Orwell’s Demon (Part 2)

-Before-

Orwell was at his desk, distracted again, but then again, he was usually distracted these afternoons, ever since the wrestling coach, Mr. Diamond, had moved his office into the open office space as Orwell’s. He wasn’t the only one afflicted by any means–several of the young women teachers around the school would stop by periodically to say hi, though their eyes were glued to the young hunk everyone was talking about. Still, as good a guy as Ray Diamond was, Orwell knew he would never have a chance with him–he was hopelessly straight, or else so deep in the closet no one would ever find him.

He looked back at his computer and tried to focus on entering grades, but there was something else bothering him. The amulet he was wearing–the thing he’d bought on a whim at a little thrift shop downtown a few days prior, which he’d been wearing since, was…warm. Not just warm, actually, but hot against his skin.

He could be yours, you know.

It was a voice. A voice in his head, but it wasn’t…his voice. He looked around, just in case, but no one around Orwell had spoken.

I know you want him. I know everything that you want, Orwell. You want so many things, so many men. It’s beautiful, but so many of them don’t want you back. So much…unrequited desire built up in you, with nowhere to go.

The heat welled up somewhere new now–in Orwell’s crotch. His cock was rock hard, suddenly, throbbing with need. The voice was right, to some extent. Orwell was gay, but he wasn’t lacking for sex. He was twenty-six, had a decent body (though not as nice as Ray Diamond had) and was by no means a virgin…but he did have a habit for falling head over heels in lust with the straightest of men–men like Mr. Diamond.

He was certain his cock was going to explode, but it didn’t–as rapidly as the heat, and the voice, had come–they disappeared, leaving Orwell to heave a sigh of relief. A couple desks away, Ray Diamond shuddered, and then stood up from his desk, adjusted his crotch, and walked over to where Orwell was sitting. Orwell could…sense something was off about him. His eyes…had a tinge of red, and his mouth was curled in a snarl that he’d never seen on the coach’s face before. “Well Orwell?” Ray said–and it was the voice. The voice from his head, speaking through Ray’s mouth, “Do you want me or not? Come on and let’s have some fun.”

Orwell didn’t know what to do…but when Mr. Diamond grabbed his hand and hauled him out of the office chair and pulled him down the hall, towards the gyms on the other side of the building, Orwell’s heart did a little flutter. “A-Are you sure, Ray? I mean…at school?”

“Please–what Ray wants doesn’t matter anymore. The only person I aim to please, is you.”

“But…who are you?”

Ray turned around, and the flicker of red around his eyes Orwell had seen earlier had grown more pronounced, the hand round his own was hotter, and the grip was tight. “You’ll see…Now come on. Ray knows just the place.”

They ended up in a storage room inside one of the gyms, and among the spare jerseys, balls, and other gym equipment, Ray tore at Orwell’s clothes, ripping them away, even as his own seemed to simply…disappear. No–not disappear. They were burning up. In the dim light, Orwell could see the fabric simply burning up, like paper turning to ash. The coach’s skin underneath was red and inflamed, almost too hot to the touch–but the hottest part of him was, by far, his cock. If Ray had been that endowed before, Orwell was sure he would have noticed–it had to be at least ten inches long, and as thick as a beer can. He started to get on his knees, but Ray had other ideas–he shoved Orwell down and started running the massive member up and down his crack.

“I don’t think–it’s so big…” Orwell said.

“I know,” Ray said, and shoved the head into Orwell’s ass, unlubed, making him scream in pain, the coach driving his cock in deeper and deeper–but there didn’t seem to be an end to it. Orwell had never felt someone go this deep inside him before, his guts churning and coiling and burning with every thrust. “But it’s what you want, Orwell–I promise to always give you what you want.”

It felt like hours, the cock driving into him deeper and deeper, Orwell losing track of how many times he came. Then, suddenly, he felt the urge to gag, and then something forced his jaw wide, and with one mighty heave, Ray forced the head of his cock out through Orwell’s mouth, leaving him groaning and muttering in panic. “Like a pig on a spit,” the voice said, and Orwell felt himself…lifted from the ground, impaled on the bestial cock his fellow teacher had grown–or who he assumed was his fellow teacher. Claws dug into his skin and twisted him around on the shaft until he could see the thing which was now fucking him–and found himself staring at what he could only call a demon. “How does the little piggy feel?” the thing asked, licking his lips, “Does it feel good? I am yours, five times, but give in, and you can be mine for all eternity. Say yes, pig. Say yes–I will give you such glorious pleasure, I promise.”

Orwell just screamed, trying to haul himself free of the demon’s massive cock.

“A ‘no’ then. Four more, piggy. Four more,” the demon said, gripped Orwell’s sides, and began fucking him on the massive shaft, the head thrusting up and down Orwell’s throat until the demon gave a long roar, tugged Orwell up so the head slipped back into his stomach, and he came. Orwell felt the cum flooding his guts, flooding his body, and as it did…he could see his body changing, sagging, filling up with fat–enough fat that he dragged the demon’s dick down and he landed with the thud, the dick snapping off and turning to ash. The air around him was full of ash too–the remains of Ray’s body fluttering down around him, and his now obese body, hole gaping, as he hauled on his clothing (clothing which had somehow adjusted to his now flabby frame) and fled the scene as fast as he could, trying to ignore the laugh dogging him in the back of his mind the entire way home.

Daddy’s Little Man (Part 4)

WARNING: Scat, Diapers, Extreme Mental Regression, etc.

From the way his legs were swinging without even touching the ground, James realized he must have shrunk again as well, but with no way of measuring, all he knew was that his daddy absolutely dwarfed him…and yet he felt a strange sense of comfort in that. “Alright, come here little man, it’s alright,” Mr. Rawlins said, pulling James into a hug, and he melted into the older man’s chest, the sense of comfort and security which washed over him drove his earlier terror from his mind. He was on his daddy’s lap now–everything would be alright. Mr. Rawlins started rubbing one of hands up and down his big belly, and his peepee did that funny thing again, getting kind of stiff in his diaper, and James sucked harder on the rubber cock in his mouth. “Yeah, that’s my good little man. Still, since you’re being such a pain, I think we need to do something about that head of yours, don’t we? We need to make sure you stay occupied, so you don’t get any ideas about running away from me ever again. So how about this, how about we make you a naughty baby? A stupid, dirty, naughty little man? How does that sound? Would you like that? I know I would–I’d like that a lot,” Mr. Rawlins said, massaging his own cock through his suit pants.

