Use It or Lose It (Part 3)

He jacked off when he woke up the next morning, later than he would have ever before, in that old life. It was so distant now, that he could barely recall any of it–not even the names of his wife and daughters. No–in this life, he’d lived as a perpetual bachelor. He’d been in a few relationships over the years, but he’d never found them particularly satisfying, and few women had been able to put up with his rather brutish behavior. The church had receded from his life–he no longer attended with any regularity–but the misogyny had remained unhindered. If anything, it had intensified.

Still, as the day progressed, with no company beyond his thoughts and his hand, there was restlessness, and there was shame. What was he doing with himself, on a Saturday, just sitting in his apartment, jacking off over and over again? He needed to get out, he decided. It had been a while since he’d last fucked a broad–some company would be a nice change, he supposed. Through the afternoon he resisted the urge to keep jacking off and felt better for doing so, for demonstrating he still had some willpower, at least. By seven he was good and horned up, he got in his car and headed for a nearby bar where he had a bit of a reputation as a regular.

The drinking was new, but he hadn’t noticed the shift. Before, he’d never been much of a drinker, considering it to be a sign of weakness to rely on alcohol. On the weekends, he might have the occasional glass of whiskey, but nothing beyond that. Now, however, he bellied up to the bar and started hammering back beers. He told himself he wouldn’t drink too much–just enough to help him loosen up around the women. Still, as soon as he started striking out with every woman he chatted up, three drinks became six, and he was lost. He was so fucking horny, that he thought about slipping off to the bathroom to jack off quickly, but that would amount to admitting defeat. No–he might not be able to get a woman to want to sleep with him, but he could at least pay someone, right? There were a couple…regular woman he slept with on occasion, who were willing to tolerate him for slightly inflated rates. He got back in his car and drove home, went inside and placed a call–the sensual woman on the other end promised to be there in half an hour, but that seemed like forever, suddenly.

His cock was raging like the day before, and the intensity was only increasing. He started stroking, telling himself he was just going to edge himself for a moment, to make sure he could stay hard for the bitch who’d be arriving soon, but the heat of it was too much. Still, he was sweating and panting by the time he finally managed to push himself over the edge, the world lurching around him as his cock exploded, coating his belly and chest with a massive load of cum, leaving him panting and heaving in the mess, head spinning, and feeling like an idiot. How was he supposed to perform now? The whore would be here any minute, and he’d just shot his wad!

There was a knock at the door–heavier than he would have expected from a woman’s hand. Shit–should he just tell her to forget it? He’d probably still have to give her some fucking money, or she’d throw a fit. Not bothering to clean himself up–forgetting, in fact, that he was coated in his own cum–he went and answered the door, but his mouth went agape when he saw the older man on the other side of the door. He was so shocked, first, because he hadn’t expected a man, and second, because the man was so…damn sexy, and he’d never once thought that of a man before in his life.

Or had he? At the sight, he suddenly couldn’t remember being with many women before this. Or…any women, really. “Hey daddy–looks like someone got a bit too excited already.”

Randal blushed, “I…yeah, I don’t think I’ll…be needing anything tonight, actually.”

“Oh, but daddy–we both know what you need more than that, don’t we?” he said, stepping inside, pulling Randal into him, squeezing his ass and making him moan, “Yeah–it’s my cock you need, right daddy?”

Randal tried to object, but his body was like putty in the man’s hand. They ended up in the bedroom, Randal bent over the side of the bed while the man slid his cock up and down his crack. He should say no. He didn’t want this, did he? It didn’t matter–as soon as the whore was inside him, the pleasure of it wiped away all doubts he might have felt, and he was begging for it, shoving back, demanding the young hunk seed daddy’s dirty hole. The whore was more than willing, and fifteen minutes later he was on his way, two hundred dollars richer, and Randal was feeling the cum leak from his ass while he stroked his cock off again, unable to believe what he’d just done–but he’d needed it, right? He needed to get fucked, almost as much as he needed to jack off. He tried to convince himself it was a lie, that he’d called a woman, that he’d been married before all of this, but none of that even seemed possible anymore. No–he was a faggot. A faggot who loved to get fucked. A faggot willing to pay to get fucked by a nice, massive cock.

A cock like he’d had, once. He could remember that better, his ten inch tool–but now it was just seven. He wasn’t imagining it, it really was getting smaller–still larger than average, but for how much longer? Was it because he was jacking off too much? It had to be. He’d stop–he’d get help. He’d go to church tomorrow, and talk to someone. They would have to remember him, right?

I Dream of Bacchus (Part 8)

Raury stared at the man, feeling all of his desires welling up, both earnest and twisted, and he nodded. He didn’t care–he needed him. If he could have Jared, then everything else would be fine, he was certain. The beasts raised a great cry of joy and excitement, and the music picked up again, a new tune, and Jared kept dancing, faster now–wild and crazed–in the clearing, surrounded by beasts. The song was similar to the one before, when Aarin and Jared had fucked in front of him–it had far more power and force behind it than their usual music, and even Raury found himself jiggling and swaying to the beat where he was lying on his throne, guzzling wine. He would catch a glimpse of Jared’s eyes every few cycles, and they were wide with terror and confusion, though it wasn’t long before his concerns faded away, the beasts coming closer, nearly blocking him from Raury’s view. It was just a mass of flesh and fur, hand and hoof, until with a great clamour the beasts stopped and retreated back, leaving…something else in the midst of them, something not even Raury had seen before, in the thicket.

