Tag: strange

Officer Wetzel Meets a Demon (Part 5)

Where was he? What was he? It was hot, sweltering, wherever he was, and as uncomfortable as it was, it also felt…pleasant, in other ways. It was dark, wherever and whatever he was. Dark, and he’d sweat so much, it felt like he was surrounded by some liquid too thick and oily to be water. For a long time, he’d been too weak to fight, too weak to resist whatever he was in, but now, he’d started to feel…a kind of life returning to his body. He would press against the thing encasing him, feel it resist, and he’d relax again, building strength, drawing in the heat suffusing him, letting it fill him up, and when he was full enough, he’d be able to be free again. He’d be free…and he’d be…someone, or something, but he’d be free.

Few people had noticed the strange, black cocoon stuck to the floor of the alley, not even when they were fucking one another five feet away behind the dumpsters deeper in the alley. Most who did notice it just thought it was some kink artifact, but rarely touched it. Just…seeing it was enough to make them feel strange–horny, but also terrified in some deep mortal sense, and usually they would retreat down the alley, hungry for a fuck to remind them that they were alive, that they were still human. A few braver ones would touch it, feel it’s heat touch some darkness inside them, odd, disturbing thoughts occurring to them suddenly, which they found themselves unable to resist fulfilling–craving the sensation of a fist pummelling their guts, a sudden hunger for shit and piss, the need to feel as much pain as they might experience without passing out or dying. In any case, the cocoon remained undisturbed into the evening, until it began twitching and wiggling every few minutes. The activity increased, and became more violent until it was clear that someone was inside the cocoon, and that they were desperately trying to escape it. The skin of the shell had handened and turned brittle, allowing, at last, a fist to burst through, two hands coated in some black, oily goo ripping at the hole, enlarging it, until a head burst forth gasping for air.

Beau fought his way forth, coughing and gagging up the filth he’d swallowed, which had settled into his lungs, which rasped with each breath. The goo hardened once it touched air, and he began scraping it off his body–first in latex like sheets, and then flakes, and then like brittle sugarwork dusting his skin. As he did, he began to realize that the body he was in was not quite the same as the one he’d had earlier–it seemed so long ago, now that he had a moment to think about it, but…what had he looked like, exactly? Older. A bit of a potbelly which had earned him a good amount of ribbing from other…guys on the force. He could see them, he could remember them, but it felt once removed. Like the memories weren’t really his, but somehow leftovers. Like a movie he’d found abandoned in an old VCR at a stranger’s home. It wasn’t…him. It wasn’t him, but that didn’t mean he knew who he was.

What was he? He seemed to be human, still. Two legs, two arms, toes and fingers. Hairier than before. More muscular than before. Younger than before? That seemed…difficult to pin down. Thinking about time, it felt like a part of him stretched back…further than he could even comprehend. Time was relative. Time was infinite. He was impossibly young and also eternal. H tried not to think about it, he tried not to think about any of it. Don’t think about who you are–what do you want, he asked himself.

Want. That was simpler. Immediate. He wanted pleasure. He wanted…he wanted sex. He wanted men. He could smell them, all around him in the night, the musk, the smoke, the cum, the piss. He was about to go out and find someone–anyone–to distract him from his terror, when two figures rounded the corner. One was familiar, and the other…he didn’t know how to describe the other at all. It wasn’t…human, was it? It looked like someone who had had grown so fat, his limbs so weak, it had simply become a blob dragging itself over the ground. “Out already? I thought you’d need a bit more time to develop, but you turned out…beautifully, son.”

Son? This person was…his father? As far as age was concerned, it seemed impossible, but time no longer seemed…stable. More importantly, he knew him. He wanted him, wanted to serve him, wanted to be his, somehow. Just standing there close to him, looking at him…the man claiming paternity sent a freakish level of pleasure through his guts and cock, making Beau grin wide. He stepped forward and kissed his father, his maker, the thing oozing between them, sucking and milking their cocks with it’s…mouths? Holes? It felt good in either case, and pleasure was all that really mattered to him at the moment. He pulled away after a few minutes, breathless but thrilled all the same, and wiped some of his father’s spit from his lips. “I don’t…understand. What happened to me? What am I?”

