Look, I did my best to be a good kid, but even good kids can get up to some mischief now and then. My uncle, I’d always thought, was a really cool guy. Hell, I picked up playing rugby after going with him to see a few club games, although to be honest, he always seemed more interested in the players than the game–though that particular observation wasn’t clear as a kid–I just knew I really loved my uncle. He was warm, unlike my father, and his gluttony, heavy drinking and cigar smoking always seemed to me like he was mocking my healthy, straight laced father. He could never understand why I always wanted to stay over with my uncle, but he allowed me to do so regardless. Sometimes I wished he’d have kept me at home.

One thing my uncle was strict about was that I was to never drink or smoke his cigars. It always made me a bit angry, because I felt like he was depriving me of something he enjoyed, and had a lot of fun doing. Still, I respected my uncle enough until I was seventeen. It was the summer before my senior year, and I was feeling adventurous, so while my uncle was out on an errand that would take him several hours, I popped open a bottle of beer, and lit up one of his cigars–just to try it out.

I didn’t notice the changes until I was onto the second cigar, and maybe the sixth or seventh beer. I just couldn’t stop, once I started, and when I got up, I noticed that my clothes had disappeared, aside from my briefs, and that I’d put on close to a hundred pounds of fat, and looked to be about ten years older. Even worse, I just couldn’t stop drinking and smoking, and when my uncle finally returned, instead of me there, he found a fat, naked pig in the living room, drunk and high, but it was almost like he’d expected it, and he grinned, walked over and started making out with me.

He fucked me hard, and I couldn’t resist oinking and grunting like a pig, and when he’d finished, he got me all dressed up in some leather gear, with a collar and leash, and strutted me around a gay bar, letting all of his friends fuck his fat, horny pig. The next morning I was back to normal, but my uncle started tempting me with the cigars and beer again, and by the end of the day, I’d given in. Back as his pig, I begged him to fuck and fist me again, and he happily complied, telling me he’d waited years for me to finally give in and try a few of his vices. Well, I managed to get through my senior year, but never went off to college. I’m my uncle’s permanent pig now, chain smoking cigars and drinking beer from dawn to dusk–a lifestyle of addiction I know I’ll never manage to break.

The Professor’s Club Part 1

Commissioned by Anonymous

It wasn’t until he’d already rung the doorbell that Kevin looked down at the invitation he’d received from Professor Sullivan, and then at his watch, and it dawned on him that he’d gotten the time wrong. The gathering wasn’t supposed to happen for another hour, and he thought about running and hiding, but before he could act, the door opened, and the Professor was staring down at him. “Oh! Mr. Connors–you’re rather early.” He was a very big man, filling the doorway with his belly. With some embarrassment, Kevin realized that he was wearing a robe–and he blushed. It didn’t help that he’d always liked the gentlemanly look of his teacher–he’d had a few fantasies about him, and finding him like this, well, Kevin did his best to not get hard on the doorstep.

“Yeah, I know, I just realized that. I’m gonna…I’ll go and come back, since you’re still probably getting ready–”

“Oh nonsense,” Professor Sullivan said, “I’m all ready for the party, I was just…getting ready myself, is all. Here,” he said, ushering Kevin into the foyer, “Go ahead and wait in the study for a few minutes while I go put on some clothes. It’s just down the hall there, the only door on the left.”

Kevin nodded, and while his professor hurried upstairs, Kevin looked around the high ceilinged foyer, admiring the age of the building, and then walked down the hall until he found the equally spacious study, the wood floor covered with a variety of plush rugs, several armchairs and sofas scattered about, with flames raging in the fireplace. He wandered the perimeter of the room, admiring the books stuffed into the bookshelf, the antique desk covered with papers, and the wide rack of pipes hung on the wall by the door.

“I see you found it alright,” the professor said, as he entered, shutting the door behind him, “would you like something to drink? I’m going to have a smoke, myself,” he walked to the rack of pipes, selected one for himself, and turned back to Kevin, “Would you like one as well?”

“Thanks, but I’m good. I tried a cigarette once when I was a kid, and that was enough for me.”

“Well Kevin, I don’t blame you for disliking cigarettes, but pipe tobacco is quite the step above that. Here, let me pack one for you, you can try it, and you’re welcome to refuse it if you’d like. But there’s no harm in giving it a try, right?”

“I suppose, though I’d hate to waste your tobacco, Professor.”

“Don’t worry about it, I have just the pipe and blend you you I think. Also, don’t call me professor–you can call me Mike, if you’d like. We’re just friends here.”

Kevin nodded, and accepted the pipe the professor handed, and felt something carved into the bowl. Being careful not to tip out the tobacco, he looked at the pipe the professor had handed him, and saw that the bowl was carved into an intricate design. On one side, he could see the head of a dragon breathing a stream of fire around the front of the bowl, which formed into a head of a wolf or some other canine, before moving back up the neck. The wood and briar of the pipe itself was so black that it looked burnt to ash, but it was plenty hard. “That’s a very nice design,” he said to Mike, “Where did you find it?”

“Oh, that one’s been passed down through my family–I think my great-grandfather carved it himself, actually. This house has been my family’s property since before that even, passed down from Sullivan to Sullivan. Now, hold the pipe in your mouth, and I’m going to light the tobacco. Just take in a few puffs, to keep the flame going.” Kevin did as the older man described, and after a couple of false lights, they managed to get the pipe going, and then the professor lit his own. “There. Well? What do you think? It’s a bit nicer than the cigarette you tried, I hope.”

“Yeah,” Kevin said, “it’s not bad, but I don’t really feel the need to make a habit of it.”

“Oh no worries about that–one bowl isn’t going to hurt anyone. Have a seat Kevin, and relax.”

Kevin did as the professor suggested, and sat down on a sofa across from the pot-bellied professor, and the smoke was nice–it was making him feel more at ease already. “So this whole house is yours, huh? Do you have any kids?”

The professor sighed, “No, I don’t. The Sullivan line ends with me, unfortunately. I’m still not certain what will become of the house after me, I admit. Though sometimes solutions to problems like these arrive without much effort on one’s own part, if you are patient. Sometimes earlier than you expect them even.”

They lapsed into silence for a moment, and Kevin took a deeper draw off the pipe than he’d meant too–it felt like the smoke had pushed its way deeper without him inhaling, and he let out a cough, his throat burning. It was then that he noticed something strange–the sides of the pipe, the eyes of the beasts carved into it–they were burning a deep red, all on their own. He looked closer at them, and was caught off guard when the smoke pouring out of the bowl suddenly twisted itself up and rammed its way into his mouth and nose. He dropped the pipe, coughing, hacking, and waving his hands in front of his face, but even from where the pipe lay on the floor, the smoke continued to twist up into him, and he started to feel hot.

“What…What the fuck is this? What’s happening?” he said, but the professor didn’t say anything, and Kevin couldn’t be sure through the smoke, but was the older man…changing? He looked hairier, all of a sudden, and when the older man grinned wide, his teeth were all pointed and sharp. That was all Kevin could notice before he doubled over, coughing, saw his own arms, and nearly screamed. The professor wasn’t the only one sprouting fur, both of his arms from the elbow down were covered in grey hairs, and above that, he saw brown hairs sprouting all the way up, disappearing under his shirt. He was itchy all over, and he yanked off his shirt, finding the hair was spreading everywhere on his body, except for an area covering his belly and chest, where the skin was drying out and flaking out into something almost resembling scales.

“I…I have to get out of here,” Kevin said, woozy, but when he tried to stand, he tumbled over almost immediately, hitting the ground with a thud. So much smoke was pouring into him now, it was all he could breathe, and then came the aches, great groaning pain all over his body. His face, hands and feet started to pulse and pound, his bones grinding against one another as they reformed themselves. His pinky disappeared entirely, leaving him with three thick fingers and a thumb, all of them covered with fur aside from a leathery pad, and a sharp claw where his nail had been. He reached up with his new hands and felt his face, the hair sprouting there too, but the structure was all askew, and he could feel his mouth and nose pushing out into a snout that he could soon see if he crossed his eyes, and running his now longer tongue over his teeth, he realized they were as sharp as the professors had appeared moments earlier. Moving his hands back, he felt his ears had changed as well–they had migrated up on his head and become much larger, sticking up straight in the air.

The next changes happened so fast that afterwards, the only thing he could remember clearly was the pain. First, he felt something bunch up behind his shoulder blades, and then with two painful spikes, leathery wings the same color as his scaled belly erupted out of his back and spread wide, and below that, his tailbone pushed out above his rear and grew out into a thick, scaled tail tufted with a brush of fur at the end. Finally, a splitting headache in his skull accompanied two horns, which sprouted out of the top of his skull. He opened his eyes long enough to see the pipe on the ground before him, burning almost white hot, dissolve into ash and a final ball of smoke which shoved it’s way into him and lodged in his throat, the heat of it unbearable for a few moments, and when he finally exhaled a gasp, a small gout of flame erupted from his throat and singed the fibers of the carpet in front of him.

“Alright, it’s finished–I’m sorry about all of that, it actually looked quite painful. Here, take my paw,” a deep voice said over him, but Kevin rolled over grunting as he accidentally tweaked one of his new wings awkwardly, and tried to push himself up, but nothing felt right. Between the tail, the wings, and the fact that he had seemed to have gained about fifty pounds of fat and nearly a foot of height, he nearly tumbled over, before two furry arms grabbed his and righted him. “Look, calm down,” the voice said, “I know it’s scary the first time, trust me, I remember–but there isn’t really a good way to warn people.”

Kevin managed to look at the beast holding him, and saw that the professor had changed as well, becoming an equally large werewolf, but he’d kept his rather stately manner, his glasses perched across his snout, and Kevin would have laughed if he hadn’t been so scared and angry. However, he quickly realized that something else was overwhelming those emotions as well–he was horny. Hornier than he’d ever felt before, his cock hardening in the crotch of his pants that were still stretched over his legs, though his massive feet had exploded out of his shoes. When the professor pulled him over and started licking at his snout, Kevin found himself licking back, the two of them kissing and groping each other’s bodies, stripping each other of their remaining clothing, the smoke of the professor’s pipe and Kevin’s throat intermingling.

“Come on boy,” the professor growled, “This big wolf has been lonely for far too long–how about you give me a nice fuck?”

Kevin had long fantasized about having sex with his professor, but this wasn’t quite how he’d imagined it happening–he was in no mood to refuse though. The chubby, white furred wolf bent over the side of an armchair, smoking his pipe, and Kevin got down, opening up his hole with a brief probing from his tongue, before lubing up his cock with some hot spit. He took a moment to look at it, the red shaft emerging from his new sheath, but he didn’t really care–he needed to fuck. Gently, he worked his way into the professor’s ass, smoke pouring out of his nostrils as he did, the professor urging him onward.

“Oh fuck–fuck–” Kevin said, “Did you know that I’ve wanted to fuck this ass of yours since my first day of class with you?”

“Of course I did boy–no one stares at me like you do anymore–now come on, I want you to fuck me, not tease me.”

Kevin wrapped his arms around his teacher’s thighs and started fucking him, but he went slow and steady, not wanting to waste it. Still, the urges in him worked against him, and soon enough he was right on the edge. With a fiery howl, he came, shooting his load up Mike’s ass.

“Oh fuck yeah, that’s what I’ve been needing,” the professor said, panting, “I haven’t been fucked like that in years!”

Kevin, pulled his cock out and backed away, still not quite used to his balance, and looked down at himself, clear headed for the first time since he’d started smoking the pipe, and he started panicking. The professor stood up and walked over to him, but Kevin backed away. “I…I don’t know what you did to me–what is this? Change me back!”

“Look, it’s easy, it really is, but it’s going to take some practice,” the professor said, “Just calm down first, and I’ll talk you through it, alright? Just take a few deep breaths to start, and think. Focus on your old body, and relax…”

It was hard, but Kevin eventually managed to do as the professor said, and as he focused, he could feel his body changing again, shifting back to his human body, but he didn’t allow himself a moment of celebration until he was completely back to normal. “Oh thank fucking god,” he said, feeling his body with his hands, but it wasn’t quite his body. There were a few slight changes–he was a bit heavier than he had been, he could tell because his clothes were all a bit too tight, and he was hairy, but in all the wrong places. His belly, which had been scaled, was mostly smooth aside from a slight treasure trail, but the rest of him a solid, even coat of hair, even over his back. “Fuck…what…what was that professor? What did you do to me?”

The professor smiled, and changed back as well, his transformation happening almost immediately, “Well, I suppose I should welcome you into the family, eh?”

The professor put his arm around the young man’s shoulders and led him back to the sofas, where he told him the whole story. The Sullivans, it turned out, had been cursed generations ago to be were-creatures, capable of maintaining human form, but whenever their emotions overcame them they transformed into monstrous creatures–especially when they were sexually aroused. The professor, though, had been the first in his line, that he knew of, who had been gay, and since he’d never taken a wife and never fathered any children, he had assumed the curse would die with him, but it wasn’t that simple. He discovered that the curse demanded a successor, or the professor would age forever, older and older, and he’d had no interest in that, and so he’d decided to do his best to find a successor to take his place who might at least enjoy it.

In his research on the curse, he’d discovered that, on occasion, individuals who weren’t members of the family had been cursed by the manor, usually the wives and other children who had entered into the Sullivan line through marriage, when no other obvious heir had been available. While not necessarily Sullivan in blood, it was good enough for the curse, and Mike figured that he might as well not prolong it. That, he said, was what tonight’s meeting was about. He’d found four students in his classes, Kevin and three others, in the course of his teaching, who all seemed rather interested in his classes in mythology, and so he had decided that the four of them ought to be his successors. It helped, he added, that all four of them were gay like he was. The curse wasn’t easy, and he felt bad for putting the burden on the men without telling them, but he literally couldn’t talk about the curse to someone outside the family.

Kevin listened intently, and if he hadn’t been subjected to the transformation moments before, he would have assumed the professor was lying, but that wasn’t an option. Still, he had to admit, reluctantly, now that it was behind him–he had liked it. In fact, he secretly wanted to change back so he could try out his wings, and see if they actually worked. Finally, he’d decided that he’d had enough, and as the professor spoke, he leaned in and gave him a deep kiss. The professor was surprised, but didn’t resist, and as it grew deeper, both of them shifted back, the second time less painful than the first but no less disconcerting–but Kevin could tell he’d get used to it in time.

“I think we can talk about this all later,” he said, blowing a puff of smoke into the professor’s face, “Right now, I think something needs some attention,” he said, rubbing the professor’s own shaft.

“Well, make it quick,” the professor said, grinning, “The others will be here pretty soon.”

“I’ll do my best,” Kevin said, and swallowed the entire shaft, the heat in his throat making the professor groan in pleasure. The professor started bucking up and down, ramming his cock in and out of the young man’s snout. Kevin heated his throat up a bit more, watching the professor’s white furred gut shudder and shake as he fucked his mouth, and then the cum flooded his mouth, and with it’s awkward shape, he wasn’t quite ready for it, as it flooded out his jaws and down his scaly neck. They stayed changed for a few minutes together, smoking in their respective fashions, until they both heard the doorbell ring, and they sat up.

“Well fuck, time sure does fly when you’re having fun–has it been an hour already?” Mike said, standing up, shifting back in a few moments as he did, “Well I’d best go greet the guests, eh? You might want to change back yourself–but we’ll have to find you some new shoes, I think. Why don’t you just stay here for a few minutes, until I come back?”

“Alright,” Kevin said, standing up and looking over his shoulder at his new wings, “I’ve been wanting to give these a shot anyway.”

The professor sighed, “Well, just be careful, alright? Flyers tend to be a bit more clumsy than the rest of us after the first changes.”

“I’m not clumsy,” Kevin said, a huff of smoke curling from his nose.

The professor started to argue, but the doorbell rang again, and he raced off to the front door, pulling on and fixing his attire as he went, checking himself in the mirror for a moment, before pulling open the door, and finding two men on the doorstep–Luis Ortega and Derrick Jackson. “Mr. Ortega and Mr. Jackson–welcome! Come on in, you’re the first to arrive.”

The two men eyed each other awkwardly, each of them wondering why the other had been invited, and then stepped inside. Luis was a slender, boyish guy–and a borderline genius. He was already making waves in the math and computer science departments for his coding abilities, and Mike had been equally impressed by him in his own class. Still, he was less than enthusiastic about his personal hygiene. He had a habit of showing up to his classes in the same clothes for several days straight, often looking like he’d been sleeping in them–if he’d slept at all, and his medium length black hair could use a trim, but still, he was a nice, honest young man. Derrick on the other hand was nearly a head taller than Mr. Ortega, and massive. He was a senior on the football team–one of the linebackers–and he definitely looked the part. Still, while not the brightest, he was a very sweet guy with a heart of gold, which Mike enjoyed, and very curious and inquisitive.

“This is…a very big house, Professor,” Derrick said, looking around the foyer.

