Derelicted (Part 3)

Caden recovered slowly. He missed the last half of his senior year–he had developed a crushing phobia of walking the streets of the city he’d called home for his entire life, or rather, a crushing fear that in some dark alley, he might encounter that thing, and whatever might be left of Wyatt. It was a year before he was able to walk the sidewalks again, but the color always made him think of those eyes, and the mouths of alleys seemed so much blacker than they had before. He tried to only go out during the day at least, and while he kept telling himself he’d finish his degree or get his GED, somehow he never managed it. Before, he’d been a good student–not at the top of his class or anything, but he’d been accepted to several colleges. Now though, the basic act of reading or writing was excruciatingly difficult. Nothing came out right, and nothing stuck. His mind was a sieve, leeching out knowledge and memories–but never the memories he wanted to forget. After a few years living at home with his mom, doing nothing with himself beyond eating and packing on two hundred more pounds, a sympathetic uncle in the construction industry managed to get him a job on a crew as a favor.

It was hard–harder than it should have been for him. He knew that, and at the same time, he felt himself slowing down even further. People spoke to him differently–slower with as few large words as possible, and even though he knew what they were saying, he’d still manage to fuck shit up on a regular basis. People called him a fuck up long enough that even he started to believe it. He turned thirty, and could barely believe what he’d become–450 pounds, hairy, a thick briown beard flecked with white like dirty snow beard balding, stinking, alone, masturbating every night, lying to himself that he wasn’t thinking about that night, that he wasn’t thinking about that thing each and every time.

He managed for a time. He turned forty. He buried his mom, and then his uncle. Cracks had begun to form, but he didn’t notice them. His hygiene slipped, until he rarely even thought of showering, or brushing his teeth. A pack a day habit became two, and then he switched to cigars. Masturbation wasn’t enough, reliving it wasn’t enough, so he sought out the filthiest men he could find, and begged them to abuse him however they saw fit. It was in those moments that happiness found him–digging toejam from between a derelict’s feet, his first taste of shit, the powerful memory jogged whenever his mouth was flooded with piss. Winter’s were the best. He never felt cold, somehow, in the snowy streets. He stayed out one night, amazed that no one would even see him, like he blurred together with the grey and brown and filth around him. Feeling himself slipping, he drank to forget, but it only made things worse. His uncle’s replacement wasn’t as forgiving as he had been, and Caden wore out his goodwill in a matter of months, until he was fired, after getting caught masturbating to the stench of the porta-potty for the hundredth time.

That night, he saw them again. Depressed, he’d gone to his usual bar and drank himself under the table, the bartender chucking him out at two in the morning. He’d meant to head home, but a whiff of something on the air caught his attention, and he turned in the other direction instead, heading downtown. The city had changed over the decades, neighborhoods falling in and out of style, in and out of wealth. The smell grew stronger, but he didn’t recognize it until he saw them, deep in an alley, the glint of two pins in the dark, two flat steel disks, and a third hanging from twine. He screamed–the police arrested him, when he’d accosted a woman looking for help, but a few days in jail did nothing to help him. He got out, and knew the only thing he could do was try and turn himself around.

He did have a few friends, sexual and otherwise. A master found him work as a janitor, which lasted a few months until he pissed himself in the middle of an office building without even noticing. A few other gigs came and went, until he managed to land a job out of town. He was so hopeful–maybe getting away from the city would break this curse of a life, but as he left town in his truck, his hands began to shake, his gut churning. He vomited, and had to pull over. He couldn’t drive, so he staggered back several miles until he was back across the city limits, shirt crusted with vomit, the seat of his pants filled with shit. He wandered the city for a few days, unable to remember where his apartment was, derelicts whispering to each other as he passed, and fleeing away from him, terrified of being caught in the thing’s path. They knew it well–it would swallow them all eventually, but not that day, if they could help it.

They found him, shivering behind a dumpster. He’d smelled them coming for hours, but had decided not to run–it had been easier to jack off, the smell giving him the first taste of sexual energy he’d felt in ages. The thing loomed. In a voice better described as a sigh, it turned to the thing that had been Wyatt, and asked, “Ripe?” the word drawn out into a muggy breeze.

Wyatt dropped to his knees beside the shivering Caden, and with a black tongue, cold as ice, licked the side of his face from second chin to forehead. “Overripe,” it rasped.

“Then…sweeter,” it said. It bent at the waist at an excruciating angle, pressed its face to Caden’s, and he felt it’s tongue push its way into his mouth, stretching his jaw wide, stopping his breath, wriggling deep into him. It found his soul and gave it a lick, and then everything turned brown, like filthy snow.

Derelicted (Part 2)

That was all he was able to notice before Wyatt got up from the couch, cock still leaking piss, and he rushed to the bathroom and locked the door behind him. “What the fuck!” was all Caden heard–and not knowing what else to do, he got up, went into the kitchen and opened another beer for himself–that piss had been rancid.

He heard the first pounding on the door, but ignored it, and went to the bathroom, but Wyatt refused to open the door.

“Come on man, just let me see!”

“Fuck no! Fuck this fucking shit!”

His voice sounded different–deeper and raspier than before.

There was another pound on the door.

“Dude, you need to call the hospital or something,” Wyatt said.

“The hospital? Why? Because you pissed yourself?”

“No, you don’t get it man, you don’t fucking get it! Just call 911!”

The pound came again, but this time it kept coming, a relentless beat.

“Dude, what the fuck would I even tell them?”

“Just fucking call them! Get a fucking ambulance!”

Caden backed up from the bathroom door, trying to focus. Call 911? What the hell for? What was going on in there? He tried to calm down and think a moment, but the pounding on the door was growing more urgent and he…he needed to get the door. Yeah, he could at least tell them to leave, and then he might be able to focus on what the hell had happened. He went to the apartment door, and flung it open, more than ready to tell whoever it was to fuck off, but the words froze in his throat when he saw, and smelled, the man from the alley, well awake and grinning a mouth of rotten teeth at him, eyes black aside from a glimmer so deep Caden could barely see it without falling into them.

He couldn’t breathe. The smell had locked up his lungs, and he stumbled back and collapsed to his hands and knees, fighting, trying to get his lungs to function again, and managed a weak, rasping breath. The man gave him a short look, sniffed the air noisily, and then pushed open the door, stepping into the apartment and walking right to the bathroom door, where he pounded once again on that door.

“Caden, did you fucking call them? Why are you pounding on the damn door?”

He tried to speak, but all he could do was cough and wheeze for air. His phone, where the hell had his phone gone? He saw it–it was on the table, he reached for it, but before he could grab it his entire body froze, midbreath, his eyes snapping toward the bathroom where the dark-eyed derelict was staring at him, and pounded once more on the door, louder.

“Fuck off Caden, and leave me the fuck alone until the ambulance fucking gets here!”

This must be what turning blue felt like. The derelict pounded again, and then again, and then a third time, louder and louder. Someone else would hear, someone else would have to come see, right? He managed to twist his eyes to the apartment door, but it flung closed in a snap. Did it read his mind? Was he going to die here?