His first thought was that it had to be a centaur of some kind, but that wasn’t quite right. The beastly thing was bent over on all fours, with the rump and ass of a donkey, including a tail still swishing along to the beat that had been playing moments before. The torso was still human however, and the face, while twisted somewhat, was recognizably Jared’s. Still, it was clear that not much of Jared’s mind remained–the beast’s eyes were crazed and hungry, and when it caught sight of Raury, of its Bacchus, his low hanging donkey balls began to churn, and his massive cock slid free of his sheath. “My Bacchus, my great, beautiful Bacchus. Please, I was wrong, let me serve you, let be one of your beasts!” it cried and stumbled forward, not quite certain how to make his new body work right, but Raury was all too happy to oblige his lover. He rolled over and presented his ass for the donkeyman, and after a bit of work, Jared managed to throw his hooved hands up on to Raury’s back, shove his cock deep into the Bacchus’ hole, and begin rutting.

Raury knew he should feel guilty, that he’d witnessed some strange, otherworldly horror, but just knowing it was Jared fucking him, rutting with him…it was worth it. After a few minutes, the donkey came, and it felt like fire burning into his guts. His body…it felt more real, the fat hanging off his body carried real heft, and the stench surrounding him was more pungent than it had ever been. He felt renewed, or perhaps ruined–it was difficult to tell. Something had changed, and while it worried him at some level, he was too thrilled to have Jared inside him again to really care.

“A new compact!”

“A new beast!”

“Our Bacchus forever, a true Bacchus!”

“What did you do to me,” Jared groaned, his cock still spewing, “What the fuck is happening to me–AWWW,” he brayed, and two satyrs pulled him free so they, too, could have a turn at Raury’s hole. He looked about for the rest of the night, when he could, trying to find Jared’s face again, but he had been swallowed into the morass of beasts servicing him. Still, he could feel them. There was a connection between them, Raury…owned him, in some strange way. He felt that, should he need him, he’d be able to bring him forward again at a moment’s notice. Once again, Jared was his, and that, at the moment, is all that mattered.

Waking came slowly–much more slowly than it ever had before, in part because it took him a while to realize he actually was awake. Before, the differences between his real body and the body of his dream had been so wide that he’d always been able to tell he was awake because he was smaller. It was no longer surprising that the massive body he’d had while asleep had suddenly felt so real to him–it was because it was real. Something had been keeping the beasts’ magic from fully affecting him, he realized–it must have been Aarin! Was this part of his plan too?

“No Bacchus, this is better now.” A satyr said, bleating on the couch beside him. He wasn’t certain if the thing was actually there with him, or just another figment of his imagination. “The gypsy, we had a deal, a temporary deal. A Bacchus for a year, to balance the burdens of his life, a punishment for you, but a small one. But a new deal! A deal for all of us! A true Bacchus–we haven’t had one in so long. But now, with you here, we can exist in your realm again! Your true servants, your lovers, your worshipers. You are our god, Bacchus, and we will find many more men, and beasts, to serve you now than we ever could before.”

Raury tried to force himself up from the couch, but his new weight was too much. In the more flexible reality of his dreams, he’d been able to move with difficulty, but the weight of reality had made him entirely immobile now.

“Don’t worry our Bacchus, just relax!” another satyr said who’d appeared, looking around the apartment, “You can hear the drums, can’t you? The others dancing, waiting to follow you? Relax and listen, dear god, and let them through–we will please you here now–you’ll never need to sleep again.”

“Please–Aarin…the gypsy…” He huffed, but speaking was difficult. He could hear the drums, and it was soothing. He allowed his head to fall back, and he could…feel how thin the world had become here. If he could just…bring the woods here, he’d be able to move, and think, and dance…right?

“Yes, our dear Bacchus–we hate him too, for trying to deny us what we truly need. We will find him, and bring him to you. He will be a beast like us, and serve you. After all, that would be true balance, would it not? Can’t you see it, Bacchus? Him as a beast like us, worshipping you, as he should have always done?”

He could see it. He could see so many things. The drums were louder now, the barrier thinner. He could lift his arms, and breathe a bit easier. Soon, they would all come through. They would all come through and together they would dance and revel in these streets, and all men would dance to him tunes, forever.

I Dream of Bacchus (Part 7)

He hid the truth from his roommate for as long as he could. He had some savings at least–if he managed it well, he’d be able to scrape by for a couple of months at least. He pretended to go to work each morning, and then would usually head for the liquor store, buy some fortified wine, and then sit in a park for most of the day, sleeping on a park bench. He felt most at home there–close to the trees, playing with the beasts, demanding they fuck his holes, and the beasts were all too happy to oblige. In the afternoon or evening, he’d return home and watch Jared get fucked by a guy or two, and then sleep–it was as close as he could get to an ideal life, he supposed, but it came to a crashing end, when Jared found a notice that they were behind on rent–Raury had skipped a payment in order to pay Jared–watching him get fucked was more important, right?

He’d had to tell him the truth, Jared was furious–Raury tried to console him. He could find another job, right? He’d be able to keep paying him, if he was just patient–but Jared stormed into his room, packed a bag of things, and said he was moving out.

“I don’t even know why I live with a disgusting fuck like you–I get offers from guys every day of the week to live with them, and at least they wouldn’t disgust me on a daily basis. If I ever fucking see you again, you’re going to fucking regret it.”

Raury pleaded with him, got on his knees and begged. “Please! I..I need you Jared, you’re all I have left. If I didn’t have you, I…I think I’d go insane, please, you can’t leave me!”

It was the truth. Jared was the only person he felt a connection to anymore. He spent the rest of his time speaking to beasts that were only real to him–everyone in the park assumed he was a lunatic, and he’d nearly gotten arrested the week before, when he’d mistaken a policeman on horseback for an especially handsome centaur, and begged the beast to fuck him. But he knew Jared was real–he was the only thing holding him here. If he didn’t have that, then who even was he?

“You’re ours, our Bacchus!” he heard the beasts shout around him. They had appeared in the apartment around them, and Raury looked around in horror, “You only need us, Bacchus, we’ll keep you happy, we promise.”

Jared stepped around him, and Raury grabbed him around the knees. He kicked him off, leaving him with a bleeding nose, and then left–slamming the door shut behind him, abandoning Raury to the beasts around him, who began to close into a ring.

