Tag: slob

“Sure kid, I can give you a ride home I guess, as long as we’re heading in the same direction. Sure, that little trailer park there? I know the place, in fact, I have a friend who lives there too–one of my workmates. Climb in, and we’ll get going. What’s your name, kid? Ben? Nice to meet you, Ben.”

“Heh, yeah, I guess it does reek a bit, sorry. I still have my gear from the job site back behind the seat–the smell doesn’t bother me anymore. Nothing I can really do about it–I don’t get a chance to wash it very often–laundromat’s all the way in town, and I don’t have a washer at my place. How about you? Where do you work?”

“You don’t have a job? Seriously? How old are you, twenty? twenty-two?”

“Only nineteen eh? Still, your old enough to vote. Old enough to get a bitch pregnant. Old enough to hold down a job. That’s the problem with your generation, you boys don’t know how to work like men. Hell, you probably think you’re too good to work in construction, something where you get sweaty and dirty by the end of the day, something that involved actual work.”

“Heh, college? Seriously? In the fall. Whatever, college is for fuckin’ pussies, I think. Are you a pussy?”

“Hey boy, calm the fuck down already, I’m just yankin’ your chain is all. Still…I didn’t need no college. And a boy should learn how to work is all I’m saying, you know?”

“What do you mean you feel funny? The smell? Well I told you there’s nothing I can do about that. Can’t even roll down the windows–they’re broke. You’ve just probably never smelled a real man like me before, is your problem. Sweat and dirt and grime–fuck! Nothin’ better than a day in the hot sun, working up a sweat. Makes you feel like a real man. Here, yeah, my fuckin’ hard hat. Been wearin’ this thing for years now, smell that! Don’t screw your nose up at me! Fuckin’ smell it, boy!”

“Yeah, that’s it–nice deep breaths now. Get it deep in those lungs of yours. Smells better now, don’t it? Like a man? You still smell like a boy, all fresh ‘n flowery ‘n shit. Fuck. Go on, put it on if you want, I don’t mind.”

“Yeah, I know it smells good. I’m just glad I’m givin’ you a proper education in manhood.”

“Oh…good…oh, you mean good…as in sexy? Well, don’t worry none about that. That’s just natural. Hell, I remember when I was twenty, I was horny all the fuckin’ time. I remember the first time I got a good whiff of a real man–my uncle, fuck, now there was a man. Big gut, huge fuckin’ uncut cock. The fuckin’ cheese he’d get up under there, tasty. You ever tasted cock cheese boy? Nothin’ better–food of the god for real men like me.”

“A faggot? I’m not no faggot you little mouthy fucker! I’m pullin’ the fuck over…Does a faggot smell like this? Yeah, get the fuck over here boy, smell these sweaty pits. No faggot can reek like this, I’ll tell you that. Quit fightin’ boy, yeah, that’s it…smell those pits. Those are real men’s pits. Hold on, let me get this shirt off…yeah, there we go, look at these hairy fuckin’ pits boy, look how soppin’ wet they are. Now lick it. Get that fuckin’ tongue over here and lick boy!”

“Yeah, that’s it. I remember my first taste too. Like a fuckin’ light bulb went off in my head. Couldn’t get enough of my uncle’s sweat. Damn boy, that cock of yours is hard as a rock! Good size too. Let me see here…Oh, what the fuckin’ hell, your parents cut yer fuckin’ skin off! Too fuckin’ bad, but no wonder you’ve never gotten a taste of cheese before. Man, I was eatin’ my own once my uncle taught me how great it tastes. Guess you’ll just have to taste some of mine.”

“I know you’re not a faggot boy, you don’t have to be a fag to appreciate a real man like me. This is your fuckin’ education. Yeah, look at that–got a huge skin on my cock, get your mouth over here, taste this shit, fuckin’ delicious. Yeah, that’s it boy, get your tongue down in there deep, where it belongs. I hear you moanin’ now, see? See how good cheese tastes? That’s the shit a real man makes, you remember that. Now keep suckin’, I gotta get back on the road.”

“Cheese is just the appetizer though, boy. Don’t feel bad ya ain’t got none a your own. What really matters is cum and piss–not every man has a cheesy cock, but I’ve met some men, no skin, but damn was their piss rank! Fuckin’ hot men, every single one of ‘em. Let me give you a taste boy, here it comes, som real fuckin’ man piss for you. Don’t fuckin’ sputter it out! This is a fuckin’ gift of the gods, boy! Do you want to be a real man or not!”

“You don’t know? You don’t fuckin’ know if you want to be a real man like me, or some fuckin’ college pussy boy? Some college faggot? I got something else for you back here, something else for you to smell, something that’ll change your mind. Fuckin’ boots. Yeah, look at these, been wearin’ ‘em for years. In fact, they were my uncles–he gave them to me when I told him I wanted to be a real man like him. And here, I’ve been wearin’ these socks for weeks now, suck the sweat out of those.”

“Yeah, look at you go, boy. Rank, right? Shove that boot over your face, get a good whiff of my feet. Get that cock out of your jeans, I know you wanna jack off, go on, jack off while you drink in my boot stench. This is what real men do. Real men enjoy each other. Real men get off on stench, they drink piss, they fuck, suck and swallow.”

“Fuck yeah! Look at that load you just blew. Damn, and your cock’s still hard. Go on then, keep jacking boy, but tell me again. Tell me you don’t love this. Tell me you don’t want to be a real man…Louder boy, I can’t hear you through that boot over your mouth…Yeah, that’s good, that’s what I want to hear. You’re gonna be a real man just like me, aren’t you?”

“Now, you wanna drink the rest of my piss, or do you wanna be a pussy boy? Yeah, I didn’t think you wanna be a pussy. Get down here, that’s it. I’ll start a bit slower this time…that’s it, that’s real good man, drink it all down. Fuck, like a fuckin’ champ! Now suck my dick man, suck it, I’m gonna blow a load of cum down your fuckin’ throat! Fuck yeah, here it fuckin’ cums!”

“Shit man, that fuckin’–ran me off the road, I should know better than to pick up men like you. Heh, hell yeah you’re a man! Take a fuckin’ look at yourself in the mirror there. Look at that nasty face, look at those dumb fuckin’ eyes. That’s not the face of some pussy who’s goin’ to school. Smell those pits of yours–yeah, see how they reek now? You worked up a fuckin’ man sweat in here. You gonna go home and shower that off? Heh, I didn’t think so. In fact, if you’re unemployed, why don’t you come work for me? I got a few opening on the crew, and all of us are real men like you, you’ll fuckin’ love it, I promise.”

“Now, how about we celebrate man? Go on, piss those fuckin’ jeans of yours, I want this cab to reek of your piss for days. Don’t be shy, I piss myself in here all the fuckin’ time–why do you think it smells so bad? Just relax man, relax and let it loose…yeah, that’s it, look at that stain. Damn, you had a full bladder too, didn’t you? Let me have a fuckin’ taste man, I gotta taste your piss…Oh fuck, this is some of the nastiest piss I’ve ever had! You’d better fuckin’ save this for me at the job site, put it in a fuckin’ thermos for me if you want. Shit man, fuckin’ hot.”

“Come on, we’d better get you home–you start work in the morning. Oh? You don’t want to go home? You want to stay with me? Look, I know parents are a drag, but I already got a couple of men at home to keep happy, and I’m not looking to bring in another. The four of us have a good thing goin’ already…sorry man, maybe…maybe you can come on over and play sometime, but that’s pretty quick.”

“Hey man, don’t look so fuckin’ bummed. Look, how about…how about I take you to Todd’s place? He’s a bit of a loner–fuckin’ loves to jack off more ‘n anyone I’ve ever met, but you might like him. If nothing else, it’s a place to stay for a while until you can get a place of your own, right? Yeah, his pits reek, trust me on that, you’ll like him. He lives in the same park as your parents, let’s turn in here.”

“Yeah, it’s pretty run down, I know. Oh? You like that? Yeah, it does look like a real man lives here, don’t it? Wait here in the truck, I’ll go talk to him.”

“Hey Todd, I got a new friend of mine waiting in the truck, his names Ben. He needs a place to stay for a bit, and I thought…well, I know you like bein’ alone, but here’s the thing, Ben’s new to manhood, and I was thinkin’, well, he’s pretty open minded, you know? Some of that porn you watch, man, that shit’s filthy, but Ben, man, I think he might be open to some of that nasty shit you like so much.”

“Yeah, I know he’s skinny, but then feed him up! He’d look fuckin’ hot if he got as fat as you.”

“Look, if you don’t like him, it’s just for a little while. I’m not tryin’ to set you up with anybody, I just think, you know, you just seem lonely sometimes. I’m just tryin’ to help. Just give him a chance to get out on his own at least, eh?”

“Alright Ben, he’ll let you stay. Yeah, he is fat, isn’t he? Still, I think you might like that–he gets so fuckin’ sweaty man, all those fuckin’ rolls of fat. He’s a filthy fucker, and I know how you like us filthy men. Besides, it’s better than your parent’s right? Now be a good man, and do what he says. He’s letting you stay rent free, so you gotta be amenable, alright? No, nothing in particular, just keep an open mind, and keep him happy, is all. He works with me too, and he’ll give you a ride into work.”

“Oh, no need to thank me man, I’m just helpin’ you out like my uncle helped me…but wait. Before you go, here, I want you to have these, take the hard hat…and take the boots too. No, I want you to have them, they’re yours. Treat them well, like a man, alright? I’m just helpin’ you like my uncle helped me is all. I’ll see you tomorrow? Be good to Todd. He’s a bit rough, but once you two get to know each other, I think you’ll hit it off just fine. I’ll see you in the mornin’ and you better save that fuckin’ piss of yours for me, I fuckin’ mean it. Thanks man, and I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Happy Labor Day

Why work? That was the question Jack had asked himself one day, and he’d realized that he didn’t have a good answer. And so, he decided to just not work. Well, he had been working in one fashion–figuring out every way he could to get money from the government. Hell, he’d even pretended to have a pregnant girlfriend to pick up an extra 200 a month. For years now, he’d been living alone in the old single wide his uncle had died in, where Jack had just started squatting while the rest of the family didn’t actually care. He’d even kept collecting his uncle’s social security–since no one had bothered to let the government know he was dead. It wasn’t a comfortable life, but he didn’t have to work. He could set his own schedule, drink beer, smoke, and watch TV, which is everything that made him happy anyway. Still, he always figured that one day people would catch on–it just didn’t quite lead to the result he was expecting.

