Five Film Contract (2 of 2) WARNING: FILTH, BESTIALITY

Just one more, Evan was telling himself. Just one more film, and he’d be done. The contract would be over. He could…be normal again, himself again. He wouldn’t have to keep doing this, why was he still doing this?

He’d gone back to his room after the second film, stunned, unable to look at his reflection in the mirror, at his shaved head. He could still smell Rick on him, and he liked it. He’d left the set still wearing that dirty jock, and he’d jacked it, trying to find a dildo large enough to make his ass happy, disgusted with himself, but more turned on than he’d been in his life, and terrified that he still had three more films to go, that…that he might lose control of himself like that, again. That, even worse, he might lose control of himself like Rick. After their film together, he’d been even larger, with huge, meaty forearms–one of them marked like a ruler, lumbering off to his own room. He didn’t want to be like that…but he could tell, the directors had something else in mind for him.

The third film he’d done better, he’d kept his head around him. He’d taken every toy the other two actors had used on him and loved every second of it, watching the two of them…shift. The rubber, the tattoos, the piercings, the dullness in their eyes, but he’d fought off the worst of it. Sure, he couldn’t…quite bring himself to take off the rubber when he got back to his room, and the rings in his nipples did feel good, but he hadn’t given in like they had. That had been a victory–he could see the frustration in the director’s eyes. But the fourth film, yesterday…

The piss…the filth…he’d lost himself in it, and they’d caught every second of his debauchery on film. He still reeked of piss and shit now, the next morning. He’d tried to sleep, but he hadn’t been able to–he’d been too…wired, looking at himself in the mirror, at his new body. His missing muscles, his paunch, how he’d aged into at least his early forties. Now he was pissing into condoms to drink later–he…he liked it cold–and working his fist back into his ass at the same time, losing himself, whatever bit of himself there still was…but there was just one more film. He could make it through one more, right?

He left his room, but instead of going to a set, he was led to a car–rubber sheet placed over the backseat–and driven out of town. “We have a special final set for you all prepared, Evan,” the director said, “everyone is going to love this, watching you collapse. You’re going to be a star after this, just you wait.”

It was a farm. He wasn’t shooting with any of his other actors–no, Evan was tied down in the muck and manure, the cameras rolling as animal after animal fucked his hole–a dog, a boar, a cow, a donkey, and finally, a horse. He lost himself in it, he felt his very humanity draining away into the mud. When they finally untied him, all he could do was grunt and crawl through the mud, rubbing his cock raw. But he was a star, when his series premiered on the internet. Most people thought it was a hoax, that he was just a paid actor, but Evan could have confirmed it, if Evan still existed. Now he was just the director’s personal pet–but rumor has it there’s a reunion special coming up–Evan and Rick, together again for one evening–the two nasty beasts rutting in the mud and filth. You should see the preorders–it’s going to make bank.

Cabin Pressure (Part 3)

Jeff looked around his office, trying to figure out what he was doing here. He should be on vacation, right? The offices around him were all empty, the air was stale and…and as he walked around, looking for an exit, he was beginning….to suspect that he didn’t work here at all. No, he didn’t know where he was, now that he thought about it–but he did work in an office, right? He’d…he’d gone to college, he’d majored in business, he worked as an accountant. The air was thinner all of a sudden, and he was feeling woozy, some sort of pressure pulling him to the floor, giving him a headache, and he could…feel his intellect being crushed. Jeff had never been that smart, but he was clever enough–but not only was his knowledge fading, but his edges were dulling as well. Everything seemed…simpler all of a sudden, and looking around at the alien office, he could see the walls…dissolving around him, reforming, until he was lying on filthy tile, not carpet, surrounded by a bank of cooking equipment–like…like in a fast food restaurant.

He managed to push back against the pressure, reassert himself, and as much as he didn’t want to find the place familiar–he knew it intimately. It was the fast food place where…where he worked. Where he’d worked for years, ever since he’d stupidly dropped out of high school, not that he could have gone to college with his shitty grades. He couldn’t even get a promotion, not without a GED, and he was too lazy to even bother getting that. So here he was, working the fryer, microwaving burgers, and…and taking orders.

