Winter Vacation [Interactive] (Part 8)

The car pulled up the driveway late at night, while the daddy and the two boys were deep asleep. The coach stepped out of the car and stretched with a groan, the soft snow falling hitting his skin where it melted instantly and turned to steam, shrouding him in a thin mist as he surveyed the house.

Of course, the coach didn’t have much of the coach left inside his body anymore. It had been a long process, since the summer, when a chance encounter with an odd amulet in a curio shop which housed a rather powerful demon of lust, gluttony, sloth, pride–well, it did love to indulge in every vice imaginable, really. The coach had fought as best he could, but by the time college had entered session, he had been losing, lost in the…fantasies the demon was promising him, no longer ever sure if they were his own or not. Lusting after the young men on the team, and the demon–the demon could give him any of them. The first time he’d put Rich into that trance and fucked the star player in his office–he’d known there was no going back from that, and so, he’d given in–without really understanding what, exactly, that meant.

The coach didn’t really exist on the mortal plane, anymore. He could observe, at times, what was going around his body, but his spirit was lost to that world, and now existed only in the demons realm, twisted and warped by the nightmarish pleasure and vices of the place until he could no longer even recognize himself. Part of him–a small part now, the last bit of his humanity, knew he’d consigned these four young men to a fate worse than death, but the new him, the warped, nightmarish thing he’d become in the darkness here, it watched eagerly to see what the demon, what his master, would do to the four of them next.

The first step, after all, was temptation. The four of them had succumbed to that step rather easily, though they had all been well primed by the demon over the last semester to be prepared for that step. Twisting their little minds had been such a joy, there in the locker room. Deceiving them, planting the idea in Rich’s mind to take the four of them on this secluded vacation deep into the mountains without telling anyone where they were going. Now they had wallowed in their vices for days, losing themselves, their connection to reality. None of them would be able to fight him now, though they may try.

With the coach’s spirit dispatched, he had gained free reign of the man’s mortal frame, and warped it to become more…familiar to his demonic tastes. Six and a half feet tall, weighing over four hundred pounds of muscle and fat, coated in hair, cock hanging to his knees, short horns pushing from his forehead. He stepped up the porch and into the house, moving with incredible silence for his massive frame. He could hear the three men snoring loudly in the three corners of the house, but his business with them could wait. No–first to the basement, to check on Rich, or at least, what remained of him.

Down the stairs he went, and he could smell him even before he hit the floor, the stench of waste, filth, and rubber. It filled him with such…delight, and his cock began to harden, growing to a foot in length, the head oddly barbed, and dribbling an steaming, dark grey cum onto the concrete floor. There he was–in his cocoon, lying against the wall there. It no longer appeared to hold a body at all, it had become so bloated and misshapen over the last week, ingesting the piss and waste of the men above him. It had been necessary, to deal with him in such a way, to corrupt him so completely. The others all showed such lust and hunger for vice and evil, but Rich–he had been the one to show the most resistance. The demon walked to the rubber cocoon and grazed it with one sharp nail, feeling the thing inside shiver with delight. Yes–it was ready for the final stage now, most certainly.

He detached the hose from the mask, leaving just a sizable hole where Rich’s mouth should have been, but it was difficult to see what, exactly was inside. It was a hole, in any case–and the demon guided the head of it to the head of his cock, sliding it into the slimy throat, feeling how…hungry it was. He probed the mind left inside the rubber, and found only the simplest of thoughts–and a great, mindless, obsessive hunger. Well, it would have plenty to eat, soon enough. He fed it lovingly, savoring the moment, sliding in deep, feeling the thing pulsing and twitching around his cock. It lacked form and substance. It could be anything. It would be anything, anything the demon wanted it to become, and he had just the thing in mind. The soul would not stay, however–no, that was still too much of a risk. Besides, he had a promise to keep, with the coach, one final deal to satisfy, to ensure his place here in the mortal realm was secure. He came, and as Rich’s form accepted the demon’s seed, Rich felt himself sinking away into some strange, new darkness.

He was himself–his body was his again. He looked around, and cried out for help–but there, waiting for him, was the coach, or at least, what remained of the coach’s soul. The beast charged him, impaling him on his monstrous cock, delighted with the demon’s gift, and the mental link between them closed–the coach now lost to hell with, Rich, who would become his own twisted mate in time.

Meanwhile, the demon watched the cocoon begin to convulse and warp, reacting to both his seed, and his will. But what, exactly, did it become?

Alright, what’s it going to be?

It becomes a part of the house, ready to further corrupt the men above.
It bursts, releasing a fellow demon from hell eager for some fun.
It reforms into a mindless rubber slave drone, ready to serve.
The demon absorbs it, making him more powerful than before.

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Muse of Fantasy II – Reconciliation (Part 4)

“You fought back. You swallowed that inner faggot of yours, and you started beating him up too. You straightened out and manned up, and dumbed down. By the time you dropped out of school, you weren’t little Eddie, that fucking faggot anymore–no, you were Big Ed, beating up the rest of the weak faggots with your big brother. The only difference is that you promised to go a bit easier on them next time, if they sucked you off in the woods after school.”

“Nah, fuck, that shit ain’t fuckin’ right! I ain’t one a ‘em I fuckin’ hate ‘em!” Eddie said, and tried to turn away from the mirror, but even though he could feel his body moving, the mirror and the room turned with him. He couldn’t escape the face, his face, the big, hulking, sexy fucking brute in the mirror. Was…was it really him? Could it be him? He’d always…thought about it, what might have happened if he’d stayed, if he hadn’t focused on school and gotten out as soon as he possibly could. Is this…is this really what he could have been? He knew it should have horrified him, but all he felt was so fucking horny.

“Yeah, you do hate them, those faggots.”

“Nah that ain’t what I meant! Don’t go twistin’ round mah words like that, this, I didn’t wanna be this fuckin roughneck son of a bitch.”

