Winter Vacation [Interactive] (Part 11)

The sun rose, but neither Nate nor Brett stirred until it was quite high in the sky, shortly before noon. Still, that wasn’t uncommon–Brett had been up late in his room, watching reruns of Dukes of Hazard, dipping the whole while, and Brett–well, it Brett was a awake, he was usually watching porn and jacking off. Brett didn’t do much else, anymore. With a grunt, he rolled over in his bed, feeling the soggy mattress squish beneath him, reeking of piss and cum. Brett just took a long snort of the fumes, shoved his hand into his underwear and started milking his cock, already excited for the first cum of the day. It was always the best, somehow–he liked to let this one last a bit longer than the rest.

Brett hadn’t weighed himself once since arriving at the house, but if he did, he would have been amazed to discover that he was now cresting 500 pounds. Reaching his cock, however, was getting difficult–but the sensation of his fat shaking, slapping and sloshing around him was heavenly. However, the larger he got, the more he seemed to sweat. Some days, he actually dribbled a trail behind him as he walked, like he’d just emerged from the shower. Still, he never felt dehydrated–if anything, all of the liquid seemed to be coming from inside him, replenishing itself no matter how hot he got–and the same went for his bladder. He seemed to piss every hour, and no matter how large of a piss he let go, he could let off another one, just as large, within an hour. His mattress, which had already been wet when he’d arrived, was now sodden. Whenever he laid down on it, he could hear piss, cum and sweat dribble from it and onto the floor, where it soaked into the clothes piled around him. Still, as large as he was…he wasn’t big enough.

All week, it seemed, Nate had been just ahead of him, always the bigger brother. He hated it–mostly because that meant Nate could order him around, and make him do whatever he wanted. Nate would holler for him across the house, and Brett–so comfortable in his soggy bed, would have to get up, head downstairs into the garage, where Brett would bend him over a bike and fuck him, or dress him up in leather and make him be his slave pig for an hour, or two, or five. Once, however, he’d won. He’d been the big brother, and he dragged Nate upstairs, made him drink his piss and suck his cock all night long, dressing him up in filthy clothes, feed him his dip spit–fuck, that had been amazing. Just thinking about it–he was so close. He came, filling the front of his underwear with a massive load, and sighed. His gut rumbled–and he smelled breakfast on the air. He heaved himself up, shook off his night sweat, and headed downstairs, leaving a trail of wet footprints in his wake.

On the other side of the house, Nate was awake too. He was nearly 550 at this point, a massive, hairy apron sagging down to his thighs. He stepped into his grungy, greasy overalls and pulled them up, feeling his gut grumble. Still–first things first, he packed his bottom lip with chaw, the drool starting to flow into what had become a massive, black beard growing high up his cheeks. The rest of his body was caked with filth–grease, dip spit, cum, and who knew what else, not that he minded at all. A redneck like him ought to be good and filthy, after all. He stepped into some boots, put a stained hat on his head, and headed through the garage to the main house, just as Brett was coming down the stairs. “Mornin’ little bro,” Nate said with a grin.

Brett scowled at him, “Mornin’ big bro.”

“What’s say you ‘n I have some fun in the garage after breakfast? I’m feelin’…might filthy, ‘n I could use a nice tongue bath.”

“What…whatever you say, big bro.” In his head, however, Brett had other ideas. Other, much filthier ideas, if he could just be big enough.

They went into the kitchen together, and found themselves staring at the most massive spread either of them had seen–and a stranger waiting for them as well. Or was he a stranger? It was…their daddy, wasn’t it? But it wasn’t the same daddy they’d had–that daddy had been fat…and kind of stupid. More like a vegetable, really. This daddy had a sharp gleam in his eye, and he was…muscular. “There’s my boys–you two ready for breakfast?”

Brett and Nate nodded, still not quite sure what to make of this change of events.

“Now, I’ve been watching the two of you, you know,” Daddy continued, “your little competition to see who’s the big brother around here, but today–well, let’s just say that whoever the winner is after this meal, isn’t going to be losing the title from now on. If you want to be the big brother, well, you’re going to have to eat like you’ve never eaten before.”

Brett and Nate looked at each other, and then they rushed the table, grabbing for anything they could reach, and shoving it in their face. Occasionally, they would glare at each other, try to shove each other out of the way–and the demon just stood back and watched his boy’s grow. But they weren’t just growing fatter–no. Brett and Nate were both now several inches taller at this point, looming a bit over the table, oblivious to what Daddy’s special meal was doing to them.

Still–there could only be one winner. Who is it going to be? Brett or Nate?

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Winter Vacation [Interactive] (Part 7)

Brett heard his big brother disappear into the garage, and wondered why he was heading there, when Daddy had told them both to go to their rooms. Still, something told him he didn’t really need to worry much about that–Nate could take care of himself, after all. He hefted himself upstairs, surprised by how hard it was with the extra weight of his new gut. He paused about three quarters of the way up, and wondered how in the hell Daddy was going to get up these stairs to go to bed, and thought about it, about daddy’s massive apron, covered in hair, wondering what it would be like to have one himself. His cock got hard, but he resisted touching it. Something…still just didn’t seem right to him, about all of this, even if he couldn’t quite figure out what it was exactly.

At the top of the stairs there was a hall with several rooms splitting off. A second bathroom–also equipped with a urinal, like the one downstairs, and a few bedrooms. He went to the next door, opened it, and as soon as he did, he gagged. Whatever was in this room…it reeked. He stepped back a bit, shaking his head. That couldn’t be his room. It just…it couldn’t be. But the stench, now that he smelled it…it did seem familiar somehow. Comfortable, even. He tried to leave, fully intending to get out of the house and never come back, but instead he walked into the room, eyes watering, and shut the door behind him.

Once shut it, he felt better. The air was muggy and humid–and almost immediately Brett felt himself start to sweat. He wiped his brow and looked around, disgusted by the room around him. It was filthy. Empty food wrappers and containers were scattered everywhere, mixed in with the dirty laundry that made up most of the clutter. There was a closet lying open, but there was nothing inside but even more clothing, also dirty–why in the world was there so much of it?

