Commission: Making a Happy Pig

Commissioned by Anonymous

**Friday**

“Pipe or Cigar?”

Axel had one in each hand. Both of them were far larger than Rusty had been expecting for his first time. The cigar was at least a 60 gauge, and the pipe bowl looked large enough to hold a baby’s fist with wiggle room. “Those…those are both really big.”

“Smallest I got. Even if I had smaller, you wouldn’t be using them. Now choose, or I choose for you.”

Rusty looked from one to the other, and after a moment, took the pipe from Axel’s hand.

“Good boy, now let me show you how to get it lit. They’re a bit complicated, but it’ll feel perfectly natural for you soon enough.” Axel sat Rusty down on the couch, and they spent a few minutes talking about how to light a pipe. After a few false starts, Rusty finally managed to get it lit, though it almost went out after his first fit of coughing.

“Shit’s strong.”

“You’ll get used to it. Take less in, and don’t breathe too deep. I’ll be back.”

Axel went into the kitchen, and emerged after a few minutes with a case of cheap beer under one arm, which he set down on the table. He ripped open the cardboard and took a can out, popped the tab, and handed it to Rusty.

“Chug it.”

Rusty looked at the can. “Seriously?”

“Chug it, or leave. You asked for this, don’t forget.”

Rusty held the pipe in one hand, and chugged the beer slowly, Axel urging him on, getting a bit hard as he watched some run from the corner’s of Rusty’s lips down his chin and neck. Rusty wanted to be a pig, but he was only really husky at the moment. Axel, his friend, had offered to help him go all the way. Now, however, Rusty was starting to have second thoughts. After chugging five more beers, however, all he was really feeling was a heavy buzz. Once Axel stripped off his shirt, letting Rusty run his hands over his friend’s big, furry gut, he felt less nervous and more horny. The smoke had him giddy as well–he finished the first bowl and then packed a second on his own with Axel watching, puffing on a massive cigar. Naked together on the couch, they swapped smoke and finished the entire case of beer, before Axel helped Rusty stumble into the bedroom. He was too drunk to remember much of what happened. Axel made him keep smoking, as he fucked him doggy style on the bed, and then, when he’d finished, he sat Rusty up and started rubbing his cock. He was so drunk, it took Axel a while to get Rusty off, but he didn’t mind, he spent several minutes telling him how hot he looked with that pipe in his mouth, reeking of beer. Rusty finally let out a loud moan and shot his load, but as he did, he was struck by an odd sensation, like his head was caught in a vice for a moment, his vision squashed and then expansive, but then everything came clear again. He was too drunk, is all–he needed to sleep it off. Axel took the pipe from his slack mouth and tapped the ash out into the ashtray on the side table, and then helped Rusty under the covers for the night.

**Saturday**

Rusty had never felt so hungover in his entire life. Still unsure of where he was, he rolled over, away from the morning light (or afternoon? He wasn’t sure at all) in the window towards the night stand. There was a beer can there–thankfully is was half full. Even warm and flat, it felt good when it hit his gut. Eyes shut, he rolled up on the edge of the bed, and got his pipe going by feel. It felt so familiar to him, which was strange. After all, he’d only learned how to smoke one the night before, but it ended up perfectly tamped with a flame and draw far more even than he’d managed the night before–at least he was starting to feel human again. He gave his gut a rub, feeling his cock jump at the sensation, and realized there was much more mass there than there should be.

He looked down, and saw that a bulbous beer gut had sprouted out from his midsection. It was tight and full, and the rest of him seemed to have filled out somewhat, but this wasn’t right. What in the hell had Axel done to him? He got up unsteadily. He might be sober but he felt drunk still. There was another can on the dresser with some beer in it; he guzzled that down too and let off a deep belch, before wandering down the hall towards the sounds of a busy kitchen.

Judging by the spread, it was brunch time. On the table were heaping mounds of eggs, pancakes, thick slabs of ham, a pile of bacon, but also fried chicken and steak, massive biscuits, and a thick white gravy for everything. There was only one chair, with a bucket beside it filled with ice and cans of beer.

“About time you got up,” Axel said from the stove. He was cooking naked, and Rusty just stared at his fat friend for a moment, admiring him. “Get eating–we don’t have all day to fill you up.”

“Wait though.” Rusty said, “Something…something’s different. Different than yesterday. I…my gut is bigger, and…I know how to smoke a pipe now.”

“I showed you how to smoke yesterday.”

“I know–that’s my point. I shouldn’t…know how to do it, from one day, right?”

Axel didn’t answer. He walked over to Rusty, grabbed his hand and pulled him over to the table, sat him down, popped open a beer and handed it to him. “Drink it.”

Rusty didn’t feel very comfortable drinking before noon, but found himself guzzling it back anyway. Axel opened a second, and then a third–he drank those down too. He was feeling better now, actually. He’d just needed his morning beers is all.

“Now, tuck in like a good pig,” Axel said, and started piling food on Rusty’s plate. He was famished–had they even eaten anything yesterday? It was all a blur of smoke and beer and fucking. He cleaned the first plate and filled up a second without needing to be told. Axel finished cooking the last of the meal, brought over a few sweet desserts, and then started toying with Rusty as he ate, telling him how good it feels to stuff himself, how much he liked being a fat pig, plying him with more and more beer. Whenever Rusty tried to stop, saying he was too full, Axel would encourage him to smoke and play with his gut and tits and trade smoke with him. After a few minutes later, Rusty would have find room for more. Rusty’s head was reeling. He was too drunk, he’d had too much to smoke. He couldn’t keep a handle on what was happening. Axel brought forward the cake he’d made, threw the silverware in the sink; Rusty dug in with his hands while Axel reached under his taut gut and started jacking his cock, urging him onward. Halfway through, he gave a spasm–shooting his load across the seat and onto the floor under the table. The world crunched together and apart again, but when his vision cleared, he was hungry again. With a final burst, he devoured the rest of the cake and only then sat back in the chair, smoking his pipe, drinking a victory beer, Axel rubbing and kneading his huge gut and man boobs which he had suddenly grown.

Rusty stared down at himself for several minutes, trying to piece what he was seeing together with his drunk mind, while Axel got a towel and wiped food off his huge body. He couldn’t be that big. It was impossible. He was too drunk, he was hallucinating, he was imagining it. But as he explored the soft flab with his own hands, he became increasingly convinced. It was real. It hadn’t been there when he’d sat down, but it was there now. Axel was telling him how hot he looked, how sexy his huge body was, but Rusty was disgusted with himself. He’d wanted to be bigger. He’d told Axel he’d wanted to be bigger, but this was too much, this was out of control. He stumbled up and pushed Axel away.

“No…no, I don’t know what’s going on, but this is fucked up, what are you doin’ to me?” he was slurring his words. His car was outside, but he couldn’t drive like this. Still, he had to get out, he had to get away. He stumbled towards the hallway, but Axel blocked him, and pushed him up against the wall, gut to gut, holding him there.

“Calm down man, it’s all fine. It really is.”

“This? This isn’t fine, this is crazy.”

“I know it’s fast, but you love it, I know you do. Just fuckin’ relax man, you’re too uptight.”

Rusty was mumbling panicked nonsense. Axel started rubbing his huge body, and he let out a sigh, feeling his cock start hardening again. After a minute, he was grinding back against Axel, unable to stop himself.

“See? I know you want this. You’re just too smart for your own good. You need to think less. Let me worry about things–all you need to think about is getting bigger, getting drunker, and doing everything I tell you to do.”

Rusty tried to protest, but couldn’t make his words say what he was thinking. Axel had his hand around his cock, and was milking him again, whispering things to him, telling him he was a good pig, but he’d be so much happier if he was dumb. Dumb and obedient and carefree. Too close, he was cumming again, the world spinning around him, his head in a vice. When he finally stopped spasming, his head felt so much thicker. He let off a loud belch, and laughed at himself. He looked at Axel, a bit confused.

‘What…what was I doin’ again? I forgot.”

“You were gonna blow me, you fat pig.”

That didn’t seem quite right, but Rusty got down on his knees, feeling his huge gut resting on the tile floor, and took Axel’s cock to the hilt, sucking on him for a few minutes until he came, and he drank down all the cum like a good pig. Yeah, he was a good pig, a happy pig.

Axel helped him up and pulled him into the living room, and sat him down on the couch. The sensation of all of his flab spilling out around him was both somehow very new, but also so familiar, like he’d been this way forever, but had simply forgotten.

“Now, I have a few scenes from my favorite videos I’d like us to watch, pig,” Axel said, and put in the DVD. “I think they’re going to clear some things up for you.”

The first porno scene started, every scene revolved around this fat pig being used by a variety of bears. He was tattooed everywhere, and Axel told Rusty how hot he’d be if he was a slut like that chub. If he too had tattoos all over his body, even had them in places where he’d never be able to hide them in public–graphic, sexual, humiliating tattoos that would show everyone that he was a complete pig at a single glance. The next scene had another fat bear, but this one had a body completely covered with fur, with a beard that reached down to the top of his massive apron. He was decked out in leather gear, and several bears took turns plowing his ass and mouth while the pig laid back in a sling. The third clip had a filthy looking fat chub sitting in a bathtub, while a long series of men pissed and came on him, the man rubbing it into his hairy body, revelling in the men’s filth. More clips came, and Rusty couldn’t tear his eyes away. When Axel wasn’t narrating them, he was taking trips to the kitchen, bringing Rusty more beer and snacks, filling his pipe, feeding him smoke from his own cigars, and making certain that Rusty came at least once during every single clip that came on the TV.

Hours passed, and by the end of the video, which had looped several times, Rusty was so drunk that he couldn’t stand up, and he was too heavy for Axel to lift. He’d passed out during the final clip, and was snoring heavily. Axel examined his work, and satisfied with the progress, went to bed–certain that he’d be up before the pig on Sunday morning, when they could seal the deal together.