“Fucking what?” Wyatt opened the door, and Caden came to life again, heaving for breath, the thing’s attention away from him and focused entirely on Wyatt, or at least the man Wyatt had become. He was shorter now, with a sagging gut heaving out, arms and legs withered sticks. He was old now, at least in his fifties–his eyes lined with wrinkles, beard and hair the grey sidewalks. His eyes were wide, lungs frozen, the thing leaning in and locking lips with him, filthy fingers running through Wyatt’s tangled locks, down his body to his cock. It looked like he was trying to scream, but something was caught in his throat, and eventually he collapsed to his knees. Caden’s first thought was that he was dead–but he could hear the slick smack of mouth on cock, and Wyatt was swallowing the thing’s cock to the hilt. Satisfied, it’s neck twisted a few degrees too far to look back at Caden behind him, those black holes freezing him in place. The medallion was once again back around it’s neck, a black tongue hanging down past it’s chin. Caden didn’t want to look, but couldn’t peel his eyes away.

Eventually, it was satisfied, and broke the gaze itself, leaving Caden a whimpering, sobbing heap on the floor. Wyatt stood up, lickiing cum from his lips, his eyes now a solid steel grey, and followed it out of the apartment. Caden was found that morning by Wyatt’s father, still curled up naked in a puddle of his own piss, cum and sweat. He claimed to remember nothing, when the police questioned him–he knew no one would believe him. They suspected him in Wyatt’s disappearance, but without any evidence of anything beyond Caden’s severe trauma, the case went cold.

Arctos: Briar

Cole gave off another belch, then patted his gut and laughed, looking over at Jase, the younger man just rolling his eyes and walking off to get back to work on the site. “Come on, you have to admit that was a good one!” Cole shouted after him.

“You’re gross, Cole,” he said over his shoulder, “ Would you get some work done for a fucking change?”

Cole laughed, but did go back to working on the houses they were building, but he let off another belch, groped his thick cock through his cutoff jeans, amazed that he was horny again already. He’d fucking jacked off in the damn porta-potty twice today, and it looked like he was going to have to take another smoke break. Still, he kept up for a few more minutes, until his cock was aching, and then he pulled out his pipe, made a show of patting his pants, and said, “Out of fucking tobacco,” loud enough for a few guys to hear. Jase noticed, and sighed–it was just Cole being Cole, he thought, as frustrating as the fat fuck was, watching him head for his truck. He’d be missing for half an hour, leaving everyone else to pick up the slack. Still, he’d been a part of the crew for so long, none of them could imagine it without him. As annoying as he was, he was just…there. Most of which was true, except for the fact that Cole had only been working with them for about a week.

Cole hadn’t forgotten his tobacco, of course–it was in his pocket, but he needed some time alone to blow off some steam. After a week, he’d gotten used to this body for the most part, and he’d thought he’d quit getting turned on by it so much, but damn, every time he let off a belch, or noticed the heft of his gut, or caught a whiff of his musk…He lifted an arm and took a whiff, hauling out his cock before fumbling with his pipe. It wasn’t a perfect pack or light, but it did the job well enough, and the cab flooded with smoke as he stroked himself slow, smelling himself.

He’d been playing a game, the last few days, trying to remember things about himself, before he’d opened that pipe club kit he’d received from Arctos in the mail, but the image was fading, and the memories too. He’d been younger than he was now, in his thirties. Clean shaven. Working at a desk all day, but he had no clue what he’d done. Pushing papers, spreadsheets, something like that. So much fucking better, getting sweaty all day under the sun, working your body out with a bunch of other burly fuckers. Of course, this job of his was new–he’d been so happy with his pipe, that of course he’d taken advantage of the discount to order a few things from Arctos, the construction kit and a few other accessories, and here he was–a nasty pig working on the site all damn day, and he loved it. He knew, in the back of his mind, that his old self would be disgusted by what he’d become, but why in the hell should he care about that fucker? He didn’t even smoke! Fuck, if Cole had to go without his pipe for a day, he didn’t know what the fuck he’d do, but it wouldn’t be pretty.

He hiked his dusty wifebeater up over his hairy gut, giving it a rub with his free hand, pinching one of his fat nipples, thinking about Jase. He’d been saving his referral to the pipe club for someone special, and on the first day, he’d decided that special someone was going to be Jase. The guy was young, but built–at least six four, three hundred pounds, a bunch of it muscle. Beard down to his chest, a bright red. He’d requested a kinkcub cut tobacco with a heavy musk flavor added, and expedited shipping of course. Earlier that day, he’d gotten a message from his phone that the package had arrived while they were here at work. He’d give Jase a few hours to…get acclimated, and then come knocking tonight, and the two of them were going to have some real fun. He storked a bit faster, gave a long fart, and then shot his load up onto his gut, rubbing it in until it turned sticky, and then climbed out of his truck, puffing smoke, and headed back to the worksite. Quitting time couldn’t come soon enough, in his opinion, and all day, jase noticed that Cole kept glancing over at him, rubbing his crotch, head shrouded in that pipe smoke of his–and he too, couldn’t wait to get away when the day was over.

Something Cole hadn’t bothered to learn about Jase, however, was whether or not he lived alone. In fact, Jase still lived with his father, Miles–he’d been trying to scrape money together to move out for a while now, but honestly it was just easier to stay with him. They were both pretty laid back, he helped out with expenses, he had privacy, and his dad, he thought, was mostly happy to not have to live all by himself. He was in his early 50’s, and worked a warehouse job early in the morning, and was usually home early in the afternoon–early enough to have answered the door when the burly delivery man from some company named Arctos showed up with a small package for his son. As soon as he touched the box, he felt an odd rush through his body, and along with that, an intense curiosity for what might be inside. To his knowledge, his son had never been one to order things online or anything–what in the hell could it be?

He made himself a snack, and went to watch TV, but he couldn’t focus, and kept looking at the box, and then the clock. Jase was usually home by six…but sometimes he went out for drinks with the guys. If he wasn’t home by…say, seven…would he really mind if his dad opened it for him? It was a breach of privacy, sure, but he had a growing certainty inside him, that whatever was in there was meant not for jase, but for him. It was his! So nice of Jase to get him a present! Sure, his birthday was still a few months away, but father’s day was around the corner. He’d never splurged on anything like this before–if it was meant for him anyway, what harm was there in opening it?

He forced himself to wait. It hurt, but it was, technically, Jase’s, after all. He might be angry if he spoiled the surprise, after all. Thankfully, he heard Jase’s truck pull up outside the house and into the driveway, and it was excruciating, waiting for him to come into the house, so he could show him the package, and ask him about it. He had to play it cool though, at least a little bit. So he waited, and Jase came through the door, and in a bit of a rush, Miles said, “Hey, some guy brought you a package today–it’s by the door. What did you order?”

Jase looked at him, confused, and then went over to the box. A intense jealousy shot through him, as he watched Jase turn the box over in his hands, and then set it down again, like nothing had struck him at all. “No idea–I didn’t order anything. Who was it from?”

“He just said it was a gift, from Arctos. Are you…do you just not want to tell me about my present or something?” he asked.

“Present? What are you talking about?” Jase asked. The question hung in an awkward silence for a bit, and then he said, “It’s not mine. We might as well send it back.”

“We don’t even know what’s in there though!” Miles nearly shouted.

