Magic Show (Part 3)

Snorting and grunting uncontrollably now, he walked–though it felt more like crawling now–back to the stall, wormed his fat, hairy body between the fucker’s legs and started sucking on the dribbling cock, sucking down his cum. Despite his inhuman appearance, neither one of them seemed shocked when they saw him–if anything they were happy for the company, as the top finished his fuck, the bottom came, and both of them left Ethan in the stall to lick cum from the toilet seat where it had dribbled earlier, his head clearing a bit. That fucking magician! He’d called him pigheaded, and now this? No, this was enough, that fucker was going to put everything right, or…well, Ethan didn’t really know what he’d do, but he’d figure out something.

He was nervous about leaving the bathroom, but no one else seemed disturbed by his new appearance in the least. He wandered the club on all fours–occasionally overwhelmed by his need for cum enough to suck a load from a stranger who offered him a cock. Hell, he soon discovered he couldn’t turn down a cock even if he wanted to, but he finally found Max the magician again, over in a booth, sitting with the same bear from before–but he could see things weren’t quite going how the magician had planned it, the bear, now wise to Max’s tricks, was trying his very best to resist the magician’s wiles–so Ethan got under the table without him noticing, and bit the magician’s ankle. He kicked him in the snout but lost his focus, the bear made a break for it, but Max was faster, getting out of the booth and finally forcing him under with a direct gaze, as Ethan wiggled his way out from under the booth, defiance his eyes and cum on his chin and mustache.

“You are just–you don’t know when to quit, do you? Fuck it, this one’s not even worth it anymore–it’s only fun when they don’t know what’s going on,” Max said, looking at the bear in front of him, “Still, I think we can find a mutual use for him, don’t you?” he said, and turned his gaze back to Ethan–freezing the pig in place. “I was only going to have the pig thing last for tonight, you know. You’re the only one who sees yourself like that–everyone else just sees a fat bear crawling around, begging and snorting for cum like a fool, but I don’t think we should stop at illusion with you. As for this fucker–well, what’s a pig without a farmer to own him, eh?”

The bear the magician had been pursuing had come dressed in leather gear, looking like a biker–but the leather began wriggling all over his body, fading into a blue, his gear becoming a set of overalls, his shiny boots a couple of muddy waders. His body followed suit, his muscle bull body, well honed at the gym, dissolving into a fat apron which pushed out the overalls, his hair turning grey and thinning out, his body sweaty and muddy, smelling like a field of manure.

“Still, a pig farmer can’t very well raise a pretend pig, can he?” Max said, turning back and looking down at Ethan, “So how about we make that a bit more physical?”

The pain that ripped across his body was horrendous, but he couldn’t scream, he couldn’t do anything. What he’d felt in the bathroom, that had only been a phantom of this agony. As he passed out, he felt something close around his neck, heard a cruel, deep laugh, and then everything went black.

He woke the next morning in his pen. Of course, he didn’t know it was his pen, or even where he was–he’d slept the whole ride out of town, his new farmer master following the magician’s directions to their new home out in the country, and as soon as he’d arrived he’d forgotten everything about his old life–and knew he’d never go near the city again. No, he was happiest here, on his small farm with his pigs–especially his prize hog, Ethan.

He brought out his slop. Ethan trying to talk, but his permanent snout was more interested in eating than resisting, and his farmer–his master, climbed into the muddy pen while his hog ate and fucked his hole with his big cock…and Ethan felt his mind start draining away, as his cock started leaking cum into the mud. He looked beneath, where he saw his still human cock and balls, but his sack was changing, shrinking. With one final orgasm, his balls disappeared entirely, and from that moment on, Ethan really was nothing more than a hog–though a bit of a strange one at that. In fact, some parts of him looked outright human–particularly his now permanently soft cock, the odd mustache that formed under his snout, and the fact that it’s favorite food in the whole world was cum straight from his master–or any other man who happened by. For some reason, something about how the hog smelled, no man could resist feeding him his cum, and something about eating cum made the hog gain weight like nothing else. By summer, Ethan was close to six hundred pounds–and happy as could be in his new prison.

Magic Show (Part 1)

It had seemed like a good idea at the time, but now that he was here…Ethan was no longer so sure. He stood off to the side of the bar, trying to figure out how to feel less awkward. It was Halloween–there was no reason to be this awkward on Halloween! But this…it was different. He’d always wanted to come here–ever since he’d started college in this city a few years back–because even though he was a bit of a twink, he’d always had a thing for…Bears. Daddies. Chubs. He’d hooked up a few times before, but something about going to the bar, it had always felt a bit off limits for him, because he was so young, and thin, and hairless.

His choice of costume for the night wasn’t helping matters, he supposed. He’d decided to go as a strongman–wearing a striped singlet he’d found online, some bright red boots and a handlebar mustache he’d stuck on with spirit gum, along with a fake barbell he’d made out of styrofoam and cardboard. He wasn’t the only one dressed up by any means, and he certainly wasn’t showing the most skin, but he couldn’t help but feel…out of place, even though plenty of guys were smiling and complimenting and…and why couldn’t he just feel normal! He thought about getting a few more drinks, but he had to drive back to school. He sighed, and caught someone across the room staring at him. He was an older gentleman with a sizable gut, dressed in a tuxedo and a cape, with a large top hat on his head. He threw Ethan a wink, and then slipped away into the crowd–strange, but Ethan forgot it quickly in his pouting.

He thought about leaving but didn’t. The party grew rowdier, until the music died and the dance floor cleared. Curious, Ethan came to the back of the crowd to see what was happening. There, in the middle, was the man in the tuxedo he’d glimpsed–apparently calling himself Magic Max, with a magic show planned for the evening. Ethan thought it was silly, but everyone else seemed excited–he didn’t expect much until the magician boomed out his own name, Ethan Gallanger, as his first volunteer.

