Ruining Mr. Fisher (Part 3)

Needless to say, Gerard began staying late much more often at the office. In fact, he found it impossible to leave until Ned had come through to clean the office, and to find some new way to bring the banker down a few more pegs at a time. It was the very next night that Ned made the banker strip naked in his presence–the fat redneck gave him a hand job and then as soon as Gerard’s cock softened again, forced his cock into a metal cage, and locked it with a padlock. It was a tight fit–immediately Gerard’s cock tried to get hard again, and the pain was excruciating, but he didn’t have a choice in the matter. Ned said he needed to be punished for cumming without permission, and so the cage would stay on until he felt Gerard had earned an orgasm for himself.

Gerard never earned an orgasm, not in the next several months. Most nights, Ned would simply come by the office, looking more and more filthy and disheveled and slobby each day, force Gerard to serve him in any number of ways, and then leave him again. At first, Gerard would do his best to not do anything to make Ned change him further–he was agreeable and wouldd serve him as required…and in some ways he kind of enjoyed it. He’d already found himself making time for himself throughout the day to slip away from the office for an hour or two, so he could go to the porn theaters and shops downtown and suck a few loads from strangers when he got hungry. On the weekends, he would spend the entire afternoon and evening there, drinking cum like a fiend, praying his wife wouldn’t figure out why he was suddenly completely uninterested in having sex with her–not that they’d had sex much at all, in this new life of his. Still, Gerard could only take so much humiliation, and from time to time, Ned’s picking and goading would work. Gerard would start resisting–would yell and scream and swear and try to punch and anything to get back at Ned for ruining his life, and Ned would use his outbursts as excuses to press the medallion to his heart again, and ruin his life bit by bit.

The second week, during his first outburst, Gerard made the mistake of ridiculing Ned for his size and fat body–so Ned shifted his life until Ned himself was a binge eater. His waist exploded in size immediately, and Gerard kept hoping it would stop, as he looked down at himself, but it just kept going, stopping only when he was over four hundred pounds. Not quite as large as Ned, but still, that shut him up. He hated it though–he was hungry constantly, and found that he had to have a snack with him at all times, or he couldn’t function, and the only place he could go for lunch and feel full were all you can eat buffets. After two weeks he broke down, begging Ned to let him stop eating for a bit. Ned took a kind of pity on him. Gerard didn’t stop eating by any means, but suddenly he loved the feeling of his fat body, and found himself fantasizing about becoming even larger. Eating became a challenge, to see how much he could stuff in his face each day, and even though he was disgusted with himself, he couldn’t stop. Worse, the fuller his belly the more turned on he got, but his cock, trapped in a cage, couldn’t be satisfied. Instead, he just ate more and more, driven into a sexual feeding frenzy–usually capping off his meals with at least ten loads of cum from strangers at the bathhouse.

The situation with his wife and son was becoming unbearable however–whenever he was home, it seemed like they were fighting. Two months after Ned first seized control of him, he broke down in tears, on his knees in front of the redneck, begging him for mercy, desperate to keep his family together. The redneck just laughed at him, pressed the medallion to Gerard’s chest, and when it pulled away, he didn’t have to worry about his wife anymore, since he’d been divorced for years. Ned consoled him as he sobbed, reminding him that now he lots more time to spend stuffing his face and sucking cock, without have to worry about hiding it from his bitch of an ex-wife. He still saw his son on occasion–one weekend a month. Shawn hated his father’s faggot guts however, and refused to spend any quality time with him at all, even when he did have a moment of custody.

Still, Ned helped him settle in a comfortable, bachelor lifestyle. Ned gave him a ten cigar a day smoking habit, and made him an alcoholic–helped him realize how silly it was taking a shower every day–or more than once a week. After six months, Gerard was a completely different person–close to over 450 pounds, reeking of sweat, smoke and booze, ill fitting and often unwashed clothing, crusty with food and cum. He’d gone from being the star of the company in a corner office to a low level manager barely hanging onto his job–but he hung on all the same. It was, really, the last bit of himself that he had left.

Then, one night, Ned told him that he’d finally thought of a way for Gerard to earn an orgasm for himself. All he had to do was, when the next weekend came that his son Shawn was staying with him, bring his son out to the trailer where Ned lived in the country, and give him to Ned. If Gerard brought him his only son, then he could get the chance to shoot his first load in months. Gerard refused, at first, until Ned pressed the medallion to a new spot on his body, right over his cock, inflating his genitals to massive proprotions. His cock, which ached already, was suddenly in constant pain in it’s enclosure, and his cum production was so constant that even in his cage he leaked constantly. The pain was too much to bear, and so Gerard agreed–he’d bring Ned his son, for a chance to be free of this pain. He couldn’t believe what he was about to do, but what choice did he have? He couldn’t live like this, and…and it wasn’t like Shawn loved him anyway. In fact, he kind of hated his son, hated the way he looked at him. If he could get a little comfort, then Shawn was a sacrifice Gerard was willing to make.

Ruining Mr. Fisher (Part 2)

He gagged, and nearly threw up at the vile taste of the janitor’s unwashed cock, as the man shoved it down his throat. What…what in the hell was he doing? He was straight! He’d never had a faggot thought in his life, and suddenly some strange, filthy janitor was in his office, with his crusty gut shoved against his face, cock down his throat? Gerard kept trying to will the rest of his body into action, but it was like the rest of his body had gone limp as soon as that medallion had started swinging in front of his face, like he was fucking hypnotized or something.