“You don’t need him.”

“We’re all you need, all you want.”

“We make you happy, only we know what you need, Bacchus.”

“No!” Raury shouted, sending them all scattering back, “Him! I need him! The rest of you all get away from me, get away!” by the time he’d finished shouting, the beasts had disappeared, and all he felt instead, was loneliness–he hefted himself up, got a bottle of wine and chugged it, and chased it with another–with a couple of hours he was passed out on the couch, and again, found himself in a dream.

It had been months since he’d last experienced one so vivid. The smell of the forest, of the loam–it was welcoming, and yet, he couldn’t suppress the terror welling up in him. He wouldn’t be able to resist them for long–he knew this, but somehow, the loss of Jared had brought back some of his old sense of self. This…wasn’t the way things were supposed to be–it was Aarin’s fault, he had done this to them both, he’d cursed them. If he could just find him, maybe there was a way for him to fix this, to make it right for them both. He hadn’t really wanted to hurt anyone, with his cheating; he’d just cared more about his own satisfaction than anything else–but he could change, couldn’t he?

His feet were dragging him closer to the center of the woods now, and he could see the flicker of the beasts’ bonfires, the sound of their warped, jittery tunes. Even at his current size in this strange realm–at least 500 pounds, if not larger, rolls upon rolls of fat falling off him, he felt lighter than air, and he began to dance and skip as he approached the circle, though he hardly felt like dancing at all. The beasts were waiting; he took his honored place in the midst of them, lounging upon his pillows and carpets, expecting to be taken immediately as usual–but this was different. It wasn’t that the beasts were angry with him–but they seemed…nervous. There were fewer of them than usual, as well–he’d learned their names and forms at this point, and several of the more powerful satyrs were missing from the circle.

“We want you to be happy, Bacchus.”

“Happy with us!”

“If we do this, you have to stay, you have to become ours, forever, beyond the contract.”

Contract? He didn’t know what that meant, but before he could ask, he heard the sound of pipes, and a moment later, the missing satyrs came skipping into the clearing, and following them dancing along with the tune, was Jared. His face seemed sleepy, eyes unfocused–what was he doing here? Raury looked around, expecting Aarin to appear as well, but no one else came.

“He can be yours Bacchus.”

“We can make him yours! He will desire only you, like all of us.”

“Like us! Like us!”

I Dream of Bacchus (Part 6)

Raury was, in many ways, a sugar daddy–although he knew that if he so much as touched his young roommate, there would be hell to pay. No, Raury paid the rent, the utilities, the bills, the food–and in exchange, Jared had sex with as many men as he wanted, and gave Raury the occasional privilege of watching them fuck. It wasn’t easy–in this new life, Raury was no longer a high level executive, but just some middle manager with a greatly reduced salary, but if Jared demanded, then he found himself helpless–he’d pay anything to make him happy, even though it wounded him to know that he should be the one making Jared scream–but that was a different life now, and he had a feeling he’d never have the opportunity to get back.

Still, he sought out Aarin, tried to apologize, but the gypsy lover had since moved on to some other city, and hadn’t bothered to leave a forwarding address. Still, it would have been…manageable, he supposed, if it weren’t for his other job, the one in his dreams. At first, the time with the beasts was a welcome respite from his new life, and he’d often look forward to his nights spent in the wood with them, finding some small measure of comfort in how much the animals adored him, how they’d use him as a vessel for their pleasure, but where before he had still felt somewhat removed from them, after that final ceremony with Aarin and Jared, the link between them had intensified somehow. At first it was small changes, barely noticeable, but in time, he found himself losing his grip on reality in ways he could barely explain.

The woods simple seemed so much more real to him, after that ceremony. Even in the dark, the colors were more vibrant in the bonfirelight, the sounds clearer in the silence of the trees, the sensation of the beasts’ flesh against him more pressing than anything he’d felt with a human–well, perhaps anyone other than Jared. Every dream he could recall in immaculate detail, but his time in the waking world began to fade. He struggled to recall conversations and events from a week prior, and soon he was struggling to even feel present in the moment. The real world felt like the dream–without reason or logic, without pleasure. The only moments where he felt the world push back was when he was watching Jared get fucked–but even then, it only felt real because of the great pain they caused him still.

In the dreams, his body continued to change–it wasn’t long before he was cresting six or seven hundred pounds, reeking of manure and livestock, hair coating his entire body, feeling more and more like a beast himself. His waking form continued to disgust him, but now it was because he wasn’t as extreme as he desired, but no matter how much he tried to change himself–no matter how much he binged and drank and refused to shower–he no longer seemed to change at all. No, it was only when he was sleeping that he ever felt like himself–that he felt like he belonged.

His work started to suffer, and he was written up several times for falling asleep at his desk. He knew it should worry him, but the world no longer bore any real consequence for him. He didn’t exist here, in this office, in this city–not truly. No, his life, his reality was elsewhere now. This was now just a shadow, or a ghost, or a placeholder left over from some other world. It didn’t help matters when he noticed that the beasts were beginning to force themselves into his waking life as well. At first it was just the occasional sound, or the strong scent of musk, but soon satyrs would appear beside him at work, urging him to sleep, to come play with them, to let them serve their Bacchus. No one else could see them, but for Raury, they were fully real–so real that even when he sampled their cocks, on his knees in his cubicle, it tasted like he was there, and he’d quickly nod off for a quick fuck in the clearing.

Still, like all dreams, it didn’t seem possible that it might ever end. The constant days spent in the office melded together into a timeless mash. The men streaming into Jared’s room were endless instances of some faceless horde. How had he allowed himself to become trapped in such a nightmare? Why couldn’t he figure out how to stay home in the forest, in his real body, with his real servants, in his real life? He’d become so convinced that nothing would ever change, that when his boss finally called him into his office to tell Raury that he was being let go, it took the man three repetitions before Raury finally grasped what he was saying.

