A lot of the guys in the frat have been acting really strange lately, and I had no real clue what was going on with all of them. It all started when Johnny brought home that funky meteorite from the field that he found, and he’s been obsessing over it lately. Like, in a really unhealthy sort of way–carrying it around with him, not letting anyone else touch it. But more than that…well, the guys who hang out with him have all started acting really…strange. Faggy strange. Louis is wearing these really tight, hot pink clothes, and I saw him carrying around this massive dildo the other day. Noel started wearing all of this leather gear and I swear he and Louis have been fucking around in their rooms. Carter can’t seem to stop eating and masturbating–and he’s watching gay porn too. I don’t get it.

I head to my room today though, and now it all makes sense. See, Johnny was waiting there, and he explained everything to me. See, he’d always been a total pervert–and a gay one at that, and now, the alien living in his head, the one slowly eating his brain, it’s letting him push all of his twisted fantasies onto his frat mates in exchange for devouring it. Of course, that means the alien will be planting it’s larva in our minds too, but those won’t grow to maturity for close to twenty of our years. Sure, I fought hard, but as soon as I felt his tongue burrow into my ear, the slimy worm pushing its way down my ear canal and burrowing into my brain, I knew exactly what to do.

I’m a pig now, you see? It makes so much sense! I wear these filthy clothes all the time now, and I stink of sex and piss, and it makes me so hot, I can’t even tell you. Nothing is too extreme for me. I clean out Louis’ sloppy hole after Noel finishes fisting him. I beg Noel to take me into his dungeon and make me scream in pain. I suck the piss out of Carter’s filthy boxers, since he’s too fat and lazy to even get up off the couch anymore–I love it. Too bad Johnny can’t do anything about it–he just sits and drools in his room now, brain gone, but hey, he’s living the dream! I can’t wait to be like that in twenty years too–it’s gonna be so sweet.

Birthday Boy

Commissioned by Anonymous

Someone commissioned me to expand this caption from a few months ago. Remember, if you have a favorite caption you’d love to see me expand, I’m still open for commissions!

***

Oliver felt his head come back to him slowly, as he tried to remember what had happened to him. He’d been coming home from work late, on his usual route, when a van had pulled up next to him, and some men had jumped out, drugging him and dragging him inside the van. His head hurt and was very foggy, but he shook himself awake as fast as he could, and got his bearings–but that didn’t help make sense of what had happened.

He was in a small room which had been decorated to look like a baby’s nursery, all bright blues, toys in every corner, and he was in a massive crib, on his knees, with plastic handcuffs holding his wrists to the bars. He was wearing some ludicrous outfit too–a full fleece onesie with his hands mittened so he couldn’t even grab anything, and as he struggled, he realized he had something else on underneath that–a diaper. “What the–what the fuck is this?” he shouted, “Let me out of here, you sick fucks!”

He struggled for a few more minutes, and then he heard a click of a lock and the door opened, and in stepped a massive bear of a man. He was probably in his fifties or maybe even his sixties, and something about him, maybe it was his smiling, beaming face, or his fuzzy beard, he just looked…sweet and kind, and like someone Oliver might have wanted to meet in any other situation than this one. “Hows the baby today? It’s your birthday today! Isn’t that exciting? How does baby like his birthday outfit? I think you look super handsome in it.”

“What the hell, let me go man, come on…” Oliver said, pulling at the cuffs again, but the big man grabbed his wrist hard enough for it to hurt, and he froze.

“Now, now, daddy can’t have his newest baby boy getting out on his first birthday, now can he?” Daddy said, “No, we have to keep you secure for a little while, until I can trust you to stay in your crib like a good baby.”

“I’m not staying in here asshole, let me out, let me–” he said, but the man pulled out a big pacifier and stuffed it in Oliver’s open mouth and strapped it around the back of his head so he couldn’t spit it out.

“Babies aren’t supposed to talk like adults, you know. I think this’ll keep you quiet until you’re talking more like yourself,” the man said, and then walked over to a massive TV on the wall across from where Oliver was handcuffed to the crib, “Now, I can’t play with you until a bit later, so we’ll just have to keep you occupied with the electronic babysitter for now, eh little boy? And I have just the show for a little baby like you to watch, I’m sure it’ll keep your attention.”

He turned on the television, and the bright cheery colors of some toddler’s TV show came on, and then the man gave Oliver a forced peck on the cheek and left the room. Alone again, Oliver renewed his struggles for a few minutes before he tired himself out again, and without really thinking about it, he started watching the show on the big television. It was so big that he couldn’t really avoid it after all, and it turned out to be really soothing, actually. The show was simplistic and relaxing, and the music sounded like Mozart, but a bit too quiet to hear clearly, and without realizing it, he started sucking on his pacifier, his eyes glazing over as they focused on the TV, and then suddenly, it shut off.

He shook his head, trying to clear it, and realized he must have dozed off while watching the show, or something. It was obvious that some time must have passed, because his legs were asleep from staying the same position, and he just ached. He looked over and saw that Daddy had turned off the TV, and was coming over to the crib where he was. “Well birthday boy? How are you doing? Did you enjoy the show so far? You’ve been watching for a few hours now. I bet it’s time for a diaper change.”

Diaper change? Oliver had forgotten he was wearing a diaper, and his cheeks flushed as he felt the cold sensation around his groin–had he pissed himself while he was watching the show? How could he have done that? How had he not even noticed it happening? He tried to keep Daddy from undoing his onesie and checking, but it was obvious what had happened, but Daddy just beamed. “What a good boy, going pee pee in his diaper just like he should. Still, no poop yet though. That’s ok, you’re a very good boy for going pee pee just like Daddy wants.”

Oliver tried to fight back as Daddy undid the handcuffs, but he felt so weak for some reason, like he just couldn’t get his hands and feet to do what he wanted. In the end, while he fought as best he could, the big man managed to undo Oliver’s onesie, change his diaper, and get him sitting up in the crib, before removing Oliver’s pacifier.

“Pwease,” Oliver immdediately begged, “Pwease Daddy, please just let me go, I don’t like it here, I’m scared.” After Oliver spoke, he realized that he’d called the big man Daddy, and that…that he thought of his as Daddy too. His Daddy, his big, important, amazing Daddy who he…he loved? No, no that so wrong, what was going on? “Pwease, I won’t tell anyone, I just wanna to go home.”

“Silly baby, you are home. You’re home here with Daddy, safe and sound. Now, here’s baby’s bottle, drink it all down like a good boy.” Daddy shoved the nipple of the bottle between Oliver’s lips, and while he told himself he wouldn’t drink it, for some reason as soon as the nipple was in his mouth, he couldn’t help but suck on it, and it did taste…kind of good. It was milk, but it had some other, slightly medicinal tang to it, but with his Daddy urging him on, he drained the whole thing, and the warm solution left him feeling full, and a bit groggy.

“That’s a good boy, you like being a good boy for Daddy, don’t you?”

Oliver felt himself nod, and agreeing with his Daddy sent a surprising jolt of pleasure through him, and his cock got hard in his clean diaper. He blushed, and was thankful his Daddy couldn’t see what had happened–that would have been embarrassing. Still, he was sleepy–it was hard even keeping his eyes open. He slumped over in the crib, fighting against sleep as long as he could, but Daddy turned on the music from the TV show again, and it was so soothing, so comforting, he couldn’t help but drift off almost immediately.

He woke up hours later feeling…good. Relaxed and happy and just…at ease. Oliver couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept so nicely, and he rolled over, feeling the shit he’d packed into his clean diaper during his nap squish around, but even that felt kind of good. He’d been a good boy, filling his diaper with poopoo like daddy wanted, and he’d even peed too. Daddy would be happy when he came in to check on him, he just knew he would. He loved making Daddy happy, he loved seeing that bearded face smile, it made him feel so good, and made his pee pee hard. Just thinking about, his pee pee was hard even.

He humped the floor of the crib a couple of times before Oliver realized what he was doing, and what he’d been thinking. He snapped out of it and rolled over, disgusted that he’d apparently lost all control of his pissing and shitting for some reason. Still, he had to get out of here. If he could just find a weapon, or something to fight Daddy off with…but he didn’t want to hurt Daddy…did he? He shook his head, and pushed himself up onto his hands and knees and then…then nothing.

He looked up, and the rim of the crib was so high–how could he get up there? He could…stand? He tried pushing himself up onto his feet, but it was like his body had forgotten every position other than crawling. He managed to make a little progress by gripping the bars of the crib which helped him balance, but he was too weak to pull himself over. He was just a little baby anyway, he needed to stay safe in his crib. If he got out, Daddy would be sad, and he didn’t want Daddy to be sad and disappointed in his little baby, did he?

What was happening to him? He felt so strange. His thoughts felt like they were pushing their way through some sort of thick muck, pushing back against something he couldn’t even sense, something that was crushing the life out of him. He was just…just so scared, and he didn’t know what was happening, and then he was crying and bawling as loud as he could. He wanted Daddy, he wanted Daddy more than anything. Daddy would make him feel better, Daddy would know what to do.

After a couple of minutes, sure enough the door opened and Daddy stepped through, cooing at him, and he hugged Oliver close, patting him on the back and whispering softly in his ear until he calmed down. “There there little baby, what’s the matter? Do you need your diaper changed?”

“Ya Daddy, I went pee pee and poopoo, but I scared Daddy, what wrong wit’ me?” Oliver said, not quite able to get the words to come out of his mouth right.

“Oh, that’s ok baby, I’ll just get you cleaned up, alright?”

“But I scared, Daddy.”

“Sush,” Daddy said, pulling Oliver into a tight hug, “I’ll keep you safe, ok? You just focus on being a good baby for me, and then everything will be alright, you’ll see.”

Oliver nodded, still crying a little, but he started sucking on his thumb, and that made him feel better. It felt good to just…suck, comforting, like Daddy. He laid still as Daddy undressed him and changed his diaper, congratulating him on going poo-poo like a good baby, and seeing how proud his Daddy was of him, Oliver felt his peepee get hard, and a little too late he realized that his daddy could see it.

“Uh oh,” Daddy said, looking down, “It looks like someone’s gotten a little excited. That’s ok, but we’d better diaper you up in case you have an accident, right?” Daddy diapered Oliver back up, his peepee staying hard the entire time, and he felt such an odd mix of awkwardness, embarrassment and happiness that he nearly started crying again.

When he was all set, Daddy decided it was time for Oliver to have some playtime, and Daddy let him out of the crib. Oliver immediately looked up at the door handle, but it seemed…so far away, and he had no idea what might be on the other side. That was scary. He was safe in here with his Daddy, why would he want to leave? He had a very fun afternoon playing with his daddy, stacking blocks and then knocking them over, and they even played with dolls for a little bit in a big dollhouse Daddy showed him, where two big daddy dolls lived with their big baby doll.

“But where’s the Mommy?” Oliver asked, searching for the other doll.

“Silly baby, there isn’t a Mommy, you know that. Daddy’s take care of big babies just fine. You do like having a Daddy, don’t you?”

“Yes!” Oliver shouted, and threw himself at his Daddy, hugging him, “I love you Daddy,” Oliver said.

“I love you too, baby,” Daddy said into Oliver’s ear, and felt his Baby give a shudder against him, and Oliver pulled away, redfaced. That had felt so strange, his pee pee had gotten hard, and then, it had peed something into his diaper in big spurts, but it wasn’t pee…

“Did Baby have an accident again?” Daddy asked, and Oliver nodded, letting his Daddy change his diaper again, and after that play time was over. Daddy gave him another bottle to drink, and turned the TV on again before leaving, and Oliver sat in his crib, watching the TV, sucking on his thumb and drinking his bottle like a good Baby.

There was something strange going on, something wrong with all of this, but Oliver couldn’t get his thoughts in order. Every time he did, they’d just sink out of his grasp or scatter, and every time he tried, it was like there were even fewer pieces than before. Still, as he watched the TV, the gibberish the characters had been speaking was starting to become clear, and everything they said was true.

…feels so good to be a Baby. You love your daddy very much, more than anything. Daddy makes your pee pee hard. It feels good having a dirty diaper. Having a dirty, filthy diaper makes your pee pee hard. It feels good to cum in your diaper. It feels good to be dumb. You’re just a dumb baby. You can’t talk. You can’t walk. You’re just a dumb, horny, dirty baby, and you love it…

As he watched, Oliver felt poo flood into his diaper again, and he peed too, but it didn’t scare him–it felt good. In fact, it made his pee pee hard again, and he started rubbing the front of it with his mittened hands until he moaned loudly and felt his body spasm. The same thing that had happened when his Daddy hugged him earlier happened again, and he shot a load of special pee into his diaper again.

“Pee feel goo goo…” Oliver said, and shoved his thumb into his drooling mouth. Daddy would be coming in soon, and he’d change baby’s dirty diaper, but he’d enjoy it for a little while longer first…and maybe…maybe he’d rub his pee pee a few more times. Slowly, Oliver’s mind dwindled until all of his doubts disappeared, and he managed to cum in his diaper two more times before his Daddy came back in and changed him. He was happy to see that in the baby’s empty eyes all of his intellect had disappeared, and as soon as his daddy set him back in the crib and given him his bottle, little Oliver sucked it down, cooing and giggling as he watched the TV set, the final bits of programming implanting themselves into his ruined mind, ensuring that he would remain a baby for the rest of his life. Tomorrow, he’d be put up for adoption, and after some personalized conditioning, ensuring that the new fathers would get exactly the kind of baby they wanted, he would be shipped off to his new home, where he’d make his new family very, very happy–daddy was sure of it.

Identity Crises (Part 3)

***WARNING*** This one is even filthier than the last. If heavy scat or castration bother you, turn away.

He opened the door, and as soon as he did, he realized that he shouldn’t have. The reality wave which pushed it’s way out and over him–it was different than the others had been. More forceful, and far less wiggle room. The others seemed to have melded around him–but this one…this one simply forced its will on him, pressed down on him, contorting him and his mind until he nosed his way into the room, crawling on all fours, feeling his belly scraping across the floor underneath him as he let out a snort, and saw his master across the room.

Master–he loved him. There was no question in his mind, no doubt–just universal adoration when he looked at the ten foot tall man, naked–his body covered with grimy fur, his beard reaching his belly button, muscular and handsome and…and everything that Terry–no, not Terry, his name wasn’t Terry anymore, he was Porky, Porky was the name Master had given him, back when he’d finally enslaved him, back when his son had taken him and declared ownership of him, like Porky had always known he would.

“Get over here pig,” Caleb growled, and Porky crawled over, eager to serve, and when he came up next to him, Caleb simply said “Open,” and Porky obeyed. Opening his mouth, and allowing his master to tap the ash from his cigar into his mouth, Porky doing his best to not think about the heat of it, and just swallow it down like he’d learned. He was his Master’s preferred ashtray after all–he’d been doing it for years now, and he stayed there, mouth open while his Master surfed the internet, and all Porky could do was admire him.

