A Dog’s Tale (Part 3)

So yeah, the story is fucking crazy, like I’d expected. Wizards? Curses? Wanting to be a fucking dog? Well, I believe that last part, given the suit he’s wearing. I keep trying to interject and get out of here–I do have a train to catch, after all, and a conference call to make, but the guy talks so fast, and with such energy–it’s like he desperate to keep me from getting a word in at all…so I end up just listening. I don’t notice the sun setting outside, the street getting dark, until another voice pipes up beside us.

“Sir? Sir!”

The dogman I’m with actually stops talking for a second, and I blink a couple of times, then look over. There’s a woman in a fast food uniform looking down at us–well, down at me really, scowling a bit. The badge on her shirt has the name Courtney, with the title Assistant Manager.

“Yeah? What is it? You don’t have to yell.”

“Sir, you can’t have animals in here. It’s against the law.”

I just stare at her for a second, then look over at the other guy, then back at her.

“Look, I know he’s a bit of a freak, but that’s fucking mean.”

“Is it a service animal?”

“No, it’s a fucking person, ya cunt!”

The anger in my voice surprises even me–especially when I stand up, ready to get in her face over some homeless guy’s dignity, and she backs up a step.

“I will call the police sir, if you don’t leave the premises right now.”

“It’s ok, let’s just go, sir. I can tell you the rest on the way home!”

The man in the suit is still grinning through all of this–if anything, he looks even happier.

“Fine, let’s go then.”

He gets out of the booth, and I notice that there seems to be…a lot more trash on the table than there should be–at least three or four hamburger wrappers, and two bags which might have contained fries at one point, which were now empty. But I swear I’d just had a salad–a salad I don’t even remember eating, but whatever. We leave the joint, I look down at my watch, and curse under my breath–it’s quarter to eight–there’s no way I can make that call now, and I can’t do it on my cell phone. I need to get going, and quick–maybe I can hail a cab?

“So where are we going now?”

“We aren’t going anywhere–I have to go home.”

“But I’m not done with the story yet! We’re getting to a really good part. I know you want to hear the rest, right?”

He sounds…almost desperate, in a really strange way, and lets loose a whine that actually is a pretty good imitation of a dog–but even if I am curious, I don’t have time.

“Look Fido–”

“Is that my name? You gave me a name!”

He’s jumping around like a fucking idiot again, and I have to actually grab him, and settle him down, before someone starts staring at us.

“Calm the fuck down!”

“I just get really excited when I hear my name, is all! But the story! Let me tell you the rest of the story–you have to hear it all now! You gave me a name!”

I scan the road for a cab, but there’s none in sight; a cab wouldn’t even get me home in time for the call anyway. I get out my phone and send a text, feigning an emergency and asking a partner to handle it for me.

“Fine, Fido, but I have to catch the next train so I can get home. You’ll have to walk and talk.”

“Ok! I like walks, walks are awesome!”

So off we went, and Fido figures out where he left off in his tale, but I’m having a hard time focusing on him, as we walk–mostly because I feel a bit…sick. Bloated even. I rub my stomach, and it definitely doesn’t feel right–kind of swollen, and even a bit soft, like…like a gut.

I stop walking and look down at myself, and sure enough, where there had been gym toned abs not hours before, I now had a sizable paunch–enough that it has untucked my shirt, and I could see my undershirt peeking through the gaps between the buttons. The rest of my outfit is tight too–my suit coat isn’t sitting right on my shoulders, like they are wider all of a sudden, my tie is too tight, even my shoes are hurting my toes, which feel like their curled up against the end of the shoe. I walk over to a shop window and look at my reflection, and I start to freak out even more. I have at least six or seven days of stubble all over my face–and my face looks as chubby as my gut. It’s no wonder my tie is too tight, with how much my neck has grown, and my usually well groomed hair is too long and shaggy–greasy even.

“You’re not listening to the story, sir.”

Fido is beside me, looking a bit concerned.

“But–I didn’t look like this before. What happened to my body?”

I don’t know why I’m asking him, exactly, it’s not like Fido would have an answer, right? But he gets close to me, and looks me in the eyes, and it’s really intense, his stare.

“Just relax, sir. You already started listening to my story, and once I get to the end, everything is going to make complete sense. You have to trust me, though. You do trust your doggy, right? I’m the best doggy in the world, after all.”

“The best…doggy in the world…”

“And I’m your doggy. I’m Fido.”

“Mine…Fido.”

He lets me go, and I realize I blanked out for a second, but I do feel a bit better. Fido…really is a good dog, you know? Still, I–we–have a train to catch, so we keep going. I do my best to ignore my uncomfortable clothing, and focus on listening to what Fido has to say, as he continues his tale, and by the time we’re sitting in the train, my attention is with him completely, as he tells me what happened when Master Joel found him one afternoon in that park, a few months later.

Use It or Lose It (Part 11)

I thought your videos were getting a little one note–this should broaden your horizons. What do you think pig? Think you can manage to lose those last three inches? You don’t really deserve them, do you?

The other notes had all faded from his focus within a few hours; Randal could never quite recall what they’d said, and on the occasion, once or twice, that he’d scrounged around to find one again, he’d never been able to figure out where he’d abandoned them. But as the weekend roared by, from his marathon fisting session on Friday, when Master Max had forced five loads out of him, to his tour of the filthy clubs, bathhouses, bookstores and theaters all over the city until Sunday afternoon, he found the words haunting him. Did he deserve his dick? What did he really deserve? What did he want, and who was he–both before this, and becoming? He could barely grip the shaft anymore–it was a challenge to just wrap three fingers around the head as he was fucked or fisted–but the sensation was so strong that he’d shoot with just five or six firm tugs. He found himself in the bathroom, still in his stinking leathers, smelling of smoke, booze and grease, ass and piss on his tongue, staring at himself. It wasn’t pride that he felt, but it was an acquaintance of pride. A satisfaction.

