Fairytale – Part 1 (Interactive Story)

***WARNING***
This story contains raunch, watersports and scat. Don’t like it? Don’t read it, or don’t complain later.

*****

Why do I always do this to myself? Harry thought as he wiped his sweaty palms on his shirt, and glanced over at his date next to him, who was engrossed in the movie playing on the screen. He’d met Jeff online, and was still amazed the cute cub had agreed to come out with him, even if it was only for dinner and a movie, and on the implied condition that Harry pay for everything. But now…now he’d guzzled his god damn mega-sized drink, he had to piss like a racehorse, and the movie was only half over. He didn’t want to be that guy, that “guy who disturbs everyone by going to the bathroom in the middle of a movie,” but it was starting to look like he wasn’t going to have a choice.

The whole night, really, had been going like this. Jeff had been perfectly sociable, while Harry had spent the entire time tripping over his words like a schoolgirl. He already could tell that Jeff wasn’t happy with him–probably because Harry hadn’t been completely honest. Sure, the picture he posted was a few years old…well, ten years. He was a lot greyer and quite a bit fatter in real life, and he hadn’t exactly shown off his best side at dinner, shoveling down a giant plate of spaghetti and getting sauce down the front of his shirt. Jeff had been nice enough about it, but, well, Harry had ruined his chance for anything aside from a handjob in the movie parking lot…maybe…if he was lucky.

God, he had to go, he didn’t have a choice. He stood up, and with a hushed, “Sorry…” squeezed his chubby ass past Jeff’s face, and hurried out of the theater, down the hall, and into the bathroom. Of course, before he could get to the urinal, he had to look at his face and body in the mirror, and he cringed a bit–no wonder Jeff had no interest in him. Sure, he’d showered before the date, but he’d forgotten his deodorant, and his hair was a couple of weeks overdue for a trim–not that his balding hair looked great cut back, either. And he really was a lot fatter than his pictures on the site–probably by a good fifty pounds, though he did his best to avoid weighing himself and finding out for sure. He heaved a sigh and said under his breath, “I wish someone would…help me figure this shit out…” and his face turned red as he said it. How stupid, a wish? That was ridiculous. But no sooner did the words leave his lips than a sudden wind erupted in the restroom, whipping Harry’s hair and clothes about, and when he turned around, he found that he was no longer alone.

There in the middle of the room, was a muscular, older man wearing nothing other than a pair of black boots and some grandfatherly glasses perched on his nose. In place of clothing, his entire body was covered in a series of intricate tattoos which Harry swore were dancing and shifting in front of his eyes, though whenever he looked at one straight on it stayed perfectly still. “Hello Harry. You wished for help?” the man said, smiling warmly, “I think I can be of some assistance here.”

“Who…who are you?” Harry said, backing up against the sink as the man approached him.

“Me? I’m the Fairy Godfather. Did you really need to wait so long? I’ve been getting all antsy, watching you flounder here,” the man said, cracking his knuckles, “Shall we get started?” with twirl of the wrist, a wand of some dark, slender wood appeared in his hand, and pointing it at Harry, he felt a strange force press into him, and a moment later, he too was naked, and blushing further, he rushed to cover himself.

“How…what are you doing? Bring me back my clothes,” he said.

“Those things?” the fairy said, “Oh no, those were far too classy for your true tastes, don’t you think? I mean, a polo shirt and khaki shorts? Did you really feel good in those? Sexy? Happy? I didn’t think so. I’m here to help the real you shine through, the more honest and comfortable you, because that’s the only way you’ll be able to relax and have a great time with Jeff. Now hold still, I’m thinking.”

This is insane, Harry thought, I have to get out of here, but when he tried to move, he found himself glued to where he stood. Apparently, when the fairy said to stand still, he meant it. As the man approached, Harry began to notice that he wasn’t all that…clean. He could smell him from a few feet away, in fact, and the ripe musky smell was overpowering. But…he was a fairy right? Maybe he really could make Harry’s dreams come true–and it was beginning to look like he wasn’t going to have a choice in the matter, considering he couldn’t get away.

“Hmm…yes, exactly as I’d thought,” the fairy said, whirling his wand once more, “a young man in denial of his true desires, and his ideal form. Well, the easiest solution to that is to bring the ideal form out! What do you say?” he said, and before Harry could answer, he’d waved the wand and a shower of sparks shot out, slamming right into Harry’s belly, winding him and making him double over.

His ideal form? Did that mean he would be young and muscular? Or at least attractive again? Hell he’d settle for the picture he’d taken ten years ago, if nothing else. He managed to stand back up and turn around to face the mirror, and gasped. “What in the fuck did you do to me?” he shouted, appalled at his new image staring back at him in the mirror. His hair and beard had grown longer and tangled, looking like he hadn’t bothered to care for them in months, if not years. He was even fatter than before, with a massive apron hanging down past his groin which was covered in dense, matted hair, and beneath it he could make out crude tattoos which covered him from the top of his neck down to his wrists and ankles. He made the mistake of opening his mouth in horror, spying the rotten, yellowed and crooked teeth in his mouth, and he whirled back around to face the smiling fairy, and said, “Well? This is my ‘ideal image’? What the fuck?”

“Well, what did you expect? I am the Fairy Grungefather after all.”

“Grunge…what? I thought you said Godfather!”

“Then you thought wrong–you really shouldn’t make assumptions like that.”

“Wha–but…You shouldn’t make fucking assumptions that I want to look like this!” Harry cried, “Change me back!”

“Oh don’t worry, you’ll be back to normal come dawn.”

“Dawn? But I’m on a fucking date!”

“Oh would you calm down? Do you think I haven’t watched you all these years? Watched all those jack off sessions in that filthy, unwashed jock of yours, while you smell your ripe pits? Sensed that tingle of pleasure you get when when you don’t wipe your ass after you take a shit? That self-satisfaction when you piss a bit in your underwear ‘on accident’?”

That’s…I mean…” Harry said, but the blush gave him away–he did have a thing for raunch, but so what? That didn’t mean he wanted to look like this!

“Yeah, cat got your tongue? Well I have a better use for it anyway,” the fairy said, and held up one arm, the reeking pit inching closer to Harry’s face. “Go on, lick it. I know you want to.”

“Fuck…Fuck no,” Harry said, “I’m not gonna lick out your nasty pit.”

“No? Hmm…Maybe I underestimated just how stubborn you are. You know what you need? You need to loosen up, so how about I take all those inhibitions of yours, sexual and otherwise, and hold onto them for the night, hmm?”

Harry tried to shield himself, but he was helpless as the fairy raised his wand once more, and Harry felt all of the walls of resistance, of social pressure, and of proper etiquette simply disappear. And a moment later, when the fairy raised his arm again, all Harry could do was grin and lunge forward, lapping up all the filthy sweat he could find. “Oh fuck! Oh fuck, you’re so fuckin’ nasty man, I can’t fuckin’ take it,” he heard himself say, but on the inside, he was panicking. It felt like all of the brakes had been ripped out of his head–there was literally no stopping himself now. He felt the urge to piss suddenly reassert itself, and before he even realized it, he released his bladder, soaking the underside of his grimy apron, feeling it run down his legs and start puddling on the floor around him, and he tore himself away from the fairy’s ripe pit, got down on all fours and started lapping up as much of it as he could from the filthy tile floor.

Worst of all, Harry realized that his cock was rock hard through all of this, because…he wanted to do it. Deep down, he’d always wanted to do something like this, and this rush, this freedom was unlike anything he’d thought possible, and it only made him hornier. He let go at some point, stopped trying to put his feet on the brakes and just rode along, relishing the taste of his own piss, and the stench of his own filthy puts he could smell every time he bent down. Sure, he’d pissed on himself in the shower a few times, even tasted it once, but this…this was filthy. This was raunchy. This was so fucking hot. His licking was interrupted by a sharp, cutting whistle from across the bathroom, and Harry whipped his face up, wet hair throwing piss across the room, and he saw the fairy over by the urinals, his boot up on the small one, presenting his ass in Harry’s direction.

