The Pigtown Chronicles: Chapter 3.17 – Establishing Residency

Jimmy woke up on something soft, but not that soft. It wasn’t asphalt, but it also wasn’t his bed at home, though as he swung his arms and legs, flailing a bit, it could tell it was at least a bed. One foot struck a wall that the bed was shoved up against, the other leg hit air, one arm knocked something off the bedside table that hit the ground with a thud, but not a crack. He was face down still, head pounding, and he rubbed his face with both hands, drilling fingers into his eyes until he saw spots, and then tried opening them again. 

Not his room. Nowhere that he had ever been before, that he could remember. He rolled over on the double bed, back to the wall, and looked around for someone who might have found him and brought him here, but he was alone that he could see. There wasn’t much of anything to see, really. There was a kitchenette across from him, bare of dishes but not necessarily clean, a bathroom at one end which didn’t seem to have a door, and in the other direction, a door that he assumed led elsewhere in the apartment. He swung his feet over the side of the bed gave a stretch, and that was when he got the first inkling that something about him was off. The weight of his arms as he reached up, the smell that came from his pits, stronger and rougher than what had been his boisterous, youthful scent. He stumbled towards the bathroom, found a switch that flicked on the beauty lights, though the bulbs in only half of them functioned, and stared at his face with a dull disbelief.

It wasn’t his face. Older, certainly. At least aged into his thirties, if not a bit closer to forty. A thick beard trimmed short all over his chin and jaw, climbing high up his cheeks. A body that looked strong, though not particularly pretty or handsome. A tunic of body hair, running up his chest, over his shoulders and down his back, interrupted by a few fresh scars running across it, from the Warden’s flogger. He ran his fingers over them–that had just been the night before, hadn’t it? They felt healed over, and yet the memory was fresh, and he felt a strange stirring in his cock from the thought of it, the bite of it, remembering how good it had felt laying into the shade, and–

He pushed it away. It was too raw and too close, the emotions all threatening to overwhelm him in a place that he didn’t know, that probably wasn’t safe, in a body that wasn’t even his own. He left the bathroom, not sure how to untangle the emotions swirling in his chest. Not fear, surprisingly. Exhaustion, sure, after the night he’d just had. Horny. A little numb, like something had been pulled out of him, something he couldn’t quite name, the importance of which was only clarified by the shape and size of the hole once pulled free. He went to the other door, opened it up, expecting to find a living room, or some other part of a larger apartment, but all he found was a concrete balcony overlooking a parking lot. It was a studio apartment, more like a hotel room, really, but Jimmy had never been inside one. He’d never known someone who lived in one either. He knew of them, vaguely, like kids in the suburbs knew about “Chicago”, or “London”, places that existed but had no real bearing on their lives. Someone passing on the sidewalk looked up, saw him, gave a whistle, and headed for the stairwell–it was only then that Jimmy realized he was standing there, stark naked under the early afternoon sun. He went back into the apartment, the man knocked on the door a few times while Jimmy cowered on the bed, embarrassed and frightened and angry at himself, before the stranger gave up and left.

There were some clothes on the floor, some torn up jeans and a wifebeater. The pockets had a key–probably to the apartment, but nothing for a car. The thing that he’d knocked off the nightstand was a cell phone, though not the one he’d had. This one was substantially older, and much less functional. The wallet had some cash, no cards, and an expired driver’s license. His name was on it, his picture looked how he imagined a halfway point between his youth of yesterday and face of today might have looked. He was smirking, and Jimmy felt mocked. The address was not his home address, but after throwing on the clothes, along with some socks and beat up work boots, he left. Sure enough, the address on the ID looked to match the apartment number and location. He might live here, allegedly, but he didn’t have to stay here. He left, key phone and wallet in his pockets, and started walking. 

It was a few blocks before he could orient himself with a half remembered landmark or two, and determined he was, in fact, in Pigtown. On the outskirts, he supposed, but if Pigtown were a circle, Depot was at the southern end, and his apartment was more to the east, closer to the river and the docks. He headed that way on foot, and after half an hour, pushed open the door to Marshall’s Cigar and Briar, and found Marshall and Kyle chatting with a regular. 

“Hey man,” Marshall said, “First time, I–no, wait…” He looked a bit closer. “Oh. Hey Bill, I appreciate the gossip, as always, but this one will need a little attention, if you don’t mind.”

“Sure thing, Marshall,” the chubby regular said, chuffing away at a massive pipe he held up with one hand. He gave Jimmy a look up and down, then a wink, and slipped out the door and onto the sidewalk.

The three of them just looked at one another. Kyle was confused, and didn’t seem to recognize him. Marshall was apparently content to let the silence grow as long as necessary. “It’s me, Kyle. It’s Jimmy.”

“Jimmy…” Kyle said, like he was trying to recall a regular at the shop, until his brain clicked over, and he realized who it was who had just come in. “Fucking–what happened to you? I just saw you a week ago for fuck’s sake! What the fuck did you do to yourself?”

Jimmy related the story of the day and night before, from filing a report at the precinct, to his dream, and encounter with the shade on the street, concluding with a toned down version of what happened down in the jail. Jimmy didn’t want that to have been something he’d done, he couldn’t yet fold that into his identity, and so he tried to shut it away, edit around the joy he’d taken in flaying that shade open over and over again, for hours. Marshall saw it anyway, but he thought Kyle might have been fooled. There was something else though, something between him and his friend that had formed in the last week since he’d last seen him here. A confidence, maybe, in Kyle’s new persona, but it was also in the way Kyle looked at him, like he was still struggling to recall him, the young men they’d both been before. He thought about how it had felt, forgetting Marlon over the week before, and wondered how much Kyle had forgotten. How much him being here had just dredged forth. 

“That’s quite the tale, bud,” Marshall said, “I assume you want to know how to change back?”

“I…yeah.”

“The short answer is, you can’t. You’re a resident now, whether you like it or not. You’re stuck here, with the rest of us, like this, more or less.”

“That’s the short answer?”

“The long answer, is that you don’t have to stay like this, I suppose. Plenty of folks around here will be more than happy to give you a makeover, if you aren’t happy, myself included. The deeper you go, the more…happy they’ll be. Around Washington street, it gets thicker, a couple blocks up from The Hideaway. Guys who go past there don’t come back to these parts after a while. We’ll all make our way there, one day I suppose. Resist, don’t, it’s all up to you. It’ll be easier if you just think of it as a brand new life, and enjoy it as best you can.”

Jimmy looked over at Kyle, who was looking down at the floor. No help then, not even an acknowledgement of his feelings, his loss. He’d expected better of his friend, but then, he wasn’t quite sure Kyle was actually his friend anymore, the one he remembered. He was becoming someone else too, just as he was. Unable to bear it, he turned around and left, breathing hard, full of anxiety, and just walked. He walked south, wanting to get out, wanting to try and get away. He knew how to get home by bus, he could go see his parents, they would help, surely. But he only got a few blocks south of the precinct before the sun felt too harsh, the air too clean. The looks that the businessmen and women going about their day shot at him told him that not only did he not belong here, but that being forced to notice him, to look at him, was making their day actively worse. He tried to get on a bus, but the driver wouldn’t even let him on. He tried to call a cab, but none of them even bothered stopping. He tried walking, but took a turn down an alley, only to find himself back on a familiar street between Marshall’s and the Precinct. He really was stuck. 

He was hungry. He found a cafe, ate some dinner, but that didn’t satisfy him. The cock he ended up sucking in the alley next to the cafe was more filling than that. He ended up at Depot for a while, but the bustling youth turned him off. This wasn’t his scene anymore. Depot, he realized, was bait. A honeypot for the district to suck men in–the younger the better. Others hovered around it and inside it, looking for men in moments of weakness so they could swoop in and have their way with them. He left, not interested in feeling like a predator. He walked more, saw the bar that Marshall had mentioned, the Hideaway, and decided it was better than nothing.

