Tag: scat

The FAT Retreat (Part 6)

Warning: Still extreme stuff.

– Day 6 –

The flourescents flickered on in their room, and Max shielded his eyes from them, not quite able to handle their glare this morning. He rolled over, the mattress beneath him wet and cold, his cock hard and leaking as always, and looked over across the room where his son was awake already. Leon, the pig, face buried in the toilet bowl, swallowing down the muck, and aware that the lights had come on, he hauled his face up, covered in shit that dribbled down onto the rim and the floor, and he just stared at his father and master, like a dog caught with a bag of treats in it’s mouth.

To punish or not to punish? Max erred on the latter–Leon had been well behaved all week (hadn’t he? he couldn’t seem to remember much of it actually) and so he got up from the bed, stroking his cock, getting himself to the edge as he crossed the room, so that as he slid his huge cock into his son’s amazing hole he came almost immediately, and then he started fucking properly, bending over the pig’s massive, 600 pound frame to shove it’s face into the toilet bowl, giving it unspoken permission to finish its first breakfast.

Leon had drained the toilet and was licking the bowl, rim and floor clean around the toilet when the door finally slid open, and the intercom announced that it was time to eat. Max finished off his sixth orgasm, feeling slightly less horny and able to function for the moment, and yanked on Leon’s collar, telling his son to follow him out of the room.

Neither of them had clothing on. Max enjoyed parading his huge body down the hall, staring down all the men he passed. He stood at least head taller than most of them, and between his musk and his glare, everyone hurried to get out of the brute’s way, the man’s pig following behind him, shit covered face to the floor, lapping up the dribbles of cum that seeped out of it’s father’s cock as he walked, still hungry, always hungry, never big enough, always disgusting, but never enough, never good enough (for his father? For his dead father? A dream, more than a dream?) for anything more than this.

Breakfast proceeded as usual. Max ate first, and Leon cleaned up after him, eating the scraps, drinking the piss that suddenly streamed from his master’s cock as he devoured a massive chocolate cake, taking the moments in between to clean bits of Max’s body–his feet, his asscrack, his shitty cockhead. When Max was full, he turned his attention to his massive pig, positioning him next to a table and stuffing him as quickly as he could. Leon had long since become used to eating like this (Like this, he’d never eaten like this) and so he focused on swallowing it all down, knowing that the merest slip up would leave him choking on the floor, and that his father would probably just abandon him to die, not even good enough to be fed like a proper pig, and that would it, that would be everything. So he swallowed and swallowed and swallowed, afraid of his father, afraid of wasting away even now, afraid of everything–a true coward of feeble mind and weaker soul.

The rest of the morning was a blur to Leon–his master paid him little attention in their only morning session–an exit interview with a doctor in a since study, a study Leon didn’t want to enter, because he could tell he didn’t belong there, that he would just ruin it all with his filth, but the doctor brought him in anyway, and he crawled gingerly accross the carpet, trying to leave as little of himself there as possible.

The doctor was very pleased with them, and Max was very pleased with the retreat–it was exactly what he and his pig slave had needed, and he felt so well rested and relaxed now, it was wonderful. The doctor was very pleased, and got up to open a window, the musk of them both combined with Max’s cigar smoke too much for him. The doctor finished by talking about them and their future plans. Of course, they would continue trucking around the culture and uploading their “cabcast” to FAT’s collection of websites. After all, men all over the world loved the saga of the huge beast of a trucker and his filthy pig son. FAT had also assembled an itinerary for the both of them over the next six months, a collection of orgies and porn shoots for Maxc, Leon, or both of them to participate in, for which FAT would pay them of course–they needed to keep up with their rising food costs somehow, right? But what about after those six months? Had they thought that far ahead yet?

“Honestly,” Max said, “I haven’t really planned very far ahead at all. I woke up feeling kind of…odd actually, like–”

“Yes, I know how things can feel, but that’s not really important. I’m sure uyou’ll feel right as rain before too long, but we really do need to discuss a few things, especially about your pig. He’s over 600 pounds now, and is gaining faster than we expected. We ought to begin planning for his eventual immobility.”

“You mean, when he can’t move at all? Hell, he’d be fucking worthless if you ask me.”

“Well, when that day comes–soon I’m sure–we’d be happy to take him off your hands. We have programs for the immobile. I can assure you your son–”

“He’s not my son.”

“Yes, well, your slave would be well cared for and have a very enjoyable life, given his interests.”

“I don’t care what you’d want to do with him to be honest.”

“Well, we have some openings remaining in our winter retreat six months from now–why don’t both of you attend, and we can see what we’d like to do about you both then. You, Max, I think will be very popular with all sorts of men–I can’t wait to see what you might do when your pig isn’t of use to you anymore.”

“Heh, well, I’d miss him a little probably, but like I said–a worthless pig is a pig I don’t want. So, are we free to go now?”

“You certainly are,” the doctor said, and indicated two bins against the wall, “The clothes you arrived in are in those bins, and your truck is outside where you parked it. I’m excited to see you in six months, it’s going to be a very exciting time, I think.”

Max rolled his eyes at the doctor, obviously impatient, and the doctor glared at him. “Subject 367, sleep now.”

Max, who had been in the midst of standing up from the chair he was in, plopped back down, his bearded shin smacking against his chest. Leon looked up at his master and over at the doctor, not sure what to do, and decided to just do nothing, and think about other things. He hadn’t really been paying much attention to the conversation, and so he never did remember what the doctor told his master, that over the next six months, Max would find himself falling deeply in love with his pig. Not just emotionally, but physically. He would find himself desiring the pig’s cum, his piss, and his shit as deeply as Leon desires his. He would hate these new feelings but find them irresitible, and the thought of being separated from his son forever would seem like the worst torture in the world.

He woke Max up after a few minutes, and sent them both on their way, reclothed in their old (new?) clothes that neither of them could quite remember wearing ever before in their lives. Max squeezed his huge body into a pair of ragged jeans, the seat brown and crusted with shit, and threw on an old denim jacket which had been crudly cut up into a vest, and lastly pulled on a pair of mud and shit crusted boots. Leon was put into the pair of overalls he’d worn for almost two years straight now, and it was nearly time to give his pig a new pair to ruin, Max figured. The knees were ripped open, Leon could barely fit his massive rolls of fat into them, and one of the straps had broken off entirely during an orgy they’d been at a year ago. Still, they smelled so good, like his pig, his son, he loved that smell so much–

Max shook his head, not at all sure where those thoughts had come from, and utterly disturbed by them. He hated that pig, he hated him more than anyone he’d ever met. There was no love for him, none at all, and the thought scared him that he, a huge alpha male, could ever love something as weak and disgusting as that.

He fucked Leon roughly in the office, right then and there, just to reassure himself of his hatred, the doctor just watching it happen, head cocked to one side, thinking. Max, his confidence restored for the moment, dragged Leon away by his lead and stormed out of the building and into the parking lot.

Leon blinked a couple of times, the glare of the sun not so different from the halogens he’d been living under for the last several days, but it seemed to stir in him something he could not recall precisely. A feeling of…excitement? The FAT headquarters loomed behind him, Max in front of him, the bookends of his life. Max was scanning the parking lot, almost like he wasn’t entirely sure what to do now that the retreat was behind him, before finally finding the thoughts to spring into action, he lumbered off towards the side of the parking lot where his rig was parked, Leon following behind on his hands and knees.

The cab smelled strangely clean. It seemed to him that the cab had always had a strong scent of his father’s messes, considering he usually drove for hours, shitting and pissing his seat, Leon’s face buried in his crotch most of the way, draining his dad’s balls for him, but it had to be their truck, right? It was probably just his memory being wrong. Besides, it would smell like home soon enough, he was certain. Max hefted himself up with considerable more ease and gave his son a rare smile. The retreat had been good for him, Leon thought, good for them both. A chance to relax and unwind for a little bit, and eat, of course.

Max turned the key and checked his itinerary–they were due for a shit orgy in Baton Rouge in two days, and then a pig party in Houston after that–checked the cameras in the cab, and pulled out. Leon smelled the piss before Max did, and leaned over, sucking it from the denim as it leaked out, and they pulled out of the parking lot, their new lives behind them, eyes on the future, and already looking forward to their next FAT retreat in a few months.

THE END

The FAT Retreat (Part 5)

***If you want to pussy out, now’s probably the time. Extreme scat, pain play, and humiliation ahead.***

– Day 5 –

Max had had a terrible night.

Of course, he’d had a terrible time ever since parting with Leon in the hallway, mostly because it had been that long since he’d had the chance to feel his amazing ass wrapped around his huge cock, and masturbation just wasn’t cutting it anymore. He’d slept fitfully, dozing for a few hours before waking up, angry and unsatisfied, jerking his cock raw, coating himself in load after load of cum while smelling the funk of the toilet that at this point was nearly brimming with his piss and shit, and all he could really feel now, as the lights in the room finally clicked on, was anger. He was angrier than he’d ever been in his entire life, and try as he might, he couldn’t find a way to bottle it up. Then again, he supposed that was the point of the last session he’d gone to.

After splitting up with Leon, he’d made his way to his own afternoon session, where a doctor and several assistants had told him he would be getting a few shots, and they would be monitoring his reactions to the drugs. They’d restrained him and then given him a large shot in his ass–nothing happened for a few minutes, and then he started to sweat, and he wondered if they were going to be wreaking his hygiene even more. In fact, the drug was what the doctor called a hyper-steroid–designed to do in a single dose what years of steroid abuse would do to a person’s body, without the need for constant application. Anxious, Max had asked the doctor whether that meant he would lose his fat and be muscular, and the doctor assured him that he would keep all of his fat–just bulk up underneath it.

The doctor hadn’t been kidding, and the entire session had been horrendously painful, as muscle tissue broke down and reknit over and over again, bulking up all over his body, filling him out, forcing the lab assistants to loosen his restraints every half hour as they became too tight for his growing form. True to the man’s word, Max lost none of his four hundred pounds of fat–he simply gained close to an extra hundred and fifty of muscle. By the time the drug’s effects began to subside, Max’s soft moobs had become huge, meaty pecs jutting out over his gut which, while still very flabby, was supported by a massively strong core. His shoulders and neck had grown thick, and nearly grown together, and his arms had bulked up to the size of a normal man’s leg, soft, but still capable of bending the iron bar the doctor gave to him to test his physical strength.

The men helped him stand up on legs as thick as trees, his thighs so wide he had to readjust how he walked, with a wide, heavy gait that could make the room shake slightly if he was heavy footed, his massive cock swinging from side to side, though it looked a bit more normal on him now, and the rush of hormones! He felt so damn powerful and aggressive, all he wanted to do was find someone to fuck, but the only person he wanted was Leon. At dinner, unable to find his roommate at the tables, he’d tried grabbing another cub, slamming him up against the wall and raping his ass, listening to him cry for help as Max rammed his cock in, but it wasn’t the same. Nothing felt like Leon’s ass, and that’s what he wanted–what he needed, and without it, he was growing angrier by the minute.

As he came again, he noticed something about the bed he was still lying on–it was wet. Well, not just wet, but kind of slimy, and…

Max sat up and looked at the bed, and saw that it was soaked with yellow. He’d pissed the bed in the night, and he hadn’t even noticed, and now that he was paying attention, he lifted his ass up and saw that he’d shit the bed as well, and apparently rolled in it all night long, judging by the way in was coating his thighs…He rubbed his hand in the muck and slathered it over his cock, helplessly jacking off again, unable to believe he’d made such a mess and loving it at the same time. That must have been what those other shots they’d given him had been for. he could vaguely remember the doctor shooting something into the ring of his ass, as well as into his taint. Had they made him incontinent? The thrill of it made him momentarily ashamed, but it was so hot that he couldn’t stop himself. But still, eventually he had to stop when the door to his room finally slid open, and the voice announced that it was time for breakfast.

He got up and pulled on the same set of clothes he’d been wearing the whole retreat, stinking of his sweat, piss and filth–although he could barely fit into them now at his new size. After his growth from the testosterone transference and the steroids, the pants were stretched tight across his thighs and could only reach the tops of his calves, and he ripped the shirt down the front, freeing his belly, the fabric stretched across his back and arms like a vest, and he ripped the sleeves off to complete the look, before leaving in search of breakfast. he was halfway to the mess when he felt something warm in the front of his pants–he was pissing, and he stopped, a bit embarrassed, feeling it puddle around his bare feet, but it felt so good he massaged his cock a couple of times to get off a shuddered load, and continued onward.

It was hard to believe, but somehow he was even hungrier than before. Then again, he was feeding a body several hundred pounds heavier than usual. Luckily, he was able to commandeer entire tables with his size, and anyone who challenged him usually ended up with at least a black eye, if not something worse. It wasn’t that Max really intended to hurt them; but whenever one of them came near his territory, this unthinking rage seemed to take over his entire body, and before he could stop himself he’d tackled someone to the ground and was pounding their face in with his fists until the hunger dragged him off and back to the table. In the midst of his feast, he felt a fart rip it’s way out of his ass along with a load of shit, and his pants were so tight it just backed up in his crack, but he didn’t notice until he was already out of the mess hall and on his way to his assigned lab, and he wasn’t entirely sure how he was going to make it through the day like this.

However, his concern was wiped away when he walked into the lab and saw the massive, tattooed man waiting for him, and his jaw dropped. What in the world had they done to Leon? It was no wonder he hadn’t gotten back to the room yesterday–he must have been in a lab all night if they tattooed him from head to toe–and it really was head to toe. However, that was all the attention he could give to the tattoos before Leon, who smelled Max’s filth as soon as he’d entered, started waddling over, eyes hungry, tongue out and panting, and Max slammed into him, throwing his roommate to the ground, rolling him over with one big foot and ramming his cock into Leon’s tight ass in one single thrust that made Leon scream out in a muddle of pain and pleasure.

It was as amazing as he remembered, and he could already tell that no other ass could make him feel like this. After two thrusts he’d already cum once, but Max was far from done, and as he fucked, it was like a flood of cum worked it’s way into Leon’s hole until it had been filled to capacity, and it just started spilling out every time max pulled his cock back. Leon just kept shouting and grunting, yelling at Max to fuck him harder, to make it hurt, but Max wasn’t listening–the entire world had disappeared as soon as he entered Leon’s ass, and all the anger that had built up overnight finally had a channel, and be beat that ass with his cock for what felt like hours, but it was only twenty minutes later that he finally regained some semblance of self-control and managed to withdraw.

“Thank you, that was a very nice control sample of your sexual dynamics,” someone was saying, and Max focused up, seeing a fat doctor making some marks on a clipboard. “I think you both are ready for induction. Both of you look here please,” the doctor said, holding up a strange, flashing light, and as soon as Max looked at it, he couldn’t look away, and then the whole world melted apart for a moment until he came back to himself, shaking his head and looking around the room, wondering what had just happened.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck, you’re so fuckin’ hot,” he heard someone say.

Max looked down and he saw Leon crawling towards him, but when he saw his roommate, he suddenly saw him in a completely different light. He wasn’t a hot fuck and a nice guy–he was a fucking disgusting piece of filth. In fact, just staring at him was making Max’s stomach turn, and when Leon tried to lick Max’s foot clean, he took a step back, sneered, and said, “What the fuck are you doing, you disgusting pig? What in the hell makes you think I want something like you touching me?”

Leon looked up at him, obviously wounded by the comment, but something had changed in him as well. Where the old Leon would have slung back with a barbed insult, or maybe even a fist, this new Leon, he knew that Max was right. He was disgusting. He was a pig. No one would want to have sex with him, why would they, really? But he wanted them, he wanted to make them happy, he wanted to service them. “Please, sir? Please? I just…I just want to clean your feet, I know I’m just a worthless pig sir, but I’m so hungry, and I promise I’ll be good, I’ll do everything you say, I swear.”

“Fuck off.”

“Please!” Leon said, begging now, his head against the ground, inches from Max’s feet, just staring at his filthy toes, “Please, I just…I just want to be a good pig sir, I just want to try and make you happy.”

“I’d be happiest if you were out of my sight.”

“Please don’t…don’t say that sir, please….please just let me try.”

Max looked down at the pig, a bit curious now. “Open your mouth.”

Leon did, and Max took his cigar and dumped a chunk of hot ash into the pig’s open mouth. The heat was nearly unbearable, but he knew what was expected of him. He soaked the ember in his spit and choked it down, before adding, “Thank you, sir.”

Max cocked an eyebrow, surprised at the pig’s eagerness. “Fine, you want to try to please me? A disgusting piece of trash isn’t worthy of my feet though. If you want to serve me, you’re gonna have to prove that you’re a real pig, that you’ll do anything for me,” Max said, and turned around, revealing his pants which were still bulging with the load of shit he let out into them earlier, “You’re gonna have to be my toilet pig. You want it? You want to eat my load of shit?”

Leon balked, and sat back on his knees, “I–I…I mean…”

“This is your only chance pig, either get your face in here, or get the fuck out.”

Leon stared at the brown seat of Max’s pants and at the door, and as much as he hated to admit it, the decision was easy–he just didn’t want it to be easy. he crawled up and started licking at the back of Leon’s pants, tasting the shit seeping through, and Max reached around with both hands, grabbed the pants and ripped them apart, the shit spilling out onto Leon’s face, and like a good pig he ate as much as he could, rubbing his face in the mess, eating it all up, Max urging him on. When he’d eaten everything out of the crack and started licking it clean, Max turned around and started picking up shit where it had fallen on the floor and crammed it into Leon’s mouth, packing it full before ramming his cock down the pig’s throat, listening to him gag and sputter, trying to breathe, swallow and pleasure Max’s huge cock all at the same time, and the huge brute came over and over, washing the shit down with torrents of his cum, skullfucking Leon without caring, and Leon didn’t want him to care. He wanted the abuse, he wanted to be hated, he wanted to be humiliated more than anything by this beastly god.

