(Flash Commission) Monster Cock

Jeff saw the package sitting on the porch when he got home, got out of his car, hurried up, got it, and took it inside. He’d been waiting weeks for it to arrive, and finally, it was here. He put it on his table, opened it up, and hauled it out, turning it over in his hands, already wondering if his eyes had been bigger than his stomach, or his ass, rather. It was a custom dildo from a fellow who called his creations “monster cocks”–each one was one of a kind, and while he didn’t charge for them, getting your hands on one of them was hard as hell. The creator took applications for his work, but who received them always seemed a bit random. He said that his toys chose who they wanted to own them, but after trying for most of a year, Jeff had finally been chosen, and now, it was in his hands.

It was in his hands, and the thing was massive. Far larger than anything he’d ever taken before in his life. He had a modest collection of dildos for when he didn’t have anyone around to fuck him, and he’d always enjoyed it. Some guys he knew had suggested he start training to take a fist, and he was close to that at this point. This dildo though was thicker than most guys fists, and easily a foot long. The dildo’s skin was a dark brown mottled with tan up the shaft to the head, which had a sheath, or a foreskin, bunched up around the glans of the cock. He toyed with it, and saw that it was actually rather elastic, and could stretch over the head, even, giving it more of a sheathed look. The base of the dildo included a set of substantial balls, the sack the size of a small melon. The sack and the bottom third of the cock was actually covered with hair–running his hand over it, he couldn’t quite tell if it was real or not. It had to be synthetic, but it felt a bit like soft boar bristle–he wondered what it would feel like on the inside of his hole–if he could get it that far in, even.

Jeff tried at least. Got himself cleaned out and lubed up, warmed up with the largest dildo he had, and then gave it a go. He was just too tight–he couldn’t even get the thing in past the head. He felt demoralized, got cleaned up and onto his computer, where he saw a chat message from the dildo maker.

“I saw that the package got delivered, just wanted to make sure everything got there alright.”

“It did,” Jeff replied, “It’s bigger than I thought it would be. Don’t know when I’ll be able to take it.”

“Don’t worry too much about that. It’ll get in you faster than you think, just keep trying. I know this is the right one for you, it won’t be too long at all.”

Jeff wasn’t sure of what to make of that, but he poked around online, looking for a dildo to train with larger than the ones he had, but smaller than the monster cock, but all he could think about was the beast waiting for him upstairs, and how much he wanted it inside him. It was getting late, and he had work in the morning, so he went to bed. His dreams that night were intense, and when he woke up he couldn’t recall much of them at all, aside from a strange sensation of being stalked. That, and he woke up with the monstrous dildo in his arms, when he was certain he’d left it in the drawer with the rest of them before bed. Confused and a bit bewildered, he went to work, but found it more and more difficult to focus. At first, it was just because he was tired after his restless night, but as the day progressed, he found himself thinking more and more about the dildo waiting for him at home, and he rushed home so he could be near it again, feel it again, lube it up, and once again try and fit it inside him.

That day, after an hour, he finally managed to get the head inside his hole, and that alone was a revelation. It was a sign of progress, and Jeff kept working at it, sweating and grunting, until he was too starving and shaking to continue. He went downstairs, found a couple of steaks he’d been saving in the freezer, and cooked them both, not caring they were rarer than usual, he was just starved. He considered a shower, but felt too tired to bother, and simply went upstairs to bed, curling up around the dildo without even thinking about it. The dreams that night were no clearer, but he woke with a groan, rutting his own cock against the dildo, the sheets under him soaked with sweat and cum from what must have been a very active night. He pulled himself together as quickly as he could, not even bothering to shower, but when he headed for the door, he struggled. He couldn’t…leave it here. He bundled the dildo up and took it with him not quite sure what he was doing, but it felt instinctual. He managed to leave it in the car for most of the day, but found himself terrified someone might see it, or worse, steal it. On his lunch break, he went down, retrieved it, and struggled to resist the urge to take it out and start riding it right there in the office. He settled for taking it into the bathroom with him, licking and sucking on the head while he jacked off, horrified by his loss of control, but still unable to stop.