Porky hadn’t always been Proky–he had been Terry once upon a time. And Master had been Caleb, his son, but Terry had always been afraid of him. His son wasn’t like him–Terry had been weak, but his son was strong and powerful, far bigger and mannlier than Terry could have ever hoped to be. He remembered all those long nights, when he couldn’t sleep because he could smell his son in his bedroom, how he’d jacked off, over and over, imaging his massive boy dominating and fucking him–enslaving him. Years ago, Terry had finally worked up the gall to ask. He’d crawled over to his son, and begged–begged for the privilege of serving him, and Caleb had agreed. He wasn’t Caleb’s father anymore–he was Porky, his pigslave. And Caleb wasn’t his son–he was only his master–all he’d ever wanted. He took another mouthful of ash and swallowed it back, taking a sniff of his son’s musk, of his shitty ass. He wondered if it needed cleaning–Porky would clean it for him. He loved cleaning out his son’s ass and eating his shit and drinking his piss and eating his cum.

That was why Caleb had made him a pig, instead of a slave. See, he’d known all about his father’s filthy interests. He’d left the toilet unflushed on occasion, just so he could listen as his father used to drink his son’s reeking piss from the bowl or eat the turds he’d left behind. He’d made sure to stash his cum soaked jockstraps for his father’s pleasure. Of course, his pigslave hadn’t felt any pleasure in a long time. He’d had his one inch cock locked up long ago–but he didn’t need to cum. In fact, he couldn’t cum–his Master had taken his balls away after five years–now, his scrotum had two half pound steel weights in it, which had successfully stretched it to the ground. That is, if he hadn’t been wearing his diaper. He’d been fucked so much my his master’s massive cock that he couldn’t close his ass anymore–and Master hated it when Porky made a mess in the house.

“Clean my foreskin, Porky,” Caleb said, and with a happy grunt, the pig worked his way under the massive desk his son had had custom made for his massive physique, and started licking under the massive foreskin his son’s foot and a half long cock had shrouding it’s head. The cheese was thick and reeked, but Porky wouldn’t have it any other way, and he snorted and squealed softly in appreciation. He was almost done with it, when Porky heard a loud fart erupt from his ass, and shit started packing its way into the back of his diaper, and he was surprised for a moment…but why surprise? He was used to shitting his diaper by now, why would he be surprised at all? And yet, part of him felt like he’d never done it before in his life, and that everything about this situation was just wrong–but how? This is what he wanted, what his master wanted. Everything was perfect…right?

One of his Master’s big feet curved around to the back of Porky’s diaper and started rubbing up and down the padded bottom, and the pig felt the shit start spreading up and down his crack and around to his caged cock, and he hoped his Master was getting horny. He’d really like to get fucked–he needed a good fuck really bad, but he knew better than to ask for one. That wasn’t what pigs did. Pigs did what their Master’s said, no matter what. They were ready whenever their Master’s wanted them to be. Still, he kept cleaning out his Master’s foreskin, and it was starting to harden–he let himself get a little hopeful.

“Pig,” Caleb said after a few minutes, “Get out of there–that nasty shit stink of yours is getting me all horny.”

Porky couldn’t crawl out of there fast enough, as as soon as he did, his massive Master stood up and ripped the diaper off of him, revealing the pig’s shitty crack and he let out a little groan, got down and worked his massive cock deep into his pig’s ass.

It had taken Porky years to feel anything beyond pain when his master fucked him, but now he was finally used to it, and took the entire shaft up to it’s ass. He could smell his shit now, and he was hungry. Thankfully, his master pushed his diaper under his belly, smearing shit all over it, before it ended up under Porky’s face, and he started licking the diaper clean, grunting and snorting the entire time as his master abused his hole.

“I have a feeling this is gonna get messy,” his Master said, “I think we’d better take this down to the basement.”

Porky felt his Master wrap his arms around his massive gut, and hefted him up off the ground, shocking Porky. He weighed close to 600 pounds now, and his Master was so strong he could pick up with no real effort. What a wonderful master he had! He was so lucky that he could serve him as his pig. With his entire cock buried up Porky’s ass, Caleb left his room and started heading downstairs, and Porky witnessed something…strange. The waves of reality he’d felt…whenever they turned a corner, he could watch them sweep out from where they were, changing the entire house as his Master moved through the house, like reality kept shifting and adjusting to his very whim. It was awe inspiring–he’d had no idea that his master was capable of something like that…and yet…

Something clicked in Porky’s head, and he realized now that this had happened to him before–not this, not being carted around on his Master’s massive cock, but he’d…changed, before. Reality had changed before, and…and Master was the cause of it? But then…maybe things shouldn’t be like this…but why shouldn’t they? He was happy, serving his Master. His Master as happy with him as his pig–why should things be different? How could things be different?

His concern was derailed as they started walking down the steps into the basement, and Porky watched the workbench and tools shift and change into a massive complex–a fully equipped sex dungeon, complete with a cage where Porky lived when his Master didn’t need him. As they walked down the stairs, the pig suddenly noticed a warmth in his ass–but it wasn’t his master cumming, was it? No, there was too much of it–he was pissing in him, filling him up with his piss, and it felt wonderful.It was no surprise then, when his Master headed for the tub–he was apparently in a dirty kind of mood. Porky loved it when his Master was feeling dirty–because Porky was always eager for filth. He was a pig after all.

Caleb hefted his pig over the side of the massive tub–a massive, converted hot tub which had had it’s drain permanently plugged with cement, and there, standing in the middle of the tub, he grabbed his pig’s meaty love handles and started fucking him up and down on his massive cock, feeling his piss run down his shaft as he fucked him, then down his hairy legs where it pooled around his feet. He shifted Porky’s angle, and started thrusting again, and the pig let out a sudden grunt as his master pummeled it’s bladder with his massive cock, and he started to piss uncontrollably, feeling it soak the underside of it’s belly, before running down it’s scrotum, which swung to and fro as his Master fucked him, and between both of their streams, the two of them managed to fill the tub up a couple of inches before they ran dry. Now though, Caleb didn’t care–the stench filling the basement was driving him to new heights of horniness, and he was fucking his pig up and down on his cock as hard as he could sweating from the exertion, Porky simply biting it’s lip and hanging on as best he could, until with a roar, he came, the massive amount of cum from his huge balls flowing out almost immediately from Porky’s entirely loose hole and joining the piss and shit already pooling in the tub, and then Caleb finally set Porky down in the tub, who immediately shoved it’s face into the messy pool, drinking up as much as he could.

Standing over him, his Master just watched the pig debase itself, and then he did something that Porky did not expect–he stepped out of the pool, shook his head, said, “No–no this is…just, not this,” and then stomped his way back up the stairs, slamming the basement door behind him. Porky didn’t know what to think for a moment, but then he realized he must have done something wrong–but what? What could be have done wrong? He’d been a perfectly good slave today…hadn’t he? Besides that time in the bathroom, when…when he’d…

When he’d told his Master no to to fuck him? No, he wouldn’t never do that, he could never do that, it just wasn’t in him. He was too weak, too small, too much of a desperate sub to ever say no to a man as big and powerful and important as his master. But he was shivering in the tub–he could clearly remember doing it, but…but how could he have? He’d been serving his master all day, like usual–they hadn’t even been in the bathroom downstairs, had they? The room was starting to spin, and it felt like…like Proky could start to see little tears happening all around the room, little tears in reality, like the walls and floor were shaking and vibrating to pieces, and he shut his eyes but the cracks were still there.

“No…No, I love my master, I obey my master, I obey, I obey, I obey, I obey…” Porky said, crouched down in the scummy tub, eyes clenched shut, repeating his mantra, and he felt the world start…healing itself again. He couldn’t even tell if it was the world which had been cracking…or just his mind. It was so disconcerting. In the end, he clambered out of the tub and crawled over to his cage, shutting the door behind him, and in the cramped, confined space he’d come to know as his home, he felt a bit more comfortable and sure of himself. Still, he didn’t move, and just stayed there, knowing he’d already broken the unspoken rule when he’d climbed out of the tub, but hopefully his master wouldn’t be too angry, not like that other time…that other…place.

Now that he was calm, he carefully started working through his head, finding other memories that just didn’t…fit. How his daddy had smoked his cock to a nub while he’d ridden his big cock. How he’d made his son a massive dinner, how they’d fucked…it didn’t make any sense, but as soon as he sensed the cracks starting to open again, he shut them all away, and just stayed in the present. The past didn’t matter–it wasn’t important. He just had to focus on being the best pig he could be, and the rest would be ok. His master would make sure of it. Everything would be ok. Now, all he had to do was wait.

His master didn’t keep him waiting too much longer–he heard a door upstairs open and close, and then…as he came downstairs, he could see the walls and ceiling…bulging out, as though reality were pulsating around him, and there were those cracks again, and Porky shut his eyes as tightly as he could, until he heard the basement door open, and then the pressure was all around him again, reality twisting and yanking and contorting him, and this time, it really was painful, like he was a piece of dough that had been kneaded so far as to become nearly inelastic, but it refused to stop. When it finally came to a stop, he was gasping for air around his thick cigar, and started taking a few deep puffs, the tobacco helping him calm down, as he tried to process what had just happened to him.

“Hey daddy bear,” his son’s voice called out from the top of the stairs, “What are you doin’ down here all alone in the dark?”

Terry felt his cock stir, and he adjusted his monstrous tool in the crotch of his pants, and looked up the stairs to where his massive son stood. God, was he even bigger than before? How was that even possible? His head struggled for context, as his eleven foot tall son thumped down the metal staircase Terry had had to put in years earlier, after his son had broken the wooden one that the house had had before…or still had…or…something. He felt like he needed to vomit–hadn’t there been…a tub here? Or had he just imagined it? The basement was equipped with every sort of dungeon tool he and his son had been able to purchase, but never a tub–why hadn’t he thought of that? Damn, that would be hot, the two of them filling it up with their piss and then wallowing in it, fuck…hadn’t they just…just done that?

“What’s up Dad?” Caleb said, “You alright?”

“Yeah…yeah, I’m fine, I just…feel really strange is all.”

“Well, I bet I know what could make you feel better,” Caleb said, slipped his hands under his dad’s arms and then lifted him up into the air. The sense of powerlessness, of being lifted up by his Master–no, not master, his son, always his son, they’d always been equals…well, sure, they’d played some scenarios before, but nothing serious–

He groaned as Caleb ripped open the crotch of just old jeans with his teeth and swallowed his entire foot long cock in one go, resting his dad on the crest of his gut as he sucked him off. God, how had he, at all of five feet, managed to help conceive such a monsterous man? Not that he was complaining of course, but for some reason…none of this seemed possible, nothing seemed right–

With a twist of vertigo, Terry lost his balance and slipped off his son’s gut landing hard on the floor, his head slamming into the concrete, and he rubbed his head, checking for blood, but there wasn’t any, thankfully.

“Fuck–Dad, are you alright?” Caleb said, looming over his father.

“Yeah–yeah, I’m good, I just…just lost my balance is all…I don’t…I don’t think I can…” Terry said, but the vertigo hadn’t let up, and he leaned over and vomited onto the floor. The world, it was starting to rip again like before, and he…he couldn’t take it. He groaned and laid back, trying desperately to hold onto himself as the world threatened to rend apart, but he opened them once quickly, and saw…his son in so many different ways. Fat, old, massive, hairy–he could barely keep track of them all, and then his son had him in his arms, and was rushing up the steps, all the way to his room. He laid his Dad down on his bed, and then sat down at his computer–a specially ordered one for his massive frame–and he started typing, and then, as he finished and hit the return key, another wave rippled out, but this one was entirely different. Instead of trying to bend and twist Terry into some new shape, it felt like it was unfolding him, and as it washed over him, the nausea and vertigo disappeared–but in it’s place can a realization of what had happened over the course of the day…and he screamed.

“Dad! Dad, calm the fuck down dad!” Caleb shouted, pinning Terry down to the bed. They were still in their last forms–all Caleb had done was undo the reality conforming option on the program he’d brought home with him that afternoon, and being twice as tall as his dad, he was able to hold him down easily, not that Terry cared in the least. He kicked and fought anyway, and finally Caleb let him up and he sprinted from the room and into his bedroom, slamming the door behind him, and he slumped back against the wall, just…staring at his hands. His grimy, filthy hands, and his grey beard, and his filthy clothes, and he just started stripping it all off of him in a rush. How many versions of himself had he been today? He couldn’t even keep track of them all in his head–they’d all rushed forward in a massive jumble. Who was he now? Was he actually himself, or was he just some new twisted version his son must have concocted? He stepped out of his pants, naked, and walked in front of his mirrored closet, and nearly sobbed. He…he was disgusting to look at–tattoos and piercings all over his body, missing teeth, and yet looking at himself, his massive cock started to get hard, the footlong cock that stretched down nearly to his knee he was so short, but his gut was so big that he couldn’t even see it when he craned over. He turned away before he could get anymore aroused and do something he might regret, and ran into the bathroom to run a hot shower and get clean.

There was a pounding on his bedroom door, “Dad? Dad, please–we need to talk–I can explain!”

“Stay the fuck away from me, you fucking freak!” Terry shouted, “What the fuck were you thinking! Look at what you fucking did to me!”

“Look, I know…I know I got a bit carried away, alright? I just–”

“A little carried away?” Terry shouted, “A little fucking carried away?” He stalked over to the bedroom door and flung it open, but when he saw his massive son standing there–or rather, when he found himself face to face with his son’s two foot long cock, words failed him utterly, and his anger dissolved into…pure lust. But before he let it overwhelm him, he stepped back in and slammed the door, but he could smell him, he could fucking smell his boy’s nasty funk through the goddamn door and fuck if his son wasn’t the hottest piece of man he’d ever seen!

“Dad…” Caleb said, “Dad, it’s going to be ok!”

“Stay…stay away from me Caleb, please, just change us back, please…” Terry said, but the anger was gone. He was pleading now–desperate, and he heard the knob twist, and the door start to push open, and he tried to push back, but his son was so much…stronger than he was, god, he was so…so proud of him, and from where he was sitting on the floor, looking up at his massive boy, all he wanted to do was fuck him.

“Dad, Look…I…”

Terry couldn’t even see his son’s face past his massive ball gut, but he didn’t care. He stood up, walked over and just started licking the foreskinned head of his cock, unable to resist, digging his tongue under the folds for his son’s delicious cheese, disgusted with what he was doing, but also utterly unable to contemplate doing anything else.

“Dad, you…you don’t…oh…”Caleb said, and groaned, his cock leaking precum which Terry drank down, but the flow was so heavy a good amount of it just dribbled down into his massive beard. “Dad, please…we…we have to…God damn it, that’s fucking enough!” Caleb said, stepped back, grabbed his dad and hefted him up to his eye level. “Dad, can we please just talk about this?”

“Why, son?” Terry said angrily, “You obviously just want me to be a short, nasty old daddy bear desperate for sex with his son, and now that…that I can’t fucking keep my hands off you, you fucking want me to stop? Just…just fuck me, already. Fuck me, and…and fuck, let me drink your piss, and eat…eat your goddamn shit, and–”

Caleb gave him a good shake, and said, “Enough!” Look, I know I fucked up, alright? I get it! I’d put everything back, if I could but…but…well, I kind of messed up the program…”

“What fucking program? What the fuck are you talking about?”

