Bboc

by Bookshelf-

Rating: mature
Tags:
Length: 153022

G

Published 1970-01-01 00:00:00 UTC
Last updated 2016-11-08 06:34:17 UTC

1

Once again, as Ron lay in his bed, he wondered what had possessed him to go out and drink on a Sunday night. By the sunlight streaming through the window, he had already missed his morning statistics class, and judging by the headache now pounding in his head, he'd be missing the rest of his classes that day as well. There was something else bothering him too: he couldn't remember how he had made it back to his room last night. Jared and Nate had convinced him to go to that frat party, and he remembered leaving the house late at night, but he hadn't been that drunk. He seemed to remember some other things too. Some men in the woods on campus, a strange light, but then nothing. Maybe it had been a dream. He shrugged it off, and carefully sat up in bed, and but he noticed that his headache was fading already, and in its place, he felt energized. Energized and horny.

  His roommate, Harry, was off in class, or at least not in the room, so Ron figured it was safe to jack off quickly. He went over to his closet, and started digging out his titty mags. After Harry found his last stash, he lectured Ron for half an hour and then shredded them, making Ron spend the next week rebuilding his collection. Harry, too put it concisely, was a bit of a prude. He didn't party, didn't drink, certainly didn't have sex, and attended class religiously. Ron and Harry didn't get along very well, and neither of them really understood how the school had ended up pairing them up together as roommates. Ron was thinking about rushing a frat just so he wouldn't have to put up with Harry next semester. Ron finally pushed aside a pile of dirty laundry and found what he was looking for, the nondescript paper bag where he stored his porn. He pulled it out, opened it up, and said, "What the hell is all this shit?"

Where the latest issues of FHM and Maxim had been the day before, there were now magazines with titles like Bear, all of the covers depicting fat, hairy men in various states of undress. He threw the bag back into the closet in disgust. His first thought was that Harry had replaced them as a prank, but that just didn't seem like something Harry would do. He would be more likely to throw them in the trash like he had before. It must have been Nate and Jared then, those assholes. Regardless, Ron didn't feel like jacking off anymore (even though he was still horny) and decided to take care of the other need which had been nagging at him: breakfast.

He walked over to the jeans he had discarded on the floor the night before, and started to pull them on over his boxers, but they were harder to get on than usual, and he had to lie down on his bed and suck in his gut to get them buttoned. Ron assumed that he was just bloated after the night before, and rummaged around for a shirt, but all the one's he tried on didn't fit right either. Eventually, he dug up for an extra large shirt his mom had gotten him by accident and put that on instead. He was really glad Harry hadn't been there to see him and his performance. He figured that his nights of partying and binge drinking were probably getting the best of him, and figured he might want to start going over to the school's gym. His stomach growled loudly, startling Ron. He looked down at it, and thought that it even looked bigger, but he passed it off as nerves, and headed for the dining hall.

As he walked, he noticed something else strange, almost like he took up more space as he was walking. There was something strange about his gait too, but he couldn't put his finger on it. The only word that came to mind to call it was that he was "lumbering." It felt both natural, and very awkward, all at the same time, so he tried to ignore it. As he was walking, he passed one of the football linebackers on the path, and it was all he could do not to stop and stare at him as he walked past. From the hairy arms to the nice, round ass, Ron wanted all of it, and his mind was flooded with all of the things he wanted to do to it, with number one on the list fuck the guy's ass until they both came.

Ron shook his head and tried to regain his composure. He had never fantasized about another guy like that, but the images wouldn't stop going through his head, not to mention the fact that his erect dick and making his pants even tighter. He pulled down his shirt in an attempt to hide it, but found that the shirt which should have been too large for him almost didn't cover the button on his jeans! Panic started to overtake Ron, and in a desperate need to rationalize, figured that his clothes must have shrunk when he washed them in the campus washers and dryers. That was the only explanation he could accept at the moment, and he hurried into the dining hall.

Inside, the smell of bacon and eggs made his stomach rumble again. He grabbed a tray, and asked for a double helping of everything, even though he had never eaten that much in his life. For some reason, he just needed food, and lots of it. He sat down at the first table he found empty, and started cramming his meal into his mouth in large forkfuls. Everything tasted way better than anything he had tasted before, and when he was finished with the entire plate, he found that, while he was satisfied, he could have eaten another helping just as big. Suddenly, he let out a loud belch, without even realizing he had done so, until all of the people at the tables near him turned around and stared at him, making him feel really embarrassed. "Uh...excuse me," he mumbled, but it came out about an octave lower than he expected it to, and it caught him by total surprise. "Fuck, what is going on with me?" he said, ran his hand over the top of his head, and stared in disbelief at the shower of hair which fell away as he did.

In utter disbelief, Ron stumbled up from the table, and saw that the shirt which had just barely fit him half an hour ago was now even smaller, and rode up on his belly high enough to show off his belly button. He pulled at it in desperation, and then heard a rip come from his armpit, where he had torn the seam of the shirt wide open. There was no way he was going to get it to fit him, and that meant that something was seriously wrong. With all eyes in the dining area on him, he fled out the doors and ran back to his dorm room, hoping against hope that no one who knew him well would see him.

Luckily, he got back without being spotted, (though he had slowed down long enough to watch a cute cub walk by, imagining the boy on his knees and sucking his cock) but he was in for some additional surprises when he entered his room. The half of the room which had been his had been redecorated while he was gone. Instead of the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Calendar on the wall, a new calendar was hung with a picture of a hunky firefighter on it. Next to that, was a large flag colored in tans with a bear paw in the corner. Next to his TV there was a pile of DVDs with titles like "Bear Weekend" and "Muscleman Madness III". The magazines he had thrown in the closet were now scattered across his bedside table, next to a mysterious box he had never seen before, but which his head called, "his humidor," but he wasn't entirely sure what that word meant. Even the clothes in his closet were different, or at least, not what he thought should be in there. A bunch of flannel shirts hung next to a collection of leather gear, and there several pairs of boots below them.

He had to figure out what was going on, but first, he had to get out of the clothes which were so tight, they were beginning to suffocate him. He tried to pull the shirt off, but he ended up just ripping it off of his body, revealing a thick pelt of fur which hadn't been there that morning. He rubbed his hand through it, each fiber as soft as silk, and he let out a little moan. He was so goddamn horny! He yanked at his jeans, popping off the button and wreaking the zipper, so he could finally stroke his rock hard cock. However, his hand was really surprised at what it found, because he couldn't even reach all the way around it with one hand, it was so big. He tried to get a good look at it, but his stomach had grown so much that he could barely see the dark red mushroom head over his new gut. He stepped out of his ruined jeans so he could walk over and look at himself in the mirror, where he saw that his dick must be at least eight inches long, and very thick. However, that wasn't all that grew.

He now had a massive gut, but it was firm and muscular, not flabby, and there were two firm, fatty mounds on top of it, with meaty nipples poking out of them. His arms had exploded in size as well, and he wasn't even sure he would be able to walk through a door straight on anymore, because his shoulders were so wide. Almost all of his hair had fallen out, leaving an empty, tan scalp, but he somehow had over the course of the morning grown a thick goatee without even noticing, which was speckled with gray. His mind didn't know how to take it all in. It was all so new, and yet felt so comfortable and familiar that he couldn't help but feel like this was the way things were supposed to be. While he stroked his dick, his other hand reached up and started playing with a nipple, and he let out a deep moan again, but something was missing. There was an itch in the back of his head, like there was something he had forgotten, and the image of the humidor leapt to his mind again.

Leaving the mirror, he walked back over to his bedside table, lifted the wooden lid, and found a large selection of short, thick cigars in the chest. He immediately realized that he had gone the entire morning without having his usual smoke! He picked one up, clipped the end, and puffed it into life with the lighter he always kept on the table as well. He took his first long inhale, and felt the bear in him grow even stronger. Part of his mind was still trying to fight it, the part of him that remembered that he had been a young college student just a few hours ago, not this massive hairy bear, but that part was diminishing by the moment. Rod lied down on his bed, and went back to stroking his massive dick while thumbing through one of the bear magazines. Before long the room was full of smoke, and the old Rod had disappeared from his mind completely. It was about then that Harry returned from class, opened the door, and said, "What is that smell? Is that smoke?" and then saw the fat, hairy man lying on his roommate's bed, smoking a cigar, and was so shocked that he couldn't say anything else.

"Well?" Ron said, when Harry didn't do anything, "Shut the door boy! Can't you see I'm naked?"

Harry wasn't one to simply obey an order, especially not from some random man who had broken into his room, but the words carried a certain force which he couldn't bring himself to go against, and he shut the door behind him. The entire scene for Harry was difficult to take in, and the amount of smoke in the air was making him lightheaded. Tons of questions were running through his mind, but he was having a hard time concentrating on any one of them. "Where was Ron? Who was this strange man, and what had he done to his room? And why was his dick so hard?

  "Who...Who are you?" Harry finally managed to mumble, as he let his backpack fall to the floor.

"What are you, dumb? I'm your daddy, boy." Ron said, and sat up on the edge of the bed, his dick still rock hard, "Now get over here and help me out with this. I ain't got all day."

The answer didn't make any sense, but Harry also knew that he was right. But how could that be? It was getting harder and harder to think, and he was feeling hornier and hornier. It was too hard to think, it was easier to just obey, but that couldn't be right, could it?

"I don't want to ask you twice boy," Rod said, allowing a bit of sternness to slip into his voice. He wasn't really mad, but that cub of his could be so thick sometimes. Thinking wasn't really his strong suit, but he was a damn good lay.

As soon as he heard the words, Harry felt a wave of guilt poor over him. "Yes sir, sorry sir," he said as he rushed over, and his daddy pulled him into his lap. Harry could feel the hard cock running between his legs and rubbing against his balls, and he shuddered.

"There, isn't that better?" Rod asked, as he pawed at his boy's rock hard dick through his jeans, making him moan. By now, all of the questions had fled to the back of his mind. Harry just wanted to feel good, and a growing part of him wanted to please his daddy too. He loved his daddy.

Rod pulled Harry's shirt off of him, and started toying with his nipples, and Harry thought that something was wrong. Where was his slim body? His hairless chest? In their place, was a sizable gut with two small man-tits sitting on top of it, covered by a layer of hair, though not nearly as much as his daddy. He hadn't been chubby earlier, and certainly not this hairy, but it felt so good, there couldn't be anything wrong with it. He wanted to touch his dick, but he hadn't been told he could, and daddy was the only one who could touch it without permission. He could feel his daddy's dick running along his ass crack, and it made him want it inside of him. He only felt really complete when his daddy was inside of him.

"I've been fantasizing about that ass of yours all morning boy. How about you take my cock for a ride?" Harry grinned and nodded, then pulled down his pants. Rod positioned his dick, already slick with precum, at his boy's asshole, and Harry slowly lowered himself onto it, whimpering a little at its girth, but he'd taken it so many times before that he knew he could handle it. He wanted his daddy to be proud of him and his ass. When the entire shaft was up there, Ron pulled his boy close to him and whispered into his ear, "Why don't you stroke that cock of yours for me boy? But don't even think about cumming yet." Harry was only too happy to oblige, the feel of his daddy's cock throbbing inside of him was almost enough to make him want blow his load, but he knew it would be better if he waited. His daddy always knew best. Slowly, he began to ride it up and down, loving the feel of his belly bouncing in time with his movements. His daddy kept his hands on his boy's nipples, rolling them between his fingers, and between all of the stimulation, Harry's dick started dribbling precum uncontrollably onto the floor.

"Yeah, you like that cock up your ass? It makes you feel good doesn't it? That's the only time you cubs are happy, when you have a big bear cock up your ass. God you're so hot, you make me want to cum just looking at you. Look at yourself in that mirror," Rod said. Harry could see a young man wrapped in the arms of a much older one, but it was not a man he recognized. First of all, he was much fatter. Not like his daddy, but more like baby fat, with a good sized gut and a second chin. He had buzzed hair, and a goatee as well, and a few piercings of all things. There was a ring through his septum, and he also had a tattoo on his right tit which said "Daddy's Boy". He liked the way he looked, but still, there was another voice, somewhere deep inside of him which was shouting that this was all wrong. He wasn't supposed to be dumb, or fat, or hairy, and he certainly wasn't supposed to be letting himself get fucked by some random guy and be jacking off while it happened.

"Yeah, look at how hot you are, just begging to be fucked," Rod said, and without pulling out, he stood up, turned them both around, and pushed his boy onto the bed, "And here, suck on this," Ron said, and stuffed the half smoked cigar in Harry's mouth, "I want to see you smoke while I fuck you." Harry started puffing at the cigar, just like his daddy had taught him, and he heard Ron moan behind him as he started thrusting into Harry's wide open ass, "Damn boy, this is going to have to be a fast one, because you have me so damn hot right now!" Ron only made it to two full length thrusts before he shot his load up his cub's ass and collapsed on top of him, Harry still groaning with every pulse of the dick inside of him.

Ron eventually pushed himself up and pulled out, and Harry rolled over and sat up, still puffing on the cigar, and his own dick still rigid. Ron got down and front of him and started sucking at it, making his boy cry out in lust, and before long, he blew his load down his daddy's throat.

"Damn, I love a good dose of cubcum," Ron said, and kissed his boy, feeding him some of what was leftover in his mouth, which Harry accepted hungrily.

"That's my boy," he said, and Harry blushed, happy that he made his daddy proud, but they were interrupted by a loud rumble from Harry's stomach. "Sorry daddy," he said, "I guess it's time for lunch."

"Sounds like a plan to me," Ron replied, "And afterwards, I'll be ready to have another go at that ass of yours. Why don't you get dressed, and we can go get something to eat, and give me my cigar back."

"Can't I just finish this one daddy? There's only a little left..." Harry asked, and Ron laughed.

"At this rate, you're going to be a big old cigar bear when you grow up," Ron said, and Harry grinned, blowing out a cloud of smoke. He found the overalls he had dropped earlier and pulled them on, without underwear of course, and slipped on his boots. Ron meanwhile pulled on a pair of jeans, and a muscle tank which stretched tightly over his gut, and revealed the forest of hair at the top of his chest. Before he left, he lit another cigar to tide him over during lunch. When he saw his cub waiting by the door, he growled at him, walked over and gave one of his nipples a tweak.

"I must have the hottest cub on this campus," he said, making Harry blush again, and smacked his boy's ass as they went through the door, leaving their old lives behind.

2

Carl wanted to get there on time, but not too early. Professor Erikson had announced that he was looking for research assistants for the year earlier that day in class, but Carl didn't want it to look like he had been camping outside his waiting for his office hour to start. On the other hand, he wanted to get there first, before anyone else could grab the opportunity away from him. He was probably just overthinking it entirely, but this might be his only chance to get to work with the famous "Doctor Erikson" the famous psychologist. Professor Erikson was part of the reason Carl had decided to go to this college in the first place. The man's neurological research had already made great strides in pharmacology, especially in the field of pain management. Carl wanted to see the man in action, and this research assistantship might be his only chance, "but no pressure," he told himself as he walked down the corridor towards the man's office.

He knocked on the door, and a deep, muffled voice came from within, and said, "Come in." After wiping the sweat off his hands, Carl opened the door and entered the office.

"Professor Erikson? Hi, I'm here to ask about that..." Carl said, and then stopped. There was something odd going on. It definitely was Professor Erikson on the other side of the desk, but something was different. First of all, he was dressed from head to toe in a leather uniform of some variety which shone in the light, as though it had been meticulously polished earlier that day, but he hadn't been wearing it earlier in class. He even had on a leather cap Carl had only seen on motorcycle policemen. Beyond his clothing, his body looked different too. Before, Professor Erikson had been a portly man at least in his sixties, who liked to entertain his students in class, and was always kind when he passed them in the hallway. However, gone was the potbelly he had sported before, and while his hair and beard were still white, he exuded a sense of confidence which made him seem half his age. He also was much more muscular, the leather sleeves stretched over his bulging biceps, and Carl thought he could even make out the outline of the man's nipples through the shirt! But it was his eyes which were the most disturbing part. Carl had always remembered them as a bright green, but now they were steel gray, and gazed at him sternly and without emotion. However, a moment later, the feeling began to fade. Hadn't the professor always dressed like this? What was so odd about that? But Carl was still unsettled enough that he could only stammer, "...about that, uh, research assistantship you...mentioned in class?"

"Shut the door behind you. I like my privacy," was the only thing Professor Erikson said, and a little scared, Carl immediately shut the door behind him, accidently slamming it in his flustered state.

"I said shut, it, not slam it."

"Sorry, it was an accident," Carl muttered.

"Excuse me?"

"I said it was an accident. I didn't mean to close it that hard," Carl added, but regretted it, as Professor Erikson's eyes hardened further and he stood up. His height had changed too. Carl remembered being about the same height when he had talked to the man last, but now Professor Erikson had several inches on him, which made Carl start to feel nervous, and a bit scared.

"I am your superior, Mr. Tramdor, and you will address me as such."

Carl wasn't entirely sure what to say to that, but he suddenly felt like he should run for his very life, but those eyes had rooted him to the floor. After a few seconds that felt like hours, his mouth just blurted out, "Yes sir, sorry sir."

"That's better, Mr. Tramdor," Professor Erikson replied, and sat back down in his chair, "Now, you wanted to apply for the RA position?"

"Yes sir. I've studied your work a lot sir, and I know that you're working with computers at the moment. I'm fluent in a variety of programming languages and I think I can be of help, sir," Carl said, the formalities rolling off his tongue now. How could he have forgotten them earlier?

Professor Erikson sat back, and gave Carl a once over. "Well, no offense Mr. Tramdor, but I'm actually looking for someone with a bit more experience to fill the position."

"What kind of experience would I need sir? I'm a fast learner, and really diligent. I promise that I would be completely committed to your project if you just gave me a chance sir."

The professor chuckled. "Do you even know what I am researching at the moment?"

"The last I heard, you were working on a neurological implant designed to help individuals manage chronic pain, sir."

Well, you do have spirit and know your stuff, at the very least. Strip for me, so I can see the rest of the package." he ordered, but Carl just looked at him blankly.

"Excuse me sir?"

"I said strip. Get naked. I don't like to ask twice, Mr. Tramdor."

"But...why? What's going on?" Carl said, mostly to himself. The wave of unease which first came to him when he walked into the office was back, but worse now. And he was afraid. Not just of Professor Erikson, though there was plenty in his eyes which scared him. Some primal drive within Carl told him that if he did not step out that door and run as far away from here as possible, he would lose his very soul.

Professor Erikson stood up again, and this time came around his desk towards Carl, who found that he couldn't move a muscle. There was something compelling him to stay. He wanted to be Professor Erikson's research assistant. Isn't that what he had always wanted? There was something else too. It felt good to obey this man. No that wasn't it. It was that the thought of disobeying him filled Carl with terror. Without another thought, Carl pulled his shirt off and slipped out of his shoes. Before the professor had crossed the short distance between them, Carl had gotten everything off, even his underwear, and stood there naked, at attention.

"Better, Mr. Tramdor. You are a fast learner," Professor Erikson said, and then proceeded to inspect Carl from top to bottom, a fact that made Carl feel a bit ashamed. He looked like he had had time to master several programming languages. While by no means obese, Carl did have a bit of a potbelly, and he had never set foot in a gym aside from PE in high school. He wondered if he should say something, but decided against it, and realized how quiet the office was, aside from the occasional grunt mumble which came from the professor. When he finished the inspection, Professor Erikson came around in front of Carl. "Well first of all," the professor said, "you're out of shape. My assistants have to be in top physical condition if they want to please me."

"Yes Sir. I'll start going to the gym, sir," fell out of Carl's mouth, but it didn't seem like something he would say. In fact, he hadn't even intended to say it. And what had that been about 'pleasing'? Something again seemed wrong with the professor's last comment, but Carl couldn't figure out what it was. He did want to please Professor Erikson, didn't he? Wasn't that why he wanted to become a research assistant in the first place?

"I expect all of my assistants to work out regularly. I'll ask one of the coaches there to help train you personally. He knows how I like them. Other than that, it looks like you'll do fine. Just one last test," he said, and then, without any warning, grabbed both of Carl's nipples and twisted them, hard.

The pain was so sudden and so strong that Carl almost screamed. He tried to pull away, but Professor Erikson wouldn't let go, and for one terrifying moment, Carl was sure that he was going to rip them off. Just when he thought he wouldn't be able to take it anymore, he let go, and Carl almost fell to his knees in relief.

"Yes, a very good response. I think you'll do quite nicely," the professor said, and then started picking up Carl's clothes where he had thrown them in a heap on the ground.

"What are you doing with my clothes sir?" Carl asked.

"You won't be needing them anymore, Mr. Tramdor."

"But then...what am I going to wear? I can't just walk around naked..." Carl said, but why had he even agreed to get naked in the first place?

Professor Erikson threw the heap into the trashcan, and then walked over to a closet which Carl hadn't noticed before, and started rummaging through it for something, without answering Carl's question. Carl figured he could probably move now, but didn't want to risk angering the professor. He didn't want to see those steel eyes turn harsh ever again. He would do anything to avoid that stare.

After some scrounging, the professor pulled out a leather harness, some leather shorts with zippers up the side, some socks and a pair of black leather boots. "Here's your new uniform. It is what you will wear everyday from this point on. You will be in charge of maintaining the leather and caring for it nightly," he said, and handed Carl the clothes.

"I...I can't wear this sir. It's..." Carl blushed, "kind of revealing...isn't it?"

"That's what all of my assistants wear. You're no exception. Now get dressed, we have work to do."

Carl just started at the clothes, trying to figure out what to do. Was this a joke or something? He couldn't be seen walking around campus in clothes like this. He would be a laughing stock.

"Again, Mr. Tramdor, I don't like having to ask twice. Now. Get. Dressed."

Carl didn't need to look in order to know that the eyes were digging into him again. Without another thought, he pulled on the pants, the feel of the leather strange against his penis which he just now realized was rock hard. "How long had it been like that? Why hadn't the professor said anything?" he thought to himself, and blushed again, in shame. Then he fiddled with the harness, and when he couldn't figure out how to put it on himself, the professor came over and did it for him. With the man, his idol, that close...Carl realized why he had gotten hard. There was an aura of suppressed power which Carl could feel emanating from Professor Erikson. His muscles pushing against the leather which squeaked softly as he moved. There was a musky aroma, a mixture of sweat and leather that made Carl even more aroused. Then the harness was on, and the professor backed up again. Trembling a little, Carl sat down and pulled on the socks and boots, then stood up looked down at himself.

He thought he would look ridiculous, but that wasn't what he thought at all. He looked kind of hot. The shorts were tight enough to show off his package well, and he liked the feel of the leather against his skin, but he did wish he was more muscular, like the professor. The professor was one of the hottest, most handsome men he had ever seen. Not only had he read almost every article written by the man, but he also had spent the last few years fantasizing about him, and now, here was his chance to work with him. To serve him.

"One final touch," the professor said. He walked up to Carl, fastened a leather collar around his neck, and padlocked it shut. "Perfect. Now, we have work to do in lab, assistant. Follow me."

"Right now, sir? But...people will see me..." Carl said, a small part of him still resistant to the new desires flooding through him.

"I did not ask for your opinion. Come," the professor said, and walked out the door. Unwilling to disobey, Carl quickly followed him, but instinctually stayed a few feet behind him. The professor was his superior; Carl knew that he had no right to walk beside him.

As they walked through the corridors of the building, every single person they passed stopped and stared at both of them in confusion. Carl was able to ignore the first few, by focusing on his professor ahead of him. But by the time they were walking past his fellow students he couldn't help but turn red in shame. It didn't help that his flabby stomach was on display for everyone to see, barely held in check by the leather straps of the harness. At least if he had bothered to take care of himself he wouldn't feel as self-conscious. He couldn't wait to get started at the gym, so he wouldn't have to feel so ashamed. Then he could look more like his professor too. He loved his professor; he was perfect in every way. If he was a good assistant, his professor would reward him, and if that meant he had to wear this uniform for the rest of his life, he would do that for him. However, there was still another voice screaming in the back of his mind, telling him that he had been caught in some sort of trap. This wasn't what a research assistant was required to do. He was behaving more like a slave, than a research assistant! But the words rang a bit hollow within him. This is what he'd fantasized about, wasn't it? Working with the great Professor Erikson? Serving him? Sucking his cock, getting fucked? That was what he wanted. His dick hadn't softened the whole time he had been walking, but now, he didn't really care that people saw him. He loved his professor, his master.

He followed Professor Erikson down to the basement, where they entered an unlabeled room together, which Carl assumed to be the lab. He was half right. Along one wall of the room, there was a bank of computers running a variety of programs. However, the other looked like it belonged in a dungeon, not at a college. There were a variety of things which Carl had never seen before, but which didn't look very comfortable. Along one of the walls, he could see a collection of paddles and whips hanging, as well as an assortment of other objects designed to cause pain. Carl began to wonder what kind of research Professor Erikson was doing down here, and what he had gotten himself into. That voice was back, and it was stronger. There was something strange going on, something very wrong, but for the life of him, Carl couldn't figure out what it was.

The professor led him over to a table, where a variety of objects were laid out, the strangest being a metal crescent which looked like a headband. While Carl was looking around, the professor had picked up some wrist and ankle bracelets and had begun to fasten them onto Carl's limbs. He then led him over to the middle of the room, where some chains were suspended from the ceiling. Without speaking, the professor attached the chains to the restraints on his hands, and did the same with Carl's feet on the ground. By the end of it, he was spread eagle in the middle of the room, his cock bulging obscenely against his tight leather pants, wondering what was going to happen next.

"Now, as you know, I specialize in research about pain," the professor said, "and I've needed an assistant to help me test my latest device. Before we do that though, I need a control sample."

He picked up some metal clips from the table, and walked back to where Carl was, and clipped them onto his nipples. They pinched him much harder than the master had in the office, and it felt like they were on fire. Carl tried not to yell, and twisted in the chains, but that just made the clips whip back and forth, making his nipples hurt more. Carl didn't know how long he would be able to take it. He had never experienced much pain in his life, and to suddenly have it inflicted upon him without pity...what was he doing here? He hadn't signed up to be some guinea pig.

"How does it feel, assistant?"

"It hurts sir."

"How much? On a scale of one to ten?"

"A lot sir. Please take them off."

Give me a number."

"Five. Please, I don't like it."

The professor laughed, "Five? Already? But we haven't even gotten started yet." He walked back over to the table and returned with some metal balls, which he hooked into the metal clips, causing them to pull harder on his nipples, and bringing out a groan from Carl. His dick was no longer hard, and he didn't think he would be able to take much more of this.

"Please, no. It hurts..."

"Of course it hurts. It's supposed to hurt. How can we do research on pain without inflicting it?"

The argument was ludicrous, not to mention unethical, but part of it made sense. Hadn't he read about this in all of the studies he read? Isn't this why Professor Erikson was so famous? Something still didn't seem right, but he couldn't figure out what. He decided to just try and fight through the pain, as long as he could.

The professor took a moment to undo Carl's leather shorts at the sides, and then took them off entirely, before returning to the table. By now, Carl's nipples had started to go numb, which was a bit of a relief. While he waited for the professor to come back, Carl just tried to stay still, so that the weights wouldn't shift and send a new spike of pain through him. When the professor came back, he had a metal cylinder about an inch long and more metal weights with him. "I'll be nice and start you out small," he said, and then unhinged the cylinder and latched it around Carl's balls, pulling them away from his body. That wasn't the worst of it though, because the professor then began to attach several weights to the cylinder, causing the pain to skyrocket as his balls were stretched downward. It was an entirely different kind of pain, as well, the kind of pain which almost made him want to throw up, and which only got worse as time wore on.

"Please sir, take it off. It hurts..." Carl moaned, but when he looked up, he saw Professor Erikson staring at him with those steel gray eyes. But they weren't angry, they were happy. He was enjoying inflicting this pain on him. Carl also saw that the front of his leather pants were tented out.

"It hurts? How much?"

"Eight...Nine."

"My goodness, someone hasn't felt much pain before. This is nothing, compared to what I could do to you." The professor walked over to the wall and returned with a wooden paddle. Without any warning, he brought it down on Carl's ass, making him cry out in pain.

"This is pain. This is your life now, boy. I do what I want to you, when I want to, and you take it because I give it to you, understood?"

"Please...no more," was all Carl could utter. Tears were already streaming down his face just from that first hit, "no more pain."

The professor hit him again with the paddle, harder this time, and Carl broke down into sobs of fear, "I said, is this understood?"

"Yes...please, yes. No more. I understand, sir."

"Good," Professor Erikson said, and came around in front of Carl, "I think that's enough for a control sample." First he took off the contraption from his balls, and then removed the clamps and returned them to the table. Blood rushed back into his angry red nipples, making them sting, but at least he could relax for a moment.

Professor Erikson came back from the table carrying the strange metal headband Carl had noticed before. After everything he had just been through, Carl had no idea what might be next. When the professor saw Carl tense up and try to pull away from him, he just chuckled, "Don't worry, boy. After this, everything will be all better."

After a bit of fussing, he managed to get it onto Carl's head, so that it sat on his ears and went around the front of his head like a pair of glasses. He tried to shake it off, but the professor had secured them on somehow, and they wouldn't budge.

Carl heard the professor's voice over by the computers, "Initializing program 'painpig' in 3...2...1..." but before he could really grasp what was going on, a blaze of white light opened in front of his eyes, and Carl felt his mind shudder. For the next few minutes, he was entirely aware of what was going on in the room, but he couldn't move, and he could feel something odd happening in his head. The dance of light before his eyes never stopped in that entire time. By the end of it, his senses had been so overloaded that he had started to drool without realizing it. After what felt like hours to Carl, the lights finally dimmed, and the professor removed the device.

"So, how do you feel?"

It took Carl a moment to remember how to speak. It felt like his very synapses have been rewritten, and he wasn't quite used to the new connections yet. "Strange...sir. What did you just do to me?"

"Allow me to demonstrate. That will be easier than trying to explain it to you," the professor said, and before Carl could react, he grabbed his nipples and twisted them violently. However, it wasn't pain that Carl felt this time. Or, more precisely, it was painful, excruciating really, but he loved it. He let out a moan and felt his cock grow in his pants, and when the professor let go, all Carl could do was pant. "See? I told you everything would be fine."

"Oh, God," Carl moaned, "Please...do that again. I want more."

"Really?" Professor Erikson grinned, "but just a few minutes ago, you were begging me to stop. I thought you didn't like pain."

"I..." Carl muttered, but couldn't get anything out. He just wanted to hurt. He wanted his nipples twisted, his ass paddled, his back whipped. He wanted to feel all of it. "Please, sir. I was wrong. Please."

The professor smirked, and retrieved the nipple clamps from the table and waved them in front of Carl's face, "Are these what you want? What do you want me to do with them?" he said, and then rubbed them slowly on Carl's raw nipples, making the boy shiver.

"Please, put them on me, sir. I need them, sir."

"If you insist," Professor Erikson said, and then clipped them onto Carl, who immediately moaned in lust.

"Oh yes. Yes! More...please..."

"Yeah, you like this, don't you? You want to be my little painpig? You want me to beat you, and fuck you raw, and you're going to love it, aren't you?" He said, and twisted the clips, making Carl pant and his hard cock start to dribble precum on the floor, "I could brand you with a red hot iron, and you'd just ask for more. You're all mine now, and we're going to have a long semester together."

Professor Erikson let go, and Carl, his body nearly pulsing with lust, just mumbled and begged quietly while the professor retrieved the ball stretcher and weights from the table.

"Just be patient, slave. You'll get what you want--what you need," he said, and secured the ball stretcher around Carl's balls again, and added the weights as well, then watched as Carl's eyes rolled back into his head in pleasure. Then he added the weights to the clips on his nipples as well, and started stroking his boy's cock, making him go even more crazed with lust. "Yeah, look at what I've reduced you to. I could cut your balls off, and all you'd feel is sweet, sweet pain," still stroking Carl's dick with his gloved hand, the professor put his mouth right next to his ear, and started to whisper into it, "Let me tell you all of the things I'm going to do to you. I'm going to stretch your balls until they reach halfway to your knees. I'm going to stretch that ass of yours so wide it'll take both of my arms at once. I'm going to pierce your nipples and pump them up until they look like little sausages sticking out of your chest. In fact, you'll have so many piercings by the time I'm through with you that your head is going to look like swiss cheese and your dick and balls will look like a pincushion. I've already made some appointments at the tattoo parlor for you. You know what your first one is? It's going to be the word 'Painpig' across your back, so everyone is going to know what you are, and what you love. You know what else? The whole time, you're going to just beg me for more, and more, and more. Isn't that right?"

Carl could only nod. He just wanted to feel that hand stroke his cock forever. To feel this exquisite pain forever.

"And that's not all my computer can do. I can rewrite your entire personality. I can turn you into a sniveling little worm if I wanted to. I could make you piss yourself uncontrollably. I could make you horny twenty-four seven, but make it impossible for you to cum. I own you boy, body and mind. You're mine, and you love it."

With that, he walked away, back to the table, leaving Carl whimpering in need. He returned with one of the largest dildos Carl had ever seen. "Oh...sir. Please. Please let me cum."

"All in good time, boy. But first, what do you think I should do with this dildo? Think it would be very painful if I shoved it up your ass?"

Carl could only nod, and imagine what it would feel like to have that massive black tube ripping his ass apart. Oh the pain! The pain would be beautiful!

"Tell me you want it boy. Tell me you want it, and I'll shove it up there. I'll drive it home, and when I do, you're going to cum without even touching your dick. So tell me, do you want it?"

A small part of Carl, the same part who had told him to flee way back in the office, told him that he should say no. That if he didn't say no, he would be this man's plaything for the rest of his life. But the rest of him, all it wanted to do was serve this man. This handsome master who had given him so much painful pleasure. And he wanted that dildo up his ass. He wanted to know what it would feel like. How much it would hurt. He wanted it to hurt bad. He nodded, and said, "Please sir, put it in me sir. Shove that thing up my ass and make me scream."

The professor smirked, and went around behind him. Carl could feel the rubber tip poking at his hole, and a second later, it was in. His ass cramped down on it, but the professor was merciless, and before he even knew what was happening, Carl was shooting thick wads of cum all over the floor in front of him, and the massive dildo was crammed all the way up his ass, and it felt good. It felt right. It felt horrific.

"Feels good, doesn't it, you fucking pig?"

He was a pig. That's what he had always been, he had just needed Professor Erikson to show him that. The professor was a god among men. Carl would serve him until the day he died, if only so he could become like him. When the professor came around to undo his restraints, his gray eyes no longer terrified Carl. They were beautiful. Hard and cold like a steel blade, merciless, utterly devoid of pity or remorse, and Carl loved them.

When all of his restraints were undone, Carl tried to walk, but was so weak, he fell to his knees. But that felt right too. He belonged on his knees before this man who had given him everything. He stared up at his professor, and saw that he had unzipped his uniform, and his large dick was sticking out. Without him having to say anything, Carl took it into his mouth and started sucking, twisting the clips on his tits while he did it. He was finally Professor Erikson's research assistant, his painpig, and it was everything he had ever wanted it to be.

3

"Hey Gorger! Catch!" Jason yelled across the locker room, and then threw his dirty jockstrap at George, where he was sitting on the bench. He had never had very quick reflexes, so he looked up too late, but right on time for the sweaty fabric to smack him right across the face, causing the rest of the football jocks in the room to start laughing their asses off. George's ears turned red, and he peeled the jock off, only to find that everyone else in the room had joined in on the fun. He just cowered in a ball, and by the end of the barrage, he was surrounded by dirty practice uniforms, jockstraps and a collection of naked athletes, all laughing at him.

Their laughter was suddenly interrupted by the appearance of Coach Davis from his office, and when he saw the scene, he just smirked, and said, "Glad to see you've already gotten started on the laundry, Mr. Redman," which made all of the jocks laugh even harder, and George turn redder. He hated this job so much. He had no idea why he of all people had been forced to work as the assistant manager to the football team. Really, he was just a glorified towel boy. He did the team's laundry, managed their equipment, and was Coach Davis's errand boy, all for a measly nine dollars an hour. It didn't help that he was fat, a fact which had earned him the nickname "Gorger" in the locker room. Of course, the stress of the whole situation had just made him eat more, and he had been gaining weight steadily since the beginning of the semester. All of his attempts to get out of the job had been unsuccessful, because he had a contract with the school which lasted until the end of the season, two long months away. Two long, excruciating months of daily humiliation. He had learned that it was easier just to try and ignore them all, so he got up and started picking up the laundry, while the jocks, still laughing, headed over to the showers.

When he had gotten all of it into the hamper next to him, he started over towards the laundry room in the gym, but he heard coach Davis call out behind him, "These too, Gorger," and the coach hurled his own balled up laundry at the back of his head, causing the jocks to laugh even more. He hated them so much, but he didn't have any power over them. No one in the administration had cared when he told them about how they treated him treatment. Coach Davis was the best thing to happen to the football team in years, and the school couldn't afford to let him go. So George just picked up the clothes where they had fallen, added them to the pile, and left before anything else could happen.

It was already seven o' clock, but George was used to being the only one left in the building at night. Besides, it wasn't like he had any pressing engagements to get to that night. He was a freshman this year, and had hoped that college would give him a chance to start over. Instead, it turned out to be more of the same. More jocks making fun of him for his size. Still not able to make any friends, because he was too shy. It didn't help that he was gay as well, and too afraid to tell anyone, because, if that the football team found out, the abuse would only get worse. Actually, it was worse than high school. At least in high school, he could go home and get away from everyone. Here, he actually had to live with these assholes.

He got to the laundry room, put the hamper on the table, took a deep breath, and sighed. Then, he took a deep breath again, through his nose. There was a smell in the room, something really...good. Something he needed. And it was coming from the hamper. George began rummaging through it, giving everything a sniff, but it was only a few of the items which had that smell on them, and he separated them out. When he finished, it turned out that he had laid out a sleeveless shirt, a jockstrap, some athletic shorts, and two socks. It took George a second to realize that they had all come from the same person, and that was from Coach Davis.

Ignoring his cock, which was now tenting in his pants, George paced the room, trying to figure out what was going on. The smell was still there, and he unwittingly took deeper breaths every time he passed by the coach's clothes laid out on the table. What was going on? Sure, the coach was pretty handsome, but George hadn't been attracted to him before; he was too much of a jerk to be likable. And he still wasn't attracted to him. The thought to doing anything with the man made George's skin crawl, but then why had he just been able to pick out all of the coach's clothing out by smell alone? What in the world was going on? George stopped in front of the clothes, and a stray thought entered his mind. He wanted to try the clothes on. He wanted to get that smell on him, he wanted it to be his smell.

George shook his head, went over to the sink in the laundry room and splashed his face with water. Where had those thoughts come from? He'd certainly never had a thing for sweat, dirty laundry, or anything like that before. In fact, George preferred to keep himself clean, but something about putting on the coach's clothes was turning him on big time. The feel that sweaty shirt against his skin, to smell the musk coming off of it, it would be so hot. And that jock...it was enough just to make him want to rip his clothes off.

George shut his eyes and tried to concentrate on something else, and realized that it felt a bit colder in the room. He looked around, and saw that he was naked. Startled, he looked around for where his clothes had gone, but they were nowhere to be found. He needed to get something on, in case someone walked by and saw him, and that was all the excuse his mind needed. He walked over the table, and started pulling on the coach's clothes where he had laid them out. He pulled the shirt on first, pulling it down as far as he could. It was an extra large at least, but it still wasn't enough to cover all of George's gut. He didn't care, it was on him, and that's what mattered. Next came the jockstrap. He couldn't help but smell it first, reveling in the scent of the coach's crotch, and then stepped into it. It was a bit difficult to get on, because his legs were much bigger than the coaches, and he had to pull the pouch up and under his gut. Following the jockstrap came the athletic shorts, which were almost skin tight on him, and he couldn't quite get them up to his waist. He could feel the top of his ass crack sticking out over the waistband, but he didn't care. He was almost there. He sat down, pulled on the socks, stood up, and nothing happened.

Well, something happened. George immediately felt ridiculous. Why in the world had he wanted to try on these clothes so badly anyway? However, it felt like the next thing he should do was go look at himself in a mirror, but there weren't any in the laundry room. The closest ones would be in the locker room, but he couldn't go back there and risk being seen. His best bet would be the bathrooms down the hall. After checking that no one was coming, he hurried down the hallway as fast as he could, praying that no one should turn the corner and see him. As he walked, he noticed that the shorts were getting looser, and George figured that he had just managed to stretch them out. The same with the shirt. By the time he got to the bathroom, they almost felt comfortable, natural on him. And he could make out that smell again, stronger than before, and his cock was even harder than it had been in the laundry room. Inside, George rushed up the mirror, and looked at himself.

He was still fat, not that that was surprising, but the fact that the coach's clothes fit him so badly just made that fact all the more apparent. His gut, or really, his apron, hung down out of his shirt (although hadn't it been a bit bigger that morning?). His flabby shoulders pushed against the open sleeves, pinching his arms like sausages. His second chin completely obscured the collar of the shirt as well. The athletic shorts looked like they were pasted to his thighs, and while George couldn't see the jockstrap, he could feel the elastic straps chaffing at his skin. The overall effect was laughable. It looked like a short fat kid trying to pretend he was an gym rat. He was about to take the shirt off, when he noticed something in the mirror. His gut was actually shrinking, visibly. Over the next few seconds, as he watched, it shrank, inch by inch, until it didn't hang past the shirt at all anymore. George didn't know why it had happened, but for whatever reason, he was overjoyed. However, that joy was cut short when he suddenly felt a deep ache start in his bones and radiate outward, causing him to bend over and moan. It grew in intensity, almost as though his bones were lengthening within him, and the rest of his body had to make way for their new size. His fat was melting away faster now, and he could see in the mirror that the clothes no longer looked too tight. In fact, they looked a little baggy.

The pain in his bones began to ease away, and carefully, George stood up straight again, and found that he must have grown six or seven inches at least, because he was seeing the entire room from a new, higher, perspective. Most of his fat had disappeared as well, leaving him looking quite slender. However, that look didn't last for long, because his muscles began to ache and cramp, first in his legs, and then spreading up his body. He looked down and saw that his calves were quickly doubling in size, the muscles gaining definition, the same with his thighs. By the time the sensation had reached his waist, his legs where massive, every individual muscle bulging outward, and the shorts were back to being almost too tight on him, but stretched around two muscular thighs rather than two fat ones. His ass had built up definition too, and from the side, it looked like two hot slabs of muscle. The sensation rose higher, George lifted up his shirt and watched as a set of rock hard abs appeared where his gut had been just a short time ago. However, there was also a bit of fat built up there too, but it just pushed the muscles out, into a solid muscle gut. He ran his fingers along the ridges and shivered at the new sensation. On top of his gut grew two massive pecs as well, which stretched the shirt tight across them, so tight that he could make out his nipples through the fabric. His arms followed suit, biceps bulging out, veins popping up, even his forearms and wrists expanded to twice the size, and his hands became big, meaty paws. His neck expanded until it was lined with thick cords of muscle, and even his face became harsher, and more angular. By the end of it, he had obviously surpassed even the coach's size, based on the way his clothes fit George's body.  It really was his body too. George knew he had been fat just minutes before, but it had faded like an old memory. This was his new reality, and he couldn't have been happier.

However, his transformation wasn't finished yet. His skin tingled, and hair began to sprout all over. George had been moderately hairy before, but now he saw that even his forearms were covered. What was even stranger was that it was the wrong color. His hair had been brown, but the new stuff was a bright, ginger red. But as soon as he thought that, he realized that was wrong. He'd always had red hair. After all, that was where he had gotten his nickname, "Red." It wasn't very creative, since his last name was already Redman, but all of the boys on the team usually just called him "Coach Red." He kept his hair clipped short, in a flat top, and had a short, but well trimmed beard on his face. He liked how rugged it made him look. Sure, he was getting on in years, and starting to show some grey too, but he was still a horny fucker, and didn't mind showing it. He cupped his crotch and surveyed himself in the mirror. Yeah, he was fucking hot, a tall, hulking muscle bear, just like he'd always been. Tattoos appeared on his arms as well, but they looked a bit faded with age, as though he had gotten them years ago. There were twin snakes running through flames on his forearms, a bear paw on his right bicep, and a ring of barbed wire around the other one.

He lifted one of his arms and took a deep sniff from his hairy pit, reveling in his musk. He loved that smell. In fact, he loved the smell of men in general, especially right after they'd finished working out on the field, that powerful smell of grass, dirt, sweat, and good old masculinity. He could smell it all day, and never be satisfied. He hauled his cock out as well, and started stroking all nine inches of it. He loved a good jack off session after a day on the field. However, he liked a good fuck better, and as a matter of fact, there was someone in the building who could use a good fucking at the moment. Red shoved his cock back into his shorts, and stormed down the hall towards the locker room and the coach's office, which, if he had his way, would soon be his office.

The first thing he heard when he got into the locker room was a moan coming from the coach's office. Curious to see who was enjoying themselves so much, Red snuck over (far more gracefully than he thought he would be able to in his new body) and opened the door quickly. Inside, he found Coach Davis on his knees in front of Jason, sucking his cock, while the young athlete moaned loudly. When the door burst open, they both looked up, and saw an imposing redheaded musclebear dressed in Coach Davis's clothes from earlier, filling the doorway. They could smell him too, and the sheer strength of it made them both swoon. Coach Davis felt his mouth start to water, and immediately imagined himself sucking that cock instead of Jason's. Wasn't that the cock he was supposed to be sucking anyway? He shook his head, wiped up his mouth, and embarrassed to have been caught in such a position, shouted, "Who the fuck are you?"

"I'm your replacement," Red said, and then pointed at Jason, "You, out. Go lift some weights and wait for me. Be sure to work up a sweat by the time I get there."

Jason wasn't one to take orders, but the witty retort he had prepared died on his tongue, and that disturbed him. He was someone who liked to be in control. He had whittled down Coach Davis's defenses for months before the man had finally relented and sucked his cock. However, this new guy (coach, his mind told him) had a natural sense of authority about him. Jason not only couldn't disobey him, he didn't even want to. Without another thought, he high-tailed it out of the office, putting on his gym clothes as he went, and headed for the weight room, leaving Davis and Red alone.

"Quite a show you were putting on there. You suck off all of the players on the team?" Red said, and Davis blushed.

"Shut the fuck up and get out of my office. I don't know how you got in here, but don't make me throw you out the door."

Red laughed, "Excuse me? This is my office. As I said earlier, I'm your replacement. But that means we need to find an opening for you..." Red started rubbing his bulge, and Davis watched it for a moment, transfixed. Then he shook his head, and stood up.

"I don't know what you're talking about. Now get out."

Red took a step closer, and watched Davis's knees tremble, being so close to him, but the man still resisted. Some part of Davis's mind told him he was in mortal danger, that this was a time to either fight, or flee, and he had never been someone to run from a fight. So he took a swing at Red's face.

Without any conscious thought, Red's body grabbed the incoming fist, redirected the force and threw Davis out of the office and onto the rough concrete of the locker room floor. A moment later, Red was on top of him, trying to pin him to the ground. Davis fought, and he fought well, but there was no way he could have won. Red was not only larger and more skilled than him, but with every breath Davis took, he took in more of Red's musk. The musk which told him to give up, obey, and let the superior man dominate him. It would feel so good, it would feel right, if he just submitted. A minute later, Red had him pinned face down on the ground, and was lying on top of him, grinding his rock hard, nine inch cock up the crack of Davis's bare ass.

"Yeah, you feel that? That's a real man's tool. Did you see how fast I pinned you? How fast I beat you? You don't deserve to be top dog around here, do you?"

Davis just moaned, and started bucking his hips in rhythm with Red's thrusting. He was so horny. All he could smell was Red, all around him, and he wanted him. He wanted him to dominate him. He wanted that cock up his ass. A real man's cock up his ass. It was what he needed, what he deserved. "Please...please, Sir. Fuck me. I need it," He heard himself say. He couldn't help it. He needed release, and Coach Red could give it to him.

"You want me to fuck you?" Red asked, and pulled his cock out of his pants, "Do you want me to ram this entire dick of mine up your ass, to make you scream for me? Is that really what you want?"

Davis could only moan, and weakly nod his head. Red spit a few times into his hand, and rubbed it up and down the shaft until it was slick, then lined it up at Davis's hole. He applied some pressure, and Davis's virgin cherry gradually gave way to Red's monster. The man beneath him grunted at first, and then shouted out as the head slipped past his inner sphincter and started to rub up against his prostate. He felt so full, it felt so right. How could he have avoided submitting for so long? Why had he not immediately knelt down and kissed the feet of this god, this man who was giving him so much pleasure?

Red started slowly, and then began to work his dick in deeper, inch by inch, into Davis's asshole. As he did, he watched the man beneath him change. He started to lose some of his mass first, though it wasn't so much muscle as mass in general. It was almost like he was becoming more compact. As Red became more aggressive, though, Davis did start to lose some muscle, as well as some of his body hair as well. He also noticed that the bald spot on his head filled in, and assumed that Davis was growing younger as well. His moans were also increasing in pitch, moving up from the deep bass he had had to a low tenor, with a hint of a lisp. By now, Davis was actively pushing back into Red, begging him to show his boy how much of a man he was, and Red just fucked him harder, pulling his entire cock out and then ramming it back in. On one such thrust, he heard Davis give a low moan, and felt his ass spasm, signaling that he had just shot his own load onto the concrete floor without even touching his dick. The thought of that drove Red wild, and he began pounding his boy's ass even harder.