One day, instead of his usual check from welfare, he received a large package on the doorstep. Inside, he found a letter:

Congratulations! You have been selected as a candidate for our new Eager-to-Work! Program. This pilot program is tailored to those members of the long-term unemployed who have shown a reluctance to find work for themselves. As part of this program, you have already been accepted to work at a local small business in need of labor. Inside this package, you will find your uniform for your new job…

The rest of the letter had information about where he would be working, and said he would be starting the following Monday after the weekend. Of course, he had absolutely no intention of starting any kind of job. Besides, he was “disabled” anyway. Couldn’t these organizations figure their shit out for once? He got on the phone with the welfare office, but the woman he spoke to, while very congenial and apologetic, informed him that for as long as he was a member of this pilot program, he would be ineligible for other forms of public assistance. Furious, he hung up, and decided that he just wouldn’t go at all. No one was going to make him work, especially not after this long. He went to throw out the package, but decided to take a look at what the office had sent him for a “uniform.” Nothing in there was at all clean, and along with a set of grubby red coveralls, there were even socks, some boots, and even a grey stinking jockstrap. Really stinking, actually. He put the jock to his nose and took a deep breath of the fabric, smelling the sweat imbedded in it.

He stripped off his boxers and pulled the jock on instead. After a moment’s hesitation, he went and pulled on the rest of the gear as well, and when he was done, the grungy, sweaty smell had his cock rock hard in the jock, and he couldn’t stop himself from jacking off. In fact, that was all he could do all weekend long. He never once removed any part of the uniform, even sleeping with the boots on. As the weekend passed, he found himself imagining all sorts of new fantasies. How he could be working for eight hours, come home all sweaty, smelling absolutely disgusting. Fuck, it would be amazing. He still remembered his sworn promise to never work another day in his life, but for the first time he actually found himself regretting it, and wondering if he’d made the right choice. The idea that he might actually enjoy working scared him–and on Sunday he took off the uniform, but before he could throw it away, he felt something strange happening to his body. In the mirror, he noticed that his hair was suddenly starting to recede and turn grey, his goatee turning grey as well, as his body softened and began fattening up. In a panic, he threw the uniform back on, which halted the aging, but back in the stinking sweat, he found he actually kind of liked how he looked. Older, a bit weathered–like a man who’d spent his life working rough, sweaty jobs.

He was back on his bed then, jacking off, smelling his pits, wishing they were even nastier. Hopefully the job would be one where he could work up a good sweat every day–then he could spend his whole weekend smelling himself and jacking off, before doing it all over the next week. He shot his load up onto his stomach and rubbed it in there, feeling a bit of clarity well up in him. This was insane. This couldn’t possibly be legal, but he knew that if he kept this up, he would definitely be going to work tomorrow. Then, he realized that he still didn’t know where he was even going to be working! Sensing an opportunity, he rummaged around in the clutter until he found the sheet from Eager-to-Work! and burnt it to ashes with his lighter before he could see his new place of employment.

That Monday, he soon realized that there were other good reasons for him to go to work. All day, he had so much energy he was practically bouncing off the walls, but the one thing that wouldn’t cooperate was his cock. It was completely soft, and wouldn’t get hard for anything, even as he grew increasingly horny. Tuesday was even worse, but he refused to give in and call the unemployment office to get the information from them. It was Wednesday that a new package arrived, unbidden, along with another letter:

Due to your continued attempts at unemployment, you have been selected for Eager-to-Work!’s mentorship program! Included in the package are some things that will help you get to know your mentor a little better, before he arrives for your first meeting Wednesday afternoon at 4 pm at the following location.

All that was in the package, however, was another pair of boots and a jockstrap. But these…as soon as he smelled them, he knew that they weren’t his. and yet…he picked up the jock, and he could smell the cum soaked into it, and his cock was hard again, and he was jacking off, unable to even help himself. Then, he started smelling the boots, and he nearly retched, but he could handle it, he could take it all in. The feet that were in those boots, fuck! They must be huge, and stinking, and he could just image them smashed against his face, against his cock, shoved in his mouth sucking on their toes. He came three times on the floor by the door, the jock stuffed in a boot covering his nose and mouth, while he shot multiple loads across the other boot’s toe and laces, which he then licked off, tasting the dirt and grime of work. Yes, this was a man who worked! This was a man who worked like he could work, if he could just stop being such a lazy dumbass! He had to meet this man, he had to, he could help him be a good worker.

The clock moved so slowly, but finally it was time to leave. He drove to a small house not too far from the trailer park where he lived, and he found the garage door open, a squat man sitting in the back of his pickup. “You must be Jack,” he said, “Come on in here–I’m gonna be your mentor.”

Jack couldn’t get into the garage fast enough, the door closing down behind him as he hopped up into the bed of the truck, and found himself face to face with his mentor’s huge feet. He started slobbering all over them, wildly jerking his cock, and listened to everything his mentor had to say about the thrill of work, about how hot it was getting dirty and grungy with other men, smelling them on the worksite, begging them to let him lick them clean and suck their cocks and massage their feet. Jack promised his mentor that he would go to work tomorrow like a good man, and once the mentor was satisfied that Jack was telling the truth, he finally let Jack suck the cum from this thick cock, before sending him on his way.

Jack discovered that he was going to be working for a construction company, and it was everything he could have hoped it would be. Sweaty, hard work with a bunch of other men who had been selected for the Eager-to-Work! program like him. It was hard containing themselves for eight hours of hard work, but it was all worth it after closing time, when Jack and the rest of his co-workers would all stick around and fuck each other’s lights out for several hours. Jack would still have doubts on occasion, but at his bi-weekly fuck sessions with his mentor, there was nothing he couldn’t get past. Soon, he was just another happy worker, wearing his stinking coveralls day and night, eight hours of work, eight hours of rest, and eight hours of fucking.

“Please wait while neural interface is established…”

The screen of his computer froze while the small box plugged into the USB port flashed. Lucas sat at his desk, cock hanging out of the fly of his slacks, massaging himself half hard, eager for the session to begin.

“Participant: Nathan Oberlik, has been uploaded, transferred.”

Nathan was one of Lucas’ coworkers–or rather, one of his subordinates. When Lucas had discovered that Nathan was gay, he’d invited him to have a shared session with him through The Network, and Nathan had been his playmate ever since. It helped that Nathan was naturally submissive–he was perfectly happy to allow Lucas to select the bodies they would inhabit for a few hours of sex. There was a buzzing in his ears growing louder, and suddenly his vision faded to static. A moment later, he was sitting on some ratty couch in what looked like a single wide, wearing a ballcap, wifebeater, and some shorts that he shucked off immediately.

Lucas was staring, inhabiting the body of some bearded roughneck, licking his lips. The additional request seemed to have been honored–The Network could, in the process of a download, alter the thoughts and fantasies of the people it was processing. Nathan had requested that Lucas be implanted with an insatiable desire for cum, and the perverse desire lick clean filthy, sweaty bodies–like the one Lucas was now residing within.

“Don’t just stand there, pig,” Lucas said, rubbing his new body’s cock to full mast, “Get sucking.”

“F–Fuck…” Nathan said, and got down, “I…I must have been hornier than I thought, cause…” but he never finished his thought, focusing on swallowing Lucas’ cock to the hilt. While he sucked, Lucas took a survey of his borrowed body, running his hands through his furry chest, feeling the young muscles flex. It was a pity that it was only temporary. He shoved Lucas off his cock and back onto his ass.

“What gives man? I’m fuckin’ thirsty!”

“Beg for it.”

“What?”

“Go on pig, beg for my cock.”

Lucas’ face turned a bit red. “Please…please can I have your cock?”

“Network, pause Lucas.”

Lucas froze suddenly, his pupils flickering with static.

“Please give Lucas’ voice a southern inflection. Also, make him turned on by verbal humiliation.”

Sparks shot out of Lucas’ body for a moment, and then he unfroze. “Please, can Ah suck yer cock, man? Fuckin’ hungry fer some cum…”

“Tell me your a horny pig for my cum.”

“I’m…I’m a horny pig fer yer cum man…fuckin’…please…”

Lucas stood up and began skullfucking Nathan, calling him a cocksucking faggot pig, listening to his coworker grunt and jack off his own cock while Lucas humiliated him. They both shot their loads, and they spent the rest of the session in a pleasant afterglow, Nathan happily cleaning off Lucas’ sweaty body with his tongue, and he made sure he spent extra time on his body’s asscrack.

Their two hour session was coming to a close, however, and they began to prepare for departure, watching the clock, a bit eager to get back into their own bodies. However, two hours passed and nothing happened. Then, two hours and five minutes. “Network,” Lucas asked, “End session.” No reply. “End session!” he shouted, and then added, “This wasn’t part of the fucking deal, and you know it!”

“Deal?” Nathan asked, “What fuckin’ deal, man?”

Lucas was silent, but Nathan just stared at him.

“What the fuck did ya do?”

“I…I didn’t have the money to pay them, alright? They were going to come after me, and I threatened to out them to the Justice Department.”

Nathan just gawked, “Wha the fuckin’ hell man! ‘N ya thought we could jus’ continue on as fuckin’ normal?”

They offered a free session on the house!”

“Yer a fuckin’ idiot, I oughta–”

Before Nathan could finish speaking, he froze in place, his pupils full of static. His mouth opened, and a voice which was not his own came from his mouth. “I know this wasn’t part of the deal, Mr. Henderson, but Chuck and Trent are so happy in your bodies, and they were more than happy to agree to a payment plan to cover your debt. I’m afraid this session will not be ending anytime soon, for either of you.”

“No, you can’t fucking do this! I’m the vice president of a huge company! They’ll know it’s not me.”

“Yes, which is why I will be needing to download your memories, like I have for Nathan here. It’s a pity you had to drag him into this. Still, I think he’s going to enjoy his new life with you, once I finish these personality alterations. Oh! And we have a new process which is currently in testing, but you two will make such good subjects. Did you know that we have discovered how to alter the bodies of our clients now too? The central nervous system is so full of wonders. It takes several hours for the changes to fully manifest however. Now, I’m almost done.”

“Please, I’ll do anything, please don’t do this to me, don’t take my mind.”

“Oh, Lucas,” the voice said, “While I am deleting Nathan’s mind, I have a feeling yours…well, you’ll just have to wait and see. But how about this? Let’s play a game. When I’m finished with Nathan here, he’s going to be very, very horny, and I have a feeling he’s going to want to fuck your ass very badly. If you can keep your hole virginal for, say, ten minutes, I’ll give you your freedom.”

“Just fucking let me go.”

“Oh, but then who will Nathan–I mean, Chuck here, his name is Chuck now–fuck? Alright? Ready, set–go!”

Lucas watched Nathan stumble on his feet, before he caught himself, blinking, trying to figure out what had just happened. “Fuck–fuckin’ horny, man…” he looked up and saw Lucas standing there, and smirked, “Oh…hey Pigg, when did ya get here? Eh, who fuckin’ cares–turn the fuck around, I wanna plow that greasy hole a yers.”