“Jeeze dad, get a grip! Open it if you want, I don’t care. Anyway, I’m tired–I’m going to chill out for a bit, and we can have dinner later, ok?”

Jase headed off towards his room upstairs, but Miles didn’t bother replying. How in the fuck could he not care at all, just like that! He grabbed the box, clutching it to his chest, then went and found a knife in the kitchen, slit the tape open, and opened it–inside was a large pipe, a pouch of tobacco, and a slip of paper. He’d expected the need to ebb a bit, once he’d gotten the package open and sated his curiosity, but seeing the pipe, it only got worse. With a shaking hand, he picked up the nose, but all managed to read was:

Here at the Arctos Briar Division we strive to provide the highest quality of pipes, pipe tobacco, and accessories to ensure that any man who tries one of our products is determined to be a pipe smoker for life!
Included here is one pipe smoker starter kit, which has been provided to you at no cost, through our refer a friend program. By now, our patented smart memory chemicals…

Miles already knew what he needed to to, what he wanted to do. He was a cigarette smoker, had been all his life, and while he’d seen guys smoke a pipe a few times, he had never tried one himself, even though he’d always wanted to, right? He was having a hard time figuring that out, actually. He’d thought he’d never been that interested in pipes, and yet, looking at one now, he couldn’t help but ask himself why he’d never thought of trying one before. He didn’t know quite what to do with it, but he picked up the hefty pipe, surprised by how heavy it was, feeling the smooth wood and briar, and then reached into the pouch for the tobacco. The leaf was black and quite pungent, but the smell actually made him a bit horny, for some reason. He didn’t have any trouble packing and tamping the pipe–it was like his hands simply knew what they were doing, without him needing to guide them. At last, it was ready–he put the end in his mouth, lit it with the matches from the box, because he was too excited to try and find his lighter, and puffed it to light, drawing deep as soon as he could, and exhaling with a long plume of relieved satisfaction.

He took a few more long inhales, enjoying the rush he was getting off the smoke, so much more intense than anything he’d gotten from cigarettes before. He should have switched ages ago! He went back out into the den and sat back down on the couch, stretching out, staring at the TV but not watching anything in particular. The panic and anxiety had ebbed, and now all he felt was horny, which was strange. He didn’t exactly get horny very often anymore, and he didn’t exactly go out looking for women much anymore either. Still, it was good to know the old lizard could still wake up on occasion, right? He checked behind him, at the stairs, but his son usually camped up in his room all afternoon until dinner, so why not rub a load out? It had never occurred to him that he had never once considered jacking off where his son might discover him–he just pulled his cock through the fly of the boxers he was wearing and started stroking it slowly, leaning back, puffing on the pipe, and then pulled his balls through the hole as well, the cloth tightening around the base, hardening into steel, and the resulting cock ring only made his cock engorge further, the rest of the cloth tightening up around his thighs, turning black and slick, becoming a pair of rubber shorts which left both his cock and ass entirely exposed.

The wifebeater he had on was contorting as well, the collar pulling up closer to his throat, the rest tighting around his hefty, hairy gut, beginning to darken. The collar detached and tightened around Miles’ neck, thickening into a leather collar studded with short spikes, the rest becoming a tight fitting rubber tank. Oblivious, he rubbed his nipples through the rubber with his free hand, feeling how huge and sensitive they were–all that effort he’d been putting into pumping them had really paid off–same with his fucking balls. His cock wasn’t huge, but his sack was bulging larger and larger, hanging lower onto the seat of the couch–he hefted them, and then gave them a tug, his cock immediately spewing precum at the sensation.

He couldn’t see very well through the smoke, but the TV was still playing one of his favorite pornos. He waved a bit of it away, watching that thick, massively hung daddy line that cock up with that cub’s hole, hearing him whimpering with need, and start slipping it inside, bit by bit, the moaning now pained, but still so eager, and Miles bounced on the dildo in his hole a bit faster. That’s what he fucking needed, some god damn daddy dick in his hole! That thought set off some doubts, some worries–he wasn’t gay, was he? Then again, he’d thought he wouldn’t like pipes, and look at him now? Still, he was old enough to be a daddy himself, after all, Jase was right upstairs. Hopefully his son couldn’t hear him moaning…then again, Jase was sexy. Not quite daddy material, but Miles wasn’t feeling too picky. Any cock in a storm, right?

His full beard had pulled back in a bit, shortening as the grey disappeared, turning a vibrant red he hadn’t seen on himself in decades. His body hair thickened in, spreading across his chest and especially in his pits and crack, and his nose caught a smell he loved–he lifted his arm and took a deep breath of his musky stench, and shuddered, leaning his face in and licking at the sweat there. Hopefully jase hadn’t taken a shower yet; it would be so much better if he still stank from work, tasted like dirt and dust and sweat, letting his cub lick him from pit to toe, fuck! He could suck on those damn feet of his all night, if he let him. The room around him was a bit messy, and he got up for a moment, finding a pair of Jase’s work socks and taking them with him back to the couch, sniffing at first, in between puffs on his pipe, and then started sucking the sweat out of them, wiping up his own cum and sweat with them and sucking that out too. Getting close, but better to edge for a bit longer. Maybe Jase will come down, and catch him. Fuck, embarrassing, sure, but at least it would be out there. That fucker can’t know what he’s missing, plowing Mile’s tight cub hole, if he hasn’t seen it, right? That didn’t happen, but a few minutes later, there was a knock at the front door.

Someone killing his damn vibe. He ignored the door, and just kept stroking, moaning a bit louder, hoping to summon Jase down by curiosity, and there was another pounding at the door, louder, and a deep voice yelled through it, “Goddamn it cub, I can fucking smell you in there! Open the damn door and take care of this fucking daddy cock.”

Now that caught his attention. He got up from the couch, wondering who in the hell it might be, nervous and anxious, but whoever it was, daddy was hot. Now that he was closer to the door, he could smell him too–the scent was new and yet so…damn familiar. Surely he must have smelt him somewhere before. He unlocked the door and pulled it open, and Cole was standing them, sneering around his own pipe, rubbing his cock through his sweat soaked cutoffs. Daddy. Seeing him…it clicked into place. His daddy. He had a daddy, thank fucking god, a daddy to save him from himself.

Cole pushed into the house, shutting the door behind them with a slam and pressed their bodies together, slick with sweat, smelling his new boy, and moaning. “Fuck, I can’t fucking believe how hot you look, better than I fucking imagined!” Cole said, and shoved his face into Miles’ pit, snorting and licking, “Yeah, fucking reek! Just like they fucking advertised…Come on cub, give daddy one of those sloppy kisses of yours, suck my tongue like you’re gonna be suckin’ my cock from now on.”

They forgot to take their pipes out, but caught them, and kissed, Cole spinning them around and shoving his cub up against the door, hard, the wall shaking a bit, licking his boy’s bearded face, Miles sucking his tongue into his mouth, nibbling at it, both hands working his daddy’s cutoffs, hauling out his huge daddy cock and stroking it, his ass aching for it, even though it was still stuffed full with his favorite dildo. “God daddy, fuck me, my fuckin’ hole sir…”

Cole growled, bit down on his boy’s neck, hearing him hiss, back arching as he sucked at his wet throat, and let go with a pop. “Fuck, yeah, forget the fucking bj, I want that hole, I can smell it pig, get on the couch.”

