Slob Control – Gear Night at The Alley

Bill had gone out to the gay bars around town a time or two, but had generally always been dissatisfied with them. They certainly weren’t like the bars from decades past, seedy little joints where you could get up to a little trouble in the dark, and no one batted an eye. These days they were so bright and clean and…judgemental. Bill had long since given up on trying to go out, but now that he had his spellbook, he had a feeling he could make the bars around town a little more fun. He decided to start that week with The Alley–what might have been closest to the bear and leather bar around town, but it wasn’t really much of either. However, after having a little chat with the owner, and then the bartenders, and then the bouncers one night–along with a little bit of magic pushed into the place itself, he had a feeling it would have a much nicer reputation soon enough.

Kenneth and Evan got out of the uber as it idled in front of the bar, thanked their driver, and hustled over to the sidewalk outside The Alley. Kenneth and Evan were regulars here, usually coming out on Friday nights after work to have drinks with a few other couples, before heading home. Both of them were in their usual dress–khakis and button down shirts. They didn’t usually bother changing after work to go out. After all, they were in their mid forties, it’s not like they were going clubbing. They walked up to the door to the bar, opened it up, and found themselves facing an unfamiliar bouncer sitting on a stool, dressed in leather booty shorts, vest, cap and boots. It was a bit more…kinky than the usual atmosphere, but it didn’t faze them that much. They got out their IDs, and then the bouncer told them it would be a five dollar cover charge.

“What?” Evan said, “Why? There’s never a cover on Fridays.”

“It’s gear night. You’re not in gear. It’s either five dollars each, or you can grab somethin’ off the wall behind you.”

They turned around, and saw a bunch of pegs had been hung there on the wall, with a variety of gear hanging from them. Flannel, leather, hi viz, camo–it was a bearish assortment, but not anything that the two of them would usually wear. Evan sighed, “Fine,” and fished out his wallet.

“Hold on, let’s just put something on,” Kenneth said, grabbing a hi viz vest off the wall and pulling it on.

“Kenneth, you look ridiculous.”

“Come on, it saves us ten bucks.”

“We can afford ten bucks.”

“Here,” Kenneth said, holding out a leather bracelet with a snap, “Even you can pull this off.”

Evan glared at his husband, but took the leather band from him and put it on, then turned to the bouncer, who was just smirking. “That good enough?”

“Sure is,” he said, “Come on in, fellas.”

The bar was a bit more boisterous than it usually was on Fridays, and the crowd seemed a little older, a little gruffer. Kenneth spotted a few other regulars, some of them also sporting gear off the wall, as well as quite a few guys he hadn’t seen before, who looked like they’d brought plenty of gear from home. “Do you see Jamie or Kaleb?” he said.

“No, they might not be here yet.”

“Or they’re out back.”

They settled on a plan, since the line for the bar was fairly long. Evan would wait in line and get them a couple of drinks, while Kenneth scoped out the bar and looked for their friends, to see if they were there yet. Evan agreed, got in line, and Kenneth pushed his way through the crowded space towards the hall that led out onto the patio behind. He quickly got a bit turned around. The place seemed bigger than he remembered it being, the hallway a bit more twisty and windy than before–that, and quite a bit darker, with quite a few guys cruising from the corners. Kenneth eventually found his way through and out onto the back patio, feeling a bit relieved to be out of there. He scoped out the place, but it too was rather thick with guys. He was going to have to push around a bit to see if their friends were there or not. He found himself pushed around the edges of the main mass of guys, checking tables as he went, but there was no sign of the other couples. 

“Hey bud, lookin’ good tonight!”

Kenneth spun around, and saw he’d ended up near a table on the edge of the patio, next to the fence. A group of fellows who looked like they’d either just stepped off a construction site, or off a trailer park, were sitting around, smoking cigars, with about a pitcher of beer for each of them. “Huh?” he said, looked down at his own hi-viz vest, and looked a little sheepish, “Uh, thanks, I guess.”

“Come on, love a guy in gear, and you don’t have a drink! Need a beer?”

“No, my husband’s buying some inside.”

The fellow hadn’t waited for Kenneth’s response, he’d just poured a glass, and shoved it into Kenneth’s hand. “Guess ya better drink up quick then, go on!”

Kenneth looked down at the beer. He wasn’t much of a beer guy–he preferred a nice, sweet cocktail, but he also didn’t want to be rude. He drank some of the beer, and the next thing he knew, it was all gone. Had he just chugged that? He let off a belch, making the rest of the guys all start laughing.

“There ya go fella, have another,” the man said, and pushed another beer into Kenneth’s hand.

“No, I really should go find my husband.”

“Take a seat, he’ll find you out here faster with those drinks. Come on. Name’s Brett, by the way.”

Brett scooched over over the bench, crowding another chubby fellow down the line, and left a bit of bench beside him. Kenneth looked around, desperate for someone to rescue him from this awkward encounter, but as much as he knew he should walk away, a little voice told him to sit, have a drink. Maybe even have a cigar. They seemed nice and fun. It wouldn’t hurt to hang out with them for a bit. Just until Evan found him–that’s all. He took a seat, thigh pushed up against Brett’s, and the big fellow dropped his hand right on Kenneth’s knee. He could feel the blush all over his face, and he downed the second beer as a distraction.

“Man after my own heart, gonna try tah drink me under the table, eh?”

Kenneth looked down at the glass–somehow it had been refilled, but he hadn’t seen anyone pour it. He felt bloated, and gassy. He let off another belch, and found himself laughing along with the rest of the guys. For a while, he kept looking out at the crowd, hoping to spot Evan, but there was no sign of him. It wasn’t a big deal, he supposed. They’d probably found each other inside. He’d go join them in a bit. Just one more beer–and maybe another after that too.

It took longer than he’d expected it to, but Evan finally got a hold of two drinks–one of the sweet cocktails that Kenneth liked, and a whiskey coke for himself–and then set about trying to figure out where his husband had gotten off to. He poked around the main bar, but he was nowhere to be found, and neither were his friends. He managed to find a ledge he could set the glasses down on, checked his phone, but there weren’t any messages from anyone either. Maybe they had ended up out on the patio. He picked up the drinks and began weaving his way in between the bears of the bar, trying to find a path without spilling anything.

The clientele tonight seemed a lot more burly and crude than usual. The Alley was a bear bar, but it was a bar for middle class bears. Professional bears, with jobs downtown and adopted kids, and carefully managed open relationships. The guys he was pushing past seemed quite a bit more lower class than what he was used to, and he wasn’t sure he quite liked it very much. He narrowly avoided some chubby fellow that came barrelling through the doorway, and as he lurched, he stumbled into a wall and ended up dumping both drinks down the front of his clothes. Pissed off that he’d not only wasted a good chunk of cash, but also ruined a good work shirt, he figured he’d find the bathroom and see if he could clean himself up a bit.

The only problem is that the bathroom wasn’t where it was supposed to be. The Alley, like a lot of gay bars, wasn’t particularly large. It wasn’t even a very good cruise bar–there was no circuit, no hallways, no particularly dark corners. There had been two hallways–one that went out to the patio, and another that bent around to the bathrooms. Only the hall to the bathrooms kept going, and got darker. The lights were red, and the men he passed were looking a little more hungry than he liked. He tried to backtrack to the main room and the bar to reorient himself, but found himself turned around entirely. In his panic and frustration, he came around a corner too fast, and ran right into another fellow. He was built wide and muscular–Evan bounced right off him, and would have fallen to the ground, if the man hadn’t reached out, grabbed hold of his wrist, and kept him balanced.

“Easy there bud, what’s got you all in a rush?” the man said.

Evan sized him up–and there was a lot to size. He was tall, broad, muscular, and his whole body was decked out in full leather. Pants, shirt, jacket, gloves, boots. The only bit of skin he could see was the bit above his beard. The fellow’s muir cap was pulled down so low, he couldn’t even catch his eyes. Evan realized he was still holding onto him by the wrist. The grip was just a little too tight to be comfortable. He tugged his wrist free, and in the process lost the leather wrist band he’d put on at the door. It clattered to the floor, but before he could bend to retrieve it, the man’s cap lifted up slightly, and he caught the man’s gaze for a moment, and froze. His eyes, even in the darkness, were like steel. Hard and unyielding. He could have sworn they were metallic. He almost wanted to get a closer look, see if he could find himself in the iris, reflected–

“Careful there cub, don’t want you walking around naked now, do we?”

Evan blinked. He couldn’t tell how much time had passed in that glimpse. It might have been seconds, or it could have been hours. The man bent down and picked up the bracelet from the floor, turning it over and over in his gloved hands. It wasn’t quite a bracelet, in the light. It was too long, and was growing thinner. The snap became a buckle–it was a collar, but Evan was certain it hadn’t been a collar before.

“Here, let me put it on ya,” the man said, stepping close. Evan could smell the leather, felt it on his arms. He found himself cursing the shirt he had on, he wanted to know what it felt like against his skin. The man buckled the collar around his neck, and Evan felt a wave of ease flow over him. That was so much better. No wonder he’d been such a nervous wreck earlier, he hadn’t had his collar on right at all.

“There, that’s better, right cub?”

“Yes…Sir,” Evan said. 

“You’re all wet,” he said, tugging at his shirt.

“I…spilled a drink on myself. I was trying to get to the bathroom to clean up, and…”

“Shush,” the man said, “None of that matters.”

Evan’s lips shut tight, and he nodded up at the man.

“The most important thing, cub, is that you thank me for putting your collar back on.”

That didn’t seem quite right, to Evan. In fact, all of this seemed a bit strange. What was he doing here, with this strange man, with a collar on of all things. “I…I need to find my husband, I–”

The brim of the man’s cap slipped up, and Evan could see just a bit of silver there, and his eyes couldn’t look away. “Silly little cub. Walking in here in your leather harness, showing off those muscles you’re working on, that hot, furry little gut. Wearing those hot little chap shorts, that grungy looking jock. You didn’t come here lookin’ for a husband. You came in here looking for a Daddy. Looking for a Sir.”

Evan tore his eyes away and stumbled back. Looking down at himself in the dark, everything seemed wrong. He could remember Kenneth, remember the drinks, but he was wearing a harness, and those hot fucking chap shorts, and his dirtiest jock, because he’s a dirty little cub, fuck yeah, and fuck, if this isn’t the hottest fucking leather daddy he’s ever laid eyes on, and he has his collar on. He put his collar on him, on his neck. Fuck, this leather god collared him, the least he could do is thank him, thank him like a good little cub.Get down on his knees, shove his face in his Sir’s leather crotch, then get down and lick his boots clean, lick them good and clean. Maybe Sir will walk on him, crush him, crush his cub cock under those boots, make him squeal before he fucks him, maybe–

Evan pushed the thoughts away, and he ran. He ignored the voice that called after him, ordered him to come back. His booted feet almost ground to a halt, but Evan knew the truth, and it wasn’t that. He had to find Kenneth, he had to get the two of them out of this fucked up bar, before it was too late.

Kenneth was drunk. Kenneth couldn’t remember the last time he was drunk like this–maybe college, but even that was doubtful. He wasn’t a heavy drinker by any measure. Sure, they liked to uber to the bar together so they could both have their fill, but neither of them was an alcoholic, not like some of the other guys at the bar they could point out, or even a couple of guys in the friend group they usually hung out with. Tonight, hanging with Brett and his buddies though, every time he looked, his glass was brimming with their cheap beer, and every time he took a drink, he somehow ended up chugging the whole thing back. 

Brett’s hand was sliding over further and further, and was now openly groping Kenneth’s crotch. When he tried to scooch away, Brett’s arm ended up around his shoulder, his stinking pit inches from his face. When he tried to push away, he found his own hand in Brett’s crotch, groping his cock–his sizable cock, from the feel of it. He was losing control of the situation. He wouldn’t be able to say no, if he wanted to say no, but of course he wanted to say no. These guys weren’t his type at all, as much fun as it was hanging out with them. Besides, he needed to piss real bad after all of that beer, and try as he might, he couldn’t seem to excuse himself. “Fuck guys, I gotta go to the bathroom,” he said, or thought he said. Tried to say, at least, he might have slurred out some of that. He stumbled up from the bench, but couldn’t quite get his foot over it. He would have fallen on his face if Brett hadn’t gotten up first and been there to catch him, pull him close into his warm gut. 

He wasn’t sure how exactly his mouth ended up on Brett’s. One second he was trying to apologize, the next his mouth was full of Brett’s tongue, tasting of beer and cigar smoke, and fuck, it felt so good to just let go, and relax, and just stop worrying so much about everything, and just have this one kiss for a moment.

“Holy fuck, Kenny’s fuckin’ pissin’ himself!”

Brett pulled away from the kiss, looked down, and started laughing, along with the rest of the guys at the bench. It took Kenneth a moment to realize that the name Kenny had been referring to him, and that the kiss had apparently broken his focus so much, he’d let his bladder loose down the front of his khakis. He could feel it, the warmth running down his legs. He tried to stop it, but couldn’t seem to manage. It was running down both legs, even down into his socks and shoes. He just stood there, horrified, not at all certain what to do, as the rest of the guys just laughed.

“I…I should go, I need to find my husband and–”

“Hold on, hold on,” Brett said, “You can’t go out there looking like that, here, we’ll take care of you, don’t you worry, right fellas?”

The guys were still chuckling, but they all nodded in agreement. 

“Here, first, let’s get you out of that soaked shit.”

Brett started pulling at his shirt, unbuttoning it. Another guy came around and started unlacing his shoes. Kenneth tried to get them to stop, but he was having a hard enough time just standing upright. He ended up sitting back on the bench, totally naked, Brett balling up his piss soaked clothes and chucking them behind the bench. “Now, between all a us, we got enough to make an outfit, don’t we guys?”

It didn’t make any sense to Kenneth, how it happened. None of the guys looked any less dressed than they had been before, but now, on the table in front of him, was a total outfit of grungy looking workwear. None of it was his size of course, since all of them were substantially fatter than he was, but it was there. “I…I can’t, just give me back my clothes.”

“You don’t want those, just put these on already,” Brett said, “Or you’ll be going home naked.”

“He pulled on the stiff, cum stained briefs with a sizable brown stripe up the back, and tried to suppress a gag. Then came the mud crusted hi viz shirt, and the tattered jeans held up by a camo suspenders that were well on their way to losing their elasticity. Two mismatched, but equally grimy boot socks, and a pair of work boots much too big for his feet. Lastly, the hi-viz vest he’d gotten from the bar, and to top it off, a camo baseball cap.

“There, don’t that feel better?” Brett said, and pulled him close, “Have another beer.”

“I shouldn’t, I’m so drunk,”

“Drink Kenny, we know how much ya can handle.”

He took the glass from Brett, and chugged the beer back, but something was off about this one. It was flat, it was warm. The color was a bit too pale, and the taste a bit too bitter. Kenneth drank it all down though, and when he was through, he licked his lips. It was weird, but he liked it. He liked it a whole lot. 

“Like that one Kenny?”

“Yeah Brett, that one was different, what was that?”

“Right from the tap, Kenny,” Brett said, took the glass from him, put it under his cock, which he’d pulled out of his jeans, and he pissed into it, filling it up to the brim.

Kenneth looked on in horror at the realization of what he’d just drank–and that he’d liked it. He’d really liked it. He liked it so much that, despite his disgust, he took the glass from Brett and guzzled that one right down too, only for Brett to kiss him right after. This time, Kenneth kissed him right back, the taste of beer, smoke and piss on their breath making him hornier than he could ever recall being in his life.

Evan found his way out of the darkness, and burst out into the main bar. He was relieved, looking down at himself, that his body hadn’t changed–but his clothing had. Just like Sir had said, his work clothes had disappeared, replaced entirely by a leather harness, chaps, a filthy looking jock, and some leather boots. He reached up, tried to undo the clasp of the collar, but his hands couldn’t seem to free it.

Whatever, it would come off later, at home. He looked around, but Kenneth was nowhere to be seen here, so that left the patio. He managed to find his way there this time, and the place was packed with men, many of them smoking cigars. The smell of smoke and musk was making his cub cock throb–no, what the fuck was wrong with him? He pushed through, ignoring the cat calls and the occasional smack on his bare ass, calling out for Kenneth, and finally he found him, sitting at a bench with a bunch of roughnecks, laughing and belching like a heathen.

Then, he doubted himself. It couldn’t be Kenneth. The beard was too long. He was too fat. He wasn’t wearing the right clothes either, or at least, not the clothes he’d arrived in. Then again, neither was he. He was certain it was him though, somehow. It was the eyes, the mouth, and that stupid hi-viz vest that he’d gotten when they’d come into the bar. Something about the stuff they’d been given, it’s like it was changing them! He hurried over, grabbed hold of Kenneth by the shoulder and shook him enough that his husband looked up at him, clearly more than a little drunk. He could smell the alcohol on his breath, and something else, something acrid, something that Evan didn’t want to know about. 

“Kenneth, we have to get out of here, come on, this place is fucked up.”

Kenneth just blinked a couple of times at him, his eyes narrowed, and looked a bit confused.

“Friend of yours, Kenny?” the man beside him asked.

“I…Evan?” Kenneth asked. “What are ya doin’ wearin’ all that leather shit?”

“Kenneth, you have to listen to me. Something about the bar, it’s changing us, ok? These roughneck fucks next to you are turning you into some beer swilling idiot. You have to trust me, and come with me, right now, alright?”

“Bud, why don’t you go ahead and fuck off,” the roughneck said, throwing one arm around Kenneth and leaning over him. His pit ended up right in Kenneth’s face, and he let off a moan, before leaning in and licking it. “Kenny here is perfectly happy right here with us, ain’t that right, Kenny?”

“Oh, fuck yeah Brett, fuck ya smell so fuckin’ good.”

“Kenneth!” Evan yelled, and pulled him back. “You have to believe me, we have to get out of here.”

Kenneth just blinked at him, “Do…do I know you?”

“You don’t know him Kenny. You want some more beer, man?”

“Fuck, only if it’s from yer special tap,” Kenneth said.

Evan just watched in disgust as Brett pissed in a glass, passed it to Kenneth, and his husband drank it all down. As he did, Evan swore he saw him grow a bit fatter, and hairier in the process. He licked his lips, belched, and groped his cock in front of all the roughnecks, laughing along with them.

“There you are,” a voice said behind him. 

Evan turned around, and found the leatherman from the dark standing right behind him. Before he could run off, the man hooked a leash to the collar around Evan’s neck, and as soon as the latch closed, Evan felt that same pleasurable calm sweep over him.

“Sorry guys, my cub here ran off on me. I hope he wasn’t giving you any trouble,” the leatherman said.

“Nah, nothin’ we couldn’t handle, right Kenny?”

“Yeah…sure Brett…” Kenneth said.

“Come on, cub, let’s go finish what we’d started earlier.”

Evan tried to push back on the dreamy haze enveloping him, but couldn’t seem to fight it. It just felt so good to let go, and let Sir walk him through the bar, show him where to go, back into the darkness. 

“That was a very naughty thing, running off like that cub,” the man said, pulling the leash tight when they returned to the spot where they’d met. “Still, I’ll take some of the responsibility–I should have leashed you sooner, but I wasn’t expecting you to be so willful. We’ll take care of that though, don’t worry.”

“Please…I…I have to get out of here,” Evan managed to say, but couldn’t even manage to pull away.

“Now why would you want to do that? Hot little muscle cub like you, walking in here looking like this. You knew what you wanted, didn’t you?”

Evan tried to resist, but he could feel the memories twisting and warping in the dark, just like the wristband had earlier. He thought he’d come with someone, but he’d come alone. Dressed in his leather gear, hot young cub, dirty jock and boots. Yeah, he was hot, but…but he wanted something. He was looking for something. “I found…I…”

“You found a Master, cub. You found a man to collar you. A man who’s going to own you.”

“No…” Evan mouthed, looked up, perhaps to plead, and found himself staring directly into the man’s silvery eyes. He’d been right. They were bright enough to reflect. He could see himself in them. Twenty eight years old, shorter than he’d like to be, but broad and muscular, with a bit of a belly. His harness pulled tight across his hairy chest, pits stinking. He can finally grow a full beard, and he never wants to have anything else, ever again. He looks tough, sure, but there’s something inside him, something he’s always known. He wants to be dominated. He wants to be owned, and controlled, and enslaved. Evan knew that there should be something else there, someone older and wiser, but that was all there was. That was the truth, whether he liked it or not. 

The leash tugged him down, he fell to his knees, where he belonged. He pressed his face against Master’s leather crotch, smelled it, felt the warmth, and shuddered. “Thank you, Sir. Thank you for choosing me, for making me your slave,” he said.

“That’s what I wanted to hear,” Master said. “Now clean my boots, cub.”

Evan knelt lower, pressed his tongue to the leather of Master’s boots, and felt his cock shudder, leaking into his filthy jockstrap. He could feel Master’s gaze resting on him, judging his work. Master let out a quiet little groan, almost like the act of Evan licking his boots was like licking his cock. Knowing that even this could pleasure his Master, Evan dug in, licking up the length, feeling the boot…shudder under his tongue.

“Fuck, that’s good cub, you know how to make a leatherman happy,” Master said.

Evan beamed with pride from the compliment. He’d wanted a Master like this all his life–he wasn’t about to disappoint him now.

“Come on Keggy, wakey, wakey…”

The warm stream hit Keggy’s face, and he let out a moan. His head was pounding, but that didn’t stop him from opening up his mouth, almost by instinct, so he could swallow the piss that was hitting him in the face. He managed to crack open his eyes once the stream stopped, and looked up at Brett looming over him. He was lying somewhere cramped and uncomfortable, with a crick in his neck, and his back. He rolled up, sliding a bit, and realized he’d fallen asleep in a stand up shower. “Fuck, did I sleep here last night?”

“You know the rules, Keggy. You stay over, you sleep in here. I don’t care how many ‘accidents’ you have at home, I don’t need my trailer smelling like a urinal.”

Keggy looked down at himself, at his clothes, which were drenched and stinking. The crotch of his pants were exceptionally wet, like they’d been soaked recently. It all stank of piss, and fuck if that didn’t get his cock hardening against the wet denim. “What…happened last night?”

“Same thing that happens every gear night. You got drunk off your ass, and drank loads of piss and cum from half the guys at the bar. You had a lot of fun.”

That sounded right, but there were no actual memories to go with it. “Think I blacked out.”

“Not surprising. We were both wasted when we got home. You were begging me to get you off, but that dick of yours wouldn’t get hard for shit–mine either. Workin’ just fine now, though. Wanna fuck?”

Keggy wasn’t quite sure if he did or not, but Brett rolled him up onto all fours, his head in the shower and his knees outside it, tugged down his soaking wet jeans, and pushed the head of his cock against his hole. It slipped right in, and Keggy moaned. Brett fucked him slow, reached around, under Keggy’s big gut, and gripped his cock too, fucking and jacking him at the same time. Keggy bent down and started licking the floor of the shower, tasting Brett’s morning piss on it, humping into Brett’s fist at the same time.

“Nasty fuckin’ piss pig, lickin’ it up from the floor of my fuckin’ shower, yer fuckin’ nasty.”

Keggy couldn’t hold it much longer, once Brett started berating him, and he came, blowing a huge load all over the floor of the bathroom. Brett backed him up, keeping him on his cock, so Keggy could lick up his mess, and then focused on fucking his hole, harder and rougher now that they were both warmed up, until Brett came inside him. He pulled out and stood up, catching his breath, while Keggy got up the last bits of his cum, and managed to push himself up after, right in front of Brett’s filthy mirror. He looked at himself, at the long graying beard, the piss soaked clothes, his thick hairy forearms and massive ball gut. It didn’t…seem familiar, but his memory was a blank. There was something he should remember, wasn’t there? Something, or someone, important?

“Alright, get outta here Keggy. I got shit to do today.”


“Go on, get home.”

“I…” Keggy said, “I kinda…don’t remember…don’t I live here?”

“Man, you did get drunk last night. We live in the same goddamn trailer park, but hell if I’m gonna live with you man. I don’t mind playing with a urinal on occasion, but ain’t no one wanna live with one–I guess, except you.”

“Ya don’t gotta be an asshole,” Keggy said, and Brett chuckled. 

Brett stepped close, like he was gonna kiss him, and then spit in his face. “Ya wouldn’t have nearly as much fun if I fuckin’ respected you. Yer a filthy fuckin’ piss pig. Now get the fuck out before my place starts stinkin’ like yours.”

Fuck, he was hard again. He stumbled his way out of Brett’s trailer and out onto the gravel, looked around, and saw he was in a mobile home park. Now that he was out, he did…almost remember, a place. He shuffled off, and found a trailer he imagined he recognized a few lots down. The key fit, he opened the door, and the stink of the place assaulted him. He took a deep breath, cock even harder, and sighed. Fuck, nothing smelled quite like home.

Something told him this was wrong. He stepped inside, looked around at the filthy space, walls and carpet stained with all the times he’d pissed on them–sometimes even on purpose, and felt that this couldn’t be right. He remembered living somewhere else. Somewhere clean. A house. A suburb. There was another hole, person shaped. He ran his tongue around his mouth, trying to feel for a name, but all he came up with was the taste of piss and old beer.

Beer–yeah, he could go for a beer. That would help the hangover. Might even help him remember whatever it was that was missing. Beer always helped, and fuck was he thirsty. He went to his fridge, opened it up, and found it packed full of cheap beer. He didn’t remember buying it. It was just always there, somehow. He thought he should be hungry too, but that didn’t seem right. He couldn’t really remember eating anything. He was too thirsty all the time to eat, after all. Beer, piss, and cum. What more could a urinal like him need, really? He popped open a can, chugged it down, grabbed another, and chugged that one too, letting off a long belch. He thought again about what was missing, but the beer had just clouded it over again. No matter–that was easier anyway. He sat down in his recliner, feeling the seat squelch under him, the stink of old piss wafting up around him. He hauled his cock free, aimed up, and pissed all over himself there in the chair, thinking about what Brett had said, how he’d treated him.

“Stupid, worthless fuckin’ urinal, fuck…” he muttered to himself, as the stream stopped, his cock hardening again in his hand. “Fuck, I’m disgustin’…nasty…sittin’ in my own fuckin’ piss…”

He stroked himself off again, and felt better. Once he got a few more beers in his belly, he got a good idea. He had the rest of the day free, after all. Didn’t have to go back to work until Monday. Plenty of truckers at the truckstop down the road. He could camp out in the bathroom, plenty of ‘em loved a hot mouth to piss in, and Keggy loved gettin’ treated like a urinal, like a fuckin’ object. Maybe that night, he’d head back to The Alley with Brett, but he’d see. Mostly, he was thirsty, and beer only sated him so much. He grabbed his keys, climbed in his truck, which was just as piss soaked as everything else Keggy owned, and drove off down the road to the truck stop to slake his thirst properly.

Evan didn’t know where he was when he woke up, at first. He was on something rather hard, for one thing. He pushed himself up, and saw that he’d fallen asleep on a carpeted floor, with a sheet of leather thrown over him for warmth. His whole body ached, but whether that was from sleeping on the floor, or from the punishments his Master had put him through, both at the bar in the dark, and at his home, once they’d left. That’s where he was, he supposed. He looked next to him, and saw a sizable bed beside him, covered in leather sheets. He needed to take a piss, but when he went to try and find the bathroom, he was stuck–his collar was chained to a hook on the wall, keeping him right next to the bed whether he wanted to or not.

“Sorry for the extra security,” a voice said, “but I didn’t want you running off again.” 

Evan looked up, and saw the leatherman was looking down at him from where he was lying on his bed, still in full leather regalia–boots, hat and all. Had he slept in it? That seemed like a curious level of commitment. “I…I just need to pee, Sir.”

“Ah, right. Forget about that sometimes,” he said, reached down and unclipped the lead from the collar. “That doorway over there.”

Evan got to his feet, still in his own leather gear, much to his surprise. At some point though, his jock had disappeared. He went to the doorway, and found the bathroom. He took a piss in the toilet and then went back out into the bedroom, where Master was sitting on the edge of the bed, waiting for him. Evan was feeling a little nervous now, in the light of day, in a strange home. “I…I think…I’d like to go home now, Sir,” he said.

“The man smiled, and beckoned him over to where he was sitting. “And where would home be, little cub?”

Evan knew that there had to be an answer to that question, but there wasn’t one. He couldn’t remember where he lived. There was a hole there, shaped like a house, like a job, like a person. “I’m not sure…but–”

“Did you like how I made you feel last night?” he said, running a gloved hand down Evan’s chest and belly. 

Evan shuddered, and felt his cock rising, pushing against his jock. “I…I did, but…sorry, Sir, but…did you sleep in your gear last night? I…I could have undressed you, you know…”

The leatherman looked down at himself, and chuckled again. “I think you’re misunderstanding, cub. This isn’t gear–this is me,” he said, took Evan’s hand in his own gloved fingers and tugged it over, so it could rub across his jacket. “This is my skin now. I don’t really remember when it happened, or how. I love it though. Feeling you lick my boots last night, fuck, you have a real hot tongue, cub.”

“You…could feel that? I thought, but I didn’t…”

“I could. I can. I’d like to feel it again, even.”

“Wait, how is that even possible?”

Master shrugged.

“Is…do you have…a cock then? Is that why you, uh, said what you did about the bathroom?”

“Yeah–haven’t pissed in a few days. Kinda weird, but also convenient. I do have a cock though. I didn’t want to pull it out last night, I was worried it might…scare you off, but here,” he said, and with his gloved hands, he dropped the fly of his leather pants. Something pushed out, something pulsing and leathery. It was a cock, but it too, looked more like an extension of his clothing, than something that came from underneath. It was thick, and long, and drooling something off the end that wasn’t quite cum. “Go on cub, have a taste.”

Evan stared down at the strange cock, disturbed. “I…I don’t…” he looked up, and found himself caught in the man’s silvery eyes again, and he sighed.

“You love leather, don’t you cub? The feel of it on your skin,” he said, running his gloved hands down Evan’s body, watching the cub shudder at his touch. “You loved worshiping it last night, didn’t you?”

“I did, I…but…”

He got up, maintaining eye contact, and pushed Evan back, so he was lying on the bed, belly up, and then climbed on top of him, pressing his leathered body down on him, giving him as much contact as he could. It was so warm. He could feel it pulsing, it was his skin, it was alive, even if it didn’t make sense. Master’s cock was pressed against his own, his hardon throbbing. “I am leather, cub. If you want to worship leather, then worship me. Be mine. Give yourself to me. Doesn’t it feel good, just submitting? Giving in?” 

He ground his leather crotch against Evan’s own cock, feeling how excited the cub was. “I…Sir…I don’t think I can hold…”

“Don’t hold back. Cum. Release all that fear, all that reluctance. Cum, and accept that your only desire is to worship me–to worship leathermen.”

Evan’s cock exploded, pumping cum between his flesh and his Master’s leather cock. He fell back, mind reeling from the sensation, from the desires coursing through him. Master worked his way up, until he was straddling Evan’s neck with his thighs. “Clean up your mess, cub, and then service me.”

“Yes Master,” Evan said, and licked his cum off his master’s leather skin, relishing how it made him shudder, and then took his cock in his mouth. The taste was leathery, but also musky, still recognizable as human. His reluctance was forgotten, his cock already hard again. Master rolled him over after a couple of minutes, and then fucked his hole with his big cock. He expected it to be a rough, uncomfortable fuck, but it wasn’t. It was heavenly, unlike anything he’d ever experienced in his life. Eventually, Master came, flooding his guts with his strange seed, but Evan no longer cared. This was the most phenomenal experience of his life, and he wouldn’t give this up for anything.

“Thank you Sir, that was amazing,” he said, when the leatherman rolled off him. 

He grabbed hold of Evan and pulled him close. “It sure fucking was. Can you feel it inside you boy?”

There was an odd heat that he could sense. Evan reached around with his hand, touched his hole with one hand, and gasped. It wasn’t skin, not really. It was leather. Supple, soft leather, warm to the touch, and so, so hungry. “What…what did you do to me?”

“You’re a cute cub, but I think you’ll look better as a leatherboy, don’t you think? Gonna take a few more loads to make that happen, and you’ll need some more gear, but what do you say? Wanna go all the way? Be a leather freak like me?”

Evan nodded. “Yes Master–fuck, yes…Yes…”

“That’s what I like to hear,” the leatherman said, “Now, let’s get you properly dressed, boy.”

That night at The Alley, the leatherman and his leatherboy were quite a sight, in their full leather regalia. There were a few differences of course. The boy had a thick leather collar around his neck, and a simple leather ball cap on his head. He hadn’t yet earned the right to wear a muir cap like his Master, after all. That, and his pants. There was no fly on the front–Master decided to keep his boy in a codpiece for now–he didn’t need his cock slipping out and causing problems. That, and a zipper down the ass of his leather pants, so Master could get at his hot boy’s leather hole whenever he wanted–and he wanted it, a lot, from then on.

Slob Control – Timefucking the Foreman

Loop One

It had been the best weekend of Bill’s life, by far. Finally taking his asshole neighbor down a peg or ten with the help of his new spellbook had been the most satisfying moment in his life by far. Sunday at around eleven, Pete had made his way over to where Bill was smoking on the porch, waiting for him to arrive for his daily service, and he’d spent a few hours putting his new neighborhood slave through his paces, making sure Pete properly appreciated Bill for the opportunity he was giving him. Seeing the lingering resentment give way to sheer bliss was an erotic thrill he’d never expected, and seeing how happy Pete was when he left, two loads of cum drooling down the inside of his thighs, stinking of cum and musk and sex, before climbing into his jeep to go suck even more anonymous cock like he did every night–Bill couldn’t believe how far he’d fallen in just a couple of days–and he still had so many plans to put into motion.

Now, though, it was Monday. While he supposed there was no real reason why he needed to keep going to work–the spellbook could provide him most everything he needed, after all–he had some other reason to go. Mostly, to settle a few scores, and put a particular fellow in his proper place. That fellow happened to be Grant, his current foreman. Grant was relatively new to the crew, and from rumors going around the crew, it sounded like he only really got the job because he was the son of a friend of the construction company’s owner. He was young, had an attitude problem, and was real bossy but didn’t know shit for the most part. He and Bill had not gotten along from the very start. 

He spent part of Sunday evening going through the book, looking through some of the spells, and found one that looked rather intriguing–in part because it would allow him to be a little more creative with his boss. Bill wasn’t one to get to work early–if anything, he was usually late, but come Monday, he roused himself ahead of schedule, got into his truck and hustled to the worksite, getting there half an hour before their scheduled start time, and before anyone else had arrived. He got the book, headed over to the trailer that served as the foreman’s office, opened it up to the page he’d marked, and uttered the spell.

He felt an odd sensation at the back of his neck, almost like the moment he finished the incantation, the world felt a bit sticky. The spell involved time–basically, he’d created a save point. He could force reality to return to this moment as many times as he wanted. Even better, he’d be able to keep any changes he made to people during each loop intact. He’d be able to fuck with Grant as many times as he wanted, in as many ways as he wanted, until he was properly satisfied.

Right on time, as he finished the spell, he saw a familiar truck arrive in the lot–it was Grant. The young, slender fellow got out of his car and headed for the trailer, slowing up a bit when he saw Bill there waiting for him. Before he could say anything, Bill uttered the same incantation he’d first used on Peter, sending Grant into a highly suggestible trance. “Come on over here, Grant,” he said, and watched his young foreman stumble his way over, slack-jawed. “That’s it, there’s some things I think we should discuss this morning, before we get to work, what do you say?”

Grant didn’t say anything of course, his mind had left the premises. Bill was about to lead him into the trailer, when he heard another vehicle approach. He looked out and saw Sam’s truck pull into the site lot as well. Sam had been with the company longer than pretty much anyone, and was one of the reasons that, even with Grant’s shitty leadership, the project hadn’t fallen too far behind schedule. Pretty much everyone, including Bill, figured he’d make a better foreman–so why not give him the opportunity, Bill wondered. Sam got out of his truck, a burly fellow in his mid forties or so, and Bill didn’t waste time uttering the same incantation and putting Sam under as well. Together, the three of them went into the trailer to have a little chat before the rest of the crew arrived. Of course, Bill was certain he’d have plenty of time to work them both over, soon enough.

Loop Three

Grant couldn’t shake the sensation that something was off this morning. There was just a nagging sense of deja vu he couldn’t seem to shake. He pulled into the lot outside the construction site, and was surprised to see he wasn’t the first one there. He was pretty much always the first to arrive, he figured it set a good example for the rest of the crew. Even more surprising was who was there waiting for him–it was Bill of all people. 