The piss no longer interested him. He crawled across the floor, loving the sensation of his hairy belly scraping across the tile, licking his lips the whole way. With no fear or trepidation, he dove into the crack, licking and chewing at the filth caught in the fairy’s ass hair, his tongue probing as deep as it could into the hole, and a moment later, he found his reward approach. “Go on Harry, I know you’ve fantasized about this. All those pictures you keep hidden deep on your computer? Those ones you can only bring yourself to look at when you’re drunk? Time to be one of them, Harry–time to take the big leap, pig.”

Harry felt himself cum as he took it in his mouth, chewed in a few times and swallowed, thankful when the fairy turned around and helped him wash it down with some of his piss, before nutting his own load onto Harry’s tangled beard. Exhausted from the thrill and exertion, Harry collapsed back onto the cold tile, panting, and when he finally managed to roll over and pick himself up, he was alone again. Suddenly afraid, he hurried back to the mirror and let out a sigh of relief when he saw he hadn’t changed back into his old self–the freedom from worry and inhibition was too amazing to let go of just yet. He looked at the piss puddle still on the floor, but held back–after all, he needed to get back to his date. Besides, leaving it there for someone else to find…oh fuck, that was damn hot too. On the counter, he saw a pile of clothing–though not the crap he’d worn when he came in. The fairy had been right, after all, he hated wearing classy stuff like that. The tattered army shorts worn commando, yellow stained wife beater, and black work boots were a much better choice, and he saw a letter underneath them, written in rough, but legible, script.

Harry–

I realize that your date tonight probably will not be as interested in your new self as we are, so I’m lending you a few, small spells to help out. Again, these will only last until dawn, so enjoy yourselves. By the way, your pumpkin is out in the parking lot, and your castle awaits you two after the movie.

Sincerely,
Your Fairy Grungefather

On the rest of the sheet, Harry saw several spells scribbled out, along with directions for how to use them, and he grinned wide–maybe he could turn this date around after all.

*****

What? More interaction? Yeah, I might as well take some spell suggestions from you guys. Send me them a message, and if I like one, I’ll try and work it into the story’s conclusion on Friday.

Andy at the Roadhouse Part 2

Andy, oblivious to the near silence of the bar, kept drinking his beer and smoking his new cigar, completely ignorant of his slowly maturing body. However, this brew was really nothing more than a warm up, something to prepare and prime his system for Ed’s true talents. He had countless numbers of recipes, for both beer and liquor, and the men waited to see what he’d emerge with next for Andy to drink and move the transformation into its final stages.

The men sensed movement behind the bar, and they crowded over to see Ed come out of the kitchen with a large pilsner glass filled with a light ale, but with no foam on top. In fact, the brew looked completely flat, and a few men let out a whistle or a hoot, having already guessed which color had won the day. Ed ignored them and approached Andy, “Here man, consider this my apology for Danny Boy earlier–it’s a rare brew of mine I’d like you to sample–my version of a Norse honey mead.”

“Sample,” Andy slurred, eyeing the monstrously large glass, “This is a bit big to be a sample…” still, he took it in hand and sipped a bit off the top, wincing at the rank, bitter flavor. “Dang, that’s a bit…rank. Shouldn’t it be a bit sweeter?”

“Oh, keep at it, I’m sure the taste will grow on you,” Ed said, and Andy took another drink, and then another. Ed was right, the taste wasn’t as bad as he’d first thought, and before he could stop himself, he tipped it back and chugged the last three quarters of the glass, not even minding when some of it dribbled down around his fledgling beard and down onto his chest, leaving an odd trail of blonde hairs where the stream had run down. “Alright boys, I have a tub in the back set up for our friend here,” Ed announced to the room, “However, I think it’s going to need to be topped off–if any of you would like to contribute.”

Now everyone laughed and clapped and hollered, some heading towards the rooms in the back of the bar, but others crowded in closer around Ed and Andy, who glanced about, drunk and confused by the sudden attention. “What–what are you talking about, Ed?”

“Don’t you worry man, you just sit there for bit and let that last brew sink in a bit,” Ed said, “You feeling anything? Thirsty…maybe?”

“Huh? I guess a little…actually, I kind of gotta go piss, where’s the restroom?” he asked, set the cigar down in an ashtray and tried to get off the stool, but Ed shoved him back down.

“Now hold your horses, don’t you think–” Ed started to say, but then leaned in closer, putting his hand on Andy’s cock through his shorts and massaging it gently, “don’t you think it would be so much hotter to piss yourself right here? In front of me and these hot guys? Wouldn’t that just feel so sexy?”

“Wha–Oh fuck, you freak! I gotta get…I gotta…oh god, I can’t–I can’t hold it…” Andy groaned, and suddenly couldn’t hold back his cock, releasing a blast of acrid, foul smelling piss into his shorts, which ran down his legs, onto the barstool and down to the floor, the men around him laughing and jeering at him, but while he knew he should be embarrassed–instead he felt really good, almost proud. His cock was rock hard, and his piss smelled so good, he could almost taste it and…and he was thirsty all of a sudden. Really, really thirsty. He licked his lips, and pushed himself off the stool, turned around and before he could stop himself, started licking up his pissbefore it could be sucked up by the dry sawdust below him, the men cheering him on as he lapped up as much as he could.

“Aww, don’t worry man, we have plenty of that for you,” Ed said, pulling out his cock and waving it in Andy’s face, “All you have to do is beg like a good little piss whore. Go on, beg for it, bitch.”

Andy, on his knees, looked around at the men surrounding him, their eyes hungry, and he knew he should run. He knew he should fight past them, get in his car and drive off as fast as he could, but fuck, the thirst! And that little bit of his own that he’d lapped up, it had tasted so good, he could only imagine what drinking Ed’s would be like. “Please…” he whispered, his voice dry and cracked. He took a moment, licked his lips, swallowed and tried to make some moisture so he could speak, “Please, please, Ed, can I…can I have your piss?”

The men jeered at him and Andy felt his face redden, or at least the bits which could be seen through his dark, full beard. “What did you say whore? You didn’t just call me Ed, did you? That name is reserved for the men and clientele of this establishment, not for its whores!” the men laughed, and Ed drank it in with a smile, “Now how about you try something with a bit more…respect.”

“Please…Oh god, I’m so thirsty, please…sir, please I need it, I’m so…” Andy groaned, but his voice dried out and he was afraid that if Ed didn’t relent he might never speak again.

“Alright, alright–I can see you’re suffering there. Here you piss whore, take a good, long drink,” Ed said, and started pissing, Andy latching his mouth around his cock as quickly as he could to avoid missing a drop, and the sheer ecstasy which rolled across his face sent the men into another bout of laughter and applause. Andy, however, heard none of it. The sheer satisfaction of a long drink of piss after his fear of starvation–it was overwhelming, and with with several full body jerks he shot a load of cum in his wet shorts, though he never released Ed’s cock for a second, nor stopped his relentless swallowing.

When he finished milking the last drops from Ed’s dick, he released it with a gasp. “Thank you, oh thank you sir, you saved me,” Andy said, feeling rejuvenated, but surprised at the deep, masculine voice which emerged from his throat suddenly.

“Ha, if you liked that, I’ve got a load of you, pig!”

“Me too, you can suck me dry anytime!”

Ed held up his hand, silencing the crowd, “Hold your horses, men, our new whore isn’t finished yet–now how about you all help me get him out of these soaking wet clothes?” Before Andy could even think of resisting, the patrons descended on him, ripping away his shirt and soaked shorts.

“Holy fuck, the pig shot a load already! Just from drinkin’ Ed’s piss!”

“What a fuckin’ hog–we might as well hook him up to the urinals full time!”

“That true pig?” Ed said, grabbing Andy’s constantly growing beard and yanking his face around inches away from his own, “Did you just shoot a load from drinking my piss, you fucking bitch?”

