Male Bonding (Part 4)

The game continued. Under the table, Jared had finished with Jared cock, and at his son’s orders had begun sucking off the remaining four men, while Maurice crawled around with him, draining bladders as the men needed–and they needed to often, as Trevor kept forcing drinks down their throats, and kept lighting more and more cigars for each of them. Kirk went down next–he’d never had that good of a poker face. Trevor had him eating out his armpits within moments, and then made the middle aged man get on his knees, and beg him to allow him the honor of licking his feet clean. Trevor was all too happy, but forced him to untie his shoes and pull off his socks with his teeth–and then made him promise that he wouldn’t shower more than once a week from that day on, and never with soap or deodorant–all the better to enjoy his own stink, right? Kirk was more than happy to agree, as he shoved his nose between Trevor’s toes and took it great heaving, piggish snorts, running his entire tongue from heel to toe, moaning and stroking his own cock like mad. He shoot on the floor, and Trevor made him lick it clean, before ordering him under the table as well to give the remaining three players foot massages and to lick them clean.

Carter, Dustin, and Ryan were the only remaining players. A strong rivalry had developed between Carter and Dustin, between ruler and usurper. It didn’t help that, with the fewest clothes, they each were the most vulnerable at being removed next. Ryan, on the other hand, still had the most clothes, and he was more than happy to keep it that way. He lost a few more, but it was Carter who fell next, pulling off his underwear as Trevor strode over, laughing. “Oh, and the boss falls! Still, we’ll have to find you something to sit on, don’t you think? Kirk! Get out here, and help me out with your boss here. Get on your hands and knees, Carter.”

Kirk was only too happy to clean out his boss’ hole. Well, at first he was disgusted, but the more he licked it, the more he…couldn’t stop. The more he enjoyed it. The more he loved the sensation of burrowing his tongue in there, getting it slick and wet. Trevor had to haul him away by the hair so he could line up his cock with Carter’s hole and slide it into the well opened hole, Carter immediately fighting the pleasure of it, of being penetrated, of being filled. His resistance didn’t last long, however, and he was shoving his whole body back, desperate to get more of Trevor’s cock inside him. Trevor told the two men at the table to get back to the game, that he had more to do with this pig here. A few rounds later, Carter was howling in some mixture of pain and pleasure as Trevor slipped his fist into his hole, the boss’ cock exploding across the carpet, Kirk diving for it and eating it up from the carpet. Trevor kept an eye on the heated battle going on between Dustin and Ryan. Neither had much left to lose in the game, and Dustin had come back from losing to being neck and neck. Ryan was terrified–but he hated Dustin, and he refused to lose to him. In the end, he counted the deck better, and beat him. Dustin was furious and went to jump across the table and throttle that “fat bitch,” but Trevor stopped him, and then told his father to take over loosening up his bosses’ asspussy for him. Jared dutifully got down and pushed his own fist in Carter’s hole in his son’s stead.

“Dustin, sit back down. Aren’t you hungry?”

“No I’m not fucking hungry, I’m–” he started to say, but Trevor shoved a slice of pizza in his mouth as he spoke.

“No fucker–you’re hungry. You’re fucking famished. You’re going to eat. You’re going to eat, and you’re not going to stop until I tell you to, got it?”

Dustin tried to fight the command, but he couldn’t. He went over to the mostly untouched snack table, and started stuffing his face with everything Laura, Maurice’s wife, had prepared earlier, shoving food in his mouth with his hands, terrified not only at the ferocity of his hunger, but also how horny he was at his sudden lack of control, at the sensation of his full gut.

Trevor ignored Dustin, however, and sat down next to Ryan. “Well done Ryan, looks like you win! Congrats–I kind of hope you’d be the one left standing.”

“Does…does that mean I can go? That…that you won’t do anything to me?”

Trevor laughed. “Let you go? Of course now, Ryan! No, you get the very best prize of all, in fact. No, forget…this. No, you’re a piece of shit, Ryan. Not because you’re fat–I love your size. No, because you’re the smartest fucker in this room, but you don’t believe it. You fucking hate yourself. No, Ryan. I’m not going to let you go–I’m going to kill everything in you that makes you weak, and then you’re going to help me break in these nasty sluts–how does that sound?”

Ryan tried to object, but Trevor just leaned in and started whispering in his ear. Slowly, Ryan stopped trying to fight back, and his face went…blank. Almost featureless, at the debauchery going on around them. Then, his mouth curled up into a smirk–a cruel smirk which was utterly alien to his face. His eyes took on new life, looking around him, at this nasty fucks around him, thinking about…about how much he was going to enjoy this. How much he’d always craved this, this ability to become a brutalizer, and he’d never even known it was inside him all along. Trevor released him, and he immediately got up from his chair, went over to Dustin, and started feeding him, faster than he could hope to keep up with, mocking him as he gagged and choked, trying to swallow everything Ryan shoved into him, and he smiled at Trevor. Trevor–he’d enslaved all of these men, sure, but not him. No, he’d simply told Ryan how to be free.

Male Bonding (Part 3)

“Hey! Glad you two could make it!” Maurice said, opening the door. An older man in his early fifties, he was the geezer of the poker group, and the man who organized it. Jared and Trevor stepped inside, and found the rest of the group already seated around the card tables in the living room. Maurice was well known as being everyone’s friend, and so the group was a bit of an odd assortment. There was Carter, who was everyone’s boss. Next to him was Ryan–a young, shy coder who knew his way around a keyboard much better than a social circle. Maurice had been trying to mentor him, and the kid took to poker like water. Opposite Carter was Dustin–a young, assistant manager sort who everyone knew was gunning for Carter’s position. The two men hated each other, and had completely opposite styles of leadership. For the record, almost everyone liked Carter better. Also at the table was Kirk, a longtime friend of Maurice , and also getting on in years at the company. “Come on in and have a seat. Laura’s out for the night with the girls, so it’s just us guys tonight.”