“Well, it’s the old family manor–not my own. I’m stuck with it, unfortunately.”

“It’s a nice thing to be stuck with,” Luis added, and he was going to ask something else, when they all heard a loud crash from a room down one of the halls on the first floor, and the professor grimaced.

“Well, I still have some things to see to in the study for a few minutes, but dinner should be ready soon–why don’t the two of you look around the grounds for a bit, since you’re so curious? You’re welcome to look around the rooms upstairs–there’s quite a good number of studies and suites my family have had decorated in various ways throughout the years. There’s also a large garden out back that’s beautiful this time of year.”

Luis and Derrick gave a shrug, and then set off around the house, Luis slipping into the living room, heading towards the sunroom and conservatory, while Derrick climbed the stairs towards the bedrooms. When they were out of sight, the professor hurried back to the study where Kevin has stumbling up from the broken remains of the coffee table he’d crushed in his tumble. “Sorry Professor, I thought I had it under control…”

Mike just scowled at him, “That was centuries old, you know.” Kevin just looked kind of sheepish, and the professor rolled his eyes. “Oh well, you were bound to break something–at least it was something I didn’t like very much. Now, why don’t you change back before you do anymore damage?”

“Oh quit being such a stooge,” Kevin said, walking over and giving the professor a kiss, “I’m still hella horny–is that a side effect or something?”

“Ha, you could say that…” the professor said, his face and chest starting to grow furry, “I’m sure the two guys who just came can look after themselves…we’ll check up on them in a bit…” he growled, dragging Kevin to the ground, for another round, as Luis and Derrick wandered deeper into the house.

You and your brother have always been close. You’re only separated by a year, and your parents didn’t have any other kids after you, and even though your childhood was dotted with periods of intense rivalry, after attending different colleges you both ended up living in your old hometown, and found a bit of comfort in each other’s company. It was then that the dares started–alternating, one of you would suggest something that the two of you would then have to do together, but when your brother brought over the two cigars to your apartment, even you thought that was a bit strange. He’d always been a vehement anti-smoker, and when you asked him where he’d gotten them, he never gave you a clear answer. Still, they were just cigars, right? One wouldn’t hurt you certainly.

You lit them together and coughed up your first draws, laughing at each other as much as yourselves, but after those first few inhales, the smoke didn’t seem as bad as before, and it was really relaxing, actually. The two of you had smoked your cigars down a quarter of the way when the itching on your belly grew severe enough that you decided to slip into the bathroom to investigate, and what you saw shocked you so much you nearly dropped the cigar. A tattoo had appeared on your belly–a tattoo of three intertwining cocks snaking their way up to your chest, and dropping your pants, you saw that there were equally obscene tattoos running down both your legs.

You went out, naked, and saw that your brother was on the couch, still smoking, but his clothing was different. Now, instead of his button down shirt, he was wearing a rubber tank and nothing else, and a goatee had appeared around his mouth, along with an equal number of tattoos…and he looked hot–really hot. You felt yourself drawn to him, the cigar leading the way, and you laid back on him, your head against his swelling gut, and he reached around and started yanking on your nipples, and you gave a sharp gasp as two rings appeared in them, and a third, massive PA through the head of your cock.

“Where…where did you say you got these cigars again?” you ask, before letting out a soft groan.

“Don’t worry about it, bitch,” he says back, grabbing underneath your chin, “Just smoke it all the way down, bro–enjoy it.”

You still had so much more to smoke though, and you had a feeling the changes were just beginning. With a shudder you leaned back into your brother, you cock hardening, and took a deep, long draw deep into your lungs.

***

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Unemployment sucked–there was no way around it, and Wade was getting restless. He had about a thousand dollars left in credit card wiggle room before he’d hit his limit for good…and he didn’t think that would be enough to even pay his bills this month. He needed some cash, and he needed it now–but this site–it had to be a scam, didn’t it?

It advertised that it was looking for healthy men who wouldn’t mind taking on a few of the site’s customer’s bad habits. Apparently it could break someone’s bad habits for them, but only by forcing that habit onto someone else. Still, the amount they were paying out was massive–one thousand dollars a month per habit, with a year lease on each habit required as an employee. Still, Wade was a healthy guy right? He could handle a few bad habits, and he was becoming increasingly desperate. Still, all he needed to take was one for the moment–so he signed up, was vetted by the company in a day, and received a special download for the program, opened it up, and the screen flashed with a dazzling array of colors, and then went black.

The company policy was to tell the habit takers what they’d received after they’d accepted the package, or else they knew people would balk and refuse. Sure enough, when he got the second email which told him he’d picked up someone’s massive binge eating habit, he didn’t think it was possible…until he found himself eating junk food constantly from that moment on. He had to eat–there was no choice in the matter, and his new habit quickly blew through half of his new paycheck, and he barely had enough left for rent. What choice did he have? He took on another bad habit.

The next one didn’t help his financial situation at all though–it turns out that a three pack a day cigarette habit is very, very expensive. The one he took after that was equally worthless–an alcoholics habit of drinking at least a twenty-four pack of cheap beer over the course of the day. He resolved to take just one more for a little extra spending money, and ended up a chronic masturbator, jacking off twenty to thirty times a day. By the time his leases were up a year later, Wade was close to 400 pounds, and he decided to keep the leases going in exchange for a wage increase. After all, what was a drunk, fat masturbating loser like him going to do for a job? He was stuck…but still, maybe taking on just one more could get him out of this rut…

***

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Into the Night of God – Part 3

***WARNING***

If the first two parts of this were too much for you to handle, don’t read this one. Just don’t. Or rather, read it expecting a horror story–not erotica. Contains amputation, genital nullification, mental death, scat, and bestiality.

Commissioned by Anonymous

Part 3 – The Night

Bruin whines in his crate, but I don’t do anything with him yet. I’m not sure what to do with him yet, to be honest–I had apparently misjudged the weight of the connection they must have formed during the day in the hospital, to allow something like this to happen. Rather, that was a lie. I know what I have to do to him, but I would like there to be some other option. There isn’t though, and it’s all the damn doctor’s fault. I could have been merciful. He could have been happy here, serving and worshiping me, but he clung like a rat to a life that I’d forbidden. He defied me, with that damn journal of his–I should have burned it when I’d had the chance. Still,confidence breeds foolishness–I will be more careful when adding to my flock in the future.

I pour myself another shot of whisky, and take a drag off my smoke. My calm blend tonight, even though it makes my limbs heavy–I need to take the edge off my mind, and file off the anger for a moment. There will be other times for anger, but not now–I have to be calm for what’s coming, if I lose control…well, then I’ll be out a pig. This will require careful work, and I can’t let that fuck mess things up anymore than he has already. Still, he was quite the actor–looking through these new entries in his book, he’s been out from under my mental control for a little over a month now, regaining his thoughts bit by bit, pushing back against me. His mental fortitude is impressive–I introduced him to the donkey a few weeks ago, and Jack does not have a small dick. Still, maybe he really does like it? It doesn’t matter now, still, I find I’m curious anyway.

I pour another shot and flip through the diary again, looking at his thought process, at his plan. It could have worked, if he’d picked a better time, if he’d studied me better, but he’d panicked and run too soon. Grabbing Bruin and getting in the truck, planning on making a break for it–what a fool. Still, I’d stopped them easily enough, even if I’d had to shoot out two of my tires. I’m gonna have to fix those tomorrow–I hate car work. He’s just been one big headache since I’d met him, since that fucker had run over my last dog. I know I lost control, I know I went to far, burning him like that. Still, it hasn’t been a complete waste, even if it had taken me months to clean it all up. I can’t help that I lose control sometimes–I just can’t handle the extent of my wrath. Still, I’m feeling good and calm now. I’m under control, I’m feeling mellow, and I think it’s time.

I’ll deal with Bruin tomorrow and the rest of the week, while the pig heals. I’ll just have to destroy him, as much as I hate doing that. It makes for a dumb ass dog, but his loyalty–an animal is worthless without that. I can’t have him care for anyone else. I’m the important one, Me! I’m his master, how fucking dare he, feeling for anyone else, especially some fucking rich ass twinky doctor like that! I hate him, I’m gonna kill him, I’m gonna make him wish he’d never been born I’m–

Breathe. Deep breaths, keep calm, it will all be sorted out in time. I nearly lost it there, but I can’t postpone this any longer, he needs to be dealt with. He needs to learn his lesson, he needs to understand that I’m the one he has to answer to for his wrongs. That I’m God here, that it’s my judgement, my farm, my world that he’s in now, and my word is law.

I step out into the cold night–but Spring will be here before too long, I imagine. It has been a long winter, but Bruin and the Doc at least kept me busy, and I suppose the Doc will keep me busy this summer too. He’s in the barn, bound up on the cross I keep there for play when I want a change of setting. It’s even darker in there, and I turn on the lights, watch him blink awake, and he’s angry. He’s yelling, but I say nothing. I have to make this quick, before I lose it, before I just decide to just gut him and end it, but he deserves worse than that, he deserves true punishment, but it will be slow, and he will regret defying me.

Right hand first, with the hedge clippers. Thumb, and every finger cut off at the root. He screams, understanding–or beginning to–what he’s done to himself. Then the second hand like the first. I could take the whole hand as punishment for theft, but I take both his feet instead, saw them off below the ankle. He’s begging now–pleading with me, the fool. God’s don’t respond to the pleas of mortals, God’s don’t care about their subjects. What a delusional fuck.

Two more operations. I dig into his mouth with a bloody hand, drag out his tongue and snip off half, stopping the bleeding as quick as I can, and then the final cut, I remove his balls and cock with a single snip, and then tend to his bleeding and wounds. I wonder if I should just let him die, but that’s too easy for him, for the defyer, for the pig. He’s sobbing now, he’s already hopeless. Good, but as a final measure, I douse his cock and balls on the ground where they lay in gasoline and light them on fire, before leaving, shutting out the lights, the flame his only light–for the moment. Now, I must let him heal before we continue.

I focus on Bruin for the next few days as I planned, and it is good practice for what I will eventually do to the pig as well. It is a hybrid I have rarely used because it is exceptionally strong–it destroys the mind, rather than enhancing it. For the tribes, any who used it were generally left as nothing more than drooling fools, rendered more like animals than anything else. It was supposed that strong spirits dwelt in these particular leaves, the spirits of animals, and that they would overwhelm anyone with a weak spirit. In fact, they simply degrade an individual’s mental faculties so far that they can barely reason, behaving more on instinct than anything, but the hypnotic state that it induces is strong enough that it can overcome anything, even love.

I administer it to Bruin through the gasmask. His remaining humanity disappears quickly, and before I realize my object, I begin to replace it with anger and hatred. I pour my own dire emotions into him, I make him hate the pig, I make Bruin loathe him, I make him trust only me, his Master, his God, the Divine. I stop before I lose too much of his mind, but he’s far stupider–just an angry brute, a guard dog, a hunting dog. When I let him loose in the fields after this, I often find him later in the day, his mouth caked in the blood of some rabbit he chased and disemboweled during the day. He makes me so proud. I love that beast, and he now, truly, only loves me.

I bring this new Bruin before the pig as he heals, as well. I show him what he made me do to our pup–my pup. I show him how Bruin hates him. In the barn Bruin leaps at him, leash taut, leaping for his throat, ready to kill him should I release the lead. The look on the pig’s face–terror, but also regret and sorrow. He understands. He understands that this was his fault, that he made me do this, that this is all part of his punishment, in the end. He is healing well, though. My healing blends have closed his wounds, and they are scarring well. I mind his crotch–well, it’s crotch, now. I mind it to make sure it can still piss through a small hole, but otherwise it is just a flat, round scar–nothing left of it’s manhood, as it should be.

I fuck and fist it, and it still finds it pleasurable. It still realizes it belongs to me, that I control it. I love knowing that the act of pleasing me still brings a stupid grin to its face. On occasion, I regret what I have done, but I must remain steadfast. It had to be done, it had to be punished, I cannot allow myself to be defied. There is more to be done, more work to do, and it will begin soon. I start him with the smoke. The pig’s mind is far, far sharper than Bruin’s, it will take much longer to unravel, but I will enjoy watching it happen. It struggles against the gasmask at first, coughs from the smoke, but as soon as he has sucked it all down and gone limp, I pull it away and begin introducing it’s new habits and desires. Especially it’s hunger. It will be central to him, his stomach his new mind. The next day, I test him, and put him in a stall with a trough, and begin pouring in the slop.

The pig fights it for a few moments, but cannot resist for long. It devours as much as it can, and quickly, it realizes that he cannot stop. The trough never empties, I make sure of that, and even though the pig grows fuller than it has ever been before, it continues eating non-stop, until it collapses from exhaustion and faints. I wait until it wakes again after close to an hour, and sure enough, it continues eating–the compulsion is far too strong for it to fight. I have already won, and he doesn’t even realize it. He still fights the compulsion, still believes it has will, that it can defy it’s Lord God.

I clean up after the pig for now. I want it to grow accustomed to its new appetite. At first, it can only eat in two hour blocks, but soon its stomach has stretched large enough that it can continue eating for nearly three times as long. It no longer fights against the compulsion, the hunger has only grown stronger. I have smoked him two more times, reinforcing it’s need to eat, but I hold back. I don’t want to destroy it’s mind entirely, not yet, I want it to realize what it will become, I want it to accept it, to accept it’s complete submission to my will.

I’ve been taking care of the pig’s waste so far, scooping it out along with the rest of the hog manure, but I decide it’s time the pig starts managing it’s own matters. I smoke it again, and this time, the hunger becomes paired with a need for filth. I expect this one will take more work to ingrain within his psyche, but that’s alright–I have all the time in the world. Spring is now nearly giving way to summer, and I’m minding the pig less. I’m working on several new hybridizations, and I have my own crops to maintain. Bruin is as good a guard dog as any, and only grows more loyal to me by the day. Still, one day he got into the barn by accident, and I had to drag him off the pig before he killed it–still, it gave the hog a much needed, and much enjoyed–fright, for me at least.

The pig doesn’t want me to know what it’s been doing, I can tell. It’s doing it’s best to hide it, but I can see–the streaks of shit across it’s growing body, and finally I catch it in the act. I look in the stall, and there it is, rolling in it’s own massive pile of filth, grunting and snorting as it does, and before it can do anything about it, I’m straddling it, my cock down it’s throat, and I piss gallons into it’s guts, and it loves it. I can tell. It gives me a chance to see it’s growth too. As much as I detest chemicals, the additives and hormones in the slop have been working marvelously. The pig’s muscles have withered, and it’s packing on fat faster than anything I’ve seen. I fist it’s filthy hole next, and then force it to lick it the filth off my arm. I want it to realize that I did this. That I’ve known what it’s been doing all along, that it has no secrets from me, not anymore. The last place it can hide, it’s mind–not even that will last, but it doesn’t realize that yet. It will soon though.

The need and compulsion for filth grows, as I increase the frequency of it’s smoke sessions. The first signs of mental loss are showing–the pig will “blank out” as I call it, and run on instinct alone for minutes at a time. It’s new obsessions dominate it, and I watch it wake up from these mental time gaps, it’s face in a pile of hog manure from the pig in the next stall, and it’s horrified, but it can’t stop. Before long, I don’t even have to clean up after the pigs–the hog does all the work for me before I can get to it. Still though, it eats. I feed it too, my own shit. It fought the first time, but now it’s excited–it craves it. I bring it Bruin’s as well, and make sure it knows where it came from as it chews it down.

I begin pressing deeper into the pig’s mind, destroying it forcefully. I remove its memories–its past. It can no longer remember a time when it wasn’t a pig on my farm, when I didn’t own it, mind, body and soul. The blanks last longer now–hours at a time. But he is fighting me still. He still believes he can win if he tries hard enough. But you can’t win against God, you can’t defy me and expect a chance to defy me again. Still, I taunt it, on occasion. I bring it out of the barn. I leave it by the side of the road, and I step back. I give it the choice, I give it the chance to leave. I tell it that I won’t follow, that it can crawl into town if it wants, or wait for some passerby to find it and rescue it. I know that my commandments are too strong for such a weak pig to resist them, but it fights them anyway. It gets a few hundred yards down the road before it’s fat body, too tired and exhausted to make the trek, overloads its feeble mind. It blanks, and the pig inside draws it back to the barn to feed, to degrade itself for my pleasure.

How must it feel, when it loses consciousness on the road, and winds up back in it’s stall, eating, or licking the holes of it’s fellow pigs? I’m sure it’s beginning to realize what’s happening to its mind. It probably assumes that I bring it back though, that I stop it. I wonder when it will see the truth–that deep down, it wants to be here. That the animal I’ve crafted within it is winning. That before long, there will be no doctor–just a pig. A fat fucking pig covered in filth, devouring shit and piss, desperate to be fucked and fisted by me, it’s Lord and Master–it’s God. Sometimes, when it collapses, exhausted from eating, I listen to it sob. That’s how I know he’s still in there, how I know he’s losing, but hasn’t lost yet. Still, I should make it more tempting, I should corrupt it even further now.

