Interactive: A Pigtown Halloween (Part 4)

Ken pressed against the bars of the cage, trying to force the bars to grow back out, but they refused to budge. He was left with maybe a few inches of clearance on all sides of him, and there wasn’t a door to be seen anywhere, on any side of the bars. Ken squealed for help as best he could, but he couldn’t form words with his rubber pig face at all–and the imp just sat there, looking smug, like he was certain that he’d won.

“You might want to be a bit quieter piggy. I know you want someone to help you, but in this place, all you’re going to find is someone looking to fuck a hole like yours–and I can assure you, there are not many men around who you would want to fuck you right now, in your predicament. So why don’t you calm down, and just accept it? You lost, I won. Now I get what I want.”

It was the first words that the imp had spoken, that Ken had heard all night, and he was surprised the creature could even talk, especially as ugly and monstrous as it was. It’s voice was certainly ugly though–high pitched and screechy, though easy enough to understand. None of the other monsters he’d passed in the halls had seemed to have this much…presence of mind.

“Been two years. Two long fucking years, since a few of those monsters got hold of me one Halloween, and warped me into this fucking thing. Can’t tell you how fucking hard it’s been, holding onto myself all this fucking time here, don’t think I could make it another year. But I got lucky with you–caught you early enough to snag your tag. Now all I have to do is make sure you can’t make it back out to contest it–and I’m home free.”

Ken realized, at last, what the imp’s plan was all along. He wanted the tag…so he could leave. He was going to leave Ken here in this nightmare to rot, and this fucking imp was going to go out and claim Ken’s life as his own! Ken redoubled his efforts against the cage, angrily butting his head against it, swinging from side to side, but it refused to budge–all it did was exhaust him. 

“Now now, don’t worry, I’ll take good care of your body. You were so handsome, you know. Before…well, before you went all piggy. Maybe I’ll come back next year–I know my way around this place now, and check in on you. See if you managed to hold up as well as I have. I don’t think so, honestly–you seem pretty thick to me–though you could be thicker, couldn’t you?”

The imp laughed, and launched himself up to the ceiling. Ken looked up and saw a bunch of pipes up there around the ceiling, and the imp grabbed one, and dragged a hose back down with him. “Alright piggy–I don’t think you quite look the part yet, do you? Aren’t pigs supposed to be fatter?”

It was true–while the suit had warped his body, it hadn’t really changed his basic shape. Ken tried to shrink back into the cage, but there was nowhere to go–the imp pushed the hose against his mouth, and the thing came alive–forcing open Ken’s snout and filling his snout, latching on and refusing to come off. Something churned overhead and a thick slop started flowing down the hose–Ken’s only choice was to swallow as quickly as he could, or choke.

So he swallowed–and the more he swallowed, the easier it was to swallow, and as his belly grew more and more full, the…better he felt. The imp went around behind him, toying with his ass and his piggy cock, telling him what a good little piggy he was being, eating his slop. Slowly, weight began to show on his body–especially his gut, which began to distend–first firm, and then growing softer, his arms and legs losing definition and growing flabby, his ass growing wider too. He had two chins under his snout now, and he would have happily kept eating mindlessly if he hadn’t looked up at the wall, and seen the clock that told him it was almost three in the morning. He’d eaten the night away–he only had one hour left before he was trapped here forever. But he couldn’t stop eating–even after everything he’d eaten, he was hungry–so fucking hungry. 

“Well Pig, it’s been fun this evening, but I’d better be on my way,” the imp said. “Still, don’t think I don’t have one more surprise for you before I leave–consider it a token of my gratitude, for giving me your life.”


Here’s the choices for this branch! All of these are endings of various natures–after this, we’ll go back and pick up another thread. The patron only version is over here as well!

The Monastery

Father Nicholas clawed his way out of sleep, and was certain he was choking. What he was choking on he did not know–a dream substance of some sort or other. The dream was already fading from him, impossible to grasp beyond the terror of the nightmare racing through him, pulse dizzying, cloaked in sweat. He forced himself to breathe, finally succeeding with a massive, heaving gasp, coughing and gagging and heaving but nothing came up–which was a surprise itself, given the meal he had enjoyed last night, at the monks’ insistence. He concentrated, forced his breathing and his heart to settle, reaching for some sort of serenity that he knew had to be somewhere inside him–because God was inside him, after all.

As he came down from the nightmare, he tried to recall what he could of the dream, but there was nothing. No images at least–just a cascade of feelings. Terror, mostly. A good dose of shame. Regret, maybe, or something similar, colored with a bit of self-loathing. A hunger. There was hunger too, which seemed absurd to him, to awake hungry after…after that. How strange. How unchristian, really. He could see it, lit by candlelight still, the great hall of the abbey, the long table dressed in a deep red, the chair at the head conspicuously empty but still set, the entire length set with a massive feast, one of the largest that Nicholas had ever seen, perhaps outside of the Vatican on rare occasions. The monks, seated around the table, tearing into the flesh of beasts with such vigor and gluttony and…it was abnormal to say the least. Verging on heresy in its own fashion, in how the monks of this monastery had so readily discarded the vows of chastity and restraint that they were allegedly bound to by God.

Or perhaps, just a feast to celebrate a visitor from Rome. Perhaps just a well meant, but ill advised, celebration, given what he was here to do. Perhaps innocent, all the same. He had approached it with that in mind, assuming that the monks were doing their best to just be kind to him, with perhaps a tinge of bribery–which itself was not unusual, but of all of his temptations, greed had never been him. And so he’d sat there, next to the prior on one side, and one of the many monks on the other, trying to be an island of temperance in a building storm of indulgence and gluttony. It hadn’t lasted, obviously, between the monks urging more and more food on him, one of them even heaping his plate full when he saw he wasn’t helping himself to seconds. Another kept his wine glass full to the brim, though he never managed to catch who was pouring it for him. Without the wine, perhaps he could have controlled himself, but between the drink, and some of the most luscious, simple and delicious fare of the table, he’d…relented, obviously. And now here he was, with a still hard gut packed with food, a headache from the wine, feeling like a fool for giving in like that. It was not a good first impression in either case. He looked like a man who could be swayed with wine and good favor. And they, well, they didn’t look particularly good for it either. He could still see the prior beside him, tearing into the thigh of a chicken with his teeth, the grease coating his lips as he laughed at some joke, eyes on him, and…

He hoped it was all innocent, he did, but something told him that there was more here. A voice, he often called God, but never to anyone else. Believing one had a direct line, in this era, was considered hubris. But inside himself, he felt it all the same. There was something here, something more than the rumors that had brought him here. Something rotten inside this monastery. Fraud and embezzlement, most likely. Something boringly human. The curse of them all, really, and why they needed God more than anything.

Father Nicholas was something between an envoy and a spy. The monks knew full well why he was here–sent by Rome in order to investigate the claims that had been made against the monks by the villagers who lived near the monastery. The villagers had complained that the monks–usually a quiet and chaste order–had in recent months taken to rather…extreme behaviors, the monks passing through town shouting speeches in the square verging on heresy, one of them even going so far as to extoll the virtues of gluttonous appetites. It didn’t help that every single monk had given into corpulence–he hadn’t seen a single monk here under 300 pounds, and several seemed to be pushing closer to 500, in all honesty. And so, Rome had sent him to investigate, and if necessary, determine what steps might be necessary to bring the rogue monks into line. But all he had done so far, in his first day here, was apparently eat and drink himself sick with nightmares.

He shuddered as he slipped out of the bed, his sheets damp with his sweat. The quarters where he found himself were small and modest, most likely identical to those where the monks reside themselves. There was a desk along the wall, a bed, a window full of morning sunshine (he would have missed laud service already–though how any of the monks could get through a service at dawn after the night before mystified him anyway–had they not also missed vespers and compline the night before?) and his luggage stacked neatly in a corner. He took a while to unpack, dress himself in new clothes, but the dream continued to haunt him–he felt…dirty, really. Sinful. He shouldn’t have given into such excess, it was uncharacteristic of him, and brought back rather awful memories that were best left in the dust of the past.

It was a desire for control, that had led Father Nicholas to the priesthood. Control over his own urges, foremost, ones that had haunted him through his youth, ones that God had promised him he would conquer, if he only believed hard enough. To his teachers in seminary, this was a troublesome impulse, one they sought to temper. Control was important, yes, but to err is human. Without forgiveness, then everything they preached was meaningless. Nicholas understood that, but found it difficult to live–and certainly difficult in parish life. But he had found this calling in Rome, rooting out heresy and fraud and crimes against the church. He was a dog on a leash, and Rome held him and pointed him where he needed to go–and he did what was necessary. But this was already…a rather strange welcome. How warmly they had received him, even knowing why he was here, the threat he posed to their order. It felt like, either they knew they were innocent, or that they believed there was nothing he could do to bring them to heel.

