Tag: weight gain

Commission – Anything?

“Not fuckin’ generous–what the fuck? Jus’ cause I don’t feel like buying her shit, ‘n eating out her nasty pussy–bitch…” Alan kicked at a bottle, and sent it skittering down the alley and himself  teetering into the wall, not quite able to keep his balance after…how many drinks? Who really cared–not enough by any means. Suzy had broken up with him earlier, after another screaming fight, not that he cared. He was sick of that bitch, and done with all her nagging. She was into some crazy stuff anyway, with all that occult crap in her apartment, and always talking about witches this and spells that. Why can’t he just find some normal girl, just once? Why’d they all have to be so damn crazy?

A gust of wind blew down the alley, and he swore he heard a voice on the wind. He perked up his ear, trying to make out what it was saying, and found himself stumbling down into the alley for some reason he couldn’t quite figure out. There was something…something down here that he needed…no, there was someone. He owed someone something, yeah, or…something like that. He came around a dumpster, and found a middle aged derelict sitting with his back against the wall, bundled up in a blanket, but even then, it was clear from the way he was moaning that he was masturbating. Disgusted, Alan went to turn back down to the street, but instead, his mouth opened and words came pouring out unbidden. “H–Hey, you wanna suck my dick? If…If you suck my dick, I’ll give you anything you want.”

The older man looked up at him, but didn’t stop jacking off. “Heh,” he said, “You can’t give me what I really want.”

His gaze made Alan uncomfortable, but his feet wouldn’t let him walk away. If anything, he found himself standing up a bit straighter, flexing his arms and his chest slightly, highlighting his youthful, toned body. Almost like he was showing off to the man bundled in front of him. “I got money.”

“Don’t need money,” the man said, and licked his lips, “Money just makes problems. Nah, I’m happy on the streets–I can get booze, scrounge up enough food–I’m always fuckin’ horny though. Man, I bet if I had a body like yours, everyone would wanna have sex with me. How about that? You wanna give me that hot body of yours?” He laughed.

Alan didn’t answer–instead, he unbuttoned his jeans and pulled out his cock. What the hell was he even doing? Sure, he was horny, but he wasn’t actually going to let this creepy old dude suck him off, was he? The man licked his lips again, and got up onto his knees, the blanket falling away, and Alan got a better look at the man’s body. He was amazingly fat–how in the hell could he be homeless and so obese? Filthy too–his hair and beard were long and completely unkempt, and he stank. He did, however, know a thing or two about sucking cock–and he took Alan’s dick all the way to the hilt immediately, making him groan with pleasure…and in the cold night, he felt his body fill up with a strange warmth. It felt really good, and he wrapped his hands around the back of the derelict’s head and started fucking his throat. Something strange was going on though–he was usually pretty quick to cum, but after a couple of minutes, even though he was hard as a rock, he was nowhere near an orgasm. He had to keep shifting his grip too, like something was making it harder to fuck the guy’s mouth. Both of them were in the zone however–it wasn’t until Alan looked down and saw the big gut bulging out where his abs had been that he let out a yell, and stumbled back into the opposite wall.

“What the hell man? Why’d you stop?” the derelict asked, and Alan just stared at the man’s slim figure. What the fuck was happening to him? How in the world had he gotten fat…while the derelict looked almost…muscular. “Man, you’re cock tastes so fucking good, I can’t wait to see what that cum of yours tastes like,” he started crawling across the alley to where Alan was, but he retreated back towards the mouth of the alley, stumbling awkwardly between drunkenness and his new size.

“Fuck, fuck no–what the fuck did you do to me?”

“I’m just suckin’ your dick like you asked!” the man said, “Now come back here and let me finish.”

Alan really wanted him to finish. His cock was rock hard and he’d never felt this horny in his whole life. But this was insane, he shouldn’t be this big, he had to get help. His house wasn’t too far from here, he should get there, and figure out what to do then. He yanked up his pants, but couldn’t even get them buttoned, so he held them up with his hands and lumbered out of the alley, and off towards his house. Luckily it was the middle of the night, and no one was around to see him try and jog home, his new fat body sweating profusely, while the derelict chased him, begging him to let him finish, seemingly unaware that he’d lost close to one hundred pounds–though keeping up with the much fatter Alan was surprisingly easy for him.

They reached the house, and Alan got inside and shut the door, locking it, the derelict knocking, and then pounding, desperate to finish the blow job. Alan tried to think about what to do, but his cock was insistent. He needed to cum. He tried jacking off, but couldn’t get anywhere–it only made him hornier. He was fantasizing about the derelict’s mouth, thinking about how nice it was, and he was at the door, knowing he shouldn’t, but he let the man in anyway. The derelict was on his knees before Alan could shut the door, ripping down Alan’s pants, the hard cock back in his mouth, and the warmth returned, Alan feeling even more fat piling on his body, the derelict’s frame swelling with his young muscle. Alan couldn’t look away, he found himself obsessing over the changes he could see. The older man’s hair and beard started pulling back into his head, and Alan felt his scalp itch as his own hair and beard grew out to match, turning slightly grey as it did, matting and tangling with filth. He could feel the years start weighing down his body, his skin wrinkling, fat sagging, his cock shrinking up as the man’s grew longer. He was so close to cumming now, but he was exhausted. The derelict was doing most of the work now, while Alan slumped against the door, groaning in a deeper, raspy voice, his balls tensing up, and he was finally cumming, feeling his youth spew from the head of the cock, swallowed down by the derelict in his body. He slumped down, looking at his old face, not at all sure what to say. He was tired–so tired. He tried to get up, but ended up collapsing onto the floor by the couch, snoring heavily, while his old body examined itself in the mirror, jacked off, ate his own cum, and then slipped out of the house and into the early morning, grinning wide.

***

Alan woke up blearily hours later on the floor of his house. With a groan, he rolled over onto his back, feeling his huge, fat body pressing down on him, and felt like vomiting. What in the world had happened to him? This shouldn’t be possible. He rolled up onto his knees and stood up, and looked at himself in the mirror. He was old. He was fat. He was disgusting. And yet, as he stared at himself, his cock was getting hard. He…he actually thought he looked kind of hot. No, no that was crazy, he was being crazy. He shouted out a couple of times, but he was alone in the house. Where had that fucker gone with his body? He couldn’t leave the house looking like this though, what if the neighbors saw him? It didn’t help that none of his clothes had a chance of fitting him–he ripped apart the one’s he’d worn the night before, and the rags the derelict had arrived in were missing. He just had to hope the guy might come back. Sure enough, an hour later, the door opened, and Alan saw his body tromp in–followed by four derelicts as fat and filthy as Alan was now.

“Oh good, you’re up,” the derelict in Alan’s body said, “Hold on guys, we’ll get the orgy started in a bit–I gotta have a chat with Phil here.”

“What the fuck–who the fuck are they?” Alan said, but instead of answering, his body grabbed his arm and dragged him into the kitchen. “What the hell–what the fuck are you doing? We need to fix this! I need my body back.”

“Nuh-uh,” Phil said, “You gave it to me for that blow job, remember? It’s mine now–and trust me, I’m gonna get a whole lot of use out of it–you know how much I made today? 500 dollars! Everybody wants a piece of this ass of yours.”

Alan couldn’t even process what the man had said, “You…you fucking whored out my body?”

“It’s my body now–but you know, I’ve been thinking about what to do with you. See, I can’t just have you here, screwing things up for me, wanting your body back, blah, blah, blah. So, you know how you said you’d do anything if I suck your dick? Well, you want another blow job?”

Alan felt that same strange sensation fall over him that he felt the night before, and he muttered, “S–Sure, I’ll do anything…anything you want.”

“Good…well here’s what I want. If I suck you off again, you’re going to be happy as a nasty, filthy derelict, and you’re gonna follow me around wherever I go, and do whatever I say, and please whoever I tell you to. In fact, you’re gonna be so dumb that following me around is the only thing you’ll be able to think about–got it? Now let me at that cock of yours–I’m thirsty as fuck.”

Alan was all to happy to let Phil drop his ill fitting and start sucking on his short cock–and felt his head start draining almost immediately. The concerns he’d been stressing over the last few days all seemed to drain away in a matter of moments. What was so wrong with this body anyway? In fact, he thought he was pretty sexy. And being a sex hungry derelict was going to be great–he wouldn’t have to worry about a thing. All he’d have to do is everything Phil–no, not Phil, he was Phil now–everything Alan said. Yeah, Alan was so fucking hot, he was lucky a hot guy like that would let a nasty old pervert like Phil hang around him at all. With a loud groan, Phil shot a wad of cum into Alan’s mouth, and grinned dumbly. Alan brought him back out and introduced him to the four men he’d brought with him, but all Phil really wanted was for all four of them to fill every hole–and over the course of the night, they did exactly that. Alan used the money he’d made whoring to order a bunch of food, and in between fucks, he’d stuff himself, and encourage Phil to eat too.

In a few months, the entire house was in shambles, but Phil, Alan, and the rotating gang of derelicts who stayed with them didn’t care–at least until the neighborhood banded together to get them all evicted. None of them could understand what had come over that nice man, to turn him into such a filthy, lazy, slob. The months hadn’t been kind to the young man’s body–he’d packed on quite a few pounds, though nowhere near as fat as Phil was, and had let his hair and beard grow out. He tried to argue with the bank, but they were late on their mortgage payments, and so all of them got the boot.