Caleb heaved a sigh, and fell back onto his ass, the house shuddering under his weight, and then he set his dad down on his big gut, and explained the story as best he could. He had been at the mall earlier that day, but he hadn’t been at the mall with friends. He’d been there by himself, just being a loner, when he’d spotted this new curio shop. They’d had a discount electronics section, and the shop owner had recommended this strange program to him. Caleb had thought it was a photo manipulation program–some photoshop knock off–but it had been a bit more…expansive than that. It turned out to be a program which could completely alter the face of reality, and, well, Caleb had let things get a little out of control.

“Look, Dad, all…all I really wanted was for you to be happy again, and I’d always…well, I’d always thought you were hot, so I thought, well…why not?”

Terry just glared at his son, “So you turn me into all of those…those people? For fun? That wasn’t fun, that was a nightmare!”

“I don’t know, you seemed to have enjoyed most of it.”

“Porky was not–fucking–enjoyable.”

Caleb blushed, “Yeah…I…I don’t have an excuse for that one, that one…that was a mistake.”

“No, this whole thing was a mistake. Just…just turn us back, and let’s get rid of it, and we can pretend like none of this ever happened, alright? Let’s just put everything back the way it was.”

Caleb was silent, and hung his head, “I…well, I can’t.”

“What do you mean you can’t?”

“Look, dad, I…I was running the program so that, however I changed myself, reality would automatically adjust itself to conform to me–that’s why, well, you probably have had a strange afternoon. But what I didn’t know, was, well, when you twist reality too much for the people around you, apparently some strange shit can happen. I mean, when we were down in the basement, you started…you flipped out. I mean, not just your screaming and stuff, but your body too. It looked…I don’t know, like it was stretching and collapsing and…and I just got scared. I got scared, so I ran up and turned off the reality adjustment, and that collapsed everything down together, but…well, I was just looking at it, and the program’s locked down.”

“What?”

“It’s locked down. I can’t change reality anymore, until it normalizes. I took a closer look, and apparently the program won’t unlock until it can purge everything from this reality that doesn’t belong. Like…like our memories, and…and that sort of thing.”

Terry just stared at his son. “Are you telling me that we’re going to be stuck like this?”

“Yeah…I mean, not for too long, like less than a day. The bar says it’ll finish sometime tomorrow morning.”

“Well, we can just change ourselves back then.”

“No, Dad, you don’t get it–we won’t remember what we were like. We won’t even remember that we’ve used the program. None of that will have happened to us…we’ll be who we are now, and it’ll be like that’s who we’ve always been…I’m…I’m sorry dad, but I’m telling you the truth. This…this is kind of who we’re stuck as.”

Terry didn’t say anything for a second, he just let that sink in. “You mean…you mean, I’m stuck as this five foot dwarf, a fucking dwarf who can’t–can’t stop thinking about how much he want’s to have…have filthy, nasty sex with his own son? His…his eleven foot tall son, who’s twice the size of me, and stinks like a fucking outhouse?”

“You don’t have to be a jerk about it, dad! I said I was sorry!”

“Well sorry isn’t going to cut it!” Terry shouted, and climbed down off of his son, “I had a life Caleb, I was…I was…”

He couldn’t remember. He focused really hard, as hard as he could, but it was like staring through a thick fog–he knew what was there, but he couldn’t see it. The more distant the change, the harder it was to see, and his old life, it was gone–he hadn’t always been gay, had he? Had…Hadn’t he? He didn’t want to be straight. that was for sure, but…wasn’t there? Sure,he loved his son…

Terry shouted, and punched the wall in anger, but it was gone–it was gone, and it wasn’t going to come back.

“Dad…Dad, look–I know this isn’t what…what you would have wanted, but we’re going to be happy at least, right?”

“Don’t you fucking say anything–nothing you say can fucking make this right!” Terry shouted at his son, but Caleb didn’t say anything back–he just reached over, grabbed his dad, and pulled him into a tight hug. “God damn it Caleb! Let me go! Let–let me..” he said, but then he was crying, and his big son was holding him tight, and everything…everything wasn’t really so bad, was it? He hadn’t wanted this, no–but he wanted it now, he wanted it…badly, and that scared him even more.

“Look, dad–I…I know I can’t make things right, but…but look, maybe I can make things better, you know? Here, come on. I can’t fix reality, but I can make some limited changes–”

“No–No more changes, I’m done.”

“Well, I was going to make you taller…” Caleb said, grinning, “But if you like being a ‘dwarf’ now, I think it’s damn sexy, myself.”

“But you said you couldn’t change anything,” Terry said, suddenly suspicious that his son might have been lying to him before, “If you can change me, why can’t you just change me–us–back?”

“Because you–the ‘old’ you–could have never existed in this reality. Even if the program let me make the change, which I don’t think it would, by tomorrow morning you’d be back to this, or something close. But, if I just make a few tweaks–some changes that this reality can absorb and integrate–then I think I can make things a bit better. So look–you tell me what I can do to make you better–this you–and I’ll do the best that I can.”

Terry just looked down, “How…How can I trust you? How can I ever trust you again, Caleb? I mean, I can’t…”

“Dad, I can’t undo what I did–if I could, I would. I never…I never meant things to get this out of hand, and I’d…I’d always thought I would just put things back the way they were, eventually. But I can’t, so…so let me make it up to you. Come on, I know you had fun some of the time…tell me what you liked best.” Caleb sat down next to his dad again, reached over and started toying with his cock.

Caleb let out a groan when his son touched him, and all he wanted to do was throw himself at his boy and just fuck, but he held back. Still, he wasn’t happy like this, really, so he might as well take advantage of his son’s offer. What had he enjoyed? How far back could he remember? He…he’d liked how it had felt being fat, actually–as the chef. He’d been massive, sure, but so…confident. How fucked up was that, that he’d actually enjoyed being huge, obese gainer? But it was true. “I…I liked being fat–actually. When I was the chef. And…and I really liked the whole…the whole smoking thing. Not being your cub, but just…smoke. And I gotta say, these tattoos are kind of sexy. Actually, it was probably most fun being that redneck daddy of yours. The accent scared me at first, but…and god, it’s so messed up, I know, but being…being this filthy, and seeing you this filthy, it turns me on so much, and you know, I actually kind of liked shitting myself as Porky, with that diaper and–” Terry blushed and stopped talking, suddenly embarrassed. “But mostly I–I’d like to be taller. Just forget the rest of what I said, I…I didn’t really mean any of that.”

Caleb just looked at his dad for a second, before he said, “You really did enjoy yourself, didn’t you?”

“Just make me taller, would you?”

Caleb grinned and said, “Sure thing dad,” and got up, smirking, lumbering into his room and sitting down at the computer, “One taller dad, coming right up–but not as tall as me,” and then under his breath added, “and…maybe a few other…small details…”

“Wait, what?” Terry asked, but before he could get closer to see what his son was doing, Caleb was already typing away, and suddenly, well, every step threw him off balance as he tried to walk, his legs thickening and lengthening with each stride, and it was all he could do to not fall over when he just stood still. Well, he was definitely taller–if his son was eleven feet, Terry probably capped out around eight, or maybe nine. It was strange seeing everything from that high up, and the sense of vertigo hung around for a few moments until he became more used to his new perspective. It was then that he realized that Caleb was still typing–and that he was still changing. His final body had been mostly muscle–and at his five foot height, he couldn’t have weighed more than 150 pounds, but that was rapidly changing. Looking down, he saw fat start bubbling up under his skin, shrouding his physique, but it didn’t stop there. His gut ballooned out, and then softened into an apron like the one he’d had in the kitchen–except bigger. Hell, he’d been one fat tub of lard then, but at his new height, he had to be over six or seven hundred pounds of blubber.

“Caleb! Caleb, I fucking told you to just make me taller! What the fuck is this–I don’t–” Terry started to say, but Caleb had already gotten up from the computer, walked over and drawn him into a deep kiss, pulling his fat body into his big gut and muscular chest, and Terry couldn’t help but just melt, especially when his son started fiddling with his big nipples, and jiggling his flab, his cock was so hard…

“Dad,” Caleb said, when they pulled apart, “Stop thinking so much. I know what you want, now quit worrying about who you were, and let me make you happy–let me…make you feel good.”

“Caleb…please…I…” Terry started to say, but his son shushed him.

“You know, I think we need to keep that mouth of yours occupied with something else, don’t you?”

Caleb sat back down at the computer, and Terry just watched him. He should stop him, shouldn’t he? And yet, he was…so damn curious, and horny, and excited. He needed something to calm him down. He reached into the front pocket of the massive overalls he was wearing, pulled out his can of chew and started packing it into his lips on both sides, his cock pulsing as he packed himself full. He fucking loved the sensation of a big lipper, and it only got better when he pulled out one of his massive, 70 ring cigars, stuck it in his mouth and lit it up, taking a massive draw, and pulling out as much spit as he could from the leaves in his mouth. “Aww, sheet yeah boy, feel’s damn fine…” he said, and he had to think about it for a second before he realized that the heavy southern drawl hadn’t been there a second before. “Fuck, ya went ‘n changed me again, didn’ ya…”

Terry knew better than to ask his son to stop what he was doing, and if he were honest–he liked what Caleb was doing, and didn’t really want him to stop. Hell, they’d been fucking each other for so long, why should he be embarrassed? He felt like that wasn’t quite right for some reason, but if he couldn’t remember a time when he and his son weren’t desperate to fuck…then was that really true anymore? Sure, maybe at some point, in some other reality, but in this one, well, in this one he was gonna be one hot stinking redneck, with the sexiest son in the whole neighborhood.

Looking down at himself, he saw that Caleb still wasn’t finished. The tattoos on his arms grew together into solid sleeves, and he watched the patterns worm their way over the rest of his body, and under his overalls. He figured that, at this point, most of his body was probably covered. His beard and hair grew out a bit further, and he pulled his thick, greying hair back into the ponytail he preferred, feeling the hair become greasy and slimy as he gripped it. Yep, apparently his boy wasn’t satisfied with his hygiene either, and before too long he just…well, stank. But it was a hot, musky, filthy stink, the kind of stink he loved, and he grinned, squirting some tobacco juice from his mouth, feeling it run down into his beard. “Damn boy, ya sure ain’t foolin’ round none.”

“Nope,” Caleb said, “I don’t think the changes will stick too much–reality will probably reassert itself by the time to program runs its course, but I figure we might as well have a little fun in the meantime, eh Pa?” Caleb stood up, and when he did, Terry say that his son wasn’t just a couple feet taller than him anymore–apparently his son had had a few changes in mind for himself too.

“Gawd damn, son, yer jus’ gonna make me feel short again,” Terry said, taking another massive draw off his huge cigar.

“Hey, you said that ya didn’t wanna be a dwarf–well ya ain’t a dwarf,” Caleb said, his own speech patterns shifting to match Terry’s, “but ya didn’ say Ah couldn’t git taller.”

Caleb was growing taller–probably to about twelve feet–as tall as the already oversized ceilings in their house. He lost a bit of his round gut, but what he lost in fat he made up for in muscle–he was becoming damn ripped, in fact. He still had a big gut, but on top of that were two massive pecs, and his biceps and thighs were making Terry’s mouth water, more tobacco spit dribbling down his beard. He didn’t seem nearly as unkempt as his father, his beard and hair were trimmed up quite a bit shorter, but damn did he reek. Not like Terry, who had a certain lazy stench of filth about him–Caleb reeked of sweat and workouts and…sex. He also gained a substantial number of tattoos, and fuck if he didn’t look like a sexy fucking beast, standing there a few feet away. Terry wondered for a moment what someone would think if they stumbled upon the two of them…but he didn’t care–he just didn’t care one lick. He just wanted to fuck his boy all night–

Terry was suddenly caught off guard by a massive fart ripping out his ass, along with something else. It caught him by surprise, when the stench of shit slammed into him, and he froze, realizing that he had just packed the ass of his overalls with a massive load of shit, and Caleb walked over, reached around with both hands, grabbed his Pa by the ass, smashing the load around as he pulled his obese father into a deep kiss. The two of them spent a few minutes chewing Terry’s tobacco between the two of them, brown spit running down both of them, as Caleb kept working the shit around in the back of his dad’s overalls until it came around the front, coating his balls and cock…and fuck if it didn’t feel amazing. He couldn’t…he couldn’t even be ashamed of it anymore, he didn’t care, it felt so good, so nasty and just so…so right.

“Piss fer me Pa, come on, soak these fuckin’ overalls a yers…” Caleb whispered, and Terry did as he requested, taking a drag off his cigar, before blasting a full load of piss into his overalls, feeling it soak into the shit, and it ran down his legs and into the rubber boots he was wearing. He could feel the shit and piss squishing between his toes, and he let out a deep groan which his son silenced with another long kiss. “You like it…don’t ya Pa?”

“Fuck son, I fuckin’ do–how fuckin twisted is that?”

Caleb chuckled, pushing all of the tobacco back into his dad’s mouth, “Not as twisted as this.” He then gave Terry a shove, and he fell back, landing on his massive ass, feeling the shit squish around with the impact, and then his son was on him, unbuckling the latches on his overalls and pulling down the front. Looking down, Terry could see his cock was coated with piss and shit, but before he really had a chance to think about it, his son was sucking it clean, deepthroating his whole, two foot long cock.

“Oh fuck yeah, boy!” Terry said, twisting and yanking at his nipples as he ground his shitty crack into the floor of his son’s room, “You fuckin’ love the taste a yer Pa’s shit ‘n piss, don’t ya? Yeah, yer just a nasty fuckin’ redneck pig like me.”

“Well, like father like son, ya know?” Caleb said, pulling off Terry’s cock, shit smeared across his face, “Ya really oughta try some a this Pa, I think ya’d love it. Here, I know jus’ what tah do.” Caleb scooted down to Terry’s booted feet, and pulled off one of his boots, still full of his  own piss, and took a whiff. “Whoo wee, Pa, ya sure do love yer rubber, don’t ya? When’s the last time ya took these off? Still, Ah think yer gonna love it, though,” Caleb said, and brought the boot up to Terry’s lips, “Open up Pa, ‘n taste yer fuckin’ filth.”

Most of it went down his fat gullet, but plenty of it washed out and down his front, where his hands rubbed it into his fatty folds, and hell if it wasn’t one of the filthiest things he’d ever tasted, his piss, shit combining with the tobacco in his mouth. When he finished, he realized he’d accidentally swallowed some of his chaw, he’d been so eager for his own waste. His son yanked off the second boot and fed that mess to his Pa as well, afterwhich Terry worked up a mighty belch. “Fuck boy, that hit the spot.”

“Ha, don’ tell me that was enough tah satisfy a big pig like you.”

“Satisfied? Hell nah, I could put away plenty more where tha’ came from!”

“Oh is that so, Pa?” Caleb said, grinning, “Well, it just so happens I might have some more…if you want it.”