He felt dizzy in the heat of the room, and he went over to the bed and sat down on it…and when he did, he felt it…squish beneath him. The surface was wet, and a thick plume of filthy air billowed up around him, and when he inhaled it this time, he just felt more of his mind shut off, his jaw dropped open, one hand went to his cock and started stroking it slowly. Yeah–this was better. Much better. He was back where he belonged now, he could tell. He’d been wrong before, when he thought about leaving this–and he laid back on the damp, stinking mattress and jacked off a bit faster.

As he laid there, he could start to pick out some of the specific odors around him. Piss–there was lots of that. His stomach turned for a moment, as he finally realized why, exactly, the mattress felt so soggy…but then it just didn’t bother him at all. In fact, knowing the thing was leaden with his own stale piss somehow made everything so much…hotter. There was sweat, too–his own sweat rolling off him. He lifted an arm and took a whiff of himself, still unwashed after days of looking after daddy, and it smelled amazing. It wasn’t enough though–it still just wasn’t quite right. He’d missed something, but what?

It clicked in his head, and he smacked his forehead. He could be such a stupid, stinking boy sometimes. He wasn’t dressed, of course! He rolled over, intending to sit up on the bed, but it was hard work, for some reason, liks his body wanted to move as little as possible. He managed, however, to make it back to the edge, and he fished around in the piles around him, looking for something that smelled…right, tossing things back that dissatisfied him, and pulling on the things he found that interested him. A nasty wifebeater, some ratty briefs, some socks–and then a couple more socks on top of those–he liked it when his feet got nice and rank. Satisfied with his choices, he laid back down with a contented sigh, and continued masturbating, face snorting from his pits now, hand shoved down the front of the briefs, working on his cock, which had started leaking precum profusely into the fabric.

His balls were growing–swelling in the stank briefs, and as they grew, he could sense his own mind growing dimmer. He tried to cling to his thoughts of escape, but they slipped away from him, and soon he didn’t even feel like he was missing anything. He was just a nasty slob in his stinking room, jacking off like he always did, when Daddy or his brother didn’t need him, not that he was good for much. He was…fucking worthless, actually. He could cook, he supposed, but that was about it. He knew that should bother him, the fact that he was just wasting his life up here, but he loved it. He wanted to be worthless. He wanted to waste himself on porn and masturbation, living in his stinking man cave. The first orgasm came, but it only got him hornier. Brett could chain ten or twelve loads a day, his underwear eventually completely saturated with his fluids, and he’d still usually have a wet dream or two in the night, humping his nasty mattress until he came.

He needed to piss, and he knew he should use the urinal, but when he tried to get up from the bed this time, inertia won. Fuck–he was so fucking lazy, he wasn’t even going to make it to the bathroom. Not this time, at least. The piss started to flow, and there was so much of it, flooding through his briefs and soaking into the bed below him, and he came again, and again, and again, until he couldn’t think of anything else he’d rather do than waste his life as a worthless slob.

The next few days were quiet. Daddy and his two boys adjusted to their roles rather quickly, and it wasn’t long before they had forgotten about their old lives entirely, their gear thrown out into the backyard by Nate, who only saw the four duffel bags as junk. They ate–with Daddy always pitting his two boys against one another to see who would be the big brother for the day. Nate usually won, but Brett could pack away his groceries on occasion, and when he did, he loved bossing his brother around, ordering him to suck on his huge, nasty feet while he jacked off onto him. Nate, on the other hand, would use his brother as a biker pig out in the garage, when he won–at least, when daddy wasn’t using them both for his own pleasure.

It was about a week later, halfway through their alleged vacation, that a new car pulled up into the driveway. The mastermind had been watching the events unfolding, and was very, very pleased by the four young men’s progress–but now it was time for stage two, whatever that might be. So, who is our perverse Mastermind, anyway?

It really is Rich’s mysterious uncle, who brought along Rich’s father for extra fun.
A group of nerds they bullied looking for revenge.
The football coach, who is possessed by a demon of sloth, lust and gluttony.
A mad scientist, happy some guinea pigs wandered into his trap.

Polls will go live in a few minutes!

Winter Vacation (Part 6)

Brett and Nate left the kitchen, and while Brett peeled off and headed upstairs, Nate continued on the ground floor, which seemed…odd to him. Usually bedrooms were upstairs, right? But something was telling him that his room–the right room–was down on the ground floor. He found a small mudroom with two doors. One had a small window that led out into the backyard, and Nate took the other one, which entered the garage.

For a cabin in the mountains, it sure was a spacious garage. It had three doors, and much to Nate’s surprise, there were already vehicles parked inside–an old pickup, and then four motorcycles in the other two spaces. But why four? There was only him, his little bro, and their daddy in the house, so didn’t they only need three? He spent a moment trying to sort out who, exactly, would need the fourth bike, but the dull buzzing in the air made it hard to keep the thoughts and numbers straight in his head. Instead, he saw another door on the other end of the garage–and that, he somehow knew, was his room.

He weaved through the motorcycles, all of them sizable Harleys, and went into the room–into his room, his head corrected him. It was completely disconnected from the house–the only way to get there was through the garage. That was…strange, right? But then again, it seemed…logical. Didn’t…he spent most of his time in the garage anyway? He wasn’t sure where that thought came from, exactly, but it didn’t seem right to question it either. The room itself was small, with a double bed in a corner with flannel sheets, a closet and a dresser, a stereo and a TV set. The one nice luxury was an attached bathroom–but it didn’t have a shower, just a toilet and a sink. The air smelled like grease, and it was cold–he should put some clothes on, shouldn’t he? His clothes were back by the front door of the house, though…it would be better to just see what was in the closet.

He went to the closet, unsure of what to expect, exactly, but when he opened the doors, he was mostly surprised by how…little there was inside. A pair of jeans, some flannel shirts, some pairs of boots, grubby pairs of overalls and coveralls–and leather. Lots of leather gear he might imagine a biker wearing, and all of it was well worn, and…smelled. The same odd smell of the room, but he grabbed a pair of stained briefs, an undershirt, and one of the pairs of overalls, and started to get dressed. They seemed…massive, and yet fit him snugly. He wasn’t entirely sure if it was because he hadn’t quite yet gotten used to how fat he had become, or if it was because the clothes had seemed to…shrink to fit. In any case, the clothes seemed as greasy as the air around him, rubbing off on his skin somehow. It wasn’t…unpleasant, and yet it didn’t feel quite right either. He settled on the pair of cowboy boots, pulling them on with some thick woolen socks, and when he stood up and saw himself in the mirror in the bathroom, he was a bit taken aback.