“Good, very good,” the doctor said, “Now if you could both look here again?”

It was the light again, and with his cock still down Leon’s throat, Max felt himself sucked back into the light, his world twisted upside down, and then he was spat back out, and he was looking down at the pig, and a flash of anger ripped through him, and he reached down, grabbed hold of the two huge rings the pig had through his fat man tits and gave them a wrenching twist, watching the pig howl in pain around his cock. “Yeah, that’s good, fucking scream, bitch!” Max twisted harder, watching Leon moan and twist, and he realized the pig was pulling away from Max’s hands, making it hurt more. The pig liked it–the pig was a glutton for punishment. Max let go if the pig’s rings took the cigar out of his mouth, grinding the hot butt against Leon’s forehead, watching the spot blister as Leon screamed, and then threw him to the ground and kicked Leon until he rolled over onto his huge stomach.

It was still slick with his cum from earlier, and that was all the lube he needed to slide his fist all the way inside of Leon’s hole, the pig sighing, and then Max was punching the pig’s insides, hammering at his prostate with as much power as he could muster, watching the pig shiver and quake, and then he started working in his other hand, stretching Leon’s hole to the ripping point, listening to him beg and shout for more–more pain, more fucking, and between both of his hands, Max slid in his still hard cock as well. “Your hole is so fucking loose I might as well climb inside your cunt,” Max said, jacking his cock with both hands inside of Leon’s ass, “Fucking worthless–you think an ass this loose can fucking please me? Why in the fuck would I want such a worthless, shitty pig? Still, you want me though, don’t you? You want me to hurt you so fucking much…”

“Oh god sir, please–it hurts so bad, but I deserve it, I need it. You can do whatever you want to me, I don’t care, but I need you sir, I need to be with you. I know I’m–I’m not worth anything. I know there are hundreds of pigs you’d rather have, but I have to serve you sir, no one can make me hurt like you do, no one can abuse me like you will…”

“Fuck pig, you may be disgusting, but you know how to get a guy horny,” Max said, and came again in Leon’s ass, milking as much of his cum out as he could with his hands, worming his way in deeper still, and the doctor comes up with his clipboard, scribbling more notes.

“That’s better, I think one more time, please.”

He held up the light and Max felt himself blink, and one second he had his cock and both hands buried in Leon’s cunt, and the next he was standing up on the other side of the room, and something felt different. He was clothed, not in his rags, but in a set of filthy, worn leathers–chaps, motorcycle boots, leather harness strapped tight against his fat and muscle, a muir cap tipped forward on his head, and there across the room, his fucking worthless pig slave, naked, covered in shit and cum, his hands bound up in mitts, it’s disgusting face well hidden behind the hood moulded to look like a pig’s head, and hood sealed to it’s neck by a thick steel collar.

Max reached down and felt the heavy wooden paddle hanging on the belt of his chaps, and he hefted it up, striding around behind the pig, smacking it softly against his gloved hand, letting the slave know what was coming, but the first blow connected not with the pig’s ass, but with the top of his back, behind the shoulder blades, hard enough for the pig’s arms to collapse, and then Max started slamming the paddle against his raised ass with glee, taking a break on occasion to grind the pig’s face into the tiled floor with a boot before paddling him some more, not stopping until the pig’s ass was bright red and welted, and then he threw the paddle to the side and started fucking his pig.

Yes. His pig. He owned this pigslave, it was his property. Sure, it was disgusting. Sure, he despised it, but it served him eagerly and there was something to be said for that. As he was fucking him, ramming his hips hard against the pig’s sore cheeks, he felt a warmth as well, and he realized he was actually pissing in his slave’s ass. He buried in deep, making sure the pig knew what was happening. Making sure the pig knew it was just a toilet, a urinal, an object–nothing more. Making sure it had no illusions. That Max didn’t care about it, didn’t love it, didn’t respect it. Making sure it knew that as soon as it could no longer serve, it would be abandoned at the first rest area they passed, chained to the wall for anyone to use and take if they wanted a worthless, broken down, second hand pig. And Leon did know it. He knew it all, and he accepted his role with all his heart. He wanted it. He didn’t want to be loved. He didn’t deserve love or respect. he hated himself, but he was happy serving. He was happy to be of some small use to a beautiful, brutal god like his master.

The doctor let Max fuck his pig for the remainder of the session, and when it was time for lunch he gave Max a leash for his pig, and he led Leon back to the mess hall on his hands and knees, Leon behind him the entire time, watching his master’s ass in case Max had an accident that he might need to clean up quickly. For the first half of their lunch, Max was the only one eating. Leon would follow behind him, only allowed to eat the scraps that fell to the floor as Max ate–that and Max’s shit. As his master was devouring a massive cake with his hands, Leon saw his master’s ass start to distend, and he quickly moved to catch the shit and devour it as quickly as he could like a good pig toilet. Max didn’t even notice–all he could focus on was making sure he kept up his bulk.

When Max was satisfied, he parked Leon next to a table and started stuffing food down his throat as fast as he could, Leon eating more than he’d ever managed to before, his master taunting him the entire time, telling him how disgusting fat he was going to be, telling him that if he was going to be a pig, he was going to be the biggest, fattest pig on the face of the planet. Leon was just happy for the attention, happy for the acknowledgement from his master, happy being fed, knowing that he wouldn’t be wasting away today, that for the moment he didn’t have to be afraid of withering.

Before long, Max wasn’t shoving food in with his hands, but with his cock, and suddenly he threw Leon to the floor and was ramming his cock into his pigslave’s hole. Leon struggled to get down the pile of food still in his mouth, and with his hands reached down and yanked on the rings through his moobs, feeling his worthless cock seep cum into his fatpad. Looking around the room, he could see that the rest of the men at the retreat had formed a wide circle around them, with most of them just staring. All of them looked to have gained a substantial amount of weight since they’d arrived, but none of them looked to be as extreme as him. He was the lowest–he was always going to be the lowest, and that was where he deserved to be. In his dull mind, he tried to connect back some of what he thought he could remember, how he’d arrived just days earlier, muscular and ready to help a bunch of fat men lose weight, but how could he have gone from that to this so quickly? He could barely remember everything that had happened to him, and with his poor memory, everything he seemed like it could just have easily have been imagined from horny fantasies in his mind.

The doors had slid open, signalling the end of lunch, but as far as Max was concerned, lunch wasn’t finished until he was satisfied. A good ten minutes later, the room almost entirely empty, he finally withdrew, picked up Leon’s collar and yanked him along, the two of them directed by the orderlies to another lab. Leon was still in his strange head space of trying to figure out what was going on–in his simplified mind, it seemed to amplify everything around him in the present. Nothing was permanent to him, nothing could seem to stick in his memory, rendering it as a dream, and he prayed with each moment that he wouldn’t wake up, that he wouldn’t go back to that skinny body, near death, without his master. Nothing could be worse than that, could it?

The lab, it turned out, was the same lab, with the same doctor, they’d been with in the morning, however, the room had been sanitized and scrubbed clean, and there were two chairs surrounded by electrical equipment which they were directed into. Max settled into one on his own, but the doctor and his assistants had to help Leon into his. For some reason, standing up and sitting down felt so awkward and human to him. It wasn’t a position which came naturally to him any longer. The doctor and his assistants began wiring up them both, and the doctor explained what would be happening in the session, although Leon and Max understood almost none of what he was saying.

It was, the doctor said, to be a two stage process. First, long term memories would be scrubbed and withered with targeted EST, and then the write on would begin, scribing new long term memories in their place, enough that they both would be able to fill in the blanks on their own. Leon wanted to know more, he was secretly afraid that he would be returning to his slim body that he could remember distantly, but before he could get his concerns out, a sharp pain ripped through his head and face, sending him into a violent convulsion, and in the mental space that remained as he shook, there was…nothing. No memories of himself, he felt like a clean slate, all of his concerns, all of his memories of that horrid body he may or may not have had wiped clean, and in their absence, a relief Leon couldn’t explain overcame him. Everything was going to be ok now, he was safe. He no longer knew what he was safe from, but it was gone–gone forever.

The second wave of shocks were less painful, but only because they were so powerful that they knocked both Leon and Max out the moment the struck. Max resisted more, as hard as he could, his hardened will and aggression no longer willing to cede ground, but the force of the electricity overwhelmed him, and room faded to black, and he something began to swim to the surface of his mind, memories, but not his memories, surely. But if not his, then whose?

–He was climbing out of his beat up F-150 a few years ago, before he’d been laid off from the plant and started trucking cross country, heading up the steps of his single wide where he lived with his son, Leon. What a disappointment. Max was a man’s man. Burly, hairy, muscular, tough, and his son was nothing like him. In his heart, he’d always secretly wondered if he was even his, whenever he looked at his fat frame, his hairless body, it had always been a bit disgusting to him, actually. He climbed the steps and let himself in the trailer door, and stopped short, when he smelled sex and his brother’s brand of cigars, and there on the couch, Randy was balls deep in his son’s ass on the couch, Leon moaning and grunting like a whore.

Randy, wide eyed, had stopped fucking and looked back at Max. He’d always been littler than his big brother, and he wasn’t quite sure what to expect. The brothers had fooled around plenty since they were kids, but, well, fucking your nephew was territory he hadn’t expected to enter. Still, Leon had begged him for his cock, getting him all horny, telling him how half the football team had been using his fat ass as a cum dump for months now, how he’d always wondered what his uncle’s cock might taste like, how it might feel in his pigcunt, and how could Randy say no, really?

Max however, wasn’t surprised, but he was angry. Not at Randy–he was a horndog who’d stick his cock anywhere. Not even really at Leon, not directly. The boy was a pig–of course he was a worthless fucking bottom. But indirectly? It was somewhat his fault, his fault for siring a fucking pig–but if Leon wanted to be a pig, then Max was happy to oblige. He dropped his pants, letting his huge cock flop out, and walked around to Leon’s face.

“Not a fucking surprise. You’re a fucking slut, aren’t you? What a fucking disgrace.”

Leon tried to say something. An apology? A request for his dad to fuck his face? Before he could say anything Max had already delivered on the second, and when he and Randy were satisfied, they’d tied Leon up and Max made a few calls to all of his friends and fuck buddies in the county, announcing open season on his son’s hole–

Darkness, memories coming faster than either of them could process now, and they would occasionally catch larger snippets of them as they passed by.

–Leon had thought he’d wanted this. Thought he’d wanted to his dad’s slave, his pig, but tied to a chair, being force fed food for hours on end, he was begging for his father to stop. Max, however, would have none of it.

“You told me this is what you’d wanted, and from how hard that little clit cock of yours is, I’d suggest you open up and shut up, bitch.”

It was during one of their marathon feedings that Max had discovered something new about his son–how sensitive he was to pain. More than that, pain made him compliant. Pain seemed to make Leon…happy. Max didn’t understand it. How could such a worthless piece of trash be his? He considered selling him off, but yanking on Leon’s tits, listening to his scream for more, slapping and punching him around was so satisfying–

Even faster, and more vivid now. The electricity was just a dull hum in the room, each of them rigid. Max was still trying to fight them, but it was purely instinct. There was nothing he could do to stop these thoughts, nothing at all. But still, looking at what he’d done to his son, he was so proud of what a man he’d been. This had been the right thing to do, and he liked having a pig, but he didn’t love that slave, couldn’t love him, not really…could he?

–They were coming along great. His son would never be able to hide his pig self now, not with tatts all over his body, not with piercings slammed in everywhere Max could fit them. Even better, this was actually his pigs reward! Leon begs him to go get more tattoos and piercings, he loves how the guns and needles feel in his body, he loves the pain. This one is a reward for being a good little pig and learning how to drink down all of his daddy’s piss, and this next week, well, Max isn’t planning on using the toilet ever again. Leon doesn’t know what’s coming, but from now on, he’s going to be a full service pigtoilet, and Max has a feeling he’s going to love it–

Next to him, Leon was spasming, his puny pig cock leaking piss, the sheer eroticism of what his dad had done to him making him so happy. Still, his mind was so wrecked that as soon as a memory occured they simply faded away almost immediately, forming a long haze of abuse and pain stretching back as far as he could reach.

–”You’re going to eat it.”

“No, dad–”

“I’m not you’re fucking father, and you’re not my fucking son, you fucking know better bitch!”

Max punched Leon in his face, feeling his son’s nose fracture, blood gushing down onto his tattooed chest and belly, but even though it must hurt, all Leon can do is grunt and moan in pleasure at being abused.

“You’re going to eat it, or here’s what’s going to happen. I know a biker gang, I met them on my last trip out to Cali, and they’re always looking for pig slaves, but they ain’t as nice as I am. First, they’ll rip out your teeth, and pop out your eyes, and cup off your hands and feet, and chain you to the fuckin’ wall, and that’s where you’ll fuckin’ stay for fuckin’ ever, a real fuckin’ toilet, and if you’d rather have that, by all means keep doin’ what you’re doin’ slave, because I’m gettin’ real tired of this bullshit of yours.

Leon was crying now, and when Max squatted over his face this time, he didn’t protest.

“That’s a good pig, eat up for daddy,” Max said, yanking on Leon’s tits, listening to him gag–

They were rocketing towards the present now, and the memories were growing clearer, but still shooting by at an incredible pace. The electricity was dying down as they entered the last couple of years, and FAT came into their relationship.

–Truly the Fat Action Team is the best thing Max had ever found. He’d never known that there were so many guys in the world who would pay to watch him fuck his fat pig slave of a son on their cross country drives. Of course he’d do anything the Fat Action Team told him to do, he’d already made plenty of sacrifices to increase his ratings. He’d happily taken on the steroid treatments, but sure, he’d balked at the incontinence. Still, he loved the sensation of pissing himself night and day, of shitting the back of his pants, and the guys watching his cams loved it too. He owed the Fat Action Team everything, he’d do anything for them, because they were everything to him–

Finally, the rush was sowing down, they could start coming back to themselves, move their bodies, but the memories kept coming, pushing out all of their old lives. They didn’t exist anymore–this was their past and their reality–their lives.

–Fuck, they were giving it to him rough, but Leon was a real trooper, Max thought, holding the camera as the two huge bikers took his pig from both ends in a rest stop bathroom. Over the last year, ever since working with FAT, he’d started to appreciate his son a bit more for the pig he was. Sure, he was a disgusting piece of filth, by damn, when the pig wanted something, well, he had a way of getting it. Kind of like Max, as much as he hated admitting it. Maybe the two of them had more in common than he wanted to believe.

The biker’s finished up and Leon thanked them for letting him serve their cocks. Max turned off the camera, and walked over to Leon, getting down and rubbing his son’s smooth, tattooed head, “Ya know, you might actually manage to make me proud one day, pig,” he said, and Leon smirked. Max gave him a playful slap, and then gave his son a kiss, tasting his foul mouth, piss sweat, shit, cum, ash–

The doctor shut off the electricity, and watched the two subjects sag in their seats, pleased with the memory induction, and certain it would take hold. Now, however, the subjects would sleep until morning, he was sure. He called for several orderlies, and together they all managed to heft both huge men into wide wheelchairs and drive them off to their room. Another successful retreat, the doctor thought with a nod, excited to do it all again with a new batch of men next week.

I know it’s rather terrifying–just calm down and breathe–the water is warm and comfortable, nothing to worry about Justin. Yes, I know your name, I know quite a bit about you, actually. Now, it’s come to me from a confidential source that you aren’t a fan of rimming, Justin! Why, you absolutely refuse to give a man’s hole the time of day. Well, I’m here to show you the error of your ways, don’t you worry about that. We’ll have you right as rain in no time.

Yes, that’s better–just stop struggling and breathe. Now, I’m sure you’re wondering why I’ve brought you here and who I am. Well, let’s just say that I’m a man who takes a keen interest in men like you–men who, for one reason or another, have put up these ridiculous boundaries against what you will and won’t do. You’re only here because, well, I want to expand your horizons.

Oh, look at you squirm–you don’t like that do you? It must smell and taste like someone just farted right in your mouth.

You’re going to try holding your breath? Really? I mean, the tube isn’t attached to your face, I won’t force you to do anything, but How long do you think you can last, Justin? Like it or not, those farts will keep you alive, but if you’d rather drown, I suppose that’s fair.

See? I knew you’d rather live. You appreciate that gas now, don’t you? Those farts are keeping you alive, and will be your lifeline for the forseeable future. Still, that’s not the only thing that I can feed down that tube, you know. How long do you think it will take, before you realize that you need ass and shit to live? Probably no more than a month, I think, with a few of my mindwarp tracks looping in that ear piece of yours all day and night. I can see you now, on your knees in the bathhouses, tongue buried up some bottom’s filthy shit chute. He lets out a cunny fart, and you breathe it all in, licking the frothy cum from your lips. Oh, you’re gonna be such a good asskisser, I can already tell. Well, I’ll come back and check on you next week, and see how you’re progressing. Enjoy yourself, and here’s a track to keep you company in the meantime.

“W–What? Where am I?”

“Shhh…It’s ok, you’re safe here with me.”

“What the, let me go! What the fuck is this shit, are you a faggot or something? And…and what the hell are you wearing! That shit looks fucking gross, and I can fucking smell you across the room.”