**Sunday**

Rusty woke up slowly, his head pounding. Fuck, he needed a beer, and he needed one now. He fumbled around next to him, feeling a pile of cans there, but none had anything in them. A smoke then. His pipe he could reach, and he filled it as quick as he could, taking a deep breath of harsh smoke, feeling it push the headache back a bit. He sat there for a few minutes, trying to figure out where he was and what was going on, but his head felt like it was stuffed with cotton. All he really wanted was food, a fuck, and a beer. Then he finally managed to open his eyes, look down at his hairy, stinking, tattooed body, and let out a scream.

Axel stuck his head in from the kitchen, and saw Rusty was trying to claw his way out of his own body. He grabbed a beer, pushed it into the pig’s hand, and he drank it all back in a single gulp without even thinking about it. With the edge of terror blunted, he heaved himself up, pushing Axel away when he tried to help, and stumbled into the bathroom, flipping on the light so he could get a better look at himself.

He was huge. He must be topping 400 pounds, and every inch of his body, from the neck down, was covered in ink, all of it having something to do with sex. His head was shaved, but he’d grown in a beard which, if it wasn’t a filthy tangled mass clustered around his three chins, probably could have reached his belly button–or it could have, if his belly button wasn’t somewhere around his groin. He was taking in so much smoke he was getting light headed. Axel came in and told him to calm down–his presence was reassuring, and Rusty managed to keep a hold of himself, but barely.

“What…what have you done to me?”

“This is what you wanted, and you know it.”

“I…I didn’t…I mean…”

Axel turned Rusty’s head to the side, and gave him a long, smoky kiss.

“This is what you wanted, try not to worry about whether or not you should want it, and just enjoy yourself.”

Axel reached around and started probing Rusty’s ass with a couple of fingers, listening to him moan. He leaned over the counter and spread his fat, inked legs wide, letting Axel slide his dick into him. It fit perfectly inside him, and Rusty’s cock started leaking immediately.

“You’re mine, you know,” Axel said as he fucked the pig.

“Y–Yeah…yeah, I am, aren’t I?”

“You like being my slave–it’s all a fat, nasty pig like you could have ever wanted.”

“Fuck–fuck yeah, fuck me…fuck me, sir.”

“That’s right pig, I’m your sir.”

“Yes sir, oh fuck, yes sir!”

He was cumming. He was cumming, and when he looked at himself in the mirror, he saw a wide leather collar had appeared around his neck, and his worries had all disappeared with it. He was Axel’s pig–his master would take care of him. He didn’t have to worry about a thing. His master shot a load up his ass, and made him lick up the cum he’d shot across the front of the counter. While he was down there, his master fed him the morning piss he’d saved up as well, and then they went into the kitchen for breakfast. As he stuffed his face, a realization dawned to Rusty–he was happy. Truly happy, perhaps for the first time in his life. Axel saw the happiness on his pig’s bearded face, and smiled too.

Finally gonna get some motherfuckin’ answers from this motherfucker. What the fuck is going on with my son? First those fucking cigars, and now tattoos? And he’s dropping out of college? Apartment 305…305, here it is, bang on the door, let him know I mean business.

Naturally, the fucker doesn’t have the balls to answer. I’ll just fucking wait for him. Wait–the door’s unlocked? Good enough for me, let’s find this fucker. Living room’s empty, not in the kitchen, try the bedroom…what the hell? He’s just laying there, groping himself…staring at me. I yell, he doesn’t do anything, just keeps staring at me, stroking himself, so fucking rhythmic…

Fuck…how long…how long have I been watching him? He hasn’t stopped once. I just…I just got here right? I can’t take my eyes away, what the hell is he doing to me? What the fuck is wrong with…with…

When did it get so hot in here, better…better take my shirt off…pants…pants too. Don’t look away though…keep watching him, keep staring, gotta keep staring at him…

Yeah, groping my cock now, like him. So fuckin’ horny. Can’t…didn’t I…come here to ask about…about something? My head feels so fuckin’ empty all of a sudden. Damn, his bulge is big, bigger than mine. He must have a huge cock, I wonder how big it is?

What…how did…I’m closer now, on my knees in front of him, just staring, his groin right there, fuckin’…a foot away, and he’s just rubbing himself. He…he should let me do that for him. He should let me please him…let me…serve him, yeah, serve him. He should let me serve him like…like a slave…

Why won’t he let me help him! He just keeps teasing me. Doesn’t he know how much this hurts? How much it hurts that he won’t let me please him? I’m just a fuckin’ slave, I don’t have any other purpose, I’m just a worthless old faggot, but he just keeps staring at me, gloating, he’s not going to let me have it, is he? I have…I have to…to earn it…Show him…show him how much of a faggot I am. There’s…there’s something in the other room, something I should put on…I don’t want to stop watching, but…

Not enough, I’m all dressed, but he still won’t let me please him…I’ll…I need his body. Wait, something, he’s moving his foot, yes, please let me serve you sir, let me…oh fuck, his socks reek, so fucking disgusting, gotta suck the sweat out of them, fuck! Gotta be a good slave, gotta show him what a good slave I am, what a worthless faggot I am, if I want to serve him properly. Take the sock off with my teeth, yeah, pull it off, tongue between his nasty toes, lick him clean, lick his feet clean, fuck…

Finally! Finally his cock, finally what I came for, finally I can serve him. Oh fuck, it tastes so good, just how I always imagined. I’m such a good slave, just a worthless slave for cock, for my master, I promise I’ll serve you forever, I’ll do anything you say, anything you want for the rest of my life.

*****

Hank, Tim’s father, had left to confront Julian the afternoon on the eighth, and his car didn’t pull back into the driveway until over twenty-four hours later, with the sun starting to set. He parked his car and swung both his feet out–it had been hard to work the pedals with his feet chained together, but he had to be a good slave, had to be a proper slave for master. His body was sweating in the rubber suit, especially under the summer sun, but he stood up, hair drenched with sweat, as Julian got out of the passenger seat and stretched.

Across the street, Mr. Clark was washing his truck, and his jaw dropped when he saw Hank in the driveway. Hank gave a wave and a big smile, his eyes oddly empty, and then he shuffled his way up the walk to the front door, opened the door, but waited for Julian to enter before following in after him.

Tim was sitting in a chair, smoking a cigar, and he looked up and saw Julian enter the front door. “Fuck, what the hell took you so long?”

Julian laughed, stepped to the side and let Tim get a look at his rubber clad father, grinning stupidly at them both, waiting for orders.

Tim broke out in laughter, “Holy shit! What the fuck did you do to him?”

“He’s our new rubber slave–it just took some work breaking his mind to bits is all. Slave, get down there and suck your son’s cock.”

“Yes sir,” Hank said, shuffled over with his chains scraping across the floor, got down on his knees and started sucking Tim’s cock.

“Fuck man, he’s better at it than I would have thought.”

“He had some practice already. So what do you say? Do you like your gift?”

“Fuck man,” Tim said, “I fuckin’ love it. He’s been driving me crazy lately.”

“Heh, I bet. Still, I have a few more ideas on how I could improve your relationship together, eh?” Julian said, and started massaging his crotch. While Hank kept sucking, Tim found his mind go deliciously blank, staring at Julian’s crotch, feeling all sorts of new, perverse thoughts flow into him, humiliating ideas, cruel ideas, things he would have never imagined.

“Yeah, you’re going to be one cruel master for this rubber pig, eh man?” Julian said, and stopped groping himself.

Tim sneered down at his slave, pulled his cock out and said, “Open wide, bitch,” and when his father’s mouth was open, he tapped the hot ashes from his cigar into his mouth, “Swallow.” Hank did as he was told, choking down the hot, dry dust. “Good pig,” Tim added, and grabbed the back of his father’s head, skull fucking him like a proper thug.

“Fuckin’ hot,” Julian said, came up to him, opened the fly of his jeans and let Tim suck his cock while his father blew him.

Mr. Jackson wasn’t quite sure how he felt about his new tenant–in fact, he couldn’t quite remember why he’d even agreed to let him stay here in his house in the first place. To keep the bills paid, he liked to rent out his son’s old room now that he had moved out, but he generally tried to rent to someone more respectable than Randy. In fact, he wasn’t even sure he had a job, and he can’t remember ever doing an employment or a background check on him. Still, it probably wasn’t worth worrying about, right? He did need this month’s rent payment though–it was already two days late. He hadn’t really wanted to say anything about it, mostly because he wanted to interact with Randy as little possible. He heard the front door open and Randy tromped in, looking like trash, and smelling a bit like it too.

“Oh, hey Randy. Do you have this month’s rent? You’re two days late, but if you just forgot–”

“Oh, I didn’t forget, I was just waiting for you to come collect. I’ve been waiting every night, faggot. Did you forget about our deal?” Mr. Jackson looked up from his checkbook, a bit taken aback. Randy walked up to him at the kitchen table and tweaked one of his nipples. “I do like the view though, teasing me, walking around shirtless all day, showing off that old hairy gut. Pig. You’re the one who’s late though–so how about we head up to my bedroom and settle up?”

“I don’t…I think I might have missed something…” Mr. Jackson noticed that Randy was still speaking, but he couldn’t quite make out what he was saying. Still, how stupid was he? Of course they’d made a deal. Randy was unemployed at the moment, but Mr. Jackson agreed to accept his nasty cum in lieu of rent. And if Randy had been storing it up for two days now, fuck, he must have quite the payment to collect!

“I’m….sorry Randy. Let’s go settle up right…right away.” The world was lurching, and everything felt like it was moving too slowly.