“Nathan,” Lucas said, backing up a few paces, “Nathan, you have to listen to me, it’s the Network, they fucked with your head. You just have to trust me, I can get us out of here.”

“Nathan? Who the fuck’s Nathan? My name’s Chuck, but you can just call me sir, Pigg.”

Chuck advanced on him, and Lucas looked around, spying a baseball bat leaning against the wall. He grabbed it and swung it right into the side of Chuck’s head–he crumpled to the ground, eyes blank, blood leaking from an ear.

Lucas panted and dropped the bat to the ground–at least his hole was safe. It was too bad about Nathan. Still, he could figure something out.

“Oh Lucas,” a voice said. He looked down, and saw that The Network had taken over the body once more, “You’re so violent! So vicious. Murdering your friend here. Well, don’t worry, I can fix that. Still, I don’t think Chuck is going to be too happy about that, right Chuck? Heh, Chuck can’t say anything right now, but he agrees. Now, how about we try that again? You still have…nine minutes and fifteen seconds.”

Chuck groaned and started picking himself up off the floor. Lucas went to grab the bat, but Chuck beat him to it, wrestling it from his grip. “Bat…” Chuck muttered, his mind still knitting itself back together, “Bat…P-Pigg, yer gonna get a fuckin’ beating, I fuckin’ swear.”

Lucas turned and ran the length of the single wide, but realized the door out was the other direction–past Chuck. With nowhere else to go, he locked himself in the bathroom, and in moments, Chuck was hammering on the cheap wooden door with the bat. “Open up Trent! I’m comin’ in there to get your hole!”

The door cracked apart, splinters flying into Lucas’ face. Chuck ripped open the door, grabbed him by the neck and dragged him out, Lucas fighting for breath. He tried to fight Chuck off, but his friend landed one solid punch to his eye, sending him reeling back and crashing to the floor, and then he was on top of him, Chuck’s hard cock pressed against the small of his back, one hand with a vice grip on the back of his neck, pinning him to the floor until he could find his hole and start working his dry cock into it. Lucas let out a weak scream, unable to catch his breath. Tried to claw himself away, but Chuck was inside him, he’d lost, and he felt his body freeze in place, his vision static, but a voice, he could hear a voice in his head.

“Oh Lucas, that really was a good try. Well, I shouldn’t call you Lucas anymore–you’re new name is Pigg–with two G’s–it really was smart of your parents to give you a name like that, eh? It’s almost like they knew from the time you were little, that the only thing you’d want is to serve a nasty roughneck like Chuck here as his filthy pig slave. So here’s what I’m doing. I’m going to hardwire you with all sorts of new, wonderful instincts. The instinct to serve men, the instinct to sniff out and eat cum, the instinct to drink and bathe in piss. And as for that whole bat incident earlier, well, let’s just say you’re going to have a very different relationship with pain from now on, Pigg.

“Oh, and this body of yours? Well, I don’t think it’s very pig like, do you? I’ve already slowed down your metabolism–so in a few hours, well, I think you’ll find yourself quite a bit more curvy. As for Lucas–well, how about this? I’ve already copied your memories off for Trent back in your old body, but I’ll go ahead and leave these with you, to think about. And I mean that you should think about them. I went ahead and rewired your brain here, so that your long term memory is more like a sieve than a bowl. Why, if you don’t pay attention, you might just go ahead and forget everything! You might end up an empty headed pig slave, operating on instinct alone, no thought, no memory, just an empty shell. I know that must scare you. Goodbye Pigg–it’s a pleasure to know we’ll never meet again.”

The voice and the static was gone–he was alone, Master Chuck ramming his huge cock into his piggy hole, and Pigg pushed back, hungrily, unable to stop. The motion was simply bypassing his head–he had no control over himself. Instead of thinking about the pleasure coursing through him every time his master smacked his ass, he tried to hold onto his memories, these memories that weren’t his, but he had to keep them. His name Lucas, his job, his old life, but things were slipping away faster than he could hold onto them. It didn’t help when Chuck, after blowing his load, took the bat Pigg had assaulted him with and worked the head deep into Pigg’s asshole. It hurt so good that Pigg forgot to keep thinking for a moment, all he could do was grunt and snort and squeal and feel his shrinking cock shoot load after load of cum onto the bathroom floor.

Later, after slurping his own cum mindlessly off the floor, the bat lodged deep in his ass still, as he licked and cleaned his master’s feet, feeling his gut growing as he knelt there, rubbing it with his hands, toying with his sensitive nipples, he tried to sort through what remained of himself. The hazy face of some old man. A flickering, frozen computer screen connected to something called The Network, but that probably wasn’t important. A name, “Lucas”. That’s not his name though, his name was Pigg. He decided to just let them all fall through. Thinking was too hard. Better to just serve, and fuck, and eat like a good piggy slave for master Chuck.

Mr. Jackson wasn’t quite sure how he felt about his new tenant–in fact, he couldn’t quite remember why he’d even agreed to let him stay here in his house in the first place. To keep the bills paid, he liked to rent out his son’s old room now that he had moved out, but he generally tried to rent to someone more respectable than Randy. In fact, he wasn’t even sure he had a job, and he can’t remember ever doing an employment or a background check on him. Still, it probably wasn’t worth worrying about, right? He did need this month’s rent payment though–it was already two days late. He hadn’t really wanted to say anything about it, mostly because he wanted to interact with Randy as little possible. He heard the front door open and Randy tromped in, looking like trash, and smelling a bit like it too.

“Oh, hey Randy. Do you have this month’s rent? You’re two days late, but if you just forgot–”

“Oh, I didn’t forget, I was just waiting for you to come collect. I’ve been waiting every night, faggot. Did you forget about our deal?” Mr. Jackson looked up from his checkbook, a bit taken aback. Randy walked up to him at the kitchen table and tweaked one of his nipples. “I do like the view though, teasing me, walking around shirtless all day, showing off that old hairy gut. Pig. You’re the one who’s late though–so how about we head up to my bedroom and settle up?”

“I don’t…I think I might have missed something…” Mr. Jackson noticed that Randy was still speaking, but he couldn’t quite make out what he was saying. Still, how stupid was he? Of course they’d made a deal. Randy was unemployed at the moment, but Mr. Jackson agreed to accept his nasty cum in lieu of rent. And if Randy had been storing it up for two days now, fuck, he must have quite the payment to collect!

“I’m….sorry Randy. Let’s go settle up right…right away.” The world was lurching, and everything felt like it was moving too slowly.

“You’re already at the table though–why don’t I just feed you here?”

That…that made sense. Mr. Jackson licked his lips, watching Randy drop his muddy jeans to the kitchen floor. The briefs he had on underneath were crusty, but his uncut, seven inch cock slipped right out a whole in the front, and Mr. Jackson swallowed it down. He’d never sucked cock before, and he gagged. Randy took control, grabbing his hair and ramming the stinking shaft down Mr. Jackson’s throat. He looked up, and saw that Randy was still talking, but Mr. Jackson couldn’t understand any of it. It didn’t matter, he was just a stupid pig anyway. Yeah, just a stupid worthless piggy, and when Randy fed him his first month’s rent, Mr. Jackson begged him to pay him last months too. And since it came at the end, it only made sense to pump it deep in his piggy asshole, right?

There on his hands and knees on the kitchen floor, Randy drilling his dick into him, Mr. Jackson found himself able to hear again, hear himself snorting and grunting like a pig, rutting with his tenant. Fuck, the first time he’d seen Randy, he’d had to have him. He loved renting to nasty fucks like him. Real men who knew how to treat piggies like Mr. Jackson. His cock was leaking on the tile–Randy behind him calling him all sorts of filthy names. So many hot, filthy, piggy names.

He came, his old cock pumping out a load of pig cum onto the tile. When Randy was finished making payments, he pulled up his pants and headed up to his room, while Mr. Jackson crawled back and lapped up his own cum off the floor. Might as well pay himself too, right? He got up and sat down at the table again, sweaty and panting, but he couldn’t seem to get his head back to where it used to be. He couldn’t stop thinking about Randy, about his hot nasty tenant, and finally he got up, panting, rock hard, and went to Randy’s room, and knocked.

“Sir…I was wondering if we could maybe renegotiate the terms of your rent?”

Randy opened the door. He had on his sleeveless shirt still, but was missing his pants and underwear entirely. “And what might you have in mind pig?”

“I don’t…well, I think I’m going to have to raise the rent. Perhaps you could make a payment every…every week?”

Randy smiled. “Oh Mr. Jackson, you’re underselling yourself here. You’re too generous. I’d be happy to pay a pig like you much more than that.”

“You…You would?”

“Oh yes…” Randy said, “How about this. I’ll give you two payments every day, one at each end. And as a bonus, I’ll save all my piss for you in jugs, and you can do whatever you’d like with it. Bathe in it. Drink it. Just think of it as a tip for being such a good piggy landlord. But…well, if I’m going to be paying you so handsomely, I might need a few…well, perks myself.”

“That sounds amazing, sir…but…but what kind of perks?”

“Well, you see….I like my pigs to look a certain way, you see? And I have some ideas for you that might make you an even better piggy than you already are,” Randy stepped to the side, “But why don’t you come on in here and we can negotiate?”

It was a couple hours later, when Mr. Jackson emerged, smiling, Randy’s cum splattered across his face, knowing he had definitely gotten the best deal through some hard negotiation. He was up to three payments a day, all of Randy’s piss (which he’d had the pleasure of sampling to test it’s quality) as well as all of his filthy cum and piss stained underwear, and he would even get to give Randy a tongue bath once a week! All Mr. Jackson had to do was agree to wear leather gear at all times in the house, stop trimming his beard and hair, and go get some nasty looking tattoos.

Still, he had better get going, he had some leather gear to buy. Randy had told him about a friend of his looking to sell some spare gear, and even better, he liked getting paid in blowjobs too! It would probably require a long payment plan, but Mr. Jackson didn’t think he’d mind. He belched, tasting cum on his breath, and hurried out, already eager for tomorrow’s rent.

Renovations (Part 2)

– June –

The heatwave never broke–it only intensified as summer settled over the house in a miasma. It was too hot to do much of anything, it was too hot to think, it was too hot to worry about these sorts of things. Carl stood in front of the mirror in his bedroom, looking intently at his face, looking at the sweat bead on it and run down, but mostly he was looking at two things. First, he was looking at his hairline, and second, he was looking at a single white hair which had appeared overnight next to his left ear.

He was looking at his hairline, because he had noticed, over the last two weeks, since Bud had finally finished painting the outside of the house and had moved onto the rooms inside, that his hairline had begun receding. Each day, he would wake up, and scattered on his pillows in bed, or more likely, on the cushions of the couch where he was sleeping more and more often, would be a smattering of hairs, and he would look at himself in the mirror, and from day to day he could almost watch it retreat up his head, thinning out as he did. Already, the two divots on either side of his head had connected, leaving him with a thinning tuft in the center of his forehead, and with his hand, he reached back and felt the small patch of bare skin where his whirl had been days before.