“Well, you see, I saw you at the bar last night, and you were so cute, I just couldn’t resist bringing you home with me. In fact, you were quite agreeable the whole time, but I do love a struggle. Still, you’ll be plenty happy here in a few months.”

“A few…a few months! You freak–Help! Somebody help!”

“The nearest neighbors are miles away Clyde, it’s just you and me.”

“What are you–stay the fuck away from me!”

“Mmm…I do love stubble. And it’s so thick! I bet your beard will look amazing when it’s all grown in and ragged. Not sure if I’ll keep your head shaved though–we’ll have to see.”

“Oh my god, you fucking reek man, what the fuck–have you ever taken a shower?”

“Oh, you’re one to talk, you know. Go to sleep, piggy…Can you hear me, pig?”

“…Yes, master…”

“Pig, it would feel so good if, right now, you pissed yourself, right here where you’re sitting, and it would feel even better if you shit as well. Can you do that for me?…Oh yes, that’s good, look at that stain, and I can smell that shit already, that’s very good pig, you’re a very, very good pig, it feels good, doesn’t it? It feels good shitting and pissing yourself?”

“Yes master, it feels very good…”

“Now, I want you to remember how good this feels, and when you wake up, even though you’re disgusted with yourself, you’ll still feel aroused by how much of a dirty pig you’ve been. Now, wake up piggy.”

“W–what? I…what…”

“Look at that, what a dirty guy you are, pissing and shitting yourself in my house.”

“I didn’t, I mean–no, don’t–”

“I do love the feeling of warm shit, don’t you Carl? Look how hard that cock of yours is. I think someone likes being dirty. Now I have to piss, so open wide Carl–and you’ll even get to taste my filthy jock while I’m at it. Yes, you’re going to be staying here for a long time I think, but you’ll learn how much you love it soon enough.”

Was this going to be enough? Would he finally be satisfied? Erik knew inside of himself that he wouldn’t, even as he trudged through the manure in the barn, the scent of the muck already making his dick rise up inside the stiff crotch of the overalls he’d taken from The Wall at The Center–the place which claimed that it could find work for everyone that came in, and in addition, promised that everyone would enjoy their new jobs. If they still didn’t feel quite right in their new positions, they could come back the next day, where they would be given a new occupation until they found the right one for everyone.

This was Erik’s fourth job he’d gotten from the Center so far. He’d worked in construction the first two days, finding himself enjoying the act of getting dusty and dirty, muddy and grimy and musky, every day finding someone around to fuck with in the mud. On the third day, which he spent emptying porta-potties, he’d fucked a nasty laborer inside one, stinking of shit, and cleaned out his filthy hole before fucking the shit out of him literally. And now, the overalls he’d picked from The Wall had landed him cleaning out the manure on a farm, and when he caught eyes with his fellow shit shoveler, they ended up rolling around in the muck, fucking and pissing and cumming over and over again.

He learned then, that The Center wasn’t really meant to provide people with jobs–it was designed to condition people for the jobs no one in their right mind would request. The next morning, he found himself pulled to the shit covered rubber overalls and gloves, he pulled them on and went to the gay bathhouse where he worked as a full service toilet. Still, by the end of the night, his now dull mind couldn’t imagine having any other job, and he knew he was lucky to be paid to do something he truly loved doing.

Into the Night of God – Part 3

***WARNING***

If the first two parts of this were too much for you to handle, don’t read this one. Just don’t. Or rather, read it expecting a horror story–not erotica. Contains amputation, genital nullification, mental death, scat, and bestiality.

Commissioned by Anonymous

Part 3 – The Night

Bruin whines in his crate, but I don’t do anything with him yet. I’m not sure what to do with him yet, to be honest–I had apparently misjudged the weight of the connection they must have formed during the day in the hospital, to allow something like this to happen. Rather, that was a lie. I know what I have to do to him, but I would like there to be some other option. There isn’t though, and it’s all the damn doctor’s fault. I could have been merciful. He could have been happy here, serving and worshiping me, but he clung like a rat to a life that I’d forbidden. He defied me, with that damn journal of his–I should have burned it when I’d had the chance. Still,confidence breeds foolishness–I will be more careful when adding to my flock in the future.

I pour myself another shot of whisky, and take a drag off my smoke. My calm blend tonight, even though it makes my limbs heavy–I need to take the edge off my mind, and file off the anger for a moment. There will be other times for anger, but not now–I have to be calm for what’s coming, if I lose control…well, then I’ll be out a pig. This will require careful work, and I can’t let that fuck mess things up anymore than he has already. Still, he was quite the actor–looking through these new entries in his book, he’s been out from under my mental control for a little over a month now, regaining his thoughts bit by bit, pushing back against me. His mental fortitude is impressive–I introduced him to the donkey a few weeks ago, and Jack does not have a small dick. Still, maybe he really does like it? It doesn’t matter now, still, I find I’m curious anyway.

I pour another shot and flip through the diary again, looking at his thought process, at his plan. It could have worked, if he’d picked a better time, if he’d studied me better, but he’d panicked and run too soon. Grabbing Bruin and getting in the truck, planning on making a break for it–what a fool. Still, I’d stopped them easily enough, even if I’d had to shoot out two of my tires. I’m gonna have to fix those tomorrow–I hate car work. He’s just been one big headache since I’d met him, since that fucker had run over my last dog. I know I lost control, I know I went to far, burning him like that. Still, it hasn’t been a complete waste, even if it had taken me months to clean it all up. I can’t help that I lose control sometimes–I just can’t handle the extent of my wrath. Still, I’m feeling good and calm now. I’m under control, I’m feeling mellow, and I think it’s time.

I’ll deal with Bruin tomorrow and the rest of the week, while the pig heals. I’ll just have to destroy him, as much as I hate doing that. It makes for a dumb ass dog, but his loyalty–an animal is worthless without that. I can’t have him care for anyone else. I’m the important one, Me! I’m his master, how fucking dare he, feeling for anyone else, especially some fucking rich ass twinky doctor like that! I hate him, I’m gonna kill him, I’m gonna make him wish he’d never been born I’m–

Breathe. Deep breaths, keep calm, it will all be sorted out in time. I nearly lost it there, but I can’t postpone this any longer, he needs to be dealt with. He needs to learn his lesson, he needs to understand that I’m the one he has to answer to for his wrongs. That I’m God here, that it’s my judgement, my farm, my world that he’s in now, and my word is law.

I step out into the cold night–but Spring will be here before too long, I imagine. It has been a long winter, but Bruin and the Doc at least kept me busy, and I suppose the Doc will keep me busy this summer too. He’s in the barn, bound up on the cross I keep there for play when I want a change of setting. It’s even darker in there, and I turn on the lights, watch him blink awake, and he’s angry. He’s yelling, but I say nothing. I have to make this quick, before I lose it, before I just decide to just gut him and end it, but he deserves worse than that, he deserves true punishment, but it will be slow, and he will regret defying me.

Right hand first, with the hedge clippers. Thumb, and every finger cut off at the root. He screams, understanding–or beginning to–what he’s done to himself. Then the second hand like the first. I could take the whole hand as punishment for theft, but I take both his feet instead, saw them off below the ankle. He’s begging now–pleading with me, the fool. God’s don’t respond to the pleas of mortals, God’s don’t care about their subjects. What a delusional fuck.

Two more operations. I dig into his mouth with a bloody hand, drag out his tongue and snip off half, stopping the bleeding as quick as I can, and then the final cut, I remove his balls and cock with a single snip, and then tend to his bleeding and wounds. I wonder if I should just let him die, but that’s too easy for him, for the defyer, for the pig. He’s sobbing now, he’s already hopeless. Good, but as a final measure, I douse his cock and balls on the ground where they lay in gasoline and light them on fire, before leaving, shutting out the lights, the flame his only light–for the moment. Now, I must let him heal before we continue.

I focus on Bruin for the next few days as I planned, and it is good practice for what I will eventually do to the pig as well. It is a hybrid I have rarely used because it is exceptionally strong–it destroys the mind, rather than enhancing it. For the tribes, any who used it were generally left as nothing more than drooling fools, rendered more like animals than anything else. It was supposed that strong spirits dwelt in these particular leaves, the spirits of animals, and that they would overwhelm anyone with a weak spirit. In fact, they simply degrade an individual’s mental faculties so far that they can barely reason, behaving more on instinct than anything, but the hypnotic state that it induces is strong enough that it can overcome anything, even love.

I administer it to Bruin through the gasmask. His remaining humanity disappears quickly, and before I realize my object, I begin to replace it with anger and hatred. I pour my own dire emotions into him, I make him hate the pig, I make Bruin loathe him, I make him trust only me, his Master, his God, the Divine. I stop before I lose too much of his mind, but he’s far stupider–just an angry brute, a guard dog, a hunting dog. When I let him loose in the fields after this, I often find him later in the day, his mouth caked in the blood of some rabbit he chased and disemboweled during the day. He makes me so proud. I love that beast, and he now, truly, only loves me.

I bring this new Bruin before the pig as he heals, as well. I show him what he made me do to our pup–my pup. I show him how Bruin hates him. In the barn Bruin leaps at him, leash taut, leaping for his throat, ready to kill him should I release the lead. The look on the pig’s face–terror, but also regret and sorrow. He understands. He understands that this was his fault, that he made me do this, that this is all part of his punishment, in the end. He is healing well, though. My healing blends have closed his wounds, and they are scarring well. I mind his crotch–well, it’s crotch, now. I mind it to make sure it can still piss through a small hole, but otherwise it is just a flat, round scar–nothing left of it’s manhood, as it should be.

I fuck and fist it, and it still finds it pleasurable. It still realizes it belongs to me, that I control it. I love knowing that the act of pleasing me still brings a stupid grin to its face. On occasion, I regret what I have done, but I must remain steadfast. It had to be done, it had to be punished, I cannot allow myself to be defied. There is more to be done, more work to do, and it will begin soon. I start him with the smoke. The pig’s mind is far, far sharper than Bruin’s, it will take much longer to unravel, but I will enjoy watching it happen. It struggles against the gasmask at first, coughs from the smoke, but as soon as he has sucked it all down and gone limp, I pull it away and begin introducing it’s new habits and desires. Especially it’s hunger. It will be central to him, his stomach his new mind. The next day, I test him, and put him in a stall with a trough, and begin pouring in the slop.

The pig fights it for a few moments, but cannot resist for long. It devours as much as it can, and quickly, it realizes that he cannot stop. The trough never empties, I make sure of that, and even though the pig grows fuller than it has ever been before, it continues eating non-stop, until it collapses from exhaustion and faints. I wait until it wakes again after close to an hour, and sure enough, it continues eating–the compulsion is far too strong for it to fight. I have already won, and he doesn’t even realize it. He still fights the compulsion, still believes it has will, that it can defy it’s Lord God.

I clean up after the pig for now. I want it to grow accustomed to its new appetite. At first, it can only eat in two hour blocks, but soon its stomach has stretched large enough that it can continue eating for nearly three times as long. It no longer fights against the compulsion, the hunger has only grown stronger. I have smoked him two more times, reinforcing it’s need to eat, but I hold back. I don’t want to destroy it’s mind entirely, not yet, I want it to realize what it will become, I want it to accept it, to accept it’s complete submission to my will.

I’ve been taking care of the pig’s waste so far, scooping it out along with the rest of the hog manure, but I decide it’s time the pig starts managing it’s own matters. I smoke it again, and this time, the hunger becomes paired with a need for filth. I expect this one will take more work to ingrain within his psyche, but that’s alright–I have all the time in the world. Spring is now nearly giving way to summer, and I’m minding the pig less. I’m working on several new hybridizations, and I have my own crops to maintain. Bruin is as good a guard dog as any, and only grows more loyal to me by the day. Still, one day he got into the barn by accident, and I had to drag him off the pig before he killed it–still, it gave the hog a much needed, and much enjoyed–fright, for me at least.

The pig doesn’t want me to know what it’s been doing, I can tell. It’s doing it’s best to hide it, but I can see–the streaks of shit across it’s growing body, and finally I catch it in the act. I look in the stall, and there it is, rolling in it’s own massive pile of filth, grunting and snorting as it does, and before it can do anything about it, I’m straddling it, my cock down it’s throat, and I piss gallons into it’s guts, and it loves it. I can tell. It gives me a chance to see it’s growth too. As much as I detest chemicals, the additives and hormones in the slop have been working marvelously. The pig’s muscles have withered, and it’s packing on fat faster than anything I’ve seen. I fist it’s filthy hole next, and then force it to lick it the filth off my arm. I want it to realize that I did this. That I’ve known what it’s been doing all along, that it has no secrets from me, not anymore. The last place it can hide, it’s mind–not even that will last, but it doesn’t realize that yet. It will soon though.

The need and compulsion for filth grows, as I increase the frequency of it’s smoke sessions. The first signs of mental loss are showing–the pig will “blank out” as I call it, and run on instinct alone for minutes at a time. It’s new obsessions dominate it, and I watch it wake up from these mental time gaps, it’s face in a pile of hog manure from the pig in the next stall, and it’s horrified, but it can’t stop. Before long, I don’t even have to clean up after the pigs–the hog does all the work for me before I can get to it. Still though, it eats. I feed it too, my own shit. It fought the first time, but now it’s excited–it craves it. I bring it Bruin’s as well, and make sure it knows where it came from as it chews it down.

I begin pressing deeper into the pig’s mind, destroying it forcefully. I remove its memories–its past. It can no longer remember a time when it wasn’t a pig on my farm, when I didn’t own it, mind, body and soul. The blanks last longer now–hours at a time. But he is fighting me still. He still believes he can win if he tries hard enough. But you can’t win against God, you can’t defy me and expect a chance to defy me again. Still, I taunt it, on occasion. I bring it out of the barn. I leave it by the side of the road, and I step back. I give it the choice, I give it the chance to leave. I tell it that I won’t follow, that it can crawl into town if it wants, or wait for some passerby to find it and rescue it. I know that my commandments are too strong for such a weak pig to resist them, but it fights them anyway. It gets a few hundred yards down the road before it’s fat body, too tired and exhausted to make the trek, overloads its feeble mind. It blanks, and the pig inside draws it back to the barn to feed, to degrade itself for my pleasure.

How must it feel, when it loses consciousness on the road, and winds up back in it’s stall, eating, or licking the holes of it’s fellow pigs? I’m sure it’s beginning to realize what’s happening to its mind. It probably assumes that I bring it back though, that I stop it. I wonder when it will see the truth–that deep down, it wants to be here. That the animal I’ve crafted within it is winning. That before long, there will be no doctor–just a pig. A fat fucking pig covered in filth, devouring shit and piss, desperate to be fucked and fisted by me, it’s Lord and Master–it’s God. Sometimes, when it collapses, exhausted from eating, I listen to it sob. That’s how I know he’s still in there, how I know he’s losing, but hasn’t lost yet. Still, I should make it more tempting, I should corrupt it even further now.

Another session of smoke, but this time–pleasure. How much pleasure it gets from it’s filthy life. How content it is here. Now, when it devours the pig’s manure, I watch it shudder with delight. It can no longer cum, certainly, but it can orgasm. I watch as the pleasure overwhelms his disgust, I watch the doctor begin to rationalize its own descent into darkness. “This isn’t so bad,” it is thinking, “I am fed, I am cared for, I am happy. It could be worse.” But could it? Could it really be worse? Have I not been creative enough? Have I not punished it enough? The pig has fallen so far that he can no longer recall what he was, what it’s life could have been. His world is shrinking. I define the world, and the pig’s place within it, and he can do nothing but nod gleefully and accept it. Then, I give him pleasure for his service and piety. A pig’s pleasure, but pleasure all the same, to him.

I smoke him every day now, he is getting close to the final night of the mind. He struggles to understand me now. I speak to him often, but he usually just stares at me blankly, unable to comprehend language and words that should be familiar to him. He tries so hard though, to understand me, to comprehend the word of the Lord, but his brain can no longer grasp it, and he will inevitably blank out, and wander off to search out whatever filth it can find to satiate it’s never ending hunger. How must it think, when it is aware of itself? In images? In feelings? It’s language is disappearing, things must seem so simple now. Eat. Filth. Fist. Piss. Happy. Sad. Pain. Nothing else, anymore, aside from a few stubborn remnants.

It spends entire days, now, in the instinctual darkness. My mindless pig, obsessed with filth and devouring anything in front of it. It is clear that in it’s rare moments of relative lucidity, it struggles to piece together anything like a rational thought. I wonder if it still has any capacity to hate it’s life? It doesn’t seem to. At this point, it’s thoughts must be of how lucky it is to have a life which gives it so much pleasure. That, or simply confusion. Its mind struggling to do something–anything–with these higher order thoughts which were once so second nature, but which serve no purpose in the world I have made for it to exist in. I am with it nearly constantly now. I want to see it, that moment when the light goes out forever, when it’s mind finally shuts off, when it can no longer recognize itself as a self. I decide, finally, that I will give it a moment so pleasurable, so full of instinctual bliss, that it will give me the moment I have been waiting for for so long now.

I give it a pile of fresh sludge and slop, and it squeals with delight, hurling itself into it, eating it, covering itself with it, and then in comes the stallion. It has never ridden a cock this large, but it is eager to try, and It is soon impaled on it, the horse thrusting it into the pile of muck, and I can see the massive waves of pleasure rippling through it’s obese body, but the eyes, I watch the eyes. In them, there is a flame, it flares wildly. It can’t comprehend this situation, it has discovered bliss, it has witnessed the divine in it’s pleasure, has entered heaven, and then it dies. The pig continues, but it is an empty vessel now. It has known my wrath, and it has known my bliss. Night has fallen, and dawn will never come.