It was when he got home, that he noticed something was off. He hadn’t really bothered looking at himself in the mirror that morning, but in the bathroom, ready to clean himself out and try again, he saw his reflection, and just stared. He hadn’t been that hairy before, or that muscular. It wasn’t…much, really, but it was there. His clothes didn’t quite fit right, which explained some of his discomfort the day before. His beard was thicker, and when he lifted an arm up in the shower, he caught a whiff of his musk, and that was more pungent too. He didn’t have time to shower though–he hosed out his hole, skipped the soap, and was back in his bedroom, riding the dildo again, working it deeper, inch by inch, now sliding halfway down the shelf.

He could almost feel it…throbbing inside him, trying to wriggle deeper. He couldn’t tell if it was real, or if he was just imagining it. The idea of it was so hot, though, that he kept shooting load after load of cum all over his bed and his sheets until he collapsed again, too exhausted to move. It was nearly midnight, he’d been at it for hours. He had to piss, but was too weak to get up from the bed. He released it onto the bed under him, horrified at first, but the scent of it satisfied some deep, primal need inside him, and sleep took him soon after.

The next day, he got up from the bed, sniffed his hairy pit, and before he even really realized it, he was pissing all over the carpet and the wall next to the bed. Part of him was concerned, but it was much quieter than it might have been usually. Instead, he hauled out his cock and jacked off as well–it was the only thing on his body that wasn’t larger, all of a sudden. He squeezed his way into some office attire as best he could, no longer certain why he was wearing this, why he was bothering with it. He had more important things to concern himself with, after all, but some part of him clung to that normalcy, tried to deny the drives and desires that were well on their way to overwhelming him.

He didn’t last long at the office that day. He kept sneaking away to the bathroom to masturbate, to worship the dildo, his cock, his monster cock, as he kept thinking about it. Each load that he shot did nothing to calm him down, it only seemed to drive him to more intense heights of desire. When he stepped out of the stall shortly after lunch, and saw the one of his burlier coworkers at the urinal pissing, maybe it was the smell, maybe it was the sight of his ass filling out the back of his slacks, but he went over, shoved the man up against the urinal, and rutted against his ass, grunting and snorting like some animal. The man managed to get away, and before security could get a hold of him, Jeff fled the office with the dildo, abandoning everything else, and sped home.

He wouldn’t go back there. It wasn’t safe. He was safe in his home, in his den. He had to finish, he had to fuck himself with his cock, with his monster cock. He threw himself into the task, he was so close. The dildo was warm now, he could feel blood pulsing through it, the hair no longer synthetic, but so close to the hair that beginning to sprout all up and down his own body. He only had a couple more inches to go, and He worked at it, pushing everything else out. Every time he shot a load of cum, he realized, the dildo would slide in a little deeper. His body was getting larger, yes, but he noticed at last that his balls were shrivelling, his cock dwindling. At long last he took the dildo to the hilt with a roar, and felt the monstrosity come alive, the entire thing digging deeper, screwing into his guts, his wrecked hole closing up behind him.

He felt it push out, forcing its way from his body, his human cock stretching and ripping apart as his new, monstrous cock erupted from his crotch, his massive balls coming through last and dropping, slapping against his hairy thighs. He could feel it, his new cock pumping…something through him, changing him. His teeth, already sharper than they had been, grew longer, into proper fangs, is mouth and nose distending into a furry muzzle. The hair that had been growing thicker on his body became a thick pelt of black fur, hands becoming paws with thick claws on the end, his whole body filling out with layers of muscle and fat, until he was nearly eight feet tall and close to seven hundred pounds of pure mass. He looked at his monstrous bear body in the mirror, cock throbbing and leaking, and that was the last thing he recalled clearly, as he wrapped his paws around his cock and kept stroking, kept pleasing his cock, a slave to his new sexual desires, no longer interested in anything else.