Without a home, they were all back out on the street, but Phil didn’t mind, of course–he was happy as long as he was with Alan. He’d do anything for Alan, anything at all. Having already ruined his body, Alan found it harder and harder to find men willing to pay to have sex with him, but he luckily Phil was still willing to do anything for him. He managed to find a few gay clubs in town who would hire Phil to me a human urinal in their back rooms a few nights a week, and between that and what Alan could make with his ass, they managed to keep themselves supplied with a steady supply of food and booze. After a year, Alan’s body was almost as massive as Phil’s, and the two of them were a regular sight in the alleys, just a couple of nasty derelicts, though it was often rumored that one of them would do literally anything for a blow job.

~~~

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Commission: The Secrets of Fitzroy Abbey (Part 2)

Commissioned by Anonymous

It had been a whole week now–should he count himself lucky? Surely it could have been worse, right? Then why did it feel like he was sitting here, just waiting for the Master Fitzroy’s other perfectly shined shoe to drop? Mr. Windsor mopped up the gravy on the plate with a hunk of bread, and then got up from the table. He was still hungry, but the cooks had given him a sour look when he’d gone in for a third helping. Why the kitchen was still so busy at this time of evening was a bit of a mystery to him, but he was thankful for the extra food all the same. His gut was pleading for food all the time now, and he no longer had the willpower to resist the temptation to eat every chance he got. Mr. Livingston, however, had looked absolutely delighted when he’d seen Mr. Windsor’s plate piled high with food. He’d been an especially smug twat all week, ever since the master had sentenced Mr. Windsor to another round of edification, but if all Mr. Windsor had to deal with was an insatiable hunger, he would count himself lucky. He’d been especially on guard with himself all week, desperately trying to check himself and his actions, searching for anything new about himself that the Master had intended him to not notice. Still, he was almost certain he had forgotten something important…but what?

A bell rang. It struck Mr. Windsor with a pang of deja vu. He could remember…he could almost recall…

“Room 205–is that one of yours, Mr. Windsor?”

He started, and looked up into the face of another servant, Mr. Hooker. He had been here longer than Mr. Windsor, but not so long that he had forgotten himself entirely like Mr. Livingston. From their casual dealings, he seemed to be a firm pragmatist about their situation here. “N–No. I do believe Mr. Williams is assisting that guest.”

Mr. Hooker sighed, “He’s probably sobbing in his room. I’ll go fetch him.”

Mr. Williams was slightly newer than them both, and still spent much of his personal time lamenting his new position. While everyone regarded him with a bit of pity, they all hoped he would resign himself soon. His weeping tended to keep the men in the rooms next to him up at night.

Alone in the room, Mr. Windsor considered actually licking his plate clean, but besides feeling it might be a bit humiliating if someone walked in, it also seemed to be outside the bounds of his required decorum. He hefted himself up to return the plate to the kitchen for washing, when Mr. Livingston poked his head in.

“I thought I’d find you in here, stuffing yourself,” he said, with a rather cruel grin, “The Master of the House requests your presence in the dining room, immediately.”

Apparently, this snide tone was the sound of the other shoe. His heart thumping loudly in his ears, his nose reddening, he stood up and made his way to the main floor of the abbey, and saw that evening had well and truly passed into twilight. The rest of the guests were in their rooms or out on the grounds, enjoying themselves and each other as the master wished, but Master Fitzroy was not among them. He was standing in the dining room, with a stocky, heavy gutted, fat faced cook from the kitchen, someone Mr. Windsor didn’t recognize. He hadn’t heard that anyone new was joining the staff yet this summer–what was going on, and what did it have to do with him?

“Welcome Mr. Windsor,” Master Fitzroy said, “Would you kindly take a seat at the table? At the head there is fine, don’t be shy.”

He settled himself down into the chair usually reserved for the master himself, carefully, and stammered, “I–I’m not sure I know what is going on, sir.”

“Oh, I know you do not, yet. I simply wanted to take this chance to personally re-introduce you to our newest member of the kitchen crew. His name is Mr. Bartholomew Marsden, but you were previously acquainted with him as the guest in room 307.”

Memories flashed back across his mind, memories the master had locked away from him for an entire week. How could he have forgotten them? How could he have forgotten…forgotten…his name, what had Mr. Marsden’s name been? Bar…Bart? No, that was the Master’s name for him! Not Bart, something…something else. Something else! He’d heard his old name too, but it was gone, they were both gone now.

“Following our discussion that evening, I called on Mr. Marsden, and suggested kindly that he forget all about what he had seen, but he proved…reluctant. In fact, he seemed determined to rescue you from service here, long before I planned on retiring you. After all, I don’t think you have learned your lesson quite yet, Rudolph. Regardless, Mr. Marsden became rather belligerent. I decided to bring him on as a temporary staff member–although, depending on his temperament, he could very well obtain a long term position like yourself…but we’ve already discussed that in detail, haven’t we, Mr. Marsden?”

“Yes…Yes sir…” the cook said, when the master stared at him. His puffy cheeks burned red, and he looked at the ground.

“Just so you are aware of our terms, Mr. Windsor, I have brought on Mr. Marsden as your private chef. You see, we have only a short six months until Christmas, and I realized that you would make an excellent Santa Claus to entertain my guests–but with your finicky eating, I doubted you would be able to obtain the girth needed for such a role. Mr. Marsden will be assisting you–and if he can fatten you up such that you are the heaviest man on staff by Christmas, then I have promised to terminate his employment here, and send him home in his original body, none the wiser. However, should he fail…well, he will be employed here for significantly longer.”

Mr. Windsor saw his friend gulp, and look away, his triple chin jiggling slightly.

“Now, as you may or may not know, it is Mr. Parker, the head chef, who is currently the largest servant here, weighing in at 42 stone, or just shy of 600 pounds! So, Mr. Marsden certainly has a lot of work to do…as do you, Mr. Windsor.”

“I…I think this situation is rather manipulative, sir,” Mr. Windsor said, in the kindest tone his tongue could force out, “I sincerely resent this, and suggest that, perhaps, you simply consider allowing us to go free, together.”

“Oh, Mr. Windsor, I don’t see that happening anytime soon.”

“Well, then I simply will have to refuse to eat.”

“Oh? Will you?” the master said, chuckling, “I’ve heard about your new appetite, Mr. Windsor. You seem to be rather insatiable. But you must realize how cruel you sound, to Mr. Marsden here. After all, if you don’t cooperate, he, too, will be employed here for the foreseeable future. Would you really consign him to such a fate, simply because you still have lessons to learn and reparations to make? You may be a fool, but you are not vicious, though you like to believe you are, like many fools.”

His bluff had been called, and he knew it. He remained silent.

“As I was saying, you both have quite a bit of work to do, and I am nothing, if not a fair sport. Mr. Marsden has been given the assistance of the entire kitchen staff for your first meal tonight, and I must say, they have prepared quite the feast for you. I’m confident that, by the end of the night, you will be happily stuffed.” The master plucked a bell off the table and rang it. The wait staff entered, bearing platters of food, easily enough to feed eight or ten guests. “And don’t think about leaving anything behind, Mr. Windsor–that would be so wasteful! Mr. Marsden will be on hand to ensure you finish every bite–including dessert, right Mr. Marsden?”

The fat man nodded, and the master took his leave of the dining room. The meal lasted well into the early hours of the morning. Mr. Windsor would stuff himself, but eventually resist, and stop. Mr. Marsden would begin feeding and encouraging him, telling him that if he escaped, he could bring help. Of course, they both knew that if he were retired, he would have no memory of his time as a cook in the master’s service, but it was enough of a hope to keep Mr. Windsor eating for another hour, and then another. Much to his horror, he realized that as he grew fuller and fuller, he was also becoming rather aroused. He enjoyed the sensation of a full belly, and in the midst of dinner, with a loud groan, he realized that he had cum for the first time in months, right into the crotch of his livery. It became clear that Mr. Marsden was enjoying his role as well, and while neither of them could remove their clothing, he would grind up against Mr. Windsor’s side until he too came, multiple times over the course of the meal.

Finally, they finished dessert, both of them exhausted. Mr. Marsden had to help Mr. Windsor up from the chair, and down to their private quarters, where they discovered they would be sharing a double room–the doubles were reserved for those pairs of servants who the master hoped would share a special relationship. Inside, Mr. Marsden helped Mr. Windsor undress, and then stripped off his own chef whites. Unable to even think of sleep so soon after such a meal, Mr. Windsor instead gawked at himself in the mirror, his old flabby body, his taut, bloated and stuffed gut. He was already over 300 pounds–how would he look with three hundred pounds more? He would need a new livery. He would have rolls of fat, rolls hanging off of rolls. He would…he would be so…so…sexy.

Yes, sexy. Yes, he could picture himself, stuffed into a suit slightly too small, the seams stretching a bit, the confinement, the knowledge that he was so large that the tailor had to make a uniform specifically for him. The guests would gawk, but…but he would want them to. He would be swine, and yet revel in it. And at Christmas–at Christmas! He would have a beautiful red velvet suit. Master found grow him a fabulous, snow white beard. Jolly, he would be so jolly, yes he would. He rubbed his belly, feeling his cock grow hard again. On one of the beds, Mr Marsden sat, feeling his own gut, covered with grey hairs, watching his old lover caress himself, feeling his own short, stubby cock grow hard as well. Mr. Marsden crossed the room, got down on his knees, and began massaging Mr. Windsor’s huge gut, heaving it up so he could find the small, two inch cock beneath and suck on it, working his own cock as he did, until they both came one final time. Finally exhausted, they climbed into their respective beds, both creaking under their weight, and dreamed of feedings to come, praying that they wouldn’t enjoy them as much as they secretly sensed they would.

Commission: The Secrets of Fitzroy Abbey (Part 1)

Commissioned by Anonymous

It was late in the evening, the midsummer sun still setting through the west side windows of the abbey, and Mr. Rudolph Windsor was downstairs in the servant’s mess, finally getting a chance to eat dinner. The abbey’s guests had already eaten, their needs attended to, giving him a moment to sit quietly, and try to remember his old name. Today he believed that it had begun with the letter “H”. Perhaps Hal? Or had that been a character on a TV show? The abbey had no television, and even then, Rudolph’s mind had been made to forget much of what the outside world contained, beyond the abbey grounds. But a name–it seemed so simple, and yet it was gone. Perhaps Henry, or Harry. Those were both nice names, at least.

Another servant came in, an older gentleman named Mr. Livingston. Rudolph had no idea how long he had been a servant of the house, only that he had been working here long enough to forget the truth of things entirely, or to at least pretend forgetfulness. “Good evening Mr. Windsor,” the older gentleman said, beaming at the sourer face of his fellow servant, “The master certainly has found a nice crop of guests for the summer, eh chap?”

Mr. Windsor didn’t reply. He hated speaking, and did it as rarely as he could. His voice–it wasn’t his anymore.

Mr. Livingston was unfazzed–he’d seen many men come into service at the house in his years here–it wouldn’t be long before Windsor was a cheery old chap like the rest of them. “Is that all you’re eating?” he said, looking at the small salad in front of Mr. Windsor, “Do be careful, or you might start wasting away.”

“Wasting away is the goal,” Mr. Windsor said, “I’d very much like to try and rid myself of some of this belly–I don’t particularly enjoy being this rotund, to be honest.” His sentence faded away as he spoke–nothing came out of his mouth right anymore; he was always so polite now. What he’d wanted to say was something more like:

“Shut the fuck up, you fucking bastard! I may be trapped in some old fat body, but fuck you if you think I’m not going to try to lose some of this fucking disgusting gut and be slightly less disgusting to look at in the mirror!”

“Oh goodness, I don’t think Master Fitzroy would be very keen on the idea of any of us losing weight. You know he’s very particular on how us servants present ourselves.” Mr. Livingston loomed over him, his own gut, restrained by his livery, mere inches from Mr. Windsor’s face. “I won’t make any mention of it, for your own sake. You are still relatively new here after all, but do keep yourself fed. I won’t have anyone starving themselves around here for no good reason.”