Ned laughed, enjoying the feeling of his victim’s throat gagging around his cock as he thrust deep, grinding the banker’s face into his pubes as his filthy hands ran through way through the man’s perfectly combed hair, over his head, down his neck and under his clothes, stripping back his coat, unbuttoning his crisp shirt and pulling it away from his body, and finally he gripped the man’s undershirt in both hands and ripped it apart, revealing the man’s smooth, waxed chest. “Alright Mr. Fisher, now we git tah the good part. I haven’t done this with anyone else yet, so we’ll be learning together, but I knew ya had tah be mah first.”

The medallion stopped swinging, and suddenly he felt the paralysis lift somewhat from his body. He yanked his face away from the man’s crotch, trying not to throw up, spitting on the carpet. “You disgusting–I’m going to sue you for what little shit you have in this world, and make sure you spend the rest of your life getting raped in prison.”

“Nah, I don’ think so,” Ned said, palming Mr. Fisher’s head in his hand and shoving him back, giving him a clear view of his chest, the other hand holding the medallion, “Let’s see what ya think ‘bout that in a second,” He he pressed the medallion to Gerard’s chest, over his heart.

The gold turned a searing white against his skin, and Gerard screamed, but the pain was as much mental as it was physical. It was like his entire life was suddenly before him, like a huge stone bridge behind him, well constructed and maintained the whole way across, until the entire landscape started shaking, like some massive earthquake. And he watched his life crumble away behind him, and there was nothing he could do. In a matter of moments, the bridge was still there but there were holes, broken cables, missing guardrails, and just as quickly as he’d seen it, it was over–he was in his chair, gasping for breath, clutching his chest. He looked down and found a dark red mark exactly where the medallion had been on his pec–or what had been a pec moments before.

He looked down at his body, and his perfect, gym toned body was no more–he was by no means fat–certainly not as large as Ned by any stretch of the imagination, but he had a flabby gut which showed the fact that he spent his time in an office, coated with a thick layer of hair. He’d…he’d always hated how much body hair he had, and he’d waxed it for years…hadn’t he? But now…now he couldn’t remember doing any of that. He’d thought about it, sure, but it had seemed like so much effort. Same with his hair, which was balding a bit and turning grey. He could fix it up, he supposed, but that would just take so much energy…He got up from his chair and went to the mirror hanging in his office, looking at his pudgy, sloppy self, his messy hair, his stubble coated face, his gut, and he was disgusted with himself, and yet…and yet he…he liked that disgust. His cock was getting hard, why in the fuck was this turning him on?

“A good first step,” Ned said, “We’ll go down further later, but for now, why don’t you get down and finish what you’d started, bitch.”

He fought–but his body simply obeyed. He got down on his knees and went back to sucking the janitor’s cock–and it was still disgusting, but now…now he kind of liked it. He liked the idea that he was debasing himself like this. This filthy slob–this fat failure of a man–it was, suddenly, everything Gerard had imagined, some deep fantasy that had been locked away inside him, but suddenly it was out, and he…he liked it. He liked serving this man, and he happily sucked at the man’s cock, hauling his own dick free from his now ill-fitting suit pants and started jacking off–realizing only after it had started that he’d sprayed a load of cum across the carpet of his office.

“You fucker–you don’t get to fucking cum without my fucking permission!” Ned growled, the medallion in his hand, “You wanna see what this fucking thing can do to you? You want a reason to get this carpet filthy?”

Ned pressed the medallion to the mark over Gerard’s heart, and it was like it…sunk into his body, like a gear into some strange machine of his body. The heat was there again, but now…now it didn’t burn, now it was almost…pleasant, feeling the heat scorch away bits and pieces of his life, forgetting some things and remembering others. Ned pulled the medallion back, and Gerard redoubled his efforts, suddenly remembering all of the hundreds of cocks he’d sucked in glory holes behind his wife’s back all these years, hungry for cum more than anything else, his gut ballooning in size yet again. Ned finally came down his throat, and as soon as he’d finished, Gerard got down and started eating his own cum from the floor–and Ned laughed, and excused himself–reminding Gerard to keep on working late every night, so they could keep having these nice meetings.

Ruining Mr. Fisher (part 1)

Ned’s heart leapt into his throat when he pushed the janitor cart around the corner, and saw the light in the corner office of the fourteenth floor was still on. The office where Gerard Fisher worked, an upper level manager in the bank which owned the building–the same bank which had, a few years back, foreclosed on Ned’s home. The same company whose offices he’d been cleaning for over a decade, under contract with a cleaning company sure, but every fucking day he was here, cleaning up after these wealthy fucks. It had been enough though, to get a little piece of property, until the mortgage rate had skyrocketed out of his budget. The bank had been merciless, his credit was ruined, his savings evaporated, he was living in a shitty trailer park, commuting an hour to work every day, a commute he couldn’t afford for a job he couldn’t afford to give up. It wasn’t rational to pin the blame to Gerard, there in the corner office, but the way he’d always sneered at Ned, when Ned was pushing the cart through, on these nights he worked late…

Ned was from a poor working class family. He’d done poorly in school, but he wasn’t stupid. The stress of the last few years had sent him ballooning larger and larger, until now he was about 400 pounds but couldn’t stop eating, and couldn’t pay to eat better. It didn’t help matters much that he was also gay, but had spent his entire life in the closet, only fucking around rarely. Still, he was a hard worker, but he could see the game was rigged, and the men rigging it were the Gerard Fishers of the whole fucking world. He’d assumed his whole life he’d never be able to stand up to someone like that and survive in the world, and so he’d kept his pride low and head down, but now…but now was his chance–a meager chance, but a chance all the same.

