Requested by @coltenjohnandgabriel

Chef Michael Dover ran one of several restaurants at the resort, but his was by far the most popular. People who went there, almost always, said that while the atmosphere was iffy, and the service a bit slow, the food was always magical. It helped, of course, that the chef was a wizard–and if he made people a little addicted to his food, what was the harm, really? He was just helping the resort become one of the most popular destinations in Florida, despite it’s lackluster accommodations, and everything else about it. The one time he wished it was less popular was Spring Break–but he would ways to occupy his time.

This year, it was Jeremy. He’d shown up at the resort early, and gotten some food at Michael’s restaurant, and had the gall to be rude to the waiter. So, as an olive branch, the chef had comped Jeremy a dessert–a huge slice of chocolate cake which, to quote Jeremy, was so good that he might have to break his no cake rule in the future. See, Jeremy was a jock–one of those ripped guys who thinks they’re better than everyone just because of how they look. He was in Florida to bang some chicks and catch some sun…but he also found himself unable to resist eating every meal at the Michael’s restaurant.

It was strange too. He always had a table reserved for him, even when there was a line out the door. He no longer ordered from a menu, the waiter would simply seat him, and then food would appear instantly, like magic, and he’d eat it all. The rest of his Spring Break was a bit of a flop. He did manage to catch some sun and swim in the pool, but every girl he hit on just seemed to laugh in his face, call him a pig, and walk off. He chalked it up to feminism, but Jeremy’s problem was that Michael had enchanted him to be unable to see the changes to his own body. Even now the week was ending, he was taking one last dip in the pool, surprised at how hard it was to haul himself up with the ladder, and on his way to one last dinner–or at least, he thought it would be his last one. Instead, he discovered he’d been chosen at random to receive another week at the resort, complementary of the restaurant, and he couldn’t have been happier–Michael too, was happy–he had so many more plans for his pig, that one week just hadn’t been enough time.

After all, he still had to make him gay, and crave cum as much as he needed food. That last dinner had aged Jeremy into his late thirties, but the chef had always had a soft spot for silver daddies, big beards, over five hundred pounds, and desperate to do anything you wanted them to do. And the big reveal, of course! He couldn’t want until he could show Jeremy the end product, at long last, shattering the illusion of his young hot body with his new reality. In fact, he had a feeling Michael probably wouldn’t be leaving the resort, even after this next week–no, he needed a new front of house, and a new personal pig slave, and by the end of the next week, Jeremy was going to be a perfect fit for both positions.

Learning to Like Ass (Part 2)

Rudy started screaming, but the knife–it was definitely a knife, landed against his throat.

“I won’t kill ya–just…fuck up your voice box a bit. Or do you just wanna be quiet for daddy?”

He shut up. The knife rolled over his neck, and then the biker dragged the tip down his chest. He didn’t apply enough force to cut him, but Rudy stopped breathing anyway, freezing his body as best he could, feeling the knife slip lower, past his cock where it finally came up from his skin.

“Not an assman, what a crock a shit. Guys like you should be happy anyone’s willing tah offer you a hole at all. Can’t do to be that picky, you know.”

“I get plenty of tail,” Rudy spat at him.

“Heh, sure man. That’s why you’re prowlin’ ‘round the rest stop, cause ya got plenty a tail. No Rudy, no one wants tah get fucked a sad sack like you.”

Rudy started to retort, but froze when he felt something slip between his legs and between his ass cheeks. It wasn’t the knife, like he’d first expected–it was just the biker’s finger–and before he could object he started pressing at Rudy’s hole with the tip, massaging it slowly, and unable to stop himself, Rudy let out a long sigh, collapsed onto the bed and moaned.

“Don’t worry man, mah finger’s can work magic,” the biker said. “What do ya think, man? Think I can convince ya anal might not be so bad?”

“F-Fuck you…” Rudy groaned, his back arching, limbs tugging at the ropes holding him to the bed.

“Fuck me? No no no, fuck you, Rudy.”