When he awoke, his body had reverted–somewhat. His room was wrecked, as were several of his doorways, but he hadn’t managed to make it outside at least. That didn’t matter now. All that mattered was what his new cock desired–and it wanted a hole to fuck. There was a knock on his front door, and much to his surprise, there on the doorstep was his old coworker from the bathroom, the one he’d rutted up against. He was shaking and sweating, muttered some excuse about needing to see him again, but Jeff knew what the man needed. He grabbed him by the collar with his clawed hand and dragged him inside, shoved him down to his knees, and pissed all over him, marking the man as his new property, or rather, the property of his cock. It would take a while to open this one up and fuck him properly, but he had no doubt that in time, he would be a perfect slave–and when he took him to the hilt, and filled him with a load of his corruptive cum, he too, would turn. He shook off the last bit of piss from his cock, and dragged the addled and horny man into the bedroom now reeking of his scent, threw him on the bed, and went to work.

Patreon Teaser – The Cursed Elf

Hey all, I’ve been doing some short flash fiction Christmas tales for folks over on Patreon! I’m gonna post a couple of them here for the next few days, but if you want to read them all, you’ll have to head over here! Supporters at the $5 level or higher get access to those, and a bunch of other stuff in the archive. Here’s part one of a little tale about a cursed Elf on a Shelf, enjoy!

Dec 1st.

Mitch blinked awake and checked the clock–not too long after midnight. He wasn’t quite sure what had awoken him, but he did need to take a piss, so he got up out of bed without disturbing his wife, and walked to the bathroom attached to their room. It was too early to even try and aim, so he turned around and sat down, took a long piss, and as his vision adapted to the light, he noticed something odd. There, on the counter with its legs dangling off, was one of those…elf things. The elf on a shelf, right?

Linda had bought one when they’d first come out for Jeremy, their son who was in college now. She’d changed locations every day, Jeremy had needed to hunt for it, and it helped encourage good behavior, since it was allegedly reporting back to Santa each night. But they hadn’t used it since he was ten or so–almost a decade ago? Why on Earth had she gotten it out now?

Looking at it again, he noticed something else odd about it. It didn’t seem particularly…jolly. The elf had been thin, with a big grin. This one though seemed fat, its clothes dirty looking, with a mischievous sneer across its face.

“Ya just gonna stare at me, Mitch, or are ya gonna say hello?”

He nearly popped up off the toilet when he heard the voice come from the elf. Then the thing…moved. It got up on the counter, a hairy belly poking out from under the ratty shirt it had on…and was that…a bulge? “What…what the fuck are you?”

“I’m an elf. A bad elf, I suppose Santa would say. Had a pretty good gig for a while, you know? Report on the kids, have a little fun with their dads, harmless! Got fired, stuck me in one of those damn dolls! Well, good news is, I still have my Christmas magic left, and look at you, sexy fella. I’ll be happy to keep an eye on you for the next twenty five days.”

Mitch tried to say something else, but a strange beam shot out of the elves eyes and into Mitch’s own, and his hands flopped down at his side, eyes gleaming, smile wide.

“That’s it, Mitch. You just relax and let me take care of everything. Aren’t you horny, Daddy? Don’t those big balls of yours just need release?”

The elf hoped over onto Mitch’s thigh, as his cock was beginning to stand upright, his balls sagging lower into the bowl of the toilet. The elf wrapped both arms around his cock and started pumping it, making Mitch groan.

“That’s it, just stokin’ off, like guys do. You love masturbatin’, don’t you Mitch? Bet you love it more than fucking, you pervert. Looking at porn every chance you get, whacking off in the bathrooms at home, at work. You don’t care if anyone hears you, do you Mitch? Wouldn’t getting caught be kind of…exciting?”

Mitch’s groans got louder and louder, until the bathroom door opened, his wife standing in the doorway as Mitch stroked himself off, shooting a huge load all over the floor in front of him, while Linda just stared, horrified. He looked around for the elf, but the little fucker was nowhere to be found. He tried to sputter an explanation, but she just said that if he wanted to be gross, he could sleep on the couch for the rest of the night, and went back to bed.