“Ye–Yes sir, I’m sorry sir, I was just–just so thirsty, I–”

“You fucking whore!” Ed said, slapping Andy across the face, “You don’t cum unless someone tells you to, got it? You’re here for our pleasure, not your own–if you cum, it’s because we want you to, got it? Gonna have to do something about this one–apparently he’s a bit more eager than I anticipated. Alright whore, I have a little party all set up for you in the back, shall we go check it out?” Still clutching Andy’s now foot long beard, he pulled him up and dragged him into the dark back rooms of the bar, where Andy saw a group of men standing in a loose circle, and the scent of piss was heavy in the air, making his lips dry out once more. In the middle, he saw a washtub filled three quarters of the way with the same amber mead Ed had brought him, though this had now been augmented by over a dozen loads of beer piss from the patrons, with more coming every minute. Ed parted the circle with a shove and then pulled Andy to the edge, and with one whiff it took all of his nerve to keep from plunging his face in and drinking all that he could. “Well? Go on whore, we all know you want it…” Ed whispered in his ear, but when Andy still didn’t move, he grabbed the back of his head, twisted his fingers into Andy’s now shoulder length hair, and shoved him down into the yellow liquid.

In his terror, Andy choked and breathed in, but was soon taking in as much as he could, not caring whether it went to his lungs or his stomach as long as it was inside of him. Too soon, far too soon, Ed pulled him back up, letting Andy shake the liquid from his eyes and lick his lips, and notice that everyone was laughing. “Someone grab a mirror and show our urinal his new look,” Ed said, and one of the men ran off, returning a moment later with a mirror, showing Andy that his hair, beard, and even his eyebrows were now a bright, but dirty, blonde. With the long beard and hair, he almost looking like some piss sodden viking. Still, he couldn’t hold back anymore, and he wrenched himself out of Ed’s grasp and flung his face back into the tub, but a moment later, he felt hands grab his legs and fling him in, face first.

He drank–it was all he could do, all his brain could think about, how he needed it all inside of him. The cheers of the men felt so distant, and he could feel himself filling up, growing as his body was forced to expand and make room for the gallons of liquid in the tub. It shouldn’t be possible, he thought to himself more than once, he shouldn’t be able to hold all of this inside of him, but inch after inch he drained it, until there was a layer too difficult to lap up, and the men hauled him out of the tub and dumped the rest right down his throat, tipping the tub up and pouring it into their new whore’s mouth.

Finished, he gasped for breath and air, exhausted, amazed that he was alive, and when he could open his eyes and look around, his vision faint, he caught sight of the mirror being held up for him, but he couldn’t see–didn’t want to see himself, really. What he could make out was a massive, round figure, but that was just his tight, swollen gut, matted with hair the same blonde as his head and face. But behind the gut–he was huge and massively muscled, with bulging arms and solid pecs. It was so much, and the room was spinning faster and faster at odd angles. He slumped onto his side, the cold concrete soothing against his hot, flushed skin and taut gut. Even the men crowding in around him, trying to keep him awake wasn’t enough to keep his eyes open, and the last thing he saw was Ed pushing through and bending down over him, and Andy was out.

*****

There was something–something slapping him in his face. At first, he thought it was a cock, but it was a hand, and he opened his eyes, seeing the man in magenta he’d spotted in the bar earlier looking down at him. “Hey, Hey! You ok? Come on Eskel, let’s get you up and empty you out. Don’t make me shove these pits in your face and get you up that way,” he said, and grabbed the blonde beast’s muscular arm and helped him up with a deep groan. Musky couldn’t believe how big the new guy, Eskel, had gotten last night–Ed had really outdone himself with this one. The last yellow they’d had couldn’t hold anything like this guy, he must have tweaked his mead recipe from before.

There really wasn’t much the slender Musky could do to help the nearly seven foot tall and over three hundred pound muscle man Eskel had grown into up out of bed. It didn’t help that his swollen gut stuck out nearly three feet in front of him, and was as rock solid, so while Eskel pulled himself out, Musky took out a cigar from the humidor on the bedside table, lit it, and gave it to Eskel when he sat up. The cigar brought some new life to him, and with some coaching, he managed to haul him into the bathroom, sit him down on the toilet, and Musky pressed down on Eskel’s swollen gut, hearing the piss suddenly shoot out of Eskel’s thick, short cock and into the bowl, the scent of urine making the norseman lick his lips in thirst, as he shook his head and became truly aware of his surroundings. “Where…where am I? Who are you?” the man growled, but Musky shushed him and focused on milking his gut down to a reasonable size. “I…remember you, from the bar–I saw you…what happened? Where–where’s Ed? I don’t…”

“Look, Eskel, maybe….” Musky said, stopping his pressure, leaving Eskel with a beachball sticking out under his pecs, “Here, that’s good enough, let’s flush and then get you in front of a mirror, it’ll be easier to show you.” He tried to get Eskel to stand up, but he started struggling against him, and rather than be slammed into the wall by the muscle man’s huge, hairy fists, he backed up and let him stand on his own.

“My name…My name isn’t Eskel, why you keep calling me that? My name….my name is…” he started to say, but he caught sight of himself in the mirror over the sink and his jaw dropped. “No…No, no, no…” he said. He was huge, he couldn’t even see his whole self in the mirror, but the sheer mass–it was incredible. He was hulking, he was a blond, muscular piss freak, he could smell it on himself and he was so thirsty. “No, fucking no!” he shouted and slammed his fist into the mirror, sending down a shower of glass before collapsing back against the opposite wall and descending into sobs, clutching his bloodied knuckles and sucking on his cigar for deer life, the smoke being the only thing keeping his rage in check.

“Eskel…” Musky said, stepping closer, “I know…trust me, I know what its like, but just trust me, alright? I’m here to help you, we all have to help each other, or we don’t have anyone. Or else it’s just Ed, and…” but he stopped not even sure if Eskel was listening to him or not, and deciding to just take a chance, he got down and pulled the huge man into a hug. Eskel flinched at first, but pawed his way around Musky and pulled him closer, not even minding the man’s stench.

“Why…Why can’t I remember my name? I wasn’t Eskel, before…I don’t…”

“Ed took it,” Musky said, “He took all of ours–I don’t know your real name or I’d use it, I swear. He just called you Eskel, and so, that’s all I have. Now, I’m sorry, but we need to get you dressed, because we have a meeting to go to, and trust me when I say you don’t want to be late, or try and resist, alright? It isn’t worth it.”

Eskel thought about it, thought about how angry he was, but…the small man was probably right. “What’s your name?” Eskel asked.

“I don’t know, but you can call me Musky. Now lets get you ready, Ed told me how he wants you to look, so…well, just hold on.” Musky said, lit a cigarette for himself and left and brought in a pair of bright yellow hip waders held up by suspenders which he helped Eskel into, and then pulled out two yellow handkerchiefs, braiding both of them into Eskel’s permanently wet beard. The big man was happy he’d shattered the mirror, because he didn’t want to see himself like this, but Musky looked like he approved, though he could sense the big man’s apprehension. “Look, just trust me on this. It isn’t forever–Ed let’s us all go eventually. And…and I know this isn’t much solace, but if you let go, and if you try not to fight it? You might even like it eventually.” Eskel snorted in doubt, and Musky smirked, “I know, I know–but, well, let’s just say I know from experience. You ready to face the world now? We don’t want to be late.”

Eskel nodded reluctantly and started to follow Musky out of the room, but stopped, “Wait,” he said, licking his lips, “I’m…” he said, but couldn’t get the words out, but Musky understood well enough and pulled out his cock. Eskel grinned, got down on his knees and drank down Musky’s rank piss, and already feeling a bit better, followed his newest friend and fellow whore to the bar, to face the new day.

Never Heckle a Hypnotist

What’s the story with who? Oh, Robbie? The guy guzzling piss down at the end of the bar?

Ha, funny story there–let me just tell you this–never heckle a hypnotist.

What, you want the whole story? Alright, but look, I confess that it might have been a bit of a stunt, but you have to understand what it’s been like for us gay bars here in this economy, right? Guys just aren’t coming out as much, and if they need to hook up, they just use one of those fancy apps of theirs–and look, we didn’t have anything like that back in my red sock days, so you’ll understand that I was feeling a little desperate. I mean, how desperate do you have to be to hire a fucking sex hypnotist for a show? Even I felt a little silly talking to the guy when we were setting it up. Besides, the guy didn’t sound all that impressive over the phone, but he offered me a deal, and I was willing to try anything.