“Come on now, Big Ed–it didn’t happen. You didn’t end up like those faggots, you can relax,” Oliver said, stroking the side of his bearded face gently, seeing some of the intellect and memory in Eddie’s eyes dim back further. “You’re a real man, isn’t the right, Big Ed?”

“N-No, I…I was a…”

“That was just a bad dream–a nightmare.”

“Y-Yeah…yeah, I’m a real man.”

“And you do everything real men do, don’t you? You smell like a man, you smoke and drink like a man, you swear and growl like a man–you even fuck pussy like a man, on occasion, ain’t that right? Of course, you can’t stand women, not really–that’s the real problem, isn’t it?”

Eddie could smell himself now, standing there. The boozy breath, the lingering smoke in his beard. The musky pits, the dirty, muddy clothes he had on. It made him feel better–more secure. Oliver was right, he wasn’t a faggot–no fucking way was a real man like him a faggot. But what the fuck was he talking about? Ed had been with plenty of women! Of course, he’d…never really been able to get hard easily, but that’s because he was usually drunk, but fucking them in the ass usually did the trick for him, and if they complained? A few smacks would sort them out quick enough.

“The real problem, is that the faggot is still in you, deep down, and you’ll never be rid of him.”

“Shut yer fuckin’ trap,” Ed snarled at him, but there was a quaver, a bit, at the end of his drawl.

“That’s why you come here, that’s why you find the mouths on the other side of the stall, that’s why you did it that night, isn’t it? Listening to him moan around your cock, listening to how much he was enjoying it–it drove you nuts, because you want to enjoy it too, instead of all the shame, instead of all the self-loathing…”

Ed gasped, and realized he wasn’t in front of the mirror anymore. No–now he was in the stall, his cock in the gloryhole, listening and feeling some disgusting faggot slurping on his fat rod on the other side, the wet slap of the faggots hand on his own wet cock–he hated it. He fucking hated it. He hauled his cock out of the hole without warning, walked to the stall where the faggot was, and kicked in the door with one solid slam from his boot, the door slamming into the bitch, stunning him. Ed reached in and grabbed him by the collar, hauling him out of there with a snarl–and froze when he saw the face of the faggot, froze when he saw his face, his old face, looking up at him in terror.

“This is what you’ve wanted, ever since that night, isn’t it? This is why you can’t stop thinking of it, why you can’t stop dreaming of it. So do it. Fucking do it, be a man, show that faggot you mean business.”

Ed didn’t want to look at that face, he didn’t want to see that version of him anymore–so he started punching it. He punched it until it was broken and bloody and almost unrecognizable, and then he rolled it over, hauled down its pants, and started fucking it roughly, his thick, calloused hands gripping the thing’s hips hard enough to bruise, so hard he could almost feel his own hands on his own hips, but he didn’t think about that, couldn’t think about that, wouldn’t think about that, and he came deep–and the bathroom was gone, and Ed was left in the kitchen, his cock planted deep down Will’s throat, watching the gimp choke on his massive load, its erection still clearly visible in the rubber suit below. He hauled his cock free of the thing’s mouth, watching it slurp the cum down with a moan, and he fell into a chair behind him, looking down at his hands, his massive fucking hands, from years working on farms and construction sites. He could…remember everything, everything about this new life, and all that remained of his old one were just fragments, shards left over from the mental beating he’d given himself. He looked back at the gimp in front of him, at Oliver standing beside him, smiling, pleased with himself.

Muse of Fantasy II – Reconciliation (Part 3)

“Leave him the fuck alone!” Eddie shouted, and pushed himself up from the table, ready to intercede, but Oliver just smiled at him, “Take that…shit off of him, and get the fuck out of our house, you fucking freak.”

“Sit down, Eddie,” Oliver said, gently, but the words had force of their own. Unable to understand why, he did as he was told, and took his seat again at the table, while Will rubbed his mitts against the suit covering his body, the rubber pants growing down, over his feet, becoming thick soled waders connected seamlessly to the rest of the suit. “Now Will, how does it feel? And be honest.”

“It…feels amazing, but how did you do this? This isn’t possible…” Will looked down at himself, and then back at Oliver, “Who…are you?”

“Just a servant of my god, Will–you’ll meet them soon enough. But for now, why don’t we tuck you away for a bit, while I have a chat with your husband?”

Will felt the rubber squirming around his body again, and it rose higher, up his neck and onto his face. It forced his mouth open, filled it, forming a thick, cock shaped gag inside, and then sealed itself around it, Will moaning and protesting as the rubber enveloped the rest of his head, with just two holes for his nose, allowing him to breathe. He swung about a moment, blind and useless, but the rest of the suit was changing as well–tugging his arms down to his sides, where the sleeves sealed themselves to the sides of his body, locking them in place, and then Will fell to his knees, calves and thighs sealed together similarly. Where Will had stood a minute before, there was now just a motionless rubber gimp, trapped on its knees, moaning softly around the gag in its mouth, feeling the last of the rubber worming into his ass, forming a thick plug inside there as well.

Olive admired it for a moment, and then turned back to Eddie, who was still trying to get himself out of the chair, terrified and shaking. “Please, just…just let us go, I was only doing this so he’d fucking shut up about it!”

“Yeah, it can be…eye opening, the first time it happens,” Oliver said, “the first time you experience what you really want, the first time you feel real…pleasure. Because you did like it, didn’t you? There in that bathroom, two big fuckers kicking you, tearing at your clothes, right there on the tile floor.”

Eddie froze, staring at Oliver. “How…how do you know that…”

“I know everything about what you want, Eddie,” Oliver said, “I know things you want, that you haven’t even realized yet.” He reached out and touched Eddie’s temple, and when he did, Eddie felt…something inside his mind suddenly open up. Something expanded out from his mind, like a projection, and a moment later, the kitchen was gone, Will was gone. They were back there, in the rest area where those two roughnecks had hauled him out of the stall, beaten him up, and raped him. He could smell the piss, and see that…odd patch of wall he’d locked eyes with, when he’d tried not to think about what was happening to him, about how much he enjoyed what was happening to him. “You have a good memory,” Oliver said, looking around, “Have you been back since?”