“You’re already at the table though–why don’t I just feed you here?”

That…that made sense. Mr. Jackson licked his lips, watching Randy drop his muddy jeans to the kitchen floor. The briefs he had on underneath were crusty, but his uncut, seven inch cock slipped right out a whole in the front, and Mr. Jackson swallowed it down. He’d never sucked cock before, and he gagged. Randy took control, grabbing his hair and ramming the stinking shaft down Mr. Jackson’s throat. He looked up, and saw that Randy was still talking, but Mr. Jackson couldn’t understand any of it. It didn’t matter, he was just a stupid pig anyway. Yeah, just a stupid worthless piggy, and when Randy fed him his first month’s rent, Mr. Jackson begged him to pay him last months too. And since it came at the end, it only made sense to pump it deep in his piggy asshole, right?

There on his hands and knees on the kitchen floor, Randy drilling his dick into him, Mr. Jackson found himself able to hear again, hear himself snorting and grunting like a pig, rutting with his tenant. Fuck, the first time he’d seen Randy, he’d had to have him. He loved renting to nasty fucks like him. Real men who knew how to treat piggies like Mr. Jackson. His cock was leaking on the tile–Randy behind him calling him all sorts of filthy names. So many hot, filthy, piggy names.

He came, his old cock pumping out a load of pig cum onto the tile. When Randy was finished making payments, he pulled up his pants and headed up to his room, while Mr. Jackson crawled back and lapped up his own cum off the floor. Might as well pay himself too, right? He got up and sat down at the table again, sweaty and panting, but he couldn’t seem to get his head back to where it used to be. He couldn’t stop thinking about Randy, about his hot nasty tenant, and finally he got up, panting, rock hard, and went to Randy’s room, and knocked.

“Sir…I was wondering if we could maybe renegotiate the terms of your rent?”

Randy opened the door. He had on his sleeveless shirt still, but was missing his pants and underwear entirely. “And what might you have in mind pig?”

“I don’t…well, I think I’m going to have to raise the rent. Perhaps you could make a payment every…every week?”

Randy smiled. “Oh Mr. Jackson, you’re underselling yourself here. You’re too generous. I’d be happy to pay a pig like you much more than that.”

“You…You would?”

“Oh yes…” Randy said, “How about this. I’ll give you two payments every day, one at each end. And as a bonus, I’ll save all my piss for you in jugs, and you can do whatever you’d like with it. Bathe in it. Drink it. Just think of it as a tip for being such a good piggy landlord. But…well, if I’m going to be paying you so handsomely, I might need a few…well, perks myself.”

“That sounds amazing, sir…but…but what kind of perks?”

“Well, you see….I like my pigs to look a certain way, you see? And I have some ideas for you that might make you an even better piggy than you already are,” Randy stepped to the side, “But why don’t you come on in here and we can negotiate?”

It was a couple hours later, when Mr. Jackson emerged, smiling, Randy’s cum splattered across his face, knowing he had definitely gotten the best deal through some hard negotiation. He was up to three payments a day, all of Randy’s piss (which he’d had the pleasure of sampling to test it’s quality) as well as all of his filthy cum and piss stained underwear, and he would even get to give Randy a tongue bath once a week! All Mr. Jackson had to do was agree to wear leather gear at all times in the house, stop trimming his beard and hair, and go get some nasty looking tattoos.

Still, he had better get going, he had some leather gear to buy. Randy had told him about a friend of his looking to sell some spare gear, and even better, he liked getting paid in blowjobs too! It would probably require a long payment plan, but Mr. Jackson didn’t think he’d mind. He belched, tasting cum on his breath, and hurried out, already eager for tomorrow’s rent.

Renovations (Part 3)

– July –

The clouds hovering in the high afternoon were so dark as to almost belong to the night. Carl, feeling restless, was in the living room looking out the window at the thunderstorm building overhead, annoyed that the cloud cover wasn’t actually cooling down the house at all, and the humidity was making everything feel even stickier than usual. He reached behind him and gave his damp asscrack a deep scratch and belched a bit, before taking another drag off his cigar which he had resting in an ashtray on the windowsill.

Around the fourth, the summer monsoons had started just in time to dampen all of the firework displays in the area, and the refreshing rain after two months dry was quickly displaced by fears of flash floods and lightning strikes. This summer, it seems, was not one for anything done halfway. Carl gave his cock a rub, reaching under his gut to reach it, but he wasn’t even horny. He felt…he felt like he had forgotten something, misplaced it, but he’d misplaced it so long ago now that he couldn’t even remember what it was, only that it was important. When Bud was around, he never really had a chance to do much about the feeling, because Bud usually kept him occupied with food, booze or sex, not that he minded, but when he was alone for these brief moments, when Bud ran to the store or out for take out, Carl would feel uneasy on the couch, and end up wandering the living room or the rest of the house, unsure of what he was doing.

He walked into the kitchen, wondering if he should just eat something. Food had become his filler over the past month–if he had nothing else to do, he could always eat, and he loved it. His gut had gone from what he’d thought of as huge at the beginning into a true apron. Two weeks ago was the last time he could remember being able to see his cock, and over the last few days in particular it was becoming a bit too much effort to jack off even, and he usually had to beg Bud to play with his cock for him when they were fucking, something Bud mocked him for ceaselessly, but he’d usually do it if he pleaded enough. Still, he wasn’t hungry, and he foraged through the fridge and pantry, grazing a few chips and some bits of candy here and there, but he wasn’t satisfied.

He walked back into the living room and as he did he passed by the staircase, and came up short. He couldn’t actually remember the last time he’d gone upstairs. He and Bud had fucked in his bedroom once or twice a while back, but…but hell, he hadn’t slept in his own bed in almost a month. In fact, it felt more like that was Bud’s room, to him now, but that wasn’t right. It was his house after all, not Bud’s, but he was having a hard time suddenly imagining what it might be like living alone. He was uncertain when exactly Bud had moved into his house, but unofficially he was Carl’s roommate–well, his boyfriend really, he might as well just admit it.. First he was just staying over on occasion, bringing in more and more of his things as he did, slowly filling up the house, and then he simply never left again one day, sleeping in Carl’s old master bedroom while Carl slept on the couch most nights, passing out after drinking buckets of cheap beer, and usually after several hours of Bud using him however he wanted.

Carl grabbed the banister and started hauling himself upstairs, but it ended up taking more effort than he’d expected. How heavy was he now, anyway? He can’t remember the last time he’d weighed himself, but at his last doctor visit, he’d been 180 pounds or so. He certainly wasn’t that small anymore, and if he had to guess, he’d put himself around 250 or so, right? The truth was that he simply didn’t know. He was just bigger. He knew there was a scale in the bathroom, under the sink, and as he rested halfway up the flight of stairs, listening to another grumble of thunder outside, he started to feel anxious, and he had to fight off a full scale panic. He had no idea what had triggered it, but he took deep inhales off his cigar for a minute to calm down, and then resumed his climb to the second floor, finally reaching the top in several minutes, when it used to take him ten seconds flat.

The hallway was littered with Bud’s clothes, and Carl took a moment to smell the stale, humid air, feeling his cock shiver at the musk. It smelled like home, it smelled like him even. He lifted his arm up and took a deep smell of himself, and realized his passing thought was true–he and Bud did smell the same, that same scent of heavy musk and stale beer which had so attracted him to him at first…hadn’t it? Or had he thought it was disgusting? It seemed so fuzzy now, and it didn’t really matter. Still, he should probably get some clothes of his own, because he’d simply been wearing all of Bud’s cast offs and none of them were in particularly good shape, and he was so fat that many didn’t even fit. He was wearing a pair of clammy, jersey boxers stretched tight over his thighs and ass, and the wifebeater he had was stained with cigar ash, food and sweat, with one hole in the breast large enough that his moob tended to hang out of it if he did nothing.

He went into the upstairs bathroom, and the place was filthy, and stank of piss and shit. The shower was still in pieces, but he found it hard to care. If he’d already gone this long without a shower, what harm was there in going even longer? he obviously didn’t need them. He paused at the sink and looked himself over in the mirror, a bit disgusted by himself. His hairline had receded back past the crown of his head, and the majority of his hair was now grey. He looked older than Bud now even, and the mustache didn’t really help. At Bud’s insistence he had started growing out a horseshoe around his mouth, and the white hairs on his lip were already staining yellow with smoke. He looked old, and he looked tired. What had gone so wrong? Shaking his head, he dug around under the sink and found the scale, turned it on and stepped on it. He couldn’t read the number past his gut, so he had to step back off it quickly before the number disappeared, and he couldn’t believe his eyes the first time, so he did it again, and then again.

“Three hundred and sixty-nine?” he said to himself. “Three hundred and sixty nine pounds?”

He managed to get the scale up off the floor, figuring it had to be calibrated wrong, or measuring kilograms, or something. That couldn’t be right, it just couldn’t be. He threw the scale back under the sink and left the bathroom, sucking on his cigar nervously, but rather than go back downstairs, he went down the hall towards Bud’s room, but as he did he passed by a room he hadn’t used in weeks. He couldn’t even remember what it was for, actually. He opened the door, and felt it coming back to him–it was his office.

About a month ago, Bud had told him he was going to paint it over a few days, and suggested Carl just take a brief vacation from work. Carl hadn’t really protested, because it had been really hard for him to get much of anything done, but he’d completely forgotten about it, and it looked like Bud had too. The furniture was all shoved into the middle of the room, arranged so he couldn’t even get to the computer, which was unplugged, and while tarp was laid out and the walls taped, nothing had been painted, aside for one wall of primer. But his work, his job, his clients–he’d been awol for almost an entire month. He’d had deadlines, consultations…what had he done? What had he been doing?