He tried to shut his hole up, but the man’s finger just…just slipped into him effortlessly, and fuck, it felt good in there, like it fucking belonged. His cock was hard, and he could already feel it pulsing, getting ready to blow. Deeper still, fuck, more, another finger, something, he needed it, he was so close, he was gonna explode–

He woke up, with a suddering groan, two of his own fingers burrowed deep in his own ass, and his cock started spraying cum across the bed sheets he’d kicked off in the night. He just laid there, fingers still inside, panting and looking around. Hadn’t…he been tied up? Out the window, the sky was the deep purple of the hours before dawn, but it had been pitch black, hadn’t it? When he’d been in here? He realized his hand was still inside him, and he yanked it out, got up from the bed and immediately washed his hands over and over until he couldn’t smell it anymore, and then looked around for evidence, but found nothing. He had no bruises or marks on his wrists or ankles, not even a speck of ash from the biker’s cigar that he’d been smoking. So had it been a dream? He’d never had a dream like that, it had felt so damn real! He managed to shake it off after a bit, and by then it was time for work, so he got dressed and left the trailer, hoping he could just forget about it as quickly as possible.

The rest of the week was just…strange. He didn’t quite feel like himself. He’d look at himself in the mirror, and something would throw him off–the scraggly beard, the unkempt hair, the paunch–none of which he could recall having before. Sure, he was himself, but…maybe it was just his confidence or something, but he kept striking out. Girls who usually were desperate for a lay with him were suddenly throwing him cold shoulders or coming up with lame excuses for why they didn’t want to meet with him. The guys at the rest area seemed equally uninterested, and for the first time in long time, he went several days without fucking anyone, and it was driving him mad. It didn’t help that whenever he masturbated he…couldn’t get himself over the edge. He’d stroke for hours on end, but all that would happen is he’d end up even hornier than he’d started. He couldn’t sleep either. He was too terrified that he might…dream like that again, or worse that it hadn’t been a dream, and the biker would show up like before.

It was a week and a half, when it happened again. He’d started sleeping a bit better, but the crushing horniness was only getting worse. The heat was increasing too, as summer wore on, and he woke that night in a froth, his cock achingly hard, and resigned himself to try again. He started stroking, but nothing was happening, but he also couldn’t stop! He wanted to cum so badly, he’d…he’d do fucking anything.

“Anything, Rudy?”

His stomach tried to crawl it’s way out his mouth. He looked over, and there, smoking one of those nasty cigars of his, was the fucking biker, right there in his armchair, watching him try to jack off. “What…How did you get in here?”

“The door, Rudy–you fucking dumbass,” the biker said, and stood up, “Yeah, dumbass. Anybody else woulda put two and two together, but ya couldn’t even get tah two in the first place. You remember what made you feel so good last time, Rudy? Why don’t you try that and see what happens.”

No–not that. But his hand, it…it wouldn’t stop. He licked two fingers, rolled over a bit and poked at his hole, gasping immediately as precum started gushing from his cock. He fingered himself, deep, desperate to cum, but as good as it felt, it…wasn’t enough. “I still can’t cum, you fuck,” Rudy said, “What the fuck did you do to me?”

“You can’t cum, Rudy, cause fingers aren’t enough for you–you know that,” the biker unzipped the fly of his pants and let his huge cock fall from his pants. It…looked ever bigger than before, and fuck, Rudy wanted it inside him, he hadn’t even known how much he wanted it, but fuck did he.

“Oh god, fuck me, fuck me please! Please, I just want to cum, please…” Rudy said, rolled up on his hands and knees, ass towards the biker’s cock.

“Heh, if you insist Rudy, if you insist.”

It was just some stupid looking show on Netflix, something probably no one had ever watched, something that Chad popped on for a laugh and to burn an hour, just to see how bad it was. It was called “Ruining Your Life”–apparently, it was some reality show following around people who’s lives had gone from great to terrible–or so he thought. Instead, what came on his TV screen was a strange, swirling pattern, and then a floating head of some old man, big beard, chuckling.

“Well hey there Chad, so good of you to join me. Now why don’t we get down to business, eh?”

He tried to look away, but he couldn’t. All he could do was watch the man, listen to his deep, raspy voice, grope his hard cock and…and fantasize about what…what it would be like, to let this man ruin him. Now Chad had always been a good guy, went to the gym, was getting good grades in school, had lots of friends. But what if things were…different?

He found it impossible to avoid binging the show. He started skipping the gym and class, avoiding his friends. He’d still go out on occasion, but usually only for snack runs and to stop by the gas station for drink and cigarettes. He would sit in his room, on the couch, stuffing his face, chain smoking, and masturbating until his cock was raw, feeling his muscles fade and fat bulk up all over him, faster than should have ever been possible. By the time he got to the end of the first season–all 24 episodes in five days–he didn’t even recognize himself.