Another session of smoke, but this time–pleasure. How much pleasure it gets from it’s filthy life. How content it is here. Now, when it devours the pig’s manure, I watch it shudder with delight. It can no longer cum, certainly, but it can orgasm. I watch as the pleasure overwhelms his disgust, I watch the doctor begin to rationalize its own descent into darkness. “This isn’t so bad,” it is thinking, “I am fed, I am cared for, I am happy. It could be worse.” But could it? Could it really be worse? Have I not been creative enough? Have I not punished it enough? The pig has fallen so far that he can no longer recall what he was, what it’s life could have been. His world is shrinking. I define the world, and the pig’s place within it, and he can do nothing but nod gleefully and accept it. Then, I give him pleasure for his service and piety. A pig’s pleasure, but pleasure all the same, to him.

I smoke him every day now, he is getting close to the final night of the mind. He struggles to understand me now. I speak to him often, but he usually just stares at me blankly, unable to comprehend language and words that should be familiar to him. He tries so hard though, to understand me, to comprehend the word of the Lord, but his brain can no longer grasp it, and he will inevitably blank out, and wander off to search out whatever filth it can find to satiate it’s never ending hunger. How must it think, when it is aware of itself? In images? In feelings? It’s language is disappearing, things must seem so simple now. Eat. Filth. Fist. Piss. Happy. Sad. Pain. Nothing else, anymore, aside from a few stubborn remnants.

It spends entire days, now, in the instinctual darkness. My mindless pig, obsessed with filth and devouring anything in front of it. It is clear that in it’s rare moments of relative lucidity, it struggles to piece together anything like a rational thought. I wonder if it still has any capacity to hate it’s life? It doesn’t seem to. At this point, it’s thoughts must be of how lucky it is to have a life which gives it so much pleasure. That, or simply confusion. Its mind struggling to do something–anything–with these higher order thoughts which were once so second nature, but which serve no purpose in the world I have made for it to exist in. I am with it nearly constantly now. I want to see it, that moment when the light goes out forever, when it’s mind finally shuts off, when it can no longer recognize itself as a self. I decide, finally, that I will give it a moment so pleasurable, so full of instinctual bliss, that it will give me the moment I have been waiting for for so long now.

I give it a pile of fresh sludge and slop, and it squeals with delight, hurling itself into it, eating it, covering itself with it, and then in comes the stallion. It has never ridden a cock this large, but it is eager to try, and It is soon impaled on it, the horse thrusting it into the pile of muck, and I can see the massive waves of pleasure rippling through it’s obese body, but the eyes, I watch the eyes. In them, there is a flame, it flares wildly. It can’t comprehend this situation, it has discovered bliss, it has witnessed the divine in it’s pleasure, has entered heaven, and then it dies. The pig continues, but it is an empty vessel now. It has known my wrath, and it has known my bliss. Night has fallen, and dawn will never come.

Into the Night of God – Part 1

Commissioned by Anonymous

Part 1 – The Accident

The excerpts that follow were taken from Dr. Nathan Monroe’s personal journal.

***

August 16th, 2012

Just when you think you’ve seen the worst of it, the world surprises you. I mean, as a doctor, I’ve seen some pretty grisly scenes, sure, and ones worse than this I suppose, but still, it’s funny how little things can lead to horrific catastrophes. Patient Z, as I’ll call him (I have to call him that not just because of confidentiality, but we don’t have any way to ID him as of yet, but I’ll get to that) was admitted around 3:30 this afternoon after a car accident on Route 93. One of the farmers out that way reported he’d seen the truck Z had been driving run off the road after hitting his dog. The man had tried to swerve out of the way, apparently, but not soon enough, but even worse than the dog dying, well, he’d crashed hard enough for the truck to burst into flames.

The farmer had seen it happen, and had run inside to call for help, but by the time he’d gotten back out, the flames had swept into the cab. The farmer (I feel bad calling him that, but no one had gotten his name that I’d spoken to about it, so I don’t know it!) had run over and pulled the man out, but not before the unconscious man had caught on fire.

It isn’t pretty, I can say that. The burns cover about forty percent of his body, which, I suppose, could be worse, but most of the damage was incurred at the extremities and his face. I got a look at him today, shortly, and well, it isn’t pretty. I honestly don’t think we’ll be able to save his hands and feet, and even if we did, they’re so damaged he’ll never use them again. Amputation, I think, might actually be best–at least then he won’t have a constant reminder. Well, amputation would be a constant reminder, too, I suppose, but a negative rather than a positive. Is it worse to have something you can’t use, or nothing at all?

Still, funny, isn’t it? You try and do the right thing, you try to miss the dog, and you end up comatose in the hospital, burned all over, about to lose your hands and feet. How fucked up is that? We need to see if we can save his hands and feet first, if not, then amputation will be best, and help get rid of most of the burnt flesh. The face, well, we can probably get a plastic surgeon to fix the worst eventually, but I don’t know. It might heal well enough that it might just scar badly while remaining mostly functional–it’s too early to tell.

On top of all of that, we have no idea who he is. When the farmer got the guy out of the truck, still on fire, something happened to the patient’s wallet, so we have no ID on him at all. And to top it all off, by the time the firefighters and ambulance got there, the car had already exploded. We don’t have details yet, but they can’t even find the license plates. It’s all very strange, actually, but that’s an issue for the police, not for me. To top it all off, he’s in a coma, probably after sustaining some head trauma in the crash, so we can’t ask him either. Still, we’ll know who he is soon enough, once the police investigate, but I’m not looking forward to that phone call. There was no wedding ring, so I hope he wasn’t married, but he’s young enough to still have parents. Gah, how horrible is that, to have this happen to your son? I can’t think about that, it’s too awful. I just have to get him better, or as better as he can be, after something like this.

***

August 20th 2012

Well, as I suspected, in the case of Patient Z, amputation was necessary. The burns were just too extensive, and the tissue is already showing signs warning signs of wet gangrene. As awful as it may be, it saves us the trouble of treating the burns there, so in the long run, it might be better for Z. For his arms, we were able to save most of the forearm, cutting just about the wrist. His legs were worse, and unfortunately, we were forced to disarticulate at the knee. Still, it has made his prognosis better, I believe. The remaining burns are not as severe and appear to be free of infection, which is lucky. Those on his face, aren’t as severe as I first thought, and seem to be healing well. I’m hopeful–now we just need him to wake up, so we can figure out who he is!

Now, leaving work aside for a moment, I submit that I have a date for Friday night! I know, who would have thought that out in this rural shithole of homophobia, I would actually find someone who not only was gay, but who was willing to risk coming out to me? It’s a bit surreal, actually, but not unwelcome. It’s been lonely out here, even if the money is alright. I thought I would be able to handle it, but as you know, it’s been rough.

The guy, as a matter of fact, is the farmer who saved Patient Z–how strange is that? I was checking in on him today, when the farmer (whose name is Jerome, I have finally learned) when he came by, asking about Z’s condition. I updated him on what had happened, and he said he and the police had searched his property for anything that might have helped identify him, but found nothing. He wondered if he’d been driving without plates for some reason, but we both agreed that was the police’s problem, not ours.

Still, he’s surprisingly bright, for a roughneck. Articulate, a nice sense of humor, but definitely a country guy, which as you know, doesn’t really appeal to me. Of course, me being a bit flamboyant cued him into my possible orientation, and while his question was a bit crude, it was nice to know that I wasn’t the only “faggot” around. He isn’t really my type, I must say. He’s a bit older–probably around 40 or so, and a bit heavyset–definitely a bear. Plus, he had a strange smell about him. Not unappealing, I suppose, but I suspect he’s a smoker, which is a definite turnoff for me. A friend would be nice though, and he didn’t seem very romantically interested himself–mostly he sounded lonely, which would be two of us. I’m going over to his house for dinner on Friday though, so wish me luck. Hopefully it won’t be a complete disaster.

***

August 25th 2012

Well, it wasn’t my usual kind of date, but I suppose I could call it a success. It was easy enough to find, I just had to look for the remnants of Z’s accident on Route 93, which is kind of awful. (Z, by the way, hasn’t woken yet, but that’s all I’ll say about that for the moment.) As I’d expected, Jerome is indeed a smoker, but not tobacco–it’s some sort of strange plant he grows himself. Supposedly, or so he claims, it’s a much cleaner smoke than tobacco, something the Native Americans around here used to grow or something, I don’t remember. Actually (and I hate admitting this) I don’t remember a whole lot about the evening. I must have had a bit too much to drink, because the evening is pretty much a blur until morning, when he woke me up, in his bed, with a rough fuck.

Did I mention how hot he is? Fuck, I love that big belly of his, and I never knew that feeling someone that hairy next to you could be so…fucking hot. I mean, I’ve always had a thing for roughnecks, why else would I have moved out to the sticks to work at a hospital like this one? Funny, that never occurred to me before, huh, but it’s true. Anyway, so Jerome fucked me, and to be nice, since he’d made me dinner the night before, I got up and made him breakfast (naked, I might add–I know, I’m such a bad boy) and after we ate, he fucked me again–God, I can’t enough of him. We’ve been sending each other filthy texts all day since I left, and I just can’t stop thinking about him, about how hot he is, about how…how safe I feel with him. He’s the kind of guy who you just…feel like opening up to, you know? The kind of guy who you just innately trust. Still, I need to try and take it slow, these quick burn relationships are the ones I tend to rush into and that bite me in the ass later, so I’m going to hold off as best I can.

***

August 26th 2012

Alright, so this is one of those angry entries, you know, the ones where my hand is shaking, and my face is red, so I’m just going to keep it short, and get it out of my system. So, since my date on Friday ran over into Saturday, I needed to go it Sunday morning to get some work done, which is fine with me, since most everyone is at church anyway, so the whole building was quiet. Z’s room happens to be on the way to my office, and as I was coming down the hallway, I saw Jerome of all people letting himself out of his room.

Weird, right? So I stop him and ask him what he was doing in there, and he tells me he was just checking up on him, which I suppose sounded reasonable enough, but what followed, well, it was fucking inexcusable. He was horny, apparently, because he pulled me into the room (which was really smoky by the way) and proceeded to fuck me right there, up against the wall, in the hospital, in a patient’s room! Fuck, I was so…well, I mean, it was hot, but just so fucking wrong. And…and it was so weird, the entire time, he kept telling me that–fuck, it sounds so rediculous writing it down–telling me that I was his God, and that I should be on my knees worshiping him day and night. How messed up is that? He left, and I just sat in my office, angry for a few hours, before I finally called him and told him off, telling him I never wanted to hear from him ever again.

Look, that’s all I can write, I just can’t deal with this right now.

***

October 23rd, 2012

I admit, that I had been losing hope in Z’s case, hardly anyone wakes up after a week, much less two months, but finally, he’s out of it, for better or worse. Still, I must say that while I expected there to be some cognitive issues…the symptoms he’s presenting with are rather strange, to say the least. On the positive side, he seems to have had no loss as far as his cognitive abilities go. He still is capable of processing language, of speaking, of visual and spatial reasoning, and yet…well, there’s the amnesia for starters. We still have no idea who Z is, and it turns out that he has no idea who he is either. The amnesia seems to be centered around the accident itself, as we expected, but beyond that, appears to be rather localized around his identity and his own, personal past. Nothing about what he was doing, where he was traveling to, where he was from, family, friends, just all of it gone.

Still, that’s not the strangest thing. I went in to see him, and as soon as I came close, he…started screaming in terror. Just, abject terror, and tried to worm his way off the bed as best he could, and the nurses were forced to restrain him as best they could. I left the room, and he calmed down a few minutes later, garbling something about “the night man” and “smoke.” Apparently something about me had scared him half to death, I’m not sure what. The nurses gave him some meds to calm him down, and when I entered next, I was able to explain his situation. Once he got calm, he was able to tell me that I smelled like “the night man,” which I don’t understand at all, but he was kind enough to tell me that I wasn’t him, and I promised I’d do my best to keep him safe. I know, silly right? But he seemed relieved.

Regardless, my explanation didn’t go as well as I’d hoped. When I tried to explain what had happened to him, and about his amputations, he refused to believe that he had ever had hands or feet. How strange is that? I have no idea what to make of it–I’m not a psychologist, and there isn’t one at the hospital capable of dealing with this kind of psychosis. I’m going to recommend his transfer to a larger hospital. We can deal with his injuries, but his mental stability really worries me.

***

October 24th, 2012

Well, just when I thought yesterday couldn’t get stranger, I get home from the hospital, and what should I find on my doorstep? Flowers. From Jerome. I mean, I haven’t heard from him in weeks, not since I blew up at him after we fucked at the hospital that day. Still, it was a nice, if belated gesture, and I don’t know what kind of flowers they were, but they smelled just like him, and like that smoke of his, and I admit, I got a bit of a hard on thinking about him again. I didn’t feel like talking to him really, but I brought them in and put them in some water, not wanting them to go to waste, and that evening, my phone rang, and it was Jerome.

I thought about not picking it up, but he had sent me the flowers, so I thought I could at least hear what he had to say. We talked for I don’t know how long–hours? And I missed him so much, that when he told me to come over, I couldn’t stop myself, and over at the farm, on the porch, I got down on my knees, and told him how sorry I was for how I’d acted. I don’t know what had come over me, to be honest, he was so sexy, I was the one who’d begged him to fuck my ass in the hospital–he hadn’t forced me to do anything. How could I have forgotten that? Still, he was good enough to forgive me, but he refused to fuck me until after I’d licked his whole body clean (which was so fucking hot, especially his sweaty ass crack, fuck, I’m getting hard just thinking about it) and god, if it wasn’t the best fuck of my life after that.

I think I love him. No, I know I love him, my heart just aches being away from him like this, and at home, I just smell the flowers he sent me all the time and think of him, and how much I love him, how much I want to worship him, and how I’d do anything for him anything he asked me to, because he’s so smart, way smarter than me. I mean, he knew just what to do about Z, didn’t he? He gave me this list of drugs to prescribe, but I can’t call him Z anymore. Jerome’s right, Z’s a stupid name, I should call him Bruin, like he does. Isn’t that a good name for a dog? But anyway, he knew just what to prescribe for him, and I called the hospital and withdrew my transfer request because of course we can treat him here, just like Jerome says.

He just sent me a text! He’s horny and wants my ass–I have to go, I’ll write more later.

***

December 6th, 2012

Gosh, has it really been that long since I last wrote something? Still, I have been really busy. Jerome’s been putting me to work on the farm, and it’s getting close to harvest time, not to mention all of the cooking, cleaning and fucking I’ve been doing for him. Still, it’s a small price to pay. The only patient I’ve had any time for is Bruin, and he’s really starting to improve, I think. Those drugs Jerome suggested I prescribe have really helped his clarity of mind–he’s remembering more and more these days, the poor pup. What an awful thing, to be in a hit and run like that? Very traumatic, especially for a puppy dog like him. Sure, he still has some issues, like he keeps forgetting he’s a pup, and thinks he’s human. How silly is that? But he’s doing a lot better. Jerome thinks we’ll be able to take him home soon. Still, I wish I could do something about his night terrors–nothing seems to be working. His screams are waking up the entire hospital at times, but I just don’t know what to do.

Actually, I haven’t been at the hospital very much lately, because I’ve been getting these splitting headaches whenever I try and do my work. It seems like anytime I try to do something more complicated than cooking Jerome dinner or washing his clothes, my head starts beating itself against a wall. It means I can’t do a lot of stuff I used to enjoy, like read my medical journals or do crosswords and stuff like that, not that I really have much time anyway. When I tell Jerome about the headaches he just tells me I should smoke more–oh, did I tell you about that? Jerome got me hooked, I admit it, and the stuff is nice. Still, I don’t think it’s the same plant Jerome smokes, or if it is, it just makes me feel stupid and silly and really horny when I smoke it. He tells me that it’ll help with the headaches but it doesn’t do much at all really.

Work, with the headaches, has gotten really difficult, but someone else is going to have to deal with it this weekend, because I’m moving in with Jerome! Isn’t that exciting? I already got rid of most of my things–Jerome said I didn’t need them anymore, and he was nice enough to talk to the bank about settling my mortgage, so I’m all set. Not that I haven’t been living over there nearly full time anyway, but it’ll still be nice to make it official.

***

December 11th, 2012

Fuck.

Naturally, I take a weekend off, and everything goes to hell. Thank god Jerome was there, or I don’t know what would have happened.

I’m getting ahead of myself. So I spent the weekend moving my things to the farm, so I wasn’t at the hospital. However, from the sound of things, Bruin’s night terrors and screams only got worse, and apparently, one of the night nurses just went and lost it, took a scalpel, and tried to cut his throat. I mean, thank God Jerome was there, watching out for Bruin, or he might have died. The police took him into custody, but our poor pup–I don’t know if he’ll be able to bark, but he certainly won’t be speaking anymore. Jerome sounds hopeful, and that makes me feel good, but still, how crazy is that?

