Dream Camp (Part 2)

After the pack check and more ribbing from some of the older scouts about his size, the troop split themselves up into small groups paired with the adult leaders, so they could all carpool to the campground. The older boys all climbed into Mr. Hoffson’s SUV. Barry ended up in a car with two other scouts–Alex Mendel and Christian Brooke–driven by Alex’s father, Eric Mendel. The three of them were all in the same patrol, but while Barry was good friends with Christian, Alex was rather cool towards him. Then again, Alex and his dad were cool towards everyone. The Mendel’s were one of the wealthier families in the troop–Eric worked at a tech start-up that was raking in capital, but he loved the outdoors as only a tech guy could, always buying the latest and fanciest gear for him and his son, and even financed new equipment for the rest of the troop as well. Alex thought the money made his farts not stink, but at least he wasn’t cruel. Christian was overweight himself, and his parents weren’t very involved in scouts. Well, his parents weren’t involved in much–they spent most of their energy tussling in divorce court. Christian liked camping because it was at least a few days away from his parents without having to stress about money, custody, or anything else a teenager shouldn’t have to deal with.

Alex was in the passenger seat, leaving Christian and Barry in the back. It was clear from the dour look on Christian’s face that it had been a bad week with his mom or dad, and didn’t feel like talking. The Mendels were engaged in their own conversation, and Barry realized he’d left his snacks in his pack, and so he was left to stare out the window at the passing scenery, one hand gripping the amulet around his neck…and he realized it felt…warm. Warmer than it should be, from just being close to him. Even though he knew that should concern him, for some reason it just felt…comforting. The amulet had felt warm like that before, on those nights before he’d had those dreams, but that had been in the evening, but right now it was the middle of the morning. Part of him unburied the worries that he’d been having all week about the necklace–mostly the fact that he really had no idea how the thing worked. He knew that it made his dreams come true…loosely. The dreams had, so far, always involved him and the people around him nearby. He’d been pleased with the results, but it wasn’t like the dreams were things he’d…planned. Like the night before last, when out of nowhere he’d dreamed his mom had a cock and was fucking his dad, and woken up to discover she’d become a…well, a hermaphrodite. Not…Not that there was anything wrong with that, he told himself. Hell, his dad loved it, but…it had been unexpected.

He gripped his necklace tighter in his hand, feeling the warmth permeate his fist and spread into his body, making his eyes droop. Was he still sleepy from the morning, or…was the amulet making him tired? At least he wasn’t thinking as much about how hungry he was. Mid-morning naps had never really been his thing, but he was definitely tired. It was about a two and a half hour drive to the campground, so he had plenty of time for a little rest, right? He should stop worrying so much. Everything…everything was going to be…just fine…

A rumble in his guts. He was…somewhere. Indoors. Featureless, dark walls. Not much light. Doorways, but no doors. No hallways between rooms. He’s looking…looking for food, but he also knows the place is empty. Barren. He sees someone leave a room as he enters it, he chases them. Gets a better glimpse–Alex Mendel, but he’s different. Fatter. A gut, but a huge chest, full moobs jiggling. Naked, naked and running, and he…he has food, somehow Barry knows. Smell, he can smell it. Chasing him, but can’t quite keep up, he won’t slow down. Barry gives up, exhausted, so hungry now, but he can still smell the food. Looks up and there, there is Mr. Mendel. Taller, obese–with tits. Two pairs, hanging down, swollen nipples, something running down…down his fat front, something sweet smelling, he’s gesturing him closer. Barry is salivating, latches onto a nipple and starts sucking, pulling out the sweet delicious milk, something tasting between cream and cum, eyes rolling back in pleasure, Mr. Mendel stroking his head, telling him to drink as much as he’d like. Other’s now, more coming, latching onto the tits, fighting for position, he feels buried, full, eager, hungry–

Barry woke with a start, flailing for space in the car, before realizing where he was, and where he’d fallen asleep, his heart racing. What in the hell was that? These dreams had only been getting stranger, but that one lingered with him, especially that smell. Sickly sweet and yet musky–it had him drooling. He looked up, and saw Alex leaning across the middle of the front seat, his mouth wrapped around one of his father’s nipples, sucking, milk leaking out the corner of his mouth, Barry’s jaw dropped. Ripped from his dream, Eric Mendel was easily five hundred pounds, nearly all of it concentrated in his chest of four, leaking tits. Barry could smell it, and he…he wanted it. Drool leaking out of his mouth, but his throat was too dry to speak. He saw Alex glance back at him, sensing his desire, and he pulled away from his father’s nipple.

“Somebody woke up hungry,” Alex said, and pulled his own shirt off, revealing a fat body. Like his father, Alex saw four nipples, but only two breasts had filled in. Still, Barry unbuckled his seatbelt and lunged forward, wrapping his lips around Alex’s nipple. His milk was sweeter, not nearly as musky as his father’s, but Barry had no interest in objecting, his cock swelling, his hands helplessly reaching into his uniform pants to stroke his big cock off, pleasure overwhelming him, the amulet still hot against his skin.

How about you, Christian?” Alex said, one hand under his other breast, “Want some, big boy?”

Barry glanced to the side as best he could and saw Christian now drooling as well, his eyes filled with confusion but his mouth already pulling him closer, and he took Alex’s other nipple, both of them sucking, Alex groaning and moaning with pleasure, his father egging him on, Christian and Barry helplessly jacking off as they fed. A more interesting camping trip indeed, Barry thought as he spasmed, blowing a massive wad of cum across the center console, and wondering what in the hell he’d gotten himself into.

