It’s not that Alex was a prude–hell, he masturbated plenty. There wasn’t any reason why Harry couldn’t jack off too. The problem was the damn smell of it! Ever since the day he’d moved into the house with him, the whole house stank of it. Sure, he hadn’t known what the smell was at first, only that it had come largely from Harry’s room and the bathroom. It wasn’t until Alex had caught him at it (well, “caught him” was one way of phrasing it–really, he’d been crouching outside the slightly open door, watching his housemate tug on his cock while he was on the bed, well positioned to give him a view) and as soon as he’d shot, the smell had smacked him in the face like a ton of bricks.

Of course, the real problem wasn’t that he could smell it–the problem was how it smelled. It smelled amazing. It smelled like cum, sure–rank and a bit cheesy–but for some reason, it made his mouth water. It made him want to jack off too. He couldn’t let Harry know, of course–Harry would probably think he’s a fag, if he knew how much he wanted his cum. If he knew that he’d snuck into his room while he wasn’t home, and stolen his still wet cumrag, and sucked on it for a few hours, milking his own cock for all it was worth. That was something a fag would totally do, right? But he wasn’t a fag. He couldn’t help it if Larry’s cum just smelled really good to him. He was hoping that if he could just taste it enough, he could stop thinking about it, but if fact, getting a taste only made it worse. It was starting to become the only thing he could think about. He started watching Larry more often through the cracked door, still pretending to himself that his roommate had no idea he was watching, even though he spent most of his time watching Alex. Finally, one night, Larry came, but instead of shooting into the rag like usual, he shot it into his hand, and held it out to the door, “Well come on pig, if you want it so badly, get in here and eat it all up.”

Alex tried to resist, but the scent was overwhelming. He crawled into the room and licked all the fresh cum from his roommate’s hand, jacking off his own cock as he did, and the taste of it fresh–his head couldn’t take it. He just kept licking Larry’s fingers clean, his entire mind focusing in on that single act. Off in the distance, he could sense that Larry was talking to him, telling him things, but he couldn’t think about anything beyond licking those fingers. And when he finally stopped licking, he crawled back to his room (for some reason, he wasn’t quite able to stand up and walk, an odder still, he didn’t find that fact the least bit strange) sat on the floor and started jacking off, over and over again, eating every load of cum that he produced, until it hurt to even touch his cock anymore. Then and only then was he able to heft himself up into bed and collapse from exhaustion, his arms burning, though when Larry came in and skull fucked him, he didn’t object. Why would he object to another opportunity to taste his delicious cum?

From that day on, it became harder and harder for Alex to deny that he was anything but a faggot at heart. He would beg Larry for his cum, he would do anything for another taste of it. He took over the household chores, he cooked dinner, he gave him massages and foot rubs, all so he might have the privilege of sucking a load of cum from Larry’s cock. Still, he told himself that it couldn’t get worse than this, right? At least, until it did. Suddenly, it wasn’t just Larry’s cum he smelled, but everyone’s cum. And they all smelled different, and they all smelled delicious. It was getting harder and harder for him to think about anything other than cum, and Larry only made it worse by dressing him up in his leather gear, driving them to the fetish clubs in the city, and making him beg for cum all night long. The words CUM PIG scrawled across his forehead (Larry had told him that once he’d earned enough money as a cum dump, he’d get it tattooed on there properly) and who knew what else drawn on him, all the men would laugh, and he’d drink cum from any cock, because he wasn’t just a cum pig–he was Cum Pig–or at least that’s what Larry called him. And before too long, it was the only name he could remember, as he crawled around the house, oinking and grunting, sniffing around for his next load of cum.

Mr. Drake’s Games – Part 1

“Oh, just go help him out, Jay,” his dad said, “Mr. Drake said he’d pay you twenty bucks.”

“But dad, he’s a fucking creep.” Then again, it wasn’t all that surprising that his dad and Mr. Drake got along–both of them were chubby, hairy old faggots. Hell, just the way his dad was looking at him, was making him uncomfortable…his dad never used to look at him like that…right?

Jay’s dad just stared at him from where he was lounging in his recliner, naked like he always was around the house. Part of Jay knew that wasn’t normal, but he couldn’t quite figure out where his doubts were coming from. “Go help our neighbor, or no video games for a week.”

“But dad–”

“Go on, Jay.”

Jay grumbled, but he headed out the front door and crossed the cul-de-sac heading towards Mr. Drake’s house. He couldn’t believe his dad sometimes–he hated it here. Why in the hell hadn’t he gotten out of here yet? Jay had turned twenty one a few months ago, but he was having a hard time getting on his feet. He certainly hadn’t planned on staying with his dad, but a DUI during his senior year of high school had cost him the athletic scholarship he’d been banking on to go to college, and so here he was stuck, with his fat, dirty slob of a father. At least he was still in shape, he told himself–it could be worse. Still, something was bothering him–his dad had used to hate Mr. Drake, hadn’t he? Everyone in the neighborhood did–he was dragging everyone’s property values down with his hoarding and decrepit old house. He was still trying to figure out what was wrong as he climbed up onto the porch cluttered with junk and knocked on the door. “Mr. Drake? Are you there?”

“Is that you Jay? Come on in, boy.”

Jay pushed open the door to his neighbor’s house, and found himself confronted with a very naked Mr. Drake on a couch, leering at him.

“What the fuck? Put some clothes on, you fucking sicko!”

“Heh, I’d be much happier to see you lose yours, Jay. In fact, why don’t we get right to it and grow you out of them?”