“You’ll learn in time. For now–you know what you need to do. I would join you, but this piece of filth needs to be taken below and stored away with our master. Enjoy yourself. Please yourself and others, and I will be happy when I see you again soon.”

There was a deep shadow, like a sudden blotting of every light at once, and they were gone. Beau was still there, but alone now. Dressed in leather gear–his gear, a hunger growing in his guts and his cock, and he set out into the night to feed, to fuck, to give pleasure–but most of all, to corrupt.

Officer Wetzel Meets a Demon (Part 3)

Finally got this story finished. If you need a refresher, here was Part 1 and Part 2. 

“What did you…do to me?” Officer Wetzel said, groaning, something deep inside his guts twisting, and he found himself gagging, and then vomiting black bile at the wall in front of him in a great gush. It tasted vile, but no sooner had he wiped his chin with one sleeve of his uniform, than a second surge hit him. Something was caught in his throat, something sharp–he hurled again and felt it dislodge and fly out of his mouth–it hit the brick wall with a soft tink, and then landed in the puddle of filth. The demon bent down and picked up the small, gleaming thing between two fingers, and examined it. “That’s…that’s mine,” he croaked. He didn’t know what it was, but he knew, somehow, that it belonged to him.

“Pity–I was hoping it would be a bit larger. I certainly didn’t think you’d give it up so easily,” the demon said, and slipped it into his pocket. “And yes, it was yours–but that body of yours can’t hold something like this, not anymore. No–not even god will love you now. Be thankful the devil needed you at all, sinner.”

The officer grabbed for the demon, but he stepped back, watching the man crawl towards him. “I know I promised you a weekend, but I still have some pressing business I have to attend to–you’ll forgive me if I catch up with you a bit later. Do try and enjoy yourself–you’ve earned it. Still, I will need your clothes…”

Wetzel tried to find his feet, but his body was feverish, his vision blurry. He nearly tumbled into the street, but the demon managed to swerve him back onto the sidewalk, and into an alley out of the sun’s heat, where he forcefully disrobed him. Wetzel tried to fight back but his body was giving out–he slumped over, retching up another massive amount of bile, but this time it was thicker–instead of flying out of his mouth, it more…oozed forth, running down his chin and onto his chest, coating his body. He tried to wipe it off, but it just…smeared around–sticky and hot, more pouring from his mouth. He tried to speak, tried to beg for mercy, but he couldn’t speak through the flow–choking and gagging, he collapsed, the filth pouring out of him, coating his body until a few minutes later, none of his flesh was visible–all that remained was a black, rubbery cocoon anchored to the filthy concrete of the alley.

The demon squatted down, and rubbed spot where the officer’s head would have been, and then stood up, looking at the small amber gem which the officer had expelled–that small little chunk of authentic soul the man had still had within him. After all, the officer here hadn’t been his primary target–no, he had someone far worse in need of punishment. After all, if God wasn’t going to bother showing his face, that meant it was up to the devil, to enforce his own idea of law and order here on earth.

He licked his lips, placed the gem on his tongue, rolled it around his mouth, and then swallowed. Immediately, an uncomfortable grumble came from his guts, the purity of the gem rebelling against his demonic nature, seeking exit–but he bound it deep inside himself, corrupted it, and pulled the remnants of goodness forth. It’s human form began to shudder, and a few minutes later his body had become that of Officer Wetzel–fortyish, paunch covered in grey hair, a bushy mustache. He pulled on the officer’s uniform, checked on the cocoon one last time, and then set off down the street, whistling and twirling his baton, cruising the leather and rubber freaks as he went. As much as he might want to abuse the last vestiges of the Officer’s form with a bit more sex, the fact was he didn’t have much time to finish the job–a few hours at most. His demonic force would eat through this skin in that time, and he’d need it where he was heading.

The demon headed away from the revelrie, knowing he’d have a chance to enjoy himself more once his work was completed. The spire of the cathedral was visible, sticking out into the sky above the lower roofs around him, and after a few minutes, the skin already chafing slightly, he found himself at the entrance to the sanctuary, and gingerly placed his hand on the door, the skin insulating him from the holy energy thrumming through the structure. Had he not been shielded by the officer’s remaining piety, his mortal form would have been destroyed, and he would have been thrown back into the pits where he’d crawled from. Instead, he pulled opened the door with a gleeful chuckle, and slipped inside.

