The Smoker Tapes (Part 1)

[Pictured: Hunter, before and after his meeting with The Smoker.]

Report 1927-01 of the Special Investigations Bureau

A number of cassette tapes, CD’s, and MP3 files have been discovered which have been colloquially termed The Smoker Tapes. All of them were presumably recorded between 2003 and today, and they catalogue conversations between Person of Interest “The Smoker” (see case file P001927) and a number of his victims around the country. SIB classifies these recordings as class B mental influencers, requiring security clearance level two and a psychological assessment before any agent can listen to them. The transcripts, however, are accessible by anyone with security level five or below. These recordings, it is assumed, are one of The Smoker’s primary recruitment techniques, and new copies are found daily as tapes and CD’s in adult bookstores and bathhouses, as well as online, most commonly circulated in the deep web.

This recording is generally considered to be the first attack of “The Smoker” that was recorded, between him and a reporter known only on the tape as Eric. All attempts to identify and track Eric, both before and after the attack, can be found in report 1927-54. Unlike the others, where “The Smoker” himself is recording the attack, this first was instigated by the reporter, as a means of documenting his interview with “The Smoker”. The other transcribed tapes can be found in reports 1927-02 through 1927-34.

***

Eric: Ok, it’s on–not sure where to put it…

Eric: This place is a mess. Do you live here?

The Smoker: No. It’s a friend’s place, and I figured we could use it for the interview.

Eric: One of your victims?

The Smoker: They aren’t victims.

Eric: The legend would say otherwise.

The Smoker: Legends are exaggerations. They’re just men I’ve helped out, when they needed it.

Eric: Well, have you helped your friend out yet, then?

The Smoker: No, not yet. He might be interested, but we haven’t discussed it yet.

Eric: Do you always discuss it with them?

The Smoker: Of course. I’m not the monster most people talk about, you know. I mean, look at me. five foot three, two hundred pounds, flabby. What exactly am I going to do to them? How could I force them? They all come to me, not the other way around.

Eric: Well, on the topic of rumor and legend, I’d like to start asking you about some of the mythos surrounding you as a figure. As you know, you’re quite the boogeyman on the streets, though–

The Smoker: Actually, before we begin, do you mind if I smoke?

Eric: Do you think I’m stupid? Of course I mind. You’ll do something to me.

The Smoker: It isn’t my smoke that does anything. Besides, I never do anything to someone without their consent. For someone interested in the truth, you seem very interested in upholding fictions about things you know nothing about.

Eric: Well, you can’t blame me for being cautious–

The Smoker: But if I’m not going to get a fair shake, or an even hand, I might as well just walk out right now.

Eric: There’s no need to get…now hold on, don’t–

The Smoker: There. See? No harm done. Now, you were going to ask me about the myth?

The Smoker: Are you holding your breath?…Oh for goodness sakes, if you’re that terrified of me, why did you agree to interview me in the first place?

The Smoker: I’m not putting it out. You can either breathe in, or leave. It’s up to you.

The Smoker: There, see? You’re fine.

Eric: How do I know–

The Smoker: You’ve already come to meet me, “The Smoker” of legend, in an unknown location, alone. It seems to be that caution is the last thing on your mind.

Eric: Those were your terms. I didn’t have much of a choice.

The Smoker: And you still agreed to meet me. Now, do you have some questions, or not?

Eric: I wanted to start with some of the aspects of the urban legend, to see if any of the stories are true. As you know, I’m sure, the legend of “The Smoker”, or also “The Smoking Man”, has been a staple of the gay subculture in this city for decades. You are, according to the stories, either a demon or a madman who kidnaps men and forces them to become smokers.

Eric: I assume you take issue with the stories?

The Smoker: Well, I don’t force anyone to do anything. All of the people I help consent to my services. I also don’t kidnap anyone, though sometimes my work requires them to take an extended stay with me at my home. I’ve never had an unsatisfied patron.

Eric: Well, then how do you think these stories started?

The Smoker: Like I said, I only change people who are willing. I have, in the past, misjudged people. I thought they wanted my help, when in fact they weren’t ready to admit that they needed it. How would you react to someone who just walked up to you, offering you the life you’d always wanted but that you were too terrified to ask for? People talked. Stories spread. I’ve gotten much more careful over time, though. I haven’t had anyone turn me down in quite a few years now.

Eric: The stories have been in circulation for quite a while. How long have you been changing men?

The Smoker: My first was back in 1976.

Eric: So, did this power manifest when you were, I’d guess, around twenty?

The Smoker: Oh no, I was fifty-six.

Eric: Uh…

Eric: I’m sorry, but that would mean that you were born in…in 1920? You don’t look to be in your nineties.

The Smoker: I’ve stayed healthy.

Eric: Is that related to your powers? Do you steal youth?

The Smoker: No, nothing so vampiric.

Eric: You must understand that this is hard to believe.

The Smoker: I have my birth certificate if you’d like me to furnish it as proof.

Eric: Well, assuming you are telling the truth, you’ve been changing people for close to forty years now, correct? How many men have you changed in that time?

The Smoker: One hundred and seven.

Eric: So you keep track of them all?

The Smoker: It’s impossible to forget any of them, actually.

Eric: So you must have celebrated your centennial recently, did you do anything special for you one hundredth…customer? I know you object to the word victim, but what do you call them?

The Smoker: Patrons. And my one hundredth wasn’t particularly unique or special. An older gentleman–let’s call him Hunter–was unhappy and looking for help. I provided it.

Eric: And what was his problem?

The Smoker: He had a very, very small dick.

<Laughter.>

The Smoker: Trust me when I say Hunter wouldn’t have found the humor in it.

Eric: I’m sorry, it just seems a little ludicrous. If that was the only issue, I’m sure half the guys in the city would be looking for your help.

The Smoker: How do you know half the men in the city don’t want my help?

Eric: So, how did you assist…Hunter, you said?

The Smoker: He was, rather desperate. And when I say small, I don’t mean a simple matter of overcompensation. His dick was a little less than an inch long, something Hunter had resented his whole life. The term ‘involuntary chastity’ comes to mind.

Eric: I can’t imagine many people would be very interested in that.

The Smoker: Well, some men find pleasure in minimal endowment. Hunter was just bitter and angry. He came home with me, rather reluctantly I might add, but he was much happier the next morning, leaving with a twelve inch cock and a grapefruit sized sack, stuffed in the front of his cum stiff jockstrap, unable to stop leaking as he chuffed on a thick ring cigar.