Jerome wants us to bring him home, and I agree. He’ll be safest home with us, taking care of him. Besides, he’s Jerome’s pup after all, where else would he go?

But didn’t he I don’t, it’s another headache coming on

Hurt so gotta stop

Fuck, oh my god, it’s never been this bad,

I…I remember, he’s not…not a pup? But then

Don’t know how long I can keep fighting it, so much pain. He’s not a pup, I think Jerome’s done something. I tried to stop smoking but it hurts so much, I feel like I might pass out any moment. I hear his truck, he’s coming in, I have to stop him, I have to stop this, but hide this first, where he won’t find it, and hope I’m strong enough.

***

[Undated]

Jerome was right I was thinking too hard. I’m just a stupid slut after all just his stupid slut and Bruin is his pup and of course Bruin needs to come home with us. Well, I’m not just any stupid slut, I’m his stupid slut. Jerome own’s my faggot ass, or at least that’s what he says to me when he’s fucking me. He fucks me so hard, I love it when he fucks me. I love it when anything fucks me, that’s what Jerome said, Jerome said my ass exists to be fucked, and it’s a shame that such a smart guy had to be attached to such a fantastic ass but that’s not a problem anymore I’m just a dumb slut like Jerome wants me to be yep just a dumb slut no more headaches for me just fucking and sucking and doing chores for Jerome because I love him I love him so much diary I can’t tell you because it’s like as big as the sky.

I’m not supposed to be writing in you by the way so this has to be our little secret. Jerome says I can’t have any secrets that I can’t tell him anything but I haven’t told him about you, and we’ve been good friends for so long I’m sure one little secret won’t hurt, right?

I can’t wait for Bruin to come home. Jerome says he’s been watching over him all nights and getting him started on his obedience training but that when he’s home the two of us will make him a proper puppy, and eventually Bruin will fuck me isn’t that exciting!!! Jerome can’t wait for Bruin to try on the paws Jerome made for him, I saw them and they look perfect Bruin will walk around just like a real doggy, and Jerome can’t wait to teach Bruin how to fuck me he wants all the animals to fuck my hole he said and I can’t wait because I love to get fucked I’m practicing now diary on a big dildo Jerome just gave me it feels so good I’m gonna go practice now and hide you again where Jerome won’t find you. Goodbye diary I don’t think I’ll have much time to write again but I’ll keep you safe I promise. And Bruin too. I promised him too, can’t forget that too. Ok I have to hide you now, gotta keep you safe. I’ll try to write soon I swear.

Curse Cards

by Beardsman and Wesley Bracken

***WARNING*** This has heavy slob TF, incontinence and dumbing down.

***

Three buddies that had just graduated from high school had little to do with their time. College didn’t start until the end of Summer for them, and they had occupied their time with video games, movies, and random events around their small town.

Jae, the oldest of the group (by only two months) was usually the instigator in whatever took place. He had the ideas, the funds, and the knowledge among the three. He looked like your typical jock; blonde spiked hair, hazel eyes, and a decent-enough frame with more of a swimmer’s build. He was rarely seen in anything fancy; just a tank and comfortable shorts.

The second of the group had been Eric. Brown hair that was just curly enough to dub him as the “jew-fro’d-dork” around the town. It didn’t help that his eyesight was impaired and he needed glasses. The only reason he wasn’t pummeled while in school was thanks to his childhood friendship with Jae and Allister.

Allister, the youngest, the most naive. Certainly the prettiest of the group without a doubt. After a long frightful rumor around his senior years that he was gay, he managed to come out strong with a delicate beauty at his arm. The rumors were founded through his impeccable hygiene and sense of fashion. Truly the hipster of the town. He even went through a phase where he grew out a moustache and curled it.

All three were friends since kindergarten, unable to avoid each other even when arguing with how close-knit the town had been. They each had plans to to stay together no matter how old they would become- but those plans went no further than college it seemed. Different career-paths in mind, they would find themselves elsewhere sooner-or-later. Jae was the first to realize this, and decided to make this Summer their greatest before ultimately being tied down with work and social-problems. On this current day, however, he was at a loss for things to do. Netflix didn’t give way for many options as their tastes all varied, and they had gone through the entire collection of B-Horror Films. With rain on the way, it made hiking or even riding their bikes more of a chore than a fun time out.

With all three settling in at Jae’s empty house–his parents being away on a cruise–Jae dug through a collection of older board games located in their family coat-closet. He ran across childhood favorites that gave a surreal effect with the boxes covered in dust and grime, forgotten in the back along with simpler times. He found a smaller stack of decks of cards. Poker decks, Uno, a matching game… but one in particular seemed to catch his fancy. He hadn’t remember a black box with silver trim containing any game before. And while pushed behind the pile, it was devoid of dust like the others.

Upon checking back to see the other two flipping through the satellite channels, he removed the contents of the box. Cards, as expected, with the same black and silver patterns adorning the backs. The fronts–mysteriously enough–were blank. His confusion held, until he saw a folded paper sticking from a slot in the side. It was the instructions.

“Guys, check this out,” Jae called. Their heads turned and looked over the couch to see him raising from his crouched stance, cards in hand, and reading the first part of the instructions.

“What’s that? Collectible poker cards or something?” Eric asked.

“It’s not Yu-Gi-Oh! is it? Kind of got tired of that when they changed all the rules up,” Allister remarked, last to join in.

“No, it’s some weird kind of Tarot thing. I mean, I dunno. It doesn’t say what they are. The instructions are kind of weird and cryptic.”

“‘Cryptic’? How so?” Eric asked, raising from the couch and grabbing the blank cards from the eldest.

“Look at the lines here:

For those who dare to play the devil’s hand

Let caution dwell before demand.

Your life, your choices, your body and soul

Your Mind, you world, no longer your own.”

They each read the top line together, slightly intrigued by the campy warning. Jumanji came to mind, but did nothing to deter them. Before long, they had vacated the living room and made their way to Jae’s room in the basement, setting up his game table for the cards. After the cryptic warning, the instructions stated that the deck must be placed in the middle after being thoroughly shuffled. Each person would take a turn pulling a card from the top, and the rest of the instructions would reveal themselves.

Jae had searched the box for some kind of manufacturer, or date, but came up with nothing. If this was some sort of “magical” deck of cards, it would be interesting at least to see things play out.

“Who should start? Jae?” Eric asked, watching Jae suddenly show some reluctance.

“Maybe Allister. I set the game up, and you look a little scared, Eric.”

“Do not!” Eric shouted back, just before Allister took a turn without questioning.

“Both of you are pansies… First card!” Allister placed the blank card onto the table, face-up, and watched the ink start to appear. Each boy was pleasantly surprised by how realistic it seemed, and wondered if the low-light of the room had anything to do with it.

~~Sexualities Askew~~

Main Effect: All players’ sexualities are inverted. The player who drew the card must then assign one of the following options to himself and every other player.

This player becomes more attracted to men the fatter they become.
This player becomes more attracted to men the older they become.
This person falls desperately in love with the person to their left.

“That’s insane,” Eric said, reading the card again, “I’m not gay!”

“Yeah, well I’m not either,” Allister said, and yet, as he said it, he knew he was lying. In fact, he remembered that the only reason he’d dated that girl in high school at all was as a beard, so people would stop calling him a faggot. She’d been ok with it–she found other guys to fuck, and he’d paid her off with with fashion advice. Looking at his two friends, he saw that similar revelations were working their way through their minds, and they all looked at each other, and then at the cards…

“No way, fuck this.,” Jae said, and tried to stand up from the table, but one of the cards flipped over on it’s own, the ink displaying a new message in a matter of seconds.

No player may leave the game early–quitting will result in a random number of curses from the deck.

“It knows what we’re saying?” Eric whispered.

“Just sit down, Jae. It’s just a trick. Of course people would stand up after reading shit like that,” Al bargained, watching Jae take his seat reluctantly, grumbling defiantly while doing so.

“Fuck- this is some fucked up shit!” Eric said, slightly terrified. He felt as if they had toyed with a sentient Ouja Board. Allister was ignoring him and rereading the curses, hurring, trying to make up his mind. Jae was to his left–he could handle being in love with him, couldn’t he?

“Alright!” Allister declared through the silence, causing them to jump. He continued, “I’ll take the last one,” he said, and then after a moment, added, “And Jae can have the first one. Eric, you’ll get the second.”

“Dude!” Jae said, “I hate fat people, you fucking know that!”

“And people twice my age? That’s like my dad! I mean…my dad…” Eric said, his eyes glazing over for a second. He had always kind of liked how his dad looked. He was about to turn 50, but looked a little bit older actually, because of how much he’d balded, and his tendency to wear a mustache. He’d always liked kissing him, and he’d snuck a few on his dad’s lips on occasion…

Eric shivered and shook his head, clearing it. No, he wasn’t going to be like that, he wasn’t. He concentrated hard, thinking about his girlfriends, but none of them were doing it for him. Well, aside from Jenny, that time Mr Washburn had caught them making out in the chem lab, what if he’d kicked her out, and then his teacher could have…

Jae, on the other hand, was sweating bullets. He hated fat people, he’d always hated them. He’d been big as a kid, and lost a bunch of weight after he’d been bullied for it, but he didn’t find it attractive at all! Even if…even if the sight of a big guy lumbering towards him down the hall was the only thing that seemed to get his cock hard anymore. Oh, he loved big boys, the bigger the better. He always felt bad, watching them get bullied, and more than once he’d stood up for them at school, befriending them, and usually, they’d let him please them too, after a while. Yeah, he’d massage their hot, flab, rub his face in it, suck them off, fuck them…anything to be closer to them.

Allister, however, only had eyes for Jae. He loved him–really, honestly, loved him. They’d both only had girlfriends to cover up the fact that they were gay, but Jae wasn’t the least bit interested in him. It didn’t matter what he did, how many times he professed his love, Jae would end up with some massive tub of lard, and it would make him so god damn jealous. He loved Jae–why couldn’t he see that, he loved him so much, he’d do anything to be with him–anything.

Shivering, they looked back at the table and saw the second card had changed it’s lettering, Next Turn–please draw a card.

His hand shaking, Jae reached out and flipped the top card over–the blank surface swirling to life, and the three of them read it nervously.

~~Unhealthy Obsessions~~

Each of you will pick up a rather unhealthy addiction. The person who drew this card will choose one of the options below for each player.

This player becomes a binge eater, immediately gaining 100 pounds.
This player becomes a heavy smoker, but only smokes cigars. They will age 10 years.
This player becomes a sex addict, and masturbates or has sex at least 10 times a day.

Jae sighed unhappily, looking between his nervous friends. He lingered for a moment on Allister, looking at the faggy twink hipster he always kept close. He always felt that burning desire Al held for him, and felt perpetually sorry that he couldn’t return it. This card, however…maybe..

“Alright.. I’m definitely not into smoking… You okay with it, Eric?” Jae asked, watching Eric shake his head, unsure, but that seemed like the easiest option for him. He was awkward with sex, and his parents were always over his shoulder. He’d hate them catching him in the middle of a wank. The binge-eating didn’t seem any better. What about his clothes? His lithe frame?

“Whatever, Jae. Just do it,” Eric replied, cringing as Jae selected him. Within moments, his brain flooded with information he hadn’t known existed. Cigar sizes, brands, tobacco blends. He let out a hearty cough, feeling his throat burn momentarily. He brought his hand to his mouth, originally to cover it and protect the others from saliva, but found a thick stogie planting itself between his lips. Upon his surprise, he took in a strong inhale. The burning returned, but felt natural; pleasant, even. The smoke he exhaled through his clenched teeth and flared nostrils engulfed his face. When dissipating, it left light stubble on his cheeks, and gone were his curls. His fro had either fallen away or shrunk, leaving patchy growth around the sides of his head and framing a shiny scalp. Smoking the way he did took years off his life, but it tasted so fucking good. “Yeah, made the right choice,” he stated, his voice rough and aged like his appearance, and took another draw on his cigar.

Jae, unsettled by the change, looked to Allister. So hipster and metro, as he remembered, but now just a needy twink. He’d be able to fix that. He selected him for the first option, watching Allister’s frightened eyes while his frame inflated, like a gelatin-filled balloon. His clothing wasn’t part of the change, as Al was afraid of as well, and made tearing noises in several spots. Being a hipster certainly didn’t help this conundrum, the too-tight clothing simply falling away after violently splitting. His jeans were the worst, holding up more than anything else. Al could only groan and pant heavily before the growing thighs burst through.

Jae watched his previously-skinny friend, sweating, grabbing the table for support. The only clothing left on him was his briefs, still somehow holding on, and looked more like a red thong disappearing clean into Al’s ass-cheeks. Well, not for long, as the elastic gave way and the remains of his underpants fell away. Al looked up momentarily to see Jae’s suddenly needy expression, licking his lips and examining the light rolls that were taking shape. Only 100 pounds for now, but maybe Jae could feed him later.

The last option on the card disappeared, the curse adhering to Jae. As if sitting next to the sexiest hipster chub he’d ever seen weren’t enough, his increased desires made things even worse. His hand was already pushed under the waist of his shorts, and he felt his growing bulge. It felt so hot, so hard in his palm. He was trying to remain in control, but he hadn’t cum yet today. It must have been a new record for him, and his balls churned and became enlarged with extra potent seed. They had to get bigger, being used to producing so much and draining so quickly. Jae fumbled with his shorts, his cock begging to be free of its cloth confines while Al drooled with anticipation. His love for Jae and growing hunger aligned, and he wanted to see the cock he lusted after for so long. Jae, however, wasn’t paying much attention to his surroundings anymore, losing his battle with his urge to play with himself.

“Fffuck! Guys, just one right now, I have to!” Jae bargained, pulling his dick free of his shorts. The pulsing mass curved upwards and seemed a tad bigger than he remembered, but nowhere near proportionate to the growth in his nuts. He wasted no time in fisting the heavy rod, watching it leak profusely. “Oh shit, so good- so fucking good…” Eric felt only a little weirded out behind his cloud of tobacco, watching one of his best friends tug one out before him, but couldn’t help admire the well-toned frame of the young athlete. He was gay, after all.

Losing himself, thrusting into his hand before them without abandon, it didn’t take him long before he (noisily) sprayed all over himself, moaning like a total bitch. The sheer volume shotgunning from his dick was unreal, painting his abs white and even some on his chin. With heavy panting, he let his arms flop to his sides, and tried to regain composure. It didn’t go down, though. While a little winded from his efforts, his horny nature hadn’t bent in any way. It didn’t help that Al was fulfilling his own needs, either.

Jae cried out in ecstasy as Al engulfed the entire engorged cock into his hungry gullet, suckling it and milking it dry, swallowing leftover globs before pulling himself off and running his tongue over the toned pecs of the sex-crazed jock. The saliva left was sticky, warm, and exactly what got Jae’s motor running. He loved fat fucks drooling all over him, and welcomed Al’s advances this time by placing a firm grip over his head, pushing him down to eat more of his cum.

Eric rolled his eyes, a tad jealous and a little disgusted by what Jae considered sexy, and grabbed the top card of the deck. His turn…maybe they could change back, or maybe he’d get some action this time. He placed the card down:

~~Hygiene Roulette~~

Staying clean isn’t going to be as important to any of you. The player that drew this will choose a non-hygienic trait for each person.

The player will forget about shaving, waxing, or even combing. Let that wild body fuzz spread!
The player will forget about showering, and will quite enjoy his natural ‘cologne’. As will the others.
The player will forget about changing his clothes daily, possibly weekly!

“Aww, that’s gross. Is this game serious?” Jae said, looking over the options. Eric however, was kind of enjoying the idea of Jae not liking it. He was always the third wheel when Jae and Al were together–the two were almost always fucking, and he just didn’t understand what Jae saw in fat guys like Al. Still, maybe he could throw some roadblocks in their way…

“Well, I don’t know about you two yet, but I’m taking the hair for myself,” Eric said, and felt his body start itching almost immediately. However, he’d underestimated just how extreme the card was, and a thick pelt sprouted all over his body–but his face too. A beard he’d never seen the likes of covered his face and descended down to his chest–it looked like he hadn’t shaved once since the day he’d gotten his first fuzz–which he realized was actually the truth. His curly hair, however, was another story altogether. He felt it grow out even bigger, and then it started yanking itself and twisting into enormous, fat dreadlocks–it was disgusting…wasn’t it? But he’d had dreads for as long as he could remember, hadn’t he? Sure, it was kind of gross, but he was so hairy, and he did like how it made him look a bit older…still, he had to work out the other two options for his friends. “Alright Al, you’re going to stop showering, and Jae–forget about changing clothes.”

“Wait, seriously?” Al said, “that’s fucking disgusting!”