Jay wanted to run, but somehow he was rooted to the spot where he was standing, and something strange was happening–his body, he could feel himself changing. Looking down, his tight T-shirt was starting to bulge out, and started to ride up as his abs were swallowed up by a soft, pudgy gut. “What…what the fuck are you doing? Fucking stop it!” Mr. Drake didn’t say anything, and Jay felt his clothes tightening around him, the collar cutting into his fattening neck, chest tight across his growing moobs, the seams of his jeans starting to tear as his thighs expanded. Mr. Drake stood up from the couch, walked over and started ripping at Jay’s clothes, pulling them away in tatters until he stood naked aside from a pair of very tight briefs stretched tight by his new fat body.

“Oh yes, that’s much better,” Mr. Drake said, “No more muscles for you boy, just fat, fat, fat, just like your new fatass daddy over there.”

Jay was trying to move, but his feet were still rooted to the floor, Mr, Drake feeling his fat curves and laughing, “This is crazy, what the hell did you do to me?” he asked.

“Oh, I’m just having a little fun, is all,” Mr. Drake said, “I was getting tired of everyone around here looking down at me all the time, so I thought why not bring everyone else down here with me? And who better to start with than your big buff dad and his muscular son? Then again, you probably don’t remember how your dad used to look, do you? He was muscular too, earlier today, but after a little bit of conversation…well, he’s much friendlier now, don’t you think? He certainly things highly of you–why we masturbated together earlier, fantasizing about what we were going to do to you.”

He could remember. Those strange thoughts he’d been having as he walked over here, he could remember…kind of. His dad had been in shape like him. A clean freak, not the fat slob who’d sent him over here. Now he felt something else–fear. He was fat–fatter than he could believe…and he couldn’t quite remember being thin at all. He’d been this fat all his life, hadn’t he? “Please, I don’t know what you want, but please, don’t do this to me.”

Mr. Drake laughed, “Well, how about this? How about you lay down here, and you do, say, one hundred sit ups? If you can do that–if you can prove to me how much you want that hot, muscular body of yours back, then I’ll give it to you. I’ll even change your dad back, and I’ll leave forever. How does that sound? But if you can’t, well, then being fat is going to be the least of your worries, boy.”

What choice did he have? He cleared a space among the trash littering Mr. Drake’s floor, and got down. How hard could it be, anyway? He could do a hundred sit ups easily. He shoved himself up, pushing against all the new weight holding him down, and realized this was going to be much harder than he thought. But what choice did he have? Mr. Drake counted as he did, taunting him as he started shaking, as he started slowing down. Laughing matching his panting.

“You’re not gonna make it, look at you fatty! You’re not even halfway and you’re already close to a heart attack.”

But he hit fifty, and he kept going, his lungs burning, abs threatening to cramp up, but he kept going. Mr. Drake grew quieter as he hit eighty and kept going, but at eighty seven, he finally hit a limit. He simply couldn’t raise himself up again, and he collapsed back onto the ground with a sob.

“Well, you did better than I thought you would, but you still didn’t make it boy–so I guess the question is what I’m going to do to you now? Still, I bet you’re thirsty–would you like a drink?”

Hell yeah, I’m fuckin’ thirsty,” Jay said.

“Well come on then, you fuckin’ faggot, drink all the old cum you want,” Mr. Drake said, got down on his knees with his cock in Jay’s face, and his fat young neighbor swallowed the head without even questioning it, sucking at the head happily. It was only a few minutes later, when he’d been worshiping the old cock avidly, that Jay realized what he was doing, and he struggled–but exhausted from his failed challenge, Mr. Drake was easily able to shove his head back against the floor and fuck his throat. After a minute, the doubts passed again, and Jay began moaning in pleasure until his neighbor came, pumping his entire load down Jay’s gulping throat, and then he got off him, huffing and puffing himself.

“You made me a faggot,” Jay said.

“You don’t seem to be complaining.”

“I’m…I’m not. I mean, no. What the fuck is wrong with me?” he said to himself, “I don’t want this, I fucking don’t, but…”

“But it feels good, doesn’t it? My old cum tastes good, and you want more, don’t you?”

Jay’s face turned red again. They both knew what the answer was.

“Still, thanks for your help–if I need another blow job, you’ll be happy to help me out, I’m sure–but you should get home fatty–I bet your dad would love a blow job too.”

Jay sat up, and then he had a thought. It was a long shot, but maybe, just maybe he still had a chance to get out of this.

The Fall of Troy – Part 2

Troy groaned on the couch, and shielded his eyes from the sunlight blazing in the front window. Fuck, how much had he drank last night? He didn’t usually get hangovers like this from a normal night of drinking, smoking and pawing his cock off. He reached out for the table, scattering empty cans too and fro, and thankfully there was a partial–flat and warm, but he chugged it down anyway, feeling some of it run out the sides of his mouth and down into his beard. He belched. One thing out of the way at least. He grabbed a cigar from the table and his lighter, puffing it gently, already feeling a bit better, and he laid back, rubbing his full gut, before letting his hand wander down to his hard morning wood.

“Awww, fuck yeah…” he groaned, and holding his cigar in his teeth, he rolled over slightly, letting himself grab the dildo which was still wedged in his ass, and start pumping it, “Nothin’ like a fuck to make a mornin’ better.”

He heard someone tromping downstairs, looked up and saw Leo yawning, naked, at the base of the stairs. For a moment he was embarrassed to be caught like this…but it sure as hell wasn’t the first time Leo had seen him with a dildo up his hole, right? Besides, he was too close to blowing to stop now, and if anything…seeing Leo sneer at him was kind of turning him on, and a couple strokes later, he felt his body spasm.

“Good to see someone’s morning’s going well.”

“Aww shut the fuck up, Leo. You makin’ breakfast?”

“Sure, but if I do, you know what you owe me.”

