The Unholy Trinity (Sketch)

Warning: Satanic references and scat, if that bothers you.

Do you wish to be cured of your sinful weakness?

He did. God, did he. Neville wanted to be good, had always done his hardest to be good in all things. To be christ-like, to be worthy of God, but the struggle–it was so hard now, at college, away from his family. Even at this Christian school, they were still here, he was certain of it. Faggots of all descriptions, looking at him, wanting him (or was it just him, wanting them? Seeing his own gaze reflected in their glances at him?) and he…he was too close to succumbing to temptation, closer than he’d ever been, even when he’d snuck a kiss from Tanner Abrahms in the woods, which had gotten him a summer long stay at the conversion camp. It was all he could think about. He was weak…and he was willing to try anything to be free of this sin.

So he’d found this website. A website claiming it could cure him of all the desires that ailed him, if he would just put his full faith in the Trinity. Idolatry, really, he knew that. No website could do what God alone was capable of, but maybe, at least, it would make him feel better. He hovered the cursor over the yes button, clicked it, and the screen loaded with a strange, undulating spiral, and the words:

As Christ worshiped the feet of men, so you too, worship the feet of all men, the first of the trinity.

What happened next, he couldn’t describe. It was a vision, yes, but also a memory, and a desire–so many things all at once, he didn’t know how to describe it–all he could do was experience it, helplessly.

“That’s good pig–you like the taste of that filth?”

“Yes sir, thank you sir,” he said, running his tongue along the sole, tasting the filth the man had been building up. He claimed he hadn’t changed his socks in days, and Neville believed it as he licked, stroking his own cock, feeling a load building in his balls.

“Never known a faggot who got off more on a rank foot than a nice cock–good thing I got both for ya, whenever ya need ‘em.” He took one foot and kicked Neville’s hand away, grinding it against his cock and balls, and it was too much–he exploded all over the man’s foot, and then licked his own cum off it, thanking him for allowing him to serve him as a foot pig.

Then, it was gone–well, hardly gone. It was seared into his soul. It had happened, it, and so much more. He looked over and could see the collection of shoes he’d bought off filthy men he’d met, how he knew their smells so personally–and quickly, he tried to shut to window on the computer, but it refused. The screen simply faded to black, and a new spiral appeared, and a new phrase below:

Baptized in the piss of our lord, drinking of his waters and allowing his perversion to root out the weakness inside you.

Neville tried to tug his eyes away from the spiral, but already, he could feel a second vision overwhelming him.

It was warm. He stuck out his tongue, and the man directed his stream onto it, and as soon as he tasted it…he knew he would need more.

“That’s a good fucker, drink it all down. You wanna smell like my piss, don’t you?”

He nodded, and looked up at him. It was the same man as before–older, chubby, and while a name didn’t come to him, Neville knew he always called him Daddy, his…Father. Not his real father, but that seemed…so far away now. This was the man who cared for him, who nurtured him, who taught him the ways of the true Lord.

He pulled out his own cock, pointed it up, and started pissing on himself, as Daddy directed hos own stream onto the filthy shirt he was wearing. “A fuckin’ natural–they’re gonna love ya, fuck.”

The vision left him again, but the smell didn’t. The sensation of dampness. He reeked of urinals, he could taste piss on his tongue, and it was divine. He couldn’t help himself–he hauled his cock free of the yellow briefs he had on and started jacking off as the second spiral disappeared, and a third came into focus:

You feast of the shit of men, and it shall sustain you in ways the body never could. The lord provides, and you shall be a true servant of the unholy trinity.

He tired to resist it. He knew he should be able to resist it…but his faith had been weak. He had been tempted, and now, he could feel himself falling into the clutches of Satan, a third and final vision overwhelming him.

“Tell me what you want, slave,” Daddy said.

“I want your shit, sir.”

“You wanna be daddy’s toilet pig? If you start–I ain’t gonna be usin’ that toilet much anymore. It’s all gonna go down that nasty throat of yours.”

He pushed his ass back, into Neville’s face, and let loose a wet fart. He snorted the stench down, his already rock hard cock throbbing. He’d eaten Daddy’s nasty crack plenty of times before, and he…he was ready. He wanted this, he wanted to be this…this pig, forever. Daddy grunted and bore down, and Neville ate–and as he ate, he felt the shame, the horror–all of it curdled into a single ball of lust. Lust like he’d never known before, and he devoured it all, licking his lips after Daddy helped him wash down the last of it with his piss, and then jacked Neville off with his foot. “Your mine now, boy. Mine forever. You’re Satan’s Pig–and your name is now–”

“Ville!” he screamed in his room as he came, cum exploding all over his nasty underwear he wore when he was at home, reeking of sex and musk, just how he liked them. Neville was gone–he could feel that weak thing falling down into the darkness, lost to the fires of hell and damnation–right where it belonged. Ville was free now–free, and with a new mission, to serve his own, unholy trinity for the rest of his life.

He got dressed in his favorite gear, making sure everyone could see looking at him what kind of pig he was, and lit a red as he hit the pavement. He was a missionary now–a disciple, and he would find someone to share the gospel of the unholy trinity with before the night was through–or hell, maybe two, he thought, seeing two cute college students pass him by, catch a whiff of his filthy body, and freeze. “Hey boys,” he said, putting an arm around each of their shoulders, “Why don’t you two come back to my place? We can have some real fun together, I bet.”

My Town (Part 11)

Quentin woke up later on a concrete floor and rolled over, expecting to find himself still in his garage, but he wasn’t. Instead, he was somewhere else he recognized–the inside of one of the city’s jail cells. He got up, still a bit unsteady, and went to the cell door, but it was locked–why in the hell was he even in here at all? The evening before was…fuzzy, but he could remember enough of what mattered–that Todd was doing something to the men of the town, something evil and vile, and he needed to be stopped. Something…else was wrong with him though. There was a need in his chest, a need in his guts, something he couldn’t explain. He knew he should…remember, but it was locked away somehow, but he felt…sick to his stomach.

He shouted for help, but no one came. He just sat on the bench, guts twisting, a headache brewing in his temples, wondering what on Earth was going on with him, until he heard voices–the familiar voices of his two most loyal deputies–coming down the hall to the cells. They would understand–he knew Todd hadn’t gotten to either of them yet. Together, maybe, they would be able to stop him.

Then he smelled it–smoke. Not fire smoke, but tobacco smoke. The need in his guts grew more intense, and he gagged, vision spinning. They rounded the corner and he could see them, Deputies Hawkes and Miles, and walking ahead of them both was Todd, smoking a cigar just like he had been the night before. His blood ran cold when he realized that both Hawkes and Miles seemed different as well. They were both smoking too–Hawkes a massive Boswell Pipe, and Miles a thick gauge cigar, and their uniforms were wrong too. The usual cotton blue was gone. Instead, they were both wearing formal black leather uniforms…just like the one he’d seen on himself in that vision the night before. And when he saw that, it finally occurred to him that he wasn’t wearing the uniform he’d had on the night before either–but he also wasn’t wearing a leather version like his fellow officers.