Dressed, he felt somewhat restored. A shower would help, but that could come later–mostly he felt that what he needed most was confession–especially after the night before. None of the monks here were priests however–not in this small order. The only one able to hear his confession was the abbot–but that posed other problems. According to the monks, the abbot had fallen rather ill and needed to be confined to his chambers. They were vague about the nature of his affliction, and insisted that serious medical intervention was not necessary. The abbot, they told him, believed that God would heal him, and thought seeking a doctor would be a sign of weakness. It felt like a lie, but without knowing who was to gain from it, it was hard to sense the truth behind it. Was the abbot actually ill, or perhaps dead, the monks covering for some kind of foul play? Or was there something else the abbot desired to hide himself, and the illness was merely a convenient excuse? He found his way to the prior of the abbey, a short, rather rotund fellow named Timothy who had welcomed Nicholas the evening before. He found him in the abbot’s study, apparently taking care of business during his illness. Not unusual, but suspicious all the same.

He asked him if he would be able to see the abbot for confession, and Timothy told him it would be difficult, given the abbot’s condition. Perhaps in a few days, Timothy told him. In the meantime, Timothy promised Nicholas he would help him with whatever documents or records he needed from the abbey during his investigation. Nicholas gave him a list, and Timothy happily turned them over with question or reluctance. He simply told Nicholas that dinner would follow the Vespers service, and they were welcome to join them for both.

Nicholas did. The service was fine–though none of the monks were particularly fine singers or readers. It seemed a bit…hollow, in some ways. Rushed. The monks were seemingly eager to be through it, and Nicholas more than once caught a whiff of something delicious on the air, and he felt that hunger from the morning leap up again. He had promised himself a day of fasting, following his indulgence, but when he told this to Timothy, the prior merely chuckled, and led Nicholas into the hall, where another massive feast, equal in size to the one the night before, was laid out for them all. He was appalled, really. How could such extravagance be afforded so regularly? But Timothy planted him in his seat, the monks urging him to eat. He was so thin and frail! So quiet. Does he not like to live? Appreciate the gifts of the earth that God and Christ had given them?

He tried to excuse himself, but the wine was poured and pressed to his lips. The feast the night before had felt warm and welcoming, but tonight, there was a certain pressure. Outside pressure, from the monks, implying that he would be insulting them, if he refused their hospitality. But that was easy for him to resist–it was the pressure on the inside that was bending him, the hunger building up until it overwhelmed him, and he sat back down, filled a plate of his own volition, and devoured it, all while Timothy urged him on, his wine always full, the monks laughing and cackling around him. His vision was swirling, but there was some commotion at the far end, something he thought was fighting at first, one monk thrown against the table by another, but it was…it was…

He awoke with the same gasping, choking sensation as the night before, but the sensation passed a bit faster–which was a relief. At least until he realized, with some shame, that his sheets were damp with more than just sweat this evening, but that he had, apparently, had a wet dream at some point as well. He could…smell it, and it nearly made him want to vomit. He couldn’t recall the last time he had ejaculated–either on his own, or in the night. Perhaps as teenager, but even then, only once or twice. The dream was fading again, but left him with an even deeper sense of defilement than the one before. He took a shower, and noticed that his thin and muscular body was showing signs of a paunch after his two feasts now–and he was so filled with disgust and shame at his own lack of discipline, that he retreated to his room to pray privately for most of the morning, and then continued his devotions into the afternoon–until Timothy came to find him, and check to see if he was well.

Timothy was kind and gentle with him. Coaxed him from his room, only for Nicholas to find himself seated, once again, in the hall, another massive feast laid out before him, and all he could think to do was vomit–but the hunger inside him welled up once more, betrayed him–and again, the dreams, the vile, choking, panting, aching, dreams! It was the next day, his sheets again soaked with sweat and cum, that he demanded the sacrament of penance from the abbot–or he threatened to go into town and speak with the priest there instead, and not stop until he was back in Rome to tell the cardinals that this monastery needed to be torn down, stone by stone. Timothy consulted with the abbot in private, and was told that the abbot would agree–but he would need a few hours to prepare, and that he demanded that Nicholas not lay eyes upon him. The restrictions seemed ridiculous, but he agreed–and so that afternoon he was seated in the confessional, listening to the raspy breathing of someone he could not see through the screen, and he spoke:

“Bless me father, for I have sinned. It has been…six days since my last confession.”

There was no reply, just the same ragged breathing on the other side of the screen. 

“I…I most confess to mortal sins. I…In my dreams, I fear I have sinned against God. Turned against him. That I have…have given into gluttony, and lust in ways that I do not understand, but which I feel are…are putting my soul in mortal danger.”

It was the truth, as close as he could come to it. The ragged breathing quickened, and became a deep, unsettling chuckle. “I am afraid, you are going to need to be more specific,” the abbot said to him. “If these sins are indeed putting your soul at risk, surely you can…tell me more about them…”

The voice was like oil, sliding over his ears and his skin and under his clothes and into his guts. He nearly fled then, but couldn’t move. “I…I do not remember them, I only…only feel it, in my soul.”

“Shall I tell you, what I saw then?” the voice said, close on the other side of the screen, close enough that Nicholas could…smell his breath, the rank odor closing in on him in the confined space. “How I watched you stuff yourself like a pig at our table? How I wanted you devour more and more into the empty space that you have hollowed out, waiting with all hope that God would come alive to fill it for you, but I filled it first, priest. I filled you up, I did, I filled you to the brim, and when you were full, I watched you fuck–clumsy, so clumsy, fumbling and foolishly, but you fucked. You enjoyed it too, you know. Had you given in, before? I tasted it on you when you arrived, how much you crave men, how it drove you here, right into my arms, where you always belonged, you know. God is empty, you see. I am not–we are not. We are alive! We are alive, and living, and enjoying all that life had to offer–and all you must do, for your penance, my dear priest, is submit, and live with me inside you.”

He hadn’t noticed the hole cut into the side of the screen when he’d entered, but he noticed it now, the thick, bulbous, leaking cock thrust through it, inches from Nicholas’ knees, the scent of the cum heady and creamy, and the hunger, oh the hunger thrumming inside him! He longed to taste it, longed to take it inside him, longed to devour it and everything else, everything that had held him back for so long, but Nicholas pulled away, fumbled open the door and tumbled out onto the stone floor–the monks already on him, holding him down and binding him, as the other door opened, and out stepped the abbot–or what remained of the man that the demon inside him had devoured.

He was massive, easily 600 pounds of heaving fat hanging off his frame in uneven rolls. His robe was filthy, crusted with cum and food, and he stank of corruption. It was his face though, his…massive mouth, and his eyes. The drool hanging from his lips in long sticky strings, His eyes were pitch black–and above them, a row of horns had pushed their way out from his forehead and temples. “I knew it was too soon for you–but I also do not have the time to waste, wearing you down slowly–bring him down into the dungeon, we will see if a few tools of the inquisition might bring our Vatican friend to his proper senses.”

The monks all professed their obedience, and while he struggled, they bound Nicholas and dragged him down into the depths of the monastery, the demon following behind them, down into the dark.


How long had he been down here now, in the dark?

There were no windows, only torches that never seemed to need to be relit, or perhaps they were only changed during his occasional, fitful moments of sleep. Nicholas screamed again as the lash came down upon his back again, heaving for breath, having already lost count of the number of blows this session.

“Can you feel it, Father?” Timothy said behind him, his hands gripping the leather tightly. He had traded in his robes for the garb of his new master–a leather harness strapped tight around his chubby frame, a leather strap knotted around his cock, keeping it fully erect, the color a deep reddish purple in the torchlight. “Can you feel it? Oh, I can. I can feel your pain, how delicious it is. Lean into it, release yourself into it! Your body need not feel as pain what it can feel as pleasure!”

The lash came down on him again, Nicholas tried to scream again, but nothing came out. He was exhausted–spiritually and physically. Down here in the dark, the torture had been unceasing, since meeting the demon in confession. If they were not whipping him, or branding him, or milking him, they were feeding him, forcing more and more of their slop into him, more and more wine, keeping him in a constant state of delirium, all of his senses driven to their limits. 

Sensing that he had had enough, Timothy tossed the lash to the side, stepped forward, and mounted the father, working his own aching cock into the priest’s now well worn hole, rutting against him wordlessly for a few minutes until he came, seeding him with another load, the same as the others he could feel drying on the inside of his thighs. Nicholas sobbed then, as Timothy pulled free, took off the strap and freed his own member. Other monks, dressed similarly, rushed in to care for Nicholas’s wounds, forcing more wine on him, and always more slop–but that…that was welcome. The hunger was only growing more intense now, gnawing away in his very bones at times. The monks no longer had to force him to eat–if food was put before him, he would devour it mindlessly, realizing only after, his face coated with muck, that they were making a literal pig of him.

And always, he could smell him in the dark. The demon. The abbot. Watching him, but in all of these days and hours, he had not once said a single word–even when Nicholas had cried out, demanding answers–even demanding death–he had been silent. And so he ate, and he drank, and his wounds were dressed with a surprisingly human tenderness, and then those monks too left him there in the dim light–and it was the first time that Nicholas had been alone in all of this time.

He tested his bonds again, but the cords were just as strong as before, holding him tight over this horse. He struggled anyway–what else was there to do, in the end? But even that exhausted him quickly, and he allowed himself to hang, the wine going to his head, making him dizzy, wondering if it would be better spent trying to rest in this moment of solace.