He didn’t believe it–how could the guy know his name? He wanted to shrink away, but his feet marched him forward instead, out onto the empty dance floor. “There you are Ethan! So glad you could join me for a bit of fun this year.”

The crowd clapped and cheered, Ethan went red in the face.

“I must say, I saw your costume earlier, and I was simply enthralled by your commitment to realism! That mustache in particular–it must have taken you months to grow it out like that.”

“I…actually, it’s…fake…” Ethan stammered, his voice amplified somehow, even though he couldn’t see a microphone anywhere.

“Oh nonsense, let me see that!” Magic Max said, and before Ethan could stop him, he grabbed the end of his mustache, yanked hard, and Ethan yelped in pain, feeling the hairs pulling at his skin, refusing to come away. “Looks real enough to me, now!”

Cheers and laughter erupted around him, but all Ethan could do was drop his fake barbell to the floor, and feel the mustache–his mustache–with both hands. Real…it was real! He looked at the magician, his jaw dropped low. “How…how did you do that?”

“A magician never reveals his tricks, Ethan. I think you dropped your weight there! Why don’t you pick it up–show us how strong you are. After all, you look a bit thin and scrawny for a strongman.”

Laughter again. Blushing, Ethan bent down, grabbed the barbell and went to lift it, but it wouldn’t budge. It felt like someone had glued it to the floor, and the laughter only got louder as they watched him struggle with it. But something else was happening, every time he tried to lift it up. He would yank on it, and the barbell seemed to yank back, pulling him lower and lower each time, until he finally gave up, unbent, and discovered that he’d shrunk.

He’d already been rather short at five foot seven, but after his struggle he couldn’t have been much taller than four feet, barely coming to eye level with the top of Magic Max’s full, round belly. The rest of him had grown smaller as well, making him look even weaker, even as the barbell had grown larger, now nearly twice as large as he could remember it being.

Max held up his hands for quiet, and the crowd obliged. “I’m sorry Max, but you gave it a good try–I know your lifting days are well behind you at this point. Hell, you have enough to worry about, hefting around that big, hairy gut of yours all day long, right, old man?”

What the hell was he talking about? He didn’t have a gut, and he certainly wasn’t old. Seeing the confusion on Ethan’s face, Max swung his cape over, and a large mirror manifested beside him, where nothing had been, moments before. There he could see exactly what Max had been talking about. Where before had been his slim, twinkish figure, smooth and somewhat muscled, he now had a massive, firm gut stretching out the singlet he had on. He grabbed it with his hands and shook it–it heaved around as a single, hard mass, like a massive ball he’d swallowed. On his much shorter frame, he looked like a ball, in fact–a very hairy ball. His hairless body was covered with fur now, bursting from the singlet at every chance it got. The only parts of him that were smooth were his face (aside from the mustache and a generous shadow of stubble) and much of his head, where his hairline had receded substantially, leaving him with a light dusting of grey hair in a horseshoe fringe.

“Let’s all give a big thank you to Ethan, for being our first volunteer of the evening!” Max said behind him, and gave him a shove. He had to struggle to stay upright, leaning back to counter the weight of his gut, “Now let’s see if we can find someone who might be able to get this barbell off the floor! We can’t just leave it here, after all.”

Ethan just tried to process what had happened to him…what he…thought had happened to him? It was suddenly a bit hazy, and hard to hold onto in his head. He’d been different, hadn’t he? He watched the rest of the show like it was a dream–but he had to talk to that magician again–he had to figure out how to get his body back.

Case Closed (Part 5)

He tried to protest, tried to just get us to let him go, but no–I was tired of his fucking shit, and I knew what he really wanted. I dragged him across the precinct, Walker laughing the whole way, and shoved him into the drunk tank. It was still early evening on Saturday, but we had a few visitors already–it was always pretty busy in here after Friday nights, and a lot of them might not get processed until Monday morning, so the cell was only going to get more crowded. He begged us, through the bars, to let him out. That he couldn’t stay in here, to have some fucking mercy. Well fuck that–we’d be back to get him on Monday. Still, it was another cased closed. Walker suggested we go get some drinks, something which I was more than happy to do, because fucking Dick had only gotten me revved up for more.

Fuck–that was one of the best weekends we’d shared in a long while. Fuck, I actually couldn’t remember the last time we went as wild as we did, though we do it all the time, now. The two of us were already dressed to go out, of course–since our work clothes doubled as our club clothes–the immaculate leather uniforms we both wore fit right in down at the leather bar where the two of us hung out. It was funny though–the club seemed a bit busier than usual–in particular, it seemed like the entire college football team had come out that night, and all of them were poaching our usual hunting grounds, so we decided on a change of plans, and found two young freshman who shouldn’t have even been in there–and gave them a choice. Come back with us for the rest of the weekend, or kiss their fucking scholarships goodbye after they get an arrest record. Needless to say, neither one of them was very happy about it, but we cuffed them anyway, and dragged them home with us.

It’s funny…I didn’t remember Walker and I living together, but…I mean, I guess it makes sense, right? Two top cops? Two burly, leathered up fuckers like us? Why the fuck wouldn’t we live together? I won’t go into details, but let’s just say that those two football frat fuckers were singing a different tune by Sunday evening, begging us for our cocks, our fists, our piss. We did let them go, of course–but put them on chastity probation–locking them both up, and requiring them both to come over for regular check ins and training. Heh, Justin–that’s one of them, this big old linebacker–he’s graduated at this point, and became a full time slave for a friend of mine, this old biker–fucking rough man, but I’ve never met a guy who loves getting beaten up like Justin does. The other, Harry, he’s a fancy businessman now, but I still have his key–he hasn’t had his cock out in over a year, but he doesn’t fucking care–he gets more pleasure out of drinking down some stranger’s cum in a bathhouse than he ever did shooting himself. Still, I suppose I’ve gotten a bit off topic, now haven’t I? I’m still talking at all, of course, because the strangest thing about the case, about Dick, I should say, only happened after that weekend, when the two of us, still reeking of sex, still in our leathers, showed back up at the precinct, nursing a couple of light hangovers, and found ourselves with quite a mess in the drunk tank where we’d abandoned Dick on Saturday night.