Birthday Boy

Commissioned by Anonymous

Someone commissioned me to expand this caption from a few months ago. Remember, if you have a favorite caption you’d love to see me expand, I’m still open for commissions!

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Oliver felt his head come back to him slowly, as he tried to remember what had happened to him. He’d been coming home from work late, on his usual route, when a van had pulled up next to him, and some men had jumped out, drugging him and dragging him inside the van. His head hurt and was very foggy, but he shook himself awake as fast as he could, and got his bearings–but that didn’t help make sense of what had happened.

He was in a small room which had been decorated to look like a baby’s nursery, all bright blues, toys in every corner, and he was in a massive crib, on his knees, with plastic handcuffs holding his wrists to the bars. He was wearing some ludicrous outfit too–a full fleece onesie with his hands mittened so he couldn’t even grab anything, and as he struggled, he realized he had something else on underneath that–a diaper. “What the–what the fuck is this?” he shouted, “Let me out of here, you sick fucks!”

He struggled for a few more minutes, and then he heard a click of a lock and the door opened, and in stepped a massive bear of a man. He was probably in his fifties or maybe even his sixties, and something about him, maybe it was his smiling, beaming face, or his fuzzy beard, he just looked…sweet and kind, and like someone Oliver might have wanted to meet in any other situation than this one. “Hows the baby today? It’s your birthday today! Isn’t that exciting? How does baby like his birthday outfit? I think you look super handsome in it.”

“What the hell, let me go man, come on…” Oliver said, pulling at the cuffs again, but the big man grabbed his wrist hard enough for it to hurt, and he froze.

“Now, now, daddy can’t have his newest baby boy getting out on his first birthday, now can he?” Daddy said, “No, we have to keep you secure for a little while, until I can trust you to stay in your crib like a good baby.”

“I’m not staying in here asshole, let me out, let me–” he said, but the man pulled out a big pacifier and stuffed it in Oliver’s open mouth and strapped it around the back of his head so he couldn’t spit it out.

“Babies aren’t supposed to talk like adults, you know. I think this’ll keep you quiet until you’re talking more like yourself,” the man said, and then walked over to a massive TV on the wall across from where Oliver was handcuffed to the crib, “Now, I can’t play with you until a bit later, so we’ll just have to keep you occupied with the electronic babysitter for now, eh little boy? And I have just the show for a little baby like you to watch, I’m sure it’ll keep your attention.”

He turned on the television, and the bright cheery colors of some toddler’s TV show came on, and then the man gave Oliver a forced peck on the cheek and left the room. Alone again, Oliver renewed his struggles for a few minutes before he tired himself out again, and without really thinking about it, he started watching the show on the big television. It was so big that he couldn’t really avoid it after all, and it turned out to be really soothing, actually. The show was simplistic and relaxing, and the music sounded like Mozart, but a bit too quiet to hear clearly, and without realizing it, he started sucking on his pacifier, his eyes glazing over as they focused on the TV, and then suddenly, it shut off.

He shook his head, trying to clear it, and realized he must have dozed off while watching the show, or something. It was obvious that some time must have passed, because his legs were asleep from staying the same position, and he just ached. He looked over and saw that Daddy had turned off the TV, and was coming over to the crib where he was. “Well birthday boy? How are you doing? Did you enjoy the show so far? You’ve been watching for a few hours now. I bet it’s time for a diaper change.”

Diaper change? Oliver had forgotten he was wearing a diaper, and his cheeks flushed as he felt the cold sensation around his groin–had he pissed himself while he was watching the show? How could he have done that? How had he not even noticed it happening? He tried to keep Daddy from undoing his onesie and checking, but it was obvious what had happened, but Daddy just beamed. “What a good boy, going pee pee in his diaper just like he should. Still, no poop yet though. That’s ok, you’re a very good boy for going pee pee just like Daddy wants.”

Oliver tried to fight back as Daddy undid the handcuffs, but he felt so weak for some reason, like he just couldn’t get his hands and feet to do what he wanted. In the end, while he fought as best he could, the big man managed to undo Oliver’s onesie, change his diaper, and get him sitting up in the crib, before removing Oliver’s pacifier.

“Pwease,” Oliver immdediately begged, “Pwease Daddy, please just let me go, I don’t like it here, I’m scared.” After Oliver spoke, he realized that he’d called the big man Daddy, and that…that he thought of his as Daddy too. His Daddy, his big, important, amazing Daddy who he…he loved? No, no that so wrong, what was going on? “Pwease, I won’t tell anyone, I just wanna to go home.”

“Silly baby, you are home. You’re home here with Daddy, safe and sound. Now, here’s baby’s bottle, drink it all down like a good boy.” Daddy shoved the nipple of the bottle between Oliver’s lips, and while he told himself he wouldn’t drink it, for some reason as soon as the nipple was in his mouth, he couldn’t help but suck on it, and it did taste…kind of good. It was milk, but it had some other, slightly medicinal tang to it, but with his Daddy urging him on, he drained the whole thing, and the warm solution left him feeling full, and a bit groggy.

“That’s a good boy, you like being a good boy for Daddy, don’t you?”

Oliver felt himself nod, and agreeing with his Daddy sent a surprising jolt of pleasure through him, and his cock got hard in his clean diaper. He blushed, and was thankful his Daddy couldn’t see what had happened–that would have been embarrassing. Still, he was sleepy–it was hard even keeping his eyes open. He slumped over in the crib, fighting against sleep as long as he could, but Daddy turned on the music from the TV show again, and it was so soothing, so comforting, he couldn’t help but drift off almost immediately.

He woke up hours later feeling…good. Relaxed and happy and just…at ease. Oliver couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept so nicely, and he rolled over, feeling the shit he’d packed into his clean diaper during his nap squish around, but even that felt kind of good. He’d been a good boy, filling his diaper with poopoo like daddy wanted, and he’d even peed too. Daddy would be happy when he came in to check on him, he just knew he would. He loved making Daddy happy, he loved seeing that bearded face smile, it made him feel so good, and made his pee pee hard. Just thinking about, his pee pee was hard even.

He humped the floor of the crib a couple of times before Oliver realized what he was doing, and what he’d been thinking. He snapped out of it and rolled over, disgusted that he’d apparently lost all control of his pissing and shitting for some reason. Still, he had to get out of here. If he could just find a weapon, or something to fight Daddy off with…but he didn’t want to hurt Daddy…did he? He shook his head, and pushed himself up onto his hands and knees and then…then nothing.

He looked up, and the rim of the crib was so high–how could he get up there? He could…stand? He tried pushing himself up onto his feet, but it was like his body had forgotten every position other than crawling. He managed to make a little progress by gripping the bars of the crib which helped him balance, but he was too weak to pull himself over. He was just a little baby anyway, he needed to stay safe in his crib. If he got out, Daddy would be sad, and he didn’t want Daddy to be sad and disappointed in his little baby, did he?

What was happening to him? He felt so strange. His thoughts felt like they were pushing their way through some sort of thick muck, pushing back against something he couldn’t even sense, something that was crushing the life out of him. He was just…just so scared, and he didn’t know what was happening, and then he was crying and bawling as loud as he could. He wanted Daddy, he wanted Daddy more than anything. Daddy would make him feel better, Daddy would know what to do.

After a couple of minutes, sure enough the door opened and Daddy stepped through, cooing at him, and he hugged Oliver close, patting him on the back and whispering softly in his ear until he calmed down. “There there little baby, what’s the matter? Do you need your diaper changed?”

“Ya Daddy, I went pee pee and poopoo, but I scared Daddy, what wrong wit’ me?” Oliver said, not quite able to get the words to come out of his mouth right.

“Oh, that’s ok baby, I’ll just get you cleaned up, alright?”

“But I scared, Daddy.”

“Sush,” Daddy said, pulling Oliver into a tight hug, “I’ll keep you safe, ok? You just focus on being a good baby for me, and then everything will be alright, you’ll see.”

Oliver nodded, still crying a little, but he started sucking on his thumb, and that made him feel better. It felt good to just…suck, comforting, like Daddy. He laid still as Daddy undressed him and changed his diaper, congratulating him on going poo-poo like a good baby, and seeing how proud his Daddy was of him, Oliver felt his peepee get hard, and a little too late he realized that his daddy could see it.

“Uh oh,” Daddy said, looking down, “It looks like someone’s gotten a little excited. That’s ok, but we’d better diaper you up in case you have an accident, right?” Daddy diapered Oliver back up, his peepee staying hard the entire time, and he felt such an odd mix of awkwardness, embarrassment and happiness that he nearly started crying again.

When he was all set, Daddy decided it was time for Oliver to have some playtime, and Daddy let him out of the crib. Oliver immediately looked up at the door handle, but it seemed…so far away, and he had no idea what might be on the other side. That was scary. He was safe in here with his Daddy, why would he want to leave? He had a very fun afternoon playing with his daddy, stacking blocks and then knocking them over, and they even played with dolls for a little bit in a big dollhouse Daddy showed him, where two big daddy dolls lived with their big baby doll.

“But where’s the Mommy?” Oliver asked, searching for the other doll.

“Silly baby, there isn’t a Mommy, you know that. Daddy’s take care of big babies just fine. You do like having a Daddy, don’t you?”

“Yes!” Oliver shouted, and threw himself at his Daddy, hugging him, “I love you Daddy,” Oliver said.

“I love you too, baby,” Daddy said into Oliver’s ear, and felt his Baby give a shudder against him, and Oliver pulled away, redfaced. That had felt so strange, his pee pee had gotten hard, and then, it had peed something into his diaper in big spurts, but it wasn’t pee…

“Did Baby have an accident again?” Daddy asked, and Oliver nodded, letting his Daddy change his diaper again, and after that play time was over. Daddy gave him another bottle to drink, and turned the TV on again before leaving, and Oliver sat in his crib, watching the TV, sucking on his thumb and drinking his bottle like a good Baby.

There was something strange going on, something wrong with all of this, but Oliver couldn’t get his thoughts in order. Every time he did, they’d just sink out of his grasp or scatter, and every time he tried, it was like there were even fewer pieces than before. Still, as he watched the TV, the gibberish the characters had been speaking was starting to become clear, and everything they said was true.

…feels so good to be a Baby. You love your daddy very much, more than anything. Daddy makes your pee pee hard. It feels good having a dirty diaper. Having a dirty, filthy diaper makes your pee pee hard. It feels good to cum in your diaper. It feels good to be dumb. You’re just a dumb baby. You can’t talk. You can’t walk. You’re just a dumb, horny, dirty baby, and you love it…

As he watched, Oliver felt poo flood into his diaper again, and he peed too, but it didn’t scare him–it felt good. In fact, it made his pee pee hard again, and he started rubbing the front of it with his mittened hands until he moaned loudly and felt his body spasm. The same thing that had happened when his Daddy hugged him earlier happened again, and he shot a load of special pee into his diaper again.

“Pee feel goo goo…” Oliver said, and shoved his thumb into his drooling mouth. Daddy would be coming in soon, and he’d change baby’s dirty diaper, but he’d enjoy it for a little while longer first…and maybe…maybe he’d rub his pee pee a few more times. Slowly, Oliver’s mind dwindled until all of his doubts disappeared, and he managed to cum in his diaper two more times before his Daddy came back in and changed him. He was happy to see that in the baby’s empty eyes all of his intellect had disappeared, and as soon as his daddy set him back in the crib and given him his bottle, little Oliver sucked it down, cooing and giggling as he watched the TV set, the final bits of programming implanting themselves into his ruined mind, ensuring that he would remain a baby for the rest of his life. Tomorrow, he’d be put up for adoption, and after some personalized conditioning, ensuring that the new fathers would get exactly the kind of baby they wanted, he would be shipped off to his new home, where he’d make his new family very, very happy–daddy was sure of it.

Identity Crises (Part 3)

***WARNING*** This one is even filthier than the last. If heavy scat or castration bother you, turn away.

He opened the door, and as soon as he did, he realized that he shouldn’t have. The reality wave which pushed it’s way out and over him–it was different than the others had been. More forceful, and far less wiggle room. The others seemed to have melded around him–but this one…this one simply forced its will on him, pressed down on him, contorting him and his mind until he nosed his way into the room, crawling on all fours, feeling his belly scraping across the floor underneath him as he let out a snort, and saw his master across the room.

Master–he loved him. There was no question in his mind, no doubt–just universal adoration when he looked at the ten foot tall man, naked–his body covered with grimy fur, his beard reaching his belly button, muscular and handsome and…and everything that Terry–no, not Terry, his name wasn’t Terry anymore, he was Porky, Porky was the name Master had given him, back when he’d finally enslaved him, back when his son had taken him and declared ownership of him, like Porky had always known he would.

“Get over here pig,” Caleb growled, and Porky crawled over, eager to serve, and when he came up next to him, Caleb simply said “Open,” and Porky obeyed. Opening his mouth, and allowing his master to tap the ash from his cigar into his mouth, Porky doing his best to not think about the heat of it, and just swallow it down like he’d learned. He was his Master’s preferred ashtray after all–he’d been doing it for years now, and he stayed there, mouth open while his Master surfed the internet, and all Porky could do was admire him.

Porky hadn’t always been Proky–he had been Terry once upon a time. And Master had been Caleb, his son, but Terry had always been afraid of him. His son wasn’t like him–Terry had been weak, but his son was strong and powerful, far bigger and mannlier than Terry could have ever hoped to be. He remembered all those long nights, when he couldn’t sleep because he could smell his son in his bedroom, how he’d jacked off, over and over, imaging his massive boy dominating and fucking him–enslaving him. Years ago, Terry had finally worked up the gall to ask. He’d crawled over to his son, and begged–begged for the privilege of serving him, and Caleb had agreed. He wasn’t Caleb’s father anymore–he was Porky, his pigslave. And Caleb wasn’t his son–he was only his master–all he’d ever wanted. He took another mouthful of ash and swallowed it back, taking a sniff of his son’s musk, of his shitty ass. He wondered if it needed cleaning–Porky would clean it for him. He loved cleaning out his son’s ass and eating his shit and drinking his piss and eating his cum.

That was why Caleb had made him a pig, instead of a slave. See, he’d known all about his father’s filthy interests. He’d left the toilet unflushed on occasion, just so he could listen as his father used to drink his son’s reeking piss from the bowl or eat the turds he’d left behind. He’d made sure to stash his cum soaked jockstraps for his father’s pleasure. Of course, his pigslave hadn’t felt any pleasure in a long time. He’d had his one inch cock locked up long ago–but he didn’t need to cum. In fact, he couldn’t cum–his Master had taken his balls away after five years–now, his scrotum had two half pound steel weights in it, which had successfully stretched it to the ground. That is, if he hadn’t been wearing his diaper. He’d been fucked so much my his master’s massive cock that he couldn’t close his ass anymore–and Master hated it when Porky made a mess in the house.

“Clean my foreskin, Porky,” Caleb said, and with a happy grunt, the pig worked his way under the massive desk his son had had custom made for his massive physique, and started licking under the massive foreskin his son’s foot and a half long cock had shrouding it’s head. The cheese was thick and reeked, but Porky wouldn’t have it any other way, and he snorted and squealed softly in appreciation. He was almost done with it, when Porky heard a loud fart erupt from his ass, and shit started packing its way into the back of his diaper, and he was surprised for a moment…but why surprise? He was used to shitting his diaper by now, why would he be surprised at all? And yet, part of him felt like he’d never done it before in his life, and that everything about this situation was just wrong–but how? This is what he wanted, what his master wanted. Everything was perfect…right?

One of his Master’s big feet curved around to the back of Porky’s diaper and started rubbing up and down the padded bottom, and the pig felt the shit start spreading up and down his crack and around to his caged cock, and he hoped his Master was getting horny. He’d really like to get fucked–he needed a good fuck really bad, but he knew better than to ask for one. That wasn’t what pigs did. Pigs did what their Master’s said, no matter what. They were ready whenever their Master’s wanted them to be. Still, he kept cleaning out his Master’s foreskin, and it was starting to harden–he let himself get a little hopeful.

“Pig,” Caleb said after a few minutes, “Get out of there–that nasty shit stink of yours is getting me all horny.”

Porky couldn’t crawl out of there fast enough, as as soon as he did, his massive Master stood up and ripped the diaper off of him, revealing the pig’s shitty crack and he let out a little groan, got down and worked his massive cock deep into his pig’s ass.

It had taken Porky years to feel anything beyond pain when his master fucked him, but now he was finally used to it, and took the entire shaft up to it’s ass. He could smell his shit now, and he was hungry. Thankfully, his master pushed his diaper under his belly, smearing shit all over it, before it ended up under Porky’s face, and he started licking the diaper clean, grunting and snorting the entire time as his master abused his hole.

“I have a feeling this is gonna get messy,” his Master said, “I think we’d better take this down to the basement.”

Porky felt his Master wrap his arms around his massive gut, and hefted him up off the ground, shocking Porky. He weighed close to 600 pounds now, and his Master was so strong he could pick up with no real effort. What a wonderful master he had! He was so lucky that he could serve him as his pig. With his entire cock buried up Porky’s ass, Caleb left his room and started heading downstairs, and Porky witnessed something…strange. The waves of reality he’d felt…whenever they turned a corner, he could watch them sweep out from where they were, changing the entire house as his Master moved through the house, like reality kept shifting and adjusting to his very whim. It was awe inspiring–he’d had no idea that his master was capable of something like that…and yet…

Something clicked in Porky’s head, and he realized now that this had happened to him before–not this, not being carted around on his Master’s massive cock, but he’d…changed, before. Reality had changed before, and…and Master was the cause of it? But then…maybe things shouldn’t be like this…but why shouldn’t they? He was happy, serving his Master. His Master as happy with him as his pig–why should things be different? How could things be different?