Dream Camp (Part 1)

It was the camping trips that were the worst. Barry could handle the rest of the whole scouting thing–hell, some of it was even kind of fun, like learning about plants and animals, and survival skills–but it was the camping that he hated. Not the act of camping itself, of course, but it was…well, why beat around the bush? He was fat. Seventeen years old and over three hundred and fifty pounds didn’t exactly fit the usual model for a scout, and pretty much everyone in his troop was happy to remind him of that. He got pranked almost every camping trip somehow–the worst was a few months ago, when some of his fellow campers decided to rub poison ivy on his face while he slept. It didn’t help that the scoutmaster, Mr. Hoffson, turned a blind eye to the bullying, mostly because his son, Max, was the ringleader and Barry’s principal torturer. Hell, he’d tried to tell his parents that he wanted to quit, but both of them were adamant that he stick to it. As his dad often said, “If he was tired of getting bullied, then he should just lose some weight,” like it was that simple. To be honest, Barry liked being fat–hell, he more than liked being fat, he wanted to be fatter, and he found fat guys hot as hell, not that he could tell anyone that, of course. This weekend’s camping trip though, this weekend would be very, very different–thanks to the amulet he’d bought from that old woman at that flea market last weekend–hell, things had already changed for the better.

His dad pulled the car into the parking lot of the school, most of the other scouts were already assembled with their packs out, getting ready for their pack inspection. Barry opened the door and hopped out and went around the back of the car, opening the back and getting out his backpack, while his father opened the driver side door and started the process of hefting is now six hundred pound bulk out from behind the wheel, where he’d lodged it. Now, his dad had only been this massive behemoth for about a week now, but no one gave him a second look. As far as everyone else was concerned, including his dad, he’d always been that fat. He lumbered back around to where Barry was, waiting, pack on the pavement, huffing a bit. “Alright son, have a good weekend, I’ll miss you.”

“Heh, don’t worry dad, you have plenty of dildos for that hungry ass of yours to work on, and mom’s always happy to fuck you too.”

“Yeah, I know, but I’ll always prefer my big boy’s huge cock in my hole,” he said, and groped Barry’s crotch, feeling the thick, eleven inch cock Barry recently acquired. “Make sure you get enough to eat now–I don’t want you losing any weight, alright?”

“Don’t worry dad, I’ll be fine.”

“And don’t let those other boys give you a hard time either, they’re just bullies with tiny cocks.”

“Heh, I think I’ll be fine this weekend dad, I’m not too worried.”

“Alright,” his dad said, smiling over his three chins, “I’d better get back home–mom’ll be angry if I miss breakfast.”

“Yeah, go eat–wish I could join you!” Barry said, gave his huge dad a big hug and watched him get back into the minivan, still amazed at what the amulet had done, and he gripped it with his hand. The amulet of his dreams–literally. He’d fallen asleep, and dreamed he was getting fatter–and when he woke up, he had been. That’s all it was, the first few nights, him packing on the pounds, but then he dreamed that his muscular dad was a gainer too. The next, that his dad was a total bottom for his son’s huge cock. It didn’t seem to work every single night, but often enough that he had a good feeling about this trip; he hefted his pack up onto one shoulder and joined the rest of the troop.

It was late fall, and the weather had turned sour and rainy over the last few weeks. It looked like a decent chunk of the troop had decided to bow out for the weekend–there were only about twelve people gathered in the parking lot–three adults leaders and eleven scouts, including Barry. The scoutmaster Mr. Hoffson and his son Max were there of course–they always were. Max was a few years older than he was, and his main bully in the troop, along with a few other older kids who followed him around like a puppy. Usually this would have been the worst trip imaginable–leaving Friday and coming home Sunday morning–three days and two nights–but that length of time suddenly had Barry excited. One or two good dreams–and who knew what might happen.

“Yo, lardass, are you coming or not?” Max shouted at him, “This could have actually been a good weekend if you hadn’t shown up. Sure you don’t want to go home and stuff yourself with your lardass dad?”

He really would rather be at home, fucking his fat dad while his mom stuffed their faces, but he had business to attend to first. “Nah, let’s get going–I have a feeling this is going to be a great weekend.”

Neighborhood Pub (Sketch)

“Hey! Faggot! Why don’t you get fucking lost? Ain’t no guy here wanna have you round, lookin’ at us like that,” Nick puffed up his chest and got in the stranger’s face, leering at him. No one knew who this fucker was–the pub here was really only frequented by guys from the neighborhood, guys who’d know each other for years. Sure, the occasional stranger would slip in, but they got the idea pretty quick that new folks weren’t very welcome in there. But this guy, he hadn’t gotten the hint at all this evening, and worse, it was clear the guy was a total faggot.

He was an older guy. He’d shown up a few hours previously, and ordered a beer with a bit of a lisp and the bat of an eye from Sammy, the bartender. Usually Sammy wouldn’t even bother serving freaks like this, but for some reason he’d just given the guy the beer he’d wanted, and the fucker had just made himself at home. Very, very at home. He’d spent the night wandering around the pub, busting into other people’s conversations so he could flirt and feel up the local guys…and for some reason no one was doing anything about it! Well Nick had had enough of this clown–he’d throw him out himself, since no one else could bear to do it, for some reason.

The stranger grinned at Nick, and moved in closer, pushing his gut into him. The man was older, balding, sweaty and hairy. At some point he’d lost his shirt, so nothing covered his ugly fat beyond two suspenders keeping up his pants. Nick’s first instinct was to recoil, but he wouldn’t give him the…the satisfaction of knowing he was…was scared or…or turned on…or…if he pushed closer, into the man’s gut, maybe the strange butterflies fluttering in his gut would go away. They didn’t they got worse, but that was alright, and something…something about the way the man smelled, something was…was so…good.