Leo made plenty of breakfast, and Troy plowed through two thirds of it, stuffing himself silly. Then, as was their usual bargain, he got down and sucked on Leo’s thick cock. He’d kept the dildo in his hole all through breakfast, and was again fucking himself with it, stroking himself closer to his second climax of the day, Leo helping him along by yanking on his fat tits, making his whole belly jiggle. Leo ended up spraying his load all over Troy’s beard, and Troy shot his load into his hand, before licking it up–but as he did, there was a flash of bright light from Leo’s eyes, and it was like a veil had been lifted. He screamed, heaving his fat body up, staring down at himself.

“What–what the fuck happened to me!” he stared at Leo and screamed at him, “You did this, what the fuck did you do?”

Leo just smiled, “Now now, is that any way to talk to your father? Especially when his cum is splattered in your beard?”

Troy took a step backwards away from him as Leo stood up, his anger boiling down into fear, “You did this. I don’t…Why?”

“Oh Troy, even when you were smart, you were dumb as a rock. I can’t very well have you draining your mom’s bank account with silly shit like ‘college tuition,’ or ‘room and board’. You see, milking her for money is my gig–but don’t worry, I’m sure with your skills we can find something for you to do with your life instead of college.”

“You can’t just…change shit like that.”

“Oh really? Tell me, what classes are you taking in high school right now?”

It was on the tip of his tongue, but not there at all. He wasn’t going to school–he’d dropped out as soon as he could…hadn’t he?

“No answer? Are you even going to school, or are you lounging around the house with your slobby stepdad, sucking and riding his cock every chance you get?” Leo fondled his cock, and Troy saw it was getting hard again already…and he wanted it. His body wanted it. His body was tired of dildos, it wanted its hole filled with flesh. “Tell you what, why don’t you go ahead and bend over the couch, and I’ll pump that ass of yours full of cum, how does that sound?”

His mind was fading fast, falling back into his new dullness. He needed a smoke. He needed a drink. He needed…he needed a fuck. His body was walking, not running. It was walking around behind the sofa, and he was bending over it, leg’s spread, showing off his fat ass, dildo still lodged inside.

“You need a cigar, son?”

“I’m…not your son.”

Leo shrugged, “Do you need one though?”

Troy nodded weakly, and Leo shoved one in his mouth, and lit it for him. “Now beg for it.”

“W-What?”

“Go on pig, beg for me to fuck you. Beg like those fat manwhores do in all those pornos you watch all day. Beg for me.”

“Not…I’m not gonna…” he moaned suddenly–Leo was working the dildo in and out, and then he pulled it out entirely. Empty, so fucking empty. “Fuck Leo, come on, put it in me already.”

“Put what in you?”

“Your cock man, your big fat cock, stuff your son’s fat hole full, come on man, I need it bad…”

Leo slipped into Troy’s hole, and laughed as the pig moaned. “Yeah, fuck, this is fuckin’ great. I could get used to this, you know? Fuckin’ not only that whore mom of yours, but her fat, slob son too. Both of you begging for my cock, all day long. Still, I’m really more of a pussy guy, you know? We might have to find a few more guys willing to fuck a nasty pig like you, eh?”

“S-Sure, but ya can stick that cock in my holes any time, daddy…”

“Heh, you fuckin’ slut,” Leo said, giving Troy’s fat ass a hard slap, “You’ll give your ass up to any cock that comes along. Still, don’t you fuckin’ worry, we’ll be keeping you plenty stuffed.”

Troy was fighting in his mind, fighting to hang on to any little shred of himself that he could find, but it just felt so…damn good. Sucking on a cigar, his daddy’s big cock lodged in his hole, what more could he ask for? He’d never wanted to go to college. He’d hated school, he’d hated sports, all he really wanted was to be a big, fat slob like Leo. With a loud groan, Leo came, pumping cum into him, and Troy felt his own stubby pig cock spurt his own load across the back of the couch. They both remained connected for a few moments, huffing and puffing, and then pulled apart, Leo collecting himself, Troy getting down and licking up his cum, sliding his dildo back into his loose asshole. But now, nature was calling–Troy hefted himself up. “Fuck, after all that pounding and I gotta piss like a horse. Could shit a mountain too, right about now.”

Troy smiled, “Make sure you use yours down in the basement–its all ready for you.”

“In the basement? Fuck, but then I gotta climb back up.”

“Go on, pig.”

Troy rolled his eyes, but obeyed unthinkingly, hefting his bulk down the stairs step by step, and Leo chuckled under his breath. By the time he had stepped inside and let out a gasp of surprise, Leo had followed him. He had to keep an eye on him after all.

The Fall of Troy – Part 1

For the life of him, Troy could never figure out why his mother had decided to marry Leo. It wasn’t that he was bad at her for divorcing his dad–he’d been as lousy a father as he’d been a husband, fucking plenty of women behind her back. But why couldn’t she see that Leo was just as terrible a guy, if not worse? Hell, at least his real dad could hold down a job–Leo couldn’t even manage that. All he did was lounge around the house, usually shirtless, his big gut hanging out, eating snacks, drinking beer and watching TV. And his mom just…accepted it. She was even working overtime at the firm to make extra money to cover expenses…but it was so strange. He tried to talk to her about Leo, but every time he did, she just got this…glazed over look in her eyes, like she wasn’t even listening. And she’d even had the nerve to ask him to find a part-time job after school to help pay for expenses! He couldn’t wait to graduate and head for college, just to get out of this crazy house.

Then, out of the blue, she left for an entire three day weekend–a girl’s weekend in Vegas that she hadn’t even mentioned to Troy, leaving him alone with Leo. Upset beyond words, he holed himself up in his room in the basement all Friday afternoon, just avoiding Leo as best he could, when there was a knock on his door. He didn’t answer it. Leo just opened the door, and he sighed, “What, Leo.”

“We’ve talked about this, Troy. I’d really appreciate it if you’d call me dad.”