Through his grungy coveralls he reached in and pulled the medallion out, letting it hang on the outside of his clothing, glinting oddly in the light. He hadn’t really believed the old man he’d run into while he was cruising for sex at the rest area a few miles down the highway. The stranger had looked like a hitchhiking derelict–he’d pleaded with Ned to take the gold medallion from him, telling him that he could get revenge, that he could use it to destroy the lives of those who had wronged him. Ned had to admit that he’d liked the sound of that, and even if it was bunk (which it had to be, right?) then he could always pawn the gold for some extra cash. But he’d taken it from the man, and it was like time had stopped around him, and his eyes–it was like they’d been opened to some strange reality he’d never even known existed. And in that flash, he saw that the man had indeed been telling him the truth, but not the whole truth. Yes, the medallion would allow the person wielding it to destroy the lives of others, but it also made that person incapable of improving themselves.

But it was worse than that–Ned looked down at himself, at his fat, slobby, grungy body, his dirty clothes, and where he’d always been disgusted with himself, suddenly he…he liked it. He went back to his truck and jacked off, thinking about what a fat failure he was, about…about how much he wanted others to be fat, nasty failures like he was. He couldn’t stop, he didn’t want to stop, and all he could do was think about Gerard Fisher in his corner office.

So here Ned was–a slightly different Ned. He hadn’t showered in a few weeks, or done laundry either, since he’d first touched the amulet. He had a rather wild beard, his hair was shaggy, his eyes…glinting with an odd golden hue as he looked at the lit window of that corner office, that office he knew he’d never have, especially now, but that office no one should have–especially not Mr. Fisher. His cock was hard, just thinking about it, and he abandoned the cart, walked down to the office door, knocked, and stepped inside before being invited in.

Mr. Fisher was in his forties, but he didn’t look like it. He was meticulous about keeping himself in shape, kept every little wisp of grey plucked or colored, kept up with all the latest fashions. He had the perfect wife, and the perfect son about to go to college. But most important, he despised everything about the janitor who stepped into his office, grinning like he owned the place, a strange necklace around his neck shining in the light. It took him a moment to realize it was the same fat slob who always cleaned the floor when he stayed late–it was just that he was looking fatter and slobbier than usual.

“I think you can wait until I’m gone for the evening to clean my office,” Mr. Fisher said, “Although it doesn’t look like you know how to clean anything. I’ll be reporting your hygiene to the contractor, just so you know.”

“No Mr. Fisher, I’m not here to clean your office. I’m here to show you something,” Ned said, and pulled the medallion from around his neck, and started swinging it gently in the air in front of him. Mr. Fisher found his eyes drawn to the medallion immediately, and when the fat slob started moving closer…he wanted to move away–but he couldn’t move a muscle. Distantly he heard the slob talking, as one hand unzipped the front of his coveralls, allowing the slob to haul out a disgusting cock which…Mr. Fisher started sucking on behind his desk like it was the most normal thing to do. Ned smiled–it was a good mouth, actually. In fact, everything about Mr. Fisher’s body–everything about his life–was perfect, and Ned couldn’t wait to ruin all of it.

I was just a teenager looking to earn a little extra cash, so when my neighbor, Mr. Junkett, told me he would pay me fifty bucks a day to help him with some home improvement work, I jumped at the chance, even though I didn’t really know anything about it. I assumed it would just be some painting or something, but I found out on the first day that he was putting in an entire new wing of his house! Still, I’d agreed to help, and it was good money, and I knew I’d learn a lot from him.

I don’t know when I noticed the first changes, how I was becoming more muscular, my gut filling out, picked up a couple of tattoos even though I couldn’t remember how I’d gotten them, and I’d started smoking cigarettes just like Mr. Junkett. This photo was taken about a month after we’d gotten started…and I remember looking at myself, not even sure it was me.

I started spending more and more time with him, working, and soon I was there constantly, sleeping on his couch after he fed me huge meals and encouraged me to drink beer after beer…and then I was sleeping in his bed, waking up with his arms around me, his…cock still lodged in my ass. I knew it was wrong, but I liked it–pretty soon he was fucking me all the time, and I was begging him for it–just the scent off his musky pits was enough to have me bent over, pants down, begging for a rough fuck.

That old me has started to fade though. I’m not as smart as I was, and I don’t think I even finished high school. I’m in my forties with a mullet and a thick beard–my parents don’t even recognize me as their son, and…I live with Gary Junkett, my partner in public, and my master in private. Still, I can’t wait to see our new sex dungeon when it’s finished in a few more days. Master tells me we’re going to have a big party to celebrate, and my holes are going to be the main attractions.

Source: redneckindeed

Sketch – Mutual Friends (Part 2)

Warning: Gets a bit scummy–felching, slob, light scat.

Fuck, I don’t know where to begin. I don’t…is this even me? Am I even me anymore? I mean, sure, I enjoyed it, I…I wanted all of it, but maybe, maybe the best thing I can do is get it down, get it out of my head.