Was it the heat? Was it the stress? Was it the sex? He didn’t know what it was, but he didn’t like it. His father still had a full head of hair. His grandfathers all had had full heads of hair when they died. And here he was, twenty-nine and losing everything all at once, and now grey hair even, on top of that. Right there, staring him right in the face. He grabbed at it with his fingers and tried to pull it out, but it was too slick with sweat for him to get a grip on it, and he sighed, turned around and stared for a few minutes at the ruins of his shower behind him.

The past month, Bud’s work had been slipping steadily. Ever since that night when Carl had blown him for the first time, the contractor had seemed more interest in having sex, drinking beer, and smoking cigars than getting any work done. Still, every time Carl tried to have a conversation with him about, he would either be busy and attest that Carl was just imagining things, or he would be relaxing, and simply tell Carl that it was too hot to work, and–

“Why don’t ya get those sweet lips of yours over here and suck me dry, man?”

Carl spun around, and found Bud behind him, naked in the doorway, one hand stroking his cock, and a beer in the other, leering.

Carl ignored him. “How much longer are you going to be working on the shower, Bud?” he asked, “It’s been three days, and I want to cool off–not to mention the fact that I reek.”

“I like the way you reek though,” Bud said, coming close, pulling Carl close to him and licking the sweat up from the side of Carl’s neck.

“Bud, come on, not right now, I’m too damn hot.”

“I’m hot too, but not in the way you’re thinking. Come on man, quit being such a buzzkill. You know what we need to do? We need to get you good and drunk–I bet you’d be such a good lay if you were fucking smashed.”

Carl managed to push him away and slip past him to the door, “Why don’t you fix the shower Bud, and then we fuck? How about getting some goddamn work done for a change?” He walked off down the hallway and to his office, Bud chuckling behind him and heading downstairs to get his tools, Carl hoped.

In his office, he shut the door behind him, sat down at his computer and tried to immerse himself in the websites he needed to design for his clients, but it was so hot, and his focus kept slipping, because that short stint with Bud had him hard and nothing was helping calm him down. He bit his lip, and then slid open a drawer and pulled out a cigar, lighter and ashtray and lit up, taking a long inhale of smoke before exhaling a plume towards the window and sighed.

He couldn’t believe that he’d actually managed to pick up this disgusting habit. He’d promised himself that it would only be an occasional thing. Something he’d do around Bud, they’d smoke a cigar or two, and fuck–it did make their fucks amazing–but lately it seemed like he needed to smoke to do much of anything. With the smoke easing his nerves a bit, he managed to get some work done, but the smoke kept him hard, and he kept leaning back in his chair, massaging his cock in his damp khakis and boxers.

He should be the one walking around naked, he thought, not Bud. This was his house after all, but he felt like his clothing was a shield almost, something he could use against Bud to keep him off of him if he didn’t feel like fucking. If he was naked, well, then what would he have? Hell, even being dressed didn’t help all the time–Bud was almost constantly horny, but then again, Carl was horny all the time too. Figuring it wouldn’t hurt, he pulled up some porn and started jacking, but as had become usual, he didn’t even pay attention to the video, he was thinking about Bud. Thinking about how hot it was to have his thick cock down his throat, that big ring resting hard down there, thinking about his musk, about how Carl could spend an hour sometimes just smelling Bud’s pits, licking the sweat from them, thinking about his big gut, and how hot it was, feeling it pushing back against his face as he tried to swallow as much of the shaft as he could, wondering what it might feel like to have it up his ass…

He shot his load at that thought, before his mind could wander too far down that path. Carl still hadn’t let Bud fuck him, but he could sense that Bud wanted it. He wanted it too, but the previous times that he’d tried to take something up his ass, it had simply hurt too much to even consider it as a kind of sex for him. And yet, even though Bud’s cock was bigger than any of his previous boyfriends’, even though he was certain it would hurt more than anything he’d ever tried, he still wanted it. Hell, Bud had managed to rid him of his gag reflex in about a week, he was sure Bud could work miracles on his hole as well, and yet something still seemed to hold him back. It felt like…like if things went that far, then what little bit of control Carl still had over this entire situation would vanish, and he’d never be able to reclaim it.

He cleaned himself up, and took a few minutes at the window to finish the cigar, watching the late evening sun advance across the southern sky, baking everything underneath it. What a summer so far. There was a drought, and water shortages, and everyone’s lawns were brown and dying. He snubbed out the cigar and sat back down at the computer, feeling a bit better. He managed to sink into the zone for a little bit, getting more work done than he’d managed over the previous days, and the sun finally sank low enough behind a hill on the horizon, bringing a welcome relief from the heat. It wasn’t too long after that, when there was a knock on the door of his office, he got up and answered, and found Bud fully clothed for a change.

“Hey, I was wondering if you wanted some pizza? I’m kind of hungry, and this shower is giving me some problems. I was gonna keep working on it tonight, if you don’t mind, after we eat.”

“Oh, uh…sure,” Carl said, “Feel free.”

Carl assumed that that would settle the discussion, but Bud hung around at the door, for a few moments, almost like he was expecting something, and he finally added, “I’m working for you–I’m not buying.”

Carl rolled his eyes, pulled out his wallet and gave Bud a twenty.

“Twenty? Come on, who do you think we’re feeding here? And I wanted to get some beer and cigars too, you know, in case we wanted them for later.”

“How much do you want?”

“Sixty should do it.”

“Sixty?” Carl said, “Seriously?”

Bud just waited for him, saying nothing, and so he pulled out his wallet and gave him two more twenties and left it at that, Bud giving him a grin and a peck on the cheek, before running down to his truck and driving off. Carl took a moment to take a look at the bathroom again, and it looked like the shower was in even worse condition than earlier in the day, and he sighed, and returned to his office. At least he worked at home, where the only other person who had to smell him was Bud, and the contractor seemed to enjoy that a bit more than Carl thought was healthy. He tried to get back into the zone of work, but Bud had successfully shaken him out of it, and he tried to jack off again, but couldn’t quite finish before he heard the front door open and Bud come back in, calling “Dinner!” from down in the living room.

Carl went downstairs, and saw that Bud hadn’t been joking–he must have been hungry. There were five large pizzas stacked up on the coffee table, two twenty four packs of cheap beer, and a pile of cellophane wrapped cigars. “Dang man, are we having a party or something?”

“Nah, I’m just starved!” Carl said, “This heat must be getting to me. Still, we can always eat the leftovers tomorrow, right? Come on, take a seat, take a break! You work too hard.”

“Yeah, and you don’t work hard enough. What’s up with the shower? It’s a disaster in there.”

‘Not sure, I’m still trying to figure it out,” Bud said, popping open a beer, and chugging most of it down, before letting off a loud belch of approval.

Carl walked around to the couch and sat down, opening up the top pizza box and taking a slice, which he started eating. Bud found the remote and turned on the TV, flipping through the channels until he found a wrestling match, and then joined Carl on the couch, naked again, and he started undressing Carl next to him, talking as he did, like usual.

“I don’t understand how you keep wearing this shit everyday–aren’t you hot in all of this stuff?”

“Fuckin’ white collar types, never could understand you guys. Wouldn’t you rather just let it all hang out?”

“Looks like you’re putting on a paunch man–guess you’d better kiss those abs you had goodbye, eh?”

A bit surprised at the last comment, Carl looked down and noticed he had put on a bit of a belly. When in the world had that happened, and how had he not even noticed? Bud gave in a rub and then a sharp slap, making Carl jump.

“Fuck, I bet you thought you’d be thin all your life eh? Just another gym rat, toned body until you die, guess that’s not gonna happen–you’re just a lazy fuck at heart, aren’t you?”

“Fuck you Bud, I go to the gym,” Carl said, but then he realized, he hadn’t been to the gym lately. In fact, he hadn’t been to the gym in weeks. He’d had a routine, he would get up every morning and do his weights and cardio, and he’d just stopped doing it. All of it. When had he stopped? He thought back, and realized the first day had been in May, when he’d woken up still on the couch, Bud’s boxers draped over his face, and he blushed. He still had those boxers actually, he had them stashed under his mattress. Bud had never asked for them back, either.

“Have another slice,” Bud said, grabbing another piece of pizza, and holding it up to Carl’s mouth.

“I think I’m full actually.”

“Eat it, piggy.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“I said eat it.”

Carl tried to get up from the couch, but Bud suddenly straddled him, pushing him back into the couch, and Carl realized he didn’t really have a choice in the matter, and that this treatment had him hard all over again, and so he opened his mouth and let Bud feed him the slice of pizza. However, it didn’t stop after one slice, Bud just grabbed a fresh box of pizza and started feeding him the entire pie, stopping on occasion to make him guzzle an entire can of beer, or take a drag off a cigar, the entire time urging him on, and humiliating him for doing what Bud told him.

“You are a pig, aren’t you? You fucking love eating–it’s ok, just give in, just accept it.”

“Have you ever thought about being fat? I bet you have. I bet it scares you, but it makes you hard sometimes too, doesn’t it? Does the thought of weighing 300, 400 pounds scare you? Does that get you hard piggy?”

“Eat it–don’t fucking gag, we dealt with that already, just eat, it’s all your fucking good for.”

Carl finished one pie, and then another one. He wasn’t sure when exactly, but Bud had moved one of Carl’s hands down so that he was stroking his own cock as Bud fed him, and he was hard, but not because of the food, right? He just felt so full, and so drunk, and the entire room was either too dark, or too bright depending on where he was looking.

“Come on pig, come on, shoot that load with this full belly of yours.”

Carl gasped as he came, and it hurt, trying to bend forward as he shot, but his belly, now stretched into a hard gut, refused to yield, and he felt bile well up but he quelled it back somehow. He’d never felt this full in his entire life, and he felt sick, but he also felt good, and horny, and drunk.

He looked up a Bud, but couldn’t quite focus on him somehow, and heard a voice say, “Fuck me.” No, it wasn’t a voice, it was his voice. He’d said that, and he did want it. “Fuck me, Bud. No one’s fucked me before, but fuck me–please. I’m scared, but…but I think…I think I need it. I’m so horny, please…”

“What a fucking slut,” Bud said to Carl, as he ran his hand through the globs of cum on Carl’s belly, “Just a fucking little whore, eh? Never been fucked before? I’ll be the fuckin’ judge of that, that cherry better be tight, boy.” He took his cum wet fingers and slipped them between Carl’s legs, and then between his cheeks. He started probing the hole with his middle finger, and Carl groaned. “I bet you’ve fantasized about this, boy. Having a real man like me fuck you rough–because it’s gonna be rough boy. I’m gonna make you a man tonight–you want that? You want daddy to make you a man?”