“Now, perhaps we can begin again. Confess to me your sins, father. Confess them, and I will strip them of you, and grant you true absolution from guilt, and pain, and hunger. None will trouble you again, so long as you are in my arms.” It was the demon speaking, but his voice seemed to permeate the room. It was impossible to tell where it was coming from. Perhaps, even from within his own mind.

Nicholas did not know what to say–but he ached. He ached to be free of this, he wanted to feel the sun on his skin, longed for God–and the demon laughed, like he could sense his thought.

“God is silent, don’t you see? God no longer cares for you–not like I do. Toil and labor in the service of him, and you get nothing but doubt and death. I can offer you more, so much more.”

He felt a sharp claw run down his welted back, and Nicholas gasped. It did not hurt–it felt…divine. He shuddered, his cock growing full, the demon continuing to stroke him gently, Nichoas moaning and gasping under his touch. 

“You long for me. You always have. Confess to me, how you turned away from me, Nicholas.”

His life stretched out before him, in his mind. How…things had started so differently for him, when he was young. How…how that first time with his cousin, how much he had loved the touch of men, but in his conservative family, any sort of desire like that had to be starved into nothing. And so, Nicholas ate. He ate, and he ate, and he tried to fill that hole inside him, thinking about him, about so many men, and hating himself for it. God seemed to be the only hope he had left anymore, and so he devoted himself to the church, first as an altar boy, and then finding his way into seminary.

It was there, that the discipline had been driven into him, by his teachers. They were disgusted by him, by his weight and his gluttony, which he had used to cover up his deeper sins. They shamed him, and humiliated him, wore him down and starved him until he was thin and muscular and willing to do anything for God–but what had God ever done for him? In all of this denial, in all of this rejection of the world, what had he gained, really? Happiness? Satisfaction? He was hungry, but he realized now, that the hunger was older–much older than the last few days. He’d been hungry all his life, and now, here he was, face to face with a being that could, at long last, feed him.

“I…please, I starved myself, I…I’m so hungry I don’t know what to do anymore,” Nicholas said between sobs, “Please help me, please, I…please forgive me…”

“I forgive you, priest, now feast on my seed. Join me. Do your penance.”

Nicholas allowed the cock into his mouth, sucked on it, draining it of everything he could. The precum was thick and creamy, coating the inside of his mouth, filling his gut–warm and solid and so satisfying. He drank and drank, letting it all go, letting all of his control drop for the first time in his life, ready to…embrace everything. Everything he could have been. With a roar, the demon’s cock erupted, and he drove his cock deeper down Nicholas’s throat, draining his corrupt balls deep into his guts, and Nicholas felt himself swell, and swell, and swell, so full he was certain he would burst from the love of his new God, but it would be worth it, worth everything to feel full, to feel this divine presence inside him, and just as he was certain he would be able to take no more–

He awoke.

He awoke from the most exquisite dream he had ever had in his life. He awoke reborn. He threw the sheets down, looked and saw his new body, nearly 400 pounds, and with his hands, he groped his fat, feeling his new folds, groaning and moaning in delight from the sensation of so much weight pressing down on him, and he grasped his cock, grunting and snorting, and within a minute, he shot one of the largest loads of his life all over his belly–and he rubbed it in, relishing it, thanking his God for accepting him in all of his folly, for showing him the way to pleasure, for giving him this true gift of a new body.

He rolled up and stood with some difficulty, and just stared at himself in the mirror for a few minutes. He was beautiful, so beautiful. Full breasts hanging from his chest, wrapping around under his arms, with massive swollen nipples on each. Three chins cascading from his now fat, round face. His thighs touching most of the way to his knees, his ass jiggling slightly as he moved. He had already shot once, but he was already so horny…he struggled with his harness, but found his way into it, and left his room to join the monks.

The monastery had dropped all pretenses–the monk’s old robes folded away, all of them wearing the same harness and nothing else. He passed several pairs fucking in the hallways of the abbey–and while Nicholas longed to join them, he…he knew where he was needed, what he needed, and he found his way to the prior, to Timothy, down in the dark, and with their God in audience, Timothy gave Nicholas a proper whipping, and now, every grace of the lash against his flesh brought forth such brightness and pleasure that Nicholas’s cock would spontaneously explode, splattering load after load on the stone walls, until at last, Timothy fucked him roughly, and so pleased with with their devotion, their God allowed each of them to suckle on his milky teats until the time for the evening feast was upon them.

It was weeks later when Nicholas bade farewell to his brothers one morning, climbed into the car that had been sent for him, and left the abbey behind. He had gained more weight now–closer to 450 pounds–struggling to fit in the back of the small car, but it did not matter. He had found himself, who he was always meant to be, and he had a new mission now, one far, far more important than any he had been sent on before. He patted his satchel, a hunger gnawing at him, but he knew better than to feast on these himself–inside, were several vials of his God’s seed, each with a particular target designated in Rome, and in the world beyond. Cardinals, mostly–each of them with a weakness the demon could exploit, and each of them a potential new pope, as this one’s breath was growing ragged. It was time for a new church. A church with a real God, one you could touch. One you could serve. One who would ensure you would never be hungry again.

Interactive: The House Made Me Gay! (Part 12)

“Please, why…why are you doing this? I…just…just change me back, I didn’t want to be some…old fuck!” Ethan said.

“Well, in all honesty, it isn’t quite my thing either, though I think it does suit you quite well,” Phil said, as he fiddled with his stations. “But this is what the client asked for, and so, that’s what the client gets.”

“The…client? What?”

“Oh yes–the client. I’m making you for someone, you see? They were quite specific about what they were looking for.”

“What the fuck does that fucking Mr. Woodrow want,” Ethan said, “I knew that fuck was creepy, fucking hell.”

“Oh he isn’t the client–I merely contract with him to secure raw materials. In exchange, I give him a few tools of my own for the men he has living in that house of his. Really, you should be thankful–a few months in that place, and what I’m doing to you will seem like nothing. He’s the real freak.” Phil said, and then pulled some tubing down from where it was hanging above the chair. “That’s enough of a chat for now–the client will be here soon, and you’ll see for yourself what they want. For now though, we have a few more changes to make.”

He pushed a tube against Ethan’s mouth, who shut it tight against him–but the rubber tube came to live, forced its way into Ethan’s mouth and down his throat, settling in his stomach. Aa thick solution, almost like gruel, started to flow and he could feel it settling in his gut, making him feel…heavy, and full. Then, Phil brought down a second tube–enclosing the first–and the end of this one was a breathing mask, which he secured around Ethan’s nose, mouth, and most of his beard. Once that was in place, he could smell the smoke flooding the air–reeking of cheap tobacco, and he coughed, but soon it was all he could breathe, and he started to feel light headed, and laid back in the chair, while Phil went to work on his cock and balls.

Phil gave him some stimulation, and Ethan’s cock got hard–it was sizable, a good six inches and fairly thick, but not large enough for the client’s needs. He took a syringe, full of his enchanted silicone, and injected it into Ethan’s cock–along with a bit of will–and watched the shaft start to swell, the skin stretching to accommodate the new solution, Ethan groaning in pain, feeling his skin stretch around his cock uncomfortably. It took a few injections before it was large enough–thirteen inches long, as thick as a two liter soda bottle. The silicone maintained the sensitivity of the skin much better–and also stayed rigid–Ethan was going to have a permanent hard on for the rest of his life. Once he was satisfied with the size, he started adding the bling–making small incisions in the surface and sliding the various metal balls and bits underneath, giving the surface a brand new sort of texture, more like a living dildo than a real cock. He finished it off with a massive PA that could fit around a normal man’s wrist, and then worked on his balls–filling them with a similar solution, until the sack was about the size of a bowling ball, the freakish head already drooling precum from the stimulation.

Once finished with that, he took a little break–the feeding was going well, but wasn’t finished yet. Ethan would force his head up on occasion, and see he was, indeed, getting fatter at an impossible rate. Whatever he was being fed with, it was just as magical as the injections that had warped his cock into the monstrosity jutting from his crotch. His gut was getting most of the growth, but his chest was now sporting two sizable moobs, and his ass wasn’t quite as comfortable in the chair as it had been. Phil, at some point, decided he was ready, got out the tattoo needle, and went to work.

The tattoos weren’t painless, but they seemed to heal instantly. In fact, as Phil worked on one after another, the ones he did first seemed to almost fade–and after a few minutes, they looked to be years old. He started on his belly, quickly sketching and filling in the face of a cartoon pig on the top of his belly, giving a wink and smoking a thick cigar. Underneath his belly button were the words, “Smoke Pig”. From the cigar’s tip, Phil quickly filled in clouds of smoke across Ethan’s chest, which seemed to move and twist as his chest heaved and filled with more and more fat from the tube. 