There was an odd sense that Grant should detest Bill, but something else welled up instead. Something rather surprising. Looking at him there, fuck, was he getting turned on? Something about him, standing there in his filthy hi viz, smoking one of his stinking cigars, fuck, but then again, Grant had gotten into this work because he’d always thought construction workers were hot as fuck. That thought–something about it seemed off, but it was impossible to sort out how exactly. Grant got out of his truck, adjusting the front of his jeans, got his bag and tried to maintain his composure as he walked up to where Bill was standing. “Mornin’ Bill, good to see you here early for once,” he said.

Bill just smirked at him, and said nothing. Fuck, that cocky as shit attitude only made him seem so much hotter somehow. Grant hustled past him into the trailer, dropped his bag, and sat down at his desk with the window behind him. He peeked through the shades and could see Bill right there–fuck, was he really thinking about doing this? He groped himself–yeah, fuck, what was the harm just real quick. He pulled his cock out and started stroking, as Sam rounded the corner and started talking to Bill, smoking a cigar himself.

Then, fuck, and then Grant could hardly believe his eyes. Bill wrapped one hand around the back of Sam’s head, pulled him close, and the two of them shared a long, smoky kiss. Fuck! It was something out of Grant’s wildest fucking fantasies, and he’d seen it right with his bare eyes. They kept kissing, Sam kneading and massaging Bill’s big gut, almost grinding up against him even. Bill pushed him up against the side of the trailer, still kissing him, pinning him there with his big body, and fuck, Grant couldn’t help imagining himself between both of them, and, and…

He exploded, all over his hands, all over the floor, all over the wall of the trailer under the window. He opened his eyes, and was horrified to find Bill staring right at him through the window. Fuck! Did he know? He…He had to get rid of the evidence, before anyone found out. He got on his hands and knees, licking up the cum from the wall, sucking it out of the dirty carpet, cock still rock hard somehow. Embarrassed, horrified, and yet still hornier than he’s ever been in his life.

Loop Nine

Something about this morning was definitely off. Everything seemed familiar, and yet different. Grant pulled into the lot again, and took another drag off his cigar–it was the only thing that could seem to calm his nerves this morning, but even as he did, he found it difficult to believe he was even smoking. Part of him, a part of him that was something between an echo and a memory, told him that he hated smokers, that he’d always considered it a filthy habit. It was a filthy habit of course, but wasn’t that why he liked it? Why it turned him on so much? He turned off the engine and just sat there for a moment, one hand on his gut, a gut that he’d been struggling with all morning, another thing that seemed out of place, and took another drag on his morning cigar. No use trying to figure it out. He popped open the door and climbed out.

He headed for the trailer with his bag in tow, and pulled up a bit short when he saw Bill was already on the site. That…almost never happened. Bill was usually late, if anything. Fuck, just seeing him there made his half hard cock stand right up to full mast. He’d had a fucking crush on Bill since the day he’d met him, but he was too deep in the closet, too young, too nervous to say anything, though he was pretty sure Bill would be amenable. How he knew that, he wasn’t sure, but it felt right. “Hey Bill,” he said, trying his best to sound casual, and keep the nervous tremor out of his voice. “How’s the morning? You’re not usually here this early.”

“Eh, couldn’t sleep,” Bill said, taking a drag off his own cigar. 

Grant came around him, and up the steps to the trailer. He unlocked the door, then hesitated. “It’s, uh, a cold mornin’ wanna come in and warm up? I’ll get the coffee on.”

“Sure,” Bill said, and followed him up into the trailer.

It smelled like smoke–not surprising, since Grant had a cigar fired up pretty much all day long. Bill just stood there, a smirk on his face, while Grant busied himself with the coffee maker, trying to keep himself from glancing over at his crush too many times, but fuck, he was right there, and he’s too chickenshit to make a move, fucking hell, just say something, anything!

But nothing came. He poured himself a cup of coffee, when he felt something warm press against his back. He turned around, and found Bill there, blocking him in against the counter, leering down at him. Fuck, it seemed like they should be the same height, somehow, but no, Bill had several inches on him, which only made it hotter somehow. “I know what you want boy,” Bill said, “Go on, all you have to do is ask for it.”

He called him boy, fuck. Grant was leaking, he was so fucking hard, this couldn’t really be happening, could it?

Then, Bill had his lips around Grant’s, feeding him his smoke, and the next thing he knew, Bill had him bent over his desk, his jeans pulled down, and he was driving his cock into his hole. Fuck, it hurt, but he didn’t care, he needed this, he needed it so bad, fuck! “Fuck me, fuck! Fuckin’ hell, god, I need you so fuckin’ bad…” he moaned, finally finding his voice.

“I know boy, I know,” Bill said, chuckling.

Loop Seventeen

He was running late again. Grant didn’t know when everything had gotten so out of control with him. There was something wrong, it felt like he’d done this already, but different. It was getting worse, somehow, he was getting worse. Every time he woke up, he seemed different. A little shorter, a little hairier, a little older, a little fatter. Well, a lot fatter, really. That wasn’t true of course. He was just as fat and short as he’d been yesterday. His beard was still a mess. He still had all this fucking body hair, he still stank. Something else though, told him it hadn’t always been like this, it had been different. Then, of course, there was the issue with Sam, his foreman.

Fooling around with Bill was one thing. Bill was just another member of the crew like he was. Sure, Grant liked sucking dick and getting fucked, and he especially liked it from big fat roughnecks like Bill, but this stuff that was happening with Sam, it wasn’t normal. He wasn’t supposed to enjoy being treated like this, he wasn’t supposed to drag his feet getting to work, and pull into the lot with butterflies in his stomach. It was abuse, wasn’t it? But then why was he putting up with it? Why was he already hard from just thinking about it? He should turn around and drive away. It was the thing he’d do if he had any fucking backbone. He could find another job, hell, he could report Sam and probably get him fired. He wasn’t going to do that though. He couldn’t do that.

It felt like he was on a track. He got out of his truck, sucking on his morning cigar, wearing his grungy hi viz as always. He walked towards the site, hoping that, just maybe, Sam would be preoccupied, and wouldn’t see him this morning, but knowing he would. Knowing it had already happened, knowing it was going to happen again. He came around the corner, and there Sam was, in the door of the trainer. Fuck, he was so fucking big, bigger than he even remembered him being, or maybe that’s just because he was short. 

“You’re late, faggot,” Sam said, sucking on his own cigar.

Say no. Say you’re done. Say you’re not going to take it anymore. 

“Get your fat ass in here pig, now.”

Grant said nothing, climbed the steps, and squeezed past Sam to get inside, getting a good whiff of his strong musk as he did, and wishing that didn’t make him even more excited.


Grant shucked off his dirty clothes, and stood there, shaking a bit. Five foot six, nearly three hundred pounds, hairy and balding. He felt like a worthless pig in front of the six foot four heavily muscled foreman leering down at him. 

“Bend over the desk.”

He did as he was told. He heard Sam tug his belt free of his pants, double it up. He picked up Grant’s nasty old jock from the floor and stuffed it in his mouth, then started beating his ass with the belt, pinning him down with one hand on his back. 

“Fuck faggot,” he said, “I’m starting to think you’re showin’ up late on purpose. I’m starting to think you actually like it when I beat your fuckin’ ass. Is that it? You like it when I beat your faggot ass red?” He grabbed him by the shoulder and hauled Grant upright again, spun him around, and sure enough, there was his four inch hard cock, jutting out under his flabby gut, clear as day. “Dick’s don’t lie faggot. You like being my punching bag, don’t ya?” he said, and slapped him across his face, then pulled the dirty underwear from his mouth. “Say thank you.”

“T-Thank you, Sir.”

“Ask me to hit you again.”

“P-Please…” he wanted to say don’t. He wanted to beg for mercy, but his lips and tongue, they had other ideas. “Please beat me, fuck, I wanna be your fuckin’ worthless faggot Sir, beat the shit out of me.”

Sam beat his ass and nuts, making him scream through his grimy jock. Then he threw him on the ground and fucked him, with just a little spit as lube, and somehow the pain of that only made the whole thing hotter. Sam stood up, finished with his fuck, and Grant managed to push himself up to his knees, only to find himself facing Sam’s cock. “Clean it. Then, I’ve got your reward, pig.”

He did as he was told, then Sam held him down, and pissed down his throat, before telling him to get dressed, and get to work. Only he didn’t make it that far. Something dragged him back again, back to the beginning, and he screamed, and he begged, but it didn’t matter. He wasn’t done. He wasn’t done by a long shot.

Loop Twenty-Six

He deserved this.

Grant looked up at where Sam was sitting in front of him, grimy jeans around his ankles, and ran his tongue up the length of his thick cock, feeling it throb against his tongue. He was a stupid, horny pig. A worthless, filthy fucking piece of shit pig. Part of him told him that wasn’t true still, that he had to fight this, that this wasn’t right, but that piece got quieter every time. He’d done this before, he was sure of it somehow. Not just yesterday, though he had done something like this yesterday. But…before. It made sense, somehow, but not in a way his simple mind could really piece together.

Behind him, Bill was fucking his pighole, nice and slow. This was how all of his morning started at the site these days, worshiping these two filthy gods. Somedays he’d worship and clean their bodies from head to toe, other times they’d beat him senseless, send him out bruised and battered for the crew to gossip about. They’d long ago locked up his cock, or had it only been a short while ago? It didn’t matter–stupid worthless pigs like him didn’t get to have orgasms. Service, obedience, and pain were its own rewards. He knew that should feel like an excuse, like a lie, but more and more, it felt like the only truth that remained.

He felt the flogger in Sam’s hand slide over his back, and he shuddered. He couldn’t find the line between anticipation, dread, and excitement. It came down on his back with a smack, he moaned, and started licking faster at Sam’s cock, his own throbbing inside its tiny cage. “Open up, pig,” Sam said. Grant looked up, mouth open, tongue out, and Sam deposited the ash from his cigar right on his tongue. It burned, but he rolled it around in his mouth, soaking it with spit, until it was wet enough to swallow. Then, he returned to worshiping Sam’s cock while Sam’s flogger kept striking him. 

Watching the show, Bill’s thrusts began to speed up. After a few more minutes, with a groan, he pumped his load in deep, and when he was done shooting, he pulled himself free. “Your turn, bud,” he said to Sam.

“Finally, takin’ yer sweet time.”

“I know you like it when it’s good and sloppy,” Bill said, stealing a smoky kiss with Sam for a moment, while Grant looked up at them both, wondering how he’d gotten so lucky, or so unlucky.

Sam drove his cock in without ceremony. He was bigger than Bill, which is why he usually went second. Actually, he loved the feeling of a seedy, sloppy hole around his cock–it helped him last longer. Bill came around to Grant’s head, fed him his nice, long ash, but instead of sitting down and letting him lick his cock clean, instead he bent over and shoved his wide, stinking ass into Grant’s face. “Clean me out faggot, forgot to wipe this morning.”

He balked. He didn’t balk often, anymore, but while Sam grabbed the back of his head and shoved him into Bill’s dirty crack. “Go on faggot, you know what that nasty tongue is for.”

He did as he was told. He did it because he deserved this, because he was a fat, loser faggot, and this is what his place in the world was. But more and more, he did it because he wanted to. Because he craved the filth, the degradation, the abuse. He pushed back, as hard as he could, but he knew it was a losing battle. Soon enough, that’s all that would be left of him.

Loop Thirty-Eight

Sam’s truck pulled into the parking lot. Bill was waiting over by the trailer, smoking his cigar. They were almost there, he figured. Maybe one or two more loops through, just to make sure everything was good and cemented in with them both. Sam got out–squeezed his way out, really. Six foot seven, nearly four hundred pounds of fat and muscle, furry and rough and tattooed all over. A real rough piece of work, harsh but fair, with no patience for slackers on the crew. He walked around to the bed of the truck, unlocked the cage that filled up a good portion of the bed, and gutter, Sam’s slave, crawled out and eased himself down from the bed. 

Gutter was short–around five foot two, and about three hundred pounds of mostly fat. Middle aged, balding, and filthy–Sam didn’t hose him down very often. He was wearing just a hard hat, a grubby orange safety vest, a nasty jockstrap, knee pads, and boots–and a heavy chain collar, with a chain leash in Sam’s hands. Sam tugged him along, and gutter crawled after him, head down, gut dragging through the gravel lot.

“How ya doin’, Bill?” Sam said as they approached, “Yer not usually here this early.”

He took the cigar from his mouth, leaned in, and gave Bill a long, smoky kiss, giving his gut a rub, while Bill felt up Sam’s firm body. Fuck, he’d done good with this one, Sam was one hot fucking piece of meat. “Couldn’t sleep, figured I might as well get here early.”

“You just wanted to use Gutter here before the rest of the crew got to him.”

“I mean, that too. I gotta piss like a fuckin’ race horse.”

Sam tugged gutter around, who crawled over, waited for Bill to fish his cock out, and took the head in his mouth. He swallowed all the piss without complaint. It was what he wanted, what he was destined for. Fate had brought him to Sam, and Sam had turned him into the pig he’d always wanted to be. He slept outside in a kennel, came with Sam to work, where he was chained outside the trailer all day long, there to service the entire crew as urinal, toilet paper and cumdump.

Of course, it would take another loop or two before the crew saw it that way. Bill still hadn’t let time move that far forward, to the point that the rest of the crew arrived. It was probably about time though. Clearly, Gutter was ready to be put through his paces. Ready, and quite excited. It was certainly a grand improvement over the old Grant, not that anyone would remember him, aside for Bill of course. That, and he’d gotten a chance to test out quite a few other spells, and gotten a good handle on what he was capable of right now. “Could use a good wipe too–you like eating my filthy crack, don’t you pig?”

Gutter nodded, salivating a little. Bill dropped his pants, bent over, and shoved his crack in the pig’s face, who dove right in and started cleaning him up. Fuck, he was never going to get tired of this though–this was the fucking life.

Slob Control – Bill’s First Slave

Peter had never gotten along well with his neighbor, Bill, ever since he’d moved in next door around a year ago. They lived in an old neighborhood without an HOA or any real neighborhood association, and while Peter liked keeping his lawn tidy and his house looking good, he soon realized that Bill had no such intention. The yard went to weed, and Bill would just spend his weekends out on the porch, wearing nothing more than some boxers and a filthy looking undershirt while he drank cheap beer and smoked his cigars. Judging from the dirty pickup he drove and the grubby workwear he’d tromp around in occasionally, Peter figured his neighbor was in construction, but had never asked for details. Peter, in the end, did his best to just ignore him and focus on his own life instead. Peter was in his mid 50’s, still happily married to his high school sweetheart, and their only son was currently away for his junior year in college. It was nice having him out of the house, and striking out on his own, finally. It was a late Spring day when everything changed for Peter.

He’d been planning on a normal Saturday–sleep in a bit with Michelle, play a round of golf, mow the lawn in the afternoon. When it came time to mow, he saw that Bill was on his porch, as usual, but with something he’d never seen him with before–Bill was reading a book. Not a normal looking book either, it seemed to be, well, it was big, and leather bound, and stood out quite a bit. He seemed rather absorbed in it, and Peter didn’t exactly want details, but as he mowed, he kept a curious eye on him anyway, and saw that Bill kept looking over at him as well. Then, he noticed that Bill had set his cigar down, and was reading something aloud out of the book–and Peter felt a bit strange. Woozy, his vision beginning to tunnel, like he was going to faint. He tried to call out to Michelle for help, but couldn’t. There was something else he had to do, something important–but that was the last thing he recalled clearly.

When he was next properly aware of himself, he found himself in a room he didn’t recognize. He looked around, confused, and found that he was standing in front of Bill, who was sitting in a recliner in front of him, a big grin plastered across his face. “What…what happened?” Peter said.

“Relax, Pete, everything’s fine,” Bill said. Despite Peter knowing that everything was very much not normal, he found himself relaxing all the same, his heart rate slowing from the panic it had been racing at. “You’ll feel better if you take your clothes off. Go ahead and undress for me, Pete.”

There was, of course, no way that Peter would undress here, in front of Bill, and yet, without wanting to, he discovered his hands were already obeying Bill’s command. In a matter of moments, he was completely naked in front of his fat, slobby neighbor. “What–why is this happening?”

“I figured it was bogus, honestly,” Bill said, patting his hand on the large book beside him, “I found it at an estate sale last weekend. It came in a lot with some other stuff I wanted. Turns out, it’s a spell book, looking for a new owner, and that owner is me, now. It’s not just any book of spells either–it somehow knows exactly what kind of magic I want, and makes the spells for me, personally. The spell I cast on you, is an obedience spell. One that will make you my perfect little slave. That trance you were in is way more powerful than hypnosis–but don’t worry, I didn’t do anything too extreme today. But tell me, Pete, what do you think of my body?”

“Fuck, I think you’re the most handsome man I’ve ever laid eyes on,” Pete said, horrified at the words falling out of his mouth. Worse, he realized that he was hard, that looking at Bill’s fat, hairy, dirty body there was, in fact, turning him on more than his wife’s body ever had.

“Oh my, are you gay, Pete? You never told me that.”

“I am gay. I’m gay, and I love servicing fat, old, hairy men like you, Bill.”

“Does your wife know that?”

“N-No…no, please, you can’t…how are you doing this? This isn’t right!”

“This isn’t right?” Bill said, hefted up his heavy apron of fat, revealing his thick, precum drooling cock below. “I’ll give you a choice, Pete. You can pick up your clothes and leave, and I’ll put your mind back the way it was. Or, you can come over here, get on your knees, worship my fat body and suck my cock off. If you do that, though, you’re agreeing to by my slave, my little whore neighbor from now on, and you’ll be my guinea pig for whatever spells I want to cast on you. What do you want to do, Pete? What do you really want?”

“Fuck, I want to worship you so fucking bad,” Peter said, and stumbled closer to the recliner, a bit of him trying to hold back.

“You want my dirty, fat body more than you love that wife of yours? Your son?” Bill said.

Pete fell to his knees, crawled over, and pressed his tongue against Bill’s hairy belly, moaning as he did. “Fuck, oh fuck…” he moaned, dragging his tongue across the surface, one hand drifting to his cock and stroking himself as he licked.

“Get your hand off that cock of yours, slave, you don’t touch yourself without permission,” Bill said, and Pete yanked his hand away, “give me a good belly rub, satisfying me is more important than satisfying you. You’ll get your pleasure if you serve me well, slave.”

Peter did as he was told, kneading Bill’s soft belly with his hands while he kept licking it, until Bill’s hand grabbed the top of his head and pushed him lower, underneath, to his cock. Peter had never so much as touched another man’s cock before, but as soon as he tasted Bill’s sweaty, musky cock, he knew without a doubt he would never want to be with a woman, ever again. He struggled all the same with the substantial length and girth of Bill’s cock, and his neighbor eventually just grabbed hold of his head and started fucking his face, barely giving Peter time to breathe, before he finally came down his throat.

“Good job slave, you’ve made the right choice, becoming my little whore, don’t you think?” Bill said, a little out of breath from the exertion. “Come on, let’s give you a little reward, eh? You want to cum, don’t you slave?”

“Please, yes, please Master,” Peter said, not even noticing what he called Bill, his face wet with tears, spit and cum.

“And how do slaves like you get to cum?”

“By…By fucking my little slave cock up against your big, beautiful belly, Master.”

Peter climbed up on top of Bill in his chair, who shoved his face into one rank armpit, and the stench alone made Pete shudder and moan in delight. He started humping against Bill’s belly, licking and snorting at the stinky pit, and in less than a minute, he was horrified to realize he was actually going to do it. He was going to cum, just from humping himself against Bill’s massive gut. It was too late to stop himself, much too late to try and wrestle any kind of control back, and he came, spraying a massive load of cum all over Bill’s belly, which his Master made him lick up afterwards.

“You made the right choice, slave,” Bill said, “Now, why don’t we take care of a few additional details, slave? There’s some spells in here I’ve been wanting to try out, and I think you’ll be the perfect test subject. First of all, Pete, we’re gonna have to do something about this body of yours. No slave of mine is going to look like, well, this–I can tell you that. Go stand back where you were, so I can get a good look at you.”

Peter did as he was told, and went back to stand a few feet in front of Bill’s recliner. He’d always taken decent care of his body, and even in his mid fifties, he was still relatively slender–though he’d picked up a small belly over the last decade or so. He’d never been particularly hairy, and Michelle didn’t like facial hair, so he kept his face smooth. He had a decent sized cock, not as large as Bill’s was, but perfectly average.

Bill picked up the spellbook, laid it open on his belly, and started flipping through the pages. Peter was confused–all of the pages looked blank to him, from where he was standing. Pete looked up, noticed where Peter was looking, and grinned, “The book, apparently, is bound to me until death, or I choose to relinquish it. No one else can use it until then, so don’t think about anything clever, like trying to steal it, slave.”

“Why are you doing this, Master? Just…please, let me go.”

“Ah, but where’s the fun in that?” Bill said, “All these filthy things I’ve always wanted to do, and never had much chance, well, there’s no time like the present, is there? Now, where was that spell again…ah! Here it is.”

Bill arrived at the page he’d been seeking, and read out an incantation in a language that Peter didn’t understand at all. He felt something though, a strange tingle through his entire body, almost like there was a small electric shock running through him, from his feet up to the top of his head. “What…was that, Sir?”

“I’ll show you, come on, let’s go to the bedroom.”

Bill’s house was a small, ranch style house with no upstairs. A little hallway off the living room, past the front door, led down to a bathroom and a couple of bedrooms. Bill led the way into the larger, master bedroom, where the room was littered with dirty work gear, and stank of sheets that hadn’t been laundered in months, if ever. He flipped the lights on, and the sliding doors of the closet were mirrored. He had Peter stand in front of them, looking at himself, still confused.

“Let’s see–all I should have to do is concentrate, and…”

The electric tingle returned, but this time, it was centered on Peter’s chest and his belly. He gasped, as he watched those parts of his body inflate in the mirror, his chest growing more muscular, while his small gut rapidly expanded into a firm, taut, gut. It wasn’t nearly as big as Bill’s, but it was substantial enough that Peter found himself needing to shift his stance slightly to accommodate it. The tingle affected his arms and legs, beefing him out considerably, just like his chest, and then his skin started to itch as a thick pelt of hair grew in–enough hair that he started to sweat as he stood there, a thick, inch long beard appearing on his face as the hair on his head disappeared entirely, leaving him with a bald dome. Peter had been slow to gray, but he watched as his new hair faded from his previous dark brown to mostly salt. He looked older even, though the various aches and pains he’d felt over the last few years seemed to disappear at the same time.

He looked at himself, at his new self, his hairy, chubby, muscled bearded self, and was horrified. He felt the tingle affect one last area, his groin, hefted up his gut and saw his cock shrinking up until it was just an inch long, while his nuts doubled in size. He felt Bill come up behind him, wrap his arms around his chest, and push his belly against the small of his back, and just that touch made Peter shudder and moan. His huge sack throbbed, and he felt a wad of precum drool from the head of his tiny cock. “There we go,” Bill said, “Now this is the kind of dirty, old, muscle-bound, pigslave I can get behind.”

Bill pushed Peter over to the bed, and bent him over it, and with one hand, reached between his legs, got his fingers and hands slick with Peter’s copious precum, and slid two thick fingers into his hole. Peter had never been touched back there, and he expected his body to put up at least some resistance, but all he felt was pleasure as his hole opened to his Master’s touch. “Oh–Oh fuck, Sir!”

“Yeah, just a filthy, slutty old pig bottom, that’s what you are, slave,” Bill said, “I’m not a cruel master. I want you to want the things I do to you. I want you to beg me for it, to beg me for more. You want me to fuck you, pig? You want your Master’s cock in that hole, now that I got it all lubed up with your precum?”

“Please, please fuck me Master, fuck me…” Peter moaned, horrified at how deep his voice was, at how pleading he sounded, at how true it was.

Bill hefted up his big belly and let it flop down on the small of Peter’s back, making him shudder. Bill’s cock was already hard again, and he slipped into Peter’s hole with no resistance, running his hands over Peter’s furry back, kneading his muscles there while he fucked him. Peter could smell him as himself as he sweat more and more, the pungent musk rising up from his pits. It was rank, and yet, he couldn’t get enough of it. He could feel sweat dripping off Bill’s face as he fucked him roughly, panting and huffing from the exertion, could smell him in the sheets underneath him, in the room. His cock was spewing precum, massive amounts of it, but an orgasm felt impossible. Bill’s thrusting quickened, and he came with a roar, driving deep and emptying his own load into Peter’s hungry hole, before collapsing on top of him, driving the air out of Peter’s lungs, the sensation of being crushed under his Master’s weight making Peter even hornier.

Finally, Bill pulled himself free, climbed up on the bed, and collapsed in a sweaty, stinking heap. “Go on, slave, I know you’re horny after that. Worship my belly, hump a few loads out, use me like a fuckin’ cumrag, I wanna stink of you when you’re done.”

Peter didn’t need any further direction. He crawled across the mattress, grabbed hold of Bill’s soft gut, and after just two thrusts against the soft mass, he came with a roar of his own, thick cum drooling down the side of Bill’s gut from Peter’s massive load. His Master was right though, he was still so horny. He straddled him, bellies pressed together, and kept humping, licking and sucking at Bill’s sweaty belly, already feeling another orgasm building, Bill just watching his lust crazed neighbor lose himself in his own lust and belly worship, right where they both belonged.

Half an hour later, they laid on the bed together, their hairy bellies sticky with sweat and several loads of Peter’s cum that he’d shot between them before finally collapsing beside his Master. “That was good, slave,” Bill said, rolling over and running his hand through Peter’s new beard, “You’ve made me very, very pleased, this afternoon.”

“I…Thank…Sir…” Peter said, not quite certain how to respond. He’d enjoyed it, but only because he’d been compelled to do so. The pleasure, though, was undeniable. He’d never felt this kind of lust, this kind of sheer, hedonistic delight before in his life. “I…we can’t…please, I can’t stay like this, you have to change me back, Sir.”

Bill just smirked at him. “Why? You didn’t enjoy yourself immensely?”

“I…I did. But Michelle, and…I can’t just show up to work looking like this, and…and this, we can’t, just, live like this, it’s not…it’s not…right.”

Bill just laughed. “Who says it’s not right, or good? Last time I checked, I get to make those rules now, pig.”

“This is crazy, you can’t just…make me…like this.”

“I can, and I did, and I have no intention of changing you back, either. You’re my pig slave now, and that hole of yours is way too good to let go of now.”

“But my life, I can’t–”

“Here, first things first,” Bill said, as he hefted himself out of his bed, muttered a little incantation, and the spellbook appeared in his hands from nowhere. “Damn that’s handy. Let’s see, first, let’s finalize that body shifting spell…”

Bill flipped the pages, muttered a spell under his breath, and Peter felt that odd tingle again all over his body–but this time, it was almost in…reverse. There was something else happening, like all of this potential he’d been imbued with was evaporating, his body growing solid, and real in ways he couldn’t quite explain. “Tell me slave, what did you look like when you came into my house today. Do you remember?”

“I…I was…” Peter said, but while he knew that Bill had changed him, as far as his memory could tell, he’d always looked like this. It wasn’t true, and yet, his memories, all of it. “I…I don’t remember. But I was different, I know I was!”

“Go check your wallet then.”

They went back out into the living room, he dug his wallet out of his pant’s pocket, and sure enough, it was his new face, his new weight–all of it. It was real. This was real now, like it had always been him.

“I own you slave. I own your fucking reality,” Bill said, “You think I’m going to let something like society, or laws, or rules stop me? You should feel honored that I chose you to be my first. I’m tired of being an outcast, a freak. From now on, everyone is going to bow to me. This is my world now, and you’re going to love it, trust me.”

“You…you can’t just…” Peter said, but realized it wasn’t true. He could. Bill could, and clearly, he wasn’t going to stop here.

Bill flipped through the book again, landed on a page, and said a different incantation. As he did, Peter felt his head begin to ache, but not like before, when he’d been put into that trance. This felt like someone was digging into his head, into his memories, into his very reality. The divorce. How he’d come to the realization, a decade ago, that he was gay. That he’d always been gay, and miserable with Michelle. She hadn’t taken it well. He hadn’t seen her in ages, and she’d gotten near total custody of Sean, their son in the process. He’d lived here, alone, all that time, now, single and gay and…and something else. There was more coming, too.

How he’d started making up for lost time. How he’d quickly realized he preferred quantity over quality. That with his tiny cock, he could only real be a bottom, so he better be a good one. He didn’t play golf anymore–no, he spent his free time sucking cock, preferably anonymous ones, usually at the adult video store a couple miles down the road, in the gloryholes, where he could just be a mouth, or an ass. That, and the gym. He went to the gym everyday, keeping his muscular build up, even as he got older, and fatter by the year. That, and work–he still worked at the same place, still had the same job.

The ache in his mind started to subside, leaving him exhausted. He fell to his knees, trying to cling to the reality, the history that was already vanishing from his mind, from his thoughts. Just a shadow was left, a hole, enough to know that something he’d treasured was gone forever. “You…what did you…do to me?”

“I ruined you, slave,” Bill said, getting down beside him on the floor, and pulling him close. “The only thing you have, now, is me. That’s the way it should be, right? A good slave can’t have other distractions from your service. Besides, that blowjob you gave me before was terrible, I needed to make sure you got your skills up, and got rid of that gag reflex. I can’t shift too much at once–even that was pushing it a bit, but I didn’t want you having anything to regret. I just want my old muscle slave to be happy–and nothing makes you happier than going to the gym, sucking tons of cock, and servicing your master every day, of course. That’s all you have left now. It could, I suppose, be worse, couldn’t it? Why don’t you thank me for giving you the life you deserve, slave.”

“Th-Thank you Master.”

“You’re welcome, slave. Now get home. Your service is done for today.”

Peter got dressed in his clothes–his filthier, much larger clothes than what he’d had on before, kissed his Master’s gut goodbye, and left. Evening was falling. He stepped down the porch, still feeling a bit unsteady in his new body. He saw his house next door, now it just as much disrepair as his Master’s was. Inside, the floor was littered with pizza boxes and old take out. He didn’t want to be here though. He could feel everything that Master had taken from him still, little ghosts of old feelings that he couldn’t recall, but that still lingered at the back of his mind. Besides, he was starving–and not for food. He got in his dirty jeep and drove to the sex shop, where the guy behind the counter knew him by first name. He went right to the gloryholes, got on his knees, and soon was sucking cock. It felt good, being wanted, being needed, even if it was just his mouth, and the cum tasted so good, and filled him up in ways that he’d grown to crave over the years. When he was satisfied, the front of his jeans was soaked with precum, like usual, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to cum until he was back with his Master. Back where he belonged. The only place where a dirty old pig could possibly be needed. It was all he had now–he could see that. As much as he wanted to hate Bill for it, he couldn’t. He loved him. He loved him in ways he could barely fathom. He’d do anything for him, now. He was Bill’s slave now, in body, mind, and soul.

Halloween At The Barnyard

Happy Halloween! Since my patreon got a little compromised, I’ve been digging though and trying to sort out what I had posted on there that might have been deleted. This was a sizable furry commission that wasn’t posted anywhere else, but since it is the season, I thought I’d go ahead and repost it here. It’s from 2015 I think, and there’s also a sequel already written I’ll be posting to Sponsus, as well as a third entry in the series currently in the works! Hope you all enjoy it.

– Chapter 1 – 

“I know it’s the third time this week…yes, I know I promised I’d be there for dinner…I know you have to plan these things, but my inbox is just slammed right now, you know how it is…I know, but I have to get this done tonight.” 

Carl had the phone caught in the crick of his neck while he zipped up his backpack quietly, trying to keep the noise away from the speaker as best he could. Matt, on the other end was disappointed, but trying to be understanding.

“Look, I’ll be over in a few hours, just keep it warm for me, and I’m sure it’ll be delicious. Yes…Yes of course, I…I love you too.”

He hung up the phone and slung his pack over his shoulder. It was a little after six–he really had stayed late at the office, so he hadn’t completely lied, right? The thought didn’t make him feel better, even if it was the truth. He got in the elevator and headed down to the lobby, taking off his tie and stuffing it in his pack as he rode. He’d always hated wearing suits–he was a burly guy, and he’d never been able to find shirts that fit him very well in any store, and hiring a tailor was too damn expensive for him, but working out was one of the only things that kept him sane, where he could zone out and unwind. The gym was also where he’d met Matt. The two of them were both corporate types, working in the city, happy with their lives and happy with each other…sort of. Matt seemed happy at least. Carl had been happy–or, he thought he’d been happy, until that day a few months ago when he’d stumbled into what he’d thought was just a bar–a run down place in the next district likely to get gentrified–the only thing that marked it as anything at all was a cut steel sign hanging over the cracked sidewalk with a name on it–“The Barnyard.” He still couldn’t remember how he’d even found the place, and now he wished he never had.

He waited at the bus stop for a few minutes, got on and rode it for about twenty minutes, before getting off a few blocks away from the bar, but he knew that where he should be going was the gym, and then to Matt’s, but he hadn’t been going either place much recently. Actually, he’d pretty much stopped going to the gym entirely. He’d used to go after work, almost religiously–he and Matt would meet for a workout before heading over to one of their apartments for dinner and fucking. But he’d been staying “late at work” so much lately he’d nearly stopped going entirely…and it was beginning to show in his paunch and his chest. Matt had noticed, of course, and didn’t appreciate it. Carl blamed it on work stress and a new snack bar HR was providing in the break room. What he couldn’t bear to tell him was anything close to the truth, but he just couldn’t stop. He’d never felt this before, this sort of addiction. He’d never been a smoker, he’d never been a heavy drinker, but every night he skipped going to The Barnyard, it…it was all he could think about. He knew he had a problem, but he also thought he could keep a handle on it. He’d…get bored of him, eventually right? The worst part was that he didn’t feel bored at all. In fact, the reason he’d stopped going to the gym was because going to The Barnyard was better. More…satisfying. And as much as he hated to admit it, the reason he kept blowing Matt off was because it was better than anything he could give him, too. 

It had started out as a once a week thing. Matt usually had plans on Thursdays, and so Carl would just…go to The Barnyard instead. It wasn’t hurting anyone, right? Besides, Matt had mentioned that open relationships could work, so he’d be ok with this, Carl told himself, even though they had never talked…explicitly about being open themselves. But before long he’d needed to go twice a week, and now he was going almost everyday after work and on the weekends. Already, just walking down the street, his hands were shaking, his cock was hard, his mouth was dry. This couldn’t be normal–he felt like he was under some fucking spell. He just had to stop doing this, he had to. This wasn’t…normal. But he just kept walking in the crisp mid-October evening, the sun already setting behind the buildings making it even chillier, and he picked up his pace, ducking into the unmarked door that he never wanted to see again in his life, and where he couldn’t wait to get inside. 

The problem was that The Barnyard was more than a bar–it was also a front for a brothel specializing in…a particular kind of whore. Not that Carl had known that when he’d gone in the first time, but when the proprietor–a man he’d at first only known as Mr. Crice, but who had eventually insisted that Carl just call him Jimmy–had struck up conversation with him that first evening over a few too many beers, he had sown the idea in his mind. After all, there was no harm in a little fun, right? Besides, Jimmy insisted that his men he kept could provide experiences Carl could hardly imagine. He’d been drunk–he tried to tell himself, even now, that he was too drunk to know what he’d been doing, but he’d known better. There was just…something about Jimmy that had made the entire venture seem so much more…enticing than it should have been.

Inside the door was a narrow flight of stairs down into a basement, but then the hallway opened up into a surprisingly spacious bar–decorated accordingly, of course. The floor was covered with straw, the tables were perched on barrels with the chairs mismatched but equally worn, picnic benches and booths were scattered around the perimeter –like they’d been pulled collectively from a midwest flea market. A damp, musty smell lingered in the air, something which might just be laughed off as poor ventilation. It was still early but the bar already had a sizable crowd, though the crowd seemed divided into two camps. The first group, the bar regulars, was made up of working men and burly guys laughing and joking and having a grand drunk time having just gotten off of work. The other group was scattered about, each sitting alone at a table or the bar, casting glances at a curtain strung up in the back blocking a hallway from view–that’s what they were all really there for, after all, including Carl. Along one wall ran a thick walnut bar lined with stools, and there, wiping out glasses with his towel, was Jimmy. He was wearing his customary flannel shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows showing off his thick, hairy forearms, a few too many buttons unbuttoned exposing his mass of chest hair. From a distance, it was difficult to see where the man’s light brown beard ended and the forest below began. He turned to the door, saw Carl, and beamed a smile. “Well hey, Carl! Stu’s just finishing up with someone else in the back–why not join me for a beer while you wait?”