He didn’t remember much of what happened inside there. It had been pleasurable, not as pleasurable as his night in the jail, but pleasurable all the same. He awoke in the same position, in the same double bed, alone, in his new apartment. This, then, is all there is for him. He thought about getting up, but couldn’t face it. He stared at the ceiling, the patterns of mold there looking more and more like the silhouettes of cocks, until the need and the hunger drove him out again, into the evening, for more debauchery. This was it then. This was it.

END OF PART THREE

Caption: Truer Words #3 – Cocksucker

“Promote him? Sure he looks like a nice guy, but I heard he’s a cocksucker. We can’t have someone like that representing our company as a Vice President! Men like that only care about sex, fucking degenerate freaks is all they are,” the other executives at the club laughed along with Jerry as they smoked cigars, and the discussion moved on to other, straighter candidates for the position. Only Jerry heard the words on the air:

“Truer words were never spoken.”

Over the next while, Jerry found himself getting hungrier. There were the usual hors d’oeuvres available at the club, but none of them were particularly satisfying to this need growing in his gut. He ended up in a chair in the corner of the room, looking a bit sullen, sucking on his cigar, licking the end thoughtlessly, until it was nothing but a nub. Then he excused himself, got his coat from the check, and left.

He needed something to satisfy this, he was getting desperate. He didn’t go to his car, instead he found himself walking down the city streets, his feet guiding him somewhere. Perhaps he’d find a little restaurant still open at this time of night, that could give him what he needed. Instead, he found himself standing outside of a building that advertised itself as a bathhouse–he knew about these, and what those faggots did in there. He tried to walk away, but his stomach cramped, almost sending him to the sidewalk on his knees. Distressed, he followed his feet, went inside, purchased a year long membership without thinking about it, and got undressed in the locker room.

The first cock he saw, he knew what he needed. He tried to get down on his knees and suck the twink off, only for him to push him away and walk off, obviously not interested in him. Flustered, he wandered around, looking for someone willing to feed him, and finally passed by the gloryholes. His feet turned, he got on his knees in the booth, and it wasn’t long before the first cock slid through the hole, and Jerry swallowed it to the hilt, ravenous. After a few minutes, he was rewarded with a load of cum that he swallowed down eagerly, horrified at his shamelessness, unable to comprehend why he was doing this. He tried to get up, tried to run, get dressed and go home to his wife, but his legs refused to unbend. Another cock slid through the hole, and he sucked that one dry too, and the one after that, and the one after that.

When he finally felt full, he stood up, stepped out and got dressed in his suit. It no longer fit correctly. Jerry had always been large, but his gut had swollen even more with all of this cum, arms and legs shrunken, now several inches shorter than he had been. He looked like a freak, like a degenerate, like a cumhungry pig. He left the building, horrified to realize it was already morning, and he only had a little time before he was due at the office. Still in the same suit he’d worn the night before, he rushed over, only to find himself in a meeting with the new VP of Operations–which had been his position, hadn’t it?

No, of course not. The new VP was more than happy to remind him of the fact that cum hungry pig faggots like him weren’t fit for this sort of work. Thankfully, there was a position open in the maintenance department, which would be more fitting for a cocksucker like him. He had to agree, and the new VP was even nice enough to feed him a load of cum, before he went down to the basement, exchanged his suit for a set of coveralls, and spent the day dunging out the bathrooms of the offices. That night, he found himself back at the bathhouse, back on the other side of the hole, no longer questioning his hunger. His hunger that never slept, so neither would he, from now on. By day, a janitor, and by night, a hungry mouth. There was nothing else that could matter for a cocksucker like him.

Commission – Piggy Pizza

Hey all! For the month of April, I’m taking a break from The Pigtown Chronicles, and will be posting some caption stories instead. We’ll have captions Monday through Thursday, and I’ll be posting some longer stories on Fridays. This week, we have a mysterious force punishing men for their cruel language. Whatever you might feel about others, be careful, they might just come true for yourself.


Part 1 – Staffing Solutions

It was the sudden rumble that woke Max up. It sounded like a stomach grumbling, but something about it was off. He realized that he hadn’t just heard the rumble, but he’d felt it through his hand, but his hand wasn’t…on his own stomach. He opened his eyes, and found himself looking at the back of someone’s neck, and not a womanly neck, either. He recoiled away, nearly fell off the bed in the process, and stood up, looking down at Jeremy, his roommate–or at least, someone who looked mostly like Jeremy, there on his bed, naked.

The main difference was that this Jeremy looked to be fifty pounds heavier than the Jeremy from the night before, not that he could really remember what had happened the night before. They’d gotten home from football practice, completely starving. Jeremy had seen a new pizza place had opened up near campus, and suggested it for dinner. They’d ordered delivery, the food had arrived, and after that…well, he couldn’t recall much of anything. It was then that Max realized he’d been staring right at Jeremy’s uncovered, fat ass, and his cock was…hard. Real hard. Hard enough to climb back into bed, slide his cock right in there and–

He retreated from his room and into the bathroom, turned on the light, and it was the scream that woke up Jeremy. He rolled up out of bed, waddled his way to the bathroom, where he found Max gripping his own larger, hairier gut, horrified. “What the fuck happened to us? What the fuck did we do last night?”

“Did…did you get fatter?” Jeremy asked, then looked down, “Fuck, we’re…both fatter?”

“Do you remember anything from last night that was strange?”

“Just…that pizza bro, it was fucking good, but…I felt real weird afterward, and you were acting strange too, I…I don’t remember anything, though…” Jeremy said, blushing a bit, “Do…do you?”

“No, nothing.”

“Oh, ok, good.”

“It had to be the pizza. What was the name of that place again?”

“Piggy Pizza, it’s just a few blocks away from campus.”

“Come on, we need to go there, and figure out what the fuck was in that stuff, so we can go the hospital and fix it.”

Jeremy’s gut grumbled again, and he grabbed it with both hands. “Can…we have breakfast first?”

“What the fuck is wrong with you? How can you fucking think of eating at a time like this?”

Jeremy shrugged, and followed Max’s lead as they got dressed in whatever clothes they could find that mostly fit their changed bodies, got into Max’s car with a bit of a struggle, and drove the few blocks over to Piggy Pizza. They got out, the door said the place didn’t open until eleven, but there was clearly someone inside working away. They pounded on the door until the fellow came out from behind the counter and opened the door for them both. He was an older fellow, wearing a flour and sauce stained apron, easily six and a half feet tall and close to 400 pounds of beef, with a thick beard braided and tied off against his chest.  “Can I help you boys? I don’t open for lunch for another twenty minutes or so.”

“Yeah you can fucking help us, you can tell us what the fuck your pizza did to us last night!” Max said to him.

“Oh fuck, what smells so fucking good?” Jeremy said, his gut growling again, and he pushed past both of them and into the restaurant. The place was sizable with plenty of seating, and a lunch buffet off to one side, where a couple of pies were already resting, ready to be eaten. Jeremy stumbled over there, drooling, grabbed a slice and shoved it in his mouth with a moan of delight, while Max just stared at him, horrified.

“What the fuck are you doing man, don’t eat that shit!” Max said.

“Oh fuck it’s so fucking good though…”

Max went over and tried to pull Jeremy away, who just slapped at him until he backed off. He turned around, only to find the owner of the shop had locked the door behind them, and was grinning wide. “When I delivered those two pies to you two last night, I had a feeling you were just the couple of pigs I was looking for to help out in the shop.”

“What are you talking about?” Max said.