Gus wanted me to come over for a long weekend, with Sam. He said that Sam needed some special sessions, and that he’d have more fun if I was there too, along with him, helping Gus out with some things. I tried to say no, when he offered, but fuck, he wore me down quick. It was…he has more power over me, I don’t know how else to say it. At first, I mean, that stink, sure, when I was near it, there was nothing I could do, but away from him I felt like I had more autonomy, but the longer I’m with him, the more often we’re together, it’s harder and harder for me to think, harder for me to not do what Gus suggests. Fuck, even taking showers is getting hard, I don’t like them like I used to, I always feel…violated by how clean I feel when I get out, There’s just nothing quite like how sweaty and dirty and musky you are after a good long day at work, you know? When all you want to do is lounge around, lick out your own nasty pits, suck on your socks, and jack off six, seven times in a row. That’s what I do now. That’s what I want to do now, I can’t deny it, but it was Gus–I know he’s making me do this, making me think these things, making me into…into someone else.

This weekend, I was scared, sure. I was nervous. I was on guard as best I could be, for what Gus might try to get me to do. Sam and I finished work and I drove him over, Sam’s face buried in my armpit as I drove, like usual for us now. We got to the apartment, and for the first time ever, Gus’ musk and stench wasn’t the most powerful aroma in the room. Gus, apparently, had been cooking, and cooking a lot. Every piece of real estate in the already filthy kitchen was covered with food, and Gus told me to sit Sam down in the chair at the table and then had me bind him to the frame using the rope he’d left out, and I did as was told. Sam was excited–drooling from his mouth and his cock at the same time, begging for food…and I didn’t know what to make of it. I’d noticed Sam gaining weight lately, but I hadn’t thought much of it, really–because I didn’t want to think about it. My job, I thought, was to keep Sam in check at work–nothing less or more, but I could already tell that this weekend was going to result in a promotion of sorts.

I got him all bound up–including Sam’s hands to the arms of the chair–and Gus told me I could go ahead and get started. I didn’t know what he meant. So Gus, like talking to a child, told me to start feeding the pig. That was…when I tried to object. It didn’t work, of course–Gus came over, and got me all…horny, and soon I was shoving food in Sam’s face, and I was…it was hot, actually. Seeing him scarfing food down, unable to stop, even as his gut started bulging, and I…well, Gus kept encouraging me too. I fed the pig for hours, and eventually Gus stopped me. Sam was so full all he could do was moan. He’d shot his load a couple of times, and I hadn’t even touched his cock once. I was covered with food, and Gus got me out of my clothes, and told me we needed to go out and get dessert.

I thought we were going to the store. No–Gus forced me into some leather gear of his that kind of fit me, and we drove downtown to a sleazy leather bar and…

I don’t know how many it was.

My ass was free for any man who wanted it, and Gus…well, Gus made sure a lot of men wanted it. It hurt–I’d never been fucked before, and after each guy came inside of me, if there was no one right after them, Gus would plug me up with a small, wide dildo, keeping their seed inside me. I…I think a couple of guys even pissed in me. My gut hurt so much–I nearly cried on the ride home, but Gus just told me to be strong, that it was important I not lose Sam’s dessert. We got back, and tipped Sam back, I straddled him so he could lock lips with my hole, and I kept feeding him, and I was so disgusted with myself, but Sam ate all of it, and Gus…fuck, Gus made me like it, I shouldn’t be hard, thinking about that again, but here I am, sniffing my pits and stroking off thinking about that nasty pig sucking all that filth from my hole…

I did it again, the next night. And I was excited that time. I…I suggested it. Gus didn’t have to say anything, I did the work–begging men for their loads in my ass, and this time, the fuller my guts got, the…the sexier I felt, the harder my cock got, the more I looked forward to getting home so I could feed this filth to that nasty pig. The next day, it felt…wrong, not having anything in my hole. Gus fucked me over and over. I…I told him I’d just get started on dessert myself, and left Gus to feed Sam so I could find even more men to fill me up good, yeah, fuck, I…I thought this would help, it’s not helping. I…I miss it. I’ve tried to resist, I didn’t want to go out, but I gotta. I gotta feel it again, and I can’t feed the pig, but maybe…I mean, Gus was telling me how good it tastes, made me…made me clean the pig’s nasty face yesterday while he fucked me good…I shouldn’t. I know I shouldn’t but I want to. I need to. Fuck. Fuck it, fuck, I gotta get fucked, I don’t–forget it. At least he let me keep the leather gear, right? Just once, just to get it out of my system, and I’ll be good. I can control myself, right?

Male Bonding (Part 5)

Life was never quite the same for any of those men. Jared and Trevor continued to bond over his father’s vacation time, and by the end of it, his father had completely accepted his proper position in life as his son’s whore. He spent his days at work, trying his best to pretend to be a version of himself which never existed any longer, but only felt fulfilled when he was at home, being plowed by the various men Trevor would bring over to abuse him. Trevor seemed like an expert at finding men to have sex with his father, actually–to be honest, Jared wondered if he simply walked out on the street, and picked randomly from the men passing by. After all, it wasn’t like anyone was going to say no, with his son’s ring glinting in their eyes.