That afternoon and evening, he abstained. He told himself, at first, that he was doing it to try and save himself, yet again, but most of him knew it was a lie. That if he’d been honest with himself about his true intent, he’d…well, he didn’t know what he’d do. The desire built up–quicker this time, in only a couple of hours–but the wait was…excruciating. He wanted to jack off, but he had to be patient. The reward, or the punishment, would be worth it, he assured himself. What the result would be, however, was a question he was terrified to have answered, but he had to know, all the same.

Once he was certain that the curse was prepared to trigger, he shoved his rubber fist deep into his ass, made sure the camera was on (if he could capture the event, would he post it? Of course he would post it, of course he would, but what would they all think? And would it be easier to believe it all himself?) reached under his gut and stroked. It was hard going, his cock was resisting. Perhaps it didn’t want to shrink more, or perhaps he was losing the will he’d thought would come easily. In the end, it took close to half an hour, and a severe pounding, before he finally emptied a sizable load into his hand. He slurped it, up, feeling the curse’s heat suffusing his body, and again, he grew. He looked at the camera, and waited until he was certain it was finished, and then went into the bathroom.

He was at least 400 pounds now, or perhaps closer to 500. The weight gain was only one change however, even if it was the most obvious. His body hair, which had been steadily decreasing, was now completely gone–his body was smooth, and even the beard he’d grown looked thinner and more wispy than before. The stink wafted around him, like someone who only showered rarely–more rarely than he had been, apparently. He…he felt good, though. It was good, wasn’t it? He certainly felt sexy, looking at the pig he’d become. But then, with some panic, he reached under and discovered he’d grown so large, and his cock so small, that he could no longer reach. He looked around for a note, and found one on the counter:

Becoming a proper pig now, you faggot. Good thing those fatty rolls of yours can get you off better than your hands.

He started swinging back and forth a bit, testing it out, and groaned. The note was right–the feel of the fat rubbing along the shaft and head of his cock was…divine.Just walking back into his room, he found himself close to cumming, and he ended up thrusting into his fat a bit more, and filling his gunt with a load of cum. The camera was still rolling–good. His fan’s loved seeing his hand’s free sessions–of course, most of them were at this point, unless he was using his wand or a vibrator on himself. He checked the camera, but there was no evidence of his change–he was the same obese slob at the beginning of the video as at the end. It was a bit disappointing, but not too much of a loss–he uploaded the whole video, jerked off to the comments for the rest of the evening, and then went to bed.

Work was challenging in new ways, he discovered. Just walking around the school in his jumpsuit was enough to make him cum, and he found he loved the idea of pumping load after load of cum into his pants, right in the hallways of the school, stifling his moans. He felt like a pervert, and yet he couldn’t remember ever being happier in his whole life, than at this moment. He felt…like he was finally becoming the person he’d always been meant to be, a kind of person he’d never considered possible before. He didn’t deserve his dick, he realized. He wasn’t even sure that he wanted one, even as much as he loved masturbating. In this body, the constancy of it was growing tiresome–it was no longer an act he indulged in, it was just a fact of his body in motion–pleasurable, sure, but now somewhat…of a hindrance. He was already planning on losing his next inch that evening. He’d show that witch–of course he didn’t deserve to have a cock, but losing another inch proved harder than he expected.

Use It or Lose It (Part 7)

The one thing that didn’t change at all, however, after a day without masturbating, was how horny he was. By the time he got home, it was even more intense than it had been the day before. He’d hoped, at least, that as the curse wore off the urge would dissipate as well–but it appeared that things were going to get harder before they would get any easier. Still, he managed the evening well enough, in the same way he’d done the day before–taking a long walk around the neighborhood–which was much easier now without an extra hundred pounds to lug around–stopping at a restaurant for dinner, and then going back home for an early bed.

Trouble came in the night. His dreams were vivid and filled with men. Sexy men. Cocks in his mouth, cocks in his ass. He was lost. It was too late by the time he began to struggle awake, and realized how close he was to cumming. “No!” he said to himself, desperate trying to will his hand off his cock, “No–not now, not after getting this far, you will…you are not–”

His objections dissolved into moans as his body unloaded a massive amount of cum all over his body and his sheets. A minute later, his body was back to the way it had been–a hundred pounds heavier, no body hair, reeking of cum…and as much as he hated it, the relief at finally releasing his load flooded through his body like lemonade on a summer day. Still, he hated himself. He’d managed to crawl one rung back up the ladder, and he’d lost it almost as quickly. Still–if he’d managed to do it once, he could do it again–at least he’d get a better night’s sleep this time.

In the morning, he checked the nightstand and saw the dildo had reappeared, good as new, but left it there. He didn’t even dare touch it, not as horny as he was. The morning went well enough, and by lunch he knew he’d passed the point of no return–he was either going to climb back up, or fall down yet another rung. It was clear that he was going to have to be smart about this, and so he started planning things out. So long as he managed to go two days–and reverse two sets of changes–he could afford to slide back. It wasn’t ideal, but two steps forward and one step back would have to do. In less than a week, he’d be back with his wife–and as long as he fucked her regularly, he’d be home free!

The day wore on. He was impatient with his students. They no longer respected him, now that he was a fat slob, and not the commanding sort of muscle pig he’d been before. Fuck, he could use a muscle pig fucking his old right about now…if only his dildo hadn’t left it at home! He snapped out of his fantasy, and refocused. At last, school was out, but Randal lingered in his office, twiddling his thumbs. It seemed harder today than it had the day before, and his dildo was there at home, waiting for him. He couldn’t face it, not yet. He worked on some lesson planning instead, playing with himself gently as he did–it seemed to help, though it did make him leak into his underwear.

