The Doctor and the Loser

***WARNING*** Contains light scat.

***

“Good afternoon team.”

“Good afternoon Dr. Jacobs,” the football team replied in near unison. They were all seated on the benches in the locker room, their eyes empty and glazed, just staring at the jeweled necklace the doctor was wearing. Standing next to him was the team’s coach–a very large, hulk of a man, but he looked like he might fall over at any moment; his arms were limp, his back slouching forward. The only part of him that held any tension was his neck, which craned his head around so he could keep looking at the jewel the doctor was wearing. It was so beautiful after all–he didn’t want to stop looking at it. He never wanted it to leave his sight for as long as he lived.

“Alright team, as you know, your coach here hired me so that I could help eliminate the culture of losing which has been the primary reason for these many, many long and grueling losses your team has suffered. Now, when I came here, I knew that a team which had lost for so long would have deep seated roots of failure throughout it. What I didn’t expect, was for so many of those roots to have a single trunk, which could be ripped out so easily. Now team, your coach and I have just had a long, serious talk, and…well, maybe it would be better for your coach to say it.”

The doctor looked over at the coach, but the man didn’t notice–his eyes were still locked on the necklace.

“Coach? Do you have something you would like to admit to your team?”

“Whaa…?” The big man said, noticing for the first time that the doctor was speaking, “Oh…uh…oh yeah, I do.” With some reluctance, the coach pulled his eyes away from the necklace and faced his senior varsity football team. “Uh…team…team, I hate to, uh, have to tell you this. But the doc and I, well, we’ve discovered that…that I’m a Loser.”

The whole room gasped. Dr. Jacobs had told them about Losers before–about how dangerous they were to a team’s chances of winning. The doctor had told them all that they were very close to becoming Losers themselves, and that was the main reason they obeyed him and did everything he asked, no matter how strange. Becoming a loser was simply too terrible a prospect to risk. But to find out that their coach was a Loser? No wonder they’d lost so many games! With a Loser coaching them, they would have been coached to lose!

“What the fuck is a Loser doing coaching us Doctor!” Simon, the team captain shouted.

“Yeah!” Vinny said, “He might have turned *woof* us all into Losers!”

The doctor held up his hands and the team settled down again. “I know, I know. It was never my intention to put you all at risk. I thought I had determined that the coach wasn’t a Loser when he hired me, but I was wrong. You see, the coach had no idea that he is a Loser–after all, Losers are very good at deceiving themselves, but now that we know this, we have both agreed that there is no way he can remain your coach, isn’t that right?”

The coach nodded, his face reddening, “I…I’m sorry boys. If…if I had known, I would have never put you in this kind of danger. But since the season has already started, I technically have to remain your coach…but for now, I’m putting all of you in the hands of the doctor. I can’t think of anyone who might help you all win more than he will.”

The coach took off his whistle and handed it to the Doctor, who placed it around his neck, being sure it didn’t get in the way of the necklace. “Alright,” the doctor said, “I think that’s enough Loser shit for now. Forget him boys! Now, Simon, go lead the team through stretches and a jog!”

“You heard the coach, team!” Simon said, “Let’s go!”

The team all charged past the two men and ran onto the field, leaving the Doctor and the Coach alone in the locker room, and the Coach looked like he was about to cry. “I…I don’t want to be a Loser, doctor! I don’t! Please, please can you help me be a winner like you?” He got down on his knees in front of the doctor, hands clasped, “Please, I’ll do anything–anything!”

The doctor shook his head. “I’m sorry, but once you become a Loser–a true Loser–there’s nothing you can do. You’re going to be a Loser for life…but…well, no, It’s a lot to ask of Loser like you, and I don’t know if I can trust you.”

“What?” the coach asked, “What is it? Please, if it can help–if it can help the team win, if it can help me, I’ll do it, I’ll do anything for you.”

The doctor smiled. “Well, alright. You see, having Losers around can be dangerous, unless they know their proper place. But you, I think you’ll fit into your proper place just fine. Come on, let’s go into my office and have a chat about what you’ll be doing from now on.”

The doctor walked towards the coach’s office, and the coach started to get up and follow him, but the doctor looked over his shoulder, “No. Crawl, you fucking Loser. Loser’s don’t walk like winners–that’s the first fucking lesson we’re going to have to get into that Loser head of yours, got it?”

“Yes, yes, I understand.”

“Yes sir, Loser!” the doctor shouted, “You don’t talk to me like I’m equal to you–I’m not a fucking Loser, do you understand? You address me, and the whole team, as Sir, do you understand?”

“Yes, sir! Yes sir, I understand.”

“I don’t know if I’ll be able to use you after all–you might be the sorriest Loser I’ve ever seen!”

“No!” the coach shouted, “Please sir, please–I’ll do anything–anything!”

The doctor stared at the now sobbing coach, on his hands and knees on the concrete floor, and smirked. “Alright, come on Loser.” The doctor stepped into his new office, and the coach crawled after him, “We have a lot of work to do if we’re going to make you the worst Loser this team has ever seen.”

***

They won.

In one of the biggest turnarounds the county had ever seen–the Silverside High Vipers won the district football championships. Hollering and shouting, the players streamed into the locker room, thrilled with their victory, carrying Coach Jacobs on their shoulders, and they gave their coach three cheers of thanks.

“Well done team!” Coach Jacobs said, “I honestly didn’t know if you had it in you all to be winners, but you proved me wrong!”

“Ha, we aren’t Losers coach, but we could have been. We have you to thank for that,” Simon said, and the team started hooting and shouting again, Vinny, on his hands and knees next to Simon, gave a loud howl, the team captain reaching down and giving the back of his pup’s head a long, deep scratching, Vinny rubbing his face up against his Captain, and Master’s, leg, his cock already hardening at the thought of the load of victory cum he would have the pleasure of swallowing soon.

“But now–now we have to announce the VIP!” the coach said, and the team fell silent in anticipation. “And I’m going to go with Mick!”

One of the linebackers started jumping up and down like a girl, and ran over to the coach, giving him a deep kiss. “Oh thank you coach, thank you! I tried so hard, I tried so hard just for you!”

“And you’re a winner Mick,” Coach Jacobs said, giving the big man’s ass a rough squeeze, “Now get in that office there, so I can give you your award.”

Mick licked his lips, and hurried into the office, the Coach following behind him, and left the players’ huddle to disperse into the pairs and triples which had formed naturally over the course of the season. Darren, however, broke away from Lewis for a moment, saying, “Hold on, I gotta piss before we fuck. Hey! Loser! Where the fuck are you? I gotta take a fucking leak, you worthless piece of shit!”

“Here, sir! I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m here!” Loser said, as he crawled out from where he’d stayed out of sight. He had to stay out of sight until one of the team members needed him, or else he might break their winning streak. The several months since the good doctor had outed him as a Loser had not been easy for the old coach. He’d been tasked with being the repository for all of the teams loser aspects–all of their waste, all of their abuse, all of their humiliation. It hadn’t been easy, but what else was there for a Loser like him to do? He’d lived in the locker room, wearing nothing other than the oldest, nastiest jockstrap he could find in the lost and found bin. Coach Jacobs had taken good care of him, at least–or at least given him better care than a Loser like him deserved. Still, the diet of junk food and lack of exercise hadn’t helped the Loser’s figure. He was now well past obese, like most Losers are. He also hadn’t shaven or cut his hair in all this time–or taken a shower–and he stank almost as bad as Jerry did in his unwashed uniform, his beard caked with dried bits of shit that had collected there over the many practices and games where he’d served as the entire team’s toilet.