Carl nodded as Bud slid his finger into his ass, and he didn’t know whether it was the beer loosening him up, or just how horny he was, but it felt entirely different from the other times he’d ever played with his ass, when it had hurt like a hard knot. Bud’s fingers though, they slipped into him like they belonged there–like the hole had been waiting for him to claim it all this time, and it felt good. It felt good having him in there. It felt right. He did his best to slide down onto his hand, but his heavy gut wouldn’t let him move far, and he gave it a rub. It was so big–it couldn’t be that big could it?

Carl’s worry was interrupted by Bud bending down and grabbing both of his ankles in his hand, and throwing his legs up in the air, lifting him up high enough that he could rub his hard, leaking cock against his hole. “No…not here,” Carl said, his words slurring themselves, “The bedroom.”

“I’m gonna fuck you wherever I want, and whenever I want, boy,” Bud said, and to punctuate his point, he drove the head into Carl’s hole, watching him gasp. The contractor’s thick cock was a different matter than his fingers, but Bud wasn’t going to take no for an answer. This was his hole now, and Carl was more than happy to give it to him, and so he nodded, and focused on taking Bud’s cock, trying not to let out how painful it was, while still trying to do what Bud told him to do.

“Raise up. I said raise up! Fuck, you’re fuckin’ hopeless. Get me that fuckin’ pillow, since you’re such a lazy fuck.”

“Push down. Push down like you’re shitting, and you’ll open up…That’s it…that’s it boy, daddy’s home, better let him all the way in.”

“Feel that? Feel that? I’m all the way in boy, you took me to the hilt you fucking slut. Feels good doesn’t it? You’re gonna be fuckin’ insatiable, you’re gonna want me in ya day ‘n night.”

Bud didn’t last too long, once he had his cock all the way in. Carl had barely adjusted to the size of his cock by the time he let out a strange cry, pumping cum into his ass, and then he collapsed down, right onto Carl’s massive gut, making Carl lurch, and then he pulled out and rolled off onto the couch next to him, and Carl could feel the cum leaking out of his hole and onto the cushion beneath him, but all he could do was massage his sore gut, and when Bud handed him a lit cigar he happily smoked it down. The rest of the evening, Bud told Carl how proud of him he was for all of that, pulling him close so Carl’s face ended up in the crook of his armpit, and Carl would always end up licking and nibbling at the musk there. He was already drunk, but Bud didn’t stop with his feeding, plying him with more beer, and they both finished the last pizza together, or at least they must have, because when Carl woke up the next morning, on his couch, the sun already high and blazing, all of the boxes were empty, and he was starving and hungover, his ass hurt and he didn’t quite know what to do with himself, so he grabbed a warm beer and chugged it down, letting off a belch, and then lit himself a cigar, and laid back on the couch, nursing his swollen gut.

His gut.

“What the fuck…” Carl said, looking down at the swollen mound that had erupted from his belly overnight. It was even bigger than he could remember from the night before. He got up off the couch and nearly lost his balance. It was much heavier than he was expecting, and he walked over to where a mirror hung by the front door and got a better look at himself, and realized there was no other way to look at it. He was fat–not even overweight. He’d gone from slightly out of shape to obese in a single night. He grabbed his love handles and gave the gut a jiggle, and it felt surprisingly hot, his cock rising to half-mast from the sensation of fat rubbing against it, but that was so wrong. He had moobs too, actual flab where his pecs had been, and he groped them a few times, the first couple experimentally, and the next few because it felt so sensual he didn’t really want to stop, but then he noticed his hair.

His hairline had receded at least an inch from where he’d inspected it the day before, and the single white hair he’d found had multiplied into two large patches covering his temples. He couldn’t take this, he couldn’t fucking handle this right now. He took a deep drag off his cigar, pulling as much smoke into his lungs as he could, and then did the only thing he could think of. He plopped back down on the couch and had another beer, and when that one didn’t make him feel better, he had another, and another. He’d drank five down by the time he heard a grunt and a yawn from the stairs behind him, and he saw Bud yawning as he came down naked, looking like he’d just woken up.

Carl stood up from the couch, swaying a bit as he did. How much had he just drank? It didn’t matter, none of this mattered beyond getting some fucking answers. “What the fuck Bud, what the fuck happened to me? I’m fucking fat.”

Bud just stared at him, looking a bit confused. “Of course you’re fat, bro. Are you drunk already? Isn’t it a bit early to be drinking?”

“I’m fucking fat, Bud. I must have gained, I don’t know, a hundred pounds last night, what the fuck did you do to me? And did you sleep here last night? What the fucking hell! This is my goddamn house Bud, and you’re just my fucking contractor–you don’t get to sleep in my bed.”

“Well the couch was taken, and it was late. I didn’t think you’d throw a tantrum. Besides, I guess I kind of assumed that, well, after last night…I guess I just…”

“What, you thought I wanted to date you?” Carl asked, “Bud, what the hell is going on here, there’s…I mean…I just feel so…fucked up all of a sudden.”

Carl felt himself start crying suddenly, and he was too drunk now to try and hold it back, and when Bud came over and pulled him into a hug, he let him. He felt so safe in Bud’s arms, smelling him. It was so familiar now–and he had the sudden realization that if Bud left, if he kicked Bud out–he’d never get to smell him again. He’d never smell this, for feel his arms, or his rough hands, or any of it, and he’d miss it. He’d miss it so much.

“Look,” Bud said, “It’s all alright, eh? It was just a rough night, everything’s ok bro, I promise. Here, how about I make us some breakfast, will that make you feel better. I bet you just have low blood sugar or somethin’.”

Carl nodded, and he kept smoking cigars and drinking beers all through breakfast, and by the end of the meal, he was laughing and joking along with Bud, although all of Bud’s jokes seemed to end up with Carl being the butt of them.

“Dang bro, how in the hell did you manage to lose all of your hair already? You’re gonna look like a damn geezer. Might as well just admit defeat and shave it all off.”

“Do you have to eat like such a pig? Close your mouth for Christ’s sake, and it’s not gonna run away, maybe take your time? Though I’m happy you like my cookin’.”

“Save some beer for the rest of us, fuck. It’s not even noon yet man. Oh wait, is it? Ha! It’s two in the afternoon, and we’re eating breakfast, fuck–what a night.”

They never managed to clean up after breakfast, because before long Bud had moved over to Carl’s side of the table and started feeding his gut, Carl moaning through eggs, pancakes and beer, his cock hard again, and then right there on the kitchen floor, he got down on his hands and knees begging Bud to fuck him again, and the contactor was more than happy to do so. When they finished, they went back to the living room and watched TV, and the only moment of worry Carl had was while Bud was taking his time in the bathroom, and he got up to look himself in the mirror again, but now the gut didn’t seem strange at all. In fact, he kind of liked it, and it was suddenly hard to imagine himself without it, but just a month earlier he’d had a full head of hair, and muscles and all of it. Almost trying to prove it to himself, he found the khakis he’d stripped out of the night before, but he couldn’t even fit one of his legs into them. The same with the shirts–there was no hope for them to even button over his new belly.

“What the fuck are you trying to wear that shit for?” Bud said behind him.

“I just…these fit yesterday, I swear they did. I just…I can’t shake the feeling that something weird is happening.”

“You don’t really want to wear that stuff do you? It’s too hot for shit like that.”

“I guess, but–”

“Here, you know what? Just wear some of my stuff,” Bud said, picking up a wifebeater and pair of boxers off the floor and handing them to Carl. He hesitated for a moment, but tried them on anyway, and they were rank with sweat, but they smelled like Bud, and he started getting hard almost immediately, but the clothes did fit.

“Thanks…hey, I gotta go piss,” Carl said, and pushed past Bud and into the downstairs bathroom. He sat down on the toilet and quickly rubbed one off, fondling his fat and smelling Bud’s dirty clothes he was now wearing, imagining the sweat wearing off onto him, imagining that if he kept wearing them, he might even start smelling like Bud. He finally came when he reached between his legs and fingered his loose hole for a moment, letting out a soft moan. Outside the door, Bud stroked his own cock, listening, and then chuckled and sat back down on the couch, waiting for his pig to join him for another cigar, another beer, another meal, and another fuck.

Troy’s Shopping Trip

(Based on an idea and photo submitted by kenai88.)

It was going to be a killer party tonight, Troy thought as he parked his car towards the back of the lot, got out, and headed for the supermarket. Of course, it wasn’t going to anything like the slaughter on Saturday, when his college rugby team faced their cross town rivals in their first match. Rivals was really too kind a word–their team was awful, and Troy’s was vicious. In fact, a few years back they’d made a secret pledge to always wound one of the players in the game. Last year, their captain and the son of their coach had to be carried off with a broken leg–apparently he’d gotten so fat while recovering that he’d never play again. And then, as Troy headed for the doors, who should step out but that very coach and father, pushing an empty shopping cart.

He tried to play it cool and ignore him, and thankfully it didn’t seem like he recognized him. Instead, the older man just offered him his cart, and Troy took it to be gracious, thankful the guy hadn’t screamed at him. He’d been certain that his son’s injury had been no accident, and while Troy hadn’t been the one to do it, he’d been the one to suggest him as a target. Still, what’s done is done, right? The snacks were closest, and Troy parked the cart in the middle of the aisle and started grabbing bags in twos and threes off the shelves and dumping them into the cart, making sure to grab the favorites of each person on the team. When he was satisfied, he headed back to the cart–only to discover that it was empty.

Had someone taken it? He looked up and down the aisle, but there was no one there–just him and an empty cart. Fuck, he was thirsty all of a sudden. His mouth felt like he’d taken an entire shaker of salt and dumped it down his throat. Unable to help himself, he let out a big belch and patted his gut, feeling it jiggle a bit.

Wait, gut?

He looked down at himself, and tried to figure out what had happened. One part of his head was telling him that he should look like this, and another part was screaming in terror. He was fat! He hadn’t been fat when he’d come in here, had he? He groped his gut, feeling it’s heft, and underneath he felt his cock start to harden, and he blushed. Playing with his fat always seemed to get him hard, but it wasn’t something he was particularly proud of. He reached under and readjusted the front of his shorts, and tried to figure out what he had been doing. He was thirsty–better head for the pop and the beer–he could get the snacks later.

Something about his body felt strange today, like he wasn’t used to taking up this much space. He went to the pop and started loading two liter bottles of several varieties into the cart, but again, when he turned around to survey what he’d put in, the cart was completely empty.