“No–Will wouldn’t…let me.”

“But you wanted to, didn’t you?”

Eddie couldn’t reply.

“I can make it happen to you again, you know. You can relive it. It can be rougher this time, grittier, they could drag you out of here and turn you into their little faggot slave. You’ve thought about all of that, I can see it in you, Eddie.”

The door to the bathroom swung open, and Eddie spun around, terror in his guts, but there was no one there.

“But that wouldn’t help the two of you reconcile your…differences, would it? What would happen to poor Will, left as a gimp on the floor of the kitchen? I could, perhaps, find someone willing to take him, but you two do seem like such a good fit. Besides, that would be too easy. They wouldn’t be happy with that.”

“You crazy fuck, just leave us alone,” Eddie said, “Please, we have money, we’ll pay you, but just fucking stop this. Just fucking go away!”

Oliver just smiled at him, and came closer, “You thought you deserved it. All of it. All that teasing when you were a kid, all the guys calling you a faggot growing up. How small you are, how weak you are, you wanted them to rape you, because it confirmed for you exactly what you are–a faggot, a bitch, a weak piece of shit–but that’s not what you want to be, is it Eddie?”

Eddie tried to speak, tried to deny it, but all he could do was shake his head no. It was true–he…hated himself. He always had, and those two fucks raping him…abusing him. It had felt…exactly like what he deserved for being so…weak.

“No–well, you can be anything here, Eddie. You don’t have to be weak anymore. You don’t have to be some small, prissy, meek faggot. This is your fantasy, Eddie. This is your chance to be who you’ve always wanted to be.” Oliver walked over to the mirror, and waved Eddie over, “Come on, come have a look with me. I think you’ll like it.”

“No–No, I don’t want to look.”

“Yes you do Eddie. We both know what we’re going to see. Now come over here.”

Eddie walked, one step at a time, the footfalls sounding…heavy on the tile. He stood next to Oliver and turned to the mirror…and the person in the reflection beside Oliver…it was…him. His face, but a different life. One where, instead of giving up, he’d…given in. He’d embraced his roots, buried his sexuality, turned into a real man like his brother, like his father. His hair was buzzed down to the skull, and he had a thick, ragged beard all over his face, growing high up his cheeks. He wasn’t wearing the relaxing casual clothes from before, but instead had on a grubby t-shirt and a pair of overalls. “Fuck, nah fuck, that fuckin’ piece a trash ain’t me, I ain’t!” Eddie said, seeing the stranger contort in anger, the new voice betraying his background despite his denials.

The Muse of Fantasy II – Reconciliation (Part 2)

Oliver smiled–it sounded like the perfect opportunity for him to stretch his creativity in all sorts of strange directions, provided the source material proved interesting enough. If the two of them were bores, then he’d just have to liven things up himself. “Alright, that sounds like an interesting challenge for someone in my business. So, who would like to tell me their fantasy first?”

Eddie and Will looked at one another, still embarrassed.

“It seems the two of you don’t discuss this topic very often.”

Will chuckled, “No, it’s…a bit strange, I guess. Here, I’ll go first,” he brought his mug of coffee with him and sat at the table with the other two. “I, uh, well, I have a thing for rubber and latex. It’s kind of a new interest, I guess, because I don’t have a lot of gear…but I find it really erotic.”

“In what sense?” Oliver asked.

“I guess…I really like the feeling of it against my skin. I was with a guy, and he put me in a full body suit one time, and it felt…really amazing. It makes you feel like something else, like an object.”

“So you were more of a…bottom in this scenario?”

“I suppose so, but it isn’t really about power…I guess. It’s hard to explain.”

Oliver, peeking into Will’s mind, could see that the last bit was a lie–it was about power. He liked being powerless, but he wasn’t very fond of mentioning it to Eddie.

“Does that interest you at all, Eddie?”

He shrugged, “I’ve never had much experience with rubber other than wearing a condom, I suppose, but I’m open to the idea I suppose. But for me…well, I guess I should say that I didn’t grow up around here. I’m from the other side of the mountains, out in a little farming town, but I came out here for college, and because being gay in a small town…it was rough. But…well, I guess somethings stick with you a bit, because I’ve just always had a thing for country guys and farmers especially. I used to…well, hell, the first cock I ever sucked was an older neighbor of ours, when I was a teenager. He owned a farm, and I…I don’t know. It’s a bit hard finding guys like that over here though…”

Will shot him a look, and Eddie stopped talking. What had gone unstated was the fundamental friction, Oliver supposed. He could see in Eddie’s mind what he’d been doing–cruising rest areas out on the highways, always looking for roughneck cock. He’d gotten a bit of a bruising, and Will had told him to stop–one thing lead to another, and now all three of them were sitting together at the table, looking for a solution. Worse, or better, depending on your perspective, Eddie had liked it. He’d liked getting beaten by them, and he’d liked getting raped. It wasn’t something he’d really been able to process himself, and Oliver could see the tumult there of his fantasies. He was hard already, and so eager to begin.

“It sounds like you’re both bottoms.”

Eddie and Will nodded, “That’s part of why we don’t have a lot of sex, beyond the kink side of things. It makes it difficult.”

“Well, unless you have a third person you’d like to bring in, one of you is going to have work with it.”

“I mean…I could do it, I guess,” Will said, “I’m not that big, but maybe, as like, a rubber golem, I could fuck him with a strap on?”

Eddie rolled his eyes, and Oliver could tell the idea didn’t even satisfy Will that much–he just wanted his husband to be safer, and he was worried that next time…well, it would be something a trip to a doctor wouldn’t be able to fix up.

“How about you, Eddie? Think you could give it a shot?”

He looked surprised–the thought honestly hadn’t occurred to him, but Oliver had a suspicion he’d be more than eager, with the right…motivation.

“You don’t think about topping very often, I guess.”

“Most of the guys I have sex with are just interested in blowjobs. Top and bottom doesn’t really enter into it.”