He crawled over and wrapped his lips around Darren’s cock, and drank the young man’s piss down, not spilling a single drop, trying not to moan in pleasure. He really was such a Loser–how else could it be that he would enjoy being one so much? It just felt…so much more natural to let things fall, to drink piss, and eat shit, and stink like a truck stop…with a shiver he felt his cock unload a wad of cum into his jockstrap–he couldn’t even control that anymore, he was such a fucking Loser–but he didn’t stop drinking, and he sucked and licked the head clean before crawling away back to his hiding spot–or he would have, if Jerry hadn’t called him over.

Several members of the team had gathered around him–after all, it was time for him to take off his gear, since this had been the last game of the season. He stripped off his rank jersey and socks, and then his jock, and said to the Loser, “Yo, clean me up, Loser–I haven’t had a proper bath in months!”

Loser went to work, licking Jerry’s body clean as quickly as he could, being very careful to touch him with no part of his body other than his tongue. He couldn’t risk spreading his Loser-ness to anyone on the team after all–and when Jerry was satisfied, he grabbed the Loser’s jaw, and stuffed his months-unwashed socks into his mouth, and then the pouch of his equally filthy jock, which he secured by wrapping the waist strap around the old coaches head twice. “Enjoy it, Loser–and they’d better be clean by the time I come back to school on Monday!” he said, and the team laughed, before they fell back into their sexual bliss.

The Loser crawled off to his corner, soaking the filthy socks and jocks with his saliva, before sucking it back out, feeling his cock shoot another load unbidden into the pouch of his jock. The Coach wouldn’t be happy that he’d shot twice already–he might even put the Loser back in chastity, but that was alright. The Loser deserved it–he knew he did. But if this is what it took for his old team to become winners like they were meant to be–then Loser could be happy with that, at least a little bit.

Well, it’s important to remember that I didn’t lie to him–he’d come into my smoke shop, and he’d heard the rumors–guys like him always hear the rumors. That my smokes can…enhance people, make them more who they want to be. I get the wimpy, the small, the nerdy–and really all they want to be are men. Real men–and I am usually perfectly accommodating.

Usually.

I mean, they always end up closer to what they want, it’s just that some of them, well, they come in with this attitude. They think they deserve to be men, that they were somehow slighted by the universe when it decided to give them this weak, hairless body they have now. I can always tell, when they come in, if they’re going to be grateful or not, and if not…well…

Heh, I have a little room all set up for them. You see, it takes a week of pretty constant smoke to reach the full change, and what sort of man you become depends a lot on what you do. If you work out that week? You’ll be a sweaty muscle bear. Hike in the outdoors? You might come back looking like Paul Bunyan. And the grateful ones, they get it–they craft themselves, but the ungrateful ones, well, I craft them myself.

Each one is a little bit different, but this one, well, he’s got the mask on so he can have way more smoke than normal–he’s going to be hairy as fuck by the time this week’s up. And keeping him bound up and unmoving? Pair that with the massive feeding sessions and he’s going to waddle out of here one fat fucking bear. But why the chastity device? Well, the cigars have a tendency to encourage…rapid growth down there, shall we say. Locking them up though–the sexual energy breaks down their minds–and keeps their cock small. No, the only satisfaction this dumbfuck will be getting is a good ass reaming every night. Yep, just my kind of fat ass bear slut–I can’t wait.

Everybody in town loves the Sheriff–which is pretty rare, even he admits that. He knows everyone in town, and has a habit of dropping in on families unexpectedly, like he did with the Robinson’s just last week. It was late–after dinner, and Mr. Robinson was enjoying a bit of whiskey, when the door opened (everyone left their doors unlocked, in case the sheriff wanted to stop by) and he said hello to Mr. Robinson, and then found the Misses getting dessert ready in the kitchen.

“Betty,” he said, stroking her cheek with a gloved hand, “Be a doll and skip dessert at home tonight. Why don’t you take the kids out for ice cream? And don’t come home until I call and tell you to.”

“Yes sheriff, of course!” Mrs. Robinson said, and bundled up the kids and left the sheriff alone with her husband.

Mr. Robinson wasn’t the healthiest of men, but then again, all of the men in the town had started packing on weight since the sheriff came to town. The Sheriff walked into the living room and started running his gloves over Mr. Robinson’s body. “Strip down, I want to see those fat rolls of yours, Mr. Robinson–and then we’re going to eat that whole cake your wife just baked. After that, I’m going to plow that fat ass of yours all night–how does that sound?”

“Sounds fucking hot, Sheriff, I can’t fucking wait,” Mr. Robinson said, moaning as the Sheriff rubbed his hard cock, and stuck one of his gloved hands into the citizen’s drooling mouth.

My New Suspenders Part 3

It was all formal wear–and I settled finally on some pants and a shirt that didn’t seem too fogyish, and a tie…because it felt…right. I dressed myself, finding it more comfortable to pull the waist of my pants up over my gut, and then found some socks and shoes to wear, to complete the outfit. As I dressed myself, the voice gnawing at me to find something to smoke kept getting louder, and I was desperate. I didn’t care anymore what might happen when I was dressed, I just needed a pipe, or a cigar, or hell, even a cigarette–just something.

When I was fully dressed, the third set of suspenders I’d found hanging in the closet strapped on me, the door was unlocked, but no one outside the door. Still, I needed to smoke more than anything, so I went downstairs into the den, and there he was, the submissive I’d been chatting with online, and he was completely naked, aside from a leather collar and cuffs, and he said, “What would you like daddy? Pipe or cigar?”

“What are you doing to me? How are you doing this?” I asked, but he didn’t reply, just opened a humidor and pulled out a cigar, clipped the end, and walked over, slipping it into my mouth. I puffed it to life, and from the first breath I just felt…so relaxed. I let him pull me over and settle me in a large armchair.

“Don’t worry daddy, you still have to grow a little more, but I’m here to help,” he started rubbing my belly and I groaned, feeling him keep loosening my suspenders as my gut grew even larger, and then he had my fly open and had swallowed my cock, and I let out a deep groan, noticing that the hair I could see in my beard had turned nearly white.

***

“Fucking take daddy’s cock boy!” I heard myself say, and I realized I had blacked out again. I didn’t know where I was, but my boy was bent over in front of me, and I kept fucking him hard, feeling my fat gut ripple and bounce as I plowed him deep, smoke pouring from my nose and mouth as I did.

“Yeah daddy! Fuck your slave son, fuck me hard!”

“You’re gonna get it, how about I ram my fist up your ass after I breed your hole? Would you like that?”

“Oh yeah daddy, I want to feel you fist me so bad…”

I looked over, unable to stop myself, and saw a mirror in the wall. My eyes have adjusted to the dark now, and I see I’m in some dungeon–probably in the basement of the house, and I’m…huge. Just massively fat, white hair all over my body, a thick white beard covering my face, and nearly no hair left on my head. My suit is gone–instead, I’m decked out in a leather harness and shorts held up by leather suspenders–I’m still growing, I can feel it, and I stare at myself, locking eyes with myself, and feel the last bit of me slipping away. I tense up and cum deep in my son’s hole, yeah, my son, my real son…

***

I stretch in my bed, feeling the silk sheets against my old skin–and give my massive belly a rub down. Fuck, I’m huge…but I don’t know why that seems strange–I’ve been this fat for years now, after all. I heft myself up, feeling my gut sag down between my legs. What am I now–five hundred? Six hundred? Who cares, it felt wonderful. I can smell my son cooking in the kitchen, and I’m starving. I pull on some boxer shorts and some suspenders (after lighting my first cigar of the morning) and lumber downstairs, where I see him, naked as the day he was born, cooking my massive breakfast. I love him so much, I’m so lucky to have such an obedient sexy son as my slave. I may be old, but there’s still plenty of good fucks left in me–in fact, I think I’m going to need one right after breakfast.