Eric: ….I see.

The Smoker: Did that make you uncomfortable?

Eric: I suppose I wasn’t expecting something quite so graphic.

The Smoker: Well, my trade is a graphic one. You are a reporter. I hadn’t expected the details to bother you so much.

Eric: That’s not really–

The Smoker: Some men, well, all they need is a taste of smoke and a bit of a push. They can take it from there all on their own. Others need more help, like Hunter. I started on his balls, taking big breaths of smoke and breathing it down his cock, inflating his balls with each exhale. I’ve been told that the heat of the smoke in the body can be painful, but from Hunter’s moans, he didn’t seem to mind.

Eric: Really, I don’t need–

The Smoker: I admit to getting a bit carried away. He seemed to enjoy it so much I kept going. Watching the testosterone flood his system, a thick white beard coating his face, hair sprouting up and down his chest. Muscle filled in as well–he was a sexy fuckin’ beast, I tell you.

Eric: This really isn’t relevant.

The Smoker: How would you know what’s relevant and what isn’t? Isn’t this why you agreed to interview me? To hear my story?

Eric: The graphic details–

The Smoker: This is my work. I hardly think leaving out the process itself would do a service to your readers. To continue, Hunter was finally ready for his own smoke. A large ring cigar, of course–a big tool makes a big tool. He smoked that down in near record time, and I nursed his cock all the while. I had to stop sucking once my jaw got stretched to the limit, but I couldn’t resist fucking myself on that huge cock. I mean, how often do you get a chance like that? Fuck, and when he came–filled me up, I could feel it in my guts–you ever felt anything like that, when someone fucked you?

Eric: I’m not–no, I mean, how do you know…

The Smoker: Know what, that you’re gay? No straight man would be interested in this story, legend or not. And no straight man would have an erection in their slacks after I tell that story. Good to know you don’t have Hunter’s problem, by the way.

Eric: I need…I think I’m going to take a break, I’ll be outside.

The Smoker: While he’s gone, I just want to introduce myself, properly. Many people know me as “The Smoker” but I’m more interested in who you might be, listening to this tape, listening to me and Eric have this nice chat. He’s scared you know, but being scared of the unknown is natural.

<Silence. The Smoker coughs.>

The Smoker: Whoever’s listening to this–it’s alright to be scared. But at some point, you have to stop being scared, and act. Act on what you want. Act on what you need, on who you want to be. You don’t want to be who you are forever, do you?

<Silence.>

The Smoker: I would be very interested to meet you, you know. I wonder if you’d be interested to meet yourself too? I could show that to you. Eric hasn’t met himself yet, not really. But I’ll be introducing him to himself before too long here. Perhaps you’d like your own introduction? Perhaps I’ll be able to make both of your acquaintances someday. I’d like that–and I’m sure you would too.

Sketch #1: On the Porch with Uncle Mick (15 mins)

A beautiful day, all told. Crisp spring summer, not too hot, but Uncle Mick, naked in the semi shade on the bench there, the sun creeping closer to him as the hours pass, sliding a bit closer towards me each time. Doesn’t want to burn his skin, he says, between spitting black tobacco juice on the stained wood.

I say bullshit.

Not out loud, I let him think he’s playing coy. Pa’s gone, off to town for a little while. Just us two here now. Uncle Mick is always lounging around naked–it doesn’t faze me anymore. Though I gotta say, that huge nut sack of his is quite the sight, along with the rest of him. My cock’s hardening in my jeans, and the head slips out a strategic rip on the upper thigh. I pick through the foreskin, slide it back and forth a couple times, milking a strand of precum onto the denim. Uncle Mick watches me.

I’m smoking. I’m not supposed to be smoking, but ever since Pa caught me trying them out a few years ago he’ll let me have them if I’m a real good boy. I was a good boy today, so he said I could smoke as many as I’d like while he’s gone. Uncle Mick was good too–but not as good as I was. The fat fuck licks his lips, black slobber, he wants it bad. He always wants it bad though.

Getting warmer–I unbutton my shirt, let my young, taut get out. Uncle Mick, he’s all soft–no form. You could probably mold him like play dough if you stuck him in the freezer long enough to get it a bit stiffer. My cock was already hard, but it’s kept growing out the hole in my jeans. I don’t think much of it. It’s sticking three inches out now, jutting out to the side. It hurts–I let it out the fly. I lean back, letting my cock speak for me, all nine inches of it. Black spit dribbles out of the corner of Uncle Mick’s ajar mouth. Yeah, he wants it worse than usual.

“What are you staring at, Unc?” I ask.

“I think you should take it all off, nephew. Take it all off and sit on my knee.”

I do as he says, stripping out of my jeans and sliding off my shirt. I walk over and sit down on his knee, lean in and lick the spit off his double chins, giving him a soft bite as I do. He shivers. Is he hard? It’s not easy to tell, between how short he is right now and how huge his gut is. One hand rests at the small of my back, the other explores my chest and gut. He pulls and tugs at my nipples, and they grow as he works them–they end up almost an inch long, and the thickness of a sharpie. He bites them. I leak everywhere, my cum dribbles into the same puddles as his tobacco spit on the deck.

Underwear Trade Network Pt. 2

And work it did. The next package was a rubber jockstrap, and Henry found himself in his dream body–heavily muscled, sexually confident and domineering, alpha male–everything he’d always wanted. He was rich too–the beneficiary of an old family trust which meant he could spend his days fucking and sniffing and drinking and partying and living the liufe he’d always wanted. Sure, there were some drawbacks–he wasn’t really a fan of the cigars he smoked, and his cock was on the small side. Still, it way better than any life he could have wanted. Best of all, at the end of the month–no itching–and no new package. They were his to keep, and keep them he did for the next five months, living the life he’d always wanted…until the itching came, and the next day, a new package. He did everything he could to resist for as long as he could, amanging nearly a week before he finally had to rip them off, and open the box to see what he’d been sent instead.

It was another jockstrap, but one of the filthiest he’d ever seen, and it stank to high heaven. It was so bad that he nearly gagged, but his hands wouldn’t let go, and he found himself cringing as he slid the jock up his legs, the wet mesh settling against his cock, and then he was changing again. Younger now, until he couldn’t have been older than twenty or twenty-one, and his head–it felt like all of his brains were just being turned to mush. He could barely piece together a sentence, but all he knew was that he smelled fucking amazing. He took a deep drag off the huge cigar in his mouth and sniffed his reeking pits, the room twisting around him, his apartment growing dingy, the floor heaped with trash, and on the couch–someone he both didn’t know–and knew intimately.