Confused and a little scared, Mitch went downstairs and made a little bed on the couch. He didn’t even get settled in before he saw a pair of eyes gleaming at him from a high shelf. Before he could stop himself, he was drifting off into some of the filthiest dreams of his life–at least, until the next night, and the night after that, the elf assuring Mitch this would be a Christmas season he’d never forget.

Lost? No, you weren’t lost anymore. Sure, a few days ago, when you’d found yourself stranded in the bayou after you were separated from the tour group, tromping and crashing through the muddy water trying to find your way back to civilization, yeah, you’d been lost then. But now? No, you weren’t lost, you were home.

The Bayou had taken you in, it had chosen you, spared you death so that you could be reborn. It did it in dreams–every night, after emerging from a deep, horrific, and fitful sleep filled with fires and dank mud, you woke changed. Your clothes had gone missing the first morning–the tattoos, the marks of the bayou–they had come the second. Your body shifting and changing as the days passed, your mind growing accustomed to life here, filling with knowledge as your old life washed away out to the ocean.

And now, you were close to your birth. Clothes had begun to drift towards you–a hat, a pair of boots–but more would come. The bayou would provide after all–the bayou will provide.

Image Vignette: Replacement Parts

“Alright, and here’s the guest room, where you can stay. It’s a bit…tight, I’ll admit. It used to me my…uh…friend’s workshop, so pardon the mess.” Marty said, and scratched the back of his head in slight embarrassment as Ryan looked around the room with some dismay. It certainly would have never passed inspection back in the Navy, but it would have to make do.

“This looks fine,” Ryan said, “I just hope you’re not expecting me to start right now,” he added with a smile. The rain outside was horrendous. Marty’s truck had gotten stuck in a patch of deep mud, and they’d both had to hike a half mile through the heavy rain to the farmhouse. Ryan’s clothes were soaked, and Marty had dropped his bag in a puddle, meaning he had nothing dry to wear. Marty had been just as soaked, but the short, stocky redneck had already taken a moment to change into a dirty white undershirt, cut off flannel vest and some jeans.

“Hah, nah, I wouldn’ make ya do that. Tomorrow mornin’ will be fine, if the weather clears,” Marty said, “You can just focus on getting settled this evening. Um…How about I go get these dryin’,” he said, referring to Ryan’s bag, “and ya can strip out a those. There’s probably some a Bill’s old work clothes in the closet there ya can wear fer the time being.”

Ryan heaved a bit of a sigh, and looked around at the cramped space again. Two tours of duty, and this is where he’s ended up. He remembered when he’d talked to a recruitment officer, who had sworn the military was the best track into college and a high paying job there was–instead, here he was, working on some rural farm as a mechanic and handyman to get by. Still, he at least had a roof over his head, his youth, and his health, if little else, though he would definitely catch a cold if he didn’t change out of these sopping clothes. He stripped down and rummaged through the closet, but all he could find in there were a pair of battered overalls, which from the musty smell, hadn’t been washed or worn in quite a while. Still, he didn’t have a whole lot of options, so he stripped down to just his jockstrap and ball cap and then slipped the overalls on, cringing a bit from the crusty material.

They were far too large for his frame, even if he had put on a bit of a belly since leaving the navy. Whoever Bill was, he hadn’t been a small guy. Ryan had asked Marty a few questions about Bill on the way over, but he’d been pretty cryptic and didn’t appear to want to talk about it much. Apparently they’d been friends for a while. Marty had taken care of the farm work, while Bill handled the broken down equipment, the housework and selling goods in town, until Bill had died of a heart attack a few months before. Marty was still pretty young, and couldn’t keep up both sides of the business himself, so he’d hired Ryan to help him out in exchange for a small salary, room and board.