"Yeah, feel that?" Red said, "That was you shooting with a man's dick buried up your asshole, you little pig. You want daddy's bearcum up your ass? Cause that's what you're going to get!" he plunged his cock in as far as it would go, and let loose. With every pulse of his cock, he could watch Davis's figure begin to bloat, and fill up with fat. The thought that he had just taken a fellow coach, and fucked him into a little ass pig made Red even hotter. He was going to enjoy having his new towel boy around, and from the moans coming from the boy beneath him, he wasn't the only one who was going to enjoy their new relationship.

When his dick finally shrank back, Red pulled it out and stood up. A bit unsteady on his feet, the cub who had previously been Coach Davis stood up as well. While nowhere near as fat as George had been not even an hour ago, he was still quite chubby, with a round face, neatly trimmed goatee, and hair matted and sweaty from the fuck he had just gotten. He was also quite short, and only came up to Red's chin. The weight looked good on him however, and he had a solid build, which told Red he would be a hot, fireplug of a man one day. Red was surprised to find that the anger which he had felt for Davis was suddenly washed away in a tide of adoration. He pulled his cub into him and kissed him passionately, an act that Davey was happy to return.

They lingered together a bit afterwards, and Davey couldn't help but sniff at his coach's pit, reveling in the stink of his daddy, "Daddy Red, you smell really good."

"Well, when you grow up, you'll smell just as good as I do. But for now, why don't you go finish up the laundry. If you do a good job, I'll let you sleep with my dirtiest jockstrap tonight, how does that sound?"

Davey just grinned, and hurried off, walking a bit bowlegged and still naked, to the laundry room, and Red chuckled. He did love his cub, and with a little work, he'd grow up to be as big a man as his daddy. For now though, Red had one last person to see before he could call it a night. He tucked his now soft dick back into his shorts, and headed for the weight room.

When he got there, he found Jason at the bench press, working away, and as per Red's orders, he had managed to work up quite a sweat. When he saw Red come into the room, Jason put the barbell back on the rack, and sat up. Red strode over, laid him back down on the bench and kissed him, while Jason reveled in their combined sweat and musk. He loved his evening sessions with Coach Red; they were the best part of his day. They were even better when the whole team stuck around, and they partied in the showers for a few hours together. Red always said that team bonding was important, and no one questioned what Coach Red said.

"What do you say we up the weight a bit?" Red said, and got up, adding a couple of twenty pound weights to the bar, "I'll spot you."

Jason laid back down, and found himself face to face with his coach's bulge. He could smell it through the athletic shorts, and it made him feel hot, and horny.

His own cock began to tent in his shorts, at the thought of slathering away at his coach's cock. "I don't know if I can handle that much, coach," he said, "What's my incentive?"

"Ten reps, and you can suck my cock. How does that sound?"

Jason just picked the bar up in reply, and started pumping it up and down. The first five were easy, but then he started to get a bit winded. When Red say this, he started giving Jason a bit of encouragement, "Come on Jason, what are you, a weakling? You want to suck my cock or not? I mean, if you don't really want to, I'm sure I can get Mitch in here and he'll bench this no problem. Maybe I should just take you off first string. Mitch can suck my cock if you aren't man enough to get that barbell up. Come on, you got two more to go. I know you want it, you always want a taste of my hard, sweaty cock, don't you boy? But maybe you're heart isn't in it tonight. Push through, you only got one left. You can do it, there!"

Jason made it up on his last rep, arms shaking, and got the barbell back onto the rack with Red's help. He was rewarded a moment later with Red's cock slammed down his throat. He started sucking at it while his coach rammed his meat in and out, fucking his throat. By the first week of working with Red, Jason had already lost his gag reflex, and now coach's cock just went down easy. He started rubbing his own cock through his shorts, while Red bent over the bar and started tweaking Jason's nipples. Even though he had just cum a few minutes ago, the sight of the top jock choking down his meat was too much for Red, and he shot his second load of the night down Jason's throat. When he came down from his orgasm, he saw that Jason, too, had changed, though not as drastically as Davey. He looked like he had packed on a bit of muscle, just from drinking his coach's cum. Jason licked his lips, and smiled at his coach, still stroking his own cock, and said, "Now what are we going to do about this thing?"

Red came around, and sat on the bench, "Keep strokin' it for me. And while you're at it, clean out my pits for me. I know how that turns you on."

Jason didn't need to be asked twice. Red lifted up his arm and Jason buried his face in his coach's pit, took a deep breath, and moaned. The smell was so strong, so masculine. He just wanted to lose himself in it. He started licking away, and as he did, he stroked his dribbling cock faster and faster, while Red whispered in his ear, "Yeah, lick that pit. Get that smell all over your face. You like that, don't ya? You like the smell of a real man? Boy, I haven't showered for days, and you're just lickin' up all that sweat and grime like it was the tastiest thing in the world. I guess I shouldn't be surprised--none of you boys can resist my stink. You all fight in the locker room for a chance to lick out my grimy pits, don't ya? Cum boy! Cum with your face buried in your coach's pit!"

Unable to take it anymore, Jason shot his load all over both of them, his face never leaving Red's armpit until his dick had gone soft, and then, only reluctantly. He was panting, and exhausted, but Red was just getting started. That show had gotten his dick all hard again, and he figured he would have to give Davey another fuck that night, before they went to bed.

"I think that's enough for the day, Jason. But don't hit the showers. I want you to be good and sweaty for our practice session tomorrow morning," Red said, and winked.

"Sure thing coach," Jason replied, grinned, and then left to go get changed.

Alone in the weight room, Red took a moment to catch his breath. He lay back on the bench press, one hand behind his head, the other idly stroking his cock, fantasizing about all of the players at practice tomorrow. He figured they could use a day inside on the weight machines, naked of course. It was good to be the coach.

4

It was the first party he had gone to since breaking up with Rachel, and Henry couldn't have been happier. Now, he could go to the parties he wanted to go to, talk to people he wanted to talk to (including other women, which Rachel had forbidden) and be happy as a single man once again. He'd forgotten how good it was to be free. It was a good party too, and that helped. It was being thrown by some of his football buddies, partially as a celebration of the fact that he had finally broken up with that witch, but no one had said so explicitly. But that wasn't really important. At that moment, all he was really interested in was Jamie, and she seemed as interested in him, he hoped.

Henry was one of the rising stars on the varsity football team, and that was one of the reasons Rachel had been so attracted to him. He was handsome, smart, and for the most part, a genuinely nice guy, which didn't happen very often in the same package. Of course, given the fact that the night had started so well, it could only have ended badly. It all started when Paula, Denise, and Maddie spotted him across the room, glared at each other, and started over towards where he was chatting with Jane.

Around campus, Rachel, Paula, Denise and Maddie were known as the fierce four, and they had earned that name. Rachel was the ringleader, and the only reason those three would have been at the party was to make Henry's life a living hell. All four of them tried to look as much like one another as possible, but they all had defining characteristics. Paula, for example, had always been a bit thicker, even though she worked out more than the others. Denise was the cruelest, and liked to humiliate people for the fun of it. Maddie was the most athletic, and was on the rowing team. She was also the craftiest, and the second in command behind Rachel, so she was the first one to speak as they neared, "Girl, what the hell are you doing talking to him? Don't you know anything?"

Jane didn't. In fact, she didn't even know who these girls were. "Excuse me? Who are you?" she said, getting a bit defensive. Henry felt his stomach turn into an empty pit. Who in the hell had let these three in?

"Look," Denise said, putting her hand on Jane's shoulder, "We're just looking out for your best interests, girlfriend. This guy is nothing but trouble."

"Haven't you heard the rumors going around about him?" Paula chimed in. Henry knew that if he didn't say something fast, he would have no shot of stopping this.

"Look, don't listen to them. They're only here because I broke up with their friend."

"Oh, don't listen to him, girl. You know what I heard about him?" Maddie said, and whispered something in Jane's ear, who recoiled in disgust.

"What? That's disgusting!"

"No kidding," Denise said, "But that's not the worst of it. I heard that..." she whispered something else, and Jane just looked at Henry in disgust.

"You're fucking sick," she spat, and stormed off, leaving Henry surrounded by the three bitches from hell. They looked at him, waiting for him to beg for their forgiveness, to go crawling back to Rachel, but Henry was so angry, he didn't even care. "You know what? Say what you want. It just proves that you're the jealous bitches that everyone knows you are. Besides, just because you say something doesn't make it true," he said, and then stormed off.

He heard them laughing at him as he walked away, but Henry didn't care. He wasn't about to go apologize to Rachel. Besides, she was the one who had cheated on him! He figured that the whole thing would just blow over eventually if he waited it out, so that's what he would do. He headed back to the keg for another beer, and while he was pumping, he thought about just getting out and going home. But why should be cancel his plans just because those three bitches had shown up? That wouldn't solve anything. He should just try to have a good night, even if by the end of it everyone there thought he was a scumbag.

But despite he attempts to have a positive outlook, his mood was irreparably damaged. He thought about dancing a bit, but he just didn't really feel like it. He knew a beer pong game was going in the basement as well, but he didn't really feel like getting smashed. Instead, he found an empty chair in the corner of the room, and nursed his beer for a while. Lost in his own thoughts, he didn't notice the massive guy making a beeline for him until he was halfway across the room. He was tall, even taller than Henry, and definitely a lot wider. He had on a flannel shirt which was unbuttoned, and under that he had on only a wife beater, stretched over his substantial gut that extended out in front of him like a beach ball. Two suspenders ran up on either side, that held up a pair of grubby looking jeans and made his stomach look all the larger. He was balding badly, and had a thick beard on his face as well. He couldn't have been less than forty years old, and definitely didn't belong at a college party. But as he approached, a name came to him. This man was Paul, though Henry didn't know how he knew that. And for some reason, he knew that he was supposed to be here, even though that didn't make any sense at all either. By the time his head had managed to sort this out, it was too late to get out of the way, and Paul had him cornered, his massive belly blocking any exit out of the chair.

"What do you want, Paul?" Henry asked. He was annoyed at him, but he didn't know why. Where did he know him from, and why was he so familiar? It seemed like he had just talked to him moments ago.

"Oh, not much. I just wanted to tell you something."

"Oh? And what's that?"

"I've been hearing some rumors about you, Henry."

Henry just rolled his eyes. Apparently things had been spreading faster than he thought, "Yeah, well you can't believe everything that you hear."

"Well, I've heard that you've really been letting yourself go lately. Eating massive amounts of food at all-you-can-eat buffets, pigging out on pizza at home. You've been getting so fat, that they threw you off the football team last year. You're even beginning to look like a pig."

Henry said nothing, and just waited for Paul to finish. It obviously wasn't true; he could look down for himself and see his ripped abs and tight pecs. How low had Rachel gotten to spread such a blatant lie?

"I also heard that you've been letting your hygiene slip. You haven't cut your hair or beard in months, and you don't even wash them, that is, when you can even be bothered to take a shower. You also quit shaving yourself, and all of your body hair has grown in. You don't even bother to wear clothes that fit you properly anymore. You're a fucking slob. The funniest part is that you apparently like it."

"I think you can see, right in front of you, that none of the things you just said are true."

Paul just laughed, "Well, we'll see, Henry. We'll see," and then he turned around and lumbered off.

What a prick, Henry thought, and chugged the rest of his beer, and let out a loud belch, making some of the people nearby turn and stare at him. He just glared back, but felt his stomach rumble. Dang, he was hungry all of the sudden! Good thing the guys planning the party had ordered a bunch of pizza. With a little more effort than he expected, he hefted himself out of the chair, and wandered into the kitchen, where a collection of pizza boxes littered the counters and table. He grabbed a plate, and started piling slices on top of it. He knew he shouldn't eat this much, but who would know? It's not like he was eating all of the pizza, there was still plenty left. In fact, he could probably afford a few more pieces, even, so he piled on a few more. Then, he sat in a nearby chair, his stomach now growling audibly at him, and started cramming slice after slice into his mouth. He didn't even care how it tasted--he just wanted it in him. He slammed down five pieces in about ten minutes, and was still hungry. No one had come in during that whole time, so Henry just grabbed a nearby pizza box and started eating the remaining half right there and then.

As he ate, some part of him was telling him that this was wrong. He shouldn't be behaving like this, he had football to think about! But the next moment, that thought seemed really strange. Hadn't he gotten kicked off the football team? That thought made him remember what Paul had said just minutes ago, and Henry stopped eating long enough to look down at himself, and freaked.

Sometime in the last ten minutes, he must have gained close to a hundred pounds, or maybe more. Gone were his ripped abs, replaced by a gut, or rather, an apron which hung down between his legs where he sat. On top of that, two massive man tits stretched his T-shirt tight across them, so tight that he could see his nipples, which had expanded in size as well. His thighs had lost most of their definition, and had doubled in size, not to mention his flabby, ham like arms. He threw the pizza box back on the table, and pushed himself up. He had to get to a mirror. He hustled as fast as he could to the closest bathroom, his hustle actually resembling a quick waddle. As he walked, he could feel his fat thighs rubbing up against one another, and his belly shivered with every step. He could also feel a bit of a draft against the lowest hanging part, which he could only imagine meant that at least a couple of inches had to be hanging past the bottom of his tightly filled shirt. He could also feel his pants slipping down as he moved, exposing his ass crack for everyone to see. A couple of times, he stopped and tried to pull it back up, but he eventually just gave up and hoped they wouldn't just fall down around his ankles. As he passed the other partiers, they invariably stopped and stared at the fat ass passing by them, and this just made Henry feel even worse. He got to the bathroom, and thankfully found it empty. He rushed in, and locked the door behind him, before looking at himself in the mirror.

Of all the things he saw, what drew his attention wasn't his new, fat body, it was the massive mane of hair which now surrounded his head. His hair now fell past his shoulders in thick waves, and looked greasy and matted, like it hadn't been combed in weeks. His beard was a similar length, and looked equally unkempt, and hung down almost to his chest. Even his face looked fatter, with two puffy cheeks, and it looked like his eyebrows had grown thicker as well. He could also see that a massive second chin had formed around his neck, but most of it was obscured by his beard, thankfully. Something he also hadn't noticed earlier was that his entire body was covered with a seeming forest of curly brown hairs, even on his knuckles. He hadn't been that hairy before. He also hadn't been fat, and hadn't looked like a total slob...or had he?

Sure, he'd let himself go a little...ok, he'd let himself go a lot. But who cared? He gave his belly a scratch, and watched his shirt ride up a little higher, revealing a deep, wide belly button. Sure, he wasn't attractive in any sense of the word, but who wanted to be attractive? All those practices and hours in the gym, why did it matter? Especially when what he really wanted to do was get drunk and eat until he felt like he was going to burst. He had mostly come to the party tonight because he had heard about the pizza and near bottomless beer. He'd already demolished two pizzas without anyone noticing, hadn't he? And what was the deal with Paul earlier? Everyone could see that he had turned into a total slob, but why should he care? Henry pulled up his shirt, which was looking frayed, and had quite a few stains on it, and let his gut fall all the way out, and started rubbing it. It actually felt kind of good, and in his dirty jeans, he could feel his dick start to get hard. He knew that it shouldn't feel good, but so what if it did? He had always been so uptight before, why not just let it all go? His stomach gurgled a bit, and Henry let out a loud fart, but even that felt right. He liked being a slob, and he wasn't about to stop just because some people didn't like it.

He pulled his shirt down, happily leaving some of his hairy apron exposed, hiked up his jeans a bit, and decided to go demolish another pizza, just because he could. He unlocked the door, and opened it, but found his way blocked by a man. Henry's first thought was that no man could look that muscular. Well muscular didn't really describe it well enough--steroid ridden would have been a better word. He had a shaved head, though it was scruffy, along with his face, as though he hadn't bothered shaving for a few days, and his entire body looked like it had been blown up to Popeye proportions. He wore a tight shirt which looked like he could burst out of it at any minute, and bleached jeans stretched tight enough that Henry could easily make out the sizable bulge within them which snaked down one of his pant legs. On his feet he wore tall doc martin boots, the leather shiny and newly polished. However, it was the eyes which filled Henry with unease. They were exceptionally cruel eyes, the irises nearly black. And they were leering at him. At first, he didn't recognize the man, but as with Paul earlier, his brain supplied a name for him: Dennis.

"Get out of my way, Dennis," Henry said, trying not to sound scared, but part of him was scared. This guy could cream him to a pulp, if he wanted.

"Nah, I've been waiting to talk to you, Henry. See, I've been hearing some things about you recently that I thought you should know about."

Henry felt his stomach drop. Hadn't this just happened a bit earlier? Part of him wanted to plug his ears, but he couldn't. All he could do was ask, a bit nervously, "Oh yeah? What?"

Dennis smirked, and leaned in close to Henry, "Some people have been saying that you're gay Henry." He waited for a reaction, but Henry didn't give him one, so he just continued, "Not only that, but they say you're a total pervert. All you think about is sex, all the time. You hit on every guy you talk to, just to try and get them into bed. Of course, not many guys want to have sex with you, so you just beg them to fuck you, or to let you suck their cock. Not to mention the fact that you're so fat, and your dick is so small, that you wouldn't be able to fuck anyone anyway!"

"That isn't true," Henry said, but he found his voice wavering a little. Dennis was suddenly not just a brute, but a really attractive brute. And Henry was feeling really horny all of a sudden. Henry tried to force the thought away, but every time he tried, it just became stronger. He wanted Dennis to fuck him, and he wanted it badly.

"Not only that," Dennis continued, "You've also gotten all sorts of lewd tattoos during the last few months, not to mention a ton of piercings. I've heard that you did it because you're a total exhibitionist--you love showing off your fat body, so you started wearing all sorts of revealing leather outfits, just to get people's attention. You're a sex pig, and you want everyone to know it."

Henry tried to listen to what Dennis was saying, but was too busy thinking about that massive cock, and what it would be like to suck on, or feel it up his ass. He needed that cock, no matter what it took. "Shut up, get in here, and fuck me already," was all Henry could say. He couldn't resist it anymore. He hadn't had sex in hours, and he was so god damn horny!

Dennis just laughed, "You? Why would I want to fuck a fat, filthy ass like yours? If you want my cock, you're going to have to be more polite than that."

"Please, will you fuck me? God, I'm so horny," Henry said, his dick now rigid.

"Get on your knees and beg, then I'll consider it," was all Dennis said.

Henry knelt down, and licked his lips. He was so close to that cock, he could almost taste it. "Please, fuck me Dennis, I need your hot cock up my ass. I'll do anything you want, please."

"Clean my boots, you fucking whore."

Without a second thought, Henry got down and started licking at the leather, the only thing on his mind how much he needed this skinhead's cock up his ass. It was so empty, and his dick was so hard. He'd do anything for it.

He finished one boot, and got started on the other one, while Dennis rained abuse down on him from above. "Look at you," he said, "you're so desperate for cock that you'll do anything, won't you? You'd drink my piss, be my toilet just so I'm pump a load up your ass, isn't that right? You'd be my slave, obey my every order, just to feel my dick slamming down your throat."

Henry just nodded, never taking his tongue away from the leather. A moment later, Dennis pushed him off with his foot, making Henry sit back onto the floor, the linoleum cold on his bare ass, which was shown off through the leather chaps he was wearing.

"I suppose I'll give you a fucking, since you need it so much. Get up," Dennis said, and Henry stood, turned around, and braced himself against the counter, face to face with himself in the mirror. Dennis pulled out his dick, spat in his hand for lube, and then in one push, shoved the entire shaft up Henry's ass.

He screamed, half in pain, half in pleasure. This is what he wanted, what he needed. He'd do anything to feel this all the time. He could feel his own three inch dick rock hard in the pouch of his leather jockstrap, and wanted to jack off, but knew he wouldn't be able to reach it past all of his fat. After the first few painful moments, his ass adjusted to Dennis's dick, and every thrust past his prostate just made Henry shiver in pleasure. He looked at himself in the mirror, and noticed that something looked different, but he couldn't figure it out, through his sexual haze. He examined the tattoos of fleshy penises braiding themselves up his arms, past his shoulders, and all the way to his fat tits, where they were spurting puddles of cum onto his chest. Across his belly, written in bold letters were the words "SEXPIG" large enough that they could be read across a large room. On his back, he remembered, he had gotten a tattoo of a man fucking an ass, as seen from the top down. All he had on was a leather harness, chaps, jockstrap and boots, which did nothing to obscure all of the explicit images which covered nearly every part of his body.

Besides the tattoos, he was heavily pierced as well. Through his nipples, he had two massive rings which he loved guys to pull on while they fucked him. Both of his ears were heavily pierced with a multitude of rings and studs. He also had on earrings which were sculptures of a cock and balls hanging from his lobes. He had a massive septum in his nose, as well as several piercings in his eyebrows and lips, not to mention his tongue stud. Guys loved it when he ran it along the underside of their dicks while he sucked them off. He also had quite a few piercing in his dick and balls, and because it was so small, some guys had compared it to a key ring. When someone gave him a hand job, you could even hear it jingle.

Behind him, Dennis was grunting like an animal in heat, and pounding Henry's ass harder and harder. He had finished with his insults, and was focused on reaming Henry's ass as hard as he could, and Henry loved it. With a loud groan, he felt Dennis's dick start pulsating as he came deep within his ass, but that didn't stop him from continuing to fuck Henry until his dick was too soft to continue. Bring out a final moan from Henry, he pulled out, zipped up, and started to leave the bathroom.

"Hey, what about me?" Henry gasped, still not fully recovered from his fucking.

"What about you? Who said I was going to help you cum?" Dennis said, "You're a slut. No one cares if you cum."

Henry turned red in the face, and a thought came into his mind. It was a risk, but why not give it a try? "You know, Dennis. I heard a rumor about you, too." Dennis stopped in the doorway, frozen, and Henry took that as a sign that he should keep going, "I heard that you love sucking dick more than you like breathing."

"Shut up pig," Dennis replied, but he turned around and glared at Henry, "You don't know what you're talking about."

"Sure I do. I know that you love hanging around rest areas, sucking off all the guys who come in. You only feel happy with a fat cock down your throat, but size doesn't really matter to you. You'll suck anything. However, what you really love are fat guys. You love worshipping their bellies, digging through their gunt and finding their cocks to suck. You love being smothered by them. In fact, you have to obey the orders of any guy fatter than you, don't you?"

"Shut up you fucking whore, I've heard enough from you!" Dennis yelled, but Henry could hear cracks forming in his stern demeanor. He was panicking.

"No, you shut up, get over here and suck my cock."

Dennis tried to resist, but licking his lips, he came over and knelt down in front of Henry, lifted up his apron, and after a bit of digging, Henry felt Dennis's hand pull out his little rigid cock and start sucking away at it.

"Yeah, that's right. Suck my cock. You know what else I heard? You hate being a muscle man. In fact, what you want more than anything is to be fat. A tub of lard. Morbidly obese. You won't stop until you hit five hundred pounds of skinhead slut. But that's just going to make you even hungrier for cock. You aren't very fat now, but that's going to change pretty fast, isn't it? With all those drugs you're taking to slow your metabolism and get rid of those muscles? Hell, in a couple of months, you'll already be three hundred pounds!"

Dennis didn't say anything, he was too busy sucking hard on Henry's cock. Henry was getting off on his newfound power, and he felt his balls contract and blow his load deep down Henry's throat, who took it all, groaning and moaning in pleasure. When he stood up a minute later, he looked at Henry with the deepest hatred he could muster. Henry noticed that many of his muscles had lost their definition, and he was looking a little chunky around the middle not to mention the wet spot on the front of his jeans where he had cum while taking Henry's load.

"Quit moping and enjoy it," was all Henry said as Dennis walked out, leaving him alone again. Henry couldn't wait to see Dennis in a few months, when he would be even bigger than he was. Damn, would that be satisfying. And speaking of satisfying, he was horny again. After readjusting his leathers and admiring himself in the mirror, he headed out of the bathroom, intent on finding more cock. What he found instead, waiting in the hallway, was a muscle bear blocking his way. While Dennis had been a mass of muscle, this man was much more toned, and natural looking. He was dressed in a sleeveless tank and gym shorts, with a short trimmed goatee. His name, Henry suddenly remembered, was Matt.

"Hey Henry," Matt said, "I heard a rumor about you tonight."

Henry just gulped, and waited for what he knew was coming. But, things couldn't get much worse. He barely remembered the life as he had had just hours ago, but they were wistful memories just the same. He had had such potential. Of course, he was happy as a fatass slut too, but that was beside the point.

"I heard," Matt said, walking closer, "That you are a total asspig."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Henry said, though he already had a good idea of what it meant.

"It means you'll do anything to get a cock up your ass. In fact you might well be addicted to it. You keep a dildo up there 24/7, well, except for when you're getting fucked or fisted. Yeah, you especially love it when guys line up to shove their forearms up your ass. But it isn't really your ass, is it? It's your cunt. It's also the only way you get hard anymore, with someone beating on your prostate with their cock or fist. It's also the only way you can cum."

Henry wanted to call him a liar. He wanted to say that it wasn't true. But he said nothing. What good was it to hope for the impossible? "Just leave me alone, Matt. I'm not interested."

"Really?" Matt asked, and reached around behind Henry, and found the shaft of the dildo Henry kept shoved up there, "Would it interest you if I start doing this?" Matt said, and started pulling it out and pushing it back in, making Henry moan.

"Oh yeah, fuck my cunt, that feels so good."

"Of course it does," Matt said, and shoved the dildo in as far as it would go, "And I think you deserve a good reaming, don't you?"

Henry could only moan and nod, and let Matt pull him into a nearby bedroom. Once there, Matt pushed him onto the bed, and pulled out the dildo. A second later, he replaced it not with his dick, but with his hand, slowly drilling it into Henry's ass, unlubed. Henry just moaned, and tried to open up as much as he could, and before long Matt's thick fist was buried up Henry's ass.

"You like that, you fucking asspig? You like my fist up your cunt?"

Henry moaned, and nodded, while Matt began to work his arm in further, "You know what else? You've been fucked so often that you're totally incontinent. You couldn't clench your ass shut if you wanted to. So if you didn't wear a dildo all the time, you would shit uncontrollably every time you sat down. You don't have a fucking choice, unless you'd rather wear a diaper, that is."

Henry's ass immediately opened further, as it became stretched out, and Matt shoved his arm in even farther. All Henry could do was buck back, desperate to get as much of Matt up his cunt as he could. He couldn't help it. With a cry, he blew his load into his jock, making Matt laugh.

"Is that all it took? You're a total pig, did you know that? You even grunt and snort like one when you're getting fucked. Guys make fun of you for it all the time, but you can't stop."

Henry felt himself snort loudly, and felt his face turn red, it was time to turn the tables, he thought.

"You know, Matt," he said, between snorts, "I heard a rumor about you too."

Matt stopped fisting Henry, and said, "What did you say?"

"I heard that you have a taste for ass."

Matt shook his head, and just whispered, "It's not going to work, asshole."

"Oh yes it is. You love ass. You love rimming it, eating it out, it's your favorite thing. You especially love cleaning up dirty dicks and fists that have been up guys' holes. The dirtier the better. In fact, you'll ask guys not to wipe, just so you can clean up after them."

"Shut up," Matt said, but he was beginning to doubt himself. He was so close to Henry's ass, and it looked delicious. He shook his head, hoping to clear it, but the new desires just built up inside of him.

"Even better than that, is sucking out the cum some guy just shot up another guys ass. You can't resist that, can you?"

Henry felt Matt pull his arm out, and when he looked back, he saw that Matt was licking everything he could off of it, moaning in pleasure the whole time.

Henry got up chucking and snorting as he did. He shoved Matt around so that he was sitting on the floor with his back against the bed, then bent over, and shoved his ass in Matt's face. "Eat it fucker! Eat my nasty cunt!"

Matt didn't need any more prompting. He dove between Henry's ass cheeks and started licking. Below him, Henry could see he had his cock out, and was jacking it wildly. A moment later, Henry felt a fart coming, and blasted it at Matt's face, pushing back so he wouldn't be able to escape it. It was too much for Matt, who blew his load all over his shirt and shorts, grunting the entire time, and then fell back, reveling in his orgasm, totally oblivious to the brown stripe painted on his face.

Henry was exhausted, but he still had one last score to settle. He shoved his dildo back in his cunt, and left Matt sitting on the floor. Back in the living room, he saw that the partiers had changed. There wasn't a single woman in the room, and nearly all of the guys looked too old to be in college. Most were in various states of nudity, and couples and threesomes were making out in every corner of the room. Over in one chair, he saw Dennis in front of a cub, choking down his dick, while a few others stood around, egging him on. While he wanted to join in, mostly because he hoped that some of them would want to fuck him, he had his eye on only one person: Paul. He spotted him along the wall, chatting up a cute cub. He could tell that Paul was making a move on him, so he decided to break up their conversation, as he had been so rudely interrupted earlier. He made his way over, and said, "Hey Paul! Glad I found you. There's something I need to tell you."

Paul wheeled around, and found himself faced with Henry, but just laughed, "Move along pig, I don't have any time, or cock for you."

"You know what I heard Paul? I heard a rumor about you recently. I heard that you're the dirtiest guy on campus."

Paul just glared at him, "What the fuck are you talking about?"

"Well, first of all, you never shower, and you certainly have never cut your hair or your beard. You don't brush your teeth, and you wear the same clothes for months before you even think about changing them. And you love being a nasty fucker. Half the teeth have rotted out of your mouth, and you just think it makes you hotter. You sweat all the time, and you have awful B.O., not that you mind. You sniff your pits constantly, and it always gives you a hard on."

Paul just started at him, dumbfounded, but Henry just watched him change as they stood there. His beard and hair grew even longer, and more matted, than Henry's own. His clothes became dirty and stained, with a few tears and holes in places. You couldn't even tell what color his jeans had been. And the smell! It even surprised Henry, with how strong it was. Paul though, was enjoying it. He sniffed at his pit, and Henry could see his bulge grow in his jeans.

"But that's not all. You have a bad habit of pissing yourself. Most of the time, you don't even notice until someone else points it out. You even shit yourself occasionally, usually when you're passed out drunk, and you never bother to wipe your ass. But you don't mind, because you love digging in your shitty ass, and smelling your fingers afterwards. You'll even lick them clean, if you're especially horny."

The stench of urine filled the room a moment later, and a dark stain appeared on the front of Paul's jeans. When he noticed that both the cub and Henry were looking down at his pants, he realized what had happened and turned red. "What...What are you doing to me?" he said, totally confused.

"Hey, I know it's hard for you to understand, after all, you aren't very smart. In fact, I heard you aren't even literate, you're so stupid. All your mind can do is think about sex, but since almost nobody wants to be around you, and they certainly don't want to have sex with you, all you do is masturbate all the time. It doesn't even matter if you're in public. If you're horny, you whip out your cock and go at it, and eat the cum off your dirty fingers when you're done."

Henry watched Paul's eyes dim, and what was left of his mind realized that if he didn't get away now, he probably wouldn't have a mind left at all before long. "Yeah, well..." he started to say, but couldn't come up with a retort, so he just left without saying anything else. The people in the room moved out of his way, giving him and his stench as much space as possible. Near the middle of the room, he stopped and reached down the back of his filthy jeans, and gave his crack a good scratch, then sniffed his fingers. As he got to the hallway, Matt stumbled into him. With one sniff, he knew what he wanted, and pulled Paul into the nearest room, intent on cleaning out the filthy ass of his friend. Henry figured it was a match made in heaven.

"What was that about?" a voice said next to him, and Henry remembered that he wasn't alone. The cub was still there, watching him.

"Oh, just some payback. Do you think I went too far?"

The cub just shrugged, "Depends on what he did to you, I guess."

"Actually, for the life of me, I can't remember what they did," Henry said, and shrugged as well. It must have been important, but not as important as getting another cock up his ass sometime soon.

"My name's James. What's yours?" The cub asked.

"I'm Henry. Henry Gavin."

"Henry Gavin? Hey, I heard something about you," the cub said, "You're a professor, right? In the sexology department? I heard some guys talking about taking one of your courses. They said it was awesome. They even told me that you can take three fists at once. I was planning on enrolling in your fisting 101 course this spring."

Henry felt a whole new set of memories flood into his head. Thoughts of lesson plans about how to get fucked, about different types of lube, fisting, and all sorts of other topics filled his mind. He also remembered that getting fucked by most of his students was just one of the job's perks. He looked at James and nodded, "Yeah. Henry Gavin, professor of sexology. Anal studies is my specialty."

"I've always enjoyed anal studies," the cub said, half serious, and half innuendo.

"Well, how about some extra credit? We can get you started on some of your coursework for next semester, if you'd like," Henry replied and winked.

James grinned, and asked, "Your place or mine?"

"Mine," Henry replied, and they headed towards the door. On the way out, Henry said to him, "You know, I heard a rumor about you too."

"What?"

"I heard that you have a huge cock."

James looked down at his jeans, and smiled, then followed the professor out into the night.

5

*****

The library was the only place where Jeff had ever felt truly at home. A true bookworm, he would often read through several books a week, and he was a nerd not only in interests, but in looks too. Jeff had never really emerged from the awkward stage of puberty. His limbs were still a bit out of proportion with his body, and his voice still cracked occasionally. For much of his time in high school, he had been ridiculed as a geek, but he had never cared all that much about what other people thought of him. Generally, when a bully saw that he couldn't get a rise out of Jeff, he would just leave him alone. When he came to college, he had struggled to prune down his collection of books to just five boxes, and he had to buy a bookcase just to fit them all in his small dorm room. Now a junior, he had long since gotten his own room, and filled every wall with books.

Of course, Jeff also didn't have many friends, other than a few voracious readers, but he had always liked being a loner. Books were better company that people ever could be, in his opinion. However, he had never really wondered why he liked books so much. In truth, he found a voyeuristic pleasure in them. By opening the pages of a book, he could see into the mind of the author for a moment and look at their most private thoughts. Novels were even better, where entire characters were revealed for him on the page, who he could analyze with glee. He felt closer to these characters than anyone he had met in real life. They were easier to pick apart and understand, as well. He didn't have fantasies about Angelina Jolie--he fantasized about Daisy Miller and Elizabeth Bennett. Though in his mind, they weren't nearly as prim or proper as they were on the page.

On this day (as was usual on Tuesdays) he had an hour break between two of his English Literature classes, and so he walked over to the library to browse the shelves for a while, to see if he might uncover some hidden gem, but as he was walking towards the library, he noticed that something seemed strange. There were a lot of men on campus, which isn't something he would notice usually, but most of them didn't look like they belonged on a college campus at all. Half of the guys he passed were far too old to be college students, and most looked like they had just come from a bar, or some blue collar job of some variety. Jeff just figured that there was some conference or something happening on campus that he hadn't known about, shrugged his shoulders, and made his way up the library steps, but things were strange in there as well. Again, there were simply too many men, but more strange than that, was that quite a few of the library shelves around him were simply empty. Feeling a bit distressed, he walked over to the circulation desk to ask what was going on.

Jeff didn't recognize the man at the desk, which was odd, given that he thought he had gotten to know all of the staff by now. Even stranger was what the man was wearing. He had on a leather harness with two metal rings accentuating his pierced nipples, which Jeff could barely see through all of the fur covering his chest. The guy had a full beard and a shaved head, but the strangest feature was the leather collar around his neck. Jeff knew that something was wrong with this picture, but it also seemed completely normal, almost as though he was walking in two different worlds. He shook his head, and asked, "Hey, do you know what they're doing with all of the books?"

The man looked up, and shrugged, "I don't know. Ya should probably ask the librarian." He talked like an imbecile, or someone who had never bothered to read a book in his life. Jeff knew he wasn't going to get anywhere with him.

"Great, I'll ask Ms. Netterny. Is she in?"

"Don't you mean Mr. Netterny?" The bear replied, staring at Jeff blankly. He choked back the quick retort, as doubt plagued his mind. Why had he said "Ms."? Of course the librarian was a man, what had he been thinking?

"Right, Mr. Netterny, I mean," Jeff mumbled, trying to recover from his obvious mistake. The bear lumbered back into the office behind the circulation desk, and Jeff saw that the harness certainly wasn't the most revealing thing the man was wearing. Below, he had on only a leather jockstrap. The sight brought back the feeling that something was very wrong, but he still couldn't pin down what it was. He was still mulling it over when the bear came back, followed by an portly man in his late sixties. Mr. Netterny had a significant gut which was barely held in by his expensive looking suit. A set of small round eyeglasses were perched on his wide nose, and the pipe stuck in the corner of his mouth left behind a faint trail of smoke. As soon as he saw Jeff, his eyes lit up, "Oh Jeff, how good of you to come by. Is there something you wanted to talk to me about?"

Jeff had no idea who this man was, but he could also recall having long talks about books with him. It was all very strange. He tried to ignore it, and just continued with his original question, "Yeah, Mr. Netterny. Could you tell me what they're doing with all of those books?"

"Why, we're moving them into the storage, and bringing in whole new collections which will be much more beneficial for the new direction the college is taking. I assumed that you would have already known about this by now."

"Well, I don't. What kind of collections are you bringing in?"

"Oh, all sorts of things. It'll be much more fun for you to discover it yourself," Mr. Netterny said, and then winked, "In fact, if I know your tastes, there's a new collection we just added on the third floor which would interest you greatly. Why don't you head up there, take a look, and tell me what you think of it later? It's in the first room on your left when you head up the stairs."

Jeff was still confused by what was going on, but something told him that he should just try to forget about it and move on. Besides, the thought of a new collection to peruse was too interesting to pass up. "Uh, sure. I'll go check it out," he said, waved goodbye to Mr. Netterny, and headed for the staircase.

At the third floor, he took a left, and found himself in what had been the music section. However, the CD storage was gone, replaced by several shelves of identically bound, hardcover books. Jeff wandered down the row in front of him, and found that the spines had no titles, only authors, and were listed in alphabetical order. Out of curiosity, he took one off the shelf which bore the name "Hal G. Rogers." On the cover, there was an embossed image of an eighteen wheeler, which was remarkably detailed. As he stared at it, he could almost hear the growl of the engine, and feel the book vibrate in his hands. He opened it, and found that the text started on the very first page--no title, no copyright, nothing. Just story. He began reading, and after a few pages, unable to tear his eyes away, he wandered over to a nearby armchair, tossed his backpack to the side, and sat down, utterly absorbed by the book.

It turned out that it wasn't written by Hal G. Rogers at all. Rather, it was about Hal G. Rogers' life. Jeff wouldn't call it a memoir--it was far too factual, and lacked the literary grace which most authors used to twist their lives into art. But he was hesitant to call it a biography, because there didn't seem to be a point to what was being written down. Rather, it was like Jeff was reading the unfiltered memories of this man named Hal, who had been abused by his father as a child, dropped out of high school at sixteen, became a trucker at eighteen, and started cruising rest stops and sucking dicks for the next ten years. The detail was remarkable, almost as though Hal was an actual person. Usually the characters in a story were obviously fake--they didn't go to the bathroom, they had unreasonable expectations about the world. . It was like he had his own little world in this book, one only he had access to, and it satisfied his desire to know others intimately in a way he had never thought possible. Somewhere in his mind, he knew that this was no ordinary book, and that there was something strange going on. It might have been the fact that the words seemed to drill themselves into his head through his eyes as he read. It might have been the headache which had been growing since he sat down, as though his brain was packed with too much information for one person to contain. It might also have been the graphic sexual descriptions, the disgusting references to Hal's overgrown beard and hair, or the man's constant cigar smoking and drinking.

However, these reservations didn't stop him from finishing the book in a single sitting. When he finally turned over the back cover and set the book on the table next to him, he did nothing for a few minutes, as he tried to process what he had just read. None of the words had faded away; in fact, they had only seemed to grow more real. He wanted to pull down another book and read it too, but he didn't think he would be able to manage another experience like that. Besides, his headache had gotten worse, and he was starving like he hadn't eaten in days. It wouldn't hurt to take a break, go grab some lunch, and then come back. After all, the books would still be here waiting for him. Before getting up, Jeff reached into his backpack, pulled out his hipflask, and took a long swig. The whisky was cheap, but the headache receded, and his hands stopped jittering. Totally forgetting about the English class he was two hours late for, he headed towards the dining hall, with lunch on his mind.

As he left the building, Jeff couldn't help but stare at the bear he had spoken to earlier behind the circulation desk. He just looked so sexy in that leather harness, and Jeff imagined getting down behind the desk and sucking the bear's cock for the rest of the day. Without finding this thought odd, he took another long drink from the flask, and felt the alcohol start buzzing in his head. He felt mellow, and he felt good. He let out a loud belch, scratched his belly, and left the library. Outside, there was even more eye candy walking along, and Jeff happily stared at the package of every guy he walked past, and some stared back at him even more hungrily. Jeff was now openly nursing his flask, and his headache was mostly gone, replaced by a pleasant stupor, though he was growing hungrier by the minute. He reluctantly put his flask away as he entered the dining hall, grabbed a tray, and started loading it up with everything he could find. One of the stations had chicken fried steak, one of Jeff's favorite dishes (it always reminded him of the greasy spoons he ate at when he was still on the road) and he had them pile on some extra gravy and mashed potatoes. Satisfied, he found a seat in a somewhat secluded booth, pulled out his flask again, and tucked in.

He ate like a wild man, slopping gravy all over his beard. Occasionally he would take a break long enough to down another hit of whisky, before shoveling some more potatoes or steak into his mouth. Occasionally, he would take a moment to survey the other diners, and he noticed that he had attracted the attentions of a cub across the way. The boy had been watching him since he sat down, and in Jeff's opinion, he was quite cute, with a nice goatee and a thick, stocky frame. He smiled at the boy, while he mopped up some gravy with a biscuit. The cub got up, sauntered over, and slid in next to Jeff.

"Hey, I like a guy to can eat. My name's Nate--what's yours?" he asked.

"Hal. Hal Rogers," Jeff heard himself say, but that was wrong...wasn't it? It was hard to think. He was really drunk all of a sudden, and felt himself swaying a bit as he sat there. He also noticed that his dick was hard, but why wouldn't it be, sitting next to a nice looking cub like that?

Nate grinned, and said, "Well, you want to go somewhere a bit more private? Maybe I have something you'd like to see."

Jeff just leered, "Why don't we do it right here?"

The cub balked, and said nothing for a moment, "What...here? In the dining hall? I don't know--that's a bit...public, isn't it?"

Jeff said nothing and slid under the table. After a bit of maneuvering, he was face to face with the Nate's crotch. He unzipped the fly, hauled out the cub's sizable piece of meat, and started playing with it, slowly running his hands up and down the shaft.

"Oh, fuck..." he heard Nate say, and Jeff found himself grinning.

"What do you say now? Still want to go somewhere more private?"

"Suck it, just suck it," was all the boy could muster, and Jeff obliged him, swallowing his thick cock to the hilt, making Nate shiver. They always came around if you took the initiative, he thought. He could also tell that the boy wouldn't hold out for very long, so he might as well make it quick. Jeff kept milking Nate's cock with all of his energy, making him groan and pant in need. After less than a minute, the cock exploded in his mouth, and Jeff happily drank down the entire load, tucked the cock back into the cub's pants, and then crawled back up to his seat, having a bit of a hard time fitting between the table and his gut. He didn't remember it being that hard getting down, but it also wasn't as easy to do things like this as when he had been in his twenties.

Nate was still panting next to him, unsure of what to say, so Jeff spoke for him, "Well, get under there and do me now. I ain't got all day."

The cub looked at him, gulped, and slowly got under the table. While he did so, Jeff reached under his gut, and pulled out his cock. He felt Nate take a taste, and then heard him gag and spit, "Damn fucker, don't you clean this thing?"

"Shut your pie hole and suck it, pig," Jeff said, grabbed the boy's head under the table and rammed his dick into his mouth. Nate sputtered and broke away from Jeff's grasp, then crawled out from under the table, still sputtering and trying to get the disgusting taste out of his mouth.

Nate stood up and wiped his mouth with his sleeve, "Sorry man, but you're too fucking gross. Go take a shower, or maybe two, and then we'll see what happens." Without any further acknowledgement, he turned around and walked quickly away from Jeff, leaving him with a hard cock and nothing to stick it in. He thought about following the cub back to his room and finishing his business there, raping him if he had to, but he didn't really feel like it. Instead, he took another drink of whisky, and decided that he might as well head to the one spot on campus where he knew he could get his cock sucked. After zipping up his pants again and trying to ignore his horny dick, he got up and left the dining hall. When he got outside, he pulled a cigar out of the pocket of his shirt, and lit it with his zippo lighter. The first puff was fabulous, like he had gone ages without a good smoke, and he exhaled through his nose, loving how the smoke twined through his long bushy beard. With almost all of his needs satisfied, he headed for the nearby public bathrooms.

They weren't too far away, and as he approached them, he had the strange feeling that they hadn't been there the day before, or at least, that he didn't remember them being there the day before. On the other hand, he remembered hooking up with all sorts of nasty guys in there innumerable times. Everything in his head just felt so confused. Like why had he sucked that guy off in the dining hall? That wasn't like him at all. And wasn't he supposed to be in class right now? Jeff took another drag on his cigar, and headed into the restroom, trying to push the thoughts aside, and tried to focus on what was really important--getting off. Since lighting up his cigar, he had only gotten hornier, and he hoped that some sick bum was in a stall, ready and waiting for a cock to suck, but after checking all of the doors, he found that he was alone. Still feeling horny, he decided to wait for a bit and see if anyone would show up who was also looking for some action.

He caught a look at himself in the mirror, and saw that he still had a few bits of food stuck in his beard, so he turned on the sink and started rinsing out as much as he could. Maybe the cub was right--he probably could stand to take a shower. In fact, when was the last time he had taken one? He couldn't recall...or could he? Something told him that he had taken one this morning in his dorm room, but that couldn't be right. He didn't live in a dorm; he lived in the cab of his truck, like he had since he was eighteen. Even though he wasn't driving anymore, he still didn't feel at home anywhere else. Again, he felt the headache returning, went to take a swig from his flask, but found it was empty, and he didn't have a fifth on hand to fill it back up with. He swore, and took another long puff off his half smoked cigar, but that didn't really help.

Suddenly, somewhat alien thoughts began to find their way into his head. Thoughts that told Jeff that none of this was right, that the reflection in the mirror wasn't his. He took another look, and found that he suddenly didn't even recognize himself. He was supposed to be a young, thin nerd, but what he was looking at was someone else entirely. First of all, he was massive, with a huge gut that hung over the waistband of his dirty jeans by several inches, just barely kept in check by a dirty white T shirt tucked in below that. He also had a pair of bright red suspenders going up on either side, which just accentuated his size and made him look even bigger. Even that wasn't the largest shock, however. What scared him most was the thick, tangled beard that stretched down until it hit his gut, and long hair to match flowing down his back. Both were matted, dirty, and looked as though they hadn't been washed or cut in ages. Even worse, was that they were colored a light grey, though the area around his mouth was stained yellow from his constant cigar smoking. At the thought, Jeff tried to throw the cigar that he was still holding in his hand into the sink, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. He needed it too much. Instead, he took another drag deep into his lungs, like he had been doing for ages--and it had been ages. His new memories (or were they the old ones?) told him that he was somewhere around sixty years old and he looked like it. He had deep wrinkles around his eyes, and he also had the bright red nose and spider veins of a long time alcoholic. Jeff was so engrossed in his own image, that he didn't even notice the hulking biker enter the rest room until he came up behind him, and started grinding his hard cock into Jeff's ass.

Jeff tried to push the man away, but the man just wrapped his arms around him and pulled him closer, so that he could whisper in his ear, "Don't worry daddy, I got what you're looking for." The man snickered and started tweaking Jeff's nipples, making him moan. In the mirror, he could see the man was even dirtier than he was, though much younger, with short cropped hair and a thick, bushy goatee. He could also see that the man was missing quite a few of his teeth, and the man's breath smelled rancid. To his horror, he found the stench and filth turning him on as his cock hardened beyond his control. With a moan, he started to push his ass back into the man's cock. Slowly, he pulled down his suspenders and undid his pants, all while the biker kept pulling at his nipples even harder.

"Well, go on then. Get that hot cock of yours up my ass," Jeff heard himself say, but that wasn't what he wanted to say. He wanted to scream "Fire!" or tell the guy to get the fuck off of him. He wanted to do anything but spread his legs apart to the biker could start poking his dick at his open asshole. He watched the biker hock a wad of spit into his hand, slick up his dick, and a moment later, he felt the head push past his sphincter. It felt so good--this is what he had been looking for all day. He reached down and started jacking off his own cock as the biker worked his dick deeper into his ass.

"Yeah, you truckers are all the same. You'll do anything for a piece of biker dick," the man pushed his cock in to the hilt, making Jeff moan in a mixture of pain and pleasure, "Yeah, look at you jacking that puny cock of yours. I want to see you shoot that load of yours all over the fucking floor. Do it, and I'll be kind enough to shoot this load of mine up your ass, where I know you want it."