It fact, he wasn’t wearing much of anything at all. He had on a pair of denim shorts, hugging his ass and crotch tight, showing off his ample ass, thick leather biker boots up to his knees, and a mesh shirt, which showed off his hairy chest and shoulders. He felt different, somehow–his entire body seemed off, but he couldn’t quite nail down the details. It felt like his body, but at the same time he knew he should be different–not this muscular, not with this wide ass that seemed to shake when he took a step. He caught another whiff of smoke, stronger this time, and he couldn’t stop his mouth from opening up and saying, “Fuck boys, this ash pig is starving–you got anything for a filthy slut like me?”

His cheeks turned bright red when he heard himself speak, mostly from how desperate he sounded. The deputies laughed as they approached, and Miles said, “Sure, Ashtray, have some of mine,” and stuck the lit end of his cigar through the bars, tapping it on the metal, and dropping the ember onto the floor. He flung himself down picked up as much of the ash in his fingers as he could and shoved it in his mouth, the satisfaction flooding his body making him moan, and he groped himself in his tight shorts, before getting down and licking up the rest of it from the concrete.

“You’re such a fuckin’ pig, Ashtray,” Hawkes said. He unlocked the cell door and stepped inside, moving behind Quentin and grinding his fat cock against Quentin’s fat ass. “Sometimes I think you cause trouble just because you like getting fucked in a cell. That turn you on pig? Being at the mercy of the two meanest cops in town?”

“Officer, ya can fuck me anywhere, anytime as long as you pay me for it, you know that,” Quentin said, and slipped his shorts down, Hawkes slipping his own sizable cock into Quentin’s ass. “Fuck, nothing like the first fuck and the first mouthful of ash in the mornin.”

“Get that tongue out, Ashtray,” Miles grabbed him by the hair through the bars and yanked him up, and Quentin stuck his tongue out, screaming in delight when Miles rolled the cigar over his tongue, leaving it coated in ash. Then, before he could swallow, he shoved his cock through the bars, and rammed it down Quentin’s throat, making him gag on the length, and the hot ash he hadn’t managed to swallow.

The two cops played with Quentin for a couple of hours, and in his mind, he was reeling. He had no control over himself–he’d do literally anything for a taste of ash, or a taste of smoke from their lips. He would look over at Todd on occasion, begging him with his eyes for release, but Todd was just smiling around his cigar, his gloved hands exploring his body, and as he watched, Todd changed more–his beard now more white than ash grey, his body powerfully muscled aside from a thick gut, cock now over twelve inches long, so long he stroked it with two hands while he watched, encouraged, and directed the humiliating scene unfolding in front of him.

The two cops came first, both in Quentin’s now very loose hole. Then Hawkes dumped the ash from his massive pipe on the floor while Miles held him back, pissed on the pile, turning it into a slurry, and they let him loose, watching him grind his bearded face into the ashy muck, Miles shoving the end of his cigar into Quentin’s hole, and told him to keep it there, so he could eat it later. Unable to stop himself, Quentin felt his cock explode in his shorts as he licked up the filth, and the two cops laughed as they left the cell, telling Ashtray that he was free to go–unless he felt like hanging around for round two in a couple of hours. That, or they could always pick him up off the street a bit later, instead.

They laughed, and walked off, leaving Quentin overwhelmed and humiliated, looking up at Todd, who was still across from the cell, smiling at him. “Well Ashtray? You gonna get going or not?”

Emptied Out (Part 7)

“Thanks daddy, fuckin’ needed a good plowin’,” Nathan said, and yawned, “Kinda tired though.”

“Me too son–heh, and Master thought it’d take me a day. I got ya all emptied out in twelve hours, son.”

Nathan nodded, not really sure what his daddy was talking about, and collapsed on his side of the bed. He…wasn’t empty, was he? He felt full of cum, and food, for one thing…but something else was nagging at him. It didn’t seem important though–and when his daddy climbed in behind him and pulled him into a tight hug, surrounding him with his stink, Nathan just gave a deep sigh, and slipped off into sleep.

He awoke sometime later, feeling strange. Biff was still snoring beside him, and Nathan slipped his way free of his arms, and out of bed, lighting a fag for himself as he made his way to the bathroom, where he stood at the sink, staring at himself, and wondering if he was going crazy. He’d just had…a dream. A dream where he was someone else–someone thin, someone who dressed in suits, and knew stuff, and didn’t sit around with their dad all day jacking off and getting fucked. It had been an awful dream, and that young man had been…screaming at him. Screaming at him to wake up and get help, that this wasn’t right, that the massively fat, disgusting face he was looking at in the grungy mirror wasn’t who he was supposed to be. That he had to fight back before it was too late.

He ran his hands down his fat body, feeling his heavy moobs hand jiggling his big gut, trying to…imagine what it might be like, being skinny like he’d been in the dream. It couldn’t be right, could it? No–no, this was right…he was so…sure, somehow, but then why was he still thinking about that strange dream? Why was he still thinking about going to the phone and calling the police? What could he even say that would make any sense, when he was too stupid to know what was even going on?

He felt his guts shift a bit, reached around, and tugged out the dildo daddy had put in him before they’d fallen asleep out with a long fart. It made him grin, but he did need to shit. He’d feel better if…if he was empty, right? He sat down on the toilet, gave a grunt, and dropped a big load of into the water beneath him, along with a long series of farts, the stench wafting up around him, and making him horny again. He hefted up his gut, but he hadn’t been able to reach his puny dick in so long–still, he knew what to do. He started rocking on the toilet, feeling his cock slipping in and out of his gunt, while he toyed with his nipples and smelled his pits, and the stink of his shit on the air. He was…empty, but not empty enough. He could be emptier.

The voice in him, he could almost hear it begging him, Begging him to stop, begging him to get a hold of himself, and get help, or at least run. But he was so horny–so horny all the time. He saw a pair of daddy’s briefs of the tile beside him, lunged down and got them, and sniffed them, humping his own fat a bit faster, getting closer and closer until at last he came with a shudder, filling his fat with a load of cum, and the voice, and the dream, slipped out of him until there was just a pleasant nothing, and Nate was left on the toilet, jaw gaping and eyes glazed, for about half an hour, until Biff stumbled into the doorway, looking for his son, and finding him there, and smelling cum on the air.

“Guess we didn’t quite get it all out then–was wonderin’ ‘bout that,” Biff said, “I doubt there could have been much left though/ Still, gotta fill ya up with one last thing–got just the stuff though, cause daddy’s gotta piss, ‘n yer blockin’ the pot.” Biff stepped up to Nathan’s face, lifted his gut, and stuck his cock into his slack mouth, “Ya sure do love the stuff though–love drinkin’ piss as much as that soda a yers. Makes it a whole lot easier fer me, never gotta git up from the couch anymore, not with a urinal right next tah me tah drink it down on the spot.”