“No good reason?” Mr. Windsor said, “I do believe, sir, that there are numerous good reasons for why we should do whatever we can against Master Fitzroy. I don’t particularly care whether I make him upset or not. What could he possibly do to me which is worse than what he has already done to me? To all of us?”

Mr. Livingston didn’t move, and said nothing. The disapproval was palpable. “I should go tell him what you’ve said, Mr. Windsor. You would be sent to edification immediately.”

“So then go tell him, after…after who he brought here, as a guest…” Mr. Windsor stuttered–his proper tongue unable to twist what he wanted to say into anything dignified, and so remained twisted tight. A bell rang on the wall, signalling that one of the guest rooms had requested service.

Mr. Livingston, checked the bell. “It would appear that a guest on the third floor would like service. One of your guests, I do believe, Mr. Windsor. Room number 307?”

Room 307. Of course, it would be that one. “Yes, that is indeed my room. I’ll go attend to him.”

“Well, do try to find some positivity along the way–then again, that dour face of yours is only making your nose glow brighter, and it isn’t even Christmas season. So at least that can cheer everyone else up.” Mr. Windsor scowled. The bulbous ruddy nose was another one of the master’s jokes at his expense–and it didn’t help that whenever he drank it would burn a deep red. The fact that this body shook if it didn’t get enough alcohol didn’t much help matters–he alleviated the worst of it by carrying a flask in his vest, but that insured his rose was red almost all the time. When he’d give his full name to a guest, they generally replied with a snicker.

He hefted himself up out of his chair, straightened his vest and coat, but before mounting the back stairs to the third floor, he took a moment to examine himself in the mirror, making sure he was well groomed. He had some crumbs in his thick bushy mustache–he pulled a comb from his pocket and ran it through the hairs, and then examined the rest of his face, and sighed. Jowls. His fat red nose. Wrinkles. The ridiculous glasses he had to wear, now that he could barely see anything without them. The uniform grey hair, which he was compelled to groom into a comb-over. It did nothing to hide his baldness, and in fact accentuated it. He scanned his eyes down the front of his servant’s livery, mentally checking that everything was still in place. He’d never worn so much as a suit before all of this happened, but now he felt absolutely naked in anything less than his starched uniform. He heaved a sigh, watching his jowls shake and his mustache flutter, and then started up the stairs of the abbey to the third floor.

Room 307 was the summer home of the last person Mr. Windsor had ever expected to see here, and the last person he had ever wanted to see him like this. Tanner Marcus–the young man who had broken up with him the year before, back when he’d had that other name (Huck? Harvey?) and that other body, and that other life he could barely remember. And now Tanner was here, in room 307, just another young man for the master to toy with all summer long, and all Mr. Windsor could do was watch–and wait on him hand and foot. He knocked on the door, and after a moment, a deep voice shouted for him to enter. It wasn’t Tanner’s voice, however–it was Master Fitzroy.

Mr. Windsor opened the door and stepped inside, finding Tanner bent over the side of the bed, Master Fitzroy behind him, his hairy gut hefted up onto the small of the younger man’s back, his cock buried deep in his hole. “Good evening Mr. Windsor,” Master Fitzroy said, he huffed and puffed a moment, “I am sorry, I had hoped to be finished by the time you came in–please give us a moment. Mr. Marcus and I became rather close over dinner, and he invited me to his room, isn’t that right Tanner?”

“Oh yes, Master Fitzroy, I…I invited you here to plow my hole good, sir.”

“Would…would you like me to wait in the hall, sir?” Mr. Windsor asked.

“Oh, no need–I’d rather you watched this. Closely.”

“Y–Yes sir…” Mr. Windsor said.

Contrary to what Master Fitzroy had said, he was nowhere near finished–he continued fucking for a good fifteen minutes, encouraging Tanner to moan louder and louder, and narrate what it felt like to be fucked by a real gentleman. Unable to look away, Mr. Windsor stared at the scene. It was not the first time he had walked in on Master Fitzroy having his way with one of his guests, but that did not make this any easier to digest. Worse was the fact that, despite all that had happened, he was still very attracted to Tanner–and yet, this old, worthless body given to him by the master couldn’t even get hard, not that it would have mattered. His two inch button cock wouldn’t even be able to get into an ass if he were allowed to try. Master Fitzroy preferred his servants celibate–he didn’t want any of them spoiling his guests after all.

Tanner was moaning louder, the older man behind him thrusting faster, and with a loud groan, the master finally came deep inside Tanner’s ass with several violent shudders. When he was certain that he was finished, he removed himself and stepped back from Tanner’s behind. “Mr. Marcus, while Mr. Windsor helps me dress, would you be so kind as to jack off for me? I’d like to see you cum before I leave. Mr. Windsor, if you would please.”

He began gathering up Master Fitzroy’s clothes, which had been scattered about the room, and helping him put his suit back on. Several pieces were rather wrinkled, and Mr. Windsor did his best to smooth them out as he did. Tanner was on his back on the bed, his hand wrapped around his cock, jacking wildly–he was so close, but he had to wait until permission had been granted. Once he was fully dressed, Fitzroy allowed him to cum, and Tanner shot his load up onto his smooth body and face, back arched. Mr. Windsor had never seen him so…thrilled. Was he angry? Sad? Did it even matter? There was nothing he could do, so what did it even matter how he felt?

“That was quite a pleasure, Mr. Tanner–I’m thrilled you’ll be staying here for a few weeks, I’d love to spend some more time with you.”

“Oh thank you, Master,” Tanner said, “I’m…I’d love that…that too…”

“Mr. Windsor, perhaps would you kindly help Mr. Marcus clean himself up, and get into bed for the night? I seem to have fucked his brains out for the moment,” Master Fitzroy said, and excused himself from the suite.

Tanner was lolling and groaning on the bed; Mr. Windsor went into the adjoining bathroom to start filling the tub, and then returned to help him up. He had indeed been fucked out of his mind–Tanner could barely stand unassisted, meaning Mr. Windsor had to carry-drag him into the bathroom and heave him into the tub. By the end of it, he was nearly as wet, and had smears of the master’s cum across the front and side of his suitcoat and vest. He helped Tanner wash himself, neither of them saying anything, and slowly the guest returned to a quasi-awareness. He couldn’t quite remember what had just happened, but was equally certain that it was nothing to worry about, and Mr. Windsor assured him that was certainly the case. And then, Mr. Windsor leaned over to get the bar of soap which had dropped to the floor, and Tanner saw the end of a dark birthmark snaking it’s way up past the collar of Mr. Windsor’s neck, to the base of his ear–the exact same birthmark he’d seen on the side of Teddy’s face countless times, Teddy who he’d broken up with the year before, Teddy who had gone on a winter vacation for Christmas and disappeared without a trace.

Mr. Windsor got the bar of soap and went to return it to Tanner’s hands, only to be greeted by a face of shock. “Is…is something the matter? Mr. Marcus?”

“T–Ted? Is…is that you?”

His name? Is that what it was? How had Tanner even recognized him?

“Your…your birthmark, I know that birthmark, you’re Ted, what the fuck happened to you? What’s going on here?”

He stammered. He couldn’t tell him the truth–the Master’s programming had made certain of that. How could he tell him what had happened? What kind of danger he was in? “N–No, I’m afraid…I think you must have mistaken me for…for a younger lover,” he said, managing to slip in a sign that he knew what was happening, and he saw that Tanner had understood him loud and clear. But why was he standing up? Why was he leaving the room? Master Fitzroy, he was going to see Master Fitzroy, he was going to have to tell him what just happened, he’d broken the rules, he’d broken the rules, and he had to be punished.

Tanner was trying to get out of the bath, but his body still wasn’t fully cooperating. “God damn it, Ted? Where are you going? Don’t go! Let me help you!”

“I’m sorry to excuse myself sir, but I must go report my indiscretion to the master of the house. I’d…I’d suggest you forget about what I said as soon as you are able, for your own sake,” Mr. Windsor managed to say as he left the suite, and he hoped Tanner would take his advice. His legs took him back to the servant stairs, continuing up to the top floor of the abbey, where the master’s apartment took up the entire top floor. He found Fitzroy speaking with Mr. Livingston in his study–they grew quiet as he entered.

“I apologize for interrupting, sir, but I had to come immediately in order to report a personal indiscretion. Mr. Marcus recognized me while I was bathing him, and rather than lie, I confirmed his suspicion that I am in fact…am…I…” Mr. Windsor stammered. His name, he’d just heard it? Tanner had said it, it had been…been…how could he have forgotten it so quickly?

“Please excuse us, Mr. Livingston. I believe I need to have a delicate discussion with Mr. Windsor.”

Mr. Livingston bowed, and excused himself. He wouldn’t look Mr. Windsor in the eye as he passed, and he realized his fellow servant must have been reporting to the master on his scant eating habits and earlier outbursts. Master Fitzroy sighed, and crossed his hands over one knee, staring at Mr. Windsor through his spectacles. “What am I going to do with you, Mr. Windsor? You certainly aren’t the most stubborn servant I’ve taken on, but you do seem bound and determined to become the most irritating.”

“My apologies, sir.”

“It does put quite the kink in my plans as well. You, me, and Mr. Marcus were going to have such fun over the next several weeks. I was confident that by the time he left, you would have given up this silly resistance of yours. Now, I suppose, we will have to try something else.” He paused for a moment, thinking. “No matter, I have an idea. Report to the dungeon for edification every night until further notice. You’re excused.”

Mr. Windsor bowed out of the room, a knot in his gut. Edification–a kind word for the extreme brainwashing and hypnosis programs the master of the house employed to keep his guests and servants under control. He’d hoped to toe the line, manipulate his situation as best he could to avoid further hypnosis, but now what? He’d overplayed his hand. Who knew what Master Fitzroy would instill in his mind now? His hands were shaking, he paused at the top of the stairs to guzzle down as much whiskey as he could swallow, and then took the stairs all the way to the basement dungeon–the only space in the abbey which had kept pace with the modern world, it seemed. A riot of wires and screens, he saw a number of guests and servants were already reclining in chairs, helmets over their ears and eyes, zoned out for the night. The servants on staff were expecting him–with few words, they directed him to a chaise of his own, and put the helmet over his head. A flash of light from the helmet burned into his retinas, and everything was gone.

To Be Continued 

Commission: Twenty Years Delayed

CAUTION: This is a nasty one.

“His name is Blake Kingston, bitch! He has to be here, you’re just not looking hard enough, ya dumb cunt!” Freddie said, leaning across the folding table and glaring at the middle aged woman seated in front of a pile of name tags. Above the table at the entrance of the high school gym was a banner that read “Treston High School Class of 1994 Reunion.” He leaned closer; she squirmed away from him as gracefully as she could, but couldn’t avoid the cloud of breath which seemed to be some horrid combination of toilet and ashtray.

“Sir, please don’t yell at me, I still have his nametag here. If he’s arrived already, he hasn’t picked it up. Now…if I can get your name, I can get your registration taken care of…and…and you can’t smoke in here.”

Freddie clenched his teeth down harder on his cigar. “You gonna take it from me?”

She made no further mention of it. He gave her his name when she asked again, and she startled, looked up at him. Freddie Williams? Sweet little shy chubby Freddie? She’d seen him at the last reunion, and he’d been so…normal. Still, she could recognize his eyes, through the plume of smoke, and wondered what in the hell had happened to turn him into…this thing. This leather clad, foul smelling, crude, hairy beast of a biker. Happy that she could feel pity instead of anger, she handed him his name tag with a smile, and waved him into the gym. Suspicious, Freddie took it and clipped it to his ratty leather vest, and lumbered into the gym he barely recognized. The school had been through a remodel in the last few years, and he felt almost no connection to the place anymore. He was only here to see Blake anyway–he’d promised he’d be here. Still, maybe Freddie had just arrived first. He hung around by the door, checking out everyone who came in. But the attendees stopped arriving at around seven, and angry that he’d been stood up, he scarfed down as much as he could from the buffet before someone told him to stop, and then started cruising his middle aged classmates.