“I can understand that,” Oliver said, and cracked his knuckles, turning back to Will. ‘It seems like you’re the easier one to start with I think–why don’t we get you taken care of?”

“Oh? Uh…well, we can look at the gear I have, if you want to use any of it.”

“Oh no, I only use my own gear, Will, you don’t have to worry about a thing,” Oliver said, reached over and gave him a pat on the shoulder, and when he did, Will gasped. The shirt he’d had on had suddenly constructed tightly to his skin in a split second. He looked down, and saw the button down dress shirt was no more–it had somehow turned into a wrist length black rubber shirt.

“What, how did you…” Will said, and tried to pick at the end of the rubber sleeve, but it was so tight he couldn’t get a finger to separate the rubber from his skin. As he did, he felt the entire shirt squirm, and the rubber grew, flowing down his wrists and onto his fingers, which immediately began to gum up, until a few seconds later they were both trapped as fists in tight rubber mitts. “I don’t–take it off, please,” Will said as he stood up from the table, swinging his arms and trying to fling the rubber off.

“But why stop, Will? This is what you want–I can feel your desire plain as day. Here I’ll even help Eddie see it too,” Oliver said, stood up and gave Will a smack on the ass. Just like his shirt, his pants shifted instantly, becoming skintight rubber running down to his ankles. Clearly highlighted in the black rubber were his full balls, and an obvious erection.

The Muse of Fantasy II – Reconciliation (Part 1)

This is a sequel to an earlier story, which I’d recommend you read first, just to refresh yourself on the recurring characters. Here are the parts:

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

It was a lovely suburb–newish, probably built within the last decade, given how far out of LA proper Oliver had had to drive to get here. The cookie cutter houses, all in a row, all of them the same, all of the people inside of them the same, all trying to live the same dreams together. He’d always hated it, but he’d never really understood why, until he’d met his muse, until Amoredie had appeared to him that night, when he’d learned what sort of power he could really have, with them at his side. Now he knew better, looking at the houses on either side–they were all trying to be the same, desperate and lonely, and maybe some of them would succeed in convincing themselves that they wanted this, but the rest, they would all tire of it, they would all hate it, and they’d keep doing it anyway, for lack of imagination.

Since that night with Kyle and Noah, business had been…booming. Well, it wasn’t really a business anymore–he didn’t quite know what to call what he did. Before, he’d been doing this for fun, out of a sick, twisted perversity he got from bringing men a few steps closer to their strange fetishes. But now…now he could do more than that. Now he could bring the fantasies to life. Over the last few months, he’d been making cold calls on some of his…favorite clients, the one’s he appreciated, and he’d helped free them from the shackles of the normal. None of them had looked back, but that also meant none of them would be requiring his services ever again. His muse…they were growing a bit more fickle, they craved more from him…and he needed them, as well. Sex with Amoredie, it was unlike sex with a mortal. He could barely remember the details, but every session he felt so…alive. He needed them, but they only fucked him when he pleased them first, with a particularly spectacular new creation.

So, he’d started a website, advertising his services. He’d never felt the need to do so before, when it had been a hobby (and a rather embarrassing one at that) but he needed more clients, or he’d simply have to begin…picking people off the street. Something he’d considered, actually, and may have done–but only once. He’d been drunk and…

Oliver shook his head. This was better. It was better to give the gift to those who wanted it. He’d had a trickle of interest from his website, at least, after he’d started promoting it. Most of the requests would have required travel, but money was tight since he’d found it…difficult to focus on work, ever since meeting his muse. The first one that popped up around LA he jumped on–a gay couple who were looking for some help with their sex life. Here, in the middle of the dreary suburbs. Still, Oliver had a feeling that after today, the two of them wouldn’t be living here anymore, no matter what their fantasies might be. He could feel Amoredie watching him–they preferred to observe, rather than participate, but if he did well…he was certain he’d be rewarded with their presence once he was finished here.

He found the house, parked in the driveway, and pulled out his equipment. Of course, he hadn’t used his equipment since receiving the blessing from his muse, but it was important to keep up appearance for the men he was helping. He knocked on the door, and it was opened after a few minutes by a younger man, mostly likely around thirty. “Hello, you must be Oliver,” he said, looking around the neighborhood behind him, nervously.

“Worried about what the neighbors might think?” Oliver asked with a chuckle, “the sooner you let me in, the less likely they’ll see me.”

That made sense to Eddie, who stepped back and let the makeup artist into the house. He was…a bit taken aback by the man–mostly by how handsome he was. He looked hot enough to be an actor, rather than someone just making actors look good behind the scenes. “Will? The guy is here!” he called out into the house, and a few moments later, a second man, similar in age and build to Eddie, came down the stairs.

“You must be…Oliver?”

He nodded, “Like I said in the email, this meeting is just a consultation,” he lied, “I need to get to know you better, and what you’re looking for, so we can figure out a scenario, and a makeup, that will work best for you. So, where’s somewhere comfortable we can chat?”

They all ended up in the kitchen. Oliver accepted a cup of coffee from Will, while Eddie sat with him at the table, looking anxious. He could feel the same sort of feeling coming off of Will, as well, who was busying himself around the kitchen, to avoid taking a seat at the table with them. “I’m sensing a bit of tension between you two. Is everything alright?”

Will’s face turned red, and he faced the sink. Eddie chuckled. “It’s not everyday you invite someone into your house to help you live out a sexual fantasy.”

Oliver nodded, “So what fantasy do you two have in mind?”

They both feel quiet again, and were looking at one another expectantly. “Look, this…here’s part of the problem,” Will said, leaning up against the counter, “We don’t really know…what to ask you to do. Eddie and I, we have a solid relationship, but we’ve never really had great sex.”

Eddie rolled his eyes at him.

“What, are you happy with it?”

“No, you’re just making us sound like a couple of prudes,” Eddie said, “We’ve always had an open relationship, but I know we’ve both felt like our personal connection is a bit…boring. But also, our interests don’t really overlap, so it’s hard to figure out what sort of thing might work for us both.”