“You’re not my dad. What do you want?”

Leo sighed, “Look, I know you don’t like me, I get it. But look, can we just try to…at least live together? Why don’t you come up and watch a movie with me or something? You can even have a beer, if you want. I won’t tell your mom.”

Troy looked back at him, suspicious, “You’ve never wanted to do something like that with me before.”

“I know I’m not always the nicest guy, but least come hang out for a bit. Two hours, one movie, have a beer, and I won’t bug you for the rest of the weekend if you don’t want me to.”

“I have schoolwork to do.”

Leo gave a heavy sigh, “Look…I’m trying my best, you know? But if you can’t even meet me halfway…No, you know what? It’s fine, really.” He turned and left, plodding downstairs.

Troy was happy he was gone, but the guilt still ate away at him, and he couldn’t even concentrate on his school work. After a couple of minutes, he grumbled a quiet “Fine…” to himself, stood up, and followed his step dad upstairs. “Leo? Look, I’ll watch a movie with you, if it means that much…” but that was as far as he got before he rounded the corner, and locked eyes with his stepdad, who was standing behind the couch…but his eyes, they were…black. Pitch black. And he couldn’t look away, but he felt something in his mind, he felt something happening to him. But before he could quite figure out what, Leo blinked. His eyes were back to normal, and Troy was left trying to figure out what had just happened to him.

“You know, on second thought, why don’t you enjoy some alone time, eh Troy?” Leo said, and walked around the couch, to his stepson. Leo wanted to run, but not…not really. More than that, he wanted to…watch a movie and…and relax. Yeah, take a load off, relax. Drink a beer and just…just…be for a while. Leo stopped in front of him, smiling, “I left you some of your favorite things on the coffee table–make sure you play with them all, son.”

Troy nodded, and then he lumbered past Leo and plopped down on the couch. The movie was already playing, and for a few minutes he watched some massively fat man, covered with hair, being fucked roughly by some massive, muscular, hairy man. He let out a moan, and stripped off his shorts and shirt, and he looked at the favorite things of his Leo had left for him on the table: a twenty-four pack of beer; eight or nine short, fat cigars with a zippo lighter beside them; piles and piles of snacks and candy; and one, massive, flesh colored dildo.

He wanted to scream. He wanted to run out the front door. What he did instead was sit up, grab a beer from the case, pop it open, and chug it. Then, he took a moment to light a cigar for himself, sucking the smoke down like he’d been doing it for ages (then again…hadn’t he been smoking for ages?) before grabbing a second beer, opening it, setting the the largest bowl of snacks next to him on the couch, and leaned back with a sigh, watching the porn like he did this all the time.

After a few moments, he reached down and started tugging at his cock, but as he did, his hand ran over something else–a gut. He hadn’t had a gut earlier, had he? He’d been in great shape, he spent almost all of his time in high school playing sports…or…or did he? He let out a belch, grabbed another beer, easily juggling the can, his cigar, handfuls of snacks, and his cock all the while. This felt…more natural than sports. Didn’t he really spend most of his time on the couch, binge eating, drinking beer, and watching porn? Fuck, that fat chub sure could take cock like a pro. He wondered what it might be like to get fucked like that.

Hours passed. He had no idea how many times he’d cum, or how many pornos he’d watched, but his eyes just kept drifting to the dildo on the table. Fuck it. He didn’t have any lube, so he licked it like he’d watched that fat chub lick that bear’s cock, and then placed it at his asshole, rolling over onto his big belly, reaching around and pushing the dildo into his hole. His cock shot a massive load as he did. He groped for another beer, but couldn’t quite reach. More important to fuck his piggy hole anyway, right? At least he still had a cigar to smoke.

Leo came down to investigate a little later, once he heard loud snoring coming from the couch. There Troy was–his stepson, weighing probably over four hundred pounds, reeking of beer and cigar smoke, a thick beard coating his face and fat chins, the dildo still buried in his ass as he slept. Just like he’d wanted. He headed down the basement stairs and made his way to Troy’s room, and sure enough, it was completely different. Where before it had been the cleanest room in the house, now it was utterly filthy. All of his athletic equipment had disappeared, replaced by XXXL shirts and drawers full of lube and dildos, and there on the desk beside an ashtray heaped with cigar butts–the set of college acceptance letters had disappeared, and he had a feeling that the new Troy had probably already dropped out of school entirely at this point. Leo smiled–if anyone was going to drain his bitch mom’s money it was him, not some clean nosed son going to college. Still, he wasn’t quite done–Troy had so much further to fall, after all. And luckily, Leo had all weekend to do shove him down further and further, but first he had some preparations to make down here, and got to work on Troy’s private bathroom in the basement.

“Get in there, fucking get in there, pig.”

The door is open, but before I can step in, he gives me a hard shove into the unknown. Still wearing the hood someone forced onto me at the bar, I stumble forward, trip over something, and manage to break my fall on the hard floor, badly, with my wrists.

“Dumb fucker, fuck.”

He clomps over as I roll onto my stomach, but before I can push myself up, he lands on top of me. He’s heavy, a huge gut pressing into the small of my back. He fumbles with his fly and let’s his cock out, so he can grind it against my ass. I grind back. He reaches under me, undoes the fly of my jeans and yanks down my pants, runs his cock up and down my crack between the straps of my jock. One hand on the back of my head, shoving my hooded face against the floor, he works the head of his cock into my ass.

I wonder if I should say anything. Would I turn him off, if I speak? I have no idea who this man is or where we are. Should I be scared? He doesn’t speak as he fucks me, and I stay silent. He cums relatively fast inside me, and I wonder if he’s finished, but when I reach up to take the hood off, he yanks my hands back down.