Jeff didn't need any more encouragement. Still puffing on his cigar, he pumped his cock for all he was worth, as the biker rammed his cock harder and harder. Then, the biker changed his position, and with a series of short, quick strokes started milking Jeff's prostate. He couldn't have held back if he wanted to. With a yell, Jeff felt a wave of cum shoot out of his dick and onto the floor, while the biker chuckled. "Yeah, shoot that old sour sperm of yours. You like this biker's cock up your ass?"

Jeff could only nod, but that wasn't good enough. The biker rammed his dick deeper, making Jeff moan in pain.

"I said, do you like your biker daddy's cock up your ass?"

"Yes! Yes, I do," Jeff panted back.

"Yeah, you fucking trucker slut. By the time I'm finished with you, you're hole is going to be rubbed raw. You're going to be remembering this fuck for weeks!"

Jeff felt his dick start to get hard, even though it was still leaking cum from his last shot just a minute before. He couldn't help but wonder about what the hell was happening to him. He should just push this dirty biker away and get the fuck out, but he couldn't let that dick go. It felt too good up his ass. He started meeting the biker's thrusts, desperate to get as much of the man's cock up his ass as he could, one hand still nursing his semi-hard cock. "Yeah, fuck me. Give me that load of yours. Shoot it up my old, fat ass!" he said, grunting in lust. They continued that way for a while longer, and Jeff could feel his ass start to ache, and he groaned with every thrust of the biker's dick, but his moans of pain just drove the biker into a frenzy. Suddenly, he pulled out, turned Jeff around, and forced him onto his knees, "I know I said I was going to shoot this up your ass, but I'd rather see you wear it. Here it comes, bitch!"

The biker pumped his cock a few times, and then sprayed his load all over Jeff's beard and face, who just opened his mouth and drank in as much as he could get. "Yeah, take it you fucking cumwhore! Take daddy's load!" The biker cried, and then spit into Jeff's open mouth, "Nothing but a nasty pig," he added, and chuckled.

When the flow finally stopped, Jeff started wiping the cum up with his hands and eating it off of his dirty fingers. It tasted so good, he couldn't resist it. The biker just laughed again, zipped up his fly, and left Jeff there, pants around his ankles, licking up another guys cum, his dick still hard and aching despite his earlier release.

Slowly, he began to get his body and mind back under his control. First of all, he had to get out of the bathroom, before someone else came in and decided to use him in the same way. Jeff knew that if someone did, he wouldn't be able to say no, and at this rate, he might never get out. Using the sink for support, Jeff got back on his feet, pulled up his pants, and got his suspenders back on. As he left, he discarded the now spent cigar butt in the trash, and fired up another one unconsciously. He had to figure out what had happened to him. One minute, he had been his normal bookworm self, and the next he was a filthy trucker with a fetish for public sex! Jeff searched his brain for any clue as to how this might have happened, when he remembered the name he had given the cub earlier. He had called himself Hal Rodgers, the same Hal Rogers he had spent most of the morning reading about! Somehow, he had become that very man, and Jeff figured that if he had any hope of returning to his old form, he would find it back in the library, and that he had better get there quick, before he forgot about his old self entirely.

Again, he set off across campus, passing all sorts of men, and the desire to get down and suck their dicks was even harder to resist. It didn't help that those he passed were leering opening at him. Some even yelled catcalls, though Jeff couldn't figure out why. He was spending all of his energy just trying to keep Hal's thoughts at bay, remember that he was actually Jeff Grenderson, and that if he could just get to the third floor of the library, he was sure that he could find some way to recover his old life and get the hell away from this crazy college.

When he got to the library, he saw that the shelves that had been empty just hours before were filled again, though with a much different selection of titles than had been there before. Among the books, he saw a wide assortment of sex manuals, histories of homosexuality, porn literature, and many other books of that variety. However, he didn't have time to look closer, and see what else had changed. After dashing up the stairs as fast as he could go, he found his way to the room where he had found Hal Rogers book earlier that day, and saw that someone had beat him there. In the armchair, puffing smoke from his pipe, sat Mr. Netterny himself. He looked up, saw Jeff in the doorway, smiled, and stood up.

"I was beginning to wonder how long I was going to have to wait for you," he said, "I see that you found the collection alright, Jeff. Or should I call you Hal, now?"

"How...Do you know what happened to me?" Jeff asked, "Please, tell me how to fix this!"

"But why would I do that?" Mr. Netterny replied, "I happen to like you just the way you are now. I've been reading about your old life, and believe that this one is far more suitable for your new role here."

"What are you talking about?"

"Well, look here," Mr. Netterny said, and held up the book in his hands for Jeff to see. On the cover was an embossed image of an open book with some glasses lying across it. On the spine, he could see his old name, "Jeffery T. Grenderson" written in gold lettering. "It's all right here. Your childhood, your dreams, your memories. Everything."

Jeff made a grab for the book, but Mr. Netterny pulled it out of his reach.

"Now don't be so impatient," Mr. Netterny said, "I already told you that I think your new role on campus suits you. Don't you agree, Marco? Carlos?"

Jeff looked behind him, and saw that the way out was blocked by two men. The first he recognized as the bear he had seen at the circulation desk earlier, and the other was dressed in an identical leather outfit, though a bit shorter and fatter than the first. Both of them had their cocks out of their leather jocks, and were stroking them slowly. They were both monstrous--at least ten inches long, if not more, and the sight made Jeff's mouth water.

"In fact," Mr. Netterny continued, "It looks like you've already been enjoying yourself quite a bit, judging from the amount of cum stuck in your beard."

Jeff immediately felt his face turn red, as he realized that that had been the reason why so many guys had been staring at him. But even the humiliation couldn't make the rock hard cock in his pants deflate. If anything, it just aroused him more. "Why are you doing this to me? Please, just give me my book, and I'll leave. I won't even tell anyone. I promise," Jeff said, but he could see by the grin on Mr. Netterny's face that he had no intention of helping him.

Mr. Netterny just picked up a hip flask off of the table, and tossed it to Jeff, who caught it instinctively. He knew that he shouldn't, but he needed a drink to steady his nerves. He unscrewed the top, and only intended to take a sip, but guzzled it instead, some of it dribbling down the front of his grubby shirt. When he finished, he felt a lot better, and his head was clearer.

"There, that's better, isn't it Hal?"

He knew that wasn't his name, but it felt right. Everything was a bit foggy, and Jeff wasn't even sure where he was anymore. He kept stealing glances at Bruno's and Marco's cocks, wondering if they would let him suck them off, or if they would be willing to fuck him. He was even more aware of how painfully hard his own cock was. It felt like he hadn't cum in weeks. Confused and bewildered, he just nodded numbly, making Mr. Netterny chuckle.

"You don't even know what's going on, do you? Well let me help you. Hand me the flask, and I'll make it easy."

Cautiously, Jeff tossed the flask back to Mr. Netterny, who laid Jeff's book down on the table, and proceeded to pour the drink all over it.

"No!" Jeff cried, and mover toward it, but Marco and Bruno held him back.

"No?" Mr. Netterny replied.

"Don't...you shouldn't...you shouldn't waste booze like that..." Jeff muttered.

"Oh, don't worry. I'm not wasting it. Besides, I have plenty more where that came from," Mr. Netterny said, and then addressed his two boys, "Boys, go stand at attention against the shelf." Bruno and Marco circled around and stood off to Jeff's side, their dicks still erect, and Mr. Netterny continued. "Now, Mr. Grenderson. I'm going to give you a choice. I'm going to count down from ten, and when I reach zero, I'm going to set this book on fire, just like all of the other useless books in this place that I moved into 'storage.' But if you really want to save your old life, you can walk over here, pick it up, and I will allow you to leave the library...unmolested. Or, you can suck my boy's cocks, like I know you want to. I can see that cock of yours throbbing in your jeans as I speak. So make your choice." Mr. Netterny took out a box of matches, and started counting, "Ten...Nine...Eight..."

With all of his willpower, Jeff tried to make himself walk over to the table, pick up the book, and run away as fast as he could, but like a dream, he found himself moving in the opposite direction, towards the boys. Mr. Netterny had now taken one of the matches out of the box.

"Seven...Six...Five..."

"No, not this. This isn't right!" He tried to tell himself, "Just grab the book! It's easy!" but by then he was already on his knees, trying to decide which lovely cock he was going to suck first. He heard the match scrape the side of the box and crackle to life.

"Four...Three...Two..."

God, his cock was so hard. It had never been this hard before. He pawed at it with one of his hands while he started sucking on the cock to the left. Was it Marco's? Bruno's? It didn't matter. He wanted cock--any cock--in him. He'd do anything for it.

"One...Zero." Mr. Netterny finished. Out of the corner of his eye, Jeff saw him lower the match over the book. For the life of him, he couldn't remember why that book was so important, he needed it, but he just couldn't stop himself. The match dropped, and the book burst into flame. At the same time, Jeff felt a searing pain blaze through his head, making him scream, and crumble to the ground. It felt as though his mind was on fire, eating away at his thoughts and memories, everything that had been Jeff. He tried to hold onto something--anything--but everything was stripped away from him.

He writhed on the ground until the book was nothing but ash on the table, and Hal was little more than a quivering soul on the ground, wondering what had just happened to him. Mr. Netterny picked up the flask, knelt down next to Hal and helped him sit up, "Here, take a drink. You'll feel better in no time," he said, and raised the flask to Hal's shaking lips, who drank down as much as he could.

"What...what happened?" Hal gasped, but Mr. Netterny just chuckled.

"Oh, I wouldn't worry too much about that," he said, then signaled Bruno to come around in front of Jeff, his dick still slick from where Hal had been sucking on it earlier. Almost instinctually, Hal opened his mouth and swallowed it to the hilt, moaning while he did so. Already, he was forgetting the pain from just moments before--and it felt almost as though it had happened to someone else entirely, but he still felt a lingering sense of unease. There was something which he needed, but what was it? Whatever it was, it couldn't have been that important; what really mattered was this long, hot cock in his mouth. He got on his knees so he could get a better angle, and started running his tongue along the base of Bruno's cock, making him moan.

"See? That's much better. No more of that pesky academic drive or amassed knowledge. Now, all that really matters is sucking cock, right Hal? Come on, let's get you into a position where Marco can play too," Mr. Netterny said, and helped Hal stand up. He walked him over to the table, undoing his suspenders as they went, pulled down his pants, and pushed him over the table. Bruno came around to Hal's head and started fucking his face again, while Marco came up behind him and started running his own cock up and down Hal's crack. A moment later, he felt it push into his still open whole, and he felt utterly complete, plugged at both ends.

"Yeah, look at you, you fucking slut. Why don't you show my boys some of those tricks you learned during your years sucking cock in rest stop bathrooms?" Out of the corner of his eye, he could see that Mr. Netterny had his own cock out and was jacking it wildly, with huge amounts of pipe smoke pouring from his nose and mouth, "God, I love turning all of you straight laced students into fucking pigs. It gets me so hot. You know Bruno here? He was a computer science major just yesterday, but now he can't even type his name! Marco was a fucking brilliant psychology student, but now all he cares about is sex. Oh fuck, just watching you taking it from both ends--" He moved closer to Hal's head, and unloaded all over his hair, and then rubbed it in until it stuck in his matted hair.

From their panting, Hal could tell that Bruno and Marco were getting close as well. Hal started working overtime, tightening up his ass for Marco, and sucking harder on Bruno's cock. This is what he was meant for. At nearly the same time, both of them blew their loads in his holes, while Hal felt his own cock shoot all over the floor, without even touching it. Panting, the two boys pulled out, and let Hal regain his bearings, stand up, and pull up his pants.

"Well, thanks for the fuck boys--you too, Mr. Netterny," he said, and pulled the old man into a kiss that left Mr. Netterny weak in the knees. This was definitely one of his best. "Now, I gotta go get to my class. Those fuckers ain't gonna learn how to drive a truck without my help, but maybe we can do this again sometime." Hal grinned, pulled up his suspenders, and left the room, taking a healthy swig of whisky as he did. As he left, he fantasized about the students in his advanced trucking class which he was heading towards now. Most of them hadn't showered in months (good trucker hygiene was part of their grade, after all) and today was their glory hole practical exam. Hal planned on being so full of cum by the end of the day that he wouldn't be able to move. Well, maybe he would find his way back to Mr. Netterny's office in the evening. He didn't know why, but he felt like he owed the man a good, rough fuck. Hal would show him that he still knew how to use this old cock of his. With another grin, he lit up a cigar and headed over to the nearby parking lot. His students were already gathering together, and Hal's mouth was watering already.

6

"Randall, quit dragging your feet and come on. We're already late for our appointment!"

Randall's mother, Liz, said, as she checked the time on her phone. Next to her on the steps in front of the admissions building his dad, Blake, nodded.

"You really out to give the school a chance, son. Your mother and I had a great time here," he said, and smiled, as he reminisced about his school days. Randall was sick of it. All weekend he had been subjected to his parents' nostalgia, and their constant urging to attend their old legacy college, despite the fact that he had already gotten several better offers from much better colleges based on his athletic success on the soccer team in high school. However, he knew better than to fight with them over it--after all, it was still his choice. That didn't mean that he had to like doing it though, he thought, as he trudged up the steps after his parents and into the building.

As if Randall didn't have enough reasons to dislike the place already, the man who was waiting for them at the reception desk was certainly not the kind of person he would ever want to meet at college. Behind the desk, where most colleges like to have a young, attractive woman, there was instead an older man who looked like he had never even seen the inside of a college classroom, if he had even managed to graduate from high school. The man was heavily muscled, but not in the way someone who works out at the gym looks. Rather, he looked more like someone who had been performing manual labor for years. His face was brutish, with a heavy jaw and small squinty eyes. Even his nose looked like it had been broken in a few places. And as if he could have been made less attractive, he was covered from the neck down with tattoos, and his ears and face were pierced in numerous places. He looked more like a thug, or some construction worker, than a college student, or anyone who should be anywhere near a college, unless he was a janitor or something.

Randall's parents, however, didn't seem the least fazed by the receptionist, and walked right up to the counter. "Hi, we're the Wilson family? I believe we have an appointment to meet with Mr. Bixby."

The thug looked at her, and then at the appointment book in front of him. He squinted a bit, as though it was taking him a moment to figure out what she had said to him, and then said, "Yeah, I got yer name here. Let me see if he's in his office." He got up, and walked through a nearby door. After a moment, he reemerged, following a chubby man in a three piece suit.

"Ah, you must be the Wilson's," the man said, in a voice that made Randall feel a bit sick to his stomach. The man was obviously a fag, and when he looked at Randall and grinned like a complete pervert, he wanted to throw up even more. He hated fags, and he sure as hell wasn't going to sit in an office with one that was going to spend the whole time ogling him. But again, his parents didn't seem to notice anything, and walked over and shook his hand happily.

"Yes, I'm Blake, and this is my wife, Liz," Randall's dad said, and then waved Randall over, "and this is Randall, come over here. I hope we didn't keep you waiting."

"Oh don't worry about it. I was just catching up on some paper work. Now, you wanted to discuss Randall's financial aid package?"

"Yes, we just wanted to talk with you about your legacy program," Blake said, and Randall groaned.

"Oh, I'd be happy too, if you'd all like to step into my office for a chat," Mr. Bixby said, and ushered Blake and Liz in, but Randall held back.

"Uh...actually, why don't you guys chat business. I think I'd rather take some time to look around the campus for a little."

Blake started to say no, but then thought better of it. His son had been so difficult all weekend, but maybe he was finally taking an interest in the place. He shrugged, and said, "Why not? Why don't you come back in half an hour or so? I'm sure we'll be done by then."

"I'm sure it won't take that long," Mr. Bixby added, "But I'd love to hear some about your experiences at our college," he smiled, and closed the door behind them.

Randall flipped off the door, and then turned around, and found himself face to face with the receptionist from the desk, who gotten up and come around behind him while they were talking. When he didn't move, Randall just said, "You got a problem, buddy? Get out of my way."

"You sure do have a big mouth asshole," The thug growled, and added, "Didn't anyone ever teach ya tah respect yer elders?"

"Oh, shut the fuck up," Randall muttered and tried to push past him, but the thug just pushed him back a few feet, and grinned.

"You know, before you take a look at campus, I got something a lot cooler for ya tah look at," he said, and raised one of his arms and flexed his bicep.

Randall grimaced, "What, are you a fag too or something? I'm not about to let you suck my cock or anything, you fucking pig."

"No, really, look here, right here," the man said, and pointed towards his bicep, where there was a picture of a lion roaring with his mouth open, "See? When I flex, ya can see his mane ripple, but only if ya look real hard."

"I'm not going to stare at your bicep, you faggot," Randall said, but when he tried to walk away, he found that he couldn't, because his eyes were locked on the thug's arm. He did want to see the mane move, and he thought he could almost see it, but not quite. The thug beckoned him with his other hand, and Randall took a couple of steps closer. His head felt funny, and he knew that he should look away but he couldn't. When he got about a foot away, and squinted really hard, he did see it. The mane started moving like there was an invisible wind in it, and he muttered, "I...I do see it."

"Cool, huh? Why don't ya have a seat over here," the thug said, and motioned Randall over to a nearby chair in the waiting area, "I don't think I told ya my name, mate. The name's TJ. What's yours?"

"Uh...Randall," he said, as he took a seat. He was feeling pretty tired all of the sudden, but he couldn't stop staring at TJ's arms. Now that he had seen the mane move, it looked like all of the tattoos on his body were shifting and moving with him. The effect was very calming, and made Randall feel even more relaxed. It felt like he was sinking into the chair, and when he tried to get up, he found that he couldn't move more than an inch. Every part of him was simply too heavy.

"Well Randall, why don't ya tell me what yer problem is. Do ya like it here?"

"No..." Randall murmered, "My parents went here...they...they want me to...too." It was getting harder to speak, all he wanted to do was listen. It was nice listening to TJ. He had a good deep voice, and it was a little sexy too. In fact, he was really hot, Randall admitted to himself. The muscles on his arms were huge, and he could see a thick patch of hair under each armpit. He felt the urge to shove his face in there and start licking, and if he hadn't been so weighed down, he might not have been able to stop himself. In fact, it didn't matter what TJ wanted him to do--Randall just felt like he was supposed to serve him. He wanted to serve him--just obeying him would make Randall happier than he had ever been.

"Really? Well, maybe it could be good for ya. What do ya like tah do?"

"Play...soccer," Randall said, but it was barely a whisper.

"What?" TJ asked, and leaned in closer, "Sorry, I couldn't hear ya."

"Soccer. I do...soccer."

"Really? Ya did the whole soccer team? That's quite an accomplishment."

Randall shook his head slowly, "No...what? That's...I didn't..." he started, but faded off. It was too hard to think, and even harder to talk. He wanted TJ to talk so he wouldn't have to.

"Do ya like my tattoos Randall? Maybe ya'd like to look at some more," TJ said, and took off his tight wifebeater. More colors swirled in front of Randall's eyes, all of the patterns so vivid that he couldn't even differentiate the shapes, but it was incredibly beautiful. All of TJ was beautiful though. "Now, ya said that ya did the whole soccer team?"

Randall weakly shook his head, but he couldn't even talk. He just wanted to listen. That wasn't a problem, because TJ was perfectly happy to fill in the blanks for him.

"Sounds like yer a fuckin' slut, if ya ask me. I bet the whole team found out ya were a fag, and organized a gangbang just for ya. Remember? Ya were filled at both ends by all of the players so many times, ya lost count of how many loads ya took. By the end of the night, yer stomach was so bloated that ya wanted to puke, and ya couldn't even shut yer asshole. Man, I bet yer daddies were so proud of ya after that."

Strange thoughts were filling Randall's brain, and he found that he could vividly remember everything that TJ was describing, even taste all of the cum shot down his throat, and feel those hard throbbing cocks up his ass. That had been a hot night indeed. But daddies? He only had one dad, he thought. Randall saw TJ beginning to unbutton his jeans, and anticipation built up inside of him. He wanted to see more tattoos, but there was something else. He felt a desire to see TJ's cock, but not only that, he wanted to suck it. He wanted TJ to fuck him with it. Anything. He wanted TJ to do anything, and everything to him. God, he was just so horny. The only thing about him which wasn't weighed down was his cock, which was tenting out the front of his athletic shorts.

"Yeah, yer daddies," TJ continued, "They were real hot, struttin' in here, with ya followin' behind them on yer lead. I bet they set that orgy up for ya, didn't they? That was yer test, to see if ya were the slut ya'd claimed tah be when ya were chattin' them up online. Ya had tah submit tah all of yer teammates on the team, serve them. Yeah, ya didn't want tah at first. The first few cocks, ya fought, but then ya gave up. Ya knew ya wanted it, that ya needed it. Yeah, ya need cock, don't ya?"

Randall just nodded. TJ had his pants down, and wasn't even wearing any underwear. Forgetting all restraint, Randall fell forward and swallowed as much of the thick shaft as he could, but TJ pushed him off. "Please...please, I need it," Randall pleaded, but TJ just laughed. It was then that the door to Mr. Bixby's office opened, which surprised Randall enough to break his gaze away from TJ's tattoos. Immediately he felt his head clear up somewhat, but he did a double take when he saw the two men walking out of the office, with Mr. Bixby following them.

The first must have stood at least six and a half feet tall, if not more, and had to duck a little to get through the doorway. He was heavily muscled, even more so than TJ, and had quite a few tattoos running all over his body, not that they could be seen very easily through the thick forest of hair coating his body. Beyond that, he wasn't wearing much. He had on a leather vest and some leather chaps with some ragged jeans underneath that. Randall looked a bit harder at the man's face, and realized that if he took away the fu-man-chu and added on some hair, he was looking at his father, or at least the man who had once been his father.

Behind him, the second man was not quite as tall, probably only six foot, but much more massive, with muscles bursting in every direction, and a neck so thick than it looked like his head had simply been attached at the shoulders. He too was as furry as a beast, but had a thick bushy beard and a completely shaved head. After taking a deep drag on the cigar he was holding in his hand, and exhaling a thick cloud of smoke out his nose, he said, "Now what exactly is goin' on here?"

Randall immediately felt guilty, and he could hear the disappointment in Daddy Larry's voice. He didn't want to be a disappointment, but...well, he couldn't really remember what had happened. Every seemed to be foggy in his head. He couldn't even remember why he was here. However, TJ was quick enough to speak up for him. "I'm sorry sir, but he started hittin' on me, and well, one thing just led tah another I guess," he grinned sheepishly, and quickly pulled up his pants, and returned to the reception desk.

Blake turned to Mr. Bixby and sighed, "See? This is what I'm talkin' about. He has plenty of ambition, but no self-control. Back when I attended Bearman College, I know you were ranked as one of the top trainers in the country. Do you think you can help us out?"

Randall shook his head, and couldn't believe what he was hearing. What had happened to his parents? Quietly, he started heading towards the door, but Larry crossed the room in a few steps, grabbed the lead trailing on the floor, and pulled Randall back by the collar padlocked around his neck. "Where do you think you're goin', pup?"

"Nowhere sir, sorry sir," was all Randall could say, and followed his daddy back to where Blake and Bixby were standing. "You best keep a good eye on him," Larry said, "if you give him an inch, he'll try and take a mile."

"Well, I'll be sure to pair him up with some of our advanced students in the Masters program," Mr. Bixby said, "and as I discussed with you, given your legacy status, your pup is entitled to a full ride scholarship. In fact, it isn't too far into our semester now, if you'd like to enroll him for the fall."

The two bears looked at each other and nodded. "Well, take good care of him. And no modifications without our approval, got it?" Blake said, and Larry handed the lead to Mr. Bixby. Blake then crouched down in Randall's face, "Now listen, pup. If you want to be our dogslave, then I'm expecting a lot from you. If you don't graduate top of your class, then I got some friends I'll be happy to sell you to, and they are not nearly as kind to their dogs as I am, got it?"

Randall nodded, and croaked a "Yes sir," and then went to Mr. Bixby's side.

"Don't either of you worry, he's in the best place he could be," Mr. Bixby said.

The two bears nodded, and then left, holding hands the whole way, confident that in a year's time they would have the perfect, obedient dog for their household, and would be the envy of all the couples in the neighborhood. When they had left, Mr. Bixby grinned at Randall, and then pulled him over to where TJ was sitting.

"Now," he said, "We had better get you started on your aptitude test, and I see no reason why we shouldn't start with the oral section," Mr. Bixby said, and pushed Randall to his knees in front of TJ, who had already unzipped his jeans and pulled out his semi-hard cock. Randall immediately swallowed as much of it as he could. He had a lot to learn if he was going to please his daddies.

7

Clay was the quintessential gym rat, and he was proud of it. All he talked about was his new diet or his latest exercise routine, if you could manage to get him past his constant bragging about how much he could bench press and bicep curl. Of course, the muscle served him well in the wrestling ring, where he had quickly risen to varsity level and was one of the top competitors in the state. That didn't mean that he was very popular on campus, not that he really cared. All that really concerned him was his own image, and he refused to work out anywhere other than in front of a mirror based on nothing more than vanity. He had just finished his classes for the day, and it was time for his evening workout. One of his workout buddies had told him earlier that day that some new gym equipment had arrived, which had been ordered by Coach Red, and Clay was excited to give it a shot.

He got into the locker room and changed into his workout clothes, which consisted in a pair of shorts which were stretched tight over his bulging quads (and substantial package, of course), and a sleeveless shirt one or two sizes too small for him, which emphasized his massive arms and shoulders. No one was in there, so he was at liberty to take a minute or five and throw some poses in the mirror, while he admired his overall image. He had gotten his hair cut a few days ago, and he liked how his wavy hair framed his strong chin and jaw. He had also been working on growing a chin strap beard, which he had finally managed to get trimmed to where he wanted it. He was a hairy guy below the neck too, with a substantial treasure trail and a decent coat of hair on all of his limbs. He liked the masculine look, and overall he was satisfied, but there were still some bits of fat which refused to surrender no matter how hard he worked. If this gym equipment was as good as his friend had told him it was, then maybe he could finally trim up those last few problem areas once and for all.

When he walked into the fitness center, he was surprised to find that it wasn't just a few machines which had been added during the day, but that a whole new wing had been added, all stocked with various equipment manufactured by a company he had never heard of, called TrueImage. However, the designs were all ergonomic, and looked like they emphasized range of motion, so he figured he might as well give them a try. If he didn't like them, there were always the old machines in the main room to use.

He walked in and found the room empty of people, which was a bit strange. Granted, he always tried to come during off peak hours, but usually there was at least one of his fellow workout freaks who would be willing to help spot him. That meant that he was going to have to settle for a slightly less strenuous workout, but that was probably good, since he was working on some unfamiliar equipment. Even more disappointing was the fact that there were no mirrors anywhere in the room, and all of the machines were positioned such that they faced into the room, rather than out of it. There weren't even any windows, so the whole room felt a bit dark and dreary, despite the fact that the fluorescent lighting left nothing unlit. Still, he could manage one workout without eyeing himself he thought, as long as the machines were as good as they were rumored.

Clay decided to start off with a pretty standard warm up on the treadmill, so that he could get his heart rate going and his muscles limber. He climbed on, and started playing with the computer, but as soon as he hit the start button, a red light clicked on, and a series of lasers began scanning his body, from his head to his toes, while the screen flashed, "Calculating ideal TrueImage setting. Please remain still." This continued for about a minute, until the light flicked off, and the tread started moving, catching Clay off guard for a moment, until he could get the stride right. It settled at a light jog, and Clay immediately noticed that it seemed to be paced at the ideal warm up speed--not too fast, and not too slow.

He was impressed that the machine could have calibrated all of that off of a laser scan. In fact, he hadn't imagined that was even possible in the first place, but apparently it worked. However, the computer wasn't telling him much about the routine it had planned for him--it didn't even have a timer counting down to the end of his work out. All it said was "TrueImage workout in progress," over and over again. As he was running, Clay tried hitting a few of the buttons, but nothing happened at all to the speed, incline, or anything. Out of curiosity, Clay tried to get off, but there were rails on both sides, so he couldn't just step off, and when he stopped running, planning on just falling off the back, the tread stopped moving too, and when he tried to walk backwards, the tread moved under him, keeping him in one spot.  He was a little freaked out, finding out that he was trapped on the machine, but he figured that he might as well run, and wait for the program to cycle out by itself.

The workout program stayed easy for a little while, but then Clay began to notice that he was huffing and puffing a bit more than usual, and certainly far more than he had ever before when he was running. He assumed that the machine much have changed something--increased the speed or raised the incline--but everywhere he looked he couldn't detect any difference at all. If anything, it seemed like the treadmill was going slower than it had when he had begun. He also wasn't entirely sure how long he had been running either. The machine was facing a wall, and there wasn't a clock anywhere in the room. No one had come in while he had been working out, so it couldn't have been that late, but it was disconcerting to say the least.

Eventually he knew that the machine was slowing down, because what had been a jog a little while before had slowed to a fast walk, and then slowed even further, to what should have been a relaxing stroll, but Clay had never been as exhausted as he was then. He had come to the conclusion that the treadmill must have had some means of increasing the resistance of the tread itself--it was the only way this workout could have become so strenuous at such a slow speed. It was quite ingenious, actually, because that meant he could achieve a harder workout at much slower speeds while reducing the risk of injury, but he figured that it would take a few weeks before he was used to it.

Just when he thought he wouldn't be able to walk any further, the treadmill clicked off, and the screen flashed "Program complete." With legs like rubber, Clay stumbled away from the machine, and over to the drinking fountain in the main room. After a good, long drink, he checked the clock, and was surprised to find that he had only been running for ten minutes, even though it felt like he had been on the tread for at least an hour. He certainly needed a rest before he even attempted to lift some weights. While he focused on slowing his breathing, he wandered over to the mirror, so that he could have another look at himself, but as soon as he saw his reflection, he felt that something was wrong, but he couldn't figure out what it was.

His gut was there, though it wasn't one of those saggy things those chubs at the school had. It was hard, with a solid mix of fat and muscle. In fact, that was how he would have described most of his body. Sure, he was stocky, but most of his muscles were covered by a healthy layer of fat. It certainly didn't give him much cardio strength, but he could bench press 250 pounds easy. He felt his tightly trimmed goatee and close cropped hair, but those felt both wrong and right as well. He felt like he should have been more muscular, but this was how he'd looked for years, so there was no reason he should feel like he was looking at a new person, but he did. He noticed that a bit of his gut was hanging out from under his shirt, with a light treasure trail, and he self-consciously pulled it down, and looked around to see if anyone had seen him, but everyone in the room seemed absorbed in their own workouts.

As he was looking around, he saw that a familiar face had wandered into the center while he was jogging, one of the members of the football team named Jason Yelman. Clay waved at Jason, and started over towards where he was sitting on a weight bench, doing some bicep curls. As he walked over, he felt the five inch cock in his pants begin to harden as he stared at Jason's crotch, and imagined himself down on his knees in front of him, sucking his cock while he rubbed his own through his pants. The image was so powerful that Clay felt his lips grow dry, and he licked them anxiously as he approached. Jason finished his reps on the machine where he was, and wiped his face off with a towel. "Hey Clay, what's up?" he said.

"Oh, you know. The usual. You try the new machines yet?" Clay said, trying to sound casual, but is just coming off sounding nervous. What was wrong with him all of the sudden? He wasn't gay, was he? Granted, he'd never been very interested in women before either, but why did his gaze keep drifting back to Jason's crotch?

Jason shook his head, "Nah, coach said we aren't allowed to use them. He wants us to build our bulk the old fashioned way. You try them?"

"Yeah. Not sure if I like them yet or not..." Clay said, and then they both lapsed into silence.

Jason looked where Clay was looking and smirked, "Come on man, enough with the small talk. I know what you want, so suck it already."

Clay felt his face heat up, and he looked around nervously, "What, here? Out in the open?"

In response, Jason just pulled down his pants, revealing his rock hard nine inch cock, and that was all Clay needed to see. He got down on his knees, and started sucking, slowly at first, and then more vigorously. Jason just sat there with one guiding hand on the back of Clay's head, and enjoyed the ride. No one else in the room paid any attention to the at all, as though one jock giving another one head was completely normal. Clay meanwhile, couldn't resist reaching under his taut gut and fondling his own member which was leaking an amazing amount of precum into his shorts. Slowly he could feel his orgasm building, and with a massive surge, exploded a massive load in his shorts, saturating the front of them so much that his cum began leaking through and dripping onto the floor. Jason, however, was completely oblivious to Clay, as though he was just another machine in the room to be used. With no warning, he shot his load down Clay's throat, who swallowed all of it, and sat back, satisfied in ways he couldn't even fathom. Jason just pulled up his pants, stood up, and went back to his bicep curls as though nothing had happened, leaving Clay to lick his lips and savor the jock's cum on his tongue.

Clay knew that he should have felt humiliated, but instead he felt rejuvenated, and was ready for his weight program. With one last look in the mirror, and happy that his earlier doubts had seemingly evaporated, he walked back into the TrueImage room, and examined the weight machines more closely. When he had looked at them earlier, he had thought they were all different, but on closer inspection, they were actually all identical machines. Curious, Clay walked up to one and sat down in the seat there, and as soon as he did, another set of lasers sprang to life, and began scanning his body yet again. A screen lit up next to him, again saying "Calculating ideal TrueImage setting. Please remain still," but the lasers lasted much shorter this time, and the screen flashed, "Recognizing previous program...program loaded," and a few ankle and wrist bracelets were released from the machine. Clay assumed that he was supposed to put them on, and did so, figuring that, as soon as he did, he would be locked into the program like before. Indeed, as soon as the last clasp was locked in place, the cords attached to the machine pulled taut, and began maneuvering his limbs around to different positions, while the chair tilted with them. The whole effect was disorienting at first, but he adjusted to it quickly, and he liked how it saved him the effort of moving from machine to machine in the old room.

Unlike on the treadmill, the screen on the weight machine gave him a bit more direction, usually telling him the general motion he was supposed to make with his limbs. Also similar to the treadmill, the weights were very light, but he did not have the stamina it seemed like he usually did. Again, he figured that there must be some device which was adjusting the resistance, but he never witnessed it operating. The machine was very thorough, and worked him through every muscle group on his body. As soon as one group was exhausted, the cords and chair positioned him anew, and another exercise was begun. By the end, every muscle in Clay's body was on fire, and he was so relieved when the straps released him, that he pledged he would never go near one of these machines ever again. They were simply too exhausting.

He waddled back to the main room, absolutely drenched with sweat, and caught another look at himself in the mirror, all of him, and his jaw dropped in horror. He was fat, but not just fat, he was disgustingly obese. I mean, sure, he had never been skinny, but he now had a soft apron which completely obscured his crotch, and fell at least five or six inches further than that, so that his huge thighs bumped into it when he walked. His way too small shirt didn't even begin to cover it, and just made him look even chubbier. His face was almost perfectly round, with puffy cheeks and a second chin which hung down over his neck. All of the hair on his head was simply gone, which only emphasized how round he was. He didn't even have any facial hair--everything, even his body, was baby smooth. He reached up and felt his face and neck, and was surprised with how soft and pliable the fat was. In fact, all of his body was like that. He gave his belly a tentative shake and watched the fat ripple all around him, and the sensation was surprisingly pleasing, and even erotic. As he stood there, he could feel his massive thighs rubbing against one another, feel the flab hanging off of his arms where he was certain there had been bulging biceps not minutes ago. It was wrong, all of it, and he had no idea how it had happened, and the scary part was that some part of his mind was trying to tell him that this was how he was supposed to look, and that he liked looking like this.

He turned away, certain that it had to be some illusion or something caused by the exhausting workout he had just gone through. What he needed was some water. He walked over to the fountain again, panting and stumbling the whole way, and drank as much water as he could. When he was finished, all he wanted to do was sit somewhere and rest, so he plopped his fat ass down next to the water fountain. When he sat, it was even more obvious how he had changed, but the more he thought about it, the less shocking it became, and though he tried to remember how he had looked earlier that day, he found that all of his memories--every single one--was of him obese, even all the way back into childhood. And he liked it. He wanted to be fat. It made him happy, as disgusting as that should have been. As he sat there, he had unconsciously begun massaging his belly, and he could feel his short, stubby cock growing underneath his apron. However, he knew better than to try and find it--he couldn't reach it. Of course, that didn't stop his massive balls from producing a massive amount of cum whenever he was aroused, which was pretty much all the time.

Clay looked up, and saw that Jason was taking a drink at the water fountain, and he began expecting that something was going to happen, something he really wanted, and without missing a beat, Jason pulled down his shorts and shoved his cock into Clay's mouth. This is what he had been needing. He hadn't sucked a cock in a good fifteen minutes, and he needed a massive dose of cum, and he knew exactly how to get it. He sucked as hard as he could, and in less than a minute, Jason couldn't hold back any longer, and shot his second load of the day down Clay's throat, and then walked away without even acknowledging him, not that Clay cared. He just lay back against the wall, and felt the happy gush of cum soak his groin. "Hey Gus," Clay called, "Are you going to hook me up or not?"

From around the corner, a stocky bear came running over, grinning. "Back for more, Clay? Man, you already were here for hours this morning," he laughed, but was just as familiar with Clay's routine as Clay was. He pulled a pump out from the side of the water fountain next to Clay, and after a bit of fiddling, managed to get the vacuum pump fastened over Clay's tiny dick. He then flipped the switch, and Clay felt the pump start sucking at his cock, and he moaned, pinching his fat nipples through his shirt. "Yeah, you fuckin' pig. Man, I heard the whole football team is going to be working out together tonight, so you had better be ready for some good facefucks," Gus said, as he massaged the cock in his own shorts. However, it was so long that the entire head pocked out the bottom when it was entirely hard. Unable to hold back any longer, Gus pulled down his pants and shoved his cock into Clay's mouth, who started sucking away at as much of it as he could. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the clear tank next to the fountain began to fill with his precum that the pump was sucking up. Immediately, some jocks lined up and began taking good long drinks from the fountain, now spouting Clay's precum, which they all drank it down like gluttons. Afterwards, they were happy to make their own donations to Clay's gullet, and he soon lost track of how many cocks he had sucked. Occasionally, guys would get down around him and play with his fat, which only made Clay hornier, occasionally leading him to a massive orgasm which filled the tank to the top every time.

Clay was in heaven, and nearly all of the jocks came back for second and thirds. For the next two hours, until the center closed, Clay was never without a cock in his mouth. When the last jock had left, Gus came back to help him stand up, then turned him around and pushed him against the wall. With the push of another switch, Clay began pumping his cum into the reserve tanks, while Gus reamed his ass with his massive cock for a good hour. Turning on the pump to its maximum setting, so that by the time Gus was halfway through, Clay had already had five screaming orgasms, and was weak in the knees. They had been lovers since their first meeting during orientation a few years ago, and it had been Gus's idea to install the pump in the fountain. In fact, the additional protein had helped all of the athletes at the school pack on pound after pound of muscle. When Gus finally reached his climax and shot his own massive load up Clay's ass, they cleaned him up, put the pump away, and headed back to the locker room.

Clay stripped out of his "workout" clothes, and sucked some of the excess cum from his shorts before throwing them into his locker with the shirt. Gus was taking a long piss in the bathroom, so Clay took a few minutes to admire himself in the mirror. He really was the hottest cum dump in the school, and every man on campus knew it. Wherever he was, guys would line up for a blow job from him, and most guys couldn't last for more than a minute when he was working his hardest. He played with one meaty nipple, and fantasized about all of the cocks he had seen that afternoon, and felt his dick start leaking again. The night was still young, and he figured Gus might be willing to hit one of the bars on campus before they headed home and went to bed. Gus came out of the bathroom and gave his love a big hug and kiss, which soon turned into another blowjob. As Gus blew another load all over Clay's baby smooth face, all he could think was that this was what he was meant to be--this was his true image.

8

Today was the day, and Tim was having a hard time staying calm. He had been preparing for this for the past year, as a student in the preparatory courses of the masters program at Bearman college. He had passed the theoretical test the week before, and his placement in the top 95th percentile granted him a place in the practicum--the final exam before admittance to the program. He was dressed to impress, putting on his most expensive uniform, the well cared for leather stretched tight over every muscle on his body. He was wearing no underwear, and the feeling of being encased in leather all over his body was enough to keep his cock half hard as he walked. He had spent a good half hour this morning polishing his favorite knee high boots until the glinted like steel in the sun, and as he crossed campus, everyone stepped out of his way, recognizing the confident authority which Tim exuded. He was a master, and everyone around him already knew it. The only people who didn't were the professors proctoring the exam, and he was bound and determined to prove to them that he belonged there. He pulled his cap down a little lower over his eyes and ran his gloved thumb along his perfectly trimmed fu-man-chu, and walked into the Harrison Mastery Building, where the test was being administered.

As he entered, he saw any number of other would-be masters students also in the building, waiting for the door of the exam room to open. The test was scheduled for four-thirty, and the doors would not open until then. All of the candidates were expected to arrive early, and they had all been warned that the doors would open promptly, everyone present would be allowed in, and then they would be locked behind them. No one arriving late would be admitted. Tim looked around the room and recognized quite a few of his fellow students from previous classes, all of them dressed in their finest gear, like him. Marcus Wallenburg had on his tartan kilt and combat boots, beautifully shined, and his beard was tied into three long braids which reached halfway down his chest. On the other side of the room, Keith Sunderland was dressed similarly to himself, in his finest leather uniform. They nodded to each other, but the intent behind oth of their looks was crystal clear--stay out of my way. Micah Harris was leaning against the wall, smoking a cigarette and dressed in his bike leathers. His hair was pulled back into a messy ponytail, and he too was sizing up the competition. To Tim, they were acquaintances, nothing more, and inside that room, no one would be holding anything back, especially not him.

Of course, there were also some people he didn't know. Off in a corner, a short stocky bear dressed in leather chaps and a harness smoked a massive pipe, chatting quietly with a skinhead, whose heavily muscled body was completely covered in tattoos and piercings. There were others, but most of them were forgettable, wearing mostly leather and quite a few of them smoking, probably to help with the anxiety all of them were feeling at the moment. There were also a few people who didn't look like they belonged there at all, the best example being a man standing right next to the exam door. He was dressed in dirty and tattered jeans, with suspenders running over his shoulders, though they were stretched taut by the force of the man's massive beer gut and man boobs. He had no shirt on, his entire stomach was covered in a massive forest of hair, and he had a wiry beard which seemed to stick out from his face in every direction, and climbed high up on his cheeks. Not only was he far less fit than anyone else in the room, he was also quite older, with a good amount of grey hair, just as unkempt as his beard. It looked like he had gotten lost on his way to a hillbilly country fair. There was also a short scrawny guy, dressed in khakis and a polo looking around nervously at the muscle hunks surrounding him. Tim smiled--the guy was definitely out of his league. He might have passed the theoretical exam with flying colors, but he sure as hell wasn't going to do very well here.

He checked his watch, and saw that it was one minute to four-thirty, and a few seconds later, he heard the clock tower on campus begin to chime. On cue, the doors swung open, and all thirty some candidates filed in through the door. Tim felt some nerves begin to form in his chest, but he pushed them away. He had this--there was no way he was going to lose now.

As soon as they were all through the door, it closed shut behind them and locked. All of the chairs in the large classroom had been moved away towards the walls, and the middle had been loaded with all sorts of gear. From where he was standing, Tim could make out a center table loaded up with all sorts of whips, dildos and restraints. A bit further out there were slings, suspended chains, and even a few Saint Andrew's crosses. There was enough gear to stock at least five top of the line dungeons, but there was one thing missing--there were no slaves in the entire room. There was just one man waiting for them all, Professor Erikson, head of the masters program.

Tim had had an interview with the man once, during his preparatory year. He was also the only man whom he had ever addressed as "Sir". Erikson scared the crap out of him, not that he was dumb enough to show it. The fact that he would be proctoring the exam just made the entire experience more real to him. He was really here, at the test Tim had been preparing for what felt like his whole life, ever since he had taken down and dominated his first slut. He felt his usual confidence return at that memory, and even felt his mouth turn up into a smirk, as he made his way with the rest of the candidates to the center of the room.

As they assembled, Erikson's newest TA slave walked up to each candidate and handed them a leather collar. He had a chastity device encasing his cock, and a fresh tattoo across his back which read "PAIN PIG." With every step, the complex series of weights and chains pulled and tugged on his pierced nipples and scrotum, and he looked almost delirious with lust and horniness. The whole sight was turning Tim on, and he couldn't wait to get started, but Professor Erikson hadn't told them what they would be doing yet. In fact, he hadn't even moved. While he waited, Tim examined the collar in his hand. While the outside was leather, inside a thin band of flexible metal ran around the entire length of the collar. Tim tried moving the ends together and found that they attached by their own accord, as though they were magnetically charged. It was certainly one of Erikson's original designs, but that meant he had no real idea of what it was capable of. However, it couldn't be too dangerous, could it? He laughed, when that though came to him. Of course it was dangerous. Everything the professor had ever invented had been dangerous, but that was part of the fun.

When everyone had a collar, the TA returned to Erikson's side and bowed his head. Only then did the professor deign to speak. "Welcome, candidates, to your practicum. I'm sure you are all very eager to get started, so I will get my explanation over as quickly as possible, I promise.

"Now, all of you are here because you have shown remarkable potential in your desire and drive to dominate and control those who desire and deserve to be controlled. I have personally interviewed all of you, and am confident that you would all be highly successful in our master classes. However, over the years, the other faculty and I have found that there is a certain drive which separates the successful from the exemplary, and we are only interested in educating the exemplary at Bearman.

"All of you have the drive, or else you would not have entered into this program in the first place. All of you have the skills, or you would not have scored the highest marks on your theoretical exams. However, not all of you have the pure primal instinct of domination running through your entire being. Not all of you are true masters. It is not something which can be learned, nor is it a frivolous talent. It occurs when the dominant will is the only will--it is indomitable because it is alone. This final test is designed to separate out those whose mind is of this rare nature.

"Now, to explain what you will be doing. Each of you has been given a collar. On that collar, you will find a number. Each of you has been paired at random to someone else in this room. When I tell you to begin, you have three tasks to complete. First, you must overpower your opponent and place the collar around his neck. Be aware that it can be taken off again if he is not completely subdued. Any other task completed while the collar is disconnected will not count towards the completion of your test. After you have collared your opponent, you must make him orgasm in a position of submission, and he must bring you to orgasm in a position of dominance. It does not matter in what order you complete these last two tasks, so long as you accomplish them while the collar is around your opponent's neck.

Those of you who are successful will be admitted into the masters program. For the next two years, my fellow colleagues and I will educate you in the art and manner of masterly conduct. For those of you who are, less successful, you will be removed to my lab, where you will be reconditioned and returned to your dominator as his training slave."

He paused in his explanation, in order to let those words sink into the men surrounding him. Suddenly, this was no longer just a test--it was a battle for survival. Tim felt those nerves return but he pushed them away again. He had to retain his focus, or he would surely lose.

"Now that you all understand the seriousness of this matter, I have a few final notes to add. There are no limits here. Use any skill, any knowledge, and any power at your disposal to force your opponent to his knees, begging for your forgiveness. Show no mercy. All of you will be competing at the same time, but keep in mind that you may not interfere in another contest. If you do, you will be automatically disqualified, and I will take you as my own slave. And trust me, I will be infinitely crueler than any of you can possible imagine. Now, find your opponents, and then I will give the order to begin."

Tim inspected his collar again, and found that his number was eight. He called it out loud, and heard a deep drawl sounding out the same number. His initial fear was that he had been paired with Marcus, but that wasn't the case. Instead, he found himself paired up with the dirty redneck he had noticed in the hall earlier, and Tim couldn't have been happier. There was no way a fat, old slob like him would be able to top him--simply no way. The man grinned, and extended his hand as Tim approached. "The name's Jack, fella. What's yers?"

"Tim," he replied, and then smirked, "But you can call me Master Tim, or Sir."

Jack winked at Tim and said, "Well, ya can just go ahead and start callin' me Daddy Jack then, my boy." Jack let out a loud, rumbling laugh which made his his gut shake, disgusting Tim immensely. They shook hands, and as Tim came closer he noticed that Jack smelled awful. He probably hadn't showered in weeks, and he reeked of sweat, piss, and cum. However, Tim knew better to show any sign of weakness, so he ignored the odor as best he could. The first order of business when he bested this slob would be to get his fat ass on a treadmill and get that nasty hair shaved off, after he had showered him off with a fire hose first, of course.

Tim wondered if he should say something else, but he heard Professor Erikson call out, "Begin!" and Tim figured actions always speak louder than words. As hard as he could, he sucker punched Jack in the stomach, winding him and sending him to one knee. Tim immediately tried to get the collar on him, but Jack ducked away faster than Jack figured he would, and stood up a few feet away.

"So, it's gonna be a dirty brawl eh? That's fine, I can play dirty," Jack panted, and then charged Tim. Both of them were driven to the ground by the force of the hit, and they began rolling around, both of them trying to gain the upper hand. Jack was much heavier than Tim, but he refused to let him use it. Jack spent most of his time trying to get Tim's arms pinned at his sides, but was having no luck. It seemed like a stalemate, until Jack spotted some rope hanging from the table they had rolled towards. He grabbed it with his hand, and managed to get a quick knot around one of Jack's feet. At that point, Tim knew that he had him. He began wrapping Jack up, limb by limb, binding him as tightly as he could, so that the rope cut deep lines into Jack's fat. Before long, all Jack could do was roll around on the ground, and Tim was free to stand up, and take a look around at everything else going on, while he retrieved the collar he had dropped in the tussle.