A few months later, Maurice and Laura had a falling out, after she caught her husband once again drinking his own piss in the bathroom, and she kicked him out of the house. With nowhere to go, Maurice came over to Jared’s house, and begged Trevor for a place to stay while he sorted himself out. Trevor was more than happy to let him stay, on the condition that he become the house’s permanent urinal, though Trevor would occasionally rent him out to various clubs, so the pig could help make a bit of extra income for the house. Kirk, too, had a falling out with his wife, and ended up moving in with Trevor and Jared as well. Forbidden to shower now, he was a rank mess, begging men to let him suck on their feet or clean out their holes for them, after they got done abusing Maurice or Jared. His special treat, when he was especially well behaved, was that he got to eat all of the cum men had shot up Jared’s ass that day, and he live for it, gobbling all of it fresh from his hole. He also was often rented out alongside Maurice–thought Kirk got the job of being the club’s reusable toilet paper for the evening, while his old co-worker had a gut sloshing with piss.

Carter, Ryan, and Dustin managed to keep their lives together–somewhat. Carter had to get a divorce–he no longer had any interested in his wife, now that he understood how…intensely pleasurable it was him to have an arm shoved deep in his hole. He had to keep at least a six inch dildo in all day long, just to keep that damn itch at bay–thankfully he had Ryan in the office to help him out on a regular basis. In fact, Ryan was the boss of the entire department now–after Carter’s performance had slipped, he got transferred laterally, and the new and improved Ryan had been a perfect fit for the position. Dustin’s attitude was much improved as well, and he had proven to be an excellent assistant to Ryan now that he understood his proper position in the company, and in bed. It was Dustin who had perhaps taken his changes most to heart. he’d packed on close to fifty pounds in under six months, and Ryan was happy to make him eat all of the words he’d used to insult his new master in the past. He wasn’t going to let Ryan stop until he was over 400 pounds, and his slave wouldn’t get his cock free again until he hit 300. If he wanted the cage off his cock, then he was going to have to grow and grow and grow.

Ryan and Trevor became fast friends–at least, that’s how it seemed to Trevor. He liked Ryan, and he liked Ryan’s new attitude even more. How abusive he’d become, how he treated his inferiors. It made Trevor…proud to have made him. What he hadn’t realized, was that Ryan was playing him too–Ryan no longer kept his eye on Trevor’s ring out of bedazzlement, but out of envy. He waited patiently, until one night Trevor slipped up–drank too much, and blacked out, giving Ryan the perfect chance to pry the ring off his finger, slip in onto his own, and when Trevor woke up a few hours later, he and his new master had a little…chat, and Trevor realized just how much sense it made to let Ryan be in charge after all, and Ryan made his own rules–in particular, that no man inferior to him could weigh less than him, and so they all began gaining.

A year later, not one of them was less than 500 hundred pounds, because Ryan himself had ballooned up to 515. Still, his team of men (including Trevor, who had finally managed to find himself a good job working with his father, as well as Carter, who Ryan had transferred back under his proper sway) they were recognized as one of the most effective teams in the company, When asked what their secret was, all Ryan would say was that they had managed to bond not only as a team, but as men, in a way he could have hardly thought possible, and he smirked, shone his ring in the CEO’s face, and had one of his little chats.

Male Bonding (Part 4)

The game continued. Under the table, Jared had finished with Jared cock, and at his son’s orders had begun sucking off the remaining four men, while Maurice crawled around with him, draining bladders as the men needed–and they needed to often, as Trevor kept forcing drinks down their throats, and kept lighting more and more cigars for each of them. Kirk went down next–he’d never had that good of a poker face. Trevor had him eating out his armpits within moments, and then made the middle aged man get on his knees, and beg him to allow him the honor of licking his feet clean. Trevor was all too happy, but forced him to untie his shoes and pull off his socks with his teeth–and then made him promise that he wouldn’t shower more than once a week from that day on, and never with soap or deodorant–all the better to enjoy his own stink, right? Kirk was more than happy to agree, as he shoved his nose between Trevor’s toes and took it great heaving, piggish snorts, running his entire tongue from heel to toe, moaning and stroking his own cock like mad. He shoot on the floor, and Trevor made him lick it clean, before ordering him under the table as well to give the remaining three players foot massages and to lick them clean.

Carter, Dustin, and Ryan were the only remaining players. A strong rivalry had developed between Carter and Dustin, between ruler and usurper. It didn’t help that, with the fewest clothes, they each were the most vulnerable at being removed next. Ryan, on the other hand, still had the most clothes, and he was more than happy to keep it that way. He lost a few more, but it was Carter who fell next, pulling off his underwear as Trevor strode over, laughing. “Oh, and the boss falls! Still, we’ll have to find you something to sit on, don’t you think? Kirk! Get out here, and help me out with your boss here. Get on your hands and knees, Carter.”

Kirk was only too happy to clean out his boss’ hole. Well, at first he was disgusted, but the more he licked it, the more he…couldn’t stop. The more he enjoyed it. The more he loved the sensation of burrowing his tongue in there, getting it slick and wet. Trevor had to haul him away by the hair so he could line up his cock with Carter’s hole and slide it into the well opened hole, Carter immediately fighting the pleasure of it, of being penetrated, of being filled. His resistance didn’t last long, however, and he was shoving his whole body back, desperate to get more of Trevor’s cock inside him. Trevor told the two men at the table to get back to the game, that he had more to do with this pig here. A few rounds later, Carter was howling in some mixture of pain and pleasure as Trevor slipped his fist into his hole, the boss’ cock exploding across the carpet, Kirk diving for it and eating it up from the carpet. Trevor kept an eye on the heated battle going on between Dustin and Ryan. Neither had much left to lose in the game, and Dustin had come back from losing to being neck and neck. Ryan was terrified–but he hated Dustin, and he refused to lose to him. In the end, he counted the deck better, and beat him. Dustin was furious and went to jump across the table and throttle that “fat bitch,” but Trevor stopped him, and then told his father to take over loosening up his bosses’ asspussy for him. Jared dutifully got down and pushed his own fist in Carter’s hole in his son’s stead.