“That’s why we thought we’d hire you. It sounds like you’ve seen plenty of…stuff…and maybe you could help us figure out how to reconcile our ideas together, into something that might please us both for a change, and maybe help us understand the other’s interests a bit better.”

Pigtown – Faceless (Part 5)

He looked like a monster–what in the world had Dick and Ash done to him? No–he could imagine what they did, well enough, even if he’d never seen the dummy itself, after the work. The floppy ears raised a bit too high on his head, the short snout pushing out under his nose and mouth…he could see his face still sliding into place, his nostrils widening at the end of the snout, even as his mouth shifted underneath it. It hurt less, than when his face had first reattached, but it didn’t feel good, and he certainly didn’t like looking at it, either–even if he couldn’t tear his eyes away from himself, from the huge gut, from the stubby cock poking out of a sheath underneath it, and two massive balls swinging below, each the size of a small melon. They were…churning, and not in a sense he’d ever experienced. He felt something well up at the head of his cock, and a slimy tear of precum leaked from the slit, and drooled down to the floor, followed by a steady stream after that. Even his hands and feet were different–especially his feet. He’d assumed walking was difficult just because he was beginning to regain sensation–but he was surprised he could feel anything. His feet were…trotters–thick and wide, but completely inhuman, and his hands were reduced to three clumsy fingers, probably good for holding cocks and not much else.

“Yeah, look at you, you fucking beast. We’ll be goin’ back home together, and you’re gonna be my pet piggy, ain’t ya? You stupid piece of shit?”

Trey didn’t know what to do about his face and body–but he was plenty angry. He’d always been angry, but he’d never had the ability to do much to back it up. But now–sure, he was fat, but there was plenty of muscle packed onto this frame too. He could…fight. He clenched a fist, turned, and swung, slamming it right into Dick’s face, sending him stumbling back into a chair, and then onto the ground behind him. Yeah–that felt good, and he swung around to glower at Ash.

“Fix this,” he tried to say, but it didn’t come out right–which didn’t surprise him, he supposed, but Ash got the message in any case, and Trey stalked over towards him, ready to punch him as well, when he felt something slender wrap it’s way around his neck, tighten down on his windpipe, and bring him down to his knees.

“Bar policy,” a new voice said, “Pets gotta be kept on a leash at all times–for safety’s sake.”

Dick sat up, wiping blood from his nose, and saw the bartender had come around, and was holding the end of the leather leash, connected to the collar wrapped around Trey’s throat, who was pawing at with his useless hands. “Fuck man, thanks.”

“Yeah Rod, I owe you,” Ash said.

The bartender shrugged. “You’ve earned your place here, Ash,” he said, “And you–I like you. But don’t let this thing loose again, or I’ll have it dragging you around instead, got it?”

Rod handed Dick the end of the leash, and he gripped it tight. “No worries man–I won’t let him out of my hand.”

Rod nodded, and walked back behind the bar. Trey kept pawing at the collar for a moment, but couldn’t…quite tell what was wrong. The collar wasn’t choking him physically–if anything, it felt…comfortable, or even necessary. He was a beast after all. A monster. He had to be controlled, and chained, and…and dominated. Just a stupid, dull beast of burden, worthless for much of anything, only good for what it’s master wanted. The collar was choking out his mind, and Ash could see the intellect and fight draining from the pigman’s face, eyes going slack and dark, a line of drool hanging from the front of his snout.

“Better give it a name too–something for the tag,” Rod added, once he was back behind the bar, “How about Troff? Looks like that thing loves shoving its face in ‘em enough.”

“Ha! Yeah, sounds good to me!” Dick said, “How about it, Troff?”

Was…was that him? It sounded right. It sounded like a good name for a stupid, subservient beast like him. His master was standing beside him, and looked like he was hurt–and for some reason, Troff thought that he had done that…but that couldn’t be right. No, Troff would never hurt Master, never in a million years. He’d…hurt whoever did that to Master, is what he’d do.

Dick, through the leash, could sense Troff’s anger, and decided to let the pet off for this one. “Calm down now, pig–here, let’s give you a treat, eh?” Dick said, and pressed the head of his cock to Troff’s snout, and with a delighted grunt, it started sucking on Master’s cock, one thick hand massaging it’s nuts, feeling more and more precum puddle around his knees on the floor. Maybe master would let him lick it up, later–Troff was good at licking shit up, after all. After a moment, Dick got Troff repositioned, so Ash could fuck his ass, and together they brought to pig to a snorting, squealing orgasm, cum pouring from his cock onto the floor, which, like he’d hoped, Dick let the pig lick up after they were all finished.

Ash shook Dick’s hand, and wished him luck with his new life, and his new pig, and then turned to his two gimps, both of whom had watched the entire scene without moving–though with mixed, if limited, feelings. “Alright you two,” Ash said, “I think we’re calling it an early night, tonight, and heading back to my place. I think you’ve earned the privilege of getting your faces back–after we have a little fun with your bodies, eh?”

The end for now…

Pigtown – Faceless (Part 4)

“Are you done yet?”

“Would you relax? I’ve never done something like this before. I don’t even know if it’ll work. It might just fuck up everything–who knows if it’ll even fit right.”

“It stretches though.”

“Well yeah, it stretches, but–look, if shit goes screwy with this? It’s not my fucking fault, got it?”

“What’s the worst that could happen?”

Ash just shook his head, and focused on the dummy in front of him, adding the last few details.

“It looks fucking ready to me–I love the look of that sack on it. Gonna be real fun kickin’ that shit with my boots on.”

“Alright, I think we’re good–or at least, we should be good,” Ash stood up and admired his work–he was surprised he’d never thought of this before, actually…usually when he took a man’s face, they never did end up getting them back. He liked to keep them tucked away, a nice collection of limp masks to mock and tease, tell them where their bodies were, and what men were doing to them. On occasion, he gave a man or two their faces back, usually once their guts were brimming with cum and piss. He…loved the look of their faces turning green, as they felt their bellies sloshing–usually right before stealing their face back. However, he’d never altered the dummy like this before. If it worked…he looked over at the two gimps behind him, and thought of their stupid fucking faces, hanging from hooks in his room. If this worked, he’d have to experiment a bit. He went over to the table and picked up Trey, slipping his hands up inside his face, and testing how flexible he was. More than enough to make it work, he supposed–but whether everything would line up properly was another question altogether. He rolled it up from the neck, so he could be as accurate as possible, pressed the crown of the face to the dummy’s head, and felt it stick.