“You mean…I can go? I don’t have to come here anymore?” He grinned, “Oh god, I thought I was going to have to keep coming here forever!”

His boss just stared at him. “If you were so unhappy, then why didn’t you just quit?”

“I…I guess it just didn’t occur to me that I could do that,” Raury said, a bit bewildered himself. There was some reason he needed to have a job, right? He was certain there was something to that, but he was so happy he wouldn’t have to come back here again, that he decided to worry about that later. Instead, he cleaned out his desk in an hour, and hurried home–eager for a nice long nap–but when he arrived early and saw Jared, he realized why the job had mattered–how was he going to pay for Jared, if he didn’t have a job?

I Dream of Bacchus (Part 5)

All three of their orgasms came in tandem, bucking to the beat of the drums as the music became a cataclysm, and before Raury could even lick his own cum off his hand, the beasts had descended on him, desperate to make it up to him, to feed him, to give him wine, to tell him that he didn’t need those humans to be happy, that they would serve him, and delight in him, and fuck him, and abuse him. He tried to pull away from them, when he saw Aarin help Jared up from the ground and lead him out of the forest, but in his heart he knew it was too late, and when he woke up, Jared would be gone and he’d be alone–alone with these things, alone with his dreams, and he didn’t know if he was thrilled or terrified at the thought.

The beasts began to wind down, slowly, and Raury could feel himself beginning to rise out of the dream, and fade back into real life. There was sun, but he wasn’t on the couch–he was in a bed, alone, but not the bed from his apartment. It…stank. The room stank like a barn. Like manure and mud and straw, but rather than disgust him, he actually found himself relaxing into it. At least…now, he could be alone, right? He wouldn’t have to feel bad about giving in anymore, about the weight he’d gained, about his drinking, about his sexual obsessions and constant sleeping. He was so comfortable, in fact, that he almost allowed himself to drift off again, but he needed to piss, so he got up, naked, and went into the hallway towards the bathroom.

“Fucking hell…you know the fucking rule, Raury! I do not want to see that fucking disgusting body of yours naked!”

He looked over, and there was Jared, fully clothed, holding a cup of coffee, and he couldn’t believe it. What was he doing here? Hadn’t Aarin taken him away? Wasn’t that supposed to be his punishment? “I…I just had to piss is all,” he muttered.

“Get back in that room and put something on, or I’m not going to let you watch for a week, and I’ll raise the fucking rate.”

Ashamed for reasons he only half understood, he turned around and went back into the room, surveying the mess. It looked a bit like a sty, really–clothes thrown everywhere. Still, Jared…called the shots. He went around and found a pair of ratty boxers, and then grabbed a robe hanging over the back of a chair–but caught his reflection in the dirty mirror on the wall, and gasped.

He’d been changing before, bit by bit, but always gradually. Here, he was looking at a different person entirely. He just…couldn’t get past the fact that he was so…so old, all of a sudden. His hair, all of his hair from his head to his feet, was grey, and he’d balded severely. His usual layer of stubble was still present around his mouth, but he’d grown in a pair of thick mutton chops which only made his face look wider and pudgier. Even his body seemed to have contorter–he was shorter, legs stubbier and a bit bowed out, posture slumped…he was a fucking slobby mess. No wonder Jared never wanted to look at him–Raury didn’t want to look at himself either.

He pulled the robe on, checked the hallway for Jared, and then got to the bathroom, determined to fix himself up slightly. He could at least get rid of the facial hair, right? Have a shower, clean himself up…but nothing worked. Every time he ran the blade of a razor over his face, he could feel the hair being cut, but it would appear right back behind the blade’s trail, like nothing had happened at all. The same with his chops and hair–he could cut it, but it would regrow to it’s new length again in less than a second. Showering proved to be equally futile–no matter how much he scrubbed, he’d step out as dirty and stinking as he’d been getting in. This was him now–his body. He’d been…corrupted, somehow, but whether it was the fault of the beasts, or the fault of Aarin’s curse, he didn’t know. He went back to his room and cried for a couple of hours, had a pleasant nap where he got fucked by a handsome pair of centaurs, and then woke in the evening to a sudden knock on the door.

“You got the fee, pervert? Slide it under, and I’ll open the hole before he gets here.”

His body knew what to do, before his mind could really catch up. He got some cash from his wallet–a hundred dollars, and slipped it under to Jared, who took it, and walked back to his room, where he heard something shift against their shared wall–and a small hole he hadn’t noticed was revealed. Curious, he got down and looked through it, and found himself staring right at a completely naked Jared, and fuck, he was so…achingly, desperately in love, at that moment. He wanted him so badly, needed him, his cock rock hard, and he started jacking off, being careful to stay quiet–any peep from him, and…his privileges could be revoked.

Ten minutes later, he heard a distant knock at the apartment door. Jared went to answer it, and returned with a young man, and they started making out together…and Raury felt his heart start to shred, even as he grew even more turned on that before. The man had a massive cock–almost as large as Raury’s had been once upon a time–and he used it on Jared’s ass for close to an hour, Jared blowing load after load watching some stranger fuck the man who had been his ex-boyfriend, but who now…well, there wasn’t really an easy term for what their relationship was now.

I Dream of Bacchus (Part 4)

Still, after a month, things seemed to have…stabilized. He’d grown to around 275 pounds, and was hovering there. His body had filled in with hair, and he seemed to have a perpetual layer of stubble no matter how often he shaved, his hair always long and greasy. He drank three bottles of cheap wine a night, binged at a near constant rate, and endured constant ridicule, but he was feeling…somewhat more sane. And then, one night, he found himself back in the wood, but the intensity was vivid again, like that first time. He desperately tried to keep his feet from walking deeper, but like he was in a trance, he ventured towards the clearing, towards the revelry–and found someone else there, amongst the animals. It was Aarin, with a cruel smile across his face, beckoning Raury closer.