Many of them, now almost in their forties, had started to fill out. More than a few had grown in beards. Unfortunately, most had wives and girlfriends in tow. Still, that didn’t mean much, right? Hell, he’d thought he was straight too, before he’d met Blake–both times, in fact. He’d taught him how to please a cock back in high school, and shown him again at the last reunion ten years later. He set his eyes on a few men who didn’t seem entirely disgusted by him. By this point, Freddie was good and drunk–the two drink limit didn’t apply when you had a flask of cheap whisky in your vest. He struck up conversations with a few guys, and eventually followed one of them to the bathroom.

Unfortunately, what drunken Freddie had taken to be sexual arousal was simply an attempt at being polite. In fact, the man had excused himself to the bathroom in an attempt to avoid further conversation. When Freddie clomped into the bathroom, came up to the man at the urinal and grabbed his cock from behind, he was less than pleased.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

“Come on man, I know yer fuckin’ horny. I got stood up tonight, at least give me a load a cum for the ride home, I’m fuckin’ thirsty.”

“You’re fucking disgusting.”

“Hell yeah I am,” Freddie leaned in closer, “I’ll be as disgusting as ya want. Drink yer piss, hell I even eat shit. Go on, take a shit, I’ll eat it out a the bowl while ya fuck my nasty asshole.”

“You’re fucking insane!” the man said, tried to get away, but Freddie pinned him up against the outside wall of the stall with his massively fat, four hundred pound body.

“Fuck you man, fuck you ‘n your fuckin’ attitude. I came in here for some fuckin’ cum, ‘n I’m not leavin’ without you fuckin’ one of my holes. So pick one, and feed this pig.”

The man tried to hit Freddie, but his fist just sank into Freddie’s fat body. When Freddie countered with a slap of his leather gloved hand, the man stood there, shocked, giving Freddie the opportunity to drop the man’s slacks, get down on his knees, and start sucking on his soft cock. Much to the man’s embarrassment, it didn’t stay soft for long, and he let off a moan. As disgusting as Freddie was, he knew what to do with his mouth. Figuring it would be better to just let the brute have his way, the man tried to cum as quickly as possible, shot a load down Freddie’s throat, and then zipped up and fled as quick as he could. Freddie savored the taste for a moment, gave a great big belch, and headed back to the gym. Maybe tonight wouldn’t be a complete waste after all.

He scanned the crowd–still no sign of Blake. Where the fuck was he? Freddie heaved a sigh, and noticed someone across the floor staring at him, someone he hadn’t noticed earlier. He was too old to be a member of his class–short, with a round gut, bushy white beard and wire rimmed glasses, he had to be at least sixty, if not seventy. And something about him seemed…oddly familiar. Still, he didn’t seem like the kind of guy who would be interested in a guy like him, so he steered clear, but as he hunted for another cock to suck, he realized the older man was never too far away, and being more than a little creepy. Still, what could a fat old man do to a pig like him? Freddie managed to scare another ex-jock classmate into a trip to the bathroom, and licking his lips, followed after a minute later. The older man waited a couple more, and then set off down the hall after them both.

Freddie was in the middle of trying to rip open the man’s pants when the older man stepped into the room, and said, “Nasty Slut Pig, trance out.”

Immediately, Freddie’s eyes glazed over, his limbs limp. The man stepped away, not at all sure what was happening, and ran out of the room as fast as he could.

The older man stepped up to Freddie and spoke to him for a couple of minutes. When Freddie shook himself awake, for some reason he couldn’t explain, he found himself compelled to leave the reunion with the older gentleman, and follow him on his hog back to the man’s house. None of this worried him in the least–and that worried him most of all.

***

“I know you don’t remember who I am,” the older man said as he handed Freddie a glass of bourbon, “Maybe in time, I can help you put some of those memories back together, but that will have to wait until I have you under better control. I’m happy the trigger worked for me as well as it works for Blake–hypnosis can be so…fickle at times.”

Freddie just stared at the bourbon, and knocked it back in a few chugs. He needed a drink badly. Why in the hell was he even here, and what did Blake have to do with this old man? “I don’t understand. Why am I here?”

“Because this is where you should have been, twenty years ago. You never showed up, and I never pursued you, because I was just happy you never reported me! Imagine my surprise when the issue was that you’d simply had that nasty concussion. Now, why don’t you go ahead and strip for me? I’ve only seen pictures, but Blake has been working so hard on you all these years now–I’d love to see the changes for myself.”

Before Freddie could process the request, his hands were already pulling off his clothes. Trying to catch up to himself, he found that he couldn’t quite control his body. A moment later, he was naked, his clothes strewn about, and the older man came up and started inspecting him. “Goodness, you are a fat pig, aren’t you? How much do you weigh now?”

“Uh…435, last I checked.”

“And your tattoos–absolutely filthy, I love them. Blake chose them well.”

Freddie stepped away from the man, “Alright, who the fuck are you, and how do you know Blake? This shit is gettin’ creepy.”

“Oh Freddie, the three of us have quite a bit of history together–it’s a shame you can’t remember the first part. I was your psychology teacher, Mr. Weylan. You and Blake were…well, you were an experiment–and a very successful one at that.”

The name rang a bell, but it wasn’t tied to any memories–his head started hurting, like it always did when he tried to think of the time before he got that concussion in that car accident just before graduation. He’d been lucky that all he’d suffered was some amnesia. But none of this made any sense at all. “I don’t…I don’t understand.”

“That’s quite alright–you’re just a dumb pig anyway, no reason for you to trouble yourself. But Blake, well, Blake has been a very naughty slave, trying to keep you a secret from me, and he really must be punished for it. Luckily you’re here now, and you can help me out. Why don’t you come downstairs and into the dungeon with me, and we can see how Blake is coming along.”

Fighting himself the whole way, Blake calmly followed Mr. Weylan down into the basement, where he saw Blake strapped into a chair against the wall, some strange helmet covering his face, pads on his nipples and his cock. Cum was splattered all over the floor in front of him. He was even larger than Freddie remembered–at the ten year reunion a decade earlier, Blake had strutted into the gym, muscle bound, wearing nothing but leather, reeking of sweat and cum. He remembered talking to Blake a lot, but couldn’t much of the conversation. In fact, he’d done a lot of listening, now that he thought about it.

Mr. Weylan walked up to a computer next to the chair, and examined it. “It looks like somewhere between ninety and ninety-five percent trained–certainly enough for a test drive, eh Freddie?”

Before Freddie could ask for an explanation, Mr. Weylan had shut down the program and pulled the helmet from Blake’s head. His friend looked around, trying to process the thoughts streaming through his mind, nostrils flaring, and he dove from the chair to his hands and knees, licking up all of his cum from the cement floor.

“Oh yes, very good Blake, but don’t you see who’s here? It’s Freddie–why don’t you show him some of what you’ve been learning.”

The eyes that turned to Freddie were nearly feral with lust. Blake sprung up and charged at him, sending them both crashing to the ground, Blake burying his tongue and nose in every nasty flap and fold of the pig’s fat body. Freddie tried to push him off and get away, but Blake was on top and much stronger. Seeing him struggle, Mr. Weylan called out, “Nasty Slut Pig, freeze,” and all of Freddie’s muscles tensed in place, allowing Blake to focus on licking his friend’s filthy body clean.

“Goodness, he is an eager little filth slave, eh Freddie?” Mr Weylan said, standing over them both, “I know Blake intended for you to be his bottom. Can you imagine, the two of you running off together? I think this will be much more interesting. Still, I bet Blake is hungry and very thirsty–he’s been down here for almost two days straight! Go on, and piss yourself Freddie.”

The strong scent of his piss streaming from his cock, flowing out from his gunt, attracted Blake down to his crotch, where he lapped up as much as he could.

“Good, now go ahead and shit too–pump out all that nasty crap for Blake to eat, pig.”

Freddie felt his ass loosen beyond his control, his shit flowing out onto the ground beneath him, smearing across his ass. Blake forcefully rolled him over and dove headlong into his brown crack, eating as much as he could, Freddie still frozen in place. He could see Mr. Weylan looming over him, his cock out, jacking off.

“Oh yes, this is going to be a lot of fun, I think. I have so many techniques now! Blake has done a fine job with what he had access to, those subliminals and those skype chats of yours. But now we can continue what we started all those years ago! Why, before long, you’re going to be the nastiest fucker ever–pissing and shitting yourself uncontrollably, dominating Blake here, forcing him to fatten up like you. Maybe we’ll even castrate him together–how does that sound? Make him a real hog. It’s what he fucking deserves, for what he tried to do, the fucker–fuck!”

Mr. Weyland’s cock shot out a load of cum which landed across the back of Freddie’s shaven head. He was terrified, but without any control over himself, all he could do was shake with fear.

“Goodness, I got a bit carried away there, I think. Blake, hold off for a moment, let Freddie here stand up.”

Blake reluctantly crawled off Freddie, and he stood up. “Why? Why are you doing this?”

“Go sit in the chair, Freddie. I’ve got to get your program loaded up.”

Freddie went and sat down in the chair where Blake had been–the seat had an open bottom, and he could smell Blake’s piss and shit in the bucket under the hole. He was terrified, and yet more turned on than he could even fathom. Mr. Weylan worked at the computer for a moment, Blake dragging out the bucket and scarfing down the contents while their old teacher came over and tightened the straps on Freddie’s limbs.

“Don’t worry, when you wake up in a few days, everything will make much more sense, I promise.” He set the helmet over Freddie’s head, and said something he couldn’t quite make out. Then, the visor exploded in a shock of color, Freddie’s mouth went slack, and his training, twenty years delayed, resumed.

Commission: Making a Happy Pig

Commissioned by Anonymous

**Friday**

“Pipe or Cigar?”

Axel had one in each hand. Both of them were far larger than Rusty had been expecting for his first time. The cigar was at least a 60 gauge, and the pipe bowl looked large enough to hold a baby’s fist with wiggle room. “Those…those are both really big.”

“Smallest I got. Even if I had smaller, you wouldn’t be using them. Now choose, or I choose for you.”

Rusty looked from one to the other, and after a moment, took the pipe from Axel’s hand.

“Good boy, now let me show you how to get it lit. They’re a bit complicated, but it’ll feel perfectly natural for you soon enough.” Axel sat Rusty down on the couch, and they spent a few minutes talking about how to light a pipe. After a few false starts, Rusty finally managed to get it lit, though it almost went out after his first fit of coughing.

“Shit’s strong.”

“You’ll get used to it. Take less in, and don’t breathe too deep. I’ll be back.”

Axel went into the kitchen, and emerged after a few minutes with a case of cheap beer under one arm, which he set down on the table. He ripped open the cardboard and took a can out, popped the tab, and handed it to Rusty.

“Chug it.”

Rusty looked at the can. “Seriously?”

“Chug it, or leave. You asked for this, don’t forget.”

Rusty held the pipe in one hand, and chugged the beer slowly, Axel urging him on, getting a bit hard as he watched some run from the corner’s of Rusty’s lips down his chin and neck. Rusty wanted to be a pig, but he was only really husky at the moment. Axel, his friend, had offered to help him go all the way. Now, however, Rusty was starting to have second thoughts. After chugging five more beers, however, all he was really feeling was a heavy buzz. Once Axel stripped off his shirt, letting Rusty run his hands over his friend’s big, furry gut, he felt less nervous and more horny. The smoke had him giddy as well–he finished the first bowl and then packed a second on his own with Axel watching, puffing on a massive cigar. Naked together on the couch, they swapped smoke and finished the entire case of beer, before Axel helped Rusty stumble into the bedroom. He was too drunk to remember much of what happened. Axel made him keep smoking, as he fucked him doggy style on the bed, and then, when he’d finished, he sat Rusty up and started rubbing his cock. He was so drunk, it took Axel a while to get Rusty off, but he didn’t mind, he spent several minutes telling him how hot he looked with that pipe in his mouth, reeking of beer. Rusty finally let out a loud moan and shot his load, but as he did, he was struck by an odd sensation, like his head was caught in a vice for a moment, his vision squashed and then expansive, but then everything came clear again. He was too drunk, is all–he needed to sleep it off. Axel took the pipe from his slack mouth and tapped the ash out into the ashtray on the side table, and then helped Rusty under the covers for the night.