At that thought, the pressure shoved him forward, towards the register. He was dressed in his uniform–4XL, and face to face with…with a young woman. Someone he should know…right? A name popped into his head from nowhere–Tiffany. She was pretty, she was his…girlfriend? But at that thought, her face looked at him, disgusted, like she had read his mind. No, someone like that would never be interested in a fat loser like him. The shame was burning through him, he couldn’t believe he’d even thought that. No, he couldn’t be interested in her, he wasn’t interested in her, he…he was…interested in…

The look of cruel disgust didn’t shift on Tiffany’s face, but the rest of her body did, growing larger, inflating, her dress becoming leather gear, her face growing a beard, his cock, fuck…fuck, his cock. Jeff was salivating, the pressure behind him, pushing him against the counter, bending him over as the man shoved his cock in Jeff’s mouth, and he saw a line form behind the man, and felt another line behind him, a stranger hauling down his uniform pants, fucking him roughly, like he deserved. Yeah, this is what a fat loser like him deserved, what he needed, what he craved. The man in front of him–he knew him now. A guy he’d hooked up with a few times around town–the man who held the key to the cage his cock was trapped in. Not that it was much of a cock–two inches when hard, and buried in his fat, but the man liked it locked all the same. After him, came the chubby manager of the restaurant, who had found out Jeff was a cocksucker, and he’d been servicing him ever since, the man threatening to fire him if he told anyone. The line continued. His father and stepfather, both of whom had abused him. Teachers. Strangers. Roommates. All of the men in his life he served, and at the end, a looming figure, familiar, pressing his gut into Jeff’s face, guiding his head lower with a hand–

Jeff opened his mouth and took Brian’s thick, seven inch cock into his well practiced throat, allowing him to slide in deep, down his throat. He hadn’t had a gag reflex in ages, and the sensation of being used roughly sent a tingle of pleasure through his jiggling body, like always. One hand twisted his meaty nipples and tugged on his fat moobs, the other slid down the back of his pants and toyed with the buttplug he wore almost constantly, puny cock aching in the confines of it’s extra small cage.

“How’s it taste, you fucking loser? You like eating my nasty cock?”

Jeff did like it–but then again, rough, abusive, fat men got Jeff’s hunger going like little else. Hell, he was so shameless at this point, that he’d beg men like this to abuse him–that’s why they were here, after all–Jeff had begged the man to feed him his cum, and when else was he going to have a chance to join the mile high club? He kept sucking, and the man fed him a load of cum after a couple of minutes. Someone was knocking on the door–had been knocking on the door. Brian zipped up and left, leaving Jeff on his knees, cum in his beard, looking up at an older, chubby gentleman in a business suit, staring down at him. “I’ll…suck you too, if you want,” he said, unable to believe his own audacity, or that the businessman–who’d briefly been pressed up against the wall by Brian, sneered and stepped inside.

“I hope you’re full service–because I have to piss first, and you’re in front of the toilet.”

Some other man, deep inside him, screamed, but Jeff had drank piss numerous times before. It took the man a few minutes to get past his nerves to actually piss in his mouth–Jeff helped put him at ease by telling him to pretend he was just an object–not a person at all. He drank the man’s bladder dry, and then sucked him off. The man blew after a minute, and slipped out, back to his seat. No one else was waiting, so Jeff went back down the aisle. Brian was waiting for him, and let Jeff slide back in by the window, his now 450 pound bulk mashed between the armrests, and Brian joined him again with a smile that told Jeff he wasn’t quite finished with him yet.

Gino’s New Job (Part 2)

Winston led Gino out of the office, the bartender giving the nude, zonked out stud a sly smile, remembering his interview with the boss all too clearly himself. They stopped in front of a small closet, the boss pawed through the gear inside, on shelves and hanging on rods, before pulling out a collection of rubber gear and shoving it at Gino, who just stared at it. He…he couldn’t really wear something like this, could he?

It turns out, after some encouragement from the boss, he was more than happy to pull on the gear. The rubber body suit clung to his muscles, and the whole crotch was exposed, giving him, and anyone else, easy access to both his cock and his ass. Lastly came the waders, which were a bit big on him, but the boss said Gino would be able to use his first earnings on a new set for himself, which he liked. The boss set him down in a chair, told Gino to play with his cock, and fetched an electric razor, buzzing his hair down to the scalp, and then shearing away his beard as well, leaving him with just a light stubble.

“Yes, that’s better–can’t have a bathroom boy looking too old, can we?”

“B-Bathroom boy?”

“That’s your new position, Gino. The one you applied for? You told me how much you love drinking piss, and licking toilets clean back in the office, right? I thought this would be perfect for you.”

Gino shook his head no, but the memories were already filling in, and after both his boss, and the bartender, fed him their loads of piss, the craving was real, and aching. Since the bar was still slow, they fucked him at both ends, and the boss sent him to the bathroom to get ready for the evening.