He was the first person to subdue his opponent, and that thought filled him with a bit of pride. Out in the audience, Professor Erikson was watching the entire scene with glee, his TA on his knees before him, sucking on his cock. Tim picked the collar up from the floor, walked back over to Jack, and secured the collar tight around his fat neck. "Ready to give up slave?" Tim asked, and Jack just grinned.

"Ya haven't broken me yet, cowboy. I'd like tah see ya try."

Tim immediately realized that he had gotten himself into a bit of a problem, because his bondage work had been far to haphazard. While Jack was secure, there was no way he'd be able to get to work on him on the ground. But Tim was also realizing that he hadn't really thought this far ahead. He had simply imagined that he would get Jack on the ground, get the collar on him, and that would be the end of it. Now, not only did he have to fuck him, or get him to suck his cock, Tim had to find some way to get him to cum as well, which wasn't really his style. He much preferred to dominate and run, generally leaving his victims crying and whimpering on the bed, but then Jack wasn't his usual prey. If he was going to get anywhere, he'd first have to find a better way to secure Jack.

He wandered over to the table and took a moment to think, eventually settling on some locking wrist restraints that he thought he could attach to Jack's wrists with a bit of effort, and some chain which he could then use to connect them together. He returned to Jack, and after quite a bit of fiddling, realized that his idea wasn't going to work like he had hoped. As he struggled, Jack started laughing, and Tim snapped, "What's so funny, you fucking fatass?"

"You are, boy. Ya don't know what yer doin' do ya?"

The comment struck Tim at a weak point he hadn't even been aware of. He didn't really know how he was going to manage this. Sure, Jack couldn't hurt him from where he was, but a stalemate wasn't going to be an adequate solution. However, he knew he couldn't show any weakness now, so in his roughest voice, he ordered, "Shut up, faggot."

"No," was all Jack said in reply, and in response, Jack kicked him in the stomach, but Jack was ready for it this time, and rolled with the kick, minimizing the force of the blow. "You really don't know what yer doing!" he laughed, "How in the hell did ya get this far, boy, if ya can't manage tah exert a little control over a man bound up on the ground?"

Again, Tim felt his confidence shake, but he fought against his doubt harder. In frustration, he yelled, "Shut the fuck up," and tried to stamp his boot on Jack's face, but Jack rolled away again, and deftly stood up, the ropes falling away as he cut through them with a knife he had been hiding on his belt. Jack began chuckling again as he took the collar off his neck and stalked back over towards Tim.

Tim's face heated up and turned red. This fucking redneck was laughing at him. He pulled back his fist, but in a surprising move, Jack swung his own at Tim's face, striking him hard and fast. Stars blew up in his face, and the next thing he knew, he had hit the ground, holding his nose in pain. No one had ever hit him that hard before--hell, no one had ever hit him before at all, and that alone shocked Tim more than anything. His entire image had been fabricated around the assumption of his invincibility, and this hard, throbbing pain was not something he had been prepared for, but he struggled up to one knee anyway, but Jack didn't give him a chance to recover. He delivered a knee directly into Tim's mouth, sending him to the ground again, and Jack immediately sat down on him, hard, pinning Tim's arms at his sides with his bulky legs. Tim could feel Jack's massive cock jabbing him in the chest, as he reached down and put the collar around his neck. Immediately, Tim panicked. He had never even imagined that someone would manage to collar him. It had simply seemed impossible. The fact that it had happened, and that it had been accomplished by an old, fat ass like Jack, stunned him so much he stopped struggling for a moment.

"Now boy, let me tell you a story," Jack said, "I had myself a daddy once. He used tah fuck me every night, make me drink his piss, clean out his ass, all since I was a babe. I know what it's like tah be a slave, but I escaped from that. I took my drunkass dad intah the bedroom, hogtied him, and fucked him 'til he couldn't walk. Ya want tah know what I did then? I cut his fuckin' balls and dick off. I made him a bitch, and then sold him tah the dirtiest fuckin' redneck in the trailer park, who trained him to be his toilet. Hell, just last week I visited him and took a massive shit all over his face, and he loved it, and begged me for more. Ya never had tah do anythin' like that. Nah, ya just think that because yer big and butch ya deserve tah top any guy ya run across. Ya might walk the talk, but ya have no clue what yer doin' here."

Tim started to say something, but Jack just backhanded him, hard, across the face, and then did it again for good measure. "Ya don't say nothin' less I say ya can, got it boy?"

"Fuckin' pig!" Tim growled, and then spit in Jack's face.

Jack wiped the loogie away, grinning all the while, and waited for Tim to say more. When he didn't, Jack said, "If ya got something tah say tah me, say it. I'm listenin'."

"You're a dumbass redneck pig, that's what! You're a slob, you're dirty, you're fat...I mean, you expect me to submit to that? What a fucking joke."

In reply, Jack grabbed the back of Tim head, and forced his face into his hairy, smelly gut. Tim tried to push back, but he couldn't break away. He also couldn't breathe, and after a moment he felt his lungs begin to burn. "Yeah, yer daddy is a pig, boy, and he's proud of it too. Ya wanna know somethin' else? Yer gonna be a pig, too. I'm gonna have ya so fat by next summer that yer gut will be draggin' on the floor as ya crawl around my trailer."

Tim managed to catch a quick breath, but then Jack had his face buried again. "Ya like it, don't ya boy? Ya want tah suffocate in yer daddy's belly. Just admit it." He pulled Tim's face out and added, "Say it. Say ya want yer daddy's belly!"

No, fucker!" Tim yelled, and then recoiled as Jack backhanded him across the face again. And then again.

"Say it!" Jack yelled as he continued raining blows down on Tim, "Say it pig boy! Say ya want yer daddy's belly!"

Tim couldn't take it anymore. He was so frustrated, powerless and angry that he just wanted it to be over, so he caved. "Fine, fucker. I want your belly, happy? I want your damn disgusting belly!" It made him feel better for a moment, but as he said it, he felt the collar around his neck heat up, and a sharp jolt of electricity run up his neck and into his head. His vision blurred for a moment, and when it cleared, he had a horrible realization. He did want Jack's belly. Unable to resist, he shoved his face into it, and even started licking it, loving the way the hairs felt on his tongue and the dank flavor of stale sweat.

After a moment, he managed to pull himself away, but Jack was already grinning above him, and began taunting him, "Well, don't stop now, boy. It's ok that ya want it, in fact, ya need it, don't ya?"

"No. No, I don't!"

Jack hit him again, and Tim yelped, "Say it boy, or I'll really get rough with ya."

Tim knew that he couldn't let it anything slip out again, or he would lose even more ground. He redoubled his struggles to unpin himself, but Jack just shoved his face back into his fat, and Jack felt himself melt. He was also aware that his dick was hardening in his leather pants, and he hoped that Jack wouldn't notice.

"Lick it boy, taste it, like ya were before. It tastes good, don't it? So why'd ya stop?" Jack said, and Tim relented. He wanted it. He just couldn't stop himself and as he began licking again he realized that not only was his cock hard, it was also leaking precum. Even worse, he felt Jack reach around and start massaging it, which just made Tim moan and lick faster. Just as he was really starting to enjoy himself though, Jack pushed him away, and Tim felt like he had lost his favorite toy.

"Please. I want it."

"I know you want it. But do you need it?"

Tim was silent for a moment, and then, against everything he had ever been, he gave a small nod. However, this wasn't enough for Jack, who said quietly, "I need tah hear ya say it, boy."

Quietly, hoping that the collar wouldn't recognize it, he whispered, "I need...I need your belly." Again, the collar heated, another shock went through him, and his desires just built up even stronger. When Jack released his head, Tim didn't even try to stop himself. He just threw himself into the wall of fat in front of him, reveling in its softness, the forest of hair, the deep belly button. He was in love, he was obsessed, and he never wanted to be anywhere else. When Jack pushed him away again, he let out a whimper.

"Yeah, that's right boy. This is what ya've always wanted, isn't it? A daddy tah own ya--control ya. Yeah, ya think I'm a disgusting pig? Boy, ya ain't got no idea what's in store for ya."

"Please, let me lick your belly again. Please, it's so...I..." was all Tim could manage before he dove for it again, but Jack slapped him away.

"If ya want my belly, ya better ask nicely. Now, what do ya say?"

"Please, can I lick your belly...daddy?" Tim couldn't believe the word had actually come out of his mouth, but he'd do anything to be buried in that fat.

"Yeah, that's a good boy. Ya want tah be a good boy, don't ya?"

Tim nodded, but Jack slapped him again, and Tim realized what he wanted, "Yes daddy, I want to be a good boy." Another shock came, but Tim didn't really notice. He really did want to be a good boy, because good boys got to lick their daddy's bellies.

Jack laughed, knowing that he had won. Now, he could have some real fun.

"Well, good boys always want tah please their daddies, right?"

Tim nodded, "Yes daddy, I want to please you." Another jolt hit Tim.

"Well ya know what makes daddies really happy? Daddies love little boys who love their daddy's cock up their ass."

Again Tim nodded quickly, "Yeah daddy, I want your cock up my ass. Please, will you put your cock up my ass?" Another jolt. He couldn't stop thinking about how much he wanted his daddy to fuck him. It filled him up and pushed every other thought fron its path.

"Well sure boy, if ya want me tah, I guess I can."

Tim felt his heart leap with joy. Jack got off of him, and Tim quickly undid his pants and got on his hands and knees in front of him. The air was cold against his twitching asshole, but Jack came around in front of him first, his own pants unbuttoned, revealing a thick meaty cock with a thick PA pierced through the head that was partially covered by an overhanging foreskin. It was at least eight inches long, and not even fully hard. "Ya better get it good and lubed up, boy. Good and wet."

Tim immediately started licking the shaft up and down the entire length, trying to get as much spit as possible onto the surface. It was a challenge, because the entire tool tasted absolutely rank, but Tim knew that if he stopped, his daddy would be angry at him, and he couldn't imagine how horrible that would feel. So he licked anyway, even under the foreskin, which was thick with foul smelling cheese.

When he had coated it the best he could, Jack nodded, "Ready, boy? Ya still want yer daddy's giant cock crammed up yer asshole?"

"Yeah, I want it. Fuck me, please," was all Tim could pant. He couldn't bear having his ass empty any longer. Jack walked around behind him slowly, tantalizing his pig. Tim felt Jack put his hands on his ass, and that alone made him quiver with excitement. Then the head of his cock was pressing against his hole, and it hurt so much, because Tim had never been fucked before, but he wanted his daddy to fuck him so bad, he could barely control himself. He wanted to be a good boy and please his daddy. He moaned and cried as the beast pushed its way in, inch after inch, but his pain just seemed to turn Jack on even more, and he began shoving it in as fast Tim's ass could take it.

"Yeah, ya waltzed in here lookin' like a butch leatherman, but all ya really are is a slave. Ya never really wanted tah be a master, have ya? All you've ever really wanted was tah be a slave, isn't that right?"

"Yes!" Tim moaned between Jack's thrusts, "I'm a slave. I've always wanted to be a slave! Please, fuck me sir!" The jolt that came with that was even stronger, and made Tim black out for a few seconds. When he recovered, he remembered seeing Jack before the test and wanting him to dominate him so badly. When they got paired together he had never been happier. Why had he fought for so long? Jack slid his cock all the way out, and then slammed it all the way in, making Tim scream in pain, but he also loved it. He had never felt so full before. Where there had been absolute emptiness not moments before there was now throbbing life and power. His daddy had completed him and filled him up, and Tim knew he would spend the rest of his life trying to repay him.

"Yeah boy, but you're more than that. You're a fuckin' pig, is what you are. You ain't happy unless yer ass is stuffed with cock, and ya got another one down yer throat. You're a dirty, filthy pig, and ya love it."

"I'm a pig. Yeah daddy, I'm your pig," was all Tim could say, and after another jolt, he heard himself begin to snort and grunt in time with Jack's thrusts. It was so big, but he needed that cock, and started bucking as hard as he could, determined to get it as far up his chute as he could, and Tim could hear Jack wheezing and grunting behind him, getting close to blowing a massive load in his ass.

Lost in lust, Tim looked around at the other pairs in the room. It looked like Marcus had managed to come out on top, with the skinhead licking at his boot, his cock hard and leaking as he cleaned it. Tim fantasized for a moment about crawling over there, sticking his head up his kilt and sucking on Marcus's cock, but he wasn't sure his new daddy would like that. Across the room, He could see that Micah, the biker, had been stripped naked, bound tightly with some rope, and had a ball gag stuck in his mouth. The little man in the khaki's was pounding his ass with a paddle while he rained verbal abuse down on him, and as he watched, Micah blew a massive load all over the floor in front of him, and then collapsed on the ground, exhausted. Keith was gagged and tied to a cross, his cock jutting out in front of him while the stocky pipe bear blew smoke clouds around him, which Keith eagerly sucked up, well on his way to becoming a pipe pig. It dawned on Tim that he was a pig too, and he liked it. He was going to be a fatass redneck's pigboy, and he had never been happier in his life. He felt Jack bury his cock as deep as he could and spew his load deep into Tim's ass, and the very knowledge that his daddy had just marked him forever made Tim feel his own orgasm begin building, but it was cut off by Jack grabbing a hold of his balls and yanking on them, hard.

"Oh no little piggy. Ya ain't getting' off that easy. I'm not close tah bein' done with ya yet," Jack said, then pulled out his still leaking cock and came around in front of Tim, where he shoved his filthy dick into Tim's mouth. "Clean it all up piggy. Get a good taste of yer shit covered daddy's cock--you're going to be eating a lot of it from now on."

The taste disgusted Tim, but he sucked at it anyway, desperate to please his daddy. When he had cleaned as much as he could, he pulled his mouth out, and began to gag from the taste.

"Bad pig!" Jack yelled, and gave Tim a smack, "Ya take yer shit and ya swallow it, got it?"

Tim controlled himself, and then nodded, "Yes daddy, I'll eat it. Sorry daddy."

"Well, for that, I think ya need tah eat some more," Jack said, and pushed Tim onto his back, but Tim was afraid. He tried to scramble away, but Jack pinned him to the ground with his boot, mashing his balls against the floor and making Tim yell.

"Never, try to defy me boy!" he yelled, and pressed harder. Tim tried to push the boot off, but he couldn't, and the pain was growing worse with each passing moment. "Now repeat after me, boy! I love the taste of a man's shit!"

"I love the taste of a man's shit!" Tim yelled, and the taste in his mouth was suddenly delicious, and he found himself wanting more, and hating himself for it. What was he becoming?

"I eat my own shit, and my daddy's shit, every chance I get!" Jack yelled.

"I eat my shit and my daddy's every chance I get!" Tim repeated, and felt Jack's boot lift off his groin.

"One more pig. I can only cum with a big log of shit in my mouth," Jack said.

Tim paused for a moment, knowing that he shouldn't say it. Some shred of dignity still remained, but when he saw the boot start to come back down, he spouted out, "I can only cum if...if I have a big log of shit in my mouth."

"Now boy, tell me what ya want me tah do tah ya."

Tim said nothing for a moment, and then quietly said, "I want to eat your shit, sir."

"I didn't hear ya, pig."

"I want to eat your shit, sir." Tim said loudly, utterly humiliated, but hungry, "Please feed me your shit, daddy. Please."

With an evil grin, Jack pulled down his pants, went over and squatted down over Tim's face. His entire crack was crusty and brown, but that only turned Tim on more. He happily began lapping up and down, and shoved his tongue up Jack's hole as far as he could. After a moment, he felt a log begin to push back, and he carefully guided it into his mouth, swallowing it down as fast as he could. He realized about two spurts too late that he was cumming as he chewed it down, and continued to do so until the log disappeared down his throat. He licked up and down the crack, hoping for a bit more to eat, but had to stop when Jack got up and stood over him. Tim just laid there, savoring the taste in his mouth, looking up at his handsome daddy, happier than he had ever been in his life. His afterglow was interrupted suddenly by a final heating of the collar around his neck, and Tim grabbed at it in pain. He soon found that not only had the collar bonded to itself permanently, as though it were a single piece, he also couldn't even pull it away from his skin, as though it had fused with his very body. A moment later, Erikson's TA came up to him, attached a magnetic lead to the collar, and led him out of the exam room. Tim turned around, not wanting to leave his daddy, and saw Jack being congratulated by Erikson. He knew that could have been him, but that was no longer the life he wanted.

The TA led him in silence to a nearby laboratory, where a whole set of chairs had been lined up in rows, and quite a few of were already filled with the defeated. All of the new slaves were slack and relaxed, with strange visors covering all of their eyes, each of them connected to a computer terminal next to their seat. Tim was led to a chair next to Micah, whose face was coated with a massive load of cum, and whose cock was tenting out in his pants.

As he sat down, Tim vaguely remembered the man he had been less than an hour ago, and he could not believe how far he had fallen, and how happy he was to be there. He could still taste the load of shit Jack had dumped in his mouth, the load Tim had begged him for, and the load which had made him cum harder than he ever had. Was he really just a pig? Is that all he would be for the rest of his life?

The TA latched some restraints on Tim to keep him in the chair, and then placed a visor over his eyes. The last thing Tim clearly remembered was the man saying, "Initialize program 'Jack'," and then Tim was gone. A massive eruption of light exploded in front of his eyes, and he lost control of his body, and mind.  He could feel the light rewriting his brain, filling it up with all sorts of information about his new daddy, and what he expected from the perfect slave. After a few minutes, or maybe a few hours, Tim realized that he was not just learning what it meant to be Jack's perfect slave--he was becoming Jack's perfect slave. Eventually, he just fell into a stupor, fantasizing about crawling around his daddy's trailer, sucking his cock while he watched TV, licking his dirty pits, drinking his piss, and eating out his ass--all day, every day. Occasionally, as he dreamed of chewing down a log of his master's shit, his cock would explode in his pants, making his entire body shudder. He was Jack's filthy pig, and soon he couldn't comprehend being anything else. Sure, he still had his old memories of being a dominator, but they were somehow hollow, or less real, now that he had been remade.

When the visor was finally lifted from his eyes, there was fresh morning daylight streaming into the room, which meant he had been there all night. However, Tim had eyes only for the man a few paces away--his daddy. As soon as the restraints holding him to the chair were undone, he got out of the chair, but found he could no longer easily stand on his feet, and instead fell to his hands and knees, where he belonged. He crawled forward and nuzzled his daddy's cock through his dirty jeans, and took a deep whiff of his musk. "I love you daddy Jack," was all Tim could say, and looked up into his new owner's eyes with all of the affection in his being.

9

Joseph Taylor pulled into the parking lot of the Waldorf administrative building, the engine of his BMW purring quietly, just one of the many luxuries which he surrounded himself with at all times. He parked the car in his parking space, the one reserved for the president of the university, got out, and adjusted his tailored suit and tie in the reflection of the car window. He looked good, but then again, he always looked good. Sure, it was a struggle trying to maintain his figure while working in an administrative position but he was the youngest president in the history of Bortman College, and he certainly wasn't about to start behaving like an old man. He began each morning with a five mile jog and maintained a rigorous exercise regimen all to keep his six pack stomach firm and toned. He was, above all, a man who believed in efficiency. His body must be agile, his car must be well tuned, and his college must produce the brightest students with the least amount of resources expended upon them. It was a strategy which had worked great for him before--thanks to his intelligence and ingenuity, he had managed to start his own company which made him a millionaire by the age of twenty-five. Of course, this drive towards efficiency only made the reason for his visit that morning all the more irritating.

Every meeting Joseph had with the board of trustees was carefully scheduled, usually six months to a year in advance. However, he had received a call yesterday alerting him that the board was being called for an emergency meeting due to some disturbance on campus. Frank Longen, the dean of students, had not been very clear about what these disturbances were--merely that Joseph's presence was required, and he had refused to take no for an answer, despite Joseph's very busy schedule. Frustrated, Joseph managed to catch a flight and arrive just in time for the meeting, but he had not slept for a good eighteen hours, and whatever was going on had better be important, or there would most certainly be some pink slips being handed out in a week or so.

He pulled a comb from his jacket pocket and rearranged a few loose hairs back into place, and then headed along the sidewalk and up the steps into the building, where after two steps on the marble floor, his Italian leather shoes slipped out from under him, sending Joseph crashing to the ground. He lay there stunned for a moment, and then realized that his pants were damp, as was the entire floor. The culprit was across the room, a fat, middle aged janitor running a sopping mop over the tiles, totally oblivious to Joseph's plight. Using a nearby bench for support, Joseph got himself up, and when he felt sure on his feet, called across the room, "Hey! Janitor!"

The man stopped working, and then looked over at the man in a suit standing by the door, but said nothing, having not noticed Joseph's fall. The lack of an immediate apology just made Joseph even angrier, and he lashed out, finally happy to have something to vent his anger at. "I just slipped on this floor," Joseph seethed, "What have you got to say for yourself?"

The janitor just looked at him, and then shrugged, "Hey, sorry buddy, but I put up the sign," he pointed over at the little yellow "wet floor" marker, and then continued, "it ain't my fault you didn't see it."

Joseph just stared at the man, shocked at the callous response. "Do you even know who I am?"

"No," the janitor replied, "and I don't particularly care. I'm just doin' my job, buddy."

"I am not your buddy," Joseph said, as he stalked across the wet floor, barely maintaining his balance, "I am the president of this school, and maybe you should care about that a little more, because I'm pretty sure that means you aren't going to have a job tomorrow, if I have anything to do with it!" He looked down at the man's name tag, and then added, "So you can bet that as soon as I'm done with my meeting, there's going to be another one with campus services to discuss your insubordination, Nate."

The janitor's face turned red, and he shrunk even lower, making him look like an even more of a shrimp next to the six foot three president, "Oh, uh...sorry sir. I...I didn't realize--"

"No shit you didn't realize, you fucker!" Joseph screamed, "Now get the hell out of my sight!"

Without another word, the janitor scurried away down a side hallway, mop in tow, leaving Joseph alone in the lobby. Well, not entirely alone. There was another man sitting on a nearby bench who had just witnessed the entire scene, and did not look very happy. In fact, he was glaring at Joseph with eyes that looked like cold steel. He was a broad, muscular man who looked like he had been packed into a body a bit too small for all the mass he was carrying. However, what drew Joseph's attention was the obsidian bear claw pendant hanging around the man's neck and resting on his hairy chest. The pendant seemed to reflect no light, and as Joseph stared at it, he felt as though he might fall into its depths and never escape. He quickly looked away and headed up the staircase to the second floor, looking back only once to find the man still staring in his direction. Joseph just tried to ignore him, and headed down the hall to the boardroom, where he assumed the trustees were already waiting.

As he entered the room, all of the trustees who had been talking to one another in hushed whispers turned to look at him and were immediately silent. Joseph awkwardly sat down in the chair at the head of the table, but still, no one said anything at all. Joseph looked around but no one met his eyes, staring out the window or into their laps instead. Something wasn't right, that was for sure. After waiting for a moment to see if anyone would say anything, Joseph turned to Frank, who was seated next to him, and asked, "So, what is this 'disturbance' which requires my immediate attention?"

Still no one said anything. If anything, they just looked more sheepish, and Joseph had a sinking feeling that something wasn't just wrong, but that something was very wrong.

"Ok, come on. I don't have all day. Just spit it out."

Next to him, Frank cleared his throat for longer than he needed to, and then spoke, "Well, Joseph. To put it simply, the college has decided to move in a new direction, and we feel that this new direction requires a few changes which we feel should be implemented as soon as possible. In any time of transition of course, there are bound to be a few hiccups here and there, but our primary interest is that the college get through this period with the least amount of distress we can manage."

Joseph just stared at him for a moment, unable to believe that such a mountain of bullshit had just poured out of Frank's mouth. Joseph had specifically hired him because he was a no-nonsense, hard working character who never hesitated to call out what he saw. This obtuse speech didn't seem like it should even be coming from his mouth. "Look, cut the shit, Frank," Joseph said, "I am not in the mood, nor do I have the time to play games. Just tell me what the fuck is going on."

"What is going on, Mr. Taylor, is that you have been fired," a new voice said from behind them, and Joseph whirled around to find himself face to face with the man he had seen sitting on the bench in the lobby.

"And just who, exactly, are you?" Joseph asked.

The man didn't answer, he just nodded to, Frank who stuttered an introduction. "This is...is Tristan Newbeary, the new, uh, president of the college," Frank said.

Joseph looked from Tristan to Frank, and back again, and noticed the uncomfortable silence still hanging in the air, "Wait a second...is that what this is all about? You all want me gone, so you don't even have the common courtesy to tell me? I flew all the way out here just so you could tell me that you voted me out? Don't I get a chance to defend myself?"

"No, you don't. And you're sitting in my seat," Tristan stated, matter-of-factly, and pulled Joseph's chair away from the table, with Joseph still sitting in it. That pissed Joseph off even more, that someone would dare move him beyond his control. He was supposed to be the one that made people move, not the other way around. A curt retort began to form on his tongue, but he thought better of it. It wasn't worth it. The whole college president thing was really just a way to make his company look better, and it wasn't worth expending his energy on any more. "Well, fine then. I guess I'll just show myself out," he said, but Tristan said one last thing to him as he walked out the door.

"Don't worry Joe, there will always be a place for you at Bearman," he winked, "but it isn't in here," and then shut the boardroom door in his face. Joseph's first thought was that he had said the name of the college wrong, but he must not have heard him correctly. It didn't matter anyway--He just wanted to get out of there while he still had some shred of dignity remaining.

He started walking down the hall, but stopped after a few steps, realizing that something felt different, but he couldn't figure out what. He took a few more steps, and noticed that his footsteps were also echoing down the hallway differently than they had earlier. He looked down at his feet, and was shocked to find that where his expensive loafers had been, he was now wearing a pair of dirty work boots which looked like they had been worn for a few too many years. He blinked a few times, and then shook his head, but it wasn't an illusion. The boots had simply materialized on his feet, and Joseph had no recollection of how it had happened. One thing was for sure though--that he had no interest in being seen with them on his feet, so he hurried into the nearby men's room to get them off, so that he could then look for his actual shoes.

For lack of a better option, Joseph went into a stall and sat down on the toilet. He reached down and tried to untie the knot at the top of the boot, but found that he couldn't, as though the knot had been glued shut. Next, he tried to simply slide the boot off his foot, but it was tied too tight to allow for that. Growing ever more frustrated, Joseph reached into his pocket, looking for the pocket knife which he carried around with him everywhere so he could cut the laces off, but found nothing in his pocket. Terrified, he felt around all of his pockets and found that they had all been emptied without his knowledge. He didn't even have his wallet, or his car keys. He then noticed that his pants weren't even the same pants he had been wearing earlier. What had been luxuriant khakis woven from Egyptian cotton were now cheap, navy polyester pants. Unable to comprehend what had happened to his clothes, he got out of the stall and went to look in the bathroom mirror. There, he saw that his jacket and tie had disappeared just like his shoes, and that his shirt had been replaced with one made from the same material as the pants, though this one a light blue. As he watched, a small oval nametag appeared sewn onto the shirt's left breast with the name "Joe" on it, and that alone was enough to send Joseph into a panic. He tried unbutton the shirt, but couldn't, almost as though he didn't know how a button even worked, and the same with his new pants. He couldn't even get the zipper to move up and down. Next he tried to rip them off, but what should have been frail fabric seemed to be made from steel, and not even a seam popped, no matter how hard he pulled on it.

He was starting to hyperventilate, so he leaned on the counter and tried to calm down. There had to be some rational explanation for what was going on. Clothes did not just magically change shape, and things did not just disappear into thin air. There were hundreds of scientific reasons for why that shouldn't happen, and yet every time Joseph looked in the mirror, it seemed that that was exactly what had occurred. He tried pinching himself, but if this was a dream, he wasn't waking up from it. He took a moment to examine his new clothes a bit better, and felt like he recognized them from somewhere. After a moment of thought, he remembered that the janitor in the lobby had been wearing a uniform similar to the one he now had on. Of course, that still didn't explain what had happened to his clothes, but it seemed like an important piece of the puzzle.

Joseph was so focused on his reflection, that he didn't hear the bathroom door open, or notice the man approaching him until he saw him reflected in the mirror. He spun around, and found himself looking up at a massive man, even larger than Tristan. The man was dressed in the same uniform he was, with a nametag that said "Nate," but if this was the same man he had yelled at earlier, he had changed radically since then.

First of all, Nate was no longer short and fat. Rather, he had grown at least a foot and a half taller, so that he even towered over Joseph. His fat had also disappeared, replaced by a hulking frame packed with muscle, a chest as thick as a barrel and arms which had muscles bulging forth almost as large as his head. He looked a bit younger too, with hair short cropped brown hair and a neatly trimmed goatee on his chin. However, Joseph was suddenly mired in a feeling of déjà vu. His brain was telling him that the janitor hadn't changed at all since he had seen him earlier, but he also couldn't deny the memory of the old fat man he still had in his head. Soon the whole confusion began giving him a headache, and he just accepted that his memory must have been wrong. It wasn't like people's bodies could just transform over the course of a few minutes.

"There you are," Nate rumbled in a deep baritone, "I was wondering where you had run off to."

"What the fuck are you talking about?" Joseph said, "What's going on here?"

"Who do you think you are, talking to me like that, little buddy?" the man said, "After all, I'm your boss now. I just had a meeting with the new president, and he put me in charge of all janitorial training, and that means I have the pleasure of training you."

Joseph was starting to get a little freaked out, and he tried to run away from the man. However, he only got a few steps away before the man shouted, "Stop right there, Joe!" and Joseph froze in his tracks, unable to move an inch. He felt the man come up behind him, and start feeling him up, and Joseph suddenly realized that he was not only unable to control his body, but that for some reason he had to obey the orders of this faggot rubbing his hard dick against his back. That just made him struggle harder, but there was nothing he could do. Nate came around in front of him, and much to his surprise, began unbuttoning the front of his shirt like it was the easiest thing in the world. Joseph found that he had nothing on beneath his shirt, which gave him a perfect view of what had happened to his skin. The entire surface of his chest had been tattooed a light blue to match the color of his new uniform, but it was more than that. The whole tattoo was a meticulously crafted replica of the janitor's uniform, complete with buttons, seams, pockets and a little white name tag with the name "Joe" stitched on it. Nate then unbuttoned Joseph's pants as well, and pulled them down, revealing that his legs had been tattooed similarly, though in a navy color this time. In fact, the only place which wasn't tattooed was his cock. The tattoo had been designed to look like his cock was jutting out from the open fly of his uniform, making the entire image even more lewd and disgusting.

"See? You're a janitor now. It's imbedded in your very skin." Nate said, and buttoned Joseph's shirt and pants up again, "I'm the only one who can take these clothes off now, bud, but even when you're naked, you'll still be nothing more than a janitor. Although, you don't look much like a janitor now, do you? Maybe we can fix that."

Joseph realized that if he didn't get away from this madman, he had no idea what was going to happen. His mind began racing through any number of possible escape routes, but his body still wouldn't obey his commands to move. He couldn't even blink his eyes. Unable to do anything to stop him, Nate put his hand on the top of Joseph's head and began to apply downward pressure, and Joe realized that slowly but surely, he was shrinking. His eyes, frozen in their sockets, drifted down, past Nate's chin and pecs and the top of his stomach, until he was no higher than Nate's waist or so. When the man released him, Joe stumbled back, hit the counter, and spun around. He could no longer see most of his body in the mirror in front of him, he had shrunk so much, but he also saw that his uniform had shrunk with him. He still had his physique from before, but all of him looked like it had been miniaturized. Looking in mirror, he had to guess that he was only about five foot two, maybe five foot three now--meaning he had lost about a foot in height, but that was impossible, people couldn't shrink, he told himself, just like clothes couldn't disappear or tattoos couldn't appear on a person's body without them knowing it. He had to be dreaming--there was simply no other explanation.

"Yeah, I think that's a good height for you. Easier for me to keep you out of trouble, too, right little buddy? But I think you need a few more improvements, starting with your hair," Nate said, and grabbed a good chunk of Joseph's hair in his hand, and yanked on it. Joseph flinched, expecting him to pull it out of his scalp, but instead saw, and felt, his hair lengthen, even where Nate wasn't pulling, until it hung down past his shoulders. Next, Nate grabbed the sides of his face and pulled again, until two fuzzy mutton chops popped out of his cheeks, sticking out about three inches making his face look wider. Finally, he reached down the front of Joe's shirt, pulled on a few chest hairs, and Joseph felt a massive amount of fur sprout all over his body, even on his back. The sensation of it rubbing against his shirt was new, and for some reason, kind of erotic, not that he could think about sex at a time like this. He grabbed hold of his hair and pulled, but it was his real hair, the same with his new sideburns. The feel of all his new facial hair was especially strange, with the area around his mouth still smooth, and he caught himself enjoying the way he looked, but he pushed that thought away.

He looked like some midget Sasquatch, and it was more than he could even begin to take in. Joseph felt his body begin to shake all over, and began mumbling, almost like he was going to sob. The frustration, anger and fear which had been boiling up inside of him began spilling over, and with all of his mental will, he screamed at the top of his lungs, louder than he had ever heard anyone scream in his life, and swore that he heard something in reality itself crack. In that one moment, he found himself free of Nate's control, and sprinted from the restroom. He didn't even look back to see that Nate was on his knees, clutching his ears in pain.

Out in the hallway, Joseph looked both directions, and then ran back to the boardroom. All of the trustees had been his friends at one point, and when they saw what had happened to him, they would help him--they had to help him. It was strange running along at his new height, and it felt like it took forever just to get to the boardroom door. He glanced over his shoulder once to see if the janitor was following him, but he wasn't. He pushed open the door and crashed into the room, only to find that everyone in the room had been changed, just like him.

All of the trustees had grown some form of facial hair and copious amounts of body hair. Even their clothes had changed, their beautiful suits replaced by flannel, denim and leather in various combinations, but that wasn't even the shocking part. No one had even noticed Joseph push his way in, because all of them were far too interested in each other. They had all gotten together in groups of twos and threes, where they were sucking each other's cocks, fucking each other on the table, or simply making out roughly in a corner. All of these men, and a few women, had been happily married, and here they were--having sex openly at a board meeting. The one person who hadn't changed was Tristan, and Tristan was also the only person who had noticed Joseph's entrance. He was seated in the president's chair facing the door with Frank on his knees in front of him sucking his cock, who looked like he had never been happier in his life. Frank had grown a bit huskier, and was wearing a flannel shirt with the sleeves ripped off and a pair of jean cutoff shorts. Occasionally, he would take a break from sucking cock to take a long drag off the cigar he was holding in one of his hands, and then swallow the cock down to the hilt once again, with little tendrils of smoke drifting out from his nose.

Tristan looked at Joseph and sighed, "Goodness, you just don't know when to quit, do you?"

Joseph started to respond, but then he noticed that the bear claw amulet around Tristan's neck had begun to shimmer, and his eyes were drawn to it like it was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. He stumbled a few steps closer, and gravity shifted to the side so that he began falling into its pristine blackness--deeper and deeper into its very essence. As he fell, Joseph began to feel parts of his mind, or his soul, being sucked into the empty void, drained directly into the amulet only a few feet from his face. With horror, he realized that he was being drained of everything that he was, but by then he couldn't tear his eyes away, as the vortex increased and his brain emptied faster and faster. He lost his desire and taste for luxurious clothes, high rise apartments and fancy cars. He lost his ambition, drive to achieve and dominate, making him perfectly happy to serve others and obey their orders until the end of time. He lost his heterosexuality, replaced by an overwhelming desire to suck cock and get fucked up the ass. Last but not least, he felt his intelligence being drained away, which took the longest of all. It was almost like Tristan was working backwards through his life, erasing everything Joseph had learned in that time. As it happened, it became harder and harder to simply think, and string words together into sentences. Every time Joseph though he was finished, Tristan found something else, and took that too. Mentally, he began to cry, "Stop! Don't take any more, I have nothing left!" but Tristan didn't stop. Even when Joseph was sure there was nothing else he could take, three more things were lifted, the "s", "p" and "h" from his name, leaving him only with "Joe." he no longer even remembered being called Joseph. When the pendant finally returned to its normal black, Joe blinked a few times before mumbling, "Wha...What you do to me?"

He looked beside Tristan, where Frank had stood up and unzipped the fly of his shorts, revealing a massive ten inch cock. The very sight of it made Joe's mouth water, but he wasn't sure he was supposed to suck it, and looked from Frank to Tristan to see if they would let him. Eventually, Frank said, "Well, ain't ya gonna suck it, fucker?"

Joe didn't need to be asked twice, and he fell to his knees and inhaled the massive cock to its root, making Frank moan. Beside them, Tristan just laughed, and began jacking his own cock, still seated in his chair. Frank, having been so turned on by sucking Tristan's cock, didn't hold out for very long, and blew his own load down Joe's throat, but that didn't dissuade Joe at all. He just kept sucking until Frank's cock had gone soft in his mouth, and then he released it, licking his lips as he did.

Joe stood up and saw that Nate had come in at some point and witnessed most of the scene, and had his own dick out and was rubbing it slowly with his hand. He walked over, grabbed Joe by the arm and pulled him away, "God damn it Joe--you don't belong in here. Now come on."

"But didn't..." Joe started to say, but he didn't have the words to express what he wanted to and gave up, letting Nate drag him from the room. How could he begin to formulate the thought of what had happened to him? He remembered his previous life, but all of it seemed so unreal. Besides, Nate was so strong, it would have been pointless to resist anyway. It was easier just to follow, and let everyone else fill in what was supposed to be in his head. It was so empty--it needed to be filled with something, but he didn't know what. He looked up at Nate and asked, "Why my head so empty, Nate?"

"Because I haven't filled it up yet, buddy. Just be patient," Nate replied, and pulled Joe back into the restroom, still stroking his cock with one hand, "But before that, we need to do something else, because that whole scene got me all horny. How about you take care of this for me?"

Joe didn't need any coaxing. He got down on his knees again, and started sucking, and a moment later, he felt a large amount of pre-cum start flowing into mouth. Nate chuckled, "Drink it all down Joe, it'll help you fill out your figure." Joe wasn't sure what Nate meant by that, but he swallowed it down happily, loving the taste and texture as it rolled down his throat, and Joe heard his stomach gurgle as it filled to capacity. Having a cock to suck was turning Joe on big time, and he reached down to get his own dick out, but found he still couldn't work the fly, so he had to settle for massaging it through the polyester material of his pants. However, he soon found that his arm was running into something else. With both his hands, he felt his stomach, and where there had been his meticulously honed, rock hard abs, there was now a small, but noticeable gut.

He was so shocked, Joe almost let Nate's cock fall from his mouth, but Nate put a hand on the back of his head and shoved it back in. "Oh no you don't, little buddy. I'm not finished yet. Keep sucking." Joe wasn't one to disobey a direct order, so he continued, and noticed that the precum was flowing even faster, and that it was becoming harder and harder to keep up with all of it, some seeping out the corners of his mouth and dribbling down his chin. Joe kept exploring his body, and found that his gut was growing faster now, pulling his shirt tight across it, though for the most part, his clothes seemed to be expanding at the same pace as his body. Two man boobs replaced his toned pecs, and sagged down on top of his very full gut, and they eventually grew so large that they forced his arms away from his body, and couldn't hold them straight down at his sides. The rest of his body was gaining mass too, and he could feel a large amount of gunt absorbing inch after inch of his cock, until he could barely find the head within all of it. His ass filled out the back of his pants and pushed them down, revealing a healthy plumber's crack as his thighs grew and pushed together. His arms began to puff out, and even his hands became thicker, his fingers resembling little sausages. Still, though, Nate's flow of precum didn't stop, and he didn't seem anywhere near ready to cum, so Joe sucked harder and faster, with more and more pouring out of his mouth and down the front of his shirt.

Joe also realized that he was growing hungry--desperately hungry in fact. So hungry that the deluge of precum wasn't nearly enough to keep him satisfied. As his hunger grew, though, his growth began to slow, and eventually stop, and Nate began to moan loudly as he unloaded a final wave of jizz down Joe's thirsty throat. Again, Joe didn't stop sucking until the dick went soft in his mouth, when he finally licked his lips and pulled away.

Immediately, Joe stood up looked at himself in the mirror as best he could. At first, he couldn't really take in the sight--he was simply too massive. His face had certainly gotten pudgier and rounder along with the rest of him, and his massive sideburns only made him look wider. His lips and chin (well chins, actually, since he could count at least two extra folds of fat under his face) were coated with Nate's cum, and a good amount of his collar and chest hair was soaked as well. Unable to help himself, Joe wiped up as much as he could, even digging down in the creases of his massive second and third chins, shoveling as much of the cum as he could into his greedy mouth. When he had gotten up as much as he could, Joe felt around the rest of his fat as best he could, amazed at how much he simply couldn't reach, and said to Nate, "How...how you do that? Why am I fat?"

"What do you mean?" Nate replied, coming up behind Joe and massaging his fatty shoulders, "You've always been fat, little buddy. You love being fat. You eat massive meals all of the time at all-you-can-eat buffets, and it's a good thing you have a union wage, or else you would never be able to support your massive bulk."

As Nate talked, memories began to flood into Joe's empty head, filling it up slightly. He remembered some of his more recent meals, where he often ate far more than one might imagine he could, and he always walked away rubbing his belly contentedly, and the front of his pants soaked with precum, which constantly leaked while he ate. As he hefted his belly, Joe felt his cock grow even harder in his pants, and admired the way his chest hair tufted up around his collar. He was also amazed that his shirt and pants could still contain his massive bulk, though he could feel a light breeze on his hairy crack every time he bent over. He let out a big belch, and grinned up at Nate, hoping he would smile too.

"Yeah, that's better," Nate said, "You're much more docile now, aren't you? Being ambitious takes way too much energy--it's easier just to let yourself go," he started tweaking Joe's nipples from behind him, making him moan in pleasure. It felt as though they were connected directly to his cock, and every twist made his dick throb with lust. He reached under his hanging gut the best he could and started massaging it again, but just couldn't get a good grip on it. "Here, allow me," Nate said, turned Joe around, and with no real effort, lifted Joe, all of him, up onto the counter. The feeling of powerlessness in another man's arms was new for Joe, and he found himself liking it. He was also astounded that Nate could even lift him at all--obviously all of that new muscle was for more than just show. After a moment, Nate managed to pull down Joe's pants a bit and fish out his dick, which Nate began toying with, causing Joe to shiver in delight. With his other hand, Nate unbuttoned Joe's shirt, revealing his distended belly for Joe to play with. The tattoo of the uniform was still there, but it had enlarged as Joe grew and retained the proper scale for his new size, though it was hard to see all of the details under his thick pelt of fur. Joe's hands naturally gravitated towards his nipples, which he started twisting and pulling at, amazed at the pure eroticism of the act.

Nate just kept jacking Joe's cock, a bit faster now and pulling on it a bit more than necessary. Joe realized that his cock was actually getting longer as Nate tugged on it, and every pull made the nerves in it even more sensitive. Nate's other hand had fished out Joe's balls and were toying with those, pulling them away from his body and making them larger, until they fit comfortably in the palm of Nate's massive hand. Nate bent over and sucked the head into his mouth while he kept running his hand up and down the shaft, which made Joe gasp in pleasure, and he could feel his now massive balls churning, preparing for his orgasm. Joe heard himself gasping, "Oh...fuck, yeah. Don't stop! Don't stop!" and with a groan, he shot his load down Nate's throat, who managed to swallow every drop. The orgasm was like nothing Joe had ever felt with a woman, and he felt feelings for Nate begin to blossom forth in his chest.

"Aw yeah, bud. That was a nice hot load. You may be dumbass, but you're a sexy one," Nate said, and Joe grinned, happy with the compliment. He really liked Nate. He was really good to him, helping him out like this. He thought they made a nice team. No, he thought again, they made a good couple. New thoughts filled his brain, memories of living with Nate, of their wild sex and deep affection for one another. Nate didn't have to do this job. He also didn't have to take care of Joe like he did, but he loved him, and when Joe looked into Nate's eyes, still in the depths of his orgasm, he saw the adoration there, and that made Joe's heart feel like it was going to explode with joy. He was just so happy, he thought, as Nate bent down and gave him a deep, sensual kiss that left Joe breathing heavily, his mouth still tasting of Joe's cum.

After they had caught their breath, Nate helped Joe down off the counter, and the first thing Joe did was reach under his belly to feel his new cock. While it was only a modest nine inches, at least compared to Nate's foot long beast, it reached halfway down Joe's much shorter thigh. He also felt his massive bull balls swinging low beneath his gut, and was amazed to find that he could barely palm them in his hand. Nate got down and helped him button his shirt and pull on his pants, carefully stuffing Joe's now massive tool down one of his pant legs, where it bulged out, not to mention his balls, which distended the crotch of his pants obscenely, not that they could be seen easily under the overhang of his massive gut. As Nate tucked his shirt in, Joe realized that this uniform was who he was now--completely inseparable from his very identity, and he couldn't even imagine himself wearing anything else. His tattooed body no longer scared him, but filled him with pride that he had a job, and that he could do it well. Well, not really all that well. It would have been impossible without Nate's help. He owed Nate the world. "I love you, Nate," was all Joe could say, as he felt a tear run down his cheek, the sight of which made Nate smile warmly at him.

"Hey, I love you too, Joe. I always will. Now, there's just one more thing to take care of," Nate said, pushed Joe down on his knees in front of him, and pulled out his cock, "You look like a janitor, and you think like a janitor, but I don't think you quite smell like one yet," he added, as he unleashed a torrent of yellow piss all over Joe's face and hair. At first Joe was disgusted, but when some got into his mouth by accident, he found that it tasted delicious, and he began drinking down as much as he could. However, Nate kept moving the stream, soaking every inch of Joe. Eventually the stream slowed to a trickle, and Joe sucked the last few drops off the tip of Nate's dick, and licked his lips, "Damn, Nate! That was hot."

"Damn right it was," Nate replied, "and go take a look at yourself now." He helped Joe get up off his knees, and showed him his image in the mirror. For some reason, the piss Nate had covered him with seemed to dry extraordinarily fast, so by the time Joe got in front of the mirror, his clothes had gone from being soaked to a bit damp. However, Joe was mostly focused on his face and hair. His hairline had receded, leaving him with only a horseshoe of long hair which was mostly gray. It was also very tangled and matted, like no one had combed it in ages. His mutton chops had grown quite a bit thicker and changed color to a dark gray, and some wrinkles had appeared on his brow and around his eyes, making him look forty, if not fifty or sixty years old. His clothes were filthy, the shirt reeking with the odor of sweat, and the crotch of his pants stiff with cum and piss stains. He couldn't see it, but his ass crack was stained brown from those times when he hadn't gotten to the toilet fast enough, since he couldn't take off his clothes without Nate's help. He took a little whiff of his armpits, and the stench made his cringe, it was so strong. "Fuck...I just...nasty." Joe asked, and Nate chuckled and got down behind him.

"I think it makes you even sexier, buddy," Nate said, and took a deep smell of Joe's pit stench, "And I know for a fact that you think it's damn hot too. Man, just getting a good whiff of your funk is getting my cock all hard again," Nate said, and pulled Joe into one of the bathroom stalls, where he pulled down his own pants and sat down on the seat, his hard cock jutting out from his thick pubic bush. Joe got down to start sucking at it, but Nate just shook his head, pulled down Joe's pants, turned him around, and lifted him up and onto his lap. Joe felt Nate's hard cock rubbing against his exposed ass, and moaned. "Yeah, you want my hard cock shoved up your shit chute?" Nate asked, and Joe nodded. With a bit of maneuvering, Nate managed to get his cock positioned at the entrance to Joe's ass, and lowered the fat man onto it, making him cry in pain at its girth. "Shush," Nate whispered in Joe's ear, "Just relax. You've taken my cock before--you know what to do. Just let it all go."

Joe took a deep breath and relaxed his ass, allowing Nate's thick mushroom head to slide the rest of the way in, making Joe moan. Inch by inch, the shaft slid in too, Joe's ass hungrily accepting all of it, until he was again sitting snuggly against Nate's bush. Nate hugged Joe to him tightly, both of them relishing the period of closeness between them. "Yeah, that's a nice ass, little buddy," Nate said, "Drives you crazy, doesn't it? Having my hard cock up there?"

All Joe could do was nod quickly, as he tried to deal with the waves of new sensations overcoming him. It was too much, so Joe just went with it. Unconsciously, he began rocking back and forth, like he had done countless times before, delighting in the feeling of his lover's cock rubbing up against his prostate.

"Yeah, that's right. Your ass gets my cock so hard, I could just spend days up there. Why don't you take a good long whiff of your pits? You like that stink, don't you, Joe?"

Joe sniffed at his pits again, and the smell which had disgusted him before was suddenly sexy and enticing. His own cock was hard again, despite the fact that he had just cum a few minutes ago, and he leaned back against Nate's muscular chest so that he could better maneuver his cock, and started jacking it as fast as he could with one hand, unable to reach all the way around it, while he licked out his nasty pit sweat.. As his cock hardened, he found that the head peeked up over the top of his gut, it was so large.