**Saturday**

Rusty had never felt so hungover in his entire life. Still unsure of where he was, he rolled over, away from the morning light (or afternoon? He wasn’t sure at all) in the window towards the night stand. There was a beer can there–thankfully is was half full. Even warm and flat, it felt good when it hit his gut. Eyes shut, he rolled up on the edge of the bed, and got his pipe going by feel. It felt so familiar to him, which was strange. After all, he’d only learned how to smoke one the night before, but it ended up perfectly tamped with a flame and draw far more even than he’d managed the night before–at least he was starting to feel human again. He gave his gut a rub, feeling his cock jump at the sensation, and realized there was much more mass there than there should be.

He looked down, and saw that a bulbous beer gut had sprouted out from his midsection. It was tight and full, and the rest of him seemed to have filled out somewhat, but this wasn’t right. What in the hell had Axel done to him? He got up unsteadily. He might be sober but he felt drunk still. There was another can on the dresser with some beer in it; he guzzled that down too and let off a deep belch, before wandering down the hall towards the sounds of a busy kitchen.

Judging by the spread, it was brunch time. On the table were heaping mounds of eggs, pancakes, thick slabs of ham, a pile of bacon, but also fried chicken and steak, massive biscuits, and a thick white gravy for everything. There was only one chair, with a bucket beside it filled with ice and cans of beer.

“About time you got up,” Axel said from the stove. He was cooking naked, and Rusty just stared at his fat friend for a moment, admiring him. “Get eating–we don’t have all day to fill you up.”

“Wait though.” Rusty said, “Something…something’s different. Different than yesterday. I…my gut is bigger, and…I know how to smoke a pipe now.”

“I showed you how to smoke yesterday.”

“I know–that’s my point. I shouldn’t…know how to do it, from one day, right?”

Axel didn’t answer. He walked over to Rusty, grabbed his hand and pulled him over to the table, sat him down, popped open a beer and handed it to him. “Drink it.”

Rusty didn’t feel very comfortable drinking before noon, but found himself guzzling it back anyway. Axel opened a second, and then a third–he drank those down too. He was feeling better now, actually. He’d just needed his morning beers is all.

“Now, tuck in like a good pig,” Axel said, and started piling food on Rusty’s plate. He was famished–had they even eaten anything yesterday? It was all a blur of smoke and beer and fucking. He cleaned the first plate and filled up a second without needing to be told. Axel finished cooking the last of the meal, brought over a few sweet desserts, and then started toying with Rusty as he ate, telling him how good it feels to stuff himself, how much he liked being a fat pig, plying him with more and more beer. Whenever Rusty tried to stop, saying he was too full, Axel would encourage him to smoke and play with his gut and tits and trade smoke with him. After a few minutes later, Rusty would have find room for more. Rusty’s head was reeling. He was too drunk, he’d had too much to smoke. He couldn’t keep a handle on what was happening. Axel brought forward the cake he’d made, threw the silverware in the sink; Rusty dug in with his hands while Axel reached under his taut gut and started jacking his cock, urging him onward. Halfway through, he gave a spasm–shooting his load across the seat and onto the floor under the table. The world crunched together and apart again, but when his vision cleared, he was hungry again. With a final burst, he devoured the rest of the cake and only then sat back in the chair, smoking his pipe, drinking a victory beer, Axel rubbing and kneading his huge gut and man boobs which he had suddenly grown.

Rusty stared down at himself for several minutes, trying to piece what he was seeing together with his drunk mind, while Axel got a towel and wiped food off his huge body. He couldn’t be that big. It was impossible. He was too drunk, he was hallucinating, he was imagining it. But as he explored the soft flab with his own hands, he became increasingly convinced. It was real. It hadn’t been there when he’d sat down, but it was there now. Axel was telling him how hot he looked, how sexy his huge body was, but Rusty was disgusted with himself. He’d wanted to be bigger. He’d told Axel he’d wanted to be bigger, but this was too much, this was out of control. He stumbled up and pushed Axel away.

“No…no, I don’t know what’s going on, but this is fucked up, what are you doin’ to me?” he was slurring his words. His car was outside, but he couldn’t drive like this. Still, he had to get out, he had to get away. He stumbled towards the hallway, but Axel blocked him, and pushed him up against the wall, gut to gut, holding him there.

“Calm down man, it’s all fine. It really is.”

“This? This isn’t fine, this is crazy.”

“I know it’s fast, but you love it, I know you do. Just fuckin’ relax man, you’re too uptight.”

Rusty was mumbling panicked nonsense. Axel started rubbing his huge body, and he let out a sigh, feeling his cock start hardening again. After a minute, he was grinding back against Axel, unable to stop himself.

“See? I know you want this. You’re just too smart for your own good. You need to think less. Let me worry about things–all you need to think about is getting bigger, getting drunker, and doing everything I tell you to do.”

Rusty tried to protest, but couldn’t make his words say what he was thinking. Axel had his hand around his cock, and was milking him again, whispering things to him, telling him he was a good pig, but he’d be so much happier if he was dumb. Dumb and obedient and carefree. Too close, he was cumming again, the world spinning around him, his head in a vice. When he finally stopped spasming, his head felt so much thicker. He let off a loud belch, and laughed at himself. He looked at Axel, a bit confused.

‘What…what was I doin’ again? I forgot.”

“You were gonna blow me, you fat pig.”

That didn’t seem quite right, but Rusty got down on his knees, feeling his huge gut resting on the tile floor, and took Axel’s cock to the hilt, sucking on him for a few minutes until he came, and he drank down all the cum like a good pig. Yeah, he was a good pig, a happy pig.

Axel helped him up and pulled him into the living room, and sat him down on the couch. The sensation of all of his flab spilling out around him was both somehow very new, but also so familiar, like he’d been this way forever, but had simply forgotten.

“Now, I have a few scenes from my favorite videos I’d like us to watch, pig,” Axel said, and put in the DVD. “I think they’re going to clear some things up for you.”

The first porno scene started, every scene revolved around this fat pig being used by a variety of bears. He was tattooed everywhere, and Axel told Rusty how hot he’d be if he was a slut like that chub. If he too had tattoos all over his body, even had them in places where he’d never be able to hide them in public–graphic, sexual, humiliating tattoos that would show everyone that he was a complete pig at a single glance. The next scene had another fat bear, but this one had a body completely covered with fur, with a beard that reached down to the top of his massive apron. He was decked out in leather gear, and several bears took turns plowing his ass and mouth while the pig laid back in a sling. The third clip had a filthy looking fat chub sitting in a bathtub, while a long series of men pissed and came on him, the man rubbing it into his hairy body, revelling in the men’s filth. More clips came, and Rusty couldn’t tear his eyes away. When Axel wasn’t narrating them, he was taking trips to the kitchen, bringing Rusty more beer and snacks, filling his pipe, feeding him smoke from his own cigars, and making certain that Rusty came at least once during every single clip that came on the TV.

Hours passed, and by the end of the video, which had looped several times, Rusty was so drunk that he couldn’t stand up, and he was too heavy for Axel to lift. He’d passed out during the final clip, and was snoring heavily. Axel examined his work, and satisfied with the progress, went to bed–certain that he’d be up before the pig on Sunday morning, when they could seal the deal together.

**Sunday**

Rusty woke up slowly, his head pounding. Fuck, he needed a beer, and he needed one now. He fumbled around next to him, feeling a pile of cans there, but none had anything in them. A smoke then. His pipe he could reach, and he filled it as quick as he could, taking a deep breath of harsh smoke, feeling it push the headache back a bit. He sat there for a few minutes, trying to figure out where he was and what was going on, but his head felt like it was stuffed with cotton. All he really wanted was food, a fuck, and a beer. Then he finally managed to open his eyes, look down at his hairy, stinking, tattooed body, and let out a scream.

Axel stuck his head in from the kitchen, and saw Rusty was trying to claw his way out of his own body. He grabbed a beer, pushed it into the pig’s hand, and he drank it all back in a single gulp without even thinking about it. With the edge of terror blunted, he heaved himself up, pushing Axel away when he tried to help, and stumbled into the bathroom, flipping on the light so he could get a better look at himself.

He was huge. He must be topping 400 pounds, and every inch of his body, from the neck down, was covered in ink, all of it having something to do with sex. His head was shaved, but he’d grown in a beard which, if it wasn’t a filthy tangled mass clustered around his three chins, probably could have reached his belly button–or it could have, if his belly button wasn’t somewhere around his groin. He was taking in so much smoke he was getting light headed. Axel came in and told him to calm down–his presence was reassuring, and Rusty managed to keep a hold of himself, but barely.

“What…what have you done to me?”

“This is what you wanted, and you know it.”

“I…I didn’t…I mean…”

Axel turned Rusty’s head to the side, and gave him a long, smoky kiss.

“This is what you wanted, try not to worry about whether or not you should want it, and just enjoy yourself.”

Axel reached around and started probing Rusty’s ass with a couple of fingers, listening to him moan. He leaned over the counter and spread his fat, inked legs wide, letting Axel slide his dick into him. It fit perfectly inside him, and Rusty’s cock started leaking immediately.

“You’re mine, you know,” Axel said as he fucked the pig.

“Y–Yeah…yeah, I am, aren’t I?”

“You like being my slave–it’s all a fat, nasty pig like you could have ever wanted.”

“Fuck–fuck yeah, fuck me…fuck me, sir.”

“That’s right pig, I’m your sir.”

“Yes sir, oh fuck, yes sir!”

He was cumming. He was cumming, and when he looked at himself in the mirror, he saw a wide leather collar had appeared around his neck, and his worries had all disappeared with it. He was Axel’s pig–his master would take care of him. He didn’t have to worry about a thing. His master shot a load up his ass, and made him lick up the cum he’d shot across the front of the counter. While he was down there, his master fed him the morning piss he’d saved up as well, and then they went into the kitchen for breakfast. As he stuffed his face, a realization dawned to Rusty–he was happy. Truly happy, perhaps for the first time in his life. Axel saw the happiness on his pig’s bearded face, and smiled too.

“Look, this is ridiculous, even if…I mean.”

“All it costs is one blowjob, and I’ve seen you staring at my crotch all night. Boys like you, only one reason they come here. The rest of it…well, I can tell just by looking at you. I’ve seen you two around town, seen how you look at him. This could help.” The older man turned the cigar over in his hands, “but, if you just want to follow him around, be the best man at his wedding to some fat skank, suck him off once, and only when he’s drunk as hell, then that’s your choice.”

The older man was hardly a looker. Probably from somewhere out in the sticks, missing teeth, big gut, stinking of cheap beer and stale smoke, grey beard to his chest. Still, he was kind of Ben’s type–though he wasn’t really a fan of sucking…This was probably how the guy always got laid though. Magic cigars? Control anyone who you smoke around? Still, for a bunch of closeted queers, lusting after their straight friends…it was tempting. Ben bargained him up, the man promising him a blow job too, and he followed him out to the man’s truck, where they blew each other in the parking lot, and then Ben left, cigar in his pocket, still feeling like he’d been a bit cheated.

Chet was his one weakness. Friends since they were babes, Ben had been lusting after his friend for so long, but he was as straight as could be, and was a big fan of bashing queers. Chet was also an alpha through and through, and as much as Ben chafed at submitting to anyone, he’d learned to let Chet get his way to keep the friendship going. But now…well, now nothing was going to change, but at least it was a nice cigar. He usually stuck to cigarettes, while Chet preferred chewing, but he’d bought a cigar now and then for fun. An opportunity to light up didn’t come for a few days, when he and Chet were hanging out at his little trailer, watching B movies. Heart beating fast, he lit up the cigar, blowing it off in Chet’s direction, watching as he inhaled the first couple whiffs. He sneezed, and rubbed his nose, eyes a bit bleary. “Dang man! That cigar’s strong as fuck. Where the fuck’d you get it?”

“Strong? Nah, this…this is pretty smooth. In fact…” did he dare? “In fact, I don’t think the smoke really bothers you at all. I think you like how it smells.”

“No way, I mean…sure, it’s not botherin’ me as much…” Chet said, fidgeting. He always fidgeted when he lied.

Had it actually worked? How in the hell could he really know? Then again, the man had said it gave him complete control, body and mind. He muttered something under his breath, quietly so Chet couldn’t hear, and a few seconds later, a thick beard sprouted across Chet’s stubbly face. He just gawked for a moment, and Chet reached up to feel it, and yanked his hand away. “What the fuck!”

“Hang on Chet! Calm down…”

Chet grabbed the side of the chair, and his breath slowed down.