“Not even bothering to slip into the bathroom today, eh Mr. Gray?”

The voice made him jump, and he spun around in his chair to find Mr. Jones, the janitor, behind him. He was younger, probably in his thirties, and not particularly attractive…though from the bulge in his uniform pants, it was clear he had plenty to work with.

“Like what you see, Mr. Gray?”

His eyes snapped up. “N-No…No, I…I think you’re mistaken.”

“I’m not mistaken, Mr. Gray. You slip off all day long into the bathroom. I can hear you, moaning. Watched you just yesterday, after than meeting, how you fucked yourself silly. Busted a load myself, listening to a slut like you! I’m glad you’re here, Mr. Gray–and that no one else is. I can offer you a real cock this afternoon instead, right here at your desk.”

The young man zipped down his fly, letting his seven inch cock out for air–no underwear to be seen. It smelled musky and ripe, but as delicious as it probably was, he couldn’t do this. He couldn’t afford this, not right now. “I…maybe…I can’t, not right now…” he muttered, but the young man stepped forward, pushing the head to Randal’s lips, and they parted easily, his tongue slipping out for a taste, and he moaned.

“Don’t be a fucking tease–I know what you want.”

More of his cock slipped into his mouth, and he moaned around the shaft.

“Yeah, I know what you need, you old faggot.”

He sucked harder, getting it good and wet, his ass clenching and hungry for a taste as well. His cock was leaking more, and was hard as a rock–if he kept this up, he didn’t think he’d be able to stop. Maybe he could salvage this–after all, if he came without jacking himself off, it wouldn’t count, right? He pulled away from the cock, and trying to sound as seductive as possible, he said, ”Suck me off first, then you can fuck me all afternoon.”

“Hell no!” Mr. Jones said, “I’m not some fucking faggot. You’re just a hole–now get up, and bend over that desk–this thing has a date with that ass of yours. I might not be as big as that dildo of yours, but I think I can make you moan like yesterday all the same.”

Use It or Lose It (Part 5)

Six inches now–almost half the man you were. What did you say back then? Fat dirty slobs who couldn’t get any action?

The note was taped to the bathroom mirror, but Randal could see the results well enough right in front of him. The nice clothes he’d put on were gone, replaced by grubby sweats and a t-shirt–both heavily stained with what he suspected was his own cum–and probably that of other men too. He’d been able to see some of his old body left in him before, but now, all of that was gone for good. He’d lost most of his muscle mass, and had packed on at least a hundred and fifty pounds of fat instead. The scruffy beard he’d started growing was now a shaggy mass, and his hair was balding severely, almost past the crown of his head–much of it now grey where it had been a younger black. His body hair, on the other hand, had greatly diminished, leaving his fat body looking much smoother than before. In fact, all of him seemed…a little less masculine. His angular face was rounder, he was an inch or two shorter, and his ass had gained at least as much size as his belly.

He was disgusting. He was the kind of man he would have sneered at before, whom he would have considered lower than dirt in his, and in God’s, eyes. He was that low. He realized that now. He was worthless–he hated looking at himself, and yet, in some twisted way, that line of thinking was only making him…even hornier. He hadn’t jacked off since leaving the church, and the need was rising. He reached under his gut and found his cock…and trembled at how short it suddenly felt. Not only was it quite a bit shorter than before, his new gunt swallowed at least an inch. The five inches left for him to stroke was new–as was how skinny it seemed. His balls, too, were shrinking–they were closer to his body and didn’t swing as much as he was used to–still, it shouldn’t stop him from getting off, right? But much to his surprise, it was difficult to get off. His arm got tired, but the need to cum was only getting stronger. It wasn’t strong enough to change him–yet–but if he didn’t cum soon…

He saw the note and yanked it off, but before he could wad it up he saw something written on the back:

P.S. I don’t want to make this too easy for you. If you want to get off–you’re going to need…assistance from now on. Living, or rubber, should do. Check your nightstand, faggot–I think you might recognize it. Go fuck yourself.

Afraid of what he might find, but more afraid of what might happen to him if he doesn’t cum quickly, he heads into the apartment bedroom and to the nightstand. In the top drawer, where he’d usually kept his bible, there was now a flesh colored dildo and a container of lube. Like it might bite him, he reached in and pulled the cock out, worried about how large it was. The thing had to be ten inches long–and as he held it, he realized that the dildo was probably ten inches long exactly, just like his old cock had been. In fact, the dildo was exactly like his old cock–a complete replica.

He couldn’t think too hard about this, or he’d never get it done. Besides, the sight of it…had made him so much hornier, and hadn’t he always kind of wondered what it must have felt like, whenever he slammed that big cock of his into a tight pussy? He squeezed some lube on the head and shaft, laid back on the bed and started trying to force it into his hole, but the head was just too large to fit in easily, and his horniness was making him impatient. He had to work some of his fingers in first, stretching at the hole, before he could finally manage to impale himself on the dildo successfully. It hurt, he screamed, but one hand couldn’t leave his cock. He stroked faster, ignoring how much his weaker arm was burning, and forced the dildo in deeper, feeling his ass begin to adjust, the pain disappearing and being replaced by a deep satisfaction. He was a faggot. He could do this. This is what he was made to do! He slid down further, and started fucking himself on it, stroking faster, and even after he shot he kept fucking himself until he got hard again, and blew a second load, his fat body shaking and soaked with cum, lube, and sweat. At last he collapsed back, dildo still buried deep in his ass, and the first sob escaped his lips.