This wasn’t right. This wasn’t what he should be wearing. He shouldn’t be this fat, or this dirty, or feel this gross. He was about to take the things off, when he felt something hard in the back pocket of the overalls, reached back, and pulled out a small tin of chewing tobacco. The sight of it gave him a great sense of relief–he’d feel much better with a proper lipper. He packed the chaw into his mouth, feeling the slight tingle as it went to work, and his eyes glazed over slightly. This was right. He just…needed some time to adjust. Maybe he should give the hogs a little tune up? The family wasn’t exactly riding much in the summer, and Nate always wanted to keep everything in the garage in peak working condition. He turned on the stereo, let it blast country music out into the garage, and got to work, humming along easily with the songs he didn’t quite recognize, and soon enough he was singing along, his voice slowly picking up the same drawl as the singers–and then becoming even more extreme.

As he worked, his body was changing too, slightly. He kept drooling spit down onto his chin without meaning to, and where ever the black tar went, hair grew in, leaving him with a thick mustache and a goatee after an hour. The grease and funk of the clothes was wearing off onto him as well–along with something else. Colors were beginning to appear on his skin–patchy at first, but then coalescing into patterns and images–tattoos all over his arms and chest. The hat on his head was doing wonders for his hair, as well. When he took it off to wipe his brow, a thick mullet had appeared running down the back of his head, and as he spit out some tar, he didn’t even notice a couple of teeth come loose and end up on the floor of the garage with the rest of the grease stains.

In his mind, he found that knowledge about engine repair was pushing out everything else. It was…easy to think about mechanical parts, and fixing things, but everything else just seemed so…difficult to him. He knew he wasn’t the smartest fella, but he could fix just about anything you handed him, and he was pretty handy around the house too, if something was broken. Pleased with his work, he took a break to lounge about in his bedroom, packed himself another lip of tobacco, and jacked off to some porn on his little TV, thinking about daddy and his little brother, what those two might be getting up to at the moment.

No poll today! Tomorrow we’ll catch up with Brett, and see what his slobby room had in store for him.

Winter Vacation [Interactive] (Part 3)

Did it even make sense to call this a movie? Maury wasn’t sure, because so far, there was no plot, there was no…nothing. The title had rolled, and after that, it was just clips and pictures of all of these massively fat men–almost all of them eating something. It was stupid, whatever it was…but he couldn’t quite get his hand to go to the player and eject the disk. Still…he had to get rid of this. If the other guys saw him watching this, what would they think of him? It was…weird, right? So he forced his hand towards the player, but he couldn’t get one of his fingers to hit the stop or eject button because he had a death grip on the doughnut in his hand.

Where had he even gotten that? He tore his eyes away from the screen for a moment, towards the snack bar off to the side, and sure enough, there were several boxes of doughnuts there, just begging to be eaten. If…If he ate it, then he’d have a free hand to stop the player, right? He pushed the pasty into his mouth, chowing down on it, chased it with a glug of soda he’d gotten from the fridge nearby, and then got another doughnut–too late to remember that he should have stopped the disc first. Still…why stop it, really? It was kind of relaxing, right? He should…get a bunch of snacks, and sit on the couch, and just…watch for a while. He hurried to the snack bar and loaded up his arms, trying to be quick so he wouldn’t miss anything, and then went back to the couch and plopped down on it, just as Brett and Nate rounded the corner, and peeked into the room, drawn by the odd sounds coming from the TV, which sounded…almost like porn.

It wasn’t porn though–both of them were confused as to why Maury was sitting there, stuffing his face, eyes glued to the screen and watching other fat men stuff themselves as well, most of them without shirts, showing off their huge, overflowing guts. “M-Maury? What are you watching?”

“It’s a movie called Flabulous! It’s awesome you guys, come on–have a seat, there’s plenty to eat.”

Neither Brett nor Nate were really interested in watching a video with a bunch of clips of men eating…but now that they were watching it, they were a bit hungry. What was the harm in a little snack, after all? Brett and Nate sat down on the couch with Maury, both of them eating idly, more and more, all of them losing track of just how much food they were shoving into their guts, none of them listening to their guts growling, the belches they were throwing off–and how their shirts were all starting to ride up slightly, as they ate.

Soon, the men on the screen were naked, many of them jacking off, sometimes even being fed by other men on the screen, who were usually fat as well. Maury suggested that Brett focus on feeding him for a bit, and then looked over at Nate, stroking his cock, his chest and small gut covered in food, and told him he had a different snack for him–a better snack, and with a bit of suggestion, Nate was between Maury’s legs, sucking his cock, drinking down his cum and whatever morsels fell down near his mouth–which was quite a lot, in fact.

The movie kept playing, hour after hour, the men on the screen growing bigger, their feeding more and more gluttonous and perverse. Maury began slathering himself with food, making his two friends eat it off his body while they worshipped him, his thin, athletic frame now lost under a hefty gut and large moobs, his ass widening as well. The only breaks any of them took was to go to the bathroom, to flush their soda piss down the urinal, but none of them needed to shit, for some reason. It seemed like everything they were eating was being instantly metabolized into fat–and none of them noticed a thing wrong with any of it–especially not Maury, who was quickly becoming the leader and instigator, encouraging his two friends to focus on feeding him more and more–and it showed.

The movie played for a full day, and the three men stayed awake for the whole time, never sleeping a moment until the screen went black, and all three of them collapsed in exhaustion. It was the next morning when they all started to wake up, and look at the room around them, which they’d destroyed in their feeding frenzy. Maury was still on the couch–all five hundred pounds of him at this point, His clothes ripped and tattered around him. Brett still had on his underwear–barely. His briefs were stretched tight across his three hundred pound frame, and the waistband was starting to tear apart when he rolled over, yawned, and belched. Nate was in a similar condition, around 300 pounds, blinking blearily, trying to understand how he and his two friends had all packed on so much weight in just a single day. He…wanted to panic, but that soothing hum in the air helped him keep his cool.