He was huge, nearly five hundred pounds. The man reeked, and Henry couldn’t get over there fast enough to cram my face between his sweaty thighs and start licking him clean. Memories started cramming their way into his dim mind, how his fat master had enslaved him with his foul stench, and Henry remained his personal slave for months on end, neither of them leaving the apartment, and in his mind, Henry screamed, trying to get out, trying to resist, and he was so thankful when the jockstrap started to burn, and he received the next package, and he put on the equally filthy jockstrap that was in there as well. Certainly nothing could be as bad as this, right?

He was wrong. He grew up into his thirties, a filthy workie wearing a high viz vest, his apartment even filthier, and he put on a gas mask and shoved the tube into his ass, breathing in his own fumes, nearly suffocating as he jacked himself off, over and over again. He discovered the next day, at the construction site, that his primary duty was as the men’s cumdump and personal toilet slave, and he realized that the UTN would probably never forgive him for trying to game the system, and he’d be stuck in raunchy, filthy hell after raunchy, filthy hell until he died.

THE END

The FAT Retreat (Part 5)

***If you want to pussy out, now’s probably the time. Extreme scat, pain play, and humiliation ahead.***

– Day 5 –

Max had had a terrible night.

Of course, he’d had a terrible time ever since parting with Leon in the hallway, mostly because it had been that long since he’d had the chance to feel his amazing ass wrapped around his huge cock, and masturbation just wasn’t cutting it anymore. He’d slept fitfully, dozing for a few hours before waking up, angry and unsatisfied, jerking his cock raw, coating himself in load after load of cum while smelling the funk of the toilet that at this point was nearly brimming with his piss and shit, and all he could really feel now, as the lights in the room finally clicked on, was anger. He was angrier than he’d ever been in his entire life, and try as he might, he couldn’t find a way to bottle it up. Then again, he supposed that was the point of the last session he’d gone to.

After splitting up with Leon, he’d made his way to his own afternoon session, where a doctor and several assistants had told him he would be getting a few shots, and they would be monitoring his reactions to the drugs. They’d restrained him and then given him a large shot in his ass–nothing happened for a few minutes, and then he started to sweat, and he wondered if they were going to be wreaking his hygiene even more. In fact, the drug was what the doctor called a hyper-steroid–designed to do in a single dose what years of steroid abuse would do to a person’s body, without the need for constant application. Anxious, Max had asked the doctor whether that meant he would lose his fat and be muscular, and the doctor assured him that he would keep all of his fat–just bulk up underneath it.

The doctor hadn’t been kidding, and the entire session had been horrendously painful, as muscle tissue broke down and reknit over and over again, bulking up all over his body, filling him out, forcing the lab assistants to loosen his restraints every half hour as they became too tight for his growing form. True to the man’s word, Max lost none of his four hundred pounds of fat–he simply gained close to an extra hundred and fifty of muscle. By the time the drug’s effects began to subside, Max’s soft moobs had become huge, meaty pecs jutting out over his gut which, while still very flabby, was supported by a massively strong core. His shoulders and neck had grown thick, and nearly grown together, and his arms had bulked up to the size of a normal man’s leg, soft, but still capable of bending the iron bar the doctor gave to him to test his physical strength.

The men helped him stand up on legs as thick as trees, his thighs so wide he had to readjust how he walked, with a wide, heavy gait that could make the room shake slightly if he was heavy footed, his massive cock swinging from side to side, though it looked a bit more normal on him now, and the rush of hormones! He felt so damn powerful and aggressive, all he wanted to do was find someone to fuck, but the only person he wanted was Leon. At dinner, unable to find his roommate at the tables, he’d tried grabbing another cub, slamming him up against the wall and raping his ass, listening to him cry for help as Max rammed his cock in, but it wasn’t the same. Nothing felt like Leon’s ass, and that’s what he wanted–what he needed, and without it, he was growing angrier by the minute.

As he came again, he noticed something about the bed he was still lying on–it was wet. Well, not just wet, but kind of slimy, and…

Max sat up and looked at the bed, and saw that it was soaked with yellow. He’d pissed the bed in the night, and he hadn’t even noticed, and now that he was paying attention, he lifted his ass up and saw that he’d shit the bed as well, and apparently rolled in it all night long, judging by the way in was coating his thighs…He rubbed his hand in the muck and slathered it over his cock, helplessly jacking off again, unable to believe he’d made such a mess and loving it at the same time. That must have been what those other shots they’d given him had been for. he could vaguely remember the doctor shooting something into the ring of his ass, as well as into his taint. Had they made him incontinent? The thrill of it made him momentarily ashamed, but it was so hot that he couldn’t stop himself. But still, eventually he had to stop when the door to his room finally slid open, and the voice announced that it was time for breakfast.

He got up and pulled on the same set of clothes he’d been wearing the whole retreat, stinking of his sweat, piss and filth–although he could barely fit into them now at his new size. After his growth from the testosterone transference and the steroids, the pants were stretched tight across his thighs and could only reach the tops of his calves, and he ripped the shirt down the front, freeing his belly, the fabric stretched across his back and arms like a vest, and he ripped the sleeves off to complete the look, before leaving in search of breakfast. he was halfway to the mess when he felt something warm in the front of his pants–he was pissing, and he stopped, a bit embarrassed, feeling it puddle around his bare feet, but it felt so good he massaged his cock a couple of times to get off a shuddered load, and continued onward.

It was hard to believe, but somehow he was even hungrier than before. Then again, he was feeding a body several hundred pounds heavier than usual. Luckily, he was able to commandeer entire tables with his size, and anyone who challenged him usually ended up with at least a black eye, if not something worse. It wasn’t that Max really intended to hurt them; but whenever one of them came near his territory, this unthinking rage seemed to take over his entire body, and before he could stop himself he’d tackled someone to the ground and was pounding their face in with his fists until the hunger dragged him off and back to the table. In the midst of his feast, he felt a fart rip it’s way out of his ass along with a load of shit, and his pants were so tight it just backed up in his crack, but he didn’t notice until he was already out of the mess hall and on his way to his assigned lab, and he wasn’t entirely sure how he was going to make it through the day like this.