“Not yet…Not finished yet,” he pants, stands up, and yanks me up. I fumble with my pants for a moment, but end up just stepping out of them and my shoes, and he drags me along, through a doorway, and pushes me against a low ledge. I stumble over it, and hear the hollow thud of a bathtub. He shoves me to my knees, and then he starts spraying me with piss. I open my mouth, he lets me drink, I let it run down through my goatee. “Yellow pig, yeah. Fuckin’ hot,” he mutters. The flow stops after a couple of final pulses, and I hear nothing else. I wait for him to heft me up, or face fuck me, or anything, I’m ready for all of it, and yet nothing comes. Tentatively, waiting for him to lash out, I reach up and remove the hood, and find myself in my own bathtub, soaked with a strangers piss, and he is nowhere to be found.

Disoriented, I get up. Did I tell him where I lived? Did…was it someone I knew? I’d never told anyone at Pigtown where I live, and I’d never invited anyone over to my place before who’d want to do all of that to me. I leave the bathroom, cum running down the inside of my thigh. The apartment door is still open to the hallway, and I hurry over to shut it before anyone walks past and sees me. The clock says it’s nearly six in the morning, and dawn is just creeping through my east facing window. Somehow I’d been out all night, but it had only felt like a few hours.

I sit for a few moments, and then go shower myself off, and get dressed for work. I leave the piss soaked jock on under my slacks–I enjoy the memory, and it will be dry by the time I reach the office. I grab my backpack, and let myself out, locking the door behind me. The elevator is out, I take the stairs, but on the second flight, I stop and stare at the man coming up towards me from the flight below. The cigar in the corner of his mouth like a flare of light, he streams smoke from his nose that curls through his huge red beard. He has on a leather vest, and nothing else, his thick cock hanging soft above a hefty sack covered with red hairs. Is that him? Is that the man? Will he fuck me again? Piss on me again? I hope so, come and get me, I’m your pig–

“I’m your pig,” I gasp out loud, and my neighbor, Charlie stares at me from two steps down.

“Excuse me?”

I look down at him, the older irish man who lives two doors down from me. Divorced, angry, smokes cigarettes. Always has a fine coating of red stubble across his round face. I’d suggested he’d grow a beard before, but he’d never seemed interested. And now this? What had I even seen?

“S–Sorry, I was talking to myself.”

“About pigs?”

I blushed, but couldn’t get past him on the stairway easily to escape.

“You look terrible. Were you up all night or something?”

“Yeah, I didn’t sleep well.”

He looked back down, sniffing. “I think some homeless are pissing in the stairwell–it stinks in here.”

“Yeah, it’s probably that.”

He’s quiet, and stares at me for a few moments, until I clear my throat, tell him I’m late and need to catch my bus. Charlie makes me push my way past him to get down the stairs, and I can feel him watching me as I leave.

I run the conversation through my mind all day at work, wondering what it could have possibly meant. If it could have possibly meant more than was said. He was straight, wasn’t he? Then again, who was really straight? I’d thought I was straight, after all, but Pigtown had shown me the truth. The day went poorly, I returned home. I had to pass his apartment on the way to mine, and I smelled smoke, cigar smoke, inside, even though I had never seen him so much as touch a cigar.

It took me a couple of days to work up the nerve to ask him. I would walk over and knock on his door when I knew he wasn’t home, just to practice. Finally, I knocked when he was; he answered.

“Hey, would you…like to get a drink with me this weekend sometime?”

He cocked an eyebrow at me, cigarette hanging from his lips. A cinder of ash tumbled to the floor, I thought about getting down and eating it, but stopped myself. “I don’t go out much,” he said.

I wasn’t sure what else to add. I scratched the back of my head, but didn’t accept his excuse. “I like to go out, you see, but I don’t have many friends, so it’s usually just me by myself. You drink, don’t you?”

“Well yeah, but–” he paused and sighed, “I guess…hell, why not, right?”

I smiled, relieved. “How about Friday night? I know a great place.”

He shrugged, and then glared, “This isn’t some faggot shit, is it? You making a pass on me?”

I assured him that I certainly wasn’t, that I was just a straight guy, as straight as him, just looking for a straight drinking buddy for some straight drinking, no homo at all. He reluctantly agreed to meet at eight, and shut the door. I had a feeling that if Pigtown could do what it had done to me in a few visits, Charlie would be a new man before too long too–just the kind of man I’d imagined.

Jack walked up the aisle of the airplane, and finally found his seat–in the aisle like he preferred–at his height, having the extra room to stretch his legs was a necessity. The plane ended up being lightly packed–he did have someone sitting in the row with him, an older gentleman in a suit and vest, who slipped past him and sat down at the window. It was only after they’d taken off that Jack noticed the older man looking at him.

“Could you not stare at me please? You’re creeping me out.”

“Oh!” the man said, blushing a bit, “I’m sorry, I hadn’t realized…I was just wondering how long you’ve been growing your hair out–it’s quite long.”

Jack rolled his eyes. Great, a faggot, probably. “A while.”

“Yes, it must have been a while. And goodness, you are a big man aren’t you? Why, I suppose the reason I was staring is because you look like a real life Samson! Sorry, I know that’s a bit rude. My name is Bart, by the way.”

“Look, that’s fine, but can you just, not look at me please?”

“You see,” Bart continued, as though Jack hadn’t said anything, “I’ve been doing some research lately on the Samson myth–did you know, that in many cultures, the length of one’s hair could determine everything from caste to social rank? Simply fascinating! Why, there’s evidence from Mesopotamia that…”

It was too late–apparently the man wasn’t a faggot at all. Worse–an intellectual. Still, Jack found his voice easy enough to ignore, and he laid the seat back, closed his eyes, and soon enough he was falling asleep.