Now, this is easily the busiest precinct for drunks in the city, since it’s so close to the nightlife district, but it wasn’t the number of people in there that was surprising–it was what they were doing, or rather, who they were doing. In the middle of the, at this point, rather sleepy throng was Dick–which shouldn’t have been surprising, I suppose, considering how eager that guy was for a load of cum. No, what was strange was Dick himself. When we’d left, he’d been a middle aged slob, sure, but not..this. He’d packed on close to two hundred more pounds, his bare belly scraping the concrete floor of the cell, his several chins disguised by a massive, grey beard I couldn’t recall him having before. He was no longer middle aged, but seemed closer to seventy–his teeth all missing aside from a few barely hanging by the root, his body coated in filth, clothes unwashed, as he begged another man for a load of cum. But maybe I was just remembering things wrong. It seemed like I’d been remembering a lot wrong, lately. Still, we figured we should give the guys in the cell a break, and we took a final turn with the disgusting pig in the interrogation room, feeding him our loads of cum and piss before kicking him back out onto the street. We didn’t mind giving Dick a place to stay on occasion, but he couldn’t very well live here, right?

But the oddest thing? The two of us got to work processing the guys in the drunk tank after we finished with Dick…but none of the fuckers’ intake information matched anything close to who we were looking at in front of us. Like, some of the paperwork told us to expect a couple of young hicks who’d gotten pulled in on a drunk driving charge, but who we found looking at us were a couple of middle aged, pot bellied bikers, covered with tattoos and reeking of piss and cigars. A couple of businessmen charged with harassing a woman in a bar, were now a couple of young skinheads, dressed in camo and rubber, and much more interested in making out with each other than answering any of our questions. Just one fucking screw up after another, and we had no clue what to make of it. Still, I couldn’t help but wonder about Dick, in all of this for some reason. He still comes by, on occasion, ends up in the tank for a night, and everytime the same fucking thing happens. It’s a fucking mystery, you know? But hey, not every case wraps up nice and neat, but that’s the job–now if you’ll excuse me, it looks like Walker’s collared someone over by the dance floor, and he might need some backup.

Case Closed (Part 4)

He yanked him off his cock by his hair, and Richard nodded. “Yes…sir. I…I wasn’t…telling the truth.”

“Yeah, now why don’t you go ahead and tell Bailey here what really happened last night?”

“I…It was me, sir. I begged them all to fuck me. At…at first they wouldn’t because they were all straight, but I had to get…get down on my knees and…and beg. Beg, and…and plead. And finally they gave…gave me their cocks, sir. That’s…what happened. I was lying before. I’m…I’m sorry.” The last syllable was cut off, by Walker impaling his mouth on his cock again.

The thing is, it didn’t sound like he was telling the truth, but now that I was in here again, my earlier convictions were fading. It really did seem, then, that the fucker had been lying to us, and that meant, that if it wasn’t the second, then it had to be the first. “So what then, Richard? Why go to all this fucking trouble then?” I said, and then squatted down next to him, watching him suck my partner’s cock, “You see, I was doing some thinking, while I was out getting some cigars for me and my partner. I think, the reason you did all this? The reason you had to make up this whole fuckin’ story? Because you need attention. Because you need fuckers like us to feel sorry for you, so we’ll give you a pity fuck, is that it? Did you think that, if you just told us some sob story, about getting raped, that we’d just let you suck our cocks, just like that? You fucking pig, you fucking disgust me.”

“Yeah, you’re gonna have to get up pretty early in the morning to fool me and my partner, you fucker,” Walker said, “Bailey, I think we should do a contraband search on this fucker, what do you say?”

“I think it might be good to check him out, fuck yeah.”

Walker uncuffed him, and together we hauled him up and started stripping him out of his clothes, poking fun at his fat body, twisting his nipples jiggling his fat, stroking his big cock, telling him that if he didn’t want this, then why in the hell was he so fucking hard? He wasn’t even fighting us at this point, the pig knew we’d caught him, and good too. Still, when Walker bent him over the table, holding him down while I gloved up, making sure my sleeves were rolled up well past my elbow, he started protesting again, begging me to not make him do this, to just let him go, but I gave his fat ass a few smacks, and that got him settled down, before I lubed up and slipped my fingers in his ass, listening to him moan.

“Listen to this fucker–I bet he hid something up there just so we’d have to find it.”

“Yeah, why else would the pig be moaning like this?” I said, but I didn’t feel anything near the entrance. I pushed in deeper, widening the hole, but it was so damn tight. If the pig had been fucked by an entire frat house the night before, it sure didn’t feel like it–no, it felt fucking amazing. At some point I must have undone the front of my pants, my free hand stroking my cock as I thrust my fingers deeper and deeper into the pig’s hole. It was…fuck, it was big! All of me looked big, all of a sudden, though. Walker walked around to the other side of the table, which Richard’s head was sticking off of, and started fucking his throat again, and before too long I had my whole fist buried in the pig’s ass. “Fuck, this pig’s so tight, man.”

“Heh, probably didn’t even get fucked at all last night–that’s probably why he’s so desperate. He sure doesn’t look like he goes to fucking college either–heh, maybe a decade ago, eh Richard?”