He didn’t watch the show as much, but it didn’t matter. His work ethic was shot–he started flunking his classes because he couldn’t bring himself to care about his assignments. Still, he managed to pull himself together, and eeked out enough to stay in school at the end of the semester. He’d…figure out something, he told himself, he’d get a job over the summer, he’d put his life back on track. Then, in June, the second season came out–and he couldn’t stop himself from watching every episode in a row, 24 hours straight, and by then, there was no going back, not ever, and he no longer cared at all.

Source: scruffysmokers

Getting Bigger With F.A.T. (Part 4)

We didn’t hear it at first–both of us were a bit busy eating. I think I was the first one, and I nudged Jay to go see who it was. It was his house, after all. Mostly I just wanted a chance to stuff my face on my own for a moment–I had to try and get every advantage, if I wanted to be as large as Jay, right? Jay, I think, was just hoping that whoever it was would just go away, but they just kept knocking, and finally he was aggravated by it that he went to the door to at least tell them to go away. I heard the door open, and Jay gave a strange cry–I left the food and went after him to see what the matter was.

I found Jay at the door with a strange man–a sexy man, don’t get me wrong, he was beautiful. At least as large as Jay was at this point, he was wearing a black t-shirt with the words “Fat Action Team” down the front. He was smoking a cigar and had a big beard all over his face–and he was showing Jay something on his phone. I recognized it immediately–Jay was in one of those trances, like I’d seen him in before we’d started training together–his eyes and mouth slack, arms hanging at his sides as best they could, since his fat rolls wouldn’t let them hang straight any longer.

I asked the man what was going on. He told me to not worry–that he was simply a representative of the Fat Action Team, and had come by in order to give us a preliminary examination, and to prepare us for the next stages in our training. Before I could ask him what he meant by that, however, he’d swung the phone around, and the prismatic spiral there simply…wiped away my awareness. I don’t know how long he was there with us, but I think it was a few days, at least. I…recall surfacing on occasion, but it wasn’t very often. It was always…he kept trying to…to force me to do something I didn’t want to do, and…and I’d fight him. I remember looking at him, like he was seeing just how hard I was willing to push, how much fight I had in me. I mean, I always gave in eventually, there wasn’t…there wasn’t anything I could do, not really, but I tried all the same.

When he left us there, neither of us knew what to think about what had just happened to us, and we were exhausted, like neither of us had slept in days. We immediately went to bed, and curled up together, just enjoying the sensation of our fat pressed together, of the bed sagging under our combined weight, and when we woke up the next morning, each of us discovered that FAT had sent us a new training file, and even though neither of us really wanted to, were were helpless as we loaded the files up, and gave them a listen.

I was out for a few hours. When the file finally ended, I remember I was no longer by the computer, but sitting in an armchair in the living room, smoking a cigar and jacking my cock as I did, savoring the smoke like I’d been doing it all my life. I…I told myself that I hated smokers, that I’d always hated them, but I now felt like that was just a lie. I needed smoke as much as I needed food–I’d never be able to get enough of it. Jay was nowhere to be seen–I got up and found him in the kitchen, stuffing his face, but where before he’d always had a look of supreme joy on his face while he was eating, now he seemed…terrified.

“Please, I can’t stop, I’m so hungry, I didn’t know I could be this hungry,” he said in between mouthfuls, “Help me…”

So I helped him. I stuffed food into his mouth as fast as I could, making him eat it, and…and fuck, it felt good, force feeding him like that. Being in control of him like that. It felt so good that I had to stop, shove him down onto his hands and knees and plow his hole, smoke billowing from my nose as I came deep in his fat ass with a growl, and then we kept stuffing him silly.

That…that was years ago now, though. After I completed that next training, FAT was more than happy to hire me on as a compliance agent. Now, it’s my job to go to FAT members who are resisting their programming, and I…encourage them for a while, to make sure they meet their goals of getting bigger. I’ve gotten bigger myself, of course–I just passed 500 pounds a while back, and FAT, to celebrate, has given me a free pass to one of their legendary retreats next month. I’d take Jay along with me, of course…but Jay can’t go anywhere.