***

A jungle. He was searching for someone, a princess? Yeah, a princess. Some hot princess who’d been captured, and he was going to save her and fuck her brains out, yeah. And he was a prince, a warrior…no, he was more than all of those things, he was someone…someone in particular, he was…Samson. Yeah, Samson the strong, the great. He paused and looked down at his bronzed body, naked aside from a loin cloth, his nine inch cock hanging down below the front flap, letting everyone who he’d encounter know that he was meant to be in charge. To be an alpha–a leader. He could feel his braided hair, longer than he could remember, running down against his muscular back, his beard knotted and reaching down nearly to his navel, both of them testaments to his power, his virility and strength as a man. No, it was more than that, they were the source of his power. It was the hair itself that granted him authority, that made him an alpha, that made him a man.

He was moving through the jungle, climbing up now, his body sweating in the humid heat. The trees began to thin out, and he arrived at a plateau, covered with grassland–there, in the center, was where he would find the princess. She had been taken by a man…no, by a wizard. Yes, a cruel, evil, weak wizard. He would defeat the wizard, he would win the princess for himself. He pressed onward, and soon he came to a small camp. By the fire, a cage with the princess inside, and between him and the cage, the wizard.

He was much smaller than Samson–but then Samson was larger than everyone. No one could challenge Samson–he would be king. And the wizard was old and frail and feeble. Why was he confronting him? Didn’t he know to be afraid? And yet, there was something wrong, something very wrong. He was frozen–the wizard had done something to him, and he couldn’t move. He could hear the wizard saying something, hear him speaking, mumbling and Samson could feel his hands moving against his will. He drew his knife, the knife meant to kill the wizard, the knife that could cut anything, even the strongest steel, and with his other hand, Samson grasped his braid. He begged, he fought his own hand, and yet his knife, with a single slice, cut the hair from his head, the braid falling to the ground, and unable to believe what he’d just done, he cut the beard from his face.

Defeated–he had been defeated. He was no longer free–somehow the princess had disappeared, and now he was in the cage, now he was the captive. Weak, powerless, without a will of his own. Helpless to obey, a slave, a foggot–worse than a woman. Yes, a faggot now. He could feel the lust rising in his throat, the wizard approaching the bars of the cage, revealing his cock–no, not his cock–he had some how stolen Samson’s nine inch beast–feeling between his legs, he felt his own shrivelled cock, unable to get hard or even feel pleasure. And old man’s cock now, a faggot’s cock. The wizard–he had a cock that was worthy of worship. The head slipped between the bars, and Samson suckled at it, the cum slaking his faggot thirst. More men were surrounding the cage now, more men than he could service in a thousand lifetimes, but he had to serve. That was his purpose, his only desire. To serve. To serve. To serve. To serve…

***

He was in the bathroom of the airplane, a battery powered razor in his hand. He watched his body shave the hair from his head and face–he threw it into the trash, and returned to his seat, weak–a faggot.

“How is my Samson?” Bart asked when he returned and sat down.

“I’m no longer a Samson any more sir, I’m now a faggot, meant to serve.”

“I see. Well faggot, you’d best get busy then,” Bart said, pulling his cock out. Licking his lips, Jack leaned over and sucked down his old cock.

***

His plane had landed earlier that day, and he’d parted ways with Bart after one last fuck in the airport bathroom stall. Now, Jack had found the place Bart had told him of, a haven for faggots like him, who were destined to serve. He went inside–the owner was expecting him, and told him to strip down–he wouldn’t be needing his clothing anymore. All he would wear is a pair of old boots, to guard against the filthy floor, and the owner led him to his new home, a small three foot by three foot cubicle, with several holes. Cocks would be shoved through. He would serve them. The cage of his servitude, a multitude of men he’d never be able to fully satisfy. But it was no longer his fear–it was his fantasy. His true dream.

“Look, this is ridiculous, even if…I mean.”

“All it costs is one blowjob, and I’ve seen you staring at my crotch all night. Boys like you, only one reason they come here. The rest of it…well, I can tell just by looking at you. I’ve seen you two around town, seen how you look at him. This could help.” The older man turned the cigar over in his hands, “but, if you just want to follow him around, be the best man at his wedding to some fat skank, suck him off once, and only when he’s drunk as hell, then that’s your choice.”

The older man was hardly a looker. Probably from somewhere out in the sticks, missing teeth, big gut, stinking of cheap beer and stale smoke, grey beard to his chest. Still, he was kind of Ben’s type–though he wasn’t really a fan of sucking…This was probably how the guy always got laid though. Magic cigars? Control anyone who you smoke around? Still, for a bunch of closeted queers, lusting after their straight friends…it was tempting. Ben bargained him up, the man promising him a blow job too, and he followed him out to the man’s truck, where they blew each other in the parking lot, and then Ben left, cigar in his pocket, still feeling like he’d been a bit cheated.

Chet was his one weakness. Friends since they were babes, Ben had been lusting after his friend for so long, but he was as straight as could be, and was a big fan of bashing queers. Chet was also an alpha through and through, and as much as Ben chafed at submitting to anyone, he’d learned to let Chet get his way to keep the friendship going. But now…well, now nothing was going to change, but at least it was a nice cigar. He usually stuck to cigarettes, while Chet preferred chewing, but he’d bought a cigar now and then for fun. An opportunity to light up didn’t come for a few days, when he and Chet were hanging out at his little trailer, watching B movies. Heart beating fast, he lit up the cigar, blowing it off in Chet’s direction, watching as he inhaled the first couple whiffs. He sneezed, and rubbed his nose, eyes a bit bleary. “Dang man! That cigar’s strong as fuck. Where the fuck’d you get it?”

“Strong? Nah, this…this is pretty smooth. In fact…” did he dare? “In fact, I don’t think the smoke really bothers you at all. I think you like how it smells.”