“Fuck, it actually works…”

“What fucking works? What…what’s going on?”

He’d never heard Chet scared before. He liked how that sounded, actually. His cock was getting a bit hard, in fact. “Looks good on you, but you know? I just think you’re a bit too young to pull it off. Now, how about we age you up a bit? Say…fifty? Yeah, make you a sexy, submissive, chubby, daddy bear.”

Chet stood up calmly, but the changes were already starting. He watched his smooth stomach balloon outward into a gut, hair filling in across his arms and under his shirt, speckled with grey. “How in the fuck!” he wheeled towards Ben, and blinked. Fuck…fuck, his friend was one…sexy cub. He licked his lips, feeling his tongue brush through his new beard. Ben undid the fly of his pants and let out his cock. “See something you like, Chet?”

“Fuck…fuck you. Fuckin’ faggot. You did…something to me.”

“You’re right Chet…you’re right, I am a faggot. Been one as long as I can remember. And you know what? I’m fuckin’ sick of ya bashin’ us, and I’m fuckin’ sick a yer fuckin’ jokes. Now get the fuck down here and use that nasty mouth of yours for something useful, bitch!”

Chet tried to resist, but all he could do was get down, suck his faggot friend’s cock, and listen to Ben describe their new life together. Ben, the master, and Chet the useless, small cocked, bear slave. Incredibly turned on by pain and humiliation, he started leaking when Ben ground the toe of his boot into his tiny balls. The cigar burnt out, and exhausted, Ben led the collared and harnessed Chet to his cage for the night, and filled his slave bowl with his piss. Chet thanked his master and lapped it up obediently.

“Hang on, I just gotta take a quick piss,” Nick said to his friend Doug waiting by the truck, smoking a cigarette, heading home from their summer road trip. A biker smoking a cigar watched Nick head into the rest stop bathroom, and followed after him.

At the urinal, Nick felt a hand cup his ass suddenly, a plume of smoke blowing across his face. He looked up, still pissing and saw the biker staring at him. The hand slid up the butt of his jeans and down the back, the biker groping his ass. “Wanna be mine, boy?” the biker asked, leaning in close, “Could make this hole of yours happy as fuck.”

Nick was frozen in place, the man’s hand sliding down his crack, one finger at his hole, “Say it boy, all you have to do is say yes.”

Nick’s breath was quick and shallow, and all he could get out was a stammered, weak “No.”

Still, the biker, chuckling, slid his hand back out, sniffed his hand, and clomped out of the restroom. “Suit yourself. I always get what I want though.”

Alone again, Nick collapsed against the urinal, nearly crying. What in the hell had just happened? A couple of minutes later, Doug popped his head in. “Are you still pissing? Come on, let’s get home before dark.

On the ride home, Nick was silent, and Doug could sense something was wrong, but couldn’t drag it out of him. How could Nick tell him he’d just been molested by an old biker in the middle of his piss? Doug hated faggots—and he didn’t want his friend to think he was a faggot.

Doug dropped him off at his dad’s doublewide and drove off. Nick did his best to forget that anything had even happened, and went inside, told his dad he was tuckered, and went to bed without dinner. Down the block, a motorcycle idled, and the butt of a cigar burned in the dark.

***

It was a couple of days later that Nick came home from hanging out with Doug, and found his dad on the couch, home from work, smoking a pipe. Nick found this odd–his father always preferred to chew, and when Nick asked him about it, his dad didn’t seem quite able to tell him where the pipe had come from, or why he was smoking it. The smoke smelled familiar, and Nick was uneasy all evening until he finally realized it had the same stink as that biker’s from the restroom. Still, it was probably just tobacco from the same brand, right?

His dad was acting strange. He kept…staring at Nick, and not in a normal way. In a…hungry way. When he thought Nick was out of the room, he kept seeing his dad grope himself in his camo pants, but never when Nick was around. His dad broke out the whisky early, and was out on the couch by midnight when Nick went to bed himself. It was several hours later that the door to his room opened, and his dad staggered in, pipe lit, cock hanging out the fly of his pants. He threw the covers off Nick, waking him up, but forced Nick onto his stomach and climbed on top of him. Nick tried to scream, but his father shoved his face into the pillow as he rammed his cock into his hole raw and unlubed. It was quick–four thrusts, and his father exploded in his ass, before collapsing on him, breathing hot smoke and whisky breath onto his son’s neck. Without speaking, he got up and stumbled back to his room.

Nick couldn’t move. At first, he thought he just didn’t want to move, but then he realized, he actually couldn’t move. Another man was in the doorway–the biker, his room full of smoke, but he didn’t say anything. The room was full of smoke now, and Nick realized he must be dreaming. Not all of it was a dream. He woke up, feeling his father’s cum dried down the crack of his ass, but that was normal, right? His dad always liked fucking his hole when he got too drunk. Nick stopped, realizing what he’d just thought. His dad had never done anything like that to him before–so why in the hell had he thought…

The door opened, and it was his dad, morning wood jutting straight out. Nick lipped his lips as his father climbed on him and skullfucked him, blowing his load across his son’s face before getting dressed in his workgear and heading to the construction site. Nick got cleaned up, everything feeling more normal suddenly, and then left and started walking to Doug’s house, when a motorcycle pulled up next to him, the biker smirking at him.

Nick went to run, but the biker grabbed him and pulled him close, one hand twisting Nick’s nipple. “How about now, boy? You’d rather have your hole fucked by your dad, or by me? How about a nice ‘yes’?”

Nick was frozen, but again said no. The biker released him, and drove off, saying once again, “I always get what I want boy!”

***

Nick arrived at Doug’s place, knocked on the door, and was his friend opened it, cigar planted in the corner of his mouth. Nick just stared at him, and asked him where the cigar had come from. Doug told him he always smoked cigars, and pulled him inside. Doug suggested that they take a walk in the woods, but when Nick told him he just wanted to stay in today, Doug instead insisted. His friend had never been so forceful before, and something in Nick…something made him feel compelled to obey.

They hiked out into the woods, and Nick swore that as Doug smoked, something was happening to him. He was getting…bigger. In fact, by the time they reached the river, his friend, who had been an inch or two shorter, was now six inches taller, his body filled out with muscle, and his eyes. His eyes were cruel. They reached the river, and Doug turned to him, “Kids at school–you know, they’re saying your dad’s a faggot.”

“He’s…he’s not a faggot,” Nick said.

“They say he’s a faggot, and they say you’re a faggot too. That you let your dad fuck your ass, that you want him to fuck you.”

“That’s not fucking true!” Nick shouted, but Doug grabbed Nick’s groin in a huge hand and squeezed it until Nick let out a groan.

“Not true? Then I suppose that the thought of your dad’s old cock won’t get you hard eh? I suppose that the thought of him coming in your room doesn’t get you all excited, that you don;t get hard at the thought of sucking his scummy cock? Of taking a load of his in your asshole? I bet you started it. I bet you’re the one who begged him to fuck you, you made your dad into a fucking faggot for your hole.”

Nick was listening, but there, across the river, was the biker. The smoke was flowing over the water like a fog, about to envelop them. He was hard. He was hard, thinking about his dad’s cock, thinking about how he’d gotten his dad drunk and sucked him off that first time, how his dad hadn’t wanted to, but Nick was so fucking horny, he was such a fucking faggot for nasty cock…

“It..it’s true…”

“No shit–I’ve been friends with a faggot this whole fucking time.”

Nick nodded, and was unprepared for Doug’s fist to slam into the side of his face. There was so much smoke, and yet his view of Doug was perfectly clear, the biggest guy at school, he’d wanted his cock forever. He could see the bulge, probably close to nine inches–how would that feel buried in his ass?

“Please…please, I just want…I just want to serve you, please…”

The words were him, but he couldn’t imagine himself saying them.

“Clean my fucking boot, faggot.”

Doug smashed his boot onto Nick’s face, and he licked at the dusty tread, anything for his friend’s cock, anything, he was just a worthless faggot for cock. He licked both boots clean, and only then did Doug reward him, shoving his giant cock deep into his hole, making Nick scream, but it felt so fucking good. Doug came in his ass and tromped off into the forest, telling him he never wanted to see the faggot again, and Nick looked down between his legs, and saw that he’d shot his own load on the dirt trail.

The smoke had cleared. He stood up, and started out of the woods, pleased with himself. Sure, Doug would tell everyone at school he was a stupid faggot, but he’d finally got that massive cock in him. It was worth it. Besides, he was just a worthless faggot, after all, right?

Waiting for him at the head of the trail, he found the biker, cigar burning. Nick approached him, hesitantly, felt the leather jacket–it was too cold compared to the summer air. “What do you say now, boy? You want to be mine? Be my little cubby faggot?”

Nick reached down and felt the biker’s cock through his jeans. Big, but not as big as Doug’s. And he liked his dad. He liked getting fucked by him. And maybe…maybe more guys at school would want to fuck him now. And he knew Doug would want to fuck him again, sometime. No one could resist his faggot ass. “No, no, I don’t think so,” Nick said, and walked on. The biker looking at him as he left, a bit perturbed, but he got on his bike and drove off.

***

Nick found his dad’s truck in the driveway when he got home, and was excited for an afternoon fuck. He went inside, but the father on the couch was not the one who had left home that morning. The pipe…it was much bigger now, as was his father. Sometime during the day, he’d packed on close to three hundred pounds, and now, heaps of blubber cascaded off of him. Nick could smell him from across the room, the stench of cum and sweat and…piss? He stood in the doorway, not noticing the tendril of smoke curling in from the kitchen.

“What the fuck are you waiting for, faggot? Get over here and suck daddy’s cock.”

Nick wanted to ask what had happened, he wanted to resist. He didn’t want to serve this fat, disgusting man, but the smoke curled around his feet and drew him closer. He knelt down, feeling the smoke wrap around his body, dissolving his clothes, leaving him naked aside from a set of manacles on his wrists and feet, chained together so he couldn’t walk upright, only crawl. He shoved his face under his father’s apron, searching until he found his short, three inch cock, and started sucking. He hated his father’s cock–mostly because it meant on fuck was satisfying, and his father said his slave’s ass was reserved for him alone. Most fucks were just his father grunting and grinding his tiny cock up Nick’s ass crack until he came–it was miserable. It was difficult breathing as he sucked, but he’d learned some tricks in his years of service, ever since his father had enslaved him. It took some work, but he managed to suck out a load of cum, but he remained, waiting for…something. He didn’t remember until his father released a load of piss for him to swallow; only after could Nick extract himself.

“Footrest,” his father said.

Nick crawled over dutifully and allowed his father to set his booted feet on his hunched back. He remained perfectly still for hours, eventually cramping in his tight position, but he didn’t dare move. Eventually, he heard the grumble of a truck outside; it was Doug’s. What would his friend think if he saw him like this?

That thought struck him as strange. Doug was no longer his friend….Doug was….something else to him.

“Sounds like your trainer’s here,” his dad said, and removed his feet, allowing Nick to uncurl slightly. “Gonna work on your pain tolerance tonight, he said. I do love hearin’ my bitch scream, so be good and loud tonight.”

Doug tromped up and let himself in–now even larger, his body packed with hair and muscle, wearing leather pants and a vest, tattoos covering his body. “Into the dungeon, slave.”

Nick crawled after Doug into the room which had been his, but which now contained a large selection of dungeon gear. He was paddled and whipped until he bled and sobbed. His balls and nipples were stretched, Doug telling him how, soon, his father might let Doug castrate him, and replace his balls with a couple of heavy, iron eggs instead. Doug taunted him with his ten inch cock, telling him he’d never let a slave as worthless as Nick serve it. How Doug would only be serviced by real men, not faggots like Nick.

The room was filled with a haze of smoke, and in the doorway, the biker.  Nick pleaded with him silently, begging him to be merciful. The biker simply regarded the scene in silence, until Doug finished training and left, leaving Nick restrained on the table, balls stretched out to the wall, nipples dragged up to the ceiling. Only then, did the biker approach.

“I think…I think I will only ask one more time. Would you rather this be your life? A worthless, castrated pig for your father and his sadistic friend’s twisted pleasures? Or would you rather be my cub? What do you say boy, can I have a yes?”

Nick nodded.

“I need to hear you say it.”

“Y–yes. Yes, please.”