“Is that what you do, Richard? Nah, not Richard, I bet everyone calls you Dick, don’t they? You’re so fat, so ugly, so old, that the only way you can get someone to pay any attention to you, is if you beg cops like us for fucks, is that it? Well fucking fine pig, have it your way!” I shoved in deeper, feeling him squirm and groan in pain, but as he did, his body started spasming and his cock started spraying cum under the table…and shrinking. It had been fairly sizable before, not that I’d gotten a good look at it, but almost as it shot, it seemed to dwindle, until it was only about three inches long. I looked elsewhere, and the rest of his body was also changing, right in front of my eyes, or at least, that’s what it seemed like at the time. Shit like that can’t really happen, right? He was getting older, his hair turning grey and balding, leaving him with a mostly bald scalp and some stringy hair around it. His body got fatter too, spreading out on the table around him, but I recognized him now–Dick. Fucker’s a regular here, always coming in, claiming he’s been raped and abused, but it’s just a fucking game to this pig, getting the two of us all hot and bothered until we give him a good working over. And fuck if it doesn’t work everytime, but then again, it doesn’t take much for Walker and I to get revved up–the two of us are always fucking horny, and usually always fucking–each other, or tag teaming some pig we pulled off the street and into an alley.

His pig’s tight hole was finally starting to loosen up a bit–I hauled out my arm and slid my big cock inside him and pounded it in up to the hilt over and over, and table screeching across the floor a bit each time from the impact, shoving his throat deeper onto Walker’s cock each time. Finally, the two of us came–I don’t remember who first, but it was close enough together that it didn’t really matter, and we each pulled free. I made Dick get down and lick up the load of cum he’d shot all over the floor, the two of us watching and smoking, making sure he got every drop, and only then did we let the old fag get dressed again in those grungy, stained clothes he’s always wearing. He didn’t look very happy, and he tried to just leave! Well I wasn’t going to have any of that–fuck no. I shoved him up against the wall, and cuffed him for filing a false report.

Case Closed (Part 2)

Richard stayed quiet for a moment. Gathering his thoughts? Rehearsing his lies? Here’s what he said:

“Look, I know this is going to sound crazy, I know, but just…just listen. Last night…that…it was Meghan’s fault! She did this, I know she did.”

Ah, so the plot thickens, I thought to myself.

“Who’s Meghan?” I asked.

“Meghan is–was–my girlfriend. She found me after my psych 301 class yesterday and started screaming at me for cheating on her with someone else.”

“And were you?”

He waffled, before finally nodding, and kept talking, “Look, it was…an accident. But she told me, then, that she was going to get me back. She’d always been bragging that she came from this line of witches or something, and how she’s an expert at curses. This has to be what happened to me, it has to. I can’t think of any…any other reason why that would happen. Why they’d do that to me. Why I’d…change like that, like this,” he said, grabbing his hefty gut and giving it a jiggle. For some reason, watching him do that…I felt a tingle in my crotch, but I did my best to ignore it.

“Alright, and what exactly did they do to you? Your frat brothers, I mean. You were a member of the fraternity in question, right?”

Richard nodded. The two of us looked at each other, a bit doubtful, and he must have seen what we were thinking. “Look, I know…how I look right now, alright? But I didn’t look like this yesterday. I was buff, hell, I was one of the school’s football stars.”

“I don’t remember a Richard being announced at any of the games I’ve gone to,” I said.

“No, I mean, that’s all part of it. Look, I just…I just don’t want to sound like a crazy person.”

“And the two of us, we want to believe you, Richard,” Walker said, leaning over the table a bit, “But if we’re going to be able to help you, we have to understand what happened, and we’re going to need you to give us as much detail as possible,” I saw my partner’s…nose flare, suddenly. I don’t know why I noticed it at the time, but he seemed…eager, somehow. He always gets that way though, when he thinks he’s caught someone in a lie, but that just seemed so much more…hungry.

“I was…Meghan left me standing there in the hallway, and I went back to the frat house. Everything was fine that whole afternoon. The guys were all normal, I mean. Nothing changed until after dinner that evening, when I got back from the dining hall. Some of the guys were already drinking–I mean, we all drink on Friday, so that wasn’t strange, but…but some of the guys kept…giving me this strange look.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean…they were looking at me, like I’d see them look at the sorority girls at our parties. I saw them looking at me like…like they wanted me. It was really weird, but they wanted me to drink with them, but after one beer I was already blasted. Marco…I think he might have drugged it, I know he has a stash of roofies in his room–and they started yanking my clothes off me. I punched…one of them, and they…they tied me down, over the table, and they started…”

The waterworks were flowing again, but at that point, I have to be honest, neither of us were buying it, but he wasn’t likely to give us a straight story–besides, something else had been bugging me. “So they tied you down. This morning you must have still been tied up, so how did you escape this morning, when you couldn’t all last night? I also don’t see any rope burn on your wrists, which we usually see from someone struggling.”

He was quiet–guilty quiet. “That’s…that’s the worst part. I didn’t want to tell you, not yet. I mean, at first, I didn’t want them to do it, I mean, I was fighting them, but for some reason, I…I started to enjoy it. When…when they untied me, so they could…could use my…mouth, I didn’t even run. I didn’t want to have sex with them, but I also couldn’t…stop myself. I just felt like…like such a pig! I didn’t even notice it happening at the time, but when I woke up today, and I…I was fat, somehow. I mean, yesterday I was a star football player, and now I look like I haven’t worked out a day in my life! How does something like that even happen?”

Easy answer–it doesn’t.

“Alright, so…you enjoyed it?” Walker asked.

“I don’t…I mean, I’m straight! I’m not gay. I didn’t want to like it, but it was like something in my head wouldn’t let me say no.”

“So you never said no?”

“No! I said no at first, but then, I…” he looked at each of us, and the look in his eyes–it’s that first moment they realize they’ve been caught. “I should go,” he said quickly, “I think I need to get out of here.”

