A Brief Revenge (2 of 2)

“Yes, Vance, what a tragedy. Still, it wasn’t all that surprising that he would just up and vanish–he was a disgrace to this whole town, really. I was more than happy to help people believe that it was likely his father’s doing, paying his son to take off so he wouldn’t embarrass him during his reelection campaign. Still, he lost–that’s an excellent example of killing two birds with one stone, don’t you think?”

“Are you wearing someone now? That’s not Vance, is it?”

“These? Yes, these are someone, but no, they certainly aren’t Vance. I never wore Vance, actually. I don’t really have to wear people like him, since I’d much rather wear people who want to be worn. It’s…rather taxing, having to feel all that anger and fear all day long. I’d rather wear someone like…what was his name again? I don’t really recall–he’s been in my collection for close to a decade now.”

“A decade?”

“Oh yes–a volunteer for my permanent collection. Never really felt…right as a person, he said. If his displeasure got too great, I’d probably release him anyway, but, well, I don’t think it even remembers being a person anymore. It wouldn’t know what to do with a body if I gave it back.”

“So, if you don’t wear people like Vance, then what does happen to them? You just keep them in your drawer?”

“Oh goodness no–that’s a waste of good money. I rent them.”

“You…rent them?”

“I have men all over the world paying to wear my creations. Some want to be paired with willing participants. Some people want to be worn by particular kinds of people, or in certain ways, so I often attach conditions to rental agreements, and renters have to verify they’re meeting the requirements. I attach my own requirements to underwear like Vance, of course.”

“So…where is Vance?”

“I’m good friends with a very fat slob in New England. He gets off wearing these guys non-stop for months at a time. He has amazing willpower too–which is the other reason I like him. He stretches them and beats them into shape in about nine months, but he’s keeping Vance for a year and a half. Then I’ll check in with him, and see how he’s developing.”

“Because…they change, right?”

“Of course they change. If the underwear wears out, they get older. The dirtier it gets, the dirtier they would be when they are released. But the mental link–a strong willed owner…well, let’s just say that when Vance gets let out, he’s going to be quite a bit different from his old self. If his dear old dad was embarrassed by him before, I can’t wait until he gets a look at his disgusting, cum and piss addicted pigson when he goes and knocks on his door for the first time in a few months. I’m going to videotape it–I can’t fucking wait.”

Dirty Daddies (2 of 2)

WARNING – SCAT

Here’s to my five years with the dirtiest daddies in the whole world. You know, I never thought I might be this lucky, to find two daddies like this–of course, it’s taken a lot of work to get them here, but I’m so much more powerful now than when I was a kid. Sure, that first year was rough. They both fought, hard, trying to get control of their relationship back, trying to get control over me, but I’m the one who does the controlling–I’m always in control. They realized that, eventually. Marty first, but he was always easier–weaker, easier to bend. Fuck, I had him begging for my cock the first day we were alone together, and Bill never had a clue–not until I wanted him to know.

But it took a lot of work, getting them here–helping them both become the perfect dirty daddies for their perfect dirty boy. Neither of them liked the facial hair at first, or the cigars, or the booze I made them drink all the time, but I want daddies who are fuzzy, who reek like an ashtray. I want daddies who are so stupid they piss themselves half the time, and laugh their asses off when they realize what they just did. I want daddies fighting for the privilege to eat out their boy’s nasty hole–fuck, can you imagine any expression of love deeper than that? Than begging to be your son’s toilet paper? I let them take turns, usually, but Bill’s the real toilet around the house.

See, Marty was easy enough, but Bill was a fighter. I had to break him pretty badly in the end, to keep him from hurting someone, but he learned his place eventually, right there at the moment, slurping at Marty’s greasy hole, begging for a load of shit while I piss all over them both. This anniversary party’s just getting started, of course–I have some pretty amazing gifts planned for my daddies.

See, Bill can’t work anymore–not after he shit himself in the office a few months back, and started eating it in front of his boss at an important meeting. Martin’s not too smart either, anymore–I tend to have that effect on daddies when they’re under my control for too long. They just can’t quite remember how to think for themselves anymore. So my daddies are getting two new lives this weekend. Bill’s gonna be a brand new trash collector on Monday morning, and Martin’s gonna be a delivery driver. Sure, we’ll have to sell the house and move into a double wide outside of town, but who needs money when you have the perfect family?

Deal of a Lifetime (Part 8)

“What’s the matter, daddy?”

Daddy gave a another growl of frustration, hefted his gut a bit higher on the pig’s back, and kept trying to work his cock into the pig’s hole, but as horny as he was, his cock simply wasn’t responding. “Yer too fuckin’ tight, pig.”