Miles bounded over and got on the couch, facing the back on his knees, spread wide, crack ready. Cole shoved the coffee table back and got down on his knees behind him, hauling the big dildo out, tossing it to the side, and shoving his mouth against his cub’s hole, licking and sucking at the pucker, and Mile’s let loose a long fart.

“Oh fuck boy, you know how to turn daddy’s damn cranks…”

“Fuck yeah, I know what daddies want…”

“Wanted you since the first damn day I saw you, you know that?” Cole said, pulling away for a moment, “Now you’re mine now, ain’t that right?”

“Fuck yeah, Daddy, I’m fucking yours!”

“That’s what I wanna hear,” Cole said, and dug back into Miles’ crack, wrapping one hand around his massive sack and tugging it away from his body, listening to him moan loudly, loud enough that Cole didn’t hear the sound of Jase coming down the stairs. The sounds coming from the lower level had grown too loud for him to ignore, but he couldn’t imagine what his father might be watching, or doing, downstairs. He came down and around the corner, facing the back of the couch, and he saw a strange young man, thick red beard and short hair, puffing on a pipe and groaning in some strange rubber get up, and he froze, before saying, “What the fuck? Who the fuck are you?”

Cole heard that. He sat back and stood up, his face appearing from behind Miles, and he did a double take. “Jase?”

“Cole?” Jase said, “What the fuck are you–who the fuck is this? What…Where’s my dad…?”

Miles was blushing a bit, but also found it kind of sexy that they’d gotten caught by his…son? His mind immediately told him that couldn’t be right–he and Jase were almost the same age after all. No, so then…housemates? Yeah, housemates, of course. He kind of wished they were more than that, after all, Jase was one sexy fucker, but he’d settled for Jase’s equally hot coworker Cole in the meantime. He figured that if Jase…stumbled in on them a few times, he might eventually get up the courage to maybe join in. “Sorry Jase,” he said, “we got a little carried away, right Daddy?”

Cole didn’t say anything–if this wasn’t Jase, then who the hell…his mind started filling in blanks for him. How he’d met Miles when he’d stopped by the worksite one day to give Jase something from home, and the two of them had known at a glance that they were going to fuck, and soon. That very night, in fact, Cole followed Jase home and fucked around with Miles, much to Jase’s frustration. He could still recall, of course, that Jase had been his original target, but Miles was certainly a nice consolation prize if nothing else. “Yeah, sorry man…you know how I get around Miles, right?”

Jase didn’t know. Even as the other two had new memories forming, Jase was at a loss, the smoke filled room making his eyes water a bit, unable to understand where his dad had gone, and how these two strangers had gotten here instead.

“Guess he’s speechless–come on daddy, wanna keep going in my room?”

“Sure thing cub, lead the way!”

Miles got off the couch, grabbed Cole’s hand and pulled him towards the stairs, passing Jase along the way, who was still unable to process what was going on. He shared a look with Cole as he passed, the older man regarding him with a smile, but was there also a bit of disappointment there? They both went upstairs, and all that remained was their plumes of smoke, which Jase couldn’t help breathe in, and he started looking around wondering where his dad was, but the more second hand smoke he breathed, the less certain he became that his father was there at all. Still, he could remember him, right? Certainly he could remember someone else who should be here besides Miles, his housemate. No–what?

He paused. Where in the hell had that thought come from? And wasn’t Miles his father’s name? That was an odd coincidence he supposed, but not really that strange in the end. His memories felt more and more confused, and he heard a loud thump from upstairs in the master bedroom, where Miles slept, a groan, and then the squeak of his bed’s springs. Ugh, he couldn’t believe Miles liked Cole of all people. He didn’t really care that they were fags, but did he have to pick the coworker he liked the least the fuck around with? He shook his head, figuring there were just some things he wouldn’t understand, and he too, went upstairs, back to his room and inside, but where the air was clearer, the worries returned.

He saw pictures of him and his father, pinned to the wall, the memories of them here in this house so damn clear to him, but at the same time, some other part of him kept saying he had to be mistaken. He pushed that other part of himself away, and focused on his memories–coming home and talking to his dad. That strange box he’d received in the mail. It was crazy, but…but what if Miles…was his dad? Had something happened to him? Or more precisely, had Cole done something to him? He thought of the surprise he’d seen on Cole’s face downstairs, of the sense of disappointment as he’d walked past. The box…it had been for him. Was…did something happen to his dad that should have happened to him instead?

He could still smell smoke. He threw open his window, leaned against the screen, and his head cleared further still. His dad had been acting so strange about that package, and Cole was such a raging pervert…there was a piece of the puzzle he was missing though–what had been in the box? He went downstairs and searched a bit further, until he found where his father had opened it in the kitchen, but there was nothing there–just an empty box with Arctos printed on the side, a blank piece of paper beside it. This was no use–he’d have to…maybe if he spied a bit, he’d figure something out, something that would help him figure out what had happened to his dad.

He crept up the stairs, towards the door to the Master bedroom. The smoke was thicker here, the smell as strong as it had been downstairs, and he could hear them moaning behind it–he cracked open the door, smoke billowing through, and it was so thick, he could only see the outlines of them fucking on the bed. His housemate was there, Cole’s cock buried in his hole–no! No, it was his dad. Fuck, looking at him, how hadn’t he seen it before? He looked like he had in old family portraits, just hairier, and…sluttier. But he was so young, he couldn’t be his dad, and be that young. The smoke was thick in his lungs, making him feel lightheaded. Those doubts were back, and he fought harder, knowing that they were false…but the more smoke he breathed, the stronger they got. He could sense them, trying to rewire his mind somehow, frustrated that he was being as resistant as he was, and then they noticed his awareness, and they pushed harder. He focused as hard as he could, focusing on his dad, on helping him, on fighting, but it was too much. He felt a sharp pain rip through his brain as something in him broke apart, and then fell back clutching his head, trying not not to scream.

Then, as quickly as it had begun, it was gone, leaving Jase gasping and shaking on the floor, trying to understand what had just happened to him. Where even was he anyway? He looked around, found he was in the hallway outside his son’s door, which was open a crack. He must have been…been peeping. Yeah, he always liked to watch his son get plowed by the guys he brought home, and he’d been bringing that sexy fucker Cole home a whole lot lately. Damn, that pig was nasty, and a huge damn cock…

No–No, he wasn’t thinking straight. Jase stumbled up, but couldn’t catch his balance, felt like he was going to throw up. He went into the bathroom and stared at himself in the mirror…but the reflection was wrong! He looked so…so young, not even a hint of grey anywhere, and certainly more muscular…right? He looked more like his son, if anything–what it the world was going on? Some other part of him was trying to tell him he was wrong, that something had happened to his mind, that he wasn’t thinking straight somehow, but everything was so hazy…maybe if he had a smoke…He patted his pockets, but his pipe wasn’t there. He checked the floor where he’d fallen, but it wasn’t there either.