“Hey Ryan! Dinner’s on the table!” Marty called out, and Ryan, hiking up the legs of the overalls a bit so he didn’t trip, made his way downstairs into the kitchen, where Marty was busy laying out a massive spread of food, including a roast chicken, a massive bowl of mashed potatoes and heaps of gravy, bread, stuffing, the works.

“Ryan took a seat and shook his head, “Hey man, you didn’t have to cook all of this for me. I tend to be a light eater.”

“Nonsense,” Marty said, “Ya need tah keep yer strength up if yer gonna get to all the work I need done around here. Now eat up while I get you something to drink. But hey, no hats at the table.”

Ryan cocked one eyebrow, but Marty was serious, so he took off his cap and set it aside, before taking a generous portion of everything so that he wouldn’t seem rude, and looked over at Marty mixing up something on the counter. “What are you making?” he asked.

“Huh…oh! Uh, nothing much. Just a little whisky drink–a toast to old friends and new beginnings, eh?” Marty said, bringing over two glasses and handing one to Ryan. They clinked glasses and knocked them back–and the taste was far stronger and bitter than Ryan had been expecting, but it went down all the same.

“Dang, what the hell was that?” Ryan said, sputtering a bit.

“Aw, not much. Just a bit of mah home brew. Ya like it? I can get ya some more.”

Ryan really didn’t want any more, but decided against refusing Marty’s hospitality. He dug into the food on his plate, and found he was hungrier than he’d thought. He found himself taking bigger and bigger bites of the delicious food, and by the time Marty had returned, he polished off half of what he’d put on.

“Here ya are man. What, that all yer havin’? Come on, eat up! It’ll help ya grow,” Marty said with a wink, shoved the glass into Ryan’s hand and started piling his plate high. Without really thinking, Ryan knocked the second drink back as well, and the taste was easier now that he was expecting it, and without a word, dug into the mound of chicken and potatoes on his plate. Marty sat across from him, eating a bit, but mostly watching Ryan and grinning, getting up on occasion to bring him another drink, which Ryan took without objection. By the the end, Ryan had finished off the spread aside from the small bit Marty had eaten, and he leaned back in his chair, rubbing his gut and let off a big belch. “Dang Marty, that was some good shit,” he slurred, “Couldn’ eat another bite.”

“Sorry, but I still have dessert fer us,” Marty said, and brought over a deep dish apple pie, “I know how much ya love mah apple pie after all,” he whispered in Ryan’s ear, who unable to help himself, he took a fork and dug in, not even bothering to slice it. “Let me go get ya another drink,” Marty added, bringing over the rest of the whisky bottle, letting Ryan take swigs from it between giant bites. Marty stood behind him and started running his hands up and down Ryan’s front, both under and over the overalls he was wearing, making Ryan increasingly uncomfortable, but he was also feeling a bit…turned on. He could feel his cock growing uncomfortable in his jockstrap, and he found himself wondering why he was wearing it. He didn’t usually wear underwear, did he? The room was spinning around him, and he tried to focus, but between Marty rubbing his exposed nipples and the delicious pie he had to finish, his thoughts just kept slipping away from his fingers.

When he finally finished, Ryan leaned back in his chair, more stuffed than he’d ever been in his whole life, and suddenly, Marty grabbed his cheeks and kissed him, making Ryan sputter and twist away. “What in tarnation–I ain’t no faggot, fucker!” Ryan said, unable to tell if he was slurring his words, or if his voice really had just come out as a deep, southern twang.

“Well I guess someone ain’t quite ready yet,” Marty said, grabbed Ryan by the arm and helped him up from the chair onto unsteady feet, “Why don’ we go have a sit fer a bit, and relax after that big meal–that sound good, Bill?”