I can’t believe how quickly he grew, after that training. Thankfully FAT agreed to supply us with food in exchange for filling the house with webcams, so people online could watch his progress–but he’s already 850 pounds, and isn’t showing any sign of stopping. He’s bedridden at this point, and I spend pretty much all day stuffing his face with food, making sure his enormous hunger is sated, and that he keeps on growing like a good pig. Still, after that tumble, when he broke his legs, FAT decided it would be better to just amputate–he’s bedridden for life, now, and he couldn’t be happier. I…I’m happy too, I think. At least, FAT tells me I’m just a bit stressed, and that this retreat will help me refocus on my real priorities. I…I don’t know what priorities they mean; they’re really vague sometimes. Still, FAT has given me all this, so I can trust them, right?

Getting Bigger with F.A.T. (Part 3)

It’s…hard to remember precisely how it felt, because it feels so normal now. I reached up and pulled out my earbuds, and my arms felt so heavy. I mean, they’d always felt heavy, or at least they’d been feeling heavy, from all the effort I’d been putting in making them bigger, but this wasn’t the heaviness of exhaustion–no, they were literally heavy in a way I hadn’t quite expected. I looked down at myself, and I couldn’t speak, I could barely even understand what I was looking at. I don’t quite know what I’d been expecting–some part of me, I think, had been expecting to see muscles there. I mean, I’d been spending all of that time at the gym, hadn’t I?

No, not the gym. Why would I have been at the gym? I’d been eating, of course. Eating and eating and eating, just like the training had told me to.

Those thoughts, they hit so hard in my head, and it was impossible to disbelieve them, but I still felt like they weren’t mine. Like…like they’d been put in there somehow, I could still see the and feel the places where they’d been stitched it without even realizing they’d been put there. I tried to think around them, but every time I tried to challenge them, it was like they’d force my brain back onto the proper track. About how good it felt to be fat, about how hard I’d worked to look like this, about how much I wanted this. And the more I thought it, the fainter the seams became, the more the thoughts seemed…like mine.

I could barely even process my body, at first. It was such a…difference! How it the world had I not noticed? All this time, I’d thought nothing had been happening, and in fact I’d been growing so much. When Jay had first introduced me to the program, I had been about 220, a little pudgy sure, but still relatively fit. Now, though–I ran my thick hands around the sides of my gut, pushing up gently as I did, feeling them press into the flab there, before releasing it down. I…I jiggled, and my cock twitched. I ran my hands over it again, and this time went up, pressing into myself, amazed at the softness, until I reached my moobs, where my pecs had been, and I cupped them both, feeling their heft, pinching my nipples, and I groaned. My cock was…was so hard. I was so happy like this, this made me feel so good. I was so happy that all of my training hadn’t been for nothing.

I looked over, and Jay was there–I also hadn’t been able to see what had been happening to him. I was big, sure–when we finally managed to weigh ourselves later, I was 365 pounds, and Jay had crested 405. His gut sagged further than mine, so far that some of it drooped over his crotch. He was…crying, when I looked at him. I think they might have started out of fear, but my the time he looked up at me, they were obviously tears of happiness. And why not? We’d both been working so hard on this, on our bodies. He looked…he looked good, too. And sure, I was a bit jealous. I’d tried so hard, but how in the world had Jay gotten that much larger than me in the same amount of time? Still, I wasn’t…unsatisfied with my own body, but the idea that I could get even bigger–my gut was rock solid now, and pressing against the bottom of my gut, as I walked over to…to touch Jay’s body. I had to feel it, and he…he wanted to feel mine too, and then we were kissing, and…and everything just kind of snowballed from there.

Neither of us had thought we were gay. We’d both been with women–that is, not recently, of course. We’d been much too busy training to date anyone, of course. But when our eyes met, I think we both felt a hunger neither of us really understood until we were pressing our fat together, feeling how…how good it felt, how warm we both were, how soft. How hungry were were, not for food, but for contact, and validation, and…and for someone who wanted to get bigger too. We did it right there on the floor–he sucked me off first, and then I dug around in his amazing fatpad until I could fish out his cock (it was surprisingly small, actually. He’d always told me he had a good sized piece of meat, but it couldn’t have been more than three inches) and sucked on the head until he came with a long groan, and I swallowed all the cum down, and fuck the taste of it! It was one of the greatest things I’d ever had, and I knew right then I was gay. Or even if I wasn’t, cum was the only thing I would crave out of sex anymore.

