlet back on, and keep stroking that cock of yours, right now.

DaddySugarBear: Oh don’t look at me like that, you said that you would listen to what I have to say, and I’m not done yet. Just relax for a bit, focus on that nasty cock of yours–damn, that thing has almost as much metal as your face. I bet that feels pretty good, doesn’t it? Way better than before, so sensitive like that.

DaddySugarBear: Get your hand off that keyboard!

DaddySugarBear: I’m tired of you taking my advice for granted, you know that? Here I am, taking time out of my evening to help you and your tumblr, and you’ve been one ungrateful prick this entire time. Now, we’re going to continue, and I was going to save this for a bit, but I think you need it now.

<<Change initiated…Change applied successfully>>

DaddySugarBear: Now, tell me what you think, and be honest now.

RbbrSkinPOS: Oh fuck sir I so sorry, I fucking deserve this, I do

DaddySugarBear: What do you deserve, bitch?

RbbrSkinPOS: I deserve to be a stupid skinbitch. A pig. A whore. Fuckin worhtless thats all I am, just a bitch for real men to use and abuse as they see fit

RbbrSkinPOS: Fuck sir just thinkin what you did to me so fuckin horny. Plz sir, can I cum? Will you let this worthless skinpig shoot a load for you?

DaddySugarBear: No pig, you haven’t earned a chance to cum. You’ve been a very bad pig, and that means you need to be punished.

RbbrSkinPOS: Yea sir punish me fuck do whatever the fuck you want

DaddySugarBear: Do you think I should change you more? Turn you even further into a disgusting skin pig? Turn you into something most men would spit on?

RbbrSkinPOS: O fuck sir ruin me fuck whatever you want I deserve it

<<Change initiated…Change applied successfully>>

DaddySugarBear: Tell me pig, what’s your favorite color?

RbbrPissSkinPOS: Duh fckin yellow

DaddySugarBear: Probably could have guessed that, judging by that yellow rubber of yours

RbbrPissSkinPOS: Fck yeah never wear anythin else

DaddySugarBear: Alright pig take off one of those waders of yours and I want you to fill it up with your piss, and then I want to see you drink it for me.

DaddySugarBear: Yeah, that’s what I’m talking about! Do you know how many fucking pigs are going to love you on tumblr, if you post a video like that everyday? You’re going to be damn famous. Everyone’s going to know what a worthless urinal you are pretty soon, how does that sound?

RbbrPissSkinPOS: Sounds fuckin good to me, sir. Damn that tasted good, but it sure wasnt punishmnt sir.

DaddySugarBear: Oh, that wasn’t your punishment pig–I’d have to deliver that in person. Still, since we live across the country, I can’t very we’ll do it, so we’ll have to do it by proxy.

RbbrPissSkinPOS: Whats poxy sir? sounds kinky

DaddySugarBear: Don’t worry your stupid head about it pig. Just send me a contact from your list, someone who lives close to you, who’s online right now.

RbbrPissSkinPOS: K

<<Contact Received: HTHogarth>>

DaddySugarBear: Who’s that?

RbbrPissSkinPOS: Some lame nerd I used to study with. Lives a few blocks away.

DaddySugarBear: Works for me. Give me a second to warm him up, and then let’s start a group chat, eh?

Another long day on the convention floor, and he was itching to be out of his damn suit. Literally itching. Ever since…since that wild night in pigtown, anything that wasn’t rubber or leather was just so difficult to keep on after a few hours. Part of him just wanted to rip the clothes apart, but he restrained that desire. He’d been working on this, he’d been working on controlling this. As much…as much as he wanted to just give in (and god did he want to just give in, fuck, he’d been fighting it for what felt like an eternity and it hadn’t gotten any easier) he made himself slowly take off his coat, undo his buttons one at a time, his hands shaking, drop his pants, and breathe a sigh of relief. At least he could wear the rubber underneath–that helped more than anything else. He laid back on the bed, groping his hard, leaking cock through the jock, moaning softly, feeling so much better now that he was free again, now that he was…himself.