He’d lost. He had to admit it. He’d been wrong, and he’d lost. He didn’t know what that witch had done to him, but he wasn’t strong enough to fight it. He’d lost his body, he’d lost his family, and he’d lost his faith. He’d been wrong to lie, and he’d been wrong to lose himself to pride and anger like that in front of her. He’d assumed he was superior, when clearly, he had badly misjudged the situation. He would have to talk to her. He would apologize, and he was certain that she would put this right. He’d certainly learned his lesson, or so he’d thought. Still, there wasn’t anything he could do until he got to school in the morning, and so he left the dildo inside him for the rest of the day. It was comfortable–he had to admit that. By the evening, it seemed normal that he’d have to fuck his loose ass to get off–after all, what would keep an old fat faggot like him happier than an ass full of cock?

Use It or Lose It (Part 4)

He didn’t sleep much that night. Something was happening to him–but all of the changes felt so natural, that he found himself happily accepting them, even though in his heart, he knew this wasn’t right. That his life, in a matter of days, had crumbled to pieces. He’d been a successful, happy father, a good Christian man, a pillar of the community–and now, who was he? An overweight slob, reeking of cum, paying men to fuck him, masturbating all day long like a pervert. How had it come to this? He thought of the notes, trying to pin them down, wondering who could have sent them–and he remembered that cunt from school, that afternoon, the concerned mother. She had been complaining about his lie, about masturbating–and now, it was coming true…sort of. It didn’t make sense, actually. Whenever he jacked off regularly, nothing happened to him, but as soon as he tried to resist, he’d have one of those…intense episodes, and afterwards everything would be worse than before! So what should he do? Should he keep jacking off like a freak, or should he resist and fight back? He couldn’t let this get any worse, but he also couldn’t just…accept this as his life either. There had to be some way back, right? But how?

He was certain God could help. God had always been there, guiding him. He’d been successful because of his belief–he’d always felt that, in his heart and soul, that God would never turn his back on him. He’d allowed himself to be led astray, but no more. He’d confess–he’d admit what he’d done, and he would ask for help and guidance. It would be hard, but he’d do it–there was simply no other option for him. So he abstained in the night. He got up early, and found a third note on the table when he entered the kitchen:

“Seven inches left. I don’t think you need to trouble women anymore, Randal. In fact, maybe it’s time you learned what it feels like to be used.”

He crumpled it up and tossed it in the trash, containing his anger as best he could. He focused on making a good breakfast and then exercised to keep his mind off his growing need. He got dressed in the nicest clothes he could find, and drove to the megachurch where he’d always attended services–but where before everyone had known him by name…now, he was a stranger.

He sat through the service, and found himself growing restless. He’d never had a problem paying attention before, but his cock was demanding–he could tell that it had passed the point of no return again–if he gave in now…things would only get worse once more. The fear was enough to keep his hands at bay–he sat on them. When the service was over, he went down to the head pastor, a friend from another life.

“Benjamin–it’s me, it’s Randal. Can I speak to you, please, in your office?”

Benjamin looked at Randal, confused. “I-I’m sorry, I don’t…do I know you? I don’t think we’ve had a chance to speak yet. You must be new here.”

Randal bit his lip, embarrassed. “Yes–this is my first time. But can I…speak to you? Alone perhaps?”

“I have office hours every weekday in the afternoon. I’d be happy to speak to you then, Randal.”

“Please! Today, it’s urgent. I’m…in a crisis, and I don’t know who else to talk to about it.”

“But we don’t even know–”

“Please, sir…please…” Randal felt an odd tingle at the word ‘sir’ but ignored it. It was enough to sway Benjamin at least, and the pastor led Randal back into his office, and shut the door.

“Now, what did you need to speak about?”

Randal let it all come pouring out. How he had fallen over the last few days, how he’d given into temptation. How he’d abused his body, how things had only gotten worse, how he’d allowed a man to fuck him and use him–and then paid him for the pleasure. He was about to ask for guidance from Benjamin, when he saw the sneer on his one-time friend’s face, and froze.

“You faggots–you’re all the fucking same,” Benjamin spat, “You aren’t misled–you’re fucking broken. There’s no helping you.”

Of course, Benjamin had never been kind to homosexuals and their agenda from the pulpit, but the words, now directed at himself, stung Randal in ways he couldn’t explain. “I’m trying…to ask for help. Please.”

“There’s no helping freaks like you,” Benjamin said, and stood up, “Here–let me show you.” He dropped his pants, and revealed his cock, half hard. Randal couldn’t take his eyes off of it. “See? This is all you care about. You could never love God the way you love cock. Now make yourself actually useful, and stop wasting my time.”

Randal tried to object, but somehow he still ended up on his knees, his old pastor’s cock slamming into his throat. It didn’t take long before Benjamin fed him a load, and then slapped him across the face.

“Now get the fuck out of here. If I ever see you in here again, I’ll call the fucking police.”

And so, Randal left the office, but didn’t make it out of the building. Instead, he ran right for the bathroom, locked himself in a stall, and started masturbating furiously. Benjamin was right. There wasn’t going to be any salvation here, not for him. It had felt too good, feeling that warm cock in his mouth, the taste of that cum! He was a faggot–a disgusting worthless cock hungry faggot! It was a few minutes before he finally exploded–he caught as much of his load in his hand and guzzled it back, feeling a heat in his gut as it expanded, packing on even more weight as his muscles began to recede again. When he left, he barely recognized himself in the mirror–but he didn’t bother washing his hands. He didn’t…want to look too closely, and so he didn’t see the full scope of changes until he got home half an hour later.