“There you are–taking your sweet time. You were almost late,” Aarin said, as Raury tried to figure out what, exactly, his ex-lover was doing here in his fucked up dreams. “Fellows, why don’t you make your Bacchus comfortable, while we wait for our other guest.”

The beasts gave a great shout and cheer, rushed over and hauled Raury towards the makeshift throne they had for him in the midst of the clearing, but he twisted and fought harder than usual, shouting at Aarin, “You–You’re the one who’s doing this to me? This is all because of you?”

“No, Raury, this is all because of you, because you couldn’t be honest. You refused to bring balance on your own, and so I’m forced to take matters into my own hands, and balance the scales myself. And of course, helping out my…acquaintances here is always a pleasure. They’ve been asking me to provide them with a new bacchus for quite some time, but I hadn’t yet found anyone willing. So, I figured, why not take someone unwilling instead?”

Raury was trying to protest and fight the beasts off around him, but as much as he loathed admitting it–he was weak. Not only physically, after his rash of changes over the past few weeks, but…spiritually as well. He’d grown to like the attentions of these beasts–his dreams felt so much better than anything in his real life, and as soon as the bladder of wine reached his lips, he drank–and thankfully, some of the care and worry slipped from his mind, and he rolled over, presenting his ass for whichever beast might desire it.

But none did–or if they wanted him, they didn’t do so immediately, like usual. He looked around, and saw that several of the beasts were hungry to fuck, but they were looking at Aarin. “What, now you won’t even let them have their way with me?”

“Calm down, Raury–we’re still waiting on our other visitor. I think I hear him now, in fact.”

Raury couldn’t hear anything, but several of the satyrs’ and centaurs’ ears had pricked up. After another minute or two, true to Aarin’s claim, someone did come stumbling out of the woods and into the clearing–it was Jared. His boyfriend was standing there, naked, with a rather confused look on his face, as he stared around at the beasts and the stranger looking at him–and Raury, of all people. He couldn’t keep the disgust from his face, the sight of the chubby, hairy, dirty man, and Raury felt so ashamed of himself–but he also felt a bit satisfied. He wasn’t going to be alone in this anymore. He could live with this, if Jared had to suffer the same fate as him–but it wasn’t the beasts who went after him, as they had Raury–no, it was Aarin who approached him, pulling him to the side, a sneer on their faces as they started kissing and fondling one another, right in front of Raury.

“No–No, you don’t get to fucking take him, he’s fucking mine!” Raury shouted.

“Yours?” Aarin said, pulling away from Jared’s hungry mouth, moving his head lower, Jared kissing at his abs, dropping lower towards Aarin’s cock. “How many men have you been sleeping with behind his back, Raury? Are they all yours too? This is balance, Raury. It’s time for the ugliness inside of you to be on the outside. It’s time for you to suffer what you have made others suffer–isn’t that right, Jared?”

Jared nodded, his mouth around Aarin’s cock–but it wasn’t clear that he even understood what was going on, or if he realized how real this dream actually was.

“Alright you beasts–I gave you your Bacchus. Now it’s time for you to give me my spell, as I requested.”

The beasts grumbled and muttered a bit–obviously a bit annoyed at having to take orders from this man. A few, under their breath, even muttered apologies to Raury, that they wanted to be serving him, and not this man, but that he would still be happy–still be their beautiful Bacchus after this. The pipes and drums began, a pulsing beat faster than the relaxing tunes they preferred, and around him, the beasts began to dance in a tight circle, chanting and singing a calamitous tune which seemed to shake Raury to his bones–but what Raury was focused on–what he couldn’t turn away from, in fact–was Aarin and Jared.

They had moved closer to him–Aarin pulling Jared up off his cock so they could dance to the strange music of the beasts in the clearing, spinning faster and faster until they fell to the ground, and Aarin mounted Jared, ramming his cock into him, and Jared screamed in delight, pushing back, eager to be filled. It was…humiliating, because the only person who had made Jared scream like that before, was him. But that said, it was also hot. He was getting aroused watching the display, watching Aarin fuck his boyfriend in his stead, and unable to stop himself, he reached down and started jacking his own cock, in quick rhythm with the music and Aarin’s own thrusting. But his cock–it was smaller, and still shrinking. Soon, it couldn’t have been more than a couple of inches long, his balls shriveling up as well, but he didn’t care. He wanted…to see them fuck, wished it could be him, but it couldn’t–not anymore–now he was worthless.

I Dream of Bacchus (Part 3)

It was later that he noticed his reflection in the mirror, and the small paunch which had appeared overnight, covering the abs he’d had the day before. He poked it and pinched it, but it was real. Maybe…maybe he really did need to go to the hospital, he thought, but he talked himself down. It was just some crazy dream, is all, he told himself, and he probably just needed…rest. He looked back at the bed and shuddered, and headed for the rest of the apartment, finding himself heading for the couch instead, where he turned on the TV, hoping he might be able to shake the dream in an hour or two–and hopefully whatever strange physical symptoms these were, they would just go away in time. He grew thirsty in a bit, and without thinking much of it, he didn’t get a glass of water, but took an open bottle of wine from the counter back to the couch with him. He’d bought it for cooking a week ago, and still hadn’t finished it–neither he, nor Jared, drank much. He didn’t bother with a glass, he just drank straight from the bottle, massaging his cock while he did so. He went up to find something else to drink once he’d finished that, but all they had was some liquor–not what he was feeling like, but it would do. He brought a pile of snacks along as well, and stuffed his face as he watched TV and drank himself into a stupor. More than once, he questioned what he was doing, and why, but it felt…right, somehow. Unavoidable.