***

Nick blinked, and when he opened them again, he was back in the rest area bathroom. But now…now things were different. His master leaned over, watching his leather biker cub piss in the urinal.

“I like the look of that PA, cub. Makes you even sexier than you already are.”

“Thank you sir,” Nick said, looking down at the thick ring in the head of his cock, the piss spraying out around it, some of it splattering against the leg of his leather chaps. He took a drag off his cigar–and shared the smoke with his master as he shook piss off the head, and then the biker grabbed his boy by the thick chain collar he wore, dragged him into the stall, and fucked his hole.

Outside, Doug finished his smoke, and felt like he was forgetting something. With a shrug, he climbed back into his truck and started home, but saw a biker and some disgusting fag leave the restroom together. He rolled down the window and shouted, “Faggots!” as he rolled past.

The biker smirked, “Nice friend of yours.”

Nick looked over at him, confused, “I don’t know him, sir.”

“Well, what do you say we follow him, and when he stops next, we turn him into a nasty trucker, who cruises for piss as truck stops?”

“Only if I can make him four hundred pounds with a tiny cock and a hungry hole I can fuck,” Nick said smiling, and they climbed on their bikes, smoke trailing behind them as they drove off down the highway after Doug.

“Please wait while neural interface is established…”

The screen of his computer froze while the small box plugged into the USB port flashed. Lucas sat at his desk, cock hanging out of the fly of his slacks, massaging himself half hard, eager for the session to begin.

“Participant: Nathan Oberlik, has been uploaded, transferred.”

Nathan was one of Lucas’ coworkers–or rather, one of his subordinates. When Lucas had discovered that Nathan was gay, he’d invited him to have a shared session with him through The Network, and Nathan had been his playmate ever since. It helped that Nathan was naturally submissive–he was perfectly happy to allow Lucas to select the bodies they would inhabit for a few hours of sex. There was a buzzing in his ears growing louder, and suddenly his vision faded to static. A moment later, he was sitting on some ratty couch in what looked like a single wide, wearing a ballcap, wifebeater, and some shorts that he shucked off immediately.

Lucas was staring, inhabiting the body of some bearded roughneck, licking his lips. The additional request seemed to have been honored–The Network could, in the process of a download, alter the thoughts and fantasies of the people it was processing. Nathan had requested that Lucas be implanted with an insatiable desire for cum, and the perverse desire lick clean filthy, sweaty bodies–like the one Lucas was now residing within.

“Don’t just stand there, pig,” Lucas said, rubbing his new body’s cock to full mast, “Get sucking.”

“F–Fuck…” Nathan said, and got down, “I…I must have been hornier than I thought, cause…” but he never finished his thought, focusing on swallowing Lucas’ cock to the hilt. While he sucked, Lucas took a survey of his borrowed body, running his hands through his furry chest, feeling the young muscles flex. It was a pity that it was only temporary. He shoved Lucas off his cock and back onto his ass.

“What gives man? I’m fuckin’ thirsty!”

“Beg for it.”

“What?”

“Go on pig, beg for my cock.”

Lucas’ face turned a bit red. “Please…please can I have your cock?”

“Network, pause Lucas.”

Lucas froze suddenly, his pupils flickering with static.

“Please give Lucas’ voice a southern inflection. Also, make him turned on by verbal humiliation.”

Sparks shot out of Lucas’ body for a moment, and then he unfroze. “Please, can Ah suck yer cock, man? Fuckin’ hungry fer some cum…”

“Tell me your a horny pig for my cum.”

“I’m…I’m a horny pig fer yer cum man…fuckin’…please…”

Lucas stood up and began skullfucking Nathan, calling him a cocksucking faggot pig, listening to his coworker grunt and jack off his own cock while Lucas humiliated him. They both shot their loads, and they spent the rest of the session in a pleasant afterglow, Nathan happily cleaning off Lucas’ sweaty body with his tongue, and he made sure he spent extra time on his body’s asscrack.

Their two hour session was coming to a close, however, and they began to prepare for departure, watching the clock, a bit eager to get back into their own bodies. However, two hours passed and nothing happened. Then, two hours and five minutes. “Network,” Lucas asked, “End session.” No reply. “End session!” he shouted, and then added, “This wasn’t part of the fucking deal, and you know it!”

“Deal?” Nathan asked, “What fuckin’ deal, man?”

Lucas was silent, but Nathan just stared at him.

“What the fuck did ya do?”

“I…I didn’t have the money to pay them, alright? They were going to come after me, and I threatened to out them to the Justice Department.”

Nathan just gawked, “Wha the fuckin’ hell man! ‘N ya thought we could jus’ continue on as fuckin’ normal?”

They offered a free session on the house!”

“Yer a fuckin’ idiot, I oughta–”

Before Nathan could finish speaking, he froze in place, his pupils full of static. His mouth opened, and a voice which was not his own came from his mouth. “I know this wasn’t part of the deal, Mr. Henderson, but Chuck and Trent are so happy in your bodies, and they were more than happy to agree to a payment plan to cover your debt. I’m afraid this session will not be ending anytime soon, for either of you.”

“No, you can’t fucking do this! I’m the vice president of a huge company! They’ll know it’s not me.”

“Yes, which is why I will be needing to download your memories, like I have for Nathan here. It’s a pity you had to drag him into this. Still, I think he’s going to enjoy his new life with you, once I finish these personality alterations. Oh! And we have a new process which is currently in testing, but you two will make such good subjects. Did you know that we have discovered how to alter the bodies of our clients now too? The central nervous system is so full of wonders. It takes several hours for the changes to fully manifest however. Now, I’m almost done.”

“Please, I’ll do anything, please don’t do this to me, don’t take my mind.”

“Oh, Lucas,” the voice said, “While I am deleting Nathan’s mind, I have a feeling yours…well, you’ll just have to wait and see. But how about this? Let’s play a game. When I’m finished with Nathan here, he’s going to be very, very horny, and I have a feeling he’s going to want to fuck your ass very badly. If you can keep your hole virginal for, say, ten minutes, I’ll give you your freedom.”

“Just fucking let me go.”

“Oh, but then who will Nathan–I mean, Chuck here, his name is Chuck now–fuck? Alright? Ready, set–go!”

Lucas watched Nathan stumble on his feet, before he caught himself, blinking, trying to figure out what had just happened. “Fuck–fuckin’ horny, man…” he looked up and saw Lucas standing there, and smirked, “Oh…hey Pigg, when did ya get here? Eh, who fuckin’ cares–turn the fuck around, I wanna plow that greasy hole a yers.”

“Nathan,” Lucas said, backing up a few paces, “Nathan, you have to listen to me, it’s the Network, they fucked with your head. You just have to trust me, I can get us out of here.”

“Nathan? Who the fuck’s Nathan? My name’s Chuck, but you can just call me sir, Pigg.”

Chuck advanced on him, and Lucas looked around, spying a baseball bat leaning against the wall. He grabbed it and swung it right into the side of Chuck’s head–he crumpled to the ground, eyes blank, blood leaking from an ear.

Lucas panted and dropped the bat to the ground–at least his hole was safe. It was too bad about Nathan. Still, he could figure something out.

“Oh Lucas,” a voice said. He looked down, and saw that The Network had taken over the body once more, “You’re so violent! So vicious. Murdering your friend here. Well, don’t worry, I can fix that. Still, I don’t think Chuck is going to be too happy about that, right Chuck? Heh, Chuck can’t say anything right now, but he agrees. Now, how about we try that again? You still have…nine minutes and fifteen seconds.”

Chuck groaned and started picking himself up off the floor. Lucas went to grab the bat, but Chuck beat him to it, wrestling it from his grip. “Bat…” Chuck muttered, his mind still knitting itself back together, “Bat…P-Pigg, yer gonna get a fuckin’ beating, I fuckin’ swear.”

Lucas turned and ran the length of the single wide, but realized the door out was the other direction–past Chuck. With nowhere else to go, he locked himself in the bathroom, and in moments, Chuck was hammering on the cheap wooden door with the bat. “Open up Trent! I’m comin’ in there to get your hole!”

The door cracked apart, splinters flying into Lucas’ face. Chuck ripped open the door, grabbed him by the neck and dragged him out, Lucas fighting for breath. He tried to fight Chuck off, but his friend landed one solid punch to his eye, sending him reeling back and crashing to the floor, and then he was on top of him, Chuck’s hard cock pressed against the small of his back, one hand with a vice grip on the back of his neck, pinning him to the floor until he could find his hole and start working his dry cock into it. Lucas let out a weak scream, unable to catch his breath. Tried to claw himself away, but Chuck was inside him, he’d lost, and he felt his body freeze in place, his vision static, but a voice, he could hear a voice in his head.

“Oh Lucas, that really was a good try. Well, I shouldn’t call you Lucas anymore–you’re new name is Pigg–with two G’s–it really was smart of your parents to give you a name like that, eh? It’s almost like they knew from the time you were little, that the only thing you’d want is to serve a nasty roughneck like Chuck here as his filthy pig slave. So here’s what I’m doing. I’m going to hardwire you with all sorts of new, wonderful instincts. The instinct to serve men, the instinct to sniff out and eat cum, the instinct to drink and bathe in piss. And as for that whole bat incident earlier, well, let’s just say you’re going to have a very different relationship with pain from now on, Pigg.

“Oh, and this body of yours? Well, I don’t think it’s very pig like, do you? I’ve already slowed down your metabolism–so in a few hours, well, I think you’ll find yourself quite a bit more curvy. As for Lucas–well, how about this? I’ve already copied your memories off for Trent back in your old body, but I’ll go ahead and leave these with you, to think about. And I mean that you should think about them. I went ahead and rewired your brain here, so that your long term memory is more like a sieve than a bowl. Why, if you don’t pay attention, you might just go ahead and forget everything! You might end up an empty headed pig slave, operating on instinct alone, no thought, no memory, just an empty shell. I know that must scare you. Goodbye Pigg–it’s a pleasure to know we’ll never meet again.”

The voice and the static was gone–he was alone, Master Chuck ramming his huge cock into his piggy hole, and Pigg pushed back, hungrily, unable to stop. The motion was simply bypassing his head–he had no control over himself. Instead of thinking about the pleasure coursing through him every time his master smacked his ass, he tried to hold onto his memories, these memories that weren’t his, but he had to keep them. His name Lucas, his job, his old life, but things were slipping away faster than he could hold onto them. It didn’t help when Chuck, after blowing his load, took the bat Pigg had assaulted him with and worked the head deep into Pigg’s asshole. It hurt so good that Pigg forgot to keep thinking for a moment, all he could do was grunt and snort and squeal and feel his shrinking cock shoot load after load of cum onto the bathroom floor.

Later, after slurping his own cum mindlessly off the floor, the bat lodged deep in his ass still, as he licked and cleaned his master’s feet, feeling his gut growing as he knelt there, rubbing it with his hands, toying with his sensitive nipples, he tried to sort through what remained of himself. The hazy face of some old man. A flickering, frozen computer screen connected to something called The Network, but that probably wasn’t important. A name, “Lucas”. That’s not his name though, his name was Pigg. He decided to just let them all fall through. Thinking was too hard. Better to just serve, and fuck, and eat like a good piggy slave for master Chuck.

Rick took another drag off his cigarette in the alley behind the club. Tuesday, and a slow night even for a Tuesday, and another three hours before his shift was over. Hopefully someone in there would get drunk and rowdy, give him something to do. As boring as bouncing could be, when it was fun–well, it was fun. He thought about his little pet project back at home that he’d been working on for a couple of weeks now, and massaged his half hard cock through the denim of his jeans, when he heard some voices coming down the alley towards him.

“Dude, this is a gay bar though!”

“I fucking know that, but this is where he’s been going.”

“So wait, Max–big butch defensive line Max has been a closet fag this whole fuckin’ time?”

“Look, let’s just try and find him, alright?”

Rick watched the two kids from the local college some down the alley towards him. They were well built. Probably athletes, and at this time of year, most likely football. They were probably looking for his project. “Something I can help you boys with?” he said, “The alley’s off limits.”

The two football players were big–but neither of them were a match for Rick as he stood up from the steps, all six foot five and two hundred and seventy five pounds of muscle staring down at them both.

“Oh…fuck. Sorry man, it’s just…we got a bit turned around, and–hey…uh…do you work here? In the bar?”

“I’m a bouncer–why?”

“Well…a teammate of ours. His name’s Max. He was coming here off and on, and well, we haven’t seen him for a couple of weeks. Coach said he dropped out of college, but…well, he won’t even answer his phone, and his parents think he’s still at school. We’re worried something happened to him.”