Some distant part of James, something small told him he needed to get away, that he needed to fight against his daddy, but he was so big, and so…so important, and so nice…he couldn’t do that. He wanted to be whatever his daddy wanted him to be. As he sat there on his daddy’s lap, wreathed in pipe smoke, he suddenly felt his bladder release again, but this time it was different. It wasn’t just piss flowing out of him, it was his brain, his knowledge, his thoughts. It was like a drain had been opened at the base of his brain and it was all flowing out through his cock and into his diaper. It was so hard to think, and he didn’t have many words to use to do so, his eyes growing dull and vacant as a bit of drool seeped out around his pacifier. He was running on instinct more than anything now. He sucked harder on the rubber pacifier, feeling his peepee tingle in anticipation–but what he was anticipating he didn’t really know.

“Yeah, that’s much better. Look at those eyes of yours now–so innocent, so loving, so dull. You’re daddy’s little man, aren’t you? Aren’t you?” Mr. Rawlin’s said, tickling James massive gut and making him giggle around his pacifier. “Yeah, you won’t be able even think of running away anymore, will you? Still, I think we need to find something else to occupy your attention, just to make sure you don’t get any ideas. Daddies hate it when their little men get ideas.”

James felt his asshole release then, and a massive flood of shit filled the back of his diaper, and while the smell was horrendous, it also made his peepee tingle even more, especially when the shit started working its way around between his thick thighs and under his balls. Happy in his shitty diaper, James started rocking back and forth on his daddy’s knee, spreading it around as much as he could, wanting to get dirtier, filthier, a nasty, gross baby for his daddy, just like he wanted him to be. His peepee was tingling so much, and it felt so good, he could barely stand it, and he started humping his diaper, feeling his peepee rub up against the fabric as well as his fat.

“Yeah, what a disgusting little man. You enjoy that? You like having a filthy diaper? Just you wait–I don’t think I’ll change you for days–I want to see how full it can get. Still, I don’t think you’re quite naughty enough yet. How about we make that peepee of yours your new brain?”

The tingle in his peepee was suddenly ten times more powerful, and James weak thrusts sped up, the diapered man turning a bit so he could hump his full diaper against his daddy’s suit, and after a few moments he was rewarded with the most wonderful sensation, kind of like he was peeing again, but ten times better. He let out a groan, the pacifier dropping from his mouth, and his daddy bent over, giving him a deep kiss, toying with his little man’s nipples, and suddenly James was cumming again, unable to help himself, messily making out with his daddy, a small dark spot forming on the front of Mr. Rawlins’ pants as well.

“Yes, I think you’ll do nicely, little man,” Mr. Rawlins said, putting James down on the ground, where the massively obese adult baby gaped around with empty eyes while he rubbed the front of his pants with one of his hands, making his peepee happy and his daddy happy all at the same time, squishing his nasty shit around in his diaper. “Still, I had hoped you would be ready for school–I love a good school boy. I think I did a little too much damage for that though…let’s see then–we can’t have you wandering around in just a diaper after all. Still, I think I know just the look for a dumb, nasty and naughty baby like you.”

Mr. Rawlins wreathed his new little man in another cloud of smoke, and when it cleared, a new outfit was adorning his body–a tight fitting white sailor suit, or at least, mostly white. The crotch was stained a light yellow and the ass had brown streaks from where his diapers routinely overflowed, but James didn’t mind, clapping his hands with joy as he looked down at himself, letting loose a wet, shitty fart as he did, and looking up to his daddy for approval. He wanted his daddy to be happy–after all, his daddy could do anything he wanted.

“Ha, look at you–so handsome. You know, I was going to wait until we got home to introduce you to my special pacifier, but I…I don’t think I can wait, little man,” Mr. Rawlins said, and unzipped his pants, “Open up–daddy’s got something big for you to suck on.”

James didn’t need any more encouragement, and drooling a bit, he took the cock in his mouth and started sucking on it, feeling his pee pee start tingling again, and with one of his hands, he rubbed the front, feeling himself cum again like before, when he’d made his daddy happy. He loved making his daddy happy after all–and when the big man tensed up and unloaded his seed down his little man’s throat, James knew he’d made him very happy indeed.

Daddy’s Little Man (Part 3)

Who had he been? He’d been a university student…in a way, he supposed he still was. After all, he hadn’t actually decreased in age at all–sure, he looked young, but he didn’t think he actually was younger, and yet…in his head, when he’d been around da–no, Mr. Rawlins–it had been like he’d been a kid again. No knowledge, no common sense, no…no nothing. He could hear the help running around, and Mr. Rawlins was barking orders all around the store, all of them searching for him. Why him? What had he done to deserve this sadistic treatment? He had to get out, he had to find someone who could help him.

After a few minutes, the shopkeepers quit their frantic searching and went back to their jobs. Maybe he’d given up on finding him. If he could just wait for a couple more minutes, maybe he could sneak out the side door a little ways away. However, before he could build up the gut to make a run for it, James noticed something else. The smell–the smoke was back. Mr. Rawlins must be close by. James did his best to hold his breath, taking in as little as possible, but the lack of air was making it his head swim–making it hard to think. Maybe he should just end this game of hide and seek. He was tired–maybe Mr. Rawlins…maybe daddy and him could go home, and he could have a nap. He was feeling kind of sleepy, and relaxed.

He let out a little sigh, and then he smelled something–and felt something. His crotch was warm, and did he smell…piss? Looking down, he saw that the front of his shorts had a growing dark patch, and a moment later, his piss started to seep through the fabric and patter onto the floor. He froze there, unable to believe this was happening, but try as he might, he couldn’t stop the flow–he’d lost all control of himself, and the tears welled up, and then he was bawling like a baby.

A moment later, a hand shot through the clothes surrounding him, grabbed his arm and yanked him from his hiding place–Mr. Rawlins still smoking his pipe and glaring down at James. The guilt–oh the guilt that crashed down on him, when he saw how disappointed and hurt his daddy was that James had run away from him. He felt terrible–why had he ever done such a horrible thing? “I’m–I’m sorry daddy, I don’t know–I just…” he said, but could barely get any words out past the tears.

“Such a naughty boy I have here,” Mr. Rawlins said, “running off, and unable to control himself? I think someone needs a spanking.”

“No daddy–no!” James shouted, but the bigger man easily dragged him over to a chair by the dressing rooms, yanked down James pants and underwear to his ankles, bent him over on his lap and started smacking his bottom–hard.

“Yeah…that’s it–such a naughty little man, yes you are, such a–fuck…” Mr. Rawlins said, glee in his eyes, and pushing up against his gut, James could feel Mr. Rawlins penis hard as a rock, and as much as it hurt to get spanked, it also felt…a little good. James could feel his own pee pee start hardening–it felt strange again, like when he’d kissed his daddy earlier, but a good kind of strange. He did deserve to be spanked though, he had to admit that. He’d been a very bad boy to run off like that earlier. He deserved to be punished. After twenty pounding slaps, all of his cheeks red as could be, Mr. Rawlins let him stand up again. “Now, you naughty boy, what do you say?”