My New Suspenders Part 2

I don’t know what happened, I just don’t know. One second, I was closing and locking the door, and then the next…the next I was back inside, but I knew time had passed, the light was different through the windows, but where had I gone?

I looked down and saw I was holding a shopping bag, but it didn’t have any food in it–apparently I’d never made it to the store. Looking inside, I saw a small wooden box, and a few pouches of some black dried plant. I thought it was tea at first, but when I smelled it I knew–it was tobacco, and in the box, a pipe.I just stared at it, and my mouth felt funny for some reason, and then I was fumbling it out of the box and hastily tamping the tobacco into the bowl, and I have just enough time to wonder what the hell I’m doing before I light it and take a deep draw of smoke…

***

Fuck! I’m shooting, and the room, the room is so smoky, and I’m at the computer, and I’m chatting with him again. I blacked out again I realize, and stand up, and see that I’m still dressed in what I was wearing, the cum soaking into my shirt, and try to pull the pipe from my mouth, but it won’t budge…and I feel something new–hair. I rush to the bathroom, and I see that I’m changing again–a thick beard has already filled in all over my face, but I still have most of my hair, thankfully.

My pants are tight at my waist, and I loosen my suspenders. My gut is growing yet again, and I know it won’t stop until I grow out of these clothes too. Panicking, I rush back to the computer, puffing a trail of smoke behind me, and see the last message is an address. I don’t want to go, but what choice do I have, really? He has me, and he knows it. I grab my coat and leave, hoping this whole situation doesn’t get much worse.

***

I find my way there, and it’s a house–nothing strange about it aside from the fact that it’s a big damn house, and I stand in the yard for a few minutes, watching it, looking for any sign of life. My clothes are tight on my body now, and the suspenders are almost at their loosest. It takes me a few minutes to realize my hand is in the pocket of my jacket, gripping a key. The house looks empty, I haven’t seen anyone in the windows, and so with a deep breath of pipe smoke (fuck I love smoking now, and it’s starting to turn me on more and more–I don’t think I can stop, even if I wanted to) and head for the door, test the key, find that it works, and step inside.

The house is indeed empty–but completely furnished. I wander through the first floor, and find a standard living room and kitchen, a dining room and den–where on one wall is a spacious rack of pipes. I go upstairs, and find a master’s bedroom with the closets full of men’s clothing. I try to adjust the suspenders again, but they’re at the very end, and I find I can at last remove all my clothes. I look at myself in a mirror on the wall–I’m fat, and hairy–so god damn hairy. I look at least forty now, and the clothes in the closet, well, they seem even older. I try to leave the bedroom, but find the door has shut behind me, and locked. I pound on it, but it doesn’t open, and I look at the closet. I know what I’m supposed to do, but I don’t want to–unfortunately, I don’t have much choice soon. My pipe is going out, and as soon as it does, I know I’m going to have to find something to smoke, and fast. What choice do I have? I start pawing though the closet, looking for something to wear.

***

To be continued: Part 3 incoming in a bit.

My New Suspenders Part 1

What can I say? I like wearing suspenders–is that weird? Well, maybe if you’re just using them to hold up your pants, but hell, I wear them pretty much all the time, even if I’m just hanging out in my underwear, taking pictures to show to the various guys I chat with when I’m bored and horny.

One guy though, he’s this young submissive guy who likes talking about how he wants a daddy to serve. In all of our chats, he likes to pretend that I’m growing older (and fatter, which is weird), before I pin him down and rape his ass. Well, he knows all about my suspender obsession, and so he sent me this new pair for my birthday–it was last week, but they arrived last week. I joked with him about it, but all he’d say was that “he hoped it would be worth the weight” (and yes, he did misspell it). Still, they’re a bit big–I have to tighten them all the way up to my shoulders to get them to fit.

***

Ok, so I don’t know what’s going on with this, but I woke up this morning, and I’m…pudgy. I’d had abs yesterday, and now I have a gut, what the fuck? I tried to take these new suspenders off too (I accidentally fell asleep wearing them somehow) and I couldn’t even undo the clasps, but I had to loosen them, given my sudden increase in size…but as soon as I did, I felt my stomach gurgle, and right before my eyes, it started inflating again.

I ran to my computer, and sure enough, the guy who sent them to me was online, and I wanted to know what he’d done to me. He just laughed, and told me to keep an eye out for another package. It came later that day, sure enough, and inside…well, I’d had to keep loosening the suspenders, alright? In fact, by the time the package came, well, I was definitely fat, I’ll just say that–none of my clothes could possibly fit me, the underwear I was wearing was cutting into me painfully, and the suspenders were as loose as I could get them. I opened the box and found a collection of clothes inside that definitely did not match my age, but as soon as I touched them, I head a click, and the suspenders fell off me, letting me take off my underwear, finally. But still, I’m not going to put those clothes on, no way, no how.

***

It’s been days now. I’ve missed work, but if I miss any more, they’re going to fire my ass, and my pantry is empty. I took out the clothes and inspected them–they were pretty normal, just underwear, jeans, a shirt, and another set of suspenders bigger than the last, which were already hooked to the jeans, and I can’t get them off for the life of me. The guy keeps messaging me, but I haven’t replied yet, not since that last conversation. He just keeps telling me to put them on, that I’ll enjoy it, but fuck, I don’t want to be fat! But I have to go out, I can’t stay in here for fucking ever either.

It’ll be quick, I decide. I’ll them on, go to the store, stock up, and then come back and take them off before I can change more. I pull on the briefs, the jeans, the shirt, tucked it in, pulled up the suspenders, and left without looking in the mirror–I didn’t want to know, I’d decided, I’d just leave and come back as quick as I could.

***

To be continued: Parts 2 and 3 will arrive later this evening.

“But…But I have to go to work, I can’t…I can’t miss another day, how will…how will I pay rent?” Kurt said, trying to resist the sensation of Damon rubbing his belly.

“Oh don’t you worry about that, I can cover it, just come on over here and lay down, big boy, and let me take care of you–I can’t have you up on your feet, or you might loose weight.”

Kurt was powerless as his slender roommate pulled him over to the sofa and pushed him down onto the soft cushions, watching Kurt sigh and relax, succumbing to inertia. “Yes, that’s good master, just lay there and relax,” Damon said, undressing Kurt, who fought meekly.

“Master? I’m…I’m not anyone’s master…"

"Shush, don’t pay that any mind yet–just jack off some more, and let me go fix you some more breakfast.”

Kurt did as Damon suggested, digging his cock out of jeans, unable to resist, and started jacking off. The demon living inside Damon cackled–this slender body he’d stolen was far too energetic to hold his master, but this one–this one would be perfect before long. And when Yesholom the Slothful finally entered the world, well, then the fun would truly begin.

Source: stevenmalibu

“What the fuck? What is this? Where am I?”

“Finally, you’re awake–we’ve been waiting forever. I didn’t think it would take you this long to wake up.”

“Who the hell are you, you fucking leather freak?”

“Oh trust me Brent, you know me–you just don’t recognize me. I’m Phil, you know, Phat Phil? The guy you and all of your frat buddies used to terrorize? I look good, right? I don’t blame you for not recognizing me, really–I’ve lost a lot of weight, and it’s all thanks to this wonderful contraption I’m about to stuff you into. I’ve been working on it for months now, and you’re my first test subject for stage two.”

“What the fuck are you even talking about?”

“Well, it’s a two stage process, you see. Stage one removes fat from someone’s body and stores it–stage two takes that fat and forces it into someone else–that is, you, soon enough. Come on out, guys.”