His concern was derailed as they started walking down the steps into the basement, and Porky watched the workbench and tools shift and change into a massive complex–a fully equipped sex dungeon, complete with a cage where Porky lived when his Master didn’t need him. As they walked down the stairs, the pig suddenly noticed a warmth in his ass–but it wasn’t his master cumming, was it? No, there was too much of it–he was pissing in him, filling him up with his piss, and it felt wonderful.It was no surprise then, when his Master headed for the tub–he was apparently in a dirty kind of mood. Porky loved it when his Master was feeling dirty–because Porky was always eager for filth. He was a pig after all.

Caleb hefted his pig over the side of the massive tub–a massive, converted hot tub which had had it’s drain permanently plugged with cement, and there, standing in the middle of the tub, he grabbed his pig’s meaty love handles and started fucking him up and down on his massive cock, feeling his piss run down his shaft as he fucked him, then down his hairy legs where it pooled around his feet. He shifted Porky’s angle, and started thrusting again, and the pig let out a sudden grunt as his master pummeled it’s bladder with his massive cock, and he started to piss uncontrollably, feeling it soak the underside of it’s belly, before running down it’s scrotum, which swung to and fro as his Master fucked him, and between both of their streams, the two of them managed to fill the tub up a couple of inches before they ran dry. Now though, Caleb didn’t care–the stench filling the basement was driving him to new heights of horniness, and he was fucking his pig up and down on his cock as hard as he could sweating from the exertion, Porky simply biting it’s lip and hanging on as best he could, until with a roar, he came, the massive amount of cum from his huge balls flowing out almost immediately from Porky’s entirely loose hole and joining the piss and shit already pooling in the tub, and then Caleb finally set Porky down in the tub, who immediately shoved it’s face into the messy pool, drinking up as much as he could.

Standing over him, his Master just watched the pig debase itself, and then he did something that Porky did not expect–he stepped out of the pool, shook his head, said, “No–no this is…just, not this,” and then stomped his way back up the stairs, slamming the basement door behind him. Porky didn’t know what to think for a moment, but then he realized he must have done something wrong–but what? What could be have done wrong? He’d been a perfectly good slave today…hadn’t he? Besides that time in the bathroom, when…when he’d…

When he’d told his Master no to to fuck him? No, he wouldn’t never do that, he could never do that, it just wasn’t in him. He was too weak, too small, too much of a desperate sub to ever say no to a man as big and powerful and important as his master. But he was shivering in the tub–he could clearly remember doing it, but…but how could he have? He’d been serving his master all day, like usual–they hadn’t even been in the bathroom downstairs, had they? The room was starting to spin, and it felt like…like Proky could start to see little tears happening all around the room, little tears in reality, like the walls and floor were shaking and vibrating to pieces, and he shut his eyes but the cracks were still there.

“No…No, I love my master, I obey my master, I obey, I obey, I obey, I obey…” Porky said, crouched down in the scummy tub, eyes clenched shut, repeating his mantra, and he felt the world start…healing itself again. He couldn’t even tell if it was the world which had been cracking…or just his mind. It was so disconcerting. In the end, he clambered out of the tub and crawled over to his cage, shutting the door behind him, and in the cramped, confined space he’d come to know as his home, he felt a bit more comfortable and sure of himself. Still, he didn’t move, and just stayed there, knowing he’d already broken the unspoken rule when he’d climbed out of the tub, but hopefully his master wouldn’t be too angry, not like that other time…that other…place.

Now that he was calm, he carefully started working through his head, finding other memories that just didn’t…fit. How his daddy had smoked his cock to a nub while he’d ridden his big cock. How he’d made his son a massive dinner, how they’d fucked…it didn’t make any sense, but as soon as he sensed the cracks starting to open again, he shut them all away, and just stayed in the present. The past didn’t matter–it wasn’t important. He just had to focus on being the best pig he could be, and the rest would be ok. His master would make sure of it. Everything would be ok. Now, all he had to do was wait.

His master didn’t keep him waiting too much longer–he heard a door upstairs open and close, and then…as he came downstairs, he could see the walls and ceiling…bulging out, as though reality were pulsating around him, and there were those cracks again, and Porky shut his eyes as tightly as he could, until he heard the basement door open, and then the pressure was all around him again, reality twisting and yanking and contorting him, and this time, it really was painful, like he was a piece of dough that had been kneaded so far as to become nearly inelastic, but it refused to stop. When it finally came to a stop, he was gasping for air around his thick cigar, and started taking a few deep puffs, the tobacco helping him calm down, as he tried to process what had just happened to him.

“Hey daddy bear,” his son’s voice called out from the top of the stairs, “What are you doin’ down here all alone in the dark?”

Terry felt his cock stir, and he adjusted his monstrous tool in the crotch of his pants, and looked up the stairs to where his massive son stood. God, was he even bigger than before? How was that even possible? His head struggled for context, as his eleven foot tall son thumped down the metal staircase Terry had had to put in years earlier, after his son had broken the wooden one that the house had had before…or still had…or…something. He felt like he needed to vomit–hadn’t there been…a tub here? Or had he just imagined it? The basement was equipped with every sort of dungeon tool he and his son had been able to purchase, but never a tub–why hadn’t he thought of that? Damn, that would be hot, the two of them filling it up with their piss and then wallowing in it, fuck…hadn’t they just…just done that?

“What’s up Dad?” Caleb said, “You alright?”

“Yeah…yeah, I’m fine, I just…feel really strange is all.”

“Well, I bet I know what could make you feel better,” Caleb said, slipped his hands under his dad’s arms and then lifted him up into the air. The sense of powerlessness, of being lifted up by his Master–no, not master, his son, always his son, they’d always been equals…well, sure, they’d played some scenarios before, but nothing serious–

He groaned as Caleb ripped open the crotch of just old jeans with his teeth and swallowed his entire foot long cock in one go, resting his dad on the crest of his gut as he sucked him off. God, how had he, at all of five feet, managed to help conceive such a monsterous man? Not that he was complaining of course, but for some reason…none of this seemed possible, nothing seemed right–

With a twist of vertigo, Terry lost his balance and slipped off his son’s gut landing hard on the floor, his head slamming into the concrete, and he rubbed his head, checking for blood, but there wasn’t any, thankfully.

“Fuck–Dad, are you alright?” Caleb said, looming over his father.

“Yeah–yeah, I’m good, I just…just lost my balance is all…I don’t…I don’t think I can…” Terry said, but the vertigo hadn’t let up, and he leaned over and vomited onto the floor. The world, it was starting to rip again like before, and he…he couldn’t take it. He groaned and laid back, trying desperately to hold onto himself as the world threatened to rend apart, but he opened them once quickly, and saw…his son in so many different ways. Fat, old, massive, hairy–he could barely keep track of them all, and then his son had him in his arms, and was rushing up the steps, all the way to his room. He laid his Dad down on his bed, and then sat down at his computer–a specially ordered one for his massive frame–and he started typing, and then, as he finished and hit the return key, another wave rippled out, but this one was entirely different. Instead of trying to bend and twist Terry into some new shape, it felt like it was unfolding him, and as it washed over him, the nausea and vertigo disappeared–but in it’s place can a realization of what had happened over the course of the day…and he screamed.

“Dad! Dad, calm the fuck down dad!” Caleb shouted, pinning Terry down to the bed. They were still in their last forms–all Caleb had done was undo the reality conforming option on the program he’d brought home with him that afternoon, and being twice as tall as his dad, he was able to hold him down easily, not that Terry cared in the least. He kicked and fought anyway, and finally Caleb let him up and he sprinted from the room and into his bedroom, slamming the door behind him, and he slumped back against the wall, just…staring at his hands. His grimy, filthy hands, and his grey beard, and his filthy clothes, and he just started stripping it all off of him in a rush. How many versions of himself had he been today? He couldn’t even keep track of them all in his head–they’d all rushed forward in a massive jumble. Who was he now? Was he actually himself, or was he just some new twisted version his son must have concocted? He stepped out of his pants, naked, and walked in front of his mirrored closet, and nearly sobbed. He…he was disgusting to look at–tattoos and piercings all over his body, missing teeth, and yet looking at himself, his massive cock started to get hard, the footlong cock that stretched down nearly to his knee he was so short, but his gut was so big that he couldn’t even see it when he craned over. He turned away before he could get anymore aroused and do something he might regret, and ran into the bathroom to run a hot shower and get clean.

There was a pounding on his bedroom door, “Dad? Dad, please–we need to talk–I can explain!”

“Stay the fuck away from me, you fucking freak!” Terry shouted, “What the fuck were you thinking! Look at what you fucking did to me!”

“Look, I know…I know I got a bit carried away, alright? I just–”

“A little carried away?” Terry shouted, “A little fucking carried away?” He stalked over to the bedroom door and flung it open, but when he saw his massive son standing there–or rather, when he found himself face to face with his son’s two foot long cock, words failed him utterly, and his anger dissolved into…pure lust. But before he let it overwhelm him, he stepped back in and slammed the door, but he could smell him, he could fucking smell his boy’s nasty funk through the goddamn door and fuck if his son wasn’t the hottest piece of man he’d ever seen!

“Dad…” Caleb said, “Dad, it’s going to be ok!”

“Stay…stay away from me Caleb, please, just change us back, please…” Terry said, but the anger was gone. He was pleading now–desperate, and he heard the knob twist, and the door start to push open, and he tried to push back, but his son was so much…stronger than he was, god, he was so…so proud of him, and from where he was sitting on the floor, looking up at his massive boy, all he wanted to do was fuck him.

“Dad, Look…I…”

Terry couldn’t even see his son’s face past his massive ball gut, but he didn’t care. He stood up, walked over and just started licking the foreskinned head of his cock, unable to resist, digging his tongue under the folds for his son’s delicious cheese, disgusted with what he was doing, but also utterly unable to contemplate doing anything else.

“Dad, you…you don’t…oh…”Caleb said, and groaned, his cock leaking precum which Terry drank down, but the flow was so heavy a good amount of it just dribbled down into his massive beard. “Dad, please…we…we have to…God damn it, that’s fucking enough!” Caleb said, stepped back, grabbed his dad and hefted him up to his eye level. “Dad, can we please just talk about this?”

“Why, son?” Terry said angrily, “You obviously just want me to be a short, nasty old daddy bear desperate for sex with his son, and now that…that I can’t fucking keep my hands off you, you fucking want me to stop? Just…just fuck me, already. Fuck me, and…and fuck, let me drink your piss, and eat…eat your goddamn shit, and–”

Caleb gave him a good shake, and said, “Enough!” Look, I know I fucked up, alright? I get it! I’d put everything back, if I could but…but…well, I kind of messed up the program…”

“What fucking program? What the fuck are you talking about?”

Caleb heaved a sigh, and fell back onto his ass, the house shuddering under his weight, and then he set his dad down on his big gut, and explained the story as best he could. He had been at the mall earlier that day, but he hadn’t been at the mall with friends. He’d been there by himself, just being a loner, when he’d spotted this new curio shop. They’d had a discount electronics section, and the shop owner had recommended this strange program to him. Caleb had thought it was a photo manipulation program–some photoshop knock off–but it had been a bit more…expansive than that. It turned out to be a program which could completely alter the face of reality, and, well, Caleb had let things get a little out of control.

“Look, Dad, all…all I really wanted was for you to be happy again, and I’d always…well, I’d always thought you were hot, so I thought, well…why not?”

Terry just glared at his son, “So you turn me into all of those…those people? For fun? That wasn’t fun, that was a nightmare!”

“I don’t know, you seemed to have enjoyed most of it.”

“Porky was not–fucking–enjoyable.”

Caleb blushed, “Yeah…I…I don’t have an excuse for that one, that one…that was a mistake.”

“No, this whole thing was a mistake. Just…just turn us back, and let’s get rid of it, and we can pretend like none of this ever happened, alright? Let’s just put everything back the way it was.”

Caleb was silent, and hung his head, “I…well, I can’t.”

“What do you mean you can’t?”

“Look, dad, I…I was running the program so that, however I changed myself, reality would automatically adjust itself to conform to me–that’s why, well, you probably have had a strange afternoon. But what I didn’t know, was, well, when you twist reality too much for the people around you, apparently some strange shit can happen. I mean, when we were down in the basement, you started…you flipped out. I mean, not just your screaming and stuff, but your body too. It looked…I don’t know, like it was stretching and collapsing and…and I just got scared. I got scared, so I ran up and turned off the reality adjustment, and that collapsed everything down together, but…well, I was just looking at it, and the program’s locked down.”

“What?”

“It’s locked down. I can’t change reality anymore, until it normalizes. I took a closer look, and apparently the program won’t unlock until it can purge everything from this reality that doesn’t belong. Like…like our memories, and…and that sort of thing.”

Terry just stared at his son. “Are you telling me that we’re going to be stuck like this?”

“Yeah…I mean, not for too long, like less than a day. The bar says it’ll finish sometime tomorrow morning.”

“Well, we can just change ourselves back then.”

“No, Dad, you don’t get it–we won’t remember what we were like. We won’t even remember that we’ve used the program. None of that will have happened to us…we’ll be who we are now, and it’ll be like that’s who we’ve always been…I’m…I’m sorry dad, but I’m telling you the truth. This…this is kind of who we’re stuck as.”

Terry didn’t say anything for a second, he just let that sink in. “You mean…you mean, I’m stuck as this five foot dwarf, a fucking dwarf who can’t–can’t stop thinking about how much he want’s to have…have filthy, nasty sex with his own son? His…his eleven foot tall son, who’s twice the size of me, and stinks like a fucking outhouse?”

“You don’t have to be a jerk about it, dad! I said I was sorry!”

“Well sorry isn’t going to cut it!” Terry shouted, and climbed down off of his son, “I had a life Caleb, I was…I was…”

He couldn’t remember. He focused really hard, as hard as he could, but it was like staring through a thick fog–he knew what was there, but he couldn’t see it. The more distant the change, the harder it was to see, and his old life, it was gone–he hadn’t always been gay, had he? Had…Hadn’t he? He didn’t want to be straight. that was for sure, but…wasn’t there? Sure,he loved his son…

Terry shouted, and punched the wall in anger, but it was gone–it was gone, and it wasn’t going to come back.

“Dad…Dad, look–I know this isn’t what…what you would have wanted, but we’re going to be happy at least, right?”

“Don’t you fucking say anything–nothing you say can fucking make this right!” Terry shouted at his son, but Caleb didn’t say anything back–he just reached over, grabbed his dad, and pulled him into a tight hug. “God damn it Caleb! Let me go! Let–let me..” he said, but then he was crying, and his big son was holding him tight, and everything…everything wasn’t really so bad, was it? He hadn’t wanted this, no–but he wanted it now, he wanted it…badly, and that scared him even more.

“Look, dad–I…I know I can’t make things right, but…but look, maybe I can make things better, you know? Here, come on. I can’t fix reality, but I can make some limited changes–”

“No–No more changes, I’m done.”

“Well, I was going to make you taller…” Caleb said, grinning, “But if you like being a ‘dwarf’ now, I think it’s damn sexy, myself.”

“But you said you couldn’t change anything,” Terry said, suddenly suspicious that his son might have been lying to him before, “If you can change me, why can’t you just change me–us–back?”

“Because you–the ‘old’ you–could have never existed in this reality. Even if the program let me make the change, which I don’t think it would, by tomorrow morning you’d be back to this, or something close. But, if I just make a few tweaks–some changes that this reality can absorb and integrate–then I think I can make things a bit better. So look–you tell me what I can do to make you better–this you–and I’ll do the best that I can.”

Terry just looked down, “How…How can I trust you? How can I ever trust you again, Caleb? I mean, I can’t…”

“Dad, I can’t undo what I did–if I could, I would. I never…I never meant things to get this out of hand, and I’d…I’d always thought I would just put things back the way they were, eventually. But I can’t, so…so let me make it up to you. Come on, I know you had fun some of the time…tell me what you liked best.” Caleb sat down next to his dad again, reached over and started toying with his cock.

Caleb let out a groan when his son touched him, and all he wanted to do was throw himself at his boy and just fuck, but he held back. Still, he wasn’t happy like this, really, so he might as well take advantage of his son’s offer. What had he enjoyed? How far back could he remember? He…he’d liked how it had felt being fat, actually–as the chef. He’d been massive, sure, but so…confident. How fucked up was that, that he’d actually enjoyed being huge, obese gainer? But it was true. “I…I liked being fat–actually. When I was the chef. And…and I really liked the whole…the whole smoking thing. Not being your cub, but just…smoke. And I gotta say, these tattoos are kind of sexy. Actually, it was probably most fun being that redneck daddy of yours. The accent scared me at first, but…and god, it’s so messed up, I know, but being…being this filthy, and seeing you this filthy, it turns me on so much, and you know, I actually kind of liked shitting myself as Porky, with that diaper and–” Terry blushed and stopped talking, suddenly embarrassed. “But mostly I–I’d like to be taller. Just forget the rest of what I said, I…I didn’t really mean any of that.”

Caleb just looked at his dad for a second, before he said, “You really did enjoy yourself, didn’t you?”

“Just make me taller, would you?”