No–No, that was a lie. This wasn’t him, this was just…just a need. Once he released it, he’d feel better again, he knew he would. He always did feel better for a time. He’d just spent the day cruising the convention floor, and he’d arranged a few…dates with several men, at hour intervals, all night long. He looked over at the play pen he’d brought along in a massive trunk. It seemed…too elaborate, but he couldn’t very well play without his dungeon, right? He couldn’t be…be a proper pig without it. Couldn’t help more men see…see how good it would be if they were pigs too.

He was so close now, to cumming, to losing himself. He tried to contain it, to at least…focus it. He looked at the clock–ten minutes until the first one would be here, but he didn’t know if he could wait that long. He stared at the clock, watching the numbers, staring at them, and thankfully the man was early. He flung open the door and dragged the man inside–the stranger barely recognized the man clothed head to toe in rubber as the sweet, seductive man in the tailored suit from earlier, but after a few minutes, he didn’t care. After thirty minutes, he didn’t care about anything, with the man’s fist burrowed deep in his ass to the elbow, grunting and squealing and…and changing. 

Sure, they may not deserve it. But it was better them than him. Somehow, he knew that if…if he could just keep making other men into pigs, then he would be spared. He could keep his life, the life he’d fought so hard for. The second date arrived, and he dragged him in as well, making him eat out the first pig’s sloppy hole. Was he just lying to himself? Maybe, but he didn’t have to care right now, his mouth turned into a vicious grin, listening to the man gasp for breath, smothered in the pig’s ass. He loved this too much to question it now, and he’d keep bringing home more pigs as long as he was able.

The Trophy (Part 3)

***WARNING*** Extreme abuse, rape, body modification, mutilation, and snuff ahead. Read at your own risk.

Once a man is broken, you’ve won. They don’t always realize it right away, and so, it’s best to start them off small. I forced him to shave his head every day from then on, and then, after he did that without complaint, he graduated to shaving his face and body as well. At this point, I also faced a decision of my own–now that he’d been broken down, what should I do with him? I had enjoyed taking his fingers, to be honest–I hadn’t done anything like that in ages–so why not go a bit further?

I began by getting him adjusted to bondage, immobility and darkness. I would keep him bound, first for hours, then days and then eventually for a week at a time. In his bondage, I would have men arrive and abuse him as they saw fit, or I would simply have them use him as a dump or urinal. At this point, I had treated him with products designed to remove his hair permanently–no more shaving would be required, ever. And then, I began the modifications. with the help of a dentist friend, I removed his teeth and tongue, and then together dropped his jaw, opening his mouth impossibly wide, and we crafted a new mouth with latex putty–soft, tight and inviting–a mouth pussy, as I called it. It got rave reviews from all the men who used it, and so I began crafting various attachments that could be inserted, in order to give different sensations and textures, different degrees of tightness.

Since he was no longer able to eat like a man, I fed him by tube–and soon he realized that he was becoming fat, his lithe body from before slowly expanding with mass, first a small gut and moobs, but as the drug cocktail broke down his metabolic rate, he expanded faster and faster–in six months, he had ballooned up to four hundred and fifty pounds, with no sign of stopping. The only thing clothing he wore now were full body rubber suits designed to deprive him of his senses. His eyes and ears were covered nearly all the time–he was only really aware of himself by feel and heft, rather than by sight or sound. When I took his eyes and ears, I don’t think he even noticed a thing aside from the pain–not that he could have registered disapproval with his mouth pussy anyway.

At about eight hundred pounds, when he was no longer able to move much at all, I decided it was time for permanent installation in my dungeon–we removed his cock and balls, his arms and legs, anchored him on a concrete block, and kept him growing, kept him alive, so he could feel what we were doing to him, carving out chunks of his fat, and installing latex holes for men to fuck, turning him into a jiggly fuckcushion for men to pin. I wonder what it felt like, to him, to have men fucking him in every direction, caught in the middle of their orgy. The rubber holes all over his body all drained out, along with his bodily fluids, into the sewer below the concrete slab–I would rinse him out once a week or so, to keep the pincushion from stinking up the room too much.