He stood up, but I positioned myself between him in the door, “No, why don’t you go ahead and sit back down. We need to sort out what exactly happened last night, I think.” I stepped closer to him, and…and something shivered in me, some strange…desire. I couldn’t even really process it, but I shoved him back into his seat. I wanted answers, and this pig wasn’t going anywhere until I got them.

Case Closed (Part 1)

You see a little bit of everything, in our line of work, a lot of it that you want to unsee, too. Still, it takes a certain kind of person to be able to work sex crimes, and if I do say so myself, you won’t find two cops more dedicated than my partner, Detective Walker, and I. Still, this case, from the very beginning we knew it was going to be strange one, but let me go ahead and set the scene for you. It was a Saturday, which meant the precinct we work out of was pretty much empty aside from the usual weekend skeleton crew. Both of us had had a rough week, and were busy catching up on paperwork together. We’re both single in our early thirties–married to the job you might say, and dressed down a bit. Gotta look professional, you know? For the victims, but we’d discarded our coats and were just in our shirts and slacks, showing our suspenders, sleeves rolled up to our elbows, trying reports and shooting the shit, thinking about hitting the gym together after work. Both of us were in good shape–you had to be, to be a good cop, but beyond that, we were normal, middle Amercan guys, just trying to make the city better. That’s when an officer came in with Richard, claiming he’d been raped.

Now don’t get me wrong, I know guys can be raped, I’ve seen it plenty of times, but when Richard started telling us his story, well…it was a bit hard to believe. He was trying to claim that, the night before, he had been raped by every single fellow in his fraternity house, the whole night long–that he’d only managed to get out of the ropes holding him an hour ago, escape, and make his way here. It was obvious the guy had been through some kind of trauma, sure–that, or he had some of the best crocodile tears I’d ever seen working these cases. Towards the end of the story, he was sobbing so hard he could barely get his words out, so we parked him in one of the interrogation rooms to calm down, while the two of us discussed what he’d been telling us behind the observation mirror in the next room.

“So, what do you make of it? What he was saying about all that?” I asked, looking over at Walker.

“I don’t know, Bailey–something…something about him just rings a bit…off, you know?”

I did know, actually. Neither of us were new to sex crimes, and both of us had plenty of compassion for the victims we worked with routinely, but something about this guy, it was just…strange. I mean, the story he was trying to tell, about the entire fraternity raping him–what the hell? That was crazy all on its own. It wasn’t like I’d seen gang rapes before–hell, two years prior we’d busted a bunch of guys in one of those frats for drugging and gangraping a couple co-eds, but frats didn’t usually target men, you know? What would you have to do to get those kinds of alpha straight dudes mad at you enough for all of them to tie you down and rape you? There was something else to this story he wasn’t telling us, we both knew that. But then there was just the guy’s…I don’t know, there was something about him that just–look, it’s a detective’s instincts, you know? You can tell when someone is being straight with you, or when someone is trying to jerk you around, and both of us were feeling a bit jerked by him. At the time, I figured it might just be my exhaustion from the week.

We both fell quiet, looking at the guy. He was starting to calm down, and something else occurred to me–he didn’t quite fit the bill of a typical fraternity brother himself. Richard was considerably overweight–I mean, I might as well just say obese. A couple of chins, moobs, a bit gut stretching out his shirt. He had the right hair, he even had on the right, trendy clothes, but I knew that college, I knew what those frats were, and none of them were likely to let in someone looking like Richard. And yet, he’d been most distressed by the fact that he’d been raped by his “brothers and friends” as he’d called them. Was the guy delusional? Let’s just say I had plenty of alarm bells going off.

“Well, looks like he calmed down, at least.” Walker said, “How about we talk to him, see if he give us a more believable story.”

Obviously we’d come to the same conclusion–there was simply no way Richard was being totally straight with us. We went into the room together. Richard was sitting at the table. His eyes were still red from his crying earlier, but he was just looking…flat, at the moment. Stunned, maybe. Walker sat down across from him, but I stayed standing, by the door. This was our usual set up–normally when we had a victim come to us we’d try to find a more comfortable place for them to tell us what happened, but this guy–no, we needed to get the truth out of him, and if that meant making him a little uncomfortable, so be it.

“Feeling a bit better?” Walker asked.

Richard nodded, and let out a meek word that might have been, “Yeah.”

“Alright,” Walker said, leaning back in the chair, “Now, why don’t you tell us what happened last night. Start at the beginning.”

Dream Camp (Part 11)

***Warning*** Here’s where things start getting really strange. You might just want to stop here if watersports, scat, anal vore, or snuff freak you out–which just to clarify, they probably should freak you out. Still, these are horror stories! You’ve been warned!!!

“Silly, silly little boy. Playing at being a grownup this whole time, but I remember you, oh fuck, do I remember you now,” Kyle said, as he stalked closer to him, “Weak, fat, terrified. My son was right to beat you up, you little shit!”

Spittle flew, smacking Barry in the face. He kept trying to move, trying to run, but his feet were glued to the ground, stuck in the mud, and he felt…shorter. Smaller and weaker than before, this monster bearing down on him, and there was nothing he could do. Nothing–he was…was weak. He was just…just a pig, just a boy, not a man at all…

His body was changing, and he was aware that it was his own loss of confidence causing it, but there was no stopping it, nothing he could do, because Kyle was right. ScoutMaster Hoffson was right, had been right about everything. He could feel his muscles diminishing as his fat spread all around him in every direction, rooting him into the ground even more, sinking into the mud which had begun bubbling around him. It…it would feel so…so good, to just stop. To stop fighting, to just…embrace this. He was too heavy to do anything, too heavy to fight anymore. His legs began to wobble, and finally collapsed beneath him, mud splattering out and up, sinking into his folds, cold against his balls and cock, and he could feel them shrivelling up, growing smaller and smaller, tucking themselves away into his fat where he’d never be able to reach them, where no one would be able to reach them, where they should just stay. He didn’t need them, he didn’t even want them.