I Dream of Bacchus (Part 8)

Raury stared at the man, feeling all of his desires welling up, both earnest and twisted, and he nodded. He didn’t care–he needed him. If he could have Jared, then everything else would be fine, he was certain. The beasts raised a great cry of joy and excitement, and the music picked up again, a new tune, and Jared kept dancing, faster now–wild and crazed–in the clearing, surrounded by beasts. The song was similar to the one before, when Aarin and Jared had fucked in front of him–it had far more power and force behind it than their usual music, and even Raury found himself jiggling and swaying to the beat where he was lying on his throne, guzzling wine. He would catch a glimpse of Jared’s eyes every few cycles, and they were wide with terror and confusion, though it wasn’t long before his concerns faded away, the beasts coming closer, nearly blocking him from Raury’s view. It was just a mass of flesh and fur, hand and hoof, until with a great clamour the beasts stopped and retreated back, leaving…something else in the midst of them, something not even Raury had seen before, in the thicket.

His first thought was that it had to be a centaur of some kind, but that wasn’t quite right. The beastly thing was bent over on all fours, with the rump and ass of a donkey, including a tail still swishing along to the beat that had been playing moments before. The torso was still human however, and the face, while twisted somewhat, was recognizably Jared’s. Still, it was clear that not much of Jared’s mind remained–the beast’s eyes were crazed and hungry, and when it caught sight of Raury, of its Bacchus, his low hanging donkey balls began to churn, and his massive cock slid free of his sheath. “My Bacchus, my great, beautiful Bacchus. Please, I was wrong, let me serve you, let be one of your beasts!” it cried and stumbled forward, not quite certain how to make his new body work right, but Raury was all too happy to oblige his lover. He rolled over and presented his ass for the donkeyman, and after a bit of work, Jared managed to throw his hooved hands up on to Raury’s back, shove his cock deep into the Bacchus’ hole, and begin rutting.

Raury knew he should feel guilty, that he’d witnessed some strange, otherworldly horror, but just knowing it was Jared fucking him, rutting with him…it was worth it. After a few minutes, the donkey came, and it felt like fire burning into his guts. His body…it felt more real, the fat hanging off his body carried real heft, and the stench surrounding him was more pungent than it had ever been. He felt renewed, or perhaps ruined–it was difficult to tell. Something had changed, and while it worried him at some level, he was too thrilled to have Jared inside him again to really care.

“A new compact!”

“A new beast!”

“Our Bacchus forever, a true Bacchus!”

“What did you do to me,” Jared groaned, his cock still spewing, “What the fuck is happening to me–AWWW,” he brayed, and two satyrs pulled him free so they, too, could have a turn at Raury’s hole. He looked about for the rest of the night, when he could, trying to find Jared’s face again, but he had been swallowed into the morass of beasts servicing him. Still, he could feel them. There was a connection between them, Raury…owned him, in some strange way. He felt that, should he need him, he’d be able to bring him forward again at a moment’s notice. Once again, Jared was his, and that, at the moment, is all that mattered.

Waking came slowly–much more slowly than it ever had before, in part because it took him a while to realize he actually was awake. Before, the differences between his real body and the body of his dream had been so wide that he’d always been able to tell he was awake because he was smaller. It was no longer surprising that the massive body he’d had while asleep had suddenly felt so real to him–it was because it was real. Something had been keeping the beasts’ magic from fully affecting him, he realized–it must have been Aarin! Was this part of his plan too?

“No Bacchus, this is better now.” A satyr said, bleating on the couch beside him. He wasn’t certain if the thing was actually there with him, or just another figment of his imagination. “The gypsy, we had a deal, a temporary deal. A Bacchus for a year, to balance the burdens of his life, a punishment for you, but a small one. But a new deal! A deal for all of us! A true Bacchus–we haven’t had one in so long. But now, with you here, we can exist in your realm again! Your true servants, your lovers, your worshipers. You are our god, Bacchus, and we will find many more men, and beasts, to serve you now than we ever could before.”

Raury tried to force himself up from the couch, but his new weight was too much. In the more flexible reality of his dreams, he’d been able to move with difficulty, but the weight of reality had made him entirely immobile now.

“Don’t worry our Bacchus, just relax!” another satyr said who’d appeared, looking around the apartment, “You can hear the drums, can’t you? The others dancing, waiting to follow you? Relax and listen, dear god, and let them through–we will please you here now–you’ll never need to sleep again.”

“Please–Aarin…the gypsy…” He huffed, but speaking was difficult. He could hear the drums, and it was soothing. He allowed his head to fall back, and he could…feel how thin the world had become here. If he could just…bring the woods here, he’d be able to move, and think, and dance…right?

“Yes, our dear Bacchus–we hate him too, for trying to deny us what we truly need. We will find him, and bring him to you. He will be a beast like us, and serve you. After all, that would be true balance, would it not? Can’t you see it, Bacchus? Him as a beast like us, worshipping you, as he should have always done?”

He could see it. He could see so many things. The drums were louder now, the barrier thinner. He could lift his arms, and breathe a bit easier. Soon, they would all come through. They would all come through and together they would dance and revel in these streets, and all men would dance to him tunes, forever.

I Dream of Bacchus (Part 7)

He hid the truth from his roommate for as long as he could. He had some savings at least–if he managed it well, he’d be able to scrape by for a couple of months at least. He pretended to go to work each morning, and then would usually head for the liquor store, buy some fortified wine, and then sit in a park for most of the day, sleeping on a park bench. He felt most at home there–close to the trees, playing with the beasts, demanding they fuck his holes, and the beasts were all too happy to oblige. In the afternoon or evening, he’d return home and watch Jared get fucked by a guy or two, and then sleep–it was as close as he could get to an ideal life, he supposed, but it came to a crashing end, when Jared found a notice that they were behind on rent–Raury had skipped a payment in order to pay Jared–watching him get fucked was more important, right?

He’d had to tell him the truth, Jared was furious–Raury tried to console him. He could find another job, right? He’d be able to keep paying him, if he was just patient–but Jared stormed into his room, packed a bag of things, and said he was moving out.