The space was obnoxiously pious. He walked through the sanctuary, where several people were praying, towards the back of the church, where the confessional booths were placed. Now here, he could taste something of his own nature, well cloaked and hidden within a false faith. He entered the booth and sat down, licking his lips, glancing at the priest through the screen–who was looking back at him, recognizing the officer’s face, even if…something seemed strange about him, at the moment. But there was an eagerness there as well, which didn’t care about those concerns, and one hand slipped to his crotch, rubbing his cock through his robes. This had become a…habit for them both, and as wrong as Father Nelson knew it was, he…he couldn’t bring himself to stop. “It’s late, Beau–I thought you might not come today.”

The demon resisted the urge to begin stroking himself as well, but he would wait. It would be better if he waited, to make sure the sinful priest was too deep to escape his grasp. When he was his, then he would have all the time to take his pleasure, and it would all the sweeter for his patience, as contrary to his nature as that might be.

Ditto Sketch (2/2)

Don’t ask me how I got my Ry clone home, but I did. It was slowly beginning to discern human behavior from it’s observations of me–but I had something else in mind–I sat the thing down in front of the computer, and started playing a massive compilation of porn in front of the strangely dead eyes, allowing it to absorb positions, fetishes, appearances, and then we started playing. The flesh wasn’t…quite right to the touch–mostly because it was room temperature, but it had a nice ass which I was more than happy to fuck, and just like in the porn films it had absorbed, it made it perfectly clear that it enjoyed having my cock in its hole.

So now, after a few weeks, I have my own version of Ry–except mines much, much better than the original. It doesn’t have to eat or drink. I’ve taught it how to do all of the chores around the house with general success. It’s perfectly obedient to everything I say and command, and I can dress it up in whatever kinky gear I want, and do whatever strange thing I want to do to it. Or at least, that’s how it was, for a while.

Admittedly, I’ve never tested Ditto in this fashion. Id’ never even allowed it to hole a form for longer than a few hours before this. Naturally…it’s starting to behave a bit strangely. For one thing, it’s cock has grown massive all of a sudden. I don’t know where it got the extra mass to grow larger, but somehow it did. It’s also become kind of…clingy all of a sudden. I keep waking up with the thing wrapped around my body in a tight hug, and I have to pry it off me each time. I think it’s time to retire this blob, and return it to mush–but I think, one more fuck first.

Fuck! Oh fuck, it’s out there. I woke up with that thing around me again–but this time, I was…literally inside of it. I had to claw my way out of the mass, and I ran in here, and the shit’s still all over me, and I can’t get it off! Worse, it’s…melding to me, becoming a part of me. I think…I know where it got the raw material for it’s extra mass now–it got it from my cum…and piss…and all those things I thought had gone missing over the last few weeks. Oh god, it’s growing, it’s taking over my body, I can feel it–I…I look just like it now, and I can’t breathe, but that’s…that’s ok? Everything is…dull…I need…fuck. Yeah, need to fuck. Find other fuck thing, there’s fuck thing. Fuck. Fuck, grow, spread, more fuck things. Make more fuck things.

Source: golfadicto

Ditto Sketch (½)

At some point, in order to make progress, you have to step over at least some ethical line, right? Or at least, that’s what I kept telling myself, watching the thing I’d invented–a thing I liked to call Ditto, for reasons you’ll understand in a moment–take on the spitting image of a the rat in the cage with it. Was it alive? It was in a sense, I suppose. Over the next few hours, as Ditto figured out how to observe and take in it’s environment, as it learned, it began to move, following the parent rat around the cage. Learning how to eat, learning that it pooped, learning to drink water. Later, when I cut it open, Ditto had formed a rudimentary internal structure to accomplish the tasks at hand, but nothing like a real rat would have–because, of course, it wasn’t really alive. It was more like…a smart substance. Perhaps, even, a kind of artificial intellect, and amazingly easy to mass produce. And perhaps…well, it wasn’t exactly human testing, right?