Brent looked around and saw three other slim men walk out, also clad in leather, and now that he was paying attention, he recognized all of their slimmed down faces as various fat men he’d ridiculed and teased.

“We’ve been storing quite a bit–at last count, we tucked away over six hundred pounds of flab–and you want to know where it’s going?”

Brent heard the machine around him groan to life, a conveyor lifting his roped body into the machine as he struggled.

“Oh, and I forgot to mention a quirk about the machine–apparently, and I have no idea why–it makes everyone who uses it gay–not something I was expecting–and the thinner it makes you, the more domineering. Now, this is just a hypothesis, but I think the four of us will have one fat pig slut to abuse by the time it’s finished with you!”

Brent gave one final scream as the doors shut him inside, and the machine entered stage two–the four leather men gathering around, eager to see the results.

The Silent Auction

***Plenty of extreme stuff in this one, I don’t really want to bother listing it. Just consider yourself warned. Check the tags if you’re curious.***

Mitch didn’t know what they were doing to him, the men who’d grabbed him as soon as he’d stepped into the warehouse, throwing a bag over his head and dragging him away, kicking and shouting, but he’d come alone, like the message had said–he hadn’t exactly had much of a choice. But still, he was the god-damn chief of police, and he should have known that this was a trap. The men stripped him down suddenly, cutting the clothes off of him before fastening heavy iron shackles around his wrists and ankles, and shoving him up some stairs and ripping the hood away as they did, but before he could turn around, they’d shut a door, trapping him in a small glass box, barely larger than a coffin, with a bright light in the top casting a harsh light down on his pudgy, old body.

He threw himself at the glass walls, but they weren’t glass at all–just very hard plastic–and even if it had been breakable, he would never have been able to build up the momentum to break it. Instead, he directed his attention to his surroundings, and saw that his wasn’t the only box in the room–there were four others. One was still empty, but in the other three, he saw other men whom he recognized. Sam Raymond, the mayor. Rudy Garrison and Jack Duggery, both members of the city council. He turned to the empty box and saw two men clad in leather police officers disrobing another hooded figure and pushing him into the last box, and he saw Peter McJenson, one of the city’s judges. And him, Mitch Lundon–the chief of police.

“Well well, I see that you all came as I requested,” a voice said, and a small, but beefy figure came out of the darkness, rubbing his gloved hands together, looking at the five men locked in their respective boxes, Amazing how all of you jump when the teats you’ve all been sucking at our threatened.”

The kidnappings, Mitch thought. He’d done his best to keep them under wrap. Five of the most prominent businessmen had been kidnapped two days ago, and the bandit–the man addressing them now, he assumed, had claimed responsibility. Mitch had been furious, to say the least–after nearly a year of no activity, the man he’s sworn to hunt down, after robbing ten banks in half as many months, and costing him twenty of his best detectives, had struck again, and right at the heart of the city’s business community.

The bandit–he was practically legend at this point, a modern robin hood, stealing from the rich and passing on the wealth to the poor faster than the rich could scoop it all back up. The bandit who’d made no attempt to hide his activity or his face, but was still utterly anonymous to him and every other law enforcement body in the country. The bandit who’d…changed every officer who’d ever pursued him. Mitch recognized a few of them now, actually, as some of his most trusted officers just a year ago, before they’d all had their own run-ins with the bandit. In fact, these were the one’s who’d gotten off lucky–others had had their heads so twisted that…well…the sights hadn’t been pretty. And now, seeing what the bandit had managed, well…Mitch was scared to death. He’d only been thinking of himself, when he’d gotten the message from the bandit, telling him to come here, alone, or he’d air out the fact that Mitch had been lining his pockets with personal bribes from every one of the business men that had been kidnapped–apparently the other four had received similar threats.

“So,” the bandit continued, “I suppose you’re all wondering why I asked you all here, and what this has to do with the five upstanding businessmen who agreed to come stay with me for the past couple of days. Yes, I know you thought they had been kidnapped, but I assure you that they all came of their own free will. And now, I’ve invited them all here for a small, private charity auction. Shall I introduce you to them now? How about we bring Ronald out here first.”

The five men all knew him when he came out, Ronald Stein, one of the biggest real estate developers in the city. He was older, but had always tried to look young, but he came out looking absolutely disgusting, clad in a wife beater and boxers, his toupee gone revealing his greying horseshoe of hair. “Say hello to Ronald everyone. In addition to the sweetheart development deals many of you helped him get, Ronald here has also been secretly spying on many of his own tenets. But we’ve helped you out with that, haven’t we Ronald?”

“Oh yes sir,” Ronald said, “I’m not going to spy on anyone anymore, now I just want to watch men strip for me.”

“That’s true–you are quite the voyeur. Now, who’s next? Morgan, come out here.”

Morgan Pullman, the CEO of one of the city’s largest banks, emerged looking very different from his usual self. He’d packed on muscle, for one thing–lots of muscle. And instead of his usual suit, he was wearing leather chaps and a harness, with a whip and paddle hanging from his waist. “Morgan here thought that poor people ought to suffer, but he knows better now, right Morgan?”

“Oh yeah, Mr. Bandit,” the muscular man said, “The real men who need to suffer are corrupt government officials, and goodness, am I going to work them over good…”

“I’m sure you will. Now, Berlin, come here my boy.”

Berlin Hamilton was the son of one of the richest men in the world, and had proceeded to do absolutely nothing with the fame and fortune he’d received. At twenty-five, he’d had plenty of time to waste, but not anymore. He emerged triple his previous age–seventy-five–and hobbled over to the bandit. “I suppose youth is wasted on the young, eh?”

“Oh yes, but the younger the better,” Berlin said, shooting the men in their cases a lecherous glance, before shuffling over to join the other two.

“Younger indeed. Now, who’s left…Madison for one, come out here.

Madison Benoit, the investment broker whom the judge in the room had let off scot free on a technicality, after losing millions for his customers in the stock market crash, had a second, darker side that the five men knew about–he was a white supremacist. He’d done a good job hiding it behind his social darwinism and southern roots before, but when he walked out, that wasn’t going to fly any longer, looking like a roided up skinhead, swastikas tattooed on his neck and permanently bald head, wearing bleached jeans, doc martins and a cruel scowl. “No need to hide those feelings anymore, eh, Madison?”

“Fuck no, mate,” Madison said, “Now you promised me a slave, when ‘em I gettin’ my own personal nigger?”

“Soon enough, just be patient–we have one more man to introduce after all. Roger Merdon, our final bidder, everyone.”

Roger Merdon was the wealthiest media magnate in the city, but the obese slob clad in nothing but overalls who stumbled out, apparently drunk, bore almost no resemblance to the smartly dressed man he’d been before. The bandit caught the man as he stumbled, and helped him over to the rest of the group. “Well, I guess he’s just as filthy now as the shit he has his ‘news’ channels shoot out every day, right?” Roger gave a healthy laugh, followed by a long belch, and joined his fellows, Roger walking up to the glass cases.

“What’s this all about, Bandit?” the mayor asked.

“Yeah, you’re never going to get away with this,” Mitch added.

Oh, now this is a silent auction, gentleman, so no comments from the peanut gallery until after the bidding is complete. Now, gentlemen,” the bandit said, directing his attention back to his group of twisted magnates, “You all remember how this works, right? There’s a minimum bid on all these men of…let’s say, fifty million dollars? Just make your bid on each man, and the top bidder on each will get his prize. If you win on two, you only get the one you bid the most on. Still, you’re used to paying for government officials, so I’m sure this will come perfectly natural to all of you. However, I urge you all to be generous, because the person with the lowest bid…well, let’s just say they’ll regret having been so stingy, eh? Now, let’s say, fifteen minutes to place your bids? Starting…now! And remember–silence please, from everyone.”