“I don’t even know why I live with a disgusting fuck like you–I get offers from guys every day of the week to live with them, and at least they wouldn’t disgust me on a daily basis. If I ever fucking see you again, you’re going to fucking regret it.”

Raury pleaded with him, got on his knees and begged. “Please! I..I need you Jared, you’re all I have left. If I didn’t have you, I…I think I’d go insane, please, you can’t leave me!”

It was the truth. Jared was the only person he felt a connection to anymore. He spent the rest of his time speaking to beasts that were only real to him–everyone in the park assumed he was a lunatic, and he’d nearly gotten arrested the week before, when he’d mistaken a policeman on horseback for an especially handsome centaur, and begged the beast to fuck him. But he knew Jared was real–he was the only thing holding him here. If he didn’t have that, then who even was he?

“You’re ours, our Bacchus!” he heard the beasts shout around him. They had appeared in the apartment around them, and Raury looked around in horror, “You only need us, Bacchus, we’ll keep you happy, we promise.”

Jared stepped around him, and Raury grabbed him around the knees. He kicked him off, leaving him with a bleeding nose, and then left–slamming the door shut behind him, abandoning Raury to the beasts around him, who began to close into a ring.

“You don’t need him.”

“We’re all you need, all you want.”

“We make you happy, only we know what you need, Bacchus.”

“No!” Raury shouted, sending them all scattering back, “Him! I need him! The rest of you all get away from me, get away!” by the time he’d finished shouting, the beasts had disappeared, and all he felt instead, was loneliness–he hefted himself up, got a bottle of wine and chugged it, and chased it with another–with a couple of hours he was passed out on the couch, and again, found himself in a dream.

It had been months since he’d last experienced one so vivid. The smell of the forest, of the loam–it was welcoming, and yet, he couldn’t suppress the terror welling up in him. He wouldn’t be able to resist them for long–he knew this, but somehow, the loss of Jared had brought back some of his old sense of self. This…wasn’t the way things were supposed to be–it was Aarin’s fault, he had done this to them both, he’d cursed them. If he could just find him, maybe there was a way for him to fix this, to make it right for them both. He hadn’t really wanted to hurt anyone, with his cheating; he’d just cared more about his own satisfaction than anything else–but he could change, couldn’t he?

His feet were dragging him closer to the center of the woods now, and he could see the flicker of the beasts’ bonfires, the sound of their warped, jittery tunes. Even at his current size in this strange realm–at least 500 pounds, if not larger, rolls upon rolls of fat falling off him, he felt lighter than air, and he began to dance and skip as he approached the circle, though he hardly felt like dancing at all. The beasts were waiting; he took his honored place in the midst of them, lounging upon his pillows and carpets, expecting to be taken immediately as usual–but this was different. It wasn’t that the beasts were angry with him–but they seemed…nervous. There were fewer of them than usual, as well–he’d learned their names and forms at this point, and several of the more powerful satyrs were missing from the circle.

“We want you to be happy, Bacchus.”

“Happy with us!”

“If we do this, you have to stay, you have to become ours, forever, beyond the contract.”

Contract? He didn’t know what that meant, but before he could ask, he heard the sound of pipes, and a moment later, the missing satyrs came skipping into the clearing, and following them dancing along with the tune, was Jared. His face seemed sleepy, eyes unfocused–what was he doing here? Raury looked around, expecting Aarin to appear as well, but no one else came.

“He can be yours Bacchus.”

“We can make him yours! He will desire only you, like all of us.”

“Like us! Like us!”

I Dream of Bacchus (Part 6)

Raury was, in many ways, a sugar daddy–although he knew that if he so much as touched his young roommate, there would be hell to pay. No, Raury paid the rent, the utilities, the bills, the food–and in exchange, Jared had sex with as many men as he wanted, and gave Raury the occasional privilege of watching them fuck. It wasn’t easy–in this new life, Raury was no longer a high level executive, but just some middle manager with a greatly reduced salary, but if Jared demanded, then he found himself helpless–he’d pay anything to make him happy, even though it wounded him to know that he should be the one making Jared scream–but that was a different life now, and he had a feeling he’d never have the opportunity to get back.

Still, he sought out Aarin, tried to apologize, but the gypsy lover had since moved on to some other city, and hadn’t bothered to leave a forwarding address. Still, it would have been…manageable, he supposed, if it weren’t for his other job, the one in his dreams. At first, the time with the beasts was a welcome respite from his new life, and he’d often look forward to his nights spent in the wood with them, finding some small measure of comfort in how much the animals adored him, how they’d use him as a vessel for their pleasure, but where before he had still felt somewhat removed from them, after that final ceremony with Aarin and Jared, the link between them had intensified somehow. At first it was small changes, barely noticeable, but in time, he found himself losing his grip on reality in ways he could barely explain.

The woods simple seemed so much more real to him, after that ceremony. Even in the dark, the colors were more vibrant in the bonfirelight, the sounds clearer in the silence of the trees, the sensation of the beasts’ flesh against him more pressing than anything he’d felt with a human–well, perhaps anyone other than Jared. Every dream he could recall in immaculate detail, but his time in the waking world began to fade. He struggled to recall conversations and events from a week prior, and soon he was struggling to even feel present in the moment. The real world felt like the dream–without reason or logic, without pleasure. The only moments where he felt the world push back was when he was watching Jared get fucked–but even then, it only felt real because of the great pain they caused him still.

In the dreams, his body continued to change–it wasn’t long before he was cresting six or seven hundred pounds, reeking of manure and livestock, hair coating his entire body, feeling more and more like a beast himself. His waking form continued to disgust him, but now it was because he wasn’t as extreme as he desired, but no matter how much he tried to change himself–no matter how much he binged and drank and refused to shower–he no longer seemed to change at all. No, it was only when he was sleeping that he ever felt like himself–that he felt like he belonged.