However, his concern was wiped away when he walked into the lab and saw the massive, tattooed man waiting for him, and his jaw dropped. What in the world had they done to Leon? It was no wonder he hadn’t gotten back to the room yesterday–he must have been in a lab all night if they tattooed him from head to toe–and it really was head to toe. However, that was all the attention he could give to the tattoos before Leon, who smelled Max’s filth as soon as he’d entered, started waddling over, eyes hungry, tongue out and panting, and Max slammed into him, throwing his roommate to the ground, rolling him over with one big foot and ramming his cock into Leon’s tight ass in one single thrust that made Leon scream out in a muddle of pain and pleasure.

It was as amazing as he remembered, and he could already tell that no other ass could make him feel like this. After two thrusts he’d already cum once, but Max was far from done, and as he fucked, it was like a flood of cum worked it’s way into Leon’s hole until it had been filled to capacity, and it just started spilling out every time max pulled his cock back. Leon just kept shouting and grunting, yelling at Max to fuck him harder, to make it hurt, but Max wasn’t listening–the entire world had disappeared as soon as he entered Leon’s ass, and all the anger that had built up overnight finally had a channel, and be beat that ass with his cock for what felt like hours, but it was only twenty minutes later that he finally regained some semblance of self-control and managed to withdraw.

“Thank you, that was a very nice control sample of your sexual dynamics,” someone was saying, and Max focused up, seeing a fat doctor making some marks on a clipboard. “I think you both are ready for induction. Both of you look here please,” the doctor said, holding up a strange, flashing light, and as soon as Max looked at it, he couldn’t look away, and then the whole world melted apart for a moment until he came back to himself, shaking his head and looking around the room, wondering what had just happened.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck, you’re so fuckin’ hot,” he heard someone say.

Max looked down and he saw Leon crawling towards him, but when he saw his roommate, he suddenly saw him in a completely different light. He wasn’t a hot fuck and a nice guy–he was a fucking disgusting piece of filth. In fact, just staring at him was making Max’s stomach turn, and when Leon tried to lick Max’s foot clean, he took a step back, sneered, and said, “What the fuck are you doing, you disgusting pig? What in the hell makes you think I want something like you touching me?”

Leon looked up at him, obviously wounded by the comment, but something had changed in him as well. Where the old Leon would have slung back with a barbed insult, or maybe even a fist, this new Leon, he knew that Max was right. He was disgusting. He was a pig. No one would want to have sex with him, why would they, really? But he wanted them, he wanted to make them happy, he wanted to service them. “Please, sir? Please? I just…I just want to clean your feet, I know I’m just a worthless pig sir, but I’m so hungry, and I promise I’ll be good, I’ll do everything you say, I swear.”

“Fuck off.”

“Please!” Leon said, begging now, his head against the ground, inches from Max’s feet, just staring at his filthy toes, “Please, I just…I just want to be a good pig sir, I just want to try and make you happy.”

“I’d be happiest if you were out of my sight.”

“Please don’t…don’t say that sir, please….please just let me try.”

Max looked down at the pig, a bit curious now. “Open your mouth.”

Leon did, and Max took his cigar and dumped a chunk of hot ash into the pig’s open mouth. The heat was nearly unbearable, but he knew what was expected of him. He soaked the ember in his spit and choked it down, before adding, “Thank you, sir.”

Max cocked an eyebrow, surprised at the pig’s eagerness. “Fine, you want to try to please me? A disgusting piece of trash isn’t worthy of my feet though. If you want to serve me, you’re gonna have to prove that you’re a real pig, that you’ll do anything for me,” Max said, and turned around, revealing his pants which were still bulging with the load of shit he let out into them earlier, “You’re gonna have to be my toilet pig. You want it? You want to eat my load of shit?”

Leon balked, and sat back on his knees, “I–I…I mean…”

“This is your only chance pig, either get your face in here, or get the fuck out.”

Leon stared at the brown seat of Max’s pants and at the door, and as much as he hated to admit it, the decision was easy–he just didn’t want it to be easy. he crawled up and started licking at the back of Leon’s pants, tasting the shit seeping through, and Max reached around with both hands, grabbed the pants and ripped them apart, the shit spilling out onto Leon’s face, and like a good pig he ate as much as he could, rubbing his face in the mess, eating it all up, Max urging him on. When he’d eaten everything out of the crack and started licking it clean, Max turned around and started picking up shit where it had fallen on the floor and crammed it into Leon’s mouth, packing it full before ramming his cock down the pig’s throat, listening to him gag and sputter, trying to breathe, swallow and pleasure Max’s huge cock all at the same time, and the huge brute came over and over, washing the shit down with torrents of his cum, skullfucking Leon without caring, and Leon didn’t want him to care. He wanted the abuse, he wanted to be hated, he wanted to be humiliated more than anything by this beastly god.

“Good, very good,” the doctor said, “Now if you could both look here again?”

It was the light again, and with his cock still down Leon’s throat, Max felt himself sucked back into the light, his world twisted upside down, and then he was spat back out, and he was looking down at the pig, and a flash of anger ripped through him, and he reached down, grabbed hold of the two huge rings the pig had through his fat man tits and gave them a wrenching twist, watching the pig howl in pain around his cock. “Yeah, that’s good, fucking scream, bitch!” Max twisted harder, watching Leon moan and twist, and he realized the pig was pulling away from Max’s hands, making it hurt more. The pig liked it–the pig was a glutton for punishment. Max let go if the pig’s rings took the cigar out of his mouth, grinding the hot butt against Leon’s forehead, watching the spot blister as Leon screamed, and then threw him to the ground and kicked Leon until he rolled over onto his huge stomach.

It was still slick with his cum from earlier, and that was all the lube he needed to slide his fist all the way inside of Leon’s hole, the pig sighing, and then Max was punching the pig’s insides, hammering at his prostate with as much power as he could muster, watching the pig shiver and quake, and then he started working in his other hand, stretching Leon’s hole to the ripping point, listening to him beg and shout for more–more pain, more fucking, and between both of his hands, Max slid in his still hard cock as well. “Your hole is so fucking loose I might as well climb inside your cunt,” Max said, jacking his cock with both hands inside of Leon’s ass, “Fucking worthless–you think an ass this loose can fucking please me? Why in the fuck would I want such a worthless, shitty pig? Still, you want me though, don’t you? You want me to hurt you so fucking much…”

“Oh god sir, please–it hurts so bad, but I deserve it, I need it. You can do whatever you want to me, I don’t care, but I need you sir, I need to be with you. I know I’m–I’m not worth anything. I know there are hundreds of pigs you’d rather have, but I have to serve you sir, no one can make me hurt like you do, no one can abuse me like you will…”

“Fuck pig, you may be disgusting, but you know how to get a guy horny,” Max said, and came again in Leon’s ass, milking as much of his cum out as he could with his hands, worming his way in deeper still, and the doctor comes up with his clipboard, scribbling more notes.