After checking that the piercings had healed on his cock, he tattooed that as well–on the top, were inch markings from head to base, and then on one side, the words Daddy’s fuck stick–on the other, the image of a cigar, the head filled in red and orange and yellow like the burning tip. Satisfied with his work, he pulled the mask free from Ethan’s mouth, allowing him to cough and breathe freely for a moment. Around the mask, all of Ethan’s grey hair had been stained a dingy yellow from the prolonged smoke–as had his teeth, like a man who’d been smoking cigars for fifty years. Then, out came the feeding tube as well–leaving Ethan at his new weight of 425 pounds. 

“Fucking hell, you fucking…piece of shit,” Ethan said, his voice raspy and deep from the hours of smoke. Already, he could feel the withdrawl setting in–but Phil was ready, pulling out a sizable cigar, cutting it, lighting it, and pushing it into Ethan’s mouth, who inhaled it eagerly. 

As he did, there was a knock on the door–and Phil went to the door of his little shop, where he allowed someone in–it was the client who had commissioned Ethan’s new body, but who was it, and what is Ethan’s final form going to be?


The next part is probably going to be the finale of this story! I’ll start a new, Halloween themed one next week probably. Patrons have their bonus poll over here! You get two votes–choose wisely!

Danny’s Bad Day

The day had not gotten off to a good start for Danny. He’d woken up late, struggled to get himself together on time, and now was just making it to the gym a half an hour after he had agreed to meet Matt there for their workout together. Knowing him, he’d probably gotten started, and now Danny would have to catch up or get left behind again. He pushed his way into the gym, and as he did, he felt…something odd. He didn’t quite know how to describe it, actually, like there was some strange film in the doorway, something he’d pushed through that was more than air. The sensation was gone in a moment, but as the door shut behind him, he realized he couldn’t hear the traffic or the sounds of people in the street outside the building, and the sounds coming from inside the gym didn’t seem normal either. 

He stepped up to the desk to sign in, and saw that someone he didn’t recognize was sitting there. Usually one of the owners of the gym, Sven or Taylor, were at the desk, greeting people as they entered, but today there was a tall, lithe fellow sitting in the chair, wearing a polo shirt, and looking friendly. Still, Danny didn’t have time or a desire to chat with a stranger, not when he was already running late, so he just scanned himself in, as the man said hi, and tried to introduce himself. Danny knew it was rude to just ignore him…but if he ended up working here for a while, there would be plenty of chances for them to get to know each other soon enough. Danny knew what it was like to be ignored anyway–and he kind of relished the opportunity to turn the tables on someone, especially someone as tall as this fellow, who was easily an inch or two over six feet tall.

Danny, on the other hand, was short. Very short. Five foot, two inches short. He was used to people looking over him, or looking down at him, or treating him like a kid. He’d started going to the gym with Matt, hoping he’d at least be able to bulk up a bit, but so far all he’d managed was to get a bit more toned, which honestly didn’t help his image much. He compensated by wearing some shoes with thick soles, but even that didn’t help a whole lot. Most days he was a nice guy–but with everything that was going wrong for him, he just didn’t have the patience. It was a shame really. He could have gotten what he wanted. But it was a bad day for Danny, and it was only going to get worse.

The guy at the desk, after all, wasn’t a exactly a new member of the staff. He was the new owner, in fact. Of course, the gym wasn’t even really a gym anymore, and it didn’t even really exist on earth–not like it had. The man sitting behind the desk had gone by many names over the eons–though the one that had stuck the longest was Loki–though even that name was old and somewhat forgotten at this point. Humanity didn’t really have the imagination for magic, or gods anymore, or for naming the things beyond them. It made things easier, in some ways, for Loki to have his fun. He was a trickster after all, a joker, a force to be reckoned with. He’d asked Danny how he could help him today–which he had asked everyone so far, as they’d arrived at his gym. He’d given everyone what they wanted–mostly, in one way or another. But this one–this short, impatient fellow–he was strong willed, Loki could tell already. There was always at least one. Loki sat back and decided to just watch for a bit, and see how long it took him to realize how different things were already. These ones were always the most fun, after all.

Danny got to the gym floor and scanned it, looking for Matt, figuring he would be working out already, but to his surprise, he wasn’t there, that he could see. Maybe he wasn’t as far behind as he’d thought. But then he saw something strange. Something that he just…stared at for a moment, certain he had to be seeing things. That it couldn’t possibly be happening, right in front of him.

It was a regular at the gym, but not an acquaintance of his. Matt would probably know his name–he was here more often than Danny. He had interacted with the man a few times–and it hadn’t been the best experience. The guy was a bit of a clean freak, and if you left a machine and didn’t wipe it down, he would walk over and berate you, and then drag you over and make you clean it while he watched, to make sure it was to his standards. Everyone had their pet-peeves of course, but…but now, he was watching this man, looming over a bench on his hands and knees, licking the leather clean.

Danny just stared, because it was so absurd. He looked around, wondering if anyone else had noticed what the guy was doing, but it seemed he was the only one that noticed it at all, and he looked back at him, and noticed something else–the man’s tongue…it wasn’t normal either. It was too long, his tongue stroking the surface with such careful caressing strokes, thick, and slimy, and…and Danny looked away, confused and disturbed, but now that he had noticed one odd thing, more began to stand out to him.

Over there, by the power racks, were a couple of brothers who were in here often and usually working out together. They were both handsome, tall, and if they weren’t actual twins, they consciously styled themselves to seem nearly identical–often even wearing matching tanks and shorts when they were here. But the brother’s weren’t working out–they were making out with each other, their clothes off and discarded around them…but that wasn’t what made Danny question his own sanity in that moment. It was that there were only three legs between the two of them.

He had to count them twice, just to be sure. Then he looked for four arms, and he could only find two, one on each brother caressing the other, pulling each other closer, and as he stared, mouth open and jaw nearly on the floor, he could see that their bodies were fusing together, bit by bit. Even the third leg between them was beginning to atrophy, and pull up into the rest of their body as the two brother’s mindlessly kissed, two heads sitting on one set of shoulders.

Then there was Anton, standing over by the mirrors and the free weights. He was flexing, as he did often enough–but his body wasn’t right either. His arms were too long, and there was more hair than Danny recalled him having. In the mirror, his face didn’t look right either–the brow too defined and heavy, his eyes looking a bit empty, mouth hanging open and panting, one of his arms moving down to stroke his cock, even as the other went up, and he started sniffing at his pit, like the stench coming from there was heavenly.

Danny just stuttered, unable to believe what he was seeing. Was he having a stroke? Was this some dream, or hallucination? Was he dead?

“Everything alright, sir?”

Danny spun around, and there behind him, was the man from the front desk, looking down at him with a rather impish grin. “I…I don’t…are you seeing…any of this? Am I insane?”

“Oh no–this is all real. Allow me to introduce myself–I’m the new proprietor here, at this gym. You would be Danny, right?”

“How…who the fuck are you?” he demanded, but Loki just grinned down at him.

“Is there something I can help you with? Maybe…with your height? Give you…yeah, I see what you want, you want to be noticed, don’t you? Well I can make everyone want you–would you like that?”

Danny didn’t know what the stranger was talking about, and he backed away slowly, realizing he had stepped into a place that was not what he was expecting. “I…where’s Matt? And where are Sven and Taylor? They’re the ones who own this gym.”

“Ah, I facilitated the sale earlier with them. As far as I know, they’re still in the locker room. We were discussing price when your friend came in…half an hour ago?–and helped us reach a solution. I’m sure they’re all still occupied. But I’ll ask the more important question again, how can I help you?” Loki bent down, looming over Danny, “I’ve helped everyone so far–he wanted a gym that was cleaner, and I’ve helped him take it upon himself to make sure every bench is so clean you could eat off it,” he pointed at the man still licking the bench. “Those two wanted to be even closer–and I would say it’s difficult to be closer than that,” he indicated the two brothers–their bodies now almost entirely fused. “And he, well, he fancied himself a caveman, in his mind, a mindless muscular brute. I’m just helping him look more like he sees himself on the inside. But you–what can I do for you? Just ask, and I’ll give it to you.” 

Danny backed away some more, and then fled in the direction of the locker rooms. He had to find Matt, Danny told himself. He had to find his friends! Maybe together, they could sort out what this creepy fucker was doing, and figure out how to put things right again. Loki just laughed–this fellow was a strong one! No matter–he would settle him in sooner or later, in one way or another. He followed after him at a leisurely pace, knowing that there was nowhere he could run. Maybe once he found his friends he’d have a change of heart.

Danny made his way into the locker room but slowed down as he did, not quite sure what to expect–especially after what he had seen out in the rest of the gym. He thought about his friend Matt, a massive bodybuilder who had spent years perfecting his physique so far. Danny had always been envious of him–of not just his height, but also of his sizable cock, which was longer soft than Danny’s was hard. His personality was electric–he was always cracking jokes, and toying with people, and flirting, and he had such confidence. Danny felt lucky to be his friend, but now…well, what could this man have possibly done to him, and to Taylor and Sven too? Taylor was tall and lanky, and loved to play basketball, while Sven was shorter and stockier–thickly built and powerful…and what could all of them possibly want? They all had what Danny desired after all–he couldn’t really fathom what this man would have done to them, what he might have given them that they didn’t already have. But he could hear the moans coming from around the corner, smell musk, and sweat, and other strange odors on the air. He knew he should run–but he had to see. He had to try…and help them, he supposed.