Caleb grinned and said, “Sure thing dad,” and got up, smirking, lumbering into his room and sitting down at the computer, “One taller dad, coming right up–but not as tall as me,” and then under his breath added, “and…maybe a few other…small details…”

“Wait, what?” Terry asked, but before he could get closer to see what his son was doing, Caleb was already typing away, and suddenly, well, every step threw him off balance as he tried to walk, his legs thickening and lengthening with each stride, and it was all he could do to not fall over when he just stood still. Well, he was definitely taller–if his son was eleven feet, Terry probably capped out around eight, or maybe nine. It was strange seeing everything from that high up, and the sense of vertigo hung around for a few moments until he became more used to his new perspective. It was then that he realized that Caleb was still typing–and that he was still changing. His final body had been mostly muscle–and at his five foot height, he couldn’t have weighed more than 150 pounds, but that was rapidly changing. Looking down, he saw fat start bubbling up under his skin, shrouding his physique, but it didn’t stop there. His gut ballooned out, and then softened into an apron like the one he’d had in the kitchen–except bigger. Hell, he’d been one fat tub of lard then, but at his new height, he had to be over six or seven hundred pounds of blubber.

“Caleb! Caleb, I fucking told you to just make me taller! What the fuck is this–I don’t–” Terry started to say, but Caleb had already gotten up from the computer, walked over and drawn him into a deep kiss, pulling his fat body into his big gut and muscular chest, and Terry couldn’t help but just melt, especially when his son started fiddling with his big nipples, and jiggling his flab, his cock was so hard…

“Dad,” Caleb said, when they pulled apart, “Stop thinking so much. I know what you want, now quit worrying about who you were, and let me make you happy–let me…make you feel good.”

“Caleb…please…I…” Terry started to say, but his son shushed him.

“You know, I think we need to keep that mouth of yours occupied with something else, don’t you?”

Caleb sat back down at the computer, and Terry just watched him. He should stop him, shouldn’t he? And yet, he was…so damn curious, and horny, and excited. He needed something to calm him down. He reached into the front pocket of the massive overalls he was wearing, pulled out his can of chew and started packing it into his lips on both sides, his cock pulsing as he packed himself full. He fucking loved the sensation of a big lipper, and it only got better when he pulled out one of his massive, 70 ring cigars, stuck it in his mouth and lit it up, taking a massive draw, and pulling out as much spit as he could from the leaves in his mouth. “Aww, sheet yeah boy, feel’s damn fine…” he said, and he had to think about it for a second before he realized that the heavy southern drawl hadn’t been there a second before. “Fuck, ya went ‘n changed me again, didn’ ya…”

Terry knew better than to ask his son to stop what he was doing, and if he were honest–he liked what Caleb was doing, and didn’t really want him to stop. Hell, they’d been fucking each other for so long, why should he be embarrassed? He felt like that wasn’t quite right for some reason, but if he couldn’t remember a time when he and his son weren’t desperate to fuck…then was that really true anymore? Sure, maybe at some point, in some other reality, but in this one, well, in this one he was gonna be one hot stinking redneck, with the sexiest son in the whole neighborhood.

Looking down at himself, he saw that Caleb still wasn’t finished. The tattoos on his arms grew together into solid sleeves, and he watched the patterns worm their way over the rest of his body, and under his overalls. He figured that, at this point, most of his body was probably covered. His beard and hair grew out a bit further, and he pulled his thick, greying hair back into the ponytail he preferred, feeling the hair become greasy and slimy as he gripped it. Yep, apparently his boy wasn’t satisfied with his hygiene either, and before too long he just…well, stank. But it was a hot, musky, filthy stink, the kind of stink he loved, and he grinned, squirting some tobacco juice from his mouth, feeling it run down into his beard. “Damn boy, ya sure ain’t foolin’ round none.”

“Nope,” Caleb said, “I don’t think the changes will stick too much–reality will probably reassert itself by the time to program runs its course, but I figure we might as well have a little fun in the meantime, eh Pa?” Caleb stood up, and when he did, Terry say that his son wasn’t just a couple feet taller than him anymore–apparently his son had had a few changes in mind for himself too.

“Gawd damn, son, yer jus’ gonna make me feel short again,” Terry said, taking another massive draw off his huge cigar.

“Hey, you said that ya didn’t wanna be a dwarf–well ya ain’t a dwarf,” Caleb said, his own speech patterns shifting to match Terry’s, “but ya didn’ say Ah couldn’t git taller.”

Caleb was growing taller–probably to about twelve feet–as tall as the already oversized ceilings in their house. He lost a bit of his round gut, but what he lost in fat he made up for in muscle–he was becoming damn ripped, in fact. He still had a big gut, but on top of that were two massive pecs, and his biceps and thighs were making Terry’s mouth water, more tobacco spit dribbling down his beard. He didn’t seem nearly as unkempt as his father, his beard and hair were trimmed up quite a bit shorter, but damn did he reek. Not like Terry, who had a certain lazy stench of filth about him–Caleb reeked of sweat and workouts and…sex. He also gained a substantial number of tattoos, and fuck if he didn’t look like a sexy fucking beast, standing there a few feet away. Terry wondered for a moment what someone would think if they stumbled upon the two of them…but he didn’t care–he just didn’t care one lick. He just wanted to fuck his boy all night–

Terry was suddenly caught off guard by a massive fart ripping out his ass, along with something else. It caught him by surprise, when the stench of shit slammed into him, and he froze, realizing that he had just packed the ass of his overalls with a massive load of shit, and Caleb walked over, reached around with both hands, grabbed his Pa by the ass, smashing the load around as he pulled his obese father into a deep kiss. The two of them spent a few minutes chewing Terry’s tobacco between the two of them, brown spit running down both of them, as Caleb kept working the shit around in the back of his dad’s overalls until it came around the front, coating his balls and cock…and fuck if it didn’t feel amazing. He couldn’t…he couldn’t even be ashamed of it anymore, he didn’t care, it felt so good, so nasty and just so…so right.

“Piss fer me Pa, come on, soak these fuckin’ overalls a yers…” Caleb whispered, and Terry did as he requested, taking a drag off his cigar, before blasting a full load of piss into his overalls, feeling it soak into the shit, and it ran down his legs and into the rubber boots he was wearing. He could feel the shit and piss squishing between his toes, and he let out a deep groan which his son silenced with another long kiss. “You like it…don’t ya Pa?”

“Fuck son, I fuckin’ do–how fuckin twisted is that?”

Caleb chuckled, pushing all of the tobacco back into his dad’s mouth, “Not as twisted as this.” He then gave Terry a shove, and he fell back, landing on his massive ass, feeling the shit squish around with the impact, and then his son was on him, unbuckling the latches on his overalls and pulling down the front. Looking down, Terry could see his cock was coated with piss and shit, but before he really had a chance to think about it, his son was sucking it clean, deepthroating his whole, two foot long cock.

“Oh fuck yeah, boy!” Terry said, twisting and yanking at his nipples as he ground his shitty crack into the floor of his son’s room, “You fuckin’ love the taste a yer Pa’s shit ‘n piss, don’t ya? Yeah, yer just a nasty fuckin’ redneck pig like me.”

“Well, like father like son, ya know?” Caleb said, pulling off Terry’s cock, shit smeared across his face, “Ya really oughta try some a this Pa, I think ya’d love it. Here, I know jus’ what tah do.” Caleb scooted down to Terry’s booted feet, and pulled off one of his boots, still full of his  own piss, and took a whiff. “Whoo wee, Pa, ya sure do love yer rubber, don’t ya? When’s the last time ya took these off? Still, Ah think yer gonna love it, though,” Caleb said, and brought the boot up to Terry’s lips, “Open up Pa, ‘n taste yer fuckin’ filth.”

Most of it went down his fat gullet, but plenty of it washed out and down his front, where his hands rubbed it into his fatty folds, and hell if it wasn’t one of the filthiest things he’d ever tasted, his piss, shit combining with the tobacco in his mouth. When he finished, he realized he’d accidentally swallowed some of his chaw, he’d been so eager for his own waste. His son yanked off the second boot and fed that mess to his Pa as well, afterwhich Terry worked up a mighty belch. “Fuck boy, that hit the spot.”

“Ha, don’ tell me that was enough tah satisfy a big pig like you.”

“Satisfied? Hell nah, I could put away plenty more where tha’ came from!”

“Oh is that so, Pa?” Caleb said, grinning, “Well, it just so happens I might have some more…if you want it.”

Looking up at his massive son, over twice as tall as a normal man now, Terry tried to get a grip on himself, but it felt like the entire universe was just spinning out of his control. Of course he wanted to eat his son’s shit–and he quickly realized, it’s not like this would be the first time. He tried to remember that he hadn’t always been this fat ass redneck, but it was easier to remember that he and his son had been each other’s toilets for years now, and they both fucking loved every second of it. Worse–or perhaps better–he couldn’t even be ashamed of it anymore. “Fuck yeah, show me what ya got fer Papa, boy,”Terry said, letting himself smile, his gut giving a hungry rumble of eagerness.

Caleb dropped the grimy gym shorts he was wearing, and saw his son had on one of his filthiest jockstraps, and he gave a little moan when the stench hit his face. Caleb straddled his dad’s chest and shoved the stinking piss, cum and shit stained mesh into his father’s mouth and nose, grinding it back and forth, and said, “You wanna be my big piggy toilet today, Pa? You want me to cram a big load a shit down yer fuckin’ throat?”

Terry wasn’t listening, he was chewing at the jock and his son’s massive bulge, his cock even larger than his erect two foot tool beneath his big fat gut. He didn’t care anymore. He loved his son so much…especially the massive logs of shit Caleb proceeded to feed his father, making sure of overload him faster than he could swallow, to give Caleb some to lick out of his filthy beard afterwards–but not before his father had worked both of his fists up his hole, milking his prostate until he’s shot a gigantic wad all over his father’s fat gut. Still, the two of them were insatiable, and as the timer on the computer continued to count down, and their memories of their previous identities continued to dwindle, the two of them kept on, fucking, feeding, fisting, pissing, shitting and licking the night away, until they’d finally collapsed, exhausted, on the floor of Caleb’s room, and cuddled each other to sleep in their own filth.

The next thing Terry knew, he was stretching in his son’s oversize bed in his room, worming his way out of his son’s grip and pulling himself off his son’s big dick which had mysteriously snuck its way up his ass sometime in the night. The bed underneath him was sopping wet, but he was used to that–both he and his boy had a habit of wetting and shitting the bed in the night, not that either one of them would have it any other way. He sat up and stretched, feeling the dry shit on him crack as he did, and he stood up, giving his hole a scratch and licking off the scum his fingers pulled away. Waddling over to the mirror, he took a look at himself–he could still distantly remember that he hadn’t always been like this, but it was simply an abstract fact–he had no actual memories of his prior identities.

He was shorter than the night before–reality must have not liked him being that tall. Still, he was bigger than the five feet he’d started out with, but had probably dropped back to about seven. He hadn’t lost a pound of fat though, and on his shorter physique he was absolutely massive now, and so fucking sexy, slathered with shit…He reached around in his flab but couldn’t get a good grip on his cock, and gave up in a huff, looking back at his massive, slumbering son. He could fuck his hole of course…but maybe it would be better to let him sleep a bit more. Caleb could be such a bear in the morning, but taking his Pa’s piss and shit down his throat usually improved his mood considerably. That, and a few cups of strong black coffee. Terry let him slumber and lumbered over past the computer and jiggled the mouse, before sitting down at the desk and looking at the program which had made such a mess of everything.

There was a timer in the corner–it had about five minutes left. He took a few moments to stuff a whole can of chaw in his mouth and light up a cigar, before watching as the clock ticked away the rest of his alternate pasts, wondering if he should feel sad about losing them. But why should he? He was happy–his son was happy. However they might have been before didn’t matter to him all that much, in the grand scheme of things, and by the time the clock elapsed, he wasn’t entirely sure what he was contemplating anymore, as the final, fleeting sensation that things might have been different were erased, and then a window popped up, alerting Terry that the reality synchronization had completed, and that full functionality had been restored to the program.

Terry closed that window…and then smiled, and started looking around the program. There was a lot to it, and a lot that he could do with it…and he realized, that there was nothing stopping him. Eager now, his cock hard, he started making changes to his profile and his son’s, but as he was about to activate the changes, he paused. Something told him that he should wait, and let his son look at it too–they needed to do this together, it was too big to surprise someone with. Still, Terry had something else he could use to surprise his son.

He went over to where his son was still snoring, the covers off, and got down next to his ass, licking his lips, and started cleaning out his son’s hole, listening to him moan and mutter as he slept, and just as he was sleepily coming to, his dad stood up and worked his cock into his ass. “Aw fuck, Pa!” Caleb groaned as Terry drove the entire two feet length into Caleb’s ass, “Ain’t it a bit early?”

“It’s nearly noon, son!” Terry said with a chuckle, gripping his cigar in his teeth, “and ya know how Ah git when Ah’m horny, not come on and open up.” Caleb let his Pa fuck his hole, somewhat begrudgingly, given how sleepy he still was, but after Terry came, he was nice enough to give his boy a blowjob and swallow his load of morning piss too. “Alright son, now come ‘ere, I got somethin’ tah show ya.”

Terry had Caleb sit down at the computer, and then showed his son the changes he’d planned while Caleb was asleep. Caleb was at first a bit skeptical, but as his dad explained it, and as his cock got harder, he was finding less and less objectionable about what his dad was suggesting. Still, he had a few changes he wanted to work in first.

“Ya sure ya wanna go through with this, Pa?” Caleb asked, as they put the finishing touches on the changes, “Ah don’t think this is gonna be reversible.”

“Ah don’t give a flyin’ fuck–this is gonna be so god-damn hot!” Terry said, sucking on his cigar, “Ya done with yer changes yet?”

“Hold yer horses, this is…kinda delicate, ‘n ya weren’t all that careful when ya did it the first time.”

“Ha–’delicate.’ Ain’t nothin’ delicate ‘bout what’s gonna happen here today.”

Caleb laughed, and looked over the screens of the computer again. “Alright, Ah think it’s ready. I made sure it’ll load from the cloud too–cause Ah don’ think the computer’s gonna survive this.”

“Whatever–turn it on and let’s git this show on the road!”

Caleb looked at the computer, and couldn’t believe that they were about to do this, but why the hell not? And then he hit the ok button, and felt himself start to grow, but faster than usual.

“Shit–this is gonna hurt, ain’t it?” Terry said, and Caleb looked over at his dad, and saw that between the two of them they were rapidly filling up the bedroom.

“Well you’re the one who didn’t want to turn on the reality adjuster!”

“Well, then it wouldn’t have been a surprise tah everyone else! Come on, we’d better git outside, if we can!”

Caleb hurried out of the room and down the stairs, and barely squeezed his way out of the front door as he grew too big to fit, but his dad was too slow with all of his flab, and by the time he reached the living room, he was too big to fit through.

“Aww shit, yeah, this is gonna hurt…” Terry said, as his bulk quickly filled the living room, breaking furniture and pushing against the walls of the room.

“Hold on Pa, I’ll help ya!” Caleb said. He was taller than the first story now, and he picked up the family car–amazed that his strength was already enough for it to feel like a heavy dumbbell in his hands, and started slamming it into the upper story of the house, and then into the floor, opening up a big enough hole that his dad could work his way to standing. Together, they demolished the house as they grew, and before long Terry was free, the side of the house was little more than rubble, and the two of them were still growing. By the time they were finished, Caleb had grown to six stories tall–more than twice as tall as their house had been–and Terry maxed out at four stories–shorter than his son, but still massive. Terry looked around at what had been a sleepy neighborhood on a Sunday morning, but hearing the commotion, people had piled out of their doors, and now stood gaping at the two giants where their neighbor’s house had been.

Smiling, Terry grabbed one of the trees from their backyard and uprooted it, rolling it between his hands. As he did, the wood shifted in pattern until it formed itself into a massive cigar, and with a snap of his fingers, it lit up, and he took a deep draw on it, exhaling a massive plume of smoke which settled about the two of them like a fog. He made a second one and handed it to his son, and soon enough they were both pumping out a massive amount of smog. “Well son, let’s head downtown. I think we need tah introduce ourselves tah the community.”

“Sounds like a plan tah me, Pa,” Caleb replied, and together, the two thundered off through the streets.

***

Wellington wasn’t a large town, but it was relatively peaceful, especially on a Sunday. Many of the stores that lined the main street had just opened a few hours ago, and business had been slow so far. Still, it started out as a beautiful morning, but around noon, the strangest thing happened–a massive wall of fog started working it’s way into the small town. People who were outside were the first to be affected, and as soon as it swept over them and they inhaled it, they discovered that it wasn’t fog at all–but smoke.

Several people called the fire department, and a few described the smoke as smelling not like a burning building–but like a cigar. It was soon after that the people first exposed to the fog started to change. It affected the women first, usually a few minutes after exposure, as they were suddenly struck by a crippling pain, their breasts disappearing as their bodies changed, their vaginas sealing up as their cliotori expanded into new, massive penises. Men, however, were affected too, most of them developing copious amounts of body hair, their beards growing out of control as well. A few experienced a sudden shift in age as well–often into middle age or even beyond. This was seen most commonly in teenagers and children, as they rapidly aged into their forties and fifties, their personalities and minds changing along with their bodies.

The fire trucks roared past this chaos and deep into the fog, and so the firefighters were the first to be hit with the second smell. It was something between a filthy locker room, day old sneakers, and sweaty towel–the most powerful, overwhelming musk any of them had ever smelled. It forced itself on them, and as the smoke started changing them, the found themselves growing hornier. The truck came to a halt as the driver started ripping at his uniform, desperately trying to get to his cock, but before he could start jacking off, the man next to him, his beard reaching down to his chest, leaned over and started sucking him off. The men found it impossible to think about anything beyond sex, their minds slowly draining away as the stench drifted into town.