“Oh trust me daddy–after that nice licking you gave my hole earlier, I’m as loose as can be. You need one of your little blue pills to help you out?”

“Fuckin’ piece a shit! If I wasn’t looking at ya I could git hard, but yer fuckin’ grossin’ me out.”

“Don’t lie to me daddy–I might disgust you, but that just turns you on more. Still, if you can’t get hard, I guess we’ll have to figure out some other way for you to make my little piggy cock cum.”

“It’s daddy’s cock you should be fuckin’ concerned with. Ya can cum after I get mah own damn rocks off.”

“That’ll be a while, and you don’t have that much time left.”

“What the fuck do ya mean?”

“Well daddy, if you want to change back, you’re going to have to drink my cum–but the longer you wait, the more this becomes the real you. If I finish my pipe before I cum, I won’t be very happy, and you’ll be stuck for good.”

“Wait…what?”

“Can remember daddy, who you were? That’ll all be gone soon, if you don’t hurry, I don’t have a whole lot left in this bowl. Too much longer, and this little piggy will be gone again, and you’re going to be this disgusting daddy forever.”

He looked at himself in the mirrored doors of the hotel room closet, his 400 pound body covered with hair, matted with sweat, reeking of piss and musk, beard and hair grown long and ragged. That…wasn’t him. He knew that, but he could barely remember who he’d been before meeting this fucking pig hours earlier. “Fine, fuckin’ roll over, ‘n let’s git this over with.”

Carmichael did as he asked, rolling over onto his back, piggy cock jutting straight up into the air. “You can suck all you want daddy, but I simply can’t cum without something in my hole, and if that cock of yours can’t get hard…then again, a perverse, dirty minded, kinky daddy like you can probably figure something out.”

He was still looking at himself in the mirror as the tattoos appeared, snaking up his arms and legs onto his chest and belly, his mind–every empty spot was suddenly filling up with the sickest, most disturbing fantasies he could imagine. His gear shifted–a studded leather harness appearing under his vest, his gloves growing and turning to rubber, reaching up to his elbows. His nipples grew large and inflamed, pierced with thick rings, and his bulge grew as well, his cock and balls pumped and inflated with silicone. But he did have ideas–oh, did he have plenty of ideas for how to get this nasty piggy to nut his load down daddy’s throat.

He went to the closet, dug around for a moment, and returned to the bed with a tub of shortening, slathered one of his gloves, and started working his fingers into the pig’s hole–he’d been right, it was loose, and it swallowed his whole fist in less than a minute.

“Oh fuck daddy, that’s what I’m talking about…”

“Yeah, ya slutty fuckin’ pigs, daddy knows what ya really want…”

He pushed in deeper, up to his elbow, deep enough that he could get his mouth around the pig’s cock and start sucking, hard, milking it for all it’s worth.

“Oh fuck daddy, that feels so good, but I don’t know if I want to cum–just think, I could play with you anytime I wanted.”

The daddy didn’t like just how appealing that sounded to him. He sucked harder, pounding in deeper, before sliding back out a bit and milking the pig’s prostate until at last, with a grand squeal, the pig exploded into his mouth, and he drank all the cum down that he could–but there was so much of it.

“Careful daddy–you really don’t want to miss *grunt* a single drop.”

He could feel it working, feel some of the changes receding, but the flow stopped long before he felt normal again, and looked over at himself in the mirror. He was still at least fifty, with some of his original color back in his hair and beard, both of which were quite long. He still reeked of musk, and only a few of the tattoos had receded–but with some relief, he felt a stirring in his crotch, his cock returning to life and coming to full mast, but the view of it was still obscured by his massive gut–he had to be at least 350 pounds still, and a fucking hairy beast. “Feed me more a yer cum,” he said, “I can git another load out a ya.”

“Sorry daddy, but it doesn’t work like that. But let your little pig take care of you for a while,” Carmichael said, sitting up and pushing his daddy away, feeling his fist slide out of his hole, “After you cum, you won’t even want to go back–you’ll be a good dirty daddy, just how I want you.”

Half an hour later, Carmichael stepped out of the hotel room, and adjusted his cuffs and collar.

“Fuck man, I don’t know what the fuckin’ hell that was, but that was the nastiest sex a mah life,” a voice said behind him. He looked over his shoulder at the leering, bearded daddy grinning through a crack in the door. “When can I fuckin’ see ya again? I wanna play with that little pig some more.”