“Go on, I know you must be hungry. Those pizzas last night would have only scratched that appetite of yours, pig,” the man said, walked over, reached past Jeremy, and picked up a slice of pizza. It was so fresh, Max could still see the grease pooling on the surface, and he realized he was drooling. “Come on pig, let Boss help you out,” he said, pushed the pizza to his lips, and Max opened up and took a bite, moaning as his cock leaked a bit of precum into the front of the sweats he had squeezed into.

He felt his gut growl, and it heaved out as he swallowed, adding a few more pounds. He tried to pull away when he realized it, but Boss just pushed the slice into his mouth, more forceful this time, and Max couldn’t stop himself from taking bite after bite, begging through a full mouth for him to stop.

“I’ll stop pig, but only if you stop. All you have to do is not take another bite. Maybe I’ll even give you that body of yours back, would you like that? Wanna be muscular again? Smooth? All you have to do is stop.” Max tried, turned his head to the side, but he could feel his jaw struggling against him, twisting back, opening up, taking another massive bite, and the owner just laughed at him. “Guess that means you’re mine, pig.”

Slice after slice disappeared down his throat, and with each one, he only got worse. Fatter at first, and then he started getting even hairier. Boss started telling him about his life now, about who he was. Sure, he’d started college on a football scholarship, but that was a few years ago now. He was too lazy to keep up, and after a year, he’d added fifty pounds. He lost his scholarship, had to get a job delivering pizza, and only grew bigger. Now here he was, his late twenties, balding already, too hairy to work the kitchen for sanitary reasons, delivering pizzas for his boss. For his owner. The man shoved Max down onto his knees, hauled out his cock, and fed it to him. He took one taste of his owner’s precum, and knew, somehow, this was what was in the pizza, this is what had been changing him. He tried to resist, but he sucked his new Boss dry, and when he came, and Max swallowed it all down, everything Boss had told him, that whole story, it became…real. He stumbled up, now close to 400 pounds himself, hair all over his body, head balding, beard down to his chest, sweaty and greasy and stinking. He knew he should hate it, but he didn’t–he groped his fat, reached under and found his cock and started milking it, grunting while he kissed his Boss, and they turned their attention to Jeremy, who was still stuffing himself silly at the buffet.

He was even fatter than Max now, close to 500 pounds. His eyes were terrified at what he was doing, but there was no stopping, not any more. “What do you think of your boyfriend, Jeremy?” Boss asked him, dragging his face around and showing him the hairy, sweaty pig that Max had become. “Wait…Max? What…what the fuck happened to you?”

“What the fuck are you talkin’ about?” Max said, groping his fat frame, running his hands through his greasy fur, “Fuck, I’m so fuckin’ horny…”

“I bet you are, watching this fat pig stuff himself always gets that cock of yours hard, but not as hard as this fat ass, right?” Boss said, gave Jeremy’s ass a slap, and they watched it inflate, growing wider than the rest of him, Max drooling again, but for a different reason. 

“Fuck, he’s got such a hot fuckin’ ass.”

“Come on pig, I know you’re still hungry for dessert,” Boss said, tore open the already weakened sweats on Jeremy’s body. With a grunt, Max got down on his knees, crawled forward and shoved his bearded face into Jeremy’s crack, eating at the sweaty, rank crack, Jeremy moaning in confusion, not understanding anything of what was happening to him. 

“I…what did you do to him?” Jeremy moaned, “What’s going on?”

“Don’t think too hard now, we all know you’re the dumbest fuck here, Jeremy. Too stupid to be a driver, and too fat at this point. Lucky for me you can operate an oven, with supervision. Still, you have a few good qualities, right? Well, a few things that disgust everyone else, but Max there sure loves them, like your fucking musk, and those rank ass farts of yours.” The mere suggestion was enough for Jeremy’s new ass to rip off a ripe one right into Max’s face, who moaned, his own cock drooling even more pre onto the floor below him.

“No, no that’s not, I was…big! I was a big, like, football guy…”

“No you weren’t, you stupid fuck. You dropped out of high school, and have been working here for years now. You met Max when he started working here, and you pigs moved in together, with my permission of course. I own your fat asses after all, neither of you thinks a fucking thing without my damn permission. But that asshole of yours is as hungry as dick as this mouth is for my pizza, and Max is a horny hairy freak, so it works out, doesn’t it?”

Jeremy tried to think, tried to remember, but all that came out was a loud fart from his hole, right into Max’s face, who just grunted in pleasure and dug in even deeper. Boss grabbed his head, shoved him down, and Jeremy sucked on his cock, already hard again after feeding a load to Max–but then, Boss could always produce a load for his dough, and his sauce, and his toppings. That was how he had the best pizza in town, after all, and when he saw someone he liked, well, he usually got them to work for him, one way or another. “Max, get up, I wanna see you fuck this fat pig while he swallows my load.”

“Yes Boss!” Max said, hefted himself up, dropped his gut on the small of Jeremy’s back, and worked his cock into Jeremy’s loosened hole. He drove in rough, panting and heaving, the air thick with the combined musk rolling off the three of them in the lobby of the restaurant, until Max came with a squeal, and Boss came too, Jeremy swallowing down a load and feeling everything solidify around him, just as it had around Max. 

The restaurant opened an hour late that day, since the two new employees had demolished the lunch buffet. Boss got them into their new uniforms–shorts that were a bit too tight on them both, a polo shirt with Piggy Pizza across the front, neither long enough to disguise their guts hanging out below, and a ball cap with a smiling pig on the front. Then, Boss secured a leather collar around both of his new pigs, reminding him that they were his personal property. Max also got a cage around his cock, and for Jeremy, a vibrating plug in his hole to keep him excited and motivated. If Max got good tips, Boss would unlock him and let him fuck his boyfriend at home that night, but if he didn’t, well, he’d just suffer, hard in his cage from Jeremy’s gas and unable to do anything about it. Neither of them complained, though. Why would they? They loved working at Piggy Pizza–it was the perfect place for a couple pigs like them, after all.


Part 2 – Franchise Opportunities

A year had flown by since Piggy Pizza had opened, and for Max, it had been a bit of a blur. Boss didn’t let his worker slaves have much in the way of time off, after all, and so he delivered pizzas from the time the shop opened for lunch until the evening, snacking on pizza along the way, of course, until they closed at one in the morning. Then, he would drive Jeremy home in his truck, they’d usually have a fuck session if he’d earned one and fall asleep, before getting up, throwing on their still dirty uniforms, and doing it all again. 

Boss took a particular interest in Jeremy over that year, feeding him almost constantly in the shop. Six months after they’d been conscripted, Jeremy had packed on another hundred pounds, and was pushing the scales at nearly 600. One evening, after a long stuffing, he couldn’t manage to get into the truck for the ride home–but Boss had a solution all ready for him. He’d made him a little sleeping area in the storeroom of the restaurant–Jeremy would be living there from now on. It would be more convenient. 

Of course, Max was still horny as hell, and so he’d rush over when he woke up, get his fuck in before his shift started, and Jeremy only grew larger and larger, and muskier and muskier, since he didn’t have a shower in the restaurant. Jeremy eventually couldn’t even keep up with the baking, but Boss had a new role for him already planned–he hooked Jeremy’s cock up to a milker, and started pumping cum out of him, a new blend that Boss had been encouraging inside him, one that he had a feeling would help them grow their customer base even more. It worked–Boss’s own cum was more potent, but Jeremy’s kept folks coming back for more, and more, and more pizza every day. Business was booming, and they had to pull in a few other guys from campus as delivery slaves for the business, with Max as their general supervisor. One night, while they were tag-teaming Jeremy, the rest of the staff home for the night, Boss told Max how proud of him he was. He was thinking about opening up another franchise soon, and he thought Max might be an idea manager for a new location–under Boss’s strict control of course.