Downstairs, he heard the doorbell. The pipe could wait a moment–it was more important that he go down and get his package. He opened the door and found a burly delivery man there–a sexy fucker, huge cock outlined in those tight shorts, and he handed Jase a small package, told him to have a good day, and then left. Jase closed the door and opened up the box, where he found a short note:

“Valued Arctos Customer,
We’ve been alerted to a reality incongruence event, and wish to apologize for any distress this may have caused you with a complimentary gift to help ease your transition.
Enjoy!”

It was his pipe.

His favorite pipe was in this box for some reason, along with a pouch of his usual tobacco, but how in the hell had it gotten there? Then again, maybe…maybe that wasn’t worth worrying about, better to just get it lit as soon as possible. He’d feel better with some smoke in his lungs. He found his son’s lighter and packed the pipe, fumbling with it awkwardly, like his hands kept trying to fight him somehow, some voice screaming deep in him, best to shut it up quick before he got any ideas. He pulled in the first lungful of smoke, and calm suffused his body, muffling the objections he’d been feeling. Everything was alright, now that he had his pipe–now he could get back to what really mattered–watching that hot daddy Cole give his son a proper pounding. His standards seemed pretty low–maybe he’d even give Jase a fuck too.

He climbed the stairs, and halfway up his joints and muscles started to ache familiarly. He passed the bathroom and caught sight of himself in the mirror. Funny, he thought he’d looked odd a few minutes earlier, but things were looking more normal now–his frizzy mane of hair had lost nearly all of it’s red at this point, the same with his beard. He was short, with a thick gut, arms and legs withered a bit with age, that puny cock of his…couldn’t even get hard anymore, not that he’d ever had much use for it. No, he was an old pig through and through–taught his boy everything he knew, and he couldn’t be more proud of the filthy slut Miles had become.

He got back down on his knees, slowly this time, one hand on the wall to steady himself. It fucking sucked getting old–twenty years ago, there wasn’t a single pig around here who could match him. Still, maybe it was time to pass the baton to his boy, because fucking look at him. The way he’s taking Cole’s cock, god damn. Jase reached down under his sweaty, greasy gut for his short cock and found it at half mast–even that was an increasing rarity these days, but a relief to know that the old pecker wasn’t quite dead yet.

Miles and Cole shifted positions, and the cub looked over and saw the door was open, and someone was crouched down in the crack. He had no idea who it could be, but he recognized his pervy, nasty dad after a few moments. Odd how he’d looked like a total stranger for a moment, but rare was the time when his dad wasn’t watching his son get fucked by the men he brought home with him. He put on a bit of a show, watching his old man’s gut heave a bit, drool in his thick beard, old tongue on his thin lips, huffing on that ancient pipe of his. Past his prime, but damn, Miles wished his old cock could still work. His dad wasn’t much of a fucker of course, but Miles had always liked how…close he felt, getting fucked by his dad, back when he was still learning what a damn pig he was. Cole noticed him a moment later, and his reaction was a bit more extreme. He hauled his cock out and stepped back, shouting, “Who the fuck is that?”

“Just my pig dad Cole, don’t worry about it. I always let him watch,” Miles said, “Get back in me daddy, I want your damn cock, sir…”

Cole ignored him and strode to the door, opening it, and looking down at the short, flabby old man in the doorway. Jase–he could still see him in there, even as the smoke rewrote his memories. He’d always pictured him as a cub…but damn, he made a sexy old pig in the end too. “Nonsense, I think your dad should play too, don’t you Miles?”

“His cock don’t work anymore.”

“Yeah,” Jase added, “Was never much a top anyway.”

Cole smirked, “Get in here dad. Shove that fist up your boy’s cunt, and I’m gonna feed his throat. How’s that sound?”

Jase’s cloudy eyes lit up with a sparkle. Cole helped the old man up and together they flanked his son and got to work. By morning, all three of them couldn’t even fathom a time when they hadn’t been living together, their own fucked up family unit, getting more and more perverse every time a new Arctos sample showed up on the doorstep…well, that’s a story for another time, don’t you think?

Features & Bugs (Part 4)

Now that I had been away from the damn computer for a moment, the sense that something was…different was only growing stronger. I could hear Austin in the kitchen, cooking I assumed, and so I went into the bathroom to get a look at myself, but I couldn’t see anything wrong with my reflection, even though, I somehow knew that it wasn’t quite right. I mean…later…but then, at that moment? I looked at myself–at the beard, at the extra hundred and fifty pounds, at the tattoos and piercings, at the hair falling off my head in clumps…and I honestly couldn’t see anything wrong with it, and befuddled, I found Austin and ate, and ate, and ate. Dinner was massive, but my appetite was larger than I thought possible, and I stuffed myself. In the end, it was ten at night when we were finally ready to leave the house. I had no idea where we were going that late, but I went with Austin and climbed into his car…which was now much smaller than I thought it should be, and we drove into the city, parked, and walked a couple blocks to a rundown club, in a alley, and I followed Austin inside.

It looked like the setting of the videos I’d been watching–dingy, all tile and dim lighting and bodies pressed too close. It stank of musk and piss, and my little cock got hard instantly. My doubts started to fade, and I remember I was drooling uncontrollably as Austin led me deeper and deeper into the club, men crowding their way around me, touching me, smacking me, shouting at me. I don’t really know what happened when. I drank piss. I sucked cock and got fucked by who knows how many different men, all of them raw. At some point, strangers dragged me over to what looked like a converted sawhorse. They bent me over, strapping my hands and legs to the frame, the top cutting into my huge gut, and they opened up my hole how I’d…I’d always wanted. Fingers and cocks, and then fists. I don’t know how deep they went, or how many, but I was begging for it. I was in those videos, I was one of them, my fantasies were real.

I do remember one thing. Something I now know I wasn’t supposed to see. Austin hung around a bit at the beginning, but he soon abandoned me to the mob, once he saw I wouldn’t be trying to get away or resist. I was sucking cock, and trying to keep an eye on him, in case…he needed me, I suppose. And I saw him talking to someone, an older man in a leather uniform smoking a thick cigar. I wasn’t jealous or anything–I was just a pig after all, he could talk to or fuck around with whoever he wanted. No, for a while, I wasn’t even sure what had caught my attention. I thought I knew him, somehow. Recognized him from somewhere, but why would I know anyone here? It wasn’t until Austin and the man got closer, Austin pushing open the leather jacket the man had on, revealing his firm gut and the lines there, the lines I’d see forming through that crack in a door. It couldn’t have been him though, right? There was no way! He’d been…young, and thin, and this man was old, and sexy, and powerful and…and I knew it was true, but I was too horny to think, too weak to do anything. All I wanted was for him to come use me too–both because I wanted him, and because I wanted to see if I was right.

If two points make a line, how many until a shape forms in front of you? I couldn’t really see it, because I was too close–inside the boundary of the entire event, but everything linking up around me, the room spinning…it was too terrifying, and so I pushed it away. I focused on being a good pig, but doubts don’t go away that easily.