Looking up at his massive son, over twice as tall as a normal man now, Terry tried to get a grip on himself, but it felt like the entire universe was just spinning out of his control. Of course he wanted to eat his son’s shit–and he quickly realized, it’s not like this would be the first time. He tried to remember that he hadn’t always been this fat ass redneck, but it was easier to remember that he and his son had been each other’s toilets for years now, and they both fucking loved every second of it. Worse–or perhaps better–he couldn’t even be ashamed of it anymore. “Fuck yeah, show me what ya got fer Papa, boy,”Terry said, letting himself smile, his gut giving a hungry rumble of eagerness.

Caleb dropped the grimy gym shorts he was wearing, and saw his son had on one of his filthiest jockstraps, and he gave a little moan when the stench hit his face. Caleb straddled his dad’s chest and shoved the stinking piss, cum and shit stained mesh into his father’s mouth and nose, grinding it back and forth, and said, “You wanna be my big piggy toilet today, Pa? You want me to cram a big load a shit down yer fuckin’ throat?”

Terry wasn’t listening, he was chewing at the jock and his son’s massive bulge, his cock even larger than his erect two foot tool beneath his big fat gut. He didn’t care anymore. He loved his son so much…especially the massive logs of shit Caleb proceeded to feed his father, making sure of overload him faster than he could swallow, to give Caleb some to lick out of his filthy beard afterwards–but not before his father had worked both of his fists up his hole, milking his prostate until he’s shot a gigantic wad all over his father’s fat gut. Still, the two of them were insatiable, and as the timer on the computer continued to count down, and their memories of their previous identities continued to dwindle, the two of them kept on, fucking, feeding, fisting, pissing, shitting and licking the night away, until they’d finally collapsed, exhausted, on the floor of Caleb’s room, and cuddled each other to sleep in their own filth.

The next thing Terry knew, he was stretching in his son’s oversize bed in his room, worming his way out of his son’s grip and pulling himself off his son’s big dick which had mysteriously snuck its way up his ass sometime in the night. The bed underneath him was sopping wet, but he was used to that–both he and his boy had a habit of wetting and shitting the bed in the night, not that either one of them would have it any other way. He sat up and stretched, feeling the dry shit on him crack as he did, and he stood up, giving his hole a scratch and licking off the scum his fingers pulled away. Waddling over to the mirror, he took a look at himself–he could still distantly remember that he hadn’t always been like this, but it was simply an abstract fact–he had no actual memories of his prior identities.

He was shorter than the night before–reality must have not liked him being that tall. Still, he was bigger than the five feet he’d started out with, but had probably dropped back to about seven. He hadn’t lost a pound of fat though, and on his shorter physique he was absolutely massive now, and so fucking sexy, slathered with shit…He reached around in his flab but couldn’t get a good grip on his cock, and gave up in a huff, looking back at his massive, slumbering son. He could fuck his hole of course…but maybe it would be better to let him sleep a bit more. Caleb could be such a bear in the morning, but taking his Pa’s piss and shit down his throat usually improved his mood considerably. That, and a few cups of strong black coffee. Terry let him slumber and lumbered over past the computer and jiggled the mouse, before sitting down at the desk and looking at the program which had made such a mess of everything.

There was a timer in the corner–it had about five minutes left. He took a few moments to stuff a whole can of chaw in his mouth and light up a cigar, before watching as the clock ticked away the rest of his alternate pasts, wondering if he should feel sad about losing them. But why should he? He was happy–his son was happy. However they might have been before didn’t matter to him all that much, in the grand scheme of things, and by the time the clock elapsed, he wasn’t entirely sure what he was contemplating anymore, as the final, fleeting sensation that things might have been different were erased, and then a window popped up, alerting Terry that the reality synchronization had completed, and that full functionality had been restored to the program.

Terry closed that window…and then smiled, and started looking around the program. There was a lot to it, and a lot that he could do with it…and he realized, that there was nothing stopping him. Eager now, his cock hard, he started making changes to his profile and his son’s, but as he was about to activate the changes, he paused. Something told him that he should wait, and let his son look at it too–they needed to do this together, it was too big to surprise someone with. Still, Terry had something else he could use to surprise his son.

He went over to where his son was still snoring, the covers off, and got down next to his ass, licking his lips, and started cleaning out his son’s hole, listening to him moan and mutter as he slept, and just as he was sleepily coming to, his dad stood up and worked his cock into his ass. “Aw fuck, Pa!” Caleb groaned as Terry drove the entire two feet length into Caleb’s ass, “Ain’t it a bit early?”

“It’s nearly noon, son!” Terry said with a chuckle, gripping his cigar in his teeth, “and ya know how Ah git when Ah’m horny, not come on and open up.” Caleb let his Pa fuck his hole, somewhat begrudgingly, given how sleepy he still was, but after Terry came, he was nice enough to give his boy a blowjob and swallow his load of morning piss too. “Alright son, now come ‘ere, I got somethin’ tah show ya.”

Terry had Caleb sit down at the computer, and then showed his son the changes he’d planned while Caleb was asleep. Caleb was at first a bit skeptical, but as his dad explained it, and as his cock got harder, he was finding less and less objectionable about what his dad was suggesting. Still, he had a few changes he wanted to work in first.

“Ya sure ya wanna go through with this, Pa?” Caleb asked, as they put the finishing touches on the changes, “Ah don’t think this is gonna be reversible.”

“Ah don’t give a flyin’ fuck–this is gonna be so god-damn hot!” Terry said, sucking on his cigar, “Ya done with yer changes yet?”

“Hold yer horses, this is…kinda delicate, ‘n ya weren’t all that careful when ya did it the first time.”

“Ha–’delicate.’ Ain’t nothin’ delicate ‘bout what’s gonna happen here today.”

Caleb laughed, and looked over the screens of the computer again. “Alright, Ah think it’s ready. I made sure it’ll load from the cloud too–cause Ah don’ think the computer’s gonna survive this.”

“Whatever–turn it on and let’s git this show on the road!”

Caleb looked at the computer, and couldn’t believe that they were about to do this, but why the hell not? And then he hit the ok button, and felt himself start to grow, but faster than usual.

“Shit–this is gonna hurt, ain’t it?” Terry said, and Caleb looked over at his dad, and saw that between the two of them they were rapidly filling up the bedroom.

“Well you’re the one who didn’t want to turn on the reality adjuster!”

“Well, then it wouldn’t have been a surprise tah everyone else! Come on, we’d better git outside, if we can!”

Caleb hurried out of the room and down the stairs, and barely squeezed his way out of the front door as he grew too big to fit, but his dad was too slow with all of his flab, and by the time he reached the living room, he was too big to fit through.

“Aww shit, yeah, this is gonna hurt…” Terry said, as his bulk quickly filled the living room, breaking furniture and pushing against the walls of the room.

“Hold on Pa, I’ll help ya!” Caleb said. He was taller than the first story now, and he picked up the family car–amazed that his strength was already enough for it to feel like a heavy dumbbell in his hands, and started slamming it into the upper story of the house, and then into the floor, opening up a big enough hole that his dad could work his way to standing. Together, they demolished the house as they grew, and before long Terry was free, the side of the house was little more than rubble, and the two of them were still growing. By the time they were finished, Caleb had grown to six stories tall–more than twice as tall as their house had been–and Terry maxed out at four stories–shorter than his son, but still massive. Terry looked around at what had been a sleepy neighborhood on a Sunday morning, but hearing the commotion, people had piled out of their doors, and now stood gaping at the two giants where their neighbor’s house had been.

Smiling, Terry grabbed one of the trees from their backyard and uprooted it, rolling it between his hands. As he did, the wood shifted in pattern until it formed itself into a massive cigar, and with a snap of his fingers, it lit up, and he took a deep draw on it, exhaling a massive plume of smoke which settled about the two of them like a fog. He made a second one and handed it to his son, and soon enough they were both pumping out a massive amount of smog. “Well son, let’s head downtown. I think we need tah introduce ourselves tah the community.”

“Sounds like a plan tah me, Pa,” Caleb replied, and together, the two thundered off through the streets.

***

Wellington wasn’t a large town, but it was relatively peaceful, especially on a Sunday. Many of the stores that lined the main street had just opened a few hours ago, and business had been slow so far. Still, it started out as a beautiful morning, but around noon, the strangest thing happened–a massive wall of fog started working it’s way into the small town. People who were outside were the first to be affected, and as soon as it swept over them and they inhaled it, they discovered that it wasn’t fog at all–but smoke.

Several people called the fire department, and a few described the smoke as smelling not like a burning building–but like a cigar. It was soon after that the people first exposed to the fog started to change. It affected the women first, usually a few minutes after exposure, as they were suddenly struck by a crippling pain, their breasts disappearing as their bodies changed, their vaginas sealing up as their cliotori expanded into new, massive penises. Men, however, were affected too, most of them developing copious amounts of body hair, their beards growing out of control as well. A few experienced a sudden shift in age as well–often into middle age or even beyond. This was seen most commonly in teenagers and children, as they rapidly aged into their forties and fifties, their personalities and minds changing along with their bodies.

The fire trucks roared past this chaos and deep into the fog, and so the firefighters were the first to be hit with the second smell. It was something between a filthy locker room, day old sneakers, and sweaty towel–the most powerful, overwhelming musk any of them had ever smelled. It forced itself on them, and as the smoke started changing them, the found themselves growing hornier. The truck came to a halt as the driver started ripping at his uniform, desperately trying to get to his cock, but before he could start jacking off, the man next to him, his beard reaching down to his chest, leaned over and started sucking him off. The men found it impossible to think about anything beyond sex, their minds slowly draining away as the stench drifted into town.

As the people recovering from the changes the smoke wrought smelled–and saw–what was happening, the men of the town being turned into sex-crazed beasts, they started to run away from the sirens towards the other side of town, hoping to escape the musk and the smoke, but after a few blocks–on the other side of the train tracks–they found themselves faced with a different monstrosity–a giant man, hugely obese and stinking of filth, stood in their way, straddling the main street, and before any of them could turn and run back in the other direction, they watched the giant smile, squat, and then shit several massive piles of filth into the middle of the street.

The stench was horrific, but the men found themselves unable to turn away. In fact, they found themselves growing hungrier, the more they smelled it. The weaker willed among them almost immediately gave a few snorts and then charged towards the muck, devouring as much of it as they could, as quickly as they could, but in the end the men started swarming into the shit, all of them starved for it, desperate for it, and as they ate, they began to change one again.

It started out as weight gain, fat packing onto them faster than any of them could have ever imagined, coupled with some growth as well–most of them averaging at about a story tall, with some of the first ones several feet taller. Their human features had twisted–their feet and hands becoming hooved trotters, tusks emerging from their now snouted faces, their eyes feral, perverted and starved for lust. The giant sat down and his minions swarmed over him, licking his body clean of any filth they could find, and with a sigh he let loose a fountain of piss, his pigmen fighting over the stream, thirsty as could be, and desperate to serve their new master.

On the other side of town, the men lost to the stench of musk found their minds becoming duller and duller, and many of them didn’t even notice when the huge, muscular giant strode past them, his massive cock half hard and dribbling a torrent of precum. That–however–they did notice, the smell of fresh cum drawing them like flies. The men drank it down, growing hairier, muscular and muskier as they did, their bodies almost devolving into some sort of beastly form, fanged and clawed and ferociously horny. They fought with each other over it, and the giant stood over them, milking cum from his cock, feeding his beasts, until one of them latched onto the head, drinking more than the rest–becoming the pack’s alpha. It roared at the massive giant, ready to challenge it for control, but before it could attack, the massive man sprayed all of the beasts down with a massive load of piss. They fell back then, immediately subservient after being marked by their master, and came forward, serving him, licking away his sweaty musk and serving his cock and his hole eagerly.

When the town had been emptied of people and divided between the two giants, they met in the middle, their hordes following close behind, and tackled each other to the ground, kissing and grinding their massive bodies together in the street, their hordes swarming on and around them. It was a day later when the two of them finally pulled apart, their hordes exhausted and sleeping all over the ruins of the town, and Caleb and Terry looked at each other and smiled.

“Hey, Burisburg is just a few miles down the road–wanna do it again?”

“Sounds awesome to me–can’t wait!”

Serving the Cloth

Ty pulled his car into the driveway, still trying to wrap his head around what had just happened to him at the store. It had just been a regular grocery store, and yet, when he’d gone back to pick up some more cleaning equipment–everything was gone. The shelves were simply empty, and when he’d asked an employee what was going on, they hadn’t even been able to give him a straight answer. He’d left the building in a huff, but as soon as he had, a short elderly man with a beard running down to the pavement had stopped him and shoved a spray bottle into his hand.

“Here boy,” the man said with a chuckle, “You’re going to need something extra-strength to deal with that house you’re trying to clean up!” Before Ty could even say anything, the man had run off, laughing. He must have just been a crazy guy–but every store he’d been to after that had been just as empty as the first. It seemed that no one in town had any cleaning equipment–well, aside from the bottle of “Clean-All” the old man had given him. Annoyed, he climbed out of the car and went up to the front door of the house he and his dad were cleaning after their lessee had skipped out on them, and went inside.

“Dad! I’m back. You’re not going to believe this–I went all over town and no one had anything! How crazy is that?”

“Pretty…pretty damn crazy. Son…Son, get in here, I got…we got something you need to do. I’m in the living room.”

Ty walked into the next room, taking the bottle of Clean-All with him, turned the corner, and froze when he say his dad sitting on the chair, a half-smoked cigar clamped in his maw, wearing a filthy yellow jockstrap he was certain he’d thrown out, along with a black muscle shirt and denim vest. “Dad–what the fuck are you doing? Is this supposed to be some kind of joke?”

“Son–I need you to…to get over here, and lick…lick up all the piss–all the fuckin’ piss!” Mick said, laughing then, and he stood up, “Gonna make you fucking lick it up, son. Gonna…Gonna turn you intah mah little pigcunt!”

Mick charged Ty, tackling him to the ground. He went down hard, scattering a pile of trash all over the floor as he landed, the spray bottle skittering from his hand, and then his dad was on him, pinning his son’s arms to his sides with his piss damp thighs, grabbing the back of his head and shoving him face first into the filthy jock he was wearing. “Dad! Dad, what are you doing, let me go!”

“Now now, jus’ calm down son, it’ll all be alright soon, we…we have it all planned out, don’t you worry, we have it all planned out.”

Ty tried to fight back, but when he opened his mouth to fight–the jock wiggled and then shoved its way into his mouth like it was alive, and as he tasted the rank piss, musk and cum of the jock, he felt–and heard–a voice. A strong, powerful will assaulting his mind, telling him to suck on it, to lick it to worship it. To crawl over, snorting and grunting, and lick up all his Pa’s piss while his Pa fucked his fat–fat piggy hole, how hot it was gonna be, servin’ his Pa, ‘n cleanin’ his filthy body, ‘n wearin’ all these fuckin’…fuckin’ filthy clothes. They needed to be worn, he could hear them, and he would, he’d wear them all he’d wear them–

With a scream, Ty managed to block out the voice for a second, long enough to put his hands up on his dad’s back and shove himself underneath him, disgusted as his nose squeezed past his dad’s reeking taint, but he was free, and he rolled over onto his hands and knees, grabbed the closest thing to him as a weapon, and stood up.