“No way, I mean…sure, it’s not botherin’ me as much…” Chet said, fidgeting. He always fidgeted when he lied.

Had it actually worked? How in the hell could he really know? Then again, the man had said it gave him complete control, body and mind. He muttered something under his breath, quietly so Chet couldn’t hear, and a few seconds later, a thick beard sprouted across Chet’s stubbly face. He just gawked for a moment, and Chet reached up to feel it, and yanked his hand away. “What the fuck!”

“Hang on Chet! Calm down…”

Chet grabbed the side of the chair, and his breath slowed down.

“Fuck, it actually works…”

“What fucking works? What…what’s going on?”

He’d never heard Chet scared before. He liked how that sounded, actually. His cock was getting a bit hard, in fact. “Looks good on you, but you know? I just think you’re a bit too young to pull it off. Now, how about we age you up a bit? Say…fifty? Yeah, make you a sexy, submissive, chubby, daddy bear.”

Chet stood up calmly, but the changes were already starting. He watched his smooth stomach balloon outward into a gut, hair filling in across his arms and under his shirt, speckled with grey. “How in the fuck!” he wheeled towards Ben, and blinked. Fuck…fuck, his friend was one…sexy cub. He licked his lips, feeling his tongue brush through his new beard. Ben undid the fly of his pants and let out his cock. “See something you like, Chet?”

“Fuck…fuck you. Fuckin’ faggot. You did…something to me.”

“You’re right Chet…you’re right, I am a faggot. Been one as long as I can remember. And you know what? I’m fuckin’ sick of ya bashin’ us, and I’m fuckin’ sick a yer fuckin’ jokes. Now get the fuck down here and use that nasty mouth of yours for something useful, bitch!”

Chet tried to resist, but all he could do was get down, suck his faggot friend’s cock, and listen to Ben describe their new life together. Ben, the master, and Chet the useless, small cocked, bear slave. Incredibly turned on by pain and humiliation, he started leaking when Ben ground the toe of his boot into his tiny balls. The cigar burnt out, and exhausted, Ben led the collared and harnessed Chet to his cage for the night, and filled his slave bowl with his piss. Chet thanked his master and lapped it up obediently.

Reunions (Part 4)

[Pictured: Uncle Mitch training his nephew in the garage.]

A few miles away from the family compound, Brent finally spoke up.

“What did they do to you?”

“They didn’t do anythin’ to me. I did it to myself.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Fuck you, you…you know what Brent? Fuck you. You don’t want anyone to be happy, and you can’t be happy for anyone. You’re such a whiny fuckin’ faggot.”

“Then why in the fuck did you come get me! I didn’t want to fucking come anyway.”

“Cause we’re family—”

“We aren’t fucking family, you just…I mean, you can’t just, make up family.”

“I’m not making it up, fucker. Yer such an asshole, you know that?”

Brent sulked for a moment, still clutching his bag and not at all sure what he was going to do now. They drove down the gravel drive and Aaron parked next to the trucks already there, and Brent saw Jed and Butch were hanging out, watching people arrive.

“Hey Jed! How’s it hangin’ man?” Aaron shouted as he stepped out of the truck, and Brent looked back in time to see Aaron grab his uncle’s crotch in one hand, shove their big bellies together and lock lips, and he looked on, horrified. Jed was caught completely off guard, but he didn’t push Aaron away—in fact he blushed, and leaned in a bit, so that when Aaron pulled back abruptly Jed fell forward a step to keep his balance and licked his lips.

“Brent, get the fuck out of the truck, come over here and say hello to your uncle.”

Brent was frozen now. He couldn’t get out there, he didn’t know what was going on, he just wanted to go home. Aaron waited a moment for him, and then tromped around the truck, opened the passenger door and dragged him out onto the ground. “Ya little shithead, show some fuckin’ respect for family for once in your goddamn life.”

“Aww, leave the faggot alone,” Jed said, coming around to Aaron and giving his belly a rub, “He just doesn’t get it, and he never will. Now come on Aaron, how about you and I…you know…”

“Latter Jed, promise, but I gotta get this fucker situated before he runs off and hides in the barn like usual.”

Aaron dragged him and his bag over to the pasture proper, Aaron explaining along the way that Trent and him had decided it was high time that Brent joined the rest of the Taylor men, and quit sleeping with the boys like a damn coward. Brent asked if he was going to be sleeping with Aaron, and he laughed. Aaron was bunking with Brent’s dad in the farmhouse—Brent was going to be sleeping with Mitch—his second or third cousin twice removed, who Brent met shortly, a short, thin and very musky redneck at least fifteen years his senior, already reeking of whisky, and he pulled Brent into an uncomfortable hug which lasted several beats too long. Brent immediately decided he would never be sleeping here, even if that meant he stayed awake all week long.

Unlike previous years, the reunion hit full capacity early—the pasture seething with barechested, heavy gutted men by the first day. It was a particularly hot summer, the stench of redneck was overwhelming, but every time Brent tried to worm away from the throng, Aaron was there dragging him back into the thick of it. He fought him at first, but after a particularly fierce backhand broke his nose and left him streaming blood all over his shirt, he relented—allowing Aaron to ply him with other things instead. Against his will, Aaron and three other cousins forced him into a kegstand—he wound up blackout drunk, and woke in his tent in the early morning, wrapped in the arms of Mitch, the older man’s hard cock leaking against Brent’s bare leg, his ass raw and aching. This did not disturb him. For a moment, he pushed back into the smell of his cousin, until he woke up and realized what must have happened.

Disgusted and terrified, he struggled out of Mitch’s grasp and scrambled out into the camp, totally naked, and found himself surrounded by the sounds of sex in every direction. Aaron was up and waiting for him, also naked, hard and starring Brent down across the camp, but he made no effort to approach him—he only wanted to remind him who was really in change here. Brent looked down and realized he was hard too—and still quite drunk from the evening, and he wrapped his hand around the shaft, Aaron grinning at him.