It was all going to be ok–after all, the three of them were…flabulous now, right? Yeah! Super flabulous, just how…how they’d always wanted to be. Looking at Maury, still snoozing, Nate couldn’t help but feel a bit jealous, and hoped one day he’d be as large as his friend was now too.

“Jesus…what the fuck happened to us?” Brett said, hefting up his gut, “I…Did we just eat for two straight days?”

“Fuck, still kind of hungry,” Nate muttered, “Anybody want breakfast?”

“Breakfast sounds great,” Maury said, “Why don’t you go cook us something man. I think I’ll just…sit here for a bit longer.”

“No, guys, fucking listen to me. This isn’t fucking right–and where in the hell is Rich? Have you guys seen him at all since we got here?”

Both Maury and Nate looked at each other, and then at Brett. It was…worrisome, they supposed, but what were they supposed to do about it exactly? The hum in the room got a bit louder, and Maury shook his head. “No–this is dumb. It’s time for breakfast. Brett, go cook something for me–and make plenty of it.”

Brett…knew he should do what Maury told him to do. He had to do what Maury told him to do. He was…the biggest, after all. Being the biggest came with certain…benefits, like being in charge. But this was still wrong–he knew it, and he had to try and do something about it.

What does Brett do?

He gives in, and spends the morning cooking breakfast like a good friend.
He keeps arguing with Nate and Maury, until they have to punish him.
He secretly searches the house for Rich’s whereabouts.
He secretly searches for clothes, so he can escape.

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Orwell’s Demon (Part 6)

WARNING: Scat, General Filth

-Before-

Orwell did his best to lay low, after what had happened to Stewart, and Ray before that. With a new disappearance, Detective Hurlbane had started sniffing around more, and questioned Orwell, and a few other teachers, about the two disappearances. He’d seemed very suspicious about Orwell, but without a body, and without any real evidence or clear motive, what could he say? Orwell cooperated as best he could, in the ways he knew would pose no risk to him. He allowed the detective to search his house, before he could go to a judge for a warrant, and he found nothing. What, after all, was there to find? They were just…dust now. The demon said more, though…and on occasion, the demon used their voices, taunting him, urging him to give in, saying that they were waiting for him to join them, that they missed him.

Still, the heat relented, soon enough. Hurlbane backed off, and started pursuing other possible leads, and Orwell turned to other, more pressing matters–his new body. It had…needs, and desires his old one had never had before. He was perpetually horny, and his hands, if he didn’t keep them in check, would slip down the front of his pants to jack off, at any time of day, in front of whoever may be watching. The only two ways he could keep control of himself, were whipping himself at night until he bled, load after load of cum across the floor in front of him after each session, his back magically healed each morning–and by guzzling as much cum as he could possibly find.

But that, he couldn’t get from the school. No, he needed to get as far away from his normal life as he could, where, if the demon got a hold on someone else, he wouldn’t attract any suspicion. And so, Orwell became a regular at several rest areas outside of the city. The demon in his mind enjoyed it, enjoyed watching him debase himself for the truckers and travellers–and if a few fagbashers decided he needed a good working over? He’d more than happily take his beating too–although more than a few lost their interest once they discovered just how much Orwell enjoyed the punishment. But it was slim pickings at times, and it was on those nights that Orwell had the hardest time, coping with the demon inside him, taunting him, telling him that he could have any man he wanted in the parking lot, that all he had to do was ask. Still, Orwell kept his guard up–until one frustrating evening, when a trucker who we was certain would let him suck down a load had hauled off and punched him right in the face instead.

He was hungry. He was hungry, and he was angry, and before he even knew he’d done it, the trucker turned back around, and Orwell could see the red in his eyes. “Is this what you wanted Orwell? All he wanted was a chance to take a piss and a shit without being bothered–do you really think that was too much to ask?”

It was the smell that caught him next–a putrid, vile scent, like the worst body odor he’d ever imagined, rolling off the trucker’s body in waves. It singed and scared the inside of his mouth and nose, his mind roiling in the acid of it as he inhaled it, collapsing to the ground, and there, he saw that he wasn’t the only thing in the bathroom affected. The walls of the stalls…they were melting. The tile peeling under him, the porcelain of the sinks cracking and shattering behind him, and he watched as the clothes both he and the trucker were wearing dissolved away to nothing.

“Yeah, that’s more like it!” the trucker exclaimed, taking a long whiff of himself, and Orwell could see him growing, packing on fat, his skin covered in sores and lesions, thick hair filling in everywhere else. He lumbered over to a dissolving partition and looked over it, sighing, “Toilets are all busted–’n I can’t bust no load without droppin’ mah other loads. Guess that means yer gonna have tah do double duty, eh pig?”

Orwell tried to get up, tried to run, but something was wrong with him. His body–it too was melting and dissolving…somewhat. His arms and legs had withered, even as his guts had grown and sagged out into a heaving mass. The trucker picked him up, and carried him to the pipe where the toilet had sat, and shoved him onto it, Orwell feeling the cold metal slide in side his gelatinous form, and then the man turned around, shoved the ring of his hole against Orwell’s mouth, and let loose a long, noxious fart right into his mouth. He…swore he felt his teeth and jaw dissolve away, mouth hanging open, limp, as the shit began to pour from the man’s hole–more shit than Orwell had imagined possible, and all of it sliding down his tongue and throat, into his heaving body. He could…feel it in there, just resting inside of him, mounding up…and it felt good. He felt good. Lazy. Simple. Dumb. The man turned around, when he’d finished, pushed his thick cock into the shit covered toilet mouth, and let loose his piss, flooding Orwell’s body again, watching him writhe in pleasure and excitement, thrusting into the loose tunnel his throat had become until he added a load of stinking cum as well…the stink intensifying, and Orwell watched the man dissolve away into ash, leaving him alone, and trapped, in the rest are bathroom.

The scenery returned to normal, slowly, as the air cleared. Orwell’s arms and legs solidified again, allowing him to haul his way free of the pipe he’d been sitting on…but even outside, in the fresh air, he didn’t feel right. He could still…feel it, inside him. The shit and piss. He could smell it too. To his horror, as he drove home, he realized he could smell it on him–it was leeching out of him, through his skin, coating him…and the smell of it, as putrid as it was…it only was making him hungry all over again.

Daddy’s Little Man (Part 4)

WARNING: Scat, Diapers, Extreme Mental Regression, etc.