Alas, a little after one thousand pounds, he finally expired. I didn’t get rid of him, of course–he was mostly rubber at this point anyway. With the help of a taxidermist I knew from previous catches, we got rid of the flesh and stuffed what remained with rubber filling, preserving it’s squishy, fleshy feel, and it lives on in my dungeon, though I often rent it out to parties and local clubs as a fucktoy statement piece. I often have people ask me how, exactly, I made the thing, what had inspired me to create something like that, but I usually just remain silent. “I like my projects,” I say sometimes, happy with the double meaning.

You probably think I’m mad, don’t you? But how different is it, really, from a hunter keeping their trophies in the living room? That massive bear looming over them in the armchair, stuffed with fluff? I caught him–this is my token, my own personal trophy for my kill. Still, I’m getting the hankering for another project here soon–maybe not something quite so massive. Maybe I’ll make a pup for myself, or for a friend–I haven’t done one of those in ages. In fact, I’ve heard some rumours of an illegal dog fighting ring around town, and I bet I could extract an invite from one of my contacts–hell, maybe I’ll just run a kennel for a while? Pups are fairly easy, after all, I can make a few. After all, the only cruelty towards an animal I can condone is against a fellow human, you know?

Christmas III: A Brand New Stanta Claus (Part 2)

There was no perfect way of telling who, exactly, the light would settle upon. There were, after all, any number of people around the world who could become the next Santa Claus, but the beacon would only settle on one, and it tended to be, well, a bit finicky, and well, a bit conservative. It was, after all, designed to correct the course when things went awry, and so it tended to go with people who were, in general a bit stodgy. This, of course, would be the difficult part, and why Timmy had rifled through his old clothes, and found a more traditional outfit to wear than his much more comfortable leather harness and chaps. This wasn’t to say that the elves planned on moderating themselves–not in the least–but they needed a Santa more than anything else, and so Timmy was going to bring back a Santa no matter what it took. Once he’d agreed to take on the position? Well…then things might take a slightly different direction. Still, Timmy didn’t have much interest in returning to Marty’s methods, even if his goal was the same. All the elves agreed, in fact–the kinds of presents they were making now were much preferred to the stupid toys for the stupid children they’d been making before. Still, he’d no more once he got inside and investigated who, exactly, they would be dealing with this year.

The light came to rest over a large house, nestled in the suburbs of the American heartland–not exactly a good sign. Still, the light would choose–it was just Timmy’s job to fetch them. The sleigh alit on the roof of the house, and looking down, Timmy could see a large nativity on the lawn, and the house was festooned with lights. It was late–nearly midnight, when Timmy made his way to the chimney, and slipped down into the house below.

Inside, Stanley Marshall was just about ready to say his prayers and put himself to bed for the night. Emily was already upstairs, but he’d been relaxing in his small study, nursing a pipe, and practicing the bible passage he’d be reciting at church the next Sunday. Christmas was, really, his favorite time of year, although he couldn’t help but wish that, someday soon, Jesus might come again and bring his wrath down upon the sinners of the world. It needed it so desperately, but alas, it likely would not be in his lifetime, which was nearing it’s end. Already seventy five this year! It was hard to believe that he was that old, but every time he saw his grandkids, that was all he could think about–how old he was. He should take better care of himself, he knew that–his doctor kept telling him that if he didn’t lose some weight he’d have a heart attack, but he loved food too much–his only vice, really. Hopefully God could forgive his occasional overindulgence. He set the bible down and adjusted his spectacles, rubbing his sleepy eyes for a moment, before hefting himself up from the chair, walking around the desk, and finding himself faced with…with a strange, tiny person in the doorway of the study. It was a very curious thing–clad in some red and green jumpsuit, grinning up at him from it’s height of about three feet tall. “Hello,” it said, “You must be Stanley–it’s such a pleasure to meet you.”