His duties were to clean the urinals out, lick the toilet seats clean, serve the customers as a urinal himself, unless he was busy as a cumdump at either end. His first night, the Gino, the real Gino, fought hard, where he was locked away in this new identity, but the next night was easier, and the night after that too. Boss says if he keeps it up, he might even get a promotion one day, but Gino doesn’t really need one. Being a bathroom boy is everything he’s ever wanted, after all–why would he ever want to do anything else?

Source: knightsandprey

Derelicted (Part 1)

“If I can get it off him without him waking up, then you have to blow me again,” Wyatt said, slipping closer to where the homeless derelict was slumped over in the alley. The man looked like the rest of the trash around the city, but the medallion around his neck had glinted in the streetlights, catching the young man’s eye. He would have taken it even if he wasn’t with Caden–but hey, if he could get another bj out of his closeted friend, why not kill two birds with one stone?

“Dude, I was drunk, I’m not–” Caden shook his head. Wyatt wasn’t exactly a good friend. In fact, he was a shitty friend, but he was Caden’s only real friend, and so he tagged along like he always had, trying his best to keep the trouble that always followed Wyatt off himself. He looked at the necklace which had caught Wyatt’s eye for some reason–it was hard to tell in the dark of the alley, but it looked like a rusty gear hung around the guy’s neck with a piece of twine. “What the hell do you want that for anyway? It’s just junk.”

“It’s not junk, it’s a challenge,” Wyatt said, the metal glinting for him in a way that it didn’t for his friend. It wasn’t the first time he’d lifted something interesting off a hobo–he stepped close, checking to make sure the guy was deeply out, then he carefully caught the disk in his fingers, and lifted it away. The hobo’s head was hanging forward–all Wyatt had to do was slowly guide the ring back over his head, slipping the twine out of the man’s filthy, matted hair, and it was his. “Yes!” he said, skipping down the street with the medallion in hand, “One free blowjob for me!”

“I never even said…” Caden started to say, but Wyatt was already off down the block. He took another look at the man, and then hurried after. Once he’d caught up, he tried to finish, “I never said I would blow you Wyatt! That was an accident last time, and you said–”

“You know you can’t trust anything I say,” Wyatt said, “Besides–I’m horny. Come on to my place, my dad’s working all night.”

Caden didn’t dare say no. He’d snubbed Wyatt a few times before, and every time his wrath had been quick and humiliating. Now, Wyatt had his deepest secret, and he’d be holding it over his head until Caden had the courage to come out proper–and maybe even after that. If he ever said no…well, Wyatt would be more than happy to tell the whole school for him, he was sure. So he followed after, Wyatt slipping the medallion around his neck before lighting a cigarette from the pack he’d stolen earlier for himself, and handing a second to Caden.

They were back at Wyatt’s place fifteen minutes later, and it was empty, like Wyatt had promised. “You need to get drunk again, or do you want to get straight to it?”

“A drink.”

Wyatt brought him a beer and cracked one for himself as well, and they both watched TV for a bit on the couch, smoking and sipping, and occasionally Caden would catch a whiff of something…else. It was like musk, but fouler somehow. He gave himself a sniff first, but it wasn’t him–was it Wyatt? Something in the apartment? Granted, neither Wyatt nor his father were big on hygiene, but even this was bad. Two beers later, he didn’t notice it as much, and Wyatt started getting insistent on his blowjob–so Caden swallowed his pride, got down in front of him on the couch, and waited a moment for Wyatt to undo the fly of his shorts.

Wyatt wasn’t anywhere near being a looker–chubby, hairier than most of the teachers at school at seventeen, with a scruffy beard, girls weren’t exactly lining up to be with him. He bragged a lot, sure, but Caden knew he was a virgin–aside from his mouth of course. He himself was a bit cleaner, less hairy, but mostly the same. Together at the bottom of the social ladder–he couldn’t fucking wait to go to college. Wyatt opened the fly, and that stench appeared again with even greater force–and Caden saw right where it was coming from–Wyatt’s cock.

He’d been drunk, sure, but he still remembered what he’d seen. Wyatt had been cut, with smallish balls, about four inches and decently thick–but the thing he had in there now–it was eight inches at least, with low hanging balls coated with hair–but mostly it reeked to high heaven like it hadn’t been washed in ages. Even more disturbing, a foreskin had grown up over the head–as it hardened, the head emerged, crusted with cheese. “Wyatt…Wyatt, what the fuck happened to your cock, man?”

“Don’t try backing out now,” Wyatt said, “A deal’s a damn deal man.”