“Blame the cards man, do you think I’m happy smoking these cigars?” Eric said. Well, he was, actually. He’d picked up the habit to be more like his dad–his dad was so fucking hot…

Al, however, soon realized that his fate was sealed–he was turning rank. He suddenly couldn’t remember when he’d last bathed, and he didn’t care. He lifted his arm and took a whiff of his rank armpit and gave a sigh, feeling a tingle in his cock as he did. He…liked it. He really did. Other changes swept across him as well–his face breaking out from being unwashed, and grease from his rather large meals could be seen shining down his chest.

Jae was repulsed, but he wasn’t faring much better. His tank top was growing filthy from all of the cum he’d shot over the past week on it, and his shorts were crispy and dry. He smelled like a cum rag, and hell if it wasn’t turning him on as he sat there, smelling his stench and…and Al’s. He didn’t smell so bad now, actually, he smelled kind of…rank, but a good kind of rank. He was jacking off again, and then leaned in, shoving his nose into Al’s pit, licking the sweat and musk from it, and Eric tried to keep himself from retching as the two went at it again, Al jerking Jae’s cock with one hand and his own with the other until they both came. He’d wanted to drive them apart, but it looked like he’d only pushed them closer together.

“Fuck guys, that’s disgusting–can’t you wait until I’m gone to do shit like that? You’re making me gag!”

Al scowled at him, “Hey! You’re the one who did it to us, fucker! Do you think I like being a stinking blob of fat?”

“I like you as a stinking blob of fat,” Jae said, grinding his sticky, but still hard cock in between some of the folds of Al’s body, “I wanna fuck you, fatty, I wanna fuck that ripe ass off–”

Al shoved him away, and Jae snapped out of it, realizing what he’d said, but his cock was so needy, he didn’t know how he’d be able to live like this. Well, alone. If he lived with Al, well–no, he couldn’t think about that.

Al, angry at them both, grabbed the top card and flipped it over, waiting for the lettering.

~~Youth or Experience?~~

Each player must choose between youth or experience! They can either lose points off their IQ, or gain an equal amount in years of age. The person who drew the card will assign values to each player, but they have to divide the amount however they wish.

25 points
50 points
75 points

Al grinned mischievously, but so did Eric. While Al could get his revenge, Eric couldn’t wait to see these fuckers gain some years.

“Alright, Jae? I going to go easy on you- for now. Let’s give you the 50 points,” Al stated, grinning at his love. He didn’t care if he was a little bit older, but certainly didn’t care if he was a bit dumber either. He always felt so uneducated around ‘the thinker’ as they used to call him.

Jae seemed a bit upset that he wasn’t given the lowest one, but was trying to decide how to divide the points while he tweaked one of his nipples through his grimy shirt.

“Um, well, let’s see…I don’t want to be too dumb.. College is soon…” the thought of having a dorm-mate flashed through his head, and how fed up he’d probably be finding crusted jocks and jerseys everywhere. At the same time of feeling worried, he felt a shiver of excitement run through him that he’d be marking his territory with old clothes. Shaking himself of the thought, he returned to his current predicament, “Oh! Uh…yeah..I’ll split it like this…” He took one last look at his younger body, and proclaimed his point usage: “35 points from my IQ, and 15 from my age!”

Jae’s wince was obvious as he felt the 15 years surge through his form. His body hair seemed a tad denser, but still kept short, and his skin was a bit less smooth. Probably the years he’d spent hanging around that smoking asshole Eric… A couple of wrinkled donned his forehead, and some silver hairs sprouted from his chest. In the same sweep, his head began to feel like it was stuffed with cotton. Memories were fuzzy, and the reality of the game was losing hold. He looked at his greasy blob of a boyfriend and felt the complexity of their relationship unravel. Reasons for their being together felt just a tad easier to accept. He was fat, fat is good.

Al was a bit stricken with guilt, watching the intelligence drain from Jae’s face. He didn’t think it would be so obvious, so literal, but the grin Jae was sporting said it all.

“Are you…are you alright, Jae?” He asked tentatively, and caught the horndog’s attention.

“Feeling fine, bro!” Jae exclaimed, quickening his efforts on his dick, close to spurting again in front of them. ‘Bro’ wasn’t a word Jae normally liked using. Even as a jock, it seemed too cliche. Now, he held no qualms about it. He was approaching middle-age, and kept the same vernacular he held in his younger days. Al rubbed Jae’s fuzzy pecs, helping him along with his next orgasm as he declared the next option.

“I’ll take the 75 points…”

“What? Why??” Eric asked, a bit surprised that he wasn’t stricken with such a terrible curse.

“I should have given him the smaller choice, but I acted too fast. It’s only fair. I’ll take 10 years to my age, and the rest in IQ.” Al felt the next warm spray of cum on the back of his hand, and smiled at his ill-clothed lover. Leaning down, taking a nice whiff of the grimy shirt and licking the fresh drips of seed. He felt the curse washing over him.

The aging happened so quick, the soft rolls of fat sagging just a bit further, his hair becoming a little thinner. Eric stroked his brown pelt of fur through his shirt, and lit another of his cigars, enjoying this bit a little too much. While he was particular to much older men, it was a thrill to see youth fading so quickly.

IQ was next, and Al sported the same dopey grin Jae had, only bigger. His eyes held the innocence of a child after that wave, and without his intelligence his inhibitions were drastically lowered. The obese imbecile lowered himself to suckle the drying drops of cum from the crusted cloth. Jae held him down, giggling at the hungry mass that worshipped him and his nasty attire.

Eric laughed triumphantly, gaining the last value, and chose to take off 5 from his IQ, and place 20 years to his age. The filthy dreads had swirls and streaks of silver rushing through them, already previously aged thanks to his intense smoking. He had to feel about 50 at this point, and he sucked happily at his stogie. The IQ loss wasn’t truly enough to destroy him, or impair his judgment in this game. The years taken away from him and gave his smoking quite the effect, darkening his teeth, his nails turning yellow, and his skin becoming a bit cragged.

“Hey, Jock-boy!” Eric called to Jae, “It’s your turn.”

Jae nodded like a cocky idiot, and drew from the deck, careful not to let the fat sack of shit raise himself off his dick.

~~One Big Happy Family~~

All the players are now related, and the youngest in the family has to obey his elders. In addition, as chosen by the drawer:

One player ages 50 years.
One player ages 20 years.
One player regresses 20 years.

“Aww…what?” Jae said, reading the card again, “Dang, that’s…kinda fucked up.”

“Yeah, well, you don’t want to be old do you?” Eric said, “I’ll take the big one, I don’t mind.” He really didn’t mind being that old, in fact, especially if that meant the other two would have to obey him. He was already a bit older, but if Jae did something different…

“No, hold on…” Jae said, “I don’t want to be that old, sure, but I don’t want to get younger. I kind of like where I am…I’ll give it to Al!”

“Wha?” Al said around Jae’s cock, but it was too late, as the fat dude, the youngest at 27, started to age rapidly. Eric could only watch, enthralled, as the binge eating took an even greater toll on his friend’s body, ballooning him up to over 500 pounds, where he plateaued, his fat sagging as his hair balded back, and a light, silver beard filled in over his face. He was…beautiful, and the fact that Eric couldn’t see him any other way now disturbed him, but fuck, if he didn’t want to fuck him now, so badly. Now he was just jealous of Jae more than anything. “Oh fuck, that’s so hot…” he groaned, moaning around his cigar and rubbing his crotch. Jae watched Eric, sizing him up. He didn’t want competition–what had he done? Maybe if he could make Eric like him too…

“Alright,” Jae said, “I’m going to age 20 years then.”

“Eric turned to him, “What? No!” but it was too late. Jae, at 32, quickly aged to 52, just past the threshold of Eric’s compulsive attraction, and suddenly here he was with two beautiful old men, and he was getting younger. Looking down, he lost ten of the twenty years he’d just gained, falling back to 27–a young adult, but half the age of his father and grandfather.

No! No, that was wrong, he wasn’t related to these fat dirty fucks, he wasn’t! But he had been lusting after his dad forever, hadn’t he? Especially now that he was greying and balding more heavily, the two of them would spend afternoons just watching porn together, and Eric always ended up riding his dad’s cock. His dad wanted him bigger though, Jae liked his men big. His stomach gave a grumble, and started to expand, his hairy body blimping out until he was over three hundred as well. Fuck he was hungry, and his dad was massaging his cock like he wanted him.

“Boy, get over here,” Jae said, “Your grandpa’s leaking again–take care of it, would you?”

“Sure Pa,” Eric said, happy to help. He got down in front of his dumb, fat grandpa, dug around for his cock and started sucking, and then his dad got down behind him and shoved his fingers in his fat hole, making Eric squeal a bit.

“Yeah boy, that’s so hot, I love watching you two fat pigs go down on each other,” Jae said, “You want my cock son? You want me to fuck this dirty shit chute of yours?”

Jae didn’t wait for a response–he knew what his boy wanted, and he fucked him rough and quick–he was too horny to make it long, and he managed to cum twice before Al gave a dull moan and shot his load across his grandson’s bearded face. Eric got up, feeling a shadow of humiliation, though he didn’t know why exactly, and then returned to his seat.

“Well son? It’s your turn, draw a card.”

Eric gulped, and drew a card, placing it on the table, and then read it.

~~Key Holder~~

The person who drew the card is the key holder. Of the following options, the key holder gets none, one other player will receive two options, and the last player will receive one.

Chastity device – The player may only cum with the key holder’s permission.
Fist mitts and muzzle – player can be compelled to behave like a dog at the will of the keyholder.
Butt plug – Player can get hard if and only if they are being fucked. The buttplug can only be inserted or removed by the keyholder.

Eric looked at his daddy, a look of confusion at his luck to draw such a card. As soon as control was taken away from him, he had the option of getting it back. Daddy Jae looked his boy in the eyes, still filled with hungry abandon, but was ready for anything that might happen.

“Pa, I have to do what the card says, right?”

“Seems so. You better not fuck this up, boy.” Jae scowled at his good-for-nothing son, drawing such a terrible turn-around card. Allister had no regrets, taking in deep whiffs of his old daddy-pits and rubbing the leftover cum from his last orgasm into his rolls, awaiting the next terrible fate to befall him. “You got your ol’ grandpa worked up for more, so just choose already.”

“Uh, alright, I-…Pa, you like being a top dog, right? A real alpha…”

“You son of a bitch! Give me the Butt-Plug!”

“Son of a bitch, eh? Not helping your case here, Dad… Let’s give you the Mitts and Muzzle,” Eric stifled a grin, watching the black mitts encase his Daddy’s hands. Jae’s fingers pulled in tight and curled into fists inside, unable to move freely from the hand. The wrists wrapped securely with a thick leather strap, fastened with a shiny buckle. Around his balding head, Jae felt the muzzle materialize and cover his nose and mouth- even his ears. He caught his reflection in the mirror across the room, seeing the muzzle as somewhat of a hood, with floppy rubber ears atop his scalp. He shook, trying to break free of his muzzle, but only jostled his brain around a bit. He felt fuzzy, anger lingering and unable to stand. He was at least able to breathe, the muzzle broken in the middle with a fake dog-tongue and a nice opening for inserting a juicy cock.

“Aww, who’s a sexy fuck-puppy??” Eric teased, watching Jae’s anger slip away from his face. A rush of euphoria came in waves through his old body at being called a puppy. The humiliation, the shame, it all translated to pure sex. His mitted hands started toying with his never-ending-erection, trying to grip it as best as possible. In his state, he couldn’t form words. Only whimpers and the frustrated fussing of a horny puppy.

“Cute puppy!” Al stated dumbly, watching his son degrade himself and hump his mitts. He couldn’t resist reaching out to scratch the puppy’s head. Eric almost couldn’t stop himself from laughing out. He was still a sexy old fucker, but he made such a wonderful pet. He’d have to take care of his bad habit, though.

“Now now, Pa. We can’t have a horn-dog like you messing the house. I’m going to give you the Chastity Device, too.”

Jae would have struggled, or protested, but he had to obey the key holder. For the first time since his obsession with sex and masturbation had started, his cock softened, and shrunk into a too-tight chastity device. He whimpered louder, pawing at his dick, and watched the drips of pre leak from the opening in the clear shell. Al was intrigued, reaching down to jostle the sealed crotch, and watched the puppy squirm.

“That leaves you, Grandpa. You get the Butt Plug.” Eric pointed at Al, and watched the slob gain an expression of discomfort. A searing pain pierced his backside, a phantom length driving into his rectum. His greasy fat jiggled and he struggled to reach under himself, finding a hard material poking from between his cavernous cheeks. Eric looked over the table to see clear pink object peeking out, very thick and nearly splitting the old fart in two. “Yeah, old fucks like you need SOMETHING to keep them hard, right Gramps? Why not a rubber man hose to keep you satisfied?”

Al felt the pain starting to turn as he jiggled the foreign object in his ass. Each little vibration made his pudgy dick throb and squirt more fluids under his draping stomach. He never felt so hard in his 72 years of age. He pushed grimy hands under his sagging belly and gripped what he could find of himself, spreading his musky pre into his thighs and slightly bouncing on the artificial cock. Jae was frisky, and annoyed with the attention pulled away from him. He brought his “paws” to his chest, and made begging noises towards his son.

“Puppy feeling lonely? Come on boy, here’s a bone for ya!” Eric pulled his hairy cock from his pants, flaunting it under the table. Jae was quick to retreat underneath the game and crawl on his mitts and knees to his new Owner. Just as the muzzle was supposed to, it allowed Eric’s manhood to slip easily inside. The fake rubber tongue massaged the length, but it certainly didn’t feel as good as his Puppy-Pa’s actual tongue and mouth pleasuring him. Grasping the floppy ears, he skull-fucked the puppy and until he shot thick ropes down Jae’s throat.

The puppy cringed, tasting the tang of tobacco and nicotine on his Master. He couldn’t love it any less, wagging his bare ass and showing obvious joy in obeying. Eric ruffled his receding hair, feeling a sense of pride at owning such an obedient pup. “I think it’s your turn, Big Pa. Flip that card!” Eric had to control the urge to order him around too much, still lusting after the aging slob.

Al was only able to pull his hand away from his cock, still pulling the dildo in and out of his ass, and flipped the card:

~~Auction~~

Each player must put in a bid. This number represents the number of years they are willing to regress, and IQ points they are willing to lose. No one’s age may drop below 17.

The winner of the auction becomes the new key holder after paying their bid. If they were already the key holder, nothing happens. If a new key holder is chosen, they may reassign the gear according to their desires.
The second highest bid gains a number of pounds equal to their bid times five.
The lowest bid receives a previous change of which affected the winner. The winner is no longer affected by that change.

The card started counting down from a minute, the letters swirling as the seconds passed, and each player, to the best of their abilities, came up with a bid that they thought they could manage to pay, and when the card reached zero, it went blank for a moment. They weren’t sure if they were just supposed to say their bids out loud, but the card revealed the first result for them: The second highest bidder was Al, with 47 points. He will gain 235 pounds.

Al watched in horror as his already massive frame started to bloat even further. He had already crested 500 pounds after aging into his seventies, but as he watched, his bulbous gut pushed forward ever further, angry red stretch marks covering his body as it did. The gut pushed his thighs apart, so he was forced to splay them wide, but he didn’t even know if he had the energy to stand, much the less fuck himself. Still, he found that he was able to rock back and forth well enough on the dildo, and his mass of fat actually pressed in on his cock. It felt–surprisingly good, and he soon zoned out, focusing more on his ass than on the cards.

Of course, Eric and Jae knew their bids, and knew their fates before the card even revealed them next. Jae is the winner with a bid of 50. Pay your bid.

“I’ll pay 35 years of my age, and 15 points off my IQ,” Jae said in reply. He had a moment to regret the fact that he’d won–with his already low IQ he was going to be nearly as stupid as Al–who was, he realized, now his father as well as Eric’s. Still, he didn’t have much time to think about it, as his brain drained away. The only thing left, it seemed, was an endless repository of porn stars, sex acts, and the endless compulsion to fuck and masturbate. He drooled a little bit out of the muzzle, but it disappeared a moment later along with the chastity device, and he took the opportunity to jack his cock, cumming in a matter of seconds, relieved to be free again. His asshole older brother–he hated him for that, for making him his fucking pet. Well he’d show him.

“As the new, uh… key guy, I want Eric to have the puppy stuff, Pa to have the chastity device, and Eric can have the butt plug, too!”

Eric tried to object, but he didn’t get a word out before the muzzle wrapped his mouth, and his hands became encased in the mitts that he’d forced on his brother in the last round. He let out something that resembled more of a yip than a shout, when he felt the plug force it’s way into his ass. Looking over his shoulder, from where he was on his hands and knees now, he saw his tail there, and he gave it a wag, panting as he felt the thick, nine inch dildo it was attached to wiggle in his ass, his puppy cock leaking on the floor.

“‘N lastly, I want Eric to take that…that youth or experience point thing from me.”

Nothing happened for a moment, and the card swirled with ink. The game cannot regress you any younger. However, the game can still restore your IQ, and have both the age and IQ drop affect Eric. Is this fine with you?