Max was thrilled by the idea. He rode that high for the next few days, until it all came crashing down with a sudden drop, when he delivered a load of pizzas, laced with a bit of Jeremy’s special sauce, to a house he…almost recalled, but one he couldn’t place. He rang the doorbell, the door opened, and he quickly realized he was delivering pizzas to a frat house. A frat house he knew. It had been his frat, a lifetime ago now, before he’d met Boss and started working at PIggy Pizza. He prayed that no one would say anything, but after staring at him for a moment, the jock who had opened the door said, “Holy fuckin’ shit, you’re…Max Grainger! Oh my fucking god, what the fuck happened to you?”

Max’s face reddened. Boss’s magic sauce could twist reality, but there were always these little pockets left behind. “Look man, I don’t wanna talk about it. Have a good night.”

The jock called the rest of the guys to the door, and they laughed, watching the player who had been recruited as a possible star waddled back to his truck, ass crack exposed, now just a loser dropout pig. Max’s face was burning, and he grumbled all the way back to the shop, angry that he was even angry about it. He liked working for Boss! He was going to have his own franchise soon! And a new franchise, he supposed, would need some more labor, wouldn’t it? He grinned then, and when he went back into the shop, he told Boss what had happened, and his idea.

Boss was skeptical of Max’s plan, but decided to give him a chance. He fed Max a big load of his cum, and Max felt something happen to him, his balls swelling and tingling. Boss told him that he had the power to change men like he did now–not nearly as potent, but more than enough for what he had in mind, this evening. First though, he had a few more deliveries to make. It was mostly to regulars around town, those who had been especially susceptible to their special ingredients. As the men opened their doors and smelled Max, they all seemed especially interested in him somehow. Max had fucked around with most of them–after all, now that Jeremy was living at the shop, he had to get his fucks in somewhere, but tonight, he was saving his loads for something special. That didn’t make it any less difficult to turn down the men who would invite him in, try and sneak a sniff of his pits, tell him that he seemed real sexy tonight. In the end, they were all mostly satisfied to take their pizzas, leave him a substantial tip, and Max went on his way back to his truck, sniffing his own pits. Sure, they were rank, but no more than usual. Is this what it felt like being Boss all the time? If it was, he could get used to it.

It was close to one in the morning, the shop was closing up, and Max loaded up a hefty stack of eight pizzas Boss had waiting for him, for one final delivery. He pulled up back in front of the frat house, already leaking into his uniform shorts, and the more excited he got, the more musk he seemed to be putting out–and maybe it was a bit stronger than before. He hefted the stack of pizzas to the door, rang the doorbell, but no one answered. It took a few rings, and a hard pounding, before any of the frat boys inside actually took notice, and one of them came to answer the door. Max grinned. He was showing good progress, a solid gut, a good amount of hair on his chest, and he was half naked, with grease and cum smeared across his face. 

“Who the fuck are…oh fuck, you…smell real fucking good man,” the frat boy said, stumbled out onto the step, and shoved his face into Max’s pit, snorting in his stink.

“I got your second order of pizzas, why don’t you help me bring them inside, boy?” Max suggested.

He had to suggest it twice, and haul the young man’s chubby face out of his pit, but he finally got the hint, picked up half the boxes of pizza, and brought them inside, Max following him in and shutting the door behind him, looking at the party already in progress.

The pizzas were demolished, the room was demolished as well, and all of the frat brothers were scattered about the living room, on the furniture or the floor, in various states of fucking, sucking, licking and sniffing. None of them had gained less than thirty pounds, and some, like the one who’d opened the door, had gained more. But the one that Max was looking for wasn’t among them–the one who had laughed at him earlier, that was the one he had some special plans for. He took the pizzas one by one, opened up the boxes and laid them on the floor, calling for the little frat pigs. The smell of him, and the pizza, caught them and pulled them over, all of them grabbing for slices like greedy hogs and shoving them in their mouths, moaning and grunting in delight. That would keep them all busy, and growing, for a while longer. He saved one pie, and started looking through the house for the missing boy.

He found him after a few minutes, holed up in his room. Max could hear him on the phone with someone, trying to explain the situation–probably 911, but they kept dismissing it as a hoax. Why wouldn’t they, after all? He knocked on the door, the voice inside went quiet, and said, “Who’s there?”

“Oh, just me,” Max said, “Got your second delivery of pizzas here, but everyone downstairs was too busy to pay me. Why don’t you open up, boy, and we can settle your bill?”

“Fuck you! You fucking freak, what the fuck did you do to everyone?”

Max just chuckled, hauled off his shirt, took a piece of pizza out of the box, and rubbed it in his pits, soaking it in his stink. For good measure, he wiped some of his precum off on it too from the inside of his shorts, then shoved it under the door. 

“What the, fuck why the fuck does it fucking stink!” the voice said, “Oh fuck, it smells so fucking good, and I’m so fucking hungry…”

He didn’t say anything else for a minute, just the sound of someone scarfing on the other side, and then quiet, and a belch. “Now, why don’t you go ahead and open the door, boy?” Max said.

The lock clicked after a moment, and when it opened, he saw a rather zonked looking young man on the other side, grease smeared across his face, drooling slightly. Max pushed his way in, and fed him the rest of the pizza. His name, he found out, was Doug, but Max decided Dough would be a much better name for him. Dough pleaded with him through the first few slices, begged him to stop, but by the time half the extra large pie was gone, he was ravenous. It was only natural, then, for Max to haul out his cock, and give him something to wash all that pizza down with.

Max was so horny, that he came after just a few sucks, and the orgasm was long. He could feel it, all of the corruptive potential he was feeding down Dough’s throat, and when he’d finished, a very different sort of fellow was sitting on the floor. He hauled Dough up by the collar of the shirt that no longer fit on around his nearly 400 pound frame, shoved him in front of the mirror in the room, and he gaped at his new body.

Sure, the fat was a big change for him, but Max helped him notice everything else too. The male pattern baldness that had settled in when he was twenty-five, a few years after he’d dropped out of college, too fat and stupid to keep up. Of course, he was pushing forty now, and had lost most of the hair on his head, replaced by a thick, bushy beard starting to grey, and a forest of hair all over his body–not quite as much as Max, but still plenty.

“Fuck, look at you, you fucking loser,” Max whispered in his ear, “And you thought I was bad when I answered the door, now look at you, long past your prime, don’t even have a job, just spend your days and nights stuffing yourself silly with your friends downstairs, jacking off all the time, like a proper fucking pig.

Dough tried to deny it, but Max tore off his clothes and led him downstairs, where the rest of the boys of the house had finished the second round of pizzas, and were all in similar a similar shape–older, all of them out of college now, fatter, their lives as jocks quickly being forgotten in the haze of lust that followed. He shoved Dough into the middle of them, and they all fell on him, humiliating and insulting him, and Dough found himself more and more turned on by the humiliating, begging them for their loads. Max spent the rest of the night finding the ones with a bit more resistance, and feeding them from his tap, until they too were just happy pigs, eagerly settling into their new lives.

A couple months later, a new franchise of Piggy Pizza opened on the other side of town, with Max as the head manager. Dough took up residence in the back, this location’s sauce supply, just as Jeremy was at the home location. The rest of the boys in the house, after being interviewed by Boss, were all hired on as well–as drivers, and cooks, and cleaners, depending on their personal skill sets and kinks. Business was booming, and both Boss and Max couldn’t wait to see how big this town could get.

World’s Largest Cock (Sketch)

You can’t really blame him for staring, I mean, I’ve never met a guy who’s larger than me, and I can be a bit of a showoff. Sitting here in the stall, swinging my big, foot long cock back and forth, and he’s just standing there, watching, can’t look away, doesn’t even notice that he’s done pissing, he’s too focused on it. After all, how could you not want to look at it? And the more you look at it, the more you want to touch it.