But anyway, this is really about Robbie, not about me and my bar–regardless, I just want you to know that I didn’t mean for it to happen–it was his fault really for not keeping his mouth shut, let me tell you. Robbie…Robbie is, well, was a troublemaker, a rabble rouser, whatever you want to call it. He mucked up shit is what I’m saying. If he could say something to get a rise out of you, he would, and let’s just say he wasn’t really well liked at the bar, and never went home with anyone who really got to know him, but he was a staple, right? You got used to the inane bullshit which generally spewed out of his mouth after a while, still, I probably should have warned the hypnotist that there would be heckler in the audience.

And I might as well point out Jimmy too–he’s Robbie’s, well, I guess you could say boyfriend, although I think Robbie only calls him “daddy” in public now. Trust me, he wasn’t always the cocky leather bear you see over there.

Back before the show, he was a just a meek little clean shaven cub. Cute, but really, really quiet. He and Robbie, well, Robbie took advantage of him I think, made friends, they had sex a couple of times, but Robbie, well, I don’t know the details. Suffice it to say, Jimmy got burned–bad. But that’s what Robbie does I guess–well not anymore, that’s one good thing. He’s too busy drinking piss to throw shit around now.

So the night of the show rolled around, and we had a decent crowd in here–maybe thirty or forty, and Robbie was present of course and already drunk by the time the performance rolled around. Now we tend to cater to an older, bearish crowd, so everyone was pretty lackluster when the small, slight hypnotist took the stage. I too, was a bit disappointed, because I was hoping he would at least be some decent eye candy, but eh, whatever. He did his little introduction, and then asked for volunteers from the audience. He got a few good looking guys to go up there–he could at least read the tastes of the room.

One person he did manage to get up on stage was Jimmy. I don’t know why he worked so hard at getting him up there, but the shy cub gave in eventually. I don’t really remember the rest of the volunteers, it was mostly the regulars who were open enough with everyone to not mind being made a fool for the rest of our amusement. Anyway, the hypnotist got the inductions going, and I kept looking over at Robbie, knowing he was going to say something stupid and that I’d have to haul his ass out to the curb, but he stayed quiet for the meantime.

Once they were all under, he did some pretty generic stuff, making them strip down to their underwear as fast as they could, then making the loser get down and lick the feet of the winner. Making them all get uncontrollably hard and horny, but unable to get their underwear down or touch their dicks. It was pretty funny, actually, but then Robbie started his shit. Heckling the guy, telling him how stupid his act was. I let it go on for a minute, and then started over, ready to kick him out, but a stern look from the hypnotist stopped me, and I realized I might have misjudged the young guy.

He put the other volunteers to sleep, and then addressed Robbie, inviting him up onto the stage. Robbie, of course, insisted that he couldn’t be hypnotized, but everyone else had had enough of his shit too, so eventually he was forced up onto the stage, where he stumbled about, drunk off his ass. Needless to say, little miss I-can’t-be-hypnotized was out like a light in about thirty seconds flat, and then the fun really began.

He stood Robbie up and laid into his ass in front of the audience, belittling and insulting him, but always telling him how he was a naughty little boy who probably couldn’t even hold in his piss, and sure enough, less than a minute later, the front of Robbie’s jeans darkened with a tell-tale stain.

He’d actually gone and pissed himself, and the whole room started roaring with laughter. Robbie hadn’t even noticed yet, and as soon as the look of horror crossed his face, the hypnotist said “Freeze,” and Robbie couldn’t move a muscle while the rest of us hooted and hollered with glee. But the hypnotist wasn’t done, not by a long shot. With Robbie immobilized and humiliated, he stood He stood Jimmy up and started working on him.

He asked Jimmy how his father had treated him–hell, we all could tell he’d probably had a rough childhood, like most of us–and he described a rough, demanding man with a definite affinity for corporal punishment, especially spankings. Well the hypnotist started winding him up, tell him that it was time for Jimmy to step into his daddy’s shoes, and show the little boy on stage what happens to him when he’s naughty. When he unfroze them both, Jimmy stormed over, grabbed Robbie by the forearm and hauled him over his knee, pounding his ass and hollering at him in a strange, deep voice about how it’s time to take his punishment, for being a naughty little pants-pisser.

Robbie obviously wasn’t used to the treatment and started to cry, but the hypnotist kept them both quiet and told them what to say, narrating a scene where a little boy who loves pissing himself finally admits to his daddy that what he wants, more than anything else in the world, is to be a urinal. I swear, I know it sounds nuts, but that’s how it ended up, with Robbie bent over Jimmy’s knee shouting for the whole room to hear how he wanted to be a urinal, “Please daddy, make me a urinal!” and the hypnotist turns to us, and asks whether we should help this naughty little boys dream come true, and of course we hoot and holler yes like a pack of wolves.

Well, the hypnotist starts telling Robbie about everything it takes to be a good urinal for a men’s room, gets him naked aside from his underwear, then sets him down on his knees, on the stage, and tells all the guys up there that Robbie needs to practice a bit before taking his “daddy’s” piss. So they all piss in his mouth and down the front of him, and Robbie just can’t get fucking enough of it. I mean, I knew then, that this was going to far, that we had taken a left turn at crazy, but I couldn’t stop it–I was laughing too hard.

So he drank all their piss, and he’s fucking soaked, when it’s finally Jimmy’s turn, but the hypnotist has a challenge for them. He wants them to stand as far away from each other, and see if Jimmy can still get his son doused in his piss, and by golly, that piss arced a good six feet, I’m not lying. Sure, the hypnotist worked a little magic on Jimmy’s bladder, but hey, it was still hot as hell, and I’m not even into that shit.

It was quite the finale, and we all gave the hypnotist quite the ovation, and he had a little chat with all of his volunteers before letting them off for the night, although they were all left with a few tweaks that were only supposed to last a night. Jimmy, well, he kept his big daddy persona with the deep voice and confidence to boot–and Robbie, fuck, he had no fucking clue. The hypnotist told him that for the rest of the evening, he would think that his clothes were perfectly dry, and that he would be unable to use the bathroom, pissing his pants instead, and he would be forced to announce it to the room every time it happened. Lastly, and perhaps worst of all, he was going to keep drinking all night, but instead of going to the bar, he’d ask around for piss to fill his glass with from men in the room, thinking it was beer the entire time.

Fuck, watching him walk around thinking he didn’t have a ton of men’s piss soaked into his clothes, including Jimmy’s, who he’d treated so poorly, it was priceless. Hell, when he wasn’t looking, guys kept pissing on him, at least when they weren’t providing him with bottomless refills in his glass. He left that night with a stomach so bloated, I figured he would piss gallons when it all finally worked its way out of him. Still, the bar was such a fucking mess, I was here for hours mopping up piss after closing time.

Well, a few days passed, and Robbie was suspiciously absent from the bar. When he finally did show up, it was with a foggy memory, and no one really wanted to razz him too hard, to be honest. But Jimmy, man, had he become a cocky asshole, though still nicer than Robbie had been. That little personality adjustment had really gone to his head, and he was getting laid right and left–and topping all of them, or so I’d heard. He’d also gone out and bought some new leather gear, and started smoking cigars so he would look older. Hell, I wouldn’t be surprised if he went and dyed his beard grey, he’s so wrapped up in looking like a good leather daddy now. Anyway, when he saw Robbie, he just wouldn’t let up, and to my surprise, Robbie was the submissive one this time around. By the end of the night, Jimmy had Robbie down at the end of the bar, right where he is now, drinking down piss once again like it was his favorite thing, and the two have been inseparable ever since, believe it or not.

I will say though, that having a bar urinal has been great for business. I’ve never really made inroads with the whole kink community, but hey, Robbie has been great for that. Besides, the two of them seem happy…god, that’s kind of sick, isn’t it? Well, I’m actually scheduling another performance with the hypnotist for next month–you should come watch it. I think it’s going to be a packed house, but like I said earlier, stay quiet, and never heckle a hypnotist. You never know where you might end up when he’s through with you.

The construction workers didn’t know where the toilet in the rotted out building had come from. It wasn’t hooked up to any plumbing, it didn’t flush, and yet it always stayed reasonably clean–and for some reason, they all felt compelled to use it when they were on the job. However, the toilet isn’t really a toilet–it’s you.