Did Jimmy have to seem so genuinely happy to see him? It would be so much easier if the guy at least admitted that he was trying to destroy Carl’s life. Still, he took a seat at the bar, but didn’t say anything. Without asking what he wanted, Jimmy pulled a pint of one of his house brews and set it down in front of Carl, who just stared at it dejectedly, running one finger through the condensation on the side of the glass.

“Alright, what’s the matter?”

“You know what the fucking matter is,” Carl snapped at him. Jimmy’s brow furrowed, and Carl immediately felt bad, even though he knew this was all Jimmy’s fault…somehow. He drank some of the beer to try and calm himself down–a bit more than he’d been planning. Just…all his beers were so damn satisfying. That was the real problem–this was satisfying. It shouldn’t be, but it was. He should already be satisfied, he should be satisfied with his job, with the gym, with work, with Matt, but he…but he wasn’t. None of that had been satisfying, not really, but he’d been able to pretend, until he’d found…this place. He took another, longer drink, leaving just a few swallows in the glass.

“Would you like to talk about it?”

“This is ruining my life.”

“All I do is provide a service, Carl. You’re more than welcome to refuse it.”

“Don’t give me that shit.”

“But it’s true, you know. If anyone is ruining your life here, it’s you. But if you really thought that, then you wouldn’t be here, drinking my beer, and waiting for Stu to finish up, now would you? So why don’t you be honest, and tell me what the real problem is.”

Carl drank the rest of the beer, and while Jimmy pulled him another one from the tap, he started talking, or confessing really. How he and Matt weren’t having sex much at all, and how it was because…because Matt wasn’t who he wanted to have sex with anymore. Sure he was handsome and muscular, but…

“But you want Stu, I get it.”

Carl hadn’t wanted to say it in so many words, but that was the truth, as much as it disgusted him.

“Look, I get it. I provide sex that most people never even dream about. It’s only natural that you might prefer this to real life. But if Matt can’t make you happy, then–”

“Matt does make me happy though! I just…I just wish that…I could have both…Fuck, that makes me sound like a selfish asshole…”

“Yeah…” Jimmy said, “Have you tried talking to Matt about this?”

“Oh yeah, that would go well. What the hell would I even say? ‘Hey Honey, see, there’s this whore house I go to, I hope you don’t mind.’”

“The word ‘brothel’ is a bit more polite.”

Carl rolled his eyes, “Because Matt would care about word choice.”

Jimmy sighed, “Look, all I’m really saying is that I don’t think you can go on like this, but you’re going to have to explain it to him eventually. Look, maybe…I throw a big Halloween party here at the Barnyard every year. You were already going to get an invite, of course, but…why don’t you bring Matt along with you? Who knows, he might actually enjoy himself too.”

“Are you crazy? I can’t bring him here, what would he think of me?”

“Now calm down,” Jimmy said, “This is…a rather special party. We provide the costumes, you see…and you’d be surprised by how realistic they are. Some even call them life changing. See, here’s something you haven’t considered–maybe all Matt needs is to experience you here, in your element. Maybe he just needs to see how much you could love him if…you know, if he was more…”

He didn’t finish, he saw Carl knew what he was going to say, and Jimmy let that sink it for a moment. “That’s not even…possible,” Carl said, shaking his head.

“Look, I pride myself on my establishment and the services I provide, but I also don’t think anyone should have to choose between their desires and their love. This would be a great opportunity for you to get out, have some fun, and introduce Matt to every side of you, you know? Because I know one thing–you can’t just keep bottling this up. I think he might come around, if he really loves you. At the very least he’d understand what’s going on, because I guarantee you, that he knows something is wrong already. More than anything, I know how much fun you’d have at this party, so with or without him, I’m going to insist that you come, and have a good time. But if he does come, I think it can only make your relationship stronger in the end.”

“But…what…” Carl didn’t know what to say. He really liked the idea…but he hated himself for liking it so much. “I can’t just tell him where we’re going–he’d freak out.”

“Leave that to me. You won’t be the only person bringing along someone…unfamiliar with my services to my party. I’ll give you some stuff to help you warm them to the idea during the day, and by the time they get here in the evening they’ll fit right in–trust me, I know what I’m doing–you’re not the first guy with this sort of problem I’ve helped out before.”

The curtain flipped to the side, and the second group of patrons turned to look at the man who slipped through, eyes down, and he waved meekly to Jimmy as he left. “You’re up Carl,” Jimmy said, “Same price as always.”

Carl set the five hundred dollars cash on the bar, walked over to the curtain and ducked behind it, the smell growing stronger as he did. Now it was more than just poor ventilation–it had pangs of sweat and musk, of mud, manure and wet straw.Hall led right into a locker room with a few open showers. Carl undressed and stashed his clothes, wrapped a towel around his waist, running one hand over his furry gut. He should leave, leave and ask for his money back, go home to Matt, eat dinner and pretend none of this even existed. None of this should exist. None of this should be possible. But it was possible, and there was no retreating from the facts. He put on a pair of rubber boots set next to the doorway on the opposite side of the room, and trudged down the hallway beyond it, lined with doors on either end, until he reached a door with a wooden sign hanging from it that read “Stu’s Sty.” He pushed open the door, his cock achingly hard, but paused in the doorway.

“Oh Carl, back again? Weren’t you here just yesterday? I’m so excited… *snort* You’re becoming quite the regular customer…”

Carl stood in the door, just…staring at him, there in the…mud and the straw. The smell was even more pungent here, and while weeks ago it had been a turn off, now it had him even harder. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t keep doing this, he couldn’t.

What are you waiting for, big boy? Get over here and let’s have some fun. I wanna get dirty with you…”

Fuck. Fuck it, just…seeing him, smelling him , hearing him. “Fuck, you’re so damn…sexy,” he whispered.

“Oh stop it. *grunt* Get in here, my ass needs a good stuffing.”


An hour and a half later–after a long fuck and a shower to get the sweat, muck and straw off him, Carl got dressed and left through the curtained hallway. The first group of burly men had grown, some of them making out at tables around the room, the air smoky with cigars and pipes, and a different set the second group were waiting impatiently–Jimmy waved at one, and he got up from his seat and went behind the curtain as Carl left. It was late, and he needed to get back to Matt’s apartment quickly, but Jimmy stepped out from the bar as he tried to make a quick escape and stopped him.

“I was serious, you know, about the Halloween party. You should come–both of you.”

“I…I can’t bring him. I can’t involve him in this.”

“I really think it would be good for your both, Carl,” Jimmy said, and handed him a small bottle stoppered with a cork. “Look, on Halloween eve, make sure he drinks this. It tastes a bit funky, but you can add it to a drink, or to food, and he doesn’t have to drink it all at once either–just make sure he gets all of it in him before midnight. On Halloween, he’s going to be hungry–really hungry, but you’ll be able to take care of that I’m sure. Just make sure you have plenty of food on hand–the more fattening the better…but  maybe stay away from bacon, that might be a bit weird. But this is the most important part–make sure he doesn’t get a good look at himself though–it might spoil things a bit. No mirrors, reflective surfaces, that stuff. The party starts at midnight–make sure you’re here before that, or you…well, just don’t be late. Just bring yourselves, it doesn’t matter how you dress–I’ll provide the costumes and plenty of entertainment. I promise your relationship will improve–no, I guarantee it.”

He pushed the bottle into Carl’s hand, and he looked at it. He wasn’t…actually considering this, was he? “But…what does it do?”

“Oh, he’ll be your perfect date for the evening, of course. Everything you said you wanted–Matt and Stu together in one package…you know what I mean?”

“This can…make him…”

Jimmy nodded. Carl’s eyes went wide. “It’ll just be for Halloween, Carl. Anything is possible on Halloween. Now get going, and have a good night.”

Carl told himself he’d take the vial and throw it out in a trashcan outside, but there wasn’t one between The Barnyard and the bus stop, so he ended up keeping it in his pocket. He couldn’t use it, there was no way he’d do something like that. It probably wouldn’t even do anything. I mean, who heard of people just…changing? Stu…Stu was just a freak, you couldn’t just, make someone like that, right? He transferred buses, and found a growing part of himself thinking about using it, groping his cock in his tight khakis, thinking about what it might be like, for Matt and Stu to be…the same person. How happy he would be. Didn’t Matt always say, that he just wanted Carl to be happy? Well, wouldn’t this make him happy? Would it? 

He was still asking himself that same question, two weeks later, as he was mixing another “experimental” cocktail for Carl on Halloween eve, adding the last third of the vial to his boyfriend’s next drink, following it up with ginger vodka, orange bitters and apple cider. The horror movie was still on, but neither of them had been having a very good evening. It was rather apparent to them both that the spark had gone out of their relationship, and Matt was trying to figure out how to end it, since Carl seemed focused on trying to cling to whatever might have been for a bit longer. Maybe next week, he thought to himself. He could break the news then. Besides, Carl seemed really excited about this Halloween party tomorrow, and he didn’t want to spoil the holiday after all. The third drink was the best of the night, though it still had that odd tang, which Carl had blamed on the ice and the bitters. Still, he drank it, but when he was finished with it, and midnight struck, he suddenly felt a bit sick, and Carl hurried to put him to bed, telling him that everything would be better in the morning.


– Chapter 2 –

Matt decided, as he laid in Carl’s bed, that this was the strangest hangover of his life. There was the headache, the sensitivity to light, the lethargy, the screaming need to piss (and possibly puke), but on top of all of that, Matt woke up feeling like some massive creature was sitting on his chest and stomach. He’d heard tales of sleep paralysis, and after flailing for a moment, half awake, he finally managed to break through and sit up on the side of the bed, panting hard, trying to remember what it the hell he’d been dreaming about. Carl had been there, and…and they’d had sex? If they’d had sex, it must have been a dream–Carl hadn’t touched him in at least a month or more, and every time Matt tried to get the juices flowing, he would…cringe as soon as Matt reached for his cock. He’d tried to shrug it off as Carl being upset over his recent weight gain–Matt didn’t care, and tried to talk to him about it, but Carl would just shut down everytime. No one kept their peak form forever after all, and both of them were pushing forty. Still, he was starting to think it was more than that. That…something about Matt simply repulsed him, but his boyfriend refused to talk about it. 

This wasn’t what he needed to be thinking about right now. He pushed those worries away and focused on something more immediate–pissing in a toilet instead of the bed. The sensation of something pressing down, or maybe hanging off of him, lingered, and when he pushed himself up from the bed, he felt off balance and dizzy, teetering a bit, hobbling towards Carl’s master bathroom, clutching the doorway for a moment to keep balance, and then stumbled onto the floor, nearly losing himself on the slick tile. Why was he having a hard time balancing? He felt like he was walking on tiptoe for some strange reason. With his legs spread a bit wider to keep himself upright, he stood in front of the toilet and finally let loose his bladder, but he couldn’t get a good grip on his cock. He ended up fumbling with it too much, soaking the rim and even the floor around the toilet. The piss smelled vile. He scrunched up his nose and snorted, shaking his still leaking cock a bit, looked around for something to wipe the piss up with, and then noticed that the bathroom mirror was missing.

This was no small mirror. It was clear from the outline in the paint on the wall that it had been there for a while, and from the screw holes in the drywall, it had been no easy task to remove. The real question, was why? Had it been there the night before? He’d used the other bathroom, and that one had still had a mirror, so why in the world had Carl taken down this one? Maybe…maybe he felt worse about his body than Matt had thought, if he was taking down mirrors so he didn’t have to look at himself. Still, if he felt that bad, then why hadn’t he been going to the gym as much? Sure, work was hard, but…it felt like he was missing some key piece of a puzzle, or maybe he was just too tired to figure it out. The headache was only getting worse, now that he was standing, and the dizziness wasn’t going away either. If this kept up, he didn’t think he’d be able to go to any party, no matter how much he wanted to please Carl.

He got a towel off the rod, bent over and tried to wipe up his piss, but for some reason he couldn’t get a good grip on the fabric. He finally took a long hard look at his hands…part of him was convinced that something was amiss, and yet he couldn’t figure out what could be wrong with them. They…seemed normal enough, to his eyes. And yet, they couldn’t do things he knew they should be able to do. He gave up, after the towel landed in the toilet bowl and he failed to fish it out; he’d just have to go find Carl and get help, to deal with his…surprising ineptitude this morning. 

Careful to keep his footing and balance, he maneuvered himself out of the bathroom, and tried to call out Carl’s name, but all the words came out garbled. His teeth felt too big, his mouth oddly shaped, his tongue too long–he must be sick, there must be getting sick with something, there was no other explanation for any of this. He tried again, and managed to get out something resembling “Carl” to fall off his lips, and he kept stumbling, out the bedroom door, propping himself up down the hallway, where he smelled the food, even before he heard Carl working in the kitchen, and the smell! His mouth began drooling uncontrollably, saliva welling up in his mouth in greater quantities than he could even imagine swallowing, feeling it run out both sides of his mouth, down his chin and onto his chest and stomach. His belly growled, nose leading him to the kitchen, his mind struggling to keep up with what was happening through the haze shrouding his mind. 

He turned the corner, and found himself faced with a table already laden with all sorts of breakfast fare–everything from a tower of pancakes and a heap of waffles to heaping bowls of oatmeal and a huge bowl of scrambled eggs–however, his mind noticed that there was no little meat, just some chicken sausages on a plate, which was odd because Carl had always been a devout meat eater. He wiped one forearm across his mouth, but it didn’t feel quite right to him, like he’d somehow managed to punch himself in the nose at the same time. It didn’t help much anyway–the slobber had only grown more intense, as he licked his tongue up around his lips and teeth. Carl had heard him in the hallway and turned to look, and frozen in front of the stove, his eyes wide and jaw gaping. In the back of his mind that seemed…strange, but without even really asking if this was all for him, his belly took command. Before he could even sit down, he started grabbing at the fork next to him, growling when his fingers again refused to work, and he instead started pulling food to him with his hands, clumsily shovelling it into his mouth as best he could.

Carl couldn’t stop staring…and he couldn’t wipe the grin off his face either. Already…already his boyfriend was looking so much…more appealing, and it seemed like Matt hadn’t noticed anything amiss at all–or at least not enough to really stop and worry. Still, he could see the distress forming in his eyes, as he realized he couldn’t stop eating, no matter how hard he tried. He kept trying to talk through his food, but he couldn’t get anything out–which wasn’t at all surprising to Carl, but Matt was getting flustered. Carl walked over and stroked his hair, calming him down, urging him to just keep eating. For whatever reason, it worked–Matt’s eyes grew more relaxed, and he started eating with more focus and commitment, and Carl went back to cooking.

He checked over his shoulder every few minutes, still unable to believe what he was seeing. Sure, it wasn’t nearly as…complete as Stu, but…but still. It was working! It was really…really working. He could see the snout pushing out from Matt’s face, the tusks starting to extend past his lips. His hands were worthless as hands now–his fingers had merged together and were hardening, even as he watched–he’d given up on using his hands at all, in fact, and was simply shoving his face into the food, eating and snorting and grunting, standing up to get at the food closer to the middle of the table, and his gut…fuck. He was…getting fatter. The food was going right to his belly, and as Carl watched, it was beginning to expand out, turning…flabby, and…and soft… 

More food. He had to make even more food. Carl found himself in a bit of a race. Matt became more adept at eating with his changing mouth, and Carl struggled to find more food in the kitchen for his boyfriend to eat. He managed to hold out for several hours, but finally Matt cleaned him out, and after licking the plates clean with his longer tongue, he groaned, sat back in the chair behind him, and after a moment of trying to support him, the wood cracked and collapsed underneath his massive bulk, plopping Matt down on his ass with a loud smack. Carl rushed over to make sure he was alright–Matt gave a groan, and tried to speak for the first time since entering the kitchen. The words were garbled, but understandable. “Fuck, was so hungry…” he groaned, and looked around. “Did I…break the chair?”

“It was…just old is all,” Carl said quickly, “Here let me help you up.”

The first couple times were nearly impossible. Without fingers, and with hard half-trotters coated with butter and grease, neither of them could get a good enough grip on each other for Matt to get up. On the floor, Matt was simply…confused. He felt heavy, heavier than he could really understand. Looking down at himself, there on the floor, none of this really made sense, and he let off a massive belch, feeling his stomach rumble–Carl watching Matt’s gut suddenly heave outward again with the blast of gas, sagging down over his waist. “I don’t…feel…” Matt belched again, his body expanding once more, and Carl suddenly didn’t think he’d even be able to pick him up.  He went around behind him, crouched down and got his arms under Matt’s armpits, and strained up, Matt scrambling to get his slick, awkward feet underneath his body. His balance was all off; he managed to get upright, but could only stay there by clinging to the doorway into the kitchen. Carl could see that part of the reason it had been so difficult wasn’t just that he was fatter, he was also quite a bit taller. Neither of them had been short, by any means, but now Matt loomed over him by about a half a foot, close to six and half feet tall.

Matt scanned the mess in the kitchen. Empty plates were scattered everywhere, even on the floor, where several had broken. Food, too, was everywhere, and all over him. He wiped his face with one hand, still confused by the feeling not matching what he was seeing, and felt his jaw, neck and chest covered with drool and food. “There we go,” Carl said. He couldn’t help it, he slapped Matt’s overhanging gut, watching it jiggle in response, his cock hard as a rock. “Got you back upright, at least.”

“I don’t…know, don’t feel good at all…” Matt said, “I can’t…go to that party…I don’t–”

“No!” Carl said, “No, you have to go with me, you’re just…just a bit woozy is all, from eating too much. Look, why don’t we, uh, get you in the shower. That’ll make you feel a bit better, and then we can go out and have some fun tonight, alright? You’ll love it, trust me.”

“I just don’t…something’s wrong, Carl…” Matt said, “I don’t…” he turned to his boyfriend, and he…smelled…he could smell him. Not like a usual smell, he could smell…arousal. That was the only way he could describe it. Like cum, and sweat and musk…and it smelled good. As good as the food had smelled earlier. He managed to stand up on his feet, wobbling a bit, snorting a bit, “You’re…horny…” he groaned, “Smell…fuckin’ good. Still…kinda hungry too.”

Before Carl could react, Matt was back down on his knees in front of him, scrapping trotters against the front of his pants, making frustrated noises, snorting and grunting and licking his lips. Carl was more than happy to give him what he was asking for. He popped open his fly, and Matt slurped down his cock, sucking and nibbling and licking at his shaft and head. It was…awkward. Matt obviously wasn’t quite sure how to work his new snout and tongue, or how to keep his growing tusks away from Carl’s sensitive areas, but looking down at his boyfriend, Carl didn’t care, and he grabbed hold of Matt’s larger, floppier ears and started thrusting into his snout and down his throat, and he shot in less than a minute. Matt, however, kept licking even after drinking down all the cum, his tongue slathering across Carl’s balls, until his boyfriend took a step back away from him, breathing fast and trying to get his pants back up. Matt focused all his energy and heaved himself back up to his feet, stumbled a bit, and found himself facing a direction in the kitchen he hadn’t yet, looking right at the shiny, stainless steel refrigerator. It was so shiny, in fact, that it had always functioned as a decent enough mirror, and even though his image was distorted by the curve, for the first time this morning he saw himself. And what he saw…

The enchantment over his eyes fell away in the face of his own reflection, and he could finally look down at himself. At his solid, trotter hands, at his massive apron of fat and heavy moobs hanging from his chest where his lean muscle had been just the day before. At the snout sticking out into the middle of his vision, the tusks popping up from his bottom jaw. He screamed, but through his new mouth it came out as a high pitched squeal, which only terrified him more, and he fled the kitchen, pushing past Carl and towards the door of the apartment…but he couldn’t go out there like this! He flipped around and found himself facing Carl, and realized that he must have known. Why else would he have pretended like nothing was wrong all morning? “You! You…what did you do to me?”

Carl froze, not sure whether to spill the truth or try to lie. What had gone wrong? Hadn’t he taken down all the mirrors, like Jimmy had told him to do? He looked back at the fridge door and realized what must have happened, and he turned and ran away from Matt at the door towards the bedroom.

“Hey!” Matt shouted and charged after him, the floor shaking under his massive weight. Carl threw the bedroom door shut behind him, but Matt charged right into it, throwing him forward and tumbling to the floor. Before he could get up, Matt dropped down on him, pinning him to the floor. Carl tried to get something out, but looking up at the pig face glaring down at him, he was certain he was about to be ripped limb from limb and…well, he had to admit that he did kind of deserve it. But Matt snorted, and took a deep breath; Carl could feel…something hard pushing between them, and realized it must be Matt’s cock. “Carl, you…you had better have a…damn good explanation for why this shit is turning me on…so damn much. And fuck, why do you smell so fucking good…”

“Look, I’m…I’m sorry, I don’t…It’s a long story, and I…I know, but…but the way he said it, it just made so much…sense…at the time, when Jimmy gave it to me.”

“Who the fuck is Jimmy?”

Carl knew he’d said too much–there was no backing out now.

“Is he the fucker you’ve been cheating on me with? Is he the fucker you’ve been ‘staying late at the office for,’ you lying son of a bitch?”

“No! Not him–It’s…more complicated than that.”

Matt glowered at him, his smaller eyes looking like mean, dark dots on his face, “Then you’d better start talking, Carl, cause I want a fucking explanation.”

So he started explaining. He started at the beginning, as best he could remember it, how he’d discovered The Barnyard, and his first visits with Stu. Stu, the short, round boarman he’d been sleeping with for months now. How he’d tried to stop, but couldn’t. How Jimmy had offered him a possible solution to his guilty conscience. That, however, was about how far he got. Matt was doing his best to pay attention, but the smell of Carl’s arousal, now that his anger was ebbing, kept pulling at his attention. About the time Carl got to the vial, he had given in, rubbing his face into Carl’s chest, licking up his sweat, grinding their cock’s together. Something in him was still changing. His body might have stopped, but his head–it felt so thick all of a sudden. He was so angry, but so much hornier, that it just made sense to give Carl another blowjob. This one was a bit better than the last, now that he could properly understand what he was working with, and Carl managed to last a bit longer, before blowing his load into Matt’s snout.

“Don’t think, just cause I keep blowin’ you that…I’m not pissed off…” Matt slurred around his tusks, “You just smell so…fuckin’ good all of a sudden, and I’m not…thinkin’ too good.”

“Look, try not to worry about it, Matt–we’ll just go to the party tonight, and Jimmy will change you back. I just wanted…I wanted you to be happy with me.”

“Fuck you, you just wanted me to be your fuckpig, don’t fuckin’ sugarcoat it.”

“No, no, that’s not just it, I love you Matt. I’m just…I’m not attracted to normal guys anymore, I guess, but I do love you, I do!”

“You’re fuckin’ sick, you know that?”

Carl slid down, so he was face to snout with Matt, and gave him a deep kiss on the snout, and then pushed him over onto his back, his fat body resting around him, and Carl got his first look at Matt’s new cock, slick from his sheath, head twisted just…just like Stu’s, but even bigger, and he dove on it, sucking it hard, feeling Matt buck up into his throat, squealing with pleasure. He hadn’t expected it to feel so good, and he orgasmed, the pleasure blossoming and billowing inside him. He kept expecting it to subside, but it didn’t, not even after he’d finished pumping cum into Carl’s mouth–so much he couldn’t hope to swallow it all. “I didn’t do this because I wanted a fuckpig, I did this so you could at least…know how much I want to be with you, Matt.”

“You’re a fucking liar,” Matt muttered, but kept snorting, “How…fucking how long does this last?”

“About half an hour.”

“You’re fucking…seriously?”

Carl nodded, but inside he wondered–was he lying? Did he really love Matt? Was that why he’d done this? He couldn’t help but admit that…part of the thrill he was feeling was being in control, in how much Matt wanted him suddenly. How much he needed him. It was something he’d had to pay Stu for, but Matt…it made him even hornier, how vulnerable he was, suddenly. And he wasn’t sure he really wanted that feeling to end.

“You know, you fuckin’ forgot something. How the fuck am I supposed to get all the way across town, on the bus, without everyone seeing me? Without anyone calling the fucking cops? We aren’t going anywhere tonight.”

“What, did that thick head of yours forget already? It’s Halloween, Matt. No one’s gonna look at you twice.” Matt rolled his eyes. “Ok, so they’ll look twice, but only because of how cool you look.”

“Cool? Shut up.”


“I’m not going.”

“If you don’t go, then I have no idea how to turn you back, and then you really will have to be my fuckpig. I thought that’s what you didn’t want?”

Matt scowled at Carl on top of him, orgasm still pulsing through him, and snorted. He was right, as much as he hated to admit it. “Fine, I’ll go, but we’re breaking up–you do realize that, right? We’re fucking through, after tonight. I never want to see you again.”

Carl nodded, but he had a feeling that he might still be able to turn things around, maybe with a little help from Jimmy. Maybe Matt would see that Carl had done all of this for him–no, for them. He could see that, couldn’t he? “If that’s what you want, I understand. But we’d better get you dressed–we don’t want to be late now, do we?”


Matt first demanded that Carl at least let him take a shower first, and even Carl had to admit that he needed one. His face was coated with food, as was his flabby chest. However, he quickly discovered that working the shower was going to be nearly impossible with his new hands. They were still…somewhat functionable–especially now that he was able to see what exactly he had to work with. His four fingers had fused into two hard trotters, and his thumb had grown larger, becoming the same size as the others. He could grip with them, but doing anything remotely delicate–say, grabbing and holding onto a bar of soap and using it on his body–proved impossible. Still, he was too stubborn, angry, and embarrassed to consider asking Carl to help him wash off; he ended up simply letting the water run over his body, getting himself as clean as he could, exploring his body as the heady orgasm finally began subsiding. He’d certainly gained a substantial amount of weight–compared to his previous body he was outright obese–and yet, he did enjoy it somewhat. His fat didn’t sag–it was firm, much of it pushing out in a heavy gut and firm moobs on top of them that wobbled slightly as he moved. His arms had beefed up, and his legs had grown much thicker and longer, though with a pronounced bow, forcing his stance to be quite a bit wider than before. 

He got out of the shower and dried himself off as best as he could, and then went out into the bedroom. His phone was still on the bedside table; he carefully picked it up with one hand and tried to work it, but the screen refused to respond to his trotters. He’d been hoping to get a better look at his face with the camera–not that he really wanted to see what he looked like, but at least then he’d know how best to…try and disguise all of this. He couldn’t believe that he had to cross town looking like this–that Carl had been planning on dragging him over there without even knowing what was happening. The anger that he’d managed to keep at bay unravelled slightly, his heart pounding in his chest. He caught himself snorting loudly as he breathed, and managed to reel his emotions back in, but it was difficult. Everything felt…closer to the surface, like there was less he could do to control his head and emotions. While the veil might have been lifted, he still didn’t feel normal…or think normally either.

Carl had laid out some clothes for him–it was a joke. It was a sweatsuit Carl had obviously bought recently, since he’d been gaining weight steadily for months. It served him right, Matt thought. He was the one who deserved to be a fucking pig right now, not him. Still, even though the sweats were double extra large, the sweatshirt left a significant slab of belly exposed, and his thick thighs could barely fit in the snug material, meaning they not only showed off every bulge, but that his morphed cock and balls were displayed obscenely in the front. Carl came in to see how things were going, and Matt turned to him, “What the fuck? You don’t really expect me to wear this, do you?”

Carl’s jaw dropped at the sight of Matt’s hefty package well outlined in the front of the sweats, and missed his chance to respond. 

“Oh fuck you, you fully intended this, didn’t you?”

“No! I mean, I didn’t…I didn’t know what that stuff would do to you, I mean, not really. I hadn’t…really thought this all the way through.”

“No fucking shit!”

“Look, that’s the best I can do, alright?”

“The fuckin’…best?” Matt said, trying to sound angry, but he felt…strange all of a sudden. He tried to think harder, to catch the rest of what he’d been planning on saying, but his head started pounding painfully, “Fuck…headache…”

“What’s wrong?”

“Don’ know…” Matt said. Carl came closer to help him, and the smell of him–of their sex earlier, it overwhelmed Matt’s mind for a moment, lost in Carl’s musk, his cock hardening, pushing out over the waistband of the sweats. “You smell…good still…”

“Matt, can we focus here?” Carl asked, but looking at his boyfriend’s eyes, it looked like focusing was going to be a bit difficult for him. His head had changed from earlier in the day. Where it had been still recognizably human, with rather piggish features, that was now reversed. His snout was highly pronounced, his eyes slightly beady and a little glazed. “Look, you’re still changing. Just try to stay calm until we get to the bar, and Jimmy will sort this all out, alright?”

Matt tried to stay angry, tried to argue, but everything seemed to just…melt away from him, and all he really wanted was…to keep smelling him. “Sure Carl,” he said, “Smell fuckin’ sexy though.” He grinned–or tried to–and Carl took a step back. “I…think somethin’s wrong in my head.”

They were interrupted by a knock on the door, “Hold on–stay put, I’ll get that.”

Carl left him in the bedroom, and Matt could hear him talking to someone, but he couldn’t make out what they were saying. After a couple of minutes the door closed, and Carl shouted, “All clear, you can come on out.”

Matt’s nose told him everything he needed to know–that had been a pizza delivery guy, and even though he’d already gorged himself all morning, his gut growled at the mere mention of food, drool already cascading down onto the sweatshirt. “Really?” Matt said, snorting, “More food? I’m already…having a hard time fittin’…”

Carl was waiting for him with a n open box of pizza, and Matt didn’t bother objecting twice. Carl set him down on the couch and fed him pizza after pizza, rubbing his full gut, and doing his best to keep the grease and slobber off his clothes. This time, Carl at least managed to get something to eat as well–he was starving, especially after he’d spent the night taking down every mirror in the house, and all morning cooking. Matt begrudgingly enjoyed himself, especially when Carl slipped his hand down his pants and started working his cock as he ate himself silly yet again, though he could feel the clothes he had on constricting him a bit tighter, the sweatshirt riding up over his gut. It was also hot, and he was sweating more…which only made him smell better, Carl licking the sweat and grease from his snout as he finished off the sixth, and last, extra large pizza he’d ordered for them.

Matt let off a great belch, his gut expanding out as he did, the sweat shirt riding all the way up his gut. “Was that…fuck, really necessary?”

“I didn’t want you to go hungry,” Carl said, “Besides, I hadn’t eaten all day. I thought it would be rude to not get some for you too.”

“But I’d already taken a shower…”

“You look fine–besides, we needed to kill a bit of time, right? You’ll be less conspicuous in the dark, and the party doesn’t start until midnight anyway.”

Matt looked out the window, and realized time had really gotten away from him. The sub had already set, and there was just a dim twilight outside. “I…I don’t know Carl, will people really…not notice?”

“Everything will be ok in a bit, alright? Just, you know, play the part,” Carl pulled a coat for him out of the closet by the door, and an overcoat for Matt, “ This will help keep you under wraps too–now come on, we need to get going, or we’ll miss the buses.”

Matt pushed against the fog that had settled over his mind. It was similar to what had afflicted him earlier, when he’d been under whatever spell “Jimmy” had cast on him. But before, when he’d felt addled, he hadn’t felt in control of himself. More like a dream than anything else. This though–it was like his brain had shifted down into first gear. Getting anything beyond a simple thought through was so difficult, and he he tried too hard, a headache would sear through his temples. He didn’t want to go out there. He didn’t want people to see him like this, even at night. He didn’t want to get arrested, or worse. But he…he couldn’t just stay here. It was obviously getting worse, and as much as he hated to admit it, going to the stupid party was the best choice–not that he could formulate any other option, if one existed. So he let Carl help him into the overcoat, which barely fit him at all, and wouldn’t even close all the way in the front, and followed him out, self-consciously trying to tug down the sweatshirt and pull the over coat around him at the same time, but he stopped when he heard a ripping sound come from the armpit. 

They got out onto the sidewalk, and everyone looked at him. No, they didn’t just look at him, they stared at him–hard. Eyes popped from heads, but thankfully (perhaps) most people were so obsessed with his strange face that they didn’t even notice his massive bulge that he couldn’t cover with the coat at all. He’d grown quite a bit taller indeed, and it was even easier to notice now, with everyone looking up at him as they walked, and Matt pulled closer to Carl, wishing he could have at least had a hat or something to try and cover his face a bit. He felt like a freak, but being with Carl made him feel a bit better. Just…just something about the way he smelled, made him feel a bit calmer, a bit…horny. His cock threatened to pop free from his sweats, and he focused as best he could, trying to keep his needs under control, and pushed himself away from Carl, trying to get away from whatever smell that was. This was not the time to lose control, especially not in public. 

Aside from a few minor incidents, the journey across town was without catastrophe. A young boy demanded that Matt let him feel his “mask,” and the parents seemed rather expectant. It terrified the kid, because of how warm it felt, and the parents tried to urge him to take it off, so he could show the boy it was fake; instead, Carl muttered an apology for them both, and hurried away. Later, on the bus, a group of teenagers in partial costume spent much of the ride pointing and snickering at him a few seats away. One of the boys pulled an apple from his backpack and lobbed it at him, telling him to “Eat up, Piggy!” The group dissolved into laughter, and Matt very nearly let the anger get the best of him, but Carl pulled him back into the seat. The group got off after another stop…and as humiliated as he was by the whole thing, his gut gave a growl, and Matt ended up eating the apple down–core, stem and seeds included. He also ended up giving an old woman a scare as they exited the bus, sending her screaming in the opposite direction down the street–but beyond that, perfectly normal–aside from the fact that he was some strange pigman wandering the streets of the city. Carl led him on for a few more blocks, until they arrived at The Barnyard. He couldn’t quite shake the feeling that he was about to make an even worse mistake, but what choice did he have, really? He followed Carl down the steps, through the door, and into the club.

– Chapter 3 –

Carl started down the hallway, but was caught off guard by a sudden right turn. The hallway had always just been a straight shot, and then he was in the bar, but the hallway continued, the lighting growing dimmer, odd sounds coming from the dark around them as they walked. The sounds were…they didn’t sound like recordings, but they also didn’t sound particularly human. Pleasure? Pain? Carl found himself going a bit slower, Matt pressing closer to him, his boyfriend’s musk muddling his brain again in the tight space. He leaned in and licked the back of Carl’s sweaty neck–he screamed and jumped around.

“What the fuck, Matt?”

“Sorry, you just…smell really good.”

“You don’t have to fucking freak me out like that.”

“Where are we even? This isn’t a bar, this is some weird tunnel.”

“Look, I…I’m not sure, alright?” Carl said, “Now come on, let’s figure this out.”

Matt wanted to press the subject, but ended up just following him. Thankfully, after another couple of turns Carl couldn’t remember, they emerged into a large room–it wasn’t the bar, however–if anything it looked like a massive storeroom, filled with piles and piles of clothes and equipment. There, in the dim, flickering light of several lanterns hung from the ceiling, was Jimmy. He had traded in his customary flannel and jeans for a suit that seemed better suited for a carnival barker, his face covered by a small mask over his eyes, though he was still perfectly recognizable by his bushy beard and hairy chest.

“Carl!” he said, “So glad you could make it. I was beginning to worry you weren’t going to show! The party’s already in full swing.” He spied Matt behind him and grinned, “Oh ho, and you did end up bringing your guest, I see.”

Matt gave a snort of disapproval. Jimmy didn’t seem to notice, and stepped forward, immediately trying to put his hands on Matt’s physique, only to be batted away by Matt’s trotters. “Hey! What the fuckin’ hell?”

Jimmy’s grin turned to a frown. “He saw himself? I told you no mirrors.”

“It was an accident.”

Jimmy sighed, “Well that does make things a bit more difficult then.”

“Well let me sili–I mean…simple it fer you,” Matt said, “Just change me back. I wanna be normal again, and then I’m gettin’ the hell outta here.”

“Well, the good thing is,” Jimmy said, “Everything will be back to normal in the morning, all on it’s own! But only if you stay. See, the spell is tied to the party here–if you aren’t here all night, then you’ll be stuck like this. So I suppose you might as well just make the best of it and stay, right?”

“Bullshit!” Matt said, stepping close to him so their chests touched, looming over him by several inches, but Jimmy was unfazed. “You did this, and you can change me back.”

“It really isn’t that easy, trust me.”

Matt huffed up, but before he could just start shouting up at him, Jimmy reached up pressed two fingers to the taller boar’s lips, and the breath sighed out of him, his eyelids drooping, his shoulders releasing all of their tension. 