“Dustin, sit back down. Aren’t you hungry?”

“No I’m not fucking hungry, I’m–” he started to say, but Trevor shoved a slice of pizza in his mouth as he spoke.

“No fucker–you’re hungry. You’re fucking famished. You’re going to eat. You’re going to eat, and you’re not going to stop until I tell you to, got it?”

Dustin tried to fight the command, but he couldn’t. He went over to the mostly untouched snack table, and started stuffing his face with everything Laura, Maurice’s wife, had prepared earlier, shoving food in his mouth with his hands, terrified not only at the ferocity of his hunger, but also how horny he was at his sudden lack of control, at the sensation of his full gut.

Trevor ignored Dustin, however, and sat down next to Ryan. “Well done Ryan, looks like you win! Congrats–I kind of hope you’d be the one left standing.”

“Does…does that mean I can go? That…that you won’t do anything to me?”

Trevor laughed. “Let you go? Of course now, Ryan! No, you get the very best prize of all, in fact. No, forget…this. No, you’re a piece of shit, Ryan. Not because you’re fat–I love your size. No, because you’re the smartest fucker in this room, but you don’t believe it. You fucking hate yourself. No, Ryan. I’m not going to let you go–I’m going to kill everything in you that makes you weak, and then you’re going to help me break in these nasty sluts–how does that sound?”

Ryan tried to object, but Trevor just leaned in and started whispering in his ear. Slowly, Ryan stopped trying to fight back, and his face went…blank. Almost featureless, at the debauchery going on around them. Then, his mouth curled up into a smirk–a cruel smirk which was utterly alien to his face. His eyes took on new life, looking around him, at this nasty fucks around him, thinking about…about how much he was going to enjoy this. How much he’d always craved this, this ability to become a brutalizer, and he’d never even known it was inside him all along. Trevor released him, and he immediately got up from his chair, went over to Dustin, and started feeding him, faster than he could hope to keep up with, mocking him as he gagged and choked, trying to swallow everything Ryan shoved into him, and he smiled at Trevor. Trevor–he’d enslaved all of these men, sure, but not him. No, he’d simply told Ryan how to be free.

Arctos Monthly (Part 4)

Andy was, shall we say, impressed with my new look when he came back from class–and he was even more happy when he got a taste and a feel of my new, extended cock, all the way down his throat, and shoved up his ass to the hilt. However, once we’d gone a few rounds, and were lounging around the room, smoking, I could tell he was mulling something over in his head, and I prodded it out of him–he was thinking about what might happen when he got his next package sometime in the next week. I told him to not sweat it too badly, that I was sure Arctos wouldn’t do something to him he wouldn’t like, but I could understand his reservations at the time. After all, the clothes he’d receives had all been cut from a certain…style–walking around campus, he looked more like he belonged as an extra in a country music video, or working on a farm or something, than going to college. Still, the cigar showed up in its small box, a few days later, and Andy had simply decided he wasn’t going to smoke it.

That…well, I hadn’t really considered that as a possibility. That he might just…not do it. Still…I felt a bit guilty, I admit it, for pushing him into the whole thing to begin with. I kind of expected him to just throw the cigar away, and I think that’s what he wanted to do…but instead he just left the box on his messy desk, open. I caught him staring at it more than once that day, like he was questioning his own resolve, but I knew it was better for me to just stay out of it, and let him figure it out himself. What I didn’t expect, was that by the next morning, the cigar would be different. Longer. Thicker. Rougher. Now Andy could barely keep his eyes off of it, and I had a feeling he wasn’t going to have much choice in the matter, whether he wanted to smoke it or not. Still, somehow he held off for another day–it helped, I think, that he was gone at classes for most of it, but come Saturday…well, the cigar was massive, he had it in his mouth, and I went ahead and excused myself–there was no way I wanted to get caught in that room, with him smoking that monster. Turns out that was a very good idea.

Apparently, the longer these things sit–the stronger they get. I came back and found Andy had grown well over an extra hundred pounds–hell, he was probably closer to 500 at that point. His beard was huge and long, down past his fat moobs to his chest, his hair equally long, greasy and uncombed. His side of the room looked like a fucking sty, piles and piles of unwashed clothes, and he was still smoking, sitting on a dildo, and as soon as he saw me come through the door, he started demanding I fuck his fat hole, speaking in a southern accent so thick I could barely understand him around his cigar.

From that day on, Andy…didn’t have much of a mind for school work. Andy didn’t have much of a mind at all. Sure, he tried to keep up for a few days, but his head was so empty now, he preferred sitting around the dorm room, fucking his hole, and eating—and then I noticed Mitch. I still don’t quite know what happened, but Mitch seemed…a bit changed, when I saw him next. He spoke with a slight southern accent, his usually expensive wardrobe seemed a bit grungier, and a bit more southern all of a sudden, and he was obsessed with Andy. That obsession generally took the form of ridicule and pranks, but I thought I knew what might have happened–he must have walked past the room while Andy was smoking that big cigar, and gotten a whiff of the fumes. Not enough to make a huge difference, but enough for me to decide that it was time the bully realized the truth of that old maxim: if you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em.