He turned the corner, and there were three people there–but none of them were immediately recognizable as any of his friends. The scene unfolding was so absurd, that if he hadn’t known it was real and that all three of them were his friends, he would have laughed at the sight of it. One of them–she was beautiful, really. A transwoman with a stunning face, gorgeous hair cascading down past her broad shoulders, two muscular breasts jutting out, and there, below those, was one of the largest cocks he had ever seen. The woman was moaning, a deep, sensual voice echoing around the tiled room, as a second…thing was hunched over, suckling on one of her breasts while she stroked her cock. Danny had to creep around a bit to get a look at the second person, just to make sure he really was seeing this…beast.

It wasn’t a man–it was…a minotaur? That was the closest thing he could imagine for the beast suckling on the woman’s tit, lips frothy with milk, eyes gazing up at her face in awe and lustful worship. He was massive–easily six and a half feet tall, but large parts of his body were no longer human at all–his face was already contorting into a short, broad snout, his eyes were vacant and bestial, he had two horns pushing their way out from his skull, and there was a thick metal ring through his wide nose to complete the image. Below the waist, he was similarly changing–brown and white fur running down his massive legs, to where his feet had become heavy hooves–and his cock, emerging from a sheath, was easily a foot long, and no longer the least bit human in shape, with a flared head mottled skin. Behind him, a tail was even flicking back and forth, growing longer with each swing, a tuft appearing on the end as well. 

And that left the third figure–some sort of massive blob of a man lying nearby, watching the other two while stuffing his face with food. Danny had no way to even guess how much the thing might weigh–probably close to a thousand pounds, if not even a bit more. The man’s body was more slug like than anything else at this point–Danny could see small, vestigial legs on the end of his body, slowly withering away to nothing, while the rest of his body just became a singular, pulsating mass, pushing itself forward, moaning as he did–Danny realized it was because the fat slug man was dragging his cock against the ground–and whatever it looked like, it was probably large, and it left a scummy trail of white cum behind his body as he moved. He no longer had a head–or at least not one that could be separated from the rest of his oozing body. The man’s neck was too fat to really differentiate the head from the shoulders, or from anything else. His eyes were small and beady, the nose wide, but it was the mouth–the massive, gaping maw, droll running out of it and down his flabby chest–it was the mouth that he just stared at, unable to fathom how something like that could even happen.

It had to be a lie. These couldn’t be his friends, it was impossible. It had to be impossible. 

“Let’s see,” Loki said, coming up behind him, “Sven was more than happy to give up his share of the gym, once we had a chat. He’s always secretly thought exercise was too much work, and resented the fact that he couldn’t just eat–well, eating is what he does best now, and he’s so much happier now. As for those two, they were a bit more difficult. See, Matt didn’t want to change–not really, but he did have this fantasy. A strong woman, huge breasts, a massive drooling cock, milking her, suckling from her, getting fucked my her and then fucking her back. Taylor–well, I don’t know if she was really willing, but she seems to be enjoying herself now, don’t you agree? Still, Taylor needed something too–a real beast, a monster to fuck her, hungry for her milk–well, Matt will be her bull from now on, worshiping her entire body and keeping her oh so happy. Matt did love having everyone call him ‘Toro’ after all–doesn’t it suit him? I think they got quite a bargain for this place. More than money could buy, certainly.”

“I’m…this is sick! What the fuck is wrong with you? How could you do this to people?” Danny asked, and Loki just looked at him, eyes lax, like he was bored already.

“Because when you have lived a life like mine, and when you can do what I do, why would you do anything else? Why not give people what they want?–which brings us to you, little man,” Loki said, and squatted down, emphasizing just how low he had to get to look Danny in the eyes. “I can give you what you want too. Big man–bigger than all of them, and no one will be able to look away from you. Big cock too, you’ll be so happy here, with the rest of my toys. Isn’t that what you’d like? That’s why you come here after all–to change yourself. Because you aren’t happy like this–none of you were happy, this is not a place where happy people come. But this–this is true happiness, what I can offer you.”

Had things gone differently that day already, Danny would have said yes. After all, he wanted so much more than the rest of them, had wanted for so much longer, but this day, he balked. He balked, because he knew that what Loki was offering wasn’t really what he wanted, and looking over at his friends, all of them warped beyond their humanity, he knew that he would not fare any better than them, in the end, no matter what Loki promised him. “No–No, I’m getting out of here, and I’m getting them out with me. I’m not going to let you do this to him you fucking freak!”

He charged at his friends, first to Matt, tugging on his shoulder, shouting in his ear, but he didn’t even seem to notice him. Taylor, too didn’t so much as turn her eyes down to look his way, as she pushed Matt down to her cock, “Come now little Toro, suckle on your mistresses’ cock you fucking beast,” she whispered to him, and Matt didn’t need anymore urging. He took her cock in his mouth and started to suck, drinking down her milk, and Danny could…see his body bulking up even more, piling on more muscle as he mooed gently around her cock like it was a teat. Danny backed away in horror, and then turned to Sven–but he had no luck with him, either, not even when he pounded on his flabby body, trying to do whatever he could to get their attention. His anger turned to panic, and he started shouting louder, desperate for anyone to see him, or pay attention to him, but it was like he didn’t even exist to them anymore.

“It was rude, you know, what you did when you came in,” Loki said to him, and Danny turned around and looked at him. “You ignored me. Not many men have ignored me, in my life. But you enjoyed it in the moment, I could feel it. You felt justified, because you thought I was just someone working the desk, not someone you had to care about. Perhaps I should make it so no one will notice you ever again?”

“Fuck you, you fucking piece of shit. How fucking dare you do this to us? You nasty fucking–” but that was as far as Danny got, as something happened to his mouth. It happened in a moment, his teeth dissolving as his lips contracted tight, feeling like they were caught in a tight pucker. He couldn’t speak, or breathe, and he clawed at his throat for a moment, until he realized he didn’t need to breathe, and he probed his face, cautiously with his hands, and felt that his mouth had…become an asshole. His nose had disappeared as well–and when he tried to scream, all that came out was a loud, noxious fart–and Loki burst into an uproarious laugh.

“Curse me, will you?” Loki said, “I’m the one with the curses around here, little man. If you can’t show me a little respect, then I don’t see why I should even give you the privilege of having a mouth any longer.”

Danny looked around for a moment, looked up at his friends–and realized the only chance he had to help any of them, would be to try and save himself. So he ran. He ran out past the still laughing Loki, fled the locker room, but as he ran, he could tell something else was happening to him. The ceiling was looming higher and higher above him, and the ground was coming up closer. He was running at the same speed, and yet felt like he was going slower and slower. Still he pressed on, slowing to a waddle, and he reached the doors to the gym, gave a mighty push, but while he could feel them rattle–he no longer had the strength to move even one of them, in order to escape.

In the glass, he could see himself reflected dimly. Now only two feet tall, if not a bit shorter still than that, his arms and legs had shrunk–his legs especially, now two thick stumps only a few inches long, that could barely carry his thick trunk of a body. Even now, he was wobbling slightly, unable to really keep his balance well without something to lean against. His new asshole took up most of his smaller face now, and he just had two smaller eyes–and his hair and short beard were different as well–curly and thick, more like pubes, than like actual hair. He looked around in terror, not sure what to do, or where he could hide, when he heard–and felt, footsteps behind him, and saw Loki casually sauntering towards him, not a hurry or a care in the world, knowing as well as Danny knew that there was nowhere he could go.

“Well–is it what you wanted, little man? Little asshole? What do you think–should I just leave you like this–everyone oblivious to you, just running around this place, trying to avoid being stepped on by all the brutes around here, now really just the runt under their feet you always feared you light be? Or are you going to cooperate? Give up, let me in, and I’ll make you happy–I promise.”

What choice did he have, really? Danny nodded, and relaxed, and he…could feel it. Feel the place permeate him somehow, like he belonged here. Behind him, the door sealed itself shut–perhaps it was still there, but for Danny–as for Matt, and Sven, and Taylor, there was no escape for them now. They were permanent residents in Loki’s kingdom here–for better or for worse. He braced himself, wondering what it would feel like, growing larger…but it became apparent after a moment that nothing was happening. He opened his eyes, looked down at himself, and saw that he was the same strange freak he’d been moments ago–Loki said he would give him what he wanted!

“No–I said I would make you happy–that is a very different thing,” Loki said, turned, and walked off back into the gym.

Angry, Danny waddled off after him, trying his best to keep balance on his tiny legs and feet, but Loki easily covered more ground than him, leaving the little asshole in the dust. Danny got tired quickly, and leaned against a bench to rest, looking around the place, at the freaks surrounding him. The man cleaning the benches was stuck on all fours, his tongue several feet long and very wide. The ape man was now beating his chest before grabbing weights and lifting them–massive amounts, really, obviously pleased with his new form. He looked around for the twins, but didn’t see them–then he turned around and saw them looming over him, obviously aware of his existence.