“That’s better, I think one more time, please.”

He held up the light and Max felt himself blink, and one second he had his cock and both hands buried in Leon’s cunt, and the next he was standing up on the other side of the room, and something felt different. He was clothed, not in his rags, but in a set of filthy, worn leathers–chaps, motorcycle boots, leather harness strapped tight against his fat and muscle, a muir cap tipped forward on his head, and there across the room, his fucking worthless pig slave, naked, covered in shit and cum, his hands bound up in mitts, it’s disgusting face well hidden behind the hood moulded to look like a pig’s head, and hood sealed to it’s neck by a thick steel collar.

Max reached down and felt the heavy wooden paddle hanging on the belt of his chaps, and he hefted it up, striding around behind the pig, smacking it softly against his gloved hand, letting the slave know what was coming, but the first blow connected not with the pig’s ass, but with the top of his back, behind the shoulder blades, hard enough for the pig’s arms to collapse, and then Max started slamming the paddle against his raised ass with glee, taking a break on occasion to grind the pig’s face into the tiled floor with a boot before paddling him some more, not stopping until the pig’s ass was bright red and welted, and then he threw the paddle to the side and started fucking his pig.

Yes. His pig. He owned this pigslave, it was his property. Sure, it was disgusting. Sure, he despised it, but it served him eagerly and there was something to be said for that. As he was fucking him, ramming his hips hard against the pig’s sore cheeks, he felt a warmth as well, and he realized he was actually pissing in his slave’s ass. He buried in deep, making sure the pig knew what was happening. Making sure the pig knew it was just a toilet, a urinal, an object–nothing more. Making sure it had no illusions. That Max didn’t care about it, didn’t love it, didn’t respect it. Making sure it knew that as soon as it could no longer serve, it would be abandoned at the first rest area they passed, chained to the wall for anyone to use and take if they wanted a worthless, broken down, second hand pig. And Leon did know it. He knew it all, and he accepted his role with all his heart. He wanted it. He didn’t want to be loved. He didn’t deserve love or respect. he hated himself, but he was happy serving. He was happy to be of some small use to a beautiful, brutal god like his master.

The doctor let Max fuck his pig for the remainder of the session, and when it was time for lunch he gave Max a leash for his pig, and he led Leon back to the mess hall on his hands and knees, Leon behind him the entire time, watching his master’s ass in case Max had an accident that he might need to clean up quickly. For the first half of their lunch, Max was the only one eating. Leon would follow behind him, only allowed to eat the scraps that fell to the floor as Max ate–that and Max’s shit. As his master was devouring a massive cake with his hands, Leon saw his master’s ass start to distend, and he quickly moved to catch the shit and devour it as quickly as he could like a good pig toilet. Max didn’t even notice–all he could focus on was making sure he kept up his bulk.

When Max was satisfied, he parked Leon next to a table and started stuffing food down his throat as fast as he could, Leon eating more than he’d ever managed to before, his master taunting him the entire time, telling him how disgusting fat he was going to be, telling him that if he was going to be a pig, he was going to be the biggest, fattest pig on the face of the planet. Leon was just happy for the attention, happy for the acknowledgement from his master, happy being fed, knowing that he wouldn’t be wasting away today, that for the moment he didn’t have to be afraid of withering.

Before long, Max wasn’t shoving food in with his hands, but with his cock, and suddenly he threw Leon to the floor and was ramming his cock into his pigslave’s hole. Leon struggled to get down the pile of food still in his mouth, and with his hands reached down and yanked on the rings through his moobs, feeling his worthless cock seep cum into his fatpad. Looking around the room, he could see that the rest of the men at the retreat had formed a wide circle around them, with most of them just staring. All of them looked to have gained a substantial amount of weight since they’d arrived, but none of them looked to be as extreme as him. He was the lowest–he was always going to be the lowest, and that was where he deserved to be. In his dull mind, he tried to connect back some of what he thought he could remember, how he’d arrived just days earlier, muscular and ready to help a bunch of fat men lose weight, but how could he have gone from that to this so quickly? He could barely remember everything that had happened to him, and with his poor memory, everything he seemed like it could just have easily have been imagined from horny fantasies in his mind.

The doors had slid open, signalling the end of lunch, but as far as Max was concerned, lunch wasn’t finished until he was satisfied. A good ten minutes later, the room almost entirely empty, he finally withdrew, picked up Leon’s collar and yanked him along, the two of them directed by the orderlies to another lab. Leon was still in his strange head space of trying to figure out what was going on–in his simplified mind, it seemed to amplify everything around him in the present. Nothing was permanent to him, nothing could seem to stick in his memory, rendering it as a dream, and he prayed with each moment that he wouldn’t wake up, that he wouldn’t go back to that skinny body, near death, without his master. Nothing could be worse than that, could it?

The lab, it turned out, was the same lab, with the same doctor, they’d been with in the morning, however, the room had been sanitized and scrubbed clean, and there were two chairs surrounded by electrical equipment which they were directed into. Max settled into one on his own, but the doctor and his assistants had to help Leon into his. For some reason, standing up and sitting down felt so awkward and human to him. It wasn’t a position which came naturally to him any longer. The doctor and his assistants began wiring up them both, and the doctor explained what would be happening in the session, although Leon and Max understood almost none of what he was saying.

It was, the doctor said, to be a two stage process. First, long term memories would be scrubbed and withered with targeted EST, and then the write on would begin, scribing new long term memories in their place, enough that they both would be able to fill in the blanks on their own. Leon wanted to know more, he was secretly afraid that he would be returning to his slim body that he could remember distantly, but before he could get his concerns out, a sharp pain ripped through his head and face, sending him into a violent convulsion, and in the mental space that remained as he shook, there was…nothing. No memories of himself, he felt like a clean slate, all of his concerns, all of his memories of that horrid body he may or may not have had wiped clean, and in their absence, a relief Leon couldn’t explain overcame him. Everything was going to be ok now, he was safe. He no longer knew what he was safe from, but it was gone–gone forever.

The second wave of shocks were less painful, but only because they were so powerful that they knocked both Leon and Max out the moment the struck. Max resisted more, as hard as he could, his hardened will and aggression no longer willing to cede ground, but the force of the electricity overwhelmed him, and room faded to black, and he something began to swim to the surface of his mind, memories, but not his memories, surely. But if not his, then whose?