Before Caden could protest further, Wyatt grabbed him by the hair, yanked a bit, and when Caden’s mouth opened to yelp, slipped his cock into his mouth. The taste was horrific, but Wyatt held on tight, skull fucking him a few times. Wyatt was a quick shooter, and he felt himself getting close–but it wasn’t cum that filled Caden’s mouth–it was piss. Horrified, Caden flung himself back away from Wyatt, who realized what his cock was doing–the stream was still flowing, arcing from where he was sitting onto the carpet. “Dude–what the fuck!” Caden shouted, wiping his mouth and spitting, before reaching for what remained of his beer in an effort to get rid of the taste.

“I can’t–it won’t stop!” Wyatt said, gripping his cock, piss still streaming everywhere. “Shit is this…what the fuck is this thing! This isn’t my fucking dick.”

“That’s what I tried to tell you!” Caden said, he looked up at Wyatt from where he was sitting on the floor, and saw something else–Wyatt’s cock wasn’t the only thing that had changed. It was a bit difficult to figure out what was different at first–he just seemed grungier than he had been. Beard longer and tangled. The hair he usually kept cropped close had grown out and was receding, flecks of grey appearing in it. His skin was shiny, whether from oil or sweat Caden didn’t want to know. He was looking both fatter and skinnier than he had been–his arms and legs wasting slightly, while his gut and chest filled out with fat.

Fuck, you hate these shitty apartments, you have got to move somewhere a bit nicer, or your neighbors are going to drive you insane. You pull up, home from work, and get out of your car, seeing your newest neighbor, some roughneck kind of fuck, sitting sideways on the one staircase up to the second floor, where both of your apartments are, foot up on the railing, blocking all access.

You go over, dreading any sort of interaction with the guy, smoking his cigar, exhaling thick plumes all over the place. “Hey, could you move?” you ask, “I gotta get to the second floor.”

“I’ll move when I’m done smokin’, boy,” he says.

You just stare at him for a moment. “Seriously? You’re gonna make me climb over you?”

“No, you’re gonna wait, boy. Nobody gets on top a me.”

“Yeah? And what the fuck am I supposed to do while you’re smoking?”

“You can lick my boot, boy, and stroke that little boy cock of yours until you nut.”

You roll your eyes, but get down and start licking the sole of the boot which is planting on the railing, hauling your cock out of your pants and stroking it hard. The rubber’s cleaner than usual at least–last week, there was a big chunk of dog shit you had to scrape off with your teeth and choke down. A couple of people walk by, and stare at you like you’re crazy, but it’s not your fault! This fuck’s just in the damn way, is all–it’s his fault.

You’re getting close to cumming–and he can tell. “Put that cock away, and cum in those pants of yours.” You do as he says, tucking your cock back in and rubbing it until you shoot. “Good boy–now piss yourself while you’re at it.”

That one’s a bit harder–he’s started making you do that more often now, but after a few seconds, you turn on your cock, and feel the piss drench the front of your work pants, running down to your knees, where it spreads out on the pavement below you. He taps off a long cinder of ash and keep smoking, but he’s about finished–he switches boots and you clean the other one, and when you’re done, he stamps out the butt and gets up, finally letting you passed, climbing up the stairs ahead of you. You walk a bit faster hoping to get to your door before–

“In here boy, daddy needs some help for a while.”

You look over, and he’s at his own door, groping himself. You grit your teeth, but follow in after him. A new apartment, this week, you promise yourself. Like you’ve been promising yourself for two months now, since Daddy moved in, but something tells you this week won’t be the week either. Oh well, maybe the next one, you hope, but probably not that one either.

Source: teasingbrat

Features & Bugs (Part 4)

Now that I had been away from the damn computer for a moment, the sense that something was…different was only growing stronger. I could hear Austin in the kitchen, cooking I assumed, and so I went into the bathroom to get a look at myself, but I couldn’t see anything wrong with my reflection, even though, I somehow knew that it wasn’t quite right. I mean…later…but then, at that moment? I looked at myself–at the beard, at the extra hundred and fifty pounds, at the tattoos and piercings, at the hair falling off my head in clumps…and I honestly couldn’t see anything wrong with it, and befuddled, I found Austin and ate, and ate, and ate. Dinner was massive, but my appetite was larger than I thought possible, and I stuffed myself. In the end, it was ten at night when we were finally ready to leave the house. I had no idea where we were going that late, but I went with Austin and climbed into his car…which was now much smaller than I thought it should be, and we drove into the city, parked, and walked a couple blocks to a rundown club, in a alley, and I followed Austin inside.