“Oh my,” he said, blushing a bit, the taste of tobacco still fresh in his mouth, “ Well, I was planning on finding a gentleman or two at the party tonight for another play session. Perhaps I’ll give you a call once we are underway, and you can come join us?”

“Fuck, sounds amazing.”

“I’ll be in touch then.”

The door shut, and Carmichael strutted down the hall, whistling a tune. He had a feeling he would enjoy this new life of his–maybe this had been a good trade after all.

Deal of a Lifetime (Part 7)

*Knock* *Knock*

“Room service!”

*Knock* *Knock* *Knock*

“Daddy…Daddy, that’s your cue. Get the door.”

He just moaned, burrowing deeper into the pig’s shit chute with his tongue.

“Daddy! Get the door!”

He blinked, and sat back on his heels, trying to remember what was going on. He took a suck off his cigar, but realized it had burnt out while he’d been eating out the pig’s hole–how fucking long had he been at it?

*Knock* *Knock*

“Is anyone there?”

He stumbled up, a bit off balance, and stumbled towards the hall, hauled open the door. “The fuck do ya want?” he said, and the young woman who’d brought the two full carts of food up gasped at the sight of him, and backed up a step, at a loss for words.

“T-Thanks,” he said, and pulled the two carts inside, shutting the door behind him, feeling a bit embarrassed at the woman’s obvious disgust. Wondering what she’d seen, he slipped into the bathroom and turned on the light, only to shout at the sight. That wasn’t his face–he didn’t look like that! The beard he’d sprouted had lengthened, running down to his chest, and his hair had grown out long as well. They were both greasy and tangled, more grey than his original brown at this point–well, aside from the area around his mouth, which was slimy with the pig’s juices and his own slobber. His leather gear (was it even his? He’d always despised leather and the fake masculinity it seemed to inspire in the men who wore it) was no longer crisp and new as it had been earlier, when he’d found himself in it. The leather vest was well worn, and now bore a number of biker patches, his chaps and boots equally worn, and the jock–fuck, his jock was putrid yellow and crisp to the touch.

“Oh good choices all around, daddy,” the little pig had gotten off the bed and was inspecting what the woman had dropped off. “I bet you’ve worked up a bit of an appetite, right?”

“What the fuckin’ hell have ya done tah me, ya little fuck?” he exclaimed, pointing at his reflection in the mirror.

“You honestly didn’t expect a dirty, disgusting pig like me to want to play around with the cute little cub you were before, do you?” Carmichael said, grunting and chuckling to himself, “No–I only play with guys who are just as disgusting as I am.”

“No–No, I’m not fucking like you–this ain’t me! I ain’t this disgusting fucker! Change me back, right fuckin’ now, or I fuckin’ swear, I’ll–”

The pig interrupted him, shoving a cupcake in his daddy’s mouth, watching the older man’s eyes roll back in his head in pleasure, his larger gut growling with approval. “That’s what I thought. Come on now daddy–let’s get you fed.”

He laid the daddy down on the bed, propping his head up with a couple of pillows, and then pulled both carts up alongside them, before climbing up and straddling, grinding his ass against his daddy’s bulging jock, listening to him moan. “Be a good daddy, let the little piggy fatten you up, and maybe you’ll get to feel that cock in my hole tonight.”

Before he could respond, he shoved another cupcake into his maw, and the feeding began. It was slow going at first–the daddy was still fighting pretty hard. They took the occasional break to feed each other some smoke, to let the daddy’s hunger catch up, the pig’s pipe so much sweeter than the rough cigars he preferred smoking. The breaks weren’t necessary before too long, and the pig quickened the pace. Cupcakes, pudding, ice cream, doughnuts–all of it went into daddy’s gut–they could feel it heaving up between them until a certain point when it lost its firmness, and settled around him in a pile of soft flab. It was around that point, daddy started sobbing–pleading and begging with the pig to just let him go, refusing to eat another bite.

“Do you want to fuck my hole or not, daddy? Keep eating.”

“No, please, no more. I can’t do this anymore.”

“You can too–I believe in you! You can be the biggest, most vile daddy in the world, I know it. Now open up.”