Another belch–this one massively loud. God, he was such a pig, and he secretly loved it…didn’t he? He looked down at himself, and the same terror struck him–he wasn’t just fat now–he was fucking obese. His shirt could barely cover the gut overflowing past the waistband of his shorts, and his second and third chins wouldn’t let him get that good of a look. Fuck, he was hot though. Hot fucking fatass pig, fuck yeah. He checked up and down the aisles, but he was alone. He gave his huge apron a shake, feeling it reverberate around him, and he shuddered. His cock was hard, but he had another problem–he had to piss like a fucking racehorse. He hadn’t even had anything to drink lately either, but apparently his bladder disagreed. Still, he might as well go now before he had a full cart to deal with, and he lumbered off to the back of the store and the bathroom there, leaving his empty cart outside it.

He stepped inside, and found someone there washing his hands–the coach of the rugby team across town. How did he even know that? He didn’t play rugby. All he did was lounge around all day, stuffing his face and jacking off like a nasty pig–fuck! He was so fucking horny now. The coach finished washing his hands and turned around to look at Troy, sneering. “Lose some weight, you nasty fucker,” he said, and left the bathroom. The words somehow managed to shame Troy and turn him on at the same time. He was a nasty obese pig, and he loved the looks he got, he loved how much people were disgusted by him. He stepped up to the urinal, aiming blind, and pissed what felt like several gallons, before wrapping one chubby hand around the shaft and jacking off into the urinal, grunting as he did. “Fucking nasty pig, fuck yeah,” he said to himself, “Massive, nasty fat fucker, fuck *grunt*,” and he came, accidentally coating the underside of his apron, but it felt good there, being such a fucking slob felt great. He left it and hiked up his shorts, only to realize someone was in the stall and had heard every word that he’d just said. He left quickly, embarrassed to death, licking the cum off his hand absentmindedly.

Outside, the position of his cart had shifted, but he didn’t think much of it. He went and grabbed some beer since it was near the bathroom, vaguely fearful for some reason that it would disappear when his back was turned, but nothing happened. The same with the snacks and the pop, and he finally checked out his massive cart and headed out into the parking lot, but as he was loading the food into the back of his SUV, he saw the man from the bathroom leaning against a truck, away from the storefront, his cock hard and jutting from his jeans.

Troy drooled. He could totally use a cock right now, drinking down a load of cum would feel so damn good. “Sooooeeeyyy!” The man shouted, shaking his cock and staring Troy down. He couldn’t just…just suck him off in the parking lot, could he? It turned out that he totally could. He waddled over and dropped to his knees, feeling his bulk settle around him, and swallowed the man’s cock down into his gullet. “Yeah, how’s that taste you fucking pig?”

It tasted amazing. Troy didn’t know why he’d never sucked a dick before, but he kept glancing around, sucking fast, eager to get the man to swallow before someone could see him. He wasn’t fast enough–an older man walked back and saw what they were doing and froze. Troy wanted to die, knowing someone had seen him like this.

“Pig’s got a hot mouth,” the coach said, “Want to fuck it after me?”

The man glanced around nervously, and then walked over to the truck, set down his groceries, and waited. The coach finished quickly, hauling his cock out and spraying his cum across Troy’s fat face.

“Your turn man.”

Troy wanted to object, but what could he say? The man pulled his cock out of his jeans and Troy swallowed it down as well, and then the coach got down next to him, slid a hand down the back of his pants and began fingering his hole. It felt so good, and Troy began grunting uncontrollably, cumming in the front of his shorts before the stranger came down his throat. His ordeal over, he heaved himself up, only remembering halfway home that his face was covered with spunk. He wiped it up with his hands, licked it up, and then jacked off again at a stoplight.

That night, the rugby team didn’t seem to know what the huge fat man was doing there, but they all knew him somehow. Troy sat at the bar, shirtless in the hot, humid house of dancing men, watching their guts balloon as they devoured his snacks, soda, and beer. Thirty pizzas arrived which no one ordered, but they were demolished by morning, eaten up by the huge group of gainer pigs who had replaced the rugby team in the campus house.

The FAT Retreat (Part 3)

by Wesley Bracken

Commissioned by / Gift for Gaynerpig

– Day 3 –

“So tell me Leon, how do you feel about yourself? About your size?”

“What…what did you do to me? I…I don’t understand…”

“Just focus on answering the questions please. How do you feel about your size?”

Leon didn’t know how long he had been tied down, with the gas pumping into him. He didn’t know what had happened to him, he didn’t know what to do as he looked down at himself, as the massive amounts of fat hanging off of him. He was even larger than Max now and that was so…so hot! He’d always wanted to be big, right? Bigger? The biggest? But then why wasn’t he happier? Why did he have these nagging doubts that something was wrong? “I…I mean, I love being fat…right? I’m supposed to love it, but…no, I don’t…”

“You don’t love being fat?”

“No, I mean…it’s just so blurry, I don’t understand what happened…”

“Hmmm…” the doctor said, making a few marks on the clipboard he was carrying with him, and then looked thoughtfully at Leon. He was still attached to the cross where he’d been before, but the mask had been removed. It had done it’s job–Leon’s muscular physique was no more–but still, he wasn’t huge, or at least not by the standards of some of the men he’d seen at the retreat. The doctor gave him an eyeball guess of around 275 pounds, and he was very good at guessing at this point. “It seems that you still have some residual cognitive dissonance. I anticipate that the feeling will dissipate over the course of the retreat. You’ll be feeling normal in no time. Still, the sleep study you just completed shows that you’re at risk for sleep apnea, so I’m going to have to prescribe a CPAP machine for you. It’ll be in your room tonight for you to start using.”

“You mean…you mean a…a mask? I don’t want to wear a mask anymore, I don’t want to put that back on, please don’t put it back on me…”

“If you don’t, then you might suffocate in your sleep, and we can’t have that, Leon.”

Leon felt his heart catch in his throat. He knew what those machines were like–his father had had one, he’d seen him sleep with it many times, and that was one reason he’d promised to never get fat…right? But then why is he fat now? And why…why does he kind of like it? Why did he kind of want to get bigger? “What’s happened to me? I don’t want this…not this…”

The doctor looked at him thoughtfully for a second. “Why don’t you want this, Leon?”

“I’m fucking scared shitless, you fucker!” Leon shouted, “Fucking look at me! I’m gonna fucking die!. I’m gonna get fucking diabetes, and my legs and arms are gonna fall off, and this fucking fat is gonna crush the fucking life out of me, and…” Leon tried to continue, but he was sobbing now, and it was the truth. He was terrified. As much as he loved being fat, as much as he wanted to get fatter, the terror of his father haunted him, and the doctor nodded a few times, and then came up and unbuckled Leon’s restraints. “Alright, well, for your first session this morning, I’m prescribing some MentCon–you seem to have some issues you need help sorting out.”

Leon almost fell over when the doctor released him, his legs and arms were numb from being pinned in position, and the doctor helped him into a wheelchair and wheeled him out of the lab, Leon embarrassed to be seen being wheeled around like a mound of trash, and even though he insisted that he could walk, the doctor ignored him and pushed him down several hallways until they came to a series of room labeled MentCon, and he pushed him into one, where he found himself in a cozy office with a large gentleman sitting behind a desk. “Good morning,” the man said, smiling warmly at Leon, and then looked up at the doctor, “What have you got for me?”

“Classic Pocrescophobia. I figured you would be the best for that.”

“Oh I love those–he’ll be as right as rain by lunchtime.”

The therapist left Leon in the wheelchair, and left the office, and he looked around nervously, before hefting himself up out of the chair, aghast at being wheeled around like an invalid.

“That really isn’t necessary, subject 436–have a seat.”

Leon didn’t pay him any mind, and walked over to a wide mirror on the wall and looked at himself. He was still naked–aside from his collar. No one had even bothered to dress him. Looking at his reflection, he was so beautifully fat, but then why was he so terrified? Still, he could look even better. Maybe with another hundred pounds…or maybe two hundred…The thought terrified him, but he couldn’t stop, imagining himself the size of Max–now there was a big man, what a fucking hot piece of meat his roommate was. He wished he’d played around with him when he’d had the chance.

The therapist settled back down behind his desk, and flipped through Leon’s file that the doctor had left behind. “Hmmm…subject 436, would you be so kind as to lay down on the couch for me over there?” Leon looked at the couch by the desk, and unable to resist the command, he waddled over and gingerly sat down on the couch, wondering if he would be able to get back up if he laid down, but he did as the therapist asked. He helped him breathe and relax for a few moments, and then he said into his bracelet, “Sleep, subject 436,” and Leon eyes flickered shut.

“Subject 436, tell me–do you know why you are so afraid of being fat?”

In his slumber, Leon tried to keep a handle on everything he’d kept bottled up for so long, but between the hypnotic compulsion and the terror of the last few days, everything came spilling out. How he’d watched his obese father slowly succumb to diabetes, how he’d hated watching him kill himself with food, how he’d sworn that he would never let that same fate happen to him. However, as it flooded out of him, the therapist started contradicting him, started muddling things up. What had seemed so clear to him before started to seem hazy. He couldn’t remember much of anything about his father, suddenly, and as his memory faded, the fear faded too, like someone had taken it and thrown a thick rug over it, enough to smash it flat and make it unnoticible, and it felt like a great relief, to not have to be afraid any longer, but then the therapist kept talking, filling his head with new memories, and new fears. How he’d been hungry his entire childhood, how he’d spent it terrified that he might go hungry, that he might wither away if he didn’t eat as much as he could, all the time. How he’d always envied fat people, and from that, grown attracted to them. He wanted to be fat more than anything–it didn’t matter what the risks were, it didn’t matter what might happen to him, so long as he kept growing.

A realization came to Leon as he listened to the therapist, a growing knot in him, and he realized he was hungry. When had he last eaten? He couldn’t even remember when his last meal had been, and that filled him with such terror that he flung himself awake from his trance in a panic, and didn’t stop muttering and crying until the therapist dug out a bag of chips from the bin behind his desk and gave it to Leon, who started devouring the chips, and the therapist assured him that his fears were completely legitimate. He should want to be fat, after all, what was the alternative? Wasting away into a stick? Leon couldn’t agree more, and he was so happy that the therapist understood what he was feeling.

“I just feel like a giant weight has been lifted off of me,” Leon said between fistfulls of chips, “I’ so happy that there are other people like me.”

“Yes, there are more of us than you might have realized,” the therapist said, getting up from behind the desk and walking over to Leon. Like all of the people working the retreat, the therapist was a large man, and Leon found himself watching him walk over, his belly jiggling with every step, the therapist reaching down to tweak his nipples with his hands. Leon really wanted to jack off–he was so horny–but the hunger wouldn’t abate, and he had to keep eating–he had to not starve. “You know,” the therapist said, “I saw your roommate, subject 367, last night–Max, right? Tell me, what do you think of Max?”

“I…I suppose he’s hot. But we only saw each other for a little while, when I got here. We didn’t have a chance to…uh…do anything, really.”