Master Hoffson walked over, pushed him backwards into the mud and climbed on him, pinning him in the muck, his huge cock pushing itself into his soft gut, “Not even a pig–fuck no, just a hog. Worthless as a fucking man, no fucking balls at all–all you’re good for is eating and abusing, isn’t that right? That’s what you want, isn’t it? To eat? To drink? To serve? To be abused?”

Barry knew, in his head, that everything he was saying was a lie, that he didn’t–that he shouldn’t–want these things, but feeling his balls shrivel further and finally disappear, feeling his snout start drooling, he was…starving. Every hole of his was starving. Master stood up again, leaving him in the muck, walked around to his head and squatted down over Barry’s now porcine face, his hairy ass right over him, and Barry knew, what he needed. Knew what would satisfy his hunger, and he began licking at his Master’s pucker, feeling it loosen, and the shit start pouring over him, and he swallowed down as much of it as he could, the filth choking out any shame that remained in him, the desire for filth overwhelming him, dominating every last chunk of his small mind, feeling his own bladder release, piss cascading from his gunt and out over his fat thighs, shit spilling out into the mud beneath him, warm muck between his cheeks. Master Hoffson finished his load and allowed his pig to lick his crack clean, and then washed off his face with a blast of musky piss, marking him now, demonstrating to them both that this was not just any hog–but his hog. His toilet. His cumdump. And Barry no longer could conceive of wanting to be anything else.

He looked up and saw his Master had changed–no longer simply a beast, he had reclaimed his some of his humanity, even as Barry had lost his own. His cock was still slimy and inhuman, but his face had lost its snout, now merely angular and hyper-masculine, with a grin full of sharp, pointed teeth, a body coated with hair, bulging with muscle without a single trace of fat anywhere. To Barry, he was simply a god, everything he wasn’t. Everything he could never be. The only life he could imagine was one serving this god, of providing the only services he could now–as a hole. As a dump.

“Max, get the fuck up–you’re fine. No son of mine is going to let a pig control him, right?” Barry could barely lift up his head to see Max, where he’d been lying on the ground, hole wrecked, begin forcing himself up at his father’s command. “No, you’re a real man, a true beast, like me. Show this pig what he deserves–I want to see you destroy him.”

The feral anger in the bully’s eyes no longer filled Barry with fear–only with a crude desire. He wanted this beast to abuse and wreck him, wanted it more than anything. Max forced him to roll over, his body expanding with bulk, his mind filling with cruelty as his father filled him up, and he hammered his cock into Barry’s disgusting hole, and Barry squealed with pleasure, his cock forever soft, but his new ass now incredibly loose and sensitive to even the smallest probing, his fatty folds shaking and shivering with pleasure, but Max didn’t last long–after a minute and a half, he finally spasmed and exploded deep inside the pig’s filthy bowels, and tried to pull out, but Barry wasn’t satisfied. Barry wanted…more, and with a sudden motion, he clamped down his ass on Max’s cock, locking him in, even as Max, in a bit of a panic, started yanking at it, clawing at the pig’s ass, but Barry wasn’t done yet–Barry needed…more. He needed everything Max could give him, and he was going to take it, whether he wanted to give it to him or not.

Dream Camp (Part 9)

“No…No! This can’t be real, this can’t be fucking real…” Kyle muttered, unable to believe how hard his own cock was, unable to believe that he…a part of him, a growing, part of him, wanted this.

“Oh, but it is real, and it’s everything I’ve ever dreamed of,” Barry growled in his ear, with one hand, he grabbed the back of Kyle’s pants, took hold of them, and ripped them apart, revealing his lightly haired ass, and with one grimy finger he started probing inside him, licking the side of Kyle’s neck, feeling him shiver at the invasion, and push back slightly. “That’s good, real good,” Barry said, “You know, I was a bit worried about you, you know, that you might not want to join in here, but maybe you just needed a bit more work than everyone else. Still, I think we’re gonna be spending the night together, but I’m not quite tired yet–why don’t we find a way to keep you occupied until then?”

Barry looked over his shoulder, and saw the knots the fatter scouts who’d stayed back at camp had been working on, and chuckled, “Who wants to earn their ropework merit badge? Mr. Hoffson…would like to be restrained–you scouts think you can work on that for a little while?”

The chubby scouts were more than happy to do anything their ScoutMaster wanted. They grabbed the rope and hurried over, collectively pinning down the still struggling Hoffson and working on binding him tight. Barry supervised, giving advice and encouragement to his loyal scouts, and when they were finished, after an hour, Kyle Hoffson wouldn’t be going anywhere, his arms and legs behind his back in a hogtie, his balls bound up and strung up to his ankles, his muscular body crisscrossed by rope, his mouth gagged. Barry picked him up by his bound hands and feet, like a basket, listening to him groan as he tugged on his bound balls, and carried him over to the middle of camp, where any number of scouts had given into their burgeoning desires, fucking and sucking and licking out in the open, no longer able to resist each other. The scouts who had remained behind seemed to have taken on their own qualities, all of them weighing at least five hundred pounds, after sucking down as much of Alex’s milk as they could drink. Some of the musky, hairy scouts immediately gravitated to them, fondling their fatty rolls, pushing them down and mounting them, others preferring to worship their fat bodies, the chubby young men shivering with pleasure.

Barry set Kyle down on his side, hearing him sigh when the tension on his balls is lessened, and then he called Max over from where the strange mutt was busy servicing Christian by one of the firepits. Max came bounding over, eager for anything his Master might desire–and Barry pointed him to his father. “Max, why don’t you entertain your dad here for a while? Suck his cock, finger his hole, lick him clean–but don’t fuck him. I do, however, want that ass of his nice and loose by nightfall, so make sure you at least work your fist in, got it?”