“Yeah yeah, sure, whatever,” Jae said, “Just make him stupid would you? Whoa, hey, I can…kinda think again…” Jae felt the mental cloud hanging over him lift a bit. His head wasn’t working as well as it had at first, but it was certainly better than before, but his puppy, well, he was simply staring up at him dumbly, panting, wagging it’s dildo tail and whining at him. He had put on quite a few years as well, looking to be in his fifties now. He realized that he was now the son, and Eric his father, but he didn’t mind the change.

“What is it dad, do you need a fucking?”

From the look on Eric’s face, he did, but it was something else, too. He put a mitt up on the table and nudged his cigars, and kept whining.

“Oh, right. Well, how about I fuck you while you smoke, dad?”

Eric jumped up and down, barking, and presented his tail to Jae, who lit a cigar, shoved it in Eric’s muzzle, and then pulled out his tail and went to town. His dad’s hole was so loose, after being plugged up all the time, he loved it, and he creamed it three times in quick succession, before sliding the tail back in and returning to the table. Al, through it all, had just sat there dumbly, his cock now caged. He was starving, and the game had conjured a pile of junk food which he was slowly demolishing, his cock leaking the entire time into his gunt.

“Well, I suppose it’s my turn again, eh?” Jae said, flipping over the second to last card.

~~“What Are You Wearing?”~~

The drawer must choose one of the three options for each player.

The player now wears diapers 24/7. They generally act like a baby, even in public.
The player can only wear clothes made out of rubber or leather.
The player can only wear dirty laundry which has been worn by someone else.

Jae looked down at his puppy-father, still delightfully dumb and messing his legs and the floor with his doggy cum. He was already wearing some nice leather gear, so why let him have all the fun? “I’ll take the rubber and leather one. A pup has to match his owner, right?” The crusty tank he had been sporting nearly the entire game started to smooth out, the yellowing spots dissipating as it became a solid rubber tank. The white sheen glistened in the low light of the basement, and his erect nipples stuck straight through the material. He tweaked them, moaning as his shorts fell away, leaving a leather jock in its place. A solid silver zipper ran down the seam of the pouch, holding in his leaking cock. From there, his forearms became encased in leather bands with thick straps tying the ends closed. Atop his head, he felt a muir cap settle. The feeling was oh-so familiar, as if he’d worn it his entire life. His previous curse of never washing his clothes was still in-effect, and constant fuck sessions and perspiration from activity in his gear filled the room with stank.

Finally, his toes wiggled happily in a flawless pair of pitch-black boots with enormous rubber soles. He looked at his blob of a Grandpa, snickering, remembering the first time he’d dug through the sick old man’s closet and found the gear. Must have been from his younger days when he could play with the big boys.

Yeah, the big boys… “Hey, Big Pa, I think you should sport a fancy diaper, right? Relive some of that lost youth.” Al heard the tell-tale crinkle of the giant diaper forming around his fat form. It was uncanny that such a size of diaper existed, but he felt no different about it than his chastity device. Of course he wore a diaper! It went so well with his binky. He pulled from the remains of junk-food trash a pink rubber pacifier, plopping it in his drooling maw and suckled happily, settling his fat back against the creaking chair. So relaxing, so endearing to just give in to the old days. The younger bears loved cradling him in a reinforced sling, feeding him, and even changing his diaper after he messed himself.

“Nnngg…” Al started to struggled, shifting in his seat, and suddenly remember how much cola he had chugged down. Without another thought (if any remained), he felt the flood-gates open and the delightful warmth spread through him. His thighs were dripping, his crack quickly filling with musky liquid gold. He had been a good boy, relieving himself like that in front of the others. He wasn’t ashamed, not even as he poked his diaper and sloshed the contents around.

Jae wanted to be disgusted, he wanted to retch, but seeing his Grandpa regress so much only made his cock explode inside the jock. He reached under the strap to spread the cum around, only pulling it out to feed to his obedient pup.

“I guess that leaves the recycled clothing for you, boy.”

Eric slurped his Master’s hand clean before tilting his head in confusion, suddenly weighed down by a new sensation. His naked body was covered in the filthy clothes Jae was wearing before turning into the perfect Gear-stud. On top of that, a grimy jean-jacket from an unknown place. All Eric knew was how rank it smelled. He raised an arm to sniff the denim through his muzzle, gagging, but still leaking and needy from the very thought of soaking in someone else’s leftover attire. His feet (or back paws as he began to think of them) nestled into a pair of stiff dress socks.

Jae caught the pup’s attention, shoving his heavy boot into his dad’s balls. The force was subtle at first, slowly increasing, and making the obedient bitch whimper louder and more high-pitched. After spurting once more, dirtying the spotless boots, Jae compelled the pup to clean them right away. The muzzle could open enough for his tongue to reach the delicious leather, cleaning away the dirty globs while he savored the tang of cow-hide. In the same motion, Jae reached over to his Big Pa and squeezed the disgusting adult baby’s chastity cage through the diaper, forcing more piss to leak from between his legs as the pressure was reallocated.

Al could only suck harder on his binky, moaning, writhing, and relishing in the feeling of being so wet and turned on. If only his pudgy dick wasn’t encased as it was, he’d fill his diaper with another surprise.

Jae looked down at his hungry, eager slut-pup, and smirked. “It’s your turn, isn’t it? You able to draw, fuck-puppy? Eric whined and pawed at Jae’s cock with his mitts, barking in excitement. “Yeah, I guess I can draw for you. Be a good boy and hump Big Pa’s leg while I take of your turn.

~~Life Goes On~~

All three players will vote on their new lives. The one with the most votes will be carried out, and the game will end.

Daddy’s Den – Jae is the daddy of a bear bar, his father, Eric acting as his guard-dog and lover. Grandpa Al is a paid attraction for patrons of the bar to visit, babysit, and fuck as they please in a giant playroom in the back.
Hog Wild – The family become the heads of a travelling bike gang, with Jae as the leader. Eric will act as the gang’s fuck-toy, and Grandpa Al is the “trainer” for new recruits.

Like the auction prior, the three of them only had to think about their vote for the card to start writing again, giving each of their votes in turn. and the card started with Eric. Eric: Daddy’s Den. As much as Eric disliked Jae, he thought life would be a bit easier as a guard dog in a bar, than riding around all over the place. The card then added below that, Al: Hog Wild. As much as Al…enjoyed being a baby, he didn’t really find the idea of being a permanent attraction all that thrilling. That made it a tie, and the two of them turned to Jae, who smiled as the card added Jae: Daddy’s Den. He was happy to be 17 again–but to be honest, he’d liked how it had felt to be a bit older. He wasn’t sure how the cards would make him into a “Daddy” of course, but he was surprisingly eager to find out.

His question was answered soon enough–he felt his body start itching a bit as he furred up by an impressive margin–not as furry as his puppy Pa, of course–though Jae noticed that Eric’s hair was actually coming in thicker. In fact, by the time this was all finished, he wouldn’t have been surprised if his body ended up with as much hair as dog’s usually had. However, while Al and Eric remained massive fat–just how Jae liked them both–he was bulking up in a different way–muscles pushing out against his well worn leather gear. He realized he wasn’t actually aging a day over seventeen though, and he realized that ten years down the road, he was going to be an absolute beast, probably like his dad.

The room was vibrating now, at first just slow enough to make him seasick if he tried to keep an eye on it, but soon it was going by so fast it was just a blur, and then he was seated at a table in a moderately sized bar, and Al and Eric were nowhere to be found. Well, Eric was easy–his old dog was right where he’d left him, in the metal dog-house he’d built for his dad to live in. The bar was actually his, but Jae was taking over for him. He’d progressed far enough in his obedience classes that he was ready and eager to live as Jae’s dog full time now, and he couldn’t be more excited. Collared and wearing his master’s filthy cast off clothing, Eric padded out in his mitts, muzzle and collar, picked up a massive dildo in his mouth and crawled over to Jae, setting it down in front of him, whimpering.

“I know you want to play Eric, but I gotta get the bar ready for tonight.”

Eric barked, but Jae just stared him down, and a bit downtrodden and disappointed, he picked up his dildo and padded back over to his doghouse where he laid down in a bit of a huff.

Jae could still remember a bit of what had happened to all of them, but it was fading rather quick, becoming more like a dream than his actual life. He stood up from the table when he heard someone start crying, and he stepped into a back room which had been completely redecorated into a nursery, where in a massive playpen, Al was sitting on his fat ass, bawling his eyes out.

“I know you need your diaper changed Al, but you have to wait. I have you rented out to a biker gang tonight, and they want you dirty tonight–it’s in the agreement,” Jae said, and then he pulled a massive baby bottle over and handed it to his grandpa, “here, drink your gainer shake, it’ll make you feel better.”

He hefted up the bottle and shoved it in Al’s mouth, and the massive man started suckling on it, his eyes dulling and glazing over as he drank down the fattening shake from his grandson. Figuring that would probably keep him occupied, and that the laxatives he’d added would make sure the bikers would be having plenty of fun later, he went out and started setting up for happy hour, but Eric wouldn’t stop whining and looking at him in despair. He checked the clock and gave a sigh–he did need to play with his dog, he hadn’t fucked him all day, and he knew how Eric got when he hadn’t had a load of his master’s cum up his ass in a while. “Alright, alright boy, I’m coming!” Jae said, and Eric started jumping and woofing, before turning around and presenting his ass for his son. Sure, it wasn’t exactly easy owning two slaves and running a bar at 17, but Jae realized as he fucked his dad’s sloppy hole, listening to him yip and yowl, that there wasn’t anything else in the world he’d rather be doing.

Identity Crises Part 2

Commissioned by Scot158f

***WARNING*** This has been pretty cleanish up until now, but it’s only going to get worse from here. In this section: inanimate TF (smoke related), farting, and scat.

Terry watched the eight foot tall man tromp down the stairs, his hair mostly grey, a massive, tangled beard stretching all the way down to his belly button, the rest of his body covered in grey hairs as well. He had a massive, taut get, but the rest of his body was packed full of muscle…and as he came downstairs, Terry caught a whiff of his daddy’s musk and felt a shiver and moan rip through him. He loved how his daddy smelled after one of daily workouts, it was the best.

“Hey son,” Caleb asked, “Whatcha watchin’?”

“Just cartoons,” Terry said, and he looked at the TV, a bit surprised. Sure, he was a teenager, but he still liked watching them, right? Then why had he expected it to be some show about food? It was strange, that was for sure. “Are you done with your workout?”

“Sure am–nice and musky, just how you like me, boy. You want my jock?”

“Aww hell yeah dad,” Terry said, “You know I’ll never turn down your stinking jockstrap.”

“Heh, well, I’ll trade you my sweaty jock for a smoke, boy. Get ready, would ya?”

“Sure thing!” Terry said, and got out of the recliner, but his body just felt odd. He was chubby, like always, but shouldn’t he be…well, fatter? And something about his cock and balls, they were…heavy for some reason, and…hard? He reached down out of curiosity, and peered over his small, soft gut and just gaped at his cock and balls–his cigar and pipes, he meant, of course. He didn’t have a cock and balls like his dad…which was…weird, right? Instead he just had a cigar jutting out from his crotch–a long one, almost nine inches, and below that, swinging heavily and clacking into each other, two massive pipes…but that was how things had always been right?

No…No this was too much. This was all too much, and he pushed back against the wave in his mind, but it was too hard, too all encompassing. He knew this was wrong, that this wasn’t how things should be. He didn’t live with his daddy…he…he was the daddy. And he had a normal cock, and it was small, or was it big? And he’d been–fatter? Thinner? More muscular? But older, definitely older.

“Boy, get smokin’–I ain’t got all night,” Caleb said from where he was sitting in his chair, and Terry blushed, rushing over to his smoking stuff, his worries forgotten in the sudden fear that he might disappoint his dad somehow. He walked over and started packing his pipes full of tobacco, the sensation of the wood and briar both familiar and…so strange. Would it hurt…when he lit his pipes and his cigar? Of course not, it had never hurt before, right? But how would he know–he’d never done this before, but if he’d never done this before, how was he packing his pipes so well, and so evenly, tamping the tobacco down carefully, making sure he could pull an even draw from his lungs once he’d lit them? Still trying to understand what was happening, he walked over to where his dad was lounging back, his jockstrap off, his ten inch cock erect in the air, and before Terry even realized what was happening, his dad had picked him up–all of him, and was dropping him down on his cock. He opened his ass like he’d been trained to, letting all ten inches slide up his ass, making him shiver, and as it did, he saw his cigar grow a bit, like it always did when he was horny.

“Oh fuck dad, that feels so good…” Terry moaned.

“Oh yeah? Well go ahead and smell this jock of mine, and tell me what you think,” he said, and pressed the wet mesh into his son’s face, watching him take it in his mouth and suck some of the sweaty grime off of it, the boy’s cigar cock growing a bit longer still, now about a foot in length, jutting up between them. “Yeah, that’s it–now how about we get you lit?”

Caleb picked up a big zippo off the table next to him, and started with his son’s cigar cock, lighting the end until it had a bright red tip, and then worked on his bowls, the smoke already pouring out of his son’s mouth by the time he had them both lit–and then he locked lips with Terry, the jock caught between them, and he inhaled, drawing the smoke up through his son’s body and into his own through the mesh, cigar burning bright orange as he sucked it down, and the same with his boy’s pipes.

“Mmmm…” Caleb said, when he finally pulled away, “Now that’s a nice smoke.”

“I’m glad you like it,” Terry said, “Your jock isn’t so bad either.”

Caleb laughed, and pulled his son close, taking one of his son’s meaty nipples between his teeth and sucking more smoke out through that, feeling his son gasp and clench his big cock with his ass, and he took a moment to admire his boy’s body. He was growing up to be a beautiful cub–not a furry or muscular as his dad, but with a nice chubby gut and moobs, and a hot set of junk, which Caleb used at every opportunity. He leaned in and took another drag off his son’s other nipple, chewing on his nipple a bit and making Terry groan, before exhaling the smoke into Terry’s mouth, filling him to the brim with it.

They stayed like that for a long while, Terry impaled on his dad’s cock the entire time. Caleb would take a long drag off his son’s cock, and relax back, letting his son spend a few minutes cleaning off his sweaty body, the heat of the pipes and cigar resting between them. As Terry’s cock burned down further and further, Caleb started spitting into his hand, lubing it up with the cooling ash and spreading it up and down his body and his cub’s, streaking them both black, and then Terry would lick it off, hungry for the smoke and anything it made. As horny as Terry was though, his cigar cock couldn’t grow as fast as his dad smoked it, but he did his best to keep it as big as he could.

As his daddy smoked him down, the worries and concerns which Terry had been wrestling with seemed to diminish slowly. This–this here–was important, not those imagined things. Being smoked by his dad, fucked on his massive cock, cleaning off his sweaty body like a good boy–those are what mattered more than anything else in the whole world. His dad was getting more and more excited, and started working his cock around in his ass, and then he wrapped his massive hands under his armpits and started fucking Terry up and down on his massive cock. The sensation of being powerless in the hands of his daddy–it was turning him on so much, his cigar was growing almost as fast as it was burning, and smoke was pouring out of his mouth and tits now. “Oh fuck dad, oh fuck! Fill me up, pump your boy full of your daddy seed!” Terry moaned.

“Oh yeah boy, burn that fuckin’ cigar down–I don’t want anything left but a fucking nub!”

With a shudder, Terry came, smoke gouting out of his mouth, and Caleb locked lips with him, inhaling as much of it as he could, his son’s sweet smoke pushing his own cock over the edge, and he pumped his load into Terry’s hole, his ass milking him as dry as he could, the cigar, now less than an inch long, burning out between their bodies, the pipes below empty as well. Still, Caleb took a few moments to suck his son dry, getting as much smoke out of him as he could, and then he let Terry pull himself up off his softening cock, and get down.

“Thanks son, that was a real nice smoke,” Caleb said, and then hefted himself up off the chair, and stretched. “Damn, I think I’m too old for this,” he said with a chuckle.

“Ha, you’ll never be too old for me,” Terry said, and gave him a hug. He only came up to his massive dad’s chest, but when the big man wrapped his arms around him too, he’d never felt so safe and secure in his whole life, especially since his wife had left him.

Wife? Wait…no, his…mom?

When Terry pulled away, he realized he didn’t know if he had a mom, and he looked up at his dad, and asked, “Dad, who…who was my Mom? I don’t…” The look of surprise that crossed his dad’s face seemed strange to Terry, almost like he hadn’t even been expecting the question. And why would he, really? It was a stupid question, wasn’t it? He just…didn’t have a mom. That was normal, wasn’t it? “I–I’m sorry, just forget I asked.”

“No! No, uh…don’t worry about it. Look, I have to go do something upstairs for a bit, but then I’ll come back down, and we can talk about it, alright? Why don’t you just get your pipes cleaned out?”

