A Plea For Help (Sketch)

I don’t know what the fuck’s the matter with him. Nothing I do seems to fucking help! Ok, look, let me start at the beginning. Look, you know Jasper, you’ve known him for years, since he was a kid, hell, you’re his fucking uncle for Christ’s sake! Good all american kid, played every sport that ever existed, and was fucking killer at all of them, ever since he was five. Always working out, cared about his body, just like I raised him. I wasn’t about to have some lardass for a son, you know how I feel about fat, worthless fucks like that. No, I was gonna raise my son right.

But then, a few weeks ago, I come home from work a bit later than usual, and I come in and I find Jasper in the kitchen, standing at the fridge, stuffing his face. He was so fucking focused on eating that he didn’t even hear me come in, and he looks up with his eyes wide, something chocolate smeared around his face, and he knows I’ve caught him red handed. I tear into his ass, reminding him that his wrestling coach has ordered him to shave off two pounds so he can slip down into a lower bracket by the next Saturday, and the kid is crying–fucking sobbing really, trying to tell me that he can’t help it, and I can see his eyes flicking to the fridge, again and again, and I know he’s fucking lying to me, and it’s fucking disgusting, what I just witnessed, and I tell him I’m putting him on a strict diet from now on, that no food’s coming into my house without me knowing about it.

But fuck, if the next day I don’t come home and find him right there again, face in the fridge, stuffing himself. And I look in there, and in the freezer, and at the cans and bowls and containers littering the floor, and it’s all this shit I’d never allow in my house–ice cream, cookies, heavy cream–I don’t know where the hell he gets off, buying this shit, but I’m fucking disgusted, and I berate him again, and he apologizes, swears it won’t happen again, but fuck, every day now, he’s there, stuffing his fat face.

He sure as hell didn’t drop the pounds for that wrestling match, and I was so embarrassed to show my face there, that I didn’t even let him go–I grounded him in his room, telling him to think about what he’s done, what he’s doing to his body. I was relaxing down in the den, having a beer, when I hear something in the kitchen, and fuck if my boy’s not in the fucking fridge again, and it’s full! I threw out all the shit he’d bought, and I know he didn’t leave the house. Needless to say, I’m not fucking happy–and so I decide that if he wants to eat it, then fine, he should fucking eat it–all of it.

He keeps eating, pleading with me to help him stop. He keeps trying, and so I start, just, shoving food in the pig’s mouth as fast as I can, and fuck, if when I’m pressed up against that fat fuck, if I don’t feel his rock hard cock pressing up against my thigh, like a fucking faggot! Yeah, you can imagine how I felt about that, right? So I send him to his room again, and later, I go up to have a talk with him, and I hear him in there, fucking jacking off, fucking calling himself a disgusting, nasty pig while he’s at it…and this…I’m not proud of this. I jacked off too, listening to him. Something about listening to him humiliate himself, fuck if it didn’t turn me on something fierce, way hotter than anything that mom of his had ever done, and I can’t stop thinking about it, about that growing gut of his, about those meaty thighs, wondering how they’d look if they were…even bigger.

Look bro, I need help here. I can’t keep doing this by myself. I’ve been stuffing the pig night and day at this point, but he’s still not fucking big enough to be a proper fuck. Hey now, don’t give me that look, you don’t–no, come here! Come here and look at the fat fuck, bro! Look at your fucking pig of a nephew! Yeah, ain’t that a fuckin’ sight? Fuckin’ disgiusting. Go one, you can call him a pig, call him whatever the fuck you want, it’s just a fucking disgusting animal, a fucking toy, right? Right. See? I knew you’d understand once you saw it.

But we gotta get it bigger, don’t you think? But…fuck, it’s holes are so fuckin’ nice, bro. I can’t fucking feed it and fuck it at the same time, and it’s getting too big to feed itself at this point. So look, here’s what I propose–let’s take turns. You feed, I’ll fuck. Then you fuck, and I feed. Perfect fucking system, am I right? No, hey, calm down, I know you’re not a faggot! I’m not a fag either, but fucking a pig doesn’t make you a fag, you know that. Besides, I can see that tent there in those short of yours, you want to at least feel what it’s holes are like, right? Now come on–I’ll feed, and let you get a taste. Trust me, once you fuck this pig of mine, ain’t nothing gonna feel as good again, and with your help, we can get this nasty fuck over 700 pounds by the end of the week! What do you say? Thanks bro, I knew I could count on you–now make that piggy squeal for me, I love it when that fat faggot squeals.