“Is he always like this?” Jimmy asked, turning to Carl.

“Well, I mean…it was a bit of a shock.”

“Well, if you’d made sure he hadn’t seen himself, then he wouldn’t be being difficult at all.”

“If I had known what was going to happen, maybe I would have been able to prepare a bit better! You were more than a little vague…” Carl said, sighed, and continued, “Fuck, what the fuck am I even doing? Why in the fuck did I think this was even going to work? It’s hopeless. He hates me, and I don’t blame him. He should leave me, after all of this.”

“Oh shush,” Jimmy said, “He’s just scared.”

“Of course he’s scared! Why wouldn’t he be?”

“Well, he’d be having more fun if he wasn’t, that’s all I mean.” Jimmy looked to the still sagging Matt. His finger’s hadn’t left his lips, and he seemed to be sizing up a cut of meat, and that gave Carl a shiver.

“Look, just give him what he wants. Change him back, and let him leave.”

“I already said that it isn’t that simple.”

“Wait…seriously? I thought you were lying to get him to stay! You really can’t change him back?”

“Look, things will be just fine, mostly…probably…as long as you both stay for the party. Like I said, I’ve done this plenty of times, but usually, the less you know about the magic involved, the less opportunity you have to screw it up–not that you haven’t screwed it up already. I mean, the self-awareness alone, who knows what that might leave behind, but as long as we keep him fairly well addled for the rest of the night, he should be fine…ish…” Jimmy said, stroking Matt’s fat cheek with his other hand.

“You don’t sound very confident. What might go wrong?”

“Look, you were almost late for the party, and we don’t even have costumes for the two of you yet,” Jimmy said, “We’ll sort all of this out later, I promise, but why don’t the two of you focus on having some fun tonight? How about you Matt, you wanna have some fun, don’t you?” 

Matt’s snout turned into a drooling grin, and he nodded slowly.

“And since your boyfriend there already got to choose most of your costume, it’s only fair that you get to pick out the rest, right?”

Through all this, he hadn’t removed his fingers from Matt’s snout, and Carl could see a strange, greenish wisp wafting up from those fingers and into Matt’s piggish nose. He gave a great snort suddenly, and shook his head, trying to piece together what had been happening, “Were…you guys sayin’…something?”

“Nothing important, Matt–now, why don’t you pick out your costume?”

Something about that didn’t seem quite right–he hadn’t been planning on staying. “No I was gonna leave, I thought. Besides, I already…have clothes…”

“Do you?” Jimmy asked, and Matt felt the sweatshirt, sweatpants and overcoat he had on constrict around his burly figure, and he started clawing at the fabric around his neck, where it had cut off his breath. In a matter of seconds it had begun ripping, and Matt tore it the rest of the way off his frame, the shreds of cloth disappearing in the air before they could even hit the ground, leaving him heaving his big gut for breath, Carl amazed at the amount of changes that had happened while they’d been crossing the city. He was a few inches taller, and his body had solidified–even after his substantial second feeding. The fat he’d packed on earlier had been turning to muscle as they travelled, giving him a beefier physique with a solid, barrel chest and belly…and a massive cock hanging from his sheath, with two orange sized balls swinging below…and a short, curly tail above his ass. 

“I…I mean, I guess not…”

“Those weren’t really good clothes for a Halloween party, anyway. Why don’t you go digging for something a bit more…appropriate for a dirty pig like you?”

There was something wrong here, he’d been wanting to leave, but…but maybe he did want to stay. He couldn’t leave without clothes either way…and he could smell…something, in there, in the piles of those clothes out in front of him. His nose was suddenly so much more sensitive, and more than that, the dirtier something was…it was turning him on, the nasty clothes heaped around them. They all smelled so…filthy, his trotters taking a few uneven steps forward, until he tumbled down onto his hands and knees, and started rooting through the piles of dirty laundry with his face, hurling shirts, pants and underwear to the side with his tusks, snorting and huffing as he sought out the source of the nastiest, filthiest stench he could find, coming up, first, with a brown and yellow, crusty jockstrap in his mouth, and he grabbed it in his trotters, and did his best to get it over his legs–Carl rushing over to help him get it on. The pouch was well stretched, but even then it could barely contain his massive equipment. Matt rolled back over and crawled to a different pile, eventually surfacing with a pair of muddy and stained overalls, the fabric frayed and torn, and Carl again walked over to help him–though it was a struggle. He managed to get the overalls on him, but the smells around them had gotten Matt rather excited; he ended up on top of Carl and started grinding his crotch into him, grunting and kissing him until Jimmy walked over and pulled him off by the back of the overalls.

“Slow down now, after all, your boyfriend isn’t even in his costume yet. Since you did such a good job finding one for yourself, why don’t you find one for him too? One that’ll match your…tastes.”

Matt squealed with excitement, and Carl turned to Jimmy, “I don’t know if that’s really the best–”

“Oh hush–as if you haven’t gotten your way enough tonight already. It’s just for the party anyway–Stu’s told me a few tales of what you enjoy–let loose, have some fun for once!”

Carl watched Matt root about for a moment, and then a stomach churning thought occurred to him, “Wait…Stu isn’t…at the party, is he?”

“Well of course he is! Why wouldn’t he be?”

“I mean, what if…you know, we meet?”

Jimmy patted him on the shoulder, “I understand your concerns, but Stu is a professional. I’ve known him to get a bit attached to clients in the past, but we already talked about it, and you have nothing to worry about it. If you do see him, he swore to be that he’ll be on his best, behavior.”

“What do you mean, ‘attached to clients’?”

“It’s really nothing to worry about. Now go put on your costume, Matt’s almost done finding it.”

Matt had collected a small pile from the surrounding clothing, and was kneeling next to it, looking around in case he had missed something. A bit nervous at what he might have in mind, Carl still stripped off his clothes and handed them to Jimmy for safe keeping, and then walked over to see what his pig had found. First came a jockstrap as equally filthy as Matt’s, though a bit smaller, since he was now quite outclassed in that department. Then a nasty, well stained tanktop, a pair of muddy jeans, two crusty wool socks, some boots crusted with mud, a hi-fiz vest which had lost it’s luster quite a while earlier, and lastly a muddy yellow hard hat which stank of someone else’s head sweat. Once it was all on, he felt a bit ridiculous…and more than a little dirty. It didn’t help that nothing fit him very well–the jeans were too tight, the tank and vest too big, the hard hat sitting so low he had to tilt it back to keep it out of his eyes, the boots threatening to pull off his feet with each step. 

Jimmy walked over, obviously pleased from the smile, “A very good choice. Now, for a few finishing touches…”

Jimmy gave a flourish in the air…they waited a few moments but nothing seemed to happen. Carl turned to Matt, and realized his boyfriend had most certainly changed. Even though Matt had showered earlier and gotten himself reasonably clean, his appearance was looking similar to the clothes he’d picked out–mud caked on his elbows and wrists, and all up his arms and across his chest, where Carl could see them, were a series of tattoos–most of them rather redneck in subject and sloppily done. He also had thick, long beard sprouting across his face under and around his snout, even as his hair had shrunk back into his head, leaving him shaved bald…and a cigar. How had he missed the cigar? Matt had always been an adamant anti-smoker, but here he was, with a thick, long stogie clamped in his snout, puffing smoke…it was so…damn sexy. Along with the smell of the smoke, he also just plain stank–sweaty and musky, cum and piss and muck. Carl stepped closer, and realized that he was…looking down at Matt, even though the boar had been taller than him a second before. Something was in his mouth too–he took it out and found himself staring at a cigar of his own, equally massive…and his fucking hand. His very…very large hand. A very large, calloused, grimy hand…

Jimmy put a hand on his shoulder, “Try not to think about it too much–like I said before, the less you understand what’s going on, the better, alright big guy?”

That…that was smarter, probably. He didn’t really feel like thinking much anyway–it was giving him a headache. Matt leaned in, and they kissed, tasting each other’s smoky, dirty mouths for a few moments before pulling away, a bridge of droll connected their chins for a moment before breaking. He felt…different. Sizable. The gear that had felt so odd before now felt made for his body…or maybe a body slightly smaller than his. It…smelled like him too, like it was his–which for the night, he supposed it was. The kiss was interrupted by a very loud and resonant chime–a bell deep enough for the sound to resonate in their chests.

“What…what was that?” Carl asked.

“That’s the first bell–midnight already–it’s amazing how quickly time can fly down here.”

“Midnight? But it was eleven when we got here…”

“Yes, well…magic can bend…things, sometimes. It’s all very complicated, trust me. The bell helps us all keep on track. It will ring each hour from now on, until just before six o’clock–that’s dawn, at which point the party is over, and everything will be back to normal.” Carl wanted to ask more, but Jimmy spun around and walked off, still talking, “Now, how about we get to the party, lovebirds? I’ve been neglecting my duties as host long enough!”

“I…I ain’t sure ‘bout this, Carl,” Matt said under his breath, his voice suddenly coming out slower, with a long southern drawl, “I mean, I…I kinda like it, but…”

“Look, it’s just for a night, right?” Carl said, and grabbed his trotter hand in his, pulling him after Jimmy, “Try not tah think about it too hard.”

“I’m…kinda havin’ trouble thinkin’ at all, tah be honest,” Matt said, “Jus’ makin’ sent–sentaces is hard.” He exhaled a pair of smoke jets from his nose, “Uh…was I smokin’ before? I don’t…quite remember. Taste’s good, anyway.”

Carl took a drag off his cigar, and had to agree. It felt…natural enough, but that only scared him more. For the first time in this whole exercise, he was beginning to have his own doubts that this was completely safe–and those worries only escalated when Jimmy showed them through the next hallway and out into the bar proper.

It was a zoo, or to be more literal, it was a barn. The room was quite packed–Carl was surprised that enough people in the city shared his interests for the bar to be this full. All of the attendees were men, that he could see, although a few were…questionably so. In particular, they passed a cowman who still had a cock, although his balls had become an udder which was leaking something like milk onto the floor as he staggered past, mooing. Flannel, denim and leather abounded, aside from a few exceptions. One older fellow, still human like him, was in a police uniform (if he imagined him without the uniform, he looked awfully similar to a man he saw on the bus regularly during his commute) and crouched in front of him was a police dog–or someone who was mostly a police dog–licking the man’s cock openly in a booth. Pigs, horses, donkeys, bulls, goats–it was quite a menagerie, and Carl no longer felt entirely comfortable being there. He’d always regarded this place as some seedy, secret place–but to see it erupting out into the open made him feel…ashamed? Terrified? There was no easy word that came to his head, but the air stank of musk, and he was rock hard in his gritty jeans. Matt pulled closer to him, equally unsettled; Carl put his arm around the his pig’s shoulders, pulling him closer still, smelling their smoke, happy that he was there with him–or maybe he was simply happy that he hadn’t come alone.

The rumble was audible over the dull roar of the crowd, and more than a few patrons around them turned and looked right at Matt’s belly. “Sorry…guess I’m hungry again…” he muttered.

“Well we can fix that,” Jimmy said, and pointed towards one wall. They pushed through the crowd and came to a huge trough, laid out over about twenty feet along the wall, and all along the length were any number of pigs–and men, and man-pigs–with their faces shoved deep in the slop. “How about that? Eat all you like–it refills all night long. Eat yourself immobile if you want, I doubt Carl will mind one bit,” Jimmy said with a wink.

Matt wasn’t paying attention. He’d caught one whiff of the food and stomped over, eyes unfocused, drool flowing from his chops. He fell to his knees and shoved his face in, snorting and devouring as much as he could, leaving Jimmy and Carl to watch. 

“Satisfied?” Jimmy asked.

“I…I don’ know,” Carl replied, “Guess I didn’ really know what tah expect, but it wasn’t this.”

“It’s not about meeting expectations, Carl. It’s about experiencing pleasure, fleeting though it may be. Haven’t you figured that out yet?”

Carl got halfway through his reply before he realized Jimmy wasn’t standing beside him anymore. He looked around and the man had either disappeared, or made an amazing slip into the crowd around them. He looked at Matt stuffing himself, his cigar burnt out and forgotten on the ground beside him, and felt some mix of guilt and desire that he didn’t really feel like sorting out. He took a breath of smoke, and felt better for a moment, until a too familiar voice squealed his name, and the balance of his feelings shifted completely into guilt.

“I’ve been looking forward to seeing you tonight so much! You haven’t been coming around as often, ya know. Did you think I wouldn’t notice?” Stu came waddling up and pulled Carl into a big hug, his fat encompassing him in such a…familiar way, that Carl let himself sink in for a few moments–though the pig was smaller than he remembered. When he let him go, he was able to get a better look at him. The boar had always been on the short side, very chubby with stubby legs, and bristly hair all over his body. Tonight, however, he was in a silvery gown, with blush on his cheeks above his bearded snout, and a long blond wig on his head. “Hope you didn’t think I wouldn’t recognize you in costume, but I can’t say the get up surprises me much–you’ve always had a filthy streak, haven’t you? Do you know who I’m going as tonight? Come on, guess…” 

He leaned in close, batting some long, false eyelashes in his direction. Carl pushed him away, and looked to Matt. Stu followed his eyes, frowning.

“Who’s that? You looking at other pigs?” he laughed, but when Carl didn’t laugh with him, he stopped. “No seriously, who’s that?”

“That…that’s Matt…my boyfriend.”

Stu was less than pleased, “Jimmy’s said something about trying to play matchmaker again. He always tries to kill my fucking business.”

“Look, I didn’t know you’d be here, I just–”

“You didn’t think I’d be here? You really think I’d miss the best party of the year?”

“I didn’t know that! I didn’t–I mean–it was complicated.”

“Well, he’s busy anyway–why don’t we nip off and have some fun, big boy? I like how you’re looking, for sure. He won’t even know you’ve been gone.”

Carl shook his head.

“What, seriously? You think he can give you what I do? There’s no fucking way. I didn’t get this good at what I do through one of Jimmy’s fucking spells, this took years of work. I’m all pig and he’s just playing. I’ll show you what you really want, fucker,” he said, and slipped one trotter hand down the front of Carl’s pants, making him shiver, “I’m the only one who can handle you. The real you. I know what you like. You’re a beast–he can’t take it. After all, if he could take you, then your relationship wouldn’t be on the rocks, now would it?”

Carl took a step back, forcing Stu’s hand from his pants. This, he figured, must have been what Jimmy meant, when he said Stu could get too attached to his clients. “Look, I’m sorry…but I love him. I want to try and make it work.”

“Please, you didn’t bring him here because you love him, you brought him here because you want ass like mine without having to pay for it!” Stu said, pointing at Matt gorging himself in the trough, “You want a pig, but you don’t want me. Well fuck you–and when you two fall apart, which always happens whenever Jimmy tries to muddle with this shit, then I’ll be a shoulder you can cry on…at twice the price. Because once he sees the real you, he’s not gonna want you anyway, no matter how much of a pig you try and make him.”

Before Carl could object, Stu had spun around and stormed off into the crowd. Carl didn’t follow him. He looked over at Matt, but suddenly he didn’t feel very…sexy. What he wanted, he realized, was a drink. A strong drink. Matt seemed…content, for the moment at least. He probably wouldn’t notice if he slipped away for a moment, right? It took him a few minutes to work his way through the throng to the bar. Jimmy wasn’t tending tonight–it was an all-too-cheerful sheep dog. He ordered a whisky and coke, drank it straight away, and ordered a second. He was halfway through that glass when the realized the drink tasted a bit strange…like it had a tinge of grass to it. He asked the bartender what brand of whisky he’d used, and all the dog said was it was one of Jimmy’s specialties. For obvious reasons, that didn’t help him feel better. Still, it was just a drink, right? And if something happened, it was still just for the night, so what could it really hurt? In fact…why…why not order another one?

A barstool opened up next to him, and he settled onto it, the bartender bringing him a third round. He took this one a bit slower, relishing the flavor a bit more along with his second cigar, which he pulled from the pocket of his jeans. Sure, it was strange, but kind of nice. Like a fresh field, clover, wildflowers–maybe a tinge of manure. It didn’t help him feel less strange, however. He was too hot, even though he was just in a tank top. His boots were suddenly hurting his feet, and he ended up kicking them off–which felt much better. A headache struck at his temples, making his vision go a bit blurry. He swore, for instance, that if he crossed his eyes he could see his face…growing. But that…that didn’t make sense, did it? In the midst of it, he still noticed the bell tolling–one hour into the party, and things were already going terribly for him. The rest of the night wasn’t exactly shaping up to be much better. Still, he figured he’d disappeared for too long at this point–Matt was bound to be wondering where he’d been gone. 

He got up from the barstool, a bit unstable–then again, he’d just downed three surprisingly powerful drinks, so that much didn’t surprise him. What did feel odd, was that as the pain faded, he was left feeling…powerful. That was a bit too simple, but that was the only word he could seem to think of. The drinks had only slowed his head down further, and to be honest, the only thing he really wanted right now was a fuck. A good fuck, a rough fuck, the kind of fuck he’d only gotten from Stu, because if he was honest with himself, it wasn’t the fact that Stu was a pig which kept him coming back–well, it was part of it, for sure. But Stu…he could give him something. Something Matt had never been able to do, maybe something Matt couldn’t do. He walked back towards the trough, dimly aware that the crowd seemed to be parting easier for him this time. People seemed to be noticing him more, and they seemed a bit…scared? Awed? A bit of both? They all seemed smaller, that was for sure. He found Matt rather easily by the smell of him…somehow. He was scarfing down slop on his hands and knees, though he was quite a bit heavier, his gut nearly grazing the hay strewn floor around them. Seeing him, fuck–

Carl got down beside him, beside his pig, running his hands over his fat body, feeling Matt shiver as he did. Did it really matter that Matt couldn’t give him everything he needed? At least like this, he could…his thoughts trailed off, and he nuzzled Matt’s back, licking the spot between the straps of his overalls, tasting his sweat, snorting. Matt could sense that something was strange, but he…he really didn’t want to stop eating long enough to figure out what it was. Carl’s hands–he knew they were Carl’s, he could smell him (though he smelled much, much stronger than he had earlier…however much earlier that had been) but they didn’t feel quite like hands. They were hard and rough, and yet that felt amazingly good against his skin and the bristly hair filling in across his body. It surprised him when he felt, and heard the seat of his overalls rip open, the sudden draft as his ass was exposed to the air, but when Carl got down and started licking his hole, probing deep with his tongue, and something in Matt, that last bit of him frayed a bit more. He was just feeling so…so dirty, but also so free. He only noticed it too late to stop it, the piss flowing from his cock, soaking through his jock and right into his overalls, the front sopping wet, leaking piss to the floor, but he didn’t stop himself. He didn’t stop because it smelled amazing, because it felt amazing, because he’d secretly always wanted to, or maybe not, but he did now, and suddenly that was reason enough.

Carl’s tongue retracted, one rough hand smacking his fat ass, “Dirty fuckin’ pig, pissin’ all o’er yourself,” even his voice was gruffer than before, more gutteral. He hefted himself back up, snorting, hauled out his cock, and started pissing all over Matt, soaking him down with his stink, Matt feeling it run down all over his body, into his crevices and folds, making him even muskier. What was wrong with him? He shouldn’t be enjoying this, wanting this. He felt something pressing against his ass, shoving its way in. It hurt and he squealed, but Carl no longer found himself caring. His big cock was still leaking piss, but he wanted in. He wanted to fuck, he didn’t really care how much it might hurt the hole. 

“S-Slow down, ya fucker!” Matt managed to yell into his slop, “That ain’t yer fuckin’ pinky!” He got no reply, and finally pulled himself out of the trough long enough to look back over his shoulder, his chubby neck barely able to bend enough to see, and he let out something between a squeal and a scream. 

That wasn’t Carl. That was…that was some fucking, massive minotaur, horns and everything, with his foot long cock buried halfway in his asshole. He wrenched his way from the trough, now in a panic–the thing behind him clamped down on his thighs, hard enough to bruise, trying to drag him further back onto his cock. However, a well placed back kick to the bull’s large sack made him let go, and Matt was able to scramble up as best he could, lugging much more fat than before along with him, and he fled into the crowd, not stopping until he was certain he wasn’t being followed. Only after panting for a few minutes, trying to not vomit everything he’d just eaten, did he put together something he hadn’t noticed in his terror. That minotaur–it had been wearing Carl’s costume. 

Back at the trough, Carl was cursing under his breath, his sack throbbing in pain from Matt’s well placed trotter. Furious, he yanked his pants back up and looked around, but couldn’t see Matt among the crowd. However, he did see someone staring right at him, a few yards away–Stu. The pig had discarded the dress and wig and was now completely naked, though he hadn’t bothered to take off the blush or the eyelashes. The boar waddled up to him with a smug grin on his face. “See? I told you he wouldn’t be able to handle the real you.”

Carl tried to focus through the pain, through his lust. “Ya…ya did somethin’, I’m…”

“You know, as Jimmy loves to say, the less you think about it the better, big boy. Let’s just say the bartender is…a friend,” He bent down and licked Carl’s huge cock from head to root where it was still sticking out of the his sheath and the fly of his jeans, feeling him shiver. “You don’t scare me, you know. I know how to make big bulls like you happy. Come on, let’s go have some real fun–I might not even charge you, if you’re good.”

Stu walked off towards the back curtain and slipped behind it, heading for his sty. Carl ached for too many things, all at once, but everything came down to his aching cock. He glanced about for Matt one last time, and then stomped after Stu, huffing thick plumes of smoke, unable to think of a good reason why he didn’t want to.

– Chapter 4 –

“J-Jimmy?…Jimmy!” Matt shouted through the crowd, forcing his way over to where the large man was chatting with a couple of goats, “I need tah talk tah ya.”

Jimmy did his best to suppress an eye roll when he saw the pig stumbling towards him–this was a tough nut to keep happy, obviously. “Excuse me for a moment,” he said to the others, and turned to the pig. On a second look, however, it was clear that the pig was in actual distress, and he didn’t see Carl with him. “You look like a bit of a mess, Matt. What happened?” The words that fell out of Matt’s mouth came in no easily discernible order, and his panic was only ratcheting higher. Jimmy twirled one hand, a large glass brimming with a dark ale appearing in his hand, and thrust it under Matt’s snout. “Drink this down first–you’ve obviously had some shock.”  

Matt was suspicious–and for good reason, but even smelling the ale was making him feel a bit better. He took the glass in his awkward hands and drank it back in a few glugs, feeling a bit run down the sides of his mouth. When he finished, he gave off a great big belch–and he expected to feel a bit hazy from the alcohol, but if anything he felt more clear-headed than he had all night. Jimmy pulled a cigar from his pocket–Matt was happy to see it, and let Jimmy giving him a light–feeling immediately better with it in his snout again.

“Bit better?”

Matt nodded, sighing out a cloud of smoke.

“Good. Now, what’s going on? Where’s Carl?”

“That’s, Ah mean…” Matt took a deep breath, and he went back to the start, how he’d been eating for…well, he couldn’t quite be sure how long he’d been eating, but at some point he’d felt someone working him over, and he’d assumed it must have been Carl. He glossed over some of the details–Jimmy had no trouble filling them in–the pig was still soaked to the skin with piss–and skipped to the part where he’d looked back and found himself staring up at some massive minotaur, or bull, or something. He’d freaked out and gotten away, but it was only after that he’d realized the bull had been wearing the same costume as Carl had. He’d gone back to the trough to look for him, but he’d disappeared, and he’d spent the last…who knew how long looking for him all over the room. He’d heard the bell go off twice at some point–he assumed for two in the morning, and he’d spotted Jimmy here, and hoped he might be able to help him find Carl.

Jimmy listened attentively, and when Matt ran out of story, he frowned. “Well, it sounds like Carl ended up getting…something at the bar, but I gave very clear instruction as to who should receive what…this is a rather embarrassing mix up, I must say. Follow me, let’s see if we can find out what happened.”

He moved through the crowd towards the bar, Matt struggling to keep up with him. Even though he was taller, with a longer gait, Jimmy could somehow flow through everyone, leaving Matt to stumble and push his way through, muttering apologies in every direction. He caught up in time to see Jimmy talking in a rather stern tone of voice to a dog behind the bar, who had his head down and ears back. He tried to ask what he’d learned, but Jimmy was no longer paying attention to him, just striding off towards one wall of the bar where a curtain was hung over a doorway, and Matt hustled off after him, sweat pouring from his body, the fat working its way off his body little by little, thankfully, as he walked, leaving him with a more manageable, if still very hefty, body. He reached the curtain after Jimmy had already gone through, and ducked behind it, finding himself in a rather dull looking locker room, with a hounddog manning a desk next to another door. 

“Interested in a room for an hour?” the hound asked, “you’re welcome to pay by the hour, and…are you alone? I’d be happy to match you up with someone, if you give me your preference.”

“No…what? I mean, did Jimmy just come through here?”

“Boss? I mean, he did–hey, wait! You have to pay first,” he said, trying to stop Matt from going through the door, but he steamrolled by him and into a long hallway lined with doors. Some were standing open. Behind the closed doors, he could hear all manner of squeals, groans, howls and grunts coming from them, but it was about halfway down that he saw Jimmy pounding on a door and fiddling with a large keychain full of keys, shouting at whoever was on the other side. Matt was exhausted from trying to keep up with him, and he walked down the hallway, heaving for breath around the cigar still clamped in his teeth. Jimmy found the right key, apparently, worked it into the lock and threw open the door, storming into the room. A few seconds after him, Matt reached the doorway and was able to see what was happening inside.

The entire room was filthy, the floor slick with mud and covered with straw, and it stank like a barn. On one large heap of straw to the side was the bull Matt had seen earlier…was Carl, actually. Matt could…recognize him now. He was lying on his back in the straw, and mounting him was a massive boar, shorter than Matt was now, but quite a bit thicker, and a bit more feral–large tusks sticking up from his fully formed snout, bristly hair covering his rough hide. He had a leash wrapped up in one trotter, connected to a collar around Carl’s thick, muscular neck, pulled taut, forcing him to keep his neck raised, even as he tried as hard as he could to thrust deeper into the pig’s hole, his own hooved hands bound up in front of him with chain manacles, both of them snorting and grunting and heaving, covered with sweat, neither of them paying any attention to Jimmy in the middle of the room shouting at them–or rather, shouting at the boar, who was apparently named Stu.

“Fucking get off him Stu! Don’t even try and tell me you don’t remember what happened last time you pulled this shit with me.”

The pig slipped down further onto Carl’s cock, making him blurt out a long, loud moo of lust, “I don’t know, Jimmy, he doesn’t seem to want me to get off him very much, and he is a customer. Isn’t the customer always right? I can’t help it that I’m a better fuck than his stupid boyfriend,” Stu said, throwing a quick glance over to Matt in the doorway, and tightening his hold on the leash with a snorting laugh.

“I said get off of him!” Jimmy shouted, and some strange force picked Stu up into the air, the leash unwinding from his trotters. He was still laughing and grunting, as he was thrown him up against the opposite wall on his back, pinning him there, Jimmy stalking over, the two of them trying to shout their way over each other. His cock no longer inside anyone, Carl gave a snort and looked up, trying to figure out where he was, his balls aching with unfulfilled desire and started jacking his cock with his bound wrists as best he could, snorting and mooing.

It was a mess, and Matt found himself unsure of whether he should walk away and try to pretend that he’d never been a part of any of this, and…and a second desire to…to walk over there and help that big bull take care of his needs. Because he was horny too–in fact, he’d been horny for months. In all the time Carl had been slipping away here, Matt had been the one to stay true. Not because he didn’t have a choice–he’d always had more than a few fuckbuddies who’d been willing to play with him in the past. No, he’d stayed loyal because he’d wanted to, for Carl, and all those months of jacking off, they just weren’t enough. That sex earlier in the day, that fuck at the trough…rough but…much too brief. He’d been terrified, but he’d also…he’d also enjoyed it. He didn’t know if that was him. He didn’t know if that was the costume, or the the potion. He didn’t know if there was really a difference anymore.

Carl rolled his head around, getting closer, and finally noticed Matt in the doorway. He stopped what he was doing, his hands frozen, his eyes wide. “M-Matt? Oh fuck, Matt, I…I mean, I don’t…it was, I mean…All I wanted was–”

That was it. That was all of it that he could take, and Matt turned around and started off back down the hallway. Because he didn’t care what Carl wanted; what he cared about was that Carl didn’t seem at all interested in what Matt wanted, in what Matt might be able to give him.

Carl struggled up from the straw, rolling off onto his knees, struggling to pull his jeans back up and get them up over his cock. He ended up getting the button done up, his massive cock hanging out the front–his jockstrap had already been torn off by Stu earlier. “Matt–Matt!” he shouted after him, “Wait–wait just a fuckin’ minute, I’m so fuckin’ tired of ya just walking away from me.”

Matt walked faster, but his legs couldn’t match Carl’s massive stride. The bull caught up to him in the locker room, grabbed him by the back of his overalls, and threw him into a corner of the room, blocking him in. “Will ya jus’ talk tah me? I’m sorry alright? I don’t–”

“Ah’m fuckin’ tired a listenin’ tah yer bullshit, Carl! Jus’ let me fuckin’ go. It’s obi–ovius ya don’t wanna be wit’ me.”

“Don’t wanna–Fuck Matt, why the fuck do ya think I did all a this, if I didn’ wanna be wit ya?”

“Ah don’ fuckin’ know! Ya drag me all the way ‘ere, ‘n ya still end up fuckin’ that pig!”

Neither of them said anything for a moment. 

“Have…Have ya got a cigar I can have? I could use one bad…” Carl finally asked. Matt sighed, but rummaged in his pocket, finding one with a lighter, sticking it in Carl’s snout and lighting it for him, since his hands were still bound up. “Thanks,” he said, “Look, Matt, I’m sorry. I don’…know wha’ happened.”

“Ya don’ know wha’ happened? What the fuck ya talkin’ ‘bout?”

“Yeah! I was trying tah git down wit’ ya, and ya freaked the fuck out! Ya say all this ‘bout wantin’ tah be wit’ me, and yer the one who went ‘n ran off first. Face it–ya can’t fuckin’ handle me! You can’ handle this, but this is me too! If ya wanna be wit’ me, then…then sometimes, I jus’…fuck.”

Would ya fuckin’ look at yerself?” Matt shouted, “If ya saw that fuckin’ yer hole, you’d a flipped out too!”

Carl’s snout curled up in confusion, “What?”

“Ya mean…oh fuck, a course,” Matt said, grabbed Carl’s bound hands and pulled him over to a bank of mirrors in the locker room, where he figured out how to unhook Carl’s hands from each other, “Have a fuckin’ look at yerself, ‘n ya’ll see what Ah mean.”

Carl knew he’d been feeling strange ever since those drinks at the bar, but he still hadn’t quite been able to articulate what was wrong with him. Hell, he hadn’t seen himself since he’d put on the costume, and even that had been odd, walking around, feeling “bigger”, but not really able to tell what had changed, exactly. For the last while, all he’d really been able to focus on was how horny he’d been, how sensitive his cock had been, and how…eager Stu had been to make him feel good. He looked in the mirror, and just like Matt earlier that day in in his kitchen, his jaw dropped when he saw himself, the veil of magic peeling away from his eyes.

No wonder he felt massive–he was massive. Next to him, in the mirror, Matt had to be close to six foot four–a big, hulking piece of boar–and Carl was easily a foot taller, his head a bit too close to the ceiling to make him feel comfortable, the two…horns pushing their way out of his temples coming dangerously close to scraping it. They grew out a few inches and then arced up, around the sides of the hard hat he still had on. His face had grown out similar to Matt’s, but his mouth was wider, his teeth broad and flat behind his lips, his wide nose pierced with a thick, silver ring–though he couldn’t remember when that might have happened to him. He still had on the collar Stu had put on him. He reached up and unhooked it with a bit of fumbling–it had to be at least a foot and a half long to reach around his massive neck. His entire body was coated with a thick layer of brown hair, but he could still see his skin underneath, and the tattoos coating his body, much like he’d seen on Carl earlier. He no longer had hands–much like Matt–it looked like a hoof split into three black, solid fingers–he also could see why his boots had felt so uncomfortable–his feet had become actual hooves. The rest of him had bulked up–he was packed with muscle, his arms bulging out of the tank, which was riding up, no longer able to contain his big gut. The cock hanging out of his jeans had to be at least a foot long, and his balls were equally sizable and covered with the same brown hair all over the rest of him. He looked like…like a brute. Like the brute he’d…always kind of felt like, especially when he was with Stu. No wonder Matt had been so terrified of him–if that had walked up behind him and started fucking him, he would have had a few questions too.

“Fuck, is this why Ah sound like such a fuckin’ hick? Ah look like I jus’ rolled in from the trailer park,” Matt said beside him, looking at his own reflection too.

Carl looked over at him, smelled him. He still reeked of their piss from earlier, and he…he couldn’t help but want him. Not just because he was there, like with Stu, but because…because it was Matt. “I think ya look pretty hot,” he said, stepping closer to him, pushing their bellies together. “Kinda makes me wanna finish what Ah started back by that trough.”

“We…we were tryin’ tah have a ser–surios talk, Carl…Ah wanna know what ya have tah say fer yerself…” he trailed off, sudddenly more interested in how good he smelled–how good they both smelled, actually, and how hard the bull cock pressing against him was, under his gut. 

“No, Ah don’t…I don’ got anythin’ tah say,” Carl said, “Ah can’ make this better. All Ah know, is that this…this is me. This is me too, this is maybe me more‘n anythin’ else. Now ya know, Ah shoulda told ya before all a this, Ah know. Ah spent…so much time tryin’ tah hide it from ya…but Ah think ya’ve been hidin’ somethin’ from me, too.”

“Ah don’–”

Carl pressed his hoof to his lips, quieting him, “No–let’s…let’s not be that us, fer a bit. Hell, I’d be happy never bein’ that us ever again. That old us. Let’s try…somethin’ different.”

The bell rang out three times, as Carl took the collar and wrapped it around Matt’s neck, pulling it tight, and Matt’s mind raced. What…what was he doing? Was he gonna just…let him do this to him? He kind of wanted to, he kind of wanted…wanted all of this. Maybe…maybe this was part of him, as much as he hated admitting it. Carl wrapped the leash up in his hoof, pulling it tight, bent down and kissed him, his long tongue pushing it’s way into Matt’s snout, exhaling smoke into him, feeling the pig suck it from his lungs. 

“This is…hot and all,” the hound behind them said, “But are you two gonna get a room, or just fuck right there?”

“Don’t know–ya got somethin’ a bit…muddy, for me ‘n my hog to play in?”

“A mudroom? Sure thing,” the goat said, and took a key from under the desk, “That’ll be fifty bucks an hour…hey!” 

Thanks, we’ll take it,” Carl said as he walked past, picking the key up from the desk with a snort, and marched off down the hallway, pulling Matt snorting and grunting behind him, amazed at how much this was turning him on. 

“Fine, I’ll…I’ll just put it on your tab then!” the goat shouted behind them. Carl found the room and pushed it open, shoving Matt into it, watching him fall in the pit of mud in the middle of the room and start rolling around in it, grunting, and Carl snorted, his cock rock hard, and followed, shutting the door behind him.

Quite a while later, Jimmy finally emerged from Stu’s room, his tuxedo rather muddied and dirty. He focused and cleaned himself up again before walking off, already dreading having to try and sort out the mess Stu had made of all of this, and cursed himself for always trying to play matchmaker! Why couldn’t he ever just be the proper, uninvolved businessman? He shook his head and passed by one of the mudrooms, where he heard a very low, familiar squeal, and a voice, gruff and deep, shouting, “That’s right pig, ya like daddy’s cock in your hole? Fuckin’ take it! Take all a it!” Followed by a long, extended moo.

Obviously, things had sorted themselves out. He fiddled with the ring of keys hanging from his waist. He should probably check on them and make sure everything’s ok…but then again, it sounded like the two of them were…busy. Hadn’t he just been saying he should butt out more often? besides, he had a party to host, and those two had sucked up so much of his time already–at least this way the two of them might sort out their problems on their own. 

Four bells rang, and eventually, five more. The party was beginning to wind down a bit, and Jimmy had forgotten about the two of them in the room entirely. Inside, Matt and Carl had finally reached a point of exhaustion. Both of them naked at this point, Carl was lolling half in, half out of the mud pit in the center of the room. Matt was coated with it, and it suited him. He still had on the collar, Carl still had the leash in his hand, pulling his head around to different parts of his musky body, Matt happily licking the bull’s fur clean of their piss, cum and mud. Matt had to be honest–that had been the dirtiest, but best, sex of his life, and he didn’t need to talk to Carl to know his big bull felt the same way. 