"Yeah, that's right bud, jack that old cock of yours and take a good look at yourself. You're nothing but a short, fat, smelly, dumbshit janitor now, and that's all you'll ever be ever again. Can you even remember when you walked in here in that fancy suit, and that asshole attitude? Nah, I bet you don't. You can't remember being anything other than a janitor. You've worked here ever since you were in high school, because you were too stupid to do any good in class. But you've always been happy here, haven't you? You know there will always be a place for you here at Bearman, and that place is in my lap with my big cock shoved up your shitty ass, isn't that right?"

"Aw fuck yeah, Nate. I love you. I love you so much. Fuck my fat ass!" Joe yelled, almost wild with lust. He felt Nate grab him by his love handles and started lifting him up and down on his cock. The thought that this massive muscle man was literally picking him up and fucking him was too much for Joe, and he let loose another load all over the front of his shirt and the bottom of his bare chin. After another few thrusts, Nate shot his own load deep into Joe's ass and let Joe collapse on him, holding him tightly in his arms, loving the feeling of his fat, old, janitor sitting in his lap.

After a few moments, Joe started squirming a bit because he was uncomfortable, and Nate let him get off, his cock sliding out with an audible pop. Nate saw that his cock was caked brown with Joe's shit, but he zipped it up into his pants anyway, knowing that it would be a good treat for Joe to suck off a bit later, after he cleaned out his dirty ass, that is. Meanwhile, Joe was trying to pull his pants up, but couldn't get them up around his massive genitals, so Nate helped him like he had been doing for years, and zipped him up tight. Joe looked at him a bit sheepishly and said, "Thanks, Nate."

"You're welcome, little buddy," he replied, and gave him a kiss on the cheek, making Joe blush, "Now, how about we actually get some work done today?" he added, chuckling a bit.

On most days, they'd get some cleaning done, but mostly they just spent their time having sex in the bathrooms on campus, but that was fine with both of them. Sometimes, guys would even come and join in on the fun, or use Joe as a urinal, which always made him blow a huge load in his pants.

Suddenly, Joe heard his stomach gurgle, and he let out a massive fart, feeling a load of cum and shit spray out his hole and into the seat of his pants. He looked up at Nate, blushing, and said, "I...I think I shit my pants, Nate."

"Oh, you dirty fucker," Nate said with a laugh, "You like filling your pants with a load of shit, don't you?"

Joe just nodded, thought for a moment, and added. "I think...I think I gotta piss too," Joe said, and thought about it a bit more, "Yeah, I'm gonna piss."

Nate just grinned, and Joe could see his pants tenting out in front of him. "Yeah, and what do you want me to do about that, buddy?"

"Please Nate? I can't get pants off and I gotta go bad," Joe said, but then it was too late. His dick let out a spray of piss, soaking one leg of his pants and puddling around his feet in the stall. Realizing that he had wet himself, Joe felt humiliated, embarrassed, and turned on all at the same time.

"That's quite a mess you've made, Joe, and I think you're going to have to be the one to clean it up."

Joe nodded solemly, got down on his hands and knees, and started lapping his piss up, feeling his shirt start to soak up some of it where his gut brushed against the floor. His dick was painfully hard again, and when he looked up, he saw Nate still seated on the toilet over him, jacking his cock. Listening to them from the doorway, unnoticed by both men, Tristan chuckled. Sometimes, it was just too easy.

"Come on, you sexy beast," he heard Frank call from the stairwell, "The bar's already been open an hour, and you know how I get if I don't have my morning beers."

Tristan thought about calling him back and joining in on Nate and Joe's fun, but thought against it. It would be better for them to get to know each other a bit better first. He headed towards the top of the stairs, where Frank growled at him and gave him a slap on the ass. Certainly the trustee meeting had gone better than Tristan had expected--in fact, the whole conversion of the campus had gone quite smoothly indeed. Perhaps too easily.

Frank followed down the stairs and out to his open top jeep, parked in his reserved space as usual, but he couldn't shake the unease collecting in his bones. Magic always had to balance itself, every black created a white, every noise a place of silence. Tristan knew that there was nothing he could do about it but wait. He climbed in, and Frank hopped in next to him, and gave him a big kiss, before they headed off to the bar.

Noticing the frown on his lover's face, Frank asked, "Hey, what's the deal man? It's a beautiful day, and everything is turning out fantastic! Was my blow job that bad?"

"No, nothing like that," Tristan replied, but felt a smile creep over his face, unbidden. Tristan may not know what storm was brewing, but he could at the very least enjoy this brave new world of his until it came.

10

It had been a very lonely two days for Matt. He had slept only a few hours each night, and had awoken at the slightest sound, ever vigilant against the corruption which had spread across campus over the past few days. He had already barricaded the door with most of the furniture in the room, but he knew that they would stop at nothing to get at him, or anyone else left unchanged. They wanted everyone, but he wasn't about to give them the satisfaction of making it easy. However, the room wasn't getting any larger, and he was starving. He had a bit of candy left over from a care package his mother had sent the week before, but other than that, nothing. Of course, fasting was part of a pure Christian lifestyle, but his stomach didn't find that argument very compelling. At some point, he would have to leave. He was lucky enough to have a single in one of the dorms with an adjacent bathroom that only he had access to. He had easy access to water, but he was getting desperate.

He tried to focus on the bible in front of him, but nothing could distract him from his stomach for long. The other thing he kept glancing at was his cell phone perched on the windowsill next to the bed, waiting for a message from anyone who might still be "normal." There had been quite a few of them to start with, but one by one, they had all tried to leave their rooms in search of some safe haven, but Matt hadn't heard from any of them again. The last of his friends, a fellow Christian named John, had slipped from his room about an hour ago, and had promised to text Matt if he found somewhere safe. He had also promised to check in every fifteen minutes, and it had been almost thirty since his last message, and Matt was about ready to give up hope, when the phone buzzed and chimed. Matt lashed out for the phone, and read the message from John which had just appeared on his phone.

"Found safe haven at the chapel. Come quick. Don't let yourself be tempted. They are everywhere."

Matt gulped down the anxiety which had suddenly manifested in his throat, and thought over his options. He was close to the chapel--all he would have to do was get out of the dorm, walk down a short path, and he would be at the door to the sanctuary. However, thinking about it and doing it were two entirely different things, especially with all of the corrupted wandering around out there.

Matt felt a little silly calling them that, but he didn't really have a better word for it. He had thought it was just people passing through the campus, but soon, he noticed that some of them were living on his floor. Where there had been perfectly normal boys and girls, now there were only fat, rough and dirty men who were constantly having sex--with each other no less! The very idea of it disgusted him in the vilest way. Not only was it unnatural, they were sinners before God, and doomed to hell, and most likely beyond redemption. Like it or not, they were corrupted, and they were the enemy, and he wasn't about to join their ranks if he could help it. His only option then, was to get to the chapel. If he could make it there, maybe there were others who had escaped. Together, they might even be able to take back the school! It was a long shot, but it was the only hope left for him.

He texted a reply back to John, telling him that he would try and get there, if he could, and then gathered up everything around his room which might be helpful, which wasn't much, and began to move the furniture away from the door. Before he left, he took a look around, wishing he had a weapon of some kind, but didn't see anything which might be very useful. Besides, it's not like he would be able to hold anyone off for long, if they decided to come after him. Matt had always been a bit of a shrimp, and while he was thin, he had never been muscular. He stood a better chance of using stealth to escape than anything else. With a final text to John, telling him he was leaving, Matt opened the door, checked to make sure the hallway was empty, and slipped away. He checked back over his shoulder every few steps, keeping an eye out for anyone who might be behind him in the hallway, and he got to the stairs without incident. Coming up, though, was the difficult part. The stairs came out directly in the common room, and Matt doubted that he would find that empty too. Still, there was no other way out--so he took a deep breath, and headed down as quickly as he could.

The best thing to do, he figured, was to simply get through the room as fast as possible. He hit the base of stairs, made it two or three steps into the room, and was suddenly absorbed by the most delightful odor he had ever smelled. He looked around the room quickly, and found the source in a nearby corner, where a table of men were getting ready to play a game of cards, laughing uproariously. Most of them were wearing dirty and shabby clothing, and one had a hardhat next to him, as though they had just gotten off a construction site. But what really drew Matt's attention, was the smoke wafting over from the cigar one of the men was smoking. He looked over, saw Matt staring, and winked at him, sending a little thrill through Matt's body, focusing on his groin. "Hey man," the guy said, "You wanna play with us?"

He shouldn't, Matt knew that, but there was something just so enticing about the whole scene, and that smoke--he didn't want to stop smelling it. He cautiously made his way over to the table, and asked, "What...what are you playing?"

"Strip poker," one of the others said, and motioned to an empty seat, "Go on, have a sit down. The more the merrier, I always say,"

"Yeah, you would say that, Butch," the third player said, "Hell, just last night, I heard you had five other guys in your room."

"Liar!" Butch shot back, "I had seven, which is way more than you'd ever be able to get."

They were crude, but Matt found himself intrigued, and took a seat. He wondered what exactly he thought he was doing, but even he wasn't quite sure. It just felt like the right thing to do. He knew that he should get away from these sinners, and get to the chapel, but they didn't seem all that threatening. If anything, they seemed nicer than most of his other friends, or at least more fun to be around. "Well, do you mind if I watch?"

"If you're at the table, you gotta play," the cigar smoker replied, sitting down in the chair across from Matt, which creaked under his weight. He had a massive gut which pushed up against the table, and a set of wide suspenders barely keeping it under control. "My name's Tom by the way. This is Butch," he said, pointing to the short stocky bear to Matt's right. He was very muscular, but not in any 'toned' sense. Muscles bulged out in odd places due to uneven exercise, and he had massive hands, so that the cards nearly disappeared when he picked them up from the table. "And he's Leon," Tom added, motioning to the man to Matt's left. He was tall, though no less massive, and looked older than the other two, with a silvery beard and balding head. He nodded to Matt, and took another swig from the can of beer in his hand.

"I'm...Matt. But I don't really think I should play. Isn't gambling against the rules on campus?"

The other three exchanged a glance, and then broke out in laughter, making Matt's face turn red. "Really? Come on Matt, where do you think you are? Prude University? Man, what's next? No drinking?" Leon said, "Speaking of which," he added, "Here, have a brew. It'll make you feel better."

"Thanks," Matt said, "But I don't drink."

Leon rolled his eyes, and shoved the can into his hand anyway, "Well, at least give it a try. Who knows, you might like it."

Matt gave him a suspicious look, but decided one sip couldn't hurt, and figured it might make his very empty stomach feel a bit better. He popped open the can, and took a sip. It was bitter, but not all that bad. When he had managed to swallow it down, he took another drink, and relented. "Alright, it isn't that bad."

"Great," Tom said, puffing on his cigar as he shuffled the card, "Now how about we get to the game? Everyone, ante up."

"Wait," Matt said, "I still don't know how to play."

"It's easy," Butch said, as he took off a dirty work boot and set it down in the middle of the table.

"Yeah," Leon added, "If an idiot like Butch can figure out, I'm sure you can,"

"Oh shut the fuck up, Leon. You're just jealous because I get more cock than you do."

"You wish, asslicker."

"Guys," Tom interjected, "Give it a rest, alright? Man..." he sighed, and then dealt five cards to each person, including Matt, "The game is five card draw. All you have to do is get the highest hand, and you win the pot of clothes. You can discard any number of cards once, and get the same amount from the deck."

"Which cards should I discard?" Matt asked, and all of the guys rolled their eyes.

"Man, you are a newbie, aren't you?" Leon said, "Just try to get pairs and triples of cards, or runs if you can manage that. It's better if your straights are all the same suit. Now let's play--you'll figure it out as we go, but you still need to ante up."

Matt still didn't really know what was going on, so he took off one of his shoes and put it on the table, like Butch had. Leon threw down his hat, and Tom added a boot as well. Matt looked at his cards, but he still wasn't sure what he was trying to do exactly. He kept a pair of aces, figuring those were good, and gave Tom the three other cards. When he got three cards back, he found another ace, and then everyone turned over their hand. "I got three aces," Matt said, "Is that good?"

The other three just stared at him, and then Butch said, "God damn beginner's luck," he mumbled, and then shoved the center pile over to him.

Matt still didn't know what he was doing, but winning gave him a thrill the same thrill he'd felt when he'd first smelled the smoke in the room.

"Man, you were bullshitting us, weren't you? You know how to play poker," Tom said, and Matt laughed.

"Nope, this is my first time, but come on. Let's keep playing," he said, and took another swig of the beer in front of him, and threw Butch's boot into the center of the table.

"Hey, you can't bet that," Leon said, "You have to bet something of yours."

"Who says?"

"Hey, house rules," Leon said, "Take 'em or leave 'em."

Matt grumbled a bit, put his shoe back into the pot, and waited while everyone else added something else, Leon pulling off his sweaty tank top revealing a hairy and muscular chest, Tom adding his suspenders, and Butch adding his other shoe to the pot. To everyone's surprise, especially Matt's, he won again, with a full house no less. The other guys grumbled as he collected another pot, and asked, "What exactly am I supposed to do with all of this stuff, if I can't bet it?"

"Well," Leon said, "If the guy who owns it wants it back, he has to do something for you," and grinned over at Tom, who was busy lighting a second cigar, "Yesterday, for example, Tom had to lick out my ass so he could get his favorite shirt back."

"Yeah, and it was nasty too. He didn't wipe for a good three days just so he could get one over on me. But don't worry Leon, I got something all planned for you."

"Bring it on fucker," Leon replied, "Let's play."

Matt knew that he should be disgusted, but he was feeling kind of giddy, though he wasn't sure if it was from the beer, the second hand cigar smoke, or his unexplained success at poker. To his surprise, he won the next round as well, picking up a few more boots and a pair of dirty socks. However, that was the last win of his for quite a while, as he plunged into a massive losing streak. One by one, he lost his socks, his jacket and his shirt, all without winning anything back. Of course, everyone else was getting pretty naked as well. None of them had shirts on anymore, revealing their hairy and sweaty chests, and Tom had been forced to bet his jeans. Butch was doing worst of all, having just bet his boxers, and was sitting next to Matt, stroking his short, thick cock, with a metal cock ring secured around the base. Matt was already on his second beer and feeling a bit woozy, mostly due to the fact that he hadn't eaten in several days. More than once he found himself watching Butch jack off, realizing his own cock was growing stiff in his briefs. He shook the thought away, focusing on the round at hand. He bet and lost his pants, leaving him sitting in the chair wearing nothing more than his briefs. "So, what happens when I don't have any more clothes?" he asked.

"You have a whole pile of clothes next to you," Leon replied.

"But you told me I couldn't bet those."

He sighed, "Man Matt, you don't catch on very quick, do you? Look, if you lose all of your clothes, then what you have to do is put on all of the clothes you've won so far and make a new outfit. It's not that complicated."

"But Butch is naked, and he hasn't done that yet," Matt said.

"Hey," Butch said, "I still have a few tricks up my sleeve, just you wait."

Matt looked at what he had won so far: a hat, a sweaty tank top, two boots and two socks. It wasn't much, but it was something. He stripped out of his briefs, and threw them onto the table, eliciting a few chuckles and grrs from the guys at the table. Tom laughed, and threw his own dirty jockstrap on the table as well. Leon added his ripped and torn jean shorts, and then they looked at Butch, who none of them thought had any clothes left, but Butch just grinned. He stood up, reached around to his ass, pulled out a filthy butt plug, and threw that on the table as well.

"God damn!" Matt said, "What the fuck is that?"

"Damn Butch, you fuckin' pig," Leon added, but Butch just laughed.

"Hey, I was wearin' it, so it's fair game, right?"

Tom sighed, and dealt out a new hand, which Matt was actually hoping not to win. He had a pair, which he threw back to Tom, but when he got the two cards back, he found that he had accidentally given himself a flush, making him the winner of the round. He kept his own underwear in the center, as his next bet, and pushed everything into his pile, trying not to touch the still shitty butt plug. Much to his disappointment, he lost the next round to Butch, who had bet his cockring, leaving Matt with nothing to wear other than the clothes on the table.

"Well mate," Butch said, "Looks like it's time to put on your winnings."

Matt gulped, not really happy with the thought of wearing the dirty clothes in front of him. He downed the rest of his third beer, and started with Tom's dirty jockstrap. The other three were all watching him intently, as though waiting for something great to happen as he slid the damp fabric up his legs, where they fit loosely around his waist. As soon as he had them in place, his package began swelling in size as his cock doubled in length to ten inches, and his ballsack grew to the size of an orange. The pouch now bulged out obscenely, but Matt hadn't noticed any change at all. He scratched his balls, unhappy with the damp, itchy fabric, and picked up Butch's stained tank top next.

The men around him were all giving each other knowing looks, and Matt asked, "What's up guys? You went quiet all of a sudden."

"Don't you worry about it," Tom said, "Just keep on getting dressed, Matt."

Matt didn't understand what was going on, but he did as Tom suggested and pulled on the shirt, which was far too large for him. As he examined the other clothes in the pile, he noticed that he felt really heavy all of the sudden, and was having kind of a hard time standing up. He blamed it on the alcohol, but it had less to do with the fact that he was drunk and more to do with the muscles filling in his upper body. It started with his chest and belly, his pecs growing hard and firm, and his abs becoming more defined as they pushed out into a bit of a belly due to a healthy layer of fat behind them. Next, his neck and shoulders inflated, packing his frame as tightly as they could, tendons growing thicker to better manage Matt's new shape. His adam's apple also grew and dropped, turning his voice from a mid range tenor to a deep bass like the men now surrounding him, now licking their lips and massaging their cocks in their chairs, all of them enjoying the show. Lastly, Matt's arms bulged out and grew taut with heavy muscle, his hands growing as well, so large that one of them could easily reach around his now massive tool. Lastly, a swath of thick, black hair began growing across his chest and down his arms, which Matt lazily scratched at, still unaware of his transformation.

However, he was now so top heavy, it was difficult to keep his balance, so Leon got up and helped him stay upright while Butch got him into Leon's jean shorts. Again, as soon as they were buttoned and zipped, the lower half of Matt's muscles began to expand, bulging out against the worn denim. His legs lengthened as well, so that the shorts barely covered half of his massive thighs. His calves grew more defined as well, and after Matt slipped on Tom's socks and Butch's boots, his feet grew to fill the size fifteen shoes. The hair spread down there too, nearly thick enough to obscure his skin. The suspenders went on next, and were accompanied by a substantial amount of fat, causing his muscular pecs to sag a bit and his abs to round out into a firm muscle gut, which Matt started rubbing contentedly. Leon added his own hat onto the top of Matt's head, and his face shifted slightly, becoming more rugged and worn. A substantial beard grew in all around his face, and his hair shrank into his head, looking like it had been run over quickly with a clipper and nothing else. Matt burped, and said in a new, deeper voice, "There. You guys happy now? I'm dressed."

The others just chuckled, and Butch pointed to the one object remaining on the table, "Nope, you still have one thing left to put on."

Matt saw the dirty butt plug, and shook his head, "Oh no fucking way am I putting that thing up my ass. Can't I at least wash it off first?"

Butch picked the dildo up, and Matt started to back away, but Leon and Tom each grabbed one of his arms, and pulled him back over to the table, bending him over and pinning him down.

"Well, well, well, Leon," Butch said, "I didn't know you had a hole in your pants back here. That'll make this really easy." In an effort to avoid the incoming shaft, Matt started moving his ass around, but Butch held him still, and shoved the head in quickly. He expected it to hurt, but it was almost like his body had been expecting it, and wanted it. It slid in, and his asshole closed down around the end, trapping it in, not that Matt minded. It felt really good up there, and he felt his dick begin to harden in his pants. The others let go of him, and Matt stood up straight, and gasped. The head of the plug had rubbed against something in his ass, and it had felt really good, he bent over again, enjoying the sensation, oblivious to the fact that Leon, Tom and Butch were chuckling, while then rubbed their own cocks.

"You alright there, man?" Tom asked.

Matt moaned, and reached around, pushing the dildo in a bit farther, "Fuck...I just. God, it feels so good..."

Tom pushed his hand away, grabbed the end, and started thrusting it in and out of Matt's ass, while he just gripped the table, focusing only on the feeling of the hard rubber massaging his prostate.

Leon had his own dick out of his dirty boxers, and was quickly massaging it to full staff. When it was perfectly stiff, he shoved Tom out of the way, and pulled the dildo out, dropping it on the floor, "Fuck that little thing. Let me give you something to really moan about," he said, and shoved his cock deep into Matt. Again, his ass just accepted it, as though it was perfectly used to taking shafts as thick as a beer can. Matt began pushing back, meeting Leon's thrusts, stars exploding all around his vision. How had he managed to never feel this before? In his head, he knew it was sin, that he would never be able to reclaim his soul if he gave it up for this worldly pleasure, but was he really so far from heaven now? Could God have created something this pleasurable, only to deny it to his creatures?

Tom came around in front of him, took the half smoked cigar from his mouth and stuck it in  Matt's gaping maw, "Here, suck on this. It'll make it even better." Matt took a deep inhale, and the aroma which had first attracted him to the table was suddenly inside of him, heightening every sense and nerve in his body. Smoke poured from his nostrils, and Tom took the cigar back, took a deep inhale, locked lips with Matt and blew the smoke deep into his lungs. The smoky kiss hung between them for what felt like ages, driving Matt wilder and wilder with lust. He didn't even notice as Butch crawled underneath him, unzipped his fly, and start sucking on his massive cock.

None of them noticed that their sex games had also begun attracting the attentions of every bear passing through the building. Some of them hung around them in a large circle, jacking their cocks or playing with others they knew, or didn't know. A few joined in on the fun, a young cub coming over and playing with Matt's nipples, while another came up and shoved his own cock up Leon's ass, sandwiching him in the middle until he finally shot a massive load up Matt's ass. In turn, when Matt felt the cum flood his ass, and leak out around the base of Leon's cock, he sent his own sperm down Butch's hungry maw.

One load didn't stop anyone in the room, though.

When Leon pulled out, the bear fucking him pushing him up against the table to continue his own work, and Matt started making out with the cub tweaking his nipples. He was shorter than Matt, and for some reason that made Matt feel strong--forceful--dominant. He grabbed the back of the cub's head and pushed his tongue deep into the boy's mouth, feeling the cub melt against him. In turn, the cub turned Matt around until his back was to the table, then pushed him back until he sat down on it, the wood creaking from the added weight, but holding. Satisfied, the cub started sucking on Matt's already recovered member, "Yeah boy, suck your daddy's cock. Fuck yeah..." Matt moaned.

The cub, with a twinkle in his eye, got a big mouthful of Matt's precum, then kissed him, depositing the load into Matt's mouth, which only drove him wilder. "You want to be my daddy, eh?" The cub said, "Well, I need a daddy who can fuck me, and fuck me hard. You up to that?"

"Don't just stand there talkin' about it," Matt growled, "Climb on and I'll show you what kind of daddy I am!"

With strength he didn't even know he had, Matt turned the cub around, picked him up, and slid his cock up the boy's ass, making him gasp. When the entire shaft was planted up there, he hugged the boy close, "How about that? Is that 'daddy' enough for you?"

"Fuck yeah daddy, fuck me with that massive cock!" The cub cried, and began bouncing up and down on Matt's cock.

Meanwhile, Matt reached around with one of his big hands and started jacking the cub's cock, already slick with precum. He brought his hand back and licked it clean, "Sweet as honey, cub, sweet as honey. Now, how about I give you a taste of mine?" With that, Matt grabbed the cub around the waist, stood up from the table with a roar, and began fucking the cub in the air, the boy's feet hanging a good foot off the ground. The show of strength surprised even the cub, whose own cock shot its load after only a couple thrusts all over the floor in front of him. Matt lasted a few more before blowing his own load and collapsing back against the table, which finally broke under the strain, sending both of them crashing to the floor. Not even this gave Matt or the cub pause, who slid off his daddy's dick and began kissing Matt sensually for a moment, before sliding a business card into Matt's hand. "That was hot daddy, real fuckin' hot. Look me up later, got it?"

Matt could only nod weakly as the cub got up from the wreckage of the table and wandered off, Matt's cum leaking profusely out of his ass onto the floor. Matt stood up himself, a little bruised from the fall, but still hornier than he had ever been in his life. But he was hungry for something else as well: a post sex cigar. He didn't have any on him, unfortunately, so he started looking around for Tom, hoping he would have one to spare, but didn't see him anywhere. He thought he might have some in his room, so he gathered up his clothes (after stripping out of everyone else's) and headed up the stairs before anyone else caught his eye in the growing orgy.

He threw his clothes on the bed, and realized that nothing in the pile looked like something he would ever be caught wearing. He picked up the shirt, stuck his hand in the sleeve, and found that he couldn't even fit his arm in it past his elbow. He couldn't figure out what was wrong, so he tried putting his pants on next, but had just as much difficulty. He could barely fit his foot down one leg, not to mention his calf. The only thing which Matt could imagine having happened was that his clothes had shrunk somehow--he still hadn't realized the change which had occurred to him over the past hour. He grabbed up the shirt, and walked over to the mirror, where he held it up in front of his new hairy muscular body, and tried to figure out what in the hell was going on.

There was no way the button up shirt he was holding could have fit him only an hour before. Everything that he was seeing was telling him that, but if he hadn't been wearing this shirt, then what had he been wearing? As if to answer his question, the fabric in his hands began to writhe in his hand, the fine cotton becoming what had probably once been a plain white, T-shirt. White probably wasn't the best way to describe it now, considering the number of stains on it. It's sleeves had been cut off crudely, and large cuts had been made through the armpit down half the shirt. Matt looked at the new piece of clothing in his hand and hesitatingly tried it on, and it fit right. Through the larger armholes he could see wide swaths of the side of his belly when he lifted up his arms, but he thought it looked sexy. Of course, that didn't change the fact that he had just watched his clothing change form right in front of his eyes.

He turned around and looked at his other clothes on the bed, or what had once been his clothes, or which were now his clothes. The khakis had changed into some overalls, and the tennis shoes he had picked up from the table were now some leather work boots with some dirty wool socks stuck in them. Even though he knew that they weren't the clothes which had been there before, they seemed so much more natural--more right--like they were what he was supposed to be wearing. Almost in a daze, he pulled on the overalls, hooking up one of the buttons, but leaving the other undone, like he usually wore them, and then looked at himself in the mirror, letting out a low growl of approval. In the mirror, he saw the room shift and change behind him like his clothes had, his set of bibles becoming a collection of bear magazines and porn DVD's, which he would watch with some of the cute cubs he brought home with him on the small TV that appeared in place of his prayer altar. His bed grew to a queen sized one, reinforced of course, covered with a set of dirty, cum stained sheets that he hadn't changed or washed in ages, but that was alright. The smell of cum helped him sleep, especially when he had the cock of a hot bear buried up his ass at the same time. However, most important was the humidor which appeared on the bedside table. Matt quickly opened it up, took out a cigar, lit it, and inhaled deeply. He could still hear the orgy below him, and that, combined with the cigar, was making him horny all over again.

He reached around through the hole he had cut in his overalls and started fingering his ass. Yeah, he could use a good fucking again, he thought, and rummaged around in his "fun" bucket for his favorite dildo, a nine inch shaft of pitch black rubber. He lubed it up with some of his spit and started working it into his ass, moaning all the while. He laid down on his bed, one hand working the dildo in and out, the other working his massive cock to another roaring orgasm.

Why was he so horny all of a sudden, he wondered as he slid the dildo up to the hilt and stood up again. He had never been like this before. Matt paused for a moment, thinking hard. What had be been like before? He hadn't been this muscular, hairy man, dressed in overalls and fucking himself with dildos. He had been a righteous Christian trying to escape from this nightmare of a campus, and now, he realized, he was stuck right in the middle of it. He had been corrupted. He had fallen, and he had no idea whether he would ever be able to climb out of the pit he had fallen into, but if he was going to have a chance, he was going to have to get to the chapel, and get there fast.

First things first though, he needed to clear his head. He pulled the dildo out of his ass, and threw it in the trash can in his room. He checked his closet, but didn't see anything better to wear than what he had on, so he put on his shoes, and left his room. He didn't get two steps away before Tom came out of nowhere, pushed him against the wall and gave him a smoky kiss, which Matt broke away from, hacking the smoke out of his lungs.

"What the hell man?" Tom said, "I heard you in there, fucking yourself. I know you want it." He tried to get close to Matt again, who took a step away, trying to sort out his feelings as fast as he could.

Matt did want it. He wanted it bad. He wanted to apologize, and then kiss Tom for hours, make him choke on his fat dick and then take his fist up his ass while his whole room filled up with cigar smoke and any number of other things, but he had to resist the temptation. "No Tom, I...I can't right now. There's somewhere I gotta be."

Tom took another puff on his cigar, and looked away, obviously hurt, "Oh, sure man. Whatever," shrugged his shoulders and walked away down the hall.

Matt felt awful, watching Tom walk away like that, but he forced himself to turn around, walk down the stairs, and out of the building. He joined the rest of the students on the path, if you could even call them that, having no trouble fitting in now. It took all of his mental effort not to stare down every guy he passed, but the only person he really wanted right now was Tom. He pushed that thought away, just barely stopping himself from running back to the dorm and up to Tom's room (which he was intimately familiar with in his memory, for some reason) and making love to him then and there.

As he got closer to the chapel, the urge got stronger and stronger, almost like something didn't want him going there. He couldn't let himself be tempted away though. That had already happened once, and look at what had happened to him then. He forged ahead on the path, stopping only when he found the entire place swarming with campus security, the doors to the sanctuary laid open. He was too late. All was already lost.

He went over to a nearby bench and sat down, unable to believe what had happened. They had to have escaped--there was no way that they had gotten caught. They were smarter than that. John was smarter than that, smarter than him. Still, the fact that they weren't there meant that there was still hope. Maybe he could find them, and they would be able to fix him--change him back. Maybe they could still reclaim the school. He had to find them.

Looking down, he realized he still had the massive cigar he had lit in his room clasped in his massive hand. He took another drag and part of him stirred wildly, the part of him which wanted him to go back to Tom's room and fall back into a haze of satisfied smoke, beer, and sex, but he couldn't now that he had reclaimed some small bit of his sanity. He needed to get away--away from campus. He dropped the butt of the cigar to the ground. There must be normal people somewhere, and he would find them. The whole world couldn't have been changed like this, there must be others who remembered what had happened. He would save them, he would save all of them.

He walked to the edge of campus, but there, he was stricken with an severe sense of unease. It was not that something outside of him was preventing him from leaving, but rather a fear and anxiety coming from within of what might lie beyond the safety of campus. It overwhelmed him with nostalgia, and he couldn't help missing his cigars, his messy room, but more than anything, he wanted to be with Tom. He knew it was wrong, but perhaps it was he who had been wrong. Perhaps it was the things "out there" that he ought to be afraid of. Here he was safe and happy, satisfied with who he was. No longer willing to risk it, he turned around and half walked, half ran back to the safety of his dorm. He knew that he was turning his back on his true friends, but he could not deny the sense of peace overwhelming him. He was happy here, like this, though he had been loath to admit it. Perhaps he had been meant to be corrupted. Perhaps this is what God wanted, and had not turned his back on him after all.

0

by Wesley Bracken

Our story so far...(a.k.a Big Bears on Campus...go read it if you haven't!) Over three days towards the beginning of the fall semester, something strange happened at Bortman University. It started small, the occasional student or professor growing beefier and hairier inexplicably, but what started with a few quickly became an epidemic. Any who caught on to these happenings were soon targeted, and in most cases, succumbed to the mysterious changes sweeping across the campus despite their attempts to escape. New majors were now offered, devoted to gay sex, porn production, bear history and a wide variety of blue collar jobs. By the end of it, there wasn't a single person left on campus unchanged, although some still recalled their previous lives, and these few began resisting, forming a small movement against the school's new president, a strange man named Tristan Newbeary.

He was believed by many to be the cause of all of these changes, though no one had any idea why he would want to do so. Some believed he was a wizard, others thought they were being tested on by the military, and a few questioned whether he might not be human at all, but rather an alien or a being from another dimension. However, Tristan had his sights set on something far larger than the campus around him. He had established his foothold, but his designs were much grander. It was the city he wanted, so it was the city he would have...however, his power was drained, and he would need to find some way to replenish it before his plan could be brought to fruition.

We rejoin the story one cold day several weeks later in the very early morning. Tristan has left his office unexpectedly and wandered alone into the woods on campus. Those who work with him have noticed he has seemed very restless as of late, a fact which worried many, particularly his lover, Frank, the academic dean of the university. He refuses tell them what is wrong, but even they can sense that not everything is going according to plan. He trekked deep into the woods, deeper than they possibly could have extended. The veil was thin here, the boundary between his own world which he had abandoned and this new one he sought to conquer, however, it seemed that it had been foolish to try and accomplish this task alone. He had believed that the elders' amulet, the obsidian stong claw hanging around his neck, would give him the power to achieve his aims, but it was not enough, and it's range weakened considerably a short distance away from campus. He needed more to complete his conquest, and he hoped this gambit would not be the beginning of his downfall.

He stopped, unsure whether the summoning magic would be strong enough to reach through the veil to the other side, however, he knew that while it would be very easy to cross back, once there, he would not have the energy to return. Still, he would try, and concentrating on the image of his target, he uttered a short incantation:

"A debt is owed for a life saved,

Maxwell Longfang,

answer the call of your debtor,

Tristran Newbeary."

A strange wind blew through the trees, shaking the boughs above, bearing strange smells of woods long forgotten in worlds such as this one. The veil shimmered for a moment, and Tristan watched as a large, humanoid bear came through. A very large, hulking bear, standing at least two feet taller than the already large Tristan, his black fur bristling with rage and fire raging in his eyes. It had been so long since Tristan had seen one of his own kind, he could not help but feel slightly nostalgic. And the fact that it was Max standing before him only made the feeling...stronger.

"You fucker!" Max snarled, "You call in this favor now? Have you no honor?"

Max was Tristan's cousin, but more importantly, he was an alphaborn, although he did not like being reminded of that fact. Alphas were natural leaders and dominators, generally taking positions as generals and elders within the clan, but Max was born with an unusually soft heart. He did not wish to use his innate powers to create a harem of thralls or lead armies, because he believed that controlling others was a violation of their own minds. Instead, he had rejected his status, opting for a life of solitude and effective exile in a cave a good distance away from the rest of the clan, generally meditating alone, working to control the raging beast inside of him, and nothing more. As such, he was seen as an embarrassment, and the clan tried to forget that he even existed. Tristan was the only person who visited him regularly, and it was only that connection which stayed Max's hand from delivering the slap Tristan deserved for his meddling.

"Regardless of honor, I have called in your favor, Max. You may either refuse and renounce your life, or hear my request and fulfill it to the best of your abilities. Those are the conditions of your binding."

"As I well know..." Max replied, uttering a gruff sigh, then smelling the wind, "So this is...Earth, they call it? It is strange. And is that the form of a human? They are frail looking."

"They are stranger than I thought, believe me, and unbelievably...resilient when they choose to be," Tristan replied, "And for the record I would have rather not called on you but I require aid, and since the clan has rejected me, my hand is forced."

"Rejected you? They did not reject you, you stole the elders' amulet! Do you grasp the amount of chaos that action has brought about? I mean, I do not receive much word from the village, but even this news did not escape my ears."

"I believe that it was a risk that was worth taking, to accomplish what I believe will give us all greater happiness."

"What, subjugating an entire foreign world? Do you understand how ludicrous that notion is? Return home and end this foolishness. The other clans sense weakness and chaos and are preparing to attack. No one understands, Tristan. No one, not even Elder Father, and he is so angry that his roars have shaken even the walls of my cave. Please, end this nonsense while things can still be salvaged. I do not want to see any harm come to you, our clan, or these people."

"This is our chance at freedom, Max. Freedom from the elders and their endless clan wars which do nothing for anyone. Here, we can have absolute power. We can be kings, and they our subjects, worshiping us. Does that not appeal to you? Ah, but you have long denied your own status, so I suppose you would rather refrain," Tristan added.

Max let out a low growl, "Don't you dare mock me, cub. I have made my choices, and you seek to judge me by them? Make your request so that I may be done with you, and return to my solitude. It has been so long since I saw another face. I admit that, back home, I looked forward to seeing you each day, and since you left it has been...difficult to control," Max said, looking away from Tristan's eyes. "But what choice do I have? I accept your demands, and I will fulfill one task which you set before me, to the best I am able."

"Well then, here," Tristan said, extending a silver chain necklace with a long, ivory fang dangling from it, "A charm of my own devising. It shall give you an adequate disguise for your work, I believe, though I can do nothing to hide your alpha status. It's a pity really. You have so much potential, yet you refuse to wield it."

"It is my own life, cousin," Max said, taking the charm from Tristan's hand and slipping it around his neck. His bear form slowly shifted, becoming a large, heavy set man. Unsurprisingly, he looked like a hermit and smelled almost as bad, his hair and beard long and uncombed, though his eyes, while still furious, were bloodshot and exhausted. Max rarely slept, fearing the dreams that came during the night, dreams of descending upon the rest of the clan and raping every bear he came in contact with. And always, Tristan was there by his side, cheering him on, pushing him, urging him onto greater heights of pleasure and domination, and always at the end, Tristan would service him, above all the others, and just as Max would be about to cum, he would wake to a throbbing member which it would take hours, and sometimes days, to calm. He only allowed himself release once per day, more as a formality than anything else, so that he didn't repeat the mistake he made in the past, when he first took his oath, and when Tristan saved his life.

Pushing those thoughts away, he took a moment to feel the strange flesh beneath his hands, already missing his claws and fur. As if to mock him, the cock hanging there was larger than his actual one. "Is this your idea of a joke?" he asked, looking down at the foot long monster, with two equally gargantuan balls hanging beneath it.

"A joke? No. Why would I insult your dignity like that? If anything, it suits you, I...think," Tristan said, coming closer, "I...missed you, you know, these weeks." He said, mostly to himself, but when he realized he was about to reach for Max's cock, he stopped himself. "Come, I will explain everything to you soon, but first, we need you to look presentable." He waited to see if Max had any response, but the larger man did nothing, so Tristan led the way out from the woods, neither of them speaking to one another. It took several hours for Max bathe, have his hair and beard trimmed, and find clothes that fit on his very large frame, but finally, Tristan opened a portal and the two of them stepped through, into a large shop at the local mall.

"Now, for your task. I ahve established a strong foothold in this world, but I find my...well, extending my reach has been difficult. I need my influence to spread further out into the city, before my actions draw any attention from the authorities of this world, making things more complicated. I have managed to stake out this outpost beyond the campus, where the veil is thin and our world has seeped through somewhat already. This was a workwear store which I purchased and have had...restocked with a new, and wider selection of items." Tristan and Max walked around the front of the store, which was stocked with a large variety of clothing, most of it some kind of denim or flannel. "Out front, I keep all of the tame products, while back here is where we keep the fun stuff." Tristan guided him to the back, were a doorway was covered by a beaded curtain, which they ducked behind. There, leather dominated the shop. The floor was dominated by a wide selection of bondage gear and dungeon equipment to one side, and another corner was devoted to various tobacco products. "Also, there's a small office in the back in case you need something with some privacy for...any reason," Tristan added.

"Alright. but what exactly do you need me to do?" Max asked, trying not to think of all the things he could do with the multitude of objects back there. All the things he wanted to do with them.

"There are three men who will pass by the shop today. I want you to corrupt those three men for me, using anything you would like to use in this store."

"Three? I am only bound to complete one task for you, not three."

Ah, but their skeins runs together quite tightly, and to corrupt one, you would inevitably need to corrupt the other two as a matter of course. I do want to add, however, that there are two rules." Tristan said, "Rule number one. Here at the bear boutique, the customer's satisfaction is guaranteed. No one may leave if they have a complaint about your services. Second, if these three men pull anyone else into the store, then you must...satisfy them, as well."

"Fine. I understand, but how will I recognize these three?"

"They will pass in front of your store at 1:28 this afternoon, in approximately twenty minutes. In the meantime, I will go...open their minds a bit, allowing them to notice the store, and you. Otherwise, everyone else will just see an empty store front, unless they should step inside. Lure them in, and change them as you will. Your task must be finished before this day is done. I may come in from time to time, to check on your progress as well, but I'm sure you'll do a fine job. You alphas always do."

Max glared at his cousin, who smirked before opening a portal and stepping through, leaving Max alone in the store. He had twenty minutes, so he might as well look around and see what he had at his disposal. He took a couple steps into the back of the store, close enough to get a good look at some of the sex toys. He blushed, and returned to the front instead. Perhaps he'd just stay up here--it would be safer that way. Ten minutes later, after perusing his new wares, he was leaning against the store entry, watching the crowds of humanity pass before him. Such poor souls, he thought, unaware of what Tristan had planned for them. His anger began to simmer again. He had dedicated his whole life to preserving the freedom of others, and in turn, his own freedom from his dark heart, but now, he felt as though Tristan was turning him away from it, slowly but surely. There was something else going on here..Tristan's plans were never as simple as they appeared, but he had no choice. He could only hope that Trisna would not pull him to deeply into his tangled plot. The seconds passed slowly as Max watched and waited, already full of regret, and wishing for this day to end quickly.

1

Chapter 1

James, Luke, and Kyle walked out of the movie theatre, unable to make eye contact, still disturbed by what they had seen. They had been friends since college, but they didn't see each other as often now, but they made an effort to always see a movie together on the weekends. It was in some ways strange that the three of them wound up as friends. When they had found out that they had been assigned a triple in the dorms at Bortman University, each of them had spent the summer dreading the idea, but they got along famously all four years, despite having almost nothing in common with one another.

James had always been more into football than school and majored in English, figuring that it would be an easy choice. Despite being good on the football field, he'd never really had a chance at going pro, and now was stuck at a low-paying office job that he absolutely hated. Back in school he'd always been in great shape, but in the years since his physique had gone to pot mostly, with a modest gut and some extra flab everywhere else. Of course, he was still handsome, with the same wavy blond hair and blue eyes that had always driven women wild, but he hadn't dated anyone in years, ever since he'd had to move back home and live with his father, Dan, because he couldn't make enough to live on his own. His dad had no sympathy for him, and expected him to earn his keep, so in addition to paying most of his paycheck in rent and food, he basically waited on his father, doing the cooking and cleaning while Dan sat in his recliner watching TV, ordering his son around whenever he felt like it. Luke had offered to let James move in with him any number of times, but James had always refused, mostly out of pride.

Luke was the nerd of the group, or at least, he had been. Always the skinnier one, he'd been one of the first students at college to hop on the hipster trend, and after graduating, had scored a job working for one of the trendiest online magazines in the nation, or at least, he'd managed to get a job as a blogger, keeping people updated on the local scene. Where James didn't pay much attention to how he looked, for Luke, image was everything. He'd spend an hour each morning coordinating his outfit before heading out on the town, searching for the Next Big Thing. He knew that if he was the one to find it, he might get a position on the actual writing staff, and finally move out of the smelly studio apartment he was currently living in, alone. James and Kyle had never questioned why Luke didn't have a girlfriend, or why they'd never even seen him take a girl home at all. To them, Luke was just Luke, and if it was quirky, they just passed it off as who he was.

Kyle was the success story of the three of them. He'd majored in business and gotten a job at a high profile real estate company right after graduating. With his good looks and charm, he rarely failed to make a sale, and the company had rewarded him with a large salary and high profile clients looking for million dollar listings. This success had gone to his head, a fact which irritated James and Luke, but he didn't care. Of course, just because he had money didn't mean he had any sense of taste. In fact, he was usually dressed in the tackiest suits and always was wearing an obnoxious amount of jewelry. Luke hated his outfits almost as much as he had grown to detest Kyle's personality. That someone with so much means could look so...disgusting--there was no excuse for it. James and Kyle had always gotten along famously though, and no matter how much Luke wanted to hate him, he usually could never feel that way when he was with him. Kyle just managed to make everyone he met feel special. He did have two very bad habits. The first was his sticky fingers. He'd been arrested for shoplifting more times than he could count. The second was gambling. Of course, he had the money to burn, and man did he burn it, often blowing thousands of dollars a week at the poker table. He knew he should learn some self-control, but life was just too much fun at the moment to try.

They had caught an early matinee on Saturday afternoon at the mall which was very busy, but each was lost in his own thoughts about what they had just witnessed in the theatre. Finally, Luke broke the silence, "Was that last scene...weird? Or was it just me?"

"No, that was fucked up," Kyle said.

"No shit," James added, "I mean, who would have thought those two would..."

Silence reigned again, as each thought about the movie they had just seen. It had been billed as the usual tough guy action movie, about two rough cops taking down a crime gang in the big city, and sure, it had delivered on its promise, with plenty of explosions and shooting and all that jazz. But then...

"I mean...have you ever seen two guys kiss like that?" James finished.

The other two just shook their heads side to side, unable to get the image out of their head. The two cops had just taken out the mobsters, and the they were standing in the middle an abandoned warehouse. But as the ending music soared, they suddenly embraced, and in front of the entire audience began to kiss, first gently, and then more and more passionately as they began to strip off each other's clothes, their sweaty bodies all over each other, and just as one was about to go down on the other, the screen went to black, and the credits rolled. Even stranger, no one else in the theatre had seemed to notice it, or if they had, they had nothing to say about it. None of the reviews they'd read had even hinted about the hot and heavy scene at the end, which would probably have dissuaded the three from it. Not that they were homophobic or anything, but..."did they have to...I don't know, show so much of it?" Kyle mused.

As they walked down the mall, a man standing outside a shop called to them, "Hey, you three! How about taking a look around my new store?"

"Oh, uh...I think we're all good," James said, and looked up at the name, "Bear Boutique." In the window there were a few mannequins dressed in a wide variety of menswear, ranging from flannel and denim to expensive looking suits. All of the models looked a bit bulkier than usual though, which seemed strange to him. Then he took a better look at the man standing outside, and it made a bit more sense.

The guy was huge--probably seven feet tall, if not a bit taller, and packed with muscle, straining the fabric of the dress shirt he was wearing, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, displaying the large amount of hair carpeting his forearms. The top couple buttons of his shirt were undone, hair tufting out there as well, climbing up his neck all the way to his face, where very full but well trimmed beard grew high up on his cheeks. Despite the the wrinkles on his face and the mans very tired eyes, he seemed quite young, or at least full of energy, as he strode over towards the three of them.

"Here, just take a quick look around. We're having our grand opening sale this week, and there are some great deals in there," The man said, "I'm the manager, by the way. The name's Max," extending his hand and shaking each of the friends in turn. His massive hand engulfed all of theirs, and his grip was firm enough to make even James' hand hurt a bit.

"Come on, let's take a look," Luke said. Of all of them, he was the most intrigued. Who knows? Maybe the Next Big Thing was in there waiting for him.

I promised my dad I'd be home by two to make lunch though," James said, pointing to a clock which showed it was nearly 1:30.

Kyle chuckled, "That fat bastard can wait. Come on, let's just take a quick look."

All three of them headed into the store, followed up by Max. Luke immediately began checking out the racks of clothing, chuckling occasionally as he did. Kyle, meanwhile, was drawn to a small jewelry display set up by the register. It wasn't anything special, he knew, just some silver rings, most of them engraved with Celtic knots or other abstract designs, but one of the necklaces caught his eye. It was a silver bear claw with a small crystal set in the middle, that twinkled in the dim lights of the shop.

James, still checking his watch, wandered around a bit, before examining a display of cosmetics, soaps and colognes on one wall. "Still living with the parents, eh?" Max asked.

James jumped a bit, unsure of how the large man had moved so quickly or quietly behind him. "Well, my dad, at least. My mom ran off years ago."

"That must be frustrating."

"Ha, you have no idea," James said, "He's a fucking slob, and doesn't even work. He makes me do all the housework, and I still have to pay him rent, or he'll kick me out. If I bring a girl home, he'll usually hit on them, or just gross them out entirely." He felt his face starting to get red, and felt a bit embarrassed, "Sorry, I...I don't usually gush like that to strangers."

"Oh, I get it a lot," Max said, slipping one hand around James' shoulders and leading him over to a display case along the wall, "Something about me just makes people open up I guess. Maybe I can find you something to spice your life up a bit?"

"I guess. What do you have in mind...sir?" James said, surprised at the formality. It just felt...right to call the larger man that. Something about the way he carried himself, and about the way he...smelled. James tried to shake that thought away. He wasn't gay, why would he care what a guy smelled like?

"Well, I have some things that might interest you over here," Max said, and led James over to a counter where a number of bath products were on display. "We have this very nice line of body sprays for men. I guarantee that they will help on the relationship side of things at least, and maybe the family side as well. You never know. Maybe they'll just shuffle everything up a bit for the better."

"Thanks, but my dad hates scented stuff."

"Well look, how about I give you this three pack," the salesman said, grabbing a small package from behind the counter, "These are some of our most popular scents, and I'll give them to you for free. That way, if you don't like them, you aren't out anything, but I'm sure you'll both enjoy them."

"I don't know..."