Family Portrait (Part 4)

WARNING: INCONTINENCE PLAY

In the end, the game was on, but none of the three of them were paying much attention to it. Marty was too busy making sure his new big brother Bob was well under the portrait’s influence—and making sure his brothers started getting along. Much of the first quarter was spent in what Marty thought of as the “kiss and make up” stage–he parked Keith and Bob on the couch next together, and pretty soon Bob’s tongue was happily buried down his little brother’s throat, and then, by the second quarter, he had his cock buried down it too, Keith happily sucking his big brother off like he’d been doing it his whole life, and it a way, he had. Marty had been working on him too, little by little, getting him adjusted to his new, adult, needs. Smoking cigars, guzzling beer, growing out his hair and beard good and long and filthy. By halftime, his brother Bob was looking like a fine new addition to the family–a big, bulging beer gut, beard down to his belly button, hair down to the middle of his back, stringy and unwashed, his whole body coated with hair. But this wasn’t enough for Marty–hell now, Bobby had given him too much of a hassle for this to be all he got, no, he deserved so much more. Now that Bob was well on his way to becoming a proper member of the family, it was time to push him fully into his new role.

“He’s a good boy, isn’t he, Bob?” Marty asked. He was behind the couch, looking over them both, Keith still eagerly sucking on Bob’s cock, “Makes you proud, doesn’t it?”

“Best…fucking cocksucker I know,” Bob said, taking a deep drag off his cigar.

“Well of course he is, you taught him everything you know, didn’t you?”

“I…I did?”

“Of course–you taught both your boys so well. Best fucking teacher we could’ve had,” Marty said, and then leaned in close, focusing hard, watching the portrait hanging over them all, “We couldn’t have asked for a better dad than you, you know.”

“But I’m not–”

“And you couldn’t have asked for better, sexier boys. You did everything you could to make sure we grew up just like you. Fat, stinking slobs. Cocksucking, buttfucking faggots. Lazy good-for-nothing, trailer trash. Yeah, you couldn’t be more proud of your family.”

Bob was still trying to fight it, but Marty could see him losing. His long hair receding slowly, exposing the crown of his head and then shifting back even farther, until all that remained as a horseshoe of thin, ragged grey hair, his beard making a similar color shift, followed by the rest of his hair all over his body. His face grew lined with wrinkles, his fat gut no longer firm but sagging down. He heaved a smoky sigh and settled in, the portrait coming into better focus, his blurry form now centered, standing behind his two sons in the middle.

“It was a hard life, I know, working in the factory, but now you’ve hit seventy, and you’ve retired, got that hefty pension and social security, so you can just relax all day long, living with your boys, keeping us happy. You do like seeing your boys happy, right? It’s what you’ve always lived for.”

“Y-Yeah, I got the best fuckin’ boys in the world.”

“You sure do, you love us more than anything–you live for your family.”

“Sure do, son.”

“Why don’t you show Keith how much you love him? How happy you want him to be? You live to make your boys happy, to serve them.”

Keith stood up, and his dad licked his lips before leaning forward, hefting up his low hanging apron and digging through his stinking gunt for his puny cock to suck.

“Too bad you’re past your prime at this point, body breaking down, aches and pains. Had to pull out all those teeth of yours last year, get you a set of dentures. Can’t get hard anymore, but you leak cum like a faucet. Can’t hold your piss in anymore either, haven’t been able to for a while. Your hole’s been fucked so loose you shit yourself too, so you gotta wear those diapers from now on. Still, it turns you on, doesn’t it? Lounging around the house in your own, stinking filth? It just makes you leak even more, and you wear the same diaper for days at a time, until it sags off your body, and you have to wear another one.”

Was it too much? Bob was fighting it, hard, but the portraits hold on him was too great now, Marty could sense it. He’d do anything he wanted. A set of dentures appeared on the coffee table–he knew his boys preferred his gummy mouth more anyway. A thick diaper appeared around Bob’s waist, and immediately the room was filled with the stench of piss and shit from it, but neither Marty nor Keith cared–they’d lived with their father’s filth long enough to barely even notice it anymore. Marty came around the couch, slipped a hand between his younger brother’s ass cheeks and started probing his hole, making him groan and finally orgasm down his father’s throat–Bob drank all of his son’s spunk down, licked his lips, and started on his older boy, Marty. He didn’t last long, and he felt the magic seal itself as he came, his new father’s image cemented in the portrait with their own, and his brand new, filthy father sat back on the couch, his own filth squelching around him in his diaper, and grinned toothlessly at his boys, the best boys in the world, and he couldn’t have been more happy.

TO BE CONTINUED?