The spray bottle. He’d grabbed the fucking bottle of Clean-All–what fucking good was that going to do? Still, it was better than nothing, and he held it out as his dad stood up, laughing. “Slippery little pig–not gonna matter. Gonna rape ya little pig, gonna rape yer hole till ya like it, we’re gonna wear ya little pig, we’re gonna wear ya, ‘n wear ya out!”

His dad charged him again, and Ty squeezed the trigger, a cloud of spray slamming into his dad, who screamed in pain and stumbled back. As Ty watched, he saw the shirt and vest he was wearing writhe in agony, before they dissolved into some sort of goop on the ground, and his dad looked clean–normal–or at least the top half did. In a panic, Mick grabbed the jockstrap and clambored out of it, wadding it up and hurling it across the room, where it slammed into the wall, landed on the floor, and…stood up.

Ty couldn’t believe what he was seeing, and then he noticed that the whole room was shuffling–all of the clothing was climbing out of bags, and then they swarmed. Ty was able to keep them back from him and his father for a few moments, long enough for Mick to stand up, and then they were rushing through the house, a horde of filthy clothing pursuing them, and a few seconds too late–Ty realized they were actually herding them deeper into the house. A grungy flannel shirt opened the basement door, and the clothes surged forward, shoving Mick and Ty into the doorway, sending them tumbling down the stairs and into the darkness below.

Neither of them had been down into the rental’s basement yet–they’d been too afraid. Mick quickly untangled himself from his son and stood up–his head bonking the chain attached to the single light. Thankful he’d found that at least, he reached up and clicked it–light flooding the basement–or what had been a basement. Now, well, he didn’t know what their lessee had been up to, but the room looked more like a dungeon more than anything else. In the room, he saw a sling and some sort of wooden cross, and the walls were lined with all sorts of paddles, dildos, whips, and then he saw it. The mass of leather and metal coalescing in one corner of the room–there was so much of it. He watched as the mass stood up–a seven foot tall golem of leather and chain which stalked toward them. “Ty! Look out!” Mick shouted, but one thick arm swung out, extending as it flew and slammed into Mick, throwing him back against one of the concrete walls if the room, before wrapping itself around his son and dragging him into the mass.

“No!” Mick shouted, and crawled up, his head spinning. He had to find the bottle his son had used, he looked around the room, saw it lying below the stairs and ran over, only to have something fly into his face and send him stumbling back–the jockstrap.

No, no–not the jockstrap. His jockstrap. His favorite jockstrap. His one and only jockstrap. He wore it everywhere, all the time, why in the world had he taken it off? He took a deep inhale of the pouch, and then pulled it back on, shivering as the pissdamp pouch cupped his cock and balls, gently massaging him until he was half hard and leaking like a faucet. He let out a groan of pleasure, and felt his body growing grungier as he stood there–and took a deep whiff of his pits. Not dirty enough–he wasn’t dirty enough. Still, he…he could fix that, but he had to…destroy it. Yes, destroy the evil thing, destroy it destroy the thing that hurts them destroy it–

He tromped over to the bottle of Clean-All and picked it up, but before he could obey the jockstrap, because he knew he would only have one chance–he turned the nozzle towards his crotch and sprayed.

The scream that ripped through his mind was excruciating, but only lasted a moment, as the jockstrap, caught in the full blast, dissolved in moments, leaving Mick panting and shaking. He did it–he didn’t know it that would work–but it had.

“Dad! Help!”

Mick turned and saw his son tangled up in the mass of leather. As soon as he spoke, however, a strap of leather wrapped around his throat, turning his face blue, and then he was gone, swallowed up by the beast. Mick ran over, bottle outstretched, and sprayed the leather before it could smack him again. The golem yanked itself back and then recoiled, his son dropping unconscious from it’s body to the concrete floor as the leather retreated to its corner. Mick grabbed his son under his arms and flung him over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry, and tromped up the stairs, one hand steadying Ty, and the other brandishing the spray bottle.

At the top of the stairs, it was clear that destroying the jockstrap had meant something to the rest of the clothing. They menaced them, but kept their distance, well out of the spray bottle’s range, and so Mick, huffing and puffing by the end, managed to weave his way out of the house, stumbling down the front steps naked, threw open the car door with the keys from his son’s pocket, and laid Ty out in the back seat. He hurried around before anyone could see him, climbed in and started the car, driving off as fast as he could, before he slowed down and pulled off to the side of street, shaking and panicked and terrified of what had just happened. He laid his head on the steering wheel, taking a few deep breaths…and then he heard his son chuckle.

He looked back, past the center console, and saw that Ty was awake–and that he’d changed. His son had been a string bean, but in the course of a few minutes, as they’d driven away, he’d put on a ton of muscle, and as Mick watched, tattoos snaked their way past his bicep and down his forearm. “Too…too tight…” Ty said, his voice deep and thick. He grabbed his shirt in one hand and ripped it away with a grunt, revealing a thick leather harness underneath. It must have wormed its way on when Ty had been in the grip of it, and Mick hadn’t checked–

Before he could grab the bottle of Clean-All, however, a slender leather collar which had twined its way around one of the harnesses straps shot out and coiled its way around Mick’s neck, choking him. He clawed at it, but it was no use–he was too weak, too…too submissive, too pitiful he had to serve, serve his son, serve the master the master was more important. Struggling for air, and for his sanity, Mick watched his son continue to change, growing taller, and more brutish by the minute, his eyes dull and cruel and masterful and Mick loved him so much, didn’t he? Loved him as a son as a master yes his master. His one and only master.

“Back.” Ty growled, sneering at his pitiful father as he spun around, turned the car on and sped back towards the house, desperately fighting with the collar for control, but realizing he’d already lost. Ty, however, grabbed the bottle of Clean-All from the passenger seat, considered in dumbly for a moment, and then tossed it out the window. They weren’t going to need that. He had more important things to do. They pulled back into the driveway, and Mick was pleading with his son, “Please, please Ty, snap out of it–don’t do this, don’t do this to us! You have to fight it–you have–”

He was silenced by Ty grabbing him by the throat with one massive, furred hand and squeezing the voice out of him, “Shut up slave. Inside, now!”

Mick felt his cock pulse in desire, and then he was out of the car and hurrying up the walk and back into the house, his son lumbering after him. Inside the living room, the clothing had all gathered, and Mick stood there–terrified and naked. “This one,” Ty growled, shoving Mick forward, “Yours–This one–ours, in the basement. Leave collar.”

The clothing swarmed then, tackling Mick to the floor, all of it so filthy, so wonderfully, amazingly filthy. They fought over him, and he wanted to wear them all, he did, but he couldn’t. A disgusting wifebeater several sizes too large slipped onto him, followed by a muddy pair of overalls with a bit too much room for a gut, and a pair of grungy socks and boots, and then the rest backed off, and Mick stood up, feeling his body change as the clothing wanted. He was growing, his gut filling out with fat, the collar needing to expand as his neck thickened, and was soon covered my a massive wiry beard that grew out of him chin.

“Aw yeah, filthy fuckin’ redneck hick, gotta cum, gotta git dirty, we gotta git so fuckin’ filthy, fuck…” Mick groaned, massaging his cock into the denim. But almost as soon as he had changed, the clothes were ripped away by others which pulled themselves onto his body, and changed him again. He lost track of how many outfits he wore over the next few hours, his body changing to suit each other, and they all wanted him–needed him. He could never leave, there were too many–but then, he heard the voice, the deep roar of his son from the basement, “Come. Time for punishment.”

The collar wouldn’t let him say no, and he hurried down into the basement, where he found his son. He was massive, at least eight feet tall, and it looked like every bit of leather in the basement had managed to wrap itself around him. His eyes were cruel and angry and vicious, and as soon as Mick fell in front of him, straps shot out and wrapped their way around him, and then it began, his son beating and torturing him for hours, the leather feeding off his pain and agony. This was their life now, serving the cloth, and it would consume him before long, like it had consumed the ones before him, but he would serve, and serve happily.

Well holy hell, this is one hot, fucking submission. Hope this makes your Saturday night a bit raunchier. Thanks Beardsman, and well done.

***

I found it a bit strange when I saw my Dad. The divorce with Mom had hit him hard, and I had been actively talking to him every other day for a month now. It was just a few weeks ago that he was telling me about his friend that he met at the town’s tavern. Allen-something-or-other. The conversations would slowly shift from him missing the smell or touch of my Mother to the crazy drinking nights Allen had him mixed up in.

He was a true man, at least as I saw him, raising me in a small country town. I guess it wasn’t too different seeing him in his regular Flannel shirt. The leather vest had just thrown me off a tad.

As I said, he was always the real man’s man. However, he had a big heart. He never spoke roughly of anyone, gladly offered a helping hand, and was a trusted member of the community. The man I saw before me was barely that. I could only recognize my Father’s stare, looking back at me in a glazed daze. He opened his mouth to speak, and I hardly could process just how deep of a rumble escaped his lips.

“Missed you, boy” he spoke aloud. A cloud of smoke nearly blocked his entire face with those three words. While in a deeper, gravelly-tone, I almost melted at the heart-felt meaning. He only called me ‘boy’ when he was heart-broken, sappy, or proud. He took a drag from his cigar, and I noticed his arm adorned with an array of tattoos creating an unfinished sleeve. Another strange occurrence, as he was always a man who was against defiling the body with ink or metal. Still, his tattoo and shining septum-piercing that stood out in the contrast of his facial hair broke down those familiar barriers.

His facial hair, I remembered it as a shaggy black beard that completed his charming lumberjack facade. It was now trimmed and shaped into something smaller than I had ever witnessed his wear. Almost as shocking as his mop of raven hair was shaved to a uniform strip that followed it all the way back to his neck.

Before I could process any of it, I still knew it was my Dad. He was accepting of everything I did, so I shouldn’t jump to any judgments with his new style. Some guys just handle divorce differently.

I out-stretched my arms and approached, big smile gracing my face to combat the same stony expression he held since I entered from the front door. What was intended as a solid loving hug went horribly awry. He grabbed my chin as I was closing my arms around him and locked thick meaty lips onto my own. Before I could pull back, still somewhat trying to hug him, I felt the burning rush of tobacco smoke filling my insides. The thickness made me light-headed, and I could scarcely register his nicotine-lined tongue sliding inside.

With a rough push, he released me, and I stumbled back. My head played everything in slow-motion, and I could even see the slick trail of saliva between us before it vanished in distance.

“I said…I missed you, boy.” The same word I knew as an affectionate pet name rattled around in my head, and I felt another meaning creeping up behind it. That wasn’t pride, at least not the wholesome pride I knew to expect. That was ownership.

“D-dad…Why did you kiss- I mean, what was that f- how did..??” I couldn’t get the words out, not while he was looking at me like that. Not while that smoke poured from his nose and danced in the air between us. I had a feeling that my concern wouldn’t be met.

“You didn’t want a kiss from your old man?” That voice again, this time it sent shivers through me. Just as velvety as that smoke. What the fuck was going on??

“A kiss..? No, Dad..It’s okay…I missed you…”

That was it. That was all I could reply. I started rationalizing that a kiss was just as affectionate as a hug, if not more so. We hadn’t seen each other in a while. It was a natural thing, right? Guys kiss their girls like that all the time. The logic only barely concerned me, as I didn’t have time to realize I compared myself to a girlfriend, or using ‘girls’ as an objectified noun.

“I bet,” he said, swiftly stepping towards me and reaching a meaty weathered palm out to rub my abdomen. I heard the stomping of his boots, and looked down out of instinct. Not towards his suggestive advances on my body, but to the perfectly-shined leather and silver adorning his feet. Normally, those clompers were kept in the muddiest condition from his job. I hadn’t seen them this clean even when they were new.

My thoughts were interrupted by another, softer kiss. It was joined by a vibration that emanated from his throat. A cross between a growl and a moan, but I couldn’t tell the difference with that sweet baritone he addressed me in. Since this kiss was slower, more sensual, I had time to really taste him. It wasn’t the normal taste of a cigarette you’d detect on a smoker’s tongue. It was heady, spicy. A multitude of flavors danced on my palette. Mixed with the smell of an earthy cologne he seemed to be wearing, I was swimming in sensations.

I almost didn’t let my Father pull back from the kiss, keeping on his tongue with my lips until he was too far to hold. Out of instinct, my hand rested on his chest. Solid, as I imagined, and shaved clean to the skin.

“Yeah, not growing out that pelt anymore. Allen says I look better without it.” I hadn’t even asked the question, but I supposed he sensed my reluctance to the change. I always remembered the furry barreled-chest. One that you’d be happy to bury your nose in, and cuddle in, and- what the fuck was I even thinking…?

“I don’t know what’s going on, Dad…,” I said as I grabbed my head. It felt like my thoughts were splitting in two.

“You don’t? That was always like you, boy. Confused and helpless. Never understood why you ventured off on your own.”

What was that? It seemed a bit harsh in those words, and the mocking tone he took hit a sore spot deep down inside.

“Yeah, your face says it all. It’s fine, boy. Allen explained how some of us are just born to take orders. I’m the same way. That’s why your Mother was always in the picture. Big difference now is that I can GIVE the orders, too…,” the last sentence had a cocky tone to it, and my confusion only increased the way he was staring at me. “You want some orders, boy? You haven’t really moved since you got here. You already seem eager.”

“No, Dad, I’m just..I..,” COME ON! WHY CAN’T I FINISH A THOUGHT???

“You mean ‘Yes’, Jake,” he said matter-of-factly.

“N-no..I mean..yeah..maybe…,” it was still hurting, the throbbing in my head. I had trouble looking away from him. I had trouble thinking anything different than what he was suggesting.

“’Maybe’ isn’t good enough, is it, boy?” I blinked in response, and he leaned closer, “Is. It. Boy.”

“N-no, sir…”

I saw a smile grace his face for the first time, as if he had accomplished something great. He took another hit off his waiting cigar, and blew a thick plume into my face before speaking again, “Yeah, Allen said you’d need some training. Just like your old Daddy here.”

He turned his cigar around and put it in my lips. I’d smoked before, but never on anything like this. I could taste the signature of my Father’s saliva as the tip hit my tongue.

“Suck it deep.” I wasted no time, using my experience to inhale. I didn’t want to disappoint him, to fail him. It wasn’t a new feeling, just a classic one translated to these new phantom desires I felt arising in me. “Hold it.” That harsh tone again. I coughed inside, a small billow escaping my nose. Before I could see anything, I felt his hand push against my face and the back of my head hit the wall.

“I SAID HOLD IT, FUCKER!” I immediately broke out in a cold sweat from his harshness. That and the shortness of oxygen to my brain were really fucking with me. He closed in on my face again, slowly removing his hand and replaced it with his lips.

This was like the first kiss. Penetrating, harsh, wild. I took it as a sign to let go, and felt the burning deep inside release through my mouth. My Father sucked it in with an almost innocent eagerness. The permeating fog floated between us in short clouds each time an opening showed in our kiss. It was in this moment that I felt his hand brush over my jeans, and knock my erection.