“Mah name ain’t Bill–it’s Ryan…” Ryan muttered, as he stumbled along next to Marty. His body felt strange all of a sudden, like he was too tall, but also a bit front heavy. He passed by a mirror in the hallway, and through his vision was blurred, it didn’t look quite right. He hadn’t had a beard before, had he? Certainly not the bushy light brown one covering his cheeks and chin. And hadn’t these overalls fit badly when he’d put them on? Now though, they felt very comfortable, holding his big gut just right, and he hadn’t stepped on the pant legs once. Marty flopped him down on the couch, and Ryan tried to struggle up, but he felt so weak and heavy. His jockstrap was cutting into his waist, and he really did need to take it off. He’d feel so much better without it on…and yet, another voice was telling him to keep it on, and take off the overalls. But why would he take them off? They were his favorite clothes after all–he wore them pretty much every day. Besides, Marty loved how he looked in them. Then again, Marty loved how he looked in everything…

Marty came back a few moments later, holding a big, bent pipe in his hand. “Here, I know how much you love a good smoke after dinner.” He lit the pipe and then passed it to Ryan, who took a big draw, and let out a big plume of smoke with a sigh.

“Yeah Marty, that’s the ticket. Thanks…” Ryan said, “I…I love ya…Marty.”

“I love you too, Bill.”

“Marty…Marty what’s happenin’ tah me? Why do I feel so strange…” Ryan said, still puffing on the pipe as his eyes swept the room.

“Don’t worry Bill, everythin’ will be back tah normal soon enough,” Marty said, leaned in for another kiss, but Ryan pushed him away. “God damn it, what the fuck is wrong wit ya Bill?”

“I told ya, my name ain’t Bill, it’s Ryan, ‘n I ain’t a fag!” Ryan cried, and tried to sit up from the couch, but the jockstrap cut into him suddenly, like it was trying growing tighter, making him cry out in pain. It felt like it was searing into his skin suddenly, and Marty undid one of the straps off Ryan’s overalls, reached down and felt the offending material.

“So that’s the problem–someone didn’ strip down all the way!” Marty said, “I can fix that.” He ran to the kitchen and came back with some shears, but Ryan fought back against him weakly, so Marty grabbed Ryan’s nipples and twisted them, making his cry out in pleasure as he felt his cock swell. “Now listen here Ryan, ya’re just here tah be some god damn replacement parts, ya got it? I ain’t gonna spend another day without Bill, so yer just gonna have to give up, got it? Now smoke that pipe ‘n hold still!”

“No…No please…please don’,” Ryan said, as Marty cut away his underwear and pulled them out, but as soon as they were gone, Ryan let out a sigh of relief. Fuck he felt better–why had he wanted to keep that jock on so badly anyway? He looked over at Marty, and with his hand reached out and cupped Marty’s crotch, giving it a light squeeze. “Come here ya lug, ‘n give me some sugar…” he said, and Marty, grinning, leaned over and kissed Ryan, his beard growing in faster as they kissed, sharing the smoke from Bill’s old pipe. However, as they were kissing, Ryan felt his balls start to heat up, and soon they hurt enough for him to let out a moan of pain.

“Wh..what is it Bill? What’s wrong?”

“Mah fuckin’ balls, man–fuck! Feels like someone got ‘em caught in a vice!” Ryan fumbled with the fly on the overalls, opened it up, and hauled out his cock. It had grown thicker and longer, as well as growing a meaty foreskin over the head, but his balls hurt more by the second.

Marty however, was overjoyed. The potion was actually working–the witch had been right. Now all Bill had to do was cum, expelling the remnants of Ryan, and he’d have Bill, his redneck, the love of his life back, and they’d never be parted again. He got down on his knees and swallowed Ryan’s new tool to the hilt, making him scream in ecstacy. It only took a couple of good sucks before Ryan was cumming and spasming, releasing his lifesource into Marty’s mouth, who spit it on the floor, and then the body on the couch collapsed back, limply.

Bill? Buddy?” Marty said, shaking the big man’s shoulder, “Hey! Wake up!”

The man let out a groan and grabbed his head. “Fuck man…what the hell? What…what did ya do?”

“I brought ya back Bill…you’re home.” Marty said, and pulled him into a big hug, “I love ya so much, I ain’t never gonna let ya leave me like that ever again.”