Family Portrait (Part 2)

Another touchdown! Both Keith and Marty threw their arms up, shouting with excitement. Their team was doing great, and Keith couldn’t be happier if he’d tried, sitting here with his favorite person, his brother, watching the game with him. He grinned over at him, grabbed another handful of potato chips and shoved the whole wad into his mouth, chewing loudly with his mouth open, washing it all down with his seventh can of beer, a huge belch rumbling out of his fat belly. He gave it a pat, feeling it jiggle and wiggle around him. It felt…damn good, actually. Like Marty had told him, he’d always been a fat ass–he couldn’t stop eating if he fucking tried, he loved it so much–drinking too–and it showed, nearly six hundred pounds of flab, but he didn’t care. Like Marty said, he found it…kind of hot, actually.

He still wasn’t feeling quite like himself though. Ever since he’d sat down and started watching the game, he’d felt…almost like he was in a dream. Marty was there for him though, reminding him to get the snacks and beer, talking with him while they waited through replays, about all sorts of things. Like…like his lucky jersey. He’d worn in for years, ever since their team had won the superbowl, and he wore it for every game, religiously. He never washed it, so it stank to high hell, and was easily three sizes too small at this point, but it just didn’t feel right not wearing it, right? In fact, Marty had been doing most–or rather, all of the talking. Keith had focused on cheering during the game–with how hard it was to think, he didn’t feel capable of keeping up a conversation at the moment. Besides, it was more important for him to listen to Marty. Marty was the smart one, the clever one…but his eyes kept going to the clock next to their family portrait, and Marty noticed.

“Worried about the time, bro?” Marty asked him.

“Just…wondering when…Tara and the boys…” he said, but couldn’t complete the thought through the haze in his head.

Marty smacked his head and scowled at himself. Fuck, he’d forgotten–that would have made a mess of things for sure. “Why in the hell would that bitch be coming here? She hates your guts. The two of you haven’t laid eyes on each other since that last time she dragged you to court over missing your alimony payments. You’re lucky you didn’t lose partial custody over that shit.”

Keith looked at his brother, confused…but he…he was right. Tara hated him, and she kind of had good reason to. “Yeah…don’t know…why I’d thought…”

“Don’t worry about it bro, you hate women anyway. They fucking disgust you. The only people you want to spend time around is family. Especially me, your best friend. Your best big brother in the whole world. You love me more than anyone, right?”

Keith nodded and grinned at him, letting off another belch.

“Yeah, you’re just a fuckin’ deadbeat dad, really. Can’t hold down a job–doesn’t help that you dropped out of school, still, considering how stupid you are, that ain’t surprising. Luckily we could move in together–I support you, but that’s ok. There’s nothing you’d rather do, aside from lounging around the house, naked all the time, stuffing your face, drinking beer, watching TV, and loving me.”

This time, even Marty could feel it, the changes sweeping through them. The house around them began rotting–there was no way either of them could live in a neighborhood like that, after all. Still, served the fucker right, Marty thought. They ended up in a double wide trailer in some rundown park–still nicer than pretty much anywhere Marty had lived before, and it felt like home, his brother splayed out on the couch next to him, completely naked aside from his lucky jersey, eyes glued to the TV.

“Oh, and smoking cigars, of course. You couldn’t live without those.”

The air grew dank and smoky all of a sudden, and Keith sucked deep off his cheap cigar. Smiling, amazed at how well the portrait was working, Marty leaned forward and lit a cigar for himself, sighing smoke out, groping his cock through his filthy shorts, wondering how much further he could push this before getting down to business. Hell, why not now? He could remember how big Keith’s cock had been when they were teenagers, and it had only gotten bigger–but no fucking way did he deserve a tool like that, not after what he did.

“The smoking, the food, the beer–it makes you fucking horny too, right bro? So fucking horny all the time. Too bad you can’t find your inch long cock in all that flab of yours. Just makes you sex crazed all the time, leaking cum everywhere, desperate for release.” He watched Keith start panting, heaving smoke, sweating, crotch damp with precum, “Luckily you have a big brother to take care you, right? Help you out?” He reached over and dug around in keith’s new gunt, finding his miniscule cock, stroking it, watching his obese brother spasm with pleasure. “And luckily you’ll do anything your perverse big brother wants you to do, right? You love satisfying all of my sick, disgusting fantasies. At heart, you’re all bottom. A sex crazed pig, aching to have all of your holes stuffed at all hours. That’s the only way you can cum, with a big cock in your ass or buried in your throat, while you grunt and snort like a pig.”

Keith didn’t make it to halftime, before he tore into his brother’s shorts and started sucking on his cock. He ended up bent over the couch, his brother balls deep in his sloppy hole, dull mind desperate for sex, cock leaking like a faucet onto the already well stained couch. His eyes–he felt them pulled up, to the portrait on the wall. The background, it was swirling again, but his image–it was becoming clearer now–no longer blurry. His massive frame barely contained by his favorite jersey, wearing a pair of massive sweats. His shaven head and face looking even larger, three chins drooping under his thick handlebar mustache, a stupid grin on his face, leaning on his brother, his big brother, the best big brother in the world. With a snap, the portrait froze in place, and it was like all of him came alive again. With a holler, his tiny cock spurted a load into his fatty folds, and Marty shot deep in his filthy brother’s hole, and looked up at the photo. A good start, for sure–but there was still so much room in the portrait. Luckily, he had a few ideas for other people he could add to their family–starting with his new nephews. He knew that they would be so much happier away from their bitch mother for good and living with their dad and uncle, where they really belonged.