The ears were tricky, making sure the rubber molds of the dummy pushed out into the ears of the mask–but they did, and the result, as he pulled down the rest, was an odd mix between Trey’s original ears, and his new, floppier ones sitting a bit higher on his head. The same with the nose and mouth–It stretched out over the snout he’d crafted, and it ended up somewhat shorter than he’d made it, but once the mask slipped down to the neck and rejoined with the body, the oddly bulging snout split open, and Trey let out a growling, panting, snorting heave of pain.

Wrong–it was all wrong. Trey hadn’t been able to tell much of what was going on, from where he was lying on the table, but when he’d felt Ash putting his face back on his body, he’d been so thankful, but once he was back, he realized that his body was not quite the same as it had been, when Ash had taken him off. He tried to move his hands to feel what was wrong with it, and why it hurt so much, but he couldn’t. Even though his face was back on, the rest of his body was just numb–he couldn’t feel it, or move it…though there was some progress, actually. His neckline was tingling, and as it did, he could feel sensation spreading down slowly, and he looked down, where life was slowly returning to his dummy body–but what he saw made him groan in horror.

This wasn’t his body–what the fuck did that fucker do to him? His skinny frame was gone–instead, it looked like someone had attached a tire pump to his navel, and pumped him full of lard. He had two massive moobs and a huge gut hanging down, covered in wiry doll hair and swirls of color. Sensation crept down, and he saw the hair and skin turn to flesh, the swirls becoming tattoos embedded in his skin. He tried to speak and protest, turned to his uncle and plead…but that wasn’t his uncle, looming over him. It looked a bit like him, but those eyes, and that sneer–this was someone else entirely.

The words didn’t come out right–there was something very wrong with his mouth, but he didn’t know what, exactly. Dick took his fingers and shoved them into Trey’s mouth, feeling around, checking it out. “Feels right–looks like it figured out what we wanted.”

“Good, I was hoping it would work like that,” Ash said, “Gotta say, it’s pretty fucking sick, man. In a good way.”

“Hell yeah it’s fuckin’ sick! Nice ‘n wet too. Gonna feel pretty fuckin’ great on my cock.”

The sensation in Trey’s body was coming back faster now, and had almost reached his fingers. He just…had to wait a moment more, but when Dick rubbed the head of his cock against his…mouth or nose, or whatever was wrong with his face, he couldn’t let it happen. He shoved him away, the force of it sending him toppling backwards. He rolled over, tried to force himself up, but his legs weren’t cooperating yet. So he crawled away, as best he could, until he could force himself upright. There, standing a few feet away from the bar, he saw his reflection in the mirror behind the bartender, and froze. It…it couldn’t be right. It couldn’t be. That thing, it wasn’t him, it had to be wrong, some cheap trick.

Dick came up behind him, and caught him in a hug, grinding his cock against Trey’s ass. “What do you think pig? Suits you, don’t it?”

Pigtown – Faceless (Part 3)

It wasn’t the best head Ash had ever gotten. There was a bit too much teeth, but Dick made up for it in raw hunger and enthusiasm. After a couple of minutes, he pulled away, gasping a bit, and gave Ash’s cock a couple of strokes. “Fuck, it’s better than I fucking imagined, fuck! Could fucking do this all damn night.”

Ash took the opportunity to pull away a bit. “Look, I appreciate the enthusiasm, but I…you shouldn’t be here. I took your fucking face.”

“No, you took his face,” Dick said, pointing to Dirk’s mask, which was still lying on the table nearby. “I’ve been under there, trying to get out for fucking ages! All I needed was one good mid-life crisis, but no, he just has to keep bundling up all his shame and bullshit, like I’m just going to fucking go the fuck away! No–fuck him, piece of shit nobody. Never did fuckall with himself. Could have been getting all the damn dick this whole time, but just cooped himself up,” he stood up, and turned to the face on the table, “No fuckin’ more, I’ll tell ya that! You fuckin’ hear that, ya fuck? I’m not going back under there, never!”

“Dang man, calm down, it’s all good here, trust me,” Ash said, “You don’t have to put it back on.” Now that Dick was standing again, Ash noticed something else–that his body was changing as well. It was his skin that he noticed–it was…flaking, and when Dick idly scratched his arm, big chunks fell off, revealing more beneath it–but it wasn’t the same pink. No, it was colorful–and it took another few curls coming away for Ash to realize they were tattoos. “I think…the rest of him is coming off man.”

Dick looked down at his arms, and he started picking at the skin peeling away, and then hauled off Dirk’s clothes as well, until he was standing there naked, rubbing and picking at himself as Dirk fell away from him. “Yeah, fuck–no wonder I felt so fuckin’ itchy…” Dick said, gave his cock a few rough strokes, and the entire skin slid off, revealing a much more sizable, eight inch member with a hefty foreskin. “Fuck yeah–might need to find someone to wrap their lips ‘round this thing soon enough too,” Dick said, “You up to it Ash?”

Ash shook his head, “No, I prefer to top.”

“Whatever, it’s all good to me–I haven’t done any of it after all!” Dick said with a long laugh, and the last of Dirk’s skin fell away, leaving him free at last. There were some similarities, between the two of them. They had the same general shape–that is, out of shape–though Dick’s potbelly was closer to a proper gut. He wasn’t much hairier than Dirk had been, but he was quite a bit more rank, and his feet and hands were quite a bit larger, as were some of the features of his face, like someone had exaggerated everything just slightly, enough that any one thing would be natural, but together, it all seemed a bit..strange, and rather ugly. The lank hair didn’t help, longer than Dirk had ever left it grow, and the scruffy beard.