Apparently, when the bandit said silence, he meant silence. The room was quiet, aside from the occasional hmm or haa from the five bidders, as the men in the cases desperately tried to get their old friends to let them out and escape–but the bandit had apparently been working them over for too long for them to feel any sympathy. Finally, the five of them finished their bids as the clock ran down, and the bandit took a moment to examine the results.

“Alright, it looks like we have our pairings. So, shall we go from highest to lowest? And goodness, what a high bid–I’m impressed. With a winning bid of five hundred million dollars, we have Berlin Hamilton who has purchased the mayor of our fine city as his personal bitch.

The old man grinned, one hand going down and rubbing his cock through his suit pants, as two leather clad officers opened the glass case and dragged the still shackled mayor over to the bandit. “Now now, quit fighting it–you had no problem with these men buying you before, after all. Now, as far as Berlin is concerned, you’re quite simply far too old for him at the moment–he likes his men much younger now. But don’t worry, at eighteen, everything you two will be doing together will be plenty legal.”

As they all watched, the mayor, who’d been in his mid fifties, started regressing rapidly, until he was in his late teens, but his body was so slender and underdeveloped that he probably could have passed as someone younger. Berlin’s eyes nearly bulged out of his head when he saw his new toy, and he let out a groan.

“Oh, he’s so beautiful, thank you bandit.”

“Oh, I’m not done yet–I know what you like,” the bandit said, and pulled the slender mayor closer, who was still trying to grapple with his own transformation. “Now, Sammy, I have a few things to tell you. You see, your last name isn’t Raymond anymore–It’s Hamilton, and that nasty old man over there is your grandfather, the grandfather whom you want to use you as a sexual toy for the rest of your life. Now, you know what your grandfather likes? He likes little boys, right? So you’re going to have to pretend to be even littler, alright?”

Sammy nodded quickly, falling into his new character, as a tight fitting pokemon shirt appeared on his torso, and around his waist appeared a diaper. He started sucking his thumb, and waddled over to his lecherous grandfather, kissing his deeply, the bandit leaving them to their new roleplay.

“Now, who’s next? Our second largest bid was not nearly so large–just two hundred million, though not a sum to be laughed at. Ronald Stein, please come collect your new toy, Councilman Jack Duggery.” The underwear clad real estate developer smirked, as the officers pulled Jack from his case, and pulled his down to where the bandit stood. “Now, Ronald, what’s your favorite type of man?”

“Oh, I like looking at them all, trust me, but I do love those muscular strippers at all the bars. Just, make him manly–no real twinks, and no body builders either, just, lean and handsome and an unabashed exhibitionist. Oh, and a real big dick.”

“You heard the man,” the bandit said,and Jack felt his body start to contort and grow, packing on muscle, his fat melting away until he could have graced the cover of a muscle magazine, a light treasure trail running up his chest. A short beard covered his chiseled jawline now, and something…a beat inside him…he felt his hips start gyrating, as a pair of extremely tight cut off shorts barely able to contain his nine inch cock appeared around his waist. He looked up and saw Ronald staring at him, and the old man made him feel so dirty, but so horny at the same time, he started grinding his body up against him, making out with him, hungry for his attention and praise, leaving the bandit to tally the next winning bid. “Oh, this is a good one,” the bandit said, “With a bid of 175 million, Madison Benoit has purchased as his new slave the honorable judge Peter McJenson!”

The skinhead stepped forward, and the officers dragged the screaming and struggling judge out of his box and out to the bandit. “No! No please, please don’t do this, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry!”

“Oh, I sense your sincerity, but alas, it is too late for apologies, I think,” the bandit said, “Still, considering how many young black men you put behind bars, I think your new color will suit you just fine.” The judge whimpered, and looked down at himself, as his skin began to darken to a near pitch black, and he fell to his knees where he continued to beg and plead and grovel, until Madison delivered a firm kick right into the judge’s mouth.

“Fuckin’ niggers. Get rid of that tongue–I don’t ever want to hear another word out of it’s mouth. And it’s balls too. And make it dumb as shit–I don’t need it thinking about questioning my orders. And bigger, a real beast of burden for me and my mates that can take plenty of abuse.”

On his knees, the judge started to grow, packing on pound after pound of muscle as he felt his head empty out, and on his knees, looking up at Madison–no, up at Master, all he felt was fear–primal, terrible fear, and he got down, kissing the toes of his boots, silently begging for forgiveness. It was enough to assuage Madison for the moment, and he dragged his slave away by the chain collar it now wore, where he took his new slave’s cherry.

“Goodness, only two left. Let’s see who our last lucky winner is–Roger Merdon, with a bid of 100 million, has purchased Councilman Rudy Genson. Congratulations.”

The officers hauled out the second councilman and hauled him up front, while the filthy redneck waddled up as well. “So, Mr. Merdon, what would you like?”

“Well, I’d sure as hell love someone tah clean me up a bit–think I sharted a bit sittin’ o’er there jus’ now. Yeah, a nice fat piggy willin’ tah get a little dirty, an’ willin’ tah be mah toilet, I think–that’d save me a lot a trips tah the bathroom.”

“Oh fuck no, you can’t be serious, you *grunt* no, please–*snort*” Rudy said, as he started fattening up, topping 400 pounds before he finally stopped growing, and unable to balance on his feet anymore, he fell forward onto his hands and knees, where he smelled it. Something so filthy and nasty and delicious, he snuffled over to his master and nosed at the back of his overalls. It was in there, it was in there and he needed it, when Master dropped the overalls down, revealing his shitty ass crack he let out a squeal of delight and started licking it all clean, his Master moaning in pleasure as he did, the Bandit walking away and over to where Mitch stood, alone, in his glass case.

“So, Mitch Lundon, it looks like you’re the last one. Well, you and Mr. Thrifty over there,” he said, looking at Morgan Pullman in his leather gear. “Get over here Mr. Pullman.” He tried to resist the command, but there was nothing he could do, and so he walked over and joined him. “So, Mr. Cheapskate, you couldn’t even bring yourself to spend over a hundred million?”

“Well, I didn’t expect everyone else to bid so much–I can pay more, if you want, I have–”

“Oh shut up–I told you before, that the least generous among the bidders was going to get…a less than pleasant surprise, didn’t I? But Mr. Lundon, don’t think that I’m letting you off the hook–why don’t the two of you share the same fate? Take him out boys.”

The two cops pulled Mitch out of his case, and two more grabbed Peter before he could try and run. “Now, I’m thinking twins, and I do love the leather. How about a couple of cute cubs, just desperate for a master?”

As Peter and Mitch looked at each other, they saw that they were both transforming in front of their eyes, shrinking to about five and a half feet, and pudging up, their hair shifting to deep red and shortening, full round goatees accentuating the roundness of their faces. When they were perfectly identical, matching leather harnesses and jocks appeared on their bodies, along with two massive dildos shoved up their holes, and both of them looked at the bandit with unbridled lust.

“So, is there anything me and my brother can do for you?” Mitch said, running his hand into the bandit’s pants and massaging his cock.

“Yeah, the two of us have been looking for a big, strapping master like you who can keep all of our holes satisfied,” Peter added coming in close as well.

“Ha, well, I don’t know about keeping you, but I’d be happy to keep you both well plowed tonight,” the bandit said, leading the twin cubs to his room, and leaving the rest of the men to their pleasures, wiring the millions he’d just made from the auction to the charities he’d chosen earlier. They might all have been selfish whores before, but at least now no one would mistake them for what they really were–and if he could help people in the city, then all the better.