He let his piss go, and while most of it got in his mouth, a good amount ran down onto Nate’s fat gut as well, and his heady musk developed a definite tang of old piss along with the rest of his odor.

“You though–not so good with control. Sometimes ya catch it in an old two liter bottle, so ya can drink it while ya watch some real pervy porn–but just as often ya just let it go right where ya are. I don’t mind ya reekin’ of piss, or soakin’ down the bed and the couch–good thing yer dad’s as nasty minded as you are, right?”

Nate came out of his daze–but not as Nathan. Nathan was all gone now, he was just Nate. All he knew was what Biff, his daddy, had spent the last day putting into him, there was nothing else to him beyond gluttony, perversion, and filth. He drank down the last of his dad’s piss, and then licked his lips, and relit the fag he had between his fingers. “Thanks daddy, was gettin’ thirsty.”

“No worries son–now come on, let’s get back tah bed.”

He helped Nate back up onto his feet, and the two of them shared a smoky kiss and a grope, before Nate led the way back to the bedroom. He was most of the way there when he realized there was something warm running down his thighs. “Fuck, sorry dad, I’m pissin’ all o’er the floor.”

“Damn it boy, ya were just sittin’ on the toilet.”

“I fergot tah go though…besides, it smells real nice. Makin’ my little dicklet all hard,” he said, bucking a bit, “Wanna go watch some porn daddy? I’m…kinda awake now.”

“Fuckin’ pig–I’m tired as hell. Let’s go to bed.”

“But daddy, I’m so fuckin’ horny…can’t ya just fuck me a little?” Nate said, walked up to his daddy and started licking his pits, groping his daddy’s cock, but it wasn’t getting quite hard enough for a fuck.

“Look, I know what’ll settle ya down–why don’t I work mah fist up that ass a yers?”

“Fuck daddy, would ya?” Nate said, and got on the bed, wiggling his ass in Biff’s direction, “I sleep so good after ya ream me real hard.”

“Fuck son, yer everythin’ I coulda ever wanted in a boy,” Biff said, as he walked over and slipped two fingers in his hole.

“I love ya daddy–fist me real good, make my little dicklet shoot real nice.”

“Ya got it pig–ya know I’ll do anythin’ fer mah boy.”

Performance Reviews (Part 5)

*~* Six Months Later *~*

“Come on, Shitface,” Aaron said gruffly around his cigar, and tugged the leather leash. Whatever had caught it’s attention, the office pet followed Aaron into the bathroom to start it’s day. The bathroom had seen better days, but then again, it hadn’t been cleaned in nearly a year at this point. The partitions had all been torn out, leaving just two open toilets, covered in piss stains and shit smears, a couple sinks that no longer worked, and a urinal with a puddle of reeking piss that Shitface headed towards, while Aaron attached the end of the lead to the hook on the wall, next to the toilets. Shitface didn’t notice, it was too busy sucking up as much of the piss as it could. Aaron watched for a moment, still unable to believe that after all of this time, Carson was still in there somewhere. Cum dripped from the head of Shitface’s chastity cage, but it’s cock didn’t harden–Aaron had taught the beast better, with a good amount of electric shock punishment, and while it remained plenty horny, it hadn’t strained in its cage in a few months. With that, Aaron left the bathroom to get to work–Bryce needed his morning whipping while he ate breakfast. The fat fuck had been slowing down lately, and Ollie wanted him cresting nine hundred pounds by the end of the month, and pain had turned out to be a great motivator for him.

Shitface, meanwhile, finished off the puddle of old piss, and then knelt by the toilet, panting, and waiting. It wasn’t long before someone came in–Cletus, in fact, hauling around his huge gut in a pair of overalls, tobacco spit drooling into his wiry mass of a beard. He sat down with a grunt and started shitting, Shitface sucking his cock while he did and drinking his dipspit as well, until he finished, and then Cletus stood up, turned around, and let Shitface get what the beast really wanted, the nasty filth left in the crack. When it was clean, Cletus gave the beast a pet on the head and told it that it had dome a real good job, and noticed Ollie had stepped in after him without saying anything. Cletus offered his nasty redneck hole to him, but Ollie said he had some business with Shitface first, and Cletus left, disappointed, but some other dirty fucker in the office would want to ride him, he was certain.

“Well, it’s been another six months–why don’t we give you a real nice reward, eh Shitface, and see how Carson is doing in there?”

Ollie walked over, got down, and unlocked the cage around the beast’s cock. It didn’t know what to do–it hadn’t had it’s cock free in so long, and when Ollie started rubbing it, it didn’t respond at all–the beast knew what happened if it got hard, after all. Still, with some urging from Ollie, Shitface got into it, humping into his fist while he sniffed at his pits, but he didn’t manage to cum until Ollie bent over and let it eat out his crack. Only then, did he finally work a massive load from the beast, six months worth of cum pouring out of him and onto the filthy tile, and slowly, from the depths of himself that he hadn’t even known he possessed, Carson pushed his way back to the surface.

Or at least, what was left of him.

“Wha, where am…I? He muttered, lips struggling to form the words it had nearly forgotten.

“Welcome back Carson,” Ollie said, “It’s time for your review. But maybe, first, you should take a look at yourself in that mirror there.”

Carson crawled over where Ollie pointed, getting about a yard before realizing he was crawling. He tried to stand up…but didn’t quite know how, and ended up in a strange stoop, clinging to the sink to keep himself upright, and he could see what the last six months had done to him.

He was so smooth–smooth, and filthy. The hair on his head had either been freshly shaved that day, but from the grunge on his scalp, it was more likely that it had been removed entirely. The same with the hair on his face–and the hair on the rest of his body, though it looked like Ollie or Aaron had decided to replace it with tattoos. His entire front was covered with ink, and it ran down his arms and legs as well–but not on his face, for some reason. No–his face seemed wrong in other ways–his nose turned up, eyes small, mouth too large. That, and he was so…fat, so much fatter than he had been. He couldn’t remember clearly, but he’d been…around 275 when he’d last gone under, but now he looked to be close to 400, enough that he’d felt his gut graze the ground when he’d crawled a moment before. “What…you do to me? Not right, this not right.”

“Of course it’s right, Carson. This is you. You’re a brownnosing, filthy little animal, aren’t you?”

That did sound right, actually, but something…was saying no. A distant voice, but it was there. He shook his head, his hair flinging around him, but nothing seemed any clearer than before. “Not right, not right!” he yelled, “Not right, not me, no!”

He tried to turn and face Ollie, but fell back onto his hands and knees, where he knew he belonged. Ollie regarded him, and the cage in his hand. “I should probably just lock you away for a while longer, really do away with you, make you too stupid and weak to resist, but you know what? This is going to be more fun, you fucking animal.”