–He was climbing out of his beat up F-150 a few years ago, before he’d been laid off from the plant and started trucking cross country, heading up the steps of his single wide where he lived with his son, Leon. What a disappointment. Max was a man’s man. Burly, hairy, muscular, tough, and his son was nothing like him. In his heart, he’d always secretly wondered if he was even his, whenever he looked at his fat frame, his hairless body, it had always been a bit disgusting to him, actually. He climbed the steps and let himself in the trailer door, and stopped short, when he smelled sex and his brother’s brand of cigars, and there on the couch, Randy was balls deep in his son’s ass on the couch, Leon moaning and grunting like a whore.

Randy, wide eyed, had stopped fucking and looked back at Max. He’d always been littler than his big brother, and he wasn’t quite sure what to expect. The brothers had fooled around plenty since they were kids, but, well, fucking your nephew was territory he hadn’t expected to enter. Still, Leon had begged him for his cock, getting him all horny, telling him how half the football team had been using his fat ass as a cum dump for months now, how he’d always wondered what his uncle’s cock might taste like, how it might feel in his pigcunt, and how could Randy say no, really?

Max however, wasn’t surprised, but he was angry. Not at Randy–he was a horndog who’d stick his cock anywhere. Not even really at Leon, not directly. The boy was a pig–of course he was a worthless fucking bottom. But indirectly? It was somewhat his fault, his fault for siring a fucking pig–but if Leon wanted to be a pig, then Max was happy to oblige. He dropped his pants, letting his huge cock flop out, and walked around to Leon’s face.

“Not a fucking surprise. You’re a fucking slut, aren’t you? What a fucking disgrace.”

Leon tried to say something. An apology? A request for his dad to fuck his face? Before he could say anything Max had already delivered on the second, and when he and Randy were satisfied, they’d tied Leon up and Max made a few calls to all of his friends and fuck buddies in the county, announcing open season on his son’s hole–

Darkness, memories coming faster than either of them could process now, and they would occasionally catch larger snippets of them as they passed by.

–Leon had thought he’d wanted this. Thought he’d wanted to his dad’s slave, his pig, but tied to a chair, being force fed food for hours on end, he was begging for his father to stop. Max, however, would have none of it.

“You told me this is what you’d wanted, and from how hard that little clit cock of yours is, I’d suggest you open up and shut up, bitch.”

It was during one of their marathon feedings that Max had discovered something new about his son–how sensitive he was to pain. More than that, pain made him compliant. Pain seemed to make Leon…happy. Max didn’t understand it. How could such a worthless piece of trash be his? He considered selling him off, but yanking on Leon’s tits, listening to his scream for more, slapping and punching him around was so satisfying–

Even faster, and more vivid now. The electricity was just a dull hum in the room, each of them rigid. Max was still trying to fight them, but it was purely instinct. There was nothing he could do to stop these thoughts, nothing at all. But still, looking at what he’d done to his son, he was so proud of what a man he’d been. This had been the right thing to do, and he liked having a pig, but he didn’t love that slave, couldn’t love him, not really…could he?

–They were coming along great. His son would never be able to hide his pig self now, not with tatts all over his body, not with piercings slammed in everywhere Max could fit them. Even better, this was actually his pigs reward! Leon begs him to go get more tattoos and piercings, he loves how the guns and needles feel in his body, he loves the pain. This one is a reward for being a good little pig and learning how to drink down all of his daddy’s piss, and this next week, well, Max isn’t planning on using the toilet ever again. Leon doesn’t know what’s coming, but from now on, he’s going to be a full service pigtoilet, and Max has a feeling he’s going to love it–

Next to him, Leon was spasming, his puny pig cock leaking piss, the sheer eroticism of what his dad had done to him making him so happy. Still, his mind was so wrecked that as soon as a memory occured they simply faded away almost immediately, forming a long haze of abuse and pain stretching back as far as he could reach.

–”You’re going to eat it.”

“No, dad–”

“I’m not you’re fucking father, and you’re not my fucking son, you fucking know better bitch!”

Max punched Leon in his face, feeling his son’s nose fracture, blood gushing down onto his tattooed chest and belly, but even though it must hurt, all Leon can do is grunt and moan in pleasure at being abused.

“You’re going to eat it, or here’s what’s going to happen. I know a biker gang, I met them on my last trip out to Cali, and they’re always looking for pig slaves, but they ain’t as nice as I am. First, they’ll rip out your teeth, and pop out your eyes, and cup off your hands and feet, and chain you to the fuckin’ wall, and that’s where you’ll fuckin’ stay for fuckin’ ever, a real fuckin’ toilet, and if you’d rather have that, by all means keep doin’ what you’re doin’ slave, because I’m gettin’ real tired of this bullshit of yours.

Leon was crying now, and when Max squatted over his face this time, he didn’t protest.

“That’s a good pig, eat up for daddy,” Max said, yanking on Leon’s tits, listening to him gag–

They were rocketing towards the present now, and the memories were growing clearer, but still shooting by at an incredible pace. The electricity was dying down as they entered the last couple of years, and FAT came into their relationship.

–Truly the Fat Action Team is the best thing Max had ever found. He’d never known that there were so many guys in the world who would pay to watch him fuck his fat pig slave of a son on their cross country drives. Of course he’d do anything the Fat Action Team told him to do, he’d already made plenty of sacrifices to increase his ratings. He’d happily taken on the steroid treatments, but sure, he’d balked at the incontinence. Still, he loved the sensation of pissing himself night and day, of shitting the back of his pants, and the guys watching his cams loved it too. He owed the Fat Action Team everything, he’d do anything for them, because they were everything to him–

Finally, the rush was sowing down, they could start coming back to themselves, move their bodies, but the memories kept coming, pushing out all of their old lives. They didn’t exist anymore–this was their past and their reality–their lives.

–Fuck, they were giving it to him rough, but Leon was a real trooper, Max thought, holding the camera as the two huge bikers took his pig from both ends in a rest stop bathroom. Over the last year, ever since working with FAT, he’d started to appreciate his son a bit more for the pig he was. Sure, he was a disgusting piece of filth, by damn, when the pig wanted something, well, he had a way of getting it. Kind of like Max, as much as he hated admitting it. Maybe the two of them had more in common than he wanted to believe.