The Audition

Commissioned by Seamus

“Patrick and Aaron? You’re up!” The voice called from inside the room, and the two friends got up, giving each other a nervous glance, and headed into the audition. The two college friends had a week earlier picked up a flyer on campus advertising open auditions for porn films, and later that evening, when the two of them were quite drunk, they had called the studio as a joke more than anything, but to their surprise they had been called in for an audition by someone named Mr. Thompson, and the next day, even though they were nervous as hell, they hopped in Aaron’s car and drove to the seedy LA address where they were now.

After a few minutes in a waiting room, manned only by a bored, and rather normal looking receptionist, with nothing to do but feel nervous, they were now auditioning, and neither of them knew what to expect–or why they were being called in together–but in they went, finding themselves on a small, undressed sound stage, except for a ratty looking couch and coffee table in the middle. Back by the cameras, there was a folding table set up and two older men seated there, flipping through forms. One of them looked up and said, “Go ahead and have a seat there,” he said, pointing to a couple of folding chairs off stage, and Patrick and Aaron took their places. “So, the two of you are interested in the porn business?” the man asked. Neither Patrick nor Aaron really knew what to say to that, and after a second, the man looked down at the paper in front of him and mumbled, “Both shy…gonna have to do something about that…”

“How about we start with some introductions?” the second man said, “This is Mr. Thompson–he says he spoke briefly to you both over the phone. He’s the director here at RockCock studios, I’m Mr. Lewis–I’m the producer. Now, which of you is Aaron and who is Patrick?”

“I’m Patrick,” the first guy said.

“Alright, hmm…brown hair, green eyes, decent build. Could you take off your shirt for me?”

“What? I don’t…”

“Take off your shirt please,” Mr. Thompson said, and before Patrick could question it, he stripped it off.

“Well, not quite the build I had in mind, a bit too…lanky. Guess we might need to fix that. And you, you’re Aaron?”

“Yes.”

“Alright, I love the blonde hair, and very beautiful green eyes, but we have so many blondes already…hmm…Your shirt too please.”

Aaron, less intimidated now that Patrick had shed his own, pulled his off, giving the men a chance to look him over as well. “Nice, do you go to the gym?”

“Off and on, I guess.”

“How many times a week would you guess?”

“Maybe two? Sometimes none?”

“Hmmm, alright.”

While Mr. Lewis asked his questions, Mr. Thompson was looking over his shoulder towards a second entry way onto the set. “Do you know where Hank is? I explicitly told him to be here at one o’clock to help with an audition.”

“Maybe shooting is just taking a little longer than expected.”

Mr. Thompson turned back around and looked at the shirtless men, “Alright, let me explain how this will work. We’re going to have you both work with Hank Bruin–he’s going to star in “Dirty Dudes Volume Three”. We want to see how your on screen chemistry works with him, if he would get here already…”

“Wait, Hank?” Patrick asked, looking at Aaron, “Hold on guys, we’re both straight–we aren’t interested in guys.”

Neither Mr. Thompson nor Mr. Lewis said anything in reply, and both Patrick and Aaron tried to get up to leave, but for some reason, neither of them could get up from the chairs Mr. Thompson had directed them into. A moment later, a man they presumed to be Hank ran onto the set, and the sight of him didn’t make Patrick nor Aaron feel much better. He was quite tall, and muscular, though not overly so, and was wearing nothing beyond a jockstrap and wifebeater, giving both of them a view of his hairy body and his sizable package. “Oh God, I’m sorry Mr. Thompson, I got over here as fast as I could, but Mr. Willis wanted the shot from two angles, and so I had to hold it, and–”

“Hank, please–I don’t want to hear your excuses. I’ll speak to Mr. Willis and see if there is call for any disciplinary action. For now, we have Patrick and Aaron here–they’re auditioning for roles in “Dirty Dudes Volume Three” with you. Now be a good boy and take a seat on the couch while I give them their direction, alright?” Hank passed by the two shirtless students and shot them a look, something between regret and pity which made them both feel rather uneasy, and sat down on the couch. “Alright Mr. Lewis, have you decided on the roles for our two newcomers here?”

“Yes, I think I have. I’d like Patrick to take Dirty Dude Two, and Aaron to be Dirty Dude Three.”

“Alright, then that means Patrick, we’ll start with you. Stand up and try not to look so nervous. Now, here’s your motivation. Hank here has invited you over to his house, and you’ve always had a bit of a crush on him. He’s just such a handsome top, and the pig in you, it just wants to worship his sweaty, hairy body so badly. Now, go ahead and take a seat on the couch, and lets see where you take it.”

Aaron expected his friend to just bolt out of the studio–hell, he would have, but to his utter shock, he walked up onto the stage and plopped down on the couch next to Hank–right next to Hank, so close their thighs were touching. There was an unmistakable look of terror in his eyes, like a man who’d lost all control of himself, and he turned to Hank and said, “Hey man, I just wanted to thank you for inviting me over.”

“Hey, it’s no big deal,” Hank said back and looked over at Patrick, and fuck if their eyes weren’t smouldering for each other, and then, Patrick leaned in and started kissing Hank, his hands all over the porn actor’s sweaty body, and Aaron wanted to vomit.

“Yes Patrick, I love the energy, great job–keep going!” Mr. Thompson said.

“What the fuck–what the fuck are you doing to him? How are you doing this? Let us go!” Aaron said, again struggling in his seat.

Mr. Thompson looked over at him, angry, and snapped, “Quiet on the set Aaron, you’ll get to join in soon enough. Now go on Patrick, go on and start licking Hank clean, worship that body you’ve been lusting after for so long, it’s finally yours–go ahead and take it!”

Patrick moved down, licking and nibbling the sweat from Hank’s stubbly neck, before shoving his face into Hank’s armpit, licking with the entire surface of his tongue, making sure to turn enough for the cameras to catch his lust, even if his eyes were still confused and angry and…horny. Hank had one hand on his groin now and was massaging it, a cocky grin on his face as he watched him worship his pit. “Damn Pat, I had no idea you were such a fuckin’ slut–how long have you been after my sweaty body?”

“Oh fuck, so god damn long Hank,” Patrick moaned, “I…I even stole your underwear a couple of times, just to smell you, fuck, you’re a fuckin’ god Hank. Can…Can I smell your jock Hank? Please, can I?”

“Oh, great improv, keep going!”

“Sure thing bud, I can see how bad you need it,” Hank said, and like a hungry beast, Pat dove into Hank’s crotch, burying his nose in the crack between his cock and his thigh, lapping up all the sweat he could find, moaning and groaning, grinding his rock hard cock into the sofa cushions.

Off to the side, Aaron was trying to scream, to get away to do anything, but he was frozen, and his voice–his voice wouldn’t work. Even worse, he could tell he was next, that he would be as helpless as his friend in a matter of minutes.

Patrick was now sucking on the jock, taking as much of it in his mouth as he could, tasting the stale cum and sweat which had soaked into it, and even though the taste was rank he couldn’t help but act like he was enjoying it. However, this character, he could feel it beginning to overcome him–it was becoming more and more natural, he was starting to really think that Hank was a god worth worshipping, that he liked the taste of his sweaty body, that this was really what he wanted, and in a panic, he fought against the direction, but couldn’t escape the compulsion.

“Alright, that’s good Pat, but not really what we had in mind, see, you have a foot fetish. You fucking love feet, the sweatier and smellier the better. In fact, you’d rather suck toes than cock any day of the fuckin week, isn’t that right?”