The bells started again–dawn already. Carl knew that meant the two of them should get out and leave, but he was suddenly feeling so lethargic. By the fourth chime, he looked down and saw that Matt had stopped licking–he’d fallen asleep–his head across his thick thigh, cock against his face. By the fifth, Carl was asleep too. Out in the bar, the rest of the revellers had fallen into the same slumber, all of them except Jimmy, who was standing in the midst of them all, pleased that yet another Halloween party had gone so well, even better than last year’s. As they all slept, he saw everyone around him start to revert back to their usual selves. Some had a few…lasting changes, but you couldn’t do magic without a few consequences. Still, as long as you didn’t think about it too hard and take too well to the change, you could usually get away relatively unscathed. 

Some, of course, had never planned on getting away without a few changes, some more extreme than others. The older man in the cop costume was slumbering in a booth, a german shepard curled up under his feet–he’d be having an interesting life for a year–or longer, if he ended up preferring life as man’s best friend. With a wave, those normal enough to go back to their lives disappeared–all of them would wake up in their own beds. Sure, maybe not the exact same beds–a few of them might have taken to their costumes, and find themselves in a…new walk of life. The magic usually managed to sort it out well enough, at least, though he’d never really been able to figure out why it affected some people more than others. The only people who remained were those looking stuck in the middle. He’d have to have some awkward conversations with them when they woke up in a few hours. They’d probably be stuck working with him for the next year–still, there were worse fates, he supposed. He realized that he had never actually checked in on Carl and Matt–he stepped over the remaining bodies in the bar and slipped behind the curtain, hoping he wouldn’t be stuck with either of them for the next year–one night had been plenty exhausting. He unlocked the door to the mudroom, peeked inside, and it was empty, thank goodness. Matt would probably be a bit…thicker, but hopefully they wouldn’t be in for too much of a shock when they woke up in a few hours. 

– Chapter 5 –

Carl let out a low grunt, the sunlight slanting in at an odd angle across his face. Wasn’t…wasn’t the window usually on the other side? His head hurt, either way–what a fucking party. He had no idea how in the hell he’d gotten home–the last thing he could remember was the mudroom, Matt licking him clean…

He was already horny, his cock hard with morning wood. He rolled over, listening to Matt’s loud, violent snoring. He was turned away from him; Matt inched closer, pressing his gut into the small of his back, nuzzling his beard against the back of Matt’s hairy neck, feeling the old leather collar there Matt refused to take off–the silly pig. He pushed his cock between Matt’s ass cheeks, getting his still loose hole a little slick with precum, and the slipped the head in gently, inch after inch, until Matt finally woke with a snort. “Fuck, yer still hard after all tha’ last night?”

“When the hell’m Ah not hard?” Carl said, pushing it in the rest of the way, listening to Matt snort in pleasure, feeling him push back. He wormed his arm under Matt’s bulk and pulled him tight to him, spooning him with his cock buried to the hilt. There was…more of Matt than he could remember…or was there? His big hands found Matt’s big nipples and started tweaking them, licking his ear and nibbling at it with his teeth as he thrust in and out a bit quicker, eventually rolling him over, face down, and mounting him, cumming deep inside him after a few minutes, and then collapsed down on him…and looked around the room.

This…this wasn’t his apartment.

Hell, this wasn’t even an apartment at all!

He pushed himself up, looking around–or rather up and down the single wide trailer where they’d woken up. The queen bed was at one end, and through a flimsy door he could see a kitchenette piled with dishes, and at the other end a living room, side tables with ashtrays filled with cigar butts and ash. 

He licked his lips–he needed a cigar, actually…what…had he been thinking about again?

He slipped his way out of Matt’s hole, his pig rolling back over, playing with his hefty gut before wrapping his hands around his cock, jacking it slowly while he grunted a bit. Carl rolled his legs off the side of the bed, grabbed a cigar from the humidor there, and lit it. 

“Fuck, git me one too, would ya?” Matt asked. Carl handed him the one he’d just started, and lit a second one for himself, before taking over for Matt’s hand, slowly milking his…very large cock. His…strange looking cock, actually, or was it that strange? It didn’t look quite human–the shaft twisted oddly, but that was just how it looked…right? Matt went back to tweaking his meaty nipples, moaning around his cigar until he too exploded, shivering with pleasure as wave after wave washed over him, long after his cock had stopped spurting. Carl licked the cum off his still muddy hand, and wondered what that must feel like. He’d always been a bit jealous of Matt’s massive orgasms. 

Matt was content to loll for a bit longer in bed, and Carl was again struck by a sense that something was off. This…this wasn’t where he lived. Or, more accurately–this is where he lived now, he knew that somehow, but this isn’t where he’d lived before this, he could remember…kind of. It was like trying to hold onto a dream, but the more he focused on it, the clearer it came. He looked down at himself–his firm pecs and solid gut, his cock hanging down between his legs off the side of the bed, still dribbling cum. It was…huge. At least a foot long, and it too looked a bit strange. Not at all like Matt’s–but the head seemed a bit misshapen and narrow, and it was very pink, but it was…his, wasn’t it? 

He needed to see himself better. He got up, vertigo hitting him as he did, considering how close his head was to the ceiling. he had to duck and turn to the side slightly just to get through the door in the trailer and into the bathroom. It reeked of piss and didn’t look like it had been cleaned in quite a while–the mirror was grimy, but he could see himself well enough–the short hair, the bushy beard with flecks of gray, the big bull ring through his septum, studs in his ears, and smaller rings in his nipples. He had his tattoos from…before. He couldn’t remember when he’d gotten them all exactly, but there they were anyway, all over his arms, chest and gut–even circling his neck. It seemed wrong, and yet normal, which only made it feel more wrong. Feeling a bit nervous, he found himself chuffing a bit harder on the cigar, which at least helped him calm down a bit. 

The bed creaked, and after a few moments, Matt appeared in the doorway of the bathroom, and squeezed behind Carl to get in front of the toilet. He was bigger too–though not as tall as Carl–with a thick, barrel body that still sagged slightly, counterbalanced by a wide ass. Just like Carl, he too was covered with hair, and beneath that, just as many tattoos as him. His beard was quite a bit larger, and his head was shaved bald. He grabbed a sizable beer stein from the top of the toilet’s tank–though Carl wasn’t sure why it was there–until he saw Matt put in under his cock, and with a grunt, he started pissing into it, filling the massive glass at least three quarters of the way before he finally shook his cock, spraying piss everywhere, and raised it to his lips, drinking down his own hot piss.

“Wha’…what the hell’r ya doin’?” Carl asked.

“Huh? Why, ya wan’ some? Got plenty. Well, enough fer me, ‘less ya got some too,” Matt smirked, taking another drink, a good bit running down into his beard, he slipped the stein under Carl’s cock, rubbing his bull gut with the other.

He…did want some, but that was beside the point. This wasn’t…He felt his cock release, adding his piss to the stein, the heady scent filling the bathroom with their smoke. It brimmed over in a matter of seconds, piss slopping onto the bathroom floor, Matt pulled it out, got down, and finished drinking the rest of Carl’s piss right from his cock–Carl reached down and picked the stein up in his hand, and took a long drink of their mixed piss. “Fuck, tha’s better,” he said, licking his lips, “Ah never feel right ‘til Ah git mah first drink a piss in the mornin’.” Matt was only half listening–he dropped to his hands and knees, cigar on one hand, face to the floor licking up the puddle of piss Carl had made between them. Matt finished cleaning the floor, and stood back up, taking the stein back and having another drink from it, and Carl asked, “Matt, do ya…feel like somethin’s…different tahday?”

“Whadya mean?”

“Ah…Ah’m not sure myself.”

“Well, Ah got everythin’ Ah want,” he said, stepping closer to Carl, inhaling his smoke and musk, “Got mah bullfuck, got mah piss, ‘n after Ah git breakfast, everythin’ll be jus’ fine. Come on, Ah’ll cook.”

Carl sat down at the cluttered table and watched Matt get to work in the kitchen, and food came out in a steady stream–pancakes, scrambled eggs, sausage (chicken, of course)–he had no idea how he was able to navigate the mess and make it happen, but they tucked in–Matt eating much more than Carl, but the nagging thought still wouldn’t leave him. They finished up, leaving the dishes were they fell, and Carl said, “Let’s go out tonight.”

“We were just at The Barnyard, Carl, ‘n Ah don’ feel like drivin’ all the way tah the city. Ah think it rained last night, why don’ we find a big puddle ‘n have some fun closer tah home?”

“Don’ ya…haven’t ya noticed that…that this ain’t all right? That we’re…this…” Carl tried to finish the sentence, but everything in his head either sounded insane or made no sense, even to him, “Look, Ah still owe Jimmy fer the room last night, we should go pay.”

“We ain’t gonna git paid til Friday though.” Carl gave Matt his “I’m the boss” stare, and the pig backed down. He loved Carl, but he could be so damn stubborn. “Fine, but Ah git tah pick the outfits…” Matt said, with a wink, and started digging around the piles of clothes littered around the trailer. He tossed Carl his well worn leather pants and a bulldog harness–for himself he got in a full harness, and over that a dirty jock, bulging obscenely from trying to contain his massive bulge. 

“Yer goin’ lookin’ like that?”

“Ah never wear more ‘n this, ya know that.”

At…at least put on some o’eralls, fer the ride.”

Matt rolled his eyes, but did as Carl asked. Carl pulled on the leather pants, but he could only fit into them by forcing his thick cock down one leg, where it fell into a well worn bulge, his crotch still bulging out with his massive balls. They pulled on their boots, and climbed into Carl’s old truck, pulled out of the trailer park, and drove toward the city. It was a long drive–about an hour and a half, but they made it regularly. Carl had no real idea they’d ended up so far away, but he somehow knew his way around the winding back roads so he could get to the highway. Matt occupied himself during the long ride by sucking Carl off slowly on the way, jacking his own cock as he did. 

Night was just falling as they arrived, managed to park on the street, and headed into the bar–but as soon as they were inside, Matt unhooked the overalls and stashed them away by the door. “What the hell’r ya doin’? Put those back on,” Carl asked.

“What? Alright, wha’ the hell’s the matter wit’ ya tahday?” Matt asked, “Ya’ve been actin’ all weird since we got home las’ night.”

“Ah don’t even remember gettin’ home, do ya?”

“Sure! Ah mean, we must’ve, right? We woke up in bed after all.”

“So ya don’t remember actually gettin’ home?”

“It’s all a lil’ blurry, but who fuckin’ cares? Yer the one who wanted tah go out tahnight, so we’re out! Let’s have some fuckin’ fun at least,” he turned and headed for the bar proper, “Honest tah goodness, ya can be so damn frast–fusteratin’ sometimes.”

Carl followed him. The bar was back to normal, including the clientele. Like always, the room seemed to be split between two camps–on one hand, was everyone waiting for the curtain, and on the other was the rowdy regulars…who were all shouting Matt’s name as he walked over, joking and kissing, blowing smoke at them…and Carl knew them too. All of them. By name. He knew what they did for a living, what their piss tasted like, who liked taking a round with him and Matt in the mudroom. It was…too much to take in, and he veered to the bar where Jimmy was polishing glasses in his jeans and flannel, eyes widening when he saw Carl plodding over to him.

“Huh…” Jimmy said, “I…suppose you’ll be wanting an explanation then? And a drink–you’ll definitely be needing a drink, I think.”

“No fuckin’…ya mean…Ah ain’t goin’ crazy?” he said, propping himself up on a barstool.

“No crazier than the rest of them,” Jimmy said, looking over at the mob of men which Matt had joined.

“Ya knew this was gonna happen…Wha’ the hell, Jimmy?”

“No, I knew that this ‘could’ happen,” Jimmy replied, setting a beer down in front of him. “It’s an important difference. Did Matt notice at all? It doesn’t look like it.”

“No, he’s got no damn clue. Look, how do we change back? Ah can’t, Ah mean, Ah kinda like it, ya know, but we can’t…we got jobs we gotta  go back tah tahmorrow.”

“Well, you don’t have the jobs you used to have, I can tell you that.”

“Of course Ah do! Ah was workin’ construction–we both were…right? Nah, Ah mean…what…was Ah doin’ bahfore…” his mind drew a blank, “Look, jus’ change us back, alright? No harm no foul.”

“Well…it’s complicated, you see. With magic, the more you notice what’s going on, the more likely the change…sticks to you. And I can’t just wave my hand and put everything back–see, it’s kind of like this…” Jimmy spoke his explanation, and Carl listened as best he could, but it was kind of hard to follow–especially since Jimmy kept using these big words he didn’t recognize. He focused on drinking the beer Jimmy had given him instead. It was…different than the one he’d always had before, but it was nice. The more he drank it though, the less since Jimmy was making…and the less he cared about whatever he was talking about. Carl didn’t know how to get him off the topic, so he just fidgeted on the bar stool. 

Finally he interrupted him, after finishing the rest of the beer, “Jimmy, Ah gotta be honest–Ah got no fuckin’ idea wha’ yer talkin’ ‘bout.”

Jimmy smiled, and shrugged, “I wouldn’t worry about it–it doesn’t really matter anyway, does it? By the way…I think Matt might be getting a little, uh, carried away over there.”

“Gah fuckin’…” Carl said, looked over his shoulder, and saw Matt on his hands and knees, face buried in one of their friend’s crotches. “He ain’t even had nothin’ tah drink yet…”

“Here, take him a beer–I like him better drunk,” Jimmy said with a laugh.

“Heh, tha’ makes two a us…” Carl said, and took the two beers, cigar clamped in his jaw, and walked over to join his friends, his concerns now just a shadow of a shadow, “Who the hell told ya fucker’s ya could git mah pig all riled up without me?”

The guys all laughed, and the curtain slipped up on the other side of the bar, another man scurrying out, nervous and edgy. It gave Carl a sudden sense of deja vu, but more than anything, he was glad that wasn’t him. He sat down with the rest of the guys, Matt digging out his cock and sucking him hard, Carl rewarding him with his first load of piss for the evening. Sure, they had work early tomorrow, but they needed this too. Hell, the Barnyard was really the only place either of them felt at home anymore, with the rest of the guys, with Jimmy.

“You still have a hundred and fifty on your tab Carl, don’t forget!” Jimmy shouted at him.

“Yeah, yeah–payday’s Friday,” he said, grabbed the back of Matt’s head, and drove his cock down into his throat, happy and content in the Barnyard.

The Haunting of Jason Camwell

So, this is the story that was too much for Patreon to handle, so no surprise to anyone, it’s pretty extreme. Content warnings include: extreme humiliation, incest, dubious consent, rape, scat, and castration. Consider yourself warned if you read any further!

Part 1 – Ghostly Gaslighting

Jason Camwell woke up with a start, the crunch of metal and the sound of the explosion fresh in his mind from the dream–the same dream he’d had for a couple nights now, ever since the weekend. It had been an accident. It was the Thursday of Spring Break, and he’d left the week long party the wrestling team had thrown for themselves at a cabin up in the woods. Jason had been drinking too much, but he’d gotten a real horny text from Amanda, his ex who was back on campus and clearly horny. He figured he’d spend a couple days fucking her before having to go back to school on Monday. He’d left the cabin, been driving down the mountain, when he’d gotten stuck behind a biker who was going rather slow down the steep and winding road, with a sizable ravine to their left. Jason had gotten impatient, gone to pass him on the right, only to misjudge a rather sharp turn that was coming up. It happened incredibly fast. He knocked up against the bike, the fellow had lost control, slammed into the barrier on the corner, and both he and the bike had flipped over into the darkness. As Jason kept driving, horrified but not willing to stop and check, he heard that crunch, and that explosion, but no one had seen him.

That was two days ago now, and so far, Jason had heard nothing about any of it. He’d hooked up at Amanda’s place like nothing was wrong, but that hadn’t been much of a distraction, so he’d come back to the house he shared with one other guy, named Harold, to chill out and decompress before classes resumed. He of course hadn’t bothered filing a report or admitting what he’d seen. Jason had a future after all. He was a senior in college getting ready to graduate, and while he wasn’t exactly the best player on the team, his father was quite wealthy and worked at the school as the dean of athletics. Before that though, he’d worked with several major league football teams, and had used his connections to secure his son a cushy position as a team’s psychologist. He’d be a millionaire in a few years, and wouldn’t have to risk a bunch of brain damage to get there. That biker was probably just some stupid fucking mountain hick, probably drunk himself. If he’d just gotten out of the way sooner, or slowed down before the turn, none of it would have happened like that. Really, it had been the biker’s fault, he’d told himself, but that didn’t make the guilt go away entirely. He sat up in bed, and for a split second, he was certain he saw someone in the room with him–an older fellow, rather grizzled with a long beard, wearing biker leathers and heavily muscled, his eyes just these two hollow pits of anger–but when he turned on the light, he was gone. Just his head playing tricks on him, he was sure, but that didn’t make getting back to sleep that night any easier. He did manage eventually, but he was exhausted when he woke up Monday morning, and he couldn’t seem to shake the sensation that he was being watched.

He went out into the main room of the house, where Harold was already up and drinking his morning coffee at the table, reading the news on his tablet. Harold was, as far as Jason was concerned, a beta, and a faggot, though he knew he couldn’t use those sorts of words around the college–too much cancel culture these days. They were both psychology majors, but beyond that, they didn’t share much in the way of similarities. While Jason was focused on sports psychology, Harold was pursuing a degree in neuroscience, and so he was constantly swamped with insanely difficult classes, spending almost all of his time in his room studying. Jason didn’t see why he even bothered–he’d just end up stuck in some boring, poorly paid academic position, saddled with student debt for the rest of his life. Some guys just didn’t understand how to live, he supposed. He was sure that Harold felt similarly about him in his own way. They weren’t living together out of mutual respect, after all. Jason’s rich parents provided him a stipend for living expenses, which included rent, but he had more cash to party if he didn’t have to pay the whole thing himself. He didn’t want his house to become the party house though–that’s what the frat houses on campus were for, after all. So he opted to rent a room to Harold, a boring, but quiet square, rather than one of his hard partying buddies. 

Jason put together his protein shake, when Harold let out a low whistle over his morning cup of coffee. “That’s brutal,” Harold said.

“What?” Jason asked.

“Accident up on one of the mountain highways. Some biker jumped the rail and fell five hundred feet into some ravine. They’re just now hauling up the wreckage.”

Jason’s heart caught in his throat, but he didn’t dare ask Harold for details, worried he might give himself away. He pulled up his own phone, found the article and read through it himself, but heaved a sigh of relief at the end. As far as he could tell, the highway patrol were considering it to be a simple matter of the biker losing control and shooting off the road–there was no evidence of anyone else being involved. His own car had a decent scratch on it, but he drove a cheap beater car out here anyway–his nice car was back home safe with his parents. He was going to be fine, it looked like, and that was enough to make him feel better. He finished his protein shake, got dressed for the gym, with his clothes for class tucked in his gym bag, and left the apartment. As he shut the door, he once again saw that strange figure from before though, that biker standing in the living room, behind Harold, was still sitting at the table, standing and staring right at Jason as he left, nothing but malice in his eyes. Jason refused to acknowledge it, though he considered opening the door again to look, but it had to be an illusion. He knew all about the behaviors of the guilty mind, enough to know how to control himself in this situation at the very least. He wasn’t about to have his final stretch of school ruined by a mistake like this. No one would miss that redneck piece of shit. He didn’t have a future, not like Jason did. 

So Jason went about his day, starting out at the gym, working on his chest and shoulders, relaxing in the sauna for a few minutes, and then changing and making his way to class. This semester’s load was light, with just a capstone class and his thesis credit. Even his thesis was almost done–he’d wrapped up the research in the fall using the wrestling and football teams, phoning in some analysis on the effect exercise had on mood–there were tons of other studies like it out there, but he didn’t care about originality. He just wanted to get the degree and get on with his career. By the time he was finished with class, it was time for lunch. He met up with some of his jock friends, listened to how the rest of the party had gone up in the cabin, and Jason expected to feel a measure of guilt again, but now that he was ready for it, he could compartmentalize it, and drive it away well enough. He faked a story well enough, going down the mountain without incident, hooking up with Amanda but breaking it off because she was getting too “serious” again, and then chilling out at home for the rest of the weekend. It was so banal he could almost believe it. He needed to believe it, really. It was the only story that made sense, after all. One of his friends mentioned driving back and seeing all of the emergency vehicles around the accident, but Jason pretended it was the first he’d heard of it. They all agreed that it was probably just some loser redneck that the world was better off without anyway. No real loss, no real reason to even think about it ever again. That was the healthy thing to do, the right thing to do, too.

He needed to get some work done on the final draft of his thesis, so he could be ready to discuss it with his advisor at the end of the week, ahead of his presentation that was scheduled for early May. After that, it would be smooth sailing until graduation, and he wouldn’t even have to think about this place again, at least until he needed to come back for a feature in the alumni magazine. All in all, everything had turned around nicely, and he felt almost back to his usual, cocky self by the time he got home. He was even thinking about calling up Amanda and asking for another go–sexually at least–when he opened the front door to the house, and was confronted by a scene he did not expect at all.

The front door to the house opened right up onto the living room, with the kitchen straight back, and a stairwell leading up to the bedrooms to the left. But there on the couch was Harold, naked, legs spread, with another guy between his legs, Harold’s whole cock down the man’s throat. The two of them had lived together for most of a year, and not once, had Jason witnessed anything sexual from Harold that entire time. He’d never brought a guy home, never mentioned going to see a boyfriend or even going out to hookup with someone. Jason had wondered, at times, if the guy even masturbated at all. He’d always assumed that fags were sex obsessed little freaks, and while he was relieved Harold didnt’ fit that mold, it also weirded him out that he could somehow be so singlemindedly obsessed with his studies. Had he just been having guys over while Jason was out of the house this whole time?

“Hey Jason,” Harold said, putting one hand on the back of the cocksucker’s head, motioning for him to keep sucking, while he spoke, “How was the morning? You’re back a bit earlier than you usually are on Mondays–everything alright?”

“Yeah, uh…could you uh, take this up to your room or something?” Jason said, trying to keep himself from saying something particularly foul, just for the sake of decorum. Really though, he was disgusted. He sat on that couch! He’d had sex with Amanda on that couch! And this faggot had been, what having random guys come over and have sex right there this whole time. One thing was for sure, they were going to be having a long discussion about it once this fucker was gone.

“What do you mean? You never mind when I have a guy over usually.” Harold said, “Come on, sit down–oh wait, before you do, get me a beer, would you?”

That, it turned out, was the last straw. Having sex in front of him, in the common areas of the house was one thing, but this little faggot telling him to bring him a fucking beer–that was enough. “No–either take it to your fucking room, or he needs to get the fuck out of here. I don’t want to watch any of that faggot shit!”

The guy sucking Harold’s cock pulled up, turned around, and Jason’s jaw dropped. This wasn’t just anyone sucking Harold off–it was Ricky, another member of the wrestlingl team, who Jason knew was straight as could be. “What the fuck Jason, don’t use that fucking word, that’s fucking shitty!”

“Ricky, what–” Jason said, “You have a fucking girlfriend! What the fuck are you doing sucking this fucker’s cock!”

“Calm the fuck down Jason,” Ricky said, “Emily and I are open, and we’re both bisexual. Sometimes you just get a hankering for cock, you know? It’s not a big deal, I don’t know why you’re being so dramatic.”

“He’s always like this,” Harold said, as Ricky went back to sucking Harold’s cock, “This is why I never wanted him to find out, you know. He’s always asking about it, always wants tips on his ‘technique’ from me, since he’s a little insecure about his own abilities, if you know what I mean. I’ve always told him that the best way to learn is to watch, but he always freaks out like this when I suggest it.”

“Ugh, I know, he does that with all of us too,” Ricky said, taking a moment to stroke Harold’s cock with his hand, “Always wants to compare how we fuck on the team, trying to get the weirdest details out of us. He’s seen us all naked, but he seems to think about how we all fuck a lot more than a normal guy would, you know?”

“I’m right fucking here, and I do not fucking ask about that shit Ricky!” Jason shouted.

“No need to get so fucking defensive man, fuck, this is why no one likes you, you know, you can never just chill out and have a good time.”

“I…I can be chill, I just…don’t want a couple of…gay guys having sex in front of me, that’s not strange.”

Harold rolled his eyes, and Ricky muffled his somewhat derisive laugh by going back to sucking on Harold’s cock. “Whatever you say man,” Harold said.

Jason fumed on the way to the kitchen, grabbed three beers out of the fridge, and brought them back to the living room. Fuck those two. He could be chill. It wasn’t a big deal, it was just sex. So what if he asked some questions on occasion, he was just curious! He thought that was a normal guy thing. “Here,” he said, and handed Harold a beer, and opened one up for himself, drinking half of it down to get a headstart on his buzz. “I don’t fucking care if you guys fuck in front of me,” Jason said, “You just surprised me is all.”

“Sure, sure,” Harold said, the mockery and doubt well apparent in his voice, popped the top on his own beer, and took a sip, “Whatever you say, Jason.”

Jason reached for the remote and turned on the TV, starting up whatever he could find on Netflix as a distraction, but found himself looking over at Harold anyway. There was something off about him, something that seemed different from this morning, but it was difficult to pin down what it was exactly. “When did you start growing your beard out?” Jason asked.

“What are you talking about, I’ve had a beard all year long,” Harold said, “are you doing alright, Jason?”

“Yeah, yeah, I…don’t know, just thought it was thinner before, or you had shaved it off.”

“Nope, always had it.”

Jason swore he was lying, that Jason had been clean shaven that morning. He’d seen him step out of the bathroom too, with just a bath towel around his waist, and knew he hadn’t had that much body hair, and that tattoo on his arm was new too. He opened his mouth to ask about those, but hesitated, thinking he’d just seem a bit crazy to keep asking about it. But what other explanation was there? None of it made much sense at all, but how could he possibly explain his housemate growing a beard, body hair, and getting a tattoo in a matter of hours, while still managing to plan a hookup with a wrestler that Jason still swore had been totally straight.

“That’s enough of that,” Harold said after another few minutes, “I wanna fuck that hole of yours.”

“Hell yeah, get in me big boy,” Ricky said, stood up and bent over the side of the couch. It was the first good look that Jason had gotten of Harold’s cock, and Ricky wasn’t wrong–it wasn’t quite as large as Jason’s own, but it was a good sized dick. “I’ll just leave you to it,” Jason said, “I need to get some work done in my room.”

“Come on Jason, stick around!” Harold said, “I thought you wanted to pick up some good pointers. You just told me that Amanda had been asking you about anal, and you chickened out. Why don’t you watch how the guys do it?”

“I didn’t tell you that! That’s–I’m not interested, alright?”

“He’s fucking embarrased,” Ricky said, shaking his head. “Dude, it’s 2021, guys fuck, alright? Stop making it a big deal!”

“It’s not a big deal!”

“Then sit down and watch, learn a thing or two,” Harold said.

Jason didn’t really want to, but he was a bit curious, in all honesty. Harold lubed up his cock, ran it up and down Ricky’s crack, and the big wrestler shuddered and let out a little moan each time Harold’s cock caught on his hole for a moment, before sliding up his crack again. “Fuck Harold, just get inside me, I need it,” Ricky moaned.

Harold gave a little smirk, lined the head of his cock up, and pushed it inside, Ricky giving a little moan, Harold feeding his ass an inch at a time until he was completely inside him, before pulling back out and building up to a steady rhythm. Jason was mesmerized by it, he’d never seen a woman show as much pleasure when he was fucking them as Ricky was showing from Harold’s cock. Was he…not as good as he’d thought? He shook his head, not quite willing to challenge his own self-confidence just yet–the two fags were clearly showing off for him. His thoughts began to wander though, as he watched Harold pound Ricky’s ass harder and harder, the wrestler’s moans growing louder and louder. He seemed to really be enjoying it, but it couldn’t feel that good. Or maybe it would feel good, getting…fucked like that, having some guy just bend you over and use you like–

“Fuck, the straight boy popped a fucking boner!” Ricky said, pointing over at Jason’s pants, which sure enough, were sporting a big tent.

Both of them just laughed uproariously at it, and horrified, Jason stood up, and retreated up the stairs to his room, but not before he heard Ricky said, “Fuck just wait until I tell the team about this, they’re all gonna bust a fucking gut. What a fucking pervert.”

Alone in his room, Jason couldn’t figure out what had gotten into him, but he also couldn’t quite stop thinking about it,wondering if it would feel good, wondering…he shook his head, tried to will his cock flaccid again, but it refused to go down. He shook his head, looked up, and there, again, in his room was the vision–the biker staring at him, just for a moment, a mischievous and cruel look in his eye, and then the shadow was gone again–and Jason looked down, saw his cock in his hand–no, not his cock.

A dildo. He was holding a dildo, and his pants were down around his ankles. He stepped out of them, went the chair by his computer, squirted some lube onto the rubber shaft, unable to believe he was really going to do this. But he’d done this before, of course. Fuck, watching Harold fuck Ricky, or whoever else he had over on any given afternoon, always got him thinking about how much he needed to get fucked. But not…but someone. No, he was too embarrassed for that. It was just experimentation. It wasn’t his fault it felt so good, that he could only seem to get hard to fuck a girl when she would reach around, slide a finger in his hole nice and deep…

He sat down on the dildo, stifling his own moan, still listening to Ricky below, feeling horny and confused, and reflected in the computer monitor, behind him, was that same vision, but again, just for a moment. “Just my imagination, just my fucking imagination…” he muttered, sliding down onto his own dildo, listening to Ricky down below as he got louder, Harold too, and when he heard the two of them finish, he did too, shooting a massive load of cum all over the carpet under his desk. Feeling better, he sat back, the dildo still buried deep inside him, and got to work revising his thesis.

Downstairs, Harold and Ricky settled back down on the couch for a little cuddle and kiss session–but Harold couldn’t stop smiling. When Ricky asked why, he said, “Just thinking about a joke I heard earlier, nothing big–I’ll tell you later.” 

“Sure thing stud,” Ricky said, “but I have to get to class.”

“Yeah, me too–might as well leave the pervert to his own devices for a while,” Harold said.

“Fuck, I thought he was so cool when I first met him, but he’s just such a weirdo. He clearly wants to get fucked, but doesn’t have the guts to just say it.”

“You should see his dildo collection.”

“No fucking way.”

“God’s honest truth, fucker has like ten of them up there. Claims he’s straight, but fuck if he doesn’t ride one of those every night. Heard Amanda broke up with him because she got sick of always having to be the one with the dick.”

“I don’t know how you live with him, Harold,” Ricky said, giving him a kiss, “I’d go crazy.”

Harold laughed again, and the two of them left the house together, while Jason kept rocking back and forth on his dildo, still wondering what on Earth had gotten into Harold today. He seemed like a different person, almost. Oh well, it wasn’t a big deal, he supposed. He took a break to check his social pages, and saw a message from Evan, another wrestler, asking him if he was still coming to the team poker game tomorrow evening.

“Won’t miss it for anything,” he texted back, and then got back to work. 

Chapter 2 – Stripping Away His Dignity

Jason’s teammate Evan was a bit of a gambler, perhaps even an addict, but he was lucky enough to generally stay lucky and flush with cash, or maybe he was just draining his wealthy parents without telling anyone. He usually went to the casinos on the weekends, but that didn’t always scratch the itch he felt, and so he liked to arrange a weekly poker night for the wrestling team and his other friends on Tuesday evenings. It was rarely the same group each week, but Jason had become more or less a regular ever since breaking up with Amanda, when he’d needed something else to fill what had been their regular date night. Evan’s place was just a few blocks over, which he split with a few other students at the college, none of whom shared Evan’s interest in gambling. Jason went around the side of the garage, where a door was propped open, the smell of weed and cigars already thicker than usual. He stepped inside, and saw he was the last one to arrive, judging by the lone empty chair. There was Evan and Will, another player on the wrestling team. Then Ricky, who Jason couldn’t quite manage to make eye contact with after the day before. There was one last person at the table, sitting away from him, that he didn’t recognize right away. The fellow was wearing a leather jacket with short cropped hair and a decent beard, smoking a cigar. When Jason came around to the chair beside him, he realized it was Harold.

He had done his best to avoid his housemate since the incident on Monday evening, and had been more or less successful. The two of them had shared the kitchen for a moment that morning without speaking to one another, before Harold had gone to the science building to work on a laboratory project, and Jason had gone off to the gym, and then class. That afternoon, Harold hadn’t been home at all, which gave Jason a chance to ride one of his dildos in private and jack off, so he could blow off a bit of steam before the poker game that evening. But now, here he was of all places. He hadn’t even known that Evan and Harold knew each other, but as Jason took a seat, the two of them were discussing something technical–Evan’s major was in computer science. Ricky was listening, though not really adding much, and Will, another tech guy, was chiming in on occasion. Jason just listened for a moment, and looked Harold up and down, figuring he must have gone for a haircut that afternoon, and a wardrobe change, and…well, he just seemed different again, in ways he couldn’t quite explain.

The hair was easy to explain, as was the leather jacket. At least those things could change over the course of a day. The jacket did look rather old and well worn–he’d probably picked it up from a vintage shop–and Harold had never cut his hair this short before–which didn’t mean he hadn’t thought about it, Jason supposed. But what about the beard? He’d seemed scruffy on Monday afternoon, but the beard he was sporting now was much more than should have been possible to grow in a day. Was it fake? That didn’t make sense. Before he could think of a good way to ask about it, Evan picked up the deck and dealt the first hand, and the game had begun. 

They played five card draw, and through the first few rounds, Evan, Harold, and Will kept up their rather technical discussion. Jason tried to track it for a while, but just found it deeply confusing and uninteresting. He tried a few times to shift the topic to sports, or summer plans, and Harold would tolerate the new topic for a moment, before moving right back into the same discussion as before. Mostly it made Jason feel stupid–and he hated feeling stupid. Finally, he said, “Can we save the school shit for school? You’re all putting me to sleep.”

The other four just stared at him–and the stares were not particularly kind. He couldn’t think of any time that Evan or Will had looked at him with such disdain. Ricky he could, of course. It was the same look of disgust he’d seen on his face the night before, and Harold just looked cool and cocky–which made Jason seethe even more. “Jason, just because you can’t keep up doesn’t mean the rest of us aren’t enjoying the conversation,” Evan said, “Maybe if you listened a little closer, you’d understand it. None of this is that difficult.”

“I thought we were here to play poker,” Jason said.

Will said, “I mean, it’s just five card draw, we can play and talk at the same time–or at least some of us can. If you’re struggling, why don’t you just focus on the game, Jason? You don’t seem to be doing very well tonight.”

It was true–of the first six hands or so, he’d only won once, while Harold was proving to be quite adept. 

“Well, why don’t we make the game more interesting at least,” Harold said, “Why not play strip poker? Losers gotta give one of the guys still in the game a blowjob.”

“What? What kind of faggot shit is that?” Jason said. 

“Hey, don’t use that kind of language here man, that’s not cool,” Ricky said, “Besides, I know at least three of us here get up to some kinds of faggot shit, you know…”

Jason paused, and looked from Harold to Ricky. Had Harold said something to him about his dildos? That wasn’t gay–some straight guys just liked having their ass played with, there was nothing wrong with that. 

Harold added, “Jason’s just a little embarrassed guys. There’s another reason he doesn’t want you all to see him with his clothes off, is all.”

Everyone looked over at Harold, and then over at Jason, whose cheeks burned. “I have no idea what he’s even talking about.”

Harold just laughed. Ricky smirked, looking like he had a few ideas, but still, Jason had no clue what any of them were even talking about. Harold took another drag off his cigar, and pushed out a clean smoke ring into the air. “Only way you all will find out is if we play.”

“Alright, let’s vote on it then,” Evan said, “All in favor, raise your hands.”

Everyone raised theirs except for Jason, who just sat there with his arms crossed. “Fuck you all, I’m not playing some faggy shit like this. I’m out of here,” he said, stood up, but when he turned to the door, he saw someone standing there, the same vision or figment that had been appearing to him for the last few days, and his head started to swim. He sat down, and Evan dealt out a hand, like no one had even heard Jason’s objection. The rules were relatively simple. If you folded, you had to pay five bucks into the pot, which the eventual winner would collect. If you stayed in the hand to the end of the hand and lost, you had to lose a piece of clothing. Furthermore, the winner also could force someone who folded to take something off, so even if you folded for the entire game, you were still going to end up naked eventually. It became rather clear that the other four players were all more than happy to conspire with Harold to see Jason naked. It didn’t matter who won a hand–if Jason folded, they would always force him to pull something off. Thankfully the evening had been a bit chilly walking over, and so he had on a few layers plus a hat, while the rest of them were dressed a bit more lightly. He started staying in every round, figuring he’d lose something regardless, and managed to hang in pretty well–but no matter how well he tried to bluff, Harold always seemed to know if he had a hand that could beat Jason’s. It was almost like someone was looking over Jason’s shoulder, feeding him information. 