The biker’s finished up and Leon thanked them for letting him serve their cocks. Max turned off the camera, and walked over to Leon, getting down and rubbing his son’s smooth, tattooed head, “Ya know, you might actually manage to make me proud one day, pig,” he said, and Leon smirked. Max gave him a playful slap, and then gave his son a kiss, tasting his foul mouth, piss sweat, shit, cum, ash–

The doctor shut off the electricity, and watched the two subjects sag in their seats, pleased with the memory induction, and certain it would take hold. Now, however, the subjects would sleep until morning, he was sure. He called for several orderlies, and together they all managed to heft both huge men into wide wheelchairs and drive them off to their room. Another successful retreat, the doctor thought with a nod, excited to do it all again with a new batch of men next week.

When had you noticed him there–where had you first seen him? Now, it seemed like he had been everywhere. In front of you, buying a drink at the bar, then turning around and buying yours as well, his hand sliding around, from your stomach to your side as he walked off. Or was it on the dance floor, as he ground himself up against you suddenly–fuck, his body was so hot, and you could got that scent of cigar smoke and sweat in your nose, or was that wrong? Was it all wrong? It felt like he’d been everywhere, all around you, all night long, and he wanted you, but not in the way you wanted him, you realized soon enough.

It was after that first dance with him, or near him, or with someone like him. You’d gone to the bathroom for a piss, and your body was…different. More muscular, your gut diminished, your jaw squarer, older, more mature. Each encounter, each touch, each breath, each glance, that shock that desire, it was molding you, and everywhere you turned, he was there, always there, those eyes, that dark skin, that bristly beard, that cigar.

You’ve stumbled out of the bar now. It is mid morning, somehow–how could the party have gone on for so long? You’re desperate to get away from him, but you can’t get away from him, can you? Everyone you see on the street reminds you of him now, could be him, but they aren’t. You can’t stop thinking about him, can’t stop wanting him, needing him–

“Looking for someone?” a voice says behind you, and you whirl around, unsteady with all of your bulk. Six foot three, two hundred and seventy pounds of nearly pure muscle, hairless, head shaved, a tattoo you can’t seem to remember getting covering your left shoulder and arm, and he’s there, behind you leaning against the wall, no shirt, smoking, and all you want to do is be close to him and…and worship him. What did he do to you? Why are you so happy?

You fall to your knees in front of him and lean your face into his bulging crotch, feeling the heavy chain and lock materialize around your neck. He rubs the top of your head with one rough palm. How good it is to worship, you realize. How happy you are to find yourself on your knees before a god.

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.

“You know, before you can grow up, you need to go all the way back. Martin here, he’s almost there. You can hear him whimpering through that gag; he’s scared. Of course he is, nothing in that life had prepared him for this. Still, he won’t remember much of any of this–who remembers their childhood in any detail, really? He’s gonna like being himself too much to think about it anyway.”

The man gets down next to Martin, where he’s tied to the chair. I can smell the full diaper from across the room, and wonder how long since its been changed. He ruffles and strokes his hair with one hand, and it’s hard to tell whether the flinch Martin gives is trying to get away, or trying to get closer to him. “You’re almost there–I know you’re tired of fighting it? The drugs just want to set you free, you don’t have to fight them. You’re so close, and that final step is hard, I know, but do it for me–do it for daddy.”

He tweaks one of Martin’s nipples and the whimpering gets louder. “Can’t wait to see you grow up, you know. It’s gonna take a while, but it’ll be easier the second time around, and you’ll have a much better dad this time around. A tough one, one who’ll turn you into a proper fucker. Furry chest, muscular–you won’t take shit from anyone. Angry and self-centered, smoking cigars too big for your face, daring someone to say something, cupping that cock of yours through your ripped, filthy jock…”

He continues in a low voice, and Martin starts seizing against his bonds. It isn’t clear what’s happening exactly, and I realize he must be cumming, but more than that. There was pleasure, but also a look of death–with every violent shake, I wonder if his neck might break. I had assumed that he was bound up because he was being held back from escaping, but was he bound up to protect him? To ease the worst of it?

He strokes Martin’s hair, calming him down, and something is different. Martin’s posture is no longer tense, but utterly relaxed, sagging against the leather straps holding him in place. He was gone, gone where I hoped to be, soon. “He’s back where he belongs now,” the man says and turns to me, “So, boy, what do you want to be when you grow up again?”

There probably wasn’t much of a reason for Tate to still be in the closet. After all, other guys on the police force had come out before, and after some mild ribbing from the other guys in the locker room, everything had settled out back to normal, but as far as Tate was concerned, it wasn’t any of their business. Besides, he kind of liked acting straight–it was fun shooting the shit about pussy with the guys, even if he’d managed to hang onto his gold star after all these years.

Unfortunately, he ended up in the wrong place at the wrong time. A gay club Tate liked to frequent for anonymous hookups had just been placed under new management–and the new owners had decided to liven the place up a bit. the gas bombs went off unexpectedly, and they went off everywhere, including in the bathroom where Tate was having a piss, watching some twink look at his uniform–and his boots.

Needless to say, after getting a good lungful of the gas, he’d hightailed it out of there along with everyone else, but ever since then, well, things had been anything but normal. It started out small–with this obsessive need to shine his boots every morning before heading into work, but before long things had gotten out of control. Every space he could fit them, he’d stuck boots he’d found–some he’d bought online, others used, hell, some he’d stolen from other guys on the force, just so he could sniff their foot stink and shine their boots, because no one could get a good enough shine for his satisfaction.

The cigar smoking, hell, that had just been a way to calm himself down. When he got too crazy, a good cigar and a beer or two could keep him calm, help him resist, but soon they’d built up into their own obsession. And then the leather–he couldn’t wear cotton, hell, anything but leather these days. It fucking burnt his skin for some reason. And he had to jack off almost constantly, usually while licking his boots, and then he’d lick up his cum too, but really, that shouldn’t be his job…right?

A week after the gas attack, he was back at the club. He’d quit the force, he had more important things to worry about, like keeping his boots shiny. Yeah, these slaves, their spit got them so damn clean, and watching them squirm under his sole, fuck, nothing got him off like the sight of that. In fact, he didn’t even really need to leave the club, did he? No, there was nothing outside for him any longer, this was his life now, and he couldn’t be happier.