His work started to suffer, and he was written up several times for falling asleep at his desk. He knew it should worry him, but the world no longer bore any real consequence for him. He didn’t exist here, in this office, in this city–not truly. No, his life, his reality was elsewhere now. This was now just a shadow, or a ghost, or a placeholder left over from some other world. It didn’t help matters when he noticed that the beasts were beginning to force themselves into his waking life as well. At first it was just the occasional sound, or the strong scent of musk, but soon satyrs would appear beside him at work, urging him to sleep, to come play with them, to let them serve their Bacchus. No one else could see them, but for Raury, they were fully real–so real that even when he sampled their cocks, on his knees in his cubicle, it tasted like he was there, and he’d quickly nod off for a quick fuck in the clearing.

Still, like all dreams, it didn’t seem possible that it might ever end. The constant days spent in the office melded together into a timeless mash. The men streaming into Jared’s room were endless instances of some faceless horde. How had he allowed himself to become trapped in such a nightmare? Why couldn’t he figure out how to stay home in the forest, in his real body, with his real servants, in his real life? He’d become so convinced that nothing would ever change, that when his boss finally called him into his office to tell Raury that he was being let go, it took the man three repetitions before Raury finally grasped what he was saying.

“You mean…I can go? I don’t have to come here anymore?” He grinned, “Oh god, I thought I was going to have to keep coming here forever!”

His boss just stared at him. “If you were so unhappy, then why didn’t you just quit?”

“I…I guess it just didn’t occur to me that I could do that,” Raury said, a bit bewildered himself. There was some reason he needed to have a job, right? He was certain there was something to that, but he was so happy he wouldn’t have to come back here again, that he decided to worry about that later. Instead, he cleaned out his desk in an hour, and hurried home–eager for a nice long nap–but when he arrived early and saw Jared, he realized why the job had mattered–how was he going to pay for Jared, if he didn’t have a job?

I Dream of Bacchus (Part 5)

All three of their orgasms came in tandem, bucking to the beat of the drums as the music became a cataclysm, and before Raury could even lick his own cum off his hand, the beasts had descended on him, desperate to make it up to him, to feed him, to give him wine, to tell him that he didn’t need those humans to be happy, that they would serve him, and delight in him, and fuck him, and abuse him. He tried to pull away from them, when he saw Aarin help Jared up from the ground and lead him out of the forest, but in his heart he knew it was too late, and when he woke up, Jared would be gone and he’d be alone–alone with these things, alone with his dreams, and he didn’t know if he was thrilled or terrified at the thought.

The beasts began to wind down, slowly, and Raury could feel himself beginning to rise out of the dream, and fade back into real life. There was sun, but he wasn’t on the couch–he was in a bed, alone, but not the bed from his apartment. It…stank. The room stank like a barn. Like manure and mud and straw, but rather than disgust him, he actually found himself relaxing into it. At least…now, he could be alone, right? He wouldn’t have to feel bad about giving in anymore, about the weight he’d gained, about his drinking, about his sexual obsessions and constant sleeping. He was so comfortable, in fact, that he almost allowed himself to drift off again, but he needed to piss, so he got up, naked, and went into the hallway towards the bathroom.

“Fucking hell…you know the fucking rule, Raury! I do not want to see that fucking disgusting body of yours naked!”

He looked over, and there was Jared, fully clothed, holding a cup of coffee, and he couldn’t believe it. What was he doing here? Hadn’t Aarin taken him away? Wasn’t that supposed to be his punishment? “I…I just had to piss is all,” he muttered.

“Get back in that room and put something on, or I’m not going to let you watch for a week, and I’ll raise the fucking rate.”

Ashamed for reasons he only half understood, he turned around and went back into the room, surveying the mess. It looked a bit like a sty, really–clothes thrown everywhere. Still, Jared…called the shots. He went around and found a pair of ratty boxers, and then grabbed a robe hanging over the back of a chair–but caught his reflection in the dirty mirror on the wall, and gasped.

He’d been changing before, bit by bit, but always gradually. Here, he was looking at a different person entirely. He just…couldn’t get past the fact that he was so…so old, all of a sudden. His hair, all of his hair from his head to his feet, was grey, and he’d balded severely. His usual layer of stubble was still present around his mouth, but he’d grown in a pair of thick mutton chops which only made his face look wider and pudgier. Even his body seemed to have contorter–he was shorter, legs stubbier and a bit bowed out, posture slumped…he was a fucking slobby mess. No wonder Jared never wanted to look at him–Raury didn’t want to look at himself either.

He pulled the robe on, checked the hallway for Jared, and then got to the bathroom, determined to fix himself up slightly. He could at least get rid of the facial hair, right? Have a shower, clean himself up…but nothing worked. Every time he ran the blade of a razor over his face, he could feel the hair being cut, but it would appear right back behind the blade’s trail, like nothing had happened at all. The same with his chops and hair–he could cut it, but it would regrow to it’s new length again in less than a second. Showering proved to be equally futile–no matter how much he scrubbed, he’d step out as dirty and stinking as he’d been getting in. This was him now–his body. He’d been…corrupted, somehow, but whether it was the fault of the beasts, or the fault of Aarin’s curse, he didn’t know. He went back to his room and cried for a couple of hours, had a pleasant nap where he got fucked by a handsome pair of centaurs, and then woke in the evening to a sudden knock on the door.

“You got the fee, pervert? Slide it under, and I’ll open the hole before he gets here.”

His body knew what to do, before his mind could really catch up. He got some cash from his wallet–a hundred dollars, and slipped it under to Jared, who took it, and walked back to his room, where he heard something shift against their shared wall–and a small hole he hadn’t noticed was revealed. Curious, he got down and looked through it, and found himself staring right at a completely naked Jared, and fuck, he was so…achingly, desperately in love, at that moment. He wanted him so badly, needed him, his cock rock hard, and he started jacking off, being careful to stay quiet–any peep from him, and…his privileges could be revoked.