“Sounds perfect,” Trevor said, and took a seat, Jared next to him, “My dad’s said so much about all of you, but it’s great to finally meet face to face.”

Introductions were passed, and then Maurice sat down and started dealing. All of the men around the table, however, were more focused on Trevor–or more accurately, on the ring around his finger, glinting in the dim light of the room. So focused, in fact, that Maurice set the deck to the side, but forgot to deal the cards for about fifteen minutes, the men all chatting…though none of them could really recall what was said–if anything, it seemed like Trevor had done most of the talking.

“Oh! I forgot. I brought something we can all share,” Trevor finally said, snapping the men out of their state, while he reached down and grabbed something, “What’s poker night without cigars, right?” he said, and started passing the thick cigars he’d bought on the way there. None of the men there were smokers, but all of them picked the cigars up and lit them without a second thought, Trevor passing around a couple of lighters. Each man coughed a bit–especially Ryan–but they all made do. After all, you had to smoke during poker…right?

They played a few rounds of Texas Hold’em. Eventually, chatter turned to Jared and Trevor, and how things were doing between them. Jared hadn’t said a word all evening, and everyone was a bit curious why, but Trevor piped up anyway. “Oh, well, it was a bit rough, right dad? Still, everything got easier once you came to terms with the fact that you’re a cocksucking faggot pig, right?”

“That’s…That’s right. I’m a cocksucking faggot pig, and I especially love sucking my son’s cock,” Jared said–his first words of the night. The rest of the men just stared, Trevor undid the fly of his pants.

“You want to show all your friends?”

Jared nodded, got off his chair and started slurping at his son’s cock. The rest of them men–they knew it was crazy…and yet it did make sense. All of them had, at times, harbored suspicions that Jared was, indeed, a faggot cocksucking pig. At least he was happy, right?

“Now, how about we make this game more interesting,” Trevor said, “How about we go ahead and make this a game a strip poker, eh guys? But let’s not bet money–after all, you’re all going to happily give me everything on the table right now, right?”

The men all nodded, as Trevor pulled the pile of loose cash over to him.

“Good. No, instead, I think the losers–the guys who have to strip completely naked–they’ll all have to be punished. But the winner who lasts to the end? He’s going to get something good, I think.”

“I…I don’t think we really–” Maurice started to say, but a glint from the ring cut the words in his throat.

“You’re right–you don’t think, Maurice. You don’t think at all. I do the thinking around this table. Now–deal the damn cards. I’m not playing, I’m going to be referee. My faggot dad is out too–hear that pig? That means you’d better strip. So that means the game is between you four–now let’s see who wins, eh?”

None of the men wanted to play, but none of them could stop themselves. They switched over to five card draw, and the clothes started peeling away. Still, none of them knew what kind of stakes they were playing for, until poor Maurice lost his underwear. Ever since Trevor told the older man he didn’t think, he’d been having a hard time figuring out what to do, and had to keep asking Trevor for advice–and Trevor was more than happy to help him out by throwing away pairs for him whenever he got them. He sat in his chair, naked, looking from man to man, Trevor getting up and placing the ring in front of his face. “Sorry Maurice–you’re the first loser. You don’t seem to be very good at poker, but I know something you are good at.”

“W-What?”

“Drinking piss. It’s you’re favorite thing, right? Just an old urinal, that’s who you are.”

“No…No! I’m not–”

“What did I tell you about thinking Maurice? Do you want me to empty out that head of yours even more?”

“No, but I don’t, I mean, I’ve never drank piss in my life? How can I be good at it?”

“Well, have you ever tried?” Trevor said, and put his cock to Maurice’s lips. Open up and have a taste. I guarantee you’ll love it, and drink down every drop.”

The rest of them men watched in horror as their colleague drank all of Trevor’s piss, and then, delighted with his new hobby, filled his empty beer glass, pissed in it, and drank that down too. But after that, it didn’t really seem so strange at all. Maurice was well known as the office urinal–the guy would do anything for the stuff. Maurice got down under the table, where Jared was still nursing his son’s cock, and started drinking piss as the men needed it–after all, they needed to get back to the game, and no one could afford a bathroom break.

Paid Vacation (Part 3)

***WARNING*** Still nasty.

For the first week, Ian was able to trick himself into believing that the programming was having no effect on him. He would fight and resist as much as he could, when he was awake, but the fact remained that there was very little he could do to prevent anything from happening to him. He focused his efforts on Rick, trying to get his coworker to see how fucked up this was, but Rick would just smile and shake his head, “I…I used to think like that too, you know. But don’t worry, you’ll understand here soon. You’re going to be so happy, just like me, just like we all are. I…I just want you to be happy, baby–here. let me make you feel good…” he said, and rubbed another load out for Ian, before leaving for the night. Rick was the only person he saw, after that first day, and after about six days, he’d started to loose hope that he’d escape. Still, he only had to hold out for a month, right? That’s how long his vacation was at least. If he could just hang on that long, if the programming didn’t work, then maybe…maybe they’d just let him go! He had a strong will, he could do this!

Then, slowly, he found himself enjoying what was happening to him. Enjoying the feedings, finding himself sucking down as much of the slop as he could, eager to fill himself up so…so he could shit more. So he fill his diaper to bursting. He tried to push the thoughts away, but they persisted, growing louder and louder in his mind. Still, he knew they were intruders, and even as they gained volume, he fought them, trying to work on Rick, trying to make him see that this was wrong. But my the middle of the week, he’d noticed something new–that whenever he tried to talk, the only thing that would come out sounded…immature and childish, using small words, or nonsense words. Even in his mind, he found himself using ‘poo-poo’, ‘pee’, and calling his penis his ‘wee-wee’. He forgot Rick’s name, and couldn’t recover it–the only thing he could think to call him was…’Daddy’.