See, I have a crush on this guy–his name is Ry, and he doesn’t know I exist, but whatever. He’s cute as fuck, and I’d never have a chance with him in real life, given that he’s straight and popular and so on, but maybe, with a sample, I could have a Ry of my own. It took about a month to assemble enough raw Ditto for what I was thinking, and that gave me plenty of time to sneak into the locker room while Ry was practicing and collect a DNA sample for Ditto to use. I waited until everyone had left the lab that night, and gave Ditto the sample and jolt of energy–watching the mass of goo begin forming into a coherent shape–seven hours later, there it was, a perfect replica of Ry, essentially comatose, right in front of me.

So yeah, I jacked off–and to my surprise, the Ditto started to copy me, and began to jack off as well. Not long after I came, it too spurted a solution which at least looked like semen, even if it really wasn’t. I hadn’t planned on this going any further–I’d duplicate Ry, just to see if I could, and then dissolve the Ditto back down to mush. But if it could, in fact, learn, then why not have a bit more fun with it?

Source: dirtyhairymind

Don’t ask how he made his balls get that big. Don’t ask what made his balls that big. Don’t ask about how they seem to bulge and vibrate, about how the sack doesn’t seem to contain balls at all, how it seems to contain something that seems to be bulge and pulse and vibrate all on it’s own.

You wouldn’t think to ask any of those thing anyway, not now. He’s not really your type. He’s musky, crude, rough around the edges, smokes unfiltered cigarettes, and tastes like it too, when he kisses you, or rather, when he mauls his mouth with yours. 

Don’t ask his name, he won’t tell you. He likes being anonymous. He doesn’t want you to find him later, when you start feeling ill, when you start to notice something is happening inside your guts. When the strangest cravings kick in, when you loom over the toilet after you just pissed in it, jacking off without a thought in your head, clenching your ring, feeling like you’re missing something inside you. No, he’ll find you again, when he knows you’re ready.

When will you be ready? When you’ve given up on your job, because all you can focus on is getting as much cock in your ass as possible. When you’ve noticed your gut is growing–or rather, distending–even though you’ve been eating less and less. When you realize your cock and your balls don’t quite look like they’re supposed to–your glans looks smoothed down, like a soap figure halfway through it’s life in the shower. Your balls are pulled up tighter to the shaft and now run along it, the testes smaller, even though the sack is bigger. When you’ve lost about half of your teeth, but you’re trying not to think about it. Then he’ll find you. He won’t look like he did before. You won’t know how to describe the thing that stalks you through the streets for a few hours, but you’ll be able to smell it hunting you, and you’ll know it can smell you too. You’ll know there’s nowhere to hide. You’ll know that you don’t want to hide. You want it inside you again, more than anything.

As for what might happen after that, you don’t really want to know, do you?

Source: juicedmen

Strange Sketch (Part 2)

WARNING: Still super weird!

I got lightheaded and stopped tugging; the harness relaxed, but the jock didn’t stop milking me. It felt…good, I’ll admit that, but that sure as hell didn’t stop me from freaking out on the inside. I tried to call for help, but each time I tried, the harness would squeeze shut before I could even get a scream out, like it could read my fucking mind. So I stayed there, huddled in this dark, tiny bathroom, my cock being milked by an autonomous jockstrap. Then, I heard footsteps, and a distant voice. The voice didn’t sound like words, or if they were words, it was like the words made by someone choking on something. He crossed in front of the doorway, and I gave a breathless scream when I saw him in the light of day…

The uniform…it was squirming, rippling up and down his body as he walked. His legs were thick, the knees had popped and were bent backwards. The boots…they weren’t shaped like human feet anymore. The boot toes had split into three and had bent out, like their own toes. His cock–fuck, that thing–it was at least a foot long, but didn’t dangle–it drooped, and then arced back up, like a fucking prehensile arm. Shiny black rubber, looking like it should have been pulled tight against the skin, but no sign of veins or anything normal, just a swollen head leaking something black onto the floor as it looked around, like an eye on a stalk. The jacket–his chest looked caved in, his back hunched and too big–he was the same height, so he must have grown taller…but his fucking face…he did have a hood on, or what might have been a hood once, but perfectly smooth, like his cock. No nose…no eyes, no brow, and the hood–it looked like it was digging in under his skin along the line of his cheeks, black tendrils shoving their way down into his jaw around his mouth…and out again. From a distance, they may have looked like a full, long beard, but they writhed and wriggled and…and it was alive somehow, and it was speaking, but it was clear why it couldn’t do so well–it’s tongue was growing and extending out of his mouth. It sounded scared. It sounded like it was in pain. The cock and beard swung towards me, and I wondered if it was looking at me somehow, and then it kept going, pacing, moaning and choking.