“Oh fuck, can I Hank? Can I clean your filthy feet, man? Fuck, that’d make me so fuckin’ hot for you, please…”

“Get down there you fuckin’ pig, but I gotta warn you, they’re pretty rank, and they’d better be fucking spotless by the time you’re done with them.” Hank put his bare feet up on the coffee table, and it was all Patrick could do to keep from diving on them and taking as much of them as he could in his mouth, but he held off. He wanted to fucking savor them, he wanted to enjoy this, he wanted…he wanted to put on a show, yeah, he wanted the cameras to see how much of a pig he was for a guy’s filthy feet, it felt so hot having the cameras on him, so fucking exciting…he started by sucking on all of the toes, one by one, and then started licking the soles clean in long strokes of his tongue, Hank massaging his cock while Patrick worked.

“How damn, how about that? I think we have a natural,” Mr Thompson said.

“Hmm, yeah, he does have plenty of spirit, but I’m just not sold on his look quite yet,” Mr. Lewis said. “Do you mind if I work on him for a bit?”

“Certainly, Mr. Lewis. I can’t wait to see what you have in mind, as always.”

“Alright let’s see. I definitely like Pat better than Patrick, but still not a perfect name…oh of course, Pat the Pig, I love the alliteration. Yeah, that’s a great name for you–direct, the audience knows just what to expect from you. Still, you don’t quite look like a pig, do you? Let’s go ahead and fix that, I think. Let’s see, you’re going to have to put on some weight for the role, so how about…325 pounds? Yeah, enough to give you a nice, piggy gut, let’s see it.”

On his hands and knees, still savoring Hank’s sweaty feet, Pat felt his body changing, growing, his belly sagging down with fat as he fought against the director’s orders. He didn’t want to be a fucking pig! He just wanted to keep cleaning Hank’s sweaty fucking feet, fuck they were so hot. With one hand, he was able to feel his changing body, his gut sagging down, two fat piggy tits where his pecs had been, and he gave a little snort of pleasure as he grazed one of his nipples.

“Yeah, that’s good. And hair–you’re gonna be a hairy bear of a man I think, all over, front and back, a fuckin’ pelt. A pig like you doesn’t need that big of a cock either–after all, we aren’t going to have you topping anyone in this film, but maybe some big fucking balls, yeah, your loads are gonna be massive.” Mr. Lewis got down, and watched Pat’s cock shrink as his balls grew, “Ha, fuck, look at this tiny cock, you can barely see it through the fuckin’ pubes–now that’s a pig.”

Patrick couldn’t look around to see himself, but he could feel his skin crawling with hairs now, including across his face, as a scruffy beard filled in around his now chubby face. Now as he felt himself with his hand, it felt almost like he was touching an animal, yeah, just an animal, just a pig, a pig desperate for dirty feet and sweaty bodies. Pat was snorting even more now, and his little cock was so hard, but he knew better than to touch it without Mr. Thompson’s explicit permission.

“Yeah, that’s damn fine. Still, how about a little edge? I’m thinking…mohawk. And red, I love a good firetop, and with a name like Pat, why the hell not? Still, since we can’t see any tattoos through all that fur, how about some piercings?” The hair on Pat’s body turned a brilliant red, the sides of his heads shaved, leaving him with a short, spiky mohawk. The pain in his ears as the gauges grew in, and the horseshoe in his septum caused his eyes to water. Mr. Lewis ran has hand along Pat’s furred back, feeling Pat shiver at his touch. He knew he had to try and fight back against these feelings, that this was wrong, but it was so hard to think outside the direction Mr. Thompson had given him. “What do you think, Mr. Thompson? Isn’t that a much hotter pig?”

“Fuck, now that’s a pig! He’s going to be very popular I think. We’re going to have to include him in our next bear flick too, I think.”

“Oh yeah, he’s going to be very versatile I think, well, except for the fact that he’s a total bottom,” Mr. Lewis said with a chuckle, as he took his seat.

“Alright, that sounds like a nice plan. Alright, Aaron, why don’t you go ahead and join in? Here’s your direction–”

“Please!” Aaron sputtered, forcing his way past the director’s insistence on silence, “Please, no, don’t make me clean anyone’s feet, that’s so fucking disgusting! Don’t make me a pig like that!”

There was silence for a moment, and then the two men laughed, “Oh please Aaron, do you really think we’d do the same thing twice?” Mr Lewis said.

“Trust us, one foot fetishist is plenty for a single film, no, we’d rather have you go in a different direction. Now, you’re Hank’s roommate, and at the moment, you are drunk off your ass. Now, you’re going to walk in on these two and discover Pat worshipping Hank’s feet like a dirty whore, and while you’re going to be grossed out a first, when Pat begs you to give him your feet to clean too, you’ll give into curiosity, and find it very…relaxing.”

Aaron knew he wasn’t really drunk, but the performance he found himself giving, as he stumbled up onto the stage, slurring his words, would have been good enough to convince anyone watching, he imagined. “What the hell are you two doing?” he said, “Is that faggot seriously licking your feet Hank? That’s fucking sick!”

“Hey, the pig fucking loves it, don’t you Pat?”

“Oh fuck yeah, nothing gets me harder than sucking on a sweaty, smelly foot.”

“Dudes, that’s fucking nasty.”

“Actually, it feels pretty good,” Hank said, “Why don’t you have a seat and let Pat the Pig work yours over?”

“Oh yeah, come on man, let me get a whiff of those feet of yours–I bet they’re so fuckin’ ripe!” Pat said, and Aaron just wanted to shout at him, tell him to cut the act, that the two of them had to get out of here, but he couldn’t break character either.

“Alright, I guess I could give it a shot,” Aaron said and sat down on the couch, allowing Pat to rip off his shoes and socks before slurping away at his feet, and like the director said, Aaron let out a groan, and felt himself sink into the couch, suddenly very relaxed, but Mr. Lewis wasn’t happy.

“Aaron’s feet are too small for this role, I just don’t think our pig here is going to enjoy it enough. What do you think, Pat? Do you think Aaron’s feet are too small?”

Pat nodded eagerly, but then again, he thought everyone’s feet were too small, and not nearly rank enough.”

“Yeah, I’m thinking, size seventeen, and a fine coat of hair on top, just for accent.”

On the couch, Aaron watched and felt his feet start to contort and twist as Pat lciked them clean, until they had nearly doubled in size, and his stomach turned. Apparently Pat wasn’t the only one with a few changes in store.

“Yeah, that’s good, I agree. Now Aaron, you’re drunk, and feeling Pat licking your feet is just making you feel so relaxed, and then you start pissing your fucking pants, right there on the couch. Hank, you’re going to notice after a few seconds, and tell him to stop, but Aaron, you’re just going to moan like you’re enjoying the hell out of pissing your jeans, and keep going, because you do love pissing yourself. You love the stench, the feel of sopping denim against your crotch, and you love the taste of it too, but Hank doesn’t know that until you confess it to him, and ask him to piss down your throat.”

Aaron fought–he fought hard. No way was he actually just going to sit there, and let his best friend worship his feet (even if it did feel really good) and start pissing himself right on the couch. “Damn Hank, it does feel good, and it’s kind of relaxing.”

“Ha, I know right? Better than you thought it was going to be, right?”

“Hell yeah, fuck I’m gonna, oh yeah, oh there–there it goes–shit…”

Too late. He felt the warmth envelop his crotch, and inside he was screaming, but outside it felt so good just to relax, and god he did love pissing his pants, hell, getting drunk was sometimes just an excuse for some piss play in front of his friends. He started rubbing the dark crotch of his jeans with one hand, feeling his cock start hardening against his inner will, when Hank looked over, “Holy fuck dude, did you just fucking piss your pants?”

“Oh fuck yeah I did, feels so fucking good too…”

“Wait, you fucking like it?”