From the way his legs were swinging without even touching the ground, James realized he must have shrunk again as well, but with no way of measuring, all he knew was that his daddy absolutely dwarfed him…and yet he felt a strange sense of comfort in that. “Alright, come here little man, it’s alright,” Mr. Rawlins said, pulling James into a hug, and he melted into the older man’s chest, the sense of comfort and security which washed over him drove his earlier terror from his mind. He was on his daddy’s lap now–everything would be alright. Mr. Rawlins started rubbing one of hands up and down his big belly, and his peepee did that funny thing again, getting kind of stiff in his diaper, and James sucked harder on the rubber cock in his mouth. “Yeah, that’s my good little man. Still, since you’re being such a pain, I think we need to do something about that head of yours, don’t we? We need to make sure you stay occupied, so you don’t get any ideas about running away from me ever again. So how about this, how about we make you a naughty baby? A stupid, dirty, naughty little man? How does that sound? Would you like that? I know I would–I’d like that a lot,” Mr. Rawlins said, massaging his own cock through his suit pants.

Some distant part of James, something small told him he needed to get away, that he needed to fight against his daddy, but he was so big, and so…so important, and so nice…he couldn’t do that. He wanted to be whatever his daddy wanted him to be. As he sat there on his daddy’s lap, wreathed in pipe smoke, he suddenly felt his bladder release again, but this time it was different. It wasn’t just piss flowing out of him, it was his brain, his knowledge, his thoughts. It was like a drain had been opened at the base of his brain and it was all flowing out through his cock and into his diaper. It was so hard to think, and he didn’t have many words to use to do so, his eyes growing dull and vacant as a bit of drool seeped out around his pacifier. He was running on instinct more than anything now. He sucked harder on the rubber pacifier, feeling his peepee tingle in anticipation–but what he was anticipating he didn’t really know.

“Yeah, that’s much better. Look at those eyes of yours now–so innocent, so loving, so dull. You’re daddy’s little man, aren’t you? Aren’t you?” Mr. Rawlin’s said, tickling James massive gut and making him giggle around his pacifier. “Yeah, you won’t be able even think of running away anymore, will you? Still, I think we need to find something else to occupy your attention, just to make sure you don’t get any ideas. Daddies hate it when their little men get ideas.”

James felt his asshole release then, and a massive flood of shit filled the back of his diaper, and while the smell was horrendous, it also made his peepee tingle even more, especially when the shit started working its way around between his thick thighs and under his balls. Happy in his shitty diaper, James started rocking back and forth on his daddy’s knee, spreading it around as much as he could, wanting to get dirtier, filthier, a nasty, gross baby for his daddy, just like he wanted him to be. His peepee was tingling so much, and it felt so good, he could barely stand it, and he started humping his diaper, feeling his peepee rub up against the fabric as well as his fat.

“Yeah, what a disgusting little man. You enjoy that? You like having a filthy diaper? Just you wait–I don’t think I’ll change you for days–I want to see how full it can get. Still, I don’t think you’re quite naughty enough yet. How about we make that peepee of yours your new brain?”

The tingle in his peepee was suddenly ten times more powerful, and James weak thrusts sped up, the diapered man turning a bit so he could hump his full diaper against his daddy’s suit, and after a few moments he was rewarded with the most wonderful sensation, kind of like he was peeing again, but ten times better. He let out a groan, the pacifier dropping from his mouth, and his daddy bent over, giving him a deep kiss, toying with his little man’s nipples, and suddenly James was cumming again, unable to help himself, messily making out with his daddy, a small dark spot forming on the front of Mr. Rawlins’ pants as well.

“Yes, I think you’ll do nicely, little man,” Mr. Rawlins said, putting James down on the ground, where the massively obese adult baby gaped around with empty eyes while he rubbed the front of his pants with one of his hands, making his peepee happy and his daddy happy all at the same time, squishing his nasty shit around in his diaper. “Still, I had hoped you would be ready for school–I love a good school boy. I think I did a little too much damage for that though…let’s see then–we can’t have you wandering around in just a diaper after all. Still, I think I know just the look for a dumb, nasty and naughty baby like you.”

Mr. Rawlins wreathed his new little man in another cloud of smoke, and when it cleared, a new outfit was adorning his body–a tight fitting white sailor suit, or at least, mostly white. The crotch was stained a light yellow and the ass had brown streaks from where his diapers routinely overflowed, but James didn’t mind, clapping his hands with joy as he looked down at himself, letting loose a wet, shitty fart as he did, and looking up to his daddy for approval. He wanted his daddy to be happy–after all, his daddy could do anything he wanted.

“Ha, look at you–so handsome. You know, I was going to wait until we got home to introduce you to my special pacifier, but I…I don’t think I can wait, little man,” Mr. Rawlins said, and unzipped his pants, “Open up–daddy’s got something big for you to suck on.”

James didn’t need any more encouragement, and drooling a bit, he took the cock in his mouth and started sucking on it, feeling his pee pee start tingling again, and with one of his hands, he rubbed the front, feeling himself cum again like before, when he’d made his daddy happy. He loved making his daddy happy after all–and when the big man tensed up and unloaded his seed down his little man’s throat, James knew he’d made him very happy indeed.

My Uncle’s Amulet (Part 8)

I stumble back into the room, where my brother and daddy are lying on the bed and the floor…no, not my brother, he’s my…my cousin. I have to remember that, I have to try and remember how things were, but it’s so…hard to think about everything, all I want to do is sleep. I know that if I sleep, everything will make more sense, but I need to get to Gabe. If I can get to Gabe, he had a plan, he knew something about all of this and what to do. I’m just a dumb whore, but he’s my brother! Sure, he’s…mean, most of the time, but he’s smarter than me ‘n daddy combined, so he’ll know what to do for sure. As I walk to him, I stumble and have to catch myself on the wall, trying to keep myself upright, but it’s so…hard. I can feel my skin burning, my body burning. I’m changing again, but I can get there, to the bed. I push my way there and collapse beside Gabe, shaking him, trying to wake him up…maybe I can wake him up with the amulet…but I don’t have it!