Jared came home from work around seven, and found Raury still on the couch, passed out and snoring loudly. He stood over him, looking down at him…surprised, for some reason, but he knew that he shouldn’t be, right? Raury did this all the time–he was a bit of a drunken lout, really…but hadn’t he been different before? Jared tried not to think too hard about it, and just let his disgust overwhelm him. He can’t excuse his actions. If he wants to be a lazy good for nothing drunk, than who was Jared to try and stop him, or correct him? Jared went and put his things away, and passed back through the den on the way to the kitchen, to make some dinner for himself–assuming Raury hadn’t eaten the cupboards bare again, when he heard a strange whimper come from his boyfriend’s mouth, in between two snores. Jared looked out at him on the couch, and saw him pawing at the air, meekly–some stupid dream probably. Then, with a groan, he saw Raury arch his back a bit, and the front of the underwear he was wearing turned wet–was he pissing himself? No, it wasn’t big enough for that–the fat fuck was having a wet dream of all things. Gagging at the thought, he turned back and paid Raury no mind, eating dinner on his own, doing some work in the study, and then going to bed, all while Jared slept on the couch, deep in his dreams.

For a few weeks, Raury managed to keep some of the plates spinning in the air. He tried to keep going to the gym on a regular basis. He tried to eat healthier. He tried to keep alcohol out of the house. He tried to keep his raging horniness in check. He tried to go to work and stay focused. Some days, he even managed to accomplish two or three of those things, but no matter how hard he tried, every time Jared saw him, Raury couldn’t escape that…look of utter disgust and disdain which had appeared on his face, ever since that first big dream. He did everything he could–he even tried apologizing, but Jared just rebuffed him. He was barred from the bed, Jared insisted that his constant snoring kept him awake, and so Raury was forced to sleep on the couch every night instead. Jared hadn’t touched him once, sexually or not, in that entire time. The one time Raury had attempted to start something with him…Jared had slapped him across the face. He’d apologized, and tried to claim that Raury had just surprised him, but he insisted that he didn’t want to see Raury naked, until he got himself into better shape.

Every waking moment seemed to bring a new humiliation. He was still growing fatter, and he would outgrow new clothes within a few days–that, or they were shrinking, so they always appeared ill-fitting. His hygiene seemed to have slipped–he sweat more, and his BO had become much stronger, and taken on an embarrassing…barnyard sort of scent he was desperate to cover up, but every cologne and deodorant only seemed to make the smell stronger. People at work who used to try and ingratiate themselves with him as a rising star, were suddenly avoiding him like a plague, and his boss kept calling him in to have chats about his slipping productivity, and his sudden tendency to be caught napping on the job.

Indeed, sleep seemed to be the one thing in his life that came easily to him now, and it was the one thing which filled him with the greatest terror. So far, no dream had matched the intensity of the one which had left him unconscious for almost an entire day, but every single one took place in the clearing, with those beasts abusing and feeding him. It wasn’t too long before the stress got to him, and he started slipping further and further off the wagon. One bottle of wine a night became two and three. He would binge from the time he got home in the afternoon, until he passed out in the early evening, often before Jared would even get home from work. He found himself hornier than ever, but since no one seemed interested in having sex with him anymore–especially Jared–he found himself mastubating six or seven times a day, often right into his underwear, helplessly fantasizing about the only things that did seem to desire him–those beasts in the clearing–as twisted as that made him feel.

Arctos Audio 2: True Story (Part 7)

WARNING: Scat, castration, strange stuff, etc.

Paul just kept encouraging him, telling him was a good piggy he’s being, that he’s gonna enjoy having a toilet pig around the farm, and soon, Nate started to feel full, but shit just kept coming anyway. It was backing up his throat, and he couldn’t breathe–the panic was momentary, however, as he quickly found that he didn’t…need to breathe. In a few minutes, his throat was packed up to his snout, and try as he might, he couldn’t take anymore. Thankfully, Paul finished up soon after, and stood back up, not minding the shit coating his ass, turned around, and looked at the rubber pig on hands and knees, and grinned.

His massive load of shit sure had done the trick. The suit which had been hanging off the pig’s body before was now stretched tight–and the pig had probably doubled in size, it’s massive gut nearly dragging along the ground as it felt it’s stuffed snout with one trotter, trying to figure out what to do about it’s predicament. “Here piggy, I can help ya wit that,” Paul said, and shoved his rock hard cock into the packed snout and began forcing the shit down into the pig’s throat roughly. It worked–Paul could feel it working it’s way deeper into him, and the taste of Paul’s nasty cock was enhanced by the shit covering it. It was even better when he let loose a load of piss, helping to liquify a bit of the mass and wash it down. After a couple of minutes he pulled out, huffing a bit, leaking precum, and Nate could lick his snout clean, and tentatively, he got his strange legs underneath his huge frame, and he stood upright.

He was nowhere near the height he’d been before–with his much shorter legs, he was probably barely five feet tall, but with the massive gain in weight, he was easily 500 pounds, if not even larger. His arms were shorter as well, and could barely reach his face, much less the rest of his body. They felt useless. Still, he pressed on his body with them, and he felt the mass of filth inside him shift around slightly. How in the world was he holding all of it? Was there…even a flesh body left inside of him? He recalled how he hadn’t needed to even breathe, when the shit had filled him up, and he concluded that his body…wasn’t really a body anymore–it was just a cavity, a vessel designed to store filth. He could feel his piggy cock hardening at the thought, and pressing through…something against his body, hugging it, and realized the suit had formed a sheath around it–the only bit of his old body still hanging free, and touching the air, were his balls.

Paul hefted up Nate’s gut and looked under it, at them hanging there, and grinned. “Guess we only gots one thing left tah do, right piggy?”

He backed up, unsteady on his feet, turned and started to waddle away, but Paul tackled him to the ground, compressing him slightly, and he felt shit push back up his throat and into his mouth, as well as squeeze out his ass.

“Now, now, if ya wanna make yer farmer happy–ya should know I only wanna fuck hogs. The sooner it’s over with, the better ya will feel–I promise.”