He looked down at Dirk’s clothes, and have them a kick with his foot. “I sure as hell ain’t puttin’ this shit back on though,” he said, “I like that, what you’re wearing. You got anymore of that?” He walked up to Ash and ran his hands along the rubber shirt he was wearing. “Yeah, fuck, I bet that feels amazing.”

Ash grinned, “Yeah, I can whip something up for you man, no worries. Rubber’s my specialty.” He got down and picked up Dirk’s shirt from the floor, and where his fingers touched it, the well-worn cotton began to shift. At first glance, in the low light, it looked like it was disappearing, but Dick could see…something catching the light in Ash’s hands, and when he handed the shirt over to him, Ash gave him a wink. “It’s be a shame to cover up that artwork, though, don’t you think?”

Dick realized the shirt was clear rubber, and he wormed his arms into it and pulled it on, loving how…constricting it felt against his skin, even though it didn’t look like he was wearing anything at all, his body just…gleaming slightly. “Yeah, fuck, this shit rocks.”

Ash was already working on the rest of the clothing, and a few minutes later, Dick was clothed again, though in a very different outfit than before. He had on rubber chaps now, his cock and balls hanging free, a black rubber vest, and two thick soled waders up his calves.

“Man, fuck,” Ash said, admiring the rubbered up roughneck standing in front of him, “It isn’t what I was fucking planning, but I gotta say, it suits you, Dick.”

“Yeah?” Dick asked, and moved in close, pressing their rubbered over chest together, “Then how about that dick sucking? You wanna give me some tips? I feel like I was doin’ that shit all wrong.”

“Nah man, I got a better idea,” Ash said, and pointed at Trey’s dummy body, still lying on the floor a few feet away, “Why don’t you have the honor of blowing the first load into that cumdumps guts, in a few minutes?”

Dick narrowed his eyes, at the limp figure, walked over, and planted his rubber wader on the side of its head and pressed down. It gave in slightly, like a solid rubber object might. “Nah, cumdumps too good for this fuck. This place is too go for him–piece a shit. We can do better than that, don’t you think?”

Ash shrugged.

“What happens if we put the mask back on him now?”

“He’ll be right back to himself,” Ash said.

“And what is he now?”

“Just rubber, really. I can do pretty much anything I want with it. Why, you have something else in mind?”

Dick had picked up Trey’s face from the table, and gave it a stretch, watching the features warp, eyes grimacing in pain–or he liked to imagine they were, at least. “Yeah, I have an idea for sure. A real fucking good one, too.”

Pigtown – Faceless (Part 2)

No one said anything for a moment–the man just stood there, holding Trey’s face in his hand, and Dirk, across the table from him, gaped at his nephew’s body, limp in the seat, lying across the table. Slowly, it began to slide until it tumbled off and rolled onto the floor, face up–or what would be a face, if it had one. Something was happening to it, while Dirk watched. The clothes didn’t change–but the body underneath was. The skin didn’t look like flesh anymore, it looked…like some mix between rubber, plastic, or cloth. The dummy’s hands were just simple mitts as well. Whatever it was, it most certainly wasn’t a body anymore. Dirk took a step back from it, and ran into something–while he’d been distracted, staring at the thing, the two gimps had slid around the table behind him. Before he could react, both of them grabbed an arm, holding him in place, while their master came around the table, one hand inside Trey’s face, looking at him with a grin.

“See? Nothing under there at all. Most people are like that. Once you take away everything on top–well, there’s just nothing left for them to be, which means, they can be anything at all, isn’t that right?”

The two gimps on either side of Dirk nodded in tandem.

“They were like the two of you once, decided to mouth off a bit. I have their faces now, and if they serve me well, I might give them back one day. Would you like that?” he said, addressing one of the gimps, “Do you think you’ve earned the right to be someone again yet?” The man ran a gloved hand across one of the gimp’s facelessness, and it shuddered with pleasure, and nodded quickly. “Well too fucking bad–you don’t fucking think shit. You know that. You’re nothing. Fucking forget it. Maybe I should go home and just throw your face in the fire. Hell, maybe I should give your face to someone else, someone who might enjoy it. What do you think? Some derelict off the street? Think he could pretend to be the hotshot vice president like you were once?”

The gimp didn’t do anything this time–it didn’t move an inch.

“That’s what I thought,” the man said, and turned to Dirk, “Now, how about you? I wasn’t planning on adding to my collection tonight, but since the two of you were trying to leave, why don’t we just keep you two here? Well, your bodies at least. Your faces will come with me, for the time being. Set the two of you up as a couple of cumdumps and urinals in one of the backrooms, get you good and full, and maybe in a week, I’ll put your faces back on, just so you can feel what it’s like.”

Dirk shook his head, “No, look, I’m sorry alright? I–he’s a dumbass, I know, but we didn’t want to cause any trouble.”

“Well trouble found you anyway, fucker,” the man said, pushed his fingers against Dirk’s neck, and slid them under his face. “Don’t worry–you won’t have to think about anything, soon enough–you’ll be too busy drinking piss and cum to worry about anything for a good long while.

Dirk fought, and the man teased him, running his fingers gently underneath his face, the gimps’ grip on him tightening. He could…sense them getting excited, but they were always excited when Master was excited. Dirk could feel it–the skin starting to pull away from him–except then he was the skin. He was pulling away from himself. He couldn’t scream or shout for help, he could see, but his eyes couldn’t move, he just felt himself being lifted away from the head, and then he was there, hanging from the stranger’s hand, and he heard a strange, and yet familiar voice let out a long whoop, and laugh, while the man stepped back.

“Fuck man! Fucking hell! I’m fucking free, free at fucking last!”

Dirk landed on the table, face down. He couldn’t see what was happening, but he could hear. Something was wrong. He…he was missing something, he realized. That voice in him, that voice that was always there, whispering to him. Sometimes loud…but that had been when he was young. He’d kept it quiet for so long, but it, that voice–it was the voice that had urged him into the bar.