“Still, what would you like to do with him? Do you think he’s attractive?”

“I…I mean, yeah…he’s really big. I’d like to be as big as him one day.”

“I bet you would,” the therapist said, dropping his hand down and kneading Leon’s comparatively small gut. He was starting to breathe quickly, being this close to such a large man, but he still couldn’t bring himself to stop eating the chips, at least until he reached the bottom of the bag and emptied the crumbs into his mouth.

“Do…do you have anything else?” Leon asked in a whisper, feeling the therapist press his gut into his chest, “I…I’m still hungry.”

“Sleep subject 436,” the therapist said, and watched Leon’s eyes flicker shut. “subject 436–for the next hour, you are no longer Leon. You are just a dumb fat whore with no name at all–all you care about is sucking cock and begging men to fuck your fat ass.”

“Y–yes sir…” Leon said, and when the therapist slid his thick cock into Leon’s slack mouth, he came alive–sucking it for all it was worth, listening to the therapist moan, happy that he was sucking cock, happy that he was nothing more than a dumb, fat whore. The therapist dragged him off the couch and made the whore beg him for his cock, licking his dress shoes first, tasting the shoe shine on them, before the therapist finally gave in and fucking him roughly, the whore begging him to fuck him harder, and harder still.

Leon woke up on the floor, his mouth and ass sore, but feeling refreshed and not at all worried about what might have happened. He’d just fallen off the couch after all, and the therapist was helpful enough to help him up from the ground.

“Yes subject 436, I think the Fat Action Team is just the place for you–we’ll take good care of you, I promise. Now, it’s almost time for lunch–why don’t you go eat something more substantial?”

The thought of lunch already had Leon salivating, and he struggled up from the couch, fighting against his new gut, and he lumbered out the door naked, cum dribbling from his ass and down the inside of his thighs. He headed down the hall, not paying the therapist any more mind, joining the throng of men as they headed towards the massive mess hall. He lost himself there, in the tables laden with food, desperate to fill the pit of fear in his gut with something–anything–and he gorged like he’d never eaten before, and knowing that he was working to make himself bigger, knowing that today, he wasn’t going to wither, it was making him hard, and he had to pause for a moment to reach underneath his gut, jacking his cock with one food coated hand, shoving cake into his mouth with the other, until he came violently, and returned to the feast.

Still, it ended too soon, but he was ferried towards the doors with the rest, sorting himself into the proper doorway, where the men directed him to Metabolics Lab 15. When he arrived, however, he discovered that he wasn’t alone, like he had been before. In the room was close to a dozen subjects, and they could be easily split into two groups–guys like him, who were relatively clean, and then a set of guys who were filthier than he could even imagine. It took him a moment to recognize one of the men in the other group–it was Max, but his clothing was soaked through with sweat, and he watched as his roommate let off a massive fart, and then sat back into the stench, moaning and massaging his crotch as he did, letting off a huge belch afterwards. It was disgusting, and he couldn’t believe he’d been fantasizing about him in the therapist’s office. How in the hell had he become such a mess in just one day? Had he been out even longer than he’d thought?

They waited for a few minutes, until a few more people arrived for the session, and by then the smell in the room was horrendous, and Leon could see that he wasn’t the only person disgusted by the filthy, fat men in the room. Still, each of them were all sat down and secured into chairs, the clean men facing the filthy ones across the room, but while the clean men were only fitted with masks like the one which had fattened Leon up overnight, something he was increasingly thankful for, considering how close he had been to starving himself, the filthy men across from them were given some sort of injection, and sealed into some kind of glass pod.

As soon as the pods were sealed, Leon saw Max, who was directly across from him, start to writhe in something between pain and ecstasy, and he watched as his roommate suddenly pissed himself in the capsule, the piss puddling around his feet at the bottom of the pod, and then he was cumming as well, huge amounts of semen flowing into the growing puddle as well, and while he couldn’t hear it, or smell it, it looked like he was belching and farting a massive amount, and the thick cigar Max was smoking quickly shrouded the entire pod in a heavy haze. Then, suddenly, he could smell it. It was like the mask he had on had a direct line to Max’s pod, and the funk of his roommate’s body, fluids, and smoke drove it’s way into his lungs, and he tried to gag, but before he could, he started feeling light headed, like he’d felt from the fat gas, and it wasn’t so bad after all. In fact, it was kind of hot, smelling Max’s filthy body, and somehow he knew it was Max, but he couldn’t say why–some residual memory of the cigar smoke from that first night, some hidden remembrance of the man’s subtle BO, but heightened a thousand fold now, and pumped into his lungs, making his cock harder than it had ever been, and unable to stop himself,he spasmed in the chair, and came, shooting across his fat thighs.

He wasn’t alone either–all of the clean men were succumbing to the ecstasy of the filthy men across from them, and they came over and over again. They came again when drains opened up in the bottom of the pods, sucking down the pool of piss and cum that had collected there and pumped it directly into their masks, forcing them all to swallow it down, not that they had any interest in objecting. Some of them began cumming at a near constant clip, and one on the far end actually drained his balls, dry cumming over and over again, nearly seizing in pleasure.

And then, it was over–but not really. Leon had been profoundly changed by his experience, and he fought with him restraints as the doctor freed him from the chair, and he rushed over to Max, getting down and licking the sweat from his wide belly, burying his face into the trucker’s stinking flab, and he came again without even touching himself, and the men all left the lab in pairs, heading to dinner, but Leon spent nearly as much time behind Max sniffing down his farts and cleaning his crack as he did at the table, stuffing his face, the fear still gnawing away at his bones. He was bigger than he’d ever been in his life, but he was still too small, he could still starve, he just wasn’t big enough–would never be big enough to keep the fear away, but at least he could eat, and Max helped him, stuffing his face before belching down his throat, watching Leon swallow down his gas, cumming again, splattering the floor with his seed.

Leon didn’t really remember how he and Max got back to their room–his obsession with Max’s body refused to abate. Every time he smelled him it was like the first time. He would do anything to be near him, he suddenly couldn’t even imagine being apart from him. Back in their room, still without even speaking to each other, Max sat down on the toilet and Leon knelt in front of him, drinking down his piss and then drinking in his farts, the stench of Max’s shit, licked his body clean for him, and finally, after what felt like hours, long after the lights had clicked off, the two of them found their drives winding down, and they were able to regain some of their self-control.

Fumbling in the dark, they discovered that their bunk beds had been replaced with a single king, but neither of them minded. Leon didn’t think he would have been able to sleep away from Max at all. They laid down on the bed together, but Leon felt a strange panic start growing in him as he laid there, coupled with a hard time breathing, and he groped around his side of the bed until he felt something plastic he recognized by feeling as a mask. Of course, he’d have to wear that to sleep now, how could he have forgotten? He pulled on his C-PAP mask, and felt air push it’s way against his face, the sickly sweet smell of fat from his night long growth, coupled with Max’s musk. The big trucker rolled over next to him and spooned him from behind, and the two massive men fell asleep, exhausted, unable to even wonder what the rest of the retreat may have in store for them.

The FAT Retreat (Part 2)

by Wesley Bracken

Commissioned by / Gift for Gaynerpig

– Day Two –

The lights in the room turned on suddenly, and Max snorted himself awake in the lower bunk, and looked around, momentarily confused about where he was. A voice came on from the PA in the room:

Good morning FAT members. Breakfast is scheduled in half an hour. Please be dressed and ready at the door in that time, clothing has been provided for you in your rooms.

Max hefted himself up off the bed and took a moment to rub his gut. He was getting so big now, he loved it. He could only vaguely remember his life before his first FAT meeting, how he’d always felt so guilty about his size, but no longer–now he just wanted to get bigger, and the videos he’d seen of himself on the web were so hot he couldn’t wait to star in a few more. He secretly hoped, though, that he wasn’t going to be staring in any with Leon–the slim guy just wasn’t his type at all. Thinking about Leon, he got up off the bed and looked in the top bunk, but it was empty–and he looked around his room, and there was no sign of his bunkmate anywhere. That was certainly strange, but he didn’t think too much of it–there was probably some sort of rational reason for his disappearance. Still, the young man had been pretty delusional–no one was here under duress after all–so he hoped he hadn’t run off or something.

Max looked around, and saw that a loose fitting shirt and some sweats had been hung on a bar by the door, and Max looked around, puzzled about where the clothes he’d been wearing the day before had gone. He gave a shrug, took a moment to use the toilet, and then pulled on his clothing. The clothes were very big on him, even at his size, and the shirt had a number printed in a large typeface on both sides, “367” but he didn’t know what that meant. He sat down on his bunk for a few minutes and smoked one of several cigars he found in his sweats pocket, until the door slid open, and he got up again and looked out into the hallway, as the voice spoke again:

FAT members, please follow the yellow lights lining the top of the walls to the mess hall. After breakfast, you will be directed to your first personalized session of the retreat.

The hallway was already packed with men, all of them around Max’s size, trudging down the hallway, and Max pushed his way into the throng and followed the current, seeing the yellow lights guiding their path up where the walls met the ceiling, and after a short walk, the hallway emptied out into a massive room which reminded Max of an airplane hanger with a horribly low ceiling. Still, the smells! He was starving, and pushing forward he could see that the tables were heaped with food of all kinds–it seemed like each was set differently, and while he wanted to look at them all and see what each offered, he saw that the mass of men was already crowding around the tables, not even using the chairs and benches, and he got the sudden sense that if he did not choose now, he would eat nothing, like a massive game of musical chairs, the runt who didn’t get to the bitch’s nipple in time. The fear of not eating raced through him, and he shoved his way up to the nearest table and simply ate–it didn’t matter what he was eating, all that mattered was that he didn’t go hungry. The competition of the feed consumed him for the next three hours, as the men ate each and every table in the room down to scraps, demolishing one before moving onto the next which was relatively unoccupied, and by the end of breakfast time they milled about, none of them hungry, and yet all of them desperate to eat, plucking scraps off the empty tables, biding time, and the men turned their attention to each other, eyeing each other guts appreciatively, and a few brasher men began kissing, licking the leftover food from each other’s faces, and perhaps smearing a glob of butter on another’s penis, feeling their fat shiver as they jacked them quickly.

Sensing the restlessness of the room, at least ten doors on both the long sides of the mess hall slid open, and the voice came on again:

FAT members, on your shirt is your subject number for the duration of the retreat. Please make your way to the gate your number falls within, and you will be directed to your first FAT session.