ChatChange (Part 4)

RbbrPissSkinPOS: Master Ogar is gone sir

DaddySugarBear: I can see that. You were a very good pig, you made daddy cum quite a few times with that performance. Did you enjoy your punishment, pig?

RbbrPissSkinPOS: Yes sir, but he didn’t want me sir

RbbrPissSkinPOS: He didn’t want me to be his slave

DaddySugarBear: And how do you feel about that, pig?

RbbrPissSkinPOS: I really liked serving him sir. I really liked the taste of his cum and piss, and he was fuckin brutal, the way he abused by holes sir, my ass is still leaking

RbbrPissSkinPOS: But why didn’t he want me sir? Wasn’t I good? I did everything he wanted, why didn’t he want me?

DaddySugarBear: Oh pig, maybe he just didn’t want to saddled with a worthless pig. You can’t really blame him, you know. I mean, I sure wouldn’t want you living with me, you’re fucking disgusting!

RbbrPissSkinPOS: I guess but I thought he liked me

DaddySugarBear: That’s why no one asks slaves to think.

DaddySugarBear: Still, we’ve had enough fun for the night, don’t you think pig? What do you say I go ahead and turn you back? Would you like to stop being a pig now? Go back to that dull, boring life of yours?

RbbrPissSkinPOS: No sir, I want to be Masters slave!!!

RbbrPissSkinPOS: Plz you can help me right? Make me a perfect pig for him? Make me so fucking sexy he wont be able to say no to me!

RbbrPissSkinPOS: I’ll do anything but I need him sir, I need a master like him. I’m worthless without him!

DaddySugarBear: Oh? Are you sure?

DaddySugarBear: If you really want to be a slave, then I certainly won’t change you back, not ever, no matter what you say. Is that really what you want?

RbbrPissSkinPOS: Oh fuck sir more than anything!

DaddySugarBear: If you say so.

DaddySugarBear: Still, if you’re going to be Ogar’s slave, then I suppose we should ask Ogar what he would want in a slave, don’t you think?

RbbrPissSkinPOS: Yes sir!

<<Initiate Group Chat.>>

<<Invite contact [OgarBkeDdySdtMstr].>>

<<[OgarBkeDdySdtMstr] has joined the conversation.>>

OgarBkeDdySdtMstr: What the fuck do u want?

DaddySugarBear: This piece of skinhead shit has asked me to help him become worthy of becoming your slave. He says that you rejected his request earlier.

OgarBkeDdySdtMstr: Some request, that turd was fuckin sobbin could barely get a word out. Like Id wants some snivelling little cunt like that as a slave. Slaves take care of there masters not the other way round!

DaddySugarBear: Hmmm…I don’t think this worthless piece of shit is capable of taking care of anyone, much less a master.

OgarBkeDdySdtMstr: No shit! Why do u think I laughed in its face?

RbbrPissSkinPOS: Plz sir! Im sorry sir but I want to serve you! Plz I’ll do anything!

OgarBkeDdySdtMstr: I don’t need shit! Ogar dont need anyone, dont want anyone, specialy not some worthless skinhead bitch!

DaddySugarBear: Ah, so you’re a bit of a lone wolf! I must say that explains quite a bit. Well, I don’t think there’s anyway to resolve this, really, as you both currently stand. I suppose we’ll just have to have you two meet somewhere in the middle.

OgarBkeDdySdtMstr: I aint meeting nowhere! I’m done with that pig, I never wanna see that fuck again

DaddySugarBear: It was just a figure of speech.

OgarBkeDdySdtMstr: ???

DaddySugarBear: Oh nevermind. Hold on….

<<Change initiated…Change applied successfully>>

OgarPimpzPigz: Yeah? What do ya have in mind?

DaddySugarBear: Oh, I’m merely suggesting that you add this piece of skin shit to your stable, is all. Surely you have some clients who might be interested in someone with him peculiar nature.

OgarPimpzPigz: Well sure, but look at it, the thing can’t stop masturbating! He wouldn’t be able to fuckin focus on a client!

DaddySugarBear: Oh that’s a relatively easy fix.

<<Change initiated…Change applied successfully>>

NullPOSSkin: What the fuck!

DaddySugarBear: See? Now he won’t have anything to distract him anymore.

NullPOSSkin: Where’d my cock and balls go, what the fuck!