They were massive–easily nine feet tall, and as broad as two men. Their skin had taken on a greenish, greyish hue, and thick curly black hair was sprouting all over them. Their heads and faces were still identical, but had taken on a monstrous edge, thick tusks and short horns, like a rhino, were jutting from their forehead.  But closer to him, he could see a pair of foot long cocks, jutting out from the same root, and below that, a massive sack with four, churning balls inside. “Look bro, a little asshole!” one head said to the other. 

“Oh man bro, let’s put my cock in him.”

“No, mine! I saw him first.”

“Oh fine bro, but I get to fuck him after you.”

Danny tried to run, but the ogre’s arms swept down and picked him up like he weighed nothing, and holding him in both hands, they forced one of the cocks into his new mouth. It didn’t hurt, like Danny expected it to–instead, a massive wave of pleasure surged through him, and he shuddered, his insides rearranging, pulsing and vibrating around the ogre’s massive cock.

“Fuck bro, this little asshole feels great!”

“Kiss me bro, come on.”

The two ugly heads turned and made out, both hands working together to fuck Danny up and down on the cock, the sensation overwhelming Danny’s mind, and he wanted more. Wanted them to fuck deeper, wanted them to fill him up with their seed, wanted to please them, because pleasing them made him so happy too. 

One cock came, pumping a massive load of cum into Danny’s body, and he felt…full, a hunger he hadn’t even noticed brewing inside him feeling more sated. The ogre pulled him off one cock, and impaled him on the other, and repeated the fucking. After a couple of minutes, that cock too was spent, and the ogre gently set him down on the bench, where Danny rubbed his belly, full of cum, feeling…so happy. Content, even. He was a little asshole–and little assholes needed to be fucked.

The simple idea of it made what remained of his rational, human mind begin to short circuit and wither away. He knew what he was. He knew what made him happy. He needed to get fucked, of course–what else was there for a little asshole like him? He thought about Taylor in the locker room, wondered how it would feel to be wrapped around her massive cock. Matt, too–his new bull cock was so long that it might even come out the other end, leaving him impaled on it, sliding up and down…

Danny shuddered, and he carefully got down from the bench, even more unstable on his little legs, but he crossed the gym floor as quickly as he could, heading for the locker room. The day had started out terribly–but it was already looking brighter, for a little asshole like him.

A Ghost Story

Commissioned by Tnaka1414


I thought death would be the end of it.

I’m not religious or anything. Never really thought there was much to life, so never really expected much of an afterlife either. Maybe if I’d gone out differently. Peacefully, you know? Just lying in a bed, slipping away. Or who the hell knows, maybe it wouldn’t have mattered in the least, and I’d still be floating around like this then too. In any case, here I am, still stuck in my fucking restaurant (or what had been my restaurant until my murder), weeks later, just…drifting around, watching all of this fucking shit go down. First seeing my body carted out by the paramedics. Then seeing Jerry happily sitting there in the office after the fact, whistling away, thinking about all the money he’s going to try and make now that he doesn’t have to worry about me getting in the way of his grand business schemes. It was my fucking food, damnit! I didn’t want to fucking franchise shit, or market anything, or update the place, blow a lot of cash for frills that don’t fucking matter. I just wanted to cook good fucking food, was that so much to fucking ask? Money doesn’t fucking matter–after all, you definitely can’t take it with you. Now Jerry had sole ownership of the place, and he thought he could do whatever he wanted with it. Of course, he thought he’d be able to find my recipes somewhere–but little did he fucking know they’re all in my head. He had a bit of a fit when he couldn’t find anything–but that’s where the weasel came in.

By weasel, I mean Dennis, my sous chef–though Jerry promoted him to head chef after I passed. He was in on it too, I realized–my death that is. Big bearish fellow, on the chubby side. Not especially bright, but brighter than I’d thought. He was competent, and could follow direction well, and apparently he’d been watching me closer than I’d thought he had–because it wasn’t long before he was getting real fucking close to my food–close enough to satisfy Jerry, at least, and just a month after fucking killing me, they were about to reopen my fucking restaurant tomorrow, and fucking hell, I’m just so fucking angry. I think…I can influence things. I’ve knocked a few plates over, got in Jerry’s way once or twice as he was working and made him pause in confusion, but it’s exhausting. I…I want a body. Whenever I get close to Jerry, or to Dennis…there’s something inside me, some urge, telling me to…to get inside them, somehow, but when I try to press in through their skin, I can’t. I can pass through a wall, but not through a person–it makes no sense to me, but apparently, those are the rules. Still, I can’t shake the feeling that I could be…doing something. I want to do something to them, but I don’t know what. There’s just so much rage, and…and all I can do is waft around like this, semi-transparent, glowing faintly, and wondering how long this is going to last–how much of this I’m going to have to watch.

Mostly I follow Dennis. Just looking at Jerry makes me so fucking enraged that I shake myself into a glowing mist, and it takes me hours to get myself back together. Dennis…even knowing he’s betraying me, I can’t help but kind of miss the fucker. I should say that there was another reason I kept him around despite his tendency to fuck up–the bear could suck mean cock. As a chef, mostly running my own business, it didn’t leave a lot of time for relationships, especially not when you’re gay. Dennis, well, he was homely, but he must have been practicing somewhere, because after flirting with him for a few weeks, he just got down in my office and sucked me off, no questions asked. I can tell you that mouth of his got him out of a few scrapes around here, when I got too pissed off at his incompetence. So yeah, I miss him–mostly his mouth. I’m a ghost and still fucking horny–how the fuck does that work exactly? 

So I’m mulling my fate, and I follow Dennis into the bathroom, floating right through the stall door, watching him drop his pants and get ready to sit down…and something nudges me. I can’t get in through his skin, but…but maybe there’s another way inside. I know I don’t have much time to think about it–and if I think about it too much, it’ll disgust me, but I’m not…well, I’m not living anymore, it can’t kill me again. Before he can sit down on the toilet, I go around him, lunge forward, and shove my ghostly hand right into his asshole.

He yelps in surprise, tries to pull away from my hand, but I come with him. He reaches around to try and pull me out, but he can’t grip me–even if he can even feel something back there at all, beyond a weird force. But my hand inside him…fuck it feels good. It feels alive. Without even really thinking about it, I shove more of my arm in, and there’s no real resistance. Before I even realize what I’m doing, my head forces its way into his hole, and he groans in pain, I can…hear it reverberating inside his guts, actually. My torso follows, and then all of me is inside him, as he totters about in confusion, and I…I start worming my way through him, looking for…for something.

From the outside, it must have looked something like this. Dennis would have yelped, and pushed his way out of the stall, groaning. First, his ass would have expanded as my arm, and then the rest of me forced my way inside of him, and then as I pushed deeper, his gut would have started to grow. I can see him, watching his guts suddenly expand and inflate, his hands desperately trying to push his aching, stretched gut back down, but apparently, ghosts like me still have a certain kind of mass. I can feel him pushing on me in there, trying to force me back out the way I came from, and I do get forced somewhere–a tiny opening, my head pushed out of it awkwardly. I spin around and look up at Dennis, who is looking down at me in terror…like he can see me, at last. “Fuck…T-Trevor?” he mutters in disbelief, “What the fuck is…is goin’ on?”

I just stare up at his bearded face, both of his chins, I see how scared he is, and I wonder what I’m doing, for a second. But just for a second. I am still…so fucking angry at him, for what he and Jerry did to me. I realize what hole I just popped out of then–my head is literally sticking right out of Dennis’s crotch–he’s trying to push me out of his cock! I grumble, and pull my head back inside of him, and start forcing myself higher–I need to get higher, to his head, but he’s fighting me, still trying to squeeze me out. He almost manages once–he gives himself a big hug, and I slide out of his belly button up to my waist, my own gut rubbing against his for a moment. I think the image of it was so jarring that he stopped squeezing, letting me claw my way back inside him. I found my way to his neck, shoved my head through the narrow passage…and then, I wasn’t me anymore.

I was Dennis.

I was Dennis, and looking at my body in the mirror. Cute, stupid Dennis, but his body was still so bloated, and…and I realize why, after a moment. I didn’t take over Dennis’ body, I replaced him–and he’s still inside of it with me, just like I was inside of him, rumbling around, confused, trying to feel his way back into control, and I do the first thing I can think of–I grab hold of Dennis’ cock and start jacking off, and I…I picture him sliding down, sliding his way into his balls…and sure enough, I see it happen, watch the rest of Dennis’s body start to deflate, even as his balls swell larger and larger. No–my balls. I’m going to take this body, I want it, and he doesn’t deserve it. I deserve it. I start jacking faster, and I can see cum start to leak from the head–slightly transparent and glowing just like I had been since my death…and I had a thought. If I just cum him out, what’s to stop him from doing the same to me, crawling inside my guts and forcing me out? I have…to trap him somewhere, and quick.