Max looked down at his shirt, and saw it was covered with food, but wiping some of it away he could make out his number, and pushed his way through the crowd to the gate marked “350-400” and queued up, where they were slowly filed through, and Max was collected by a robust man in a white lab coat and escorted down several hallways until they came to a small laboratory labeled “Metabolics Lab #3”. There was one other subject there already, slightly smaller than Max, in one of the chairs of the room, and a young, cubbish lab assistant was strapping him to the chair. The man who’d escorted him sat Max in the next seat, and when the assistant finished with the first man, he began securing Max to the seat, and he got a little scared. He’d participated in one light bondage flick with FAT, but this seemed a bit strange. Two more men were eventually escorted into the lab and similarly secured, before the door slid closed and the doctor came over.

“Welcome gentlemen,” he said, “We will be starting you off with a metabolic manipulation this morning. This will require several subcutaneous and intravenous injections, and then we will monitor your progress over the next three hours, to insure there are no unwanted effects.”

“Wait, injections?” one of the men in the room said, “I hate needles.”

The doctor simply ignored him, and he and the assistant progressed down the line, giving each man a number of injections in many parts of their bodies, and the first man, the one with the fear of needles, gave the greatest struggle, but otherwise the process was rather smooth, and after the shots had been given, the assistant and the doctor retreated back behind a row of computers to observe, though it wasn’t long before the doctor had his hands down the chubby cub’s pants and his tongue down the younger man’s throat.

The four men in the room, meanwhile, were watching the scene, all of them turned on, and Max noticed that he was starting to sweat. The temperature in the lab wasn’t too great, and yet in a matter of minutes, his shirt was nearly soaked through, and his hair and beard were sopping wet. Looking at the other men, he saw that they were all in a similar condition, their food stained shirts matted to their bodies, and then they started to smell. It started as a fairly normal scent of body odor, but as the hours passed, it grew worse and worse, until each of the men had started to feel a bit sick to their stomachs.

“Oh god, what the…is this normal?” one of the men said, as another retched a bit from the fuck rolling off his body.

“Yes… oh fuck yes…” the doctor said from the floor behind the computers where he was fucking the cub’s ass, but none of the men knew whether he was talking about them or not. Finally, the doctor and the cub finished up, and they started walking from man to man, examining them in turn, giving them each a pill to help with the nausea, and took samples of their sweat on cotton swabs from various areas of their bodies, especially their armpits, crotch and ass crack, and set them aside.

Max kept hoping the sweating would stop, but it seemed to only grow worse, and he was actually getting thirsty. Sensing their need, the doctor and assistant helped keep them hydrated, and by the end of the first session, all of the men were reeking like they hadn’t showered in weeks. The doctor checked the time, and started unbuckling the straps on each of the men, “Alright, everything looks normal–go have lunch, your first session is over.”

“Wait, what?” one of the men said, “You’re just…I mean, when will I stop sweating like this?”

“Yeah, I mean, this is kind of gross…” Max said.

“Don’t worry gentlemen, everything will be taken care of. Go enjoy lunch, I’m sure you’re all hungry.”

They were all hungry, but that was nothing new. Still, the four of them left the room and followed the yellow lights back to the mess hall, where they all devoured another meal, trying not to be alarmed by their new scent. The men in the room all seemed disconcerted for various reasons, but Max was too busy feeling embarrassed by his stink to think about what everyone else must have been going through, and he tried to find tables which were lightly packed, because every time he pushed up next to someone, they would retch or give him the worst scowl, and it made him feel awful.

Lunch ended eventually, and he made his way back to the gate, where a different sort of man escorted him off. Instead of being dressed in a labcoat, he was simply dressed in a business suit, and appeared unfazed by Max’s new stench, which he was thankful for. The man even offered him a cigar as they walked, and they arrived in a cozy looking office labeled “Mental Conditioning Rm. 33”, with a cushy armchair facing a massive TV mounted on the wall. The man had Max sit down in the chair, and then dimmed the lights, but before Max could ask what was going on, the TV turned on and a massive prismatic spiral drew him in within seconds, and Max’s entire world collapsed, but off in the distance, he could almost make out the suited man talking to him, telling him how much he loved his filthy stink, how smelling like a sweat and cum stained rag turned him on, how he smoked nearly constantly and loved the stench of strong tobacco, and how he refused to shower, wash his hands, brush his teeth, or even change his clothes, preferring to be as dirty and grimy as possible.

He had no idea how much time had passed, but when he came back to himself, the lights were back up and the TV was off, like no time had passed at all, and he took a deep inhale of his stench, and let out a sigh of pleasure, his cock hardening beneath his belly.

“Alright subject 367, I just need to ask you a few questions if that’s alright.”

“Huh? Oh…uh…sure…” Max said, but he was more interested in his armpit for some reason, and he lifted an arm and took a deep sniff of the funk there, and then licked up his own sweat with a moan.

“Alright, on a scale of one to ten, with one being low and ten being high, please tell me how much you like your current hygiene level.”

“Fuck, can I answer eleven? I smell so fuckin’ hot…” Max said, and unable to help himself, reached into his pants and started groping at his cock. “Oh yeah, definitely a…well,, maybe a nine, but only because I bet I…I bet I can get even filthier, oh fuck…”

“Now, how many showers would you say you plan to take in the next month.”

“None, I don’t shower ever.”

“Alright, and how frequently do you wipe after defecating?”

“You mean, like, when I take a shit?”

“Yes.”

“Uh…I guess not very often. Maybe if it’s a real messy one, but not usually.”

“Sleep, subject 367,” the doctor said, and Max’s eyes went blank, “You do not wipe your ass after taking a shit. Never. Do you understand?”

“Yes sir…”

“Wake subject 367,” Max jolted up again, and without missing a beat the man repeated his question, “Subject 367, how frequently do you wipe after defecating?”

“Oh, never. My underwear takes care of that.”

“Alright. Now, how often do you change your clothes?”

“I don’t. I fuckin’ love wearin’ clothes until they’re stinkin’ rags.”

“And you’re a smoker, right?”

“I am–cigars, preferably.”

“What kind of cigars do you like to smoke, 367?”

“Oh man, the smellier the better. They’d better reek, and make me reek too, for hours after I’m done with them…speaking of which…” Max added, figiting a bit, “Do you mind if I light up? Feels like I haven’t smoked in hours.”

“Well, I suspect you haven’t. And here, try one of these, I’m sure you’ll like them, given your tastes.” The doctor handed him a large, rough cigar, and the smoke was far more acrid and thick than Max was used to, but man did it stink. It was giving him a hard on, sitting in a cloud of foul smoke and musk, and the doctor, smiling a bit, got up and shoved a hand down the front of Max’s sweat soaked pants, into his gummy fatpad and jacked him off quickly, Max happy for the attention, even if the suddenness left him feeling a bit uneasy. The doctor wiped his cum soaked hand across Max’s beard, letting him lick the last bit off his fingers, before sitting down again.

‘Alright 367, everything seems to be in order. Just one last question. How important is it for a sexual partner to approve of your hygiene?”

“Oh, very important, man, I need a man who fuckin’ loves my stinkin’ body like I do.”

“Alright, it looks like you check out. Why don’t you go to dinner?”

“Dinner?” Max asked, “But I just ate lunch, like, half an hour ago.”

“Lunch was three hours ago. Now, go on and eat, and then return to your room. You’ve had a long day.”

A bit confused, Max got up out of the chair and followed the throngs of men outside the door to the mess hall, where he devoured another massive meal, but this time, instead of avoiding people, he pushed his way into the throngs, loving how his stench could drive men away, letting him get closer than anyone else. After eating way too much, even for himself, Max waddled off back to his room and lumbered inside, where the first thing he did was take a massive shit, and then he sat on the toilet, smelling the stench and jacked off, wiping the cum on his sweaty gut and into his gunt, enjoying the sticky feeling, before getting off and flushing. Then, he stripped out of his clothes and laid down on the bunk, smoking cigar after cigar while jacking off over and over, licking up his sweat and smelling his funk for several hours before finally collapsing and falling asleep long after the lights had turned off, wondering what the next day would have in store for him.

Are you never going to measure up to your goals? Do you worry that your life and future are just going to disappoint you? Then you should try Release Hypnosis! Here’s Sam’s story, whose life was much improved by our files.

Before Release Hypnosis, I was a wreck. I was in college, and excelling, but the stress was killing me. There was this pressure to succeed, it came from everywhere, from my parents, from my teachers, from my girlfriends, it was so much, I couldn’t handle it. If I hadn’t found Release Hypnosis, I might have actually made something of myself.

The effect was immediate. After my first listen, my school work just didn’t matter to me–it was so much easier just to lounge around my dorm room, eating and drinking and watching porn all day long. I just didn’t care–it was so easy! I listened to more and more from that moment on, and dropping out of college just seemed like the most natural decision. I found an easy job working construction, and I couldn’t have been happier. Well, or so I thought.

Release Hypnosis is still a big part of my life. I’ve been working on their empty mind series lately. Even after I stopped feeling the pressure to succeed, I still thought a lot. Now though, my head is so empty I can just zone out for hours in front of the TV, stuffing my face and jacking off all day long. The no-shame series was also recommended to me by the program. See, even after listening to the files, I’d always feel bad about the way I was behaving, and a bit ashamed of myself. Now though, I relish it. I love being a slob, a fucking loser, and I want everyone to know it. Fuck, I walk down the street without a shirt, showing off my filthy, hairy belly, and the looks I get from people get me so horny, I usually have to duck into an alleyway to jack off. I’d definitely recommend Release Hypnosis–it made a huge difference to my life, and I know it can make yours better too!

Was this going to be enough? Would he finally be satisfied? Erik knew inside of himself that he wouldn’t, even as he trudged through the manure in the barn, the scent of the muck already making his dick rise up inside the stiff crotch of the overalls he’d taken from The Wall at The Center–the place which claimed that it could find work for everyone that came in, and in addition, promised that everyone would enjoy their new jobs. If they still didn’t feel quite right in their new positions, they could come back the next day, where they would be given a new occupation until they found the right one for everyone.

This was Erik’s fourth job he’d gotten from the Center so far. He’d worked in construction the first two days, finding himself enjoying the act of getting dusty and dirty, muddy and grimy and musky, every day finding someone around to fuck with in the mud. On the third day, which he spent emptying porta-potties, he’d fucked a nasty laborer inside one, stinking of shit, and cleaned out his filthy hole before fucking the shit out of him literally. And now, the overalls he’d picked from The Wall had landed him cleaning out the manure on a farm, and when he caught eyes with his fellow shit shoveler, they ended up rolling around in the muck, fucking and pissing and cumming over and over again.

He learned then, that The Center wasn’t really meant to provide people with jobs–it was designed to condition people for the jobs no one in their right mind would request. The next morning, he found himself pulled to the shit covered rubber overalls and gloves, he pulled them on and went to the gay bathhouse where he worked as a full service toilet. Still, by the end of the night, his now dull mind couldn’t imagine having any other job, and he knew he was lucky to be paid to do something he truly loved doing.