Principal Evans was an understanding man. He assumed that, at their core, all of his students wanted to learn, and that he could learn something from each of them, but when it came to Neil and his gang of rednecks, who spent their entire days out back in the parking lot, but Neil’s truck, smoking cigarettes and drinking, he figured he might need to make an exception to his usual nice tactics. Of course, they’d already tried detentions and suspensions–but before relying on expulsion, he would try one last heart to heart, and so he threw on his suit coat and left the school, walking over to where Neil and his redneck buddies were smoking and drinking in the parking lot.

“Boys, I’m going to have to ask you to go back to class,” he said.

“Fuck that–why in the fuck would I do that? Now go march your bitch ass back inside, cunt!” Neil said, and his friends burst out laughing.

“Where in the fuck did you learn your manners!” Principal Evans said, “Did your parents teach you anything? If you were my son, I’d–”

“You know, Mr. Evans, both of my parents died when I was young. I’ve been a fucking foster kid my whole life. Are you actually volunteering for the role?” Neil asked, grinning, “Because I know one thing for sure, anybody who’s gonna be my dad is gonna be a fucking smoker, that’s for sure.”

Principal Evans’ next inhale was full of smoke, and he nearly hacked up a lung, but he couldn’t pull the cigar that had appeared in his mouth out–he needed it. He needed the smoke so fucking bad. “What–what did you–”

“I also know that no dad of mine would be some slim, smooth fuck like you. He’d be fat as hell, and furry all over the place, with a great big beard.”

The principal felt his whole body’s balance shift, and he had to lean back to accommodate the gut rapidly growing out of his slim midsection. At the same time, he could feel hair spriouting all over his body, and especially his face, where a new beard filled in and grew out nearly an inch. He turned to run, but two of Neil’s burly friends had circled around behind him, grabbed him by the arms, and shoved him into one of the folding chairs they’d been sitting in.

“You know what else? No dad of mine would be working as a principal–I bet my dad dropped out of high school. He probably works in construction, getting a sweaty and dirty every day. He also wouldn’t wear a suit, he’d be a denim guy, and probably wear a Stetson.”

“What are ya…how’r ya doin’ this tah me?” Evans asked, looking down as the fabric of his suit shifted into a denim shirt and jeans, both of them caked with mud and grime from his job digging ditches for the city. Still, he wasn’t smart, so he didn’t exactly have many choices when it came to work, did he?

“But most importantly, any dad of mine would want me to be happy. He’d do anything I tell him to do–in fact, he’d probably be a slut for my cock, and for all of my friend’s cocks, begging us to fuck him and abuse him all day long. Because if your boy’s happy, you’re happy–right Pa?”

“F–Fuck, I…I mean, yeah son, but…” Evans said, but Neil already had his thick cock out, and after taking a big draw off his cigar, he got down on his knees in front of his boy and gave him a blowjob, massaging his own cock through the front of his grimy jeans, feeling Billy, one of his son’s friends, slip a hand down the back of his pants and slide a finger up his fat ass.

“Yeah Pa, that’s it–you’re gonna take real good care of me from now on, won’t you? You and all my other friends I’ve been making over the last few months. I have a feeling we’re gonna be one big happy clan before too long, right?”

Evans just nodded and looked up into his son’s smiling eyes. He loved making his boy happy, it was all he cared about in the whole world.

Peter was a good looking guy in his sixties, sure. More importantly, he could still get the ladies, although to be honest, Peter’s interests ran considerably younger than he was, preferably girls in their 20’s fresh from the two college campuses in the city. They all had daddy issues in the end after all, they just needed a proper older cock to sort them all out, whether they knew it or not. He was feeling particularly on tonight, and he decided to snap a quick selfie in the bar room mirror, but he didn’t know that the mirror sprites had been following his conquests, and decided to turn the tables on the cradle robber.

Peter checked the photo on his phone and looked down at it, puzzled. It looked nothing like him! It was some chubby kid standing in what looked like a bedroom, no hair at all, wearing a pair of briefs. Confused, Peter looked up at the mirror and only grew more confused. He wasn’t in the bar anymore, he was in the bedroom, and the reflection he was staring at was the boy in the picture on his smartphone, and his jaw dropped, unable to believe his eyes. Tentatively, he ran his hands along his heavy gut, amazed at just how smooth his skin was, as opposed to the hurry chest and abs he’d had moments before…right?

Things were starting to get fuzzy, and in his head he was clambering at the old life unraveling away in the mirror–the mirror! He walked up to it and pounded on it. It had to have something to do with that, but all he could hear was a distant chatter of laughter, before a heavy knock came on his bedroom door. “Petey? Are you up?” a deep, rough voice asked, and Peter felt his stomach turn…and his cock start to get hard at the sound of his father’s voice, “It’s late–shouldn’t you be in bed? You have school in the morning.”

“Y–yeah dad, I’m just getting into my PJs,” Peter said, and a second later his dad opened the door, and he barely managed to contain a gasp at the sight of the thick, burly man who came into his room, puffing on a cigar, wearing only a pair of briefs that might have been white the year before but which looked quite a bit more yellow and sour now. The cigar smoke, something he’d always hated in his past life, now felt somehow…comforting. It reminded him of his dad, of being close to him, his cock starting to tent in his briefs, his dad smiling down at him.

“You want me to tuck you in, Petey?” his dad asked, and Peter found himself nodding, walking over to his bed and climbing on it, his dad massaging his fat ass through his briefs. “Can’t believe you’re a senior in high school already. Still, you’ll always be my little boy, right Petey?”

“Yeah daddy…of course,” Peter said, biting his lip as his dad pulled down the back of his briefs and started rubbing the stiff fabric of his filthy briefs against his crack, feeling his dad’s hard cock catch on his hungry asshole, and he started grinding back gently, letting his dad know how much he needed him inside of him. His dad slid his cock in raw, but Peter knew how to take it, knew how to stay quiet, and his dad reached around, rubbing Peter’s short, fat cock until his son exploded in his briefs, and he came soon after, filling up his son’s ass. He stripped off Peter’s briefs and held the cum soaked front up to his nose and inhaled the smell of his son’s fresh cum, and sighed. “Gonna miss you if you head off to college next year son.”

“I…I’d miss you too daddy,” Petey said, “But I can always come visit…you know.”

“Heh, and I bet we can find you some substitute daddies to fuck you while you’re away, eh?” Petey had never been fucked by anyone other than his dad before, but the idea made him…hornier than he might have expected, and after a long kiss with his dad, he slid under the covers and his dad left the room, still holding his son’s soiled briefs in his hand. “Heh, boys and their daddy issues,” he said, and went to his own bedroom for the night.