The bar had grown quiet. No one had known what to make of the man, no one had been able to resist him, and terrified, no one had dared challenge him. They had all secretly hoped that if they just…let him feel up their bodies, and lick their necks, and whisper…horribly, sexy things in their ears, that maybe…maybe he would leave them in some kind of peace. But Nick–fucking hotheaded Nick–the man ran one hand over Nick’s stubbly face, watching his jaw droop, eyes turning glassy. The stranger put his hand on the top of Nick’s head and applied a gentle pressure, the bar watching as he dropped to one knee, and then both, the man guiding his face to his crotch, where Nick began grinding his face into the man’s crusty jeans.

He had no control. He couldn’t…couldn’t stop himself, didn’t want to stop himself. He could…could see…visions, in his mind. Of himself, but…but different. He was wearing something…shiny and black, all over his body. It looked like rubber, but so…so reflective, black, but with yellow. Yellow…like piss. Fuck, like piss! He felt the warmth in his crotch as his bladder released into the front of his pants, running down both thighs to the floor of the pub. Everyone else could smell it too, they could smell it, and they were growing…growing hungrier, like when they’d all first smelled the stranger, and they could see what Nick was now–a urinal, a fucking tool, a dump for them to use and abuse as they wanted. The man undid his fly, pointing his cock at Nick’s face, who waited patiently, the puddle growing around his knees until the man released his own piss, and Nick drank down as much as he could, feeling everything he couldn’t get down soaking his body, his clothes so…wet now. It would be so much better if he was wearing rubber, all rubber, all the time, for…for the rest of his life, yeah, a rubber urinal, just an object.

The man finished, Nick kissed the head of his cock, and started licking up his own piss from the floor of the pub, the weaker willed men around him standing up and walking towards him, their own bladders begging to be emptied, and the man drifted off to other men, toying with them, slowly for the rest of the night, and he never returned to the pub again…not that he needed to. The pub was…different from that day on. Every man from the neighborhood would come dressed in leather and rubber, most of them smoking, all of them constantly horny. New men were always welcome–none of them could resist the heady, musky smell of the place for long, all of them ended up going home with some other patron of the club to discover the new desires brewing in their guts. Nick, however, lived in the bathroom, chained to the floor. He’d grown fatter, his gut massive, stretching the rubber bodysuit he now wore to the limit. He hadn’t left the room in months, but Sammy took good care of him, making sure he got all the nutrition he needed and stripping him out of the suit once a week to hose down his fat, and shave his body smooth. It was up to the rest of the bar to keep him full of piss and cum, to keep him happy, forever.

Mr. Lear’s Buddy (Part 3)

Things were different for Buddy from then on, when he finally woke early Saturday afternoon, from his very long sleep. He’d…tried to resist. He really had, at first, but once he’d understood how…how good it could feel, how wonderful it was to have someone like Mr. Lear inside him, guiding him, controlling him, it was easier to just…let go. Together, Mr Lear and Buddy spent the next hour or so jacking off–for real now–exploring his young, husky body, Buddy amazed at the range of pleasure the old man could bring out in him. Sure, he’d jacked off before, but it had never felt like…like this. It was no wonder people jacked off so much, if you knew what you were doing, of course. And Mr. Lear had shown him that Buddy had no idea at all, what he was doing. He’d just been…floundering all this time, in desperate need of someone’s help. Well now he didn’t have to do anything at all. Mr. Lear would do everything for him! All he had to do was go along for the ride.

He felt a bit bad for his dad, however. He eventually came up to his son’s room to investigate the moaning he’d heard, over the din of the television downstairs. He opened the door, and was appalled at what he saw–his son covered in his own cum, jacking off openly under his roof like some…some fucking faggot! Buddy’s dad wasn’t all that much brighter than his son. He hadn’t even managed to graduate high school, ending up working away his life in construction. he was a big brute, heavily muscled with a thick full beard–it didn’t take much effort for Mr. Lear to have him on top of his own son, drooling, licking up the cum from his skin, disgusted with himself at his own actions but unable to do anything to stop himself.

But what to do with him? Such a horrible little man couldn’t be allowed to just continue being…horrible, after all. Mr. Lear started by stealing most of his cock. Buddy had been modestly endowed–around four inches, his father was a bit larger, at six. Together, however, Buddy’s body was wielding a ten inch, incredibly thick cock, and his father was left with not even a dicklet, but a dimple and a hole. He was humiliated at the sight of himself–which gave Mr. Lear a horrid idea–so he forced his new father to take any number of pictures of himself, in all sorts of demeaning positions and in his wife’s underwear, and made him start posting them online–his face exposed of course. He couldn’t stand it, but the thrill for him was so powerful, he started compulsively oozing from his new cumhole.

Mr. Lear had no real interest in returning to school–he already had enough knowledge to satisfy multiple PhDs, but his new body needed at least a high school diploma. When Buddy suddenly stopped failing classes, some of his teachers thought it was a miracle–the hopeless student, not just uncaring, but too stupid to really know what caring was–suddenly improved. Was he cheating? No one could prove anything–but some of the teachers found out the truth, soon enough.