The stranger was just staring, confused. When you took someone’s face–there wasn’t usually another one beneath it. But here, staring right at him, was the same face of the man he’d just stolen–or at least, kind of the same. He had a full beard, for one thing, his mouth twisted in a crazed smile as he laughed, eyes bloodshot and wild, nose crooked with a thick ring in the middle of it. “Fuck!” he said, “I could just fucking kiss you, ya fucker, thank you!” he said, and lunged forward, slipping from the two gimp’s grasp, and slamming into the stranger, pushing him back onto the table, and he did kiss him, roughly, the master unused to such–forwardness, but he did enjoy it. Still–he pushed him off, and stood up, wiping his lips of the man’s slobber.

“Alright, what the fuck just happened. How in the hell were you under there?” he asked.

“I’ve been under that fucker his whole fucking life man. Fucking trapped. You don’t fucking know what he’s fucking like! The shame, the inhibition. Never wanting to do anything, fuck, it was all I could do to get him to masturbate every other day, and even then he had to do it in the damn shower, where no one would even fucking hear him! Fuck! I’ve wanted that fucker off me my whole god damn life, and I knew…somehow I knew this place could do it, I fucking knew it! And you–fucker, I owe you a fucking blow job, is what. The name’s Dick by the way,” he said, got down, and started opening the fly of the Master’s pants.

“Uh…Ash…I’m Ash,” he said, and then gasped as Dick swallowed his cock to the hilt.

Pigtown – Faceless (Part 1)

“What kind of fucking bar is this, anyway?” Trey asked, looking around again. “The fuckin’ city, Unc–I just don’t fucking get it sometimes.”

Dirk nodded, feeling uneasy and uncomfortable as well…and even though he knew, in his guts, that he and his nephew should leave…some other, deeper part of him, kept his ass glued to the chair where he was sitting in the bar. Trey’s cousin–and another nephew of Dirk’s–was getting married back at home the next week, and had wanted to have his bachelor party at some of the strip clubs in town. At some point, Dirk and Trey had gotten separated from the main group, and ended up here, in a bar called Pigtown. It had…sounded like a strip club, but now that they were in here, drinks in hand…he realized there were no women. Just a room full of men in the low light, music pounding from some other room nearby, some of the slipping off behind a curtain every once in a while, and on less occasion, a man came stumbling back out, eyes wide and breath short.

“I think this is some fag place, Unc,” Trey said, “Fuck, look at those fuckers over there, who the fuck would wear shit like that?” Trey pointed off to another corner of the bar, where three men were sitting–or, where one was sitting, and two others were kneeling on the floor beside him, while the one sipped his beer. It was the two kneeling that had captured Trey’s fascination–both of them clad head to toe in rubber gear, without any skin to be seen at all. “It’s fucking disgusting.”

He said the last bit loud enough that the whole bar heard him, including the man sitting at the table with the two gimps, who smirked, but didn’t acknowledge Trey beyond that. Dirk…couldn’t help but get a bad feeling about all of this. Trey was a bit of a hothead, and certainly had no love for faggots–not that he should, of course. Fags were pieces of shit to Dirk too, but he had grown into more of a live and let live philosophy as he’d gotten older. If they just kept their creepy shit to themselves, away from Dirk, then what did it matter to him?

“Maybe we should get the rest of the guys, and come back here, show these fuckers what a real man can do,” Trey added, and chugged the rest of his beer. “Come on, Unc, let’s get the fuck out of this dump.”

Dirk nodded, and stood up–Trey tried to do the same, but only got have way before a hand landed on his shoulder and pushed him back down into his chair. “What, leaving so soon? But the night’s just getting started!” It was the man from the table, the two gimps close behind him, looking like two shiny black statues. Their masks–they weren’t just masks, were they? If anything, to Dirk, it didn’t look like something was covering their face–if anything, it looked like they were simply faceless, their identifying features scrubbed away entirely. It was the lack of any contour–usually, wearing a mask, you could still see the contour of a nose and eyes and mouth, but the two drones…it was so smooth. He told himself it had to be the light, keeping him from seeing it, but he was unnerved all the same.

The other man was wearing less, and didn’t have a mask on at all. His head was shaved close, and he had stubble across his face the same length, giving the impression he’d razored all of it a few days ago at the same time. He was wearing a rubber shirt, with a leather jacket over it, and leather pants and boots. At a distance, he had seemed less imposing, but this close it was clear he was heavily muscled–more than a match for Trey, who for all of his big talk, had never had the physique to back up his boasts and threats. It had gotten him into plenty of trouble, but he was a bit too thick to learn his lessons. “You two aren’t from around here, are you?” he said, leaning down close to Trey’s ear, “Yeah, you don’t quite know how things work around here, I don’t think, so why don’t I show you?”

Trey felt one of the man’s bare hands curl around his neck–and then after picking at his neck for a moment, he felt…his fingers slip underneath his skin, like an edge had appeared out of nowhere on his body. He panicked, but the other hand on his shoulder was pressing down with an impossible weight. He looked over at Dirk with terror in his eyes, begging his uncle to do anything, but the older, pot bellied man was just looking on in horror at what was happening.

“You see, around here, we don’t have a lot of patience for men who come in here wearing masks like this. No–we like to see who you really are, underneath all the posturing and bullshit you’re throwing around, like you know something about anything,” the man slipped his fingers further under the edge and got a grip on the flap of Trey’s skin he’d found, “But you–I don’t think there’s anything under here, do you? Not under either of you, probably. Just a whole lot of bullshit–how about we check?”

Before Trey could say anything, the man lifted the edge, and Dirk watched as the edge pulled away all around the base of Trey’s neck, and the man drew it up Trey’s head quickly, his nephew’s face going blank as his features came away from his body, attached to the mask the man had created. He pulled it free, and Dirk found himself staring at a face just like the two rubber gimps behind the man–no features, simply…blank, and then Trey’s face fell forward and collapsed onto the table, limp and lifeless–nothing more than a dummy.