It would check on me regularly, cock and tendrils inspecting me, a few more times. I was feeling hungry–or what I thought was hunger…then I started throwing up some strange, grey slime. I tried to spit it out, but it felt like it was coating the inside of my mouth and throat. Then, it came back past, surveyed me, and stepped into the bathroom. I tried to crawl back, but there was nowhere I could go as it came closer, the strange beard worming it’s way over my face, pushing it’s way into my mouth, each tendril with more strength than I thought possible. I tried to bite them, it was like chewing plastic. They forced my mouth open…and it stretched. It stretched wider than I thought possible, like my bones and tendons had gone to jelly. The tendrils gripped my teeth and began tugging them out–they came away so easily, and I heard them bouncing as they hit the floor below me, and I heaved. I heaved, and something came up from inside me, pushing it’s way up through my throat. It felt massive. I thought it would kill me, but every part of me just stretched, as the thing, a strange, goopy ball, hauled it’s way free of my mouth…and then crawled back up over my face, sticking below my eyes and stretching over my entire scalp to the back of my head. There was a sharp pain, and I couldn’t feel my body anymore. I could hear the thing inside my brain, and I fought, I’m still fighting, but I don’t even know what it is.

It was easier when I could still see. For a while, the thing was stretched thin and clear, like a dirty window over my eyes, but it began to darken soon. I thought it was just turning black…but something tells me what I witnessed was actually my eyes simply…dissolving away underneath it. I can’t smell anything. I can’t hear. I can feel–the thing is still with me, and my body is…moving. I just can’t control any of it. I’m just a passenger now, and I don’t think I’ll be that even for much longer either. No, I think…I think I’m going to be…a womb. The thing has been fucking me for a while now–it’s cock is so big…but I’d feel so empty without it inside me, at this point. It kissed me for a while as well–or I thought it was kissing me, but it was shaping my mouth, reforming it into a tunnel, and now it’s burrowing deeper, opening me up even more. The thing holding me to the wall, the web–either it’s tighter, or I’m lighter, because I’m suspended in the air now, tied to the wall where…where I belong. Yes, the seed it’s filling me with, I can feel it. I’m heavy with it, and…I…I can use this. Make more, more…eggs. More eggs for the master. I can’t do anything else, so I will make eggs for the master.

Strange Sketch (Part 1)

This one’s a little out there, just as a warning. The second part especially.

It had been dark, but that was the fucking point, right? How in the hell could I have known what he was? Hell, for all I know, last night, he’d looked normal, just like everyone else in there, just like me, dressed up in my leather harness, kneepads advertising my preferred position, looking to have some fun with people I wouldn’t have to introduce myself to the next morning. I was young, muscular, men wanted me, this, I felt, is what I was made for, in some way. Is that what drew him to me? Did he just choose me? I don’t remember, but I saw the shadow of him framed in the dim light of the bar away from the depravity, and that was enough to catch my interest.

His silhouette was leather–a bit bulkier than someone in rubber, body heavy with a jacket, legs thick with pants. The smoothness of his head signaled a hood of some kind, and from the sheen of it, I guessed rubber, but couldn’t be certain. We cruised each other; he seemed hesitant, taking one step closer, then backing up quickly, like he wasn’t quite sure he wanted to, like something was worrying him. In the end, I approached him. I told him I was clean, that he didn’t have to worry–all he did was moan in response, and press his leather clad body close to mine. The feel of the fabric was strange, not quite like real leather at all. Maybe he was just being cheap, and went for something less expensive and easier to clean. The jacket was closed and zipped, so I couldn’t access his body, aside from the lower half of his face. We were kissing, and I remember how sweaty and hot he felt, almost feverish, pressing his body to me, I felt his cock pressing against mine, through his leather, and my jockstrap. He must have unzipped, though I hadn’t heard a zipper, because a moment later it was out and grinding up against my pouch, exploring it, getting it sopping wet with precum.