Mr. Sonders, for example. He was easily the fattest teacher at the school, weighing in close to six hundred pounds, though this year he’d resolved to lose as much of it as he could–at least until Buddy’s body showed up at his desk one day after school. Mr. Sonders, Buddy discovered, had been Mr. Lear’s pet piggy–and while he put up quite a fight against falling back under his master’s control, he was soon crawling around the floor, squealing and oinking, begging his master’s forgiveness for daring to lose any of the weight he’d worked so hard to gain. In a matter of months, he was larger than ever, and as punishment he could no longer cum without his mouth packed with food–or a cock.

The football coach was equally unhappy to discover Mr. Lear was back from the grave, but he too, was back to his old habits before too long–no longer showering or changing his clothes, licking out the locker room urinals and toilets after practice, wetting the bed each night in his bachelor pad, since his wife had long since left him after his hygiene had first slipped. One thing that was unforgivable, however, was that he had shaved off his long, grungy beard, and cut his hair. As penance, his hair began growing incredibly fast–he had his old beard back by graduation, and it would only be getting longer–and filthier.

Buddy had no real hope of getting into college, of course–not with his abysmal track record in school. That didn’t seem to bother him, however, and he took on a conveniently open janitorial position at his old high school, and moved out on his own, into Mr. Lear’s still vacant house. After a few months, his father and mother divorced–his photos had finally been found online by his wife and work buddies. He was forced to quit his job out of shame, and move in with his son as his personal maid and slave. The brute spent his days in woman’s panties and heels, but Mr Lear forced him to work out even more and start juice up, turning him into a massive muscle monster bottom, filming slutty, humiliating videos for his online fans…and that was the last Buddy saw of him…of anything, actually.

He’d been fading for a while now, as Mr. Lear took over more and more space up in his mind. Before too long, even he wasn’t sure he existed anymore–when Mr. Lear finally convinced him that his existence was simply an impossibility, he finally winked out entirely, leaving his body to his Master, for the rest of his new life.

Breaking Point (Part 6)

All Leon could do was watch. Watch as the homeless bum he’d picked up out of some alley sucked down all of his old life. The years on the street hadn’t been kind to him, but the exhaustion, the hunger, the addiction, it began to fade away. His hair and beard pulled themselves back into his face, which was becoming less lined with wrinkles, turning firm as the bones of his jaws and cheek grew harder and masculine. His flabby belly shrank as his chest expanded–not with fat, but with all of Leon’s lean, developed muscle from his years in the gym and out on the field, or rather, Ned’s years.

Those were his memories now–that was his life. I’d given this man a second chance, and from the look in his eyes, the hope there, I knew that he would do something better with it than Leon ever would have in a hundred years. The cigar was dwindling; my cock had revived and I was taking a second round on Leon’s hole, harder and faster this time. The pig still couldn’t believe what he was seeing, that his hopes had been dashed so utterly. I could see him struggling to reassemble that broken ego, but he could no longer convince himself that this would be temporary. I could feel him freeze up as I thrust into him, trying to not enjoy himself as I’d conditioned him to, trying to reject this body, this life I’d given him. It was only supposed to be temporary, a midsummer’s dream. How could this have happened to someone like him?

The cigar burnt down to the size it had been back in the trailer, when I’d taken everything Leon had ever held dear, and extinguished itself. Ned, blinking like waking from a trance, pushed off the lethargy and stood up from the chair, running his hands over his hard muscle, feeling the youth and power in his chest and gut, walked to a mirror, chuckling–then laughing. A happy laugh, if a bit maniacal. You’d be a bit crazy too, if it happened to you. I finished for a second time in Leon’s pighole, pulled out, and undid the chains holding him in place. I told Ned that he was free to go, but that if he still wanted that second thousand dollars, all he had to do was allow this fat, worthless pig to service him–one last taste of the life he’d taken for granted before saying goodbye to it forever. Ned was more than happy to take the money–Leon was resistant, but an order from me was impossible to deny. He sucked down the young hunk’s load, and then I caged him up, leaving him there in the dungeon while I drove Ned home, so he could get ready for college that next week. He was…incredibly thankful. I told him to just appreciate it–to treasure it as a true second chance. Then I returned home.

In the cage, Leon was sitting, knees pulled to his belly, eyes hollow and and distant. When I came down the steps, the tears started again, but I could tell, this time, finally, they were fearful. Good. He should be afraid. He finally asked, through the tears, what was going to happen next–I unlocked the cage, ordered him out, bound him to a chair and put the mask over his head. He knew the mask well, from the hours of forced smoking before–when I would pack cigar after cigar into the air tube, choking him out with smoke. Once he was secure, I was–for the first time–honest with him. I was going to destroy him. I had destroyed him, in fact, but now I was going to erase him, eradicate him, pulverize his entire personality, all of his memories, to dust. All that would remain, at the end, was a perfect, disgusting, loyal pigslave.

Oh, he fought, of course. No one can help fighting their death. I had selected the cigars ahead of time–two dozen of them. The first seven would obliterate him–his memories, his will power, his ego–the rest would build something marvelous in their place. And marvelous he was–no more inhibitions, no more shame, no more petty humanity. He could behave normally enough at work and in public, but as soon as he was alone with me, he’d collapse to his knees, oinking and squealing, begging for food, piss, cock, filth–anything to validate himself in my eyes. A perfect pet–but I’ve grown a bit bored with him over these last four years, to be honest. Still Ned is finishing college next month, and I think he deserves a proper graduation present. Who, in their right mind, wouldn’t want the perfect pig, after all? Perfectly broken, that is.