He felt like he was going to throw up, and the panic which had hammered into him suddenly on the stairs minutes before rammed into him again. He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t think. He was fucked–just absolutely fucked. All of his credibility, all of his customer base–if it hadn’t evaporated yet, he would never be able to salvage this. A computer meltdown? An illness? He didn’t have an excuse, he couldn’t think of anything to even say, and all he wanted to do was gorge and drink himself into a stupor, and beg Bud to fuck him when he got home. That wasn’t a solution though, that was the problem. This had all started with these damn renovations, this had all started with Bud. The anger that hit next was so unexpected, that when he punched the wall and his hand disappeared into the plaster, he just stared at it for a moment, and then pulled it out of the hole he’d made, and stared at his bloody knuckles, and then punched the wall again, and then he marched into Bud’s room, and started hurling the things he’d brought with him out the window and onto the front lawn, where it had just started to rain.

“You fucker!” he shouted into the storm, “You ruined my fucking life!”

Bud drove up in his truck and parked on the sidewalk, just in time to see a heap of clothes fly from the bedroom window and fall with the rain onto the walk and the lawn, and he got out and walked up underneath the window, and shouted up, “Carl, what the fuck are you doing?”

“Fuck you!” Carl shouted down, “Fucking–fuck!” He couldn’t speak, he couldn’t even look at him, and he grabbed a glass ashtray and chucked it at Bud’s head. He dodged to the side, and the ashtray struck the lawn and stuck in the ground, like a coin on it’s side, the wet, sludgy ash clumping on the grass. “Fuck!”

Bud went up to the front door, and Carl realized he could get into the house, and he knew he had to get down there and lock the door, but this fucking body, this shitty fat fucking body couldn’t do anything. He got to the top of the stairs as Bud got to the bottom, and they started at each other for a moment, Carl huffing and red in the face. “Carl, what the fuck are you doing,” Bud asked.

“You…I don’t…” Carl said, trying to unravel the bundle of emotions and humiliation in his chest enough to force out the words he suddenly couldn’t formulate. “You…you did something. You fucked up my whole life!” Carl shouted. “What the fuck did you do to me? I weigh…I weight, three hundred and seventy pounds, Bud. I weighed one hundred and eighty when I hired you. Where in the fuck…how in the fuck did I gain three hundred pounds in two months? How in the fuck Bud?”

“A hundred eighty? Are you fucking with my Carl?” Bud said, “You’ve been a fucking fatass since the day we met! What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Carl just stared at him. He’d expected denial, he’d expected…he didn’t know what he’d expected, but not that.

Bud pressed the silence, “Get out there, and pick up my fucking clothes, you fucking nutter.”

“No,” Carl said, “I want you out. I want you out of my fucking house. I want you out of my room, I want you to leave and never fucking come back, I never want to see you again.”

“You don’t fucking mean–”

“Yes I fucking mean it! Don’t fucking try and tell me what I fucking think!” Carl shouted, spit flying down the stairs, and then he was crying, and he couldn’t stop. He’d run out of anger, and he just collapsed into the top step, and when Bud tried to pull him close, he lashed out, hitting at him, but Bud just shoved his arms down to his sides, and then his head was against Bud’s familiar chest and he was sobbing, and he didn’t even know why anymore, he couldn’t even remember.

Bud didn’t let go, he just held him close as Carl sobbed, letting it out, and waited it out, waited for him to exhaust himself, and then he asked him what had happened, and Carl told him what he’d done, and how he’d been feeling. The restlessness, the forgetful feeling that had been haunting him, the anxiety and panic. How he’s weighed himself, and the unbelievable result, his office, his work neglected, and when he finished his story, Bud just pulled him closer, and said, “God, you’re such a fuckup.”

Carl had bared his heart to Bud for a moment, and that single phrase was enough to cut him even deeper than he could immediately grasp. He couldn’t even speak.

“You’ve always been a fuckup Carl, you know that. You should have never tried to do all of this without me. Running a business, are you fucking with me? Of course it was going to turn out like this, you just aren’t capable, Carl.”

“I…I was doing fine before…before…”

“No you weren’t,” Bud said, “This house was falling apart. Hell, I’ve just barely been able to get it put back together, but you were living in a fucking sty, bro. You were a mess! You can’t even work a computer, much less run a business.”

“I did to have a business! It was…it was…” Carl said, but he couldn’t quite figure out what he had been doing, “It was design…design something.”

“Don’t lie to me Carl.”

“No, no it–”

“Carl,” Bud said, pulling away so he could look him in the eye, “You’re my brother Carl, you’re my brother, and I love you, but you gotta stop this. You have to stop living in these fucking fantasies. You have to face the fact that you’re in way over your head. You have to trust me, and you have to let me help you.”

“But…but my work…my fucking life…” Carl said.

“You don’t have a fucking life, Carl. You fucking live on my couch!”

“It’s my fucking couch! This is my fucking house, and I fucking want you out!”

Carl started beating Bud back, and frustrated, Bud grabbed Carl around the neck and pushed him down, shoving him against the hallway floor, looming over him. “Not anymore, you fucked this all up Carl, you fucked it up–you. You ruined yourself, you did all of this. You fucking need me, you fucking pig, you’re fucking worthless.”

Carl still fought him, and Bud released him, and thought for a moment, and then got up and went into the office. Carl saw where he was going, and fought himself back up to standing, and hurried after him, pushing through the doorway in time to see Bud grab the desktop monitor, and hurl out the open window and into the back yard, where he heard it smash to bits in the rain. “No!” Carl said, but while he tried to stop him, Bud shoved him back against the wall, grabbed the computer tower, and chucked that out too, and Carl just slumped to the carpet and sobbed.

“You made me do that, Carl!” Bud said, standing over him, “You made me do that, you fucking piece of shit, you made me smash my own fucking computer!”

“You’re…you’re a…” Carl started to say, but he just sobbed, not at all certain what to believe, and Carl knelt down and wiped his tears from a cheek, Carl flinching away, and when Bud kissed him he didn’t resist, and when Bud started kneading his heavy, sweaty moobs, he moaned and thrust his chest up, closer to him, his cock hard against the bottom of his fat. He let Carl fuck his face against the wall, let him ram his cock hard against him, slamming the back of his head into the wall roughly, neither of them speaking, but the horniness was overwhelming him again, and when Bud grabbed him by the hand and pushed him down the hall into the bedroom, Carl went, discarding Bud’s used boxers as he walked, bending over the side of the bed like Bud liked, spreading his legs apart, giving him his ass, and Bud took it, he took it raw, and it hurt like that first time, but Carl, for some reason, he knew he deserved it, and he heard himself say as Bud fucking him, “I’m sorry, Bud, I’m sorry…” over and over, but Bud didn’t say anything back.

He finished with a grunt and pulled out of Carl’s and then said, “Get out–fucking get out of my room, you fat piece of shit,” and Carl did. He left, suddenly certain that he had been in the wrong in all of this, but not entirely sure why he felt that way. Crying, he went downstairs, and with his hands shaking, lit a cigar and chugged a beer. Bud had done so much for him, hadn’t he? And…and he’d just…what had he done? He started out in horror at the piles of crap he’d thrown into the yard, and rushed out, picking up everything that the high wind hadn’t swept off down the street. He wanted to dry the wet clothes, but the washer and dryer had been broken for weeks now, and so he hung them up around the living room and kitchen, and the he looked out the sliding glass door at the shattered computer, and couldn’t even recall why it had been so important to him, and drank himself to sleep on the couch.

He woke up with a hangover more severe than usual, but he wasn’t sure if that was because he could still clearly recall the argument from the night before in all of its detail, but when he thought about it now, he couldn’t believe what he’d done. What in the world had possessed him to behave like that in front of Bud? He sat up on the couch, and spotted an unopened beer on the coffee table, and chugged it back, trying to chase the feeling of horror away, and it was only after he’d chucked the empty can away across the room that he noticed the tattoos, and he just stared down at his arms and gawked for a moment.

They were both covered in full sleeves, and getting a closer look at them, he saw that his left arm was done in a smoke motif, littered with cigars and ashtrays, and his right arm looked more like some sort of liquid pouring down all the way to the top of his wrist, and he saw that on his shoulder he had a huge beer can pouring it down his entire arm, and he didn’t even know how to feel about it. On one level, shouldn’t he feel ashamed? But why? He did love cigars, and he did love beer, right? On his gut he saw something else written in thick, black letters, and he got up and went to the mirror, and saw written in bold lettering, “FAT, DUMB, LAZY and PROUD.”

He laughed, looking at it, but it was true–he was proud of it, wasn’t he? He rubbed his gut, feeling how big it was, and he really did love it. Why had he been so freaked out by the weight last night? There was nothing wrong with being this big, why should he fucking worry about what other people might think, so long as he liked it? Well, he did care what Bud thought–he cared what Bud thought about him a lot, he realized, and the shame of how he’d acted threatened to overwhelm him again. He had to do something to make up for how he’d acted, he had to…he didn’t know.

He lit his first cigar of the day and thought about getting something to eat, but he really wasn’t hungry. Instead he went around the room and checked on Bud’s stuff that he’d recovered the night before, seeing how it was coming along. The clothes were still pretty wet, but nothing had been broken or destroyed at least. He finished his inspection, and then tried to figure out what to do next, when he realized what he should do–he should make Bud breakfast. That would show him that he was sorry, and that he’d been wrong the night before, and that he just wanted everything to go back to normal.