I didn’t tell Andy what I was planning, and I’m not sure this new Andy would have really cared all that much. The only things he really seemed to care much about now were drinking, eating, smoking and plugging his ass with my big cock, which frankly? Was a bit of an exhausting endeavour now. He was fucking insatiable, and don’t get me wrong, he was–and remains–a wonderful fuck, but damn, nothing is enough for him. It wasn’t too selfish a wish, right? That someone else might pick up a bit of the slack?

Well, a week passed. I had no way of really knowing when Mitch might get his package, or if he’d even open and use it–though as I’d seen with Andy, I didn’t think Arctos would take no for an answer. It was only half a surprise then, when someone started pounding on our door one evening. Andy wasn’t about to heft his bulk up and answer it, so I did–and found myself faced with Mitch–or the guy who Mitch was now. He’d grown taller and matched my own substantial height, and his already muscular body had grown only more so, along with a thick forest of black hair all over. He had on jeans, leather chaps, leather vest, boots and a muir cap, like he’d stepped out of a leatherman’s dream, but he didn’t want me. He pushed his way past, rolled Andy over with very little ceremony and started pounding away at his hole, Andy groaning and grunting and begging for more…and watching the two of them go at it, I realized I might have just cut myself out of the equation entirely.

Christmas III: A Brand New Stanta Claus (Part 12)

The light cleared after a few moments, and a very different Matthew was sitting on Stanta’s knee. He’d traded debate and Christian Fellowship for football, fights in the school yard, and cigarettes and cigars whenever he could manage to get them. He’d gotten a bit too drunk when he was sixteen, and gotten that first tattoo and piercing–he…hadn’t really been able to stop getting them sense. Frustrated with school, he’d focused on autoshop and dropped out as soon as he’d found a mechanic that would hire him. He’d bought that Harley he’d always dreamed about, and he’d never looked back. And now? Now here he was–a six foot two, muscle bull with a thick gut hanging out of the ragged leather vest he was wearing, his skin a riot of tattoos, though still not as many as Stanta had, though Matt’s were of far inferior quality. His hands were calloused from work and scarred from drunken brawls in biker bars all over the state–he’d ever served a couple years in prison for assault, but he could always find some shop willing to hire him. He…he might not have always made the best choices, but they were the choices he’d wanted, and he’d never once regretted them, or looked back. he ran one hand through the long beard he’d been growing out for close to a decade and smiled over at Stanta, “Fuck, this…this feels good.”

“Ya look pretty good too,” Stanta said, leaned over and locked mouths with his son, tasting the stale smoke on his lips, their tongue studs clinking against one another, Stanta reaching over and freeing Matthew’s studded, tattooed cock from his grimy jeans. “Got a good head on your shoulders too–so you’re gonna have to take care of your stupid older brother. I don’t think either of you will mind, right? Matty, you love using Mark as a punching bag and fuck toy, right? And Mark, the chance of you fucking up is so much less if you let your brother make all the decisions, right? If you let him be your master? You want a master, you fucking pig? I think that’s the only way you’ll stay out of trouble.”

Mark hated it, but Stanta was right–without Matthew beating some sense into him on occasion, he’d only get in trouble. A leather collar wrapped its way around his neck, and a tattoo appeared on his wide ass, marking him as his brother’s property, just like…like he’d always wanted to be. He switched over and focused on his Master’s cock, sucking him expertly, just the way Matt liked it. If Mark did something wrong, he’d get a slap at best, or the shit beat out of him at worst. Stanta focused, and the two of them glowed bright once more, but this time they disappeared–whisked off to the run down trailer park where they lived now, content in their filth and sloth, and Stanta eyed his final, youngest son–John.

“Well come on boy, dawn’s coming quick, and I hate waiting.”

John thought about fighting it, but didn’t–he walked over and sat down on Stanta’s knee, and said what he’d knew would come out of his mouth, but which he was already dreading–something he’d…he’d been meaning to say for a long time. “I…All I really wanted, was for my father to love me.”

It was true–Stan had never loved John as much as his brothers. Where they had each grown up tall and strong and manly, John had lagged behind–short, a bit underdeveloped, a sissy, as Stan had seen it. Still, he knew, that as a father, he’d failed him, and he didn’t blame John for wanting more. Still…maybe, maybe Stanta could still fix things. He pulled John close to him, the young man feeling a pulse of lust flood into him. he tried to push him away, but Stanta’s tongue was shoved down his throat before he could fight it…and…and he didn’t want to fight it. He…He wanted it, someone to love him, to adore him.

Stanta laid him down on his belly and started eating out his son’s hole, listening to him moan, before he lined his massive cock up and started slipping it inside him. He screamed, but he couldn’t deny the satisfaction he felt, at how…full he was, even with just half of Stanta’s massive cock lodged inside of him. “You want my affection boy?” Stanta whispered in his ear, “You want me to love you? Then you’re going to have to become someone I can love. Someone who can satisfy me. Think you can do that? Is that what you really want?”

John didn’t know whether he was compelled to say yes or not, but it didn’t matter–he did want it, he did want this, as terrified as he was, and it came tumbling from his mouth over and over, in time with Stanta’s thrusts. Santa fucked his hole as best he could, and shot inside him–but as soon as he pulled out, he snapped his fingers and a strange rubber blob shot from his bag, and smacked John right in the chest, growing over him until he was completely mummified.