He stumbled back, wondering what in the hell this thing was. A hallucination? Some strange imp sent by the devil to tempt him? He didn’t know, but it wasn’t natural, and he wasn’t about to tolerate it in his house! He went to the bookshelf, reached up to the top shelf and brought down the shotgun he kept there in case someone broke in, and pointed it directly at the strange thing…who did nothing but roll its eyes.

“Ugh, one of those ones, eh?” it said, “Sorry, but I can’t go back empty handed, and I doubt you’ll be very receptive without seeing it for yourself, so why don’t we just do this the easy way?” it said, and faster than Stan could react, lobbed some strange black ball at him, striking him in the arm when he raised it to shield his face. The ball immediately broke, or maybe it merely stretched out, coating his arm and…and spreading. He dropped the gun and tried to shake it off, but it just kept coating him, and in less than thirty seconds it had absorbed him entirely, mummified and struggling in the tight rubber.

Timmy walked over, and the rubber formed a tie for him to grab–a convenient invention, actually. Santa had used it to transport people in his travels over the last couple of years, generally to give them as gifts to other people nearby, but it would work equally well in getting Stanley back to the North Pole. He grabbed the tie and dragged the still writing, grunting and whimpering form of the old man back to the chimney and whisked them back up and into the sleigh, the reindeer immediately taking off, as the light winked out over the house. The next Santa had been chosen–all that remained now, was to actually convince him to do the job. Then again, if he couldn’t convince him, the elves had plenty of other means of bringing him around, but Timmy hoped it wouldn’t come to that. After so much strife the last few years, what this next Christmas needed was so peace on earth, and sexy toys for all the men of the world.

Neighborhood Pub (Sketch)

“Hey! Faggot! Why don’t you get fucking lost? Ain’t no guy here wanna have you round, lookin’ at us like that,” Nick puffed up his chest and got in the stranger’s face, leering at him. No one knew who this fucker was–the pub here was really only frequented by guys from the neighborhood, guys who’d know each other for years. Sure, the occasional stranger would slip in, but they got the idea pretty quick that new folks weren’t very welcome in there. But this guy, he hadn’t gotten the hint at all this evening, and worse, it was clear the guy was a total faggot.

He was an older guy. He’d shown up a few hours previously, and ordered a beer with a bit of a lisp and the bat of an eye from Sammy, the bartender. Usually Sammy wouldn’t even bother serving freaks like this, but for some reason he’d just given the guy the beer he’d wanted, and the fucker had just made himself at home. Very, very at home. He’d spent the night wandering around the pub, busting into other people’s conversations so he could flirt and feel up the local guys…and for some reason no one was doing anything about it! Well Nick had had enough of this clown–he’d throw him out himself, since no one else could bear to do it, for some reason.

The stranger grinned at Nick, and moved in closer, pushing his gut into him. The man was older, balding, sweaty and hairy. At some point he’d lost his shirt, so nothing covered his ugly fat beyond two suspenders keeping up his pants. Nick’s first instinct was to recoil, but he wouldn’t give him the…the satisfaction of knowing he was…was scared or…or turned on…or…if he pushed closer, into the man’s gut, maybe the strange butterflies fluttering in his gut would go away. They didn’t they got worse, but that was alright, and something…something about the way the man smelled, something was…was so…good.

The bar had grown quiet. No one had known what to make of the man, no one had been able to resist him, and terrified, no one had dared challenge him. They had all secretly hoped that if they just…let him feel up their bodies, and lick their necks, and whisper…horribly, sexy things in their ears, that maybe…maybe he would leave them in some kind of peace. But Nick–fucking hotheaded Nick–the man ran one hand over Nick’s stubbly face, watching his jaw droop, eyes turning glassy. The stranger put his hand on the top of Nick’s head and applied a gentle pressure, the bar watching as he dropped to one knee, and then both, the man guiding his face to his crotch, where Nick began grinding his face into the man’s crusty jeans.