But he stubbornly refused, the little pig letting off a squealing sigh. “I was hoping I wouldn’t have to resort to this until later, but you’re just not cooperating. Still, this will help move things along.” He fished his piggy cock out, aimed for his daddy’s mouth over his flabby gut, and let loose a burst of piss which landed right in his face. The stench alone made his head spin–he licked his lips and got a taste of it, and groaned. The pig let loose a longer stream then, his daddy chasing the golden piss as the pig soaked him down, watching his daddy’s hair and beard grow longer, his body stinking and unwashed, the musk stronger than most men would be able to handle. The pig started stuffing his face again, helping him wash it down with more and more piss, watching him grow older and older still, his hair entirely white aside from where it had yellowed around his mouth from his cigars, teeth rotten and crooked, eyes hungry and desperate, losing their will to fight. It wasn’t too much longer before the carts were both empty, and while his daddy moaned, the little pig spent a while licking him clean, tasting his daddy’s filth while the older man smoked his cigars, trying to muster some resistance, but…but he wasn’t entirely sure what, exactly, he was fighting against anymore. All he really wanted, now that he had stuffed himself, was a turn at that little pig’s dirty hole.

“Alright pig, I did mah part. Now you’s get bent over the bed, ‘n let daddy plow that nasty hole a yers.”

Daryl had always harboured a suspicion that video games were bad for you–it always seemed like such a waste of time, when you could be doing something productive with your time: studying, working out, taking a walk, or anything else for that matter! And so, you can imagine his frustration when he arrived at his campus house for the start of the semester, and discovered he was living with a bunch of gamers–though one of them was by far the worst of the lot. Sammy was every worst imagined flaw of a gamer that Daryl could imagine, brought to life. He was obese, he was a slob who never picked up after himself, he drank and ate all the time wherever he was, and he was always playing those stupid games of him. His two housemates got sucked in with him, wasting their time, but he just ignored them…until he started to notice something strange.

The other two guys had been fairly normal, but within a month of hanging out with Sammy, they were starting to pick up his habits. They stopped shaving and showering, they were all drinking beer and eating pizza every night, and none of them seemed to find that the least bit strange or disturbing, even when he tried to point out what was happening to them. They were oblivious. By midterms, the two of them were almost unrecognizable, and if he hadn’t seen it happen, he would have never believed that the two of them had been slim, clean cut guys just a month and a half before–it wasn’t possible. How in the hell could someone even gain 200 pounds that quickly?

The tension in the house was rough–Daryl would get into screaming fights with any of them, telling them to pick up their crap, or do anything besides sit there, drink, and play video games all day long. Then, one night, he came home late from the library, only to discover the living room was empty of the three of them, but the gaming system was still on the TV. He walked over to turn it off, but the screen…caught his interest somehow, and he stared at it for a few minutes, unblinking, before throwing caution to the wind, picking up the controller, and giving it a shot.

When he finally emerged from the stupor he’d sunk into, he realized it was morning–no, it was afternoon. Snacks were litered around him, along with a bunch of empty beer bottles, and his gut was distended. He threw down the controller and stood up as Sammy walked into the room, completely naked, bearing another tray of junk food. “Oh player four, sit back down on that couch–you aren’t nearly ready for a break yet.”

Daryl tried to resist, but he found himself compelled to obey, Sammy waddling over and picking up the controller, putting it back in his hands. “Players two and three are having plenty of fun upstairs together, so that gives us plenty of time to get you caught up, right big boy?”

But Daryl wasn’t listening anymore–he was playing his game. By the end of the week, he was as massive, hairy and slobby as the rest, begging for player one’s cock all day long, and he couldn’t even remember being any other way.

Snake Oil (2 of 2)

“What the fuck did you give us, you fucker!” Nick said, dragging the old man behind his booth at the fair, Anthony beside him. Their changes had progressed further, both of them now approaching middle age, their muscles much weaker–but not so weak they couldn’t kick this fucker’s ass if he didn’t give them an antidote.

“Ah! You must be the young man from earlier,” the man said with a laugh, “I see the sample I gave you is working nicely.”

“What the fuck are you talking about? It didn’t work at all!”

“Oh nonsense–it’s working exactly as it’s supposed to. Looking at you both, you’re here right on time–the second stage should be starting any moment…yeah, look at your friend there.”

Nick looked over at Anthony, but his friend was just standing there, slackjawed, almost like he was in a trance…but the bulge in his friend’s pants drew his attention next. What the hell was wrong with his bulge! It seemed…massive all of a…sudden. Nick’s mind was clouding over, dulling, and he released his hold on the old man, feeling a pleasant warmth in his pants too, but a…pressure too.

“Yes, very good you two. Follow me, and let’s get you both milked.”

Helpless to disobey, both Nick and Anthony followed the man to a trailer parked against the side of the fair and went inside with him. He sat them both in a chair, strapped them in, opened up their pants, and they saw what was the matter–their ball’s had swollen up to three or four times their original size.

“See, I do, in fact, sell a muscle growth serum, but business has been so good this year, I’ve been running out, so I needed someone to help me resupply my wares. All that youthful muscle? It’s in those sacks of yours, and you’re going to give it to me.”