It looked like the setting of the videos I’d been watching–dingy, all tile and dim lighting and bodies pressed too close. It stank of musk and piss, and my little cock got hard instantly. My doubts started to fade, and I remember I was drooling uncontrollably as Austin led me deeper and deeper into the club, men crowding their way around me, touching me, smacking me, shouting at me. I don’t really know what happened when. I drank piss. I sucked cock and got fucked by who knows how many different men, all of them raw. At some point, strangers dragged me over to what looked like a converted sawhorse. They bent me over, strapping my hands and legs to the frame, the top cutting into my huge gut, and they opened up my hole how I’d…I’d always wanted. Fingers and cocks, and then fists. I don’t know how deep they went, or how many, but I was begging for it. I was in those videos, I was one of them, my fantasies were real.

I do remember one thing. Something I now know I wasn’t supposed to see. Austin hung around a bit at the beginning, but he soon abandoned me to the mob, once he saw I wouldn’t be trying to get away or resist. I was sucking cock, and trying to keep an eye on him, in case…he needed me, I suppose. And I saw him talking to someone, an older man in a leather uniform smoking a thick cigar. I wasn’t jealous or anything–I was just a pig after all, he could talk to or fuck around with whoever he wanted. No, for a while, I wasn’t even sure what had caught my attention. I thought I knew him, somehow. Recognized him from somewhere, but why would I know anyone here? It wasn’t until Austin and the man got closer, Austin pushing open the leather jacket the man had on, revealing his firm gut and the lines there, the lines I’d see forming through that crack in a door. It couldn’t have been him though, right? There was no way! He’d been…young, and thin, and this man was old, and sexy, and powerful and…and I knew it was true, but I was too horny to think, too weak to do anything. All I wanted was for him to come use me too–both because I wanted him, and because I wanted to see if I was right.

If two points make a line, how many until a shape forms in front of you? I couldn’t really see it, because I was too close–inside the boundary of the entire event, but everything linking up around me, the room spinning…it was too terrifying, and so I pushed it away. I focused on being a good pig, but doubts don’t go away that easily.

It was four in the morning, the bar was closing. Austin unbound me from the horse and helped me stand. The air on my hole felt so strange, as he helped me from the bar. I think I shit myself, but it might have just been a wad of cum running down my leg, I didn’t want to look–either possibility was horrifying. The cum more so. If it was cum…if it was cum, part of me wanted to eat it. We got back to the car, we drove back to his place, both of us exhausted, and we fell right to sleep. Sunday, my entire body ached, but it was a good ache. It was a hunger as much as a pain. I wanted to do it again. I wanted to do it every night. The excitement scared me–I couldn’t anticipate my own thoughts. I expected to feel disgust, but all my body told me was how good it felt, how much I wanted even more. And the doubts, the shape forming. We fucked all Sunday long, but come Monday I was going to get answers.

That morning, he tried to sneak out, but I got up with him, telling him I needed to go into work too. He told me he’d already called out for me, telling them I wasn’t feeling well. I got angry, said I was going, and he got angry. Frustrated, might be a better word, looking at me like I was just another computer not working like it was supposed to. It all came pouring out soon enough. I demanded to know who that man had been, and he denied at first, and then refused to tell me anything else. I wanted to know what I’d looked like, last week. I demanded to know what he’d done to me, what he’d done to both of us. He smiled, and promised me that he’d tell me everything when he got back from work that evening, but for now, I was to stay here, and not leave under any circumstance. Then, he left and shut the door behind him, locking it.

Features & Bugs (Part 3)

The office was small, and the man’s desk had been against a wall to the side. The man was there in his chair, staring at his computer screen–his shirt was unbuttoned, his fly too, and he was jacking off. Something was playing on the screen, some video, but at the angle I was crouched at, I couldn’t get a good look at anything other than him…and something was wrong with him. When I’d helped him the day before, the guy had been young, slender and wiry, clean shaven and hairless as far as I could tell. Looking at him now, I wondered if my memory was simply wrong, or if something else had happened to him. His body had grown larger, more muscular, and was much hairier than I would have expected. He had more than a five o’clock shadow–somehow he’d grown a short beard overnight. He must have been older than I’d thought as well, because it was flecked with grey, and I could see his hair receding slightly. But then something else happened, something I knew I couldn’t explain as easily as all that.