Breaking Point (Part 5)

It was the end of August–the Friday night when, in his old life, Leon would have been finishing up all of his college packing, and getting ready for college orientation next week. Instead, after spending the week working on the site, finishing up friday completely coated with mud and filth–as usual–the guys on the site gathered around him for his weekly shower, pissing some of the muck away while he grunted and snorted, trying to deny the fact that he was enjoying this, sucking down cigar smoke as he did. But he was grinning for a different reason–I’d been hinting that I’d felt like he’d seen the light, that I’d be willing to give him back his life. When he was done with his shower, I went into my trailer, opened the safe, and pulled out the cigar that contained all of his old life, and slipped it into my pocket. He saw me, of course–he thought better than to ask when I’d let him smoke it, but the way he held his head high…he was certain everything was going to sort out right in the end. He’d have his old life back, the one he “deserved”–yeah right.

He expected us to drive straight home; instead, we drove into town. He probably thought we were going to a club–I’d started taking the pig out in public, to a few bathhouses and leather clubs, where I’d rent out his mouth and ass. I have to give him credit–as much as he hated his body, this life as my pig–he relished the attention. He’d found…a bit of a calling, in fact, in his new desires, not that he dared admit that to me.But tonight, we kept going, past the club district, down to a…less friendly part of the city, and I gave him a task–that the first thing he’d have to do, his first task to prove to me that he was ready–was he’d have to find a some poor homeless soul willing to let Leon suck his cock, and bring him back to the car so I could talk to them.

Finding guys off the street willing to get their cock sucked wasn’t difficult–but I had veto authority. Each one he brought back that I didn’t feel…fit the picture I had in my mind, I’d make Leon suck them off as promised, in the cab of my truck, and then send him off to find another. Finally, he returned with someone I felt was worthy. He looked like he’d been on the streets for quite a few years, hair and beard overgrown and ragged, but in the old man’s eyes–I could see…worth. It’s difficult to explain, perhaps it was just intuition. I told the man that I’d like him to come home with me for a thousand dollars up front, for a night, and a thousand dollars more if he helped me with my pig. He was wary, but he wasn’t willing to turn down an offer like that. He piled in–it was hard to decide who stank more–Leon or the derelict–Leon of course couldn’t figure out why this guy was returning home with us. This weekend, after all, was supposed to be about him. About his redemption. This fucker had nothing to do with him, so he thought.

Back at the house, I got the guy’s name–Ned–offered him a drink, and said I had to get my pig ready. He was happy enough to drink a straight from the whisky bottle, and I led Leon down into the dungeon in my cellar, where I told him the next part of his final punishment would take place. I got him bound standing, arms pulled high, legs spread wide, and gagged him quiet. Then I went back upstairs and invited Ned downstairs. I pulled a chair over in front of Leon, had Ned sit facing him, and he was obviously confused. I reassured him–and offered him a cigar. He tried to refuse, but I insisted, placing it between Ned’s bearded lips, and lighting it for him. He took an inhale, and it was clear he enjoyed it–then again, who wouldn’t enjoy the taste of youth and vitality when you’ve had neither in decades?

Ned slouched back in the chair a bit, breathing deeply off the cigar. Each time he exhaled, there wasn’t nearly enough smoke–he was absorbing almost everything he took in, just like I’d hoped would happen. Now that he was relaxed, I took some scissors and began cutting his clothes away from his body–it was a few minutes into that process that Leon, behind me, began to realize that something was amiss, and started struggling and snorting, hoping to get my attention. I made him squirm for a few minutes, until I made sure Ned was comfortable, and then walked over to where Leon was rattling his chains like a needy prince.

He couldn’t speak, but I knew what he wanted to ask, from his gestures and the desperation in his eyes. So I told him the truth, finally. That I didn’t think he’d earned his life back, but that I hadn’t wanted his opportunities to go to waste, languishing away in my safe. So I figured I might as well give them to someone else, who would probably get more out of them than Leon ever would.

He was sobbing, he was yanking on the chains hard enough to bruise his wrists, and all I could think about was how hard my cock was, watching him crumble–I walked behind him, and slipped my cock into his ass, fucking him slow while we watched Ned suck down Leon’s life in that cigar…and he broke. He broke…completely, into tiny pieces. He couldn’t even hold himself up–he just went limp in his chains, staring at Ned, tears streaming down his face, making paths through the mud crusted there, and dripping onto the concrete below. He was mine. I’d broken him, and that made him mine, and when I came, oh fuck, but I wasn’t done yet, oh fucking no, I wasn’t done yet–

Breaking Point (Part 4)

I told Leon that if he could prove to me that he deserved to have his life back, then he’d get it back at the end of the August and go off to college, just like he’d imagined. I don’t think he quite realized the power I had over him at that point, not right away. Up to that point, other people had always felt incidental to him–just figments of agents that he could ignore at will, who had no real impact on his desired course through the world. He’d always simply expected other people to move from his past. The collision with someone like me–who had not only the desire, but also the ability to oppose him, was incomprehensible in the immediate aftermath of this new body. Still, he began to understand I putt him through a few paces in the trailer, while the rest of the crew carried on working outside, finishing shortly before quitting time. That was when he realized he wouldn’t be going home to his parents–to his room, to his friends. Instead, I informed him he’d be staying with me for the time being–and that he’d best behave himself, or he could kiss that future of his goodbye.

I live in a small house a good ways out of town on a couple acres of property–enough to assure myself a good measure of privacy. I had several guest rooms (and a rather cozy dungeon in the cellar) but Leon wasn’t a guest, he was a pig–meaning he got to sleep on a dog bed out in the garage. Meaning he had to be naked in the house at all times. Meaning he had to be ready for me whenever I desired him, and willing to perform whatever sick tasks I might have in mind. I gave him a week to get adjusted to his living arrangements and new body, before I ramped up his training.