Rick heard him say that, and chided him. “I’m not your daddy, little boy–you know that. Why don’t you just call me your big brother? Because we’re family, and families take care of each other, right?”

That didn’t sound right at all, but…but it did make him feel good, “Ok, big brother,” Ian said, smiling wide.

“You wanna take care of your brother’s wee-wee for him?”

Ian nodded–the taste of his brother’s cock had started growing on him, and he sucked him off, cumming spontaneously when Rick shot down his throat.

The next day, he woke to discover he was no longer tied to the bed. This…this was his chance! He rolled up, surprised by how…heavy he felt, and saw that his small gut had doubled in size in just a week. What in the world was he being fed, to make him do that? Still, now was his chance to get the hell out of here. He tried to stand up, but his legs couldn’t–or rather, wouldn’t support him. Instead, he started crawling across the floor towards the door, feeling his full diaper sagging down between his legs, making his wee-wee hard, just thinking about…about how nasty it was. How much his big bro would love eating his filth later. He shook his head, and reached the door, struggled to balance on his knees…but froze, in front of the doorknob, struck with terror, and…guilt. He…he didn’t want to leave. He didn’t want to be a bad boy! No, no! He was a good boy, and good boys did what daddy wanted, and daddy wanted him to stay…right? Ian had lost his mental footing, and he sat back in his own shit, trying to sort out what he should do, reaching no firm conclusion before Rick came in to get his little brother cleaned up and fed, but disappointed that Baby Ian had gotten out of bed by himself. Doesn’t he know that’s dangerous? He disciplined him, smacking his ass after he’d licked it clean, Ian sobbing, promising he’d be a good boy from now on, and Rick let him suck his cock to quiet him back down, before diapering him back up, helping him back onto the bed, and giving him his daily programming.

Clarity came less and less. The few times Ian found himself considering escape filled him with fear of disappointing his family. No, he would be a good boy, good and obedient. His feedings grew longer, now that he could eat more, and his shit would regularly overflow his diaper after his meals…which filled Ian with disgust at first…but when Rick saw and praised him for being such a good, nasty baby, he felt himself well with pride–and he started eating more, shitting harder, to make Rick happy. After two weeks of his vacation, Rick finally fucked him–before licking him clean, shoving his cock into Ian’s shit coated crack, and Ian couldn’t believe how…how horny he was, playing and fucking in his own filth. Rick began fucking him regularly, and even let Ian suck his cock clean, even though Rick saved most of his mess for himself, and Ian found himself wondering what his big brother’s crack might smell like in the rubber, what…what his shit might taste like.

Ian could tell his body was changing, but his mind was so addled it was difficult for him to comprehend everything that was happening to him. The fat he was putting on was the most pronounced shift–after two weeks he was already close to 350 pounds, and his muscles had begun to wither. Now, even if he could remember how to walk, his leg’s wouldn’t have been able to support his weight. All of his hair, from the top of his head to his face to the rest of his body had fallen away, leaving him perfectly smooth from head to toe. His cock and balls had changed as well, growing smaller. His balls, by the end of the third week, were more like raisins, and his cock was shrunk back to less than an inch, and was usually buried in his fat. His nipples had grown larger, however, and become incredibly sensitive–it was easier now for him to cum by playing with them, that trying to find and play with his cock. He was losing, and he knew it, and a growing part of him didn’t even mind anymore.

Paid Vacation (Part 2)

***WARNING*** Things get nasty from here on out.

He awoke the next morning in a kingsize bed, his wrists and ankles bound to the four bedposts, naked aside from a thick diaper around his waist and a pacifier stuck in his mouth, and…and his mind clear, for perhaps the first time in ages. He fought and struggled, trying to scream around the pacifier, but his mouth wouldn’t stop sucking on it–even though he knew he shouldn’t, he had no control over his body, or over his bladder, he discovered, when he felt it release into the diaper, his cheeks blushing as he struggled more, but it was no use–sweaty and tired he collapsed, heaving for breath through his nose. He was alone for around an hour, before the door finally opened, revealing Mr. Jeffries and his two butlers, now glad in their more usual leather jocks and harnesses, to greet his newest guest.

“Ah, there you are Ian, I see you have been well attended to since your arrival last night, and from the smell, it sounds like you’ve already made yourself right at home.”

He tried to curse at him, but it only came out garbled through the pacifier, and he gave up after a few attempts at speaking. What in the hell was this? had he ever been working on anything? Now that his head was clear, all he could remember doing at work for the last few months was watching television meant for babies, laughing and giggling like an idiot as he pissed himself over and over, and jacked off into his sopping wet pants. What the fuck had been wrong with him, that he hadn’t even noticed it once?

“I’m sure you have a lot of questions, now that I’ve undone the block on your initial programming. Don’t worry, you won’t remember for very long–but the second stage isn’t effective unless you are fully aware–I wish we could just skip that long preamble, but until I’ve broken down your defenses, I can never be sure you’ll respond properly to the big guns or not. But now, your mind is defenseless–an open book, and I can’t wait to start ripping out those pages. From the moment I saw you in that elevator, I knew I had to have you, sweet little thing you are. You’ll be daddy’s good little baby boy before too long–you’re going to love it. I like to administer the first round myself, but I have another project of mine who’s dying for some time alone with you, who’ll take charge of your development for the rest of the month.”

First came the IV and the drugs, relaxing his body until he could barely move a muscle–even his mouth ceased it’s spontaneous sucking. Then, came the helmet, covering his entire head. He couldn’t see or hear anything for a moment, but then it turned on, a blast of sound and color, so intense he…he didn’t really remember any of it. It was removed from his head later, and he was given a tube to suck–fed slushy food until he felt like he was going to burst. He’d resisted for so long, but he couldn’t fight it, as he messed his diaper at last, a massive load of shit filling the back of his diaper. It was night now, but no one came to change him, and exhausted from the terrors of the day, he fell into a fitful sleep.