He dug around in the pantry and found some pancake mix, and then in the fridge, finding some eggs, but then had to spend five or ten minutes trying to figure out the directions on the back of the package. He couldn’t really seem to focus, and it was like as soon as he read a sentence, he would forget what he’d read in the last one, and reading was hard. The words swam in front of him, and he couldn’t quite piece some of the words together, trying to sound some of them out, but he was flummoxed. He ended up just pouring some of the mix in a mostly clean bowl with some eggs, milk and oil, but the result seemed way too runny to be right. Still, he pressed on, and found a frying pan, but he kept forgetting to check the pancakes, and before long he just had a stack of burnt, thin cakes piling up on a dirty plate, and he heard footsteps upstairs, and Bud call down, “Is something burning? Fuck CJ, what the fuck have you done this time?”

Carl didn’t know what to do, and so he just stepped back from the stove and when Bud came into the kitchen, he stammered, “Bud I…I jus’ wanted tah make ya breakfast, bro. Look, I’m sorry ‘bout last night, man, I don’ know what I was doin’ it was jus’ a mess man.”

Carl listened to himself, and he sounded like a bumbling idiot, slurring some of the words, his voice deep and raspy from the smoke, and he just felt this huge wave of shame well up over him, and he tried not to start crying in front of Bud, who just looked from Carl to the stove, at the lumpy, runny pancake mix, and the black stack next to the stove, and he sighed. “CJ…”

“God, I know, I’m a fuck up, alright?” Carl said, “I know, I can’ even make ya a fuckin’ batch a pancakes right. I’m just a fuckin’ piece a shit.”

Bud walked over and pulled him into a tight hug, and Carl let him, “Look, I’m here for you CJ, I’m your brother–I’ll always be here for you, but you just gotta…you gotta stop trying so hard. You just aren’t what you thought you were, you know? You’re just a fat loser, living on his brother’s couch, no job, an alcoholic, and when you accept that, when you realize that, it’ll be better, alright?” and then he chuckled, “and maybe leave the cooking to me? You know, someone who can read a recipe?”

“I can read a recipe!” Carl insisted, “That one was just confusing.”

“CJ, you dropped out of school in the eighth grade, you can’t even read a fucking book.”

“I didn’t, I mean, I went to college, I was…I…” Carl said, but while he thought he was telling the truth, he couldn’t actually scrounge up any facts to back up what he was claiming. He couldn’t remember the name of the college, hell, he couldn’t even remember the name of his high school. “Well, you didn’t do much better, you dropped out at sixteen,” he added defensively, not entirely sure how he knew that about Bud, but he knew it was the truth.

“Ha, well, you have me there. Still, why don’t we start over with pancakes, eh? I don’t really want those.”

Carl nodded, and helped Bud clean up, and then sat down at the table, watching his brother make these perfect pancakes, just a bit amazed at him. He was the big brother after all, he should be the one in charge, but he was just hopeless most of the time. Even that didn’t seem right to him–Bud wasn’t his brother. But he could remember them growing up together, he could remember the first time he’d begged Bud to fuck him, when he was in his twenties and Bud was just seventeen. Carl stood up suddenly from the table, in the middle of one of his panic attacks, feeling like he’d suddenly realized he was in a cage a bit too small for him, and Bud hurried over, shouting the name CJ at him a few times before slapping him across the face, bringing Carl around to him.

“Why the fuck are you calling me CJ?” Carl shouted, “My name is Carl, man, why…”

“What the fuck are you talking about? You’ve always gone by CJ.”

“But…but my last name doesn’t even start with ‘J’…”

“We have the same last name, bro, Johnson. We’re brothers.”

“No…no, I…that’s not.”

“CJ!” Bud shouted at him, and slapped him again, “Fucking stop it! Quit it with this fucking fantasy you fucking insist on trying to live! You don’t own this house, you don’t have a fucking job, you don’t have a fucking life! Fucking shut the fuck up, and quit playing these fucking games!” He shoved CJ back into the chair, and went over to the stove, cussing, “You made me fucking burn one, you piece of shit…”

“Sorry…sorry…” Carl muttered, and just stayed silent, looking down at his arms and gut, at his tattoos that he’d had for years, even though he couldn’t remember having them last night. Looking over at his brother cooking breakfast for him that he’d completely forgotten about, and wondered what was wrong with him. What had he been doing? It felt like he’d been in the most beautiful dream–he’d been thin, successful, ambitious, everything he should have been, and he was slowly waking up into a reality which was none of those things, and somehow the dream felt more real to him than his actual life, and he wanted to fall back asleep, he just wanted to go back to the dream, but now that he knew it wasn’t real, now that he knew it was a lie, he couldn’t even get there.

The two of them ate breakfast, mostly in silence, Carl trying to think about what was happening, and about what was real, and he couldn’t even imagine what Bud was thinking about. After breakfast, Bud said he was going out for a bit, and Carl settled onto the couch, watching TV and masturbating, discovering he had a PA like his brother’s through his cock now. It was disturbing finding it, because again, he couldn’t remember getting it, but it felt like it had been there forever, and it was…it was hot, having it, and he came two or three times, fantasizing about his brother, like he always had, all of his life, and as another storm developed in the afternoon, he started to wonder where Bud had gone, and part of him even started to worry that he might have been abandoned. He was so relieved when Bud’s truck pulled up, that a knot of worry he hadn’t even noticed building up in him immediately released, and he didn’t know what he would do without him. What would he do? He was just a hopeless loser.

Bud came in the house with a small bag, and he told Carl that they needed to have a talk, and so Carl plopped down on the couch, and Bud thought for a moment, before he spoke. “CJ…I need to know that what happened last night will never happen again.”

“It won’t,” Carl said immediately, “It won’t I promise it won’t, I swear.”

“I can’t trust you CJ, I can’t trust you if you won’t listen to me. If you keep insisting on these fantasies, if you keep trying to lie to me.”

“I’m not…I’m not lying…”

“That’s what I mean, I can’t have you here, CJ, I can’t have you say things like that, and still keep you here.”

“Are you kicking me out?” Carl said, “Are…are you throwing me out? Please, please Bud, I’m sorry, I’ll do my best, I will. I can’t…I can’t live without you, I need you, I’m fuckin’ hopeless on my own, I can’t even get a job, I have nowhere tah go…”

“But I can’t have you fucking up my life, and fucking up my stuff.”

“I don’t know what came over me Bud, I don’t. But it won’t happen again, I promise.”

“How can I believe you CJ? How can I believe you, when you try to tell me we aren’t brothers? When you can’t even remember that you haven’t ever, not once in your life, ever asked to be called Carl. I mean, I feel like I don’t even know who you are sometimes, like you’re a completely different person.”

“I…I feel like that too…sometimes.”

“That’s a problem CJ. That’s a really big problem. Look, I know you aren’t always happy with who you are, but where’s the brother I remember man? Where’s the brother who loved life, and loved drinking and smoking? He was so fun man, what the fuck happened to him?”

“I don’ know! I don’ even remember, I don’ know…”

Bud just sighed, and then pulled something out of the bag, a two inch wide strip of leather which Carl saw was a collar, and he was confused. “I need you to trust me Bud. I need you to trust me more than you trust yourself. I need you to believe what I say, more than what your own head says. I need you to do that. I need you to do that, or I can’t let you stay here.”

“I…I don’t…”

“I need you to remember all of it CJ, I need to remember what you promised me. I need you to trust me like you used to, before all of this bullshit happened, before you went fucking crazy.”

“I’m not crazy.”

Bud just stared at him, and Carl looked away from him, sheepishly. He had been pretty crazy last night, even he could admit that. Still, he’d had a good reason, right? Even if he couldn’t quite remember what it was…

“Bud…I’m sorry, I don’t know, I’m just so confused.”

“Do you remember that first time, when you came into my room? Dad was passed out on the couch, and you were living with us, do you remember what you asked me to do?”

“I asked you to fuck me.”

“No, you asked me for more than a fuck, I didn’t even know how to react. You asked me…you asked me to own you, CJ. You told me you wanted to be my slave, that you wanted me to collar you, and fuck you, and you were so drunk man. I fucked you, and it was awesome, I know, but I wasn’t…I didn’t know about all the rest, and you never mentioned it again. You were back on the road, or Dad kicked you out, and I didn’t see you again for a while.”

“I don’t…I don’t remember that, but I was…pretty drunk that night,” he said, blushing.

“Do you still want it?”

Carl just stared at his brother, not sure how to answer. He hadn’t…he hadn’t thought about it, he didn’t know what to say, but…but looking at that collar hanging in Bud’s hand, he gulped and felt his cock start to harden. “I don’t know.”

“You’d be my slave, CJ. I would fucking own you. You’d do what I say, when I say it. You’d believe what I tell you, even if you think otherwise. If I say something is wrong, you trust me first, and your own head second. I’ll keep you safe, CJ. I will, I swear, but sometimes you scare me, when you get lost in these fantasies. I feel like I should have just said yes all those years ago, but I didn’t but here I am, I’ll be your master CJ, do you still want it?”

“If I say no, do I have to leave?”

“Yes.”

“So it’s…it’s not really a choice is it? I mean…I mean, where else would I go, Bud?”

“I don’t know, but this is my offer. You wanted this, this was your idea CJ. I’m just trying to give you what you want, I’m trying to be the best brother I can be, but do you trust me? Do you really want to be with me?”

“Yes! Yes, I do, but…but I…”

“Don’t do this to me CJ, don’t make me throw you out.”

“I’m not…”

“You’d be homeless, you’d probably just end up sucking cock in some alley behind a gay bar, is that what you want?”

Carl was crying now. He didn’t know what to say, and his cock was completely hard now, and he couldn’t look away from the collar, imagining what it might feel like around his fat neck, “Can…can I try it on?” he said, “Just…just try it, see what it feels like.”

“No. If it goes on, it stays on,” Bud said, and pulled out a small padlock, “It stays on, and only I can decide if it ever comes off.”