Carson slipped away, back into the darkness, and when he next surfaced, he had his face planted in a filthy crack, and someone was fucking him rough, rough like Master fucked him, rough how he liked it now. He’d cum again, and he struggled to pull away, but couldn’t–he was too tired, he was too tired to fight it anymore. The crack pulled away eventually, and Carson looked behind him, and saw it was Master fucking him, leering down at him around his massive cigar, and he felt…fear. So much fear. Obey master, always obey Master, or else punishment, so much punishment.

“Fuck, he is still in there, ain’t he?” Aaron said.

“The code phrase will work for you too, use it if you have to, and cage him up if his mind starts to come back and resist. I don’t think he will though–give him a few weeks, and he’ll accept it.”

Aaron waved the cage in his face, and said, “I don’t know, think I can trust you with your mind out, Shitface?”

He knew that wasn’t his name, not really, but…he couldn’t remember the other one, even though he knew Ollie had said it earlier. He nodded regardless. It was Master’s name for him, and that was all that really mattered.

Aaron looked back at Ollie, “I’m gonna enjoy having him know what’s happening to him–and trust me, in another six months? He’ll love it. I’ll make him love it, all of it. He’ll want to be a fucking pet–he’ll be begging me to use the words on him, to give him the release he craves.”

Ollie laughed. “Well, I’ll let you get started then, Aaron. And that was an excellent review as always–you’re my star employee.”

“Thank you, sir,” Aaron said, “I wouldn’t want any other job than this one.”

Patreon Suggested Stories Ready for Download! | Wesley Bracken on Patreon

For everyone supporting me on Patreon, you can go ahead and download this month’s exclusive stories, based off of your suggestions! For those who don’t support me, and are curious what these look like, here’s one from this month.

For the Winning Team

Every coach has their methods for bringing the best out from their players and Coach Harper was no exception. It had been a good game–not their best, but some of the new…policies he’d put in place, after disposing of the old coach and taking his place, were having an effect. The most notable, of course, were the cock cages around every single player’s cock and balls. It turned out that being denied the basic pleasure of masturbating for losing a game was enough to encourage all of these young college kids to bring their best out on the field, every time. But they’d won–it had been a squeaker, but they’d won, and so they deserved a reward–or at least the best of them did.

In front of him, in three rows, were every player, naked now aside from their cages, glancing at one another, wondering what they would be granted now that they’d won their first game. “Alright boys–you can do better, and that other team played like shit, but a win is a win,” Harper said. “But not all of you did your best, and I think you know that. But for the best of you, you’ll be getting a weekend without your cages. The rest of you…well, you’ll see soon enough. I have something extra special for the MVP as well–and that, this game, was Clarkson. Get over here, and kneel next to me, boy.”

The runningback who’d scored two of the night’s touchdowns stood up, got over next to the coach and knelt beside him, trying not to look too pleased with himself. The others knew he deserved it, but wondered what the coach might have in store for him–and for the rest of them.

“As for the best of you. We have: Brophy, Finch, Fields…”

The coach named off a list, and as he did, there was a faint clunk with each, as that players cage fell off, releasing their cock. They all looked down in glee, most of them touching and stroking their cocks for the first time in a month.

The coach finished his list, looking at half the team relieved, the other half crestfallen. “As for the rest of you–well, I think your weekend is going to be spent a little different that usual. Boys, with your cocks free, pair up with one of your poorer fellows please–and fuck their throats.”

They all looked at one another in horror, but as always, none of them could disobey an order from their coach. They paired off, the best players fucking the losers’ mouths, and as they did, they watched their teammates begin to change. They heads were losing form, their bodies shrinking and turning to mesh and elastic.

“That’s right–maybe some of their skill will rub off on you if you get to be their jocks for the weekend, eh boys? Or at least you all might run a little harder next week against the Cougars.”

Clarkson looked away as his friends lost their form, but the coach stood in front of him. This close, the musk rolling off him was even more powerful than usual, making both Clarkson’s mouth and eyes water. “But sir, if…if I’m the MVP, why do I still have my cage?”

“You, boy, get a very special prize–you get to be worn by your coach for the entire week!”

Before Clarkson could do anything else, coach slammed his thick, greasy cock into his mouth, and Clarkson felt his mouth…cling to him, somehow, his head beginning to soften, arms turning to floppy fabric even as he tried to resist.

“That’s right boy–an entire week, getting all of my cum right into that pouch of yours. You’re going to love it–trust me. If you’re extra good, I’ll even give you a load or two of piss–how does that sound? In fact, coach has to piss right now…”

Clarkson felt it flooding his fabric mouth, soaking down into his body, which was already half the size he should be. Coach’s stream finished just as the last of his body disappeared into the mesh pouch, now sopping wet with piss, squirming slightly, trying to adjust to its new reality as nothing more than an article of clothing.

In front of him, the rest of the team–or what remained of it–was all similarly clad. “Practice on Monday, as usual. Feed those jocks plenty of cum now–we have to make them good and strong. Three loads a day at least, understand?”

“Yes coach!”

“Good. Team dismissed.”

Winter Vacation [Interactive] (Part 7)

Brett heard his big brother disappear into the garage, and wondered why he was heading there, when Daddy had told them both to go to their rooms. Still, something told him he didn’t really need to worry much about that–Nate could take care of himself, after all. He hefted himself upstairs, surprised by how hard it was with the extra weight of his new gut. He paused about three quarters of the way up, and wondered how in the hell Daddy was going to get up these stairs to go to bed, and thought about it, about daddy’s massive apron, covered in hair, wondering what it would be like to have one himself. His cock got hard, but he resisted touching it. Something…still just didn’t seem right to him, about all of this, even if he couldn’t quite figure out what it was exactly.

At the top of the stairs there was a hall with several rooms splitting off. A second bathroom–also equipped with a urinal, like the one downstairs, and a few bedrooms. He went to the next door, opened it, and as soon as he did, he gagged. Whatever was in this room…it reeked. He stepped back a bit, shaking his head. That couldn’t be his room. It just…it couldn’t be. But the stench, now that he smelled it…it did seem familiar somehow. Comfortable, even. He tried to leave, fully intending to get out of the house and never come back, but instead he walked into the room, eyes watering, and shut the door behind him.

Once shut it, he felt better. The air was muggy and humid–and almost immediately Brett felt himself start to sweat. He wiped his brow and looked around, disgusted by the room around him. It was filthy. Empty food wrappers and containers were scattered everywhere, mixed in with the dirty laundry that made up most of the clutter. There was a closet lying open, but there was nothing inside but even more clothing, also dirty–why in the world was there so much of it?