The next day, he was awoken to the door of his room opening–he expected to see Mr. Jeffries, but it was someone else–someone he didn’t recognize, not at first. It was Rick–his coworker–although now he was dressed in a full body rubber suit, his eyes…crazed, as he stalked towards the bed, shoved his face into Ian’s diaper, smelling it and rubbing his cock through the suit he had on. Ian tried to yell at him through the pacifier in his mouth, but Rick had a singular obsession–he tore the diaper from his body and began devouring everything inside, before he turned his attention back to Ian, and licked his own body clean, before applying a generous amount of baby powder and diapering him back up. Ian couldn’t believe what he’d just witnessed, but after another massive meal fed to him by tube, the helmet descended once again, and he was once again held captive by Mr. Jeffries’ programming all day, subjected to a second feeding that night, by Rick. He pleaded with him again, but Rick just stroked his hair with a filthy hand, and cooed him gently.

“Don’t worry baby, I’ll take such good care of you. Does baby need to cum before he goes beddy bye? And maybe you need a big boy pacifier too…”

Rick pulled the plug from his mouth, undid the zipper of his suit and allowed his dick to pop free from it’s sweaty prison. Ian tried to resist, but he…he needed to suck. Even though it tasted foul and disgusting, he…he couldn’t stop. He didn’t…want to stop. Rick didn’t undo his diaper, he just rubbed Ian’s cock through the thick padding, until with a wild spasm he came, and Rick started fucking his face until he shot as well, Ian sucking down his coworkers load, no longer able to control his own body or needs.

Rick left him there, and it was only a few minutes later that, with a loud fart, Ian started filling his diaper with shit once more. There had been no warning from his bowels this time–he’d simply lost all control, and he started sobbing, whining and crying, until Rick returned to comfort him, massaging his cock again until he came once more while he sniffed at the shit in Ian’s diaper, and no longer able to cope with what was happening, Ian fell into another sleep of exhaustion.

Paid Vacation (part 1)

A promotion’s a promotion, right? Ian had been asking himself that question a lot lately, but at the same time, this…department, and his new co-workers all seemed a bit strange. They were all supposedly working on some top-secret project, something for the government, but…well, the only stuff Ian seemed to be given to work on either didn’t make much sense, or didn’t seem to have much bearing on, well, anything at all. Still, there was plenty of it, and he’d always been diligent and didn’t like asking questions of his employers. Hell, software developers like him were a dime a dozen these days, so he knew he should be happy to even have a job. Still, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something strange was going on, but maybe he’d just gotten lucky–the company CEO was well known–now into his late sixties, but still going strong, Mr. Jeffries had shared an elevator ride with him, and now this promotion? Maybe the old man had seen something in him, but Ian didn’t really know what. Still, isn’t wasn’t worth complaining about, whatever it was.

The team he was working with were all kind of quirky and anti-social, kept to themselves, and all seemed, well, just a bit strange all around. They didn’t have an assigned supervisor–they would all just come to work in this isolated office, cut off from the larger company, do their assigned work for the day, and then leave. Still, as he worked with them all for a few months, he got a feel for their quirks. A young man his age, named Jules, literally couldn’t stop eating. He was close to six hundred pounds, and Ian had never once not seen him stuffing his mouth with food. There was an older guy named Rick, as well…who smelled like he didn’t take a shower very often, and the guy seemed to take bathroom breaks all day. But the pay was certainly nice, and the office had tons of perks. Better to not look a gift horse in the mouth.

Still, after a few months in his new position, strange things started happening that Ian couldn’t explain. For one thing, he started…zoning out a lot at work. He was still getting his work done, or at least, he wasn’t getting in trouble for it not getting done, but more than once, he would start awake at his desk, and discover that some little kid’s show he didn’t recognize had been playing on his computer screen for ages, without him even noticing, and he couldn’t even remember opening the video at all. Not too long after that, he found himself with this insatiable desire to suck something–anything. Usually he’d end up sucking his thumb, and before too long, he couldn’t stop. Even eating was becoming difficult–and he started drinking his coffee and soad through a straw, just so he could have something to suck that didn’t make him look like a total freak. Then, he pissed himself for the first time, in the office.

Worse, he hadn’t even realized he’d done it. No, he only noticed anything was wrong at all, because he Rick, the creepy bathroom guy, had stopped and stood in his office doorway, sniffing and snorting the air, eyes blank, until Ian had shouted at him, at which point Rick had suggested he get himself cleaned up, and hurried off to the bathroom. Ian had looked down, at his sopping wet khakis, and freaked the fuck out…but he hadn’t been able to leave work early, he still had so much to get done–so he’d sat in his wet pants for a few more hours until he was all finished, and then he left to go home and get changed. From that day on, he discovered he couldn’t stop his bladder from emptying suddenly right into his pants. For a while he simply took take regular bathroom breaks every half an hour, but when that got in the way of his work, he resigned himself to the fact that he’d just have to cope with wet pants at work. That…that made sense, right? He had to focus on getting his work done, after all. That was the most important thing of all.

Several months passed, and soon none of this seemed odd at all to him–or to anyone else in his strange office, and then he received a notice that for all of his hard work, he had been scheduled for a month long paid vacation starting the very next day. This both made him happy, and also worried him–he had so much work to get done after all, but then again, maybe what he needed most was a break. He worked as hard as he could that evening, fitting in four episodes of his favorite show, giggling along with the infantile plot, before finally packing his things up for the night, pants soaked with four loads of piss, and left for his vacation. Oddly enough, he didn’t quite know where he was going, when he left the office and drove off in a different direction entirely. Still, he’d probably know when he got there, and he’d have a really good, really fun time–that much he knew for sure.