Ten minutes later, he heard a distant knock at the apartment door. Jared went to answer it, and returned with a young man, and they started making out together…and Raury felt his heart start to shred, even as he grew even more turned on that before. The man had a massive cock–almost as large as Raury’s had been once upon a time–and he used it on Jared’s ass for close to an hour, Jared blowing load after load watching some stranger fuck the man who had been his ex-boyfriend, but who now…well, there wasn’t really an easy term for what their relationship was now.

I Dream of Bacchus (Part 4)

Still, after a month, things seemed to have…stabilized. He’d grown to around 275 pounds, and was hovering there. His body had filled in with hair, and he seemed to have a perpetual layer of stubble no matter how often he shaved, his hair always long and greasy. He drank three bottles of cheap wine a night, binged at a near constant rate, and endured constant ridicule, but he was feeling…somewhat more sane. And then, one night, he found himself back in the wood, but the intensity was vivid again, like that first time. He desperately tried to keep his feet from walking deeper, but like he was in a trance, he ventured towards the clearing, towards the revelry–and found someone else there, amongst the animals. It was Aarin, with a cruel smile across his face, beckoning Raury closer.

“There you are–taking your sweet time. You were almost late,” Aarin said, as Raury tried to figure out what, exactly, his ex-lover was doing here in his fucked up dreams. “Fellows, why don’t you make your Bacchus comfortable, while we wait for our other guest.”

The beasts gave a great shout and cheer, rushed over and hauled Raury towards the makeshift throne they had for him in the midst of the clearing, but he twisted and fought harder than usual, shouting at Aarin, “You–You’re the one who’s doing this to me? This is all because of you?”

“No, Raury, this is all because of you, because you couldn’t be honest. You refused to bring balance on your own, and so I’m forced to take matters into my own hands, and balance the scales myself. And of course, helping out my…acquaintances here is always a pleasure. They’ve been asking me to provide them with a new bacchus for quite some time, but I hadn’t yet found anyone willing. So, I figured, why not take someone unwilling instead?”

Raury was trying to protest and fight the beasts off around him, but as much as he loathed admitting it–he was weak. Not only physically, after his rash of changes over the past few weeks, but…spiritually as well. He’d grown to like the attentions of these beasts–his dreams felt so much better than anything in his real life, and as soon as the bladder of wine reached his lips, he drank–and thankfully, some of the care and worry slipped from his mind, and he rolled over, presenting his ass for whichever beast might desire it.

But none did–or if they wanted him, they didn’t do so immediately, like usual. He looked around, and saw that several of the beasts were hungry to fuck, but they were looking at Aarin. “What, now you won’t even let them have their way with me?”

“Calm down, Raury–we’re still waiting on our other visitor. I think I hear him now, in fact.”

Raury couldn’t hear anything, but several of the satyrs’ and centaurs’ ears had pricked up. After another minute or two, true to Aarin’s claim, someone did come stumbling out of the woods and into the clearing–it was Jared. His boyfriend was standing there, naked, with a rather confused look on his face, as he stared around at the beasts and the stranger looking at him–and Raury, of all people. He couldn’t keep the disgust from his face, the sight of the chubby, hairy, dirty man, and Raury felt so ashamed of himself–but he also felt a bit satisfied. He wasn’t going to be alone in this anymore. He could live with this, if Jared had to suffer the same fate as him–but it wasn’t the beasts who went after him, as they had Raury–no, it was Aarin who approached him, pulling him to the side, a sneer on their faces as they started kissing and fondling one another, right in front of Raury.

“No–No, you don’t get to fucking take him, he’s fucking mine!” Raury shouted.

“Yours?” Aarin said, pulling away from Jared’s hungry mouth, moving his head lower, Jared kissing at his abs, dropping lower towards Aarin’s cock. “How many men have you been sleeping with behind his back, Raury? Are they all yours too? This is balance, Raury. It’s time for the ugliness inside of you to be on the outside. It’s time for you to suffer what you have made others suffer–isn’t that right, Jared?”

Jared nodded, his mouth around Aarin’s cock–but it wasn’t clear that he even understood what was going on, or if he realized how real this dream actually was.

“Alright you beasts–I gave you your Bacchus. Now it’s time for you to give me my spell, as I requested.”

The beasts grumbled and muttered a bit–obviously a bit annoyed at having to take orders from this man. A few, under their breath, even muttered apologies to Raury, that they wanted to be serving him, and not this man, but that he would still be happy–still be their beautiful Bacchus after this. The pipes and drums began, a pulsing beat faster than the relaxing tunes they preferred, and around him, the beasts began to dance in a tight circle, chanting and singing a calamitous tune which seemed to shake Raury to his bones–but what Raury was focused on–what he couldn’t turn away from, in fact–was Aarin and Jared.

They had moved closer to him–Aarin pulling Jared up off his cock so they could dance to the strange music of the beasts in the clearing, spinning faster and faster until they fell to the ground, and Aarin mounted Jared, ramming his cock into him, and Jared screamed in delight, pushing back, eager to be filled. It was…humiliating, because the only person who had made Jared scream like that before, was him. But that said, it was also hot. He was getting aroused watching the display, watching Aarin fuck his boyfriend in his stead, and unable to stop himself, he reached down and started jacking his own cock, in quick rhythm with the music and Aarin’s own thrusting. But his cock–it was smaller, and still shrinking. Soon, it couldn’t have been more than a couple of inches long, his balls shriveling up as well, but he didn’t care. He wanted…to see them fuck, wished it could be him, but it couldn’t–not anymore–now he was worthless.