He had no control. He couldn’t…couldn’t stop himself, didn’t want to stop himself. He could…could see…visions, in his mind. Of himself, but…but different. He was wearing something…shiny and black, all over his body. It looked like rubber, but so…so reflective, black, but with yellow. Yellow…like piss. Fuck, like piss! He felt the warmth in his crotch as his bladder released into the front of his pants, running down both thighs to the floor of the pub. Everyone else could smell it too, they could smell it, and they were growing…growing hungrier, like when they’d all first smelled the stranger, and they could see what Nick was now–a urinal, a fucking tool, a dump for them to use and abuse as they wanted. The man undid his fly, pointing his cock at Nick’s face, who waited patiently, the puddle growing around his knees until the man released his own piss, and Nick drank down as much as he could, feeling everything he couldn’t get down soaking his body, his clothes so…wet now. It would be so much better if he was wearing rubber, all rubber, all the time, for…for the rest of his life, yeah, a rubber urinal, just an object.

The man finished, Nick kissed the head of his cock, and started licking up his own piss from the floor of the pub, the weaker willed men around him standing up and walking towards him, their own bladders begging to be emptied, and the man drifted off to other men, toying with them, slowly for the rest of the night, and he never returned to the pub again…not that he needed to. The pub was…different from that day on. Every man from the neighborhood would come dressed in leather and rubber, most of them smoking, all of them constantly horny. New men were always welcome–none of them could resist the heady, musky smell of the place for long, all of them ended up going home with some other patron of the club to discover the new desires brewing in their guts. Nick, however, lived in the bathroom, chained to the floor. He’d grown fatter, his gut massive, stretching the rubber bodysuit he now wore to the limit. He hadn’t left the room in months, but Sammy took good care of him, making sure he got all the nutrition he needed and stripping him out of the suit once a week to hose down his fat, and shave his body smooth. It was up to the rest of the bar to keep him full of piss and cum, to keep him happy, forever.

New Lube (Sketch)

Noah took a look at the odd tube again, now that he was back in his apartment, which he’d received from a vendor offering out free samples to men passing by his table at the gay pride celebration he’d just been to. It appeared to some kind of specialty lube, but the matte black packaging didn’t say much about what was inside it. Still, he was curious, and the half naked guys he’d been checking had him horny. He was planning on bringing someone home tonight, of course, but why not blow off a little steam now? It was still early after all.

He stripped down and squeezed a bit of lube out onto his hand, but already it was different than any kind of lube he’d seen before. It was pitch black and opaque, but oddly shiny, almost like liquid rubber. He squeezed a bit more out onto his palm and set the tube off to one side, before tentatively rubbing it on his cock, groaning as the lube started pricking and tingling all over the surface of not just his shaft, but also the palm of his hand. It wasn’t a bad feeling, but the lube wasn’t very effective–he kept needing to apply more, and the tingling gave way to something more like numbness. It was keeping him from getting off, though he remained completely hard, and switched hands after a couple of minutes, gett the palm of his other hand coated in the stuff as well. It reminded him, when he was a kid, of sitting on his arm and putting it to sleep, so it felt weird when he jacked off, only instead of his hand being asleep, it was his dick.

To that point, he’d had his eyes closed, focusing on a fantasy involving some of the hot men he’d seen that day, but as his frustration grew, he finally opened his eyes and looked down–and gasped. His…cock. It was completely coated with the lube, but rather than drying away, it looked like it had simply coated his cock…and now it really did look like rubber. He ran his hands over it, and saw that the palms of his hands, and even the sides and some of the backs, had turned the same black color all over–his balls too, even though he was certain he hadn’t gotten anything on them. He knew he should try to wash it off, but his hands just kept stroking–faster now, fast enough that he could feel the lube drying harder. It didn’t feel good anymore, but he also couldn’t stop, and with a sudden, gut wrenching sensation, his cock and balls came right off his body, in his hands.