We laid there on the floor for a few minutes, sweaty and tired and too happy to try and figure out how to get up from the carpet. His gut grumbled first, and mine followed soon after, and it was that which finally propelled us back up and into his kitchen, where we proceeded to stuff each other’s faces, pausing on occasion to suck down another load of cum as soon as one of us got close to exploding. It was…I was so…happy, but at the same time, I was so terrified. I…I couldn’t control myself. I’d never acted like this in my life, and yet it felt so natural, it felt like I’d been doing it all the time. My body was moving before my brain could catch up. By the end…it felt better, but the lag was still there. I’m still not sure I’m ever in control, really, and I…I want to be in control, you know? Maybe that’s why we ended up going in different directions, after that, Jay and I, I mean. Sorry, I’m getting ahead of myself. What happened next, was that towards the end of our meal, someone knocked on Jay’s front door.

Getting Bigger With F.A.T. (Part 2)

I didn’t see him for a few days, but he came into the gym, looked around, saw me, and made a beeline for me. I just hoped he wasn’t planning on punching me out or something, but all he did was tell me that he’d been…hypnotized. That I had to believe him. That he’d had no idea what he’d been doing–he’d thought he’d been at the gym the entire time. Apparently, he’d stumbled upon a website called the Fat Action Team, which claimed to be dedicated to helping men “Get Bigger,” which he’d thought was a reference to getting more built. I thought that was ridiculous, that if he wanted to gorge himself, that’s fine, I just didn’t get why he had to lie about it. I went back to my cycling, and then he…put a set of headphones on me, telling me that I’d understand if I just heard it…and I don’t…I don’t remember what happened after that, very well. I had a really good work out, I know that–both me and Jay did. He’s my workout buddy. We were both exhausted, but he gave me this website I really needed to check out–they make these awesome workout music mixes, he told me. In fact, he’d already referred me–all I had to do was enter the code, and they’d set me up with a custom mix for free. I took the card he gave me…and I already knew that as soon as I got home, I’d be on my computer getting my first mix–but at the same time, I had this…feeling. That…that I should be able to remember the last couple of hours better. That when I looked at Jay’s face, he had food crusted around his mouth–and my hands felt greasy, and my gut was grumbling–but I couldn’t quite tell if I was hungry, overstuffed, or just nervous for reasons I couldn’t quite explain.

Still, I signed in using the information Jay had given me, and all of those worries disappeared as soon as I heard the first track the training company sent me. I’d…I’d been looking for something like this, actually, something to help me take my training to the next level. I’d always wanted to be…to be bigger

yeah bigger fucking fat fucking so fucking fat I can’t see my cock so fat I can’t see my feet I wanna wheeze I wanna be stuffing my face all day long gotta be fat fat gotta eat gotta get big big gonna be fat pig gonna be fat

I shook my head–what the hell had that been? I looked at the clock, and I’d been listening to that file for quite a few hours–and my shirt was filthy, as was the desk. It looked like grease stains and…crumbs? I was probably just having a snack, I thought. Still, I needed to get to bed, so I could get to work.

Jay and I synced our workout schedules together, and both of us were definitely progressing well. It was so much better having someone to help you lift, you know? Someone else there, by your side, helping you get…get bigger, and watching them get bigger too. I was feeling ripped, and powerful. Hell, I had to buy a whole new wardrobe, can you believe it? Still, it was hard seeing progress in the mirror for some reason, but I kept getting comments from people at work–

“Have you been going to the gym?”

“Wow man, you look…different today.”

It always felt good, getting positive reinforcement from people like that, and I always had Jay. In fact, Jay and I started spending a lot more time together after a few months as workout partners. We didn’t really have much in common, I mean, aside from our training and desperate, crippling desire to get as big as possible, but the more I was with him, the more I kind of liked him. Sure, he was a bit of an asshole sometimes, and a braggart. It was pretty wearing, really, but since I usually had my earbuds in while we were together, I didn’t actually have to listen to him all that much. What I appreciated was his commitment, his desire to get bigger, and he was such a help, you know? I could have never done something like this on my own. I…I needed him, and he told me one night that he needed me too. We decided, then, that for the sake of our training, and to get even bigger, it would help if we just moved in together.

My place wasn’t that big, and I didn’t have a ton of stuff, so it was easier for me to just sell some of my stuff, cancel my lease, and move into his house one weekend. Fuck, that was a lot of work! You’d think that with all of our time at the gym we’d have no trouble moving a couch, but both of us were exhausted after that day. We were probably just tired from all the time we’d spent at the gym lately, getting bigger. We’d also started a calisthenics routine at his house in the evenings, so were working out twice as much!