I could see him in profile, and he twisted towards me slightly in his chair. For a while I was focused on his cock–easily the same size as the dildo I’d had in my ass the night before, if not a bit larger. But something else caught my eye as well, something happening on the gut he’d grown overnight–there were lines on it. Black lines. I thought they were a shadow, but shadows didn’t move like this, they didn’t…grow. They were forming shapes on him, which I didn’t recognize at the time. The sight was enough to jolt me away from the crack–I stood up and slipped the door closed again…and only then did I realize I’d had my cock out as well, jacking off while I was watching him, right here in the damn hallway! Thankfully no one had seen me; I zipped back up and fled back to the IT department, where I ran into Austin. I tried to tell him what I’d just seen, but couldn’t get the words out, once he started toying with me. He ended up fucking me in the bathroom stall, and then suggested we get an early start on our weekend, and I was only too eager to agree, and what I’d seen had slipped to the back of my mind.

I…don’t remember much of that night. We had dinner somewhere, but I was so horny all I could think about was getting back to his place for sex. He told me he had a present for me, sat me down in front of his computer, and showed me a twenty file movie collection, he had queued up for me…and I watched all of them, in a row, all night long. Most of them had that same pig in them, but some had others. They were all pigs too, but some were different. One had a fat pig bound up, getting stuffed with food. Another pig got whipped, and spanked, and pierced, and bloodied for over an hour. Always there was piss. Always there was rubber. Always there was humiliation and abuse. Always, there was this odd…flicker, that I noticed on occasion, but it never held my attention for very long. I didn’t sleep once. I think I remember Austin leaving me there and then coming back. In the morning, he set a heaping plate of food by me, and I devoured it with one hand and stroked off with the other. In my mind, I’d gone from admiring these pigs, to identifying with them, experiencing their humiliation and abuse vicariously, and then, I actually started to feel like I was one of them. Like I’d entered the videos myself, like I was watching videos of things that had happened to me. I ate again, at some point, and eventually, Austin turned off the videos, and the only sound in the room was me snorting, the sound of me groping my pig cock.

“That’s better pig,” he said, “You feeling more like yourself now?”

I didn’t know how to answer that question, but his cock was there, and just seeing it made my mouth drool. I swallowed it, sucking hard, and a minute later my mouth flooded with piss for the first time, and I drank it down, the taste so familiar even as the newness of it struck me. I felt different, I didn’t feel like me, but I didn’t know how to explain it in terms anyone might be able to understand. The flow slowed, and he went back to fucking my face. He was brutal, choking and gagging me, but I just took, enjoying the roughness, enjoying being treated like a pig like me deserved to be treated. The first time I thought of myself as a pig, the first time I realized that’s what I was, I came with a huge grunt, I was so happy to have figured it out!

Austin didn’t cum, he just pulled out, and told me that he wanted to go out that night. He’d laid out a few outfits on the bed, and he wanted me to pick what I wanted to wear, we’d eat, and then head out. I got up from the chair where I’d been sitting for a day–it was sopping with piss and cum…I must have been sitting in my own filth this entire time, but for some reason that didn’t bother me. I didn’t even think of taking a shower–I just lumbered down the hall to the bedroom, and there, sure enough, were a few sets of clothes: a business suit, some shorts and a t-shirt, and finally what looked like a collection of rubber gear. I made a beeline for that of course–why would I want to wear any of that other stuff? It ended up being a rubber singlet, black with a red accent up the side, like a tuxedo stripe, and the ass was open. It had seemed…big, when I started putting it on, but when it was finished, it actually seemed a bit small. I pulled on some black army boots to go with it, and felt…good, surprisingly. Sexy even. I’d never felt sexy in my life, I’d thought, what in the hell was wrong with me?

The place was a sty, sure, but they hadn’t seemed that bad at the bar. They weren’t exactly the kind of guys he usually hung out with–Barry was a bit of a social climber, and if he didn’t think someone had anything to offer him, he wasn’t likely to hand around for long. But these two, they seemed…different. So laid back and relaxed, working their basic jobs at the warehouse, smelling like they hadn’t showered in a few days. One of them had spilled their drink on his suit, and Barry had cussed him out; they’d bought him another one, stuck around to chat, and now here he was, at their apartment. Strange, he hadn’t even bothered to get their names! One of them went into the kitchen and brought back a round of beers for the three of them, handed one to Barry, and the night continued.

Three beers later…

Something definitely wasn’t right. His suit felt so damn tight all of a sudden! At first he’d thought it was just the fact he was a bit woozy with alcohol, but no, his clothes…really didn’t fit him very well all of a sudden. He took another swig of beer, trying to follow whatever football game the guys were watching, but he’d never been much of a sports guy, he was too wiry and short for that. He leaned back, trying to make some room, and a button popped free of his shirt, striking the TV, the guys turning…and leering at him, while Barry started down at his…his new gut in horror.