You aren’t really a toilet, but that’s how you’ve the witch cursed you to be seen, all those years ago, back in college. You remained in your frat house for a while, but since then you’ve spent years being moved from place to place, servicing filthier and filthier men. By now, you’ve stopped trying to get them to hear you or see you for what you are. You wouldn’t want them to–your skin caked with filth–your body obese and bloated with thousands of pounds of shit and piss. They approach, you open, they do their business, they wipe their crack with your long, filthy beard, and then they leave. It’s the only life you remember now, and the only life you know you’ll ever want.

Source: pigtoulouse

You are at the movie theater when you meet him. You brought a date, but didn’t share enough of that large soda you guzzled during the first act, and now you have to go piss. You excuse yourself, hoping your date doesn’t hate you for being “that guy who has to piss during the movie,” and rush to the bathroom, where he’s waiting for you.

Maybe not for you, maybe for any man. Maybe if you hadn’t hogged that soda, he would have found someone else. But you turn the corner and see him standing on the tile, naked aside from his boots, covered in tattoos that swirl and dance before your eyes. Your mind goes blank, aside from those beautiful colors and his deep voice, telling you to come closer, strip and come closer, little pig.

You can smell him now, smell his musk, and he tells you how much a pig like you would love to smell the pits of a man like him. He tells you what a fat little pig you are, what a dirty, dumb, obese, nasty hog. Are you really growing shorter, plumping up and putting on a huge gut as he speaks to you, or is it just a fantasy, a fantasy you suddenly long for?

He puts a boot up on a urinal, showing off his hairy, dirty crack, and with a grunt you dig your face in deep, licking and chewing all the filth you can find. Unable to control yourself, your cock releases your full bladder, and with both hands you are rubbing it on yourself. He pushes you down onto all fours, wets his cock with some spit and forces it into your ass. You snort and squeal, cum shooting from your cock and mixing with the piss on the floor, and when he finishes, you crawl after your master on all fours, gut dragging on the floor, head empty aside from the filthiest fantasies your mind had never dreamed of.

You never return to the theater, you never finish the movie. All your date finds of you is a puddle of piss on the men’s room floor, a wad of cum shot in the middle of it, and a pile of clothes from a past life.

Source: manthrone

The hypnotist’s show a few weeks ago was great, though there had been a few changes to some of the bar’s regulars. The one who changed the most though, was Robbie. He was a loud, obnoxious drunkn–but the other regulars ignored him, and if he got too riled up, the bouncers knew to just kick him to the curb.

Well, the night the hypnotist came, Robbie refused to shut up. He spent the whole evening shouting that hypnosis was fake and calling the hypnotist a crock. When he suggested Robbie come up, he insisted that he couldn’t be hypnotized–but before long, Robbie was clucking around like a chicken…but then the show took a strange turn.

He told Robbie to pretend as hard as he could that he was a urinal, and told the other participants they needed to piss. One by one, Robbie drank it all down, and while he claims he doesn’t remember it, every night now, he sits at the end of the bar, guzzling piss like its his favorite thing in the world. Still the bar is a lot quieter now–so maybe things worked out for the best.

It had started as a walk in the park. Daryl had gone around half the lake, when he noticed a dirt path he hadn’t noticed before, and feeling like some exploration might be fun, he took it. The path meandered deep into a thicket of trees, and soon he could neither see, nor hear the families picnicking and playing less that 200 yards away, and then he found the clearing.

The men were lounging on some found, inflatable furniture, and the grass was littered with various other pieces of furniture, some tables, mattresses, all of it junk. They beckoned him over, and he was unable to resist. He didn’t know why, but before long he was seated next to the Mayor, sucking his cock, feeling his beard grow longer, his clothing tattered and filthy. The other derelicts, laughing and drunk, surrounded them and soaked the newcomer with their piss. Before too long, he was just another filthy derelict–the hobo camp had claimed another victim.

Matchmaker (Part 5)

***WARNING: This episode contains references to incest, watersports, and scat. Duck and cover!***

So that, I suppose, brings my tale of revenge to an end. Of course, that was a few years ago at this point. I’d be lying if I said that, when I started all of this, I had wanted all three of them to suffer for the rest of their lives, but it didn’t quite turn out that way–and to be honest, I’m happy about that. In fact, everyone settled into their new relationships and lives quite quickly, more or less, so how about we play a quick game of “Where are they now?”

I suppose it would only make sense to start with Rick and Juan, since they were my first. It was also, perhaps, the sloppiest, but I still have enjoyed watching their relationship grow and change, especially Rick. He stayed on as foreman for a few months, until shortly after my father’s first morning in the mud at the construction site, but his new submissive tendencies were making it difficult for him to lead the crew–especially considering he spent most of his time fantasizing about sucking most of us off, especially the Mexicans. Hell, before too long, Juan had him sucking most everyone’s cock, and to be honest, it’s hard to respect someone when a few minutes ago you had your cock buried down their throat, and you watched him cum buckets just from the satisfaction of having his face buried in sweaty pubes.

When he stepped down, it only made sense for Juan to step up–after all, he’d been working in construction for years, knew the strengths and weaknesses of the crew, and how to utilize us well. The new, domineering attitude helped him cement the job all the more easily, and he did great. Rick returned to being a laborer, and now that his position of authority was gone–he sucked more cock than ever, and ate, and ate, and ate.

I have never seen anyone eat like Rick does, and Juan encouraged him all the time, telling him how good he looked with a big wide ass for fucking, and heavy jowls and chins to shake while he deep throated big, latin cocks. The two of them were infamous for their two hour lunch breaks, and they would always return with Rick stuffed to the throat with deep fried mexican, or greasy fast food. It wasn’t very long at all before Rick crested three hundred, and at this point, he’s getting close to four. I think Juan is planning a big feeding and fucking party to commemorate the milestone–it should be a lot of fun.

The two of them got married after a year, and it was sweet when Rick took Juan’s last name–Rodriguez. One night at a bar he confessed to me that he wished he could be Mexican like his husband–I think that was why he started picking up as much Spanish as he could, and even mimicked Juan’s Latin accent when he spoke English. He got pretty good, and his developing tan helped a lot. He was all excited one afternoon when some foreman shopping at Home Depot had asked him in Spanish if he needed work for the day, like a common immigrant. Still, all the quirks aside, the two of them were deep in love, and when he didn’t have his ass or mouth around Juan’s cock (which was rarely) they were kissing, giggling, hugging, or just looking in each other’s eyes. It was sweet, really–it was.

Now Spike and Bill on the other hand–I guess you could say they were in love, but in public, they never strayed from the biker master and slave personas. Spike, in fact, took great pains to cement their roles by making some changes to his new bitch’s looks. I must say, that when they rode back into town together, I hadn’t expected to see Bill tattooed from neck to foot. Next, Bill was quickly taught how to properly smoke a cigar, and I have never seen him without one in his mouth or nearby since, well, unless he was smoking pot I suppose. He got a few piercings too, but nothing extreme–I think Spike liked his tattoos more than anything. That just left inducting his new bitch into the gang, something involving a weekend long orgy at the clubhouse, which left Bill at work on Monday with a gaping hole, and smelling of piss, cum and ashtrays.

Spike did love Bill’s red hair though, and he forced him to grow it out along with his beard and body hair. I’d had no idea my brother was so hairy–apparently Spike had gotten everything he’d wanted in that category as well. Over the next few months, the greasy food they ate on their rides, along with Spike’s encouraging forced Bill to pack on quite the gut, which he was apparently proud of. He liked working shirtless on site, showing off his tattoos and letting his gut hang out for everyone to see. On slow days, sometimes we’d pit Bill and Rick against one another, and see who could get two of us off the fastest–fuck, it was so hot seeing my goody-two-shoes brother, now nothing more than a sexpot, roughneck biker–I always nutted first when he was sucking me off.