It was a shock when I realized a year had passed since we’d both first started training together in earnest. It wasn’t too much longer after that one year anniversary that we both got an email from the training company, letting us know that we’d finally finished our first round of training! Included in the email was a final training lesson we needed to listen to–the company said it would help us reorient our worlds and self-perception, help us grapple with these new, bigger bodies we’d crafted for ourselves. Both of us were so excited, and we agreed to listen to it right away. The file was shorter than usual–but it was what happened when we both woke up which was the biggest surprise for us both.

Getting Bigger With F.A.T. (Part 1)

I’m not sure the first time I noticed it, to be honest. I’d been going to the gym pretty regularly–you know, decided to finally try and lose those twenty-five pounds I could feel at the end of my shifts. I got the gym membership free through my insurance, so I figured it couldn’t hurt. But this guy–we’d never spoken or anything, but one morning I saw him come in, all pumped and excited for his workout, right? He had sort of…an off season body. Muscled, but a big gut too. He’d head over to the free weights, put his earbuds in his ears, turn on his player…and then he’d just turn around and walk right back out the door of the gym, earbuds still in. The first time I saw it happen, I assumed that he must have forgotten something in his car, but I kept looking over from my stationary bike, and he never came back in. From that day on, I saw it happen a few more times–always the same guy. He’d come in, psyched. He’d put in his earbuds, and he’d leave again–I never actually saw him lift a single weight. So…I was a bit curious, you know? Why have a gym membership if you weren’t going to actually work out?

My work schedule shifted up a bit a few weeks later, after some turnover at the store. I started going to the gym in the afternoons a few days a week, and there he was again…only this time it was the reverse. He’d come into the gym, lumbering, looking kind of tired, leaning back oddly. He’d go over by the weights, take his earbuds out, wipe his forehead like he’d just finished a long weight routine, and then leave. I worked it out–he usually arrived at the gym at around eleven, and that day I say him leave it was about two–what in the hell had he been doing for three hours? Curiosity got the better of me–on one of my morning workouts, he came in and left, like usual–so I got up and followed him out to see where he was going.

I kind of expected him to go to a car–instead he walked off down the sidewalk, and I followed him at a slight distance. I knew I was being a bit…creepy, but I was honestly curious what was going on with this guy. We walked two blocks, and I remember how…odd he seemed to be walking. A little stiff, head straight ahead, not looking from side to side at all. Waiting for the crosswalk, he just…stood there like a statue. Anyway, he turned into a doorway, and I couldn’t believe where he’d ended up–it was a fucking all you can eat buffet. I watched him outside, through the window, as he paid, got his seat and proceeded to start shovelling food in his mouth–plate after plate, I had never seen anyone eat like that. I went in and got a place of my own, eating slowly, and sure enough, for two straight hours he pounded back load after load, before getting up and leaving in time to get back to the gym around two. I followed him back. Saw him walking with the same strange gait as before, and when he got back to the gym, he did the same routine–pulled out his earbuds, heaved a few breaths like he’d just pumped a staggering amount of iron, went and got a drink, and then left.

Should I ask him about it? I pondered what to do for a week. It seemed…so strange, and yet I couldn’t help but feel like I’d witnessed some forbidden secret pleasure of his, because…because the way he’d been eating, it was obvious it had given him some…some incredible pleasure. But I needed to know. I didn’t really know why I needed to know, I was just…what would make someone do that? Pretend to go to the gym, just so they could stuff their face? So the next chance I got, I followed him again, but this time, on the way, a hurried to catch up to him on the sidewalk, walking beside him, and tried to ask him what he was doing. He didn’t even notice me–he just kept walking, eyes unblinking, face forward. I tried again–could he not even hear me through the music? What was he listening to exactly? So I…I pulled an earbud out–well, both of them came out, actually, and I shouted at him again, asking him what he’s doing. He blinked a couple of times, and stopped walking, looking around like he had no clue where he was.

“Hey. Are you alright?” I asked.

He turned to me, “I…where am I? I thought I was at the gym.”

I did my best to explain to him. That he wasn’t at the gym because he’d left the gym, because every day he went and stuffed his face at a buffet. He didn’t believe me–he just put the earbuds back in, his eyes glazed over and kept walking like he hadn’t even talked to me. So I followed him to the buffet, I waited until he’d gotten his first plate and was devouring it, before I pulled the earbuds out again. He recognized me, but I could see he was still confused–so I showed him, that this is where he’d been going…and, well, he freaked out. I mean, screaming freak out, and then he started cursing something, shouting something about some fucking training company, and left at a jog. I followed, and saw him get into his car and speed away from the gym, wondering what in the hell that had all been about.