He felt dizzy in the heat of the room, and he went over to the bed and sat down on it…and when he did, he felt it…squish beneath him. The surface was wet, and a thick plume of filthy air billowed up around him, and when he inhaled it this time, he just felt more of his mind shut off, his jaw dropped open, one hand went to his cock and started stroking it slowly. Yeah–this was better. Much better. He was back where he belonged now, he could tell. He’d been wrong before, when he thought about leaving this–and he laid back on the damp, stinking mattress and jacked off a bit faster.

As he laid there, he could start to pick out some of the specific odors around him. Piss–there was lots of that. His stomach turned for a moment, as he finally realized why, exactly, the mattress felt so soggy…but then it just didn’t bother him at all. In fact, knowing the thing was leaden with his own stale piss somehow made everything so much…hotter. There was sweat, too–his own sweat rolling off him. He lifted an arm and took a whiff of himself, still unwashed after days of looking after daddy, and it smelled amazing. It wasn’t enough though–it still just wasn’t quite right. He’d missed something, but what?

It clicked in his head, and he smacked his forehead. He could be such a stupid, stinking boy sometimes. He wasn’t dressed, of course! He rolled over, intending to sit up on the bed, but it was hard work, for some reason, liks his body wanted to move as little as possible. He managed, however, to make it back to the edge, and he fished around in the piles around him, looking for something that smelled…right, tossing things back that dissatisfied him, and pulling on the things he found that interested him. A nasty wifebeater, some ratty briefs, some socks–and then a couple more socks on top of those–he liked it when his feet got nice and rank. Satisfied with his choices, he laid back down with a contented sigh, and continued masturbating, face snorting from his pits now, hand shoved down the front of the briefs, working on his cock, which had started leaking precum profusely into the fabric.

His balls were growing–swelling in the stank briefs, and as they grew, he could sense his own mind growing dimmer. He tried to cling to his thoughts of escape, but they slipped away from him, and soon he didn’t even feel like he was missing anything. He was just a nasty slob in his stinking room, jacking off like he always did, when Daddy or his brother didn’t need him, not that he was good for much. He was…fucking worthless, actually. He could cook, he supposed, but that was about it. He knew that should bother him, the fact that he was just wasting his life up here, but he loved it. He wanted to be worthless. He wanted to waste himself on porn and masturbation, living in his stinking man cave. The first orgasm came, but it only got him hornier. Brett could chain ten or twelve loads a day, his underwear eventually completely saturated with his fluids, and he’d still usually have a wet dream or two in the night, humping his nasty mattress until he came.

He needed to piss, and he knew he should use the urinal, but when he tried to get up from the bed this time, inertia won. Fuck–he was so fucking lazy, he wasn’t even going to make it to the bathroom. Not this time, at least. The piss started to flow, and there was so much of it, flooding through his briefs and soaking into the bed below him, and he came again, and again, and again, until he couldn’t think of anything else he’d rather do than waste his life as a worthless slob.

The next few days were quiet. Daddy and his two boys adjusted to their roles rather quickly, and it wasn’t long before they had forgotten about their old lives entirely, their gear thrown out into the backyard by Nate, who only saw the four duffel bags as junk. They ate–with Daddy always pitting his two boys against one another to see who would be the big brother for the day. Nate usually won, but Brett could pack away his groceries on occasion, and when he did, he loved bossing his brother around, ordering him to suck on his huge, nasty feet while he jacked off onto him. Nate, on the other hand, would use his brother as a biker pig out in the garage, when he won–at least, when daddy wasn’t using them both for his own pleasure.

It was about a week later, halfway through their alleged vacation, that a new car pulled up into the driveway. The mastermind had been watching the events unfolding, and was very, very pleased by the four young men’s progress–but now it was time for stage two, whatever that might be. So, who is our perverse Mastermind, anyway?

It really is Rich’s mysterious uncle, who brought along Rich’s father for extra fun.
A group of nerds they bullied looking for revenge.
The football coach, who is possessed by a demon of sloth, lust and gluttony.
A mad scientist, happy some guinea pigs wandered into his trap.

Polls will go live in a few minutes!

Winter Vacation [Interactive Story] (Part 2)

Rich remembered now. His uncle had said…something about the plumbing. That it wouldn’t work right, if he didn’t…do something important, something having to do with that suit, and that mask. He walked over to it, took the suit off the rack, and examined it. It seemed…much too small, and had no arms, and the legs were connected, making it more like a cocoon than a suit, he supposed. The mask was on a shelf, with just two holes in the nose, and a tube running from the mouth of the suit into a black box, and from the box, another pipe ran up to the ceiling, to who knew where.

This wasn’t right. Something strange was going on here, and he had to get himself, and his friends, out of here. His uncle was clearly up to something…but the plumbing was important, right? It had to work, or their vacation would be ruined. The logic seemed so obvious to him–he was still trying to force himself out of it, as he stripped out his his clothes and discarded them in a corner. The mask had to go on first–after all, if he got into the suit, he wouldn’t have hands to use to even get the mask on. Inside, the tube extended several inches into the mask itself, and he slid it into his mouth, before pulling the mask over his head–and as soon as he did that, everything became much, much simpler.

That noise he’d noticed when he flipped the switch was louder, somehow, inside the mask, like everything else had been shut out. The tube flared out, forcing his mouth open quite wide, nearly hitting the point of his gag reflex at the back of his throat, but even if it was uncomfortable, it had to happen. He groped about for the suit, found it, while it was difficult to keep his bearings blinded by the mask, he also felt…so comfortable, almost like he’d done it thousands of times before in his head. Both feet slid into the opening at the neck, and he bunched it up to his toes, pushing each leg into the individual channel meant for them inside the cocoon, so there was a thin membrane of rubber between them. Then, he pulled the suit up to his chest, feeling his cock slip right into the special ring designed for it. That was the only rigid part of the suit, in fact–a three inch hard rubber socket for his cock to rest inside–not an easy for for his six inch member, but the discomfort was something he’d have to adjust to. Next, he slid one arm inside, and then the other, making sure each wormed their way down their own channels built into the side of the suit, and the rubber slid up around his neck, meeting the end of the mask, and encasing him entirely in rubber.

He laid back against the concrete wall, feeling his body begin to go slightly numb. It was…almost like falling asleep. After a few minutes, a rush of liquid poured into his mouth, and he swallowed it all down without question. He didn’t…quite know what it was, but his uncle had mentioned a…filter, of some sort, which would help him in his role as part of the plumbing for a while, until he was finished. Finished–he didn’t know what it meant, but he knew it would happen, eventually, and he leaned back against the wall, thinking of nothing, just listening, and waiting to drink, cock straining against the hard rubber of the suit, desperate to be erect, but Rich could tell that, more likely than not, his days of erections were soon to be over entirely.