Now his tattoos, those were funny. Apparently, there was a bit of magic latent in them, such that they always seemed to shift around and change depending upon what Spike and Bill were doing at the moment. If they were in their leathers getting ready for a ride? Suddenly he was emblazoned with Harley logos, with the gang’s symbol covering his entire belly. Having a long smoke slave session? Now he’s covered with images of pipes, cigars, and motifs of smoke from head to toe. A leather bitch for the clubs? He’s got slave across his chest, and all sorts of images telling men exactly what they ought to do with a leather bitch like Bill. My favorite though, is when he’s relaxing at home, high on pot, and pretty drunk–because a bit of my old brother suddenly pops out–the stoner comic book slob–who would have known?

Yeah, the Silver Surfer on his arm, and the word “RANK” across his gut, with flies buzzing around it–how hot can he get, right? I asked him about it, and he confessed that he’d always loved comics as a kid, but that our dad had forced him to stop reading them, though he’d always kept it up in secret. Then he confessed, blushing, that Spike loved his hobby too, and together they had amassed quite the collection–so apparently their relationship did have a little give and take. He’d never really wanted to be a cop, or a security guard–but dad had wanted it, so that’s what he did. He was happier now, much happier. I’d misjudged him, I realized, though I still wished he hadn’t ratted on me in the first place. Still, he did apologize, right before asking me to fuck his ass, rough how he likes it, so I guess I can forgive a hot biker like him.

As for Nicky and Glenn—dang, where do I even start with those two? Watching everyone settle into their relationships has been an interesting experience, but none of them went quite as far down the rabbit hole as those two did. It wasn’t much at first–Nicky seemed happy enough to act the part of the immature, innocent child, while Glenn was the rough daddy, but as the weeks and months wore on, we all started to notice that Nicky was undergoing a few, greater changes. The first, and most prominent, was the weight gain. I’m not sure what Glenn was feeding him, but it sure did pack on the pounds, and fast at that. They hadn’t been together a year by the time Nicky hit three hundred and kept on growing.

That was only the most obvious change, but not the most sudden either. One week, I saw Nicky and he suddenly had no hair. Nothing, not on his head, not on his body–he was completely smooth. I asked Glenn about it, and all he’d tell me was that babies weren’t supposed to be hairy, so he’d talked it over with Nicky, and the two of them had agreed to get all of it removed permanently. I pressed him a little further, and found out about some of the other things he and Nicky had spent their time doing, and honestly? Some of it even freaked me out, and as you can tell, I have a pretty twisted head when it comes to sex.

By that time, Nicky was entirely incontinent–he had lost all control over his bladder and ass, and as far as both of them were concerned, he was going to be in diapers for the rest of his life. While Glenn was working, Nicky was at home, listening to a variety of hypnotic recordings designed to regress him permanently to as young a mindset as possible. Glenn had been testing him often, and he was losing at least fifty words from his vocabulary a week, and he always talked like a little kid without even thinking about it. I asked him how the sex was, and this was the part that surprised me, he said they weren’t having any, really. Nicky occasionally sucked on his daddy’s pacifier, and Glenn would jack his son off in his diaper once in awhile, but I think even that quit by their second year together. They were really becoming father and son, in a way–and that was how they loved each other. It was sweet, but also unnerving if you thought about it too much.

Glenn took a second job on–apparently it was hard raising an adult baby on a single income, and so he tapped some of us “gay uncles” to babysit Nicky on occasion. It was always a bit surreal, whenever I watched him. He loved to play peek-a-boo, or play pretend with his huge collection of stuffed animals. He was–so innocent really. It reminded me of when he had been a baby, before he’d turned into the immature jackass I’d hated most of my life. And he really was happiest with a full, stinking diaper, who would have thought it?

And that leaves my dad–Max. Boy, I sure did a number on him, didn’t I? Still, from the very beginning, I could tell that something had gone wrong with his spell. Sure, it had worked well enough, but he never seemed to settle down into his new life fully. I mean, don’t get me wrong, from that day on he was a mud slinging, shit eating, piss loving pigman, but you could see in his eyes that he knew something was wrong–that this wasn’t how things were supposed to be. I heard from Hog that the two of them would have terrible fights, usually after Max had gotten a bit too drunk, and they always ended with Max storming out and leaving for days at a time, with Hog having no clue as to where he had gone, or when he might be back.

One night, Hog texted me and told me Max had gotten violent, and that he was worried he was going to hurt himself or someone else. I hurried over, and arrived just in time to see my dad storm out and throw a knife into the bushes. Hog was in the doorway–unharmed, thank goodness–crying and begging him to stay, but Max climbed in his truck and drove off. So I followed him, deciding to get to the bottom of this once and for all. It might be important to note that my dad had been raised a Catholic, and while he had drifted away from church in his later years, it was still important to him. So when he pulled up at a large Catholic church, one with a shelter attached, I wasn’t too surprised. Inside, he immediately went to confession, and then got cleaned up, and was given a room in the shelter, where he could, apparently, pray and work out his inner demons.

He didn’t last long. Two days later, he was back on the streets in his filthy clothes, a hungry look in his eyes, and he would binge all night long. Scarfing derelicts’ shit and piss, begging men passing by to fuck his ass or feed him. He was insatiable, and happy–yes, happy. He didn’t seem upset that he’d given in, if anything, he looked relieved, and the next day he drove back to Hog’s, apologized, and then everything was fine until his next explosion a few months down the line. The next time it happened, I was ready. I confronted him before he could get into the church, and told him to talk to me, and that afterwards, I’d drop him anywhere he wanted to go. He didn’t want to, but eventually, he climbed in.

Back at Mary’s house, in the kitchen where this had all started, we talked–as father and son–for the first time in ages. He told me how happy he was with Hog, how much he loved being a trashy pig, how much he wanted to make Hog happy, but there was another voice–it was always there, screaming at him, shouting him down, telling him it was wrong, that he needed help, that he needed God. He would run, but being clean–he hated it so much, and he’d fall back into his new ways, relieved that the voice was quiet again for the moment. I felt sorry for him, to be honest–I didn’t want him to suffer with that old conscience. I think that was where my moment of weakness hit.

See, I told him everything. How I had become a matchmaker, about my magic, about how I had changed all of them, Rick and Juan, Bill and Spike, Nicky and Glenn, and even him and Hog. I told him why, and he listened, but he didn’t say anything. I wanted him to say something, anything, but when I’d finished, he just got up and left, went back to Hog’s and never had another crisis of conscience that I heard about. Still, I shouldn’t have told him. He never confessed it to me, but he’s the one who started the next mess, I’m sure of it. Still, I managed to come out on top of it, didn’t I? What was the next mess you say? Well, why don’t we save that story for another time.

Matchmaker (Part 4)

***WARNING: This post contains watersports, scat and incest. It’s probably not suitable for anyone. Enjoy!***

So that was two down. It was a couple of weeks later that I got to see Nicky again. Glenn had been acting pretty odd all week, and while I knew why, none of the other guys had a clue what was going on with him, though they did manage to pry out of him that he had a new boyfriend. Finally though, the gay guys on the crew convinced him to come out to a bar with whoever he was seeing, and so along comes Nicky, clad in his diaper and a pacifier stuck in his mouth–fuck, I’m not really into the whole diaper thing, but it was hot just the same. Everyone was a bit weirded out, but they saw that Glenn–and Nicky–were happy as could be, they got over it pretty quick, kind of. We were all a little put-off when Glenn invited us to Nicky’s bris a couple weeks later–that was really awkward.

But of course, this left me with my father, Max, and I’ll be honest, I wanted him to suffer a bit before I hooked him up with someone. He was an ex-marine, and had always expected the greatest out of us, and did his best to train us to be real men. Of course, he’d already failed once with me, so I wanted him to see that he’d failed with my brothers as well.

He met up with Bill first–who invited him out for a drink at his new favorite biker bar–with his new buddies, and Spike of course. I heard later that my dad wasn’t too happy with Bill’s new look, and when he found out he’d pledged himself to “Master” Spike–well, he kind of lost it. He held his own pretty well, but getting beat down by a slew of gay bikers–well, that will put a damper on any man’s self-image. It didn’t help when Nicky showed up on his doorstep a few days later, with Daddy Glenn next to him, and hell if Nicky didn’t rip him a new asshole. He told my dad how horrible he’d been for kicking me out, and how he didn’t want him as a father anymore, so Glenn was going to be his real daddy now, and they left him there on the porch sputtering.