My Dad pulled back and gripped tighter than I would have liked at the bulge in my jeans, “Yeah, fucking hard already. My boy likes it rough, huh?” I didn’t recall enjoying having my head slammed. I would have guessed that it was the kiss, or the sultry smoke, but he was telling me differently. As up to this point, I couldn’t argue with him. Before I could plead my case, I felt his fist land on my soft chest, knocking me back again into the wall. I grunted in pain, and felt his hand massaging my crotch once more. The combined sensations were confusing, of course. “Yeah, feels good to someone like you.”

What the fuck did he mean by that?? I tried to respond, but felt a slap around my face before a word could escape. His hand was thick, and he obviously wasn’t playing around. It definitely hurt. At the same time, I could still feel the other rough palm pressing into my dick.

“Still hard, and getting harder,” he declared. He kept up his efforts, hurting me in different ways while continuously massaging my manhood. I knew the smoke was slowing me down, making me hang on every word, and he was conditioning me to like everything he was doing. His taunting was pushing me closer to the edge, whether I wanted it or not. Even as he ripped my shirt open, and stroked the dusting of soft fur of my own, I knew he was getting through to me when I let out a desperate moan from him harshly twisted my nipple.

“Oh god, Dad!” I cried out involuntarily, and his smug expression only deepened. His grip loosened finally, and I heard the sound of my jeans-zipper lowering. I should have pushed him away, fought back in some form, but I was craving what might happen next. Like a cliff-hanger to a story, but with an expectedly VERY naughty ending.

This was my Father. That very fact made this all the more disgusting and wrong, which in the same aspect made it feel so much more fun. There was a thin line between Taboo and Fetish, and god-damn if he wasn’t eradicating it right now!

“You’re a leaker, boy. Makes me proud that you take after your Daddy…In more ways than one, obviously…,” I looked down to see my pole pushing a small opening in my briefs, and the front cloth was slimy and darkened from my own fluids. Two of his fingers pushed into the opening and played with my dickhead. My mouth opened in a boisterous moan. “Make some noise, you little shit!” He egged me on, and reached with his other hand to squeeze my clothed nuts.

“FUCK!” I pushed back against the wall, and squirted pre from my slit. I never though this pain could feel so GOOD. It was him, my Daddy. I knew he was telling me to like it, and I was obeying as he expected. It scared me at how much power he had over me, but I wasn’t about to tell him otherwise.

“Your Daddy here likes his balls stretched and squeezed. You do, too. Dontcha?” Another grip, another pleading moan from my lips. I looked down with blurry-eyes to his zippered crotch. He sensed what I was thinking, and opened the forbidden denim gate.

Just as his previous statement, I saw his sac stretched at least three-inches downward by metal rings. They looked red and swollen, but all I could think was how good they must have felt compared to his grip on mine.

I almost didn’t see what hung above it. A thickly-veined beast with a silver ring dangling under the head. A bit thicker than his septum-piercing, and dripping musky dick-slime. It DID look just like mine, but a tad larger in thickness. It was surreal, staring at what my cock might turn into in the future.

“It’s big, Daddy,” I stated, almost dumbly. Well, did I expect to make a philosophical statement on it?

“No shit, dumb-fuck.”

Dumb-fuck. I sure felt that way right now. I looked into his eyes, and he read my mind once again.

“Yeah, dumb fuckers like you that can’t think straight. Nothing straight about you. Even that curved pig-dick of yours.”

Pig dick?? Sure, I was dumb, but was he calling me fat now? That wasn’t very nice.

“Fat. Fucking. Pig Dick.” He grabbed my dick and shook it with force.

“Oink!” I snorted. I fucking SNORTED instead of moaning. I must have liked being a pig for my Daddy.

“Damn! For a dumb pig you sure learn quick. How about this?” He grabbed my nuts again, and I couldn’t help squeal out, “You’re nice and soft, especially your ass, piggy.”

“Daddy, you like my ass?” I was surprised by his comment, and felt a swelling of pride in me.

“Oh yeah. I loved it when you’d bend over and spread those fat round cheeks for me. That fur, the musk- makes me want to eat you out. One hungry pig for another.”

I snorted, shooting out more pre as his suggestion hit home again. Why was I enjoying this so much? Why was I trying to overthink everything? Pigs don’t think that much. I felt a rumbling in my tummy as I considered the word ‘hungry’. I was, very much so. “I’m hungry, Daddy…”

“Yeah you are, pig. What do pigs like us eat?”

“We…we eat…,” I replied dumbly, having trouble with the question. The obvious answer was in his previous statement, but I couldn’t bring myself to say it.

“Spit it the fuck out, pig. What do hungry, nasty, horny pigs like us eat?”

“WE EAT ASS,” I said aloud, pushing the statement from my lips. Admitting it was like a flood-gate opening with new nasty thoughts permeating every corner of my mind.

“Yeah we do. We eat ass, and cum, and sweat, and piss.”

PISS? The thought a few minutes ago, that would have made me ill, but if I was growing used to the thought of my Daddy’s musky ass crack, then what harm was getting a drink from his dick? “We..we eat piss?”

“We drink it, dumb-fuck. We drink that stale liquid gold and our thirst is never sated.”

My mouth felt so dry as I listened to Daddy sir speak. I still felt hungry, too.

“Piggy looks like he wants something,” was his reply to my sudden obvious fidgeting. Without a warning, he dropped what remained of his jeans and turned around. I thought he was wearing underwear, seeing his dick just hanging out, but I realized he was wearing a very tattered pair of briefs. They were stained and darkened from constant wear. I could smell the stench wafting from the material. It only made me hungrier.

The back of the material had multiple holes, mostly small, but I could see the outline of his sweaty crack. The line was accented with the roundness of his fit ass from years of hiking and squats.

“Here’s some beef for my piggy. Better dig in before it gets cold.”

I didn’t need any more urging, and I dove forward, landing on my knees, and my face was buried in that dingy cloth. I still gagged, and tried mentally to pull away with no avail. It was so rank, so foul that I was buried in my own Father’s ass. My Father…Dad…Daddy. Daddy’s ass. I was tongue deep in my Daddy’s ass. I was hungry and needed more. I pushed the tip of my tongue into several of the holes, tasting salty flesh underneath.

“I don’t need my underwear cleaned you fucking nasty son of a bitch! Open that up!” I wasted no time in following what he wanted, grabbing a hole with two fingers and ripping it wide. While his chest was clean-shaven, his ass was untouched. It looked so fucking GOOD!

I snorted, and moaned, mashing my lips deep into his almost cavernous crack. The plump flesh left so much to hold onto, to clean, to worship. The buds on my tongue scraped and dove deeper with each thrust, until I hit the waiting pucker. I heard my Daddy let out a piggy-snort of his own, and he pushed back without any more urging. The tip of my tongue penetrated, the flesh inside was even muskier. I felt him clench around the invasion, my hands holding his thighs tight and pulling him into me. It felt like an actual meal, as I drank his sweat and suckled on his ass I felt the hunger-pains weakening.

“FUCK! *Snort*,” he rocked on his feet before falling to his knees. I clamored to follow his movements, only coming loose from his ass for a moment before pushing back in with greater force. On his hands and knees, Daddy called me degrading names, and kept telling me how insatiable my hunger would be. “What the fuck do pigs eat, bitch??”

I pulled out of his ass and moaned “Ass!” and fell right back into it.

“Yeah, we eat ass. We can lick and chew tight beefy backsides until our Sirs cum all over us. What do PIGS eat?”

“We eat ass, and cum!” I called out, proud of remembering the next one.

“WHAT ELSE DO WE EAT, PIG??”

“SWEAT, SIR!” Upon that reminder, I licked straight up his crack to gather the stale sweat, and even lowered myself to lick deep between his thigh and stretched balls.

“*SNORT* WHAT DO WE DRINK, YOU SICK FUCK?”

“We- *snort!* We drink piss, SIR!”

At that, Daddy flipped onto his back, legs spread wide and I finally had a clear view of his swimming pucker. It was drenched in my saliva, and I had the urge to suck it all up. That is, until Daddy pointed his dick at me.

“I hope your thirsty, pig!”

I tried to reach it in time, my mouth wide and ready to take his rod deep to drain him of every drop. I was too late when the stream hit my face. It ran down my cheeks, my lips, and I tried my best to get it into my mouth. The taste was explosive. So much better than the salty perspiration. He raised his aim, soaking my forehead and then my hair, watching it stream down my chest and fall from my belly to form puddle below me. As the stream began to slow, I stayed put, smacking my lips and drinking what I caught on my tongue. Daddy watched me with pride.

“There’s a happy pig…” He patted his ass, urging me to continue, and I dove back into it with fervor, drinking left-over sweat, piss, and my own saliva. It was only when Daddy pulled away and got back onto his knees that I could stop, and in his position he grabbed my face and mashed it into his.

Another loving, primitive kiss. This time, he was tasting himself. He was enjoying his own musk, and snorting between breaths as he enjoyed the treat as a good piggy should. My Daddy lead such an amazing example. Pigs like me, we learn from the best!

The Doctor and the Loser

***WARNING*** Contains light scat.

***

“Good afternoon team.”

“Good afternoon Dr. Jacobs,” the football team replied in near unison. They were all seated on the benches in the locker room, their eyes empty and glazed, just staring at the jeweled necklace the doctor was wearing. Standing next to him was the team’s coach–a very large, hulk of a man, but he looked like he might fall over at any moment; his arms were limp, his back slouching forward. The only part of him that held any tension was his neck, which craned his head around so he could keep looking at the jewel the doctor was wearing. It was so beautiful after all–he didn’t want to stop looking at it. He never wanted it to leave his sight for as long as he lived.

“Alright team, as you know, your coach here hired me so that I could help eliminate the culture of losing which has been the primary reason for these many, many long and grueling losses your team has suffered. Now, when I came here, I knew that a team which had lost for so long would have deep seated roots of failure throughout it. What I didn’t expect, was for so many of those roots to have a single trunk, which could be ripped out so easily. Now team, your coach and I have just had a long, serious talk, and…well, maybe it would be better for your coach to say it.”

The doctor looked over at the coach, but the man didn’t notice–his eyes were still locked on the necklace.

“Coach? Do you have something you would like to admit to your team?”

“Whaa…?” The big man said, noticing for the first time that the doctor was speaking, “Oh…uh…oh yeah, I do.” With some reluctance, the coach pulled his eyes away from the necklace and faced his senior varsity football team. “Uh…team…team, I hate to, uh, have to tell you this. But the doc and I, well, we’ve discovered that…that I’m a Loser.”

The whole room gasped. Dr. Jacobs had told them about Losers before–about how dangerous they were to a team’s chances of winning. The doctor had told them all that they were very close to becoming Losers themselves, and that was the main reason they obeyed him and did everything he asked, no matter how strange. Becoming a loser was simply too terrible a prospect to risk. But to find out that their coach was a Loser? No wonder they’d lost so many games! With a Loser coaching them, they would have been coached to lose!

“What the fuck is a Loser doing coaching us Doctor!” Simon, the team captain shouted.

“Yeah!” Vinny said, “He might have turned *woof* us all into Losers!”

The doctor held up his hands and the team settled down again. “I know, I know. It was never my intention to put you all at risk. I thought I had determined that the coach wasn’t a Loser when he hired me, but I was wrong. You see, the coach had no idea that he is a Loser–after all, Losers are very good at deceiving themselves, but now that we know this, we have both agreed that there is no way he can remain your coach, isn’t that right?”

The coach nodded, his face reddening, “I…I’m sorry boys. If…if I had known, I would have never put you in this kind of danger. But since the season has already started, I technically have to remain your coach…but for now, I’m putting all of you in the hands of the doctor. I can’t think of anyone who might help you all win more than he will.”

The coach took off his whistle and handed it to the Doctor, who placed it around his neck, being sure it didn’t get in the way of the necklace. “Alright,” the doctor said, “I think that’s enough Loser shit for now. Forget him boys! Now, Simon, go lead the team through stretches and a jog!”

“You heard the coach, team!” Simon said, “Let’s go!”

The team all charged past the two men and ran onto the field, leaving the Doctor and the Coach alone in the locker room, and the Coach looked like he was about to cry. “I…I don’t want to be a Loser, doctor! I don’t! Please, please can you help me be a winner like you?” He got down on his knees in front of the doctor, hands clasped, “Please, I’ll do anything–anything!”

The doctor shook his head. “I’m sorry, but once you become a Loser–a true Loser–there’s nothing you can do. You’re going to be a Loser for life…but…well, no, It’s a lot to ask of Loser like you, and I don’t know if I can trust you.”

“What?” the coach asked, “What is it? Please, if it can help–if it can help the team win, if it can help me, I’ll do it, I’ll do anything for you.”

The doctor smiled. “Well, alright. You see, having Losers around can be dangerous, unless they know their proper place. But you, I think you’ll fit into your proper place just fine. Come on, let’s go into my office and have a chat about what you’ll be doing from now on.”

The doctor walked towards the coach’s office, and the coach started to get up and follow him, but the doctor looked over his shoulder, “No. Crawl, you fucking Loser. Loser’s don’t walk like winners–that’s the first fucking lesson we’re going to have to get into that Loser head of yours, got it?”

“Yes, yes, I understand.”

“Yes sir, Loser!” the doctor shouted, “You don’t talk to me like I’m equal to you–I’m not a fucking Loser, do you understand? You address me, and the whole team, as Sir, do you understand?”

“Yes, sir! Yes sir, I understand.”

“I don’t know if I’ll be able to use you after all–you might be the sorriest Loser I’ve ever seen!”

“No!” the coach shouted, “Please sir, please–I’ll do anything–anything!”

The doctor stared at the now sobbing coach, on his hands and knees on the concrete floor, and smirked. “Alright, come on Loser.” The doctor stepped into his new office, and the coach crawled after him, “We have a lot of work to do if we’re going to make you the worst Loser this team has ever seen.”

***

They won.

In one of the biggest turnarounds the county had ever seen–the Silverside High Vipers won the district football championships. Hollering and shouting, the players streamed into the locker room, thrilled with their victory, carrying Coach Jacobs on their shoulders, and they gave their coach three cheers of thanks.

“Well done team!” Coach Jacobs said, “I honestly didn’t know if you had it in you all to be winners, but you proved me wrong!”

“Ha, we aren’t Losers coach, but we could have been. We have you to thank for that,” Simon said, and the team started hooting and shouting again, Vinny, on his hands and knees next to Simon, gave a loud howl, the team captain reaching down and giving the back of his pup’s head a long, deep scratching, Vinny rubbing his face up against his Captain, and Master’s, leg, his cock already hardening at the thought of the load of victory cum he would have the pleasure of swallowing soon.

“But now–now we have to announce the VIP!” the coach said, and the team fell silent in anticipation. “And I’m going to go with Mick!”

One of the linebackers started jumping up and down like a girl, and ran over to the coach, giving him a deep kiss. “Oh thank you coach, thank you! I tried so hard, I tried so hard just for you!”

“And you’re a winner Mick,” Coach Jacobs said, giving the big man’s ass a rough squeeze, “Now get in that office there, so I can give you your award.”