He stared at his cock and balls, unable to believe what had just happened to him…but they didn’t look like his equipment anymore–in fact, they looked just like a rubber dildo. Still, this had to be a dream, it couldn’t be real. He looked down, and where his cock had been attached was just a smooth patch of rubber. In a panic, he got up to go to the bathroom and wash his hands, but one hand reached out and grabbed the tube of lube–without him thinking about it–and brought it along.

In the bathroom, he set his dildo on the counter and tried to turn on the faucet. Instead, his hands–working against him, squeezed out even more lube into his palms, and started slathering it up and down his arms and legs. He screamed, trying to get his limbs to obey him, but it was like they didn’t even belong to him anymore–hell, he couldn’t even feel his hands at all, now that he thought about it, and when he grew too loud, one hand grabbed the dildo, lubed it up, and shoved it in his mouth.

The taste was vile, and the stinging and numbing was almost immediate, as the hand thrust the dildo deeper, down into his throat. He tried to scream, but suddenly he couldn’t get anything out–not even a whisper or a cough. His teeth and tongue went numb–he couldn’t even tell whether or not they existed at all, and after a few minutes, the hand pulled the dildo back out. Noah didn’t have a mouth anymore–all he had in it’s place was a puckered, rubberized hole.

By then, his legs were coated entirely, and they began to collapse underneath him, breaking off his body as he fell, and he could see from where he landed that they were now simply a pair of rubber, thigh high waders. His hands continued their work, coating his entire body with the substance, even smearing it across his eyes, nose and ears, sealing them shut, and then he sensed them deflating and falling away from him too, a pair of shoulder length rubber gloves, leaving him as a rubber torso and head on the floor of his bathroom, trying to scream with no mouth, no lungs, no hope at all.

He only had a dim knowledge of what happened next. He was picked up at some point, and driven somewhere. Before too long, the first cock shoved its way into his mouth, raping him brutally, and cumming in less than a minute. Then, a steady stream of cock followed. Some fucked him, others simply slipped inside and pissed. He could feel his torso–now completely hollow–slowly filling up with cum and piss, sloshing about inside him. He could, distantly, feel his old arms and legs being worn by men, like phantom sensations he only had distant access to, but his only pleasure came from his now disconnected cock, being ridden by some unknown asshole, or sucked on by a mystery mouth. He could never cum, of course, and the pleasure drove him closer and closer to insanity, his mind slowly turning to complete rubber, eventually only happy when it was being of service.

Donkey Dick (Part 3)

It took Derek several minutes to even be able to determine that he was, in fact, awake. The last few…hours? days?…he had no idea how long really…it had felt like he’d been asleep, and yet aware of what was going on, somehow. Trapped in some strange limbo. Jude had been there the whole time, talking, putting…things on his body. He could remember it, kind of, and yet it also felt like some wild hallucination. He rolled over in the straw of his stable, trying to use his hands to help him up, and yet they were so stiff. He looked at them for a close to a minute, studying them. Why…why had he called them hands? He knew that he didn’t have hands. Hands were for people, but he…he wasn’t a person, he had hooves. Two hooves where his hands should be, larger than a fist, black and…shiny, more like rubber than something made by a body. The more he looked at it, the more normal they seemed, and the more he wanted to scream. Instead, he rolled over onto his hooves and knees, and then, unsteadily, pushed himself standing, feeling his knees bend…backward, nearly falling over as he tried to balance on his lower hooves, looking down at his naked body. His legs–and arms–were brown. The color of hair, and yet they were hairless, just…almost like he was wearing thigh and shoulder length latex boots and sleeves which merged perfectly with the edges of his still human torso.