OgarPimpzPigz: Huh, that would solve the problem, actually. Still, I have urinals. I have skins. I have freaks. He’s gotta bring somethin new to the table, ya know? Somethin to set him apart!

DaddySugarBear: Well, what would your customers want?

OgarPimpzPigz: Ya know u keep callin it a pig, and this one guys been askin me to let me fatten one a my whores up. Willin to pay a fuckin truckload. Suppose he could be useful that way. sides, the pigs already got some cushin, wont be hard packin on some more.

NullPOSSkin: I dont want to be fat and I want my cock back!

DaddySugarBear: Now remember what you asked for. You said you wanted to be his slave.

OgarPimpzPigz: That thing is such a bitch. I dont want no slave that’ll give me back talk. Dont need to be smart–dont need so slave smarter than the pimp ya know?

DaddySugarBear: Oh, I can take care of that, don’t worry about it.

NullPOSSkin: Oh no you fuckin dont!

<<Change initiated…Change applied successfully>>

DaddySugarBear: There that’s much better. Look at that thing now, it’ll be the perfect addition to your stable, I can assure you.

OgarPimpzPigz: Damn, that thing dont look like it has a thought in its head.

DaddySugarBear: That’s because it very nearly doesn’t. No brain left in that skull of its to cause you any trouble, just perfect, blind obedience to anyone it perceives as its superior, which I can guarantee you will be anyone it meets. It’s illiterate, so don’t give it any complicated commands. Simple sentences are best. It should be perfect for your needs.

OgarPimpzPigz: Well yeah, for now! But what happens when its big as a house? Once the guys done with it he aint gonna have a use for it n neither will I! Just a big worthless fat pig!

DaddySugarBear: Well, once it’s big enough that it can’t move, I would suggest installing it as a toilet. It’s so stupid it won’t know the difference. I’m sure you could sell it for a hefty price, or even rent it out, if you’d prefer.

DaddySugarBear: Now, there’s just a matter of my finder’s fee, and we can negotiate my cut of the profits. How much was this man going to pay you for such a whore?

OgarPimpzPigz: What the hell are ya talkin bout! I dont share my money with noone!

DaddySugarBear: Ogar, if you’d like to remain in the pimping profession, and not end up as a toilet pig yourself, I can assure you that my fee is a reasonable price to pay. Besides, I think we may have just happened upon a rather good venture! You bring me the requests from your clients, no matter how outlandish, and I can provide you a perfect whore to match. This whole chat has been quite fun, and I already feel like having another one sometime soon. What do you say, partners?

OgarPimpzPigz: Dont have much a choice do I?

DaddySugarBear: No, I suppose you don’t. Still, you should go pick up that pig before it hurts itself on something sharp by accident. We can hammer out the details later. Have a good night!

request by @jurassic-whoa

Adam couldn’t believe he’d gotten the job. It certainly hadn’t been anywhere near the kind of thing he’d wanted, but it was just something to tide him over for the moment until he found something that might actually use his degree. Besides, it was just a job selling electronics, how hard could it be? The guy interviewing him had promised that after his job orientation, he’d be an expert.

Adam hadn’t ever cared much about computers–his passion was physical therapy and exercise science. He was in great shape, and when he showed up for his first day of orientation, and saw that every guy working at the store was at least 400 pounds, he was a bit taken aback. They definitely weren’t the sort of people he preferred to associate with, but he didn’t exactly have much of a choice, did he? The store manager greeted him, and showed him into private office with a single desk and computer, telling him he’d be doing all of his training here for the next two weeks. Adam got started on the program, finding himself kind of zoning out at all of the information being thrown at him, and before he knew it, it was time for lunch.

The break room was full of food, and when he entered, he was kind of disgusted at how…piggish his new coworkers were all eating, stuffing their faces while the manager looked on, but he was hungry. Really hungry. Every bite of food just seemed to make him hungrier, in fact, but before he could really satisfy himself, the manager took him back to his training room.

After two days, Adam realized he had somehow packed on a gut, and he was terrified. After four days, he was jiggling that gut and wanting it to be even bigger. By Friday, he was already 300 pounds, and when some of his coworkers invited him out for beers, he was happy to go…and when they ended up at the managers house, and everyone got naked, he just…rolled with it, everyone excited to welcome the newest pig into the fold. By the middle of his second week, he was 450 pounds, happily chatting with his nerdy coworkers about his compsci degree and their favorite video games, beard already filling in, wearing the new glasses the manager had given him, when he’d discovered he couldn’t read the training manuals well enough, and by that Friday, Adam knew he’d never need another job in his whole life, sucking the store manager’s cock, feeling his cock shoot another load of cum as he called him a fat, disgusting pig for the hundredth time, wondering if anyone was on break and could fuck his ass too, while they were at it.