Mick licked his lips, and hurried into the office, the Coach following behind him, and left the players’ huddle to disperse into the pairs and triples which had formed naturally over the course of the season. Darren, however, broke away from Lewis for a moment, saying, “Hold on, I gotta piss before we fuck. Hey! Loser! Where the fuck are you? I gotta take a fucking leak, you worthless piece of shit!”

“Here, sir! I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m here!” Loser said, as he crawled out from where he’d stayed out of sight. He had to stay out of sight until one of the team members needed him, or else he might break their winning streak. The several months since the good doctor had outed him as a Loser had not been easy for the old coach. He’d been tasked with being the repository for all of the teams loser aspects–all of their waste, all of their abuse, all of their humiliation. It hadn’t been easy, but what else was there for a Loser like him to do? He’d lived in the locker room, wearing nothing other than the oldest, nastiest jockstrap he could find in the lost and found bin. Coach Jacobs had taken good care of him, at least–or at least given him better care than a Loser like him deserved. Still, the diet of junk food and lack of exercise hadn’t helped the Loser’s figure. He was now well past obese, like most Losers are. He also hadn’t shaven or cut his hair in all this time–or taken a shower–and he stank almost as bad as Jerry did in his unwashed uniform, his beard caked with dried bits of shit that had collected there over the many practices and games where he’d served as the entire team’s toilet.

He crawled over and wrapped his lips around Darren’s cock, and drank the young man’s piss down, not spilling a single drop, trying not to moan in pleasure. He really was such a Loser–how else could it be that he would enjoy being one so much? It just felt…so much more natural to let things fall, to drink piss, and eat shit, and stink like a truck stop…with a shiver he felt his cock unload a wad of cum into his jockstrap–he couldn’t even control that anymore, he was such a fucking Loser–but he didn’t stop drinking, and he sucked and licked the head clean before crawling away back to his hiding spot–or he would have, if Jerry hadn’t called him over.

Several members of the team had gathered around him–after all, it was time for him to take off his gear, since this had been the last game of the season. He stripped off his rank jersey and socks, and then his jock, and said to the Loser, “Yo, clean me up, Loser–I haven’t had a proper bath in months!”

Loser went to work, licking Jerry’s body clean as quickly as he could, being very careful to touch him with no part of his body other than his tongue. He couldn’t risk spreading his Loser-ness to anyone on the team after all–and when Jerry was satisfied, he grabbed the Loser’s jaw, and stuffed his months-unwashed socks into his mouth, and then the pouch of his equally filthy jock, which he secured by wrapping the waist strap around the old coaches head twice. “Enjoy it, Loser–and they’d better be clean by the time I come back to school on Monday!” he said, and the team laughed, before they fell back into their sexual bliss.

The Loser crawled off to his corner, soaking the filthy socks and jocks with his saliva, before sucking it back out, feeling his cock shoot another load unbidden into the pouch of his jock. The Coach wouldn’t be happy that he’d shot twice already–he might even put the Loser back in chastity, but that was alright. The Loser deserved it–he knew he did. But if this is what it took for his old team to become winners like they were meant to be–then Loser could be happy with that, at least a little bit.

Mick had given up trying to hold it back–to hold it in. He had enlisted his son’s help in cleaning out the rental house he owned–the last tenet had skipped out on the lease and left the place a complete sty–and everything had been going well, until the jockstrap. Mick had found it in the bedroom a few days prior, and just…hadn’t been able to throw it away. He’d stashed it, and whenever his son was out of the room, he’d take a sniff, or a lick, or a suck…

Ty had gone out for cleaning supplies, and Mick just hadn’t been able to resist any longer–and so he stripped down and pulled on the stiff jock…and then he hadn’t been able to stop. Now here he was, sitting in the living room, the old tenet’s clothes on–the filthiest ones he could dig out of the trash bags they’d filled already, waiting for his son to come back.

He took a deep drag off the half smoked cigar he’d found in an ashtray and ran his hands up his arms, amazed at how fast the dingy hair had spread. He even had a goatee now, and some of the most disgusting pit stench he’d ever smelled, but he loved it. With the groan, he let loose a blast of piss into the front of the jock, feeling it run off the seat of the chair and puddle on the floor, but that didn’t matter. He’d just have his son lick it up when he got back–after he finishes giving his dirty old Pa a bath.

“How’s my birthday boy this morning? Is he excited for his first birthday?” the man said, opening the door, walking over to where the man was cuffed to his crib on his knees, the pacifier strapped in his mouth. He undid the strap, and pulled it out, and man struggling again.

“It’s not my first birthday you fucker! I’m nineteen, I’m not one! Let me out of here you–”

“Well I guess my little boy isn’t quite ready yet,” the man said, shoving the pacifier back into his mouth and strapping it back in, “Let’s see how you’re doing–I bet you have a wet diaper after that long night though, shall we check?" The man struggled away, but he couldn’t move with his hands cuffed, and his cheeks reddened as the older man checked the front of his diaper and found it wet. "That’s a good little boy, wetting your diaper, just like you should. See? We’re making some good progress aren’t we?”

The man pulled out his hand and started massaging the big baby’s cock through his diaper, and he struggled for a few moments, and then his body went slack, and he started grinding the front of his diaper against his daddy’s hand in a daze, sucking on his pacifier.

“That’s a good boy–you’re gonna be daddy’s little boy soon, aren’t you?”

The baby nodded slowly, still sucking, and rubbed up against his daddy’s hand faster.

“You like wetting yourself and sucking on your pacifier–you love being my big baby–it feels so good, doesn’t it? You’re not nineteen–you’re just a baby, aren’t you?”

The man in the crib gave a shudder and felt his cock unload a massive wad of cum into his diaper, and he gave his head a shake, his eyes refocusing, and his cheeks turned even redder, when he realized what he’d done–again. Whenever his daddy touched him, he always just felt so…so little. No, not his daddy, the man isn’t his daddy…right?

“Why don’t you enjoy that wet diaper a little longer,” the big man said, “Let me go get your bottle, and then we’ll get you changed.”

He left the room, and the man struggled again, but he’d been here for days now–every day a birthday–and he didn’t know how much longer he’d be able to hold on. 

“Come on man, please–get rid of it. I’m so fuckin’ drunk.”

“Aww, but look at that, you still don’t have that nice beer belly I want for you. I think you still need lots more. Let me buy you a few more.”

“No, please–I’m begging you. No more fucking beer, I can’t drink another drop, I just can’t.”

“Hmm, alright, no more beer then. How about this instead?”

“Wait, what? ‘Piss and Cum’? No, come on, please–I can’t do that, I can’t.”

“You can’t? Really? Then you don’t want to get under the table and drink me dry? I see how thirsty you are. Go on pig, get under there.”

“Oh fuck, please no…oh, fuck…”

“Doesn’t that piss taste good? Isn’t recycled beer so much better than the real stuff? It’s going to be your favorite drink from now on, I think. Now suck me off like a good cumdump–you need some protein to go with those electrolytes after all. Oh fuck, yeah…that’s a good job for a newbie. Still, after some more practice, you’ll be giving the best blowjobs here.”

“Practice? No, come on, juts change it back.”

“But you didn’t want a beer belly. Still, it’s going to take a lot longer to plump you up on cum–so you’re going to have to be here every night from now on, begging for it, understand? Now let’s go get you settled in the bathroom. Where else would men use a urinal and cumdump like you? Yeah, and the bar is packed tonight–we’re going to have that gut of yours bulging by the end of the week, I promise.”

The Audition

Commissioned by Seamus

“Patrick and Aaron? You’re up!” The voice called from inside the room, and the two friends got up, giving each other a nervous glance, and headed into the audition. The two college friends had a week earlier picked up a flyer on campus advertising open auditions for porn films, and later that evening, when the two of them were quite drunk, they had called the studio as a joke more than anything, but to their surprise they had been called in for an audition by someone named Mr. Thompson, and the next day, even though they were nervous as hell, they hopped in Aaron’s car and drove to the seedy LA address where they were now.

After a few minutes in a waiting room, manned only by a bored, and rather normal looking receptionist, with nothing to do but feel nervous, they were now auditioning, and neither of them knew what to expect–or why they were being called in together–but in they went, finding themselves on a small, undressed sound stage, except for a ratty looking couch and coffee table in the middle. Back by the cameras, there was a folding table set up and two older men seated there, flipping through forms. One of them looked up and said, “Go ahead and have a seat there,” he said, pointing to a couple of folding chairs off stage, and Patrick and Aaron took their places. “So, the two of you are interested in the porn business?” the man asked. Neither Patrick nor Aaron really knew what to say to that, and after a second, the man looked down at the paper in front of him and mumbled, “Both shy…gonna have to do something about that…”

“How about we start with some introductions?” the second man said, “This is Mr. Thompson–he says he spoke briefly to you both over the phone. He’s the director here at RockCock studios, I’m Mr. Lewis–I’m the producer. Now, which of you is Aaron and who is Patrick?”

“I’m Patrick,” the first guy said.

“Alright, hmm…brown hair, green eyes, decent build. Could you take off your shirt for me?”

“What? I don’t…”

“Take off your shirt please,” Mr. Thompson said, and before Patrick could question it, he stripped it off.

“Well, not quite the build I had in mind, a bit too…lanky. Guess we might need to fix that. And you, you’re Aaron?”

“Yes.”

“Alright, I love the blonde hair, and very beautiful green eyes, but we have so many blondes already…hmm…Your shirt too please.”

Aaron, less intimidated now that Patrick had shed his own, pulled his off, giving the men a chance to look him over as well. “Nice, do you go to the gym?”

“Off and on, I guess.”

“How many times a week would you guess?”

“Maybe two? Sometimes none?”

“Hmmm, alright.”

While Mr. Lewis asked his questions, Mr. Thompson was looking over his shoulder towards a second entry way onto the set. “Do you know where Hank is? I explicitly told him to be here at one o’clock to help with an audition.”

“Maybe shooting is just taking a little longer than expected.”

Mr. Thompson turned back around and looked at the shirtless men, “Alright, let me explain how this will work. We’re going to have you both work with Hank Bruin–he’s going to star in “Dirty Dudes Volume Three”. We want to see how your on screen chemistry works with him, if he would get here already…”

“Wait, Hank?” Patrick asked, looking at Aaron, “Hold on guys, we’re both straight–we aren’t interested in guys.”

Neither Mr. Thompson nor Mr. Lewis said anything in reply, and both Patrick and Aaron tried to get up to leave, but for some reason, neither of them could get up from the chairs Mr. Thompson had directed them into. A moment later, a man they presumed to be Hank ran onto the set, and the sight of him didn’t make Patrick nor Aaron feel much better. He was quite tall, and muscular, though not overly so, and was wearing nothing beyond a jockstrap and wifebeater, giving both of them a view of his hairy body and his sizable package. “Oh God, I’m sorry Mr. Thompson, I got over here as fast as I could, but Mr. Willis wanted the shot from two angles, and so I had to hold it, and–”

“Hank, please–I don’t want to hear your excuses. I’ll speak to Mr. Willis and see if there is call for any disciplinary action. For now, we have Patrick and Aaron here–they’re auditioning for roles in “Dirty Dudes Volume Three” with you. Now be a good boy and take a seat on the couch while I give them their direction, alright?” Hank passed by the two shirtless students and shot them a look, something between regret and pity which made them both feel rather uneasy, and sat down on the couch. “Alright Mr. Lewis, have you decided on the roles for our two newcomers here?”

“Yes, I think I have. I’d like Patrick to take Dirty Dude Two, and Aaron to be Dirty Dude Three.”

“Alright, then that means Patrick, we’ll start with you. Stand up and try not to look so nervous. Now, here’s your motivation. Hank here has invited you over to his house, and you’ve always had a bit of a crush on him. He’s just such a handsome top, and the pig in you, it just wants to worship his sweaty, hairy body so badly. Now, go ahead and take a seat on the couch, and lets see where you take it.”

Aaron expected his friend to just bolt out of the studio–hell, he would have, but to his utter shock, he walked up onto the stage and plopped down on the couch next to Hank–right next to Hank, so close their thighs were touching. There was an unmistakable look of terror in his eyes, like a man who’d lost all control of himself, and he turned to Hank and said, “Hey man, I just wanted to thank you for inviting me over.”

“Hey, it’s no big deal,” Hank said back and looked over at Patrick, and fuck if their eyes weren’t smouldering for each other, and then, Patrick leaned in and started kissing Hank, his hands all over the porn actor’s sweaty body, and Aaron wanted to vomit.

“Yes Patrick, I love the energy, great job–keep going!” Mr. Thompson said.

“What the fuck–what the fuck are you doing to him? How are you doing this? Let us go!” Aaron said, again struggling in his seat.

Mr. Thompson looked over at him, angry, and snapped, “Quiet on the set Aaron, you’ll get to join in soon enough. Now go on Patrick, go on and start licking Hank clean, worship that body you’ve been lusting after for so long, it’s finally yours–go ahead and take it!”

Patrick moved down, licking and nibbling the sweat from Hank’s stubbly neck, before shoving his face into Hank’s armpit, licking with the entire surface of his tongue, making sure to turn enough for the cameras to catch his lust, even if his eyes were still confused and angry and…horny. Hank had one hand on his groin now and was massaging it, a cocky grin on his face as he watched him worship his pit. “Damn Pat, I had no idea you were such a fuckin’ slut–how long have you been after my sweaty body?”

“Oh fuck, so god damn long Hank,” Patrick moaned, “I…I even stole your underwear a couple of times, just to smell you, fuck, you’re a fuckin’ god Hank. Can…Can I smell your jock Hank? Please, can I?”

“Oh, great improv, keep going!”

“Sure thing bud, I can see how bad you need it,” Hank said, and like a hungry beast, Pat dove into Hank’s crotch, burying his nose in the crack between his cock and his thigh, lapping up all the sweat he could find, moaning and groaning, grinding his rock hard cock into the sofa cushions.

Off to the side, Aaron was trying to scream, to get away to do anything, but he was frozen, and his voice–his voice wouldn’t work. Even worse, he could tell he was next, that he would be as helpless as his friend in a matter of minutes.

Patrick was now sucking on the jock, taking as much of it in his mouth as he could, tasting the stale cum and sweat which had soaked into it, and even though the taste was rank he couldn’t help but act like he was enjoying it. However, this character, he could feel it beginning to overcome him–it was becoming more and more natural, he was starting to really think that Hank was a god worth worshipping, that he liked the taste of his sweaty body, that this was really what he wanted, and in a panic, he fought against the direction, but couldn’t escape the compulsion.

“Alright, that’s good Pat, but not really what we had in mind, see, you have a foot fetish. You fucking love feet, the sweatier and smellier the better. In fact, you’d rather suck toes than cock any day of the fuckin week, isn’t that right?”