He…he could remember this. He could remember something, something from while he’d been asleep. Hiss head felt like half of it had been replaced with plastic, thinking and focusing hard was giving him a headache, but he could remember, he could almost catch it, the sensation of Jude slipping something on his arms and legs, and he’d been..screaming? No, he didn’t scream, he’d been braying. It took him a moment that he was braying now, loudly and uncontrollably, his body shaking as he tried to understand what had happened to him, what was wrong with him. He was a freak, some fucking freak! Something between a person and a fucking donkey. There was a mirror on the wall, and the image he saw only filled him with more terror. The lower half of his face–it was like someone had fit a muzzle over his mouth–some rubber donkey muzzle–and then glued it to him, along with two, stiff rubber ears. He still had his eyes and hair, but a shiny, long brown face which he…he could move, which he could bray through, with shiny rubber teeth and a long, shiny tongue inside–

The door opened, and Derek spun around–nearly losing his balance, and found his Master had entered the room. No, not…not his Master just…Jude? He was…smiling at him. Why was he smiling? Couldn’t he see what he was? How ugly he was? “Calm down, calm down Derek.”

Immediately he felt his body ease off the panic, his constant, loud braying subsiding at the order, a flush of calm running through him.

“That’s better–I wouldn’t want the neighbors to worry. I do love your voice, but if you can’t learn to keep it down, I’ll have to find other ways to keep you quiet from now on.”

Derek tried to talk, tried to ask him what had happened, what Jude had done to him. Somehow…somehow he knew this was Jude’s fault, all of it, but all he could do was bray–nothing even close to human speech would leave his stiff, rubber mouth.

“I know, I know,” Jude interrupted him, “I’m sure you have questions. But you know what?” he stepped closer to him, “I had a whole speech planned for you, about why and how, but I…looking at you, I don’t, fuck, I don’t care that much, you know? Besides, it’s not like you’ll be asking questions for long. Once that muzzle and those ears fully integrate with your skull and your brain, you’ll be so stupid you won’t even know what a question is–just a perfect fuck animal, just like I’ve always wanted.”

The words struck Derek with terror, and he backed away from Jude into the wall, but his Master followed him, one hand wrapping it’s way around his massive, permanently stiff rubberized donkey cock. “Don’t worry, you’ll have a few more days to enjoy what remains of your humanity, feel it ebb away bit by bit–but you’re looking forward to it, aren’t you? You want to be an animal.”

Derek tried to fight it, tried to fight his suggestions, but his mind was no match for Jude’s hypnosis now. He…he did want it, didn’t he? Yeah, this…he wanted this. Master knew best after all, Master knew everything. And it did feel good, so good, having his big dick stroked. The pleasure was pushing all his other concerns away. He snorted and brayed, and when Jude bent over in the straw, Derek was helpless to resist shoving his huge cock deep in his well lubed ass, his pseudocum pumping away, as he did, rubber donkey balls pulsing and churning. Part of his mind, the little bit that could push through kept trying to gain traction, but he had no control. He could feel the rubber working against him, eroding his personality and memories, leaving only enough to obey his master and filling the rest with a primal desire to fuck.

Once Jude was satisfied–several hours later– he ordered his pet off of him and went to go clean up, leaving Derek alone in his stable. He’d been…trying to think of something. Trying to do something. But it was fading away, faster than he wanted to believe. Master brought him some food later, and he ate it, and fucked him again long into the night, and a few days later, he felt better. In fact, Derek didn’t feel much of anything at all. Just a big dicked donkey drone, ready to fuck whenever his master desired him.

Donkey Dick (Part 2)

“What the fuck do you mean, by ‘more of a glue that a lube’?! What the fuck did you put on my cock?”

“Look, you’re overreacting, it’s really not that big of a deal.”

Derek pushed back against Jude’s hypnosis, fighting to stay angry at him, as he hefted his cock in one hand. “Fix this. This isn’t my cock.”

“I knew I shouldn’t have even said anything, but no, I have to try and be reasonable every time–”

“Reasonable? You call this fucking reasonable?” Derek stalked forward towards Jude, reaching out to grab him, punch him anything, but with a word–a word he didn’t quite catch, he was frozen in place, Jude stepping out of reach. “This is all going to be just fine, Derek, I promise. After all, you want this just as much as I do, you just don’t realize it yet, but you will. Now, I’m going to count backwards from ten, you’re going to fall into your trance, and then we’re going to talk about this like adults, right? I really think that’s the best outcome here.”