He drove for close to an hour, out of the city, and when he saw the name on the gate of the mansion he drove up towards, he discovered that he had unwittingly driven himself to the home of his CEO, and there, waiting for him, was the old man himself, a strange, perverse grin plastered on his face. Ian climbed out of the car, thumb stuffed in his mouth, unable to believe the CEO was seeing him with his pants soaked with piss, but before he could even attempt an apology, the old man said, “There’s my little boy,” and with those words, Ian went slack, nearly falling to the pavement, but Mr. Jeffries two musclebound butlers were there to catch him and drag him up to his room, where he’d spend the next month taking a nice vacation with his new daddy.

Christmas III: A Brand New Stanta Claus (Part 7)

“Your father gave you so fucking much, and how did you fucking repay him? By being some fucking bum on his fucking couch? Well I think it’s time you learned how to show your father the fucking respect he deserves, boy,” Stan said.

Another red name–another horrid young man deserving Santa’s punishment. This one–Liam–was nothing but a lazy moocher. Dropped out of college after two years–he couldn’t handle the pressure. He moved into his father’s basement and has barely left since. Couldn’t even bother to get a job, just a chubby, stinking lout Stan had found snoring on the couch in front of the TV, even as his father worked two menial jobs to support them both. Well no more of that. “I don’t, I mean–” Liam tried to say, but with a twinkle of magic, his lips suddenly shut themselves.

“No, I think what we need is your father down here, to help you learn to appreciate everything he’s given you,” Stan said, and with a snap of his fingers, Liam could hear someone upstairs above them, and a few moments later, his father came marching down the stairs, naked, not at all sure what was going on, and why he couldn’t control his own body. “Jerry! I was just talking with your slacker of a son here about how he’s wasted his life and your generosity. I think, if anything, it’s time for you to take a load off, what do you think? Liam–get up–let your dad here rest his tired feet.”

The son stood up, and his father took a seat, both of them terrified of this massively obese Santa figure in their midst, and neither of them able to control their own bodies. Jerry plopped down on the old couch, and with a flash, both of them were twisted up in Stan’s magic. When the light died away, Jerry tried to get up, but discovered that…he couldn’t. No, not that he couldn’t that he didn’t want to. That he didn’t have to. This was his fucking house after all, he deserved a chance to fucking enjoy it! Liam, on the other hand, found himself overwhelmed by his father there, dropped to his knees and licking his father’s feet…just…just like he always did.

As Stan watched, Jerry’s body began to expand, filling in with fat, his hair growing long, lank and unwashed, mouth reeking as he leered down at his boy slathering his nasty feet with spit. “Yeah boy, work that fuckin’ tongue–show daddy how glad you are that he let’s ya live here with him.”

Still…not enough. He tried to resist the urge for a moment, looking at the father and son. Surely this was enough punishment, right? But he wanted to see them suffer anyway, and his mind, it wouldn’t stop imagining the most horrendous things…“Here Jerry, have a smoke–enjoy yourself,” Stan said, handing him a thick cigar he hadn’t noticed in his hand to him, which Jerry was more than happy to light up, while Stan got down in front of the very confused Liam. “I know it can be hard, supporting your father like this, but you do it for family, right? Holding down three jobs…not that you don’t enjoy them. Janitor at a local gym–gives you plenty of time to perv out in those nasty locker rooms right? Trashman in the mornings, but you like that too–picking up all that junk, hell, the nastier something stinks, the harder it gets you, right? Hell, just walking into those porta-potties you clean out on the weekends is enough for you to shoot a load into those filthy coveralls you never take off, right?” He stood back up and looked down at Liam, now a very different young man. He was wearing the nastiest coveralls Stan had ever seen, moaning loudly and rubbing his cock as he worshiped his father’s feet. He looked over at Jerry, and the cigar he’d given Jerry was doing it’s work–he’d packed on so many pounds all of a sudden that he probably wouldn’t be able to stand up even if Jerry wanted to. The father’s guts gave a rumble, and he farted–Liam immediately shoving his face between his dad’s massive thighs, snorting in the foul stench, cum splattering it’s way from his cock across the base of the couch.

“I know ya gotta get tah work soon boy, but Daddy’s got a big load of shit for you, and I know ya don’t wanna clean it up off the couch tonight. Well, I know ya like cleanin’ it off the couch, but I don’t feel like sittin’ in it all day, waitin’ fer ya tah git home.”

“Sure…sure thing Daddy…But…maybe ya can piss while I’m gone, ‘n I can suck that out? I’m always so thirsty when I get home,” Liam said, and pushed his dad’s legs up, giving him better access to his dad’s shithole. Stan didn’t want to watch…but he did anyway. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from the scene, and couldn’t tear his hand from his cock, eventually giving in, getting down behind Liam, ripping the back of his coveralls open a bit wider so he could slam his cock into the boy’s disgusting hole. He fucked him quickly, but after he came he couldn’t bear to be there any longer, and fled back up to the roof as quickly as he could, unable to believe what he’d just done to those two men. That…that he’d wanted to do that to them.

He’d been trying to avoid admitting it, but he was changing. This job, was changing him. This wasn’t the person he wanted to be, this wasn’t good, what he was doing, and yet…he didn’t want to stop. He didn’t want to stop, because in his heart, he enjoyed it. But this wasn’t God’s work, this wasn’t the work of any God. He…someone had to stop him. He couldn’t stop himself, but maybe…maybe he could get out of this somehow, stop anything like what he’d just done from happening again. He had to, this was out of control, and Stan knew that if he didn’t do something soon, he’d never be in control ever again. Because this…this felt too good. And that scared him more than anything else. He’d…he’d do it at the next stop, no matter what, before he lost his nerve, and before he got anymore lost in this…joy.

Dream Camp (Part 11)

***Warning*** Here’s where things start getting really strange. You might just want to stop here if watersports, scat, anal vore, or snuff freak you out–which just to clarify, they probably should freak you out. Still, these are horror stories! You’ve been warned!!!

“Silly, silly little boy. Playing at being a grownup this whole time, but I remember you, oh fuck, do I remember you now,” Kyle said, as he stalked closer to him, “Weak, fat, terrified. My son was right to beat you up, you little shit!”