Source: thegreasytusk

bearslikeus:

What’ll ya have? We’ve got a couple specials you might like:
The Dirty Harry
The Whiskey-a-go-go
The Irish Stout
The Buzzkill
The Widowmaker
…just to name a few

Or are you brave enough to let me pick your poison?

A widowmaker you say? No, I can’t say I get many guys ordering that, as you might imagine, the name tends to put them off a bit. Other than risk takers like you, of course, or the curious, or the suicidal.

Sorry, did I say suicidal? I didn’t mean it in any literal sense. Here ya are, drink up.

Yes the drink has to be served in a pitcher like that.

Yes that is whipped cream and a cherry on top.

Yes you have to drink it all, and no, you don’t get a straw before you ask. Now tip that sucker back already, and quit stalling! Unless you’re gonna back out now…

Didn’t think so. Yeah, that’s it, just keep on chugging–oh, is that all you could handle? Not bad, actually. Some guys don’t even get that far at first.

Well sure it’s sweet. Don’t worry, there’s enough alcohol in there to kill a bear. Figure of speech again, don’t worry about it.

Oh you’re worried about that gut? You say it wasn’t there a second ago? That could very well be, you don;t see stretch marks like that every day. Now go on, keep drinking.

You don’t want to? Oh I’m sorry, I’m afraid that if you buy it, you have to finish it–bar policy. You can keep trying to get off that bar stool as long as you want, but I assure you, the hunger’s going to kick in any second now–

See? That was a nice gut rumble there, I could almost see that new gut of your vibrating. Damn, look at you drool like that. Fight it as long as you want, but we both know you;re going to keep drinking that thing.

Yeah, that’s good. Long slow gulp, pace yourself. I can see that Adam’s apple of yours throbbing, that other hand groping that firm gut. Fell how fast that thing’s growing? Fell how it’s starting to soften, turn to flab, jiggle a bit? Fuck that’s sexy, damn. I really should change that damn name, I love watching guys drink these.

Halfway, whad’da say? Feels pretty good right? About to burst right out of your damn clothes at this rate. Oh, going back for more already eh? Probably couldn’t stop now even if you wanted to. Fuck, you’re getting big, damn–500 pounds at least! Your a fuckin’ pro, watching you guzzle that shit. Man, I think you might set a new record!

How do you feel? Fat? Well no shit lardass. Still, from how red that face of yours is getting…something’s bound to blow–might I suggest stroking off? If you don’t you might well be stroking out soon enough…

You can’t reach? Well, give me a good enough tip and I can probably help you out. Thanks–handy that you already busted out of those pants and underwear. Let me just find it here…there we go! Yeah, work those fat tits of yours while I tug on your cock, that’s a good pig!

Fuck, blew already! Good you did, you probably wouldn’t have lasted much longer.

Oh, no, that one wasn’t a figure of speech.

I meant you probably would have had a heart attack. If you go more than a few hours without cumming…just trust me, it ain’t pretty. Gotta keep releasing that tension, before it builds up too much pressure, you know? Better go find someone else big boy–lucky for you plenty of guys here are more than happy to play with a guy whose got cushion for pushin’. Oh! And here’s a bar menu, for when you get hungry again in a few minutes. See you soon!

It was getting harder and harder to remember I’d asked him to come over so he could help me, and not so I could make him like me. Maybe…maybe the former was just a lie I’d told myself. When I picked up my phone to text him, hands shaking, the cigar still between my fingers where I couldn’t release it, had my cock been hard? Had it…wanted me to bring someone over? Had it wanted me to try to escape?

It doesn’t matter now of course. There is no escape. When I’d called, I’d had a hairy ballgut covered with hair. I could have passed for a man in his fourties. Now, I’d be lucky to be in my sixties. I hadn’t grown much larger, but I can grown weaker, my muscles weakening and dying , making it…so much easier to just sit here in my chair (my chair–this chair? Its chair? Our chair?) and smoke this endless cigar, and drink this endles bourbon that appeared not too long before, and watch him lap at my cock.

He was about where I’d been, when I’d called him. He hadn’t believed me, when I tried to tell him who I was, his best friend, and before he could get out, his eyes had glazed slightly, and I’d had all these…ideas suddenly. They were in him too, I knew, because he’s the one who got down on his knees and started sucking at my cock–now shorter and thicker than before, and we’d moved here, to the chair.

I don’t know how many loads I’ve fed him at this point. I don’t know what time it is, it’s stopped all the clocks. Its timeless. We’re timeless. Almost like we’re caught in a loop, changing a bit more each time we go around. My hairline still creeping back. I didn’t have these glasses earlier, I’m certain. He’s only getting larger and fatter, chins jiggling around my shaft, hair sprouting everywhere, even as his head balds messily. Maybe it will let us go, eventually, but will we want to leave? Will there even be anything out there for us? Maybe we should just stay–that would be easier, wouldn’t it?