I taught him to take pain and enjoy it. I forced him into bondage for hours on end. I taught him to drink piss and eat out my nasty crack after a good, long shit. He obeyed me both because he had to, and because he was becoming increasingly desperate to have his old life back. Finally, that cold demeanor was beginning to crack, the reality of the fact that he could do nothing other than submit wearing him down slowly but surely. I hurried him along a bit, by forcing him to serve his co-workers as well, quickly graduating him to our communal urinal, toilet paper and cumdump at the worksite. He was forbidden to shower, wear anything other than my dirtiest laundry (which fit his obese frame rather poorly) or shave, and soon stank to high heaven of piss, sweat and cum. The loss of testosterone from his now puny balls gave him a thin, patchy beard that only made him look older and more grungy as it became crusted with filth.

Finally–finally! He broke.

It was the middle of August, on the weekend. The weekends were particularly grueling for him–on purpose of course. I generally kept him in bondage for long periods of time, and at this point I had also fit him into chastity–although finding a cage small enough for his now puny cock was a challenge in itself. It was time for dinner, and I released him from the cage I’d decided he’d spend the day caged in, and he seemed…more reserved, somehow. I made him crawl behind me into the kitchen, where he found I had brought in a trough–and I dumped a pot of cold slop into it, telling him to eat up.

He broke out in sobs. Massive, heaving sobs. It wasn’t the greatest humiliation he’d suffered by far, but it was somehow a sign of how far he’d fallen. He started pleading and begging with me, telling me he was sorry, that he didn’t know how he could make it up to me, that he just wanted it to stop, that he couldn’t take another day of this. I listened. I let him poor his heart out, but soon all I could feel was my rock hard cock. When he’d run out of words, I ordered him to eat–watching his eyes go wide in terror–but he couldn’t resist. I got down behind him and started fucking his loose hole, letting the rough fuck tell him what I had no interest in saying, no interest in his revelations. That I was as unfeeling towards his exhaustion and terror as he’d been towards everyone for his entire life. That tears wouldn’t move me. That his understanding of needing to be punished wouldn’t absolve him from his due punishment.

If he’d just suffered, I probably would have let him go, but later that night, he asked me about the end of August, when he might get his life back. His…arrogance, to even ask…I told him to wait a couple of weeks, but I was…so furious, at him even daring to ask, at his…perhaps that was the ultimate cruelty, letting him keep believing, but I couldn’t let that stand. Seeing him break, it only partially, only made me want to drive him even deeper. I wanted to see him suffer more than anything now, and I couldn’t…stop fantasizing, about this idea I’d had. I’d planned it, in case he didn’t give in…but I’d never done something like this, Then again, I’d never dealt with someone like Leon. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve dealt with horrible young men as cruel as he is–a good number of them were still employed with me, to this day. But I’d never…something in him, in his cocky resistance, in his confidence that even now he’d eventually be free of me, of all of this, even though there was nothing–nothing–he could feasibly do…it was a high I couldn’t deny myself, and I wanted to see that little meek castle crumble to dust. Did he deserve it, really? Probably no one did–but Leon needed it. I needed it, and it would be…perfect.

Breaking Point (Part 3)

I toyed with him for a bit. Helped him explore his body, experience it a bit, kneading his fat, jiggling it, giving him a better idea of what had happened to him, lifting his head up and helping him see what had happened to him, but he went with denial. I had just drugged him, and he was hallucinating. None of this was possible, in his mind. That’s an understandable reaction, but his denial was rooted not in confusion–but instead from a place of utter narcissism. He simply couldn’t conceive something like this could possibly happen to him, he was so confident in his invulnerability. It was…so aggravating.

I admit, a good amount of the pleasure I get from this work is in seeing them break. The late breakers, I love them because the eventual disaster of their ego is so total, once it hits them, that it’s so much more satisfying. I’ve encountered this same narcissism before, of course, but the amount of work it takes, for these assholes like Leon, to really destroy them? It sometimes feels like more effort than it’s worth. I couldn’t very well slow down now, however. If I backed off, then he’d only grow ever more insufferable to everyone he ever encountered in the future, and I couldn’t do that to them. I was this far already, so I’d just have to keep going.

I had toyed with him long enough, now, that he had assumed that this would be the extent of his changes–so when I got back down in front of him and wrapped my lips around the cigar once more, he began demanding to know what I was doing. I toyed with the easy route for a moment–I could simply pull out his narcissism, his sense of victory, his confidence that the world would eventually always right itself in his favor, but what would that accomplish? It would still exist, in the cigar, ready to be inhaled by whoever smoked it. No, it would have to be extinguished in some other way. I inhaled deep, and pulled out his heterosexuality. Another inhale, I pulled away his dominant spirit and ability to disobey. And finally, with a massive breath, I tugged at his youth and began syphoning it away from him and storing it away in the expanding cigar.

But how much to take? How much would be enough? For someone like this fucker, it would have to be substantial. He had no real idea what was happening at first, it always starts as this sudden fatigue of the spirit, but the physical reality comes chasing on the heels. I could see his bush start lightening to a faded grey, the same with the light dusting of hair that remained on his massive belly. His face grew lined and creased, hair receding back until all that remained was a horseshoe cropped short. Jowls sagged onto multiple chins, and the rest of his fat lost it’s support, and also began to droop in folds around him where he sat, no longer firm.