I remember I reached down to touch it, and faster, he grabbed my wrists and pinned me to the wall, grinding up against me, sucking at my neck, drool all over me. It was…sticky, I remember thinking that, but it was kind of hot, how hungry he was for me, and then he flipped me around against the wall, wrists still pinned above me, and he started poking at my hole with his cock. Now, I knew he couldn’t have had a condom on–the soaked pouch cupping my junk was proof of that–but as his cock slipped between my cheeks it felt…rubbery, like it had a condom on it. That was the first thing that I really noticed, that triggered a bit of alarm, but I was on PrEP, and happy to fuck raw if that’s what a top wanted. I thought I was safe. His cock, it seemed soft, somehow, the way it seemed to explore my crack, slip around my hole. I worried he might not be able to get inside of me, but with one thrust, he pushed in deep, my hole just, opening up for him. I remember feeling really wet, and assumed he was just that much of a leaker, and he just kept fucking me. My hole went numb, and he kept fucking me. I thought he was shooting inside me, but he just kept going, and then I started to feel…strange. Sick to my stomach and dizzy. His hands were still locked on my wrists, but I remember looking down, my vision going blurry, and my stomach, which was always meticulously flat, looked…distended.

I passed out not too long after that, I think. He was still fucking me, and then I woke up here. I still don’t know where here is–some derelict building from the look of it. I think we’re a few floors up, from the way the light came in when I woke up. I was still in my gear from the night before–or at least, I assume it was the night before. I don’t know how long I was out, but it couldn’t have been that long, right? When I woke up, I was alone, as far as I could tell, and I stood up, my legs shaky, trying to remember what had happened, but knowing whatever was going on, I needed to get the hell out of here. I tried to get out of the bathroom, but felt something tugging me back. Looking back…something rubbery was connecting the back of my harness to the tile behind me, like a leash, or a web. I grabbed hold of the door frame, trying to pull myself through, and while the thing stretched to a point, it refused to break, I snapped back, reached around and tried to feel what the thing was–I couldn’t get a good grip, really, but it was adhered to the back of my harness somehow, and I couldn’t feel a seam–it went straight from odd goo to the feel of my leather. I figured I could at least just get out of my harness, but soon discovered something strange as well. I couldn’t unhook the buckles. I couldn’t even pull the leather straps away from my skin–it hurt when I tried, like someone had superglued the thing to me…and then…I think it had had enough of me fucking with it, because it started to squeeze–hard. The leather just…contracted, and I couldn’t breathe…and at the same time, I felt my jockstrap start…squeezing my cock, all on its own. I tried to get that off too, but it too, had somehow stuck to my body. I couldn’t rip it, not without feeling like I was going to rip my cock and balls apart in the process.

“How does that feel, Timmy? Does it feel as good as you’d imagined it might?”

“Oh God Grandpa, it feels…it feels so…so full, in there! So…good…”

“Yeah, that’s right. Now that grandpa has his whole fucking hand in you, do you know what that makes you, Timmy?”

“N-No…?”

“It means you’re my puppet, Timmy. It means I have my whole hand in you, and now I can control you, can;t I? You can feel my hand getting bigger inside you, pushing deeper, your body hollowing out? Feel yourself going limp?”

“Y-Yes…”

“That’s a good boy, that’s a good puppet. My hand’s so big now, it’s all the way up in your brain–you can feel it in there, I bet–because I control your brain now, because now, we’re going to get rid of all that shame, all that fear, and the only thing this puppet’s brain is going to want is to be grandpa’s little pig–would you like that? To be a piggy puppet, just for Grandpa?”

“I…it hurts…”

“Oh, it won’t hurt for long. Look how fat you’re getting, how pudgy, little piggy. No more talking for you, all you’re gonna do is oink and squeal, right pig?”

*SNORT*

“Yeah, that’s good–you’ll feel empty without me, you you’ll feel me in there again soon–for now, I wanna get my cock in that fat piggy hole, and I wanna hear by grandpig squeal!”