“Sorry daddy…I’m sorry…” James said.

“That’s better. Now, it seems like you’re a littler man than I’d thought, since you can’t even keep from pissing yourself. Let’s see what we can do about that,” Mr. Rawlins said, took a deep draw off his pipe and exhaled a thick plume of smoke so massive it enveloped James entire body. Coughing and eyes burning, he waved away the thick cloud as best he could, but it clung to him for a few moments before dispersing, and james shivered a bit, feeling somewhat exposed all of a sudden–and for good reason. His school uniform had disappeared and been replaced by nothing beyond a thick diaper around his groin. James tried to speak and protest, but for some reason all of the words in his head were getting jumbled up and coming out as nonsense, and when he tried to stumble away, his legs couldn’t seem to balance right, and he fell down onto his padded ass, and frustrated, he started to wail.

“Aww, calm down little man, here, daddy has your pacifier here–this will make you feel better.”

Mr. Rawlins pulled something that looked a bit like a pacifier out of his pocket, but instead of a small bulb to suck on, it had a thick, three inch rubber cock which Mr. Rawlins shoved in his mouth. James started sucking immediately and felt so much calmer and happier with his pacifier in his mouth, but when Mr. Rawlins got down to see him, James still rolled over and started crawling away as fast as his short arms and legs could take him, gut dragging across the department store carpet.

“Goodness, you are a stubborn one, aren’t you?” Mr. Rawlins said, and now, as James was crawling away, he felt the weight start to pack on once again. The gut which had only been grazing the floor moments earlier was now dragging across it, forcing him to crawl even slower as his knees kept running into the apron trailing back between his legs. His face and chest packed on weight as well, making it hard to breathe, and just crawling ten feet left him completely winded. Mr. Rawlins walked over to where James was struggling for air, bent over and somehow…picked him up. James must have weighed over five hundred pounds by this point, and yet Mr. Rawlins hefted him up and brought him over to the chair he’d spanked James over moments earlier and sat down, putting the giant diapered man on his knee as though he weighed nothing at all.

Daddy’s Little Man (Part 2)

“Alright, and we can get your neck real quick…20 inches, alright. Shoulders…18 inches. And now your sleeve…28. Hmm…this is going to be a challenge. Alright young man, just two more. First, your trunk…let’s see…27”, and lastly your inseam…28”. Huh, would have expected you to be taller, like your daddy. Oh well, I suppose a little man like you still has some time to grow, right?” Howard said with a grin, and then turned to Mr. Rawlins. “Well sir, I can see why you brought him here, but I just don’t think–”

“Oh hush now Howard, you’ve been plenty helpful. Leave me with my boy, and we can sort the rest of it out.”

“Oh…uh, very well. Just call me if you need help.”

“I certainly will. Thanks much, Howard,” Mr. Rawlins said, dismissing the help and then coming close to James, who was still boggled by his reflection. He’d watched himself closely while Howard had taken those last measurements, and in each case, the man hadn’t pulled the tape tight to him…it was more like his body had changed to fill a certain dimension. His neck had thickened, double and triple chins descending to fill out the tape there. But most obvious had been his trunk and inseam, his body shortening from his six foot height with each one, until he was probably a foot shorter, maybe five foot two at max. “Well little man, what do you think?”

“You…How did…I don’t understand…” James started to say, but looking at his new form, he was simply at a loss for words. His clothing hadn’t grown with him at all, his t-shirt stretched to the limit, his jeans bursting at the seams, the collar nearly choking him, and turning his face a bit red. “Daddy…daddy what did you do to me?”

“What do you mean, boy? I didn’t do anything to you. We’re just getting you fitted for your new uniform. You start the third grade next week–aren’t you excited?”

James nodded his head, but hadn’t be been going to college? No, how could he go to college? He didn’t know much of anything–he could only read those small books daddy had for him in his room, and he wasn’t very good at math yet–he still had trouble adding sometimes. No way could he be ready for college. Looking at himself in the mirror, he did look rather…fresh faced. While he knew he was almost twenty, and he looked grown up, some part of him still looked…very young. He turned away, finding it uncanny, and found himself staring at Mr. Rawlins instead…and he felt, strange. This big, old man who had so disgusted him with his smoking earlier now seemed…safe. Fatherly. Someone he could trust…maybe even…love?

“Still, you have nothing to worry about. Doesn’t your new uniform fit nice? Doesn’t it make you look handsome?” Mr. Rawlins asked, and James turned to the mirror quickly enough to see his ill fitting clothes start to shift and squirm. the t-shirt which could barely stretch over his belly and chest expanded and split down the middle, becoming a light grey dress shirt tucked into a pair of dark shorts with a massive waistband but didn’t quite reach his knees. Below that, grey, woolen socks crawled up his thick calves, and the sneakers he was wearing darkened and shimmered into nicely shined dress shoes, and as a tie snaked its way around his collar, a vest and coat pulled themselves up over his body, before finally a smart looking cap popped into existence on his head. He looked like a young kid going to one of the fancy prep schools, and he did look rather handsome. “See, didn’t the nice men do a nice job on your uniform? You look rather dashing, wouldn’t you say, little man?”

He came up behind James, and what started as a pat on the back became something rather more intimate, as Mr. Rawlins explored James new body with his firm hands, running them up under his coat and around his belly, his beard grazing the back of his neck, and making James’ peepee tingle in the strangest way, and he blushed a bit in the mirror, being this close to his daddy. “Thank you daddy, it’s very nice,” James said, “I like it.”

“Well, if you really want to thank me, how about you give your daddy a kiss?” Mr. Rawlins said, spun James around and leaned down, pushing their lips together and shoving his tongue into James’ mouth. James wanted it to feel good–he really did. He wanted to enjoy the taste of tobacco on his daddy’s lips, and the feel of his rough beard on his soft cheeks, but it was wrong. All of this, all of it was just so wrong, and in a moment of muddled clarity, not even certain why he was doing it, he pushed Mr. Rawlin’s away and dashed off as fast as his short, chubby legs could carry him. “Boy, what do you think you are doing? Get back here this instant!” he heard his daddy should, and guilt–oh the guilt, but he had to get away. Daddy–no, Mr. Rawlins–he’d…he’d done something to him. He hadn’t been this dumb, or this fat, or dressed like this earlier, had he? The further from the smoke he got, the clearer it seemed he could think, but he couldn’t get out–all of the shopkeepers were on daddy’s side. He had to hide. He passed the children’s section and darted into the racks, eventually ducking under and hiding in the middle of a thickly stocked circular one, doing his best to keep his huffing breath quiet, and just think.