“Damn, what kind of fucking house has a fucking urinal in the bathroom?” Maury had entered the cabin with Brett and Nate, trundling the bags, and had freaked out for a moment, because the lights hadn’t turned on when the flipped the switch. Then, a moment later, everything had come on with a low hum–apparently Rich had found the master switch in the basement, which he’d mentioned on the ride. Idly, Maury wondered where Rich was…but he was probably still down there. Down in the basement, doing something important. Best not to worry about him at all, in fact, and definitely don’t go down there…unless he needed something, eventually.

Maury had pulled out his cock, and was pissing into the urinal. It wasn’t like a normal one–it had no water in the basin, or flush mechanism–the piss just drained straight down into a pvc tube and disappeared into the wall. Still, that wasn’t something he needed to worry about–he just needed to piss is all. He needed to put all of his piss into the urinal–that was very important. Rich had mentioned something about that, hadn’t he?

The door to the bathroom opened, suddenly, catching Maury off guard, and he saw both Nate and Brett in the doorway, looking a bit…distant, for some reason. “Fuck dudes, what the hell? I’m pissing.”

It wasn’t like the three of them were seeing anything new, of course–all four of them were involved in sports at college, and living in the same frat house. Still, bathroom privacy was something they could all agree on, usually. “Sorry man, we have to use the urinal too, I’m bursting,” Nate said, and Brett nodded.

That…made sense to Maury, and he scooched over, so the other two could join him at the urinal, all of them pissing in their together, and as…strange as this seemed, it wasn’t unreasonable, right? They all had to use the urinal, after all, and if they all had to piss at the same time, what did it matter? Maury finished first, and slipped out of the bathroom, heading back towards the room where they’d left their bags, but as he went, something else caught his eye, and he moved into another room, letting off a low whistle as he did.

It was a state of the art entertainment center–a huge TV, surround sound, comfy seats around the room–what in the hell did Rich’s uncle do that he could afford such a setup in a cabin he never used? And why was it all so clean looking, if no one had been up here all season? He grabbed a remote, pushed the on switch, and the TV came on–but just static. All of this set up, and there wasn’t even basic cable?

Still, that wasn’t an issue for him. Something told Maury that he loved watching movies more, anyway, and there was a sizable collection of them along the wall. He should watch something. Yeah, he definitely needed to watch something. Something new. Something he’d never seen before. He perused the shelf, but was disappointed–everything there was something he’d seen before, aside from a few odd titles on the top shelf, clustered together–four of them in fact. He looked them over, a bit confused–they…didn’t even seem like movies, really, but they were on the movie shelf, so what else could they be? He selected one of them, went over and slipped it into the disk player, part of him trying to tell himself not to, that something about this was a bad idea, but then the main title was rolling, and he forgot all about those worries, and just focused on the movie instead.

What movie did Maury decide on?

Werkouts 4 Dummiez
Get Flabulous!
Leashman’s Pup Training
BabyDaze

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Polls will close in 48 hours on Jan 9th!

In the Doghouse (Part 4)

CW: Scat, Filth, etc. Read at your own risk.

“Yeah, that’s the kinda Faggot I wanna see, good fuckin’ Faggot…” Gage said, petting Carson’s head, and the pride he felt sickened him, but he didn’t stop. After a couple of minutes, he pushed Gage off, and heaved himself up from the recliner, dropped his filthy briefs and bent over the side, still stroking his cock, “Come on ya fuckin’ dogboi–time tah earn yer fuckin’ keep. All dogs love sniffin’ ass, ‘n yer no fuckin’ exception–’n yer Master loves cummin’ with a tonuge in his hole.”

Carson whined and tried to fight it, tried to deny it, but he did as Gage ordered, walking behind him, giving his filthy crack a sniff, and then started licking it. It was filthy, and obviously Gage hadn’t wiped well, if at all, but to his tongue, the filthier it tasted, the more he wanted it–something Gage didn’t stop reminding him of, “Yeah, how’s it feel Faggot? Ya like bein’ trapped in that nasty fuckin’ dogboi body? Don’t worry–ya’ll break eventually. Won’t even have tah collar ya in a few months, ya’ll love what I do tah ya–all of it–ya’ll be beggin’ me fer more!” Gage laughed, bore down and let out another fart, but to their surprise, a bit of shit came with it, spattering Carson’s face. He gave a snort and shook his head, trying to get it off him, but Gage just laughed some more. “Git used tah it, ya dumb mutt! Lick it up, lick it up ‘n enjoy it–ya love yer master’s nasty shit. Git back in there ‘n dig deeper. Yer Master’s close, Faggot.”

Carson licked up the shit, trying not to think too hard about how he enjoyed the taste, and then dug in deeper, probing Gage’s hole with his tongue, muzzle open wide, and listening to him moan. The sooner Gage came, he told himself, the sooner this part would be over. He licked harder, and after a couple of minutes, Gage gave a few grunts and his cock exploded all over his hand and the side of the recliner in front of him, and he panted for a moment before hefting himself back up, and pulling up his briefs. “Clean it up, Faggot. Ya’ve earned it.”

Carson licked up the cum from Gage’s hand, and then cleaned up the side of the recliner, at least happy to not have his face buried in Gage’s ass for a moment…even if he had enjoyed it. No–he shook his head. It had felt good, but he hadn’t enjoyed it–he had to keep those things separate if he was going to stay sane.

“Woowee,” Gage said, “Tuckered me out a good bit. Think it’s time fer a nap,” he said. “Still, ya gotta git in yer pen for a while, Faggot. I don’t trust ya unsupervised ‘round the house just yet–pro’ly piss on the rug tah spite me.” Gage forced him back out into the dogrun, but before locking the gate, he filled up Carson’s bowl with another load of piss, hocked in some tobacco spit, and then returned to the house. Alone again, Carson paced the dogrun looking for a weak spot to try and escape, but saw nothing…and he was thirsty. Washing his mouth out with piss seemed the best option available, but in the end, it only made his whole mouth taste even worse. The sun was hot, and the only shade available was the doghouse, so he retreated, curled up, and fell asleep.

Carson woke up a couple hours later, and saw that from the light outside, it must be approaching evening. He crawled out and looked towards the house, but didn’t see any movement inside, and none of the lights were on–either Gage was still asleep, or he’d left to run errands. In any case, he needed to try and escape. More than anything else, though–Carson needed to shit, and quick. There was no easy place to do it, so he picked the corner furthest from the doghouse, humped up as best he could, and dropped a massive load of stinking shit next to the fence. He hated that he enjoyed the scent of it, but he ignored it and focused on trying to climb the fence instead. However, his body was still too unfamiliar to him to make it work–and the fact that he’d packed on close to a hundred pounds over the course of the morning didn’t help either. In the end, he was left panting, exhausted, and he walked over to the bowl, pissed into it with a bit better aim than before, and took a drink.