Carl felt the panic in him start rising up like bile. He wanted to scream, he wanted to throw something, he wanted to beg, he wanted to get fucked harder than Bud had ever fucked him before, he wanted his dream back, his fantasy, his old life, but it would never come back, this was what he had to deal with, this was his life, and he couldn’t be on his own, he couldn’t be alone again, and the word fell out of his mouth, “Yes, yes, please Bud, be my master, please. I trust you, I do, more than I trust myself. I can’t…I can’t take this, please, just do it.”

Bud walked around the coffee table, and Carl was shaking where he sat, but he lifted up his chin, allowing Bud to wrap the leather around his neck, and he shivered as Bud pulled it tight–a bit too tight for him to ever forget he was wearing it, and then padlocked it on, and with that click, it felt both like he had been trapped and freed from a prison at the same time, and he leaned into Bud’s gut while his brother rubbed his head. He’d made the right choice, he knew he had, but it still scared him to death.

Bud grabbed his collar in both hands and pulled Carl’s face down, where he found his brother’s hard, dribbling cock, and he opened wide for it, letting his brother face fuck him on the couch, listening as Bud talked about what he was going to do to him, and how happy he was.

“You don’t have to worry anymore, CJ. I’ll take care of you. You won’t have to worry about fucking up your life anymore.”

“Gonna have to get you some leather gear, eh? Dress you up like some tough biker and then parade you around on a leash. Gotta get you some dildos too, keep that hole of yours filled all the time.”

“I know you’re scared, but it’s gonna be like second nature to a loser like you. Just let me do all the thinking, make all decisions. You’ll be your happy-go-lucky self again before you know it.”

He was going to be happy wasn’t he? Carl felt the panic start to slowly unknot itself, and this time he actively willed it away. It wasn’t important, what had all of that panic and anger gotten him? He’d almost lost Bud, he’d almost ruined his life even more than he had already. Why couldn’t he just he happy? Why couldn’t he just be thankful for what he had? He looked up at Bud from where he was, watching the smoke curl away from the end of his brother’s cigar, the little brother who had always been better at living than he was, and he realized that all he wanted was to be like him. As carefree as him, as happy as him. He couldn’t be as smart as he was, but maybe that was ok. Bud was smart enough to think for both of them now–all Carl needed to worry about was making sure his brother was happy, and obeying his every command. Not just because it was the right thing to do, but because it would make them both happy.

Bud, apparently tired of his mouth, pulled his cock out, and yanked Carl up by the collar, spun him around, and then shoved him forward so he bent over, his ass ready for Bud’s cock, and Carl whimpered as the shaft ran up and down his sweaty ass crack, and he heard a low rumble of thunder from outside. “Do you want me to fuck your hole, slave?”

“Ye–Yes…” Bud said, but let out a sharp cry as Bud smacked his ass cheek hard.

“That is not how you address me pig, try again.”

“Yes sir, please…please fuck me sir.”

“You want me to fuck you?”

“Yes sir.”

“Then repeat after me. ‘I am a giant fuck up.’”

Carl gulped, his mouth dry, and he replied, “I am a giant fuckup,” and whimpered as the head of his brother’s cock slipped into his ass and stayed there. He tried to push back, but Bud retreated, keeping just the head in.

“I am a giant fuck up, and I owe my brother everything for being kind enough to rule me and control my life.”

Carl felt a tear roll down, but he said the phrase back to Bud, “I am a giant…a giant fuck up, and I owe my brother everything–everything for being kind enough to rule me and control my life.” He was rewarded with another inch of his cock into his ass.

“I am an illiterate, filthy dumbass–an obese, cigar smoking, alcoholic slob, and I love it. It’s the only way I want to live.”

Bud drove his cock in a little deeper, and reached around to fondle Carl’s balls. “I am an ill–illiterate, filthy dumbass–an obese, cigar smokin’, alcoholic slob, and I love it, sir. I love it, it’s the only way I wanna live.”

“My name is CJ Johnson. My brother Bud is my keeper and my owner. I’m his slave, his whore, and his pig.”

Bud’s cock was all the way in now, “My name is CJ…My name…” he said, but couldn’t get the rest of it out, and Bud reached around him, grabbed his nipples and gave them a sharp twist, making Carl cry out.

“Say it you fucker, say it, or I take my cock out and you leave right now, naked.”

“My name…My name is CJ Johnson. My…My brother Bud is my keeper. I’m his slave,” Bud started thrusting his cock, “his whore,” too late, Carl felt what was coming, he could feel his ball churning. He tried to hold it off, “his…his…fuck!” He was cumming, his cock was pumping cum all over the couch, “I’m sorry Bud, I’m sorry sir, I–”

“You fucking–god damn it, you’re fucking hopeless, you fucking piece of shit!” Bud said, smacking Carl’s ass as he started fucking him harder, “Don’t think you won’t pay for that, don’t think you won’t fucking regret that.”

“I’m sorry sir, I’m sorry…” Carl said, but Bud shoved his head down, muffling him in the couch cushions and fucked him fast, pounding it in with a few final jerks as he came, and then he pulled out his still leaking cock and started pounding Carl’s ass with his hand, making him cry out in pain with each spank. Bud made him count them out, and when he started crying from the pain, Bud told him he was adding twenty more for being a pussy.

“Man the fuck up and take it pig!”

“I can’t fucking hear you. Fucking count! You can count right, or are you so stupid you didn’t learn that either?”

“You did this! You fucking made me do this, you son of a bitch, so quit your blubbering and take it.”

When he finished, he let Carl stand up, and then pulled him into a hug, Carl not sure what to feel anymore, but what finally came through, in his chest where that knot of anger and fear and panic had been, was love. This overwhelming love for his brother, and he hated that he’d disappointed him yet again. “I’m sorry sir, I’m sorry–it won’t happen again, I swear, I promise bro–sir. I promise.”

“I can’t do this for you CJ, I can’t fix you up if you don’t let me help you, if you don’t do what I say.”

“I will, I promise, I will.”

Bud kissed him, and Carl kissed him back, and then Bud grabbed his hand and pulled him upstairs, where they fucked again on his bed, and when Carl woke up, he was still there, his brother’s cock still in his ass, and he stayed still, not wanting to wake him up, and not wanting the moment to end. However, Bud was awake behind him, and smiling, looking at his brother’s back, where a new tattoo had appeared overnight:

~My Brother is My Keeper~

CJ gave a whimper and pushed closer to Bud, and he pulled his brother tighter to him, as tightly as he could, and didn’t let go for a long while.

wesleybracken:

“Ha, damn dude how about that party! That was amazing,” Nick said, “Man, these temporary tattoos are the bomb, they really sold the biker costume, eh? Man, I’m beat, gonna go wash this crap off and then go to bed.”

Nick tromped up and you hear him turn on the water, but your heart is racing. You’ve had a hard on all night, watching Nick strut around in those biker leathers, and he damn well deserved the best costume prize he’d gotten at the end of the night, but you hadn’t been entirely honest about the tattoos.

See, they weren’t temporary, like you’d said. And on your computer, you loaded up the program which controlled the ink and started making some changes, switching the pattern from “Rough Biker (Full Body)” to “Gay Pig Bottom (Full Body)” and then checked the box next to “Modify Personality to Match Selection.” After a second, you hit submit. Yeah, Nick was going to have those tattoos for the rest of his life, and be your nasty pig slut to top it off.

You went up into the bathroom, and the Nick gaped at you. “What the fuck dude? I was just trying to wash this odd, and they started changing! It’s a bunch of faggot shit all of the…the sudden…*grunt* Fuck…Kinda horny all of the sudden.”

“I bet you are, you fuckin’ nasty pig.”

You walk over and start tugging on his nipples, and Nick can’t stop grunting and snorting, one of his hands slipping into the water to jack his cock. “Fuck man, fuck–I don’t…”

“Shut the fuck up,” you say, slapping his face with your cock, “Suck it.”
He does, no reservations. You let him enjoy it for a moment, the personality changes settling in and taking root, and then you spray him down with you piss. He loves it, and begs you for more, and you’re happy to give it to him–you order him to follow him into your bedroom and introduce him to his new collar that he’ll be wearing from now on, and you plow his fat ass, telling him how long you’ve been lusting after him, how thrilled you are that this tattoo program could finally make him into the bitch pig you’ve always wanted.

When you’re finished, you kick him out of the bed–pigs don’t get to sleep with their masters after all, and Nick curls up on the floor, and you both fall asleep–or so you think. When you wake up the next morning, the arm you have curled in front of your face and under your pillow is a riot of tattoos. You leap up and see that it isn’t just your arm–it’s your whole body, just like Nick’s. You run out of the room and find him at the computer, still grunting and snorting, jacking his piggy cock. “If you get to have the pig you’ve always wanted, then I get the fuckin’ *snort* nasty skinpig top I want too!”

He hit return, and you quickly realize that he didn’t only match your personality to the tattoos–but your body is changing as well. Muscles redouble on themselves, buning away all trace of fat in the process, and in a minute you’re well over six feet tall and nearly 300 pounds of beef. Your whole body is completely hairless, including your face and scalp, which will now be a permanently smooth dome, and the tattoos shift and grow up your neck and cover your head as well. The personality creeps up on you, as you stand there, staring at your nasty pig slave, stroking your eight inch, uncut cock, sneering at him. With a snarl, you throw him to the ground and fuck him raw, but you can only manage two orgasms before you start going soft. You’re not done with his hole though–you work your fist deep into him, making him scream as you shove in your whole forearm, screaming insults at him, demeaning him, twiddling his nasty pig cock as he leaks load after load of cum onto the carpet.

Source: rockinbearsncubs

wesleybracken:

“I just don’t see why all of this information is necessary.”

“I assure you, Mr. Kilward, that we use all of the information on those forms in the hiring process.”

“Well yeah, but isn’t it just, a little too…personal?”