Spittle flew, smacking Barry in the face. He kept trying to move, trying to run, but his feet were glued to the ground, stuck in the mud, and he felt…shorter. Smaller and weaker than before, this monster bearing down on him, and there was nothing he could do. Nothing–he was…was weak. He was just…just a pig, just a boy, not a man at all…

His body was changing, and he was aware that it was his own loss of confidence causing it, but there was no stopping it, nothing he could do, because Kyle was right. ScoutMaster Hoffson was right, had been right about everything. He could feel his muscles diminishing as his fat spread all around him in every direction, rooting him into the ground even more, sinking into the mud which had begun bubbling around him. It…it would feel so…so good, to just stop. To stop fighting, to just…embrace this. He was too heavy to do anything, too heavy to fight anymore. His legs began to wobble, and finally collapsed beneath him, mud splattering out and up, sinking into his folds, cold against his balls and cock, and he could feel them shrivelling up, growing smaller and smaller, tucking themselves away into his fat where he’d never be able to reach them, where no one would be able to reach them, where they should just stay. He didn’t need them, he didn’t even want them.

Master Hoffson walked over, pushed him backwards into the mud and climbed on him, pinning him in the muck, his huge cock pushing itself into his soft gut, “Not even a pig–fuck no, just a hog. Worthless as a fucking man, no fucking balls at all–all you’re good for is eating and abusing, isn’t that right? That’s what you want, isn’t it? To eat? To drink? To serve? To be abused?”

Barry knew, in his head, that everything he was saying was a lie, that he didn’t–that he shouldn’t–want these things, but feeling his balls shrivel further and finally disappear, feeling his snout start drooling, he was…starving. Every hole of his was starving. Master stood up again, leaving him in the muck, walked around to his head and squatted down over Barry’s now porcine face, his hairy ass right over him, and Barry knew, what he needed. Knew what would satisfy his hunger, and he began licking at his Master’s pucker, feeling it loosen, and the shit start pouring over him, and he swallowed down as much of it as he could, the filth choking out any shame that remained in him, the desire for filth overwhelming him, dominating every last chunk of his small mind, feeling his own bladder release, piss cascading from his gunt and out over his fat thighs, shit spilling out into the mud beneath him, warm muck between his cheeks. Master Hoffson finished his load and allowed his pig to lick his crack clean, and then washed off his face with a blast of musky piss, marking him now, demonstrating to them both that this was not just any hog–but his hog. His toilet. His cumdump. And Barry no longer could conceive of wanting to be anything else.

He looked up and saw his Master had changed–no longer simply a beast, he had reclaimed his some of his humanity, even as Barry had lost his own. His cock was still slimy and inhuman, but his face had lost its snout, now merely angular and hyper-masculine, with a grin full of sharp, pointed teeth, a body coated with hair, bulging with muscle without a single trace of fat anywhere. To Barry, he was simply a god, everything he wasn’t. Everything he could never be. The only life he could imagine was one serving this god, of providing the only services he could now–as a hole. As a dump.

“Max, get the fuck up–you’re fine. No son of mine is going to let a pig control him, right?” Barry could barely lift up his head to see Max, where he’d been lying on the ground, hole wrecked, begin forcing himself up at his father’s command. “No, you’re a real man, a true beast, like me. Show this pig what he deserves–I want to see you destroy him.”

The feral anger in the bully’s eyes no longer filled Barry with fear–only with a crude desire. He wanted this beast to abuse and wreck him, wanted it more than anything. Max forced him to roll over, his body expanding with bulk, his mind filling with cruelty as his father filled him up, and he hammered his cock into Barry’s disgusting hole, and Barry squealed with pleasure, his cock forever soft, but his new ass now incredibly loose and sensitive to even the smallest probing, his fatty folds shaking and shivering with pleasure, but Max didn’t last long–after a minute and a half, he finally spasmed and exploded deep inside the pig’s filthy bowels, and tried to pull out, but Barry wasn’t satisfied. Barry wanted…more, and with a sudden motion, he clamped down his ass on Max’s cock, locking him in, even as Max, in a bit of a panic, started yanking at it, clawing at the pig’s ass, but Barry wasn’t done yet–Barry needed…more. He needed everything Max could give him, and he was going to take it, whether he wanted to give it to him or not.

Neighborhood Pub (Sketch)

“Hey! Faggot! Why don’t you get fucking lost? Ain’t no guy here wanna have you round, lookin’ at us like that,” Nick puffed up his chest and got in the stranger’s face, leering at him. No one knew who this fucker was–the pub here was really only frequented by guys from the neighborhood, guys who’d know each other for years. Sure, the occasional stranger would slip in, but they got the idea pretty quick that new folks weren’t very welcome in there. But this guy, he hadn’t gotten the hint at all this evening, and worse, it was clear the guy was a total faggot.

He was an older guy. He’d shown up a few hours previously, and ordered a beer with a bit of a lisp and the bat of an eye from Sammy, the bartender. Usually Sammy wouldn’t even bother serving freaks like this, but for some reason he’d just given the guy the beer he’d wanted, and the fucker had just made himself at home. Very, very at home. He’d spent the night wandering around the pub, busting into other people’s conversations so he could flirt and feel up the local guys…and for some reason no one was doing anything about it! Well Nick had had enough of this clown–he’d throw him out himself, since no one else could bear to do it, for some reason.

The stranger grinned at Nick, and moved in closer, pushing his gut into him. The man was older, balding, sweaty and hairy. At some point he’d lost his shirt, so nothing covered his ugly fat beyond two suspenders keeping up his pants. Nick’s first instinct was to recoil, but he wouldn’t give him the…the satisfaction of knowing he was…was scared or…or turned on…or…if he pushed closer, into the man’s gut, maybe the strange butterflies fluttering in his gut would go away. They didn’t they got worse, but that was alright, and something…something about the way the man smelled, something was…was so…good.