"Look, it can't hurt. Just consider it on the house. A grand opening special, if you will."

James still didn't really want the pack, but Max forced them into his hands anyway, "Now, I'm sure you'll need to get on your way, since you wouldn't want to be late."

"Yeah, I need to get going, or he'll beat my ass into next week," James said, and blushed, realizing how whipped he sounded. He waved goodbye to Luke, but didn't see Kyle anywhere in the shop. Figuring he'd taken a look around and left already, James headed out, his free samples in hand, while Max wandered over towards Luke, who was still looking through the racks of clothes.

"Hey, where'd the other one go?" Max asked.

"Oh, Kyle?" Luke said without glancing up, "He probably stole something and took off, like he always does, the fucking thief."

Max just raised an eyebrow, "Really?"

"Yeah, the guy takes stuff all the time. Stole all sorts of things in college. He probably took some of your jewelry that he was looking at over there. He'd be interested in tacky shit like that."

"Well, you sure do know how to compliment a business," Max said, mostly to himself, "Oh well, if he did take something, thieves always lose the things they cherish most, in the end. Now, is there something I can help you find?"

"Well, I gotta say, this stuff is all great, just great," Luke said, "So vintage. And the price? I mean, how ironic can you get?"

"Excuse me?" Max said.

Luke looked at the guy and sighed, "Oh, don't worry about it. It's hip man, just go with it. The 'blue collar' look is totally going to be in this season, and trust me, this is going to be a great place to come and get it. I can't wait to tumble this when I get home. Hell, I'll tweet a hint right now, just to get people interested," Luke pulled out his phone and started typing away, while Max just stared. He didn't understand these creatures at all.

"Well, is there anything you'd like to try on? I'd be happy to measure you and find some things than might fit, though...we tend to stock for slightly...larger men. Still, I'm sure we can find something for you."

Luke didn't really have time, but pictures always made a post better. Hell, if they were funny enough, he might even have a chance at going viral. He shrugged, and followed Max over to a corner by the dressing rooms, where there was a three way mirror. Luke stood while Max got a fabric tape and began taking his measurements, occasionally scowling a bit. Luke wasn't just thin, he was a fucking rail. Max knew he had his work cut out for him as he finished marking down some numbers and sighed, "Well, it might be a bit roomy, but I might have some things for a...petite guy like you. Just give me a second and I'll see what I can find," he said, and started going around the room, searching through the racks of clothes for something that might work.

Luke was a bit offended by the notion that he might be too skinny. After all, skinny was hot right now. He had his slim cut T-shirt on, and skin tight jeans he'd taken in himself just to get the fit right. In the mirror he admired his image. Checking from a few angles to make sure everything was still coordinated correctly. After making sure everything was in place, Luke took another look around the store. From the front, he'd expected it to be quite small, but it looked like there was another area separated off by a beaded curtain. He started over to see what was back there, but before he could, Max called out, "Sir! I have some things for you to try on, if you still want to."

Luke retreated and saw that Max had a small stack of clothes in his hands. "Now, I have a few more places to look around, but go ahead and start with these. The fitting rooms are over there," he added, pointing towards a couple of gated cubicles built into the wall by the clothing racks on the other side of the store.

"Just out of curiosity, what's in the back there?" Luke asked, and Max smirked.

"Oh, the back area? Well, we also carry some specialty items, but...uh...probably nothing that would interest you," Max said, blushing a bit, "Go ahead and try these on to get you started, and I'll see what else I can find for you."

Luke took the gear and headed over to the dressing room. He was surprised by how large the room was. It was almost the size of a small bathroom, with a bench in one corner and a large mirror hanging on one wall. It could have easily fit two guys of Max's size in there, though perhaps not comfortably. He took a look at the clothes Max had picked out for him, and couldn't help but chuckle. Ironic didn't even start to describe it. In the stack there was a shirt with a smiling bear giving a thumbs up on the front, a pair of denim shorts, work boots and some rough wool socks, all things Luke wouldn't normally have been caught dead wearing. But just for laughs, he stripped down to his briefs, pulled the clothes and boots on, and looked at himself in the mirror.

It was hilarious, and he got his phone out of his jeans and snapped a couple of joke pics of himself for later, making a few silly dumb looking faces as he did, and then headed out into the store area again to see what else Max had found. He found him waiting for Luke at the mirror again, tape in hand, "Good. Now, I need to double-check a few measurements, if you don't mind. I just want to make sure I got everything right," he said.

As he walked over to the large man, Luke' heart fluttered a bit, a sensation that only got worse as Max began measuring him again. There was something about being so close to another man that was getting him kind of excited. No, not just another man. Something about being close to Max. There was something about him, some...scent. It exuded command and dominance, but also an air of sensuality, which was making Luke really horny. Hoping for a bit of fun, he "accidentally" bumped his crotch into Max's hand, who snapped it back like it had bitten him, his face flushing.

"Hey, uh...sorry about that," Luke said. Was it just him, or was his voice suddenly lower? "I didn't mean to startle you."

"Don't...Don't worry about it," Max said, "I'm just...well, never mind. I just didn't expect you to be going...uh, commando under there."

Luke was confused. He was certain that he'd left his briefs on in the dressing room, but now that Max mentioned it, he could feel the rough denim brushing against the head of his cock. His...hard cock. "Oh, uh...sorry about that. I usually wear briefs..."

"Well, it...uh...felt to me like you might need something with a bit more support," Max said. "And I guess I did get some of my measures wrong, so I'll go find some better sizes for you, not that you look bad...I mean..." Max quickly turned away and started picking out more clothes as quickly as he could. It was so hard just keeping a lid on it now that he was forced to interact with someone other than Tristan, especially after not seeing for weeks prior. For some reason, when his cousin came to the cave, Max just felt remarkably calmer, and he had misjudged how alone he really was without that one point of contact. Now, the beast in him was raging, but he had a task to finish. He'd just have to get Luke changed and out of here as quickly as possible, and everything would be alright.

"Hey, uh...just a quick question. Do you...wear cologne, or something?" Luke asked from across the room, "Because...something you're wearing smells...really good."

Max just stared at Luke for a moment, his face turning red, and then he quickly resumed looking for more clothes without saying a word. Luke shrugged and headed back to the dressing room to change back into his old clothes, but when he stepped in, there was nothing there. Figuring he'd gone into the wrong stall, he checked the other one, but still, there was nothing. "Where in the hell did my clothes go?" he wondered aloud, but that thought worried him less than he'd thought it would, but something still seemed off. Did he usually have that much stubble on his face? And he looked a bit bigger, or stockier maybe was a better word. He was still analyzing his reflection when Max came back over, bearing another set of clothes.

"Here you go, some more stuff for you to try on. Keep the shorts, lose the shirt, and put everything else on in the pile. I have a feeling we're going to be making some good progress with this bunch," Max said, handing Luke the clothes and then darting off again.

Luke took the stack of clothes and returned to the dressing room, where the first thing he did was drop his shorts, and sure enough, he didn't have any underwear on after all. He took off everything else, and it was strange being completely naked in such a public place, but it gave him a chance to have another look at his frame. The first thing which surprised him was the line of hair running up his chest, and the thin carpet covering his slightly chubby pecs. He hadn't been that hairy before, had he? Before what, exactly? Besides, it looked pretty good, he had to admit, as he started massaging his cock. Max looked really good. Luke groaned softly as thoughts of the older man filled his head. Of undressing him, first unbuttoning his shirt and rubbing his face in all of that hair, and his firm gut. Smelling him all over. He'd get on his knees, and watch as Max slowly unzipped the fly of his dress pants, letting out--

Realizing what he was thinking, Luke pushed the thoughts away. He was even more embarrassed that he'd even think about masturbating in a dressing room, and he quickly started sorting through the new things Max had given him, pulling on a jockstrap and then a tank top with the name of some gym on the front. The pouch of the jock was a bit loose, as was the shirt, but he trusted Max's judgment, and pulled his shorts back on, which fit him snugly, showing off his nice ass.

When he was finished, he was surprised by how hot he looked. He started massaging his cock through the denim, then unzipped the fly, loving how his large package filled the pouch of his jock to bursting. Yeah, the guys at the site would love this. The construction site where he worked, that is. For a moment, he recalled writing...something for some web magazine, but that wasn't right. Still rubbing his cock, he flexed one arm, admiring the bulge of muscle from his long hours at the gym. Damn, he was so sexy, especially with that full beard he'd been growing in for a while, and the light coating of fur on his muscled arms. Pulling out his phone again, he began snapping some pictures of himself flexing, then palming his bulge. Yeah, his cock did fit very nicely in the pouch of the jockstrap, all eight inches of it.

He pulled his cock out the side, slowly massaging it as he took a few more shots, then put his phone away so he could fondle his big balls with his other hand. Dang he was horny. Maybe he could ask Max for a quick blow job before trying on the next set of clothes, or better yet, give the man a blow job while he shot his load all over the floor. Yeah, he remembered scoping out the older man's cock before, the crotch of his dress pants filled to bursting. The guy sure did seem nervous though--maybe he needed some help relieving some pressure down there. He could just imagine getting down on his knees and nuzzling the soft fabric, jacking his own cock as he did, getting ready to worship him. Yeah, worship him, that's what he was supposed to do. That's what the aroma was telling him. Get down on his knees and kiss the man's feet, drink his cum, and offer his ass for a good, long fucking. The speed of his stroking had increased, and without really paying attention, he suddenly blew a load all over his hand and the mirror in front of him, grunting and groaning as he did. Unable to resist, he got down on his knees and licked up his own seed, pretending it was Max's, the older man standing over him, ordering him to clean up the mess he'd just made.

There came a polite knock on the door suddenly, and Max tucked his still leaking cock into his jock before unlocking the door, where Max stood with a new pile of clothes. "So...how do those feel?" he asked quietly.

"Oh, they feel pretty good," Luke replied, "But I think they're kind of tight around the crotch. Maybe you could come in here and take a more...private measurement?"

Max's face went red again. He could smell the cum in the room, and he hadn't smelled the scent of another man's pleasure in so long, he barely resisted the urge to push Luke up against the wall and fuck him then and there. "Well, here's a few finishing touches," Max said, handing Luke a tool belt, hardhat, and hi-viz vest, "I think that's everything you needed for work, right?"

"That should do it," Luke replied. He'd popped in here during his lunch hour to pick up some new safety gear. Still, he had another half hour, and he couldn't stop staring at that bulge snaking down Max's pant leg. Licking his lips, he stepped forward, one hand reaching out to give the large man a firm grope, but Max stepped back, keeping his distance. "Hey, come on man, I just want to play a little."

"I...I'm not...I just can't, alright?" Max snapped, "Look. You're all taken care of, just get out of here, alright? I have some work to take care of in the back."

"Well, I still have a half hour on my lunch break, so I might take a look around," Luke said, watching Max walk away, "So I'll still be here if you change your...mind."

Max didn't say anything in reply as he ducked behind the curtain, avoided looking at anything in the back area as best he could, and rushed into the office, closing the door behind him. He immediately sat down on the floor, doing his best to pretend that he was back in the quiet solitude of his cave. All he had to do was calm down, he told himself, just calm down, and everything will be just fine.

3

As he drove down the highway a good twenty miles per hour over the speed limit, Kyle took another look at the necklace he'd palmed from that weird store at the mall and laughed. The fact that he was always compelled to steal things had always bothered him when he was younger. Back in high school and college, he'd tried to give it up a hundred times, but now he just accepted it, rolled with it, enjoyed the rush that came with it. It was the same joy he got from landing a deal on a million dollar listing up in the hills, or when he scored big at the casino. No, that was a lie--the casino was a much bigger thrill. Bigger than all the others combined, and that's where he was headed now. Sure, he might lose big. Hell, he usually lost big. In fact, he was on a damn losing streak at the moment, but that could change any moment. He could win big. He would rob the bank, any day now. He

The bear claw necklace he'd taken wasn't anything special, really. Hell, he had hundreds of necklaces which were worth more than the simple silver necklace, but this one had spoken to him. It had told him to steal it. It wanted to be his, just like everything he took. They were usually small things--he'd never stolen anything big, but they were always special to him. This one would be his good luck charm. With this, he could have anything, take anything from anyone he wanted to. Already anticipating his big win at the poker table, he looped the necklace around his neck along with his other jewelry as he pulled into the casino parking lot and headed into the building.

The doorman greeted him by name as he stepped into the smoky lobby. He was a frequent customer here, and everyone on the staff knew it. He tipped the guy a twenty dollar bill for his courtesy, already generous with his future winnings. Out on the floor, the smell of smoke and the sound of shuffling cards excited him, and he started scoping out poker tables, looking for the losers he was going to steal from today. There, he saw them. Four older guys, already drinking, ripe for the picking. He asked whether he could join them, the bear claw glinting in the dim light, and they happily agreed.

He took a moment to scope them out, trying to pick out their weak spots. They were obviously friends, and didn't pay the newcomer at the table much notice. They were all middle-aged, in their forties or fifties, and looked like their bodies had all seen better days. Three of them were happy to steal the limelight, chatting and laughing loudly and lewdly, while the forth sat there, smoking a cigar, watching the other three make fools of themselves. He was the one to watch, Kyle figured. The other three would be easy to pick off, but the fourth one knew what he was doing.

All of them eventually introduced themselves, the three loud ones were named Bill, Mick, and Steve. The quiet one was Roger, and he was close enough to shake Kyle's hand, and give him a wink, before turning his attention back to the game. They threw in their ante and the dealer dealt them their cards, and they played. Of course, the cards were only part of the game, the rest was in the conversation, in the tells and the bluffs, and that's where Kyle excelled.

"So how are you guys this afternoon?" Kyle said, eyeing his cards. Pair of Jacks.

"Oh, pretty good, you know."

"Yeah, except Bill here keeps taking all of our money."

"Yeah, the fuckin' thief."

"Hey, I can't help it if I get all the good hands you two," Bill said, grinning. Blushing. Telling. Good hand, Kyle thought.

The dealer flipped a third Jack, just for him apparently. Luck was coming early today, Kyle thought, but kept his face tensed. No reason to tell everyone else about it just yet.

"Yeah, well you've been getting lucky with more than poker, I tell ya," Steve said, "You should have seen the girl he took back to his room last night." He was sweating, shaking a bit. Bad hand. "She was a real looker."

"Yeah, well I can't help being the handsomest of the three of us."

"Ha, yeah right."

"Gentlemen," the dealer said, "We are still playing here."

They all focused back on the game for a moment, Steve dropping out early, along with Roger, while Kyle, Mick, and Bill remained as the pot grew. Nothing else good turned up for Kyle, but he was pretty confident with his three of a kind, at least until Bill beat him out with a straight flush, much to his disappointment.

"Sorry man, that's the way the game goes sometimes," Bill said as he collected the pot, but Kyle knew one loss wasn't the whole game.

"So Bill, you never did tell us how that girl was last night," Mick said with a smirk.

"Like I'm going to tell you, you fucking pervert. Go get laid yourself."

Mick laughed, "Yeah right, like I have much luck with that anymore. It's probably all of this damn body hair I've got. Girls get one look at it and that's that."

"You could shave it, you know," Bill said.

"Yeah right, like I'm going to take the time to do that."

"I know how that goes. I got the same problem." Steve said, "Girls get one look, and I can see the disgust on their face. Of course, a good prostitute will do anything,"

"Steve, that's gross."

"Yeah, but I still wish I could get rid of it," Mick said.

"Yeah man, me too," Steve added.

"Well I for one would love to get rid of this damn gut, as long as we're wishing," Bill said.

"Look, I'm sure this conversation doesn't bother you," Kyle said, scratching his chest, "but I for one find it kind of disgusting. Can we focus on the game now? I got some money to win back."

"Yeah, well I can see that you're a hairy one yourself."

"Hardly. That's what lasers are for," he replied as he threw in his ante.

The other guys looked at him, then at each other, and started laughing, all of them but Roger at least, who kept staring intently at him. It was that stare that freaked him out the most, and Kyle felt his face begin to redden. They kept chuckling all through the round, and Kyle was too flustered to play well, and folded early. Of course, that didn't stop their chuckles.

"Would you all stop laughing already!" he yelled.

"Sure," Mick said, "as soon as you see what's popping up out of your shirt collar."

Kyle, still scratching idly, felt around his neck and was surprised to find a large amount of chest hair poking out. Not just a little, but a ton. He kept his poker face on though, not wanting to freak out in front of the guys, "Excuse me. I gotta go to the rest room."

The men cracked up behind him as he left, but he was too busy wondering what the hell was going on. Out of curiosity, he rolled up his sleeve and saw just as much hair growing there which hadn't been there minutes ago. He was so distracted by the hair, that he didn't even notice the gut which was pulling his shirt tight across his belly until he was halfway across the floor, which just freaked him out more. He hurried past a busy craps table, trying to keep himself from hyperventilating, when he heard some guy say, "Come on, let the short guy through! I can't see the damn table. Man, I hate being short."

Kyle felt a sinking feeling in his stomach, and watched as the floor rushed up to meet him as he dropped a good eight inches, stopping somewhere around 5'6". He was now swimming in his clothing, as he hurried the rest of the way to the bathroom, disoriented by the fact that he was looking up to see most people in the face. The restroom was empty, thankfully, and Kyle parked himself in front of the mirror to see what the hell was going on. There was definitely hair growing out of his collar, and even a heavy layer of stubble on his face which hadn't been there earlier. He unbuttoned the top few buttons, but all he could see was a thick forest of hair. Of course, none of this was as horrifying as the gut he had suddenly sprouted where his abs had been, and his sudden loss in height. What the hell was going on?

He heard the door open, and Kyle ducked into one of the bathroom stalls to avoid being discovered stripping in the bathroom, and he heard two young guys stumble in, obviously drunk, and obviously gay.

"I still can't believe you did that guy. I mean, did you see how fat he is? And how old?"

"Hey, he was fucking loaded though."

"Damn it, you are such a slut."

"Yeah, well it pays the bills."

"Don't you ever wish you could, you know, not have an insatiable lust for cock?"

Oh no.

"Yeah, I guess sometimes I wish I didn't have an insatiable lust for cock. Sometimes I wish I didn't love sucking off fat, dirty, old men and letting them fuck my ass, but hey, that's life. Now can you please get out of my face already?"

The first guy left the restroom followed by his friend, and Kyle was alone again. He tried not to think about what he'd just heard, but suddenly, all he could think about was how hot the other players at his table had been. With one hand, he started massaging his cock through his pants, thinking about how they might look naked. Yeah, maybe he'd go rent a room at the hotel, and invite the three of them up for a private game. Then, when he'd lost to them all, on purpose of course, he could offer to suck them all off for some of his money back, and maybe a bit extra, if they wanted a turn at his ass too. Yeah, he could just picture himself on the bed, Bill fucking his ass while the other three took turns with his mouth, maybe one of them sucking the young cum from his cock while Bill started shooting his own load up Kyle's ass. Panting and moaning loudly, Kyle's cock started shooting a massive wad into his pants, a dark stain forming on the front of his khakis. A few moments later, he realized what he'd done, and was horrified. He couldn't go back out there looking like that! But he couldn't stay in the bathroom for the rest of the day either. Then again, maybe the guys would notice it, and maybe they'd be willing to head back into the bathroom for some personal business of their own...

Kyle pushed the thoughts away, trying his best to keep a calm head. He got up off the toilet, and was surprised to find that at some point his clothes had shifted sizes to account for his new physique. Before he left, he took a look at himself in the mirror, and couldn't help admitting that he looked kind of hot with his new gut, and all that fur really made him look mature. Hell, he'd be willing to suck his cock, he thought, massaging the wet patch on the front of his pants. Unfortunately they were very light colored, and the spot was obvious, but he couldn't worry about that now--he had a game to get back to. He licked his stubbly lips lewdly, left the bathroom and headed back to the poker table. Several men along the way saw the dark patch on his pants and smirked, but Kyle wasn't thinking about that. All that was on his mind was figuring out how to get as many of his new friends into bed with him as he could.

As he approached the table, he saw all of the guys sitting there in a new light, but of all of them, the one Kyle couldn't stop looking at was Roger. First of all, it was because he was fat. Well, not just fat, he was obese, with an apron forcing his legs apart as he perched on the stool. He also looked like he was a bit older than his friends, probably in his early fifties, with a very nice salt and pepper colored beard. Kyle purposely shifted over a seat so that he was directly next to Roger. It was kind of hard to sit at the table at his new height, but he managed, kind of annoyed that his feet couldn't rest on the floor. Mick, Steve, and Bill chuckled some more as he returned. "You get everything sorted out, buddy?" Bill said.

"Sure did," Kyle said, then reached out with one hand and placed it on Roger's fat thigh, giving it a good squeeze. The fatter man looked over in confusion, but upon seeing the hunger in Kyle's eyes, he just smirked. "How are you doing, big guy?" Kyle asked, "Got anything I can sort out for you?"

"Big guy?" Roger said, "Is that what you call every guy you meet?"

"Nah, just the cute ones," Kyle whispered, giving the large man's thigh another squeeze.

"I'm sorry, but can we play now?" the dealer said, obviously unhappy with his table, and the focus turned back to the game, at least for everyone other than Kyle. He purposefully lost the next few hands, doing his best to give his winnings to Roger, and complimenting him on his skill at the game.

It took a round or two, but soon Roger's hand drifted over to Kyle's crotch and felt the wet spot there. "Have an accident in the bathroom buddy?" he said with a lewd grin.

"Well, thinking about cute guys like you gives me accidents all the time," Kyle said quietly, as Roger massaged his hard cock.

"You know," Roger said, "I seem to remember you being...taller when you were here before."

Kyle gulped, a bit nervous, "I...guess appearances can be deceiving."

"You have a nice pelt of hair I must say, I like that in a man."

"You..do?" Kyle said, blushing. He was kind of appalled that he was acting like a love sick school girl around Roger, but he was so attracted to him, he couldn't help it, "Do you...see anything else you like?"

"Oh...plenty," Roger said, and winked, "I'm just surprised that you see things that you like in me."

"Well, I like everything about you," Kyle blurted out, "I mean...I...I just think you're pretty hot," he added, trying to keep the others from hearing him.

"Well, you know I certainly wouldn't mind being fifty pounds lighter," Roger remarked casually, and watched as Kyle's waistline grew in front of his eyes, as his own clothes grew looser. Kyle was oblivious to the change, since he was far too focused on trying to please the older man next to him, but Roger saw it all, and could barely contain his excitement.

"I like big guys myself," Kyle added, "I could...uh...show you just how much I like them, if you're interested."

"You know, why don't we head somewhere and get to know each other a bit better? I have a room upstairs. What do you say?"

"What about your friends?" Kyle asked, "Can they come too?"

"I think I'd rather have you all to myself," Roger said, then got up from the table. The other three didn't even notice they were leaving, and the dealer was happy to have them away from his table. He always got the fags and the freaks.

Roger led Kyle to the elevator in the lobby, which they had all to themselves. Kyle couldn't resist feeling up Roger's cock and sack, but was kind of disappointed by how small it was.

"Don't you worry boy, I have a solution for that."

"What is it? Some herbal supplement?" Kyle asked.

"Something that I think will be very effective," Roger said, "You'll see."

The room wasn't far, and as soon as the door was shut behind them, Kyle was practically throwing himself at Roger as best he could, since the man was at least three or four inches taller than him.

"Whoa now, slow down boy! You're going to tire out an old man like me if you keep that up."

"Sorry, I just...damn your hot," Kyle said, got down on his knees and started rubbing his face into Roger's crotch.

"Well, I'm glad you think so, but I am sorry about one thing," Roger said, grinning, "I only have a three inch cock. Man what I wouldn't give to be rid of that thing and have a bigger tool."

Like magic, Roger's tool began to swell in his pants, and Kyle, barely cognizant of the fact that his own cock was shrinking rapidly in his own jeans. He unzipped the fly, and Roger's new eight inch cock flopped out. "What the hell are you talking about?" Kyle said, "This fucker is beautiful."

Kyle licked the shaft for a moment, feeling Roger shiver, and then took the whole cock in his mouth, or at least as much as he could. It was pretty rank, like the old man hadn't had a shower in days, but he sucked on it anyway, and actually found himself enjoying the flavor. Yeah, he loved dirty old men, the dirtier the better.

"Yeah boy, that's a good job you're doing there. I'm sorry if it's kind of sweaty and rank down there, I'm kind of lazy and don't shower all that often. I guess I'm just kind of a lazy ass all around, what with all of this fat. Man, I sure do wish that I wasn't so lazy, exercised regularly, ate right, and had better hygiene."

Immediately, Roger's waistline shrank, while Kyle's exploded in size. But it wasn't just his waist that grew this time though, his entire body packed on the pounds. His stubble lengthened into an unkempt beard, and his hair grew disheveled and long, like it hadn't been cut, or washed, in quite a while. The hand which had been massaging his short cock was pushed away as it was swallowed up by his enlarging gunt. Needing something else to play with, Kyle unbuttoned his large shirt and began tweaking the fat nipples poking out from his forest of body hair.

"Dang, that works even better than I thought it would!" Roger said, admiring his new slim, and much cleaner, physique. "Now all I need is to lose a good thirty years and I'll have it made."

Kyle's changes didn't progress as quickly this time, as he aged from his mid twenties to early thirties, but then he started to see some big changes. A large bald spot appeared on the back of his head, and his hairline receded, the hair becoming speckled with gray. In the mirror, Roger watched his his own hair grew back in, returning to a black he hadn't seen in years. The wrinkles lining his face disappeared, and overall, a new sense of vitality filled him as Kyle kept sucking happily. Of course, the new, fit body he found himself in didn't hurt. Roger felt like a million bucks, to be honest. New memories began filling his head as well, how he'd gone on to college and majored in business, landing a job at a high end real estate firm. Yeah, he was going to live his life right this time.

However, he couldn't help but feel a wave of disgust wash over him when he looked down and saw the disgustingly fat old man sucking on his cock. Still, Kyle deserved something in exchange for his generosity, Roger thought.

"Get up you old faggot and get on the bed," Roger said, helping the now fat, middle aged slut to his feet, "I want to fuck that ass of yours." After stripping off his clothes, Kyle hoisted himself up onto the bed as best he could and Roger lined up his own cock and thrust into his eager hole.

"Yeah, fuck me you fat, old bastard, fuck my ass!" Kyle shouted, too lost in the moment to even notice the changes that had swept over him.

"Old? Fat? I think you're mistaken. You're the fat and old one here my friend." Kyle looked in the mirror and finally saw what had happened to both of them. There on the bed was one of the fattest men he had ever seen, covered with grey body hair all over. The rolls of fat shook every time the muscular young man smoking a cigar behind him thrust his thick cock up the old man's ass. "Are you senile or something?" Roger continued, "I mean, you're lucky I'm interested in fucking you at all, you nasty faggot. Do you know how much you smell? Of course, the cigar smoke won't help much, in a moment. I mean, this is such a shitty habit, I've had it for years. I'd do anything to get rid of it."

The cigar vanished from the young man's mouth and materialized in Kyle's, who began sucking on it for dear life, his body craving the nicotine. Kyle was still trying to figure out what exactly was going on. He could remember being a young successful real estate agent, but he could also remember being an old dirty slob, renting a cheap room from the local casino so he could pick up old men like himself to give him a good fuck. He wasn't entirely sure why he had brought this young guy up with him, but the cock in his ass sure felt good, so he wasn't going to complain, as he continued pushing back, meeting the young man's thrusts, "Yeah boy, that's a hot cock you got there. Fuck that old, worn out ass of mine good and hard!"

"You fucking slut," Roger said as he quickened his pace, and with a grunt he came, filling Kyle's ass with the cum he so desperately wanted. Before he finished, he pulled his cock out and wiped it on Kyle's furry ass, then tucked it into his pants.

"Hey, what about finishing me off?" Kyle said, rolling over and sprawling his fat body across the bed, "Daddy needs some loving too."

"What, you honestly think I would suck off a disgusting man like you? Hell, you're lucky I was even willing to fuck you at all. I only did this because I felt sorry for you, but don't push your luck," Roger said. All dressed, he headed for the door, pausing only to add, "Have a nice life. I hope you enjoy it more than I did," and then left as fast as he could. He had an appointment with a couple of clients to keep--he couldn't be wasting an afternoon at the casino gambling his new life away.

Kyle sighed, wishing he had someone to play with, but he figured he could make do with himself for the moment. He took a long drag on his cigar, rubbing his massive belly as he did, groaning. God, he was so hot! He rolled over and positioned himself so he could look at his image in the mirror, and wished he could suck himself off. He still wasn't sure why he'd gotten that young man to fuck him--he wasn't usually interested in the young, skinny ones, but hey, he wasn't going to complain about getting a fuck. It took some effort, but he managed to wrap one of his wrinkled hands around his hard, stubby cock and start working it as best he could, eager to get off, moaning and grunting while he did. Finally, he managed to squirt off a load, and then rolled back exhausted and panting. He just wasn't able to exert himself like he could when he was younger.

That thought struck him as odd. He was only 26 after all, he wasn't all that old, but for some reason his mind was insisting that that was wrong. That he was a 56 year old, morbidly obese, cock whore for dirty old men. Hell, he was one of those dirty old men, the thought, and he loved it, taking another drag from his cigar, and tweaking one of his nipples. He thought about trying to find those guys from the poker table earlier, to see if they wanted to make use of his services, and if he couldn't find them, he figured that he could at least head to the bar and see if there was someone else to pick up. It took some work, but he managed to heft himself up and swing his stubby legs off the side of the bed. Damn, he hated being short, but it wasn't worth getting mad over what he didn't have, like his stubby cock. Looking down at his chest, he saw a sparkle against his pelt of chest hair, and dug out a bear claw necklace. The bear claw necklace that he'd stolen. Suddenly, all of his real memories came flooding back, and terrified of what might happen if he kept wearing it, he tried his best to remove the necklace, but while there should have been plenty of room to get his head out from under the chain, no matter how he pulled and twisted, it never seemed to come loose. After five minutes of grappling with it, he finally gave up, panting. It had to be the necklace, that was the only thing that could be causing this.

He got up from the bed and retrieved the clothes from the floor. Or, at least what his head was telling him were his clothes. First came a pair of nasty, sweaty, over-sized briefs, with a large streak of shit up the crack. He knew they were disgusting, but he sniffed them anyway, feeling his cock jump in excitement. He pulled them on before his new impulses made him to something with them he might regret later. Next came a pair of cheap polyester slacks and a sweaty stained undershirt, followed by a massive button down shirt that looked like it could be used as a sail for a raft. Everything he was wearing had any number of sweat stains on it, mostly under his pits. Just out of curiosity, he took a sniff, and recoiled from the funk. He'd take a shower, but there wasn't time. Besides, the smell made him feel...horny. He pushed the thought away, and headed out the door to the hotel elevator, unconsciously lighting up another cigar as he waited for the lift. He could feel the necklace against his chest, weighing down on him. It was insane, sure, but what else could it be? He needed to get it back to the mall, before something worse happened, although he had a hard time fathoming what might be worse than this.

4

Chapter 4

by Wesley Bracken

Luke spent a couple of minutes walking around the front of the store, amazed by the wide variety of products that lined the racks and shelves, from floor to ceiling. Most of the clothes were arranged by style, and aside from the large amount of denim, wool, and flannel, there were some odd sections scattered throughout, such as business wear, army gear and even a collection of costumes. There was even a toy section of all things, as well as a small electronics selection, though he'd never heard of any of the things he saw, or recognized any of the brands. Every once in a while he'd look back to the curtain, hoping that Max might change his mind and come back out for a little fun, but as the minutes passed, he figured that he was going to have to make the first move. After all, Luke knew that the guy wanted him. Hell, every time they'd been near each other Max had been sporting a massive hardon, but for some reason the guy had freaked out and run off. Figuring he was probably just shy, Luke ducked behind the curtain into the back to go and find him.

He remembered Max telling him that the back section of the store was stocked with some specialty items, but nothing could have prepared him for the long racks full of leather and rubber gear, or the shelves lined with dildos, whips, paddles and anything else a guy could ever want in a dungeon. If these were the kinds of specialty items Max was stocking, then Luke was willing to bet he was pretty heavy into kink, which he didn't mind. He just wanted to get close to him and...smell him again. Dang, something about him was just so...so...

"Invigorating? Dominating? Sensual?" a voice said from behind him. Luke whipped around and found himself staring at a mirror and his reflection in it, although, for some reason, his reflection wasn't mimicking his movements. It was just standing there on the other side of the glass, his hairy arms crossed over his chest, grinning at Luke's slightly spellbound face.

He took a step closer to the mirror, and his reflection didn't move. "Ok...what's the deal? Am I hallucinating or something?"

"Oh no, nothing like that," his reflection said, "I'm just a...friend. Someone here to lend a helping hand when needed. I had hoped that Max would take better advantage of the situation, but apparently...well, never mind that. What you want is to get into his pants, right?"

"Well, yeah. I guess..." Luke said, still unnerved to be talking to himself.

"Then we have our work cut out for us then. We need to get you better outfitted for our task first, however," The reflection mused, "Now, what would Max be unable to resist?" He stepped beyond the frame of the mirror, only to appear in another one on the other side of the room, next to a shelf labeled "tattoos & piercings." "This might help us make a better impression, and show him that we mean business," the reflection said, then looked over at the still gawking Luke, "Well don't just stand here, come put this on! I can't do it myself after all."

Luke came over slowly, and started looking at the shelf. All of the boxes said they were tattoos, but there wasn't a studio or anything that he could see. Still, he figured they had to work somehow, but there were so many to choose from. "Which one should I pick?" he asked.

"Well, you want to serve him and become his thrall, right? That's what his musk has been telling you all along--his alpha scent."

"Alpha scent?"

"Oh you humans don't know anything," the reflection said, shaking his head, "Look, Max is an alpha born. That means, he has a natural ability to make men want to submit to him, and serve him. If he cums in you, then you'll become bonded to him for anywhere from a few hours to a day depending on how much you received. If you remain bonded to him for long enough, eventually the changes become permanent, and you will become his property in mind, body and soul, needing your alpha's cum to survive, and obeying his every command. That is what you want, isn't it?"

Luke didn't think that was what he'd signed up for. All of this was just getting a little to weird for him, "You know, I actually had better be getting back to the building site. I mean, if I'm not back on time, the foreman will ream my ass again," he said, tried to turn around, but found his feet stuck to the floor. In the mirror, his reflection was copying him again, or rather, he was copying his own reflection.

"Nonsense," his reflection said, "This is exactly what you've been wanting. Everything will make sense in a moment, trust me." Unable to stop himself, Luke walked over to a shelf and took down one of the boxes, ripping it open, "This should be perfect," the reflection said.

Still bewildered by what was going on, Luke looked in the box and found what looked like a rubber body suit inside. Still controlled by his reflection, he pulled it out and unfolded it, the thin material covered with a large tattoo design. The primary color was a steel grey, but he couldn't discern the pattern exactly, though from the size of the suit, it looked like it would cover his whole body, from his ankles to his neck. Still unable to stop himself, he stripped off all of his clothes, leaving them on the ground in a pile, found the opening for the suit and started pulling it on. "Hey, stop," Luke said, "I'm not so sure about this."

"Oh don't worry, everything will be just fine. You do want Max's cock up your ass, don't you?"

"Well...yeah, but what about all of that stuff you said about alphas? I don't really want to be his slave."

"They're called thralls, and trust me, you do, you just don't realize it yet. That's what I'm helping you with, right? Showing you that submitting yourself to Max would be the greatest moment in your whole life."

Luke sputtered a bit, trying to regain control of his renegade limbs, but both he and the reflection pulled on the suits, the motif coming clear when he had most of it on. Around his ankles and wrists were tattooed very thick and heavy looking steel manacles, and a variety of chains, big and small, were connected to them, running and crisscrossing all over his body. Across the top of his chest was the word "THRALL" in bold lettering, and he could see in the mirror when the reflection turned around that the words "ALPHA PROPERTY" were spelled out similarly across his back. It actually looked really hot, but he wasn't about to admit that out loud. The suit sealed up the front, the two rubber edges merging seamlessly with one another. As soon as the seam was sealed, the entire suit began to constrict around him and lightly burn his skin for a few moments. When it was finished, the rubber had vanished, leaving the tattoos burned upon Luke's skin. He scratched at one of the chains on his arm, but it was real, and there didn't seem to be any way to get it off.

"Wait...What did...How..." he muttered, still reeling a bit. None of this should be possible. He shouldn't be able to talk to his reflection, and he shouldn't suddenly have a bunch of tattoos all over his body. I mean, he did want to have sex with Max, sure, but he wasn't so sure it was worth it anymore.

"Of course it's worth it." The reflection said, answering his thoughts, "Think of how great it would be to be Max's thrall. The only thoughts in your head revolving around how to best pleasure your master, your entire being dedicated to his cause. From the look of that cock of ours, it's turning you on big time. his reflection said, "After all, you've always been interested in being someone's slave, haven't you?"

Luke felt confused and bewildered, like things were changing in his head every time his reflection spoke. But he was really into the whole master and slave scene, or at least, he wanted to be. He'd always been too chicken to try it for real. Still, some of the guys on the building crew who'd fucked him had offered to role play with him a bit, but he'd never taken them up on the offer. "Yeah, I guess. But I'm just scared...a bit."

"Well, I can assure you that Max doesn't want a scared little cub, he wants a big man who knows he wants to be a thrall," the reflection said, bounding from mirror to mirror again, eventually landing on the other side of the room, "So how about we make you a bit more experienced?"

"Wait, come back! How in the hell do I get this stuff off me?" Luke said, following the reflection as best he could, picking at the tattoo across his body as he did, "I mean, what if someone sees me like this? I thought it was just for fun, not something permanent!"

The reflection stopped and smirked, "I thought this is what you wanted? Well, if not, it'll be what you want soon enough. Now come over here and try this on. I'm sure it'll help clear some more things up." Luke came over to where the reflection was, and saw in the mirror that he was standing next to a rack of leather gear. Luke tried to back away, but the reflection attached himself to Luke, and forced him to walk over to the rack, where he pulled out a harness and started strapping himself into it.

The harness was made of thick pieces of leather, around three inches across, and the reflection cinched the straps tight across him, a little too tight for Luke's comfort. He'd never felt so constricted and bound before, but the feeling was turning him on. The final strap dropped down and was attached to a cock ring which looked a bit too small for Luke's new equipment, but he found himself forcing it on over his semi hard cock anyway. When he'd managed to slip it into place, he couldn't figure out why it had taken so much effort. He only had a four inch cock after all, and balls a little smaller than average. A more dominant guy might have wanted a bigger tool, but Luke didn't mind since he was a total bottom anyway. It wasn't like he needed a big piece of equipment down there. With all the straps secured and double checked, the reflection walked Luke over to a display of accessories, picked out a three inch thick metal collar and fit it around his neck.

"Now, how do we look?" The reflection asked, positioning Luke in front of a mirror.

Luke had to admit that he looked hot, but it didn't seem quite like him. The wide leather straps were almost too large for his body, it seemed, and the collar was a bit heavy, but hey, he wasn't going to complain, if it meant he could get Max to shove his big cock up his ass. Luke now had one mission in life, to find the man who could dominate him entirely, controlling Luke like no other could. The guys at the construction site knew all about his desires, and had actually come up with a game to play with him. Whenever one of them was feeling horny, they'd hook a leash to the collar he was always wearing, and then he had to obey every order they gave him. Sure, it was hot, but it just wasn't enough for Luke. He wanted to be owned, a mindless slave existing only to serve, and if anyone could give to him, it would be Max, a real alpha.

"Yeah, that looks damn hot," Luke said, slowly stroking his small cock, "I bet Max would want to fuck me now." With one hand, he reached back to play with the buttplug he kept lodged in his ass, but found there was nothing there. His hole was empty, and he cursed, wanting something to fill him up.

"Looking for something?" his reflection said, "Why don't you give one of those a try?" he said, pointing to a shelf stocked with a massive amount of dildos. Licking his lips, Luke went over, wondering which one to choose, there were so many. "I think you should try The Expander myself. That should help a lot, I think."

Luke shrugged, and looked around the shelf. He'd expected something named the Expander to be something on the large side, but instead it was a tiny thing--probably three inches long and only a little thicker than a finger. "This?" Luke said, "I think I can handle something a bit bit bigger than this."

"Oh? Then put it in hot shot, and see what happens."

Luke smirked at the challenge, lubed the dildo up with some spit and worked it into his hole. It slipped in easily, but as Luke kept pushing, he found that there was always more to insert, and that he could feel it...growing thicker, stretching his hole wider and wider. Soon, it was about as large as a normal cock, and Luke began thrusting it in and out, stroking his cock as he did, the head of the dildo slamming against his prostate and then going further in as it kept growing. "Fuck yeah, that's the stuff, get that fucking thing in there. Fuck my slutty hole!" Luke said, unable to help the stream of dirty talk cascading from his mouth. Before long, he had to shift his grip on the rubber, as it surpassed cock size and began to take on the width of a fist. Still, Luke thrust it in and out of his hole, stroking his slick cock faster and faster until he came with a loud groan, shooting his spunk all over the floor, then getting down on his knees to lick it up, the five inch thick, foot long dildo still planted in his ass. When he finished, he stood back up and left it in, smirking at his reflection. "See, I told you I could take something that big. Hell, the guys on the site have started double fisting me now just for fun."

"I stand corrected," the reflection said, "But I think we still need one more thing to finish you off. How does a post-sex smoke sound to you?" He bounded across the mirrors to another corner of the store, Luke following behind him, walking a bit funny with the massive dildo crammed in his ass. In that corner of the room was a selection of tobacco products, but Luke didn't recognize any of the names or brands, and he'd never even smoked before, though he did love having a lit cigar shoved up his hole. "Which one should I try?" he asked, and the reflection pointed to a box on the shelf.

"Try a burly bear. They're good for guys just starting out, like you." The cigar was on the short side, but decently thick, with a good taper that fit in his mouth naturally. He gripped it awkwardly, unsure of what to do with it. "Here, allow me," his reflection said and took control. After snipping the end off, he lit it and took in his first breath of smoke. The scent was loamy, like the smell of damp wood burning in the middle of a forest, and it immediately relaxed Luke. He settled in on a nearly stool, remembering how nice a cigar was after sex, or any time really. He'd been a heavy smoker for years, and was rarely seen without one clamped in his maw. He usually preferred ones a bit larger than this, but the flavor was so smooth, he could have smoked it for hours and not gotten tired of it.

With his other hand Luke worked his spent cock, letting out the occasional low groan of pleasure. Wanting to get another look at himself, he shifted the stool over so he could look in the mirror. His reflection was smoking too, but looked different--hairier, but also...bigger. Not that Luke had been a small before this, but now that he thought about it, the straps of the harness were feeling a bit tighter than they had, and in the mirror they seemed better suited to his large frame, or rather increasingly large frame.

After a few minutes of watching himself smoke to big cigar down about halfway, Luke was certain that he was changing again. His well trimmed beard had grown much fuller, probably a couple of inches long, while his hairline had receded quite a bit, revealing a swath of forehead he hadn't seen before. His body was definitely hairier too. It was thickest on his chest and forearms, but his pubic bush had also grown substantially, making his already smallish cock look even smaller. But hell, that was the only thing on his body which was the least bit small. His muscles had grown further, bulging out in an almost ugly and uneven way, but of course, that's what happened when the entire construction crew uses you as a beast of burden all day long, at least when they weren't fucking his hungry asshole. Luke had begged the crew to make him their communal slave, which meant hauling around anything heavy they could find for him, and satisfying any man who needed it throughout the day. He'd also go home with a different guy each night, servicing them all night long in whatever way they pleased. Luke had never been happier--all he needed in life were orders to obey, and some big bear's fist or thick cock up his hungry ass. Still though, he'd never found that perfect master. The man who could truly destroy his mind, leaving him as nothing more than a empty vessel for their own desires and wishes.

He was so horny, that he probably could have blown another load, but he reluctantly took his hand away after rubbing out the butt of the cigar in a nearby ashtray. After all, he had an alpha to serve, and Luke wasn't going to take no for an answer this time around. In fact, he was a bit famous for being such a domineering bottom. If he wanted someone to fuck him, he would pin them down and ride their cock whether they liked it or not, and most of them became quite willing before too long, he thought with a grin.

"Yeah, I think we're about ready," his reflection said, "Let's go show Max what he's missing."

"Damn straight," Luke replied, and headed over to the office door. He jiggled the handle, but it was locked.

"Here, allow me," his reflection said. He moved to a mirror across the room which Luke could see the door reflected in. The reflection pulled a key from...somewhere, and unlocked the door. Luke didn't have any pockets on his new get up, so he didn't know where it had come from, but shrugged, figuring it wasn't exactly the weirdest thing he'd seen all day. When Luke tried the door again it opened freely, and he strode into the room, finding Max a few feet away, sitting cross-legged on the floor, deep in meditation. So deep in fact, that Max didn't notice the intruder until Luke shoved him backwards so that he was lying on the ground, eyeing the massive bulge in Max's dress pants. "Here, sir," Luke said, pinning down Max's legs with new strength, "Let me take care of that for you." He began sucking on the alpha's cock through the cotton, and the sensation was so overwhelming for a for a moment, Max just lay there, unresisting.

Max realized what was happening mid moan, kicked his legs away from the large tattooed bear who had suddenly materialized in his office, and backed away, trying to figure out what in the hell was going on. Luke pursued him across the floor until he backed Max into a corner and pinned him down again. "There's nowhere to run, sir," Luke said, "Why don't you just relax and let this humble slave take care of everything?" He leaned in to kiss Max, but he twisted away, and Luke settled for running his tongue along his neck, feeling the large man shiver with pleasure beneath him.

"No...Don't, you don't understand what will happen if this keeps going," Max groaned, halfheartedly pushing Luke away, "I can't..."

"I know you're an alpha, Max. That's why I want you. I want you to own me, control me, dominate me, do whatever the fuck you want with me! Wouldn't that be so fucking hot? I know you want it, I can feel it..." Luke said, running one of his fingers along the bulge in Max's pants. "I've been looking for a master like you all my life, and I'm not about to let you go now."

Fear and panic gripped Max's heart as Luke said that. he didn't want to be a master--he couldn't dare bring himself to force himself upon another being like that. But that wasn't it, and he knew it. The beast in him, the alpha would be perfectly happy pushing Luke over and fucking that furry ass of his. No, what Max was terrified of was being entirely responsible for another being. How could he possibly deal with that burden?

Unbidden, a memory came to him of one of his talks with Tristan, shortly before the young bear had run off. "Have you ever realized that you worry too much?" he'd said with that nasty smirk on his face, "maybe you should just let go and enjoy yourself for once? Why don't you let go and have some fun?"

For a moment, Max sat there stunned, and then rage began building in his chest. Unfortunately, it was just too much for his mental defenses and blockades, and they crumbled under the sheer force of emotion pouring from him. He grabbed Luke by the neck roughly and pushed him over so he was face down on the ground, helpless. "Is this what you fucking want?" Max growled, "Because you're gonna get it, you fucking bitch. You're gonna fucking get it!"

"That's what I want to hear, sir!" Luke said, "Fuck this naughty bear's hole!" He started grinding his ass into Max's crotch. Max wasn't quite sure what he doing, but he was just so tired of worrying all of the time, he couldn't take it anymore. He needed to fuck, and he needed to fuck a hole right now, Tristan and the rest of the world be damned. He undid his pants and shoved them down around his knees, letting his rock hard and very eager cock stand out. He'd thought it was massive before when he saw it earlier in the forest, but it was at least a foot long when fully engorged, and thicker than a beer can.

After hauling the massive dildo out of Luke's ass, he pushed the head of his cock up against the gaping hole, his precum already leaking and running down Luke's crack, but Max hesitated. He had swore to himself that he would never do this. His entire self was structured around his belief that what he was about to do was a horrific atrocity. He was afraid--had always been afraid. He was tired of the worry, the fear, and the self-loathing--yet still he held back, clinging to the primal idea that to destroy the free will of another would be to destroy himself.

Luke however, was tired of the stalling, so he pushed back, the fat head of Max's cock popping into his used hole. Max gasped, and felt his cock begin leaking even more precum, the pleasure radiating from his groin to the rest of his body in large waves as he helplessly began shoving more and more of his shaft deep into Luke. "Yeah sir, yeah. That's what your slave wants. Get it up there! Get it...up...there..." Luke said, but it felt as though his mind was clouding over. His ass had actually grown numb all at once...well, partially numb. He didn't feel the pain of being violated by Max's massive member, but every bit that slipped in sent massive amounts of pleasure throughout his body. It became harder and harder to think about what was going on, as his mind slipped further and further away.

"That would be the alpha cum, beginning to course through you," Luke's reflection said from a mirror in the office, "It's one of the most potent drugs in existence. If you think the precum feels good, just wait until you get the real thing. You won't be able to live without it." He laughed, somewhat evilly, and through the haze, Luke wondered whether this had been all that great of an idea. "A great idea? No, no it probably wasn't but it suits me just fine," the reflection said, and shifted into a new form, a bulky bear of a man with black hair and an obsidian bear claw hanging from his neck. "You humans are all the same, so easy to manipulate and control with the promise of a little pressure. But thank you for your help. I couldn't have gotten Max loosened up without you, and I'm sure you'll be happy, even if this isn't what you wanted. Anyway, enjoy your own thoughts while they last, they won't be there for very long, I don't think." The reflection laughed again, and disappeared, the mirror reflecting Luke again normally, Max behind him working his massive cock in deeper. In the alpha's eyes, all thoughts of mercy and compassion had disappeared--all that mattered was fucking the ass before him and cramming as much of his cock up that hole as he could.