As the people recovering from the changes the smoke wrought smelled–and saw–what was happening, the men of the town being turned into sex-crazed beasts, they started to run away from the sirens towards the other side of town, hoping to escape the musk and the smoke, but after a few blocks–on the other side of the train tracks–they found themselves faced with a different monstrosity–a giant man, hugely obese and stinking of filth, stood in their way, straddling the main street, and before any of them could turn and run back in the other direction, they watched the giant smile, squat, and then shit several massive piles of filth into the middle of the street.

The stench was horrific, but the men found themselves unable to turn away. In fact, they found themselves growing hungrier, the more they smelled it. The weaker willed among them almost immediately gave a few snorts and then charged towards the muck, devouring as much of it as they could, as quickly as they could, but in the end the men started swarming into the shit, all of them starved for it, desperate for it, and as they ate, they began to change one again.

It started out as weight gain, fat packing onto them faster than any of them could have ever imagined, coupled with some growth as well–most of them averaging at about a story tall, with some of the first ones several feet taller. Their human features had twisted–their feet and hands becoming hooved trotters, tusks emerging from their now snouted faces, their eyes feral, perverted and starved for lust. The giant sat down and his minions swarmed over him, licking his body clean of any filth they could find, and with a sigh he let loose a fountain of piss, his pigmen fighting over the stream, thirsty as could be, and desperate to serve their new master.

On the other side of town, the men lost to the stench of musk found their minds becoming duller and duller, and many of them didn’t even notice when the huge, muscular giant strode past them, his massive cock half hard and dribbling a torrent of precum. That–however–they did notice, the smell of fresh cum drawing them like flies. The men drank it down, growing hairier, muscular and muskier as they did, their bodies almost devolving into some sort of beastly form, fanged and clawed and ferociously horny. They fought with each other over it, and the giant stood over them, milking cum from his cock, feeding his beasts, until one of them latched onto the head, drinking more than the rest–becoming the pack’s alpha. It roared at the massive giant, ready to challenge it for control, but before it could attack, the massive man sprayed all of the beasts down with a massive load of piss. They fell back then, immediately subservient after being marked by their master, and came forward, serving him, licking away his sweaty musk and serving his cock and his hole eagerly.

When the town had been emptied of people and divided between the two giants, they met in the middle, their hordes following close behind, and tackled each other to the ground, kissing and grinding their massive bodies together in the street, their hordes swarming on and around them. It was a day later when the two of them finally pulled apart, their hordes exhausted and sleeping all over the ruins of the town, and Caleb and Terry looked at each other and smiled.

“Hey, Burisburg is just a few miles down the road–wanna do it again?”

“Sounds awesome to me–can’t wait!”

Identity Crises Part 2

Commissioned by Scot158f

***WARNING*** This has been pretty cleanish up until now, but it’s only going to get worse from here. In this section: inanimate TF (smoke related), farting, and scat.

Terry watched the eight foot tall man tromp down the stairs, his hair mostly grey, a massive, tangled beard stretching all the way down to his belly button, the rest of his body covered in grey hairs as well. He had a massive, taut get, but the rest of his body was packed full of muscle…and as he came downstairs, Terry caught a whiff of his daddy’s musk and felt a shiver and moan rip through him. He loved how his daddy smelled after one of daily workouts, it was the best.

“Hey son,” Caleb asked, “Whatcha watchin’?”

“Just cartoons,” Terry said, and he looked at the TV, a bit surprised. Sure, he was a teenager, but he still liked watching them, right? Then why had he expected it to be some show about food? It was strange, that was for sure. “Are you done with your workout?”

“Sure am–nice and musky, just how you like me, boy. You want my jock?”

“Aww hell yeah dad,” Terry said, “You know I’ll never turn down your stinking jockstrap.”

“Heh, well, I’ll trade you my sweaty jock for a smoke, boy. Get ready, would ya?”

“Sure thing!” Terry said, and got out of the recliner, but his body just felt odd. He was chubby, like always, but shouldn’t he be…well, fatter? And something about his cock and balls, they were…heavy for some reason, and…hard? He reached down out of curiosity, and peered over his small, soft gut and just gaped at his cock and balls–his cigar and pipes, he meant, of course. He didn’t have a cock and balls like his dad…which was…weird, right? Instead he just had a cigar jutting out from his crotch–a long one, almost nine inches, and below that, swinging heavily and clacking into each other, two massive pipes…but that was how things had always been right?

No…No this was too much. This was all too much, and he pushed back against the wave in his mind, but it was too hard, too all encompassing. He knew this was wrong, that this wasn’t how things should be. He didn’t live with his daddy…he…he was the daddy. And he had a normal cock, and it was small, or was it big? And he’d been–fatter? Thinner? More muscular? But older, definitely older.

“Boy, get smokin’–I ain’t got all night,” Caleb said from where he was sitting in his chair, and Terry blushed, rushing over to his smoking stuff, his worries forgotten in the sudden fear that he might disappoint his dad somehow. He walked over and started packing his pipes full of tobacco, the sensation of the wood and briar both familiar and…so strange. Would it hurt…when he lit his pipes and his cigar? Of course not, it had never hurt before, right? But how would he know–he’d never done this before, but if he’d never done this before, how was he packing his pipes so well, and so evenly, tamping the tobacco down carefully, making sure he could pull an even draw from his lungs once he’d lit them? Still trying to understand what was happening, he walked over to where his dad was lounging back, his jockstrap off, his ten inch cock erect in the air, and before Terry even realized what was happening, his dad had picked him up–all of him, and was dropping him down on his cock. He opened his ass like he’d been trained to, letting all ten inches slide up his ass, making him shiver, and as it did, he saw his cigar grow a bit, like it always did when he was horny.

“Oh fuck dad, that feels so good…” Terry moaned.

“Oh yeah? Well go ahead and smell this jock of mine, and tell me what you think,” he said, and pressed the wet mesh into his son’s face, watching him take it in his mouth and suck some of the sweaty grime off of it, the boy’s cigar cock growing a bit longer still, now about a foot in length, jutting up between them. “Yeah, that’s it–now how about we get you lit?”

Caleb picked up a big zippo off the table next to him, and started with his son’s cigar cock, lighting the end until it had a bright red tip, and then worked on his bowls, the smoke already pouring out of his son’s mouth by the time he had them both lit–and then he locked lips with Terry, the jock caught between them, and he inhaled, drawing the smoke up through his son’s body and into his own through the mesh, cigar burning bright orange as he sucked it down, and the same with his boy’s pipes.

“Mmmm…” Caleb said, when he finally pulled away, “Now that’s a nice smoke.”

“I’m glad you like it,” Terry said, “Your jock isn’t so bad either.”

Caleb laughed, and pulled his son close, taking one of his son’s meaty nipples between his teeth and sucking more smoke out through that, feeling his son gasp and clench his big cock with his ass, and he took a moment to admire his boy’s body. He was growing up to be a beautiful cub–not a furry or muscular as his dad, but with a nice chubby gut and moobs, and a hot set of junk, which Caleb used at every opportunity. He leaned in and took another drag off his son’s other nipple, chewing on his nipple a bit and making Terry groan, before exhaling the smoke into Terry’s mouth, filling him to the brim with it.

They stayed like that for a long while, Terry impaled on his dad’s cock the entire time. Caleb would take a long drag off his son’s cock, and relax back, letting his son spend a few minutes cleaning off his sweaty body, the heat of the pipes and cigar resting between them. As Terry’s cock burned down further and further, Caleb started spitting into his hand, lubing it up with the cooling ash and spreading it up and down his body and his cub’s, streaking them both black, and then Terry would lick it off, hungry for the smoke and anything it made. As horny as Terry was though, his cigar cock couldn’t grow as fast as his dad smoked it, but he did his best to keep it as big as he could.

As his daddy smoked him down, the worries and concerns which Terry had been wrestling with seemed to diminish slowly. This–this here–was important, not those imagined things. Being smoked by his dad, fucked on his massive cock, cleaning off his sweaty body like a good boy–those are what mattered more than anything else in the whole world. His dad was getting more and more excited, and started working his cock around in his ass, and then he wrapped his massive hands under his armpits and started fucking Terry up and down on his massive cock. The sensation of being powerless in the hands of his daddy–it was turning him on so much, his cigar was growing almost as fast as it was burning, and smoke was pouring out of his mouth and tits now. “Oh fuck dad, oh fuck! Fill me up, pump your boy full of your daddy seed!” Terry moaned.

“Oh yeah boy, burn that fuckin’ cigar down–I don’t want anything left but a fucking nub!”

With a shudder, Terry came, smoke gouting out of his mouth, and Caleb locked lips with him, inhaling as much of it as he could, his son’s sweet smoke pushing his own cock over the edge, and he pumped his load into Terry’s hole, his ass milking him as dry as he could, the cigar, now less than an inch long, burning out between their bodies, the pipes below empty as well. Still, Caleb took a few moments to suck his son dry, getting as much smoke out of him as he could, and then he let Terry pull himself up off his softening cock, and get down.

“Thanks son, that was a real nice smoke,” Caleb said, and then hefted himself up off the chair, and stretched. “Damn, I think I’m too old for this,” he said with a chuckle.

“Ha, you’ll never be too old for me,” Terry said, and gave him a hug. He only came up to his massive dad’s chest, but when the big man wrapped his arms around him too, he’d never felt so safe and secure in his whole life, especially since his wife had left him.

Wife? Wait…no, his…mom?

When Terry pulled away, he realized he didn’t know if he had a mom, and he looked up at his dad, and asked, “Dad, who…who was my Mom? I don’t…” The look of surprise that crossed his dad’s face seemed strange to Terry, almost like he hadn’t even been expecting the question. And why would he, really? It was a stupid question, wasn’t it? He just…didn’t have a mom. That was normal, wasn’t it? “I–I’m sorry, just forget I asked.”

“No! No, uh…don’t worry about it. Look, I have to go do something upstairs for a bit, but then I’ll come back down, and we can talk about it, alright? Why don’t you just get your pipes cleaned out?”

“Sure, dad,” Terry said, and blushed as his dad’s big hand tousled his hair.

The big man tromped off and squeezed his way up the stairs, and Terry thought he heard him say something as he left, “Man, I don’t think I’m cut out to be a dad–that was way harder than I thought. Being old kind of sucks–I don’t know how he does it. Still, it’s better than being a teenager.”

Terry just watched him go, wondering what in the world he was talking about. But those creeping doubts came back, and when he reached down and knocked the last bit of ash from his cigar, and worried for a minute that he’d destroyed his cock–but that was silly. All he had to do was get horny, and it would grow back, like always. Always–had it always been like this? Had he always been a teenager, with his big manly dad? With pipes and cigars where his cock and balls ought to be?

It took Terry a second to realize that he was having a panic attack–nearly hyperventilating–and all he wanted to do was run upstairs and find his daddy and make sure everything was ok, but he got a grip on himself, and walked over to his smoke gear, and focused on cleaning himself out, knocking the ash out of the bowls of his pipes, before running big pipe cleaners through them, shivering a bit. He wished he wasn’t so ticklish, but it just felt so strange, running the fuzzy wires up his pipes. It took quite a while for him to get it all clean, and he was just about done with his second pipe, when he heard his dad coming back downstairs. Good, maybe they could talk–Terry had…some questions for him, and he really wanted some answers.

The reality wave hit him again as his son turned the corner, but he barely even noticed it. One second he was cleaning out one of the big pipes stuck to his crotch, and then the next he had the pipe up in his hand. The sudden shift caught him off guard, and he just stared at it for a second, then at himself. Hell, he was normal sized–he wasn’t a short cub anymore–in fact, he seemed to be about seven feet tall now, and the sudden vertigo caught him off guard, as he wobbled a bit, rebalancing to counterbalance his massive gut with his fat ass. Wait, he was fat again? Wait, fat…again? And a cub?

It had happened again, he was sure of it now–things were changing, but how? Why? He looked down at himself, but everything seemed right…didn’t it? The brief moment of clarity was already gone, and he couldn’t hold onto any of what had just happened–this was how he’d always looked. His massive gut ganging down past his waist, several inches falling down below the food and ash stained wife beater he wore all the time, and he reached around and gave his ass crack a good scratch where it popped up over the top of his ratty boxers, and then itched one of his hairy pits for good measure. What had he been thinking about again? He shrugged his shoulders and went back to packing his pipe, and as he did, let off a big belch.

“Hot damn Pa, that was a good one. Taste as good comin’ up as it did going down?” Caleb asked, picking a cigar out of a humidor, before biting off the end and lighting it up.

“Ha, sure as hell did,” Terry said, and then looked a bit puzzled, when he heard the deep twang of his own voice, “What in tarnation…” he muttered, trying to figure out what had happened to his voice.

“What’s up, Pa?”

His son had it too, but he hadn’t noticed…but why should he have? It was normal for a son to talk like his Pa, right? Where else would he have picked it up? “Nah, nothin’, just bein’ thick I guess. Ya know yer Pa, I ain’t too bright.”

“Ha, that’s alright, ‘cause yer damn sexy,” Caleb said, taking a deep drag off his cigar.

Terry went back to packing his pipe, and tried to remember what had been bothering him, but couldn’t find it. His head just wasn’t quite working fast enough to keep up with what was going on, but hell, it didn’t matter–he was just horny! He lit his pipe still chuckling, when he let loose a loud, wet fart that surprised both he and Caleb. “Well damn,” he said, “Guess it needs tah come outa both ends, eh son?”

“Sounds like it,” Caleb said, walking over and wrapping his big arms around his Pa and taking a deep sniff of the air. “Damn, it’s a hot, stinky one too–I fuckin’ love those.”

His son still was the same size as his dad had been–wait, his dad? No, he was…well he was big, that was all that mattered. Big, and hairy, and musky…Terry growled low and started grinding his big ass into his son’s legs–feeling the bulge of his son’s cock pressing into his flabby back, as Caleb grabbed both his flabby tits in his massive hands and started squeezing them. His boy wasn’t relly a “boy” anymore, Terry knew. Hell, he hadn’t been a boy in years now. At 27, he was one hot bear, and Terry was just happy to have him in his life. They’d been fucking for so long Terry didn’t think they would ever be apart–he could still remember their first fuck on his son’s eighteenth birthday–that had been one special fucking day. He was so happy to have a son as gay as he was. He reached around and gripped his son’s beard–he was too short to reach much else, and pulled him closer. “Ah fuck son, ya sure know how tah git yer Pa ragin’ horny.”

“Oh yeah? Well ya know what I want Pa?” Caleb asked, “I want a taste a this big, fat ass of yours.” Caleb set his cigar off in a nearby ashtray and shoved his hand down the back of his dad’s boxers.

“Fuck…aww damn boy, ya sure? It’s pretty filthy back there…”

“Just how I like it,” Caleb said, yanking down the back getting down on his knees. He kneaded his dad’s wide ass a bit and then spread the cheeks and started rubbing his greasy, tangled beard up and down his dad’s crack, listening to the fat man moan. Terry leaned forward, bracing himself against the wall and spread his legs apart, still puffing on his pipe, giving Caleb better access to his crack, and felt his son’s tongue start cleaning out his sweaty crack, probing up his shithole, and he moaned, feeling his own large cock start pressing up against his gut.

Again, Terry found himself distracted. Big cock? He hadn’t had a very big cock last time he was this big? Last time? What last time? He’d always had a cock this size…right? Or had he…had he had a tiny cock before? No, he’d always had a cock this size, this big foot long cock. Yeah, a massive foot long cigar sticking out between his legs. How else was he supposed to fuck his son, with this big gut in the way? Yeah, he might not be smart, but he more than made up for it downstairs. Caleb sometimes joked that he did a better job of thinking with his cock than with his head, and he was probably right. Thinking with his cock was a whole lot more fun too.

“Aww yeah son, that feels so good…git that tongue up there.”

“Fuck dad, yer hole’s so fuckin’ nasty–I love it,” Caleb said, and he groped for his cigar, took a deep drag off of it, anf then locked lips with his dad’s hole, pumping his ass full of smoke, the warm air making Terry shiver. He did it a few more times, pumping Terry good and full, and then, when Terry couldn’t hold any more, he bore down, a loud, long, smoky fart streaming right into his son’s face, who inhaled as much of it as he could.

“Aw fuck…fuck that’s nice…” Terry said, smelling it himself, “Yer smoke gives me the best goddamn gas, boy.”

“Sure as fuck does, I fuckin’ can’t get enough of it.”

Terry grinned. “I know somethin’ else a pig like you can’ git enough of,” he said, and stood up, stepping out of his boxers and plopping down into his recliner, putting it up so his feet were level with his son’s face, “Go on, I know how much mah filthy feet turn ya on, boy.”

With Caleb on his knees in front of him, Terry was oddly struck by just how…big his son was. He was big, like…just really damn huge. Even on his knees, his face was still level with Terry where lounged in the recliner, and he had to hunch down to press his nose between his dad’s toes and take a good whiff of the nasty funk that had built up there. Wide too–his son was so big they’d had to keep building out the doorways as he grew up. Even now, he had to fit through them sideways, or else his shoulders would get stuck. It was lucky their house had ten foot ceilings, but he had the curious thought that his son still wasn’t done growing, even though he was probably one of the biggest men on the planet. He was definitely one of the hairiest too–his entire body was covered with curly brown body hair, which was usually matted down with sweat and grime, since he worked out close to eight hours a day. Still, Terry didn’t mind–he loved his sweaty, filthy boy, and when they went to bed, he’d usually give him a nice long tongue bath, before his son took his turn, licking the sweat from between his fatty rolls…

Terry groaned as Caleb ran his big tongue up the sole of his foot and then started sucking on his toes. In his recliner, Terry tensed up for a moment, and then let loose another fart, the stink wafting out right into his son’s face, and the look of desire that shot across it and he smirked. “God, I can’t believe I raised ya tah be such a damn stinkhound.”