The bar had grown quiet. No one had known what to make of the man, no one had been able to resist him, and terrified, no one had dared challenge him. They had all secretly hoped that if they just…let him feel up their bodies, and lick their necks, and whisper…horribly, sexy things in their ears, that maybe…maybe he would leave them in some kind of peace. But Nick–fucking hotheaded Nick–the man ran one hand over Nick’s stubbly face, watching his jaw droop, eyes turning glassy. The stranger put his hand on the top of Nick’s head and applied a gentle pressure, the bar watching as he dropped to one knee, and then both, the man guiding his face to his crotch, where Nick began grinding his face into the man’s crusty jeans.

He had no control. He couldn’t…couldn’t stop himself, didn’t want to stop himself. He could…could see…visions, in his mind. Of himself, but…but different. He was wearing something…shiny and black, all over his body. It looked like rubber, but so…so reflective, black, but with yellow. Yellow…like piss. Fuck, like piss! He felt the warmth in his crotch as his bladder released into the front of his pants, running down both thighs to the floor of the pub. Everyone else could smell it too, they could smell it, and they were growing…growing hungrier, like when they’d all first smelled the stranger, and they could see what Nick was now–a urinal, a fucking tool, a dump for them to use and abuse as they wanted. The man undid his fly, pointing his cock at Nick’s face, who waited patiently, the puddle growing around his knees until the man released his own piss, and Nick drank down as much as he could, feeling everything he couldn’t get down soaking his body, his clothes so…wet now. It would be so much better if he was wearing rubber, all rubber, all the time, for…for the rest of his life, yeah, a rubber urinal, just an object.

The man finished, Nick kissed the head of his cock, and started licking up his own piss from the floor of the pub, the weaker willed men around him standing up and walking towards him, their own bladders begging to be emptied, and the man drifted off to other men, toying with them, slowly for the rest of the night, and he never returned to the pub again…not that he needed to. The pub was…different from that day on. Every man from the neighborhood would come dressed in leather and rubber, most of them smoking, all of them constantly horny. New men were always welcome–none of them could resist the heady, musky smell of the place for long, all of them ended up going home with some other patron of the club to discover the new desires brewing in their guts. Nick, however, lived in the bathroom, chained to the floor. He’d grown fatter, his gut massive, stretching the rubber bodysuit he now wore to the limit. He hadn’t left the room in months, but Sammy took good care of him, making sure he got all the nutrition he needed and stripping him out of the suit once a week to hose down his fat, and shave his body smooth. It was up to the rest of the bar to keep him full of piss and cum, to keep him happy, forever.

New Lube (Sketch)

Noah took a look at the odd tube again, now that he was back in his apartment, which he’d received from a vendor offering out free samples to men passing by his table at the gay pride celebration he’d just been to. It appeared to some kind of specialty lube, but the matte black packaging didn’t say much about what was inside it. Still, he was curious, and the half naked guys he’d been checking had him horny. He was planning on bringing someone home tonight, of course, but why not blow off a little steam now? It was still early after all.

He stripped down and squeezed a bit of lube out onto his hand, but already it was different than any kind of lube he’d seen before. It was pitch black and opaque, but oddly shiny, almost like liquid rubber. He squeezed a bit more out onto his palm and set the tube off to one side, before tentatively rubbing it on his cock, groaning as the lube started pricking and tingling all over the surface of not just his shaft, but also the palm of his hand. It wasn’t a bad feeling, but the lube wasn’t very effective–he kept needing to apply more, and the tingling gave way to something more like numbness. It was keeping him from getting off, though he remained completely hard, and switched hands after a couple of minutes, gett the palm of his other hand coated in the stuff as well. It reminded him, when he was a kid, of sitting on his arm and putting it to sleep, so it felt weird when he jacked off, only instead of his hand being asleep, it was his dick.

To that point, he’d had his eyes closed, focusing on a fantasy involving some of the hot men he’d seen that day, but as his frustration grew, he finally opened his eyes and looked down–and gasped. His…cock. It was completely coated with the lube, but rather than drying away, it looked like it had simply coated his cock…and now it really did look like rubber. He ran his hands over it, and saw that the palms of his hands, and even the sides and some of the backs, had turned the same black color all over–his balls too, even though he was certain he hadn’t gotten anything on them. He knew he should try to wash it off, but his hands just kept stroking–faster now, fast enough that he could feel the lube drying harder. It didn’t feel good anymore, but he also couldn’t stop, and with a sudden, gut wrenching sensation, his cock and balls came right off his body, in his hands.

He stared at his cock and balls, unable to believe what had just happened to him…but they didn’t look like his equipment anymore–in fact, they looked just like a rubber dildo. Still, this had to be a dream, it couldn’t be real. He looked down, and where his cock had been attached was just a smooth patch of rubber. In a panic, he got up to go to the bathroom and wash his hands, but one hand reached out and grabbed the tube of lube–without him thinking about it–and brought it along.

In the bathroom, he set his dildo on the counter and tried to turn on the faucet. Instead, his hands–working against him, squeezed out even more lube into his palms, and started slathering it up and down his arms and legs. He screamed, trying to get his limbs to obey him, but it was like they didn’t even belong to him anymore–hell, he couldn’t even feel his hands at all, now that he thought about it, and when he grew too loud, one hand grabbed the dildo, lubed it up, and shoved it in his mouth.

The taste was vile, and the stinging and numbing was almost immediate, as the hand thrust the dildo deeper, down into his throat. He tried to scream, but suddenly he couldn’t get anything out–not even a whisper or a cough. His teeth and tongue went numb–he couldn’t even tell whether or not they existed at all, and after a few minutes, the hand pulled the dildo back out. Noah didn’t have a mouth anymore–all he had in it’s place was a puckered, rubberized hole.

