***WARNING: This episode contains references to incest, watersports, and scat. Duck and cover!***

So that, I suppose, brings my tale of revenge to an end. Of course, that was a few years ago at this point. I’d be lying if I said that, when I started all of this, I had wanted all three of them to suffer for the rest of their lives, but it didn’t quite turn out that way–and to be honest, I’m happy about that. In fact, everyone settled into their new relationships and lives quite quickly, more or less, so how about we play a quick game of “Where are they now?”

I suppose it would only make sense to start with Rick and Juan, since they were my first. It was also, perhaps, the sloppiest, but I still have enjoyed watching their relationship grow and change, especially Rick. He stayed on as foreman for a few months, until shortly after my father’s first morning in the mud at the construction site, but his new submissive tendencies were making it difficult for him to lead the crew–especially considering he spent most of his time fantasizing about sucking most of us off, especially the Mexicans. Hell, before too long, Juan had him sucking most everyone’s cock, and to be honest, it’s hard to respect someone when a few minutes ago you had your cock buried down their throat, and you watched him cum buckets just from the satisfaction of having his face buried in sweaty pubes.

When he stepped down, it only made sense for Juan to step up–after all, he’d been working in construction for years, knew the strengths and weaknesses of the crew, and how to utilize us well. The new, domineering attitude helped him cement the job all the more easily, and he did great. Rick returned to being a laborer, and now that his position of authority was gone–he sucked more cock than ever, and ate, and ate, and ate.

I have never seen anyone eat like Rick does, and Juan encouraged him all the time, telling him how good he looked with a big wide ass for fucking, and heavy jowls and chins to shake while he deep throated big, latin cocks. The two of them were infamous for their two hour lunch breaks, and they would always return with Rick stuffed to the throat with deep fried mexican, or greasy fast food. It wasn’t very long at all before Rick crested three hundred, and at this point, he’s getting close to four. I think Juan is planning a big feeding and fucking party to commemorate the milestone–it should be a lot of fun.

The two of them got married after a year, and it was sweet when Rick took Juan’s last name–Rodriguez. One night at a bar he confessed to me that he wished he could be Mexican like his husband–I think that was why he started picking up as much Spanish as he could, and even mimicked Juan’s Latin accent when he spoke English. He got pretty good, and his developing tan helped a lot. He was all excited one afternoon when some foreman shopping at Home Depot had asked him in Spanish if he needed work for the day, like a common immigrant. Still, all the quirks aside, the two of them were deep in love, and when he didn’t have his ass or mouth around Juan’s cock (which was rarely) they were kissing, giggling, hugging, or just looking in each other’s eyes. It was sweet, really–it was.

Now Spike and Bill on the other hand–I guess you could say they were in love, but in public, they never strayed from the biker master and slave personas. Spike, in fact, took great pains to cement their roles by making some changes to his new bitch’s looks. I must say, that when they rode back into town together, I hadn’t expected to see Bill tattooed from neck to foot. Next, Bill was quickly taught how to properly smoke a cigar, and I have never seen him without one in his mouth or nearby since, well, unless he was smoking pot I suppose. He got a few piercings too, but nothing extreme–I think Spike liked his tattoos more than anything. That just left inducting his new bitch into the gang, something involving a weekend long orgy at the clubhouse, which left Bill at work on Monday with a gaping hole, and smelling of piss, cum and ashtrays.

Spike did love Bill’s red hair though, and he forced him to grow it out along with his beard and body hair. I’d had no idea my brother was so hairy–apparently Spike had gotten everything he’d wanted in that category as well. Over the next few months, the greasy food they ate on their rides, along with Spike’s encouraging forced Bill to pack on quite the gut, which he was apparently proud of. He liked working shirtless on site, showing off his tattoos and letting his gut hang out for everyone to see. On slow days, sometimes we’d pit Bill and Rick against one another, and see who could get two of us off the fastest–fuck, it was so hot seeing my goody-two-shoes brother, now nothing more than a sexpot, roughneck biker–I always nutted first when he was sucking me off.

Now his tattoos, those were funny. Apparently, there was a bit of magic latent in them, such that they always seemed to shift around and change depending upon what Spike and Bill were doing at the moment. If they were in their leathers getting ready for a ride? Suddenly he was emblazoned with Harley logos, with the gang’s symbol covering his entire belly. Having a long smoke slave session? Now he’s covered with images of pipes, cigars, and motifs of smoke from head to toe. A leather bitch for the clubs? He’s got slave across his chest, and all sorts of images telling men exactly what they ought to do with a leather bitch like Bill. My favorite though, is when he’s relaxing at home, high on pot, and pretty drunk–because a bit of my old brother suddenly pops out–the stoner comic book slob–who would have known?

Yeah, the Silver Surfer on his arm, and the word “RANK” across his gut, with flies buzzing around it–how hot can he get, right? I asked him about it, and he confessed that he’d always loved comics as a kid, but that our dad had forced him to stop reading them, though he’d always kept it up in secret. Then he confessed, blushing, that Spike loved his hobby too, and together they had amassed quite the collection–so apparently their relationship did have a little give and take. He’d never really wanted to be a cop, or a security guard–but dad had wanted it, so that’s what he did. He was happier now, much happier. I’d misjudged him, I realized, though I still wished he hadn’t ratted on me in the first place. Still, he did apologize, right before asking me to fuck his ass, rough how he likes it, so I guess I can forgive a hot biker like him.