“How does that feel, Timmy? Does it feel as good as you’d imagined it might?”

“Oh God Grandpa, it feels…it feels so…so full, in there! So…good…”

“Yeah, that’s right. Now that grandpa has his whole fucking hand in you, do you know what that makes you, Timmy?”

“N-No…?”

“It means you’re my puppet, Timmy. It means I have my whole hand in you, and now I can control you, can;t I? You can feel my hand getting bigger inside you, pushing deeper, your body hollowing out? Feel yourself going limp?”

“Y-Yes…”

“That’s a good boy, that’s a good puppet. My hand’s so big now, it’s all the way up in your brain–you can feel it in there, I bet–because I control your brain now, because now, we’re going to get rid of all that shame, all that fear, and the only thing this puppet’s brain is going to want is to be grandpa’s little pig–would you like that? To be a piggy puppet, just for Grandpa?”

“I…it hurts…”

“Oh, it won’t hurt for long. Look how fat you’re getting, how pudgy, little piggy. No more talking for you, all you’re gonna do is oink and squeal, right pig?”

*SNORT*

“Yeah, that’s good–you’ll feel empty without me, you you’ll feel me in there again soon–for now, I wanna get my cock in that fat piggy hole, and I wanna hear by grandpig squeal!”

Requested by Anonymous

Derrick and I, we did everything together; we were twins, and we hated being apart, even when we were little. As we grew up, we played sports together, we worked out together–we were great on the field, because it was almost like we always knew what the other was thinking. Of course we went to the same college–but then, well, we’re still together, just not like we’d been before.

We shouldn’t have picked on that fag, but how in the hell were we supposed to know he was a wizard? One day, everything was normal, and then, the next…I wasn’t human at all–I was my twin brother’s jockstrap, and that fucking faggot was my brother’s roommate, in my place. I didn’t know how it had happened–I screamed, I shouted, I did everything I could, to get Derrick to notice me, to remember me, but he didn’t even remember that he’d had a brother–no one did. It was like that fucking faggot had erased me from existence.

Life as a jockstrap–it was terrible. I can…kind of access what’s going on around us, through Derrick. But I can’t do anything, and worse…I can taste everything. It’s like having my tongue pressed to my brother’s cock all day and night–because he never takes me off anymore. That wasn’t the worst thing, though–the worst was seeing what that faggot did to my brother. My brother was a fag now–ever since that first day, when he begged that fucker for his cock, and he rode my twin’s ass while gripping my waistband–see, he can hear me, and he can talk to me, and he taunted me, telling me everything about the spell he’d cast, but things only got worse from there.

He started…changing my brother. In less than a year, he went from a star athlete to a fat, filthy slob–it hurt, getting stretched out by his huge thighs, feeling how…how disgusting I was becoming. I’m a dingy brown at this point, he’s worn a few holes into me, and…and it’s wearing at my mind. It’s hard to not…enjoy the taste of his cock, of his cum. I…I kind of crave it, actually. I’ve been so close to him for so long, I don’t think I could live without it. That fag made Derrick into a complete piss pig, a few weeks ago–now he goes out to clubs, dressed in this disgusting leather gear, climbs into these tubs and scores of guys just piss on us, and I drink it all up too. I drink it all up…because it tastes so…damn good.

I can’t remember being human anymore. I don’t even know what that would be like. The fag–he keeps telling me that my minds just going to keep disappearing, bit by bit, that soon, I won’t even have thoughts anymore–I’ll just be a perfect, filthy jock, and nothing more. Derrick, on the other hand, dropped out of school and took a construction job. He’s only going to be getting fatter, and filthier too…and…and there’s no man I’d rather be with, than my nasty, stinking brother.

Ruining Mr. Fisher (Part 8)

At first, it was just like all of the other times Ned had changed him. He could feel the medallion twisting back into his past, tugging at strings, unravelling what had always been such a promising, well ordered life that he’d made. But then, he felt the medallion tugging at something different, at strings and cords within him that had a higher tension, a deeper resonance. It hurt, feeling them unfurling, breaking apart and latching themselves out in new directions–and when the snapped, everything else came with them. Before, it was like Ned had been slowly cutting away at the individual strands of a thick, twined rope. However, at that moment, the rope had finally lost, and had come apart. He wasn’t even sure what, exactly had changed, way back in the past, but it was ruining everything. Nothing was the same, and he found himself whipping forward through a new timeline–one where he didn’t have money or resources, and he had no drive to seek them out. When he flunked out of school and never even bothered going to college. The few parts that he could cling to were those things Ned had already given him–his multitude of addictions, his filthy body, his masochistic desires. He rocketed forward, time flowing too fast for him to follow, space warping it’s way around him now. He was nowhere suddenly, and then he was somewhere new, the light dying back, leaving him crumpled on a filthy floor, heaving for breath in a fetal position, trying to understand what he’d just witnessed.