He grabbed hold of Nate’s sack and pulled it tight, before stretching the rubber ring from the package out and looping it around them. He let it go, and it snapped tight–very tight–and merged with the suit, trapping his nuts on the outside, as the rubber squeezed every blood vessel shut. It hurt, and he squealed and groaned, but there was nothing he could do as Paul forced him to roll over onto his back, arms and legs flailing in the air, and he stroked Nate’s pig cock. “One last load for you, piggy,” he said, and Nate could feel it building. With a painful squeal, he came, spurting cum all over his belly, and Paul took out his knife and cut off the entire sack, now dark blue, and a moment later the rubber closed up, sealing smooth like there had never been a break at all.

He expected to feel fear, and anger, and sadness–but instead, all the hog felt was calm. A deep, complete calm, a kind of peace that can only come from a complete loss of self, and identity. He wasn’t a man anymore. He wasn’t even a pig. No–no, he was a hog. A hog for filth. A hog for fucking. A rubber hog to be abused and roughed up and toyed with. A hog who could take anything and then squeal for more. Crave more. The hog rolled over onto it’s gut, feeling more shit squish out of it’s ass, and it wiggled its tail, letting the farmer know what it needed–and Paul was only too happy to give it to the beast. He rammed in deep, pushing through a short rubber canal and meeting the warm shit filling the hog to capacity, and shuddered.

“Awww fuck yeah, I’s a proud fuckin’ hog fucker, yes I fuckin’ is!” he shouted, whooped, and slammed in again, the last remnants of the hog’s human mind disappearing, leaving only the simplest of desires. A need for filth, a need to obey its owner, and a deep aching desire to be filled at all times. Still, its story had ended well–it was going to be very happy, it was certain. Paul came after a while, pulled his shit coated cock out and the hog cleaned it up, mostly–then it followed his master out, waddling on its hind legs. Together they managed to get its huge frame into the bed of the truck, and it settled down for the long ride to Master’s farm–happier now that it was truly a hog, happy that at least some horror stories could have a happy ending.

Arctos Audio 2: True Story (Part 6)

WARNING: SCAT, RUBBER, STRANGE STUFF

“Ain’t never thought ‘bout havin’ a rubber hog before,” Paul said, looking at the gear, “But fuck, rubbin’ my cock against mah waders does sure make me nut hard–so I reckon I could give it a try.”

Nate looked back and forth, trying to understand what had happened to his husband. How had he gone to work looking perfectly normal, only to arrive back home looking like this? And…and why was looking at this new version of Paul turning him on so damn much? Nate could smell him from where he was on his hands and knees, and his mouth was salivating more than it had while he’d been stuffing himself. Paul walked over, the stench growing stronger, and as hard as Nate tried to back away, he couldn’t–his face was right at the crotch of Paul’s muddy overalls, and he could see the bulge of the redneck’s big cock tenting them out, and he wanted to taste it so badly. He shoved his head forward, but Paul caught his snout and shoved one of his dirty hands into it, and groaned.

“Damn piggy–that a rubber mouth ya got? Rubber inside and out?”

He grabbed hold of the top and bottom of Nate’s pig face, and pried the jaws apart roughly. Nate…felt them bend and stretch past the point they should have been able to open, like they had no bones inside them, and Paul pushed his hand inside Nate’s gaping mouth and down his throat, which stretched to accomodate it further than it should have been able to, nearly to Paul’s elbow.

“Gawd damn, gotta be careful ‘r I might blow a load already. Let’s git ya dressed up, piggy–ya gots me all excited now.”

The rubber suit had a zipper that ran all the way down it’s back–Paul undid it and laid it down, before grabbing Nate’s arms and legs and guiding them through the four holes. He knew he should be fighting this, but at the same time…he was excited. Thrilled. Hadn’t he wanted this? Not…quite this, he supposed, but a moment ago, with his…his farmer shoving his fist down his throat, feeling that violation, his cock had spasmed and spurted precum all over the floor beneath him. With his arms and legs in the sleeves, Paul pulled the suit up around him and zipped him up–and as he did, the suit melded seamlessly together, with not a single sign that it could even be parted. When it reached the nape of his neck, and the rubber base of the mask which had adhered to his head, the zipper disappeared, though the suit…hung off his body and was far, far too loose. Nate knew that it wasn’t that the suit was too large–it was that he was too small.

“Looks like somebody’s wastin’ away!” Paul said, tugging at the loose suit, “Still–I…yeah, I know what’ll fatten ya up real quick, but first, we better git yer hands ‘n feet fixed, right?”

Nate nodded, and allowed Paul to put the gloves and boots on him as well, and as he did…he noticed that something about the length of the boots and the sleeves of the suit seemed…a bit off. On his arms, the sleeves were quite short, and the gloves weren’t quite long enough to reach his elbow, and yet somehow they managed to meet and seal together. The same with the boots–which were even stranger. The suit ran down his thigh, but the boots…they felt like the weren’t even made for a human foot. Paul shoved and tugged them on anyway, and they too connected up with the suit, and looking back, his legs seemed…a bit shorter, and crooked. Still, he didn’t have long to think about that, because Paul was unhooking the clasps of his overalls. Rapt, and oinking softly in anticipation, he stared as the bib came down, allowing his massive gut to spill out, and then he shoved them down, giving Nate his first view of his massive, ten inch cock with a hefty overhang of foreskin, with two balls hanging low below that looked like they’d belong on a boar, not on a man.

“Judgin’ by that kitchen thar, I’d say ya probably ate everythin’ in sight, ya gluttonous fuck–good thing I got yer dessert right fuckin’ here,” he said, smacking his fat gut, and making it jiggle. He turned around and bent over, “judgin’ by the state a yer crack back there, I don’t think yer gonna mind, right piggy? Go on, nose up ‘n git lickin’. Looser I is, the sooner ya’ll git fed nice ‘n fat.”