“If you’d like to leave, no one is stopping you.”

Zach looked at the door, and then at the interviewer across the desk. He really needed this job, but sexual interests? Number of previous sexual partners? When do you feel the most sexy? He didn’t want to answer any of this.

“Here, I’ll tell you what,” the interviewer said, “Go ahead and leave blank any questions you don’t feel comfortable answering, alright, and we can fill them in later.”

That sounded fair to Zach, and so he hurried through the forms, generally leaving the more probing questions blank, before handing the papers back to the interviewer, who started putting the information into his computer.

“Hmm, well, it looks like you left out the number of previous sexual partners you’ve had, Mr. Kilward, I’m just going to ballpark it, and say…1700.”

“What? 1700, but—” Zach said, but his head was suddenly crushed with memories of hundreds of sexual encounters he had somehow forgotten.

“Yes, and I think you made a mistake here, under sexual orientation. You marked ‘straight,’ but you seem 100 percent gay to me.”

Men, all of them men. How many men had he been with? What was happening?

“Hmm…preferred position? I think, ‘bottom.’ Oh and I love this one—‘When do I feel the most sexy?’ Hmm… that’s a hard one, but if I hazarded a guess, I’d have to say, ‘When I’m humiliating myself, acting like a fat pig and begging men to use my like the fat slutty cumdump I am.’”

“No, no what are you doing? Please, please stop!” Zach said, but let out a loud snort of pleasure when the interviewer reached over the desk, pinched his nipples through the shirt and gave them a twist.

“Tell me what you want little piggy, don’t be shy.”

“Oh fuck, can…can I suck your cock *grunt* please sir, I haven’t had a drop of cum in hours and I’m so hungry…”

“Then get under my desk and suck me off bitch, but take it slow—you left so many blanks, it’s going to take me hours to fill it out for you.”

Zach tried to resist for a moment, but who was he fooling? He got down on his hands and knees and squeezed his way into the small space underneath the desk, his bulk not fitting very comfortably, but he didn’t care much at all when he saw the interviewer let his cock out of his fly, and he started licking at the head, hornier than he could remember being ever in his life.

“So Zach? What should we fill out first, do you think? Let’s see, there’s this whole section on medical history here, maybe we should look here. Now, weight and height…just keep sucking piggy, I’ve got some work to do here.”

Zach sucked happily, distantly aware that as he did his body was shifting in ways that he couldn’t explain, but which felt completely natural. After half an hour of sucking, the interviewer stopped writing, reached under the desk and wrapped his hands around the back of Zach’s head, ramming his cock deep into his throat. He expected to gag on it, but it slid down his throat so easily. He reached under his gut to try and touch his cock, but for some reason he couldn’t. He could feel his cock there somewhere, but he was so big. Cum erupted down his throat and he swallowed it down hungrily, grunting and snorting as he did, and the interviewer rolled his chair back, allowing Zach to crawl out.

The Zach that emerged was very different from the one who crawled under. Now in his fifties, his head had balded entirely, but his body was covered with massive amounts of hair, along with a thick beard reaching to his huge moobs. He’d lost over a foot in height, standing just over five feet, but was even larger, the fat rolling off of him, making him pant and sweat as he stood there, hornier than ever, yanking at his too tight collar, trying to pull his polo down over his huge gut.

“Let’s get those off of you, I have a new uniform for you to wear anyway,” the interviewer said, and stripped Zach down. Then he pulled out the leather and chains, boots and fist mitts first before shackling his Zach’s feet and hands together, a leather hood, and then the interviewer circled around him and started slipping a finger into Zach’s ass.

“Shall we continue the interview, you fucking pig? I have a special chair for you here,” the interviewer said, and showed Zach a simple stool with a thick, ten inch dildo stuck on it. “Your ass is hungry, right? That enlarged prostate and sloppy bladder of yours desperate to be fucked?”

Zach couldn’t stop himself, and he started working the dildo into his old ass. As soon as the tip hit his prostate, he felt his cock spurt into his fat pad. He didn’t know what it was–cum or piss–but it had felt wonderful, and he kept fucking himself, only barely listening to what the interviewer was saying now.

“I made a few alterations to your work and education history. After all, a sex pig like you doesn’t need a college degree, or even a high school diploma.”

“Trashman? Nah…hmm….I think janitor. Yeah, a janitor at a gay bath house, that filthy one downtown.”

“Must have been hard, finding work with all those tattoos on your face, but hey, you have to let the slut shine, right piggy?”

“Zach, what a dumb name. Your name’s Crud now, bitch. And no fucking last name for you–you don’t need a fucking family being embarrassed by you.”

Piss, he was dribbling piss–he could smell it. Hell it leaking down his huge legs and onto the floor, his nostrils flaring at the scent. Crud wanted to get down, lick it up, but he had to fuck himself first, he was such a fucking whore.

“Still, we’re going to find you some steady work, just trust me. How would you like some slave work? It doesn’t pay well, but you can have all the cum and piss you’ve ever wanted. A rough, filthy biker gang is looking for a pig like you–how’d you feel about meeting them, and seeing if it’s a good fit?”

“Oh fuck, I’d love that sir, thank you!” Crud said, and he felt the tingle of his tiny cock which had been building finally release, and a piddle of cum spurted out along with the piss leaking from his worthless cock.

“Oh yes, I think you’ll be perfect for the job. First though, let’s see if that worthless hole can take both of my fists, and then you’re going to have to suck the piss from this carpet. I have another interview in three hours, and if I can smell one whiff of piss, I’ll take your balls.

Crud pulled himself up off the stool and immediately got down and started sucking at the damp carpet, while the interviewer started working one gloved fist into his slutty ass. He’d get it perfectly clean–he was a great pig. He was so happy the agency had found him a slave job! It’s just what he’d always wanted.

Source: paintchipsforpyromancers

Recurring Dreams

He must have fallen asleep.

The sun was still high, Liam hoped that he wasn’t burnt. Looking around, he saw that the pool area of the resort was busy with people, but he was having a hard time pinning down the people moving around him. He was still sleepy, couldn’t quite focus. He rubbed his eyes and rolled onto his side, eyes drawn down the line of chaise lounges to the very fat man he saw near the other end of the pool, also on his side, belly flopping over the side of the chaise, fat pressed between the plastic strips. He was staring right at him, licking his lips.

Liam tried to roll back over, but he found himself unable to stop watching the man reach underneath his belly. He couldn’t see what was there, behind the man’s gut. Was the man actually naked? The belly was jiggling now, why was he still watching this happen? Couldn’t peel his eyes away. Time flowed uneasily about him, people streaming by as the man jiggled there, huffed a couple of times, pulled away his hand, something shimmering on his fingers in the sunlight.

The man sat up and rolled his legs over the side of the chaise then stood up, lumbering towards him. Liam had to get up he couldn’t still be here when the man got here he had to move but his body was so stiff and sleepy and how was it everyone was moving past him so quickly? The man was there, the man sat down on the chaise next to him, and he was naked, he could see the cum on the man’s hand, but he was finally up, standing up.

“I have to go I have to,” Liam said.

“Before you leave, you should probably wake up,” the man said to him.

***

He must have fallen asleep.

Liam tried to roll back over, but he found himself unable to stop watching the man reach underneath his belly. He licked his lips too. He couldn’t see what was there, behind the man’s gut. Was the man actually naked? The belly was jiggling now, why was he still watching this happen? The shake of the belly was somehow entrancing. He was hard, wasn’t he? He reached down and gave his cock a squeeze through his board shorts. Couldn’t peel his eyes away. Never seen a man like him before. Never felt this way about a man before. Time flowed uneasily about him, people streaming by as the man jiggled there, huffed a couple of times, pulled away his hand, something shimmering on his fingers in the sunlight. Liam licked his lips again.

The man sat up and rolled his legs over the side of the chaise then stood up, lumbering towards him. Liam had to get up he couldn’t still be here when the man got here even if he wanted to be there he had to move but his body was so stiff and sleepy and how was it everyone was moving past him so quickly? The man was there, the man sat down on the chaise next to him, and he was naked, he could see the cum on the man’s hand, but he was finally up, standing up.

“You’re hard,” the man said, reached out and groped Liam’s bulge. “Smaller than I hoped.”

“I can’t, I’m not–”

“You should cum on me. Cum on my face.”

Liam’s shorts were gone, he must have lost them in the pool earlier. His dick was hard, sticking straight out in the sunlight. He wrapped one hand around it and started tugging on it, looking at the man’s huge, fat rolls, wondering how they might feel. He was cumming suddenly. He shot a load across the fat man’s face, he licked the load off his lips.

“I have to go I have to,” Liam said.

“Before you leave, you should probably wake up,” the man said to him.

***

He must have fallen asleep.

Liam tried to roll back over, but he found himself unable to stop watching the man reach underneath his belly. He licked his lips too. He couldn’t see what was there, behind the man’s gut. There was something beautiful for him in huge men jacking off. The belly was jiggling now, rolling back and forth in thick waves. The shake of the belly was somehow entrancing. He was hard. He reached down and gave his cock a squeeze through his board shorts. It was so big, so hard. Couldn’t peel his eyes away. Never seen a man like him before. Never felt this way about a man before. Time flowed uneasily about him, people streaming by as the man jiggled there, huffed a couple of times, pulled away his hand, something shimmering on his fingers in the sunlight. Liam licked his lips again.

The man sat up and rolled his legs over the side of the chaise then stood up, lumbering towards him. Liam had to get up he had to get up by the time the man got there had to stop him keep him from leaving he had to move but his body was so stiff and sleepy and how was it everyone was moving past him so quickly? The man was there, the man sat down on the chaise next to him, and he was naked, he could see the cum on the man’s hand, but he was finally up, standing up.