The bouncer slipped a hand into his pocket where his phone was. “Huh…well, what’s the guy look like?”

“Well, he’s on the defensive line, so he’s kind of chubby. Redhead. Bushy beard.”

“He’s really loud, and he can get pretty rowdy when he gets drunk.”

Rick thought for a moment, and then shook his head, “Nope, can’t say I’ve seen anyone like that…hey, hold on, I’m getting a phone call.”

Rick pulled his phone out of his pocket, and the speaker was emitting a high pitched whine. The two students winced at the sound, but within thirty seconds, their eyes had gone blank, and both of them were swaying where they stood. “Now boys–what’s your names?”

“Alex.”

“Trevor.”

“Alright Alex and Trevor. Here’s what I want you to do. I want you to forget all about Max–he did drop out. In fact, you both talked to him last week, and remember him telling you that, don’t you?”

Alex and Trevor nodded.

“Good. Now, I’d like both of you to give me your phone numbers please, so I can call you if I need anything.”

He entered their numbers into his phone, and then turned off the noise his phone was making. Both of the students shook their heads like they were waking up, Rick finished a fake phone call and hung up the phone. “Now, you boys wanted to know something?”

Alex and Trevor looked at each other, neither of them sure what they were doing in this alley with the huge bouncer, shook their heads and retreated, trying to figure out what had just happened. Rick chuckled–the meatheads were always so easy to fuck around with. His break was over, so he stamped out his cigarette and headed back into the club to finish his shift. It was as boring as he’d hoped it wouldn’t be. Finally, the club closed for the night, Rick climbed into his truck, stopped by the local pizza shop (it stayed open late just for him) picked up his five pizza standing order, and headed home.

He let himself in, setting down the pizzas by the door, and walked over to where Max was tied to a chair, eyes blank, earbuds stuffed in each ear, playing a loop of Rick’s homemade hypnosis tracks and subliminals, but he took a moment to admire his handy work, especially after seeing Alex and Trevor earlier. One of his first tasks had been to get rid of all the fucking hair on Max’s body–and now, after some special treatments, his body would be completely smooth for the rest of his life. Tonight was going to be special though–the mix he’d put on for Max to listen to had a new track he was excited to test out–finally, he pulled out the earbuds, and after a couple of minutes, Max shook his head in a daze, and looked up at Rick. The look was dread. Week one had been anger. Week two had been fear. But now, Max was learning to dread. Rick always liked that look–but he really liked what would happen in a few more weeks, when Max would start to enjoy it. When he’d look up at him eagerly, excited to find out how Rick had chosen to twist and warp his mind that day.

“How are you doing, slave? Hungry?” Rick asked.

“Yes–S–sir…”

“Still fighting that one, eh?”

“N–No sir, sorry sir…I’m not fighting anything sir.” Max had learned that resisting the hypnosis would only lead Rick to entrance him further, usually with some extra suggestion as punishment. Max had fought calling him Sir and Master at first–and so, as extra incentive, Rick had hypnotized him to feel someone squeeze down on his balls everytime he forgot. He’d figured it out pretty quickly after that.

“Well, I have dinner for you, pig, but first, I want to see how today’s files worked out. See, I thought of something special to do to you today, and I’m curious to see how it worked. So, shall we?” Rick reached down and grabbed a hold of Max’s limp cock, and Max got an odd look on his face, and then just stared at Rick.

“Well? How does it feel, pig?”

“I can’t…I don’t…what did you do to me sir? I can’t…it’s just…numb.”

“So, if I start stroking it, you mean you can’t feel any of this?” Rick said, as he toyed and stroked Max’s cock, but it stayed perfectly limp the entire time. “That’s good–very good. Just what I wanted.”

Max sniffled, holding back tears, unable to believe it. He couldn’t feel his cock at all–as far as he could tell, it’s like he didn’t even have one.

“Don’t worry pig, it’s not that I don’t want you to feel anything–I just want your attention focused somewhere else, is all,” Rick said, then reached up and ran his finger over Max’s nipple. It immediately hardened, and Max let out a sigh of pleasure. “See? A nipple pig–well, nipples and something else too.” Rick wormed a hand between the chair and Max’s ass, a finger sliding against his hole, and again Max gasped in pleasure. “Very nice, very nice indeed. I’m very happy.”

“Please…please sir, just let me go, I’m sorry…”

“Oh piggy,” Rick said, and set his hand on Max’ shaved head. Max shivered and groaned, feeling immediately submissive, his thoughts suddenly overwhelmed by a desire to serve his master. Rick unzipped his fly with his other hand, letting out his hard cock, and allowed Max to suck it. “Oh piggy, I will let you go, eventually. You’ll be your own man, although very different from the man you were. But that old, closeted Max will be gone, and instead you’ll be a horny, kinky pig bitch, begging for cock, happily tugging on your nipples all the time. But I have some news to share, pig. It’s my day off tomorrow, you know, so guess what? We’re going out on the town–you’re gonna be getting your first tattoos. Isn’t that exciting?”

Max wasn’t really listening. He was too focused on sucking his master’s cock, on serving him. The sensation of a hand on his shaved scalp–something about it made him so docile. He couldn’t help but obey whoever was palming his skull.

“But here’s what I’m really excited for. See, I’m so happy that file worked as well as it did, because I have plans for that cock of yours, pig. I’ve already made an appointment with the plastic surgeon even–we’re gonna cut this cock of yours down to size–by the time we’re done, it’s gonna be a one inch nub, permanently soft and numb. Not even a clit–cause you aren’t going to be feeling anything down there.”

Max could sense Master was getting close. His own cock was soft though–still, that didn’t matter. His cock was worthless after all. Why, he didn’t even need a cock, really. What good was a cock that couldn’t feel anything?

“And when we get to the office, if you ask me real nicely, I might ask the surgeon to go ahead and throw in a castration, turn you into a proper hog. Maybe put some steel balls in there instead to weigh down that sack of yours, keep you weak and docile for the rest of your life. Oh fuck yeah–you’re gonna fuckin’ beg me to take your balls–that’s gonna be so fuckin’ hot!”

Master was cumming, and Max sucked it all down. He was starving–he hadn’t eaten all day. Between his master’s hypnosis and his nightly binging, he was already packing on the pounds. Rick removed his hand, and Max felt some semblance of freedom return to him, but it was too late to spit out Master’s cum–not that he wanted to anyway…right? He…liked how cum tasted.

Rick stripped down to his underwear, and then pulled a chair over beside Max, and fed him all five pizzas, slice by slice, and as he did, he told Max about Alex and Trevor, and how they’d been looking for him in the alley. He wasn’t sure which one he’d start with once he was finished with Max–in fact, he might do them both together. He hadn’t made many tops lately–he kind of liked the idea of turning them into identical muscle twins. But before that, he’d be sure to invite them both over a few times so they can fuck Max at both ends for fun. Max didn’t want to think that was hot, but he did anyway.

Finally, the pizzas were gone, and Rick yawned. “Alright pig, it’s time for me to go to bed, and for you to listen some more. I have another new track for you tonight–I hope you’ll like it. I’m very excited to see how it works in the morning.”

Max begged him to not do it, but both of the earbuds were back in his ears, and in less then a minute, the pig was zoned out, listening to his master’s voice. Rick went over to his computer and adjusted the playlist, and then went to bed. He was going to have a nice day tomorrow, at least–he always liked giving these pigs their first tattoos. And with Max suddenly feeling pain as pleasure–he had a feeling Max would enjoy it quite a bit too.

I can hear him in his room, jacking off again. I don’t really want to get involved–I mean, what father wants to talk to his son about masturbation? But it seems like it’s all he’s been doing lately, and I think he’s stopped showering too. It’s so strange. I mean, he’s going through a rebellious phase, sure. There’s that tattoo he got with his friends a few months ago, but he’s just a senior eager to get out from under his parents. I was the same way, after all. Still, how can I not worry about him? Besides, he’s so loud, I’m worried the neighbors might hear, especially the freak next door. In fact, Ben’s room shares a wall with him, doesn’t it?

***

Ben had his hand down in his filthy jockstrap that he hadn’t changed for a week, and through the wall, he could hear his perverse neighbor whispering through the small hole he’d drilled through the wall, the one Ben had covered up with his dresser to make sure his dad didn’t find it.

“You smell good jock pig, fuck yeah. You like how you reek, don’t you?”

“F–Fuck…”

Ben shot his load up onto his stomach and rubbed it in there, groaning loudly. He hoped that his dad hadn’t heard him, but he couldn’t stop from making these humiliating groans any longer, licking the rest of his tacky cum off his fingers.

“Got something for you piggy, come on piggy, I know you want it.”

Ben got up and shoved the dresser to one side, and the pervert’s crusty, uncut cock popped through the hole. Ben was on his knees with it down his throat as fast as he could move. Piss came first, faster than he could swallow, and it ran down the front of him, where he rubbed it into his skin, grunting, his cock hard again already, the old man’s cock growing hard, and he sucked until he got a reward of sour old cum, and then he pushed the dresser back and tried to keep from smelling his filthy pits and getting started all over again.

***

I’m getting really worried now–it’s only getting worse, and now he’s gone most of the day too. I’ve been getting calls that he’s missing school, but he doesn’t listen to me anymore. In fact, it seems like he doesn’t listen to anything I have to say, like he’s a zombie when he’s here. In his room, he jacks off and snorts and grunts, and then he leaves and doesn’t come back for hours. I don’t want to invade his privacy, but I have to find out what’s going on–just a quick investigation while he’s gone won’t hurt, right?

I don’t find anything, but what the hell is that pervy neighbor doing next door? It sounds like he’s fucking someone, but who in the hell would have sex with someone as nasty as him? I don’t feel real good all of a sudden though…there’s this…smell in here, but what…what is it?

Dirty laundry everywhere…it smells…fuck. So fucking sweaty, damn…and kind of like cum. A bit stiff…too, makes me want to gag, but it smells kind of good. What the fuck am I even thinking, and why am I hard? This is ridiculous. Can’t stop though, smells so fucking good…fuck yeah, oh fuck just one quick jack, that’s all.

***

“Who’s my nasty jock pig?”

“Me sir,” Ben moaned, his filthy neighbor’s cock buried deep in his filthy ass.

“Who’s my piss drinking, ass licking piggy?”

“Oh fuck, me sir!”

“That’s fuckin’ right!” he spanked Ben’s ass, the jock groaning and unloading a fifth load from his balls into the grungy carpet beneath him. The pig had no control anymore–one sniff of his filthy master’s pits was enough to have him cumming sometimes.

The perv was speeding up now, getting close himself. He unloaded into his pig’s loose hole, and then pulled out, watching his cum dribble down Ben’s crusty ass crack. “Fuckin’ sexy pig.”

“Thank you sir.”

“Now get going–I’m done for now.”

Ben stood up and left his master’s apartment, slipping back into his father’s apartment next door, returning to his room, one hand wiping his master’s cum out of his crack and licking it up, when he saw his father naked on his bed, surrounded by his filthy laundry, his cum rag shirt pressed against his nose as he jacked off, body sweaty.

Ben went to the hole in the wall, “Master, my father’s pigging out sir, what should I do?”

“Oh really? How about you feed him my cum from your nasty hole, pig?”

“Oh fuck sir, I’d love to do that…” Ben got up on the bed and squatted over his father’s face, and unable to stop himself, his father ate the pervert’s filthy cum from his son’s hole. Unable to fathom what was happening, but unable to stop for the life of him.

***

Oh fuck, look at them go! My pig son’s so fuckin’ hot, especially now that he’s working out almost constantly. Fuckin’ ripped, and master just reams his ass with that fist of his. Wish it wasn’t so hard to jack my cock, but I’m just a fat pig, gotta keep eating, so fuckin’ hungry. Master wants me at least 400 pounds here soon, and I’m gettin’ so close. So fuckin’ nasty, fuck.

Gotta piss, yeah, pissin’ my son’s nasty jockstrap. Smells so good, I’ll suck it out of the carpet later, I don’t wanna miss this. Love watching master fist my pig son, almost as much as I love feeling his fist up my fat ass, maybe Ben will fist me when he comes home, fuck that’d be hot.

Master says he’s gonna start training me to be a proper toilet pig soon, gonna have me eating my son’s filthy shit before too long. Can’t fucking wait to be honest, I already love having my tongue buried up filthy shit chutes, tastes so fucking good. I’m gonna be such a good toilet for master and my pig son, fuck yeah. Where’s my fuckin’ dildo? Wanna cum, gettin’ fuckin’ close, gotta get fucked to cum though, such a fuckin’ pig. Yeah, that’s it, nine inches stuffed up in me, fuck! Fuck I’m fuckin’ cumming, such a nasty fuckin’ pig, fuck, fuckin’ love being a pig, love my master, I love my fuckin’ pig son so fuckin’ much, fuck yeah…