Ricky, who hadn’t been wearing that much to begin with, lost first. With a little shrug, he got down under the table, and a moment later, Jason felt someone spread his legs apart, and he jumped out of his chair. “What the fuck are you doing!” he said.

“Those are the rules, gotta give someone a blowjob,” Ricky said, smirking up at him, “What, can’t get it up right now without some…assistance?”

Jason’s face went beet red, but he didn’t want to feed the suspicions. So then Harold knew about his little pegging obsession, he supposed, and must have told Ricky about it. Is that the secret that Harold was talking about? It wasn’t like he’d shown up with a dildo in his ass or anything like that. “Go suck off someone else, I’m not into dudes.”

Ricky shrugged, moved over between Harold’s legs, and started sucking him off instead, which Harold made a big show of enjoying. Jason tried to pretend it wasn’t happening, but when he looked over at Evan and Will, his two friends had their hands at their crotches, groping themselves and watching the scene. “What the hell, are you two getting off on this?”

“It’s just a blowjob, Jason, calm the fuck down,” Will said.

“When did you become such a wet blanket anyway,” Evan added, “I thought you’d be cooler with this.”

“It’s fuckin’ weird, you know, for a bunch of straight guys to start blowing each other during a poker game.”

“I’m not straight,” Evan said, and looked over at Will, who also shook his head. “Ricky, Will and I are all bi–I thought you knew that. Harold’s gay of course. I think the only ‘straight’ one here is you, Jason.”

Jason knew that was a lie, but before he could challenge it, Harold moaned, and filled Ricky’s mouth with a load of cum. Ricky, still naked, sat back up in his chair licking his lips, and the game continued. Jason was down to one sock and his briefs, Evan and Will had four articles left, and Harold lost the next round, peeling off his shirt, revealing a much hairier chest than he’d had the day before. Again, Jason thought about asking how he’d gone from smooth to hairy in less than twenty-four hours, but didn’t. He figured he’d just get a bunch of eyerolls anyway, and Harold would just say he’d never paid very good attention before. In any case, Jason was on a bit of a streak, and managed to whittle Harold down to just his underwear and socks, and Will down to nothing. Without much ado, he got down under the table, and again, Jason felt two hands on his thighs, a face going for his crotch, and he leapt up from the table, while the rest of the guys laughed harder than the first time. “It’s not fucking funny!” Jason said, “You’re all fucking weird assholes tonight, what the fuck’s gotten into you?”

“Into us? I thought you were cool enough to enjoy a blowjob from a bro, but you’re such a fucking cringe loser you can’t even handle that,” Will said.

The rest of the guys laughed more, and Will moved on, sucking Evan off instead and the game resumed. Jason’s luck finally ran out–Harold took the next hand, Jason had to give up his sock, and then took the next hand as well, ordering Jason to take off his briefs. He was going to refuse, throw his clothes back on and storm out, but before he could, he again saw the figure standing behind Harold, one hand on his housemate’s shoulder, and the next thing Jason knew, his briefs were down around his knees, and the rest of the guys were all cackling madly.

“What the fuck–is that a fucking chastity cage?”

“No fucking way, no wonder he didn’t want any of us to give him a blowjob.”

“God, what a fucking weirdo.”

Jason looked down, and sure enough, he had one remaining piece of gear on, under his briefs. There, around his cock, was a metal cage with a little padlock keeping it on, keeping him from getting erect. He reached down and tried to pull it off in embarrassment, but it refused to budge. “I…I don’t fucking know how that got there,” he said.

“Don’t play dumb, Jason,” Harold said then turned to the other three guys, “I locked up his cock because I kept finding all of these cumstains around the house. Dude gets so fucking horny all the time, he’s just been fucking himself on his dildos all day long, everywhere. He just shoots and lets the cum dry where it lands. So I hid all of his dildos until he agreed that I could lock up his cock. Besides, we all know that he really gets off on having his ass worked over anyway.”

“That’s not–I don’t fucking do that!”

“It’s true, you should have seen him yesterday,” Ricky said. “He was so fucking jealous that Harold was fucking me, that he got all uptight, even though he was standing there with a plug in like always. He just stormed off upstairs and we could hear him moaning all evening long, and when I went upstairs, there was a load of cum drying on the steps, where he must have been watching us from above, the fucking pervert.”

Evan and Will just laughed harder, and Jason choked back the urge to cry, or scream, or choke Harold until he was dead. He turned away from them all instead, trying to get control of himself, and they laughed harder when they saw the buttplug he had in his hole as well, which he hadn’t even noticed putting in earlier. 

“Holy shit, that thing is thick! All this talk about how straight he is, and he’s got his cock locked up and fat fucking plugs in his ass. What a lying fucking pig,” Evan said.

“Come on, Pervert, you lost, it’s time to pay up,” Will said. “Since the two guys still in have gotten sucked off, that means it’s my turn.”

“I’m not fucking sucking any of you fucks off, you’re all fucking assholes,” Jason said.

“We’re fucking assholes?” Will said, “You’re the one standing there with your cock locked up and a huge fucking plug in your ass, trying to act all high and mighty. What the fuck is even wrong with you?”

“If you aren’t going to fucking play by the rules, then get the fuck out of here,” Evan said, “I only fucking invited you because Harold said it would be funny anyway, but we’ve all had our fucking laugh, so get going already, you’re fucking pathetic.”

Jason went to gather up his clothes, only for Harold to reach out and grab hold of his wrist. “Now, now, I don’t think that’s very fair. The pervert lost fair and square, so he needs to pay the price, and if he’s not going to pay it with his mouth, then I have another idea.” Harold stood up, and with more strength than Jason expected, he bent him over the table, and shoved Jason’s face into the pile of clothes in the center, while he grabbed hold of the plug in Jason’s ass and hauled it out of him. “You’re always talking about how much you miss having Amanda peg your hole, and I’m fucking sick of it. I think it’s time you had a taste of the real thing, don’t you think so guys?”

Jason tried to object, as the other three all laughed and cheered. He looked back, saw that Harold had already pushed his pants down, and there was his housemate’s cock–even larger than it had been the day before, larger than Jason’s was now, if he could have even gotten erect in the cage he wore now. He struggled and cursed, only for Will and Ricky to grab hold of his wrists, while Harold lined up the head of his cock with Jason’s hole, and slid right in.

“No! Fucking stop!” Jason said, only for Evan to grab hold of Ricky’s jockstrap, still fresh from working out in the gym that afternoon, and shoved it in his mouth. “Shut the fuck up, you fuckin’ pig, we all know you want this.”

“Fuck, look at how much the pervert’s cock is dribbling out, gonna be a fucking puddle on the floor by the time we’re finished here.”

“Maybe we should make him lick it up, that’ll show him to stop making messes everywhere he goes.”

Jason kept struggling, but it was no use–Harold was getting close, and shot his second load of the night deep into Jason’s hole, pulled out, and Evan slid right in without missing a beat. Harold, still horny and still hard, walked around, pulled Ricky’s ass up, and started fucking him, Ricky moaning in delight, eager for another round with Harold’s cock. At some point, Jason stopped struggling, and just let it happen, hoping that it would all be over soon. Evan came inside him after a few minutes, and then he and Will switched. Will came in Jason’s sloppy hole around the time Harold shot for the third time, filling up Ricky with a load at both ends that evening, and then Ricky, horny after getting another fuck, took the final turn with Jason’s hole. It was loose by then, and Ricky complained about it, wishing it was tighter, but he came as well, and then Harold shoved the plug back into Jason’s ass. “See I told you bringing the perv along wouldn’t be all bad,” Harold said.

“It was fun I guess, watching him squirm a bit, but I don’t think I need the loser in my house anymore,” Evan said, “Time for the pig to take his walk of shame!” 

Laughing, the four guys hauled Jason upright, and shoved him out of the door on the side of the garage, naked aside from his plugged home and caged cock. Mercifully, Harold opened the door and tossed Jason’s keys, wallet and phone out to him, which he scrambled to pick up. He pounded on the door, begging them to let him back in, or at least to give him his clothes, but they all just ignored him. Jason didn’t have a choice, other than to sprint home as quickly as he could, ducking for cover behind bushes when he needed to, and thankfully, managed to get home without incident. Humiliated, sweaty, ass aching, he sat down on the couch and cried, horrified at what Harold had done to him, what all of his friends had done to him. What had even gotten into all of them? They weren’t behaving like themselves at all. Sure, they could all be bullies on occasion, but not to each other, and even then, they weren’t usually that mean spirited, even towards guys they hated, like Harold. 

Then again, the guys didn’t seem to hate Harold anymore. If anyone around that table had been hated, it seemed to be Jason, now. They’d raped him, all of them had just gangbanged him, and then shoved him out naked into the street. The more he thought about it though, the less angry he was, and the hornier he found himself getting, the cage became tighter and tighter. He went upstairs just wanting to take a cold shower and put all of it behind him, but before he did, he realized that he really had just been raped, and if he cleaned himself now, he’d get rid of all the evidence. As disgusted as he was, he had all of their cum swilling around in his ass right now, he could get them all thrown in prison for what they’d just done to him.

He went to his room, threw on some sweatpants, and went back downstairs. He wasn’t going to let them get away with that, he couldn’t. He didn’t know what was going on, he didn’t know what had gotten into Harold, but he did know that he’d just been raped, and for that, there had to be consequences. As he went to the front door, though, the vision again appeared before him, eyes searing, and froze him in his tracks.

It couldn’t be, could it?

Ghosts didn’t fucking exist.

But why did he keep seeing this thing everywhere? Was it just a manifestation of his own guilt, or was something haunting him, or cursing him? He thought about how Harold had seemed to know what everyone was holding during the poker game, how things had kept changing, bit by bit over the last couple of days, with no one believing him. The guilt welled up, but he shoved it back down. No–it wasn’t anything like that, there was no ghosts, just one dead redneck and a group of asshole rapists that he was going to send to prison. He stepped through the vision, who offered no resistance, got dressed in some clothes, and dialed 911. This insanity was going to stop, right now, and whatever games Harold was playing with him, he was going to get to the bottom of it, tonight.

Chapter 3 – Bearing False Witness

Jason sat on the couch by the window, looking out and waiting for help to arrive. He’d made the 911 call, and the dispatcher had told him a patrol car would be dispatched to his residence to talk to him about what had happened to him. He had thrown on some clothes upstairs, and was fidgeting, now wondering what would happen if Harold got home before the cops arrived.

There was something going on, something having to do with Harold. He didn’t know how he knew it, or what exactly it was that he could sense, but it was off. There was the fact that every time he’d seen him over the last few days, he’d looked just a little bit off–the hair, the clothes, the demeanor. Then, there was the way everyone else acted around him. Jason had always had a natural charisma, a way with people. He’d never had a hard time making friends, never had to struggle to fit in. He just always knew how to get people to like him. But now, whenever Harold was around, it was just the opposite. Everyone liked Harold now, and Jason was cast aside, and treated like nobody. Or worse than nobody, as a pervert, as a buzzkill, as a loser. That’s what hurt the most, actually. Not the rape itself, but the fact that it had been his friends, or guys he’d thought were his friends. They’d turned on him at the mere suggestion from Harold, raped him and been gleeful about it, then gone on to have sex with each other too. Hypnosis, some weird neuroscience mind control, it didn’t matter what it was. This was all Harold’s fault, and Jason would expose him one way or another. Jason didn’t know how powerful Harold’s control was though–could he control a police officer, or anyone else he wanted? The cruiser pulled up in front of the house, and he breathed a sigh of relief. He couldn’t tell them about it–he would sound crazy, but he had the evidence of the rape right in his ass. Harold’s control didn’t seem as complete over him, and that might be the one thing that would stop whatever plot was going on.

The officer’s came up to the door, and Jason opened it up for them as they approached. “Are you Jason Billings?” One of them asked.

Jason nodded.

“I’m Officer Mattis, and this is Officer Pike.” Mattis looked to be a bit older, probably in his mid 40’s and looked to be eating a few too many doughnuts around the precinct. Pike was younger, and more in shape than his partner, with a cleaner haircut and some tattoos on his arms. “Dispatch said you had a rape to report?”

“Yeah–I was raped tonight.”

The two officers looked at Jason, then at each other, and he could tell what they were thinking. Jason was a sizable guy after all–he didn’t look like the sort who could be forced into sex against his will. Mattis shrugged, “Alright, we need to interview you to file the report. Are the assailants here now?”

“No…it happened at a party tonight. One of them is my housemate though, and I don’t know when he’ll be back.”

“Well, if he comes home, we’ll figure it out then.”

The two officers stepped into the living room and took a seat on the couch, while Jason sat in an armchair across from them. Mattis pulled out an audio recorder and set it on the table in front of them, while Pike took out a little notebook and a pen to take notes. They started simply, asking Jason some basic information, and asking him to name the assailants. He did, and once they’d taken that information down, they asked him what had happened. Jason recounted the story of the poker game, or at least, most of it. He told them about how his friends had been acting a bit strange, especially Harold, who had suggested that they switch the game to strip poker. Jason had felt pressured to play along, though he hadn’t wanted to. Mattis interrupted him then, and asked him why, if he’d felt uncomfortable, he didn’t just leave then and there. Jason was caught off guard by the idea, and scrambled for an explanation, saying that he didn’t have a problem getting naked, but what had happened after that was way beyond a simple game.

He continued the story, massaging the truth here and there. He didn’t tell them about the blowjob part of the game right away, saying that Harold had added that in only after Ricky had lost. Ricky had tried to suck him off, and Jason had said no, so he’d sucked off someone else in the circle instead. He saw Pike cock an eyebrow up and exchange a glance with Mattis–that was enough for Jason to pause in his story, wondering what they were thinking. He felt the need to justify it somehow, explain how strange it had been, but now that he was saying it out loud, he couldn’t help but see why they were incredulous. It was a strange story, even he could admit that, but it was the truth. So he skipped ahead a bit to the more important part. He told the two cops that he’d lost, his friends had tried to make him suck them off, and when he’d refused, they’d held him down on the table and each fucked his ass in turn. That seemed to catch the officers’ attention, though it was clear that the two of them were still a bit skeptical. Jason had neglected to mention the cock cage and the buttplug that had appeared on him when he’d removed his underwear, and it was then that he realized he had made a terrible mistake–he was still wearing them both. He hadn’t even thought about removing the buttplug–if anything, he had rationalized it as useful for holding in the ‘evidence’ from the scene earlier. As for the cage, what would these two officers think if they told him to take his clothes off to inspect him or something like that? Sure, just because he was wearing it, didn’t mean that he hadn’t been raped, but it also didn’t really help his credibility. He kept his composure as best he could, and finished his story, how he’d streaked home, called the police, and brought it back to the present.

“Have you showered since you got home, before we arrived?” Pike asked him.

“I almost did, but realized it might be, well, evidence.”

“Yeah, look, you’re story is suspect, but honestly, if we can get a solid rape kit from you down at the hospital, then the story doesn’t matter so much. I believe you, it’s just, well, hard to imagine your friends treating you like that.”

“I…yeah, I don’t know how to explain that part. Harold was the one who suggested everything. I think he put them up to it.”

“And Harold’s your housemate?” Mattis asked, “Do you have somewhere else you can stay in town, where he wouldn’t know where you are?”

“I…kind of thought you would arrest him. Why should I have to leave my home?”

The cops looked at each other, and then back at him, “Look, we will arrest him, but some guys get out on bail. I’d still suggest you spend the night somewhere else, just in case. First though, you need to go to the hospital. Go to emergency, tell them you need to have a rape kit done, alright? It’s not a pleasant experience, but it might be necessary. Now, where’s Harold at?”

Jason gave the cops Will’s address, and as he was about to head to the hospital, and the cops were on their way to find Harold, there was the sound of the front door unlocking, and when it swung open, there was Harold–mostly. Again, he’d seemed to change a bit, in a few subtle ways, but Jason could see it. His hair was a bit longer, his beard as well. He had a couple of piercings in his ears that he hadn’t had earlier in the evening, and one of his arms was now decorated with a tribal tattoo sleeve. He looked from Jason to the two cops in the living room, and started to laugh.

“Are you Harold Shepard?” Officer Mattis asked.

“Yeah, that’s me.”

“We’d like you to come down to the station with us and answer a few questions.”

“Am I under arrest?” Harold asked.

Pike took the handcuffs off his belt, and walked up to him. “Well, you are now bud,” he said, and Jason watched as Harold just let the cop put the handcuffs on him–and as soon as he was restrained, he let out a sigh of relief.

“We don’t need to go to the station,” Harold said, “I assure you, this is all a big misunderstanding.”

“Please, just…take him away, I don’t want to see him,” Jason said, working up some tears–more earnest than faked, but he figured it would help. 

Again, Harold just laughed. “God fucking damn it, what did the fucking pervert tell you two? Did he tell you we raped him? You can’t rape the willing, I can tell you that much. Look, uncuff me for a second. I got evidence too, you know. I recorded the whole fucking thing.”

“He’s fucking lying, he didn’t record anything!” Jason said. 

“Where’s the recording, on your phone?” Pike asked.

“Yeah, whatever, I’ll unlock it, and you can watch it,” Harold said, “I have nothing to hide, not like that cockhungry pig over there.”

The cop held the phone up to Harold’s face, which unlocked it without issue, even with his substantial changes over the last couple of days. He showed Pike where to find the video, and Jason was fuming a bit, and trying to remember what exactly had happened. He’d fought, hadn’t he? They’d all needed to hold him down to get their cocks inside him, after all. Maybe he’d edited the video already, but Jason wasn’t sure when he would have had the time, or why he would have had the foresight to do it. 

“Hit that button too, and turn on the TV–that way we can all watch it at the same time, and no one will have any doubt that the slut over there wanted all of us to fuck him.”

Jason froze. If he knocked the phone out of the cops hand, that would look like he was worried about what the video would show, but if he didn’t, and if the video did show what Harold said it did, then–but of course the video wouldn’t show that. He was right, he knew what had happened. It had to be a bluff, it had to.

Officer Mattis turned on the TV, and after a few moments, a video started playing, and Jason wanted to throw up. There he was, bent over the poker table, but no one was holding him down. He was gripping it, pushing back as Ricky fucked him, and he was begging for more, oh fuck, but that hadn’t happened, it hadn’t–he’d swear it in a court of law if he had to, it had to be fake.

“Jesus,” Pike muttered.

Jason couldn’t take it, he turned away, the room spinning, feeling like he was going to throw up, and there, behind him, was the vision, the biker, the ghost, he didn’t know what it was, but it was there, staring at him, and he felt time slow to a crawl, the room losing color, leaving just him and the biker there.


It wasn’t spoken, but it was heard. Felt, really, all through him.”

“One way or another, you will confess tonight–the truth will be your cage.”

“I didn’t fucking see you!” Jason said, “It wasn’t my fault, and who fucking cares about you anyway, some fucking hick, you aren’t even fucking real get out of my fucking head.”

The world snapped back, and when Jason turned around, the two cops and Harold were all staring at him, the video still playing in the background. “Everything alright, slut?” Harold asked.

“You fucker, you fucking did this, you fucking piece of shit!” Jason said, and started towards him, only for Pike to step between them and keep Jason back.

“Look, I don’t know what the fuck is going on here, or what game the two of you are playing, but you’re fucking wasting our time with this weird ass sex shit, or fetish, or whatever,” Pike said, “Tell me the fucking truth then–what the fuck happened?”

Again, the color drained from the room for a moment, and Jason could feel it welling up. A confession. He was going to spill it, he was going to say what had happened on that dark highway, but he couldn’t, he couldn’t admit it, he fucking couldn’t. He knotted up his lips, looked for anything else to say, and what came out was, “I…I was lying, Sir, I was such a horny slut earlier, and I begged them all to use me like the dirty fucking whore I am, and I loved it, but I was so ashamed of it when I got home that I decided to lie, and accuse them of rape so I wouldn’t have to deal with it. I know it was wrong, I know I’m just a perverted whore really, and fuck, seeing it happen to me again, all I want is for you to use me, please Sirs, let me make it up it up to you, use my loose sloppy hole…”

Jason was horrified by what he was saying, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t stop it from pouring out. He looked over at Harold, saw the sneer on his face, and he knew–it had to be him, it had to be. It was a trick, some weird ass psychological gimmick, but he had to fight it, he had to. Instead, he started stripping off his clothes in front of the two cops, dropped his pants, cock cage revealed for them all the see, turned around and bent over the side of the chair, plug still in his hole, and froze in place.

No one did anything for a moment or two. The two cops were red in the face, clearly embarrassed on Jason’s behalf, almost with pitiful looks in their eyes. Then Harold said, “Well, what are you waiting for fellas, the whore confessed, and lying faggot whores like that need to be punished don’t they? Isn’t that your job?”

Jason saw the shift happen in a moment across each of their faces. What had been pity became disgust, and what had been second hand embarrassment turned to lust and sadism. 

“What a fucking waste of our time,” Pike said, pulling his baton free of his belt and walked up behind Jason, “Just a fucking whore faggot looking for attention, eh? Well, you got my attention, and now you’re gonna get your fucking punishment.”

He swung the baton against Jason’s ass, making him jump and let out a loud gasp of pain. Pike pulled back, rubbed one leather gloved hand over the red mark across Jason’s ass, and swung again. Instead of a shout, Jason let out a surprised little grunt, as the pain was tinged with a strange pleasure suffusing him, and each hit after that only made him ache for more and more pain. He realized too late that words were still pouring from his mouth, begging for more, asking for the cops to beat him up, to brutalize him, that a lying faggot like him should be left battered and bruised in the gutter. Mattis eventually shut him up, slapping him across the face and feeding him his hard cock–not too long, but quite thick, while Pike hauled the plug out of Jason’s hole, and ran his gloved fingers around the ring, probing inside a few times before pushing his cock in, unlubed. Jason’s hole was still plenty slick with cum from his earlier gangbang, so he had no trouble taking Pike’s sizable cock, Mattis pulling on his hair, slapping his face anytime he felt so much as a brush of a tooth against his cock. Pike reached under, found Jason’s nuts, and pulled on them, tugging them as far away from his body as he could manage, making the whore scream around his partner’s cock.

Harold just watched the scene unfolding with that same cruel sneer across his face. It wasn’t too long before the two cops finished up and stumbled back from Jason’s body, shaking their heads, a little confused by what had come over them. 

“Thanks for the help officers, I knew you were just the fellas to show this faggot his place, and teach him a lesson about lying.”

“Yeah…yeah, that…fuck. We need to get back to our, uh, patrol,” Mattis said, “Come on Pike, let’s go.”

The two officers left the house as quick as they could, leaving Jason still bent over the chair, moaning, the welts on his ass from the baton turning into bruises, a puddle of cum all over the chair from where his locked cock had leaked the whole time.

“Clean up your mess, you fucking whore,” Harold said, “Fuck, you’re such a fucking piece of shit. You were really going to smear all of those friends of yours as rapists? You’re that much of a piece of shit? Good fucking thing I took that video, so everyone knows exactly what kind of fucking pig you are.”

Jason stood up, and spit in Harold’s face, “Fuck you, you fucking edited that shit, I don’t know how you’re doing this, but I’m going to fucking expose you, one way or another. You can’t do this to people–what the fuck is wrong with you?”

“All you had to do was confess, Jason, and everything would have stopped–but you couldn’t do that. I guess the guilt will just have to keep eating away at you. But if you cross me again, or call the cops, I’ll just have to make that video public–how does that sound? You want everyone on campus to see you for the whore you are? Now clean up your cum, faggot.”

Jason stood strong. He wasn’t going to concede this so easily. Faster than he could react, Harold wrapped one hand around his neck and squeezed–Jason gasped, and tried to pry the fingers loose, but he couldn’t get a grip on a single finger–there was no way Harold could have gotten so strong so fast. He flung Jason to the floor, and before he could try and roll away and get up, he had one booted foot on Jason’s nuts and crushed them against his body, making him squirm.

“I don’t think they’ve driven away yet–maybe you need some more punishment?”

“You fuck, let me go!”

“Maybe I could get officer Pike back in here, that strong fellow, give him one of my floggers and let him go to town on you, really flay open that back of yours. Is that what you want? Too stupid to give up when the gettin’s good. It’s already going to get so much worse you know, now that you made your choice. You should enjoy what you have while it lasts.”

He pulled his boot away, and Jason crawled away towards the stairs. “You’re a fucking monster.”

“I’m not the monster here, Jason. You are, and pretty soon enough, everyone’s going to see it too. Now–lick up your mess.”

It wasn’t a suggestion, there was a compulsion behind it. He found himself crawling over to the chair, and licked up his own cum where it had dribbled from his locked cock.

“That’s it, faggots love the taste of cum after all. They would never let it go to waste, never ever,” Harold said, grabbed Jason by the hair and shoved him into the seat of the chair, rubbing his nose in it. “Good faggot, now get to bed.”

Jason stood up and limped away, his whole body aching, only for something to clatter at his feet when he reached the base of the stairs. He looked down, and saw that Harold had tossed Pike’s baton at him.

“Looks like the officer left you a new toy–why don’t you go upstairs and play with it until you’re too exhausted to continue.”

Jason bent down and picked it up, and carried it up to his room, shutting himself in with it. He tried to resist the urge, but he lubed it up and slid it into his ass, churning up all that cum from all those men together, fantasizing about all of them, drooling cum all over his bed that he would lap up until he collapsed, exhausted, and fell asleep.

Chapter 4 – Pinning Him Down

Jason groaned, aching all over, and rolled over on his bed onto something hard. With one of his hands, he fumbled it out from under him, opened his eyes, and found himself holding a lube-slick police baton. Fuck, it hadn’t been a dream. He didn’t know whether he should feel more horny, or more humiliated. From the sun coming in through his window, it was already late morning. He tried to figure out what day of the week it was, and ended up fumbling for his phone, which had almost no charge on it–Wednesday, ten in the morning. 

He sat up, trying to focus, but everything from the night before felt like a jumble of memories, and none of them seemed to fit together properly. One version, where he went to the party, was raped by Harold and three guys he’d thought were all his friends, and then beaten by two cops after he’d tried to report the rape. But it felt thin and hazy. There was another version that felt more real. How he’d gone to the poker game, lost on purpose so he could show off his caged cock and plugged hole to all of his friends, all so he could out himself as a Harold’s loser faggot. They’d been disgusted, of course–why wouldn’t they be, but the disgust hadn’t been enough to stop them all from using him, bent over the poker table, filming the whole thing so they could show all their friends, all of Jason’s friends, so they’d know exactly what kind of whore he was. Then, he’d gone home, still horny as hell, and phoned a couple of cops he knew who were into some real kinky shit. Harold had walked in on him getting his ass beat by one of them, and filmed that too–and Jason had loved every second of it. The cop had given him the soiled baton as a souvenir, and he’d ridden it to exhaustion. He couldn’t stop thinking about the debauchery he’d experienced, but he pushed it away. He had to–it wasn’t…true, even if it had happened, and somehow he knew it all had. All those videos existed, no one would believe him if he tried to tell them otherwise. Harold, though, was doing something to him. Or…or maybe not Harold himself, maybe something else. He thought of that strange vision that had been haunting him ever since the accident, and while he’d been so sure it was just his guilt playing tricks on his mind, maybe it was something more than that.

He sat up in bed, got up and took a cold shower, which helped clarify his mind somewhat, though everything still felt off kilter. From how quiet the house was, Harold must have left already, which was a blessing. One way or another, he was playing a role in whatever was happening to Jason, and the further away he could get from him, the better. As he toweled himself off, sliding a new plug into his ass, embarrassed but unable, and in many ways, unwilling, to stop himself. He had to get a hold of himself, or rather, he had to figure out what was happening to him. It was clear he couldn’t do it alone though, and he didn’t know who would be able to help him, or who would even believe him if he said anything. Maybe…maybe the best thing to do would be to pretend like it was normal. Try to get Harold lulled into a false sense of security, so Jason could get some answers from him. He didn’t know what else to try, in any case. He was at such a disadvantage, and each time he’d struggled, things had only gotten worse. Maybe, for a few days, he’d just do what Harold wanted, and wait.

He flexed in the mirror, and felt a bit better. At least he hadn’t seemed to change much physically. Reality was warping around him, but he was still handsome, muscular, and strong as hell. In a straight fight, even with his larger physique, Jason was confident he’d be able to take Harold down. He didn’t have class for a few hours, and if he stayed in his room, he knew he wouldn’t be able to resist the temptation of his new toys. Best to find something else to occupy his mind, and one thing he’d always been able to count on was going to the gym.

He threw on his gym clothes and left the house, opting to run to campus, which was only a couple blocks away, instead of driving. He felt good, even with the plug in his ass and his caged cock. He felt in control for just a small moment, and that was enough to give him a little hope. As soon as he set foot on campus though, he got paranoid. Were those girls looking at their phones together and laughing watching a video of him? Harold wouldn’t actually post all of that stuff, would he? Were those students going down that other path to avoid him, or because that’s just how they usually went? He pushed the thoughts out as best he could, and arrived at the athletic facility feeling mostly confident. He found his way to the gym, opened the door, and froze.

There were Harold, Evan, Ricky, and a couple other guys from the wrestling squad, all of them wearing their singlets, and laughing over by the water fountain. Harold, though, was who drew Jason’s eye immediately. He was…massive. Easily a few inches over six feet tall, packed with muscle, the singlet stretched tight over his hairy physique, his huge bulge impossible to miss. He rubbed up against Evan’s own spandex clad ass, and Harold watched as Evan let out a little moan, and ground back against Harold, licking his lips, his own erection apparent through the spandex. He turned to leave, not wanting there to be a confrontation with them all, but he only got a few steps down the hallway before a hand landed on his shoulder and shoved him into the wall. “Well well, look who finally decided to join us for the team workout this morning?” Harold’s voice said, while the rest of the jocks all laughed.

“Harold, please–I was just…”

“You were just what, whore? What were you doing here?” Harold said.

 “I…I was just leaving, I don’t want any trouble, come on.”

“Come on now, Jason. Be honest for once in your life. I know its hard for you, but the truth will set you free, once you finally admit it…”

Fuck, he did know, didn’t he? How on Earth could he possibly know about the accident? Jason stammered for a moment, and Harold pulled him away from the wall and spun him around. He found himself surrounded by the members of the wrestling squad, all in their singlets, and all leering at him rather hungrily. “I…just wanted to work out, that’s all. I don’t want any trouble guys…”

“Well we were all just finishing up out workout and were gonna head to our place after–was hoping we’d find you there,” Harold said, “But if you want to get a workout in, pig, fine–we can hang out for a bit and put you through your paces. You can’t wear that though–you know that uniforms are required for team workouts,” Harold said, “Guys, why don’t you head back to the gym, while I get this late piece of shit dressed.”

“Sure thing captain,” Evan said with a grin, and the other jocks all returned to the weight room, while Harold grabbed Jason by the collar of his shirt and dragged him a little ways down the hallway, to the locker room. Jason tried to pull away, but Harold was several inches taller, and nearly fifty pounds heavier than he was now–and the smell of him. He reeked like he hadn’t had a shower in days now, and the scent was making Jason’s cock leak in his cage, as much as he hated to admit it. 

Harold shoved him into the locker room, and Jason had to catch himself on some lockers to avoid falling flat on his face. “Harold, please, I don’t know what the fuck I did to make you want to do this to me, but I’m sorry, ok? Please, just let me go home.”

Harold just laughed. “Will you admit it then?” he asked, and again, that strange vision appeared behind him, the figment of that biker, but now, they seemed…closer than they’d been before. “You had your chance to admit it last night, you know, and you wouldn’t. I still don’t think you’re ready to come clean just yet.”

Jason looked around, saw the emergency exit, and raced for it–only for the vision to appear in front of him, looming large, time slowing down. He could feel more than just anger coming from it. It was hatred, and loathing. He froze in place, Harold walked over, and literally tore the clothes he was wearing off his body. “Go to your locker, pig, and put on your uniform–now.”

He felt like a puppet, that something was dragging his limbs across the tile, over to where his locker was. He fumbled open the combination, and nearly gagged from the stench of whatever was inside of it. His hands reached in, beyond his control, and pulled out a wrestling singlet–but it was one of the filthiest pieces of clothing he’d ever seen in his life. 

The college’s colors were white and gold, and the uniforms matched that–most of the singlets were white, with a gold stripe down the sides. This one, though, was no longer white–it was patchy all over, covered with stains that had rendered it a dull grey in the cleaner parts, and a dark brown around the crotch. “No, don’t make me wear this,” Jason begged, but he couldn’t stop his hands from stretching the neck open, his feet pushing their way down into the still damp spandex and out each leg–and then he realized that the singlet was not the usual size, either. The thighs were stretched out and barely clung to his skin, but were also too short, hiked up a bit closer to his crotch when he pulled the straps up over the shoulders, like it was made for someone shorter than he was. The gut of the singlet was also too big and well stretched out, hanging off him, and the ass would have been as well, it hadn’t been ripped out, leaving his plugged crack exposed for all to see. The usual mascot on the front of the singlet was scribbled out with marker, and a crude, cartoon pig drawn over it with cocks shooting cum onto its face, and on the back, Jason’s last name was scratched out, and the word FAGGOT written underneath it instead. Lastly, a pair of trainers that were much too large for his already big feet went on and were laced up–and they too reeked like a weeks-unwashed socks.

“There, that’s better–now, let’s get you to back to the weight room–you said you were here to work out, right?”

Again, the force guided his body back to the doors of the locker room, but as he walked, he could feel something happening to his body. Almost like he was dissociating from it, no longer quite able to feel it in the same way he should. The walk back down the hallway to the weight room felt like a dream, his body slumping along, not lining up with him, not listening to him, until he was in the middle of the weight room in front of a wall of mirrors, and everything snapped back. He looked at his reflection, and could only whimper in horror.

That wasn’t his body. It couldn’t be his body. But there he was, his face, or almost his face, on a squat, morbidly obese frame that disgusted him to no end. He couldn’t have been more than five foot six, and easily over three hundred pounds, his apron-like gut distending the singlet and swallowing his caged cock whole. His arms were too short and jutted out at a strange angle, pushed up by the rolls of fat around his body, and he could see the thick armpit hair pushing out from across the room. In fact, there was hair everywhere, anywhere there was exposed skin, a pelt crawling up his chest and meeting a thick, bristly beard around his face, his hair long, lank and greasy. His feet had filled in the massive trainers, looking almost like clown shoes on the rest of his body. He would have cried if he hadn’t been so shocked. The crowd of jocks all started laughing at him, and while Jason expected to feel the humiliation course through him, what he didn’t expect was for it to feel good. To feel right, and sexy, and horny. He felt a pulse in his cock, a spurt of precum drooling into the spandex, adding another soon to be stain to the crusty crotch. 

“No! I don’t know what you did, I don’t know how you’re doing any of this, but this isn’t me, this isn’t my body. You have to stop this Harold, please, I’m fucking begging you,” Jason said, dropping to his knees in front of Harold. 

“Tell you what, Faggot,” Harold said, “If you can chest press the bar–just the bar–I’ll see what I can do about getting some of your body back,” he said with a grin. If the other wrestlers had heard, none of them asked about it, but it was the closest he’d gotten to an admission that Harold had some control over what was happening to him. The bar wasn’t that heavy, anyway. Forty-five pounds–almost anyone could press that. He nodded, went over and laid down on the bench, the team still snickering.

He gripped the bar in his fat hands, smelling the stench rolling off his own pits, even stronger than Harold’s had been, and pushed up–the bar coming free, and after a moment’s hesitation, it dropped and landed across Jason’s flabby chest. He pushed, but could only get it a couple of inches up, before his muscles collapsed, leaving him pinned under the bar, squirming.

Everyone laughed, watching him wriggle. He tried to tip the bar off to one side, only for Ricky and Evan to grab an end and pin him there, while Will came around and sat his ass down right on Jason’s face–and farted. The smell was overwhelming, and Jason couldn’t stop himself. He started grunting and licking at the jock’s sweaty singlet, weakly thrusting his crotch into the air as he leaked a full load of cum into the front of his nasty singlet, snorting and grunting all the while. 