“Think he needs another beer man.”

“I’ll get it, why don’t you get him a bit more comfortable?”

The guy got up, walked over, grabbed the front of Barry’s shirt and ripped it open, buttons flying everywhere, and Barry’s hefty, and rather hairy gut spilled out. This wasn’t right.

“Guys, I think I should go…” Barry said, tried to stand up, but he couldn’t keep his balance.

“No way man, no way you can drive like this–best just stay over, you know?” said the other guy, returning from the kitchen with another can, “Here, have some more.”

He didn’t want it, but he took it anyway, swigging deep, and letting loose a belch. Did his gut just…grow when he did that? He knew that was impossible, but…

Four more beers later…

The two guys were still watching sports, but Barry wasn’t watching anything. The world was swimming around him, he couldn’t…quite feel his body. The worst part, however, was that he needed to piss, had needed to piss for ages it felt like, but he couldn’t, not here, not just…in his pants.

His hand moved up, pouring more beer in his mouth, though a good amount dribbled out. Beer was good, made him feel warm and comfortable, made it easier to just, let go of things.

Too late, he realized he’d let go of his bladder, soaking his suit pants. The guys had noticed as well, they were saying something, but he couldn’t hear what. One pulled the can from his hand and replaced it with a fresh beer, and he kept drinking as best he could. It felt like his brain was slowly being choked off, deadened.

Six more beers later…

Just a pig now. The guys had stripped it of all it’s clothes, and had it sucking their cocks, drinking their piss, getting it used to their scent. Nothing was left of the asshole businessman they’d decided to take down the night before, their ultra strong beer had made short of his weakass mind, leaving him with barely enough faculty to serve, provided they kept him provided with plenty of beer from now on, of course.

Drinking it all the time would only make him heavier of course. And hairier. But that was how the two friends liked their pigs. And when they got sick of it? It was definitely still a seller’s market.

Heh, look at it, how eager it is. It actually fucking believes me, can you believe it? Actually believes that I’d let that thing look like me, that I’d let it smoke the same cigar I did? Fat chance. It was my boyfriend once, and what a fucking prick it was, always riding my ass, always cruel, always fucking around behind my back. But now that I look like this, the fucking sexy cigar daddy of it’s dreams? Now it wants to be with me. Well fine, if it wants to be with me, then I’ll find something for it to do, but it sure as hell ain’t going to be a man when I’m through with it. Don’t even think it’ll be a person.

I think it’s starting to realize something’s wrong. It’s cock is going soft and shrinking, and the cigar is growing in his mouth, stretching his jaw obscenely wide. It tried to pull it out, but his teeth have cut into the tobacco–that thing’s not coming out until it smokes it all the way down. I shove it up against the wall, holding it up by the throat with one hand, and with my other, pinch it’s nose between two fingers, forcing it to breathe through the cigar, laughing at it’s face, looking at how terrified it is.

Shopmaster said it’d become whatever I thought it would be, and holding it here? I know just what my apartment needs. Still by the neck–either I’m just that strong or he’s gotten surprisingly light all of a sudden–I head for the bathroom, and stick him to the wall beside the toilet at about waist height, hold him there for a moment, and then let go. He tries to get away, but he’s stuck to the wall now, arms and legs beginning to shrivel up into it’s body, mouth growing even wider, if that’s possible. Has it figured it out yet? Probably not, but soon enough.

I sit and watch it’s body contort, it’s cock and balls shrink up into it’s body, it’s body shrink up into it;’s neck as it’s head grows longer. The cigar has burnt down all the way, and crumbles onto it’s tongue, and see it swallow it down helplessly. Still alive–good. I want it to know what it is now, that it’s mine now. What’s left of it’s soul will shirvel up in a few more days, and it’ll become a proper urinal, but for now, it knows. And it knows that I did, and it’s tasting my piss, it’s master’s piss, and knows it’ll be mine for the rest of it’s sorry existence.