Both men tried to protest, as the man put milking tubes over their cocks, and started the process of sucking the cum from their sacks. “No–you can’t…we’ll…tell…”

“You won’t be telling anyone anything,” the older man said, “You won’t remember a thing when I’m through with you both. Nope, the only thing the two of you will remember is your new lives as a couple of dumb, old, faggot carnies. I’ll help you fit the part of course–grow out your beards a bit, tone down the hygiene, soften your minds, make you both smokers and drinkers–I think cigars and whiskey for you both. I have lots of wares that will be perfect for you both.”

They both tried to fight, but there was nothing they could do–and when they both stumbled out of the trailer a few hours later, in their filthy clothes, smoking their cigars like they’d been doing it for years, the two old men found a bit of privacy and fucked each other for the first of many, many times.

You might live in suburbia, but it didn’t always feel like it, from where you lived. You could see your neighbors, sure, but your property backed up onto a nice wooded area and undeveloped wetland which still gave it a nice sense of nature. Unfortunately, soon after you moved in, you heard from your neighbors that part of the natural fauna of periurban space were the homeless. Still, they never seemed to bother anyone, and people in the neighborhood seemed reluctant to go into the wetlands all the same. It wasn’t really considered…safe, for reasons none of them could really describe, but you figured they were just scared for no real reason. After all, even if they were homeless they were people too, and so you would take your short walks through the woods, often with a backpack ready to hand out water or a snack if you should happen across anyone who needed it.

In fact, you never really saw a soul out there, but that didn’t stop you from getting the eeriest sensation that someone was watching your every move while you were within the treeline. You assumed it was just your imagination getting the better of you, the stories your neighbors told about some of the strange folk they’d seen here getting the better of you. But over time, the sensation became…more curious, and it wasn’t too much longer before, as you were walking through the woods, you came upon an older man leaning against a tree in raggedy clothes–a long coat and jumpsuit, but under the jumpsuit he had on some leather straps, and the jumpsuit was unzipped down, revealing no underwear and an erect cock.

You backtracked as quick as you could, but now you were seeing others surrounding you on all sides, all of them filthy, and all of them leering at you lustfully, most stroking their cocks as they approached. You tried to talk to them, but they ambushed you, stole your pack, ripped your clothes off of you, and they all started…grabbing at your flesh, at your cock, tugging at your hair, licking your face, feeling your ass–

You scrambled up and ran for your house as fast as you could, breaking through the treeline with the men pursuing you, running to the sliding glass door and trying to pry it open, but it wouldn’t bugde. You know you’d left it unlocked–hell, you’d left it open aside from the screen, hadn’t you? You look around, but is this even your house? Then–in the glass window you see your reflection, and nearly scream. Who is that? That can’t be you, can it? The reflection looks to be an old man in his late fifties, short with a underdeveloped chest and bulging, taut gut coated with white hair. A huge, bushy beard and matted hair–you miss the rest as someone else comes down to the door, sees you, and screams.

You flee back into the woods, but they’re waiting for you. They pin you down and fully initiate you, seeding you with their cum, your memories fading. You can no longer even remember the house you lived in, you can’t remember anything at all about that life you knew you had, only this new one lying before you, as they dress you in filthy, cast off clothing and drag you deeper into the wetlands.

Stinkers – Eric’s Story (Part 7)

***WARNING*** SCAT

It took them both a while to get up to the dorm room itself, because Eric had to keep stopping, pushing Tom into alcoves so he could lick him and sniff him, delighting in his refreshing boyscent, already thinking about all the ways he was going to defile it once they got back to his room. If he had been clearer headed, he would have smelled what had happened in his room before opening the door, but the appearance of Tom had wiped every memory of Paul from his mind–so he opened the door and found his roommate rolling around in the middle of the room with the clothes he’d thrown out before, and the stench was horrific.

“Oh fuck–Paul?”

He didn’t respond to his name–but he did respond to the appearance of Eric’s musk, and Paul rolled over onto all fours and started crawling towards him, eyes void of all thought.

“Oh, I didn’t know you had a pig!” Tom exclaimed, and got down to greet Paul, stroking and petting his back, “Who’s a good piggy?”

“No–No, this…I threw that shit out!”

“You’re pretty thin for a pig–hasn’t he been feeding you? Well don’t worry, I have something you can eat, piggy.”