“What the fuck are you doing in here?”

Jason knew that voice. The jocks let go of the bar, and Jason could finally roll it off him and onto the floor. He managed to force himself up, heaving for breath, and saw Coach Millard in the doorway to the weight room, glaring at all of them.

“That equipment is not cheap, and it is not a toy–and who the fuck let the fucking Faggot Pig into the fucking weight room! He’s fucking filthy, you know he’s not supposed to be anywhere other than the fucking locker room.”

“Sorry coach, we’ll put him back, we were just having some fun,” Harold said, and together, the squad of wrestlers hauled Jason to his feet and shoved him out of the weight room past the coach, back down the hallway, and into the locker room. There, next to the urinals, was a filthy exercise mat, and a sign over it said, “Pig’s Place.” They all shoved Jason down onto it. Harold stripped down his singlet, hauled out his massive cock, and stared pissing all over Jason where he was on his hands and knees, and the rest of the guys, hooting and hollering, all followed suit, soaking Jason down in their reeking urine while he just froze, disgusted with himself, cock rock hard in his cage, wanting this nightmare to end. 

“Alright guys, I think the faggot’s had enough for today, let’s go get lunch,” Harold said, and they all proceeded to their lockers, got changed, and left, while Jason just sat on his mat, soaked to the skin, and tried to understand what had just happened to him. He didn’t dare move a muscle, terrified that if he did, Harold might somehow make his nightmare even worse, and only when all of them were gone, and the sounds of them had faded down the hall, did he heft himself up, waddle over to his locker, and stare at the empty contents.

He had nothing to wear. He couldn’t leave looking like this, he couldn’t let the entire campus see him like this. He managed to find the rags of his old gym clothes in the trash, and fished out his phone, but who was he going to call? Ghostbusters? He returned to his mat and sat down, wanting to cry but unable to find the tears, when the locker room door opened, and Coach Millard rounded the corner.

Before Jason could say anything, the coach slapped him across the face, sending him to the floor, head spinning. “You stupid, filthy, fucking pig, what the fuck have I fucking told you, so many fucking times?”

“Sir, I–”

“You know how fucking filthy you are. Now I tolerate you in the fucking locker room because you have a good couple of holes, and you’re good for team morale, but we all fucking know why you’re here, don’t we?”

That same sensation from that morning, another version tearing itself apart from the life he’d just lived, and somehow becoming more real than the truth. How he’d tried out for the wrestling team as a Freshman, and everyone had laughed at him, his fat, obese, hairy self wanting to be a wrestler, but it soon came out, at the first party, that he’d only wanted to join because he was a horny, perverted pig looking to feel up a bunch of guys in spandex. It had been Harold’s idea, to designate him the team pig, and as humiliated as he’d been at first, it had been everything he’d wanted, in the end. For four years now, he’d been on the wrestling team, but really, he was just their collective cumdump and urinal–and the most brutal of all, was the coach–who found himself enjoying the level of control and abuse he could level at the faggot pig on a daily basis.

The coach got down and started spanking Jason’s ass, making him grunt and snort in both pain and excitement, before hauling the pig’s plug out and driving his cock in. He shoved the pig’s face into the mat and fucked him good and rough, making sure it hurt–he knew how much the pig liked a good rough fuck, and the coach had quickly discovered that sex with his wife couldn’t satisfy him anymore–meaning the pig got the brunt of his attentions every single day. After a few minutes, the coach came, but he didn’t pull out–a minute later, he let out a sigh, and Jason felt a pressure and warmth on the inside of his ass, and realized that the coach was leaving a load of piss inside him as well. 

Millard pulled his cock free and quickly shoved the plug back in, sealing everything back up. “Don’t break the rules again, faggot, or I’ll have to bring out the paddles from the office, understood?”

“Yes coach,” Jason muttered into the mat, and listened to the coach leave. Once again, he was alone. He couldn’t go home–he couldn’t. He couldn’t go anywhere that Harold might find him–if he did, things would only get worse, though Jason couldn’t really imagine what worse would look like, after this. But then, he couldn’t really imagine somewhere he’d rather be, either.

His memories were still filling in, how word had spread that he was a faggot pig, and that any man in the building could use him as he saw fit. He spent most of his time in the locker room now, on his knees, waiting for men to come in to use him. Sometimes, they needed a little sweet talking–after all, not many guys found him attractive, but he was good enough at begging that eventually he could convince most of them to feed him a load of cum or piss–or maybe they’d smack him around and tell him to leave them alone, that was just as good in some ways, for a masochistic pig like him.

He picked up his phone and saw that he had a message from Harold. With a gulp, he opened it up and read it.

“Once Coach Millard is through with you, why don’t you hang out there for the rest of the afternoon, until after football practice? We all know you’d rather be in there, begging everyone who comes in to use you as a cumdump and urinal, than going to class anyway. But once you’re done with that, come straight home, and don’t bother trying to change out of your uniform or cover it up either. Everyone on campus needs to know what kind of pig you are, after all. Once you’re here, we’ll get the party started.”

He looked at the clock–it was just now one in the afternoon–and football practice wouldn’t be done until five or six. There was no fucking way he was going to just stay here for the rest of the afternoon. He tried to get up, only to find that his knees would bend, his feet refusing to push him upright. He got more and more frustrated, and when he heard the door open, he tried to call out for help–but what came out instead was, “Hey! Come on, come use me, I’m so fuckin’ thirsty, I know you need a piggy urinal.”

The guy who came around the corner was Max, one of the football players, who was probably getting changed to lift weights before practice. “Fuck, are you in here already? I try to get here before that, so I don’t have to fucking smell you,” Max said, the disgust in his voice palpable. “Fine, since I know you won’t shut up until you get what you want,” he said, came up, pulled out his cock, and pissed all over Jason, who drank down as much as he could, and then scooted forward, and sucked the jock off for good measure.

Once Max was finished with him, Jason was horrified by what he’d done, and by how much he’d enjoyed it. He looked at the clock again, and just wanted it to be evening–but from what Harold had texted him, he had something planned for him back at the house, and it couldn’t be good. He could feel the coach’s piss beginning to leak out around his plug, dribbling down the inside of his thighs, dirtying his uniform even further, and wondered how it could possibly get worse than this.

Part 5 – Father’s Discipline

“So fuckin’ loose, tighten up pig, come on, milk it, or I’ll beat this all fucking night.”

“Pig would probably fuckin’ love that, I bet.”

“Yeah, well I don’t want to spend all night smelling him, that’s for fuckin’ sure.”

The head football coach picked up the pace on Jason’s hole, pounding harder and deeper, cum drooling out each time he pulled back–the collective loads of the entire football team, who had already had their way with him once they’d come on off the field. Jason hadn’t been able to stop himself from crawling around the locker room in his filthy piss and cum soaked singlet, begging each and every player to use his hole. Some fucked him, some used his mouth, others just stood around and jacked off on him, but none of them had left without giving him a load in one fashion or other, though none of them seemed too happy about it. They’d all humiliated and ridiculed him in the process, disgusted that they were even using him at all. At last, he’d finished with the team, and all the remained were the two coaches, who were now fucking him together, the head coach in his ass, the assistant fucking his throat. Jason was exhausted, jaw and hole aching, but he did what he could to get the two older men to finish as quick as he could, tightening up and sucking harder until, at long last, they both came within a few seconds of each other, and pulled out.

“Alright, let’s shower and get home then.”

“No kidding, I don’t think I could live with myself if I went home smelling like Pig,” the assistant said.

“Hey, my wife barely ever puts out anymore, always put such a tight leash on that pussy of hers. When you’re a bit older, you’ll understand–hole’s a hole.”

“Fair enough.”

Jason fumbled around beside him, found his plug, and fit it back in his hole, only for it to slide out again almost immediately. He was too loose for it after his marathon afternoon of fucking–he’d just have to go without it. He looked around a moment, considered trying to find some clothes to fit him, but he had a feeling he wouldn’t be able to put anything on. Whatever Harold was doing to control him, it was getting stronger. He hadn’t been able to move from his fuckmat all afternoon, not a toe onto the tile, until the condition that Harold had assigned him had been met. He forced himself up, fat body aching and stinking, and left before anyone else could come into the locker room.

It was seven in the evening at this point, and mostly dark. That made him feel a bit better as he crossed campus back to the house he and Harold shared, but more than a few people saw him. He imagined they’d call the police, but most of them just scoffed or berated him from afar–only one fellow, a security guard on his smoke break, demanded that Jason stop and service him. He sucked him off behind the student union building while the beefy fellow finished his cigarette, then drank down his piss, and was sent on his way with a kick to the ass.

He got to his house at last, and from the number of cars and bikes scattered around, it was clear that Harold had been busy organizing something for his homecoming. He tried to run, tried to go anywhere else, but couldn’t stop himself from walking up the steps, opening the front door, and stepping inside. The living room stank of sweat and sex. There on the couch was the entire wrestling squad, still in their singlets, in the midst of an orgy with one another. Off to the side of the room, were Officers Mattis and Pike, in their service uniforms, fucking the wrestling coach at both ends. 

“Hey Pig!” Evan shouted from the pile of wrestlers, “Harold’s waiting for you down in the basement–get the fuck down there already, you’re stinking up the fucking place. It’s gross.”

“S-Sorry,” Jason muttered, happy at least that he wasn’t getting jumped by all of them for round two. He went into the kitchen and down into the basement. It was unfinished, but a helpful storage space. When he went down, though, he discovered that since the last time he’d been down here, things had changed a lot. The exposed studs and beams were now hidden–mostly. The large central room was now a well stocked BDSM dungeon, all number of whips, floggers, paddles, masks and other instruments of torture hung along the walls. 

Along one wall was Harold, sitting in a wingback chair, upholstered in black polished leather, with another man between his legs, sucking on his cock while Harold smoked a cigar. Harold seemed to have been the only one from the wrestling team to trade in his singlet, and was now wearing a leather harness showing off his muscular, hairy chest, as well as the tattoos running across his chest, shoulders, and down both arms. His beard was longer now, and showing a few strands of grey. Once Jason reached the floor of the basement from the stairs, he saw other signs of age across Harold’s face–some crow’s feet at the sides of his eyes, a few wrinkles here and there. He seemed to be close to thirty now, if not a bit older than that, even. Something shifted in the light, and what Harold had taken to be a shadow behind Harold shifted, and he saw that it was more than just a shadow–it was a being. The ghost, the vision he’d been seeing, it was there behind the chair, his hands on Harold’s shoulders, but it wasn’t just a vision now. It…existed. The shade’s hands slid down Harold’s body, and he shuddered and moaned, a few more grey hairs appearing across Harold’s chest as it did.

“Harold–you have to stop this. I don’t know what that thing is, but look at what it’s done to you, done to us! I know you don’t want this, I know it,” Jason said. 

Harold laughed, “How the fuck would you know what I want? Have you ever once even asked me, Pig? You just ignored me, pretended like I didn’t even exist, because to you, I didn’t. Before this, you never had to care about anyone other than yourself–as long as you had your Daddy here to solve your problems for you.”

Harold pushed the man between his legs off his cock, and when his head came up, Jason realized who it was–it was his father, the school’s dean of athletics, and the only person Jason had told about the accident. His father had helped cover up the damage to the car, managed the insurance claims, making sure that it looked like Jason had never even been near that highway when that biker had been flung off the side of the mountain. “Stand up, fucker. Now that your son’s here, we can get the real party started.”

Eyes dazed and glassy, Jason’s father–Samuel, stood up and wiped the drool and precum from his clean shaven face. He was in his early fifties, and did enough work to keep the worst signs of aging at bay. Only in the last few years had he allowed a bit of grey to creep onto his temples, his hairline receding slightly back. He went to the gym religiously, and kept himself lean and muscular to run two marathons a year. He straightened his tailored suit, still a bit confused as to why he was here, turned to the side, saw his son, and his jaw dropped. “Jason–what on Earth, what the fuck has gotten into you? What are you wearing, and why…why do you smell like a fucking cumrag?”

“Dad, I–”

“Shut up Jason, I’ll explain,” Harold said. “See, Mr. Camwell, I’ve been doing the job that you should have been doing from the start, Samuel–or can I call you Sam? We’ll find a new name for you soon enough, I think. See, my…friend here knows that you know what happened to him on that mountain highway, just like I know, just like Jason knows. You could have confessed, Jason, and stopped all of this. Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad you didn’t, because I wouldn’t be getting what I want too, but all of this was in your hands.”

“Fuck you,” Jason said, pointing at the shade looming behind Harold, “You’re doing this to him. I don’t know what the fuck you are, but I’m not about to let some fucking ghost fuck with us. Harold, listen, you have to fucking wake up! I know you don’t like me, I get it, but this…this isn’t you, I know this isn’t you.”

“What makes you so sure?” Harold said, coming closer now, exhaling a cloud of smoke into Jason’s face, “This is…a mutually beneficial relationship, I assure you. I get what I want–power, authority, a whole collection of men willing to do anything for me, sexual or otherwise. And he, well, you’ll see soon enough. First though, I think there’s a disciplinary problem at home that needs to be addressed.” Harold stepped back, next to Samuel, who was still staring at Jason in horror, barely able to recognize his son under the hair, the fat, and the filth covering his body. “Look at him, look at that faggot son of yours. What a fucking waste he is, wouldn’t you agree? Aren’t you fucking disgusted that thing came from your own seed?”

As Harold spoke, the shade came closer, his dark hands landing on Samuel’s shoulders, and Harold watched his father’s eyes harden towards him, growing cold. “Dad, no–”

“Shut up, pig–don’t speak again until I allow it.”

Jason’s mouth buttoned up, and Harold continued talking to his father, leaning in closer to his ear. “This is your fault, you know. You were never tough enough on him, never gave him enough discipline. You let him turn into this worthless fucking thing, this blob, this slut, this slob, this pig begging men for their cum and piss. It’s fucking disgusting, and you did this, you did this because you should have been beating him every fucking day that you could, making him fear you. You want him to fear, you, don’t you? Doesn’t the thought of terror in those piggy eyes make you so…excited?” Harold reached around and groped Samuel’s crotch, and Jason could see that his father was hard in the front of his suit pants. “Well, it’s never too late, right?”

“Fuckin’ right it’s never too late,” Samuel growled, the shade’s hands tightening down on his shoulders, and the shade shuddered. As Jason watched, his father’s carefully curated grey hair spread across his whole temple, stubble erupting from his face and becoming a short greying beard, body thickening with muscle, the beginnings of a gut pushing out, Samuel’s shirt coming untucked, his undershirt visible between the buttons now.

Samuel stepped forward, and before Jason could try and defend himself, slapped his son across the face. Jason turned to try and flee up the stairs, only for Harold and his father to grab hold of him, drag him to the middle of the dungeon, and secure him into metal shackles hanging from the ceiling, and bolted into the concrete floor. Jason tried to beg, he tried to scream, but nothing would come out of his mouth since Harold’s last order. Harold secured an O gag in his mouth, and shoved a thick cigar into it, lighting it up and clipping his nose shut with a clothespin. “There we go–gotta make sure you enjoy cigars as much as your Daddy will, right?” Harold said, lighting up another thick cigar and passing it to Samuel. He took it, and again, the shade passed over him, his father’s beard growing in thicker, his grey hair now colored yellow from years of smoking. 

“Fuck yeah,” Samuel said, taking a long drag off his cigar, “nothing like a cigar to go with a good beating.”

“That’s the spirit,” Harold said, “I think it’s time this pig of yours learns some discipline.”

Samuel went to the wall, took down a sizable paddle, and brought it back. He rubbed it on Jason’s exposed ass for a moment, and then brought it down with a loud smack, and Jason tried to scream through the cigar gagging him, but all that came out was a muffled choke, followed by a round of gagging and coughing as he sucked only smoke back in, tears welling up in his eyes. 

Samuel kept pounding away, wrapping one arm under Jason’s gut when he tried to squirm away, pinning him in place as he kept pounding on his son’s ass, harder and harder, all while Jason tried to get away, and failed. He was getting lightheaded from all the smoke flooding into him, and not long after that, he started to get a bit nauseous, head drooping and swinging side to side, the room spinning around him as he struggled not to throw up–that he knew would be unpleasant with the cigar still shoved deep in his mouth. There was the sound of something ripping, and the pounding stopped, giving Jason a chance to get his bearings again. He looked up, and his father had come around in front of him–the tatters of his suit falling away from him. He’d packed on thick layers of both fat and muscle all over his body, along with plenty of body hair, all of it as grey as his long, thick beard. “I, uh…think I wrecked mah suit…” Samuel said, and even his voice was different. Slower, deeper, with a definite rural accent.

“That’s alright Sam, we’ll get you some new clothes, won’t we?” Harold said, and looked over at the shade behind him. Jason tried to shout, tried to do anything, but could only watch as the shade descended on his father, surrounding him, his dark mouth over Sam’s own, pulling smoke and something else, something bright from his father’s throat. Harold walked around beside Jason where he was strung up, and said in his ear, “You thought he was a stupid redneck, not even worth caring about, didn’t you? Both of you thought that. Well, now your daddy there is just a stupid redneck too. He’s sucking all of that out of him, all of his smarts, all of his civilized manner. He’s just going to be a stupid, stinking biker brute when we’re through with him–a biker brute obsessed with brutalizing his stinking pigson.”

The shade pulled back after a few more moments, and Sam staggered for a moment, trying to adjust. The tattered remains of his suit had disappeared, and he’d been dressed in shabby leather and denim biker gear–filthy jeans, dusty chaps, a denim jacket open to let his gut hang out, and a leather vest over it, leather gloves, engineer boots and a grungy red bandana keeping his long grey hair out of his face. “Wha…wha the fuck’d ya do tah me?” Sam said, looking down at himself, “This ain’t me, I ain’t some fuckin’ hick!”

“Oh, we aren’t quite through with you yet–we still need to do something about your memories. Still, at my age, I should be able to take over for you here at the school, and I know there’s some openings in the maintenance department,” Harold said, and the shade seemed to expand, encompassing them both, and after a moment, pulled back–and as Jason laid eyes on his father, he felt a headache, unrelated to the nicotine pumping through him, split his skull.

His father–he wasn’t the dean. How could he ever have been a dean, a stupid, illiterate pig like him? No, he worked as a maintenance man on campus, repairing anything that was broken, and spent all of his free time on his hog riding around the backwoods, looking for dick to suck. Tattoos had appeared all over his body now, trashy looking biker stuff mostly, and across the back of his neck, the word “SKUM”–or rather, his name. Jason tried to pull out his father’s real name, but couldn’t find it. He was Skum–he’d always been Skum, hadn’t he? Skum shook his head, beard flinging around, and took a drag off his cigar. “Fuck, that feel fuckin’ better–now where the fuck was I?” He went and grabbed a whip off the wall, “This’ll teach this pig a proper lesson, I fuckin’ bet.”

He brought the lash down on Jason’s back, and he screamed–properly, as best he could through the cigar lodged in his mouth. Harold came around and admired the welt, the cut where the blow had snapped the spandex apart, leaving a few spots where blood was welling up, even. Harold looked different now–older still, in fact, but distinguished now. A short cropped beard, his leather uniform fitting his muscled body better, but it was his air of confidence and authority that Jason could sense now. He…he was the dean of athletics now. He’d stolen his father’s position in reality, and left him as a worthless, trashy sadistic biker without a moment of regret. Jason felt fear then, for the first time. Another lash came down on him, and he screamed, and broke down, sobbing, muttering nonsense to Harold and the shade, begging for mercy, probably.

The shade drifted over, larger now. Still black, but somehow more tangible. When its hand brushed over him, he could almost feel it there, like a breeze on his shoulder. Then, it clamped down, and there was a rush, a rewiring–he’d felt it before, he realized, but this was so much stronger, so much more immediate. When the shade pulled away, Jason hauled on the cigar in his mouth, but no longer felt sick. The smoke filled his lungs like it belonged, made his little cock drool precum out of its cage. His body had changed again, tattoos filling in all over his body, obscene, filthy, nasty tattoos, all of them–but it was the piercings he felt. The heavy gauge rings in his nose and tits, especially, pulling them down, making him quiver in excitement as his father came around, tugged on them, and made his masochistic pigboy squirm in delight. His father leered at him, pulled the gag from his mouth, gripped Jason’s neck in one gloved hand and squeezed. Jason’s mouth opened, gasping for air, and his father knocked the long ash from his cigar into his mouth–it burned his tongue, but he soaked it in spit as quick as he could, and swallowed it, croaking out a thank you, as his father shoved the cigar back in his mouth, and picked up the whip again.

“We have some more energy that we need, before we’ll be ready for the final phase,” Harold said, “but thankfully, all of those horny men upstairs will provide more than enough for our friend here to start feeling like himself again. You keep that boy of yours well occupied now, Skum, until I get back.”

“Yes Sir, Mr. Greer,” Skum said, and brought the lash down across his son’s back again. This time, the pain was there–but with it a massive surge of pleasure as well, and Jason nearly dropped the cigar, he was so overwhelmed with excitement. “I’ll make sure this naughty fuckin’ pig gits exactly what he fuckin’ deserves.”

“You always have, Skum–I know I can count on you,” Harold said, and with the shade following close, they went upstairs, where the orgy was still heating up. The shade was almost pulsing with delight, and Harold, well attuned to the spirit’s need, could feel it himself. “Not too much from all of them now–I’ll still need a wrestling team when we’re done.”

The shade nodded, and descended on his first victim, Evan, who collapsed from where he was fucking one of his teammates and writhed on the floor in something between agony and ecstasy. Harold smoked his cigar and watched–and when the shade was finished, he moved onto the next boy. Harold pushed his leather boot onto Evan’s face, and the wrestler licked at it hungrily while Harold leered down at him. “Guess I’m more than a nerd faggot to you now, right boy? You want Daddy’s cock in your hungry fuckin’ hole?”

Evan nodded, rolled over, and presented his ass to Harold, who got down and slid right in. “That’s good boy, that’s real good,” he said, and another scream came from below, making his cock even harder. In a few hours, he’d take the shade back down, and finish their revenge together, and then he’d be free to enjoy this for the rest of his life.

Chapter 6 – Rebirth

Harold watched the shade move around the room, to the last couple of men that were as of yet untouched by his dark hands. He had fucked a couple of holes while he waited, but now he was waiting patiently, smoking his cigar by the entry to the kitchen, just admiring the scene unfolding around him. The shade needed energy, if it was going to come back into this world, alive again. A lot of that energy was going to come from Jason, naturally, since he was the target of the curse, but even if the shade sucked him dry, there wouldn’t have been enough. So, they’d spent the week priming a collection of men for tonight’s ritual, taking as much as they could from them all without upsetting the cosmic balance too far against them, and risking bringing the eyes of larger things to bear on them both. Just a few months from every wrestler, a little muscle, a little health, a little body. From the coach, he’d taken a bit more–aged him up into his fifties, given him a solid gut, drained a good chunk of his virility, leaving him with a limp cock and a hungry hole. He deserved it, though–all of the men here deserved a bit of this cosmic justice. Harold, of course, had already paid with two decades of his life, but he felt that he’d received much more in the bargain.

All his life, Harold had wanted power, and wealth, and prestige. He’d come from a poor family–not quite redneck trash, but close enough, that when he’d learned what Jason had done on those winding backroads, his blood had boiled. There were men in his family like the biker, if he hadn’t gone to college, he might have been one of them–or at least, closer to that, than to Jason. But Harold was smart, and he’d gotten his way into college with scholarships, and more loans than he knew he’d ever be able to pay off in his life. No–this future was much better. He was strong, he was powerful, the new dean of athletics at the college. No one could say no to him–especially not any man with a hole that Harold wanted. This house was his now–with a little twist of reality, Harold owned both this house, and what had been Samuel’s home in the wealthy suburbs out of town. Harold needed a place for his orgies, though–closer to campus. Easier for the jocks to get here after practice for their play sessions. 

The shade was working on the two cops now. They had been in decent shape to start with, but now they too were aging somewhat, their muscles sagging, guts growing, becoming a couple of fat, lazy, sergeants who had desk jobs these days, but were helpful in making sure any “complaints” against Harold disappeared, provided they got the occasional invitations to the new dean’s parties off campus. Apparently satisfied, the shade drifted back towards Harold, and he could see the change again. The shade’s darkness was thicker somehow–no longer two dimensional, but still quite thin. It didn’t seem like enough–until the shade brushed up against him, and he felt the cauldron of vital energy seethe up beside him that the shade was holding in. If that wasn’t enough, well, then they’d have to see what happened, he supposed.

It had been about a couple of hours since they’d left the new and improved Skum in the basement to work his boy over. They descended the stairs, and found that Skum had moved on from the beating, dropped his son to the floor, and had Jason on all fours in the middle of the room. Skum was behind him, his fist slippery with crisco and lodged deep in Jason’s hole, who was moaning and groaning in discomfort. “Quit yer fuckin’ belly achin! Ya’ve takken Daddy fist plenty a fuckin’ times, don’t know why yer so fuckin’ tight tahnight.”

“Please dad, please stop! This isn’t you, this isn’t–” Jason gave a holler as Skum worked in a bit deeper, his cock drooling out a long dribble of precum onto the concrete below him.

“Alright Skum, give the boy a bit of a break,” Harold said as he came down the stairs.

Skum grumbled, obviously unhappy about being interrupted in his playtime, but did as Harold told him, pulled his hand free, and Jason collapsed to the floor, ass spasming from the sudden removal. His whole body ached from the day he’d had, between the wrestling team, the football team, the coaches, and now this–he wanted to cry, but couldn’t seem to summon the energy necessary to bring the tears forth. Harold came around in front of him, and knocked his jaw lightly with a boot. “On your knees, you fucking piece of faggot filth.”

“Please, Harold–I don’t know what that thing is doing to you, but you have to fight it. This isn’t you, I know this isn’t you,” Jason said, pushing himself up to his hands and knees, and then lifting up. “Don’t let this thing win, don’t…”

“You stupid fucking–this wasn’t just his idea, you know. He wanted revenge, sure, but he needed me to do it. So we made a deal–and the deal was, that he’ll get your life, and you’d end up as a lowly fucking piece of fuckmeat, and nothing more. I’ve been pushed around by guys like you my whole fucking life. You kept a good mask on, but I know how you talked about me in front of those friends of yours–or my friends now, I suppose, since none of them can stand the sight of you anymore.”

Jason whimpered, and saw the shade come around–so much larger, so much fuller and darker and tangible than it had been even an hour before. “What…what are you going to do to me? What else could you possibly do?”

“It’s easy, faggot. He’s going to take your place, in the same way I took your daddy’s place.”

Jason tried to beg, but before he could even get a word out, the shade bent over and pushed itself over Jason’s head. He could feel it, the vital energy the shade had been draining from him, and all these other men, for the last several days, all of it swirling around–but it lacked purpose and identity. It was all power without direction. Then came a horrific sensation, like someone was sucking his eyes out with a vacuum cleaner, or drilling into his ears with a screwdriver, or both at the same time. The shade was removing something from him, but Jason found himself at a loss to even describe what he was losing–as it disappeared, it became unnamable. He realized too late that he had become unnamable. Then, he simply ceased to be entirely.

The shade pulled away, the darkness beginning to bulge and shudder, converting all of that energy inside of it into mass, into life. A wave of heat swept through the room, along with a burst of air enough to send Harold stumbling back into a wall, and knock Skum onto his fat ass. When both of them regained their composure and looked at where the shade and Jason had been, there were now two men–one standing, and one kneeling. The shade had returned to the living.

“Jason…I’m…Jason,” the new man said, flexing his hands and looking down at his body. He did in fact resemble Jason–as he’d looked before, at least. A strong jaw, auburn hair, lean muscular body. A few things were off–he was hairier than Jason had been, and his hair was longer, falling to his shoulders. “Dad–fuck, Dad, it worked…”

Harold looked over at the newly reborn man, and felt a crush of reality push into him. It was his son, of course. His sexy, handsome boy. Jason went to Harold and embraced him, and they kissed–deeply and passionately, Jason’s cock grinding up against his father’s suited leg. “Somebody’s horny already,” Harold growled at him, reached down and gave his son’s cock a playful tug.

“You have no fucking idea dad, watching all that for days, unable to do anything to join in.”

Skum had regained his footing at this point, walked over to his own son, still on his knees, and looked down at him. He was living, though perhaps not alive. His eyes were completely black, mouth gaping and drooling, body slumped to one side and about to tip over in a moment or two onto its side. “What…what did ya do tah him? Where’d mah pig go?”

Jason pulled away from Harold, and walked back over to where Skum was standing with the empty vessel. “Don’t worry–I’m not done with him yet. We’ve spent all week hollowing out a good, deep pit in reality for him to live in–he just doesn’t know who he is anymore. We can fix that though, can’t we?” He crouched down in front of the pig, grabbed hold of his fat face in his hands, and locked his gaze with those dull black orbs. “Let’s start at the beginning, shall we?”

So the new Jason told the hunk of flesh a new story, a new reality, a new history. He wasn’t born into a wealthy family of elites, with all of his needs catered for, not anymore. No, a single mother in her early twenties, working as a waitress and living in a single-wide with her own mother, knocked up after a drunken one night stand with a sleazy biker, egged on by his gang at the time, who were wondering if the fag could even get it up for a woman. He managed, barely. And so, the man needed a new name, since the shade had taken his old one. He called him Thomas Peterson, and while he was poor, he had a decent enough life. Normal enough, blissfully unaware of what seed he’d come from, he never had the resources to excel academically, but still managed to become a jock in high school on the wrestling team–though he never quite understood why he got such a thrill from grappling with another young man in tight spandex clothing. Thomas, you see, was quite thick. He had a string of girlfriends in high school, but nothing went anywhere, when they found out he had such a small cock, and that he couldn’t even get it up around them. Frustrated, he focused on his athletics, and managed to land a wrestling scholarship at the college.

The same college, it turned out, where his father had settled down somewhat–no longer a young renegade biker sucking guys off on the road, but now working as a janitor and maintenance worker–though if anything, his perversions had deepened, and he often enjoyed spying on the wrestling team in particular during practice, jacking off all the while. It was there that he saw Thomas–the spitting image of himself–and knew, somehow, that single encounter had yielded a son. A little investigation into the school’s records was enough to confirm it, and Skum knew, then and there, that he had to have him. He ran into him after practice, told him who he was, and Thomas, who had always dreamed of knowing who his father was, found himself appalled that the stinking, ugly, fat janitor covered in biker tattoos was his actual father. Or at least, appalled at first. The more he got to know him over dinner that evening at a cheap diner, the more he found himself warming up to Skum–or Daddy, as he insisted Thomas call him. They went back to Skum’s trailer that night, and once the roofie Skum had slipped into his son’s beer took proper hold, he had him in bed, and popped Thomas’s cherry right then and there.

The next morning, no drug was required. Thomas had never felt anything like that before, and found himself eagerly accepting his father’s cock the next day–all day long. Skum missed work, and Thomas missed class, and the boy’s descent into perversion was well underway. Thomas had never had a father figure in his life, and he found himself helpless against his father’s control and praise. He’d already been failing at college–and Skum seemed to have a way with him, with all the men around him, and it wasn’t long before Thomas was servicing the entire wrestling squad as their collective cumdump and urinal. Already failing at school, Thomas dropped out at Skum’s urging, and got a position with him in the janitorial department–but that was just a cover really. Thomas could usually be found in the locker room getting fucked by every man who passed through, his father’s sexual desires and perversions completely overwhelming him–but that was a decade ago, at this point.

Thomas wasn’t even Thomas anymore. He went by T.P. usually, but if you asked him what it was abbreviated from, he’d tell you it stood for Toilet Pig. It really was his name–Skum had gotten it changed on his ID and everything a couple years back, when he’d confirmed his drunk, stupid pig son couldn’t even remember the name his mother had given him anymore. After all, he wasn’t really her son–he’d always been meant to be Skum’s boy–or at least, that’s what Skum told him. T.P. would do anything for his daddy, after all. Hell, he’d do anything for most anyone, but for Skum, he’d give him the world.

Jason pulled his hands away from the pig’s face, and watched as his black eyes unclouded. They were no longer the pale blue from before–but a dingy hazel grey. He stared blankly for a moment until Jason gave the pig a slap across the face, and he gave a grunt, and shook his head. “Fuck, wha the fuck was that?” T.P. muttered.

“Stupid fucking pig,” Jason said, “I fucking asked you if you were hungry or not.”

“Yes Master Jason, this pig’s always hungry,” T.P. said, licking his filthy, bearded lips. 

“Alright then, Toilet, open wide,” Jason said, turned around, and backed his ass up to T.P.’s face. The pig gave a squeal of delight, shoved his face into the young man’s crack and started licking hungrily, prying the hole loose with his tongue, until he felt the first turd slide out. He scarfed it down, well accustomed to the taste of shit at this point. Skum trained him to be his personal toilet years ago at this point, and while T.P. had resisted at first…once Skum had taken care of his son’s nuts, castrating him and replacing them with the two steel balls dragging his sack closer and closer to his knees each day, Jason lost the will to resist much of anything. His father had removed his pitiful nub of a cock a year later, leaving him with just a hole to pee from in the middle of his thick forest of pubes. The surgery had left him largely incontinent, but T.P. was always happy to piss right into his singlet, and if he made a mess, he was always happy to clean it up right away. T.P. finished eating Jason’s load of shit, and the young man stood up, turned around, and leered down at what remained of his murderer–a filthy, middle aged pig in a filthy wrestling singlet, dickless and nutless, licking shit from his lips and already eager for more perversion. 

“Thank you Sir, your shit is always so fuckin’ tasty.”

“Skum, why don’t you take that pig of yours upstairs for a while?” Harold said, stepping forward and embracing his own son, rubbing his hands over his muscular body, Jason shuddering at the sensation, thrilled with being alive once again, “I’d like some time alone with my own son, I think.”

“Sounds good tah me, I think the pig here’s been neglectin’ his party duties anyway,” Skum said, dragged T.P. around by the heavy chain collar that had appeared around his neck, and shoved him onto his knees. “Come on pig, I know ya like that boy there’s shit, but give them some privacy.”

T.P. looked back at Harold kissing Jason, the two men groping each other, and for a moment, he felt something familiar about it. A moment of panic, of loss, but he couldn’t explain or express what it meant. By the time Skum had shoved him to the top of the stairs, he’d lost it, looked out at the ensuing orgy, and started to drool at all of his favorite men gathered in one place. For the next few hours, he took any number of cocks and fists, drank loads of piss and ate shit from several men as well. There was always a lingering sense, however, that he was missing something, that something had been stolen from him, but every time he got close to naming it, it would flee at the sight of the next cock to suck in front of his face. Each time it retreated, it grew more and more distant, until the early morning, when T.P. was certain that nothing was wrong at all.

Pleased with his son’s performance, Skum treated him to a fast food buffet on the way home in his old pickup, and arrived at the trailer where they lived together. Stepping inside, T.P. knew it was his home, and yet the stench of the place, the trash littering the floor, all of it seemed new to him somehow. His father stuffed his face with food, gave him his own load of shit for dessert, and then fucked his stuffed boy in the bed–not even caring when T.P. started pissing uncontrollably all over the mattress. But then, it always stank of piss and cum, there was no use trying to resist it. This was their life now–and both Skum and T.P. no longer could even aspire to something more than this. 

It was Thursday morning, and they were supposed to be at work, but no one really cared if, or when, Skum and his son showed up anymore. They ended up spending the whole morning with T.P. on the bed, his father working both of his fists into the pigs wrecked hole for an hour and a half, before making him lick his dirty fists clean and then suck him off nice and slow. This really was the life, Skum supposed.

Across town, Jason came home from class–to his real house, not the house he and his father, Harold, had been at the night before, which was just a party house where half the wrestling team lived. Harold was waiting for him, already in his leathers, and embraced his son tight, grinding their muscular bodies up against one another. “Fuck dad, we were already at it all night long. You already want another session with your hot son?”

“You know I can’t fucking resist you, stud,” Harold said–now get that ass of yours downstairs. I’m gonna turn it red with a few paddles I didn’t get to try out yesterday, then breed it just how you like it,” he said, biting down on Jason’s neck playfully.

“Fuck Daddy, you know just what this boy needs.”

“Of course I do–we made each other after all. We’ll always have what we need, as long as we have each other.”