He hated that this seemed normal, after just a day. He hated that he was actually enjoying this. He sat down and rolled his back legs up, looking back at his cock where it had slipped out of his sheath, and realized that with his shifted body…he could lick it himself. He did, tasting it, and he kept licking it, enjoying the sensation as the first real pleasure he’d had since entering this house a day before, but he was interrupted by the sound of the back door opening and shutting. “Enjoying yerself Faggot? Like the taste a that dogcock?” Gage said, “Might have tah bring a few other mutts ‘round fer ya tah play with if ya do.” He quickly uncurled himself as Gage unlocked the dogrun. “Come on in mutt–time fer dinner.”

Carson followed him inside, and the smell of food on the air was heavenly. Gage must have been out shopping–he saw a whole chicken on the table, still steaming–probably from a supermarket deli. “Stop slobberin’ mutt–that ain’t fer ya, ‘n ya know it. “Besides, Master always eats first–but ya can make me happy while I do, right mutt?”

Carson spent the meal under the table, licking at Gage’s nasty feet and licking at his cock–whatever Gage wanted him to do, really, licking up the grease and spit that fell from his mouth as he ate onto his huge belly, sniffing the farts and belches Gage let off regularly. When he finished, Gage pushed back with a final belch, and hefted himself up. “Alright boy–time fer yer dinner,” he said, and walked over to a metal bowl on the floor, squatted over it, and with a few grunts, started dumping shit into the bowl right in front of Carson’s snout. “See mutt? Ya git all the tasty food too, ya just git it the second time ‘round. Still, we both know how the taste ‘n smell a Master’s shit makes ya hungry ‘n horny, right Faggot? Ya dirty fuckin’ dogboi?”

He fought–he fought hard. He’d done it earlier, but he hadn’t imagined that shit was going to be his main food from that point on. Still, his slobbering muzzle eventually found its way to the bowl, and he started scarfing down Gage’s shit, while the big man laughed beside him. “Fuck yeah, ya nasty faggot…” He got down behind Carson, and with a yelp, he felt Gage grab his hips and shove his hard cock into his ass, “Yeah, keep eatin’ ya fuckin’ mutt! I wanna fuck ya while I watch ya eat mah warm fuckin’ shit. Fuck, look at ya, ya fuckin’ shameless beast. I’m gonna love watchin’ ya fight, ‘n ya better fight hard, cause when ya finally give in, when ya finally accept the fact that yer nothin’ but a filthy, disgusting mutt–fuck, that’s gonna be a real sweet sight…”

Gage kept fucking him even after he’d finished his meal, but came soon after, filling his ass with a load of cum before pulling out, leaving Carson panting and whining, tears running down his face. “Aww, don’t cry boy, here, we can make ya feel better, right? Roll o’er boy.”

Carson rolled over, legs up, cock hard and slimy against his belly. “Yeah, I can make good dogboi’s like you feel real good…” Gage said, squatted down over him, and pressed his filthy ass to Carson’s muzzle. He licked up the shit caught in his cheeks, while Gage started tugging on his dog cock roughly, telling Carson what a treat it was to be jacked off by his Master, that it’s the only way a nasty dog like him can cum. With a yelp, his cock released a huge load of cum all over his belly, and Gage praised him, telling him he was a good shit eating mutt. “Yeah, yer gonna see, mutt. Yer gonna be real happy here ‘fore too long. Hungry all the time, beggin’ yer master fer shit–ya ain’t never gonna git enough, but that’s how I want ya–desperate, hungry, ‘n always horny fer yer Master.”

He made Carson clean up the floor, and then shooed him back out into the now dark yard for the night, locking him back up in the dogrun, and Carson…he was numb. He’d cum with his tongue deep in his Master’s hole, and worse…he wanted to do it again, so badly. Even worse than that…he was hungry again, and it was only getting worse. He caught a scent on the air, and saw his now cold shit in the corner of the dog run. Trying not to think about it, he walked over and ate it as quickly as he could…and only after did he realize he hadn’t heard Gage go back into the house.

He looked back over his shoulder, muzzle still covered in his own shit, and saw Gage leering at him on the steps. “Good boy,” Gage said, and went back inside.

He could still fight this, Carson told himself as he settled in for the night, a bit more comfortable than the night before with the extra padding of his new weight. He could fight him–he knew it. But he wasn’t sure he wanted to fight him, not really, and that, he realized, is why he was already lost.

Smoke Spirit (Part 9)

It wasn’t long before Steven got home from class. He was shy and a bit of a loner, keeping to himself in the house. Wiry and short, with medium length hair cut into bangs, he managed to hide from attention more often than not–while he honestly didn’t care much about Douglas’ smoking, he sided with the other two just to avoid conflict as much as possible. And so, when Steven entered the house and saw the thick haze of smoke, his only thought was whether he could get away fast enough to avoid dealing with whatever must be going on inside, but instead, he found the sweet smelling smoke drawing him in, and he shut the door behind him, almost in a daze. The smoke was so thick, he could barely even see, and he started coughing immediately. In his head, he knew he should turn right back around, leave, and call 911, but instead he found himself stumbling into the haze, still coughing, trying to keep the smoke out of him as best he could, pulling up the collar of his shirt over his nose and mouth.

“In here, Steve!” A voice called, and it wasn’t a voice he recognized at all. Who in the world could that even be? He…he didn’t know why, but he needed to find out. He needed to…to join them? No, why had he thought that? He froze in the middle of the living room, holding his breath, trying to focus, telling himself he had to leave, that it…it was dangerous in here. The voice called out again, “Steve! Git yer ass in here, Howie’s about tah blow his bladder all over the floor, ya pig. Unless ya wanna lick it all up–I know…I know ya wanna do that sometimes…” the voice started chuckling then, and then groaned. He realized, too late, that his legs had started moving him closer to the doorway into the kitchen, and it was…hard to see, for some reason, like something was wrong with his eyes. But inside, he saw the most disturbing sight of his life–three men, all of them covered with tattoos–the same tattoos, in fact, in the midst of of a sweaty, smoky sex session. He could smell it on the air, the musk, and…and it was making his…his piggy cock so fucking hard.

No–why the fuck was he in here? Something was obviously very wrong, but…but didn’t he need to help out Howie? He always helped out Howie, and Pete, and Doug, of course. He was frozen in place, between his good sense and this strange compulsion, when Doug walked over to him, reeking of smoke, eyes bloodshot and smirking at him. “Don’t think too hard pig–we all know ya ain’t good at thinkin’. Hell, yer fucking dumber ‘n yer dad, ain’t that right Howie? This boy a yers popped out with even fewer fuckin’ brain cells than you did.”

“Yeah boy, git yer dumb ass over here ‘n help out yer Pa with this big ol’ load a piss I been savin’ fer ya. Ya know I ain’t gonna use a toilet when mah nasty boy is thirsty, right?”

No. No, he wasn’t doing this. None of this could be real. Everything seemed so…fuzzy all of a sudden. He tried to step back, but his Uncle Doug tugged him back, and shoved his cigar in Steve’s mouth, and the smoke made his head go light, his stomach turning itself into knots. Did he want to throw up? No…No, he…he was thirsty, wasn’t he?