Max nodded eagerly, and Kyle tried to struggle away, calling to Max, telling him to stop, to not do this, that he was his father for Christ’s sake, but Max was too far gone now to even consider obeying him, his simple, near feral mind focused on his master’s and their commands. He slobbered all over his paw like hand and started rubbing it against his father’s backdoor, gently massaging it, Kyle trying to pull away, but unable to do so without yanking his nuts and making himself nauseous, and before too long one finger was inside, and Max rewarded him by sucking his cock. Kyle sobbed, unable to believe that he was somehow hard, but the stench of musk in the air was beginning to affect him, make it harder for him to think. He fought against feeding his own son that first load, begging him to stop when he felt his balls constrict, but Max wanted it, wanted to taste his dad’s cum, wanted to see if it was as delicious as he’d always imagined it might be. He fought less during his son’s second suck, and by the third, with his boy’s feral fist buried in his hole, drilling his prostate, he had begun to beg for it, plead for it, encourage his filthy animal of a son to suck him harder.

He realized that, at some point, it had become night. The young men in their patrols had eventually grown hungry and were busy cooking their dinners, though some of the fatter young men had decided they would rather feast at the tit for the evening, and were jockeying for position in front of a quivering, milk soaked, Alex. Eric was still focused on his newest addition to the harem, molding his strange form to better serve as his one of his whores, and Barry had finally found a moment to pull his son aside and mount him next to the fire, slowly and gently, enjoying their mutual musk in the night chill. It wasn’t too much longer after that, when the campers, exhausted from a busy day, began to go off in groups to their tents for one final romp before sleep, and Barry knew it was time. “Son, I think you’re gonna have to sleep without your daddy tonight–I got some other business to attend to.”

Christian objected loudly, but Barry stood firm, consoling him with the fact that Max would sleep with him, keeping him happy all night long, but Barry, well, Barry needed some time with Kyle. His son wasn’t happy about the arrangement but he knew better than to disobey his father–so he led Max off to his tent, and Barry again picked Kyle up off the ground and carried him over to his tent, set him inside, and started untying him, but left his hands bound in front of him, his ankles bound as well, and then pulled him close, sliding Kyle onto his cock, feeling the older man sob even as he enjoyed the wonderful fullness, the hot rod buried inside him, the musk of the ScoutMaster shrouding him, making it hard to think. Barry was fighting the heat of the amulet, trying to stay awake and relish the moment, but he finally succumbed to sleep as he worked his cock in to the hilt, started snoring, and immediately began to dream.

Dream Camp (Part 6)

The troop had planned a ten mile hike for that day, around the large lake that the campground was butting up against. The hike was technically optional–Eric and Alex were going to stick around camp and work on some badge requirements with any scouts who didn’t want to go, and several of them stayed–although they were less interested in learning about knots and more desperate to latch onto Alex’s tits and suck the young man dry when they got the chance. The other adult–Saul–stuck around as well. In fact, he’d been with Eric almost all morning, his mouth latched onto his tits, spasming every few minutes as another orgasm ripped through him, his flat stomach already forming a round gut. Poor guy was gonna be stuck in Eric’s harem if he kept that up–just one more obese, empty headed titsucker, like all the others Eric kept at his home. Barry shivered a bit, thinking about how…nice that would be, to just lay around, sucking down Eric’s delicious milk, not having to think about anything else ever again…but he had Christian to think of too. Maybe…maybe when he was older, and out on his own, then maybe Barry would take Eric up on his standing offer he would occasionally try to tempt him with.

That left Barry, Kyle, Christian and most of the older scouts to go on the hike. They all made their lunches, put together their day packs, and got to the trailhead around noon. The weather had turned clear, at least, thought it was still cold and a bit blustery. Barry was thankful for his new body, however–he felt so energetic! Usually he wouldn’t have gone on a hike like this at all, because he would have collapsed before the first mile. Now, however, even though he was still very fat, he also had a much longer stride and the endurance to fuck his cock hungry boy all night long. In fact, by the end of the first mile, he didn’t feel the least bit winded–though he had begun to sweat profusely, soaking his hairy body, the pits of his uniform shirt dark with sweat, and it was hard keeping his head clear when his stinking musk kept distracting him, and making him horny as hell. Christian wasn’t helping much either, walking in front of him, swinging his chubby ass right in his dad’s face. He’d started sweating too–Barry could smell–and see–the sweat collecting in his son’s crack especially, imagining how smelly it might be, thinking about how much he wanted to shove his face in there and eat out his filthy hole.

By the time they reached the five mile marker, where they had planned on eating lunch, both Barry and Christian had their uniforms soaked to the skin, their cocks fully erect and leaking, the scouts around them all trying to keep their own heads clear in the musk of them both. Max, in particular, was in heaven. He’d…always kind of liked how guys smelled, in the locker room after practice. He’d never dared tell his dad something like that–he’d assume his tough boy was some kind of fag–but even Max had never imagined anyone could smell as good as Barry or Christian did. He…he wanted them, there was no use denying it. He wanted their sweat coating his body, he wanted to lick them clean, to bathe in their musk and cum and…and what the hell was he thinking? He wasn’t some fucking fag! Sure, he’d always…kind of wondered, but he couldn’t. His dad would kill him, if he found out Max had even thought of something like that.