By then, his legs were coated entirely, and they began to collapse underneath him, breaking off his body as he fell, and he could see from where he landed that they were now simply a pair of rubber, thigh high waders. His hands continued their work, coating his entire body with the substance, even smearing it across his eyes, nose and ears, sealing them shut, and then he sensed them deflating and falling away from him too, a pair of shoulder length rubber gloves, leaving him as a rubber torso and head on the floor of his bathroom, trying to scream with no mouth, no lungs, no hope at all.

He only had a dim knowledge of what happened next. He was picked up at some point, and driven somewhere. Before too long, the first cock shoved its way into his mouth, raping him brutally, and cumming in less than a minute. Then, a steady stream of cock followed. Some fucked him, others simply slipped inside and pissed. He could feel his torso–now completely hollow–slowly filling up with cum and piss, sloshing about inside him. He could, distantly, feel his old arms and legs being worn by men, like phantom sensations he only had distant access to, but his only pleasure came from his now disconnected cock, being ridden by some unknown asshole, or sucked on by a mystery mouth. He could never cum, of course, and the pleasure drove him closer and closer to insanity, his mind slowly turning to complete rubber, eventually only happy when it was being of service.

The Bathroom of the Lost (Part 3)

This time, in the darkness, it was different. Before, RJ had been terrified, the strange beings around him a kind of torture. But now, now every touch from a claw sent a burst of pleasure through him, strange mouths fighting for the privilege of sucking and gnawing on his cock, balls and nipples, eager to drink and absorb his cum. Still, RJ had a question, a burning question–when could he leave? He knew, somehow, that he didn’t belong here, that he’d come from somewhere outside–at the thought, the presence around him turned angry, and the pleasure became…painful. He could enjoy it at first, but then he grew terrified, the presence lecturing him inside his mind. There was no outside, there was only here, and he was here to be punished and to punish others–that if he continued harbouring ideas about the world he’d come from…well, he’d just have to see what might happen to him then.

The lights again. Now, they were too harsh to his eyes–the dark, he liked the dark better, he liked being in the pleasures of the dark. He hadn’t changed, much–not nearly as much as before, but his hands…they didn’t seem quite human anymore, and his massive cock was emerging from some strange sheath, that ran up his muscled, hairy belly. In front of him was the endless wall of urinals, but one of them was not like the others. In the place of filthy porcelain, there was instead a body, fused with the wall. It was upside down, the chest emerging from the nasty, grafittied tile, the head looking up at it’s tortured body, arms trapped in the wall, the mouth screaming in terror.

RJ…remembered him. It was the stranger, the stranger he’d fucked earlier. A voice in his head, a darkness, told him that this man had fought them, it had tried to escape, it hadn’t even tried to be good, be free, it still thought it was a person. So now, it had to pay. If it wouldn’t join them, if it wouldn’t help them, then it would be nothing more than an object, a filthy, disgusting object.

The man’s skin had a pasty look to it under the light,; RJ walked forward, hearing something click against the tile floor, the man trying to flinch away from him, and ran his clawed fingers down its abdomen. It…was hard, or hardening. He was hard…too. And he had…had to piss. He bent over, pushing his cock into the thing’s screaming mouth, feeling it widen to take RJ’s unnatural thickness, and with a guttural groan, he released his bladder, feeling much of it flood into this thing, making it bulge out, the skin turning whiter, the screams dying into a gargle as its mouth became the only feature remaining of it’s pasty white face. and RJ’s piss began overflowing the mouth, cascading onto the floor, soaking his hairy, clawed feet. It wasn’t a person anymore, it was just a thing, a filthy urinal. RJ…RJ didn’t want that, he wanted to…to feel good, like he did in the dark. He backed away, leaving the urinal brimming with piss, and the darkness swallowed him once more into their arms.

What they wanted was simple. They wanted his humanity. They wanted his soul, they wanted him to join them, to become the monster he truly was. Part of him fought, but he was weak, he’d always been weak. He always hated that part of him, that morality, that thing which had questioned his cruelty, doubted his self-serving actions his whole life. He was happy to be rid of it. He was…a beast. Violent, angry, vicious. He only followed that which he feared–and he learned to fear the presence, through pain. Pleasure was…so much better, so much more desirable, he would do anything for to feel good.

The light didn’t return for a long time. When it did, he found himself alone, in a small sliver of light just a few yards wide, the light making him shield his eyes. Unlike much of the bathroom, this part he now found himself in wasn’t lined by toilets or urinals, but by two mirrors on either side–and for the first time, he could see himself, his monstrous form. He could no longer stand on his feet alone–the massive bulk of his chest and neck forced him onto his hands as well, like an ape, his hands and feet covered with red-brown fur and tipped with black claws. His face–there was no longer anything remotely human. A snout, a maw, filled with glistening teeth crusted woth something black, white eyes shot with red veins, and deeper…there, right inside him, that same void. It was…in him now, contained him, as he contained it. He licked his chops with a purple tongue, leaving a line of slobber, feeling his cock emerge. Something…was coming. He’d been brought back for a reason, to punish someone, and the lights on one side of where he stood flicked on.

There. There, a few yards away. A man. A nasty, resistant man. He’d been there for weeks, it looked like, his clothing ragged, his face exhausted. He was scooping water from a toilet with filthy, cupped hands, trying to drink, hoping it was clean. The darkness, his God, it had been working on him, wearing him away, but he needed to be forced, he needed violence, he needed to witness his own helplessness and weakness.

RJ roared–the man turned to him, and the look of terror in his eyes made RJ desire the hunt, the fuck, even more. He had no chance–the beast ripped his clothes from him, pinned him to the floor, and rammed his cock into him, biting down, drawing and tasting blood, fucking him not until RJ came, shuddering, which he did over and over again. No, not until the man was sobbing on the floor, and yet pushing back, aching to be filled by this monster’s cock, did RJ withdraw and slink back into the void, into the presence to which he belonged, and together, they cut the lights, and swarmed their new prey into the dark.