It was four in the morning, the bar was closing. Austin unbound me from the horse and helped me stand. The air on my hole felt so strange, as he helped me from the bar. I think I shit myself, but it might have just been a wad of cum running down my leg, I didn’t want to look–either possibility was horrifying. The cum more so. If it was cum…if it was cum, part of me wanted to eat it. We got back to the car, we drove back to his place, both of us exhausted, and we fell right to sleep. Sunday, my entire body ached, but it was a good ache. It was a hunger as much as a pain. I wanted to do it again. I wanted to do it every night. The excitement scared me–I couldn’t anticipate my own thoughts. I expected to feel disgust, but all my body told me was how good it felt, how much I wanted even more. And the doubts, the shape forming. We fucked all Sunday long, but come Monday I was going to get answers.

That morning, he tried to sneak out, but I got up with him, telling him I needed to go into work too. He told me he’d already called out for me, telling them I wasn’t feeling well. I got angry, said I was going, and he got angry. Frustrated, might be a better word, looking at me like I was just another computer not working like it was supposed to. It all came pouring out soon enough. I demanded to know who that man had been, and he denied at first, and then refused to tell me anything else. I wanted to know what I’d looked like, last week. I demanded to know what he’d done to me, what he’d done to both of us. He smiled, and promised me that he’d tell me everything when he got back from work that evening, but for now, I was to stay here, and not leave under any circumstance. Then, he left and shut the door behind him, locking it.

Features & Bugs (Part 3)

The office was small, and the man’s desk had been against a wall to the side. The man was there in his chair, staring at his computer screen–his shirt was unbuttoned, his fly too, and he was jacking off. Something was playing on the screen, some video, but at the angle I was crouched at, I couldn’t get a good look at anything other than him…and something was wrong with him. When I’d helped him the day before, the guy had been young, slender and wiry, clean shaven and hairless as far as I could tell. Looking at him now, I wondered if my memory was simply wrong, or if something else had happened to him. His body had grown larger, more muscular, and was much hairier than I would have expected. He had more than a five o’clock shadow–somehow he’d grown a short beard overnight. He must have been older than I’d thought as well, because it was flecked with grey, and I could see his hair receding slightly. But then something else happened, something I knew I couldn’t explain as easily as all that.

I could see him in profile, and he twisted towards me slightly in his chair. For a while I was focused on his cock–easily the same size as the dildo I’d had in my ass the night before, if not a bit larger. But something else caught my eye as well, something happening on the gut he’d grown overnight–there were lines on it. Black lines. I thought they were a shadow, but shadows didn’t move like this, they didn’t…grow. They were forming shapes on him, which I didn’t recognize at the time. The sight was enough to jolt me away from the crack–I stood up and slipped the door closed again…and only then did I realize I’d had my cock out as well, jacking off while I was watching him, right here in the damn hallway! Thankfully no one had seen me; I zipped back up and fled back to the IT department, where I ran into Austin. I tried to tell him what I’d just seen, but couldn’t get the words out, once he started toying with me. He ended up fucking me in the bathroom stall, and then suggested we get an early start on our weekend, and I was only too eager to agree, and what I’d seen had slipped to the back of my mind.

I…don’t remember much of that night. We had dinner somewhere, but I was so horny all I could think about was getting back to his place for sex. He told me he had a present for me, sat me down in front of his computer, and showed me a twenty file movie collection, he had queued up for me…and I watched all of them, in a row, all night long. Most of them had that same pig in them, but some had others. They were all pigs too, but some were different. One had a fat pig bound up, getting stuffed with food. Another pig got whipped, and spanked, and pierced, and bloodied for over an hour. Always there was piss. Always there was rubber. Always there was humiliation and abuse. Always, there was this odd…flicker, that I noticed on occasion, but it never held my attention for very long. I didn’t sleep once. I think I remember Austin leaving me there and then coming back. In the morning, he set a heaping plate of food by me, and I devoured it with one hand and stroked off with the other. In my mind, I’d gone from admiring these pigs, to identifying with them, experiencing their humiliation and abuse vicariously, and then, I actually started to feel like I was one of them. Like I’d entered the videos myself, like I was watching videos of things that had happened to me. I ate again, at some point, and eventually, Austin turned off the videos, and the only sound in the room was me snorting, the sound of me groping my pig cock.

“That’s better pig,” he said, “You feeling more like yourself now?”

I didn’t know how to answer that question, but his cock was there, and just seeing it made my mouth drool. I swallowed it, sucking hard, and a minute later my mouth flooded with piss for the first time, and I drank it down, the taste so familiar even as the newness of it struck me. I felt different, I didn’t feel like me, but I didn’t know how to explain it in terms anyone might be able to understand. The flow slowed, and he went back to fucking my face. He was brutal, choking and gagging me, but I just took, enjoying the roughness, enjoying being treated like a pig like me deserved to be treated. The first time I thought of myself as a pig, the first time I realized that’s what I was, I came with a huge grunt, I was so happy to have figured it out!

Austin didn’t cum, he just pulled out, and told me that he wanted to go out that night. He’d laid out a few outfits on the bed, and he wanted me to pick what I wanted to wear, we’d eat, and then head out. I got up from the chair where I’d been sitting for a day–it was sopping with piss and cum…I must have been sitting in my own filth this entire time, but for some reason that didn’t bother me. I didn’t even think of taking a shower–I just lumbered down the hall to the bedroom, and there, sure enough, were a few sets of clothes: a business suit, some shorts and a t-shirt, and finally what looked like a collection of rubber gear. I made a beeline for that of course–why would I want to wear any of that other stuff? It ended up being a rubber singlet, black with a red accent up the side, like a tuxedo stripe, and the ass was open. It had seemed…big, when I started putting it on, but when it was finished, it actually seemed a bit small. I pulled on some black army boots to go with it, and felt…good, surprisingly. Sexy even. I’d never felt sexy in my life, I’d thought, what in the hell was wrong with me?

The place was a sty, sure, but they hadn’t seemed that bad at the bar. They weren’t exactly the kind of guys he usually hung out with–Barry was a bit of a social climber, and if he didn’t think someone had anything to offer him, he wasn’t likely to hand around for long. But these two, they seemed…different. So laid back and relaxed, working their basic jobs at the warehouse, smelling like they hadn’t showered in a few days. One of them had spilled their drink on his suit, and Barry had cussed him out; they’d bought him another one, stuck around to chat, and now here he was, at their apartment. Strange, he hadn’t even bothered to get their names! One of them went into the kitchen and brought back a round of beers for the three of them, handed one to Barry, and the night continued.

Three beers later…

Something definitely wasn’t right. His suit felt so damn tight all of a sudden! At first he’d thought it was just the fact he was a bit woozy with alcohol, but no, his clothes…really didn’t fit him very well all of a sudden. He took another swig of beer, trying to follow whatever football game the guys were watching, but he’d never been much of a sports guy, he was too wiry and short for that. He leaned back, trying to make some room, and a button popped free of his shirt, striking the TV, the guys turning…and leering at him, while Barry started down at his…his new gut in horror.

“Think he needs another beer man.”

“I’ll get it, why don’t you get him a bit more comfortable?”

The guy got up, walked over, grabbed the front of Barry’s shirt and ripped it open, buttons flying everywhere, and Barry’s hefty, and rather hairy gut spilled out. This wasn’t right.

“Guys, I think I should go…” Barry said, tried to stand up, but he couldn’t keep his balance.