“Come on, you dumb fucker, git down there ‘n drink.”

Everything seemed even more hazy than before, like something was clouding up his eyes, but one thing he could se was his fat, lazy pa, sittin’ in a chair by the table, cock hanging out, and fuck, that thirst of his was only getting worse. He stumbled forward, his body feeling…too light all of sudden, like he might blow away if he wasn’t careful, but he was down in front of his dad, mouth around his thick cock head, and as soon as his dad started pissing, all his other cares just…slipped away. Why in the hell had he been trying to worry about all of that other shit before? He was no good with thinking stuff–hell, none of them were, aside from Uncle Doug, who called the shots. The smoke was getting thicker around him, and when Pete stepped up and started pissing all over his filthy cousin, he could feel the stream running down his head and his back, but all he could see was Pete’s cock–the rest of him was lost in the thick smoke surrounding them.

On the outside, Doug could see the clouds condensing around the scrawny kid who’d come into the house–he could…kind of remember him from before, like he could kind of remember all of them, but none of that really mattered. No, what mattered to him now, was family. His family. His dirty, nasty, piggy biker family, and fuck, he was so fucking horny, he could just fuck his boy’s ass again, or hell, maybe he’d take a turn with Stew’s hole–that boy’s ass was so fuckin’ loose, but then again, when you got fists shoved up there as often as he did, that’s what tended to happen. Yeah, that’s…that’s what he should do, give his nephew a good fisting–break him in right.

He barely noticed the spirit pulling him over towards the other three, all of them already disappearing into the thick clouds of smoke surrounding Steve, where he was kneeling on the ground, moaning and gulping piss. Doug got down, fished around in the haze until he found Stew’s ass–not quite wide enough yet, but he’d be himself soon enough–and started probing it with his fingers, feeling the boy shove back onto his hand, hungry to have his filthy hole filled up. The spirit was in front of him, his smoky cock right in Doug’s face, and he…swallowed it to the hilt. It wasn’t solid…but it was there. It was energy, it was force, it was…him, in a sense he could barely describe. The thing started pumping smoke into Doug’s guts, and he could feel the heat of it infusing every bit of him, burning away the last remnants of Douglas from every corner of his mind, the spirit slowly losing form, shoving its way down Doug’s gullet until it disappeared entirely, and then, Doug’s eyes–like the rest of his family–clouded over, becoming a swirling mass of smoke even thicker than the others…and he realized that he could feel them.

Trucker Baptism (Sketch)

Avery was on a road trip to visit his newly married brother a couple of states over–it was a drive he’d made fairly often, and by far, the thing he hated the most was having to stop on the road to go to the bathroom. The fasted highway there wasn’t the busiest, and the two rest areas along the way weren’t particularly well maintained. Still, he also wasn’t a fan of pulling off onto the shoulder just to take a piss, and so he resigned himself to taking a stop at one of them, and pulled off the road.

There were actually a number of semi-trucks parked off to the side, as well as a few smaller cars like him. When he got into the grungy restroom, he was surprised–he had to stand there and wait for a urinal, because both were occupied by guys. One seemed fairly normal, and the other looked like a trucker–thick beard, heavy gut–he let off a belch as he pissed and wiped a bit of slobber onto his sleeve. He finished first, however, and backed off–Avery realized as he walked up and undid his fly that the slob hadn’t even bothered to flush. He reached for the handle, a bit surprised by how dark it was, but before he could flush it away he the stench of it hit him.

It was strong–some of the strongest piss he’d ever smelled, but while he wanted to gag, he found his body reacting differently–he took a deeper breath, and felt his knees start to shake a bit. What was the matter with him? Just flush it already! He tried, but his arm was weak, his head dropping lower to smell it better. The man beside him finished pissing and gave him a disgusted look before booking it out of the room, leaving Avery alone–or so he thought.

Behind him, the trucker was smirking, watching as Avery kept smelling–snorting really–and dropped to his knees in front of the urinal, hauling his cock free as he did, unable to believe how turned on he was.

“Always nice, getting a chance to spread the good news,” a voice said behind him. He couldn’t…quite turn away from the piss in front of him, but he heard heavy footfalls as the trucker walked up beside him, looking down and smirking. “Nice, ain’t it? Never smelt anythin’ like it in yer life, I bet.”

Avery didn’t quite know where to find his words, and so he nodded a bit, eyes still glued to the piss in the bowl.

“Thought we were runnin’ out! Ain’t found a convert in a while. Good tah keep the faith alive though,” the man walked up, bent down and ran his hand through the piss, sloshing it a bit, and then pulled it out, dripping, and wiped Avery’s forehead with it. It ran down over his eyes, which he shut tight, past his nose, to his mouth–helpless, his tongue darted out for a taste, and his cock leaked precum even faster than it already was. “In the name of our Glorious Master, are you ready to receive your baptism, brother?” the trucker asked him in his ear.

The trucker didn’t wait for a nod, or a yes–he palmed Avery’s shaven skull and shoved his face into the piss, pressing his face to the porcelain while Avery shuddered. He could taste it–he could smell it. It was inside him now, but what? More than the piss, but it wanted more, it wanted to be deeper. He hadn’t managed to get much of a breath, and the trucker wasn’t letting him up for air. He struggled harder, but the man’s weight was leaden. He tried to reach for the flush lever, but couldn’t find it. Unable to fight any longer, he inhaled the filth, and felt the still warm piss flood into his lungs, filling him with…with the Master. Master’s will, God’s will. He could…see, as his vision blurred, a man, a massive fucker, reeking of piss and musk. He would serve him, he was meant to serve him he–

A fist slammed into his gut, right on his diaphragm, and Avery coughed, spraying piss all over the floor where he’d fallen. The trucker was beside him, and pulled Avery’s head into his lap as he coughed, and he felt the stiff shaft of…of his brother’s cock pressing against the side of his face, but he didn’t flinch away–he rubbed against it, horny, aching to serve him, to serve the master.

The man let his cock out, and Avery started sucking at it, hungry for cum, delighting in the taste, digging in his own pants for his cock, only to find it had somehow doubled in size, rivaling his brother’s in length and girth. With his other hand, he discovered other changes, but he didn’t grasp the full scope of his conversion until he’d drank his baptismal load of cum and been helped off the floor. In the mirror…it was him, and yet it wasn’t. Big gut stretching his hoodie, pants bursting at the seams to contain his wide ass, thick beard on his face, and hair coating his body.

“Come on brother–ya have a load of piss fer me, I think, and then I need a nice long fuck. Haven’t had an initiate in ages, ‘n this trucker pig needs tah worship some God Cock, don’t you?”

“Fuck yeah,” Avery said, his deep, gruff tone making his cock leak, and he leered at his partner. “Ain’t been tah church before though, so yer gonna have tah show me the way.”