At least, that’s what I’m suggesting. He protests a bit, gets red in the face, but he can’t look away, can’t step away, can’t figure out why his own cock is so damn hard, staring at mine. He starts edging closer, and then he has a hand on it, feeling the veiny surface, and just like I told him, as soon as he starts touching it, he starts thinking about how it must feel to be on it, impaled by it, his hole left gaping and ruined for life by my massive cock.’

He’s scared, of course. Who wouldn’t be? He’s a virgin, he’s never even thought of taking something up his ass before today, but it’s so…big, how could he not want it? It’s a perfectly normal reaction, I assure him, but he’s going to have to work at it, if he wants to get ready.

Each guy who comes in, he begs them to fuck him. Truckers, bikers, dads, old men, young men, college kids–they all do of course. Once they see my cock, they understand his need, they understand how much work he has to do. They all fuck him, raw and unlubed–that’s the only way I fuck, after all, so he’d best get used to it.

After four or five hours, he’s naked and sweating, his hold gaping, cum leaking from it, and he tells me he’s ready. I give him a go, and while I can get the head in (an impressive feat) I can’t get any deeper. He goes back to begging. Fists now–the bigger the better, and soon, he starts taking two at once, and then–then I fuck him. I ride him ragged, but now he knows what it feels like to get fucked by the biggest cock in the world. Now he knows what it feels like to be dumped on the floor of a dirty rest area, hole gaping, unable to close back up, jacking his own cock helplessly, trying to cum, but knowing he can’t–because nothing can feel as good as my cock did in his virgin hole. Because nothing will ever feel as good, ever again, because you can’t get fucked by my cock and not lose something.

He’s older now, hair white, muscles withered with a new potbelly, eyes dull and hopeless. He knows I ruined him. I took him manhood, his virility, his youth–all of it went into my cock, to make it just a little bit bigger, a little more irresistible. He doesn’t hate me though–he thanks me, knows that I deserve it more than he does, begs me for another fuck, but I just leave the worthless fucker there. Don’t feel sorry for him though–he did beg for it, after all.

Cleaning House (Part 8)

CW: Scat


~Daddy’s POV~

He’s my boy.

He’s dumb, filthy, nasty, fat, and a total pervert. He’s mine. He’s everything I wanted, and now, it’s all he wants too.

It’s difficult to explain what happened to me–honestly, even the experts are still puzzling it out. I saved the world, somehow, but I don’t remember a thing about it. They said I was a hero, but when I woke up that day, looking like this–fat, hairy, reeking, horny as can be–I had no memory of who I was. Still, the government sends me the fat checks, and want me living somewhere quiet–somewhere alone, and I could manage that for a while, but I’m…not alone in here, in my body. There’s something else inside me, a fragment of something, and it’s…so hungry.

I found out, by accident, what I could do. Hypnotize people, I guess. Change them, slowly, encourage them, make them lose themselves. I was caught between my desperate loneliness, and my own terror at what I wanted, what it wanted–what we wanted. So I placed the ad in the paper, and I chatted with him over the phone, got a feel for him, and I liked him a lot, the sound of him even. When he showed up at the cabin and saw the state of how I lived–fuck, I was so hungry for him, for that disgust on his face when he saw me. He tried to turn around and leave, but I had too many hooks in him from our phone chat–he marched right in, terrified out of his wits, and then we had our first chat, face to face.

Those first few months were tough. Controlling people is…exhausting, and I can only do it for so long–I have to convince them that they want to be controlled by me. I made him fantasize about me, long for me in all of my filth. I made him want to be my boy. I made him want to be bigger, and dirtier, and fatter, and hairier. He began to crack, after a few months, and I could start feeding him, and that night he gave in and masturbated for me–fuck! Then, I knew he was mine. Our boy.

I hired him as a cleaner at the beginning, but honestly, I love the filth. I kept up appearance for a little while, while I was cleaning out more and more of his mind, but now, with our second winter coming, the house is even more of a sty than it was when he first arrived, but he loves it even more than I do at this point. I honestly…I wasn’t going to push him this far, but when he left for that funeral–I can’t explain how I felt, when he was gone. I was terrified he wouldn’t come back, I was terrified I’d be alone again, but I couldn’t be alone, not with the voice. When he came back, sobbing in misery, horrified at himself–I was so angry. I started cleaning out even more of him, like he’d cleaned out my house, getting rid of everything that didn’t concern me, letting the sick, twisted loe he felt for me now grow larger and larger until it took up nearly everything inside him. Getting rid of his intelligence, of his shame, of his confidence, of his self-control. He can still talk, for now…but that’s a project for the winter, too, I think.

We’ll be alone here for months, with nothing but the snow for company. I’m going to scrub him out completely, and then I’m going to fill him back up again. He’s going to be my boy–my son–for real, or at least believe it with all of his heart. My stupid boy, with a vocabulary of 500 words, who usually just speaks in grunts. My perverse boy, with a cock that’s always hard, and two hands that can’t keep away from it for longer than a couple minutes. My nasty boy, pissing and shitting himself, unable to stop anything, unable to even feel shame as he drops load after load into the back of his underwear to eat later in front of me. My fat boy, pushing at least 600 pounds, but still able to work for me, for his daddy, the man he’ll do anything for.

I try to tell myself that it’ll be enough, if I finish the job, if I destroy him. I hate myself for doing it, but I can’t stop, it won’t let me stop, and I enjoy it too much, I’m so fucking ashamed of it. But one–one will be enough. One boy, one helpless boy for me is all I need. He can take it–he’ll have to, everything I can give him, because whatever is inside me…it wants out. It wants to grow, and consume, and destroy…everything, but I can’t let that happen. Whoever I was before, he died to stop that from happening, and I have to stop it too, I have to keep it from happening, and this…this is the only way I know how to do that, anymore.

He would understand, right? Who am I kidding, he wouldn’t understand it. At least…it’s what he wants now. He’d never be able to function without me anyway–he needs me now as much as I need him, to stay in control. He can take it–he’s a good boy. He wants to make sure Daddy is happy, he wants me to control him, and own him, and abuse him, and feed him–so I will. And after this, I’ll stop. The voice…it tells me that this won’t be enough, it laughs at me for lying to myself, but I know better. All I want his him. I can’t…explain how it makes me feel, when I see the love in his eyes, the complete devotion he has for me–what else could a Daddy possibly want? In any case…it will have to be good enough.

Slave Swap (Part 6)

He spent three years as Jug. At times, he could almost convince himself that he was enjoying it, to some extent, but in moments of honesty, he was simply disgusted. He was weak, just like Master said he was. He was weak, and even staring at his ugly face, his massive beard, his expanding frame in the mirror every single day did nothing to help him quit. He’d grown quite a bit larger, over the years–and now weighed close to 450 pounds. It was hard working at this point, getting up and down to clean the toilets, getting up and down to drink loads of cum and piss from men at work, from men on the streets, from men in the bars and the bathhouses. His reputation had certainly spread, and he had several men who were regulars–waiting to feed him once, if not twice a day, and his Master had never, for a day, not loved watching his slave slowly succumb to the pressures of this body.

He would…reward him, on occasion–with new programming, or new ways of shaming and humiliating him. He’d begun to lose control over his bowels–slowly enough that he wasn’t quite sure if it was simply his body giving in to age, or if it was Master manipulating him slowly–but if he wasn’t careful, his regular farts would quickly lead him to dump loads of shit into the back of his diapers. Thankfully Master hadn’t made that…attractive to him, though he had threatened it on multiple occasions. It seemed to be enough to make Jug addicted to stink–his own foul body odors in particular, his belches and farts particularly, though nothing could turn him on quite like a day old diaper pressed to his face.