“Well, yer so fuckin’ nasty dad, what else would I have grown up tah be?” Caleb said, “Hey dad, ya know, why don’t ya wear those big boots ayers fer the rest of the weekend? Even when yer fucking sleepin’? Then I can clean ‘em out and yer nasty feet too on Monday, after ya git home from work.”

Work. Where did he work again? Wasn’t it…wasn’t it doing like…cooking or a chef? No that wasn’t it, where in the hell had he gotten that idea? He was a forklift operator at a warehouse–sitting on his ass all day in the hot building–his son loved how nasty and sweaty he was after a long day of work, and his booted feet would be absolutely howling by the time he took them off. Just imagining his son sucking on his grimy feet after a long day of work was enough to raise his big cock to over half mast, and Caleb reached up and wrapped one hand around it, so he could worm a finger under his thick foreskin and collect the cheese, which he then smeared on Terry’s feet before licking away.

“Alright dad, I think yer good ‘n clean. I got somethin’ I wanna try though,” Caleb said, standing up to his full height, “Now don’t move, I want tah see if this’ll work.”

Terry watched as Caleb walked around to the side of the recliner, and then in one fluid motion, kicked his foot over so he was straddling the entire recliner, his ass towards his dad’s face. “What’cha doin’ boy?” was all Terry had time to ask before Caleb reached down and yanked on the lever, the chair ratcheting back and slamming Terry’s fat face between his son’s muscular, sweaty ass.

He didn’t have time to breathe, and as soon as he was firmly planted, Caleb let loose with a fart of his own right in Terry’s face, and he gulped it down, his ten inch cock now absolutely rigid, and Terry was lapping up the gunk from his son’s crack and probing down the hole with his tongue, listening to Caleb moan, relishing the sensation of being slammed up his son’s ass.

Then Caleb bent over at his waist, and Terry felt him start sucking on his cock, and the dual assault was enough to send shivers all over his body. It felt like his head just shut down, and all he could think about was how hot it was to clean out his boy’s crack while he got his big cock sucked off. The ten inch monster would have been rough for a normal person, but Caleb’s throat was as big as the rest of him, and he took it without a single gag. Terry waited until he had his face against the base of his cock before he let off another giant fart, listening to Caleb groan in stinky pleasure, and his son followed suit, sending him another fart of his own right into Terry’s face.

Terry was close, and Caleb could tell–his father’s big cock was gushing precum like it always did when he was about to shoot. Terry started to shake, his fat belly jiggling and shuddering as he came, burst after burst of jizz shooting into his son’s mouth, and he swallowed all of it down, and then when he finally relaxed, he let out another massive fart…except it wasn’t just a fart this time.

Terry felt the shit squirt out of his ass and squish between his cheeks as he tried to hold it back, but he wasn’t able to do anything about it, because he was still trapped between the chair and his son’s ass. He groped for the lever and was able to push himself back so he was free, and Caleb unstraddled himself from the recliner, and then took a sniff and said, “Damn that one was stinkier than usual.”

Terry just blushed, and without saying anything, raised the recliner back up and hefted himself out of the chair, and when Caleb saw the brown streak on the chair, he realized what must have happened, and he just looked shocked. Terry didn’t notice, he had waddled off immediately, unable to believe he’d lost control like that, and hurried into the downstairs bathroom, where he lumbered over and sat down on the toilet, unable to believe he’d just shat all over his favorite chair. The same damn chair his dad had fucked him on, and smoked his cigar cock…right?

Terry tried to figure out where that memory had come from, but he just couldn’t. It didn’t make any sense at all. I mean…Caleb had been…his dad? And he’d had a cigar and pipe…

His head was hurting, but instead of retreating, he pushed in further, trying to separate out what had happened to him over the last few hours. He could…remember cooking dinner, but his son hadn’t been as big, and fatter. And before that, upstairs, hadn’t they…fucked? But none of those things actually seemed real–what was real was his massive, hairy and filthy redneck son, and he, his fat, sweaty equally filthy redneck dad…right?

He did his best to wipe his ass, but gave up pretty quick–he was just too big to reach around well enough, and why was he so embarrassed by what had happened? It wouldn’t be the first time he’d shat himself on accident–he and his son were trading farts so often that things had a way of slipping out on occasion, he thought with a chuckle. But then why couldn’t he ever remember doing it in the past?

“Hey Pa,” Caleb said, knocking on the bathroom door, “You alright in there?”

“Yeah,” Terry said, jus’ cleanin up.”

“Oh…” Caleb said, and after a pause said, “You…you uh, need any help?”

“No Caleb, I got it,” Terry said.

Then, the bathroom door opened anyway, and Caleb was there in the doorway, a grin on his face that Terry didn’t like the look of…and a massive hard on sticking straight towards Terry. “You sure? I think I know how to help out.”

Before Terry could do anything, Caleb had grabbed him by his fat gut, swung him around, and bent him over the bathroom counter, before slamming his cock up his dad’s ass. “Caleb! What the fuck, I’m not in the fuckin’ mood boy!”

Caleb, however, wasn’t listening, he was just fucking, and from the look on his face…he was down right enjoying the sensation of fucking his dad’s still shitty hole, and all Terry could feel was..disgust. “Caleb! Caleb, get the fuck off of me!” He screamed, and shoved himself back against his big brute of a son, who stumbled back, his shitty cock coming free of his dad’s hole.

“What the hell dad? What the fuck’s up with ya?”

“I fuckin’ said no, boy!” Terry hollered, “Now git up in yer goddamn room!”

“Why the fuck should I?” Caleb shouted back, “You’re not the fuckin’ boss a me!”

“I am yer father, boy, ‘n if I git anymore fuckin’ lip from you, yer gonna fuckin’ regret it.”

The two men glared at each other for a moment, before Caleb relented, and left the bathroom, squeezing his way up the staircases to his room, and slamming the door behind him, and then Terry let himself collapse to the floor. He honestly hadn’t expected him to stop–and Terry knew that his son was big enough that if he’d really wanted to keep going–he would have. Fuck, Caleb hadn’t always been like that, what happened to the sweet chubby loner he’d been when he was a teenager? Now, he was this hulk in his mid-twenties, still living with his dad–he needed a damn job, and a life!

Something he’d thought stuck out to Terry though–Caleb hadn’t been a chubby teenager–he hadn’t been chubby ever in his life. But still, he had a…clearish image of a son–his son, sweet hairless face, pudgy body, on the short side…but he couldn’t actually say when the image was from, because…well, it had never happened, right?

No, it had happened–it must have. But when? Again, Terry found himself looking through these impossibly tinted glass walls at the edge of his vision, like if he could turn his head fast enough and squint, he’d see something different, some other reality than his own, just as real as his…but impossible to access. But this wasn’t really right was it? He hadn’t always been this fat, filthy redneck, had he? Fuck, he needed a smoke. He got up and returned to where he’d set his pipe, finding it had gone out, and he relit it. He didn’t sit in the recliner, but just paced the room, puffing his pipe, wondering what to do about Caleb.

They needed to set boundaries–he needed to reassert himself as the father here. Sure, he loved having sex with his son–of course he did, but if he said no…well, Caleb had to respect that. There just weren’t any ifs, ands, or buts about that. And he needed to get a job–no more working out all day every day. And he needed to start picking up after himself, he figured, looking around at the cluttered den–the place was a sty. Sure, neither he nor Caleb were the cleanest guys on the planet–hell, hardly so–but they could still make an effort to improve. He smoked the rest of his pipe down, and then cleaned it out. He’d let Caleb sweat it out enough by now, he figured. Hopefully he’d had a chance to jack off, think about what he did, and realize what he’d done wrong, and they could have a conversation like real men, instead of a tantrum or argument.

He set his pipe back up on the rack, and then sighed, letting out a big belch. There wasn’t any use putting it off any longer. He hefted himself up the two staircases, pausing at the top of the second to catch his breath, before heading to his son’s room, and knocking. “Caleb, are ya in there? I’d like tah have a talk wit’ ya.”

“Sure thing dad, come on in.”

To Be Continued

The Doctor and the Loser

***WARNING*** Contains light scat.

***

“Good afternoon team.”

“Good afternoon Dr. Jacobs,” the football team replied in near unison. They were all seated on the benches in the locker room, their eyes empty and glazed, just staring at the jeweled necklace the doctor was wearing. Standing next to him was the team’s coach–a very large, hulk of a man, but he looked like he might fall over at any moment; his arms were limp, his back slouching forward. The only part of him that held any tension was his neck, which craned his head around so he could keep looking at the jewel the doctor was wearing. It was so beautiful after all–he didn’t want to stop looking at it. He never wanted it to leave his sight for as long as he lived.

“Alright team, as you know, your coach here hired me so that I could help eliminate the culture of losing which has been the primary reason for these many, many long and grueling losses your team has suffered. Now, when I came here, I knew that a team which had lost for so long would have deep seated roots of failure throughout it. What I didn’t expect, was for so many of those roots to have a single trunk, which could be ripped out so easily. Now team, your coach and I have just had a long, serious talk, and…well, maybe it would be better for your coach to say it.”

The doctor looked over at the coach, but the man didn’t notice–his eyes were still locked on the necklace.

“Coach? Do you have something you would like to admit to your team?”

“Whaa…?” The big man said, noticing for the first time that the doctor was speaking, “Oh…uh…oh yeah, I do.” With some reluctance, the coach pulled his eyes away from the necklace and faced his senior varsity football team. “Uh…team…team, I hate to, uh, have to tell you this. But the doc and I, well, we’ve discovered that…that I’m a Loser.”

The whole room gasped. Dr. Jacobs had told them about Losers before–about how dangerous they were to a team’s chances of winning. The doctor had told them all that they were very close to becoming Losers themselves, and that was the main reason they obeyed him and did everything he asked, no matter how strange. Becoming a loser was simply too terrible a prospect to risk. But to find out that their coach was a Loser? No wonder they’d lost so many games! With a Loser coaching them, they would have been coached to lose!

“What the fuck is a Loser doing coaching us Doctor!” Simon, the team captain shouted.

“Yeah!” Vinny said, “He might have turned *woof* us all into Losers!”

The doctor held up his hands and the team settled down again. “I know, I know. It was never my intention to put you all at risk. I thought I had determined that the coach wasn’t a Loser when he hired me, but I was wrong. You see, the coach had no idea that he is a Loser–after all, Losers are very good at deceiving themselves, but now that we know this, we have both agreed that there is no way he can remain your coach, isn’t that right?”

The coach nodded, his face reddening, “I…I’m sorry boys. If…if I had known, I would have never put you in this kind of danger. But since the season has already started, I technically have to remain your coach…but for now, I’m putting all of you in the hands of the doctor. I can’t think of anyone who might help you all win more than he will.”

The coach took off his whistle and handed it to the Doctor, who placed it around his neck, being sure it didn’t get in the way of the necklace. “Alright,” the doctor said, “I think that’s enough Loser shit for now. Forget him boys! Now, Simon, go lead the team through stretches and a jog!”

“You heard the coach, team!” Simon said, “Let’s go!”

The team all charged past the two men and ran onto the field, leaving the Doctor and the Coach alone in the locker room, and the Coach looked like he was about to cry. “I…I don’t want to be a Loser, doctor! I don’t! Please, please can you help me be a winner like you?” He got down on his knees in front of the doctor, hands clasped, “Please, I’ll do anything–anything!”

The doctor shook his head. “I’m sorry, but once you become a Loser–a true Loser–there’s nothing you can do. You’re going to be a Loser for life…but…well, no, It’s a lot to ask of Loser like you, and I don’t know if I can trust you.”

“What?” the coach asked, “What is it? Please, if it can help–if it can help the team win, if it can help me, I’ll do it, I’ll do anything for you.”

The doctor smiled. “Well, alright. You see, having Losers around can be dangerous, unless they know their proper place. But you, I think you’ll fit into your proper place just fine. Come on, let’s go into my office and have a chat about what you’ll be doing from now on.”

The doctor walked towards the coach’s office, and the coach started to get up and follow him, but the doctor looked over his shoulder, “No. Crawl, you fucking Loser. Loser’s don’t walk like winners–that’s the first fucking lesson we’re going to have to get into that Loser head of yours, got it?”

“Yes, yes, I understand.”

“Yes sir, Loser!” the doctor shouted, “You don’t talk to me like I’m equal to you–I’m not a fucking Loser, do you understand? You address me, and the whole team, as Sir, do you understand?”

“Yes, sir! Yes sir, I understand.”

“I don’t know if I’ll be able to use you after all–you might be the sorriest Loser I’ve ever seen!”

“No!” the coach shouted, “Please sir, please–I’ll do anything–anything!”

The doctor stared at the now sobbing coach, on his hands and knees on the concrete floor, and smirked. “Alright, come on Loser.” The doctor stepped into his new office, and the coach crawled after him, “We have a lot of work to do if we’re going to make you the worst Loser this team has ever seen.”

***

They won.

In one of the biggest turnarounds the county had ever seen–the Silverside High Vipers won the district football championships. Hollering and shouting, the players streamed into the locker room, thrilled with their victory, carrying Coach Jacobs on their shoulders, and they gave their coach three cheers of thanks.

“Well done team!” Coach Jacobs said, “I honestly didn’t know if you had it in you all to be winners, but you proved me wrong!”

“Ha, we aren’t Losers coach, but we could have been. We have you to thank for that,” Simon said, and the team started hooting and shouting again, Vinny, on his hands and knees next to Simon, gave a loud howl, the team captain reaching down and giving the back of his pup’s head a long, deep scratching, Vinny rubbing his face up against his Captain, and Master’s, leg, his cock already hardening at the thought of the load of victory cum he would have the pleasure of swallowing soon.

“But now–now we have to announce the VIP!” the coach said, and the team fell silent in anticipation. “And I’m going to go with Mick!”

One of the linebackers started jumping up and down like a girl, and ran over to the coach, giving him a deep kiss. “Oh thank you coach, thank you! I tried so hard, I tried so hard just for you!”

“And you’re a winner Mick,” Coach Jacobs said, giving the big man’s ass a rough squeeze, “Now get in that office there, so I can give you your award.”

Mick licked his lips, and hurried into the office, the Coach following behind him, and left the players’ huddle to disperse into the pairs and triples which had formed naturally over the course of the season. Darren, however, broke away from Lewis for a moment, saying, “Hold on, I gotta piss before we fuck. Hey! Loser! Where the fuck are you? I gotta take a fucking leak, you worthless piece of shit!”

“Here, sir! I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m here!” Loser said, as he crawled out from where he’d stayed out of sight. He had to stay out of sight until one of the team members needed him, or else he might break their winning streak. The several months since the good doctor had outed him as a Loser had not been easy for the old coach. He’d been tasked with being the repository for all of the teams loser aspects–all of their waste, all of their abuse, all of their humiliation. It hadn’t been easy, but what else was there for a Loser like him to do? He’d lived in the locker room, wearing nothing other than the oldest, nastiest jockstrap he could find in the lost and found bin. Coach Jacobs had taken good care of him, at least–or at least given him better care than a Loser like him deserved. Still, the diet of junk food and lack of exercise hadn’t helped the Loser’s figure. He was now well past obese, like most Losers are. He also hadn’t shaven or cut his hair in all this time–or taken a shower–and he stank almost as bad as Jerry did in his unwashed uniform, his beard caked with dried bits of shit that had collected there over the many practices and games where he’d served as the entire team’s toilet.

He crawled over and wrapped his lips around Darren’s cock, and drank the young man’s piss down, not spilling a single drop, trying not to moan in pleasure. He really was such a Loser–how else could it be that he would enjoy being one so much? It just felt…so much more natural to let things fall, to drink piss, and eat shit, and stink like a truck stop…with a shiver he felt his cock unload a wad of cum into his jockstrap–he couldn’t even control that anymore, he was such a fucking Loser–but he didn’t stop drinking, and he sucked and licked the head clean before crawling away back to his hiding spot–or he would have, if Jerry hadn’t called him over.

Several members of the team had gathered around him–after all, it was time for him to take off his gear, since this had been the last game of the season. He stripped off his rank jersey and socks, and then his jock, and said to the Loser, “Yo, clean me up, Loser–I haven’t had a proper bath in months!”

Loser went to work, licking Jerry’s body clean as quickly as he could, being very careful to touch him with no part of his body other than his tongue. He couldn’t risk spreading his Loser-ness to anyone on the team after all–and when Jerry was satisfied, he grabbed the Loser’s jaw, and stuffed his months-unwashed socks into his mouth, and then the pouch of his equally filthy jock, which he secured by wrapping the waist strap around the old coaches head twice. “Enjoy it, Loser–and they’d better be clean by the time I come back to school on Monday!” he said, and the team laughed, before they fell back into their sexual bliss.

The Loser crawled off to his corner, soaking the filthy socks and jocks with his saliva, before sucking it back out, feeling his cock shoot another load unbidden into the pouch of his jock. The Coach wouldn’t be happy that he’d shot twice already–he might even put the Loser back in chastity, but that was alright. The Loser deserved it–he knew he did. But if this is what it took for his old team to become winners like they were meant to be–then Loser could be happy with that, at least a little bit.