Eric was frozen as he watched Tom stand up and drop his pants to his ankles before squatting down, Paul smelling what was coming and getting his face right into the boy’s crack as he bore down and shit, Paul devouring as much as he could right from the hole–and Eric watched as his scrawny roommate’s body started to throb, and then expand with fat, gaining about fifty pounds by the time Tom stood back up, letting Paul lick the floor clean of what he’d missed. Eric was horrified. He wanted to run screaming from the room, but the fucking smell of that boy’s shit was turning him on like nothing else. Before he could think about it, before he could stop himself, he grabbed the boy and shoved him to the bed, bent him over, got down and started eating out his hole, licking it clean.

“Don’t worry daddy, I saved you some too.”

Eric lapped the filth straight from the hole, thinking about all the times he’d fantasized about this in his life, all those drunk nights he shoved a finger in his hole, sniffing it, too terrified to taste it, but it was better than he could have ever imagined. When the boy was empty, he stood up again, licking his lips, hauled out his cock and shoved it into the boy’s hole, cumming almost immediately, but Eric could sense that was just the prelude to what would be a long rest of the night with this sweet boy.

A nose and mouth pushed it’s way between his ass as he fucked, licking at his own ring–the pig was obviously still hungry, so Eric let his own shit loose, the pig squealing with delight and devouring everything as Eric fucked, some small part of him horrified at his own behavior, at his own actions, trying to reel the last shreds of decency back in, but he could tell, now, that there was no going back from this, and so he plunged in deeper, listening to the boy cry out in pain and excitement at being abused by his daddy, and decided that, tonight, he was just going to enjoy himself first, and worry about what it all meant later.

“Daddy? Daddy! I’m home, and I brought some friends over!” Tom said, the glee in his voice apparent as he charged into his filthy house. Greg was in the living room watching TV, another young man who’d been living with Tom when Greg arrived between his legs, worshipping his cock mindlessly, like a good cumdump should. He pushed the thing’s head away and heaved himself up from the couch as Tom bounded over to him and gave him an eager kiss–the boy was sweet again, his mouth like honey.

Tromping into the room after him came Eric, though he barely even recognized himself, after the night before. He was close to six and a half feet tall, but had packed on a massive amount of weight–Greg had to guess he weighed close to 600 pounds. He squeezed into the largest clothes he’d been able to find, but the rolls of hairy, stinking fat cascaded out around them. He had a wild beard which had grown down to his chest with a streak of white down the center, his face looking quite a bit older than his prior age of twenty-three.

“I see you found him–did you apologize, boy?” Greg asked.

“Yes daddy–I apologized to him all night long.”

“Good boy–now go play in your room for a bit.”

Tom nodded, and scampered up the stairs, as Eric gave a tug and the pig came in behind him, a knotted rope leashed around his neck. Paul had gained a massive amount of weight as well, hulking up, teeth growing out into small tusks, his face and body caked brown. “I…uh…I wasn’t, tryin’ to, but it got a liking a my scent, ‘n…” Eric tried to say, but the words weren’t coming out very well. He’d woken up this morning, surrounded by the filthy scene he’d created with Tom and the pig (he couldn’t quite remember it’s name for some reason) and knew, he had to find Greg. “Can ya…fix ‘em? Can ya fix me? I ain’t…know what’s happenin’ tah me no more. Fuck, why’d I sound so fuckin’ stupid all a sudden?”

“Because you’re becoming the man you’ve always meant to be,” Greg said, “Ya should embrace it! Enjoy it!”

Eric didn’t know what to say, he didn’t know how to stop this anymore. His gut grumbled instead, twisting into hungry knots.

“Look, why don’t I stuff that fat face of yours–you’ll feel better after a good meal. Then, we’ll get back to getting you feeling like your real self. You’re almost there–just a few more days, and you’ll be a true stinker, just like me.”

Stinkers – Eric’s Story (Part 4)

“Wait, all weekend?” Eric asked, “What day is it?”

“Fucking Sunday afternoon,” Tom said.

“Wait, I was in there for…for two whole fucking days?”

“Like I said, don’t worry about it,,” Greg said, trying to usher Eric back inside, “Let’s keep playing–I bet we can get a few more loads into that jock of yours.”

“No–No, I have to study, I have school tomorrow, I have to go.”

“No, you’re staying.”

“No, he has to go daddy,” Tom said, “I want him out of my house. Fucking get the fuck out!” Tom stepped up, grabbed Eric by the wrist and tried to pull him away, and Eric felt an odd anger grow in him. What was this boy thinking, he could tell him what to do? Tom gave another tug, and Eric didn’t budge–instead, he pulled him back, Tom landing against his chest, Eric’s big arms wrapping around him as he sniffed and licked the side of his neck. “What the–fucking let go of me!”