“Well, come on bitch–you can’t just lay there all fuckin’ day,” Ned said, “Come on boy, help me git yer worthless father up.”

Shawn and Ned got down, each took one of Gerard’s doughy arms and together managed to haul his fat ass up again, shivering and shaking and looking around him. He’d been in his house, hadn’t he? But he’d never owned a house before. He’d always lived in…trailers. Trailers like this one, where he was standing. He groped his way to a table, lit a cigar and smoked it, fighting how normal this felt, trying to keep away the memories blocking him in, making that old him, that successful him nothing but a tired fantasy. “Where…What did…” He never finished the questions, and Ned didn’t answer them because Gerard–or Gerry, rather–knew the answers.

He was in his trailer. Ned had made it so he’d never been a banker at all, but more than that. Ned had ruined his entire life, and now…now, here he was. Living in a disgusting, rundown single wide trailer. He worked as a septic tank and sewer repairman. Worse yet…he loved it. In fact, he realized that Ned had given him a slight reprieve from his previous inability to feel anything with his cock–now the only thing that could get him hard was the pungent odor of a septic system, a backed up toilet, or an especially rank fart pushed out while his tongue was buried in deep. He sat down on the edge of his bed, sheets rank with cum shots from him and his son, and let out a massive, wet fart, felt his tiny cock squirm to life, and started snorting up his own stink, feeling his constant, raging horniness begin pushing every other thought from his mind.

“Don’t worry Gerry, I made sure you live right next door to me. It’s a bit lonely right now, just the two of us, but I’ve been keeping an eye on a few of your old coworkers, you know. The three of us will have plenty of company around here soon enough.”

“Ya fuckin’ bastard,” Gerry muttered, barely even noticing his new accent, “Ya ain’t fuckin’ won, ya know. I still gots me in here.”

“Oh trust me Gerry, I know,” Ned said, and walked up to him, and pressed his medallion back against Gerry’s breast, “I can take care of that too.”

It didn’t hurt, and that was worse–it was just warm, and comforting, and…and easy. He felt the scar which he’d had on his chest ever since Ned had first touched the Medallion there beginning to stitch back together, fading away–and along with the mark, his old mind and memories were fading too. “No…nuh-uh, please…” he slurred, a bit sleepy, “Don’…I didn’t mean it…”

Ned stroked one hand through Gerry’s greasy, filthy locks of hair, leaned in and whispered to him, “I know, but I was gonna do it anyway.”

When Ned pulled the medallion away, Gerry’s skin was perfect, without a mark to be seen. His nasty, shit loving neighbor looked around dimly, like he was trying to remember something but couldn’t, then let loose a long loud fart and gave a big belly laugh. “Fuck, that was a good’un!” he said, “Rank fucker gittin me horned up. Ya’ll gonna plow my nasty pig holes or what? Come on son, ya ain’t fucked pa yet tahday, ‘n I need that big ass fuckstick plowin’ me deep,” Gerry said, rolled over and presented his hole to Shawn, who smiled, stroked his cock a few times and slammed it in, Gerry squealing in pleasure.

Ned watched the father and son fuck for a moment, and then got up on the bed, in front of Gerry, and dropped his pants, his ass towards his neighbor’s face. “What do ya say pig? Ya hungry?”

“Fuck yeah, Ned, ‘specially if ya ain’t wiped up–then again, Ah ain’t never seen a roll a toilet paper within ten miles a here.”

“Why spend money on that crap when I got the best fuckin’ asseater right next door?” Ned said, shoved his crack into Gerry’s face and let loose a ripe fart. The pig spasmed, feeling cum spew from his nipple like cock, oozing down from his gunt and dribbling into his bed sheets, but Gerry just focused on eating out the nasty hole in front of him, grinding his filthy beard into it, tongue burrowing deep. This was the life, he thought. The perfect life for a pig like him–everything he’d ever wanted, and he’d never want for more ever again.