Kyle called a long break for lunch, and looked around, but Barry and Christian had already thrown their packs down to the ground and were storming off into the woods, hungry for each other, Barry shoving his son up against a tree, yanking down his pants and burying his bearded face in between Christian’s ass cheeks, tongue probing his loose hole, tasting his loads of cum from earlier still leaking their way free from his ass. Christian bore down and blew a wet fart right in his father’s face, the stench hitting him like a freight train, cock spurting in his uniform pants, driving him into a frenzy of eating and licking as Christian moaned, and farted again. Barry couldn’t wait anymore, he couldn’t resist anymore. He stood up, not even realizing he was growling, shoved down his pants and rammed his cock into Christian in a single thrust. Before, he’d been horny, but still conscious of himself. This fuck however–he felt like an animal. He pulled Christian close to him, raking his nails across his fat gut, slamming his cock in deep, biting down on his shoulder, sucking at the skin, licking at it, marking him. He was his, all his. His forever. He came, a load even more massive than earlier, but kept fucking, feeling it squelch out, dribbling to the forest floor below them, one hand reaching around and milking his boy’s cock until he too shot up and down the trunk of the tree. Only then did his mind return, and he was able to pull away, legs trembling, and they collapsed together–Barry sitting against the tree, Christian in his lap between his legs, his daddy hugging him close against his belly, and they saw Max behind a tree a few yards away, watching them, cock hanging from his pants, drooling.

The amulet was warm against his hair, just like the sun, but he still had enough energy to beckon Max closer. He could see the need on his face, the reluctance, the fear and the desire. He kept stroking, Barry leaned forward and licked the side of his son’s neck, biting at his earlobe gently, never taking his eyes from Max, even as his own eyelids began to droop. He was so tired, all of a sudden, but he was coming closer, coming to them. Yeah, come on boy, come to me, come to us, where you know you belong…

Dream Camp (Part 3)

The disorientation and terror lasted for only a couple of minutes. It might have lasted longer, but the euphoria supplied by Alex’s milk made sure that neither Christian nor Barry were thinking of much for the next hour, while they drained his tits dry, both of them cumming several times over the course of their meal. Finally, however, they felt sated and sat back–both of their guts sloshing with milk, unable to believe how much they’d just consumed. Alex, too, looked a bit exhausted–he had cum several times as well, his milk production ramping up suddenly and pumping itself into both of them–that was the only way he could cum, after all, since neither of the Mendel’s had cocks, anymore. They didn’t have anything aside from a piss hole, in fact, not that they needed anything like that–their nipples gave them all the pleasure either one of them could need, after all. In fact, now that Barry was able to focus past his hunger, he saw that Alex’s nipples weren’t really nipples, but short, meaty cocks. His father’s were larger–each of the four were probably about five inches long, flaccid for the moment, but Barry knew that, at a moment’s notice, they could go hard and start leaking. He’d…tasted Eric’s milk a few times, in small doses. Too much, and he’d be an addict for the rest of his life. Alex could drink his father’s milk without worry–in fact, that was all he ate, now that Barry thought about it. Alex was still maturing–his milk not fully potent yet, hell, his second set of tits hadn’t developed to their full size, which wouldn’t happen until he was around eighteen. How Barry knew all of this, he didn’t know. How any of this was even possible, he didn’t know that either.

He looked over at Christian, who, after his momentary confusion at Alex packing on two hundred extra pounds of fat onto his body in an instant, had settled into this without further incident, like nothing strange was happening at all. Needless to say, Barry was vigilant for the rest of the ride, not daring to fall asleep again, out of fear more than anything else. After another half hour, they arrived at the campsite, and all the boys in the troop started unpacking their gear from the back of the cars. This trip was really just car camping–they were staying at a national park, though it was mostly deserted at this time of year–something Barry was thankful for, since he didn’t want this amulet affecting too many people, especially after what had just happened.

Thankfully no one was at all disturbed by the Mendels’ new appearance. In fact, most everyone treated them both normally, like they’d had plenty of time to adjust to their odd physiology. In fact, several of the scouts all took some time to suck at Alex’s tits, all of them cumming spontaneously as they did, and the other adult leaders seemed…focused on Eric: licking their lips, rubbing their gurgling guts, thinking about their own next meal. The only people who were different were The Hoffsons and the older scouts. In fact, Mr. Hoffson seemed outright hostile towards Eric, actively avoiding him, glowering at him–but Eric didn’t seem to mind, if he even noticed.

The rest of the day passed rather uneventfully–setting up camp, a few hours of free time for the scouts, which Barry and Christian spent playing cards and sucking more milk out of Alex, then it was time for dinner, some time spent around the campfire, and then bedtime. Barry and Christian were bunking together in one of Mr. Mendel’s very nice tents he’d bought for the patrol, and Barry finally found an opportunity to ask Christian what was wrong. His friend had spent the entire day in a funk, but he hadn’t seemed particularly willing to open up around anyone. Barry didn’t want to force him to talk about it, but he couldn’t help being worried.

“My…Dad left,” Christian said after a moment of silence.

“What do you mean?”

“My mom…well, the court has been siding with her, and my dad, he just left. No one knows where. I mean, it’s just…”

“You liked him better.”

“That’s not really fair, I know, but…yeah.”

“He didn’t tell you where he was going? At all?”

Christian shook his head, his eyes tearing up, “I thought, I mean, I guess I just thought that, if he was going to leave, he’d…like, tell me. Or take me…I mean, he couldn’t just take me, I couldn’t just leave with him, but he didn’t…tell me anything. One day he’s going to pick me up on Wednesday like usual, and then he doesn’t even show up, and he’s just gone. I…I thought he cared more about me than that.”

“I’m sure he cares about you, Christian,” Barry said, but it was clear from his friend’s eyes that his words were no real comfort.

Christian didn’t reply, he just climbed into his sleeping bag and turned out his flashlight, but neither of them slept for a while. Christian was sobbing as quietly as he could, and Barry was pretending not to hear him. He didn’t notice the amulet warming up again, against his chest, pulling him down into another slumber, and into another dream.