Daddy’s Little Man (Part 1)

This story is a rather old one, and a rather infamous one, which caused a bit of a ruckus over on the old NCMC when I first posted it there. It got removed (for fair reason) and I never bothered to post it anywhere else, though I thought I had posted it here at some point! In any case, it involves a lot of diapers, and rather severe mental age regression, which is the reason it got removed to begin with. If that’s not your thing…well, don’t read it.

It started simply enough–James was out shopping at a department store looking for some new clothes before the start of his university classes the next week, and wasn’t finding much he liked. He had just about resigned himself to finding nothing there and heading for the next shop, when he smelled something that made him panic a bit–smoke. He looked around, wondering whether something had been set on fire and if he should try to warn people, but he didn’t see anything like that, and when he caught another whiff of the smoke, he realized that it didn’t quite smell like smoke…well, that wasn’t the best way to put it. It didn’t smell like, “something is on fire” smoke. It was sweeter, and he could recognize it from some of the seedier pubs he’d crawled past with some of his friends after finals. Someone was smoking a pipe or a cigar in here–but this was a department store, right?

He took another look around, and sure enough, he could see the haze thickened up around the suit department. Curious to see who would be so brazenly breaking the law about smoking indoors, he headed in that direction, and from a bit of a distance, spotted the culprit–an older gentleman in the middle of getting measured for a suit. He was a sizable gentleman, well, sizable was a nice way of putting it. He was fat, and quite fat at that, and rather old, probably in his sixties or so, with a horseshoe of white hair and a full but neatly trimmed full beard. The shop assistant had just finished measuring him, and was helping the man back into his anachronistic suit, all perfectly starched and pressed, and after a couple of minutes, James realized that he’d simply been staring at the man blatantly the entire time like a fool. He shook his head, trying to clear it, but his mind was feeling as hazy as the room around him. He needed to find someone to get the man to quit smoking.

He saw another attendant working the suit department, and James strode over to him. “Hey,” he said, “aren’t you going to do something about that?”

It took a few seconds for the attendant to realize someone had spoken to him–his eyes were distant and a bit glazed over, but finally he blinked a few times and noticed James standing next to him. “Oh…I’m sorry sir, is there something I can help you with?”

James rolled his eyes, “Yes, you could get the guy to quit smoking for one. Don’t you people know it’s against the law?”

“Oh…” the attendant said, “Well, that’s Mr. Rawlins. He always smokes when he comes in here.”

“And you just let him?”

The assistant just stared at him for a few moments, as if the answer should have been obvious. “Yes…we always let Mr. Rawlins do…anything he wants…” he said, his voice trailing off, and then his eyes glazed back over and he forgot James was there entirely, going back to sorting his suits.

“What in the world is going on here?” James said to himself. Everyone in the store was acting strange, and he suddenly wondered if he shouldn’t have even gotten involved. It would have been smarter to have just left, and taken his business elsewhere. He turned around, ready to leave, but saw that the way was blocked by Mr. Rawlins’ himself, fully dressed and smoking his pipe.

He was big. Bigger than James had first thought. Certainly he was fat–but he was also tall, and the way he loomed over James somehow made him feel like a little kid looking up at the principal. He stammered for a second, looking for words, but his voice failed him, and he just lapsed into silence.

“Hello there, young man. I don’t remember seeing you here before. Do you work here?”

“Oh…uh, no sir…I’m just a customer. I uh…should you uh…be smoking in here sir? I thought…well, I just…isn’t that against the law?”

Mr. Rawlins let out a booming laugh which was somehow infectious, and it seemed to James that his earlier concern was somehow childish. Of course Mr. Rawlins could smoke in here–Mr. Rawlins could do anything he wants.

“Tell me, little man, what were you shopping for today?”

“Oh…uh…just some for some new clothes for school.”

“Did you find anything you like?”

“Not…Not really…” James said.

“Yes, well, I imagine it would be difficult finding clothes to fit a husky boy like yourself.”

Husky? Who even used that word anymore? Besides, James was anything but husky–he was as thin as a rail.

“Well, come on, my little man, and let’s see if we can’t find something that might fit that frame of yours so you’ll look good when you start school next week.” Mr. Rawlins held out his hand for James, and without really knowing why, he took the gentleman’s hand and let him lead him towards the fitting station. “Howard,” he said, addressing the man who had measured him earlier, “I’d like to fit my little man here for a school uniform. We’re having a hard time finding something in his size.”

Howard, that same glassy look in his eye, smiled. “Well of course Mr. Rawlins, anything for you, sir.”

“Good man. Alright young man. Get up there and Howard will get you all measured for your uniform.”

Something wasn’t right, and yet, he was here for school clothes right? It was just lucky for him that Mr. Rawlins and Howard were here to help him find something in his size. He got up on the stool and looked at himself in the mirror, but it seemed like his reflection was perfectly normal–his usual, slender frame. But then why had Mr. Rawlins called him husky earlier?

Howard got his fabric tape and came over to James. “Alright young man, how about we get some measurements? Lift up your arms for me.”

James did as he asked, and Howard pulled the tape around his chest, noted the measurement, and then did the same around his waist. “Alright, looks like a…48” inch chest, and a 50” waist. Goodness, you are a big boy, aren’t you? Mr. Rawlins does love his little men big, doesn’t he?”

James did some mental math in his head when he heard the numbers, but his head was moving so slow. After all, he’d just barely started multiplication in school, but still…48 and 50 seemed like rather big numbers. Hadn’t he had a 28 inch waist last time he’d measured himself? But in the mirror, there was no way he could have a waist that small–he’d been eating too well and for too long for that. Indeed, he could see that his chest was thick with fat, with two big moobs hanging down, pushing out his t-shirt, his apron of a belly dropping a couple of inches below the bottom. He felt suddenly embarrassed to be wearing something so ill fitting in front of Mr. Rawlins, but the old man was staring at him with such lecherous eyes, he didn’t think he cared.

My Uncle’s Amulet (Part 9)

WARNING: SCAT

It takes a little huntin’, but I eventually find mah way tah the little stream runnin’ by the cabin. I gots the amulet with me, but it’s sealed up in a plastic container–big enough that it should float–I’d bury it ‘round here somewhere, but I can’t risk Unc or mah Bro findin’ it. They wouldn’t understand what this fuckin’ thing does tah people. I can’t even trust mahself, not really. Even now…there’s this voice in mah head, tellin’ me I’m bein’ dumb, that this ain’t what I want, but I can tell it’s a lie. It’s the amulet, puttin’ shit in mah head, tellin’ me I was in college, ‘n livin’ in the city. I fuckin’ know that ain’t right–I ain’t that dumb. A faggot whore like me, goin’ tah college–no fuckin way!