Eric didn’t quite know what he was doing, or why. All he knew was that this is exactly what he wanted to be doing, even if he hadn’t known that a second ago. Tom was still fighting and squirming–Eric let him go for a moment, he turned around, and then Eric grabbed him by the shoulders and shoved him up against the hallway wall, pressing their bodies together. Tom seemed…smaller than he had been before, less intimidating. “Eric…fuck Eric why…do you smell like that, all of a sudden?” Tom asked a bit breathless.

“Like what?” Eric asked, not really caring about the answer, as he hauled up one of Tom’s arms and started eating out the filthy pit there.

“Like Greg, you smell like daddy. I mean, different, but…” Tom lost track of what he was saying, eyes rolling back in his head as Eric’s new musk assaulted him.

Eric didn’t answer–he didn’t even have an answer that might have been satisfying, but what he did have was a need to fuck his teammate’s dirty hole. Tom, too, was wearing his jockstrap from practice and no shorts–Eric spread his legs and reached under him, feeling his greasy hole which had obviously been used quite a bit this weekend. Tom moaned, trying to protest, looking over to Greg hoping he would intervene, but the old man had his own cock out and was jacking off, watching Eric molest him. One of Eric’s fingers slid into him, and then another, and it wasn’t long before Tom’s resistance had disappeared completely, as Eric hefted him up and pinned him to the wall, slipping the pouch of his own disgusting jock to one side, and then lowered him down and impaled Tom on his cock in the hallway, his legs floundering as he groaned and begged Eric to fuck him. He was only too happy to oblige, rutting with him suspended against the wall, hammering into his ass while he cried, cum spewing from Tom’s cock between them, while Eric’s precum dribbled out of Tom’s ass and onto the carpet in a disgusting puddle. Eric came once after a couple of minutes, but kept going, fucking Tom for close to twenty minutes against the wall, both of them panting and shaking from the exertion of the position, Eric finally stepped away, allowing Tom back down onto the floor, when he crumpled down, lying in the puddle which had formed beneath him, his face drawn to the filth, licking it up, unable to stop himself.

“Damn man! That was quite the fuckin’ show!” Greg said, clapping a hand on Eric’s shoulder, which again, felt…higher than it should be, but he smelled Greg’s pit again, and fuck it would be nice to just laze around some more, eating and drinking, sniffing and fucking and–

Eric shook his head, clearing his thoughts away, and stepped back. He’d just fucking raped Tom, hadn’t he? Granted, Tom had enjoyed it–was still enjoying there on the floor, but why had he just done that? “I don’t…know why I just did that.”

“Well, when we git a whiff of a boy, sometimes instinct just takes over. Best tah just roll with it.”

Boy. He looked at Tom, and the word spoke more than it should. More than just a name, more than a title, more than a sexy nickname–it was more like…Greg was talking about a different species. Tom wasn’t like the both of them. Tom was just a “boy”, like Lassie was just a “dog”. It didn’t sit well with him in his gut, whatever it meant. “If…Tom’s a boy, then what am I?”

“I told you man, we’re stinkers–top a the heap. Well, I’m a stinker–yer still comin’ intah yer own, but hang with me a while longer, and we’ll git ya feelin’ like yer real self soon enough.”

Greg approached Eric again, grabbed his cock and started stroking it, licking Eric’s chest, sucking on one of his nipples, Eric trying to keep from falling back into the doldrums where he’d wasted his entire weekend. He had studying to do! Classes! Practices! Tests! Didn’t any of that matter anymore? He wasn’t quite sure how to answer that question, but what he did know, was that all of this was way too fucking strange. He needed to get out for a bit, get some fresh air, get away from Greg and Tom and this filthy house. “No, I…I gotta go.”

“No way man, ya ain’t going anywhere–things ‘r just gettin’ excitin’! Look at ya!”

“I can’t…do this.”

Get back in that room and relax–I know how the doubts go, but if you just–”

“No!” Eric screamed, and shoved Greg away, “No, fuck you! You don’t fucking know how I fucking feel right now!”

“Fuck man! Calm down!”

“How the fuck am I supposed to calm down? I just fucking raped that fucking boy there!”

“Ya can’t rape a boy–they all want it, they just don’t always know it.”

Eric couldn’t listen to anymore of this. He went back into the room, dug out his clothes (or at least what he thought were his clothes, but they were a bit small on him) threw them on, and hurried down the stairs. Greg didn’t try to stop him, he just said from the bannister, “You go work your shit out then. And when you figure out you can’t go back–hell, that you don’t want to go back? I’ll fucking be here, waiting for you.”