“Well boy? Daddy will be more than happy to give you what we both want. But no magic–well, maybe a little magic at times, but I have a long year ahead of me, and I’ll need a project to keep me occupied,” he said, shoved the squriming man into his bag, and shot back up onto the roof. The sun was cresting the horizon, but he’d finished his night–finally. It had felt like an age, long enough to die and become someone else entirely, but he could finally go home. Go home, and have a little chat with Timmy about how disappointed he was at his deception, and to settle upon a proper punishment.

To be continued…

Christmas III: A Brand New Stanta Claus (Part 11)

The three adult men all looked from one to another, not at all certain what was going on. The three of them had all woken up in their guest rooms and found themselves compelled to come to the living room, where they’d found all the lights on, the tree lit, and…a man, sitting in their dead dad’s recliner, who looked like some freak’s idea of Santa Claus. “Alright boys,” the man said, “Who wants to be the first to sit on Stanta’s lap?”

“Did…did he just say Stanta?” one of them whispered–James, the youngest. None of them stepped forward, or said anything at all.

“No volunteers? Well, how about we just go from oldest to youngest then. Mark–you first, get on over here and sit on Stanta’s knee, and tell him what you wanted most in your life, that you never got, Stanta wants to know.”

The oldest, in his early fifties, shuffled over, terrified that he had no control over his limbs, and gingerly sat down on the freak’s knee, trying his hardest to avoid touching the monstrous cock hanging below the man’s fat apron. “Please, I don’t–”

“Hush mark, no need to be afraid, just tell me what you wanted most, and be honest–Stanta knows when you’re lying,” Stanta smirked–lying wasn’t allowed anyway; no one on his knee could tell him anything but the truth.

The middle aged man stammered for a moment, and then said, “The…pressure. It was a lot, sometimes. My dad–I was the oldest, so I always had to set the example. I could never just relax, or fail, or do badly at anything.”

Stanta leaned in close, “Well I can take some of that pressure off–in fact, why don’t we make it easy, and make you a complete failure, eh Mark? You’ve never really succeeded at anything, have you?”

As his younger brother’s watched, their eldest brother, the man who’d always been the best at everything started to…change before their eyes, along with their memories of him. He’d flunked out of high school as a freshman, and never recovered. Never held down a job for more than a few months, never taken care of himself. A deadbeat, a slacker–he was fat now, greasy, stinking of the booze and cigarettes he was always drinking and smoking. He let off a belch, “Fuck, that was a big’un.”

“Feel better?”

“Fuck yeah, feel fuckin’ great…”

“Good, because I don’t think you’ll have to worry about succeeding at anything ever again, right Mark?”

“Fuck man, I don’ even try no more. Gonna be smokin’, drinkin’, eatin’ and jackin’ off til the day I die.” He was still changing, as he spoke–his hair and beard growing longer and longer–after all, he never bothered cutting it. His body expanded and began to stink, since he no longer showered, his teeth had already begun rotting from his mouth as well. “Thanks Stanta–this is all I ever wanted, ‘n I never even realized it.”

“If ya wanna thank me, then get down and put that faggot mouth to use, you worthless failure, you fucking disgust me.”

Some old, dying part of Mark knew those words should sting–but all they did was make him horny…and proud. He…liked being a failure after all, so why not relish it? He got down and started sucking at Stanta’s massive cock as best he could, but he wasn’t very well practiced–not many men wanted to use his disgusting mouth, not even at the rest area he cruised regularly.

“Alright, get over here Matthew, you’re next. Have a seat on my knee, and let’s hear what you want more than anything.”

His middle son, in his late forties, stumbled over. He’d always been a bit of a rebel, more so than his older brother, certainly, and he fought more against the strange compulsion dragging him over to where his now filthy, lazy brother was licking this freak’s huge cock, but as hard as he tried, he found himself settled on the man’s knee, trying not to let his legs touch the fat slob wedged below them. “Please, I don’t want anything–really! I’m happy.”

“Oh Matthew, I know you much better than that–you’ve never been happy. Now come on, tell me, what do you want? If you don’t tell me, then I’ll just have to guess…well, I won’t have to guess, I’ll just take a peek.” Matthew just kept his mouth glued shut, fighting his tongue back, refusing to say anything. So Stan smiled, stared deep into his son’s eyes, and Matthew…felt him inside his mind, rummaging about, looking in all the dark corners he’d tried to keep hidden from everyone for so long, all the secrets he’d kept out of fear and shame, all the fantasies he’d been saving for, at best, a mid life crisis.

“I always knew you were ugly on the inside, son, but I never quite understood how much,” Stanta said, finally.

“Wait…d-dad? Is that…”

Stan held a finger to his lips, quieting him. “Now now, that’s all in the past–we should leave it there. We should focus on you, and what you want, eh? So many things you’ve thought about doing, thought about buying, fantasized about for so long. Why don’t we just give you a bit more backbone, eh? A bit more…bravery, a little less shame. Imagine what you could have done for yourself, imagine who you might be if no one had ever held you back.

“No, please…I didn’t do any of those things for good reasons…I don’t want–”

Stanta’s finger flickered, and before he could finish Matthew was engulfed in a flash of light. “Son, everyone does things for reasons, but none of them are ever any good.”