This is the best, fer all a us. I seal it tight, and test it in an eddy–makin’ sure it floats, ‘n then I chuck it out intah the current and watch it flow away downstream, makin’ sure I don’t see it get caught on a root or anythin’. As it goes away, the voice starts fadin’ too–it’s a relief, really. I feel good fer the first time in days. I feel like mahself, like I’m supposed tah feel. I wipe mah hands dry on mah dirty jeans, ‘n head back tah the cabin, wonderin’ if unc’s woken up yet from his nap.

The cabin has seen better days–sure as hell don’t look as good as it did a few days ago–I think–but it’s home, right? We all like it here, anyway–here with family. Where we all belong. I head inside, ‘n I can hear Bro ‘n Unc goin’ at it already in the other room–figured they’d wake up first–after all, they didn’t need nearly as much work as mah Pa did. Yeah, Pa had been a real piece a fuckin’ work, let me fuckin’ tell ya, but he’ll be feelin’ much better now, trust me, now that he know’s just how important family is. Once he realizes just how much he needs me.

I did what he asked–first. I made him mah Pa, just like he’d told me to do. He wasn’t very happy ‘bout the rest a it, but we got everythin’ sorted out over a couple a hours. Told ‘em how much he loves me, how much he loves his whore son, how much he loves mah holes, how he thinks about bein’ with me night ‘n day. Still–that wasn’t enough fer me. I didn’t just want him tah love me–I want him tah need me. I want him tah need all a us. After all, family’s got tah stick tahgether, but Pa–he had a real mean streak. Thought he could go it all alone. Well, I helped him see the truth, sure as fuckin’ hell I did.

“Fuckin…what the fuckin’ hell happened tah me?”

That’s mah cue, I think–it’s Pa’s voice, at least, so he must be wakin’ up finally. I head into his room, and It’s the smell that hits me first. We can’t get him real clean anymore, not as big as Pa’s gotten, so he stinks pretty much all the time–still, I don’t mind–I love the stink of a dirty fucker, after all. He’s there on the bed–a massive heavin’ pile a flesh. Nine hundred pounds a flesh, tah be exact. I walk around the side of the bed, hearin’ ‘em wheaze ‘n start tah panic, his arms flailin’, legs tryin’ tah push up against his bulk, but it ain’t no use. Pa ain’t been up outta that bed in years now, ‘n wit his appetite, he ain’t never gettin’ outta there again.

He looks o’er ‘n sees me, and I can see it. I can see him tryin’ tah be mad, but the love fer me he feels every time he sees me washes it all away. “Boy–son, fuck–what the fuck did ya do tah me? This…this ain’t right. This wasn’t the deal. I can’t…I can’t move…”

“Course not, Pa. Ya know that. Ya ain’t moved from that bed in three years.”

He’s crying now–I can’t tell if it’s because he’s so happy tah see me, or because he’s terrified. Probably both, but the first one’ll wear the other one out soon. “Where’s the necklace–the amulet. Where it it!”

“Don’ know what ya talkin’ ‘bout Pa–musta been a dream ya were havin.”

“Ya…Ya fuckin’…fuck!” He flails some more, trying to roll over, but it’s no use. “Please son, I gotta take a shit…”

“Don’t worry none ‘bout that! That’s what we keep Unc around for, right?” I turn and call out, yelling for my uncle tah git in Pa’s room, and a few seconds later, my uncle bounds in. He stinks worse than the rest a the room, but he don’t mind–all Unc wants tah be, after all, is a cumdump and full service toilet–ya’d bee surprised what men round here are willin’ tah pay fer his services–some guys refuse tah piss ‘n shit anywhere else. My bro comes in after, stinkin’ a sweat–he was probably just fuckin’ Pa’s hole wit his ten inch cock–big muscular beast of a top, he fuckin’ is, but dumb as a rock. Only one with any sense left in this family is me, after all. “Come on Bro, let’s lift.”

Together, we grab hold of the chain hanging off to the side of the room, and haul up Pa’s legs by the ankles, and Unc dives for the grungy crack as soon as he can, lickin’ ‘n suckin’ at Pa’s hole–and he lets go, horrified, but already settlin’ intah the norm. We knot the chain up, keepin’ pa’s legs high, ‘n when Unc’s done with his meal, Bro hops up next and starts plowin’ Pa’s hole, makin’ him moan ‘n hollar–and I get up on his flabby chest, straddlin’ him, and kiss ‘em, ‘n let Pa suck on mah cock, seein’ how happy he is, servin’ his son, his favorite boy in the whole wide world.

In The Doghouse (Part 3)

CW: Slob, Trash Eating, Light Scat

Carson didn’t sleep well, hunger and thirst gnawing at him all night long. The two bowls had a bit of rainwater in them, so he had a bit to drink, but it was the hunger that was worse. The floor of the doghouse was bare wood, and very uncomfortable. His new coat of fur was itchy, forcing him to figure out how to use his four new paws in odd ways to itch everywhere he could reach. But mostly, he was terrified. Would someone find him? He hadn’t told anyone where he was going–why would he? His phone was inside, but if Gage could literally turn him into a dog…then who knew what else he was capable of. If he was going to get out, he was going to have to be patient, and wait for an opportunity to present itself.

Still, eventually he did sleep, because he was roused by the sound of Gage opening the gate, and ordering Carson out of the doghouse. The morning light was bright–it was probably ten or eleven, and it looked like Gage had just woken up, from the bleary look in his eyes. “Saved it fer ya boy–gotta fill the bowl, right?” He hauled out his cock and pissed in one of the bowls–a long piss, filling it over half full, and Carson just stared at it, whining. When he finished, Carson saw him take a cup and dump some dark glop into the bowl as well, and he gave it a shake–it was a cup of tobacco spit, he realized.

“Best get used tah it, faggot–it’s what filthy dogboys like you love anyway–go on, give it a taste.”

He wanted to refuse, but the collar tugged him forward all the same. He lapped at the piss and spit, and was rewarded with a sickening pleasure in his cock. It didn’t taste good–it tasted like beer and cigarette butts from a urinal–but drinking it felt so…wrong, that he couldn’t help but find it arousing.

“See mutt? That cock of yers is hard already–go on now, piss in yer bowl like a good boy. Ya gotta piss, right?”