Source: goa1701

Life Coach (Part 5)

The neighbors were out in their backyard again, fucking. Shane only knew a little bit about them, but they seemed nice enough. The wife was beautiful (not that Shane had any interest in women, of course, but he could still appreciate the form, he supposed) but it was the husband who attracted his focus, with his hot dad bod and nine inch cock. They fucked like rabbits, and all summer long they were out fucking by the pool, giving Shane a chance to peep between the fence boards a few minutes at the time, when he was working on master’s garden. Of course he’d never do anything–they were so happy together, and good people. Not like Shane. Stupid, worthless Shane, he couldn’t even be a good slave half the time. He had no idea why his master even kept him around half the time. Still, watching that huge cock, his own puny member was trying as hard as it could to expand in the tight cage master kept him in. He hadn’t had an orgasm in years at this point, and expected that he’d never have one ever again.

“Hey! Dumb cunt! Where the fuck are you?”

Master was calling. He went the long way out of the bushes, making sure his naked body was covered in enough dirt and dust to look like he’d been working. When he worked on the neighbor’s yards, Master allowed him to wear a ragged pair of cutoffs, but in his own yard and house Shane was always naked aside from his cage and collar. “Yes sir, sorry sir. Was weeding by the fence,” Shane muttered, sweat running down his bald head and into his mutton chops, smoking one of the cheap cigars Master allowed him. Even standing, he had to crane his neck to look at his master, who towered over him by nearly two feet. “How can I serve you sir?”

“Barry just finished his session, but he needs some practice. Meet him in the dungeon, would you?”

Barry was one of several clients who were seeing his master to help with anger issues, usually men going through divorces or who had been arrested for assault. Somehow, they always became extreme sadists–taking their rage out on consenting slaves–helping them be much nicer to real people. Shane wasn’t worthy of being a person, however. He hurried down the steps into the basement, and found that this had been a breakthrough session for Barry. He’d been a larger man in his late forties when he’d first started seeing Master Evan, but now he was huge, a full bent pipe clutched in his bearded jaw, wearing a pristine leather uniform. The excitement of his brutal punishment had Shane’s cock leaking through his cage even more than seeing his neighbor’s cock, and he threw himself at Barry’s feet, begging to be punished.

It began with kicking and stomping, and then Barry hauled Shane up from the floor, suspended him in the air, and began whipping him, making sure to add his own welts to Shane’s back on top of his master’s other anger management clients. He couldn’t remember the last time his back had been without at least one wound, and he was secretly thankful his master never allowed him to wear a shirt. He…secretly liked the fact that everyone in the neighborhood could see what kind of treatment he deserved, and he also thought that wearing anything against these welts would be horrifically painful. After he had been whipped to Barry’s satisfaction, he gave Shane a deep fisting before finally slamming his own cock in deep, exploding only a few seconds after his entrance. After all, for Barry, it was the pain that got him off more than anything else. After he came, a look of bliss came over his face–he undressed and hung up the uniform, and left, happy to no longer the angry man he had been anywhere outside this dungeon, where Shane was more than happy to take anything Barry–or anyone else–thought he deserved.

Master came down after Barry left, and spent a few minutes tending to Shane’s wounds, making sure his back, in particular, didn’t get infected. There was little love in these moments, however–it was clear that his master wasn’t tending to him out of any sort of love or care, but merely as one would maintain a tool, to ensure it had a long life of usage. Shane had lost his cigar at some point in the session–he found the half-smoked end and relit it–Master would only provide him a new cigar after he ate the last butt in front of him.

Shane cooked dinner for his master, and then had his own small portion. After that, it was time for his evening rounds through the neighborhood. His master had been busy over the last few months, ever since the two of them had moved in here. So many good people around them had been living boring, tedious lives–and there were quite a few terrible people who hadn’t deserved the lives they had. That thought…tugged at something in Shane, and he felt even worse than he usually did, but pushed the concern away–he had work to do and men to serve. Phillip needed to be fed–he’d recently become too large to get out of bed, so master had been kind enough to provide him with an automated feeding system. Still, it had to be filled twice a day, but the mush fed continuously to him ensured the fat ass would keep growing until Master Evan decided he could stop. After that, it would be time for a session with Nick and Roy–they had been a nice gay couple a block over, but Master had found them to be far too boring. Now, the two of them were a pair of muscle bound, smoked out daddy bears, and Master was enjoying seeing how freakish the two of them could become. Still, since they were both tops, they needed a bottom regularly to keep them happy, and Shane was usually the one who had to take care of them both. Recently, however, they’d both developed a rather disgusting fondness for piss, and the last few times, Shane had to waddle back home, his already rotund gut distended with several loads of piss and cum. Still, a slave’s work was never done, right? He pulled on his cutoffs, said goodbye to his master, and set off for the evening, glad that even if he was a fucking loser, he could serve his master, and the neighborhood, to the best of his abilities. That was something, at least.