Yeah, maybe that was a little cruel, but can you blame me for enjoying it? Besides, the worst was yet to come for him really, considering who I was hooking him up with. Hugh was his name, but we all called him Hog, because he loved getting dirty. Piss, shit, mud, I don’t think anything was too much for him.

Nice looking guy, right? I thought he’d be perfect for my clean cut, military asshole dad at least, and I think I was right. This time though, I wanted a little more control over what would go down, because I wanted a little public humiliation for him thrown in the mix, although we can get to that a bit later. I decided to send him a little care package, before he went on his date with Hog, so he could get into the spirit of things.

~~~

Max sat on the couch in his home, staring at the blank TV screen on the wall, a half drunk bottle of whisky on the side table. He hadn’t gone to trying to comprehend what in the fuck was going on. Hadn’t he been a good father? Hadn’t he done everything he could to raise his kids right? He grabbed the bottle and took another swig. It had to be in the genes–it had to be. First Dan–he’d tried to cut that weed out quick, but now Bill…and Nick? What in the hell was going on?

God he was drunk off his ass–he hadn’t been this drunk in years, but how else was he supposed to try and deal with all of this shit? He hadn’t even bothered show up for work the past couple of days, and his boss kept calling, but what could he say? Sorry, I can’t come into work today, I’m afraid all my boys turned gay on me while I wasn’t looking? What if it was him–what if he went all faggoty like they had? It was ridiculous of course, shit like that couldn’t happen, but then…how could he explain what happened to Bill and Nick? Everything was going around in circles, and nothing made any sense at all.

The night quiet of the room was broken by a knocking on the front door–but Max didn’t want to answer it. He didn’t want to see anyone, and he definitely didn’t want to talk to anyone right now, especially not some salesman or something, although why anyone was coming around at this time he didn’t know. After a few seconds, the knocking came again, but louder, and then after another brief pause, the knocking became a pounding, which actually shook the pictures hanging on the walls, and refused to quit. “Alright! Alright god damn it, I’m coming!” Max shouted, and stumbled his way to the door, which was visibly shaking from the force of the pounding, but when he opened it up–there was no one there. Not even a single person on the sidewalk that he could see in the dim street lights.

He was about to close the door, more freaked out than ever, when he saw the cardboard box on the stoop at his feet. After looking around again, to make sure that no one was there, he bent down and picked it up, bringing it inside as he pulled the door closed behind him. This was all just a little too strange. The box didn’t have an address on it, and wasn’t even taped closed–though there was a note taped on top–

Hope you didn’t forget about that blind date of yours tonight–here’s some stuff you should wear. Have fun, and don’t be late. Three AM, at the construction site at 3rd and Middler Street.

A blind date? No one had set him up on a date–he wasn’t even interested in dating. He pulled open the box, and felt himself gag when the stench hit him–something between a week old honey bucket and a high school locker room slamming right in his face. They were clothes, but there was no way he was going to wear anything that disgusting, or go on this crazy date. He threw the box and the clothes in the trash, before returning to his booze and the blank TV.

He didn’t even last an hour. The smell–now that it was in the room, he had to think about it, and as he got drunker, everything started to make–sense. Maybe…maybe he had gotten set up on a date, and he’d just forgotten. Not even noticing how hard his cock was, he fished out the package and unpacked the clothes, stripping down and pulling the yellowed jockstrap, grimy jeans and oily work shirt on over his naked body, straping the ball stretcher around his sack, and sliding the thick butt plug in his hole with a groan. He looked at the clock, but it was only 1:30–he still had forty-five minutes before he needed to leave–and he still didn’t feel…dirty enough. After all, he needed to make a good impression on his blind date.

He went into the garage and found some extra motor oil, and brought it into the bathroom, where he began pouring it all over his body, being extra sure to lube up his cock.

When the oil was gone, he went ahead and pissed all over himself as well, before jacking off while playing with his huge butt plug and smearing the cum into his chest hair. Feeling better now that he was all washed up–he got out of the tub, but when he saw himself in the mirror he let out a groan of disgust. This wasn’t him–it wasn’t what he was supposed to look like, covered in piss, oil and sweat. What was happening to him? And yet, wasn’t this who he’d always been? A dirty slob? Looking around the bathroom, he couldn’t see much evidence to deny it, from the hair clogging the sink, filthy laundry on the floor and the toilet backed up with two loads of shit. He walked through the rest of the house, still tracking footprints of oil, and saw piles of trash in every room, stacks of pizza boxes, and he felt at home here–he couldn’t deny that. He looked up at the clock and saw he had to leave now if he was going to get to his date on time. Still wanting to look his piggy best, he pulled on his rubber waders and a long rubber overcoat, glanced at himself in the hall mirror, hoping he was filthy enough, and then left for the construction site mentioned in the note.

~~~

Yeah, like I said, I set my dad up for some public humiliation–what can I say? I was pretty angry. I decided to give Max and Hog a couple of hours to play around in the mud of the construction site together, before the rest of us showed up to join in. Work usually started at six in the morning, so I had the rest of us–my brothers, their new masters, Juan and Rick show up around then. I got there first, and listened without revealing I was there.

“You want it pig? Go on, beg for it.”

“Please, sir, give me your shit, sir! This dirty pig is starving, sir, please!”

“Alright pig, here it comes. Eat it all down now like a good boy.”

They carried on like that for a while, and everyone else arrived in the next few minutes, and when we did reveal ourselves–this is what I saw my father had become.

Covered in mud, shit covering his face, jacking off while Bud pissed all over him again, and then he looked over and saw his three sons watching him, and the sheer shame in his face was…well, sexy as fuck, but maybe you’re not as vindictive as I am. But he knew he’d been caught, that he’d fallen just as far as his sons had–hell, even farther than us, I think. Leading the pack, I strode over and started pissing on him as well, and Bill was close behind me, though he had to ask Spike permission to play before joining in. The two of us pulled him up onto his hands and knees, and while I pounded his ass, Spike pissed down his throat and skull fucked him, Hog raining down praise at what a good pig Max was being, taking his son’s loads from both ends.

Looking over, Rick and Nicky were sucking their own masters’ cocks while they watched the festivities. Seeing all of my work gathered up in one place was just too much, and I blasted my cum deep in my bastard father’s filthy hole, Bill following suit moments later. Hog made him thank both of us for giving him our loads, and then he cleaned off our muddy, shitty cocks and boots with his tongue.

The rest of us decided that maybe it was time to let the pig let off a load himself. Glenn had kept Nicky in the same diaper for a few days now in preparation, so we made Max beg to have his face smothered in it. Nicky sat on his face, and ridiculed our father while Max jacked his cock harder than he had in his whole life, and he finally sprayed his cum all over himself just as the rest of the crew was about to show up for work. Hog decided to take his new pig home for some private training–and the rest of us quickly made ourselves as presentable as possible before any of the straight workmen caught sight of us. But damn, it was hard to focus on work that day–I’d never felt so satisfied in all my life.

To be concluded Friday.

Matchmaker (Part 3)

***WARNING – This story contains incest, incontinence, watersports, scat, and mental AR. If any of this offends you, go get your panties in a knot somewhere else.***

Within a week of casting the spell–sure enough, a heavily tattooed, and very submissive Bill was working alongside Spike on site, with a padlocked chain around his neck. Fuck if that wasn’t one of the hottest things I’d ever seen in my whole life. Spike introduced us on his first day, and as soon as Bill heard my name I knew he recognized me, but he didn’t dare disobey when his Master Spike told him to suck my cock on our smoke break. Needless to say–that was one down with two more to go, and Nick, my younger brother, was my next target.

Nick had gotten a nice scholarship with the local university in town based on his football skills, and was finishing up his senior year–not that he’d bothered growing up or maturing at all in that space of time, or taken advantage of his education. Was I a bit bitter? Hell yeah I was. I had always been smarter than Nick, and gotten better grades, and here I was, working as a blue collar laborer while he was banging girls and getting drunk at college. Not that I resented where I was working, or who I’d become–it was just, well that could have been me, you know? Well, aside from the girl part, but he’d wasted it like a spoiled, immature brat.