“You’re hard,” the man said, reached out and groped Liam’s bulge. “Nice big cock, very nice.”

“I want, I need–”

“You look hungry, boy.”

He was hungry, he’d skipped breakfast. The man held out his sticky, shiny hand and Liam sucked each finger dry, licked the palm clean.

“You should cum in me. Fuck my face.”

Liam’s shorts were gone, he must have lost them in the pool earlier. His dick was hard, sticking straight out in the sunlight. It slid easily down the man’s throat. He wrapped one hand around it and started tugging on it, looking at the man’s huge, fat rolls, wondering how they might feel. His cock slid easily down the man’s throat. He reached down, groping the man’s fat moobs, pressing his legs into the man’s belly. Warmer than he’d expected. He was cumming suddenly. He shot a load down the man’s throat, watching his fat neck swallow his seed down, and then pulled out. A strand of semen connected head of cock to bottom lip for what felt like an eternity, then snapped.

“I have to go I have to,” Liam said.

“Before you leave, you should probably wake up,” the man said to him.

***

Fuck, he must have fallen asleep.

The sun was still high, Liam hoped that he wasn’t burnt to shit. Cursing, he looked around, he saw that the pool area of the resort was busy with people, but he was having a hard time pinning down the people moving around him. He was still damn sleepy, couldn’t quite focus. He rubbed his eyes and rolled onto his side, eyes drawn down the line of chaise lounges to the fat pig he saw near the other end of the pool, also on his side, big ass belly flopping over the side of the chaise, fat pressed between the plastic strips. He was staring right at him, licking his lips.

Liam tried to roll back over, but he found himself unable to stop watching the man reach underneath his belly. He licked his lips too, feeling his piercings there. He couldn’t see what was there, behind the man’s gut, but he wanted to. There was something so fucking beautiful for him in huge men jacking off. The belly was jiggling now, rolling back and forth in thick waves. The shake of the belly was somehow entrancing. He was so damn hard. He reached down and gave his cock a squeeze through his board shorts, feeling the thick ring in the head. It was so big, so fucking hard. Couldn’t peel his damn eyes away. Never seen a man like him before. Never felt this way about a man before. Time flowed uneasily about him, people streaming by as the man jiggled there, huffed a couple of times, pulled away his hand, something shimmering on his fingers in the sunlight. Liam licked his pierced lips again.

“You’re hard,” the man said, reached out and groped Liam’s bulge. “Nice big cock, very nice.”

“I want, I fuckin’ need–”

“You look hungry, freak.”

He was hungry, he’d skipped breakfast. The man held out his sticky, shiny hand and Liam sucked each finger dry, licked the palm clean.

“You should cum in me. Fuck my fat ass.”

Liam’s shorts were gone, he must have lost them in the pool earlier. His dick was hard, sticking straight out in the sunlight, PA glinting. He wrapped one hand around it and started tugging on it, looking at the man’s huge, fat rolls, wondering how they might feel. His cock slid easily into the man’s ass. He reached down, groping the man’s fatty sides, pressing his legs into the man’s thighs. Warmer than he’d expected. He was cumming suddenly. He shot a load deep into the man’s ass, watching his fat belly shudder as it took his seed, and then pulled out. A strand of semen connected head of cock to sloppy hole for what felt like an eternity, then snapped.

“I have to go I have to,” Liam said.

“Before you leave, you should probably wake up,” the man said to him.

This was definitely shaping up to be the best Spring Break ever, Nate thought to himself as the twins flanked him on the balcony, leaning in, licking and kissing, their hands exploring his tight, gym toned body where everyone could see them, but he didn’t care. He was drunk. He was hot. He was horny. And how often did two twins start hitting on you in a bar, telling you how much they want you to be their afternoon plaything.

“What do you think bro? Who do you want to play with today?”

Nate’s brow furrowed–they were playing with him, right?

“I’m thinking, a bottom.”

“Oooh, yeah, we had that powertop this morning, and my ass is still sore. But I’d like some humiliation, I’d like to let off some steam, having someone beg for my cock.”

“Mmm…like an old daddy, eh? Desperate for our young cocks?”

“Yeah, I love that, tattooed all over, two inch cock, desperate for pain, wanting us to degrade and abuse him…”

“What the fuck are you two talking about?” Nate said, pushing his way out from between them, “I…I mean…I mean, please…” he said, getting down on his knees on the balcony, “Please, would you two hot studs fuck this old faggot? Please, I need your young cocks so bad, I’m desperate. Do whatever you want with me, I’m fucking worthless, please…”

One of the twins pulled his nine inch cock from within his jeans and slapped it across Nate’s face, and then rammed the entire shaft in deep, making Nate gag, his white mustache rubbing against the twin’s trimmed bush, both of his young hands on Nate’s smooth, tattooed scalp, and he rubbed his tiny cock through the front of his grimy jeans, before the twins shoved him inside and really got down to business.

They abandoned him after a few hours, bored again, and Nate just stared at himself in the mirror of the hotel room. They’d told him to get out before they came back, or he wouldn’t like what they’d do to him next. Still, that was ok–he was just a worthless faggot after all…right? He could…he could almost remember something else, but it was so hard to remember what had happened. He felt so empty–he needed some abuse. He left the hotel room and headed for the scummiest gay bar he could find, trolling for anyone to kick his ass, and by the end of break, he ended up enslaving himself to a rough leather fist master, and he got all the abuse he could have wanted.

They were having another crazy party across the cul-de-sac, those fucking faggots over there, I fucking hated them. So yeah, I called the cops on them, and I watched the officer arrive from my window and go up to the door, figuring everything would be settled, but a few minutes later the party started up again, louder than before, and I heard a knock on my door. I got up and answered it, and found the cop on the other side of the door–except he wasn’t quite the same cop. He was chuffing on a massive cigar, and looked to be quite a bit burlier and hairy than I’d thought he’d been across the street. “Sir, I’ve been receiving reports that you’re a complete faggot pervert in hiding–I’m here you administer your punishment,” the cop said, and shoved me back into the house, and slammed the door shut behind him.

“What the fuck are you talking about? I’m not–” I tried to say, but the officer took the cigar from his mouth and shoved it into my mouth, plugging it shut, and then ripped my shirt off my body, and did the same with my pants. I tried to pull the cigar from my mouth, but it had somehow grown so large that it stretched my jaw to the limit, my teeth digging into the tobacco, forcing me to draw almost all of my breath as smoke. I immediately felt woozy, and while I tried to fight the cop off, he shoved me over onto my hands and knees and started working his nightstick into my ass.

Fuck, my cock was so hard, knowing this hot cop was violating me in my own living room, and he started regaling me with a litany of all of my perverse acts that he was punishing me for. They started innocently enough, some public indecency and drunkeness where I’d jacked off and urinated in public, but slowly grew more sinister. How I’d gotten lewd and obscene tattoos all over my body. How I’d cruise cubs in public spaces before begging them to come home, abuse me and fuck my lights out. How I went from gay bar to gay bar, keeling in the bathrooms as a urinal and cumdump, until my belly was taut and bloated with beer piss. How I could take two fists up my loose cunt, and had to keep it plugged at all time. How I was obsessed with sex, leather and men, unable to think about anything else, forced to earn money by selling my mouth and ass in back alleys and at house parties like my hot neighbors liked to throw most nights.

The cop finished me off with his ten inch cock, and I begged him to fuck me rough and hard, and he was even nice enough to fill my sloppy hole with a load of piss after he came, and plugged me up with the four inch diameter plug I wore almost constantly now. He deemed me sufficiently punished, dropped a couple wrinkled twenties by my head and left, and I hefted myself up, discarding the butt of my huge cigar and lighting another one, admiring my freaky, hairy and tattooed body in a mirror, before throwing on some leather gear and hurrying across the street, feeling the officer’s piss leaking out my hole and down my legs as I went, eager to join in with the party I couldn’t believe I was missing.

Huey just wanted to be cool–he’d tried to be cool for most of high school but nothing seemed to work–he was just hopeless. Hell, even his tattoos had ended up coming off as “cute” instead of cool. His gauges just looking silly rather than hip. When he lamented these concerns to his friend, he recommended that Huey go to a different parlor downtown which specialized in more holistic changes. Still, he’d always liked his friend, and though he was cool, so he took his advice, and signed up at the shop for their “The Works” package.

“So, what do you want?” the guy asked when he went in for a consult.

“I wanna be cool,” Huey said, and the guy cocked an eyebrow at him.

“Well, being cool is more about believing you’re cool than anything. Still, if that’s what you want, we can deliver.”

Huey nodded, and he went to the shop on Saturday, but the entire process was a whole lot more intensive than he’d expected. They seemed to be tattooing him all over, and they even applied some strange creams to his head and face which itched horribly, but he toughed it out. When they finished everything, after hours of work, they finally let him stand up and take a look at himself, and he was horrified. “What the fuck did you do to me?” he shouted.

They’d tattooed his entire body, from the tops of his feet to the base of his neck, down to his wrists. His hair had been dyed a disgusting blonde, and his small goatee had grown out into a thick horseshoe mustache, and the color difference made it obvious his hair was a dye job. He just gaped at himself, horrified, and then turned to the guy who’d done his consultation and said, “You said you’d make me cool! I look like a freak.”

“No, if you’ll remember, what I said is that being cool is all about believing you’re cool,” the man said, and then turned on the video monitor behind him, and Huey was sucked into the prismatic spiral in a matter of moments. When he woke up, he took another look at himself and smirked–damn, he looked cool as fuck. “Hey man, ya got a cig?” he asked the tattoo artist.

“I’ll trade you one for a blow job.”

“Sure man, that’s cool,” Hugh said, and swallowed the artist’s cock to the hilt.