I look around for it, my sight blurry, but I see it over by the wall where I stumbled, but it seems so far away now. Still, it’s my only chance…I lunge for it, and fall…but I’m just so tired, and I can’t reach. I’ll…sleep now. Sleep for a while, and when…when I wakes up, everythin’s gonna make way more sense, ‘n Gabe’ll know what tah do, cause mah brother Gabe…ain’t no one in the woods ‘round here smarter ‘n Gabe…

I don’ know which one wakes me up, the shock tah mah collar or the heavy, steel toe boot tah mah gut, but I’m coughin’ ‘n sputterin’ on the cold floor, lookin’ up at my brother Gabe loomin’ o’er me with a cruel sneer on his face, the same sneer he always gits on his face when he’s beatin’ up me or Pa. But wait–wasn’t…there was somethin’ different before, I know it, but I can’t focus well enough tah figure it out–mah brain ain’t made fer thinkin’, like Gabe always says–I took after Pa, after all. Only thing I’s good fer is fuckin’ like a good little whore pig.

“Lazy fuckin’ bitch,” Gabe says, and hocks a wad of spit across my face. “That’s enough fuckin’ sleep for you, we got customers, ‘n they’re all eager fer yer holes. Remember, if I hear another fuckin’ complaint about ya talkin’ back, or knickin’ someone wit’ those teeth a yers–ya know what’ll happen, right?”

“Yer…Yer gonna pull out the rest a ‘em bro, I know.”

He follows that up with a kick tah mah nuts, makin’ me groan, “That, ‘n I might take those jewels a yers too.”

I nod, and he leaves my room–and I’m tryin’ tah think, tryin’ tah ‘member what was happenin’ before I fell asleep, cause it was so…important, but I can’t think a anythin’! Still, this ain’t right, I know it–Gabe…he ain’t my brother, not really. I…I gotta git outta here, find mah uncle–he’d know what to do, he’d remember everythin’. I head for the door, but git stopped short when the chain catches mah shock collar and tugs me back–the chain hammered intah the concete floor, next tah the ratty mattress where I sleep, ‘n eat, ‘n everythin’ else. I’s afraid tah look down at mahself, but nothin’ shocks me…really. Not the heavy steel cage welded ‘round mah cock, leavin’ mah balls hangin’ free fer easy kickin’. Not the faggot tattoos all o’er mah pale frame. I know it ain’t right, but it feels…good, all the same. Then the door opens, the first john pushes his way in, ‘n it starts, ‘n it don’t stop fer hours.

That’s how Gabe advertises us ‘round these parts–two full service faggots, cocks locked, ‘n hungry fer anythin’ ya wanna give tah us. I been doin’ it mah whole life, as long as I can remember–gettin’ fucked, drinkin’ piss, lickin’ out nasty bodies, gettin’ whipped, punched ‘n paddled. I like most a it, even. Still, it’s a couple hours later that I see it–the glimmer along the wall, buried in some of the dust and filth around mah room–’n I ‘member the amulet. If I can git tah it–I can figure this all out, I just know it. I can put things back the way they oughta be, once ‘n fer all, fer all a us–I think I can remember how things should be at least…

That session ends after a few more hours, and Gabe comes in wit the hose, orders me ‘gainst the wall, ‘n hoses me down in chilly water–then tells me he’ll have food fer us once he’s done wit Pa. He leaves again, ‘n I’m alone–I just fuckin’ hope this chain is long enough. It ain’t quite–I end up flippin’ ‘round ‘n usin’ mah toes tah grab the chain a the amulet, but I git it. I git it, ‘n it’s…warm, ‘n I can remember more, a little bit, at least.

Gabe come back in a few minutes later, ‘n I put ‘em under, tell him tah unlock mah collar, ‘n then fall asleep on the mattress while I sort some shit out. I leave the room…’n the cabin, fuck, it’s fallin’ tah pieces, looks like no one done a lick a work ‘round here in ages, but in the livin’ room, I see him, still lyin’ there. It must have been most of a day at this point, ‘n I can smell it, mah uncle sittin in’ his own mess, right there on the sofa…and I remember what he said, when I demanded the truth. That he didn’t love me, not really. That he was just gonna make me a slave, like Gabe’s done tha me already, but I don’t wanna me a slave anymore! No–I may be a dirty whore, ‘n I fuckin’ love cock, but I…I wanna do it fer me, now. Cause I want to, not cause someone makes me. But more than that…I want him tah love me. I want him tah love me like he promised. I want him tah need me, I want him tah want me. He’s…mine. He’s gonna be mine, ‘n we’ll be happy, I can make sure a it.

My Uncle’s Amulet (Part 7)

We went to the other room in the cabin, all three of us, and Gabe was in much the same position he’d been in when I’d left–lounging on one of the twin beds, smelling his pits, and jacking off. As soon as we entered and he saw that me and my uncle were gripping the talisman together…the look on his face chilled me, and I remembered what he’d told me about my uncle…but what choice did I have? It was cooperate with him, or live the rest of my life as daddy’s whoreboy–and I didn’t want that. I didn’t want any of this, but maybe if I just cooperated, I could try and put a few things right.

Besides, my uncle loves me, doesn’t he? I certainly loved him. He won’t…hurt me, not if I do what he wants.

“Alright boy,” he said, “Your tour of duty as my idiot son is done. I have a new job for you now.”

He looked at me, pleading silently, but I don’t know what to do–then, he’s gone, eyes blank and dull. He…I can tell now that I’m touching the talisman, that he’s been under my uncle’s thrall for a long time–long enough that he can’t resist it much at all. My uncle walks us over, and he barely needs to speak, Gabe is so receptive to his power, and as he lays there, I can almost…see him changing, and my father too, whenever I look back at him by the door to the room.

My uncle is tell Gabe that he was wrong–that Gabe isn’t his son at all. No–Gabe is the son of my father instead, and always has been. But they have a very, very special relationship. Gabe is a hedonistic slob, sure, but he’s also got an eye for faggots, and he’s known his dad’s a true fag ever since he started climbing into bed with him as a teenager, begging his son to let his dad suck him off, and Gabe never was one to turn him down. No–if anything, he encouraged him, teased him, led his father deeper and deeper into his depravity, until at last he accepted himself for what he was. Pure faggot. Nothing but a receptacle for the fluids of other men, destined to give them pleasure with his holes and nothing else. It’s been years now, with Gabe renting out his father’s holes to all the men in the trailer park, and training him himself, of course. See, his dad sometimes got ideas. Ideas that he wasn’t really a faggot, that he was a person. That’s why he had to wear the shock collar. That’s why his cock was locked up in a steel cage, ready to get poked with the cattle prod. That’s why he’d had all his teeth pulled out with pliers, and all the tattoos covering his body–especially the word faggot across his forehead. So he wouldn’t forget, ever again, that he was nothing more than a worthless, piece of faggot trailer trash, and his son’s whore to boot.