Infection (Sketch)

It wasn’t like there were a whole lot of options, out in the sticks, so Drew stuck to rest areas and park bathrooms–nowhere near where he lived, of course, he didn’t want to risk being discovered and outed as a faggot, but it worked out alright enough for him. Still, he knew he shouldn’t have sucked that cock. He hadn’t even seen who it was attached to, it had just slid its way through the hole in the side of the stall–something about it had just seemed…off. That greasy, sweaty sheen on it, the cheese around the foreskin, and yet…and yet something about the way it smelled. And fuck, it was huge–he’d always been a bit of a size queen, he had to admit, so he cast his worries to the wind, got down on his knees and started sucking.

The guy wasn’t a quiet one–grunting and snorting. Within a minute, he was cumming in Drew’s mouth, and he couldn’t help but swallow it. It didn’t taste quite right either–it was too thick with an especially bitter taste, but…but he liked it, and when the guy growled at him to “keep sucking, fucker,” he did as he was told, and swallowed down two more loads before the guy finally went soft, pulled his ten inch cock free, and fled the restroom.

The next couple of days, he assumed it was a flu–he called out of work on the second day, his stomach hurt so badly. He didn’t want to eat and he didn’t want to drink, but fuck, was he hungry, he just didn’t know what for. By the third day, it had gotten so bad he was having cramps, and dry heaving. He couldn’t keep anything down, he’d just puke it right back up. The only thing he seemed to be able to stomach was cum. He was fucking horny, the entire time, which was a problem all on it’s own. His cock wouldn’t go soft, and he’d actually succeeded in rubbing himself raw–but every load he shot, he couldn’t stop himself from eating it up–licking it off the his hands, off the floor, anything. Even though he wasn’t feeling better, he went back to his rest areas and sucked cock all night long, as many loads as he could get, and that was the first day that he felt at all better, but only a few hours after he got home, the hunger was back, forcing him back out again, searching for more cock.

He ended up not going back to work. A week after his first encounter, he found a second cock like the first in a park, belonging to an equally desperate cockhound he’d been competing with for loads all night long. As soon as they smelled each other…their lust exploded, and neither of them could stop themselves, sucking down each other’s cum, cleaning their bodies, eating out their holes, the men who found them kept their distance, like they would an animal in the dark, and the two of them paid the other’s no mind. Without saying anything, the two of them knew that it would hurt too much to separate, and so they took off together, splitting off to find cock each night, and keeping each other fed during the day, as they traveled from town to town. It wasn’t much longer before they found a third man like them, who also joined up, and they settled into a rhythm.

In times of clarity, which were few, Drew would occasionally stand in front of some grungy motel or restroom mirror and stare at himself. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten something other than cum, or drank anything other than piss. He reeked, but showering didn’t interest him in the least. besides, a shower wouldn’t help this smell, this musk rolling off of him. By now, he could have any cock he wanted–no man who smelled him could resist feeding him a load or two. His body had wasted slightly, but it was mostly fat he’d lost. If anything, he seemed…bigger than before, by an inch or two, his muscled more developed than before, his cock longer, his fat balls producing a near constant stream of cum soaking the front of whatever filthy pair of jeans he was wearing at any given moment. The others he lived with were changing similarly, all of them feeling like they were…waiting for something to happen, or waiting for someone to…find them.

Then, one day, while the three of them were in the midst of their mini-orgy, waiting for the sun to go down so they could resume their hunt for cum, they all, at once, smelled something on the other side of the door–something massive, something…someone important. They fell over each other trying to get to the door and flung it open, and found a massive man in the doorway, or something man-like, with a cock hanging to his knees, reeking of their same musk, but…but different. Better. Superior. The man, the thing, whatever he was, it seeded them all, each in turn, multiple times, filling them to the brim with his cum and then left as soon as he’d arrived.

None of them moved for days. It hurt, it ached, whatever was inside him now. Drew was finding it harder and harder to think about anything beyond his swollen cock and balls, but he was so weak, he could barely manage to jack off. It wasn’t human. He wasn’t human. What was he becoming? Why…why did it feel like something was…inside him?

Dream Camp (Part 13)

Warning: Still gross and strange. Scat, anal vore, and other oddities of body and soul. This is the last chapter however! Maybe we’ll have someone more normal (and shorter) after this.