“No way man, no way you can drive like this–best just stay over, you know?” said the other guy, returning from the kitchen with another can, “Here, have some more.”

He didn’t want it, but he took it anyway, swigging deep, and letting loose a belch. Did his gut just…grow when he did that? He knew that was impossible, but…

Four more beers later…

The two guys were still watching sports, but Barry wasn’t watching anything. The world was swimming around him, he couldn’t…quite feel his body. The worst part, however, was that he needed to piss, had needed to piss for ages it felt like, but he couldn’t, not here, not just…in his pants.

His hand moved up, pouring more beer in his mouth, though a good amount dribbled out. Beer was good, made him feel warm and comfortable, made it easier to just, let go of things.

Too late, he realized he’d let go of his bladder, soaking his suit pants. The guys had noticed as well, they were saying something, but he couldn’t hear what. One pulled the can from his hand and replaced it with a fresh beer, and he kept drinking as best he could. It felt like his brain was slowly being choked off, deadened.

Six more beers later…

Just a pig now. The guys had stripped it of all it’s clothes, and had it sucking their cocks, drinking their piss, getting it used to their scent. Nothing was left of the asshole businessman they’d decided to take down the night before, their ultra strong beer had made short of his weakass mind, leaving him with barely enough faculty to serve, provided they kept him provided with plenty of beer from now on, of course.

Drinking it all the time would only make him heavier of course. And hairier. But that was how the two friends liked their pigs. And when they got sick of it? It was definitely still a seller’s market.

So sorry for the long wait, Patrick. can I call you Pat? The last shoot ran long–still, I hope you took advantage of the complementary snacks and beverages out in the waiting room.

Oh–you didn’t?

Yes, you do have a rather nice physique, that’s true, I understand why you’d want to keep it that way. Still, after that wait, you must be thirsty at least–would you at least like some water? Yeah, I thought you might.

All good? Alright, we’re going to start off with some test shots. If you’d just stand over, against the background please?

Yes, thank you, that’s excellent. Now just go ahead and pose freely for a bit–keep it a bit commercial though, nothing too crazy. I just want to see how you look through the lens.

Yes…yes, very good. Alright Pat, you can go ahead and undress please.

Oh, I thought you knew this was a nude shoot?

Well, if you have a problem with it, why did you just take your clothes off?

I wouldn’t worry about it Pat. Now, I was hoping you’d be a bit further along by the time we got to your shoot, but I suppose I can use these as some bonus content. Now if you’d just sit down–could we get a tray of snacks please?–Yes, there we go–alright Pat, now, you’re going to eat that entire tray of food there, and we’ll see how you look when you’re done.

Fight all you want, but I’m going to get my pictures.

Yeah, it does taste good, doesn’t it? Stuff that whole cupcake in your mouth, yeah, that’s it, that’s a good fucking pig. Keep eating, Patty Pig. Fuck, you’re looking better already! Keep going, the men are going to fucking love you!

Alright Patty, now that you’re looking more like our target, let’s do your individual shoot–go on, play with that new gut of yours, that’s it. Fiddle that puny cock, show the camera how worthless it is. You know what you are good for? Fucking. Yeah, that’s right, finger that hole, feel how good that is? Yeah, you fucking slut, you’re going to make a killing with this video.

Well of course we’re shooting a video! Get Hogan in here! I wanna get this pig plugged with that brutes massive cock, and then we’ll get to the real fun.

Source: models-not-allowed

Life Coach (Part 2)

Shane woke up the next morning in an unfamiliar bed that, at the same time, felt…right. It was smaller than usual–just a twin bed, in fact. But the room–he recognized the room, for sure. He was back in his house, but he was in a room which he thought had been a guest room, but which his brain was now telling him was…his room. But that couldn’t be right–he slept in the master suite in his house with his wife–but that thought was so embarrassing he felt his cheeks turn red immediately.

He’d never once slept in the same bed as his wife! She had taken one look at his puny cock on their honeymoon, and laughed him onto the couch. He’d never even fucked her once–she’d told him that he wasn’t man enough, and she was right. He had the money, he had the career, he had the confidence out of the house, but in here he was whipped, and he hated it, but there was no getting out of it now. He rolled up in his bed, and looked down at his tiny, half inch cock and raisin sized balls–some part of him unable to believe it, but he’d looked at the same equipment his whole life, why was he finding this so hard this morning?

Even then, the cock was only one piece of a larger problem. He stood up from the bed, and was certain he should be standing taller, but he’d always been short–just shy of five feet five inches–and his flabby body wasn’t doing him any favors either. He’d always found his body disgusting though–all of the hair everywhere–it was almost as thick across his back as it was across his chest. The muttonchops on his face only made his head look fatter and wider–why did he keep them cut all bushy like that anyway? He picked a cigar from the humidor and lit it up, feeling a bit better once he got some smoke in him, and then he got dressed–Sandra demanded that he be dressed at all times in her presence–it lessened the chance that she might have to lay eyes on his disgusting body, as she called it.

She was downstairs in a robe, when he got there. When he entered the kitchen, she informed him that she had a new lover coming over in an hour, and that Shane would have to get the door, because she would be getting ready when he arrived. That small part of him did a double take, but it wasn’t like his wife was willing to forego sex just because her husband’s cock was a microdick. No–she took lovers all the time, as many as she wanted, and…and he let her, because it made her happy, and sometimes he got to watch–provided the man she was making love to was alright with it. He ate some breakfast and read the paper–his lazy Sunday routine–and when the doorbell rang, he got up and answered the door, finding a young man on the other side, wearing little, his massive cock bulging in the front of his jeans.

“Oh, uh, hi–I’m here for Sandra…” the guy said, “Who…are you?”

“Oh, I’m Shane–her husband. Come on in, she’s upstairs getting ready for you.”

“Oookay,” the young man said, “Actually, I think I’m just gonna go…”

“No, please,” Shane said, “Come in! It’s fine, we have an…arrangement.”

He was obviously still skeptical, but he stepped inside anyway. Shane got the young man’s name–Devin–and then led him upstairs, where Sandra was in the master bedroom, nearly naked. “Oh there you are Devin–you’re late. I hate having to wait, you should remember that. Get undressed.”

Devin looked from her to Shane, but he pulled off his tank top, displaying his thick pecs and solid abs, but paused with his jeans. “Is…why is he still here?”

“Oh–Shane here has the tiniest cock I’ve ever seen–he can’t even get inside me. You’ll have to forgive him, he hates asking. Shane–is there something you’d like to ask Devin?”

Shane cleared his throat, somehow feeling even smaller than his new height made him, “Oh, uh, I’d like to…to watch, if that’s alright with you.”

“Wait, seriously?”

“Yes, if you don’t mind. I–I’ll stay out of sight, you won’t know I’m here.”

“Fuck no, you fucking creep, get the fuck out of here!”

Shane blushed red, but did as the young man said, and retreated outside the bedroom door, closing it behind him. There was lots of laughter for a few moments, and then that segued into moans. Shane was left outside the door, smoking one of his cigars–almost sucking on the rough leaf–rubbing his crotch through his pants, feeling his tiny cock stiff like a nipple thinking…thinking about that young man, how big his cock must be, what…what it might feel like. Maybe…maybe he’ll let him watch some other time, maybe he can find out what kinds of things he might like, or give him some money, next time.