Fear cut through the growing euphoria, and Luke started to crawl away from Max and the huge cock buried in his ass, but Max grabbed him by the thighs and hauled him back, pushing his cock in further. "Where do you think you're going? We're just getting started, thrall," Max snarled, and began fucking Luke good and proper, working his cock deeper with every push, precum leaking from Luke's hole every time he pulled back.

"I...please, I..." Luke managed to slur, none of his words wanting to come out of his mouth like he wanted them to. He concentrated, and managed to put together a few words, "I can't...do this. Something...wrong."

"Oh, nothing's wrong slave. Nothing is wrong at all. In fact, everything is great, don't you think?"

Luke tried to disagree, but as soon as the notion came to him that Max might be wrong in his assessment, all of the pleasure in his system suddenly turned into nerve wracking, stomach churning pain and discomfort. Luke did his best to resist vomiting, wondering what was going on. He must have been the one who was wrong, he realized, everything is great--the greatest it's ever been. With that, the euphoria returned and Luke sighed. Everything was great. He pushed back into Max's cock a bit, thinking how great it was to have such a magnificent and powerful man fucking him. He was better than Luke in every way, and still he wanted to fuck him. Pride swelled in his heart, that an alpha had chosen him to be his thrall, even though he was so undeserving. "Thank you...master...thank...you," Luke heard himself slurring slowly. He felt so good and it was all thanks to his alpha.

"Yeah pig, you're mine now. I bet you didn't know what you were getting into, but you're fucked now, isn't that right?" Max said, "How does it feel boy, to have this fat fucking alpha cock up your ass? It feels damn good doesn't it?"

"Yes...Sir. Please..."

"Yeah, this is the only cock you'll ever want up your hole again, I think. Nothing else can ever make you feel this way. In fact, I bet the only way you'll ever be able to cum is with your alpha's cock buried deep in your ass."

Luke tried to respond, but the feelings of lust and joy had only grown stronger. Unable to hold his head up any longer, he slumped his face to the floor, his ass still high in the air as Max pistoned deep into his wreaked hole. Drool seeped out of the side of Luke's mouth as the drug began shutting down parts of his brain. The only person that he could remember with any clarity was his alpha--everyone else was a pale shadow by comparison. His other concerns no longer seemed to have any importance--the job he was an hour late to, his strange reflection, his friends, nothing mattered except satisfying his alpha. A few spurts too late, he realized that he was cumming, and that he was cumming hard, unable to even stop himself. He hadn't noticed because he no longer derived any pleasure from his orgasms. The only thing which could bring him any pleasure him now was Max's cum. That was all that mattered to his drug addled brain.

Max let out a series of grunts and snorts, followed by a loud roar which Luke swore shook the walls a bit, as Max unloaded into his ass. Suddenly, the feelings of euphoria intensified far beyond anything Luke imagined possible, and there, he had a sudden vision. In it, he was a thrall, living only to serve his master and bring him happiness and pleasure, and only that way could Luke be happy. He would serve his master. That was his purpose, his only thought and single goal. If he could not be with his master, he would surely die. A moment later, Max collapsed on top of him, breathing heavily into Luke's face, and even his breath was the sweetest thing Luke had ever smelled.

Max let out a massive sigh of relief, and then realized what had just happened. Cursing at himself, he rolled off of Luke as fast as he could, "Oh fuck! How could I...Fuck fuck fuck!" he said, pulling his pants back up.

Luke immediately sprang up, eager to help, grabbing helping tuck in his alpha's shirt, "Please sir, please. I can do it for you. Let me."

"God damn it! Get the fuck away from me!" Max roared. A deafening silence ruled for a moment, as tears welled up in Luke's eyes, and he took a step back from his master.

"I'm...I'm sorry sir, I was just trying to help. You can beat me if you want, I deserve it, or I can do it myself. Here, I'm sorry," Luke said, looking for something to use to beat himself, spotting a belt hanging on the wall, he grabbed it and began whipping himself across the back as hard as he could.

"No! No, don't." Max said, grabbing the strap from him, "I'm not mad at you, please, don't hurt yourself."

"But I displeased you master. I just want to make you happy. Can I suck your cock sir? I know you'd like that," Luke said, dropping to his knees, "Please sir, can I suck your cock? I love you sir, I love you so much. Thank you for making me your thrall sir, it's all I've ever wanted. Please, can I show you how thankful I am?"

"Look, just be quiet," Max said, and Luke immediately shut his mouth. It was strange, seeing such a massive, domineering bear kneeling on the ground like that, a look of childlike innocence in his eye as he pleaded. Pride welled up in Max's breast at the realization that he now owned this massive man utterly, but he quashed that idea as quickly as it rose, and turned away, regaining his calm. At least he'd only gotten a single dose, he thought. Luke would be fine in a day or so, as long as Max didn't lose control like that again. He swore at himself again for being so stupid, but then again, that's exactly why he confined himself to a cave, so temptations like this would never arise. "Look, I need you to stay here, alright? It's really important that you don't leave this room."

"Yes sir, I'll stay here sir. But can I suck your cock, sir?"

"No. No never again, alright?" Max said, and watched Luke's eyes tear up again.

"But...but why sir? Did my ass displease you? I just want to make you happy sir, please, you're all I can think about. I...I need your cum sir, without it, I don't know what I'd do."

"No, it wasn't that at all, it's just..." Max said, looking for the right words to say, but he knew Luke wouldn't understand anyway. "Look, I just have some work to do, alright? But you might be able to suck my dick later, if you're good, and don't leave this room until I come back."

Luke's face lit up with joy, and he nodded eagerly, "Yes sir! I won't leave this room for anything, I swear!"

Max shook his head, and left the room quickly, just wanting to get away. God, if he could get his hands on Tristan at the moment he'd fucking throttle him, he was so angry. He walked back out to the front of the store, and tried to calm down as best he could. All he needed to do was get through the rest of the day, and everything would be alright, at least, he hoped it would, but at this rate, he had a feeling that the day was only going to get rougher from here on out.

5

Dan pulled into the gravel parking lot of Tom's smoke shop, turned off the engine, then tilted the seat back, giving James better access to his massive cock. James had done his best during the ten minute drive, but between the steering wheel and his dad's bulk, he could do little more than just lick at the shaft as best he could, not that Dan minded. He knew how much his boy loved licking his dirty cock. James especially liked cleaning out all of the cheese from under Dan's heavy foreskin, just like he was doing now. For the first few minutes in the truck, James had done his best to keep focused on what had happened, but it was so difficult keeping any thoughts in his head anymore, worshipping his Pa's cock took up all of the focus he could muster. As such, over the course of the ten minute drive, James had for the most part forgotten his old life, although Dan remembered everything, and couldn't wait to have some more fun with the cans of spray tucked away in his pocket.

"Alright boy, that's enough fer now," Dan said, pushing James' face away from his cock.

"Awww, come on Pa, can't I git some more a yer cum?"

"Later, but I need me some chaw first--then we can git ya taken care of, trust me." Dan got out of the truck, and James followed, a bit disappointed and the crossed the parking lot towards the small wooden cabin. From the looks of things business was slow because the parking lot was empty aside from Tom's motorcycle and a couple of cars which probably belonged to a few regulars. Tom ran the shop by himself, and it was little more than a rundown trailer next to the highway, but he had a loyal following in the mass of trailer parks around, which gave him enough money to keep the lights on. James had been there many times before when he was young, and he hated it there. It was always hazy from Tom's cigar, as well as the smoke from whoever else was in the building, and was part of the reason he was such an adamant anti-smoker himself.

Of course, Dan was a regular customer, and knew all the other regulars, and generally considered them his good friends. James began to feel nervous about meeting people who might recognize them, or not recognize them as the case may be. Sure, he did love his Pa, but at the same time, he was afraid of what other people might think if they knew about what they did back home. These fears only worsened when Dan beckoned him over and took a few sniffs of James, scowling. " Shucks, that stuff don' last all that long. Oh well," he said, pulling the can of Irresistible from his pocket. James started to back away, but Dan sprayed it quite liberally all over him before he could get far. "Don' worry son. I jus' wanna make sure ya smell all nice 'n hot fer my friends here." When he finished, he pulled his boy close and gave him a sloppy kiss, "Dang boy, ya smell so good I have a good mind tah fuck ya here on the porch! But I'd better go 'n see who's all in there, and reintroduce myself. I doubt they'll recognize me, or you. But come on in when I give a whistle, got it?"

"Sure thing Pa," James said.

Dan stepped in into the shop and glanced around. Tom was over at the register as usual, smoking one of his cigars. He was a short round man, who looked like he didn't enjoy moving around very much. In fact, Dan had never seen him leave that position for much other than heading to the bathroom. He was munching out of a bag of chips, chatting with Bill, a neighbor of Dan's and another regular at the shop. He worked as a long haul trucker, or at least, sometimes worked as a long haul trucker, as his bitchy wife would often remind him. He tended to take as few jobs as he could to scrape by, preferring, like Dan to spend his time at home, relaxing. When he got tired of his wife, which was often, he'd usually come to Tom's for a smoke and a beer or six. If it was night and Tom's was closed, he'd often come to Dan's place for the same thing.

On the other side of the trailer, perusing the titty mags Tom kept stocked there, was Ned. Ned didn't smoke much, preferring cigarettes when he did, but his main addiction was porn. Lots of porn. Dan, Tom and Bill didn't really know what to make of the guy, but he was nice enough, if a bit eccentric. Ned would often burn a few CD's of whatever raunchy lesbian porn he'd dredged up from the internet and give it to them if they wanted, but often he would corner them later, wanting to discuss strange details about the scenes and the models which always made the other guys uncomfortable. His tastes were definitely on the sketchy side, usually some fat woman servicing a big muscle man, worshiping his muscles and generally behaving like a mindless slave. Dan had grown to enjoy it somewhat himself, though he probably wasn't an aficionado like Ned.

Tom looked up when he heard the bell to see who'd come in, and didn't recognize the massive redneck who stepped in the door. The man looked over at him and gave a wink, "Hey Bill, hey Tom. It's me, Dan. Don' ya recognize me?"

Tom and Bill looked at each other, confused, and then looked back at Dan. The muscular redneck sure didn't look much like Dan anymore, between the massive amounts of body hair, thick corded muscles and imposing height. But on the other hand, why would some random redneck just barge into the smoke shop, call Bill and Tom by name and claim to be Dan? "Uh...you don't really...look like Dan, buddy," Tom said.

"Here. I'll prove it tah ya," Dan said, "Tom, the last time I was in here, yesterday that is, we talked all abou' that second wife a yers, and how ya used tah slip yer cock in her asshole on 'accident' all the time 'cause it was tighter than her sloppy cunt. Bill, ya came over tah my house on Wednesday, complain' 'bout how the wife is naggin' ya to take a truckin' job haulin' dynamite. We joked that she's probably jus' wantin' a chance tah blow ya's up. And Ned over there gave me this really filthy porno last week, called 'Fat Girls & Five Cups', n' I could only watch twenty minutes a that before it gave me a stomach ache. That satisfy ya'll?"

The three men just stared at him for a moment, and then Tom spoke, "Alright hold on. Let's just suppose for a moment that you are Dan. Then how in the hell did you suddenly turn into that tall muscular guy we're all staring at overnight?"

"I thought ya'd never ask," Dan said, pulling the can of Deep Desire from his pocket, "But ya'll never believe unless I shows ya, but fer that, I need a volunteer."

No one stepped forward, unsurprisingly. "This is nuts," Bill said, "This fucker can't be Dan! We should just throw his crazy ass out of here."

Tom couldn't help but agree with that, though he was also very curious. Still, there was something very strange going on. He was about to ask Dan to leave, when Ned spoke up, "I'll volunteer."

"Good man," Dan said, glad one of the three wasn't a complete chicken, "So, all ya gotta do is imagine the man ya'd like to be, then I'll give ya a spray, 'n we'll see what happens." He walked over to Ned, and gave him a good spray with the can, and sat back to watch. Ned wasn't exactly an attractive man, although none of them were. He was about average height, but looked shorter due to the massive gut he carried around his waist which made him look like he had swallowed a beach ball. He had a smattering of hair all over his body, aside from his head, which was balding badly despite the fact he was only in his early forties, and what hair he did have was long and ragged.

However, all of that began to change very quickly, as the spray took effect. The first big change was all of Ned's fat simply shrinking away and disappearing over the course of a few seconds, leaving him looking like a twig, until his frame exploded with muscle a moment later, quickly surpassing even Dan's large frame, until he approached a solid body building physique, though really, he was a bit of a caricature of one. His upper body was impossibly wide, with big pecs and thick arms making him appear very top heavy due to the tapered waist and abs below. Then his bottom half grew wide again, his thighs and butt composed of nothing but slabs of muscle. Dan had expected the body hair to go too, but instead it grew in thicker, and Ned's porno mustache became thick and full, hanging down over his lips. His hair grew back in as well, and Ned looked like he was growing younger, stopping at his early thirties. The change began to slow, as Ned's face reshaped itself, his acne scars disappearing as his face became rugged and angular, and his entire body acquired a deep, healthy tan. Finally, the oversized T-shirt he'd been wearing morphed into an undersized tank top, and his jeans became athletic shorts stretched tight across his groin, highlighting his massive package.

Ned looked down at himself, flabbergasted at his own body, as he ran his very large hands over his muscles, "Holy shit!" he shouted in a deep rumble, "It fucking worked!"

Tom and Bill just gaped at the massive bodybuilder porn star which Ned had become right before their eyes. Dan was grinning from ear to ear as he watched their expression, and then asked, "So, would you two like a chance at this too?"

"So wait, that little spray bottle of whatever that is, that can turn you into whatever the fuck you want to be?" Tom asked.

"It ain't called Deep Desire fer nothin'."

Tom wasn't exactly the smartest guy, and Dan could see on his face that he was trying to process what had just happened in front of him. Bill on the other hand was just gaping at Ned, who was too busy flexing his new muscles and fondling his massive cock to pay much attention to anyone else at the moment. "Alright," Tom finally said, "I'll give it a try."

"Oh come on man, you can't be serious!" Bill said, "Who knows what that shit might do to you?"

"Bill, trust me," Tom said with a grin, "I know exactly what this spray is going to do to me."

Bill backed away from the counter as Dan came over and started spraying Tom where he sat. Again, the first change they all noticed was Tom's body, but rather than all of his fat disappearing like Ned's, his entire frame simply began expanding up and out, piling on pounds of fat and muscle in equal measure. His figure was certainly more rounded and fatty than either Dan's or Ned's, but from the look of it, it certainly didn't have much give. His height grew as well, until seated on his creaking stool he was only about a foot shorter than Dan, who guessed he'd probably be close to an eight foot giant when standing. The next major change was his hair. All traces of white quickly disappeared, and his auburn brown lightened to a deep red color, as his beard began to grow and extend out and down until it was a good four feet long, and then, seemingly of its own accord, it began twining itself together into a series of interlocking and intricate braids. The hair on his head on the other hand shrank up into his scalp and disappeared, leaving him with a shiny bald dome. Tattoos of flames and skulls covered his body next, followed by a good covering of red body hair, and his clothes began to shift. His jeans became quite grubby and a pair of leather chaps materialized over them, the crotch distended due to the massive member tucked inside. His shirt disappeared all together, revealing a very hairy ball belly covered with ink, with only a ragged leather biker vest on top. As a finishing touch, the short cigar he'd been smoking began to thicken and lengthen into a ten inch long, 50 ring monster that would have looked excessive clamped in any jaw other than the massive biker bear Tom had grown into. "Dang, that shit does work fucking nicely," he said and let out a booming laugh as he felt up his new cock, "You really gotta give this a try Bill, it's fucking fantastic!"

"How about it Bill? Ya want a go yerself?" Dan said, advancing on his neighbor, who was looking more and more fearful the closer the big redneck came. Without saying anything, he bolted for the door, burst out, and slammed right into James' big frame who was still waiting outside for his Pa to call him. The boy was so big, Bill bounced right off of him and fell flat on his ass on the porch.

"Oh sorry sir!" James said, "Here, let me help ya." James grabbed Bill under the armpits and hoisted him up to standing, but Bill wasn't really paying attention. Something smelled...amazing, and he had to know what it was. Leaning in closer, he found that the closer he was to James, the stronger the smell, and the harder his dick grew, and the more he just wanted to fuck him and be fucked by him all night long. Before he could lunge in and kiss James and begin ripping off his overalls, Dan grabbed Bill's collar and hauled him out of James' arms.

"Well see? Now ya gone 'n spoiled my surprise!" Dan said, and dragged Bill back in, James following behind him, "Everyone? I'd like ya tah meet by boy, James. Or at least, reintroduce ya tah him. I know ya ain't too keen on him, but I has a feelin' he'll grow on ya. Go say hi tah Tom 'n Ned, boy," Dan said, and pushed James into the shop.

James was surprised by the shove and stumbled forward, falling against Ned at the counter. Blushing, he quickly backed away. "Sorry sir, my Pa don' know his strength sometimes."

"That...That's alright..." Ned muttered, but for some reason, he couldn't get the thought out of his head that the young cub in front of him smelled fantastic. And looked pretty fantastic too. "You can come as close as you want," he said, leering a bit, "I don't bite...hard."

James scent reached Tom a moment later, and he leaned over the counter, sizing the by up, "Yeah, you do look good boy. You...smell good too."

"Yeah, don't he?" Ned said, pulling James close and taking a deep inhale, "He smells like a good fuck."

"Yeah, that's what I was thinking too. A good, long fuck," Tom said, massaging the hardening cock in his pants. He took a deep breath off his cigar, leaned in close, and pulled James into a smoky kiss while Ned started massaging James' ass through his overalls. James wasn't entirely sure what to think about the whole thing. He liked being fucked by Pa, sure, but he wasn't so sure how he'd like being fucked by Pa and all of his friends too. Still, the smoky kiss was making his cock hard, and he did like the feel of Ned's hands caressing him, so he leaned in and went with it.

"Now hold on ya pigs, don't get too carried away now," Dan said, "We have some unfinished business here, and then we can get tah the fun 'n games."

Both Tom and Ned gave a cursory nod, then went back to feeling up James, unable to help themselves. They soon found that the smell was infectious, and looking at one another, they couldn't deny that they were finding each other very attractive as well. The fact that Dan had just made them gay never crossed their minds. All that mattered was how irresistible the thought of wild sex with burly men was at the moment. Sandwiching James between them, they began to kiss, while Dan addressed Bill. "Now, did ya like the way my boy smells?"

"Yes, oh god yes!" Bill said, fighting to join in with Tom and Ned, but Dan refused to let him go.

"Well, if ya wanna play with us, ya gotta let the real you out, alright? Otherwise I'm gonna have tah spray ya with somethin' else, 'n trust me, ya won't like what that one does tah ya. It'll make ya a redneck slut like my boy here, is that what ya want ta be?"

Bill's eyes grew wide with terror, he gulped, and nodded, "Alright, you can spray me, you fucker. But you...you have to promise that...that you won't laugh at me, alright?"

Dan was caught off guard by the comment, but nodded. "Sure man, I ain't gonna laugh. Trust me, yer gonna love it, just wait," Dan said, and sprayed Bill all over, who held his breath and braced himself for it. However, the change didn't start until his lungs gave out, and he took in a deep breath of the smell. As he inhaled, his gut expanded, and then kept growing even after he stopped, the pace quickening as the rest of his body began to pile on fat as well. Dan kept expecting it to slow, but Bill kept growing, his gut falling out the bottom of his T-shirt and descending into a large apron descending several inches past his crotch. His ass inflated as well, becoming wide and jiggly, eventually ripping open the seat of his jeans and his boxers, leaving them in tatters on his very fat body. Dan had to say that Bill was now one of the fattest men he'd ever seen, with sagging tits, and a second and third chin hanging down from his soft, round face. Bill hadn't grown much taller, and his relative shortness simply emphasized his girth. His hair lengthened until it was quite shaggy, with long bangs hanging down over his face and to either side, and a wiry beard sprouted from his jaw, growing almost a foot in every direction, looking wild and uncombed. Suddenly, Dan was hit by a smell. It was similar to his own unwashed odor, but somehow ranker, as he watched Bill's body acquire a sweaty sheen, even his hair looking slightly damp from all of the sweat he was putting out. Finally, his clothes began to knit themselves back together into a wifebeater and sweats which were even a size large for him, draping across his body, but from the look of it, he had nothing else on, aside from a pair of ratty tennis shoes.

Looking down at himself, Bill's face turned bright red and flushed with sweat, but the way his hands explored his figure, kneading his new mounds of fat, he was obviously turned on by his new look. Dan just looked at him quizzically, "Ya wanted tah be...that fat?" he couldn't resist letting out a chuckle.

"You said you wouldn't laugh, Dan."

"I'm not laughin', I'm jus'...surprised is all. Most guys don' want tah be fat, and they don't want tah reek either."

"What makes this any more normal and well adjusted than Ned the muscle freak over there? I mean, he should barely be able to move, looking like that. And I could say the same thing about you wanting to be a nasty redneck!" Bill said, growing heated.

"Ya best watch how ya talk tah me, 'cause I can make ya regret it," Dan said, scowling.

"Hey you two, quit fighting!" Tom said, "You had something planned, right Dan? We're all friends here, just let bygones be bygones."

Still scowling, Dan lead Bill over to where James, Ned and Tom were making out with one another, and pulled James away from them, positioning him in the center between all four of them. James looked around at the four imposing daddies eyeing him hungrily, and a tinge of fear crept into his heart. When he saw the mean sneer on his Pa's face, he knew he was in for something, but he had no idea what it was, at least until he saw Dan pull out the final can--Ideal.

"Now, here's the game," Dan said, "This spray'll change someone intah whatever ya'd like him tah be. I thought it might be fun, tah play a little game with 'em. We can all make a change tah him, and then have our fun, how does that sound?"

The others all nodded in excitement, and Dan passed the spray to Ned. "Well, as you all know, I have a thing for chubs, so I think we can kiss those muscles of his goodbye," he said grinning, and sprayed James down. Immediately, his muscles all began to sag and turn into fat, his arms becoming heavy and flabby, his pecs drooping and becoming moobs, and his belly expanding into a large gut. Dan gulped, unhappy with the change, and watched Ned pass the bottle to Bill.

"You know James, I hate a lot of things about you, but what I hate the most is your constant brown-nosing. You're always trying to please people at work, your friends, but when it comes to us yuo treat us like shit. Well, if you want to be a brown-noser so much, I guess you're going to find eating out a shitty ass like mine incredibly hot, how does that sound?" Bill sprayed James, and new memories flooded his head, like licking Pa's ass after taking a shit and then having him sit on his face until James blew his load. He hadn't had a taste of sweaty ass in a long while, and thinking about being crushed under Bill, licking his fat crack clean got his cock hard in his pants.

Tom received the spray next and gave James a good dose while he spoke, "Well, I think he's always been a bit too high and mighty myself, so I think it would be good for everyone to know exactly what his place is in the world. How about some nice tattoos to go with that new body of yours?" James felt a stinging across his forehead, causing him to wince in pain, but he already knew what it said: PIG. Immediately, the stinging spread across his entire body, from his neck to his legs, as any number of filthy names across his body: slut, whore, asslicker, biker bitch, piss pig--there were too many to count, and most of them came with images which James would never have shown off in public in a million years. He tried to cover himself up as best he could, but gave up. What was the use of hiding them? He was fucked, or at least he would be soon, he was sure.

"Alright, I guess I'm last then," Dan said, and sprayed his son, "Now boy, ya see all those words written on ya now? I want ya tah not only believe that they're a perfect description of who ya are, but I want ya tah be proud of it. Yer nothin' but a whore, with two gaping holes hungry for massive cocks, and serving yer new daddies makes ya happier than anything else in the whole world."

James brain pulsed, as all of the words on his body seared themselves into his consciousness. He loved serving men, any man, sucking cock, getting fucked, eating ass, drinking piss, and anything else anyone wanted to do to him. He fell to his knees, and words began tumbling from his mouth, "Please sirs, I know I'm nothing but a pig, but please fuck me. I'm so hungry for your cum, I need it to live, please don't make me suffer without it!" He crawled over to Dan and began rubbing his face across his Pa's package, desperate for sex. His own cock was leaking, and as the four descended upon him, now fully engrossed by his own musk, he couldn't have been happier.

They shoved him down and ripped off his overalls as they all hurried to undress themselves. Dan was the first to his boy's ass, and slammed his fourteen inch cock in up to the hilt with no resistance from his son's now permanently wreaked hole. James gasped from the feeling of satisfaction which came from having his ass filled with his father's cock, only to find Bill's massive ass descend on his face, and James began licking eagerly, the taste of sweat and bitter shit making him hornier than he'd even been in his life. Tom began making out with Dan as he fucked, while Ned explored Bill's massive figure, incredibly turned on by his new fatter physique. Without warning, Bill let off a massive fart right in James' face, and the smell overwhelmed his self-control, causing him to blow a massive load all over the floor beneath him.

"God damn it boy! I fuckin' raised you better 'n that!" Dan said, when he saw James cum, "Ya know ya ain't supposed tah cum 'til yer daddies do. I'm jus' gonna have tah fix it so ya can't cum at all!" He pulled out the can of Ideal again, and sprayed James all over. James let out a moan, as he felt himself begin another transformation, his cock and balls shrinking and tightening up to almost nothing. His sack was barely the size of a grape, his cock barely an inch long and incapable of cumming, though if he rubbed it enough, he could still orgasm, but only with a cock in both of his holes. In fact, he didn't even consider it a cock anymore, it was his clit, and he had two pussies just aching to be filled by cocks. The tattoo on his forehead shifted until it read SOW, and all of his body and facial hair shrank back, though he kept his mullet, though it lightened to a bleach blond color. With a high pitched voice tinged with a slight lisp, James cried, "Oh yeah daddy, fuck my filthy sow pussy! Fuck yer naughty pig!"

"Shut up bitch!" Bill said, and smothered James' face back under his ass again, as Dan resumed his fucking, pounding the pig's ass even more savagely than before. Eventually, Bill turned around, lifted up his massive gut revealing his own foot long cock which he slammed down James' gaping throat, the massive member sliding in just as effortlessly as Dan's had into the boy's asshole, and both of them came quickly, hurried on by James' moans of delight and hunger.

Tom was about to replace his cock with Dan's, when Ned piped up, "Hey, I have a better idea. Here, Tom, sit on the ground with your legs spread apart." Tom looked skeptical, but did as Ned suggested, his massive cock sticking straight up in the air. Ned sat down across from him, his own cock nuzzled up against Tom's, sticking up a few inches higher. James saw what they were doing and grinned. He squatted down over both cocks and began working Ned's into his hole, and then Tom's as well, a fit which stretched even his well used ass to the limit, and had him groaning with pain. To keep the pig from moaning too loud, Bill shoved his cock back into the boy's mouth, muffling him, while Dan whispered words of encouragement to his pig. "Come on ya slut! I know ya can take those fuckin' cocks, both of them at once. Hell, just last week ya took most of Ned's forearm up yer ass, don't ya remember that? This should be a piece a cake!"

James moaned louder, unable to speak with his mouth full, and squatted down further, Ned and Tom working their way in deeper together. James had never felt so full, or so content in his whole life, and as he took inch after inch of both cocks, and his Pa kept congratulating him on what a good sow slut he was, all while slowly rubbing his tiny clit, he felt a massive orgasm begin building in him, which hit when he got a foot of both cocks shoved up his ass. He began sliding up and down on them in a wild euphoria, faster and faster, and Bill blew his own load all over his face while watching James do his work.

Tom let out a groan and came first, groaning loudly as James milked his sensitive cock for all it was worth. Ned however, kept going for a good half hour, Tom eventually pulling out, allowing Ned to push the slut up against the counter and pound the pig's hole for all it was worth, his fellow daddies cheering him on as James moaned and begged for more. Finally, Ned came deep in James' ass, bringing the pig to a second mind blowing orgasm which sent him to his knees, once Ned pulled his cock from his ass. Unable to shut his hole, three massive loads leaked out in a small puddle beneath him, and he began scooping up handfuls of it and licking it off his fingers. "Oh thank you daddies," he moaned, "Thank ya'll for fuckin' this lowly sow 'n givin' him all yer lovely cum. It tastes so delicious...mmm..." he groaned, still high on his own orgasm. He crawled over to his daddies and began servicing all of their cocks, relishing the taste of his own ass left on them, and occasionally receiving a blast of acrid piss, which he swallowed down happily.

"What do ya think guys? He a keeper?" Dan said, and the others just laughed, making James feel so happy. He loving being a dirty sow for his daddies.

"You know," Bill said, "I have an idea. Where'd you get this stuff anyway, Dan?"

"Don' know. James brought it home with him from the mall. Some new shop was carryin' it, or somethin'."

"Well, why don't you go get some more of this stuff, and the three of us can call up all of our buddies, and get together at your house tonight. After changing all the guys, we can go have some fun with the rest of our families. Hell, I know my bitchy wife could use a good dose of this stuff. She'd be a hot little cub begging for my cock all the time. That would be so fucking hot!"

The others all agreed, and after making sure everyone was good and clean, Dan grabbed a few cans of chaw, on the house, and headed back out to the truck with James in tow, climbed in and set off for the mall. The party was going to be a good one, but James didn't care. He was happy kissing his daddy as he drove, while three of Dan's fingers and eventually his whole fist worked their way into his slutty hole, sending shivers to his minuscule clit which he rubbed all the way into town. He was a sow, and damn if he wasn't the happiest sow in the whole damn city.

6

Down in the lobby, Kyle did his best not to stare at every fat, balding man in the casino, but it was difficult, and there were a lot of them. Kyle tried to catch his breath, still smoking his cigar, but with his new body, he obviously wasn't used to any amount of aerobic exercise. Hell, who was he kidding? He was a lazy ass, preferring to sit around the house watching porn than do anything productive. What windfall he had from his home accounting business he spent at the casino, mostly as an excuse to cruise for lonely old men looking for some company, or at the very least a mouth and ass to fuck.

He exited the front door, the doorman not even giving him the time of day, and started searching for his valet ticket, but he soon realized that he didn't own a convertible, or at least he didn't own a convertible now. Looking at his ring of keys, all he had was the key to his smelly apartment and his mailbox key. He didn't own a car at all. Of course, why would he need a car? He took the bus everywhere, which was better anyway. He saw some of the hottest guys on the bus, and would usually sit in the back, rubbing his stubby cock, fantasizing about sucking off older businessmen, or the occasional construction worker. A couple of times, he'd even managed to pull off a couple of hand jobs for guys who wanted them, and once even blew a guy in the back seat.

Kyle shook his head, trying to clear it. These weren't his memories, and this wasn't his body. He couldn't let himself get sucked into this. It was all the damn necklace's fault. In the elevator, he'd tried to pull it off again, but no matter how much he tried, he couldn't. He was stuck with it until he returned it, he was certain--that was always how these curses worked, right? He'd take it back, apologize, and the store owner would tell him how to get his life back, and then he'd be on his way, lesson well learned.

He walked the short distance to the bus stop, but even that exertion almost proved too much for his weakened state. He checked the schedule, and saw that it would be another ten minutes until the bus arrived, so he sat down on the bench and waited, smoking his cigar. Damn he loved these things, he thought as he took a big inhale. He knew they'd kill him one day, if all the sex didn't first, but he didn't care. He ran a hand through his greasy hair and figured he should probably take a shower when he got home. Hell, he couldn't remember the last time he'd bothered. Still, he'd probably just end up in his easy chair, watching some porno or other, massaging his cock until he eeked out something resembling an orgasm and a trickle of old, smelly cum, then order in some Chinese or something for dinner and maybe get some work done for a client or two.

"No," he said to himself, "No, I have to get to the mall. I have to return the necklace." He gripped it with one of his old hands, using that to remind himself of his real goal so he wouldn't forget again. The bus arrived a few minutes later, and Kyle put out the butt of his cigar on the concrete bench next to him, heaved himself up, and climbed the stairs into the bus. He smiled when he saw Dennis, the usual driver for the 716 city bus. He was probably a bit older than Kyle was, sixty or so. He had a shaved head and a full white beard, but what Kyle loved staring at was the large belly pressing out and almost touching the steering wheel, it was so large. Of course, Kyle knew Dennis both clothed and unclothed, and had invited the large driver back to his place numerous times. Dennis was as much a pervert as Kyle was, if that was even possible, although it was a shame that he was impotent. Still, he enjoyed watching Kyle shove a big dildo up his ass while he sucked on his soft cock. Kyle flashed him a grin and his bus pass at the same time, one of his hands rubbing against the older man's firm belly as he passed. Maybe he'd invite him over for a night cap after his shift was over today. It had been a while since the two of them had played together. Yeah, that would be damn nice.

He thought about taking a seat up front so he could chat Dennis up, and get him all hot for that night, but then, he saw the nasty looking derelict on the back bench, asleep with his face plastered against the window, snoring away. Damn, Kyle couldn't resist an opportunity like that, so he headed on back too, and took a seat next to him. The rest of the bus was lightly crowded at least, and everyone else was generally tuned into their own business, their music, the paper, or their phones. No one was paying him any attention, well, no one except Dennis. He caught the older bus driver's eye in the rear view mirror and they flashed each other a grin. Yeah, Dennis knew what was going to happen, and he sure as hell loved to watch.

The bus pulled away from the transit center, and Kyle edged closer to the still sleeping bum. He was someone who would have filled Kyle with disgust not hours earlier, but now he found himself entranced. The man had obviously been living on the streets for quite a while, with wild unwashed hair long enough to reach his shoulders and a bushy beard sticking out in every direction. He had a variety of plastic shopping bags filled with junk at his feet. His many layers of clothing couldn't hide his prominent gut, sticking out from his ill fitting shirts and overhanging the crotch of his filthy jeans. He was definitely asleep, so Kyle scooted closer still, so his own fat thigh was rubbing against the bum's, leaned over, and took a whiff of the guy's funk. He reeked of alcohol, and who knew what else, but the stench just made Kyle hotter, and he could feel Dennis' eyes on him in the mirror. Kyle started to massage his own cock through his suit pants, or at least he did to the best of his ability, given how fat he was. Damn, he was such a nasty pig, he thought, and leaned in a bit closer, taking another deep breath, but not as nasty as this guy was. This was going to be so fucking hot.

Careful to be gentle, Kyle reached out with one hand and began massaging the derelict's crotch. The man didn't wake up, which suited Kyle fine, and his cock began to harden in the denim. It wasn't very big, probably five inches, but Kyle didn't care. He was so turned on by his perversion that he couldn't help himself. He began massaging the shaft gently, bringing a moan to the man's lips as he stirred awake groggily, muttering.

"Shhhh..." kyle whispered as the man gradually realized what was happening, "Shhhh....Just relax."

The bum didn't say anything, but his body was about as stiff as his cock was. Still, he didn't pull away, which was as much permission as Kyle needed. He reached for the zipper of the guy's jeans, but the man pushed him away, "Hey, come on, not here."

"Why not man? You got a hot cock man, a good hot cock."

"I'm not gay."

"I never said that you are. Besides, it's hotter if you aren't," Kyle said, and grabbed the zipper, slowly undoing the fly.

"What? What kind of perv are you?" the man mumbled.

"The kind of perv that would be more than happy to suck your cock, right here, right now. What do you say? I know you want it. When's the last time you got any action? Weeks? Months? I mean, feel how hard that cock of yours is," Kyle said. He undid the rest of the fly and pulled out the man's cock, slowly stroking it. He twisted his body so Dennis could see, and the bum jerked away.

"Man, the fuckin' driver can see us."

"Sure he can, but don't worry, we're good friends," Kyle said, leaning in closer, "He likes to watch." He wrapped his hand back around the bum's cock and kept stroking it, while he got his face close enough to be brushed by the man's filthy beard. "You smell good man, good and ripe. When's the last time you took a shower?"

"Leave me alone."

"Come on, it ain't going to hurt," he said, "Just let Daddy take care of everything."

The derelict tried to push Kyle away again, but Kyle ran his finger around the head and he couldn't help but let out a whimper. Kyle shifted his hand, stroking the shaft, and with one last look to Dennis in the mirror, he bent over and took the man's cock into his mouth.

It was filthy, but somehow that just made Kyle hornier. Part of him was absolutely horrified, but that part was small and growing smaller. He couldn't resist the sexual drive, more powerful than anything else, blotting out reason and decorum in favor of pure lust. The derelict stayed stiff for a while, but eventually settled in and relaxed, allowing Kyle to go about his work.

"Damn you have a hot mouth, man," he muttered, and then laughed, "God, I can't believe this, getting sucked off in the back of a bus. Well, at least I'm not sucking, that's for sure, but still...god I had a good home, a nice wife, kids...It was the alcohol that did it," the bum continued, "God, I couldn't go a day without drinking myself silly. I didn't stop for work, or for my family, I still can't stop. Alcohol ruined my life, no I let it ruin my life. I hate it, but that's the truth."

A new craving entered into Kyle's mind: booze. He could taste the alcohol on his breath, feel it clouding his head even further. He drank when he woke up, he drank himself to sleep. He'd been in the hospital plenty of times to get his stomach pumped, but he just couldn't stop. He didn't even want to.

"Yeah, what I wouldn't give to have that all back. God, I hate being homeless, I hate being unemployed, I hate being such a god damn fuck up. That's really the best way to put it. If an opportunity came my way, I fucked it up, if only I had it to do all over again."

The suit which Kyle had been wearing began to fade into a grubby T-shirt, barely stretched over his massive gut. He could feel his hair and beard growing longer and greasier, from his years spent living on the streets. As he sucked, he could feel the numerous teeth he'd lost over the years, a few from bar fights, other's that had just rotted from his head. He was a disgusting derelict, sucking some guy's cock on the bus. He'd messed up his entire life, and the old part of him just wanted to cry, but the new part of him, the derelict accustomed to life in alleyways, to sucking off drunk dirty men on the way home from the bar in exchange for a few dollars to spend on liquor or food, this was simply his life. It was horrid, but that's what it was.

The man grunted, and came, Kyle sucking down as much as he could. When the flow stopped, he sat up, wiping his face with one filthy hand. The man next to him was no longer a derelict, rather he was a middle aged business man, zipping up his pants and checking to make sure no one was looking.

"Where's my five bucks man? A guy's gotta eat," Kyle slurred.

"Here's a dollar," the man said, "That's all a piece of filthy trash like you deserves anyway."

"That wasn't the deal. Gimme my money," he grabbed at the man's sleeve, but the man shook him off and stood up.

"You touch me again, and I tell the driver you were threatening me. I call the cops, and they take you to jail. You want to go to jail?"

It wouldn't be the first time for Kyle, but he scooted back, shoving the crumpled bill into the pocket of his pants with the rest of his loose change. At the next stop, the businessman got off, leaving Kyle alone in the back. He leaned against the window and took a swig from the bottle of whisky he carried with him, wishing he could light up a cigar, but knew better than to try on the bus. There was something he'd been trying to do, something important, but he couldn't remember. Looking around, he saw the Dennis still eyeing him in the rear view mirror, licking his lips. Yeah, that's what he'd been doing. Dennis likes a good show, so Kyle would usually hop on his bus when he got cold and give him a little demonstration, if he let him ride for free from end to end, from the stadium to the mall transit center.

"The mall...Wasn't there something he needed to do at the mall?" he thought, as he played with his nipples through his shirt, licking his lips while his eyes were locked with Dennis in the mirror. He was just so horny, he couldn't stand it, fished out his tiny cock from his jeans and started jacking off. He didn't notice a couple of the riders see him and get off, disgusted, Kyle was too focused on his own pleasure, his glazed expression and drooling mouth oblivious to everything other than his cock.

Of course, he'd been that way for as long as he could remember. He'd sucked cock early, and often, running away from home after failing to pass the seventh grade again. He'd been on the streets, smoking, drinking and sucking cock for as long as he could remember. Still, something about that didn't seem right. Something about the mall, something important, like jacking off, or eating ass. Damn, he needed a cock up his ass. There was a good ten minute turn around at the transit center, maybe Dennis would fuck him with a dildo. Damn, that would be so hot. A few spurts of cum shot out of his cock, soaking the area around his fly. Whatever little bit got on his hands he brought to his lips and licked off sensually, still staring at Dennis in the mirror, showing him how desperate he was.

Sated for the moment, he took a swig from the shitty whisky he had with him and let out a loud belch, then laid his head against the window, watching the city pass by. Occasionally he would try to think about what had been so important, but he was never able to pin two or three things together before his mind drifted back to sex, or simple emptiness. It took him a couple of moments to realize they'd pulled into the transit center. The passengers all exited the bus, but Kyle stayed where he was. When the last person got off, Dennis got up out of the driver's seat and headed back to where Kyle was seated.

"Last stop, Kyle," The driver said, "You gotta get off,"

"Hey Dennis, what's the harm?" Kyle answered, taking another swig from his bottle, "I thought you were liking my show."

"Yeah, well I've had a good number of riders complain about you today, and if you don't go, the bosses will have my head for letting a filthy pervert ride around for free, so you gotta get off."

"I know a better way to get off," Kyle said. He reached out and started massaging Dennis' crotch with one hand, his other still nursing his own cock in his pants. "How about a quickie?"

"Damn it Kyle, you know..." Dennis said.

"Yeah, man, but come on, I know what you like," Kyle said, and rummaged around in one of his bags until he fished out a nasty, unwashed dildo, "How about I fuck myself with this while I suck that limp cock of yours off? How does that sound?"

"Look Kyle, now's not the time--"

"Oh quit being such a fucking pushover and grow a backbone for once in your life, would you?" Kyle said, growing a bit frustrated.

"Oh shut up, you fucking loser," Dennis said loudly, "You know, you're lucky I'm a pushover, because otherwise you'd be fucked. Hell, you're the scumbag here with the fucked up life! I should be the one in change here, not you."

Reality twisted around them for a moment, Kyle desperately trying to keep anything in his head that he could, but drunk as he was, be was helpless against it. When everything settled down again, Dennis was standing in front of him, grinning maniacally at him, holding the filthy dildo in his hand as he whacked it against his other palm. It was bigger than before...much bigger. Probably bigger than Kyle's fist, at least a foot long, and covered with studs. It looked like it would stretch even his well used ass to the very limits.

"Come on Dennis, I'm sorry. I tried to get him to pay me, but he wouldn't."

"Shut up you fucking pig, you know the rules. You suck the cocks, you get paid, you pay me, I let you sleep on the floor, instead of on the street. You don't get the money, then you get your punishment."

"Dennis, come on man, I--" Kyle started to say, but was silenced by the driver slapping him across the face with the rubber cock, hard enough to sting.

"How many times do I have to tell you that you and I are not on a first name basis?"

"Sorry...I'm sorry," Kyle said, trying not to cry. God, he hated this, but he was such a pushover, and he really didn't want to be back on the streets...

Sorry...what? What do you call me?"

"Sorry...master."

"Good pig, now get on the floor and take your punishment."

Trying not to cry, Dennis hated it when he cried, Kyle undid his pants, dropped them to his ankles, and got down onto the floor of the bus. Kyle put the dry rubber against his hole and shoved it in, making Kyle cry out. "Come on Dennis, I'm sorry! Please, not so hard!"

"What the fuck did you call me?" Dennis shouted, pushing the dildo in another few inches and twisting it viciously, "What the fuck is my name, pig?"

"Master! Master, please. Please don't. I'll get more money for you, I promise...please," Kyle begged, but Dennis was relentless. It was so big, Kyle couldn't help but start sobbing quietly. It just hurt so much, he couldn't take it.

"Yeah, take it you fucking slut," Dennis said, "and thank you're lucky stars that my cock doesn't work, because otherwise, you'd be getting by cock shoved up there instead. Man, I wish I could get hard just so I could fuck your horny ass. I wish I had a big thick cock, massive fucking balls, and the stamina to ride you until tomorrow. Then I'd show you who's the fucking master around here."

Kyle was too absorbed in his own suffering to notice the tingling in his pants. His already short cock shrank even smaller, to around two inches, and his balls shrank to the size of grapes. What he did notice was that he was starting to feel really tired. Sure, he wasn't exactly the fittest guy in the world, but a minute ago he'd been fine, but now he found himself heaving for breath, despite the fact that Dennis was doing all the work. Dennis on the other hand had never looked, or felt, better. As he massaged his crotch, he began to notice something changing, or rather, growing down there. He undid the fly and pulled out a massive ten inch cock, rock hard and almost as thick as the dildo crammed up Kyle's asshole, and a ball sack the size of an orange, if not a bit bigger. He just stared at it in disbelief for a moment, and then grinned menacingly pulling the rubber cock from Kyle's hole.

For a moment, Kyle thought he'd been spared, and was about to turn around and kiss his master's feet for his mercy, until he felt the head of Dennis' new cock begin working its way into his wreaked hole. He was actually thankful for the dildo punishment from earlier now, because otherwise, the brutal fucking Dennis gave him, which had the bus rocking on its wheels, would have had him screaming in pain. God, he hated this. Why couldn't that fucker have just given him the money?  But Kyle was such a pushover, he just let that fucking businessman off without trying to stop him. Dennis kept pounding away, until finally unloading a massive shot of cum deep into Kyle's ass. He pulled out quickly, and Kyle started to get up, but Dennis pushed him back down and slammed the dildo home, making Kyle gasp.

"Yeah, maybe that will make you think twice about not getting paid this time around. You still owe me fourteen dollars for tonight, don't forget, unless you'd rather spend the night in The Hole over at P & P..."

"No sir, please. I'll get the money this time, I promise. I'll do good." P&P was short for Pain and Pleasure, the leather bar Dennis frequented, and The Hole...well, Kyle didn't want to think about what it was like in The Hole.

"Yeah, you'd better, you fucking piece of trash. Now clean off my cock. You got it all filthy."

Kyle got on his knees with some difficulty, partly because of how exhausted he was, but also because the massive dildo in his ass didn't give him much range of movement. Dennis' cock was filthy, but he licked it clean anyway, not really wanting to find out what his master would do if he refused. Kyle couldn't refuse him anything, not really. He knew that he deserved everything Dennis did to him, and was lucky that he let him live with him at all. Thirty dollars got him a dog bed in the living room, a bowl of dog food and some water. Yeah, it was humiliating, eating that filth while Dennis fucked his ass, and the horrific things he said to him usually left Kyle in tears for half the night, but what else was there? He was too stupid and drunk to keep down a job. This was his only hope. Dennis, his master, was all he had.

Satisfied that it was clean, Dennis shoved his semi hard cock down into his pants. "Now sit back down and make me some fucking money, you worthless piece of shit," he said over his shoulder as he walked back to the driver's seat and sat down, opened the door, and let in the few people waiting at the transit center. Using the seat for support, Kyle managed to get back to standing, waddled over and sat down again, heaving for breath. God, he was so tired all of a sudden, but still so horny. He hadn't shot a real load in weeks now, and he felt almost delirious with lust. Night after night, Dennis would keep Kyle right on the edge of orgasm for hours. It didn't help that his cock was permanently soft, a fact which Dennis never tired reminding him of. God he hated his life so much. How had it come to this?

Looking out the window, Kyle saw the mall across the parking lot, and something nagged at him. He needed to get there, but why? What at the mall was so important? He felt a small nudge around his neck, and reached down his shirt, pulling out the bearclaw necklace, trying to remind him of his goal. Get it back to the bear boutique, and everything would be alright. It had to be. Purpose gave him energy, and Kyle stood up, only to lock eyes with Dennis in the rear view mirror. Those cold, hard, terrifying eyes, Kyle thought, and sat back down, hoping he hadn't made his master angry. He still had to make fourteen dollars today, and they only had four more circuits before Dennis' shift was over. If he didn't make his quota by then...he'd end up in the hole. Dennis was good friends with the owners of a leather bar, and each night, one unlucky slave would be forced into the hole. A little cage in the backroom, where all night long, men would use him as they pleased. As a cum dump, as a urinal...anything they wanted, but what Kyle really couldn't stand was the pain. The beatings, the whips, the paddles, needles, clothespins, and cigarettes. He couldn't go back there, not after last time.

Looking around, he saw that everyone who had gotten on the bus was a woman, so there were no targets yet. There were quite a few guys who knew Dennis and Kyle, and would wait for their bus to have a turn at Kyle's willing hole. Of course, Dennis would usually let those customers off with a discount, making Kyle's job even harder. The bus lurched forward, and Dennis pulled away from the transit center, Kyle watching the mall grow farther and farther away. He knew this wasn't his life. That he'd been a successful real estate agent with a nice car and a bad habit of stealing trinkets. God, how could he have been so stupid? He'd do anything to have a chance at that life again. Hell, any life would be better than this one. Looking down, he saw a sign on the window, "Emergency Exit: Pull lever and push out glass."