“Sure, dad,” Terry said, and blushed as his dad’s big hand tousled his hair.

The big man tromped off and squeezed his way up the stairs, and Terry thought he heard him say something as he left, “Man, I don’t think I’m cut out to be a dad–that was way harder than I thought. Being old kind of sucks–I don’t know how he does it. Still, it’s better than being a teenager.”

Terry just watched him go, wondering what in the world he was talking about. But those creeping doubts came back, and when he reached down and knocked the last bit of ash from his cigar, and worried for a minute that he’d destroyed his cock–but that was silly. All he had to do was get horny, and it would grow back, like always. Always–had it always been like this? Had he always been a teenager, with his big manly dad? With pipes and cigars where his cock and balls ought to be?

It took Terry a second to realize that he was having a panic attack–nearly hyperventilating–and all he wanted to do was run upstairs and find his daddy and make sure everything was ok, but he got a grip on himself, and walked over to his smoke gear, and focused on cleaning himself out, knocking the ash out of the bowls of his pipes, before running big pipe cleaners through them, shivering a bit. He wished he wasn’t so ticklish, but it just felt so strange, running the fuzzy wires up his pipes. It took quite a while for him to get it all clean, and he was just about done with his second pipe, when he heard his dad coming back downstairs. Good, maybe they could talk–Terry had…some questions for him, and he really wanted some answers.

The reality wave hit him again as his son turned the corner, but he barely even noticed it. One second he was cleaning out one of the big pipes stuck to his crotch, and then the next he had the pipe up in his hand. The sudden shift caught him off guard, and he just stared at it for a second, then at himself. Hell, he was normal sized–he wasn’t a short cub anymore–in fact, he seemed to be about seven feet tall now, and the sudden vertigo caught him off guard, as he wobbled a bit, rebalancing to counterbalance his massive gut with his fat ass. Wait, he was fat again? Wait, fat…again? And a cub?

It had happened again, he was sure of it now–things were changing, but how? Why? He looked down at himself, but everything seemed right…didn’t it? The brief moment of clarity was already gone, and he couldn’t hold onto any of what had just happened–this was how he’d always looked. His massive gut ganging down past his waist, several inches falling down below the food and ash stained wife beater he wore all the time, and he reached around and gave his ass crack a good scratch where it popped up over the top of his ratty boxers, and then itched one of his hairy pits for good measure. What had he been thinking about again? He shrugged his shoulders and went back to packing his pipe, and as he did, let off a big belch.

“Hot damn Pa, that was a good one. Taste as good comin’ up as it did going down?” Caleb asked, picking a cigar out of a humidor, before biting off the end and lighting it up.

“Ha, sure as hell did,” Terry said, and then looked a bit puzzled, when he heard the deep twang of his own voice, “What in tarnation…” he muttered, trying to figure out what had happened to his voice.

“What’s up, Pa?”

His son had it too, but he hadn’t noticed…but why should he have? It was normal for a son to talk like his Pa, right? Where else would he have picked it up? “Nah, nothin’, just bein’ thick I guess. Ya know yer Pa, I ain’t too bright.”

“Ha, that’s alright, ‘cause yer damn sexy,” Caleb said, taking a deep drag off his cigar.

Terry went back to packing his pipe, and tried to remember what had been bothering him, but couldn’t find it. His head just wasn’t quite working fast enough to keep up with what was going on, but hell, it didn’t matter–he was just horny! He lit his pipe still chuckling, when he let loose a loud, wet fart that surprised both he and Caleb. “Well damn,” he said, “Guess it needs tah come outa both ends, eh son?”

“Sounds like it,” Caleb said, walking over and wrapping his big arms around his Pa and taking a deep sniff of the air. “Damn, it’s a hot, stinky one too–I fuckin’ love those.”

His son still was the same size as his dad had been–wait, his dad? No, he was…well he was big, that was all that mattered. Big, and hairy, and musky…Terry growled low and started grinding his big ass into his son’s legs–feeling the bulge of his son’s cock pressing into his flabby back, as Caleb grabbed both his flabby tits in his massive hands and started squeezing them. His boy wasn’t relly a “boy” anymore, Terry knew. Hell, he hadn’t been a boy in years now. At 27, he was one hot bear, and Terry was just happy to have him in his life. They’d been fucking for so long Terry didn’t think they would ever be apart–he could still remember their first fuck on his son’s eighteenth birthday–that had been one special fucking day. He was so happy to have a son as gay as he was. He reached around and gripped his son’s beard–he was too short to reach much else, and pulled him closer. “Ah fuck son, ya sure know how tah git yer Pa ragin’ horny.”

“Oh yeah? Well ya know what I want Pa?” Caleb asked, “I want a taste a this big, fat ass of yours.” Caleb set his cigar off in a nearby ashtray and shoved his hand down the back of his dad’s boxers.

“Fuck…aww damn boy, ya sure? It’s pretty filthy back there…”

“Just how I like it,” Caleb said, yanking down the back getting down on his knees. He kneaded his dad’s wide ass a bit and then spread the cheeks and started rubbing his greasy, tangled beard up and down his dad’s crack, listening to the fat man moan. Terry leaned forward, bracing himself against the wall and spread his legs apart, still puffing on his pipe, giving Caleb better access to his crack, and felt his son’s tongue start cleaning out his sweaty crack, probing up his shithole, and he moaned, feeling his own large cock start pressing up against his gut.

Again, Terry found himself distracted. Big cock? He hadn’t had a very big cock last time he was this big? Last time? What last time? He’d always had a cock this size…right? Or had he…had he had a tiny cock before? No, he’d always had a cock this size, this big foot long cock. Yeah, a massive foot long cigar sticking out between his legs. How else was he supposed to fuck his son, with this big gut in the way? Yeah, he might not be smart, but he more than made up for it downstairs. Caleb sometimes joked that he did a better job of thinking with his cock than with his head, and he was probably right. Thinking with his cock was a whole lot more fun too.

“Aww yeah son, that feels so good…git that tongue up there.”

“Fuck dad, yer hole’s so fuckin’ nasty–I love it,” Caleb said, and he groped for his cigar, took a deep drag off of it, anf then locked lips with his dad’s hole, pumping his ass full of smoke, the warm air making Terry shiver. He did it a few more times, pumping Terry good and full, and then, when Terry couldn’t hold any more, he bore down, a loud, long, smoky fart streaming right into his son’s face, who inhaled as much of it as he could.

“Aw fuck…fuck that’s nice…” Terry said, smelling it himself, “Yer smoke gives me the best goddamn gas, boy.”

“Sure as fuck does, I fuckin’ can’t get enough of it.”

Terry grinned. “I know somethin’ else a pig like you can’ git enough of,” he said, and stood up, stepping out of his boxers and plopping down into his recliner, putting it up so his feet were level with his son’s face, “Go on, I know how much mah filthy feet turn ya on, boy.”

With Caleb on his knees in front of him, Terry was oddly struck by just how…big his son was. He was big, like…just really damn huge. Even on his knees, his face was still level with Terry where lounged in the recliner, and he had to hunch down to press his nose between his dad’s toes and take a good whiff of the nasty funk that had built up there. Wide too–his son was so big they’d had to keep building out the doorways as he grew up. Even now, he had to fit through them sideways, or else his shoulders would get stuck. It was lucky their house had ten foot ceilings, but he had the curious thought that his son still wasn’t done growing, even though he was probably one of the biggest men on the planet. He was definitely one of the hairiest too–his entire body was covered with curly brown body hair, which was usually matted down with sweat and grime, since he worked out close to eight hours a day. Still, Terry didn’t mind–he loved his sweaty, filthy boy, and when they went to bed, he’d usually give him a nice long tongue bath, before his son took his turn, licking the sweat from between his fatty rolls…

Terry groaned as Caleb ran his big tongue up the sole of his foot and then started sucking on his toes. In his recliner, Terry tensed up for a moment, and then let loose another fart, the stink wafting out right into his son’s face, and the look of desire that shot across it and he smirked. “God, I can’t believe I raised ya tah be such a damn stinkhound.”

“Well, yer so fuckin’ nasty dad, what else would I have grown up tah be?” Caleb said, “Hey dad, ya know, why don’t ya wear those big boots ayers fer the rest of the weekend? Even when yer fucking sleepin’? Then I can clean ‘em out and yer nasty feet too on Monday, after ya git home from work.”

Work. Where did he work again? Wasn’t it…wasn’t it doing like…cooking or a chef? No that wasn’t it, where in the hell had he gotten that idea? He was a forklift operator at a warehouse–sitting on his ass all day in the hot building–his son loved how nasty and sweaty he was after a long day of work, and his booted feet would be absolutely howling by the time he took them off. Just imagining his son sucking on his grimy feet after a long day of work was enough to raise his big cock to over half mast, and Caleb reached up and wrapped one hand around it, so he could worm a finger under his thick foreskin and collect the cheese, which he then smeared on Terry’s feet before licking away.

“Alright dad, I think yer good ‘n clean. I got somethin’ I wanna try though,” Caleb said, standing up to his full height, “Now don’t move, I want tah see if this’ll work.”

Terry watched as Caleb walked around to the side of the recliner, and then in one fluid motion, kicked his foot over so he was straddling the entire recliner, his ass towards his dad’s face. “What’cha doin’ boy?” was all Terry had time to ask before Caleb reached down and yanked on the lever, the chair ratcheting back and slamming Terry’s fat face between his son’s muscular, sweaty ass.

He didn’t have time to breathe, and as soon as he was firmly planted, Caleb let loose with a fart of his own right in Terry’s face, and he gulped it down, his ten inch cock now absolutely rigid, and Terry was lapping up the gunk from his son’s crack and probing down the hole with his tongue, listening to Caleb moan, relishing the sensation of being slammed up his son’s ass.

Then Caleb bent over at his waist, and Terry felt him start sucking on his cock, and the dual assault was enough to send shivers all over his body. It felt like his head just shut down, and all he could think about was how hot it was to clean out his boy’s crack while he got his big cock sucked off. The ten inch monster would have been rough for a normal person, but Caleb’s throat was as big as the rest of him, and he took it without a single gag. Terry waited until he had his face against the base of his cock before he let off another giant fart, listening to Caleb groan in stinky pleasure, and his son followed suit, sending him another fart of his own right into Terry’s face.

Terry was close, and Caleb could tell–his father’s big cock was gushing precum like it always did when he was about to shoot. Terry started to shake, his fat belly jiggling and shuddering as he came, burst after burst of jizz shooting into his son’s mouth, and he swallowed all of it down, and then when he finally relaxed, he let out another massive fart…except it wasn’t just a fart this time.

Terry felt the shit squirt out of his ass and squish between his cheeks as he tried to hold it back, but he wasn’t able to do anything about it, because he was still trapped between the chair and his son’s ass. He groped for the lever and was able to push himself back so he was free, and Caleb unstraddled himself from the recliner, and then took a sniff and said, “Damn that one was stinkier than usual.”

Terry just blushed, and without saying anything, raised the recliner back up and hefted himself out of the chair, and when Caleb saw the brown streak on the chair, he realized what must have happened, and he just looked shocked. Terry didn’t notice, he had waddled off immediately, unable to believe he’d lost control like that, and hurried into the downstairs bathroom, where he lumbered over and sat down on the toilet, unable to believe he’d just shat all over his favorite chair. The same damn chair his dad had fucked him on, and smoked his cigar cock…right?

Terry tried to figure out where that memory had come from, but he just couldn’t. It didn’t make any sense at all. I mean…Caleb had been…his dad? And he’d had a cigar and pipe…

His head was hurting, but instead of retreating, he pushed in further, trying to separate out what had happened to him over the last few hours. He could…remember cooking dinner, but his son hadn’t been as big, and fatter. And before that, upstairs, hadn’t they…fucked? But none of those things actually seemed real–what was real was his massive, hairy and filthy redneck son, and he, his fat, sweaty equally filthy redneck dad…right?

He did his best to wipe his ass, but gave up pretty quick–he was just too big to reach around well enough, and why was he so embarrassed by what had happened? It wouldn’t be the first time he’d shat himself on accident–he and his son were trading farts so often that things had a way of slipping out on occasion, he thought with a chuckle. But then why couldn’t he ever remember doing it in the past?

“Hey Pa,” Caleb said, knocking on the bathroom door, “You alright in there?”

“Yeah,” Terry said, jus’ cleanin up.”

“Oh…” Caleb said, and after a pause said, “You…you uh, need any help?”

“No Caleb, I got it,” Terry said.

Then, the bathroom door opened anyway, and Caleb was there in the doorway, a grin on his face that Terry didn’t like the look of…and a massive hard on sticking straight towards Terry. “You sure? I think I know how to help out.”

Before Terry could do anything, Caleb had grabbed him by his fat gut, swung him around, and bent him over the bathroom counter, before slamming his cock up his dad’s ass. “Caleb! What the fuck, I’m not in the fuckin’ mood boy!”

Caleb, however, wasn’t listening, he was just fucking, and from the look on his face…he was down right enjoying the sensation of fucking his dad’s still shitty hole, and all Terry could feel was..disgust. “Caleb! Caleb, get the fuck off of me!” He screamed, and shoved himself back against his big brute of a son, who stumbled back, his shitty cock coming free of his dad’s hole.

“What the hell dad? What the fuck’s up with ya?”

“I fuckin’ said no, boy!” Terry hollered, “Now git up in yer goddamn room!”

“Why the fuck should I?” Caleb shouted back, “You’re not the fuckin’ boss a me!”

“I am yer father, boy, ‘n if I git anymore fuckin’ lip from you, yer gonna fuckin’ regret it.”

The two men glared at each other for a moment, before Caleb relented, and left the bathroom, squeezing his way up the staircases to his room, and slamming the door behind him, and then Terry let himself collapse to the floor. He honestly hadn’t expected him to stop–and Terry knew that his son was big enough that if he’d really wanted to keep going–he would have. Fuck, Caleb hadn’t always been like that, what happened to the sweet chubby loner he’d been when he was a teenager? Now, he was this hulk in his mid-twenties, still living with his dad–he needed a damn job, and a life!

Something he’d thought stuck out to Terry though–Caleb hadn’t been a chubby teenager–he hadn’t been chubby ever in his life. But still, he had a…clearish image of a son–his son, sweet hairless face, pudgy body, on the short side…but he couldn’t actually say when the image was from, because…well, it had never happened, right?

No, it had happened–it must have. But when? Again, Terry found himself looking through these impossibly tinted glass walls at the edge of his vision, like if he could turn his head fast enough and squint, he’d see something different, some other reality than his own, just as real as his…but impossible to access. But this wasn’t really right was it? He hadn’t always been this fat, filthy redneck, had he? Fuck, he needed a smoke. He got up and returned to where he’d set his pipe, finding it had gone out, and he relit it. He didn’t sit in the recliner, but just paced the room, puffing his pipe, wondering what to do about Caleb.

They needed to set boundaries–he needed to reassert himself as the father here. Sure, he loved having sex with his son–of course he did, but if he said no…well, Caleb had to respect that. There just weren’t any ifs, ands, or buts about that. And he needed to get a job–no more working out all day every day. And he needed to start picking up after himself, he figured, looking around at the cluttered den–the place was a sty. Sure, neither he nor Caleb were the cleanest guys on the planet–hell, hardly so–but they could still make an effort to improve. He smoked the rest of his pipe down, and then cleaned it out. He’d let Caleb sweat it out enough by now, he figured. Hopefully he’d had a chance to jack off, think about what he did, and realize what he’d done wrong, and they could have a conversation like real men, instead of a tantrum or argument.

He set his pipe back up on the rack, and then sighed, letting out a big belch. There wasn’t any use putting it off any longer. He hefted himself up the two staircases, pausing at the top of the second to catch his breath, before heading to his son’s room, and knocking. “Caleb, are ya in there? I’d like tah have a talk wit’ ya.”

“Sure thing dad, come on in.”

To Be Continued

“Shit!” Officer Bradley said as the battered blue sedan sped past him. He didn’t even need to chack the radar to know he was going over a hundred, and so he flipped on his lights and sirens and sped off down the road after him. He’d kind of been expecting a bit of the chase–anyone going that fast usually thinks they can outrun a cop–but as soon as the driver saw him, he pulled right off to the shoulder.

Officer Bradley pulled in behind him and got out, walking around to the passenger side door away from the busy road, waiting for the man inside to roll down his window. However, as soon as the window cracked, the stench rolling off the man, the scent of musk and cigar smoke addled the officer’s brain for a moment, but he finally asked, “Sir, do…do you know why I pulled you over?”

The man didn’t say anything immediately, but lowered his sunglasses and looked at Officer Bradley, before saying, “Because you’re a horny pig.”

The officer gave a snort of surprise, and went to speak, but the man kept going.

“Because you’re a horny, subby little pig. A fat fucking pig. A cum-starved, piss drinking pig, because you’re a horny, weak little piggy…”

It was like the words were wrapping their way around him, and Officer Bradley was desperately trying to get away, but his body just…wouldn’t move. Instead, he found himself obsessing over how hard his cock was, and the bulge in the man’s leather pants.