Harold gave his son a passionate kiss, and then pulled him downstairs for an afternoon session. In a few more years, Jason would finish his own training, Harold would give him his muir cap, and he’d be a master in his own right–but as far as he was concerned, he’d always be his boy. For sheltering him as a shade, and in exchange for a few decades of his life, Jason was more than happy to serve him in whatever delightful way his father might imagine. Everything had been made right, revenge had been served, and the two lived their new lives, happily ever after.

Interactive Story: Arctos Dating (Part 4)

Ken remained at the sex shop into the early hours of the morning, until he’d essentially run out of dick to suck. Mostly satisfied, he let off a little belch and left out the back door–though it took him a second to realize why. He no longer lived at the apartment he could vaguely recall living at, but instead rented out the basement in a rundown house back behind the sex shop, where the owner of the shop also lived. It was convenient to say the least, and given how popular Ken’s mouth and cock were, the owner gave him a steep discount on the rent provided he put in at least a few hours in the hall every night. He was a bit worried about having to show his face at the office the next day, but that, he realized, was fading quickly as well. Phil, after all, thought a filthy daddy like him ought to be working in a dirty job himself, so he’d never gone to college. He worked menial construction jobs, the dirtier the better, and then after gorging himself on fast food, would spend his free time at the shop, or at home, if he decided to get to know someone better.

He descended the stairs and unlocked the door to his new place, and was momentarily disgusted by the state of things, before the acceptance settled in over it. He went in and remembered that he had finally managed to level up on the arctos dating app. He pulled it up, expecting to be as disappointed as he had been when he’d gotten the bronze designation–but found that, at last, the app had given him a much larger range of permissions than before. For one thing, he could see some profiles, finally. Scrolling through a few of them, he realized that they all seemed to be bronze or trial members. He still didn’t have access to everyone on the app, then, including the guys he’d already dated before this. It was better than nothing, though, and when he clicked into a profile or two, he saw that he could request a date with them, if he so desired.

He explored a bit more of the app though, and saw something else–a tab that said, “Edit Profile”. He hadn’t even seen his own profile at all, so he clicked it, and sure enough, there it was–everything about him. His cigar smoking, his porn addiction, his gaining and incest fetishes, his craving for humiliation, his gloryhole hobby. It was…kind of hot, reading all of it, but he didn’t really want everyone to know that, did he? He clicked something to edit, but instead of opening up a text box, he got a little pop-up. Apparently, he could modify some of the changes that had been inflicted upon him, but for each one he reduced–another one would have to increase. As a silver member, he could modify his profile three times before it would lockdown again.

He knew what he’d change first, for sure. He opted to minimize the ugliness that Phil had given him, along with the humiliation fetish, and opted instead for some additional body growth, bulk, and body hair that had been gifted to him by Jack. He accepted the change, and watched in the mirror as his ugly face straightened out into a more rugged look, and his body grew even larger–with his sizable build, he eventually hit six feet eight inches tall, and weighed in at 450 pounds, a good amount of that packed onto his massive gut hanging off him.

Satisfied with that, he looked through the rest of his options. He decided that, as much as he enjoyed sucking cock, he didn’t really want to be known all over town as a gloryhole pig. He reduced that option, and decided that he could afford to lean into the redneck, blue collar persona that Phil had given him a bit more. It didn’t seem that bad, after all. His reality shifted around, and while he still was a regular at the sex shop, usually it was to get his massive, ten inch, uncut cock serviced by a couple of cockwhores in the hall while he watched some porn in a booth. Then, he smelled it–apparently, when he’d opted for increasing his redneck persona a bit, he hadn’t accounted for the loss in hygiene that came with it. He showered–on occasion. Maybe once a week, sometimes with soap even! He had a constant farmer’s tan from years working outside in just a tanktop, and his hair grew out into a ponytail down his back, even as his beard grew thicker and longer.

He had one final change to use, and decided he might as well address the masturbation and porn addictions as well. Looking over the remaining options, he decided he could stand being a bit older–he found that he actually didn’t miss his younger looks from before, and had quite enjoyed the thought of being the “daddy” to another cub or two…or more. His history shifted again, no longer spending much time at all in the shop at all, other than to go down the hall and get himself serviced, if there was a cute young fellow who liked being called “son”. Hell, he didn’t even mind playing with a guy closer to his own age, so long as they played along as his younger brother. Too late, he realized he had also intensified his incest fetish, so that it was one of the only ways to get him hard–and he could remember fondly how, in his youth, he’d played around with his own redneck brothers, uncles, and even his father and grandfather on one occasion. He wished he could have had a boy of his own…though he supposed, with this little app, maybe he could, one day.

He stroked a load out, thinking about setting up a date with an unsuspecting cub, and then warping them into a total pig for daddies, longing for a proper father to set them right, dominate them, train them, abuse them–anything for family really. After he came, he was surprised by how domineering he’d become after those three revisions, but again, it wasn’t unwelcome. He looked around at the cameras in the corner of the room–since the owner of the shop wasn’t making money off his mouth anymore, instead he had rights to the videos he recorded down in the basement, when Ken brought home his young boys to play with. He was quite popular on the internet, and anything he brought in over rent went right into Ken’s pocket. It was late though, and he had work on the construction site in the morning. He collapsed onto his bed for a few hours of rest, got up with his alarm, rolled through the fast food joint for a few bags of breakfast to feed his gut, and got to the site mostly on time. All day long, he kept checking the app, browsing the various bronze and trial members, narrowing down his selection until he decided on one young man in particular that he quite liked the looks of.

He was twenty three, looked like a bit of a hipster with a nice beard for just a young guy, and quite a few tattoos and piercings. He was wearing a nice shirt and khakis in his profile picture, and it looked like he had a job at some tech startup in the city as a programmer. He’d been on one date already, with a rather grungy leather daddy, who had given him a bit of a stink fetish and a definite kink for leather and BDSM. It seemed like the perfect opportunity to try out some of Ken’s now more domineering nature. He sent the dating request, and told the boy that he wanted to meet him for a drink a rather run down pub near the worksite–some place that would make him feel plenty out of place. Before it sent the request, however, he got a pop up from the app, alerting him that placing a date with this profile would also result in some changes to his own profile, in order to enhance compatibility. He hesitated for a moment, but then figured, why not? It’s not like he hadn’t changed plenty already. He accepted the note, sent the request, and then headed for his truck–except he didn’t own a truck. There, instead, was his motorcycle–an absolutely massive hog custom built for his massive frame. It had cost a pretty penny, but he fucking loved riding it. Looking down, he saw that his clothes had changed as well–adding a pair of leather chaps, motorcycle boots, and a heavy leather jacket. Nothing to object to so far. He climbed on, and rode off to the bar, and parked out front a few minutes early.

He got a beer, and a table where he could see the entrance, and sure enough, there the young man was–named Ryan. Ken gave a wave, and he could see Ryan’s face turn into one of trepidation. The app wouldn’t let him walk away though, and so Ken threw his arms behind his head, leaned back in the chair as Ryan came over and sat down beside him. “Evening boy, how ya doin’ this evenin’?” Ken said in his now heavily accented voice.

“Oh, uh…I think…there’s been a mistake. I tried to delete the app off my phone, and then I still got this notification, but I…I think I should go.”

“But if you go, ya ain’t gonna be able tah git a whiff a these, boy,” Ken said, wrapped one arm around Ryan’s neck, and pulled him into his chest and pit. Ryan moaned in surprise and pleasure, Ken reaching down to grope the boy’s now rock hard cock, and knew that he had him right where he wanted him. He played with him while he finished his beer, softening him up a bit, making sure Ryan knew to call him Daddy, and that every time Ken called him boy, or better, son, he would get more and more turned on each time. When Ken was finished, he suggested they head back to his place. He threw Ryan in front of him on his motorcycle, pulling him close into his sweaty chest, Ken’s massive cock pressed against the small of Ryan’s back, and they drove off to his house, and Ken led his new son down into the basement.

His apartment down there had changed a bit. Half was still a bedroom and kitchenette, but most of the living area was now a well equipped dungeon, with quite a few cameras all around to record the action. Ken undressed Ryan, and while the boy worshipped his grungy body and dirty leathers, he started warping him, twisting him–and especially his hipster tattoos until he was covered with redneck sayings and references–especially trucks, musk and bikers. Then, he got him bent over the fuck bench, and after warming up his son’s ass with a couple of paddles, he hauled out his massive, stinking cock and worked it into his son’s hole, giving him a good rough fuck until they were both sweaty and smelly. Ryan’s own scent was intoxicating, and only served to make Ken even harder and hornier. He came once, unloading a massive wad of cum into his ass, but his cock didn’t soften–he just kept fucking his hole until it was gaping, and dumped in a second load. Ryan could barely stand afterwards, but Ken just led his boy over to the bed, telling him how proud he was of him, that Daddy loved him so much, laid him down and licked his boy clean for aftercare, sucking a huge load from his own uncut cock at the end of it.

Ryan took his leave after that, no longer a programmer, but now a truck driver with a fetish for big dicked bikers–though none of them could compete with Ken. In the basement, Ken felt incredibly satisfied and more than a little drunk with power. He pulled up the app and began poking around in the other profiles, wondering who his next target would be. What Ken didn’t know though, was that there were levels to the app above silver–and someone else had already set their eye on him.

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Interactive Story: Arctos Dating (Part 3)

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Ken woke up the next morning and surveyed the destruction of his long night out with Eddie. His gut had diminished as he’d slept, but not my that much. He dug out an old scale he hadn’t used in a while from under the bathroom sink, weighed himself, and was shocked to see that he was 280 pounds–and from the looks of it, he had gained another inch or two, putting him at nearly six feet four inches tall. His beard was caked with cum, he stank of musk and cigar smoke, and as much as he wanted to be disgusted by himself, he was just horny–he hauled out his big cock from the stained briefs he’d crawled into bed, sat down in front of the computer, pulled up some porn and got to work on his first load of the morning.

His usual stash of porn wasn’t quite doing it for him, so he poked around for something new, and thought back to what Eddie had put on in the booth the night before–a whole lot of dad/son incest porn. While Ken had always liked the look of older guys, the thought of calling someone else Daddy had always made him a little queasy, but he pulled up some videos, started watching, and his reaction now was completely different. He found himself drawn especially to those videos which were a little heavier on the humiliation–whether it was the son manipulating the horny dad into sex, or whether it was the father catching his son in the act of sniffing his underwear, and humiliating him with the fact his own dad turned him on. One load became two and then three, with Ken licking up whatever didn’t soak into his briefs off his hand, feeling himself getting hungrier and hungrier–not only for food, but also for cum. Finally, he took a break, lit up a cigar and made himself some breakfast–but with those two cravings taken care of, the need to suck some cock was only getting stronger.

He’d woken up pretty late in the day, and thankfully he didn’t need to go to work for another few days, but he made his way back to the sex shop, the guy behind the counter giving him a nod and a welcome by name, like he was a regular. A shameless regular, no less. Ken went around behind the booths, half expecting Eddie to be there waiting for him, but there was just a couple of other pigs waiting for cocks to pop through the gloryholes in need of service. It was slow for a while, and Ken was getting anxious. So much so, that he went out and gave the guy behind the counter a blowjob as well, just to keep his hunger sated. There was a fast food joint down the street, and he went down there and stuffed himself for an hour or so, and when he got back to the shop, business had picked up. He sucked a good number of cocks, and when he was feeling mostly satisfied, he packed up what little dignity he still had and went home, where he stayed up for a few more hours, smoking cigars, watching porn, and jacking off, eventually collapsing into bed, considering a shower, but no longer sure why he would even bother.

The rest of his weekend proceeded the same. He’d hoped that some of the desires would wane slightly, but he found himself only growing fatter, even as his height stopped creeping up. By Monday morning, he was six foot four and 325 pounds, and thankfully, his work clothes had adjusted themselves to his new reality, like much of the rest of it had, and grown along with him, though finding the tent like shirts a bit snug on his massive, hairy frame only made him more self-conscious. Work, at least, would be more normal, he told himself–but when he arrived, and tried to focus on the tasks at hand, it was nearly impossible. He pulled up porn on his work computer, and right there in his cubicle, he rubbed out load after load right into the crotch of his suit pants, even as he found himself wondering what each of his male coworker’s cum would taste like.

He took a long lunch break to stuff his gut with fast food, and took several bags back with him to his cubicle, only to be greeted by his boss waiting for him. He was an older fellow, and gave Ken a bit of a flurry in his gut–though any guy could get that reaction out of him at this point. He berated him in his office about his performance and missed work days, only for things to take a rather…unsettling turn, and the humiliation turned rather sexual. Ken found himself bent over his boss’s desk and getting fucked by his sizable cock, and then fed his big load, before being sent back to his cubicle for the rest of the day, where he ate, and jacked off–and then saw the notification on his phone. Someone else wanted to go on a date with him, from the Arctos app.

It didn’t seem like that big of a deal though–the guy just wanted to grab a beer with him after work. If nothing else, it would be another load of cum, right? Ken was a bit disgusted that he was using his cravings as justification for behavior at this point, but if he’d learned anything about dates on the Arctos app, it was that he couldn’t seem to say no to them. So he agreed, the guy sent him the name of the bar, and Ken left work, wondering what sort of hot bear he’d be meeting.

He got to the bar, which was more working class than the sort of place he usually frequented, and scanned around for who he was meeting. The crowd was all guys, but clearly more straight than gay. He looked around at the various grizzled fellows, all done with work at the docks, or factories, or construction yards, but the one who waved him down was none of those–but a burly young fellow sitting in a booth in a corner, who was probably Ken’s age, or a bit younger even. He couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed, as he went over and slid in across from him, the young man waving down a waitress and getting him a beer.

“Ken, right? Howdy! I’m Phil. Glad you could make it.”

“Sure thing, I was just getting done with work myself,” Ken said, loosening his tie, feeling a bit out of place in this more rundown place, noticing how many guys were slipping them glances, or him, more specifically.”

“Yeah, I just got finished with work myself, I work in construction,” he said. “You look like you’ve been stuck in an office all day.”

Ken nodded, and shuffled in his seat a bit. Phil was congenial, looked a bit grimy and dusty in his hi vis gear, but just wasn’t quite his type–or at least, not the type he’d found himself developing over the last few dates. Ken wasn’t going to turn down a load of cum, of course, but he couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed. 

“You alright? You seem a little distracted. Long day?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Ken said, “I…you just aren’t quite what I was expecting, is all.”

“I get it,” Phil said, “You like your guys a little older. I do too.”

Ken looked at him a little confused. “They why ask for a date with me, if I’m not your type?”

Phil threw him a mischievous little grin, “You’re not my type yet, daddy.”

The word sent a shiver down Ken’s spine. “I, uh, gotta go, I just realized I forgot something at the office–”

“Daddy, sit down. See, you’re a great package already. Big, chubby, hairy, big beard, and a total pig for cock. We just need to adjust your…outlook, is all. Come on, sit down, have another beer with your boy for the afternoon, and let’s chat.”

Ken sat back down, and when the waitress came back by, she dropped off a whole bottle of cheap whiskey, which Phil insisted Ken swig from while he told him what he was going to expect from his latest daddy. For one thing, he wasn’t going to be working in an office–or if he did work in an office, he wouldn’t be wearing a suit, or anything like that. No, he liked his daddies with a bit more country in them. Ken listened, his tie disappearing, his button down swapping out for a grungy undershirt, khakis becoming grubby looking jeans. His daddies weren’t very smart either–no college education, for sure, and preferably a high school dropout. After all, Ken didn’t have much of a brain for smart stuff like that–for all of his life, he mostly just let his big cock do the thinking for him.

Ken was now quite drunk, and couldn’t seem to keep his hands away from his cock, which was not only hard, but quite a bit larger than it had been before. “Yeah, that’s right, just a big fuckin’ donkey cock shoved in those pants of yours, isn’t it? Just a stupid, sex obsessed daddy, can’t keep your hands off yourself, even when your out in public. You like it though, don’t you? Showing off that big fucking bulge of yours to anyone around? The humiliation just makes your hornier–and I think a lot of guys get one look at it, and probably want you inside them. You can’t turn anyone down though. You might be a top, but you’re too stupid to be much of a dom. You like other guys telling you what to do, who to fuck, how long, how hard, how many times. You’re just a stupid, dirty, ugly stud daddy. An ugly fuckin’ pig. No one would even look twice at you, if it wasn’t for that monstrous cock of yours, those huge balls, constantly leaking into your grungy underwear–”

“Fuck boy, ya can keep talkin’ if ya want, but if ya do, this load isn’t goin’ in yer hole, I can tell ya that.”

“What, you wanna fuck my hole daddy? I thought you liked older guys? I guess you don’t. I guess you like young cubs, don’t you? I mean, you’ll fuck anyone of course, if they ask for it, but that’s who you like best, muscular, handsome boys like me. You’ll do anything for someone like me, won’t you?”

Ken nodded, drooling a bit from two ends, and finally, Phil stood up, and led the way into the bathroom, where he bent over the toilet in the larger stall, and pushed his butt out in Ken’s direction. He didn’t need another invitation–he dropped his grubby pants, ran his precum-slicked head up and down Phil’s crack, and then pushed his massive head into his hole. 

“Oh fuck Daddy, you’re so fuckin’ big!”

“Eleven fuckin’ inches boy, and you’ll get all of it if ya want it.”

“Of course I fuckin’ want it, you stupid fuck! Get it in me!”

Phil was tight, but then, Ken hadn’t met much in the way of holes that were loose when it came to his cock. He drove it in, focusing on what Phil told him to do, and it wasn’t long before both of them were sweaty, and Ken was getting real close to cumming. He drove his massive cock in up to the root, and filled his boy up real good with a massive load, holding it in there as long as he could until Phil told him to pull out, and then the young man turned around and sat down on the toilet, his own cock rock hard. “Fuck daddy, that was a good one–now come get your reward. You love boycum, don’t you daddy?”

“Fuck boy, I love any cum, but boys like you always taste the fuckin’ best,” Ken said, got down on his knees, and started sucking. Phil didn’t last long, fed Ken his load, and then he was standing up, and out of the stall faster than Ken could do much. It wasn’t surprising–not many guys wanted to be seen with him, after all. He got himself put back together, stepped out of the stall, and got a good look at his new face for the first time, and was a bit shocked. His big ears and nose, heavy brow with sunken eyes, beard climbing up onto his cheeks paired with substantial balding, most of his beard greying now and colored a bit yellow from all of his cigar smoking over the years. He was an ugly fucker–but what a fucker he was, he supposed. He left the bathroom, paid for his drinks, and left–climbing into an beat up old pickup he couldn’t recall owning, and headed for the sex shop. One load couldn’t satisfy him after all, and at least through a hole, no one cared what he looked like. Guys loved his massive cock, and he could usually get two guys to service him at the same time–provided they didn’t have to look up at his ugly mug while they were doing it. On the other side, he could get as much cum as he wanted, and no one needed to know what he looked like either. 

He took a little break to check his phone that night, while grabbing dinner at the fast food joint nearby, and saw a notification from the arctos app–he’d received another upgrade! He was now, officially a silver tier member, with new benefits. Most importantly, he discovered that for the first time, he could see other profiles on men on the site–those who were bronze or trial members–and request to go on dates with them. And he assumed, that also meant he’d be able to warp them in the same way he had been warped before this. His mind was rather excited by this–but it would have to wait. He finished his meal and went back to the shop. There were still more cocks to suck after all. In a day or two, he’d find someone for a date, and take the app’s new privileges for a test drive.

Interactive Story: Arctos Dating (Part 2)

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Ken did his best to pretend that the night with Jack had been more or less normal. Sure, there might have been a few…oddities, but he had probably just been drunk and imagined things that weren’t really there. He kept hoping, for some reason, that Jack would reach out to him again, since he still had no way of contacting him from his end of the app. However, the more he tried to focus on getting back to normal, the more he noticed that things seemed to be different.

For one thing, he was just so damn horny now, all the time. Horny, and hungry. The day after he met Jack, and he felt like he was hungover as hell, the one thing that still seemed to be working was his cock, and so he milked out three loads before falling asleep that night at last, wishing he had another day to recover before going back to work on Monday. 

That morning, he woke up, needed to jack off again, ate a much larger breakfast than he usually did, and when he tried to get into his usual business casual, he was frustrated to discover that everything was just a bit too small for him. It wasn’t a matter that he’d gotten chubbier or anything, though he had perhaps gained a little chub–everything was off, from the length of his sleeves, to the legs of his pants, to even his shoes feeling a bit too cramped for his feet. He passed it off as nothing, maybe just a strange little bloat, and did his best to get through the workday, but the sensation of being hungover refused to pass. It wasn’t until he passed by some coworkers who had just come in from a smoke break outside that he realized he wasn’t hungover from the drinking, but from the cigar he’d had with Jack.

He’d quit that though. He wasn’t going back to being a smoker if he could help it. It wasn’t even that he found himself craving cigarettes again–he wanted the feel of a cigar in his hand, that more complex flavor, and deeper nicotine buzz. That evening, he held off pretty well, but soon found his porn interest sliding into cigar smoking videos, and as horny as he was without a chance to jack off at work, he found that he couldn’t cum–and the hangover sensation was only intensifying. He tried to go to bed, but just tossed and turned for a couple of hours before he finally gave in, found a smoke shop that was still open, bought some cheap cigars, went home, smoked one, and the relief! It opened the floodgates in other ways as well, and he came twice as he smoked it, and feeling better than he had in days now, he managed to sleep.

The next few days though, everything just got worse. He was definitely outgrowing his clothes. He measured himself, and was surprised to discover he was gaining almost an inch a day–and was now 6’1”–no wonder his pants were too short! He did have a definite belly coming in, but his chest seemed to be growing not only fat, but some muscle as well–that, and there was the body hair. He’d never been that hairy before, but the day after, he’d started feeling rather itchy, and now three days past the date with Jack, he had a full blown forest of fur coming in all over his chest. It was embarrassing, and coupled with the shrinking clothes, he faked an illness on Wednesday and planned on calling out for the rest of the week, until whatever this strange shit was subsided. Only it didn’t subside at all, and the time off from work only gave him more time for his worst impulses. He spent Wednesday and Thursday bingeing food, cigars and masturbation, until Friday afternoon, when he got a notification from the Arctos dating app–someone else wanted to take him on a date!

He opened it up, but again, he couldn’t see the fellow’s profile or picture or anything–but this time, there was a messaging function open that wasn’t there before, along with a message from the stranger.

“Hey man! You’re looking hot–wanna grab dinner and take a trip to the movies tonight?”

Ken hadn’t gone to see a movie in over a year, since the pandemic had struck. Maybe it would provide him a little bit of relief from his recent impulses as well. He was a bit worried that meeting up with another guy might change him more, but it’s not like that was really possible. He was just having a rough week is all, getting back into the dating scene after a year without. He was just pent up, and a little bloated, and a few days away from work was all he needed. He took the fellow up on his offer, and the fellow offered to pick him up. It wasn’t exactly the safest thing, he knew, but it was probably fine. Ken told him to pick him up at a park near his apartment, so he wouldn’t have to give him his address, and at six, he was out waiting, wondering who this next blind date was going to be.

It wasn’t long before an old beater truck pulled into the parking lot. Ken didn’t think much of it, until the driver climbed down out of the seat, turned around, and beamed at him. “You must be Ken!” he said, “The name’s Eddie, nice to meet you.”

Ken was a bit confused at first. He’d been expecting someone of at least Jack’s caliber, but this guy was decidedly not in stud territory. He was quite a bit shorter than Ken, especially at his new, inexplicable height, with a massive ball gut that Eddie had to tilt back to support. He was wearing some old, grungy looking jeans, suspenders, and just an undershirt with a number of unidentifiable stains on it, and when he came in for a hug, he definitely didn’t smell like he’d taken a shower that day. “Uh…yeah, nice to, uh, meet you.”

“Well come on then, get in the truck! I’m starving.”

“Oh shit, you know, I just realized I forget my wallet at home,” Ken said, “Let me, uh, go grab it.” It was a bad excuse, but it was something at least. There was no way he was going to go on a date with this fellow, if he could help it. However, he found himself walking after Eddie to his truck,, and climbing in with him, feeling a bit sheepish, and wondering why he was doing this. He’d felt the same way with Jack, actually–every suggestion had just somehow necessary. Eddie just chuckled, “Don’t worry pal, I can spot you.”

They drove off, Eddie’s right hand leaving the steering wheel and making its way over to Ken’s thigh, across the bench seat. “You don’t mind if I smoke, do you?” Ken said, hoping that a cigar might dissuade him.

“Hell no, light it up! Cigars are fucking sexy as hell. Loved seeing that in your pics.”

His pics? He hadn’t taken any pictures of himself smoking, that he could recall, and he certainly hadn’t put any up on the dating app. As far as he knew, the only photo up there was his face pic that he’d used as his profile picture. “My pics?” Ken asked, as he lit up his cigar.

“Yeah, you got a good little collection going already on there. Love a big, furry fella like you, couldn’t resist adding my own special twist, if you know what I mean,” Eddie said, and gave him a wink. He turned into a strip mall parking lot, and then into a fast food drive through. This, apparently, was dinner. Eddie pulled up to the speaker and rattled off way more food than two people ought to order. Ken tried to tell him he didn’t want to eat that much, but Ken didn’t pay attention. At the window, five bags of food came at them, along with two big drinks each. Eddie pulled into a parking spot, tossed Ken a bag, and told him to eat up.

“I, uh, don’t usually eat fast food, honestly.”

Eddie just leered at him, “Well you do now, pig. Come on, I know how fucking hungry you are,” he unwrapped a burger and pushed it to Ken’s lips, who found himself helplessly opening his mouth and taking a bite, his gut giving a little gurgle, his hunger rising. “Come on, you don’t have to hide that gluttonous side from me, I know exactly how good it feels to just let go and enjoy yourself.”

Ken ate the first hamburger is about six bites, picked up another one and tore a big chunk out of it with a moan, while Eddie slid closer, eating his own sandwich with one hand while he pushed up Ken’s tight shirt and rubbed his belly. “Oh fuck, it tastes so fucking good,” Ken said through a mouthful.

“Sure does piggy, come on, let’s see how big we can get this gut tonight.”

Ken demolished bag after bag of food, Eddie eating his own smaller share, but spending most of the time rubbing and massaging Ken’s belly and chest, rubbing the grease into his skin as he did, telling him that it was good for making his hair grow. His sweat pants were a bit tight now, and Eddie hauled down the front of them, fished out his cock and rubbed it as well, telling Ken that he loved being a glutton, loved seeing how big he could get, loved eating in front of people like a shameless pig, making as much of a mess as he wanted to. Eventually, all the food was gone, and Ken was left groaning while Eddie massaged his much larger belly and chest, his shirt now impossible to pull down over it at all, and sure enough, even more hair had sprouted across it and down into a thick pubic bush as well. Eddie took a photo of Ken’s face and showed it to him, and sure enough, his beard was longer too–just barely long enough to brush across his chubby chest, full of grease and bits of food.

“Alright, let’s go see what’s playing, pig,” Eddie said, and drove off again. Ken just nursed his very full gut, groaning a bit, but still so hard and horny. He reached down to play with himself, only for Eddie to knock his hand away, telling him to wait. He pulled into another parking lot, and Ken was confused for a moment–there was no movie theater here, just a run down looking sex shop. “Come on, let’s get inside,” Eddie said, and Ken hauled his fat ass out, trying to get his shirt down and failing, waddling after Eddie, horrified at what this nightmare date was becoming.

Eddie knew the old man behind the counter by his first name, pulled Ken to the back of the shop where there was a row of private booths. “I like this place cause most of these are big enough for big guys like us,” he said, “Go on, get in and sit down.”

Ken went in and sat on the sticky bench, and Eddie followed, squeezing down between Ken’s thighs, his face in Ken’s crotch. He pulled the door shut, put on some gay porn, and got to work milking Ken’s cock. It wasn’t Ken’s usual porno selection, but he found himself enraptured by it anyway–and feeling Ken sucking on his cock the whole time left his own hands free to explore his new, even larger body. As disgusted as he was by the massive gut, the skin was incredibly sensitive, and the increased layer of hair made him shudder–especially when Eddie’s hands joined in. Even his longer beard was a new sensation, and not an unwelcome one. In about fifteen minutes, Eddie milked one load out of him, and when Ken went to open the door, he stopped him. 

“Now now, I know these fat fucking pig balls of yours can pump out more than one load–I’m not done with you yet, piggy.”

Eddie kept sucking, and sure enough, Ken was still hard as a rock. He made his way through three full videos, an hour and a half, with Eddie milking load after load out of his cock, leaving Ken panting and heaving, both of them sweating up a storm in the tight quarters, before Eddie finally stood up, and fed Ken the last load of cum he’d shot into his mouth.

“Fuck, that’s not…the date I was expecting, you’re a damn fine cocksucker.”

“Heh, I’ve had lots of practice,” Eddie said, “But I think it’s time you got dessert, don’t you?”

“Oh fuck, I can’t eat more man, come on.”

“Trust me, you’ll like this. It’s your favorite fucking meal. Come on.”

They left the booth, squeezing their way out, but instead of leaving the shop, they went down to the end of the booths, around behind them, and found themselves in a narrow hall behind the booths. Ken had noticed the glory hole in the booth, but hadn’t thought much of it–there was one in every booth, all the way down. A cock popped through, and Eddie shoved Ken forward. “Go on pig, get your dessert.”

Ken got down and started sucking, while Eddie encouraged him, groped him, gave him tips and pointers, and in a few minutes, he got his first load of cum–and just like Eddie said, it tasted fucking delicious. He crawled down a couple of booths to where another cock had just pushed through, and sucked that one as well, no longer needing much in the way of encouragement, letting Eddie pull down the back of his sweatpants, and slide his own cock into Ken’s hole while he sucked the stranger off. Ken lost track of how many loads he ate as he crawled from glory hole to glory hole. Eddie would occasionally take a break to suck a cock himself, and more than a few guys came around to use Ken’s hole while he was sucking, but he didn’t mind. He loved cum after all, just like Eddie said, and it didn’t matter which end it went into.

It was nearly three in the morning when the two of them finally stumbled out, Ken’s belly now even larger than it had been when he’d entered. He hauled his shirt off and let it all hang out, as he dug the half smoked cigar out of the truck, relit it, and sucked it down as well, while Eddie gave his full, massive gut a rub down. Eddie took him home not long after that, and Ken collapsed into bed, exhausted, knowing that come morning he would be horrified by how he’d spent the evening, but he couldn’t help but admit that part of him was thoroughly satisfied as well. He’d just have to deal with the consequences in the morning, wouldn’t he?

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Caption: Truer Words #2 – Whale

Hey all! For the month of April, I’m taking a break from The Pigtown Chronicles, and will be posting some caption stories instead. We’ll have captions Monday through Thursday, and I’ll be posting some longer stories on Fridays. This week, we have a mysterious force punishing men for their cruel language. Whatever you might feel about others, be careful, they might just come true for yourself.

“I can’t believe they let whales like that even stay here, it’s so fucking disgusting. He could at least have the common decency and shame to put on a fucking shirt, so the rest of us don’t have to look at all of that fat. Probably gets off on it, flaunting it, knowing how much he’s grossing everyone else out. Goes back to his room and jacks off thinking about how much of a hairy slob he is.” Kevin groused a bit, looking at the chub who was sitting by the pool in one of the deck chairs, and then laid back on the chaise, ready to work on his tan. He wouldn’t let something like that ruin his vacation, at least. The last thing he heard before he drifted off to sleep was someone whispering, almost in his ear:

“Truer words were never spoken.”

Kevin woke up a little while later, and felt…a little strange, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on why, immediately. He hefted himself up a little, listening to the chaise underneath him creak slightly, but didn’t give it much thought. Thankfully he hadn’t slept too long, and wasn’t burnt to a crisp. He looked around, thankful that the fat pig from before was gone, and as he surveyed the crowd, he saw, well, one of the most handsome men he’d ever seen in his life.

Golden brown, heavily muscled, beautiful smile, tight ass bulging in those swim trunks. Kevin knew he had to say hello–he’d never been one to not shoot his shot, after all. He had…a little trouble getting up from where he’d been lying down, but couldn’t quite figure out why. He made his way over to his target, and only kind of noticed other people stepping out of his way, the looks he was getting from them, some disgust, some pity. He got to the object of his attraction, opened his mouth to say hello, only for the man to shoot him such a scowl that the words died on his lips, and the man passed him right by.

Not one to be deterred, he turned around, grabbed the guy’s wrist to pull him back, and saw the massive, hairy arm in disbelief, as the man whirled on him, and shook him off. 

“Who the fuck said you could touch me, pig?” the man said.

“I…I just, I wanted to say–”

“Please, I know what you want. You fat fucks are all the fucking same, think that we’re all fucking chasers, that we want to be anywhere near your disgusting body,” he said, and jabbed a finger into Kevin’s gut–a gut he swore hadn’t been there before. “Well the only guys who want to fuck you pity you, and I doubt you even get laid that much anyway. Now get the fuck out of my sight.”

Kevin, horrified at what had happened to his body, retreated to his room at the resort, and stared at himself in the mirror, his fat, hairy physique, and he was horrified. The words from the man kept reverberating through him, and he…he started to feel horny, thinking about how he’d been demeaned and humiliated, right there in front of everyone. He was a pig, a horny, dirty piggy, and…

He started snorting, shoving his hand down the front of his trunks and rubbed out a load from his puny cock in a matter of moments, and with it went all sense of shame and decency. Yeah, he was a pig. A whale. He loved food, he loved showing off his gluttony. He went right back down to the pool, trunks still wet with cum, and ordered some food while he relaxed, excited to gorge himself in front of everyone, and show them just how big of a whale he could become.

Caption: Truer Words #1: Hick

Hey all! For the month of April, I’m taking a break from The Pigtown Chronicles, and will be posting some caption stories instead. We’ll have captions Monday through Thursday, and I’ll be posting some longer stories on Fridays. This week, we have a mysterious force punishing men for their cruel language. Whatever you might feel about others, be careful, they might just come true for yourself.

“Fuck, I hate it here, I don’t know why we always have to come visit my uncle’s stupid fucking farm. Whole towns just full of a fat, stupid hicks, probably a bunch of incestuous fuckers too, judging by how ugly they all are,” Nick muttered to himself in the guest room of his uncle’s house, just wanting to be back home with his friends.

“Truer words were never spoken…”

Wait, what was that?” Nick said, and felt an odd shiver run down his spine. He could have sworn that something had spoken, but he was alone, wasn’t he? Whatever, he might as well take a selfie and post it to Instagram, do something to show everyone how lame it was out here. He went into the bathroom and gave a bored pose in the mirror, and only when he looked at the pictures after, did he realize he wasn’t wearing his usual clothes. He was wearing a set of overalls!

“What the fuck? I didn’t put this shit on,” he said, trying to get the clasps to unhook, but they wouldn’t budge. He didn’t even notice that he was beginning to grow cubbier, a beard filling in across his face, hairline receding as it turned from brown to grey. The room started to spin around him. He dropped his phone and tried to steady himself, and when the room finally stopped spinning, he looked around and he…wasn’t in the same bathroom as before. 

This one was…grungier, and smaller. He hauled himself up with the lip of the counter, and found himself staring at a new face–a bulbous ugly nose, scrunched eyes, balding hair nearly white and pulled back into a ponytail. He got his feet underneath him and stood up, now six inches shorter than before.

“Where in fuckin’ hell, this ain’t Unc’s place!” he said, his voice deeper and raspier, with an obvious rural twang, “What the hell happened tah me? I ain’t…some old redneck fuck!”

“Nick, where the fuck are ya?” Came a voice from outside the room, one he didn’t recognize. A moment later, another chubby fellow poked his head into the bathroom, “Come on Nick, we’re gonna be late bro,” he said.

“Nick’s head started spinning again, but this time, it was also growing thicker, and slower. This…this was Billy, his little brother, right? He tried to tell himself that he didn’t have a little brother, but…but that wasn’t right, of course he did. “Sorry Billy, just got distracted I guess.”

“No worries bro, I know ya ain’t the smartest fucker, but yer one of the cutest pigs in town,” he said with a wink, and pulled Nick into a kiss–a full kiss, with tongue, that left him panting a bit, his stubby cock hard in the front of his overalls. Unable to stop himself, he dropped to his knees, hauled out Billy’s cock and blew him. It didn’t take long, Billy could cum ten times a day, but never lasted longer than a minute. Nick guzzled down his brother’s cum, licked his mustache clean, and got up.

By afternoon, all memories of his prior life were forgotten for good–aside from a little corner of his dim mind, where the old Nick was trapped, well aware that he was caught in his own worst nightmare, but no one would hear him ever again.