He’s fucking clueless.

It all started after that day in our intro to psych class, the one where our professor discussed hypnosis, and even demonstrated it on one of our classmates–with his permission of course. I was amazed–I had no idea it was so easy to put someone under like that, and I just couldn’t quite shake the idea of…my roommate for some reason.

He was a bit of a pig, kind of a slob, and it had always bothered me. I thought I’d…put him under and just make him clean up after himself a bit better, but once he was under, I just…it seemed like such a good idea to get him to suck my cock for me. I’d always been gay, and I hadn’t exactly had much luck with any of the guys here, and he seemed game enough.

Needless to say, he’d basically my pet pig at this point. I did make him clean up his act a bit, but I’ve been increasing his appetite, and it shows–he’s packed on the Freshman Thirty at this point, and it’ll be fifty by the end of the semester. All I have to do is say a word, and he’s on his knees, eyes shut, begging me for my cum. Yeah, fuck, just seeing him, the fucking mindless slut, it makes me nut every time. I’m gonna start whoring him out, I think–I know a few other guys in my psych class who might enjoy the pigs mouth for some cash, and he loves sucking cock so much, I doubt he’d object.

He’s fucking clueless.

Ever since that lecture in psych, I just knew I had to. My roommate and I, we’d never really connected, you know? I was too dirty, he was a clean freak–I thought that if I hypnotized him, I could get him to loosen up a bit, you know? But once I had him under, I thought–why not get something else out of him too?

I’d always been a bottom, and he wasn’t about to object to getting his cock sucked–and damn did he have a fine cock–the rest of him just wasn’t much to look at you know? Well, we’ve been working on that lately, of course. He’s going to the gym five days a week at this point, working out with a couple of other guys from our psych class, and dame, he’s looking buff all of a sudden, and I think the workouts are making him hornier.

He sure as hell is making me hornier–he hasn’t noticed that he’s stopped showering at this point, and the musk rolling off him when he walks in the room, it’s enough to send me to my knees, tongue out, eager for a load of cum. I’ve been molding his personality a bit, and he’s turned into a nice, brutal top now–fucking my face and my ass long and hard, talking dirty to me. I think I’ll start whoring him out–I know a few other bottoms who’d love a top like this, and he won’t complain about the extra tail, not after another one of our conversations.

I’d always hated him, Mr. Wallingford, my parent’s next door neighbor. A total fruit, and everyone knew it–but while that was disgusting, what made it worse was how much he wanted me. Ever since I was a teenager and had started coming into my own, I’d noticed how often he looked at me, whenever I was playing outside with my friends, he’d be watching me through the window. I tried telling my parents but they wouldn’t listen, and he never did touch me or say anything to me. He’d just…watch. Stare.

I was so happy, when I went off to college, that I could be away from him finally, but coming home for breaks and summers was horrible. I’d get home, and there he’d be again, still staring, still licking his lips, still…disgusting. I did my best to ignore him, and that worked fine until the summer between my Sophomore and Junior years, when I got home and something changed. Not right away. The first month was the same–he would still watch me, but now he had a strange glee in his eye that he hadn’t before. Every year the neighborhood throws a big block party for independence day, with a big potluck. Mr. Wallingford provided the cake that year, and everyone had a piece–it was delicious, but after that…

Suddenly, I was the one who couldn’t take my eyes off of him, and he made sure I had plenty of opportunities to see him. He would walk around the neighborhood naked, and no one would bat an eye or find it the least bit strange, but I was the only one who knew, and I couldn’t divert my eyes. Every waking moment I had to follow him, stare at him…lust for him. He was in my dreams, all of these sick, twisted fantasies I’d never had, they were all I could think about. At first that was it, but now, things are getting worse.

My…body. Something’s wrong with it. I’m putting on weight, I have these dreams were I’m massively fat, and I deserve it, I deserve to have my hot, muscular body ruined for ignoring him all these years, for…for never serving him how he needed to be. My…my dad raped me last night. He went in my room, threw off my covers and fucked my ass, loud enough for my mom to know, and I wanted it, and he watched it happen through the window, jacking off. Now, he’s out on his driveway, pissing, and as soon as he goes back inside…I’ll be out there, on my hands and knees licking it up off the concrete, because I need it, and everyone will watch me, everyone will see me. And then I’ll crawl to his door, and I’ll beg him to use me, because… because I need him. Because I’ve watched him forever, but I never knew how much I needed him until now. Because I’m his pig now, and that’s all I’ll ever be from now on.