“Oh fuck, can I Hank? Can I clean your filthy feet, man? Fuck, that’d make me so fuckin’ hot for you, please…”

“Get down there you fuckin’ pig, but I gotta warn you, they’re pretty rank, and they’d better be fucking spotless by the time you’re done with them.” Hank put his bare feet up on the coffee table, and it was all Patrick could do to keep from diving on them and taking as much of them as he could in his mouth, but he held off. He wanted to fucking savor them, he wanted to enjoy this, he wanted…he wanted to put on a show, yeah, he wanted the cameras to see how much of a pig he was for a guy’s filthy feet, it felt so hot having the cameras on him, so fucking exciting…he started by sucking on all of the toes, one by one, and then started licking the soles clean in long strokes of his tongue, Hank massaging his cock while Patrick worked.

“How damn, how about that? I think we have a natural,” Mr Thompson said.

“Hmm, yeah, he does have plenty of spirit, but I’m just not sold on his look quite yet,” Mr. Lewis said. “Do you mind if I work on him for a bit?”

“Certainly, Mr. Lewis. I can’t wait to see what you have in mind, as always.”

“Alright let’s see. I definitely like Pat better than Patrick, but still not a perfect name…oh of course, Pat the Pig, I love the alliteration. Yeah, that’s a great name for you–direct, the audience knows just what to expect from you. Still, you don’t quite look like a pig, do you? Let’s go ahead and fix that, I think. Let’s see, you’re going to have to put on some weight for the role, so how about…325 pounds? Yeah, enough to give you a nice, piggy gut, let’s see it.”

On his hands and knees, still savoring Hank’s sweaty feet, Pat felt his body changing, growing, his belly sagging down with fat as he fought against the director’s orders. He didn’t want to be a fucking pig! He just wanted to keep cleaning Hank’s sweaty fucking feet, fuck they were so hot. With one hand, he was able to feel his changing body, his gut sagging down, two fat piggy tits where his pecs had been, and he gave a little snort of pleasure as he grazed one of his nipples.

“Yeah, that’s good. And hair–you’re gonna be a hairy bear of a man I think, all over, front and back, a fuckin’ pelt. A pig like you doesn’t need that big of a cock either–after all, we aren’t going to have you topping anyone in this film, but maybe some big fucking balls, yeah, your loads are gonna be massive.” Mr. Lewis got down, and watched Pat’s cock shrink as his balls grew, “Ha, fuck, look at this tiny cock, you can barely see it through the fuckin’ pubes–now that’s a pig.”

Patrick couldn’t look around to see himself, but he could feel his skin crawling with hairs now, including across his face, as a scruffy beard filled in around his now chubby face. Now as he felt himself with his hand, it felt almost like he was touching an animal, yeah, just an animal, just a pig, a pig desperate for dirty feet and sweaty bodies. Pat was snorting even more now, and his little cock was so hard, but he knew better than to touch it without Mr. Thompson’s explicit permission.

“Yeah, that’s damn fine. Still, how about a little edge? I’m thinking…mohawk. And red, I love a good firetop, and with a name like Pat, why the hell not? Still, since we can’t see any tattoos through all that fur, how about some piercings?” The hair on Pat’s body turned a brilliant red, the sides of his heads shaved, leaving him with a short, spiky mohawk. The pain in his ears as the gauges grew in, and the horseshoe in his septum caused his eyes to water. Mr. Lewis ran has hand along Pat’s furred back, feeling Pat shiver at his touch. He knew he had to try and fight back against these feelings, that this was wrong, but it was so hard to think outside the direction Mr. Thompson had given him. “What do you think, Mr. Thompson? Isn’t that a much hotter pig?”

“Fuck, now that’s a pig! He’s going to be very popular I think. We’re going to have to include him in our next bear flick too, I think.”

“Oh yeah, he’s going to be very versatile I think, well, except for the fact that he’s a total bottom,” Mr. Lewis said with a chuckle, as he took his seat.

“Alright, that sounds like a nice plan. Alright, Aaron, why don’t you go ahead and join in? Here’s your direction–”

“Please!” Aaron sputtered, forcing his way past the director’s insistence on silence, “Please, no, don’t make me clean anyone’s feet, that’s so fucking disgusting! Don’t make me a pig like that!”

There was silence for a moment, and then the two men laughed, “Oh please Aaron, do you really think we’d do the same thing twice?” Mr Lewis said.

“Trust us, one foot fetishist is plenty for a single film, no, we’d rather have you go in a different direction. Now, you’re Hank’s roommate, and at the moment, you are drunk off your ass. Now, you’re going to walk in on these two and discover Pat worshipping Hank’s feet like a dirty whore, and while you’re going to be grossed out a first, when Pat begs you to give him your feet to clean too, you’ll give into curiosity, and find it very…relaxing.”

Aaron knew he wasn’t really drunk, but the performance he found himself giving, as he stumbled up onto the stage, slurring his words, would have been good enough to convince anyone watching, he imagined. “What the hell are you two doing?” he said, “Is that faggot seriously licking your feet Hank? That’s fucking sick!”

“Hey, the pig fucking loves it, don’t you Pat?”

“Oh fuck yeah, nothing gets me harder than sucking on a sweaty, smelly foot.”

“Dudes, that’s fucking nasty.”

“Actually, it feels pretty good,” Hank said, “Why don’t you have a seat and let Pat the Pig work yours over?”

“Oh yeah, come on man, let me get a whiff of those feet of yours–I bet they’re so fuckin’ ripe!” Pat said, and Aaron just wanted to shout at him, tell him to cut the act, that the two of them had to get out of here, but he couldn’t break character either.

“Alright, I guess I could give it a shot,” Aaron said and sat down on the couch, allowing Pat to rip off his shoes and socks before slurping away at his feet, and like the director said, Aaron let out a groan, and felt himself sink into the couch, suddenly very relaxed, but Mr. Lewis wasn’t happy.

“Aaron’s feet are too small for this role, I just don’t think our pig here is going to enjoy it enough. What do you think, Pat? Do you think Aaron’s feet are too small?”

Pat nodded eagerly, but then again, he thought everyone’s feet were too small, and not nearly rank enough.”

“Yeah, I’m thinking, size seventeen, and a fine coat of hair on top, just for accent.”

On the couch, Aaron watched and felt his feet start to contort and twist as Pat lciked them clean, until they had nearly doubled in size, and his stomach turned. Apparently Pat wasn’t the only one with a few changes in store.

“Yeah, that’s good, I agree. Now Aaron, you’re drunk, and feeling Pat licking your feet is just making you feel so relaxed, and then you start pissing your fucking pants, right there on the couch. Hank, you’re going to notice after a few seconds, and tell him to stop, but Aaron, you’re just going to moan like you’re enjoying the hell out of pissing your jeans, and keep going, because you do love pissing yourself. You love the stench, the feel of sopping denim against your crotch, and you love the taste of it too, but Hank doesn’t know that until you confess it to him, and ask him to piss down your throat.”

Aaron fought–he fought hard. No way was he actually just going to sit there, and let his best friend worship his feet (even if it did feel really good) and start pissing himself right on the couch. “Damn Hank, it does feel good, and it’s kind of relaxing.”

“Ha, I know right? Better than you thought it was going to be, right?”

“Hell yeah, fuck I’m gonna, oh yeah, oh there–there it goes–shit…”

Too late. He felt the warmth envelop his crotch, and inside he was screaming, but outside it felt so good just to relax, and god he did love pissing his pants, hell, getting drunk was sometimes just an excuse for some piss play in front of his friends. He started rubbing the dark crotch of his jeans with one hand, feeling his cock start hardening against his inner will, when Hank looked over, “Holy fuck dude, did you just fucking piss your pants?”

“Oh fuck yeah I did, feels so fucking good too…”

“Wait, you fucking like it?”

Aaron paused, unable to believe he was about to tell his roommate about his secret fetish, but no, that wasn’t even true! What was that fucking director doing to him? “Fuck, I guess there’s no hiding it now,” Aaron said, “I fuckin’ love piss dude, I love pissin’ my pants, I love the fucking stench of it, fuck this…this one time, in the bathroom, you forgot to flush, and I blew a wad just from the stench of your piss dude, it was so fucking hot.”

“Oh fuck yeah,” Mr. Thompson said, “Nice detail Aaron, you’re such a dirty dude. Now bring it home, beg for it, beg for your roommate’s piss like the wannabe urinal you are.”

“Hank, I’m so fuckin’ thirsty man, be a pal and give me your piss, please? I’ll do anything for it, I just gotta taste it, fresh, just fuckin’ once.”

Hank shoved his jock into Aaron’s face and released his piss, and he felt it dribble down his face and onto his chest even though he drank down as much of it as he could. When Hank finished, Aaron pulled the jock to one side with his teeth, releasing Hank’s cock, swallowing it to the hilt, sucking down the last bit of piss from the head as he did, unable to believe he was actually sucking cock and loving it. “Yeah Aaron, that’s a good cocksucker, make Hank feel real good. Now hold on Hank, we don’t want you shooting just yet, so hold on, alright?”

“Hmm, while they’re going at it, I want to make a few more changes I think,” Mr. Lewis said, “As much as I love blondes, I just don’t think we need another one, do you, Mr. Thompson?”

“No, we don’t really–what did you have in mind?”

“I’m thinking…Angelo,” Mr. Lewis said, and as the two men watched, Aaron’s skin began to darken, taking on a deep olive complexion, his blonde hair darkening to a deep black, and where a white college kid had sat moments before, there was now a hunky, latin wolf, moaning as he sucked Hank’s hard cock.

“Oh, wonderful choice Mr. Lewis, we were just talking last week about how we could use a bit more exoticism in our casting.”

“I know, I figured this was the perfect opportunity. Still, I don’t want two chubby pigs at once, so how about we make our pissslut a muscleman, eh?” As Angelo sat there, he felt body heat up and expand, the muscles spasming as they exploded in size, giving him the look of an out of season bodybuilder. “Yeah, that’s much better, but you need some fur too, though not as much as the pig down there.” Angelo couldn’t see from where he was sucking Hank off, but he ran his hands over his hard, ridged body, and he felt…sexy. Yeah, he was soaked in piss, sucking cock, where else would a latin piss slut like him ever want to be?

As for your look, I’m thinking…thug. Shaved head, but with a few days growth. A chinstrap beard, and then tattoos–lots of tattoos. Nothing too violent or sexual, but I think it’ll play well with our demographics.”

“Mr. Thompson, I–” Hank said, but the director shot him a withering glance, and he shut up.

“Don’t interrupt Hank, you know better.”

“But–” Hank groaned.

“Silence, don’t speak again until I say you can. Sorry, Mr. Lewis, I love watching you work your magic,” Mr. Thompson said, “They’re fucking perfect.”

“Ha, well, I don’t know about perfect,” Mr. Lewis said as he returned to his seat, examining Angelo at a distance, watching his hair pull into his head, beard fill in, and a riot of colorful tattoos make their way all over his body, until he was about half covered. “They might still need a few tweaks later on before we shoot for real, but for now, it’s good enough.”

Hank was sweating and groaning, bucking his hips, pounding his cock down Angelo’s throat. He couldn’t stop, but he was so close to cumming, and Angelo was surprisingly skilled at giving head. He wanted to cum so bad, and he stopped fighting it, grabbing the back of the latin wolf’s head and giving him a proper skull fucking, which drew Mr. Thompson’s attention.

“Hank? Hank! You still with me man? Don’t you fucking shoot that load dude, don’t–” but Mr. Thompson knew it was too late. Hank gave a stuttering gasp and blew his wad down Angelo’s throat and he sucked that down too, rubbing the piss into his dark chest as he did, utterly disgusted with his display, and yet knowing that he was putting on a fantastic show for the cameras, and loving it.

“God fucking damn it, Hank!” Mr. Thompson shouted, storming onto the set and dragging Hank off, “I thought we sorted that fucking issue out?”

“Oh fuck, I’m sorry Mr. Thompson, I was just so horny, and–”

“Oh fucking save it, you sorry bitch. Mr. Lewis, I think we just found out next star for Chastity Pain Slave Nine.”

“Oh god, not that, please not that.”

“Oh yes, I think that’s a marvelous idea–Gareth has been needing a new bitch, and he’s gonna love shaving Hank down on camera, I bet.”

“I think so too,” Mr. Thompson said, then shoved Hank away, “Now get out of my fucking sight, and think about how you’re going to perform better next time, when we’re shooting for real.”

Mr. Thompson walked back to his seat, calming himself back down as Hank left the set, crying, and turned his attention back to Pat and Angelo, the first still cleaning his friend’s feet while the other was reveling over his piss soaked body. “Well, I guess we’ll just have to finish the scene off with you two. Pat, I want to see how that hole of yours works. Angelo, leave your foot there, I want to see Pat fuck himself on it.”

Pat got up, and finally could see his friend past his new, massive feet–or at least the man who had been his friend, and also looked down at himself, his thick, red furred body, and he knew it was too late for them to escape now. Now, all he could do was enjoy this, oh yeah, he was going to put on such a great show for Mr. Thompson and Mr. Lewis. He squatted down over Angelo’s spit lubed foot and started working it into his asshole, and it felt amazing, his puny cock rock hard, though only the head could be seen easily beyond his thick pubic bush.

“Oh yeah Pat, that’s real good, take that whole fucking foot up there–you love getting fucked by big feet, don’t you?”

“Oh yeah Mr. Thompson,” Pat said, “It feels so damn good having Angelo’s foot crammed up my hole.”

“Yeah, that’s good, now take that puny cock of yours, and I want you to arc your piss and soak Angelo down. How does that sound, you thug whore? You want that fat pig to drench you in his piss?”

“Oh fuck yeah dude,” Angelo said, “Fuckin’ give it to me.”

Pat did as he was told, pushing the piss out as hard as he could, and amazingly he made it over the intervening space and all the way up to Angelo’s face and hair, soaking him down, and when his bladder emptied, he focused on fucking himself on his costar’s massive foot, moaning and grunting like a complete whore, listening to Mr. Thompson and Mr. Lewis encourage them both nearer to orgasm. They came simultaneously, shooting the gap, Angelo’s cum splattering across Pat’s hairy gut, and Pat’s mixing into the piss coating Angelo’s ridged abs.

“Hot damn, you are two dirty dudes!” Mr. Lewis said, “We’re going to have to duplicate those cumshots when we shoot, don’t you think, Mr. Thompson?”

“I think we can manage that, and I certainly enjoyed the rest of their show as well. Plus, directing them’s a dream, especially compared to Hank. How about it you two? I think you’re going to enjoy being a couple of filthy, dirty fuckers on set, right? In fact, why don’t we go ahead and make you two the stars of the film? I think Hank lost that privilege today.”

“Oh hell yeah Mr. Thompson, especially if I get to clean a bunch of nasty feet before fucking myself on them,” Pat said, lifting himself off Angelo’s big foot.

“Fuck yeah, and as long as I’m soaked in a bunch of stinking piss I’ll be happy,” Angelo said.

“Well, then I have a couple of lifetime contracts for the two of you to sign over here, but first, you two got both of us all hot and bothered,” Mr. Thompson said, hauling out his cock, “Angelo, get over here and suck me off, and I know Mr. Lewis would love to fuck that wide open hole of yours Pat.”

The two friends, no longer even able to consider refusing their director’s demands, did as they were told, moaning like the couple of dirty porn stars they were, eager to start filming their debut, as well as all the rest they would be acting and fucking in for the rest of their lives.