I grip my cock, my balls uncomfortably heavy (funny how quickly I already feel like this body is mine–but then again, it will be soon enough) and look around the bathroom again, and I see the toilet sitting there…and fuck, the idea feels so fucking sick, and yet, what else would he fucking deserve? Not just for killing me, but for stealing my shit and helping Jerry with his fucking scheme? So I lumber over, balls swinging, get in the stall, loom over the toilet, and start working my cock, willing the fucker out of his own body, and cum starts flowing, dribbling all over the toilet. It’s…not normal looking cum by any means, glowing, almost iridescent, pooling in the bowl, sitting on the seat, and I take a moment to bend over and rub it in…and I can hear him, hear his panic and confusion at what’s happening, his disbelief, but I nudge him, tell him that he has a new place here–a proper sort of place for him, and I see the cum start to…soak into the toilet, and it too, starts to glow a bit. I go back to milking my cock, pumping him out over the porcelain, watching the rest of him absorb more readily into the object, and I could see it was starting to…shake a bit, as it picked up his consciousness, and he slowly realized where exactly he was–maybe. I lost track a bit as I came, huge gouts of cum spraying everywhere, all over the toilet, and the wall, and the floor, and all of it congealed and flowed into the toilet where I had put him. When I could stand again without relying on the stall for support, I could see the toilet was…glowing, and even…vibrating a bit, the pipes rattling as he tried to make sense of it all.

Still, my body needed to finish the business Dennis had come in here to do, so I sat down–and as soon as I was sitting on it, I could…feel him. He could feel me too, I’m sure, and he was trying to figure out how to get into my body again, but now that I knew my own trick, I wasn’t about to let that happen. Instead, I focused on calming him down as best I could, talking to him…but more than that even. I was…controlling him, maybe. Warping him, and his energy. Telling him that he wasn’t a person. He’d never been a person. All he’d ever been, was a toilet. He didn’t want to be a toilet, not at first. But like I said, Dennis had never been the brightest tool in the shed, and, well, getting your entire psyche shot out of your own cock, while someone you helped murder takes over your body, tends to do some damage to your self-image, and your mind. He was pretty damn broken, and he probably would have put himself back together eventually, but I got there first, and put him back together…differently. He wasn’t a person. That had been…his imagination. He was a toilet. He was supposed to be a toilet. He liked being a toilet more than anything, a men’s toilet, having big men sit on him, shit and piss in him, flush him…

I could feel him start to quiver under me in excitement, and I had to calm him down. Remind him that he had to be a good toilet, and stay very, very still, or men might get frightened of him, and then they wouldn’t use him anymore. It took a lot of effort, but he settled down, and I breathed a sigh of relief, and as a final test, did my business, feeling the surge of pleasure Dennis got when my shit and piss landed in his bowl. I wiped, got up, flushed, and he couldn’t stop a little shake as everything flushed through him–it looked like it was orgasming, honestly, and I grinned at the thing, knowing who was in there…and fuck, if I wasn’t hard as a damn rock…

I was hard! I had a cock! A real fucking cock I could touch! I was alive!

It hit me hard then, and I left the stall and looked at myself in the mirror in amazement. I was in Dennis’ body. It was my body now, and there was no way in hell that I was going to be giving it back up–not that Dennis would be wanting it back, not as happy as he was now. I felt my body, groped Dennis’s thick ball belly, his chubby moobs, his arms and ass…and as happy as I was to be back alive, I knew that something was off still. I was in control, and this body was alive, but I could tell that it wasn’t mine–not really. It worked well enough, but it’s like…being a spirit, you could see the cracks between soul and body where you hadn’t even noticed them before. I didn’t feel quite…right. I probably never will, but honestly? Given what I can do…I don’t really mind that much, because it turns out I can do so much more now.

I did it by accident first. I went to leave, after getting my clothes sorted out, and when I went to push on the door–my arm pushed through it instead, Dennis’ entire arm becoming incorporeal as it passed through. I yanked it back, and tried again–eventually, I figured out that I had to focus on actually touching the thing, if I wanted to interact with it. In a weird way, I was spirit first, and body second now–but realizing that…well, now I had all sorts of ideas.

You see, I still didn’t know what I was going to do, now that I had Dennis’s body. I couldn’t very well tell Jerry what had happened, and I sure as hell wasn’t going to pretend to be Dennis for the rest of my life. I needed to take care of Jerry somehow–not only because he deserved it, but because…well, because he’s a piece of shit, let’s be honest. He deserved everything that was coming to him, and given all of the new skills I had just learned, I figured payback was something that ought to be given sooner rather than later.

I left the bathroom, carefully, staying focused to make sure I was actually touching everything instead of just moving through it. As I made my way back to the kitchen, Jerry rounded a corner, surprising me. He looked as much like an asshole as always–tall and slender, long face. For someone working as a restaurant manager, he’d always hated food–I never should have hired him, let’s be honest. “There you are Dennis–I’ve been looking for you, pig.”

Jerry groped his crotch…and I realized what he was implying. I’d known that Jerry and Dennis had a thing on the side too, of course, just like I had. Dennis, after all, loved to eat, but mostly just loved to eat cock. I hadn’t really thought it through to the point that…well, as Dennis, Jerry was going to expect something from me now. “Oh, uh, sure thing, boss…” I mutter, and follow Jerry back into his office, where he drops his pants, sits down in his chair, his big cock jutting out from a mostly hairless crotch, and he leers at me.

“Well then, get the fuck over here pig, and suck it!”

I didn’t want to. I wanted to charge over there and fuck him up…but I didn’t know enough about my new body to really know what I could do. I needed to maintain my cover for a bit, and so, as much as it disgusted me…I went over, got down on my knees, and started sucking.

“Fuck, what’s up with you tonight?” Jerry asked, “Usually you go right for it.”

I didn’t know what to say…but as soon as his cock was in my mouth…I could feel him. Not just his body, but his spirit too…and there was that same whisper, and…and I started sucking. Not at his cock, but at the spirit inside his cock and balls, if that makes sense. It’s hard to explain. I suck, and I can…taste it, his spirit sliding down my throat, and my own cock starts to…tingle. Dennis isn’t exactly well endowed, but when I reach down, I feel my new cock start to swell a bit, getting harder and longer than I’d ever seen Dennis’s little three incher get before…and Jerry’s huge tool was suddenly a bit easier to manage in my mouth. I was sucking it away, I realized–and so, I started sucking harder.

Jerry gasped and moaned–whether in pleasure or discomfort, I never found out. He didn’t stop me, in any case, as I sucked and sucked and sucked, draining away as much of the spirit from his cock as I could, feeling Jerry’s cock shrinking more and more in my mouth. He was shuddering and shaking, almost convulsing. Finally, I felt something…culminate. A huge load of spirit flooded my mouth, throwing me away from him, almost forcefully. I watched as the rest of his cock withered away to nearly nothing, just a nub, his sack just a loose flap of skin–no trace of his balls to be seen.

Jerry sat there, panting and shaking, probably finding it difficult to process what had just happened to him while he was sitting there. Then again, if I’d expected a blow job, only to have the cock sucked out of me, I’d probably have reacted the same way.

“What…what the fuck did you do?” he said, reaching down and feeling his little clit there, “I…my fucking cock! What the fuck did you do to my cock!”

I let off a belch, and then laughed at him, and I saw how angry he was getting–angry, but also terrified. I undid the front of my pants, and let my new cock flop out–all ten inches of it, and just grinned at him. “Looks like I know right where it ended up, Jerry.”

He got his first inkling then, I think, that I wasn’t really Dennis. Dennis–and pretty much everyone else–always called him Jer. I was the only one who called him Jerry–partly because he hated it. He looked at me, grinning at him, and his face went a bit white, and he bolted for the door–I didn’t let him get there though. Dennis was a big fellow, after all–six foot two, a bit over 300 pounds. He’d played football, and even though I didn’t have the knowledge, his body did–if that makes sense. I had him tackled to the ground and pinned under my sizable bulk in a few moments, enjoying the sensation of his squirming around under me.

“What’s wrong, Jerry? Didn’t think you’d have to talk to me again, did you? You fucking son of a bitch, you fucking kill me, and think you can just wash your hands of me? Well fuck you, you piece of shit. I’m gonna fuck you up real fucking good, just you fucking wait.”

Gripping him like I was…I wasn’t just holding his body down, I had my hands on his spirit too, sitting inside that shell there, and…and fuck, it was just…I could do anything to it, I realized. He didn’t even know it was in there, I don’t think–most people don’t have a clue. I could kill him. I could rip that soul out of him, shove it somewhere–maybe even into a literal piece of shit and flush him right down Dennis–but no–he needed to suffer. I wanted to ruin him. Ruin his body, ruin his mind, ruin his life…

I started tearing at Jerry’s clothes, ripping them away with a strength that surprised us both. Again, I had the distinct sensation that something was…helping me. Pushing me along a certain sort of path I could barely make out. I remembered how, earlier, I had accidentally pushed my way out of Dennis’s belly button, and when Jerry rolled over, and I saw his…well, I plunged my dick right into his gut before I’d even really wondered if I could or not. 