But who to hook him up with? Well, that was a sadder story. Glenn was another gay guy on the crew, but one who’d bitten the straight-acting bullet and married his high school sweetheart, figuring he could still fuck around with enough guys on the side to keep himself happy. Hell, it had worked for thirty years, and he’d somehow managed to get two young boys of his own, and he really did love his family.

Unfortunately, his wife had come home at the wrong time and caught her husband giving it to a young, chubby cub…and well, that was that. She moved across the country to live with her parents, took the boys with her–and Glenn was heartbroken. But hey, I decided to make the best out of it, right? After all, Glenn made an excellent father, and I had a lout of a brother who wanted to live like an infant, so hey, I think it turned out for the best in the end.

~~~

Nick rolled over in the bed and moaned around his thumb, which was inexplicably stuck in his mouth. What in the hell had he gotten into last night he wondered, pulling out his thumb of his mouth, assuming he’d probably blacked out and one of his friends had stuck it in there as a joke. However, while that explanation would have made sense most any other night–last night had been…odd. He’d started out with his friends, bar hopping, but gotten separated somewhere along the line. Of course, that didn’t stop him from getting smashed–nothing could, really, but the night had taken a stranger turn on his way back to his car, stumbling the whole way.

He must have imagined it, it was just too strange to have actually happened, but he’d gotten to his car and was trying to get the key in when some strange, older guy had come out of nowhere, taken the keys from him, and suggested he not drive drunk. Nick had protested, of course, after all, who was this guy to tell him what he could and couldn’t do? Still, he’d been too drunk to really do anything to get the keys back, and it had almost felt like the older guy had been…playing with him–holding the keys just out of reach or jiggling them in front of his face just for fun. Somewhere in the midst of trying to get them back, Nick had felt a strange sensation as his crotch got warm all of a sudden, and he was pissing himself, and he tried to stop, but he couldn’t. His anger dissipated and was replaced by astonishment and shame, and the man had immediately come over and given him a big bear hug, telling him, “Don’t worry, it’s natural for little baby boys like you to have accidents like that. Let’s get you home and get you cleaned up.” And that…that was the last thing he remembered.

He still hadn’t opened his eyes, but when he opened them, he was in a room he didn’t recognize at all. The surprise at that was immediately dwarfed by the realization that he also wasn’t wearing the clothes he’d had on the night before–instead he had on a Dr. Seuss shirt and…and a diaper.

He leapt out of bed, terrified, his thumb going right back in his mouth, and he felt a bit calmer with something to suck on. He had to get out of here–this was way too weird. He looked around for his clothes but they were nowhere to be found–in fact, there were no normal clothes to be seen, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to go out in public in a diaper…as turned on as that thought suddenly made him.

“Is that my little Nicky ready for his breakfast?” a voice said from outside the bedroom door, and Nick felt a strange twinge of arousal at hearing that name. He’d always been Nicky to his dad and older brothers, and he’d always resented it, but now, he was just a little boy right? Why wouldn’t he want to be called that? The door opened, and in came the older man he’d met in the street, clad only in a pair of grimy briefs, his hairy chest and back shown off, and his bulge…fuck he had a huge bulge too. He looked like a daddy…yeah, Daddy Glenn. Nick shook his head, trying to clear away the thoughts crowding in around him, while Glenn set down the tray laden with baby bottles down in the dresser and came over to Nick. “You alright son? I know you had a rough night.”

“I’m not…I’m not your son. What is this? Where are my clothes?” Nick said around his thumb. He knew he should take it out of his mouth, but he was so stressed out–it was the only thing making him feel better. “Did you kidnap me or something? What–”

He was interrupted by Daddy Glenn pulling him into a big hug, and Nick melted against him, feeling his stress evaporate. It felt so good being in his daddy’s arms–he could relax there. Too late, he felt that same warmth from the night before flood his diaper as he pissed himself again, and then he started crying, just sobbing his eyes out, his daddy patting his back and cooing to him, lying him back on his bed and then bringing over one of the large baby bottles, which Nick started sucking on, feeling better already.

“Yeah, that’s a good boy,” Glenn said, stroking Nick’s hair, “Just drink down your breakfast and you’ll feel better, plenty of good stuff in there to make you a good little boy, right? And did little Nicky mess his diaper again? Seems like little Nicky likes laying around in a pissy diaper.”

This guy was insane–that was all Nick could figure, but then why wasn’t he doing anything to get away? To be honest, the wet diaper did feel good, as did drinking the warm liquid from the bottle with his daddy stroking his hair. As he sucked it down, Nick started to feel a bit strange. First, he was feeling a bit floaty, and it was hard to focus on what was going on around him, aside from sucking on his bottle and what Glenn was saying. He also felt a bit weak, like his muscles didn’t want to do anything his head was telling them. “Yeah, that’s a good little boy. Drink all your breakfast, or you won’t be a big fat baby boy like daddy wants, will you? You want to be a chubby baby don’t you?”

Nick tried to shake his head, but he couldn’t do anything besides drink, and before he knew it, the first bottle was gone, and replaced by another. He was already full after the first, and the drink was rich like cream, but with a medicinal aftertaste from whatever Glenn had laced it with. Still, he kept drinking–he did want to be a good baby boy, right? That’s what Glenn kept saying, and in his mental fog, anything Glenn told him sounded more right than the thoughts in his own brain, and he settled down, even though Glenn was now rubbing his hard cock through the padded diaper.

In the midst of drinking down the third bottle however, he felt–and heard–his stomach start to churn, and he realized that if he didn’t get to a bathroom soon, he was going to shit himself. He let go of the bottle and tried to sit up, but he was so weak–his daddy easily pushed him back down and returned the bottle to his mouth, but not before Nick managed to get out, “But…poo poo, daddy. I needs poo poo…” Nick had no idea why he was talking like a little kid–but at least he had gotten the idea across–however, Glenn just smiled.

“I bet you do–after all that laxatives I shoved up your hole last night. So go on, son–shit that diaper of yours, like the baby you are.”

Nick felt horror creep back into him, mostly at the thought of how hot it would be if he actually shit his diaper, and he tried to get up again, but the exertion made him lose control, and a massive pile of shit flooded from his ass, spreading up and down his crack in the diaper, and even between his legs to his balls. He smelled it, and felt ashamed of himself, but when Glenn rubbed his hair again and gave him a kiss, telling him over and over how good a boy he was for shitting his pants like a good baby, he slowly sunk back into his haze, sucking down bottle after bottle of Glenn’s strange formula, feeling fuller than he’d ever been in his life, and before long, he was rubbing his ass back and forth on the bed, smearing the shit around, his daddy helping coat his cock and balls in the diaper with the mass, and before he could stop himself, he came in his diaper as well, and Glenn watched him grunt and groan, Nicky’s belly taut with his breakfast, and Glenn had never felt so horny for someone in his whole life.

He pulled his cock from his grimy briefs, and said, “Here son, here’s your pacifier, suck on this.”

Nick was all too happy to do so, and he sucked down his daddy’s big cock, milking it for all it was worth, and not a minute later, he was rewarded with a huge load of cum which he swallowed down greedily, and Glenn pulled out, allowing Nick to suck his thumb again. He remembered thinking he should get out of here, but why? He liked it here, with his daddy, and he felt so weak all of a sudden, and tired. He yawned, and stretched, enjoying the feeling of a full diaper and a full stomach.

“Does little Nicky need a nap?” Glenn asked, “How about we get you cleaned up, and then you can sleep for a while.” Glenn said, but Nick shook his head no. “Oh, does Nicky like laying around in his nasty diaper? Is Nicky a dirty little boy?”

“Yes, daddy, I super dirty,” Nick said, the childish tone sliding out naturally. Glenn leaned in and tickled him, sending Nick into a spate of giggling and flailing, before giving him a deep kiss.

“Well alright, you can keep your dirty diaper on while you nap. Do you want your huggabear?” Glenn said, and with a big grin, Nick reached out and took the stuffed animal from his daddy and hugged him close, already feeling sleepy.

He felt his eyes slip closed, and his thumb found its way back to his mouth, and a moment later, he was asleep. Glenn spent a few moments looking over his new diaper boy, happy to have a family again, and then left his son to his dreams of sucking the cum from his daddy’s giant cock.