Stinkers – Eric’s Story (Part 3)

The room where Greg had taken him was obviously where Greg was living at the moment–it was his scent which dominated the entire space, from the bed, to the small bathroom accessible through a sliding door shared with another room beyond, to the piles of filth and clothes littered in every possible space. However, the longer Eric stayed in there, the more clues he picked up that this hadn’t always been Greg’s space–the desk littered with notes and textbooks open and scattered, the occasional piece of clothing which didn’t have Greg’s trademark stench infused through it, but the clues were to disparate, and he was so focused on other, more important things, to really worry that much about it.

Greg was never far away from him. In fact, Greg was rarely not touching him–the two of them spending hours upon hours cleaning each other, becoming familiar with one another, pleasuring one another. Eric had never found himself very interested in sex. He’d never dared confess this to his fellow teammates, but he was still a virgin. He’d only kissed a girl a few times, but something about their lips, and the taste of their spit had always deflated any sort of sexual desire he might have felt. With Greg, he was rapidly discovering why this was. First, he wanted men. He wanted to kiss men, and lay with men, and smell men and fuck men and drink cum and eat their hairy asses and drink their piss. But deeper than that–his sexual desire had always been tied to his own musk and his filth and his scent.

On occasion, memory would overwhelm him–usually some strange, teenage experiment he’d done with himself which he had long since forgotten about and distanced from this person he’d been trying to become. Exploring his ass while he was taking a shit one afternoon, feeling his hole expand as he shat into the water, sliding a finger in and licking it clean while he’d jacked off. One morning in the sweltering summer, he’d had both a wet dream and wet his bed when he was seventeen–and instead of getting out and taking a shower, he’d jacked off again and again in the middle of the night. He’d thrown the sheets out with the trash the next day, before his parents could find any evidence. Each of these memories, it felt like he was connecting with some deep lost self, and the person he’d thought he was–the clean, studious, quiet Eric–was all a fabrication which could no longer hold together now that it had revealed its seams.

The few times Greg had left him alone for a few minutes, usually to go get them food and beer for a break, he’d satisfy himself with some of Greg’s cast off clothing, sucking the dried cum and piss from the fabric, wondering why he was doing any of this. Why he’d spent so much of his life not doing this. Why he’d fought so hard for so long what was clearly something he was made to do–or at least, that’s what Greg kept telling him. That he was finding out who he was again, who he’d been meant to be. Eric didn’t believe it, but something about what Greg was saying rang true anyway.

Eric didn’t know when it was, when he heard the fighting outside the door, but it had been loud enough to make him lose focus on his jock for a bit. He’d…forgotten to take it off after practice, and Greg had become obsessed with it, making Eric jack off into it over and over again, fill it with acrid piss, even wipe his ass with it. The pouch had gone from a dirty white to now a deep, disgusting brown, damp and reeking–he stood up and pulled it on, finding it…comforting, and poked his head out of the room to see what the ruckus was. There was Tom, blocking the hallway, and Greg by the stairs with a couple plates loaded with food and more beer, shouting at each other.

“–spent all fucking weekend cooped up in there with him! What the fucking hell, daddy? I thought I was your favorite? I thought you were going to teach me?”

“I ain’t got time for your damn nonsense boy, now step aside!”

Tom’s feet shuffled a bit, but he replanted them. “No–I want some fucking time with you daddy! I…I need you in me, I need to taste you for a bit, no one else tastes like you do. Please, you can’t…do this to me, and then just…leave me behind.”

Eric thought he sounded weak. Thought he smelled weak. That surprised him a bit, that he had an opinion on how Tom smelled–he slipped out into the hallway and took a couple steps towards him, smelling his teammate, needing to confirm his own instinct. He couldn’t exactly say why he thought so, but…weak was the word. Desperate. Needy. Sweet.

Tom sniffed the air, smelling something…new. He turned around and found himself facing Eric, and he could smell Greg on him…but more than that even. He could smell…him. The odor was pungent and strong and forceful and lovely and sexy and…and Tom…wanted him. Wanted Eric to want him. His head couldn’t quite process what was going on, the combined musk of the two men was making him light headed–he stumbled over against the wall, trying to make his cock not get hard.

“What’s going on?” Eric asked.

“Don’t worry about it,” Greg said, walking past Tom, “Some boys can get really fucking demanding–you’ll see.”

“Fuck you,” Tom said with a groan, “You’ve been with him all fucking weekend! All I want is…is just a taste!”

Eric just stared at him a moment, and then looked at Greg. “What do you mean, all weekend?”