Jug had begun to lose hope that he’d ever escape this. Master seemed to be enjoying himself too much to ever give him back his old body. He…couldn’t even really remember what he’d looked like, before all of this. Couldn’t even remember who he’d been. Slowly, his old memories had faded away, leaving Jug’s fraudulent past the only one he could really access with any reliability. Still, he knew what Master had done to him. Knew he would get his body, and his freedom back, eventually. Still, he was terrified to even broach the subject, for fear that Master would hold it over his head, dangle it within reach. He could imagine it:

“You want your body back slave? I don’t think you could really respect it, do you? How about this–you go one week without guzzling cum and piss, without sucking down those filthy cigars, without drinking so much you pass out every night–you do that for one week, and I’ll get you your body back. That shouldn’t be too hard, right? I mean, you couldn’t even make it a full week years ago, when your…needs were so much weaker than they are now, but with a proper goal in mind, I’m sure you can get there.”

He could barely believe it, then, when one day Master arrived for what he expected to be a fuck session, and instead, he unfurled a rubber sack onto the floor. “I think you’ve served your time, Jug–now get in there, and let’s get you back in your proper body.”

He was so happy, he cried, kissing his Master’s feet in appreciation, and then worked his massive body into the tight rubber suit, allowed Master to hook him up to the catheter, IV and mask, and then fell asleep, and when he woke up sometime later–he did feel different. Lighter, and smaller, and he was so eager to see himself, to remember himself. Master drew down the zipper and he ripped the mask off his face and got up, and when he saw his reflection in the mirror in Master’s room, he nearly started to cry.

What had they done to him? What had they done to his body? Cameron stared at his form in disbelief. He could remember what he’d looked like now–clearly. His muscled body, his hairless skin, his youth–he remembered it like not a day as Jug had ever passed. But now, he looked to be close to 300 pounds–a bit smaller than he’d been when first taking the other slave’s body–and he had hair all over, including a particularly thick bush around his cock. He looked like an animal, especially with the long hair and thick beard. Master shoved him up against the full length mirror, putting Cameron eye to eye with himself, and fucked him roughly.

“I’ve missed this hole slave–feel’s good to be home, doesn’t it?” he gripped him by the long hair, tugging his head back forcefully, “I particularly like what they did during your absence–don’t you think? With your…current inclinations, I’m sure this feels quite nice. Doesn’t it?” Master shook his slave’s gut, and Cameron felt it jiggle, “You like how that feels?”

Cameron couldn’t speak. He couldn’t believe what had happened. “You…you let them…”

“I told him he could return your body in whatever condition he wanted. I’ve enjoyed watching him do it, too, over the last couple of years. His slave enjoyed it as well–ruining your body, force feeding you’re skinny muscled frame until you looked like this. It was such a nice present for him, really–you’re very generous, slave. They’re very happy with what you’ve done to him as well, of course. You did a very nice job, I can assure you.”

He started fucking Cameron harder now, getting closer to cumming.

“At least you don’t need diapers! Still, you’ll be needing plenty of piss and cum, after how wrecked both your body and mind are–I’ve made sure of that. Plenty of cigars and beer too. Unless you can find the will to resist–get this body back into proper shape. What do you think? Think you can do it? I doubt you can, but maybe now that it’s your own body, you’ll care a bit more about what happens to it. Still, I’ll rent you out again soon enough, maybe in another year or two. There’s no rush after all–we aren’t even to the five year mark, and I know I’ll be keeping you for the full term! I have so many friends, you see–other masters–and they all want a turn with your body. Ten years from now, you won’t even recognize yourself! You might hate yourself so much, you’ll be begging to stay with me, as my property, just so I’ll let you live in another body on occasion. Yeah–imagine your body so fucked up, that I rent it out as punishment for other master’s slaves–how does that sound to you? Because it sounds fucking amazing to me, slave, so fucking amazing…”

Master came, and Cameron was crying, tears smeared across the mirror in front of him. Still, he’d asked for this, hadn’t he? But even now, all that money promised to him, it wasn’t worth this, was it? But now he had no choice at all, and if Master’s plans were fulfilled, he imagined he’d never have a choice ever again.

Slave Swap (Part 5)

The food came, and he ate it. The portion seemed so meager, and it had done nothing to sate any of his cravings. By eight he broke down, and cracked open a beer, and after three of those–close to nine–he lit his first cigar. By ten, he’d run out of beer, and he left the apartment to go buy some more…but instead, he found his feet walking a somehow familiar route, to some place called, The Steam Engine. He wasn’t this weak, was he? He couldn’t even last a single night? He passed it by and went to a corner store and purchased a supply of beers–hopefully enough that he wouldn’t have to leave the apartment for several days, and he forced himself to walk quickly past the bathhouse and went back to his lonely apartment, where he managed to drink himself to sleep.

In the morning, he woke to discover a small deposit in his account, with a note from Master. “One day down Slave–one day at a time, as they say.” It was a pittance, really, but it meant more to him as a gesture. He was watching–Master didn’t want him to fail. Still, the stench off his sodden diaper was so…alluring, he couldn’t stop himself from sucking some of his own piss from it while he jacked off–or tried to jack off, at least. His cock wouldn’t get hard at all, and the pain and nausea were worse than the day before. He tossed the diaper in the trash, frustrated, and put on a new one, before heading into work that afternoon. He was invisible in the halls, as people hurried past him. Cleaning the bathrooms was the worst, especially when he found loads of piss left in the urinals or the toilets, but he fought it–proud of his willpower, at least.

The first week progressed well. He found that exercise gave him something to distract himself with, to some extent, even if this old body wasn’t capable of much strength. Still, training himself gave him something to do–something to work on. He tried his best to limit his smoking, drinking and eating to moderate levels–enough to keep the rest of his withdrawal in check. He kept hoping things would get better, but he only ever seemed to feel even worse with each passing day. On Friday, after most people had left the building for the day, he gave in and sucked some piss from a urinal, and nearly cried from how…satisfied he felt, afterward. How was he going to cope this weekend? He didn’t know–all he had to distract himself at home was exercise and TV. He found himself missing Master’s presence–he felt so isolated now. He drank too much that night, dribbling his piss into empty beer cans so he could drink it, thinking about how…good his Master’s cum had tasted, how he’d never really relished it, how he’d just swallowed it so many times without a single thought of how…thankful he should be, for receiving it. He sent drunken texts to him, telling Master all of this, telling him how sorry he was, and when he received nothing back, he threw on some clothes–forgetting a diaper in his haste–and stumbled into The Steam Engine.

Just one load, he told himself. If he could get by with a few beers and two cigars a day, he could get one load. It was a treat–a reward. Finding someone interested in him was a struggle, and he was forced to beg over and over, before an older man finally took pity on him, and fucked his face. It was the first time he’d tasted someone’s cum other than Master’s or his own, and he…nearly cried, when the man shot into his mouth. It tasted better than he could even remember, but it was…such a small load. Certainly that meant he could have another, right? He gave up the pretense after four loads, and even managed to find a few men to feed him their piss. When he got up and waddled home that night, pants sodden with piss from his cock, he felt so…good. Not only was the pain gone, but the shivers of pleasure flowing through him–and his cock was rock hard for the first time in nearly a week! Not wanting to waste the opportunity, he jacked off behind a dumpster, his cock still dribbling and flinging piss about as he stroked, but he didn’t care–he wanted a another load–he needed another one. He came into his hand and slurped it up, tasting hints of cigar on it, and he heaved a great sigh of relief, made his way home, and collapsed into bed, happier than he could remember being in a long time.