The final day of the camping trip was relatively uneventful, or perhaps it simply felt that way, because everything that had happened during the night was so insane it had rendered most everything else mundane by comparison. Christian came to his tent, and found his dad still cleaning up his morning mess–Barry was only too happy to take his son’s piss and shit right in his mouth, and then gave him a good solid fuck as well, though he found his increased mass made it substantially more difficult to give him as satisfying of a fuck as usual. Christian didn’t seem to mind–in fact, he didn’t seem the least bit fazed by any of it. Barry asked him a question about the Hoffsons, but the name no longer meant anything to Christian–apparently, it was like they had never existed at all. They finished their fuck–and Christian helped his massive father get dressed, since he couldn’t quite manage his uniform all on his own anymore, and then hauled him free of the tent, where Barry found the scouts all lined up and ready to help feed their Scoutmaster. One by one, the crouched over and Barry ate the shit straight from their holes, washing it down with their piss, and Barry had to admire them all. They had all become proper young bears overnight, covered with hair, some of them muscular, but most of them rather fat, thanks to Alex and Eric, who were busy feeding their newest pet, a man whose name Barry couldn’t even remember anymore, whose face had dissolved into nothing more than a single, massive sucking maw, with only vestigial arms and legs now, it’s entire body flabby, and yet taut–already filled to the brim with the father and sons’ milk.

Barry felt sated by the end, and the scouts all went off to prepare their own breakfasts. Barry thought he might as well cook his own, but suddenly the idea of normal food simply disgusted him…because he never ate food anymore. No, it only satisfied him once it was coming out the other end–the only things he’d be eating from now on were piss and shit–and cum of course, but that was beside the point. Still, there was…something he needed. He didn’t want food, but he was hungry as hell…and as much as he wanted to deny it, he knew what he needed. He needed to be fucked–and his hole needed to eat. Leaving his troop to their own meals, he set off wandering the campground, and he found for himself a group of college aged men enjoying the last bit of the weekend. Seeing this massively obese man lumbering towards them, covered with hair, beard crusted with shit, enter their campsite–all of them were disgusted–at least until Barry unleashed his first fart–then the three men were fighting each other for the privilege of fucking his massive hole first, but none of them needed to worry–he was famished enough to eat all three of them.

Later–now feeling considerably larger, his cock and balls swelling as the three young men dissolved in his bowels, he lumbered his way back to camp where the scouts were all eating their own meals, and he fed them all as well–his cum, the distilled manhood from the men he’d just devoured, watching his troop develop further, their hair growing longer, their musk stronger, their muscles and bones thickening and lengthening as they drank his cum, Barry feeling his balls shrink as they did, but he’d fill up again in no time. Still, it was time for them all to leave–after breakfast, the troop packed up their gear and bundled themselves into the cars–though there was substantially less room than before, with just Eric and Barry driving back–but there were also fewer scouts this time around as well.

Back at the parking lot, Barry returned his boys to their equally berish fathers, all of them so happy to see them–so happy that more than a few couldn’t resist the urge to fuck right there in the open, on the asphalt. Such a good troop he had–there was nothing Barry liked more than turning a boy into a real man–and his father into an even bigger, sexier man. And if they fought? Well, he ate the ones who resisted alive and fed them to their own sons, before auctioning off the boy to one of the other fathers in his troop. To this day, the only person who’d ever fucked him and lived was his son, Christian–and he planned on keeping it that way. The two of them headed home, finally–it had felt like that long weekend had lasted forever–but they were each already looking forward to their troop orgy Tuesday night, as well as next month’s camping trip. The entire troop had rented out a lodge in the mountains for a whole week–which meant Barry had to get busy if he was going to store up enough cum to feed everyone for an entire week. Still, Christian would keep him well supplied–he usually brought two or three men home for him every night. By next month, his balls would be so big, he’d be barely able to walk.

But before he fell asleep that night, and before he forgot, Barry took off the amulet and hung it away in the closet. He had a feeling he wouldn’t be wearing it again for a while–his dreams were so crazy now, he figured he’d better give the amulet a rest for a while–but at least he had it in case he ever needed it, or maybe he’d pass it on to one of his boys one day, and help them make their dreams come true too.

The End