He did have to, but pissing in a bowl was a bit harder than he thought. He ended up getting most of it on the ground around the bowl, and Gage just laughed and heckled him for being so useless, and made him drink some more. Carson was a bit surprised that when he tasted the piss again–the taste hadn’t changed at all, but he enjoyed it, and he licked his chops when he was finished.

“Alright boy–time fer breakfast. Come on inside.”

If piss was his water, Carson didn’t have high hopes for what he might get for food–probably kibble, if anything. But in the kitchen, he didn’t even see a dog bowl for him or anything.

“Sorry, I didn’t get ya any food yet–but yer a dirty mutt, right? I bet you can find some stuff around here to eat. In fact, I bet a fat dogboi like you likes pretty much everything,” Gage said, and booped Carson on the nose with a finger, and when he did, the whole house lit up with smells, and his gut rumbled.

Unable to hold back, Carson crawled over to a pile of pizza boxes and started rooting through them with his nose, until he found the remains of a half eaten pie, and started chowing down, tearing into it with his new teeth.

“Good boy! Don’t worry–ya gots an iron stomach now, ya can eat pretty much anythin’, no matter how disgustin’. We’ll have some more fun when ya git in better shape, faggot.” Gage parked himself in the recliner and turned on the TV, but spent most of his time laughing and mocking Carson as he stuffed himself with whatever trash his nose scrounged up around the room. He did his best to fight it–he knew that he shouldn’t be doing this, but again, the worst part was that the more he ate…the more he liked it. And the more he liked it, the harder his dog cock got–something Gage never ceased reminding him of either. His hunger never abated, no matter how full he got–but it wasn’t until a couple of hours later that Carson noticed the effect the filth he was gorging on was having on his body. His small gut had ballooned in size, hanging heavy as he walked on all fours, his thighs rubbing against one another, a second chin forming underneath his muzzle. “Heh, maybe I should have made you a pig, the way you’re chowing down on all that trash, mutt,” Gage said, and then called Carson over, “I think that’s enough for now, Faggot–yer Master needs some lovin’ now.”

Carson had purposefully avoided getting too close to his Master all morning, mostly because every time he did, he caught another whiff of his musk, and he wanted to smell more of it. Now, however, he had no choice. He walked over to where Gage was sitting, feet up in his recliner, and the smell of him had his mouth drooling in a matter of seconds.

“Ya look excited Faggot–take off mah socks, ‘n clean mah feet. Do a good job, ‘n ya might get a bone…”

With his teeth, he gripped Gage’s rank socks and tugged them off one at a time, and then licked the bottoms of his feet, trying not to enjoy himself as he did, but he couldn’t help it. He knew it was disgusting, he knew it should terrify him, but every taste–it sent a blast of pleasure right to his brain and his cock. It was even better when Gage drooled tobacco spit into his palm and smeared it on his body–he licked the rank spit up even more eagerly than everything else. Gage told him he was being a good boy, and let him lick a bit further up, cleaning his hairy thighs and calves, when Gage gave a grunt and let off a long fart a few inches from Carson’s face. Before he could pull away, Gage grabbed the back of Carson’s head and shoved his muzzle between his thighs, the stench making his eyes water even as his cock started leaking cum, and horrified, his body humped against his Master’s leg.

“Fuck Faggot! I know ya like mah stink, but ya fuckin’ know better!” Gage said, and gave Carson a kick in his balls, making him yelp, but held his face down as he released another fart. Carson managed to control himself this time, but the stench…he was drooling all over Gage’s thighs, panting and horny, and when Gage pushed his cock against Carson’s muzzle, he licked at it eagerly, no longer caring about whether he should feel this good–and just let it happen.

September Bonus Story Ready for Download! | Wesley Bracken on Patreon

Hey all! I’m going to interrupt “In the Doghouse” for a day to mention that this month’s Patreon Bonus story is ready to be downloaded, for anyone giving $5 or more a month to my page. The title of the story is “Kegger: Initiation”, and focuses on a top jock attending a party at a fraternity on campus, only to discover that the frat president seems to have an awful lot of control over the brothers in the house. There’s a whole lot of stuff in here: musk, muscle, weight gain, mind drain, slob, smoke, feet, piss, etc. so if that interests you, head on over! There’s a sequel coming next month as well, for October. Here’s a sneak peek of the story for those curious!

*Two Beers Down*

“Hey bro, what’s up? Havin’ a good time?”

Gregory had actually been slipping towards the door to the frat house, and planning on ditching the party. He hadn’t quite known what to expect, he supposed, from a college party, especially one at a frat house, but movies and TV had led him to believe it would involve a lot more…girls. The whole place was a sausage s, and all of the guys here seemed more interested in getting drunk than anything else. “Hey, uh…yeah, It’s ok I guess.”

Brad smirked, and leaned against the wall, blocking Gregory’s path. “Hey, so you’re the hot shot Freshman, right? The bro who’s supposed to take us all the way to the Rose Bowl or something. Some of the other bros were talking you up–I thought ya’d be bigger ‘r somethin’.”

“Well, when you’re a receiver, being quick is more important than being big,” Gregory said, looking at the guy blocking his way out. He sure didn’t have what it takes by any means, not with a bug gut like that. He doubted that Brad did much of anything physical, besides flipping channels on the remote, and getting up for more beer. “Gotta keep my figure, you know?”

“Hey, well, a few beers can’t hurt anyone, right?” Brad said, and clinked his red solo cup to Gregory’s–his own sent up a little splash of brown foam, but Gregory’s was clear. “Fuck man, is that fucking water in there? No one drinks fucking water at a Delta Iota Kappa Kegger!”

“Sorry, two’s my limit. I should get going too–I have some early classes tomorrow.”

“Two? Fuck bro, don’t be a fucking loser,” Brad said, “You gotta hang around a little while longer.”

“No, I fucking don’t alright?” Gregory said, “I came here tonight thinking I’d get some pussy, but all you fucks want to do is sit around like a bunch of idiots and get wasted. It’s boring. I’m gonna call a bitch and get laid.”

Brad had his arm high against the wall in front of Gregory, his hairy armpit exposed by the tanktop he was wearing. Gregory pushed forward, planning on sliding between Brad and the wall, but when he got close to Brad’s pit, the foulest odor hit him, and he froze, his face inches from the hairy mass…and he just kept…breathing. He knew he needed to keep moving, but his mind felt like it was shutting down, and struggling to reboot, and all he could really think about was how horrible Brad’s pits smelled…and how he kind of liked the stench.

He didn’t know how much time had passed, maybe a minute, when Brad tapped him on the shoulder. “Here bro! Here’s another beer for ya. I saw you needed a refill.”