I’m listening to my uncle describe all this, seeing it all form in my mind’s eye. I’m horrified, sure, but the rush of it–it’s intoxicating, and all I want to do is ride my uncle’s cock again, to feel him inside me, feel him love me again. The talisman is glowing, and I sense that things are coming to fruition–as my uncle finishes, there’s a wave of light, and it strikes us all–but I see it sinking mostly into Gabe and my father, and they collapse–Gabe back onto the bed, and my father to the floor. It’s done–and all the changes I could see, they’re happening. My father wasting slightly, colorful ink appearing on his body. Gabe losing some of his fat as he beefs up into a proper bruiser, always prepared to put his father in his place.

Our father, I mean.

I realize then that there was one thing my uncle didn’t change. He didn’t change me at all. I can…feel the light in me too, and it’s making me kind of woozy as we leave the room and return to the living room. I tell my uncle that I’m not feeling good, and he just nods, pulling the talisman from my hand.

“That’s because you still belong with them, with your daddy and brother in there, Evan,” he said, “You’re still their whore, but if you thought your daddy was bad? Just wait until Gabe gets a hold of you.”

“That…That wasn’t the deal!”

“No–the deal still stands, boy,” my uncle said, and handed the talisman to me. “All you have to do, to get out of that? Make me your dad–your real dad. If you do it before the last spell affects you, you’ll be free of them both. We’ll have our own life together–a good life. Make me your rich, smart, suburban dad, and I’ll give you the life you’ve always wanted.”

It had been a trap. I could feel the dizziness washing over me more now, but I fight it–harder, and focus on my uncle, and the talisman. “A-Alright. I will. But you…you need to sleep…”

I’m not as practiced as my uncle, but soon he’s snoozing on the couch. The talisman, it’s helping me stay awake, and keeping that last spell at bay, but if I don’t act quickly it will sweep me up into it too. Still…Gabe had been right so far, about everything. How could I really trust my uncle? Hadn’t…hadn’t he done this? To all of us? I have to know. I can’t do anything unless I know for sure.

“Uncle Max…in this trance, you have to tell me the truth, do you understand? The entire truth, you cannot lie.”

He nods, slowly, and I brace myself.

“Uncle Max, do you love me? Really? Like I love you?”

He shakes his head no, slowly, and it…it crushes me.

“What were you going to do to me? Were you going to make me happy?”

He shakes his head no again, and this time mutters a few words, how he was going to turn me into his little leather slave whore, once I’d given him the life he wanted.

“Sleep–you’re going to stay asleep until I wake you up, no matter what,” I said, choking back tears–but at least I know now. I know I have to fix this, and put it all right…somehow.

My Uncle’s Amulet (Part 6)

He’d done this to me. It wasn’t my dad, not really. It was him, my uncle. He’d done this to both of us. I tried to tell myself that, but…but it rang hollow. My uncle wouldn’t do this to me–he was the only man I’d ever met who treated me like a person, who I believed, deep down, genuinely loved me. He took a cloth from over the mirror, came over, and cleaned the makeup off my face while I leaned on him, and then kissed me. I could…taste the smoke on him, and I loved it–I craved it, I was tugging at his fly as quick as I could desperate to have him inside me, because he was the only man who could fuck me…and it felt amazing. It was like my ass was made for his cock, and nothing else–and he was more than happy to give it to me.

The next forty-five minutes flew by–he fucked me in every direction, from every angle, and I lost count of how many orgasms I had–both in my ass and in my cock. By the time he finally filled me up with his own load, I was quivering and aching and so full of pleasure I never wanted him to leave, I never wanted it to end. I asked him to hold me in bed, and he did, caressing me gently, my head on his chest listening to his heart beat.

“I wish…I wish we could stay like this,” I said.

“We could have, boy–but yer the one who said no. Yer the one who wouldn’t cooperate.”

The memory came back again, fainter than before, but their all the same, and I pulled away from him, horrified. “No–No, you did this. This was you, not him.”

“Ya know that ain’t true, boy–I’m the one who loves you, you know that.”

It was a lie, he was lying…I knew it, and yet I wanted to believe it. I couldn’t believe that the man I’d just been with, the only man in the world who treated me gently, who treated me like a person, would also be the one to put me in this position to begin with. I was the stupid one. I should…I should have agreed to do it, I could see that now, and yet…like an echo, Gabe’s voice was still there in my mind, warning me not to trust him…and I didn’t. I loved him, I wanted to be with him, but I didn’t trust him an inch, no further than I trusted my daddy. “I…I don’t…can’t you just…put everything back? I can’t think like this, I don’t know what I want anymore.”

There was a pounding on the door, and his daddy burst in, “Time up, fuckers–come on. Whore needs to eat, get a bit of rest, ‘n then we got the night shift.”

“Last chance, boy,” my uncle said quietly to me as he got up, “Because I know yer daddy’s only gonna get meaner from here on out–trust me, and I’m not gonna make the offer again.”

He headed for the door…and I could see the look in daddy’s eyes. He was horny, and when daddy was horny…that meant I was in for a beating. I…I knew I didn’t want this, I knew it, and my uncle was the only way out–even if I couldn’t trust him. “Wait! Wait–fine, I’ll do it, but…daddy first, and then I’ll…I’ll help you.”

My uncle looked back at me and smiled. “Sounds like a deal, boy.”

My daddy was just confused, looking between us, and asked what kind of deal we were even talking about, but my uncle interrupted him, told him he was getting sleepy and tired, and before I knew it, daddy was standing there, a bit of drool hanging from his mouth. “Alright Evan–come on. You want revenge on yer daddy here? Then you get to have the honors. Besides–you should have a chance to practice.”