As for Nicky and Glenn—dang, where do I even start with those two? Watching everyone settle into their relationships has been an interesting experience, but none of them went quite as far down the rabbit hole as those two did. It wasn’t much at first–Nicky seemed happy enough to act the part of the immature, innocent child, while Glenn was the rough daddy, but as the weeks and months wore on, we all started to notice that Nicky was undergoing a few, greater changes. The first, and most prominent, was the weight gain. I’m not sure what Glenn was feeding him, but it sure did pack on the pounds, and fast at that. They hadn’t been together a year by the time Nicky hit three hundred and kept on growing.

That was only the most obvious change, but not the most sudden either. One week, I saw Nicky and he suddenly had no hair. Nothing, not on his head, not on his body–he was completely smooth. I asked Glenn about it, and all he’d tell me was that babies weren’t supposed to be hairy, so he’d talked it over with Nicky, and the two of them had agreed to get all of it removed permanently. I pressed him a little further, and found out about some of the other things he and Nicky had spent their time doing, and honestly? Some of it even freaked me out, and as you can tell, I have a pretty twisted head when it comes to sex.

By that time, Nicky was entirely incontinent–he had lost all control over his bladder and ass, and as far as both of them were concerned, he was going to be in diapers for the rest of his life. While Glenn was working, Nicky was at home, listening to a variety of hypnotic recordings designed to regress him permanently to as young a mindset as possible. Glenn had been testing him often, and he was losing at least fifty words from his vocabulary a week, and he always talked like a little kid without even thinking about it. I asked him how the sex was, and this was the part that surprised me, he said they weren’t having any, really. Nicky occasionally sucked on his daddy’s pacifier, and Glenn would jack his son off in his diaper once in awhile, but I think even that quit by their second year together. They were really becoming father and son, in a way–and that was how they loved each other. It was sweet, but also unnerving if you thought about it too much.

Glenn took a second job on–apparently it was hard raising an adult baby on a single income, and so he tapped some of us “gay uncles” to babysit Nicky on occasion. It was always a bit surreal, whenever I watched him. He loved to play peek-a-boo, or play pretend with his huge collection of stuffed animals. He was–so innocent really. It reminded me of when he had been a baby, before he’d turned into the immature jackass I’d hated most of my life. And he really was happiest with a full, stinking diaper, who would have thought it?

And that leaves my dad–Max. Boy, I sure did a number on him, didn’t I? Still, from the very beginning, I could tell that something had gone wrong with his spell. Sure, it had worked well enough, but he never seemed to settle down into his new life fully. I mean, don’t get me wrong, from that day on he was a mud slinging, shit eating, piss loving pigman, but you could see in his eyes that he knew something was wrong–that this wasn’t how things were supposed to be. I heard from Hog that the two of them would have terrible fights, usually after Max had gotten a bit too drunk, and they always ended with Max storming out and leaving for days at a time, with Hog having no clue as to where he had gone, or when he might be back.

One night, Hog texted me and told me Max had gotten violent, and that he was worried he was going to hurt himself or someone else. I hurried over, and arrived just in time to see my dad storm out and throw a knife into the bushes. Hog was in the doorway–unharmed, thank goodness–crying and begging him to stay, but Max climbed in his truck and drove off. So I followed him, deciding to get to the bottom of this once and for all. It might be important to note that my dad had been raised a Catholic, and while he had drifted away from church in his later years, it was still important to him. So when he pulled up at a large Catholic church, one with a shelter attached, I wasn’t too surprised. Inside, he immediately went to confession, and then got cleaned up, and was given a room in the shelter, where he could, apparently, pray and work out his inner demons.

He didn’t last long. Two days later, he was back on the streets in his filthy clothes, a hungry look in his eyes, and he would binge all night long. Scarfing derelicts’ shit and piss, begging men passing by to fuck his ass or feed him. He was insatiable, and happy–yes, happy. He didn’t seem upset that he’d given in, if anything, he looked relieved, and the next day he drove back to Hog’s, apologized, and then everything was fine until his next explosion a few months down the line. The next time it happened, I was ready. I confronted him before he could get into the church, and told him to talk to me, and that afterwards, I’d drop him anywhere he wanted to go. He didn’t want to, but eventually, he climbed in.

Back at Mary’s house, in the kitchen where this had all started, we talked–as father and son–for the first time in ages. He told me how happy he was with Hog, how much he loved being a trashy pig, how much he wanted to make Hog happy, but there was another voice–it was always there, screaming at him, shouting him down, telling him it was wrong, that he needed help, that he needed God. He would run, but being clean–he hated it so much, and he’d fall back into his new ways, relieved that the voice was quiet again for the moment. I felt sorry for him, to be honest–I didn’t want him to suffer with that old conscience. I think that was where my moment of weakness hit.

See, I told him everything. How I had become a matchmaker, about my magic, about how I had changed all of them, Rick and Juan, Bill and Spike, Nicky and Glenn, and even him and Hog. I told him why, and he listened, but he didn’t say anything. I wanted him to say something, anything, but when I’d finished, he just got up and left, went back to Hog’s and never had another crisis of conscience that I heard about. Still, I shouldn’t have told him. He never confessed it to me, but he’s the one who started the next mess, I’m sure of it. Still, I managed to come out on top of it, didn’t I? What was the next mess you say? Well, why don’t we save that story for another time.