Of course, when he woke up, head throbbing, mattress and sheets soaked with his piss, he felt horrible. How could he have done that to himself? Master–he was going to be so disappointed in him! He saw a notification on his phone, but the message wasn’t what he’d expected.

“Watching you fail is so fucking satisfying, you fucking piece of shit. I knew you’d never make it, though I thought you’d make it a bit longer than that! Still, seven loads of cum, and four loads of piss–that’s quite a good amount–you’ll find your reward in your account, you fucking slut. See you this afternoon.”

Dumbstruck, he opened up his account, and saw he’d earned close to triple in a single night, than the meager payments Master had sent him him the whole week he’d been trying to be good. He’d wanted him to fail. He’d wanted him to give in–that’s what this was all about. He lit a cigar to calm himself down, to keep the anger at bay, and had a beer too, not bothering to diaper himself, leaking more and more piss into his bed…enjoying the stench. Around one in the afternoon, Master let himself into the apartment, ordered Jug onto the soaking wet bed, and fucked his ass, demanding Jug tell him about the night before, about how it had felt to give in like that, to accept the fact that he was just a fat cumdump urinal. He came, deep, and left again without ceremony…and unable to help himself, Jug ate his Master’s cum from his own ass without even needing to be ordered to do so.

He had to fight this. He had to. He couldn’t live like this. But looking at himself in the mirror, and the dried cum caught in his beard from the night before…he tried to remember himself, but couldn’t. And that night, his will ran out again, and he was back at The Steam Engine, doing what his body did best.

Slave Swap (Part 3)

It was the first time Cameron could remember, where he actively resisted one if his Master’s commands. Certainly some of what Master had ordered him to do before had given him…doubts and reservations, particularly early on, as he’d been growing used to being used for gay sex, but this body, his lack of control, the sheer horror of this violation and betrayal–there was no way he was going to fucking diaper himself. No, this was ludicrous. He fought hard, as his body rose to a standing position, and then lurched out of Master’s office. As he did, he heard a notification on Master’s phone, and he checked it. “Significant resistance. Finally. You’d been far too accommodating thus far slave. I’m glad to see that the consequences of your…submission have dawned on you. Still, fight all you want–it only makes me harder.”

He found the stack of diapers–disposable ones–in the bathroom on the counter, took one from the package and grimaced as his hands pulled it on. He couldn’t stop this. He couldn’t fight this. Wasn’t there some escape clause in the contract? He knew that even a contract of total submission had some limitations, mostly regarding extreme self-harm and murder. But in those cases, the chip itself would shut down as a safeguard. It was obviously still functioning, which meant the contract was still in effect. He looked at himself in the mirror, some fat old man wearing a thick diaper, hands shaking slightly. How long was he going to be staying like this? If this was within the bounds of the contract, then he supposed it could be…for a very long time. If he died in this body, what would happen to him? More disturbing, if something happened to his real body, would he be stuck in this one?

He was feeling sick, and he wasn’t sure if it was because of the terror, or because of something else. There was a sense that…he was craving something, but he didn’t quite know what. Still, he was dressed, the front of his diaper warm from the piss seeping out of him non-stop, and he went back to the office where Master was waiting. “How long am I going to be in this body?” Cameron asked, as soon as he was back in the room.

“I’m not certain, to be honest. The other master and I didn’t agree on an exact timeline.”

“Like…a week? A month?” He didn’t dare mention anything longer, out of his own terror.

Master didn’t reply, he only smiled. “I’m sure that time will fly by, if you just try and enjoy yourself. Now, you should know that this body comes with quite a few quirks you won’t be accustomed to from before. In particular, you are programmed with quite a few…addictions. Physical needs that you’ll need to satisfy on a regular basis, or you’ll begin suffering quite severe symptoms. Some of them are more normal. The body’s owner notes that it’s used to smoking ten to fifteen cigars a day, and generally takes in around eight liters of beer. It also has…a substantial appetite. From the way you’re sweating, you must be feeling the first waves of withdrawal.” Master pushed a cigar, lighter, and a large beer across his desk towards Cameron. “I won’t…tell you to, slave. But if you need them, there they are.”

Cameron felt the body somehow…scream, when it saw the stuff there, and his hands were reaching for it before he even realized it, and he pulled them back, the pain growing a bit worse. The diapers were one thing, but he wasn’t going to let this body control him–he could at least manage that.

Master watched him fight, and groped his cock. Cameron saw he was hard again already. “Of course, the most severe of the body’s programmed addictions are to cum and piss. It requires so much that one person can’t provide enough to satisfy the body’s needs, so we’ll have to find a solution to that, I suppose. It’s a good thing I don’t mind sharing. Better perhaps, because I find you quite…repulsive, actually.”

“Then why…did you agree to this? If you didn’t want this, sir?”

“Oh, I do want this, slave,” Master said, “I don’t have to have sex with you to get sexual enjoyment from you, remember. See, if you’d read that psychological profile of me with an eye for detail, you would have seen that physical sex has never really…been enough for me. No, I love humiliating men, and have fantasies of ruining them. You’re repulsive, but that only…makes me hornier. Besides, I chose this body for you with good reason–your vanity is so…boring. Watching you stare at yourself in the mirror, day in and day out, those god awful clothes you’d buy for yourself? You claimed you were doing that to please me, but you were only pleasing yourself, and your ego. But look at you now! Now we can bring your focus back to where it belongs, because the only way you’re going to be getting that body of yours back, Slave, is by making me happy.”

Cameron didn’t know what to say to that. He felt, and then tasted a tear, and hated the fact that he was crying in front of this horrible man. His body was crying out even louder for the cigar and beer a foot away from him, and his guts were twisting, demanding food, cum and piss. He could smell his diaper already, wafting up, and it was making his mouth water. “This…slave wants you to be happy sir. How can I serve you best?” he said, gritting his teeth.

“I’ll show you.” Master said, “Sleep mode, Slave.”

Spitty Lives His Life (Part 4)

No one other and Chuck and I knew anything had even changed. Well, some of the guys on the crew knew something had happened, like our foreman, but they didn’t know what had changed. I could…see when they looked at me, that they were a bit confused and…sad even, but no one wanted to talk about it, I don’t think. No one dared bring Chuck’s attention to them, while it was still occupied with me–and Chuck…he fucking loved this new me. Goading me, laughing at me every time he caught me with my hand down the front of my jeans, making fun of how stupid I was, and getting everyone else on the crew to laugh along with him. I was the butt of every joke, and somehow, the fact that everyone knew I was just a fucking pervert who couldn’t keep his hands off his dick for more than five minutes…it only made me hornier.

That was the worst part. It would have been easier if I’d hated it, if I’d…been able to fight back in some way, to say that things should be different. But I didn’t want things to be different. I…can’t even imagine how things might be different, beyond a few vague memories of sports, or college, none of which had ever happened in this new life of mine. I remember looking at myself in the mirror a couple days after Chuck fed me that leaf from my tin–it wasn’t the first time I’d seen myself, but it was the first time I’d actually dared take a moment and really look, and I could see all the little shit that had changed too. My tangled and greasy beard and hair falling in front of my face, my bloodshot eyes, my teeth which had already started to yellow a bit from my new chewing habit. I looked…older. I mean, I was older, actually older–about ten years or so than I had been before, but I looked even older than that. My flabby gut and tits, my arms which were still fairly strong thanks to work and…constantly jacking myself off. My little legs and flat, absent ass. And I’m standing there looking at myself, and I’m stroking off again, because I’m so fucking turned on by what I’ve become. I’m not ashamed. I’m not humiliated–I’m not…that humiliated, I mean. What matters, is that I fucking love it, I fucking love myself, and I shoot this huge load into my hand and slurp it up, swallowing it down with some of my spit, and I just feel…so fucking good.