“Nasty fuck loving pig, a muddy grimy filthy pig–isn’t that right sir?”

He wanted to say no. He wanted to arrest the man on the spot, but that’s not what came out of his mouth. When he opened his mouth, he just started grunting and oinking, and as he did, he shot a massive wad of cum in his uniform pants, and he was so surprised when it happened, that he stumbled back and into the woods behind him, tripping and tumbling down the embankment.

He heard the man get out of his car, “Sooey! Sooey little piggy, come here, let’s have some fun, little piggy!”

Officer Bradley tried to call for help, but his voice–his voice was gone, all he could do was snort and grunt, and so he picked himself up and ran deeper into the woods, the man following him and laughing, calling out, “Sooey! Sooooeeyy!”

Well holy hell, this is one hot, fucking submission. Hope this makes your Saturday night a bit raunchier. Thanks Beardsman, and well done.

***

I found it a bit strange when I saw my Dad. The divorce with Mom had hit him hard, and I had been actively talking to him every other day for a month now. It was just a few weeks ago that he was telling me about his friend that he met at the town’s tavern. Allen-something-or-other. The conversations would slowly shift from him missing the smell or touch of my Mother to the crazy drinking nights Allen had him mixed up in.

He was a true man, at least as I saw him, raising me in a small country town. I guess it wasn’t too different seeing him in his regular Flannel shirt. The leather vest had just thrown me off a tad.

As I said, he was always the real man’s man. However, he had a big heart. He never spoke roughly of anyone, gladly offered a helping hand, and was a trusted member of the community. The man I saw before me was barely that. I could only recognize my Father’s stare, looking back at me in a glazed daze. He opened his mouth to speak, and I hardly could process just how deep of a rumble escaped his lips.

“Missed you, boy” he spoke aloud. A cloud of smoke nearly blocked his entire face with those three words. While in a deeper, gravelly-tone, I almost melted at the heart-felt meaning. He only called me ‘boy’ when he was heart-broken, sappy, or proud. He took a drag from his cigar, and I noticed his arm adorned with an array of tattoos creating an unfinished sleeve. Another strange occurrence, as he was always a man who was against defiling the body with ink or metal. Still, his tattoo and shining septum-piercing that stood out in the contrast of his facial hair broke down those familiar barriers.

His facial hair, I remembered it as a shaggy black beard that completed his charming lumberjack facade. It was now trimmed and shaped into something smaller than I had ever witnessed his wear. Almost as shocking as his mop of raven hair was shaved to a uniform strip that followed it all the way back to his neck.

Before I could process any of it, I still knew it was my Dad. He was accepting of everything I did, so I shouldn’t jump to any judgments with his new style. Some guys just handle divorce differently.

I out-stretched my arms and approached, big smile gracing my face to combat the same stony expression he held since I entered from the front door. What was intended as a solid loving hug went horribly awry. He grabbed my chin as I was closing my arms around him and locked thick meaty lips onto my own. Before I could pull back, still somewhat trying to hug him, I felt the burning rush of tobacco smoke filling my insides. The thickness made me light-headed, and I could scarcely register his nicotine-lined tongue sliding inside.

With a rough push, he released me, and I stumbled back. My head played everything in slow-motion, and I could even see the slick trail of saliva between us before it vanished in distance.

“I said…I missed you, boy.” The same word I knew as an affectionate pet name rattled around in my head, and I felt another meaning creeping up behind it. That wasn’t pride, at least not the wholesome pride I knew to expect. That was ownership.

“D-dad…Why did you kiss- I mean, what was that f- how did..??” I couldn’t get the words out, not while he was looking at me like that. Not while that smoke poured from his nose and danced in the air between us. I had a feeling that my concern wouldn’t be met.

“You didn’t want a kiss from your old man?” That voice again, this time it sent shivers through me. Just as velvety as that smoke. What the fuck was going on??

“A kiss..? No, Dad..It’s okay…I missed you…”

That was it. That was all I could reply. I started rationalizing that a kiss was just as affectionate as a hug, if not more so. We hadn’t seen each other in a while. It was a natural thing, right? Guys kiss their girls like that all the time. The logic only barely concerned me, as I didn’t have time to realize I compared myself to a girlfriend, or using ‘girls’ as an objectified noun.

“I bet,” he said, swiftly stepping towards me and reaching a meaty weathered palm out to rub my abdomen. I heard the stomping of his boots, and looked down out of instinct. Not towards his suggestive advances on my body, but to the perfectly-shined leather and silver adorning his feet. Normally, those clompers were kept in the muddiest condition from his job. I hadn’t seen them this clean even when they were new.

My thoughts were interrupted by another, softer kiss. It was joined by a vibration that emanated from his throat. A cross between a growl and a moan, but I couldn’t tell the difference with that sweet baritone he addressed me in. Since this kiss was slower, more sensual, I had time to really taste him. It wasn’t the normal taste of a cigarette you’d detect on a smoker’s tongue. It was heady, spicy. A multitude of flavors danced on my palette. Mixed with the smell of an earthy cologne he seemed to be wearing, I was swimming in sensations.

I almost didn’t let my Father pull back from the kiss, keeping on his tongue with my lips until he was too far to hold. Out of instinct, my hand rested on his chest. Solid, as I imagined, and shaved clean to the skin.

“Yeah, not growing out that pelt anymore. Allen says I look better without it.” I hadn’t even asked the question, but I supposed he sensed my reluctance to the change. I always remembered the furry barreled-chest. One that you’d be happy to bury your nose in, and cuddle in, and- what the fuck was I even thinking…?

“I don’t know what’s going on, Dad…,” I said as I grabbed my head. It felt like my thoughts were splitting in two.

“You don’t? That was always like you, boy. Confused and helpless. Never understood why you ventured off on your own.”

What was that? It seemed a bit harsh in those words, and the mocking tone he took hit a sore spot deep down inside.

“Yeah, your face says it all. It’s fine, boy. Allen explained how some of us are just born to take orders. I’m the same way. That’s why your Mother was always in the picture. Big difference now is that I can GIVE the orders, too…,” the last sentence had a cocky tone to it, and my confusion only increased the way he was staring at me. “You want some orders, boy? You haven’t really moved since you got here. You already seem eager.”

“No, Dad, I’m just..I..,” COME ON! WHY CAN’T I FINISH A THOUGHT???

“You mean ‘Yes’, Jake,” he said matter-of-factly.

“N-no..I mean..yeah..maybe…,” it was still hurting, the throbbing in my head. I had trouble looking away from him. I had trouble thinking anything different than what he was suggesting.

“’Maybe’ isn’t good enough, is it, boy?” I blinked in response, and he leaned closer, “Is. It. Boy.”

“N-no, sir…”

I saw a smile grace his face for the first time, as if he had accomplished something great. He took another hit off his waiting cigar, and blew a thick plume into my face before speaking again, “Yeah, Allen said you’d need some training. Just like your old Daddy here.”

He turned his cigar around and put it in my lips. I’d smoked before, but never on anything like this. I could taste the signature of my Father’s saliva as the tip hit my tongue.

“Suck it deep.” I wasted no time, using my experience to inhale. I didn’t want to disappoint him, to fail him. It wasn’t a new feeling, just a classic one translated to these new phantom desires I felt arising in me. “Hold it.” That harsh tone again. I coughed inside, a small billow escaping my nose. Before I could see anything, I felt his hand push against my face and the back of my head hit the wall.

“I SAID HOLD IT, FUCKER!” I immediately broke out in a cold sweat from his harshness. That and the shortness of oxygen to my brain were really fucking with me. He closed in on my face again, slowly removing his hand and replaced it with his lips.

This was like the first kiss. Penetrating, harsh, wild. I took it as a sign to let go, and felt the burning deep inside release through my mouth. My Father sucked it in with an almost innocent eagerness. The permeating fog floated between us in short clouds each time an opening showed in our kiss. It was in this moment that I felt his hand brush over my jeans, and knock my erection.

My Dad pulled back and gripped tighter than I would have liked at the bulge in my jeans, “Yeah, fucking hard already. My boy likes it rough, huh?” I didn’t recall enjoying having my head slammed. I would have guessed that it was the kiss, or the sultry smoke, but he was telling me differently. As up to this point, I couldn’t argue with him. Before I could plead my case, I felt his fist land on my soft chest, knocking me back again into the wall. I grunted in pain, and felt his hand massaging my crotch once more. The combined sensations were confusing, of course. “Yeah, feels good to someone like you.”

What the fuck did he mean by that?? I tried to respond, but felt a slap around my face before a word could escape. His hand was thick, and he obviously wasn’t playing around. It definitely hurt. At the same time, I could still feel the other rough palm pressing into my dick.

“Still hard, and getting harder,” he declared. He kept up his efforts, hurting me in different ways while continuously massaging my manhood. I knew the smoke was slowing me down, making me hang on every word, and he was conditioning me to like everything he was doing. His taunting was pushing me closer to the edge, whether I wanted it or not. Even as he ripped my shirt open, and stroked the dusting of soft fur of my own, I knew he was getting through to me when I let out a desperate moan from him harshly twisted my nipple.

“Oh god, Dad!” I cried out involuntarily, and his smug expression only deepened. His grip loosened finally, and I heard the sound of my jeans-zipper lowering. I should have pushed him away, fought back in some form, but I was craving what might happen next. Like a cliff-hanger to a story, but with an expectedly VERY naughty ending.

This was my Father. That very fact made this all the more disgusting and wrong, which in the same aspect made it feel so much more fun. There was a thin line between Taboo and Fetish, and god-damn if he wasn’t eradicating it right now!

“You’re a leaker, boy. Makes me proud that you take after your Daddy…In more ways than one, obviously…,” I looked down to see my pole pushing a small opening in my briefs, and the front cloth was slimy and darkened from my own fluids. Two of his fingers pushed into the opening and played with my dickhead. My mouth opened in a boisterous moan. “Make some noise, you little shit!” He egged me on, and reached with his other hand to squeeze my clothed nuts.

“FUCK!” I pushed back against the wall, and squirted pre from my slit. I never though this pain could feel so GOOD. It was him, my Daddy. I knew he was telling me to like it, and I was obeying as he expected. It scared me at how much power he had over me, but I wasn’t about to tell him otherwise.

“Your Daddy here likes his balls stretched and squeezed. You do, too. Dontcha?” Another grip, another pleading moan from my lips. I looked down with blurry-eyes to his zippered crotch. He sensed what I was thinking, and opened the forbidden denim gate.

Just as his previous statement, I saw his sac stretched at least three-inches downward by metal rings. They looked red and swollen, but all I could think was how good they must have felt compared to his grip on mine.

I almost didn’t see what hung above it. A thickly-veined beast with a silver ring dangling under the head. A bit thicker than his septum-piercing, and dripping musky dick-slime. It DID look just like mine, but a tad larger in thickness. It was surreal, staring at what my cock might turn into in the future.

“It’s big, Daddy,” I stated, almost dumbly. Well, did I expect to make a philosophical statement on it?

“No shit, dumb-fuck.”

Dumb-fuck. I sure felt that way right now. I looked into his eyes, and he read my mind once again.

“Yeah, dumb fuckers like you that can’t think straight. Nothing straight about you. Even that curved pig-dick of yours.”

Pig dick?? Sure, I was dumb, but was he calling me fat now? That wasn’t very nice.

“Fat. Fucking. Pig Dick.” He grabbed my dick and shook it with force.

“Oink!” I snorted. I fucking SNORTED instead of moaning. I must have liked being a pig for my Daddy.

“Damn! For a dumb pig you sure learn quick. How about this?” He grabbed my nuts again, and I couldn’t help squeal out, “You’re nice and soft, especially your ass, piggy.”

“Daddy, you like my ass?” I was surprised by his comment, and felt a swelling of pride in me.

“Oh yeah. I loved it when you’d bend over and spread those fat round cheeks for me. That fur, the musk- makes me want to eat you out. One hungry pig for another.”

I snorted, shooting out more pre as his suggestion hit home again. Why was I enjoying this so much? Why was I trying to overthink everything? Pigs don’t think that much. I felt a rumbling in my tummy as I considered the word ‘hungry’. I was, very much so. “I’m hungry, Daddy…”

“Yeah you are, pig. What do pigs like us eat?”

“We…we eat…,” I replied dumbly, having trouble with the question. The obvious answer was in his previous statement, but I couldn’t bring myself to say it.

“Spit it the fuck out, pig. What do hungry, nasty, horny pigs like us eat?”

“WE EAT ASS,” I said aloud, pushing the statement from my lips. Admitting it was like a flood-gate opening with new nasty thoughts permeating every corner of my mind.

“Yeah we do. We eat ass, and cum, and sweat, and piss.”

PISS? The thought a few minutes ago, that would have made me ill, but if I was growing used to the thought of my Daddy’s musky ass crack, then what harm was getting a drink from his dick? “We..we eat piss?”

“We drink it, dumb-fuck. We drink that stale liquid gold and our thirst is never sated.”

My mouth felt so dry as I listened to Daddy sir speak. I still felt hungry, too.

“Piggy looks like he wants something,” was his reply to my sudden obvious fidgeting. Without a warning, he dropped what remained of his jeans and turned around. I thought he was wearing underwear, seeing his dick just hanging out, but I realized he was wearing a very tattered pair of briefs. They were stained and darkened from constant wear. I could smell the stench wafting from the material. It only made me hungrier.

The back of the material had multiple holes, mostly small, but I could see the outline of his sweaty crack. The line was accented with the roundness of his fit ass from years of hiking and squats.

“Here’s some beef for my piggy. Better dig in before it gets cold.”

I didn’t need any more urging, and I dove forward, landing on my knees, and my face was buried in that dingy cloth. I still gagged, and tried mentally to pull away with no avail. It was so rank, so foul that I was buried in my own Father’s ass. My Father…Dad…Daddy. Daddy’s ass. I was tongue deep in my Daddy’s ass. I was hungry and needed more. I pushed the tip of my tongue into several of the holes, tasting salty flesh underneath.

“I don’t need my underwear cleaned you fucking nasty son of a bitch! Open that up!” I wasted no time in following what he wanted, grabbing a hole with two fingers and ripping it wide. While his chest was clean-shaven, his ass was untouched. It looked so fucking GOOD!

I snorted, and moaned, mashing my lips deep into his almost cavernous crack. The plump flesh left so much to hold onto, to clean, to worship. The buds on my tongue scraped and dove deeper with each thrust, until I hit the waiting pucker. I heard my Daddy let out a piggy-snort of his own, and he pushed back without any more urging. The tip of my tongue penetrated, the flesh inside was even muskier. I felt him clench around the invasion, my hands holding his thighs tight and pulling him into me. It felt like an actual meal, as I drank his sweat and suckled on his ass I felt the hunger-pains weakening.

“FUCK! *Snort*,” he rocked on his feet before falling to his knees. I clamored to follow his movements, only coming loose from his ass for a moment before pushing back in with greater force. On his hands and knees, Daddy called me degrading names, and kept telling me how insatiable my hunger would be. “What the fuck do pigs eat, bitch??”

I pulled out of his ass and moaned “Ass!” and fell right back into it.

“Yeah, we eat ass. We can lick and chew tight beefy backsides until our Sirs cum all over us. What do PIGS eat?”

“We eat ass, and cum!” I called out, proud of remembering the next one.

“WHAT ELSE DO WE EAT, PIG??”

“SWEAT, SIR!” Upon that reminder, I licked straight up his crack to gather the stale sweat, and even lowered myself to lick deep between his thigh and stretched balls.

“*SNORT* WHAT DO WE DRINK, YOU SICK FUCK?”

“We- *snort!* We drink piss, SIR!”

At that, Daddy flipped onto his back, legs spread wide and I finally had a clear view of his swimming pucker. It was drenched in my saliva, and I had the urge to suck it all up. That is, until Daddy pointed his dick at me.

“I hope your thirsty, pig!”

I tried to reach it in time, my mouth wide and ready to take his rod deep to drain him of every drop. I was too late when the stream hit my face. It ran down my cheeks, my lips, and I tried my best to get it into my mouth. The taste was explosive. So much better than the salty perspiration. He raised his aim, soaking my forehead and then my hair, watching it stream down my chest and fall from my belly to form puddle below me. As the stream began to slow, I stayed put, smacking my lips and drinking what I caught on my tongue. Daddy watched me with pride.

“There’s a happy pig…” He patted his ass, urging me to continue, and I dove back into it with fervor, drinking left-over sweat, piss, and my own saliva. It was only when Daddy pulled away and got back onto his knees that I could stop, and in his position he grabbed my face and mashed it into his.

Another loving, primitive kiss. This time, he was tasting himself. He was enjoying his own musk, and snorting between breaths as he enjoyed the treat as a good piggy should. My Daddy lead such an amazing example. Pigs like me, we learn from the best!