That was enough, I figured–besides, I had almost nothing else to work with. The cigar had nearly overtaken his entire cock, leaving him with a one inch nub buried inside his gunt. His balls were so small that his sack could barely be distinguished from his fat. I pulled the cigar away and slid the band down to the middle, feeling it secure everything I had taken from Leon in place until I needed it later.

I showed him the cigar then, and told him what it was. Everything I had taken from him–it could be his again, all he had to do was smoke it. I could see him trying to make his hands work properly to grab for it, but I just laughed, went to the safe in my trailer and locked the cigar inside, telling him that if he was a good piggy he could have his old life back at the end of the summer, but for right now, his boss had other needs. The paralysis had began to wear off, and I told him to get over here and suck my cock. I didn’t help him—he tumbled from the chair, no longer able to resist a direct order from me (well, from anyone, in fact) and crawled weakly to where I was standing, fat dragging on the floor. I could see the disgust in his face–he hadn’t realized just how much I had taken from him. He…wanted to suck me off. He wanted to obey my orders. It felt good, all of a sudden, and that betrayal did more to unseat his confidence than anything. He was being betrayed by his own body–and seeing that happen right in front of my eyes, well, I didn’t last long, I can tell you that.

After he swallowed down my cum, I gave him a handful of normal cigars, telling him he’d be smoking them non-stop from now on. He immediately lit one up, trying to suck down too much smoke, and coughing it back up immediately. While he coughed, I told him that he wouldn’t be able to go back home, not looking how he was. His parents and friends wouldn’t even recognize him, if he tried to find them. As far as the world was concerned, his old self had never existed, but he would still need somewhere to stay. Thankfully, I had a solution. I knew Leon wouldn’t like it, of course, but what did that matter? To get him to the breaking point, he needed to be lowered further still, so when the full scope of his new life struck, well, it would be all the sweeter for me.

Breaking Point (Part 2)

For the next couple of weeks, I decided to just let Leon stew, and see what happened with his attitude. Of course, there was nothing he could do about his new mud obsession–every time it rained, he was stuck rolling around in the puddle the entire time, while the rest of the crew all looked on, chuckling, and the only way he could release himself was a fuck from yours truly.

Things usually go in one of two directions from this point–either they break, or the fight. Well, let me clarify. They either break early, or they break late. Early breakers–they can put up with the humiliation for about a week, before they finally beg me to let up on them. I’m generally an accommodating boss–besides, having one of my crew rolling around in mud all afternoon isn’t exactly productive, so we sit down, have a chat, and come to an…agreement. Or rather, I dictate a more permanent, but limited punishment, and they accept because they have no real choice in the matter, now do they?

But late breakers–they have pride. Or maybe not pride, exactly, but a certain masculine confidence. If given a choice between a forced humiliation, and a conscious surrender to me, they’ll take the former any day. Something in them doesn’t let them submit willingly–at least not right away. See, no one can last forever. They all think they can, but there’s always something that breaks their spirit eventually. I knew from the start that Leon would be a late breaker–but I waited a few weeks just to confirm. Every day, he fought the compulsion to get in the mud. Everyday he refused to ask for my cock, refused to be fucked in front of anyone else, even when it meant staying the night at the site in the mud, which he did a couple of times.

You might think I’d find this frustrating. In fact, I love late breakers–they’re so much more fun in the long run. They have no power, and yet they continue to delude themselves, allowing me to do whatever I’d like to them in the meantime. But what should I do to Leon? One evening as I fucked him, I listened to him reassure himself that none of this mattered–not really. That come fall, he’d be off at college and he’d be successful, and that nothing here would matter in the least. It would all just be history–that there was nothing I could do to him that would change that. I laughed, and knew exactly what to do next.

The next day, I invited him back into my trailer, telling him I wanted to have a chat about his attitude, and see if he was ready to improve himself or not. As expected, he had no interest in even admitting that anything he did was questionable or rude. Still, the smoke from my special ciagr was getting to him already, and I helped him into a chair–after stripping off his clothes. Unlike before, when he’d been in a daze, this time he was fully aware of what was going on, but he couldn’t move his body an inch–completely paralyzed and at my mercy. I picked up a cigar butt from my ashtray, stroked his cock hard–it was a sizable ten inch cock, and I knew he was proud of it–pushed the ash end to the cock head, and secured it in place with a cigar band. He, of course, had no idea what to make of this. I got down, put my lips to the tip of the butt, focused, and inhaled.

There’s something so…wonderful, about that taste. I heard him gasp, the sensation of something he couldn’t quite identify being drawn out of him, through his cock, and into the cigar. I crossed my eyes–the cigar butt was no longer a short butt–it had grown by about an inch, taking Leon’s cock down an inch in exchange.

“What…what are you doing…” Leon mumbled. He was trying to move his head to see what was going on, but he was still completely relaxed and frozen, unable even to lift up his head from where it lolled on the back of the chair.

“You know, something you were saying yesterday, in the mud, it really…resonated with me,” I said, “I realized that you still think that all of this, this is so far below you. That it’s not even happening to you, not really. You think that if you just hold out long enough, you’ll be able to escape to some magical college world, and leave this behind. But you don’t deserve that, and I’m not about to let you go just yet, not until I think you’ve learned your lesson properly.” I stood up and leaned over him, pushing my own gut against his chest, “See, I know your kind, Leon. You think I haven’t taken down men better than you? You’re nothing, you know. But I don’t think you see that yet. So I’m going to help you out. Just…keep a few of those things of yours, your life, that you love, that you lord over everyone, and I’m going to hold onto them for a bit–see if that changes your attitude a bit for the better.”