Pretty soon, I’m laughing along with the guys, pulling on my cock in front of them, amazed at how easy it all is. Some of the guys even suck me off on occasion, but nothing really does it for me like my own fucking hand. Still, I’m all there, really. I know, mentally, that this isn’t how things should have gone, and I’m thinking about that tin in Chuck’s house, and I’m wondering what might happen if I could get my hands on it, without him knowing. Could I change myself back? Hell, even if I couldn’t do that, could I at least make myself someone a bit better than this? Maybe I could help out everyone else on the crew too, if I could find their tins as well, but for that to work, for any of this to work, than meant I was going to have to get closer to Chuck than I’d ever wanted too.

Even that was harder than I’d thought it would be. Chuck was usually all over me all day long, feeding me spit, groping my cock, but the first couple of times I tried to grope him back, he…freaked out a little bit, and he kept backing off. So…I told him a lie. I told him that I liked this life he’d given me–and I did like it, but not…in the way I was telling the story. I told him I’d hated being that jock, and just letting loose, it felt so fucking good. I wanted…him to feel good too. He wanted to believe me, I think, but it wasn’t what he’d expected. He’d thought I should hate him–and I did hate him–but I could pretend a bit, I could jack his cock off on our rides to and from work, even suck him off on occasion, drinking down his cum too, and soon…soon he was really getting into it, more than I’d expected him to. The first time he…fucked me–god, it hurt so much. He bent me over a bench in the workshop and started slobbering all over my asshole and my crack, and I could…feel his spit working its way into me, making me shudder, and when his cock pushed into me, with just his tar as lube, it was like my ass was on fire, and tingling all over, and I shot–of course. Pretty much anything can make me cum these days, but this…pretty soon, he was spitting in and around my hole as much as he was feeding me, and that fire in there, it was starting to need attention like my cock did. He was getting me ready, I could tell, and if I was going to have a chance, this was the one I’d have to take.

It was a few more weeks before he finally told me I was coming with him to his house for another taste of the tobacco from my personal tin, while he fucked me in the foreman’s trailer during lunch. Told me that if I wanted to be such a nasty slut, then that’s what I was going to be–as hungry for cum as I was for spit, begging everyone to fuck my ass like the stupid whore I am. I…fuck, it turned me on when he said it, and that scared the shit out of me more than anything else. Still, it had worked, right? Now I just had to try and keep a level head, get the tin away from him, and see if I could fix this somehow. I’d become so compliant lately that he wasn’t even bothering controlling me a directly as he used to–if I was quick, maybe I could just get away with this. And if not? Well…being a cumdump didn’t…sound like that bad of a thing. It’s not like I wasn’t already sucking down everyone’s loads on the site, right? It all comes down to tonight–see you on the other side, I guess.

Spitty Lives His Life (Part 3)

Chuck’s house was a mess, but I hadn’t really expected it to be anything else, to be honest. If anything, it was a bit…cleaner than I would have thought. He pulled me into the den and sat me down on the couch, shoving over some blankets to make room for me, and told me to pull my dick out and make myself comfortable. I did as I was told, tugging on it a bit just to calm my nerves as had become normal for me lately, and he banged around in another room for a moment before returning with a tin of chewing tobacco in his hand.

Now I hadn’t up to this point, actually chewed any tobacco myself–it had been purely second hand spit. If anything, Chuck had been adamant that I not chew, going so far as to bark orders across the worksite, when one guy had offered me some leaf, telling him that I wasn’t allowed, not yet. However, this tin wasn’t sealed, and he laid a piece of masking tape across the label on the top, and wrote “Spitty” across it with a sharpie, showing me it after. “This is your tin, Spitty. Everybody gets one tin of my special shit, you see. Still, no one ever gets more than one tin–and I don’t usually finish people off often anyway. You probably ain’t gonna get much more than this–but you to learn a lesson, and I’m gonna teach it to ya the hard way.”

He took off the lid, and I could…smell the shit from where I was sitting on the couch. It was as strong as some of the higher quality weed I’d smoked in college, but…smelled different altogether. It smelled like Chuck’s breath, actually–is this what he’d been chewing and feeding me all this time? It wasn’t of course–not even Chuck could handle that much of his special stuff, but I wasn’t too far off the mark, even then. He started picking out some of the leaf, probably a sixth of the tin, told me to open up and then shoved it down between my teeth and gums, and told me to hold it there like a good boy.

My gums started tingling and went numb after a second, and then not too long after that, I felt a fuzziness envelop my head, and I slumped back into the couch, drooling a bit helplessly, staring off into space. Chuck entered my frame of vision, fucking around with the TV, and a moment later porn started playing on the screen–then he came back over and sat down on the couch next to me, and started talking into my ear–quietly, but nice and slow making sure I heard every word he was telling me.

He was telling me about my life–well, not the life I’d had, but about…a different life. About Spitty’s life. Spitty never went out for sports. Spitty never even went to school much at all–he’s just a high school dropout. Spitty never had time for much beyond watching porn and jacking off. See, Spitty’s cock has a problem–it almost never goes soft. And Spitty’s usually so fucking horny that he can’t think about much else beyond jacking his cock off. It was worst when he was a teenager, but it’s…eased off a bit in the last couple of years, now that he’s in his thirties. He can hold down a job, mostly. Nothing too difficult, and most of the guys at the site have gotten used to seeing Spitty groping his cock all day long, occasionally blowing yet another load into the front of his cum sodden jeans, but it’s what Spitty has to do to function, right?

Of course, at home, all Spitty does is watch porn and jack his cock. He loves coating himself in his own cum, loves to reek of it, loves to reek of anyone’s cum, really. He’ll beg other guys to jack off onto him, use him like a fucking cumrag–and he loves being a fucking spitoon too, of course. All of Spitty’s clothes are unwashed, covered in dark stains and stiff with cum, but he wouldn’t want them to be any other way. Yeah, Spitty’s a real fucking pervert, but Spitty wouldn’t want any other life than this one, would he?

I was agreeing with everything Chuck told me of course, like the good boy I was. I…lost count of how many times I shot my load all over myself, swallowing down the spit from Chuck’s special leaf, swallowing down his spit too, of course, and when he thinks I’m ready, he puts his hand over my mouth, and tells me to swallow it all down–the spit, the leaf, everything…and I do. I choke it down, and immediately I feel sick to my stomach, like I’m going to throw up, but no matter how hard I heave, nothing comes up. The world’s just spinning around me faster and faster, and I try to hold onto Chuck, or the couch, or anything I can, but pretty soon it doesn’t feel like there’s anything at all, and when I don’t think I’m going to be able to handle it anymore, I wake up–expect I’m not in Chuck’s house, I’m back in my bedroom…except it’s not my old bedroom, it’s Spitty’s bedroom now.

Everything reeks of cum, and it’s so fucking nasty I start humping my mattress a few times until I spray a load into the stiff sheets I sleep on with a loud groan–then I roll over and start milking out load number two right away. My cock’s the same size it was before, but my fucking balls must have doubled in size, and while my arms are still muscular, my gut and chest are flabbier than before, and my legs look so much smaller. Then again, I never played sports, not in this lifetime. Nope–all I did was jack off day and night like a fucking pervert. I still live with my parents, even after dropping out, and they both fucking hate my guts…but I don’t really care. All I care about is jacking off again, and again…and something else…right? My mouth feels a bit fuzzy, and without really thinking, I reach over and grab a tin of chaw, pop it open, and stuff a wad in my lip, feeling better almost immediately. It tastes…normal, at least, but nothing else is right, even though that old life just feels like a dream now. I’m Spitty now–I can’t even remember my old name anymore, and when Chuck shows up to give me a ride to work, I get in and suck down his spit, and milk out another load of cum from my cock, like nothing is wrong at all.