Aaron paused, unable to believe he was about to tell his roommate about his secret fetish, but no, that wasn’t even true! What was that fucking director doing to him? “Fuck, I guess there’s no hiding it now,” Aaron said, “I fuckin’ love piss dude, I love pissin’ my pants, I love the fucking stench of it, fuck this…this one time, in the bathroom, you forgot to flush, and I blew a wad just from the stench of your piss dude, it was so fucking hot.”

“Oh fuck yeah,” Mr. Thompson said, “Nice detail Aaron, you’re such a dirty dude. Now bring it home, beg for it, beg for your roommate’s piss like the wannabe urinal you are.”

“Hank, I’m so fuckin’ thirsty man, be a pal and give me your piss, please? I’ll do anything for it, I just gotta taste it, fresh, just fuckin’ once.”

Hank shoved his jock into Aaron’s face and released his piss, and he felt it dribble down his face and onto his chest even though he drank down as much of it as he could. When Hank finished, Aaron pulled the jock to one side with his teeth, releasing Hank’s cock, swallowing it to the hilt, sucking down the last bit of piss from the head as he did, unable to believe he was actually sucking cock and loving it. “Yeah Aaron, that’s a good cocksucker, make Hank feel real good. Now hold on Hank, we don’t want you shooting just yet, so hold on, alright?”

“Hmm, while they’re going at it, I want to make a few more changes I think,” Mr. Lewis said, “As much as I love blondes, I just don’t think we need another one, do you, Mr. Thompson?”

“No, we don’t really–what did you have in mind?”

“I’m thinking…Angelo,” Mr. Lewis said, and as the two men watched, Aaron’s skin began to darken, taking on a deep olive complexion, his blonde hair darkening to a deep black, and where a white college kid had sat moments before, there was now a hunky, latin wolf, moaning as he sucked Hank’s hard cock.

“Oh, wonderful choice Mr. Lewis, we were just talking last week about how we could use a bit more exoticism in our casting.”

“I know, I figured this was the perfect opportunity. Still, I don’t want two chubby pigs at once, so how about we make our pissslut a muscleman, eh?” As Angelo sat there, he felt body heat up and expand, the muscles spasming as they exploded in size, giving him the look of an out of season bodybuilder. “Yeah, that’s much better, but you need some fur too, though not as much as the pig down there.” Angelo couldn’t see from where he was sucking Hank off, but he ran his hands over his hard, ridged body, and he felt…sexy. Yeah, he was soaked in piss, sucking cock, where else would a latin piss slut like him ever want to be?

As for your look, I’m thinking…thug. Shaved head, but with a few days growth. A chinstrap beard, and then tattoos–lots of tattoos. Nothing too violent or sexual, but I think it’ll play well with our demographics.”

“Mr. Thompson, I–” Hank said, but the director shot him a withering glance, and he shut up.

“Don’t interrupt Hank, you know better.”

“But–” Hank groaned.

“Silence, don’t speak again until I say you can. Sorry, Mr. Lewis, I love watching you work your magic,” Mr. Thompson said, “They’re fucking perfect.”

“Ha, well, I don’t know about perfect,” Mr. Lewis said as he returned to his seat, examining Angelo at a distance, watching his hair pull into his head, beard fill in, and a riot of colorful tattoos make their way all over his body, until he was about half covered. “They might still need a few tweaks later on before we shoot for real, but for now, it’s good enough.”

Hank was sweating and groaning, bucking his hips, pounding his cock down Angelo’s throat. He couldn’t stop, but he was so close to cumming, and Angelo was surprisingly skilled at giving head. He wanted to cum so bad, and he stopped fighting it, grabbing the back of the latin wolf’s head and giving him a proper skull fucking, which drew Mr. Thompson’s attention.

“Hank? Hank! You still with me man? Don’t you fucking shoot that load dude, don’t–” but Mr. Thompson knew it was too late. Hank gave a stuttering gasp and blew his wad down Angelo’s throat and he sucked that down too, rubbing the piss into his dark chest as he did, utterly disgusted with his display, and yet knowing that he was putting on a fantastic show for the cameras, and loving it.

“God fucking damn it, Hank!” Mr. Thompson shouted, storming onto the set and dragging Hank off, “I thought we sorted that fucking issue out?”

“Oh fuck, I’m sorry Mr. Thompson, I was just so horny, and–”

“Oh fucking save it, you sorry bitch. Mr. Lewis, I think we just found out next star for Chastity Pain Slave Nine.”

“Oh god, not that, please not that.”

“Oh yes, I think that’s a marvelous idea–Gareth has been needing a new bitch, and he’s gonna love shaving Hank down on camera, I bet.”

“I think so too,” Mr. Thompson said, then shoved Hank away, “Now get out of my fucking sight, and think about how you’re going to perform better next time, when we’re shooting for real.”

Mr. Thompson walked back to his seat, calming himself back down as Hank left the set, crying, and turned his attention back to Pat and Angelo, the first still cleaning his friend’s feet while the other was reveling over his piss soaked body. “Well, I guess we’ll just have to finish the scene off with you two. Pat, I want to see how that hole of yours works. Angelo, leave your foot there, I want to see Pat fuck himself on it.”

Pat got up, and finally could see his friend past his new, massive feet–or at least the man who had been his friend, and also looked down at himself, his thick, red furred body, and he knew it was too late for them to escape now. Now, all he could do was enjoy this, oh yeah, he was going to put on such a great show for Mr. Thompson and Mr. Lewis. He squatted down over Angelo’s spit lubed foot and started working it into his asshole, and it felt amazing, his puny cock rock hard, though only the head could be seen easily beyond his thick pubic bush.

“Oh yeah Pat, that’s real good, take that whole fucking foot up there–you love getting fucked by big feet, don’t you?”

“Oh yeah Mr. Thompson,” Pat said, “It feels so damn good having Angelo’s foot crammed up my hole.”

“Yeah, that’s good, now take that puny cock of yours, and I want you to arc your piss and soak Angelo down. How does that sound, you thug whore? You want that fat pig to drench you in his piss?”

“Oh fuck yeah dude,” Angelo said, “Fuckin’ give it to me.”

Pat did as he was told, pushing the piss out as hard as he could, and amazingly he made it over the intervening space and all the way up to Angelo’s face and hair, soaking him down, and when his bladder emptied, he focused on fucking himself on his costar’s massive foot, moaning and grunting like a complete whore, listening to Mr. Thompson and Mr. Lewis encourage them both nearer to orgasm. They came simultaneously, shooting the gap, Angelo’s cum splattering across Pat’s hairy gut, and Pat’s mixing into the piss coating Angelo’s ridged abs.

“Hot damn, you are two dirty dudes!” Mr. Lewis said, “We’re going to have to duplicate those cumshots when we shoot, don’t you think, Mr. Thompson?”

“I think we can manage that, and I certainly enjoyed the rest of their show as well. Plus, directing them’s a dream, especially compared to Hank. How about it you two? I think you’re going to enjoy being a couple of filthy, dirty fuckers on set, right? In fact, why don’t we go ahead and make you two the stars of the film? I think Hank lost that privilege today.”

“Oh hell yeah Mr. Thompson, especially if I get to clean a bunch of nasty feet before fucking myself on them,” Pat said, lifting himself off Angelo’s big foot.

“Fuck yeah, and as long as I’m soaked in a bunch of stinking piss I’ll be happy,” Angelo said.

“Well, then I have a couple of lifetime contracts for the two of you to sign over here, but first, you two got both of us all hot and bothered,” Mr. Thompson said, hauling out his cock, “Angelo, get over here and suck me off, and I know Mr. Lewis would love to fuck that wide open hole of yours Pat.”

The two friends, no longer even able to consider refusing their director’s demands, did as they were told, moaning like the couple of dirty porn stars they were, eager to start filming their debut, as well as all the rest they would be acting and fucking in for the rest of their lives.