He tried to ask questions, he tried to object–I just got down and took a deeper draw off the end of the cigar, feeling more of Leon’s life pulled into the cigar, stored away within the leaf. I took his physical power–his muscles melting away, leaving him thin and a bit gaunt. I peeled away his energy and vitality, watching as his thin frame began to bulge and bloat. I sat back–the cigar was now about five inches long–about the same length as his now shorter cock–though only about four inches extended from his new fat pad. Leon was mumbling and crying in the chair. He couldn’t see the full extent of what had happened to him, but he could feel what had changed. Panic had set in–his hope of escape had suddenly disappeared, and he didn’t know what to do.

“You’re a monster,” he managed to say.

“Of course I am–but so are you. I’m just…well, is a someone who is monstrous to monsters really a monster?”

Grandpa’s Lil’ Boys (Part 3)

***WARNING: Scat ***

The bedroom was small, and dominated by a massive, king size bed that barely left enough room to walk around it, the floor littered with dirty clothes so thick Blake couldn’t even see the carpet. He stood in the doorway for a few moments, trying to focus and keep his wits about him…and trying to keep himself from becoming too aroused, as the sight of his snoring Grandpa right there, a few feet away. He was turned away from Blake, sleeping on his side, and blake could see the necklace’s gold chain wrapping around the back of his fat, flabby neck, swallowed by a couple folds. He shouldn’t…shouldn’t be in here, he shouldn’t be doing this. Grandpa…Grandpa kept him safe, kept him happy. This felt just…so wrong.

He pushed against the doubts, knowing they were being sown by whatever magic was in that necklace. He had to fight it–he could do this. He crept closer, trying to keep the diaper around his large waist from crinkling too loudly, and hoisted himself up onto the mattress as gracefully as he could, but at his shorter height and new heft, he couldn’t help letting out a grunt. Still, Grandpa was sleeping soundly, and he stayed there on his knees, in his messy diaper, just…just looking at him. No, admiring him, how manly he was, how…strong and powerful and sexy. He could just…imagine being wrapped up in his arms, his Granddaddy’s cock slipping into his ass, pulling…him close. No, he had to fight it–he crawled closer, but the doubts only got louder, the closer he got. This was bad. He was being a bad boy, and he didn’t want to be bad, did he? No! No, he wanted to be good, but he didn’t…didn’t want this, did he? But why…why wouldn’t he? The closer he got, the less he understood, why he was trying to do this at all, and the guilt overwhelmed him as he reached for the chain, and he broke into loud, heaving sobs, tears running down his smooth face.

Grandpa woke up, and rolled over. “Boy! What the fuck are you doin’ in my room? Didn’t I tell you to stay out there and play with your brother?”

“I–I…s-sorry Grandpa, I…” He tried to muster an excuse, but all that came out was more sobs. Grandpa rolled up and pulled him close, into his chest. He was so close to that damn necklace, but all of the thoughts of stealing it had disappeared. He was just a little boy, a bad little boy. He had to confess, he had to tell Grandpa what a bad boy he’d been, trying to steal from him. In between choking sobs, he told Grandpa what he’d been trying to do, but that he hadn’t been able to do it. Grandpa listened and consoled him until Blake’s sobs finally calmed down and became sniffles.

“It’s ok, Blakey. I know that little boys like you can get stupid thoughts like that sometimes, it’s ok, but I think you need to be punished, don’t you? So you learn that little boys shouldn’t have thoughts like that, that they shouldn’t try to get away from Grandpa, right?”

Blake nodded. “I know Grandpa, I was a bad boy. Are…are you gonna spank me?”

“No boy, I think we need a bigger punishment than that. I think until you can learn to keep that naughty head of your under control, we’d better just keep it occupied with more important things for a while,” the necklace began to sparkle, and Blake tried to turn away instinctively, but his eyes were already locked with the light, as it grew stronger, “Yeah, we’ll make that brain of yours much more productive. Filthy, filthy piggy thoughts. Yeah, you’re gonna be my pig boy for a good long while, and maybe I’ll give you a chance to think about something other than nasty filth in a few weeks, once you’ve learned your lesson good ‘n proper.”

His words faded into the light, like a single force burning into Blake’s head. It finally faded away, and he felt…different again. Better, even. Blake gave a loud snort, and he could feel another huge load of shit following from his ass into his diaper, and unable to stop himself, he felt an orgasm rip through him, his cock pumping a massive load of cum into his diaper as he snorted loudly.

“That’s a good piggy, now why don’t you go get filthy? I bet your brother can help you out. After all, I can’t have a clean piggy in the house, right? I’ll feed ya too when I’m done with my nap.”

Blake nodded dumbly, drool falling from his open mouth, and he crawled off the bed, tried to stand up at the edge, and ended up falling to his hands and knees, unable to walk. He must have gotten even fatter–he could feel his flab scraping against the stinking dirty laundry and the carpet on the floor and he crawled back to where Nate was sitting in his own messy diaper. He tried to talk to him, but Blake pushed him over yanked down the waistband of Nate’s diaper and shoved his face into his brother’s messy crack, slurping up the shit, oinking and grunting, thrusting into his own nasty diaper. Nate was just happy it wasn’t him, this time. He’d spent enough time as Grandpa’s pig boy before, to know you don’t try to fight too hard, but Blake would learn that soon enough–he was smart. The three of them could be happy together–Nate knew that. All they had to do was be good boys and keep Grandpa happy, and everything would be just fine–forever.