Gregory looked around, a bit confused. Brad wasn’t where he’d been a moment before–had he just been standing and staring off into space like an idiot? How long could it have taken Brad to leave, and come back with a beer? He didn’t even want another beer, right? Hadn’t he been planning on leaving? “Uh…thanks, bro,” Gregory said, and took the beer from Brad, who just smiled.

“No problem bro! As president of this frat, I make sure everyone is taken care of at all times,” he gave Gregory’s stomach a pat, and leaned in close–close enough that Gregory caught another hint of his musk, and felt his cock stiffen in the front of his jeans. “Now relax and enjoy yourself! Have a good time, and get to know some of the guys. You’ll find out that we all have more in common than ya might think, bro.”

*Five Beers Down*

Gregory’s head was spinning, and he felt like he was losing control–but he didn’t lose control, and he sure as hell shouldn’t be feeling this drunk after five beers. He’d been lying earlier, when he’d told Brad that his limit was always two–back in high school he’d gotten plenty wasted on several occasions, but he…he needed some air, maybe. The air was too stale, and all of the guys were starting to get a bit rowdy, and sweaty, and every time Gregory got close to one of them and caught a whiff…

Well, it wasn’t like with Brad–that…that had been something else. Something really strange. No, the problem now, whenever he caught a whiff of another guy’s musky pits, was that it gave him a raging hard on, and there were no bitches in sight. He didn’t want anyone here thinking he was a faggot, but he also couldn’t deny how horny he was. He needed to get out, but Brad was watching the door–and watching him. The president had intercepted him again when he got too close, and insisted on getting him yet another beer, but maybe out the back somehow.

He made his way to the kitchen, claiming he needed a refill, and then slipped out the back door of the house and out onto the porch. The crisp fall air was a relief, and he felt his head clear up a bit immediately. It was definitely time to get out of here–there was something…off about this frat, and Gregory had no desire to hang around and find out what it was. Then, he caught a whiff of something on the wind, and someone spoke off to his side. “Hey bro, come out here for a smoke too?” He looked over, and sitting in a patio chair off to the side was one of the frat brothers, shirtless in the cool air, smoking a cigar. “Nice to have the company–I usually get stuck out here alone when I need a stogie.”

“No, I don’t smoke,” Gregory said, “I…uh…I just wanted some fresh air.”

“Fair enough. It can get a bit crazy in there. My name’s Josh by the way.”

“Yeah, it’s pretty wild…” Gregory looked around the yard, but he didn’t see a gate he could run for, and he didn’t want to leave with the guy just sitting here. He couldn’t just say nothing though, right? “Wish the party had some chicks–I’m horned up as hell, bro, but got nowhere to stick it.” His face turned red, unable to believe he’d just said that out loud. He must be drunker than he thought.

“Eh, who wants to deal with cunts anyway? They just ruin a good party. Us bro’s can always just jack it, right man? Come on, have a seat–this stogie’s got me ready to burst too.”

Gregory stared at him for a second, wondering if he’d just heard him right. Did this guy want to jack off with him? Was he some sort of faggot? He wanted to tell him to fuck off, but instead, he walked over, and sat down in the chair next to him on the patio, downwind, catching a mix of Josh’s cigar smoke and musk that made it even harder to think about what he was about to do, and how wrong it seemed.

“Hell yeah bro,” Josh said, and pushed down his shorts and jockstrap, letting his hard seven inch cock come free. He gave it a couple of slow strokes, and then looked over at Gregory, who couldn’t take his eyes off it. “Come on bro, let’s see it!”

September Bonus Story Ready for Download! | Wesley Bracken on Patreon

Arctos: Cable (Part 2)

“Come on, bro, get off me–I’m late for my fuckin’ class…”

Jared pushed mah head up, ‘n I moaned–how fuckin’ much did I fuckin’ drink last night? I mean, I ain’t no stranger tah hangovers by any fuckin’ measure, but this one was like someone had dropped an engine block on my noggin. Beside me, Jared gets up and stretches, givin’ his big jock gut a nice scratch,’n then heads fer his room–in front a me, the TV is still on, but unlike the night before, it ain’t holdin’ mah attention–just a fuckin’ rerun. I know all these Mechanic Stars episodes by heart anyway.

I haul mahself outta the deep indent in the couch, but it seems a bit…harder than it should be, fer some reason, ‘n give a good belch, mah gut rumblin’ when I do.

“Nice one, bro!” Jared shouts from his room.

“Plenty more where that shit came from, trust me–’n git a load a this!” I hike up a leg, give a shake, and pop outta fart fer him too, hearin’ ‘em chuckle as he’s gittin’ dressed. “Fuck, what fuckin’ day is it, anyway?” I mutter.

“Tuesday–don’t you have work, bro?”

Fuck, Jared’s right–I gotta be at the shop in a few hours. Still–first things first, gotta take a leak. I heft myself into the bathroom, stand in front a the toilet ‘n let loose, the sharp stench a beer piss in mah nose, ‘n I grunt. From the sound a it, I’m gettin’ most in the bowl at least, but I ain’t never been one tah aim real good. Doesn’t help I can’t fuckin’ see mah cock either! I give it a shake, and go to back out, when I see mahself in the mirror…’n I freeze.

I freeze ‘cause the fucker I’m seein’? That ain’t the fucker I ‘member bein’ the night before.

I mean, sure, I remember mahself good enough. Three hunderd pounds a beef right there, huge fuckin’ gut, hefty moobs, covered in a whole lotta fur. Fat jowly face with a big goatee–same style as Mick on Mechanic Stars, cause he’s mah favorite–shaved head too. I see all that–I know that’s me, but at the same fuckin’ time, I know it ain’t right, but I can’t pin down why I fuckin’ think that!

“Make way bro,” Jared says, and squeezes past me to the toilet, adding his own load a piss on top a mine. I wanna ask ‘em if he…thinks this is right. I mean–he’s the one in college, right? Not that he’s smart ‘r anythin’, he’s a meathead jock, really, but I’m dumber than he is.

“Jared–is there…do I look right to ya this mornin’?”

“I mean, ya could do the world a favor and take a shower, but you’re the same big pig as always, Mike.”

“Yeah, but…coulda sworm I was…that we was…”

Jared finished pissin’ ‘n squeezed back past, my cock doin’ a little throb when his gut slides by. “Sorry man, gotta go. If I’m late to class again, they might kick me off the team.”