Source: gbendana

Joining The Family (Part 2)

All my life, thinking of Mikey’s father and how I’d failed him when he was growing up, I’d always blamed my drinking, my absence. “If I’d been there, if I’d been sober,” I’d tell myself, “None of that would have happened. I would have been able to catch him before everything went wrong.” Well now here I was again, watching another young man in my charge slowly slip away from me, except this time I couldn’t blame my drinking. I wasn’t even sure I could blame myself, though there was plenty of that involved, I can tell you. I kept trying to figure out how to get Mikey to open back up to me, to help him find his way back to that sweet kid I’d been raising, but suddenly it was like I was living with someone else entirely.

There was the smoking. I couldn’t prove it, I would turn his room over while he was at school searching for cigarettes or ash, but I never found anything. Still, it was the drinking that made me even more furious. I’d worked so hard, freeing myself from liquor. I’d told him everything, I’d told him how the devil was in alcohol, how it had ruined my life, his father’s life, and then there he was, coming home with booze on his breath, eyes unfocused, that new sneering grin of his on his face, pushing past me and locking himself in his room until the morning, when he’d leave again, picked up by those two foul twins. “They were to blame,” I told myself now, it was their influence which was ruining him somehow, but I knew it was a lie. Things just fell to shit sometimes–I’d known that for as long as I lived. There was only so much I could do. So…I was there for him as best I could be that spring, but things only got worse.

He started packing on weight, going from thin to pudgy in a matter of months. He wasn’t taking care of himself, refused to brush his teeth or shower. He’d wear the same disgusting clothes for days at a time, usually just a pair of overalls with nothing else, not even overalls. Dale and Rick liked the look, he told me, wanting me to be furious. He refused to go to church, he burned my bible at one point after one of our common fights, when I’d slapped him for disrespecting me. It wasn’t too long after that I decided I’d been passive for long enough, that I had to do something, or Mikey would ruin his life before it even began.

I started following the twins around in my own truck, both with and without Mikey. I’d been getting calls from the school, telling me that Mikey’s attendance had slipped severely, and I found out that the twins almost never went to school. They’d pick Mikey up, and then drive a few miles down the road to the trailer park where they lived–one even more rundown than mine, and they’d spend all day there. They lived there with their father, a man who reminded me in all the worst ways of myself when I was younger. He’d leave once a day–long hair, scruffy beard, huge gut–and take the truck to a gas station down the road, stock up on way more beer and cigarettes than he needed himself, and then go back home. Obviously he was supplying his sons and Mikey–I confronted him at the station one day, but he just sneered at me with a smile missing more than a few teeth. “Gotta give my sons what they want, ya know? Best be stayin’ away if ya know what’s good fer ya,” he said. Well when Mikey stopped coming home at all, that’s when I’d had enough. He stayed out two nights, and then I got in my truck and drove off, planning on dragging him back home if I had to.

They were obviously home. I pounded on the door for close to ten minutes, and I could hear them inside, laughing at me. The door wasn’t exactly strong, and I might be sixty but I still had some strength left. I forced the door open and stormed into the trailer. The place was a complete sty–ashtrays and booze bottles everywhere, the stench of the place made me gag. There in an armchair was their father, staring at the TV screen, wearing nothing but a pair of whities stained yellow with who knew what. He had his cock out and was jacking off, tongue out, but a thick cigar stuffed in one corner spouting smoke, drooling at the screen. I came around but the screen wasn’t showing anything but static. I tried to get his attention, but he didn’t even seem to notice I was there at all, aside from a low, guttural chuckle. I could hear something in one of the bedrooms–I forced my way in again, and found the twin’s bedroom lit only by candles, and Mikey was between them, and they were all naked. I didn’t want to know what was happening there, in the dark. The light from the candles was burning bright, but it couldn’t quite manage to extend light to the entirety of the small room, leaving what was happening there to the imagination. It was almost like there were too many bodies on the bed, too many arms and legs. I suppressed a gag, and fumbled for the light, flipped it on and soaked the scene in fluorescent clarity.

There they were–Dale buried in my grandson’s ass, Rick in his mouth. I was nearly sick again. I’d never had tolerance for faggots, it was never something I’d ever been able to understand. I’d had my suspicions with Mikey, given his disinterest in girls, and I’d…been trying to think about what I might say to him, if it came to that. Trying to figure out if I could still love him or not. But this filth–it was too much. My head was reeling. The smoke was so thick in the trailer, it was hard to breathe, my head spinning. I didn’t feel good, and I tried to get out, but without me hearing him, Dale and Rick’s father got up and blocked my way, and whispered in my ear, “Told ya tah stay away. Who knows what might happen to ya now…” He laughed–the sound was filled with his own terror and desperation, and that hopeless sound filled me with more terror than anything he could have said to me, right then.