Wait–what the fuck was he doing? This wasn’t right, this wasn’t right at all! He wasn’t some…flabby short pushover with a cock small enough for the record books. This–something had happened. Something had changed, but what? He stalked away from the door and back to his room, where he lit a cigar and tried to focus on something beyond the moans of the young man he could hear from down the hallway. What had he done yesterday? There was that new neighbor, and he’d gone over to say hello, but after that things got…hazy, and he couldn’t quite remember anything of the visit at all. Still, something in his gut told him that if he wanted answers, he’d have to go there, and so he left the house and went next door, where he knocked on the door. After a moment, Evan opened the door and looked down at his short neighbor, and smirked. “Well hello Shane, back for another session already? I must say, you look like you’ve made tremendous progress from yesterday. Why don’t you come inside?”

His body, something was wrong with his body. he stepped inside, and before Evan even got the door shut, he was on his knees–waiting. Waiting for Evan to turn around, slowly unzip his fly, his huge cock flopping out, and Shane swallowed it to the hilt.

Request by Anonymous

Hey, have you got a second–

Yeah, I know you don’t have much time for fags like me, but…

*click*

Why don’t you go sit down on that bed over there, hang out for a bit.

Oh I know you were heading to wrestling practice, I can see you in your singlet under those sweats. Why don’t you take those off, hang out for a bit with me?

Yeah, that’s it. Cuss me out all you want, but I know how much you like that body of yours, all hard muscle, top to bottom. Go on, you can rub yourself for a bit–trust me, it’s the last chance you’ll have in a while.

*click*

You can feel it can’t you? That shift? It’s already starting, those abs of yours getting swallowed up by that new gut of yours. No no, don’t stop rubbing yourself, trust me, you’ll enjoy being a fatty just as much as you loved your muscles before, you fucking pig.

Yeah, did that catch you off guard pig? There it is again, that whimper. Your cock hard yet? Don’t lie, I can see it straining that spandex, pig. Words sure do have power, don’t they? I’m damn tired of you calling me a fag, but I have a feeling you’re going to love your new title pig…

Oh? did you just cum? Just you wait.

*click*

Yeah, you’re getting bigger alright.

How big? Do you really want to know?

Five hundred pounds.

Yeah, that’s right, five hundred. Hairy too–look at how fast that beard of yours has filled in, damn. That spandex is growing with you, don’t worry–after all, you won’t be wearing anything else. Oh, everyone else will think it’s normal, seeing you waddle around in that thing–they’ll think you’re disgusting sure, but that’ll only turn you on more. I’m the only one who’ll know any different, you see. We’re the only one’s who’ll remember you being anything beyond a fat, hairy, filthy pig.

Oh, speaking of filthy…

*click*

Damn, get a whiff of that funk rolling off you. Go on, lift that arm, get a whiff of yourself pig–damn, another load already? I can see the cum dribbling through the uniform, down between those massive, stinking thighs. Don’t worry, the ass is ripped out, gives me easy access, but you’ll have to piss through the front–I don’t think you’ll mind too much, though, after all, you like being filthy, I can see it in your eyes. Deny it all you want.

Only one more change to go. Pretty soon, you’re going to be a faggot just like me. My slave. My fat, horny, stupid pig slave. Oh, you’ll remember who you were, sure, but you’ll never want to change back. You’ll love being my pig too much to even consider it. Well, shall we?

*click*

How does that feel, Master?

No, wait…that’s…oh fuck, did I…I fucking reversed our names, how the fuck–I just have to be quick–

Yes…sir…I won’t touch it sir.

Yes sir, I was a bad faggot sir, I’m sorry.

What kind of punishment, sir?

Make…make me a pig like…you? I…please sir, I don’t–

Yes, I understand. It would…be an honor to be your dirty sowboi, I…agree completely. Thank you for the honor sir, I’ll have the changes ready to go within an hour.

Oh, after I suck your cock and eat out your ass? Of course sir, your pleasure is the most important thing in the world! Thank you for letting me serve you sir, thank you for everything.

This isn’t my body. I have to remember that; this isn’t my body, this is fucking Lenny’s body, that fat fucking freak down the hall. I always saw him looking at me, that fucking envious glare of his, but I’d always assumed he was just a pervert. I’d never imagined that he’d do something like this. I don’t even know what this is–one night I go to sleep, the next I wake up in this filthy bed, in this disgusting body, but fuck, I’m so horny! So horny, I can’t keep my hands off my cock, off this…this flabby gut, these nipples. His cock’s puny, but every touch is like electricty–fuck, I’m cumming, I’m fucking cumming!

[[Orgasm energy conversion complete. Mental shift towards target levels 30%. Permanence level, 15%]]

What the fucking hell was that? Some voice inside my head? At least that raging need to jack off is passed, I swear, feeling this fat of mine gets me so amped up sometimes–

No, what? I don’t…I mean…I gotta get up, but I’m fucking tired as hell. It would feel better just…to lie back down and jack off again, but I gotta get to my old apartment. Is…that a note there, on the table?

Morning Lenny,

Feeling good yet? If not, just keep jacking off. Fuck, I hated being that old, fatass, but the best thing about these nanites I stole? They can fucking rewrite anyone’s brain if you give them enough energy. So you’re going to love being me, I guarantee it. You wouldn’t want to change back even if we could–not that you’ll remember much before too long. If everything goes according to plan, you won’t even be able to read this letter soon enough! Thanks for the young muscular body–you’ll never see it again, I can promise you that. Have fun and enjoy yourself!

Garrett

That fucker, what the fuck does any of this even mean? I feel like my head’s trying to move through mud all of a sudden, and damn I’m horny again–that was fucking fast. Might…as well jack off again I guess, felt so damn good the first time.

Yeah, fuck, feels so good, this fat jiggling around me. I never imagined it could feel this fucking nice. These meaty tits, fuck, here I go again!

[[Orgasm energy conversion complete. Mental shift towards target levels 55%.]]

Cum tastes damn good. Gonna have to eat more cum. Wonder where I can get some? Suck some cocks maybe, but first think I’ll jack off again. Feel like a lazy day today, I think, yeah, just fat pig like me lolling in bed, jackin’ off, sounds fuckin’ amazing. Feels so damn good, so sensitive, this puny fuckin’ dick. Never usually this horny, you know…was…was I different before? I kind of remember but its so foggy. Maybe if I cum again I’ll remember better, yeah, just gotta bust another nut–fuck!

[[Orgasm energy conversion complete. Mental shift towards target levels 85%.]]

Nah Never fuckin different. This is me, fat fuck pig, horny motherfucker. Damn could use a cock in me, wonder who I can find? Yeah, some stud buryin’ his dick in my hole, my flab flyin’ back ‘n forth, or givin my tits a fuck, damn yeah, gonna fuckin’ blow again!

[[Orgasm energy conversion complete. Mental shift towards target levels 100%. Program complete—Entering standby mode]]

Whatever. Lenny horny fucker. Gonna find a cock and get fuckin’ bred like the old pig I is, gonna be fuckin’ awesome!