The terror and panic overwhelmed him again. He spun and raced out of the camp, unable to let go of his cock, away from Aaron, hearing men surge out of their tents after him, his old friend leading the charge, and they caught hold of him before he could reach the wooded edge of the clearing, dragging him back, kicking and shouting and screaming and dumping him at Aaron’s feet.

“Please—please stop, why are you doing this to me?”

“Shut the fuck up, faggot, what the fuck is wrong with you?”

“With me? What about all of you? You’ve all gone insane!”

Aaron bent down and picked the struggling Brent up under the armpits, kicking and writhing, and pulled him into a tight hug.

“I love you, you stupid faggot, I fuckin’ love you to shit,” Aaron said in his ear, and then started kissing Brent, sucking on his unwilling face, and Brent felt that same sloth he’d felt in the tent. He was still drunk, he was tired and exhausted, and Aaron was warm and sweaty, almost the same temperature as the night air, and he was hard and horny, grinding his cock into Aaron’s gut mindlessly now, kissing back, when without warning Aaron dropped him to the ground.

“Better. Now how about you and Mitch finish getting acquainted? I think he’s going to have to keep you on a shorter lead though, since you have a tendency to run off.”

Brent got up, wiping Aaron’s slobber from his face and tromped off. He knew where to go, but had no idea where he was going. The men watched him round the farmhouse and head towards the side door of the garage, and they all returned to their earlier fucking, now simply coalescing into a large orgy at the center of the pasture, Aaron in the center, his cock buried down Jed’s throat.

As soon as the door shut behind him, Brent felt his mind clear. He turned to leave, to run as far away as he could but a leather hood came down over his entire face, blinding him. He struggled with his attacker, hearing Mitch laugh as he dragged him into the middle of the garage. sawhorses had become slings, wrenches and hammers were now paddles and dildos. “Gonna break you in real good, yeah,” Mitch panted, “Gonna break you in piggy, gonna make me a hot fuckin’ piggy by the end of the week, yeah…”

His mind was clouded again. He fought against it, but he couldn’t get enough air in through the small holes near his nose. The collar Mick forced onto him, while only supple leather, was so heavy Brent collapsed to his knees, and when Mick tugged the leash he felt compelled to crawl after him. A zipper releasing his mouth, something pressed to his lips—something gritty, the toe of a boot. Lick the boot, lick it all, lick it for Aaron, for Mitch, for Dad lick it, lick it good like a good little piggy…

***

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Poker nights can be dangerous; Travis found this out the hard way. He was just another guy–overweight, well obese, sure. More or less happily married, aside from the occasional scream-out that could be heard throughout the trailer park. Poker night, for Travis, was more than just a way to get out of the house for a night, smoke a cigar or six, and drink a bit too much Fireball–it was a chance to be around a bunch of guys just being guys, and away from women. Mick, the host of poker night this week, just so happened to agree with him about being away from women–but his idea of quality men’s time was something else entirely.

See, Mick had a funny little figurine he’d picked up at a flea market the week before, and the little spirit within it loved games–and high stakes bets. It also happened, that this week, Mick decided to play with the deck stacked against everyone else, and once the rednecks around the table were a bit too drunk to second guess themselves, they were happily playing along with him, and it was only a few rounds later that they realized they’d been played, but by then it was too late.

Travis struggled awake, disentangling himself from the sleeping bodies of his friends, sore and hung over, his asshole raw, dick tender, and he tried to figure out where it had all gone wrong. Mick was going to win the pot, but he’d bet his sexuality? What the fuck did that even mean? Looking back over his shoulder at the pile of men, he figured that he wasn’t the only guy who’d been taken. And when he saw Mick’s ass propped up, he licked his lips and felt his cock rise a bit, figuring it was time to pay back the house what he’d lost.

Are you unhappy with your weight? Do you wish that your body would match how you want to see yourself? Then the Fat Action Team is for you! We run private seminars in many cities, call us today for locations in your area!

That was the third time Max had seen the flyer on bulletin boards outside the restrooms in the Flying J’s he stopped at on his cross country hauls. Still, he couldn’t help but feel a little bit interested. Max had been driving trucks for quite a few years now, and the simple act of sitting behind the wheel for ten hours a day, and eating greasy food at these truck stops was quickly piling weight on his aging frame, and he didn’t like it one bit. Hell, he’d been a track star back in high school, and had simply assumed that his metabolism would never fail him! And now here he was, over 300 pounds and hating the image in the mirror. So, he ripped off a phone number slip from the bottom and gave it a call, discovering there was a seminar happening in his hometown during his next weekend, and he signed right up.

When he arrived, however, he quickly figured that something strange was going on. For one thing, he knew a lot of the guys there, fellow truckers from the road, but they were all guys who’d grown quite a bit larger over the last few months, and who were all rumored to be complete fags as well. Still, as soon as the seminar started, and the spiral appeared on the wall, Max wasn’t worried one bit any more–Max wasn’t worrying or thinking about anything.

The rest of the weekend was spent in a haze of sex and food. Trips with the Fat Action Team to all you can eat buffets, followed by massive orgies in the hotel bedrooms, all of them videotaped by the Team members, to be sold on their porn site, gainerpornos.com. Still, when Max left the seminar, refreshed and already signed up for another group session in two weeks, he did look at himself differently in the mirror–he was too damn skinny. Still, he devoured food on the road (and fucked quite a few FAT members he ran into at truck stops) and successfully packed on ten pounds before the next seminar. He felt so good about himself after that, and there was nowhere to go from there but bigger, and bigger, and bigger…

***

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