Derek fought, as Jude started counting backwards. He pushed against the numbness, the sleepiness, creeping over his mind, putting him slowly to sleep, but just like Jude ordered, when he reached one, his eyes flickered shut, his chin hit his chest, his breathing deep and even.

“Good, that’s good,” Jude said, running his hand over his friend’s still hard, rubber cock, and then inspected it. It had worked better than he’d ever imagined, this living latex–he couldn’t tell where the rubber ended and the skin began at all–and the rubber even felt like skin…sort of. It was warm, but it was hard like a dildo–it had no real give like a real cock might. He could still feel cum leaking from his hole too–so it was more than functional. But what he needed was less resistance–much less. “Go sit down in the chair, Derek. You and I need to have a nice, long chat….and you know, maybe a few other additions might help you understand…eh?”


Nine…you’re rising up out of the darkness, back into your own body once again, and completely ready to wake up…and finally ten, you’re awake.”

Derek felt like he’d been asleep for ages, and he tried to push himself up from the chair. He had to get away, he had to get away from Jude, that was what he was trying to focus on, but his friend pushed him back down into the chair where he’d been sitting. “No…You…What did you do to me?”

“Everything you wanted me to do, Derek, just like you asked.”

Like he’d…asked? So Jude had fixed him? He’d given him his cock back? No…What had he asked for again? Everything was so fuzzy all of a sudden, but he looked down, and it was his cock…or was it? What cock was he even supposed to have? He gripped the thick shaft of his (new? old?) donkey dick, and felt his massive balls churning beneath it. Yeah, he felt them up with his other hand, his massive, low hanging donkey balls, churning with cum. He…He hadn’t really believed Jude could do it, but he had…and it felt so fucking amazing.

“How does it feel man? How does it feel to have the cock you’d always dreamed of? The one you’d always fantasized about? And those falls, brimming with donkey seed? Ready to spurt?” Jude got down and licked the shaft from base to head. It still tasted and felt like rubber to him, the same with the balls, but from now on, they would be perfectly real to Derek. The rubber sack he’d glued on over his balls would have absorbed his testicles by now as well, pumping out something not quite cum–just a milky, sticky protein substitute, but again, it wasn’t realness that Jude craved–it was size. If Derek needed it to be real, well, hypnosis would help him accept it.

Derek was trying to order his thoughts, but the pleasure coursing through his cock and balls kept shutting his mind down and derailing anything close to reason. He’d begun braying again, but that…that was normal for him. Had always been normal for him, when he got excited…right? Right? But if this was right, then why did everything feel so wrong? What had Jude done to him when he’d put him to sleep, just now? He could remember being…so angry, before, but now…now he was fine with it? With all of it? No…No, he was going to get the truth. He shoved Jude away from his huge cock, and stood up, shakily.

“No! Fucking…No!” he said, trying to get the urge to bray under control. “You did this to me because you…you wanted it. Not me. Not me! Now change me back, fucking give me back my cock! My real cock.”

Jude sighed, “Derek, don’t you get it? There is no going back for you. That rubber is you now–that’s what’s going to be your cock for the rest of your life. Don’t you get it? Why can’t you just be happy? Why can’t you just see how good this can be for the both of us?”

“Good? For both of us? I never fucking wanted this!” Derek screamed, “Fuck you, I’m getting the fuck out of here, I’m leaving, and I’m calling the fucking cops on your ass and…and uh…”

Jude had said something. That same thing as before, and his mind was shutting down. He fought towards the door, but the air felt like water, pushing against him, but before he fell, Jude hurried over and caught him, his hard rubber cock still jutting up towards the ceiling. “You know, I was hoping this would be enough for you, but you just refuse to be satisfied. I suppose we’re just going to have to make it even more clear to you, what you are, eh? I wasn’t planning on things going this fast, of course, but at least I’m well prepared.”