He gasped and groaned, but there was nothing he could do. I had him and his spirit impaled on my cock, and I started sliding in and out…and as I did…it almost felt like I was pissing. It wasn’t piss though, not really, but I as I fucked his gut, it started to grow–whatever I was putting inside him, it was inflating him rather dramatically–and fuck, seeing this slim fucker suddenly sprout this massive, hard, gut…fuck! I gave it a few slaps–it was heavy, but also…resonant. It was fat, certainly, but it didn’t feel quite like anything I had felt before. My cock was doing something else to him too…something hard to explain. I…I wanted to ruin him, and Jerry had always been so clean and neat, and…well, suddenly, he wasn’t. Hair sprouted all over his body, but especially all over his gut. His clean shaven face sported a thick, tangled beard. I could…smell him too. A thick, heady musk from all over him, as he started sweating. I pulled free, and he groped himself in horror, murmuring and groaning and grunting in confusion, barely able to roll over and get himself up on his hands and knees…and that’s when I saw my next target. Again, I don’t know what drew me there, but I saw his ear, and before I could really stop myself, I shoved my cock right inside his skull.

I couldn’t believe how easily it slid in. I also couldn’t quite believe it when I saw the head of my cock slide out the other ear, his entire head skewered on my cock…and he didn’t do anything. At all. Just stayed there, mouth agape and drooling, and I hauled my cock free, and watched him shake his head, eyes unfocused. “F-Fuck, what the fuck was…was that?” he said, a bit slow. With a leer, I gripped his head, shoved my cock back in, and gave Jerry the proper mindfuck he’d always needed, in my opinion.

Too smart for his own good. Too smart for anyone’s good really–I doubt that I was the first sucker that Jerry took for a mark. So I worked over his brains, really messed them up…and fuck, did it feel good! No sex like aural sex, if you know what I mean. Gets…real intimate, everything that you can feel. You see into them, every little bit of them, and they’re like putty. Make them forget whatever you want. Warp them around all of your little kinks and desires. And Jerry–well, Jerry was going to have a rather specific set of desires from now on, I can tell you that. He wants to make me happy–and he’s willing to do anything that I ask, if that’s what it takes. I came in his head–I don’t really know how it works, to be honest, but I came…and a bit of me seeped into him. I could…feel him, somehow. He was a part of me. I…owned him, body and soul. I was exhausted when I pulled my cock free from his ear, and his head only turned a little bit, mouth still hanging open, drooling, and when he saw my cock, he went right for it, slobbering all over it like he needed it more than anything, and fuck…I could feel it, on both sides somehow. It was fucking hot, I can tell you that, hot enough that I pushed him over, and gave him a real fuck in the ass–blowing even more fat into him in the process, but hey, he needed a a fat ass to counterbalance his massive gut, let’s be honest.

Jerry was much more compliant after that, and we sat in his office and had a bit of a discussion, about how things were going to work around this restaurant from now on. Jerry would, of course, sign all rights over to Dennis–me, naturally. He knew that what he’d been doing was wrong, and he felt oh so bad about it now that I’d fucked his head up, and he was so grateful when I offered him a job, so he’d be able to pay me back for all of the trouble he caused me.

The restaurant didn’t quite open back up on schedule. I had to take about a week to reverse all of the stupid, gimmicky changes that Jerry had planned for the “re-opening” and when the doors did open, everyone was welcomed into the same cozy space I’d always loved. Several regulars, in expressing their regret in my passing, told Dennis that the food was just as beautiful as when I’d been cooking it myself. I wanted to tell a few of them the truth…and maybe another day I will. Being a new person is…surprisingly nice, once you get the hang of it.

And so, here we are. Me, in the kitchen. Jerry in the back, washing dishes every night, which is the only job he can do without fucking up everything. Once the doors close, Jerry is more than happy to take a load from my cock, rubbing his own little clit–though he has no balls anymore to cum himself. The only time he gets off is when I fuck him–and he only gets that when he’s a very good boy. After that, he gets to work cleaning the bathrooms. He has a very special relationship with one particular toilet, you see–he’s the only one who can clean it. Dennis requires special care, after all, and Jerry is more than happy to give him a tongue bath, from top to bottom, every evening. Dennis has settled into his role rather well. He’s ebbing a bit, or maybe solidifying is a better word. After all, souls aren’t really meant to live inside inanimate objects like that–he shouldn’t really exist, and so, he’s changing somehow. I can sense it, but don’t really know what to make of it. I’m changing too, I’ve noticed. Something is…happening, but it’s a bit hard to explain. There’s still that whisper, you see–but following it’s nudges worked out well for me so far, so I…trust it, I suppose. I’m alive again, and that’s what counts–and I’m not going to let go of my second chance for anything–dead or alive.

Sneak Peek: The Monastery

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Father Nicholas clawed his way out of sleep, and was certain he was choking. What he was choking on he did not know–a dream substance of some sort or other. The dream was already fading from him, impossible to grasp beyond the terror of the nightmare racing through him, pulse dizzying, cloaked in sweat. He forced himself to breathe, finally succeeding with a massive, heaving gasp, coughing and gagging and heaving but nothing came up–which was a surprise itself, given the meal he had enjoyed last night, at the monks’ insistence. He concentrated, forced his breathing and his heart to settle, reaching for some sort of serenity that he knew had to be somewhere inside him–because God was inside him, after all.

As he came down from the nightmare, he tried to recall what he could of the dream, but there was nothing. No images at least–just a cascade of feelings. Terror, mostly. A good dose of shame. Regret, maybe, or something similar, colored with a bit of self-loathing. A hunger. There was hunger too, which seemed absurd to him, to awake hungry after…after that. How strange. How unchristian, really. He could see it, lit by candlelight still, the great hall of the abbey, the long table dressed in a deep red, the chair at the head conspicuously empty but still set, the entire length set with a massive feast, one of the largest that Nicholas had ever seen, perhaps outside of the Vatican on rare occasions. The monks, seated around the table, tearing into the flesh of beasts with such vigor and gluttony and…it was abnormal to say the least. Verging on heresy in its own fashion, in how the monks of this monastery had so readily discarded the vows of chastity and restraint that they were allegedly bound to by God.

Or perhaps, just a feast to celebrate a visitor from Rome. Perhaps just a well meant, but ill advised, celebration, given what he was here to do. Perhaps innocent, all the same. He had approached it with that in mind, assuming that the monks were doing their best to just be kind to him, with perhaps a tinge of bribery–which itself was not unusual, but of all of his temptations, greed had never been him. And so he’d sat there, next to the prior on one side, and one of the many monks on the other, trying to be an island of temperance in a building storm of indulgence and gluttony. It hadn’t lasted, obviously, between the monks urging more and more food on him, one of them even heaping his plate full when he saw he wasn’t helping himself to seconds. Another kept his wine glass full to the brim, though he never managed to catch who was pouring it for him. Without the wine, perhaps he could have controlled himself, but between the drink, and some of the most luscious, simple and delicious fare of the table, he’d…relented, obviously. And now here he was, with a still hard gut packed with food, a headache from the wine, feeling like a fool for giving in like that. It was not a good first impression in either case. He looked like a man who could be swayed with wine and good favor. And they, well, they didn’t look particularly good for it either. He could still see the prior beside him, tearing into the thigh of a chicken with his teeth, the grease coating his lips as he laughed at some joke, eyes on him, and…

He hoped it was all innocent, he did, but something told him that there was more here. A voice, he often called God, but never to anyone else. Believing one had a direct line, in this era, was considered hubris. But inside himself, he felt it all the same. There was something here, something more than the rumors that had brought him here. Something rotten inside this monastery. Fraud and embezzlement, most likely. Something boringly human. The curse of them all, really, and why they needed God more than anything.

Father Nicholas was something between an envoy and a spy. The monks knew full well why he was here–sent by Rome in order to investigate the claims that had been made against the monks by the villagers who lived near the monastery. The villagers had complained that the monks–usually a quiet and chaste order–had in recent months taken to rather…extreme behaviors, the monks passing through town shouting speeches in the square verging on heresy, one of them even going so far as to extoll the virtues of gluttonous appetites. It didn’t help that every single monk had given into corpulence–he hadn’t seen a single monk here under 300 pounds, and several seemed to be pushing closer to 500, in all honesty. And so, Rome had sent him to investigate, and if necessary, determine what steps might be necessary to bring the rogue monks into line. But all he had done so far, in his first day here, was apparently eat and drink himself sick with nightmares.

He shuddered as he slipped out of the bed, his sheets damp with his sweat. The quarters where he found himself were small and modest, most likely identical to those where the monks reside themselves. There was a desk along the wall, a bed, a window full of morning sunshine (he would have missed laud service already–though how any of the monks could get through a service at dawn after the night before mystified him anyway–had they not also missed vespers and compline the night before?) and his luggage stacked neatly in a corner. He took a while to unpack, dress himself in new clothes, but the dream continued to haunt him–he felt…dirty, really. Sinful. He shouldn’t have given into such excess, it was uncharacteristic of him, and brought back rather awful memories that were best left in the dust of the past…


What sorts of horrors lurk in the monastery for our priest to discover? Find out in a week, or help keep my writing going, and support me on Patreon!