No–not this. He wasn’t going to do this, was he? But the hunger he’d felt earlier was now even more intense–it felt like the suit had created a whole new stomach inside him that was aching to be filled. He hobbled forward on his strange hands and feet, feeling them beginning to go oddly numb, and shoved his snout into Paul’s wide, filthy asscrack. His slick tongue started running up and down, and he was surprised by how long it was–probing Paul’s hole, he slid it inside, listening to the redneck groan around his cigar, grunt, and start to bore down–the shit starting to ooze out after a moment. He did his best to fight, but his body knew what it needed–his tongue happily licked it up, and he grunted and squealed in delight at the disgusting taste, feeling it slide with ease down his rubber throat and settle into his gut, where it…seemed to be burning. The shit kept coming. He didn’t know where Paul had been keeping it all, but the filth kept pouring out and he kept swallowing it down, feeling it settle into his gut and spread, and soon, he found a happy rhythm, and enjoyed the sensation of fullness spreading through him.

Arctos Audio 2: True Story (Part 5)

WARNING: Scat, bestiality, castration

Nate stopped in front of the door to catch his breath–how out of shape was he, that fifteen steps to the front door had him out of breath? He hauled his keys out of the pocket of his overalls and found the house key, went to unlock it, and found a sizable package sitting on the stoop. Curious, he bent down and picked it up–it wasn’t too heavy, but he hadn’t ordered anything recently, had he? Maybe it was for Nate. He checked the address label, but the shipping address didn’t have a name, instead, it read, “The Filthy Pig, C/O Its Farmer Master.”

He didn’t know what that meant, but fuck, that kind of turned him on. If it wasn’t meant for him…maybe he could still take a peek inside, just out of curiosity. He held the package against his gut and unlocked the door, pushing it open and lumbering in, setting the box on a table in the hall and shutting it behind him. “Hey Nate! Ya home? Hey, I’s…got some stuff I wanna dis–disca–some stuff tah talk ‘bout wit’ ya.”

Nate didn’t reply, but Paul heard someone was in the house. There were noises coming from the kitchen, but it didn’t exactly sound human to him–it reminded him more of an animal, like a raccoon he’d startled while it was rummaging in the trash. “If some fuckin’ pest gots its way in here, gonna have tah git mah shotgun,” he grumbled and headed for the kitchen, paying no mind to the mud he was tracking into the house from the bottom and sides of the knee high waders he was wearing. He rounded the corner, and there, facing away from him, was the widest, cutest, prettiest little piggy rump he’d seen a long time, with a little black rubber tail swishing to and fro above a crack caked with manure. “Well cross my eyes backwards! Somebody let a sexy little hog loose in mah fuckin’ house.”

Nate lifted his head up from the food he was scarfing down and looked behind him, eyes wide at the sight of Paul–or at least a man he could barely recognize as Paul. His slim, well dressed husband had left this morning in pristine condition as always, and had returned home looking like he belonged in the middle of Iowa. As horrified as Nate was at what had happened to him, and as hopeful as he was that his husband might be able to help him escape this nightmare, the pig inside him, the pig growing stronger by the second, saw the massive redneck in the doorway, and all it could think about was how fucking sexy Paul looked, and how much it wanted that redneck cock buried deep in his piggy hole.

“Sooey! Come here sweet little thing–I was just thinkin’ ‘bout how much I been missin’ havin’ a hoghole tah fuck, ‘n looky here! Just like Pa said, ya ain’t never gonna know where ‘r when yer prayers ‘r gonna be answered.” He stepped forward, and it took him a moment to realize that the animal he was looking at wasn’t in fact a pig. When he actually noticed the human hands and feet, his heart sank a bit. “Wait…this a fuckin’ trick? Ya ain’t even a real piggy!”

“It’s me! It’s Nate!” he tried to say, but the mask refused to let the words come out right, and Paul had no idea what the pigman had tried to say. Paul looked closer, certain he should recognize the person under that pig mask, but his head just wasn’t quite as agile as it had been in his youth–not that it had been particularly quick then, either. Then he remembered the package he’d found on the step. “Wait a god damn minute–a package fer a filthy pig, care of a Farmer Master! That’s me, ain’t it! ‘N that’s you, ya dirty piggy.”

Paul retreated back to the entry way to get the box, pulling a slender knife from a holster hanging from his pocket and using it to cut the tape. The pig in his head gave a few grunts, and decided it had had enough food for the moment–what it needed now, more than anything, was a good rough fuck, but that sexy redneck didn’t seem that interested. Nate was fighting it as hard as he could, trying to stay in control, because he was realizing that what he’d thought was a story all this time might have actually been something more like a prophecy.

The boy had taken the carcass and sewn the head, cock, and tail to his body, and after he’d done that…thanks to a twisted fairy, the dead flesh had come alive again, granting the boy his disgusting wish, but with a cost. His human mind began to wither, and the new piggish instincts began to take control. The boy, a pariah and monster, had hidden on a pig farm and emerged only at night, helping himself to the slop the farmer left for his pigs, until one night he’d been discovered.

What the boy hadn’t known, was that this farmer had always held a deep, perverse love for his pigs–especially the castrated hogs he raised for slaughter. In fact, it a twist of fate, it had been one of his hogs’ carcasses the boy had stolen from the butcher, and the man recognized the hog’s face–it had been one of his favorite lovers. It had broken his heart to send it to the butcher, but now it had come back to him–though it was incomplete. Still, the fairy had whispered to him, he could fix that, couldn’t he?

Nate rounded the corner, in time to see Paul reach into the box and start hauling out the contents from the box–but in his heart, he already knew what it was going to be. First, the skin–a full body, black rubber suit, with the word HOG on the back in light brown. Next, the trotters–two gloves and two boots, all four with solid rubber trotters where the hands and feet should be. And lastly, a ball stretcher–and it was the last item that filled Nate with the most terror. After all, he was still a pig, for the moment. But the story wasn’t called “To be a Boar,” now was it?