“Yeah, sure–a’ight…”

Mah belly was growlin’–I never can think ‘bout shit on a empty gut. I git in the kitchen ‘n cook mahself breakfast–Jared eats a bit and then runs out the door, wearing his usual grungy looking gym gear a ain’t never seen ‘em wash in his life. Still–smells damn fine. So does breakfast–might feed a regular family a four, but I sit down at the table ‘n inhale all a it by mahself, lean back and let out a long belch, feelin’ a whole lot better. Still, I’m havin’ a hard time shakin’ the feelin’ that somethin’ just ain’t quite right ‘bout all a this, ‘n I try ‘n think back tah the night before.

I swear I was studyin’ shit, ‘n then I got sucked intah that marathon a Mechanic Stars…Yeah! ‘N when I got home yesterday, Jared was zoned out too, in front a the fuckin’ game! Did…did the fuckin’ TV do this shit tah us?

I hear a click, ‘n the sound a the TV flippin’ on all by itself.

“Think we have ourselves a smart one in here, don’t you Mick?”

I know that voice–it’s one a the mechanic stars! I look out at the TV, ‘n see Mick ‘n JD from the show on the screen, just…starin’. Starin’ at me.

“Have a seat, Mike.”

Their voices ain’t right. They ain’t got the drawl they usually do. I should run, but instead, I waddle back intah the room and sit back down on the couch.

“Yeah, there’s the stupid fucker, look at the fucking slob.”

“Keep your eyes here Mike–we know what you want–what you like to watch.”

The two mechanics turned tah one another on the screen, ‘n started makin’ out, sloberin’ all o’er each other’s fuckin’ faces, greasy hands, grubby clothes, ‘n I can’t fuckin’ tear mah fuckin’ eyes away. I feel mah cock throb again, ‘n reach into my nasty boxer shorts tah start strokin’ it, mouth open, drollin’ intah mah goatee.

“Yeah, I think the pig likes it, don’t you Mick?”

“Of course he likes it–he’s just a stupid, disgusting mechanic pig like us–what else could he possibly be?”

“Probably spends all night slobbering over that sexy jock roommate of his, begging him to fuck his dirty piggy hole with his cock, smelling his old jockstraps while he jacks off.”

There’s….somethin’ in mah hand. I bring it tah mah face, ‘n sure ‘nough, it’s one a Jared’s rank jocks. I take a long snort a his musk ‘n feel mah cock start leakin, I shove the thing in mah maw and start suckin’ on it.

“Yeah, that’s a good piggy–give in. Let yourself go. TV knows what’s good for you, TV knows what you are. You’re a nasty fucking piggy, and you’re happy as can fucking be.”

It’s true, it’s all fuckin’ true. I can feel those old memories just drainin’ out mah head, I’m so dense anyway, can’t remember much shit at all! I’m fuckin’ close though, strokin’ hard suckin’ on Jared’s jock ‘n sniffin’ mah filthy pits–mah cock explodes all over mah thighs, ‘n I’m pantin’ ‘n huffin’, sweatin’ all o’er but feel so fuckin’ good…

Then I look ‘oer, ‘n see Jared in the doorway–must a fergotten somethin’–yeah, fergot tah fuck his pig, a course! Fuck it if he’s late fer class–he knows he can’t leave wit’out plowin’ mah shit hole!

Arctos: Cable (Part 1)

A shorter something based off a caption I did for a pic over in the bear TF discord channel.

I knew something was up when I came home to the sound of the TV on. Jared, my roommate in the apartment we shared, almost never watched TV–he spent almost all of his time holed up in his room, either reading or studying for classes. We were both fairly nerdy guys: quiet and reserved, and we’d always gotten along well, which is why we’d moved in together. Listening, it sounded like the TV was tuned to a sports channel, which was even stranger. I went inside, dropped my bag–and that’s when I saw him.

Jared–he wasn’t the Jared I remembered. He was on the couch in a pair of mesh shorts, jaw dropped, a bit of drool in the goatee he had somehow grown in the course of a day…but it was the belly that had sprouted which I found the most concerning. “Jared?” I asked, and he didn’t seem to hear me, “Jared!”

With a start, he looked over at me, eyes a bit dull…and I saw the empty beer cans scattered over the side table. “Hey roomie! What’s up? Some Arctos cable guy came by today, said we gots a free upgrade on the box. Picture’s fuckin’ great now! Sit down, let’s watch a bit.”

I didn’t know what to say–did he not see what had happened to him? I tried to point out how different he was, but he didn’t seem interested in listening–and before I could get him to pay attention, he was focused back in on the TV screen. Unnerved, I retreated to my room, keeping my eyes averted from the TV, and shut myself inside my room. Was I just imagining things? Jared certainly hadn’t seemed to notice anything wrong at all–and the more I thought about it, the harder time I was having trying to remember what, exactly, Jared had looked like earlier that morning. After all, hadn’t I left him right there, like usual, watching TV? He was always watching TV, wasn’t he?

I did my best to focus on my school work, but I swear Jared kept turning the volume on the TV up as the evening wore on. I went out to get some food and asked him to keep it down a bit, but he didn’t pay me any attention and just kept chugging the beer he had in his hand. “Whatever, bro,” he said to me, and let off a huge belch. I retreated back to my room, still keeping my eyes away from the TV as best I could. Once it came time to get to bed, however, I could hear the TV–and Jared snoring–through the walls of the apartment. I was going to have to go out there and turn it off at least so I could get some rest.

I crept out into the living room, and there Jared was, snoring away, his big hairy gut hanging out, cap on backwards, passed out drunk. What a fucking lout, I thought–what was I doing sharing an apartment with a fat, lazy pig like this anyway? I started digging around for the remote and eventually found it wedged under Jared’s ass, pointed it at the TV and tried to turn it off–but I must have hit the wrong button, because instead of turning off, the channel changed to something else. It wasn’t a show that I recognized at all, but at first look it seemed to be a reality show of some sort focused around a chop shop–a bunch of grungy looking mechanics covered in grease talking about the cars and motorcycles they were fixing and modding at the moment–however, it was the guy on the screen that caught my attention. He was speaking in a deep southern drawl, and this big, thick beard, and looked to be close to 400 pounds–just massive, and all of it packed into the grubby coveralls he was wearing.

After staring at the screen for a couple of minutes, I found myself becoming more interested in the content too–I decided to have a seat on the couch and at least finish the episode out. Then, when that one was finished, I discovered it was a marathon of the show…and I couldn’t very well watch just one episode, right? My hand found its way down to the side of the couch, where it fished up a can of beer–I popped it open and took a long swig, while my free hand started rubbing the crotch of my shorts, thinking about how sexy it would be to work somewhere like that–the smell of grease, the musk of my fellow mechanics, working with my hands. Still, I was starting to get tired, and while I tried to fight it as best I could, the beers were only making things worse. The last thing I remember is lying my head over onto Jared’s shoulder, and then I was out.