My uncle pulled the amulet out again, but this time he pulled it off–but kept his hand looped in the gold chain, holding it out to me. I walked over, slowly, one eye on my daddy…still convinced he might snap out of it and beat the shit out of us both, but I got there, and took the amulet in my hand…and when I did, fuck, the power of the thing, it’s impossible to describe. I’d felt…powerless for so long, but with this thing, I could do anything I wanted…but what did I want? I knew what my uncle wanted, I could see it in him, but I was so confused now. Still, my daddy…he was bad. He’d done bad to both of us, and he deserved to be punished. I could do that–no, we could do that, together.

“Say it Evan–say what you think would be a good…punishment for your daddy here.”

“I…I want him to be a whore. A faggot whore, like he made me. I want him to spend all day getting fucked by dirty fat fucks like he makes me do.”

My uncle laughed, and beckoned my daddy over to us, “You hear that bro? Hear what your bright, magnificent son thinks about you know? Get on your knees fucker, you fucking whore, and get to work.”

My daddy dropped between us, and started sucking on our cocks, while my uncle worked the magic over him, telling my daddy what his new life was going to be like–and I added a few things in there too, but mostly…mostly I was just enjoying the sensation of being in power for once. I felt like all my life, this fucker, he’d controlled me, and now I had a chance to get even. I could make him love the taste of a filthy ass, like that disgusting biker I’d rimmed. I could make him a urinal for hire–offering men a place for their piss at ten dollars a bladder.

“Alright Evan, good work,” my uncle said, “But every whore needs a pimp right? And I know the perfect guy for your daddy to work for–let’s go see how my idiot nephew i doing.”

My Uncle’s Amulet (Part 5)

I didn’t know what time it was when I woke up next–all I knew what that I hurt. Every part of my body hurt, but especially my throat and my ass. A moment later, the door to the room where I was banged open, and my father stomped in–but it wasn’t the father I remembered, or at least the one I thought I should remember.

The lights were out, and all I could make out of him was his silhouette–but it was massive. Six feet tall and a few inches, broad of shoulder and broader of gut, but with plenty of muscle packs into his chest and arms–I should know after all, since anytime I did something daddy didn’t approve of, I’d get a backhand across the jaw, at least. “Alright cunt,” he said with a snarl, and flipped on the light, “Have a good nap? Get the fuck ready–we got clients in fifteen minutes.”

“B-But…dad, I…” I stammered, but even as I spoke, I realized I should have known better. Daddy stomped over to me and gave me a solid smack, hard enough to make my teeth shake a bit. I’d…I’d been really good lately, he hadn’t knocked a tooth out of my head in almost a year, and I wasn’t going to start making him do that to me again. If I lost many more…he said he’d just pull them all out. The clients would pay more for a toothless whoremouth anyway, as he called it.

“Did you say something, cunt?”

“No daddy.”

“Didn’t fucking think so,” he said, and spit on my face, “Now clean up and put yer makeup on. These country fucks were promised a pretty city faggot, and that’s what yer gonna give ‘em, right?”

I nodded, and my daddy stormed back out the room, slamming the door behind him. The room…it had changed since the last time I’d woken up, mostly with the addition of a small vanity against the wall, which I made my way over to, sat down at, and looked at my face–my new face. I was…small. So fucking small, and chubby, with two soft breasts and a hairless body. I still had some makeup on from my earlier clients, but I went back in and touched myself up, a little blush, a little lipstick, a little shadow. The roughnecks out here…daddy found it easier for them to pay if I was more feminine. I found the pair of panties I’d been wearing earlier, which one john had tore off me eventually, and tucked my puny, two inch dicklet in the front, thankful my daddy still hadn’t followed through on that promise. If I didn’t have a few regulars who liked sucking on the puny thing, he probably would have cut it off years ago.

I was trying to fight it. I was trying as hard as I could, but this one–the change was so much larger than the last, and somehow that made it even more real. My daddy–as soon as he’d realized I was a little faggot, he’d started whoring me out–at home, around the city. He’d made a deal with my uncle to work out of the cabin a couple weeks a year, to give the roughnecks and truckers around here a shot at my faggot holes…and I hated them. I hated these weeks so much, they were so much rougher, so much dirtier…but it meant I got to see my uncle too, if he had the cash for my dad…and that almost made it worthwhile.

I got back up on the bed, sitting there, waiting. I heard daddy talking to some other gruff voiced stranger outside my door, and a second later it opened, and an old man entered, a leer plastered on his face, skin tight and wrinkled from years in the son-and then he was on me, licking me, tasting me, forcing me over onto my belly, ass up, and he was inside my tight hole–my forever tight hole. Men loved it–they came from miles around for a chance at it. Tighter than any pussy, and I wouldn’t mind if…if it didn’t hurt, every time. Every time it felt like my guts were being split apart, but I craved it all the same, because…because I liked it.

Deep down, my daddy was right–he’d always known me better than I’d ever known myself. I was a whore, I wanted cock, all day and night, and I wanted it rough. I fucking deserved it. My little dicklet had tented out my panties while the roughneck pistoned into me, and after a minute he gave a groan and came deep, filling my guts up, and as soon as he was out of the room, another one came right in after him.

Truckers, farmers, old fat fucks and young bucks–I took them all. It lasted hours, and my ass was leaking cum by the end of it, makeup smeared on my face again. I’d cum twice–once when some old biker had come in and made me eat out his ass while he jacked off. I…it was so fucking humiliating, that it turned me on, and he wanted to see me blow my load, he wanted to see my little clit while I chewed on his hole. The other time was some old farmer, maybe seventy, with a ten inch dick that worked like he was twenty. He hammered my guts so hard that I was spewing in my panties before I even realized it, begging him for more while he grunted and groaned, on the edge of a heart attack, probably–but he lived. I lived. I was so…tired by the end of it. Tired and humiliated, and…and wanting more, as much as I hated admitting it, but no one else came in, until my dad opened up the door.

Alright slut–that’s all for the evening, but my bro bought an hour with you.”

My heart skipped, but I didn’t dare show it–if my dad knew how much I liked seeing my uncle–and how much he liked seeing me, he’d probably double the price. I looked over and saw my uncle step into the room, closing the door behind him, and he smiled at me…and when I saw him, I remembered. I remembered, and through the desire, all I really felt was terror.