This was an emergency, Kyle thought. He pulled up the lever as quietly as he could, hoping Dennis wouldn't notice, and then leaned on the pane, which fell out onto the ground with the smash of broken glass. That caught every ones' attention. Before someone could try and stop him, Dennis had climbed onto the seat and was squeezing his way out. For a single moment of terror, he thought that he wouldn't be able to fit his massive body through the window, but he popped out, tumbling the five feet to the moving asphalt in a mass of flailing fat. He scrambled up as best he could, already winded, and took off for the nearest mall entrance as fast as he could go, panting and sweating and heaving, but he knew that if he stopped, he would never get there.

Looking over his shoulder, he saw the bus keep rolling for a bit before coming to halt. The door opened, and Dennis came down the steps, angrier than Kyle had ever seen him. Hell, if he stopped now, no one would even be able to find his remains. Cursing to himself, he made off for the mall entrance, begging the necklace to would be merciful to him, just this once. He knew he didn't deserve it. For everything he'd done, he deserved to be Dennis' slave. But he wasn't about to just give up, not when he was so close. Not while there was still hope.

7

James knew that people were staring at him and Dan as they walked through the mall, or rather, they were mostly staring at him, but he didn't care. They were certainly quite the sight, but a hulking, heavily tattooed redneck was nothing compared to the short, round pig tattooed all over his body wearing nothing more than an ill fitting pair of overalls waddling beside him. James, though, only had eyes for his daddy, now and forever. He wasn't entirely sure why Dan wanted to go to Bear Boutique so much, but he was so much smarter than his stupid pigboy, James probably wouldn't even be able to understand if Dan told him. He just led the way through the mall, until they arrived back at the shop and stepped inside. Max saw them come in through the archway and let out a sigh, looking from Dan to James and then back again. "Something I can do for you?"

"Uh...yeah," Dan said, "Is this the place where I can git some more a this stuff?" He held up one of the nearly empty canisters and grinned. "I'm havin' a party with some friends a mine, 'n I was wonderin' if I could pick up some more."

Max didn't have time for this. Well, he had all the time in the world in fact, but none of the patience. He still had two hours before the shop closed for the night, when he would be free, finally. He didn't want anything more to do with this, or Tristan, or the sexy thrall he had waiting for him in the back...no, he couldn't go there. He couldn't lose control like that again. He focused again on his breathing and calmed down, trying not to think about his raging hard-on which still wasn't satisfied from his earlier fuck.  "Whatever. The whole selection is over there. Just take what you want. Here's a bag to fill up."

Dan was a bit taken aback by the shop owner's disinterest, but accepted the plastic bag, walked over to the display and started looking at the sprays, soaps and everything else. The selection was massive, and there were far more types of body spray than he had expected, and with a big grin, he started loading bottles into the bag, not even bothering to see what they would do. The surprise would be more fun that knowing anyway.

James followed his Pa around for a minute or two, but soon grew bored and looked around the store for a bit on his own, when he heard a voice call out to him from behind a beaded curtain at the back of the store. Out of curiosity, he ducked behind it and looked around, entranced by all of the sex toys, and imagining how they would feel in his pussy hole.

"Psst! Over here!" Looking over, James saw his reflection in another mirror beckoning him over, "Let me get a good look at you."

A bit confused, James walked over, scratching his head, "Am I goin' crazy? I didn' know ya could talk tah mirrors."

"Dang, that bastard really did a number on you," the reflection said. He turned around, and James felt himself mimic the movement, spinning in place and looking over his shoulder, the reflection hemming and hawing and sounding downright displeased with everything he saw, looking especially disgusted when he reached under James big apron and found his shrunken cock and balls. "This is simply not what I was expecting at all. It's almost like you want to be his pigslave or something." the reflection added,

"But I like being a pigslave," James said defensively, "My daddies are gonna throw a party tonight, 'n they're all gonna fuck my cunt, 'n it's gonna feel so good," James said, and let out a little snort, reaching back with one hand to finger his hole.

"Oh stop that!" the reflection said, pulling James' finger back, "I think we need a little something to clear out those sinuses, and remind you of just what the hell is going on here." The reflection walked away, James following along, helplessly mirroring his steps. In a storage cabinet, he began rifling through the contents until he found a first aid kit. Inside, amongst the band-aids and ointments James pulled out a bottle, labeled "Smelling Salts," uncorked the top, and took a deep whiff.

The smell was impossible to describe. In fact, it wasn't so much that James smelt something as much as he felt every single synapse fire in his brain all at once, as though his entire brain had been set on fire. He dropped the bottle to the ground and fell back, clutching his head in agony as he rolled around on the floor for a moment or two, his reflection watching calmly as he relaxed again. "Oh god, what...what the fuck happened?" James asked, his voice returning to his normal accent, though still high pitched. He looked at the reflection in the mirror and saw his body, and began to panic, "Oh fuck, it wasn't a dream at all, how the hell...what did...what did he do to me?"

"He used you, just like he always has," the reflection replied, "and for the most part, you sure did enjoy it. And I think he's probably noticed that you're missing by now, and is on his way back here to come find you."

"Wait, what? Fuck! How do I change back? Come on, you have to help me!"

"Ha, help you?" the reflection laughed, "Why would I do that? The only person who can help you is yourself, buddy. I just thought I would give you a fighting chance. If you're so tired of Dan pushing you around, then I guess it's finally time for you to learn how to push back. Otherwise, I have a feeling you're going to be a dirty little sow for the rest of your life." With a final laugh, the reflection faded and disappeared from the mirror, replaced a moment later by James' true image, just in time for Dan to come thundering through the beaded doorway and spot his sow across the room.

"There ya are! Ya know better than tah wander off like that, piggy."

James saw his Pa there, and immediately felt a wave of guilt wash over him. He had a habit of not really paying attention and wandering off, and he hated making his Pa worry like that. James struggled against the thoughts even as he realized he was running over to Dan and giving him a big hug. "I'm sorry Pa, I jus' wasn't payin' attention."

"That's alright, sowboi, just don't let it happen again. Now, what do we have back here?" Dan said, and started walking around the backroom, looking at the selection, James following along behind him, trying to fight back against the constant barrage of thoughts telling him to submit, to fiddle with his clit while imagining Dan's cock in his pussy, to beg his Pa to fuck him right here and now. He was so horny, but he fought back against it as best he could, but he knew he wouldn't be able to last long. There had to be something he could use, something which could help him.

"How about these, pig?" Dan said, stopping at a selection of piercings, "How'd ya like some nice big rings in those nipples a yers? We could even pierce yer clit, how does that sound?"

"That sounds so hot Pa, I'd love that!" James said, playing with his fat nipples, "I'm so horny Pa, could ya fuck me soon? I need yer cock up my pussy so bad..."

"Later ya little sow. Ya'll get all the cock you need at the party tonight, trust me."

The thought of the party filled James with equal parts dread and excitement. It was becoming harder to remember that he had to fight this. He watched Dan set down the bag full of sprays he had been carrying in order to better examine some of the piercing sets, and James crept closer to it. Unable to think of a better idea, and knowing he was running out of time, he mustered up all of the mental will he could, grabbed the bag, and took off as fast as he could, ducking into one of the back area changing rooms and locking the door behind him before Dan could catch up.

James rifled through the bag as fast as he could, looking for anything that could reverse the changes, while Dan pounded on the door, demanding James open up and come out. He knew he was being a bad pig--a really bad pig--and that when Dan got in he was going to get it. James tried not to thing like that, and focused back on the sprays. "There's nothing in there that will do what you're looking for. I guess you'll just have to settle for something else," a familiar voice said, and looking up, James saw that his strange reflection had reappeared in the changing room mirror. Outside, Dan began ramming his bulk against the door, making the weak wood clatter on its flimsy hinges. "It also sounds like you don't have a whole lot of time, so I'd hurry up and pick something if I were you."

A loud crack came from the door as it began to buckle, and terrified for his life and sanity, James reached out and grabbed one of the cans (and while he couldn't be sure, his reflection might have been guiding him to one in particular), popped off the cap, and began spraying himself madly, praying that he wasn't just making a horrific situation even worse. Outside, Dan slammed into the door again, the metal hinges buckling, and he cracked his knuckles, certain that one more hit is all it would take to break it down. He was angry. He thought he'd been clear enough in his desires, but apparently not. There was still some small piece of his asshole son left in there, but another spray of Ideal ought to fix that. When he was done with Dan, he wouldn't be able to speak. He wouldn't be able to think about anything other than pleasing his Pa and anyone else his daddy took a liking to. He got set to ram the door a final time, when the lock slid back, and the door swung open to reveal James standing there in the dressing room, or at least, a massive man Dan could only assume was James.

James had somehow, in a matter of moments, grown from about five feet to a height which was an inch or two taller than Dan's. His new body was about as muscular as his father's too, although he cut out all of the fat, with a ripped set of abs and rock hard pecs with meaty nipples jutting from them. James asked. He was tall, and muscular, and hairy, and the moment Dan saw him it was all he could do to keep his jaw from dropping. He was still tattooed all over, but they had changed from images of submissive humiliation to aggressive domination. The word SOW across his forehead had changed, now reading BRUTE, and his face was hard, rugged, and aged. He a big grin plastered on his face surrounded by a full beard, and he explored his muscular and hairy body with one hand, and looked at the can he had ended up with in his other. "Alpha Brut, eh? Not too bad. What do you think, Pa?"

Dan didn't really know what to say. His son had grown up, and grown up...well. The overalls he'd been wearing no longer fit him. They were loose at the belly, and with his two foot growth in height, the legs and straps were biting into his shoulders, so with both hands, he ripped the denim apart, allowing his massive cock to flop out, dribbling pre-cum, and Dan could...smell it. He could smell it, and he let out a little whimper as a strange desire rose to fall to his knees and worship this man, his son, his...alpha? No, he shook his head and tried to ignore what was happening. He still had the sprays in his pocket, he could use those. He reached for them, but James was faster. With one massive hand, he gripped the front pocket of Dan's shirt, cans and all, and ripped it away, most of the shirt and some of Dan's chest hair coming along with it, making Dan gasp in pain.

"Oh, sorry, did that not feel too good?" James said, "well then I bet this isn't going to feel any better." He dropped the shirt to the ground, balled up a fist and swung it into Dan's face, sending him tumbling back and down to the ground, his nose gushing blood. He tried to crawl away, but James stalked over and with massive feet began kicking him in the ribs viciously, unable to control the rage which had been bottled up inside of him so long.

"Please....please, don't..." Dan gasped out, clutching his chest, trying to shield himself, so Dan kicked him in the face as hard as he could, making him howl.

"Please don't what?" James said, putting one big foot on his father face and grinding it in, "Please don't hurt me? Please don't turn me into a pig slut with a measly cock like you did to me? Please don't treat me like a worthless piece of trash? Fuck that Dan, you're fucked. Now lick it, lick my nasty foot, you fucking bitch."

Dan immediately began lapping at the calloused sole pressing against his mouth, the mix of  sweat, grime and his own blood turning his stomach, but he found himself unable to refuse. First, he was terrified. In his whole life, Dan had gotten everything he'd wanted by exploiting those weaker than him, and being smart enough to not get into trouble with anyone who might be bigger than him. Suddenly being at the mercy of someone bigger than him, someone who could do anything he wanted to him, terrified him, as control of the situation slipped away. But part of him, the part of him lapping up every drop of James' smelly foot he could reach, didn't want to be in control. James was an alpha, and alpha's deserved to be worshipped. He should be grateful that James allowed him to lick his foot. Dan should do anything James asked him to do, anything at all.

With one hand, Dan reached down to free his massive cock, to stroke it in the majesty of the alpha standing over him, but James moved his foot quickly and brought it down on Dan's massive balls, making his scream in pain. "What, you actually think I'm about to let you get any pleasure out of this?" James asked, smirking as he crushed down harder, "How about I use your fucking sack as a trampoline? How about I smash these fuckers like grapes, and drink your fucking nut juice like wine? It's what you fucking deserve, for what you did to me! It's what you fucking deserve!" James shouted, and resumed kicking Dan as hard as he could in the crotch, sending Dan into an attack of gasping and coughing as he curled up into a fetal position on the floor.

James got down behind him and began ripping his jeans to pieces, giving him access to his father's hole, which he immediately began prodding with his massive fingers, Dan trying to scramble away, but James always pulling him back. "What, you don't like having something huge shoved up your hole? Bet you didn't think about what I wanted as your two fuck buddies fucked me with their cocks at the same time, did you? You didn't think about how I'd feel with my face shoved up Bill's ass crack. No, so why in the fuck should I give a flying fuck about this fucking hole?" James yelled, and with two fingers of each hand in Dan's ass, began stretching the virginal hole apart, Dan gasping in pain, his cock still painfully hard despite the rough treatment he was receiving. He wanted James to fuck him. He wanted his son's masterful cock shoved up his ass. Dan wanted to be his thrall. It was what he deserved.

"Please...Please fuck me...Please..." Dan heard himself cry, and he hated himself for wanting it so bad, but it was all he could think about.

"Fuck you? No...No, I don't think so," James said, prying Dan's hole apart a bit further, the hole now a couple of inches wide, James' fingers bloody, "But I have a better idea of what could go up this nasty pit," he said, and worked more of his hands into the hole, Dan screaming in pain. James was relentless, and before long had both of his hands buried in Dan's ass. The pain was excruciating, and Dan felt himself begin to grow lightheaded from the pain. "See? This is what it feels like, you fucking asshole! This is what it fucking feels like! Do you like it? Do you like having your ass ripped apart?"

"Yes...No...God, please! Fuck me sir! Please..." Was all Dan could manage to say before collapsing into sobs. It hurt so much, but he could smell James all around him now, and the desire to worship him grew stronger and stronger with each passing moment. Unable to stop himself, Dan's cock began unloading in his pants, cum soaking the denim and the carpet beneath him.

"You disgusting piece of trash," James said, then hauled his fists back out, making Dan groan. He tried to get up, to thank James for having mercy on him, but he couldn't move. Everything hurt too much. He saw James wipe off his hands on Dan's shirt, disappear into the dressing room for a moment and reemerge with the bag of spray cans. After a moment of rummaging about, he pulled out a familiar can--Ideal, and returned to Dan's side. "Now, I'm afraid this is where you and I part ways, unfortunately. But you know what? I think you, and all of your buddies need to learn a lesson. A...big lesson. So here's how this is going to work. First, let's give you a good spray, and that should make things a bit clearer, I think."

Dan tried to crawl away, but between his still throbbing hole, his most likely broken ribs and general panic, he didn't get very far. James sprayed him down, and Dan bent over in pain and surprise as he felt his body began to shift. His muscles dissolved and softened into fat, growing about as massive as James had been before all of this, with a large apron hanging down. All of his hair fell out next, leaving him completely bald and hairless. He figured that would be the worst of it, then he caught a look at his face one of the many mirrors around the room, and saw that his face was twisting and contorting strangely. His mouth and nose bulged out into a snout, his nose flattening into a pig's, with two tusks growing up over his upper lip. He watched his ears grow larger and floppy as his eyes shrank a bit, becoming more piggish. He let out a snort, and was surprised by how sexy it sounded. How animalistic and guttural and...just plain old hot.

Dan felt the pain of his injuries begin to fade as he healed quickly, but they were replaced by an unbearable horniness. While one hand played with his massive moobs and very sensitive nipples, his other hand dug under his fat to find his cock, which he found had changed as well. It was smaller to start off with, and he could feel a strange sheath which his cock was poking out of, and heavy, low hanging balls below. His cock wasn't shaped right either, with a strange twisting head, but it was so sensitive, Dan barely noticed a sharp pain as a curly tail erupted from right above his wide ass.

James walked over and kicked Dan's hand away from his cock, which just made the pig whimper. "Please sir, *oink* Please I'm so horny!" Dan cried, grunting and snorting as he kept playing with his fat, unable to help himself. Deep in his mind part of Dan screamed and shouted in anger and rage. He was fully aware of what he was doing, and he hated it. Hated debasing himself like a ten cent slut, but the excitement he got every time he tweaked a nipple, or grunted loudly just pushed those thoughts farther and farther away, but they never left, and he knew they'd be there in his head for the rest of his life.

"Yeah, I know you're horny, so I'll make this quick. Here's how this is going to work, pig. You're a slut now--the only thing you care about is sex. However, I have a very special mission for you. You are going to go to that party you were planning tonight, and from now until midnight, you're going to excrete a very special hormone, one which will make any man who has ever mistreated or abused someone want to fuck you, and if they cum up your ass, or down your throat, they're going to become a pig just like you. And then you are going to go out, and you're going to find men who will treat you like shit. Who will beat you, and rape you, and pimp you out, and you'll just beg them for more, because it's what fuckers like you deserve, got it?" James paused for a moment, and just watched Dan, sitting on the ground, one fat hand reaching around and playing with his loose asshole, desperate to cum, and shook his head. "Aw hell, what's the fuckin' use? Just get to the party on time, alright? That's an order."

"Yes *grunt* sir! But I'm...I'm so horny, God my ass!" Dan cried, "God, fuck me! Please! Don't leave me like *snort* like this..."

"What? Unsatisfied? Unhappy? How do you think I have felt almost every day of my life with you? Forget it asshole, you're not going to be getting anything from me. If you want cock, I'm sure you're friends will be more than happy to give you some. But if you really need something to tide you over, here," James said, and tossed him a dildo from a nearby shelf, "Give yourself a good fuck with that." Dan grabbed the rubber and slammed it into his hole as fast as he could, eager to get off, and James shook his head in disgust. He didn't want anything else to do with Dan. One final change he'd made with Ideal was to remove all genetic similarity between the two of them. Dan was no longer his father--had never been his father. James was free, and he sure as hell wasn't going to be going anywhere near that disgusting trailer park ever again. No, his life was his own now--and he wasn't about to let that slip away again.

Looking up, James saw that a door along the back wall was cracked open, and a face was looking at him through the crack. The door shut quickly, but James needed to know who was back there. He'd recognized the eyes, buried underneath that thick brow and hairy face. He pushed the door open and found himself face to face with Luke, standing there sheepishly in a leather harness, and just looking at him was making James horny. But this was his friend...he couldn't do something like...fuck him up the ass, or beat the cute muscular butt with a paddle, or any of the wonderful ideas suddenly racing through his head.

Luke was equally smitten. He'd had no idea that today he would run into not only one real alpha, but that a second one would show up as well. He knew it was James, sure, but that just made it hotter. He'd always wanted James, all through college. He'd kept his sexuality under wraps as best he could, although he knew James and Kyle wouldn't really care if they had known. It was just that...Luke had always had a thing for James. He'd expected it to go away eventually, but it just got worse as time passed, and now he was right in front of him, his frame packed with muscle, both of them covered from head to toe in tattoos and fur and sweat, and it was all he could do to remember that Max owned him now, and that he needed to be faithful to his true master.

James took a step closer, neither of them knowing what to say to one another. James wanted to ask how it had happened, but he had a good enough idea. Luke wanted to tell James about all of the feelings which he had kept buried for so long, but he didn't know where to start. Neither of them remembered who kissed who, but one moment they were apart, and the next their faces crashed into one another, and neither of them could stop. James pushed Luke back onto the desk and lifted his legs up into the air, thrusting against the thrall's ass until he finally popped into Luke's hole, making him sigh with satisfaction. Neither of them needed to say anything, they realized. This is what James had come back for, what Luke had been waiting for, Dan and Max and Kyle and the entire world fading away from them, as James fucked his new thrall roughly, Luke occasionally letting out a moan or grunt of pleasure, a strange satisfaction washing over them, exuded by the man watching the two fuck like animals and long lost lovers, unnoticed on the other side of the mirror.

8

Max could hear some sort of commotion coming from the back from the store, and a couple of times already, had almost stood up to go and see what was going on, but never could bring himself to follow through. He just didn't care anymore, and decided he was going to sit there and wait for the day to end. He'd changed all three of his targets, and there was no going back for any of them, so Tristan couldn't say he hadn't held up his side of the bargain. He just wanted to go home. Although he had admitted it to no one but Tristan, he hated his life in that cave. He hated the loneliness, and being constantly haunted by his alpha nature, which seemed to pace the shadows of his mind and the cold stone walls, but now he saw it was all for good reason. He couldn't exist with others--not simply because he would lose control, but because other people were simply so confusing and aggravating that Max didn't think he'd be able to stand it.

It was, of course, at this moment when Kyle came charging down the mall and ran into the store, heaving and panting, Dennis close behind him and in similar condition. "Please!" Max cried, yanking at the necklace around his neck, "Please get it off me, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to take it, I swear!"

Max took another deep breath and tried to reign himself in. "Look," he said, "There's nothing I can do. You took it, so it's yours. You don't like it...well, I guess that's too bad."

"There you are!" Dennis shouted, storming into the shop behind his slave, "Get over here!"

Kyle looked over his shoulder, fear and terror in his old eyes, and darted around behind the counter, cowering behind Max, "God, please...I'm sorry, I didn't mean it. Please, you can't let him have me, please."

Dennis stormed over towards Kyle, and Max stood up blocking his way. "Hey, come on, maybe you'd better just calm down, and we can all talk this--" Max said, but Dennis just came up and gave him a big shove backwards. Such a push wouldn't have done much, had Max's feet not gotten tangled in the massive derelict crouching behind him, which sent him toppling over, his head crashing against the counter, knocking him out cold.

Kyle and Dennis both stared at the limp body on the ground for a moment or two, before Kyle spoke. "Did...did you kill him?"

"I'd be much less worried about what just happened to him, and much more concerned about what's going to happen to you, fucker," Dennis said, seething with rage. He grabbed for Kyle, and wrestled the massive man to the ground, but Kyle bit down on his hand, allowing him to wriggle away and dash deeper into the store. He ducked behind a beaded curtain, and looking around for a moment for a place to hide, ducked behind a rack of leather gear and tried to keep quiet.

It was then that he heard that he wasn't alone. Someone was grunting and snorting loudly, and from the loud slapping, also jacking off most likely Curious, Kyle peeked around the other side of the rack, and saw a massively fat man thrusting a dildo in and out of his ass as quickly as he could while desperately trying to cum. Well, kind of a man. His face and head actually looked more like a pig, and his cock was ...strange, but not unattractive. Of course, no cock was unattractive to Kyle. His head was suddenly filled with images of crawling over and sucking off the pig's cock and cleaning off his fat body, and anything else the pig wanted him to do. Kyle fought the thoughts back down, but he couldn't help but feel a sudden wave of guilt wash over him. Dennis had been nothing but good to him, and Kyle had thrown it into his face. He deserved to spend the rest of his life serving men on the bus. Besides, he did like it...didn't he?

Dennis came crashing through the curtain, gripping his injured hand, and Kyle almost crawled out, planning to apologize as meekly and humbly as he could, hoping his punishment wouldn't be too great, but he held himself back. It took all of the will he could muster, but he kept silent and watched Dennis approach the middle of the room, where the pig was still fucking himself. Dan hadn't even noticed that he was no longer alone--all of his focus and mental energy was invested in getting himself off as fast as he could, so he could get to the party.

Dennis looked at the strange figure in confusion for a moment, but as the musk of the pig's body hit his nose, he felt lust begin to boil and rage in his chest and cock. He could worry about finding Kyle later, he figured--it wasn't like the fat bastard could get very far anyway. He'd tried to escape before, but he always came crying and whimpering back to his master. He knew that a night with Dennis was far better than a night on the streets. Sometimes the slave just forgot what was good for him, and needed a good, solid, reminder. A week in the hole would help him get his priorities straight, but none of that was really important now. What was important was this dirty pig writing on the ground, aching for a good fuck. A good fuck which only Dennis could give him, he was certain.

Dennis pushed down his pants, revealing his rock hard cock, and licked his lips as he got down and rolled Dan up onto his hands and knees. He gave the dildo a shove or two, working the slut's loose hole with glee. "You want a good fucking pig? Well here, let me help you with that." Dennis said cruelly as he threw the dildo to the side, and replaced it with his cock, making Dan groan and grunt with desire.

"Oh god *snort* Oh god, thank you sir, thank you for fucking this pig sir!" Dan cried, pushing his ass back as hard as he could. He needed cock--it was all he could think about anymore. He needed cock, and he needed cum, every hour and every day for the rest of his life. The old him still trapped in his mind fought back, but couldn't gain a grip on anything. He couldn't believe he was letting this fat old bus driver fuck his ass, but it felt so good, and this was his place after all. He was just a fatass slutpig, little more than a hole to fuck, but he sure did like it. Yeah, he liked being a cumdump a whole lot.

Dennis gasped as he thrust in and out a couple of times. It felt like the pig's hole was sucking him off, even though he could see it was as loose as could be. The combination of sensations made his entire body shiver with lust as he thrust deep into the pig over and over. "Fuck...oh fuck! Your fucking ass!" He cried, "God, I've never...I've never *grunt* felt anything like this before!" Dennis fucked his ass brutally, slamming his entire shaft in again and again as deep as he could go, and even though it hurt, Dan loved every moment of it. He deserved it. He deserved to feel pain, to be abused and humiliated. He felt his cock pulse and quiver and unleash a massive load of cum, all over his belly and the floor beneath him, the orgasm building higher and higher until it plateaued and held there, every thrust bringing him even more pleasure than the last. It felt so good, Dan couldn't even hold himself up any longer--he just collapsed to the ground as Dennis fucked him like a beast possessed.

From behind the rack, Kyle couldn't help but feel a bit jealous. He wanted Dennis to fuck him like that. He pulled down his pants and with one hand started working the massive dildo still up his ass in and out, imagining he was the pig beneath his master's cock. With his other hand he tried to find his own soft member, but couldn't get a good grip on it, and gave up. It wasn't like he could get a hard on anyway, so what was the point of trying? His ass sure did feel good though. Why had he run away like that? He couldn't even remember. He just wanted to crawl out there and be a good pig slave for his master Dennis, and suck lots of cocks for him and make him money, and then go home and serve him like a good slave should. He laid back, caught up in his fantasy as he fucked himself with the massive dildo, not even noticing Dennis begin to change.

It started slowly, with Dennis' hair falling out, not that he'd had much of it to start with. Before long, he was entirely hairless, and his body began to grow even fatter, surpassing even Dan's massive frame. He began pulling his nipples as hard as he could, surprised by how sensitive they were, but at the same time, everything on his body was sensitive. He could feel every bit of his cock pulse with desire as he fucked, and every flab of fat sent erotic shivers to his bones, but he needed...something more. Looking around, he saw the discarded dildo next to him, and slammed it up into his asshole as deep as it would go, not even noticing how loose he was now, nor the tip of a tail beginning to sprout from his backside. Feeling his ass full of rubber cock just made him even hotter, and he fucked even more viciously as his face began to morph, mimicking Dan's own piggish features, grunting and snorting more as his mouth and nose elongated into a snout.

With a loud squeal, he came, thrusting wildly out of control, his cock and balls morphing as they released their final load of human seed. His cock shrank into its new sheath, becoming even smaller than Dan's pig cock, popping out of the hole when it couldn't extend past Dennis' massive belly any longer, becoming buried in his massive gunt. No longer caring, Dennis got down on his hands and knees behind Dan and began slurping as his wide open hole, sucking out as much of the cum he had just shot up there as he could. He was so hungry all of a sudden. He needed cock, and he needed it now. He rolled Dan over, nursing his pig brother's cock, and cleaned up as much of the cum he'd shot as well, but it wasn't enough.

They collapsed on the floor together for a moment, exploring each other's fat body's and licking each other's snouts, when Dan's stomach growled. He was starving too, and figured that he had better hurry and get to the party, or else he'd miss it altogether. But there certainly wasn't any reason why he couldn't bring a date along as well. "Hey, *grunt* ya wanna come to a party with me? Lot's a guys will be there tah fuck us. It'll be fuckin' *snort* hot man, come on."

"Sounds fuckin' fantastic to me *oink*. let's get out of here." Dennis replied, both of them heaving themselves up as best they could, still reeling from their continuing piggish orgasms. They struggled into their too small clothes, fat bursting out of every seam, but they eventually got on their way, waddling out of the store as fast as they could go, passing the still prone and unconscious Max without a glance. There were redneck cocks to suck, they were gonna be sucking all night, the two pigs thought with joy as they hurried out to Dan's truck and drove off towards the trailer park as fast as they could.

Meanwhile, Kyle was still behind the rack, playing with his dildo and caught up in his own fantasy. Frustrated that he couldn't get his cock the least bit hard, and that he was just so fucking horny, he couldn't take it anymore. He came out, ready to beg for Dennis' forgiveness if he'd just fuck him, but found the room empty, aside from himself, and his many reflections in the mirrors scattered around the room. His first thought was panic. His master had abandoned him now, left him alone again. That means Kyle didn't have anyone to rely on, and he'd be back on the streets, begging passersby for change, and getting the occasional facial for a buck or two--nothing like the sweet gig he'd had on Dennis' bus. He wondered if he'd taken that pig he'd been fucking as a replacement for Kyle, which just made him even more angry and jealous. He knew he could suck cock and had a nicer ass than that pig. He'd just have to find Dennis and prove it to him. There was no way he was about to let some upstart pigslut take his master from him. He hoisted up his dirty jeans, ready to hurry after them, when a voice spoke suddenly in the empty room, "Hey now, hold your horses, big guy. What's the hurry?"

Kyle looked around in confusion for a minute or two, trying to figure out who had spoken in the empty room, when he noticed something strange. His reflection had disappeared from most of the mirrors in the room, and was now in only one of them, and he was staring at him, and not looking like a reflection at all. The proportion was all wrong for one thing, because Kyle was a good fifteen feet away, but it looked like his reflection was just on the other side of the glass. He came closer, and the image didn't change at all, just watched him cockily, with an expression Kyle certainly wouldn't use. He wondered if he should just run away, but his curiosity got the better of him. "Did...did you say something to me?" he asked.

"Yes, yes I did," the reflection said, "My goodness, look at you! That curse sure did a number on you, didn't it?"

"Curse? What curse? What are you...oh fuck!" Kyle said, his old memories coming pouring back in, and he nearly was sick, thinking about how he had just been fucking himself, and planning on chasing after Dennis and keep being his pig for the rest of his life. "Oh god, I have to get this thing off of me!" he said, and tried to pull it off, but to no avail.

"Yeah, funny things, curses. When you don't want them, they stick to you like glue, but when you do want them, they're the easiest thing in the world to get rid of," the reflection said, slipping the necklace off from around his neck like it was nothing, and tossing it to the ground beside him.

Kyle just gaped at him. "How in the fuck did you do that?"

"I just told you. You have to want it."

"But I don't fucking want this!" Kyle shouted, gripping his fat gut with both hands and shaking it vigorously, "I don't want to be some fat, homeless geezer obsessed with sucking off old men! That isn't what I want at all!"

"Well, then I guess you're stuck," the reflection said with a shrug, "but that's no reason to get so angry. It sounds to me like someone hasn't had a drink in a while...That would make any alcoholic cranky, I think."

"I'm...I'm not an alcoholic..." Kyle said meekly, licking his lips at the thoughts of his hip flask abandoned on Dennis' bus, "I can stop whenever I want."

"I'm sure you can, but just because you can stop doesn't mean you want to, now does it? " his reflection said, moving to another mirror next to a long counter in front of a wall displaying a wide variety of cigars, pipes and other smoking supplies. Just the sight of the cigars made Kyle's mouth water more, but he resisted. Besides, the need for alcohol was far more pressing at the moment. "I heard that the shopkeeper keeps a little something here just for emergencies like these. Why not check under the counter?"

Kyle wanted to refuse. He wanted to turn around, and march right out of the room and focus on getting this damn necklace off somehow, but he needed a drink. His hands had started shaking suddenly, and he knew a drink would calm him down a bit. He just needed one, and then he'd be able to think better, is all. Satisfied with that rationalization, he rushed over to the counter and started scrounging beneath it, finding a six pack of beer of some brand called "Urin Ale." Figuring it was some foreign brand or something, he screwed off the cap of one bottle and chugged it, unable to control himself as some of it seeped out around his mouth and flowed down his tangled beard. When he finished, he let out a contented belch, popped open another one and took a seat on a stool behind the counter, thankful for the buzz already starting to flood his system.

He drank this one a bit slower, still guzzling it, but also taking a moment or two to relish the taste. How long had he gone without a good drink? An hour? He didn't really want that to happen again, he thought, taking another sip. The beer was...good, but it had a strange taste to it--something he couldn't quite identify, but it was also familiar, for some reason. As he finished the second bottle and popped open a third, his reflection, which had been silent as he drank, started chuckling.

"What's so funny?" Kyle asked.

"Oh, nothing really. How's the beer?"

"It's good...Thanks...I really needed something back there."

"No problem. However, if you keep drinking them that fast, you're going to have to piss like a racehorse."

Kyle just shrugged off the comment and finished off the third beer, when he felt a strange gurgle in his stomach, and a pressure building in his bladder. Dang, this stuff really did go right through a guy he thought, but he knew what to do with this load. He unzipped his pants and leaned back against the counter at as low of an angle as he could manage, found his tiny cock in the mass of fat, pointed it up, and released a jet of piss up and over his gut, covering his chest, filthy beard and face, drinking down anything which got close to his mouth, moaning all the while.

"Dang, that's hot," his reflection said, jacking his own cock in the mirror, "You put on a show like that for everybody who buys you a drink?"

"Hell yeah, if they ask for it," Kyle said. He cut the stream off and zipped his pants back up, letting the rest of it go as he laid back, loving the warmth spreading under his fat thighs and belly and down his pant legs, "I'm a fuckin' piss hound man, I'll drink anything some guy's willing to give me."

"Well, you know what would go great with all that piss? A good cigar. I'd suggest the box at the end there," he said, pointing to one end of the display.

Kyle grinned happily, waddling over as he continued pissing himself, and picked up one of the cigars from the box. He noticed that all of the cigars in the box where shaped slightly different, which was odd. While they were all cylindrical, they also bulged a bit strangely, and when he picked one up, it didn't quite feel like tobacco, but he couldn't quite figure out what it did feel like. Still, he bit off the end as he accustomed to doing and lit it up, pulling in the first smoke he'd had in ages it felt like. The taste was strange--very bitter and a little rancid, but there was something enticing about it, and by the second inhale he didn't even notice the bad taste anymore. He popped open another beer and just relaxed for a moment, trying to remember what he'd been doing before all of this.

"You were telling me what you're looking for in a master, I think," the reflection said, answering his question for him.

That didn't sound quite right, but Kyle shrugged. Didn't he already have a master? Then again, he'd never had the best memory, so he probably didn't. "Well, I love older guys. A bit of grey in their hair and beard, some wrinkles, yeah, a good old daddy like that really gets me going, especially if he has a big old saggy gut that I can lick clean. There's nothing better than cleaning out some fat daddy's fatty rolls, especially if he doesn't shower that often, and they're all sweaty and musky. Yeah, that sure gets me going." Kyle took another drag off his cigar, then took a moment to sniff his pit, and he could smell the piss drying on his shirt as well. All this talk about musk and stink was getting him horny again. He rocked a bit on his dildo, and moaned a bit. "This is a really good cigar by the way."

"I'm glad you're enjoying it. That brand seems to appeal to dirty slobs like you for some reason. Most guys are disgusted by them, but filthy perverts like you can't get enough."

"Yeah, I am a filthy pervert alright. Filthy as they come."

"Aw, I bet you can get filthier still," the reflection said with a grin, "So, what would you want this fat old master of yours to do to you?"

"I'd just want to be his dirty slave, licking his grimy feet and pits clean, drinking his piss. He'd have a big cock too--giant, and with a lot of foreskin that I could clean out for him before he fucked me up my ass, or fisted me. Yeah, I'd love to have a master fist me, shove his whole fat forearm up my loose hole. And he'd have all of his friends piss on me too, or anyone really. I'd just be his urinal, drinking all the time, pissing myself whenever he commanded me to, unable to stop myself." Kyle blushed, listening to what was coming out of his mouth for the first time since he'd started drinking. He knew he should stop, but took another swig anyway. It all felt so good, he didn't really want that good feeling to go away.

However, something was starting to bug him. His ass crack was itching like crazy all of a sudden, so he reached back and started scratching close to his hole, and when he pulled his hand back out, he couldn't help but smell his fingers as he smoked the cigar down further. The scent of his ass was close to that of the cigar, but the tobacco was...purer somehow. He gave his ass another scratch, just to sniff again, and then gave his fingers a tentative lick, to see what it tasted like. It was sweaty and bitter and delicious, and unable to help himself, he started sucking each of his fingers clean in turn, stopping only to take a swig from his beer, or another long drag from the cigar.

"Dang man, that's fucking filthy," his reflection said, "You like the smell of shit?"

"Hell yeah, it's fucking sweet man," Kyle said, "I'd want a master who never wiped his ass, and then he'd sit on my face while I cleaned him up, and he'd probably fart, and I'd just breathe in as much of the funk as I could, that's how much I love the smell of ass."

"Well, if you love the smell of it so much, I bet you love the taste of it even better."

Kyle blushed, and didn't speak immediately. He knew what was on his tongue...and he wanted to say it, but something held him back for a moment. It was getting him so hot, talking about all of these pent up fantasies that he couldn't resist for long though. "Well...I do like the taste. I mean, I'd certainly lick his crack clean, no problem with that."

"I bet a pig like you is always hungry for a taste of ass."

"Hell, you have no idea. It gets me so hot just thinking about it...Sometimes I'll even take my dildo and lick it clean, it gets me so horny." As he said that, Kyle realized what he was about to do. He tried to stop himself, but he pulled the massive dildo from his hole and started licking it clean, getting every bit of shit off it that he could, moaning as he did. A loud fart came from his gaping ass, and he breathed in as much of the smell as he could, his soft cock leaking cum like a faucet into his piss soaked pants. He knew he should stop. He knew he had to focus on the curse and getting rid of the necklace, but he was so horny, and this was the closest he'd gotten to getting his rocks off in ages. The cigar was just a nub now, only one or two drags left. He didn't want to finish it, but he had to. It was...something he needed. Not the tobacco. In fact, he wasn't sure it was tobacco at all.

"But you know what gets you really hard, I bet? When that master of yours is all loosened up by your tongue, and starts dropping turds right in your mouth. You come every time--you hate doing it, but you love shit so much you couldn't stop yourself if you wanted to."

As Kyle took the last drag off the cigar, he moaned in terror and lust all at the same time. He knew what he was smoking now--he knew what was shaped like that, what felt like that. He tried to stop himself, but as the cigar dissolved into ash, the hunger in him grew even greater. The hunger for his master's shit, or any shit really. For cleaning up filthy asses and dirty dildos. For fucking himself with his fingers and licking them clean. He was a filthy pig, but he loved it. It horrified him, what he had become, but there was no stopping himself as he returned to licking the dildo clean with a fervor.

The reflection smirked, and the image shimmered, Tristan standing on the other side of mirror where Kyle's reflection had been. He stepped through the glass and out of the mirror, and Kyle would have been terrified if he hadn't been so caught up in his new perversions. "Now then, I think we have you in a good place, don't you?"

Kyle just moaned, part of him wondering whether the stranger would be nice enough to give him some piss to drink, or shit in his mouth. He was starving for some shit, he realized, and couldn't remember the last time he'd had any. "Can I...Can I have some shit, sir? I'm so hungry..."

"Sorry pig, you'll have to wait a bit for your master if you want to get fed, but I'm sure he'll be along soon. First things first, we need to lift that curse of yours, I think. Now don't you worry about a thing," Tristan said as he gripped the necklace, "Once this is off you, you'll never worry about that old life of yours ever again. It'll just be filth, piss, fucking and shit for the rest of your days--how does that sound?"

Kyle struggled to resist, to fight back, but it felt so good just licking his dildo clean, he allowed Tristan to pull the necklace from around his neck. Nothing happened for a moment, and then the bearclaw glowed brightly, and shone a ray directly into Kyle's forehead, his eyes rolling back as he felt all of his old self being pulled away. All of his memories, his desires, his life plans, gone in a flash. He tried to cling to something, anything, but all that remained was filth. Memories of running away from home and living on the street. Memories of different master's he'd served, toilets he'd eaten from, bars where he'd worked as a urinal. The part of him fading knew they were lies, but they were so strong, and what else was there for someone like him, beyond serving men, and being a filthy pig? Soon, there wasn't anything, and Kyle resumed cleaning his dildo like nothing had ever happened, hoping his master would return soon.

"And that, my friend, is what you get for stealing," Tristan said, and walked back to the front of his store, where Max was still unconscious behind the counter. He hung the necklace back on the rack and watched Max's chest rise and fall as he slept.

"You know," Tristan said, "I really am sorry about how this is going to turn out, but you didn't leave me a lot of options, so it's really your fault. You could have built yourself a wonderful world here, in this little store, but you didn't do anything. You'll be happy here, I can assure you that, but you won't like it." Tristan blushed, realizing Max couldn't hear him, but he had needed to say it. He needed to hear himself say it, and something else too. "It's not the way I wanted us to be together, and maybe we...maybe things can be different one day, when I show you how marvelous my vision for this world is...sir."

Tristan hadn't really wanted to word to slip out, but it came unbidden. Ever since that day, when the elders had gone to destroy Max because he had become enraged, Tristan was the only one willing to stand up to him. He had entered alone, and submitted to Max, and...well, the rest wasn't worth dredging up, he supposed. It would just make what he had to do even harder than it already was. He hoped Max would hate him, because that would at least make it easier, in some ways. Maybe he would understand one day, but...well, he was just putting off the inevitable at this point.

He knelt down and pulled the necklace he had given Max from around his neck. He hadn't been entirely honest when describing it to Max that morning. It had disguised him as a human, sure, but it had done so by extracting much of the alpha's true essence throughout the day, and now, after wearing it for so long, Max had been fully transformed into a human. Of course, he was still an alpha--no mere magic could take that away from him, but he certainly could never return to his home. This essence alone would be enough for Tristan to continue his plans for months to come, although the fact that he had betrayed someone who had once trusted him hurt in ways he refused to fathom. Still, he needed to make sure Max remained occupied here. And so, he cast one final spell:

"Into the weave of three so great,

Twine this man with bonds of fate.

May that which bind three, bind four,

And hold them together, evermore."

He released his will into the store, and felt the strands which held James, Luke and Kyle so close together reach out and pull the alpha's own fate into their skein and wrap themselves around him--past, present and future. Max tossed and turned for a moment, unconsciously resisting, but with his essence drained, he was effectively powerless, and calmed down a moment later, still unconscious.

Tristan walked over to one of the many mirrors in the room and stepped back in. He didn't really want to watch what would happen next, but he made himself. First to make sure that everything would work as he had planned, but also, so that he could witness what the destruction he was about to wreck. To witness first hand, the necessary sacrifices which must be made to his cause. He knew it was cruel, but it was justified--or at least, that's what he told himself over and over as he tried to sleep at night. He was so tired, but the dreams...He pushed the thoughts away and watched Max stir on the ground and moan. It would be finished soon. It would be finished, and Tristan would have won. Sadly, it didn't feel like a victory. He watched and waited, hoping it would hurt him as much as it would hurt the alpha he loved.

9

The big bear groaned and rolled over, unprepared for the spike of pain which came from the back of his head as he did. He remembered little. He had fallen, but what had happened to make him fall, and many, many more memories were simply missing. Using the counter next to him for support, he hauled himself up as best he could and looked around, one hand patting the sore spot on his head, checking for blood. It looked like he was in a store of some kind in a mall, but as he searched around for some piece of context to tie it all together, he found there was nothing. No memories of how he'd gotten here, no memories of what he had been doing, and only a few pieces of information about himself, but nothing substantial, not even his name.

He sat down in a chair and thought harder about what was going on. Sure, head trauma could cause memory lapses, but how often did it give someone full blown amnesia? Still, he knew he could remember things--or he knew that there were things in his head to remember, but...couldn't, for some reason. Like they didn't belong to him anymore, and were being kept away from him behind a...block of some kind. Trying not to think about it too hard, since it was just making his head hurt worse, he checked himself for any other injuries, but he seemed fine besides the bump on his head. Dang, he had a hot body though. Good and muscled, with a lot of hair, and a really big cock. He let out a groan as a palmed the shaft through his dress pants, a wet spot appearing on the front. One thing was certain--he was horny. Really horny.

He got up slowly, making sure he could keep his balance alright, and walked over to a mirror. The reflection was both familiar and alien to him. He was definitely hot though, from the well trimmed beard on his face, to his massive pecs and muscle gut, but especially his bulge, which any guy could spot from across the room. He was a real...alpha. Yeah, that seemed right for some reason. He was the kind of guy who could walk into a room, and every guy would take notice. He was the kind of guy who could have any ass or mouth he wanted, and that turned him on big time, although, a strange thought popped into his head that it shouldn't turn him on. That he should push those thoughts away, but he ignored that idea. He liked being an alpha, he thought, or at least he liked the thought of being an alpha, since he couldn't actually remember being one.

Nearby, he heard a loud groan. Wondering who else was in the store with him, he stumbled over to a beaded curtain and peeked through into the back section of the store, where a very fat man was sitting on a stool, licking a dildo clean and moaning as he did so. The man was filthy, with a massive, unshaven beard and clothes that looked like they'd never been washed in the man's life, but there was also something...familiar about him. Like he knew him from somewhere...but couldn't remember from where. All of the thoughts led him back to that wall--that immovable barrier between him and everything in his mind which he couldn't find any way around. Maybe talking to him would help. The man might at least know something about who he was...maybe if he told him something, that would help him figure out what was going on.

He ducked under the curtain and started over towards the dirty man, who didn't notice the bear approaching, he was so caught up in getting every bit of shit off his dildo that he could, but when the big man did catch his eye, he let out a little squeal of excitement and tossed his dildo to the side. After almost falling off the stool, given how drunk he was, he crawled over and started rubbing his face into the bear's crotch, moaning "Master! Master!" over and over as he did.

"Whoa now," the bear said, pushing the dirty man away from him, "Hold on, I'm...I'm your master?"

The man nodded excitedly, "Yes sir!" he said, then noticed the lack of recognition in the bear's eyes, and the excitement faded into confusion.. "Don't...don't you remember, sir? I'm Toilet, sir...Your thrall."

"I...don't actually," he said. It was hard to resist the urge to shove the fat pig's face back into his crotch. It had felt really good, but right now he needed answers. Had the man actually called himself Toilet? That was...odd, and yet, the name did seem to suit him. "Did you say your name is...Toilet?"

Kyle nodded, "Yes sir, that's what you call me sir. I'm your toilet, whenever you need it. I love being a toilet for my fat, old and filthy master, sir!"

The bear just looked at the man, confused. "Hey," he said, "I might be looking a little grey around the beard and all, but I'm certainly not that old. And I'm definitely not fat or filthy."

"But...but look sir!" Toilet said, caressing his master's stomach, "Look at how big your gut is!" As he massaged it, the bear watched as his gut began to expand as the filthy man pulled and kneaded it with his dirty hands. The bear wanted to push him away and stop him, but it felt so good, he let the man do his work. Besides, he loved it when Toilet rubbed his belly. He reached up and started playing with his nipples through his shirt. They were big and meaty, larger than he'd thought they would be, and he didn't notice that as he tugged on them, his pecs were loosening and sagging into massive moobs pushing out against his button down shirt, which he began to grope as they grew larger.

"That feels damn good, Toilet," the bear said with a sigh.

The dirty man beamed, "Thank you sir! I love massaging your belly sir, you know that, and your massive ass sir." He pulled the bear close and reached around, kneading his ass as he had his belly, pulling and growing it into two fatty globes which balanced out his massive sagging gut. The rest of the bear's body filled out as well, his thighs growing together and his face growing chubbier as Toilet continued, "And sir, I don't know why you think you're young either. All your hair turned white ages ago, and your almost bald. But don't get me wrong! You're a hot daddy, sir, the hottest there is."

Toilet unbuttoned the front of his master's dress shirt, revealing a massive forest of white hairs coating his belly and chest. The bear looked down at his arms and saw the hair on them had turned white as well, and over in the mirror, his beard and hair had undergone the same change, and his face looked weathered and wrinkled. As he watched, his hairline receded, pulling back until all that was left was a horseshoe of white hair, and he had to admit, he was a pretty hot daddy bear.

As Toilet continued to play with his daddy's gut, the bear kept trying to figure out what in the world was going on. He could remember being a massively muscled, young bear not a minute ago, but this new body of his just felt so much more...comfortable, for some reason. Like this is what he was supposed to look like all along, and that previous body was that of an impostor. He grabbed the back of Toilet's head and ground his face into his belly, which Toilet licked at. "Yeah, you fucking pig, eat your daddy's belly." he said. His voice sounded different now too, deeper, and raspy, like a smoker's, though he couldn't remember ever smoking in his life.

"Yes sir! I love your dirty belly, sir."

"Dirty? How dirty is it?" the bear asked.

"Yeah, sir, I love my dirty master. I love how you don't shower or anything like that, because you want to be as dirty as possible. You don't cut your hair or beard, or brush your teeth, or use deodorant, and you fart and belch all the time, which is so fucking hot! You're a nasty daddy, just how I like them, sir."

As Toilet spoke, the bear became aware of a raunchy smell on the air. At first he thought it was Toilet, but then he found it was coming from him. Looking down, his previously clean dress shirt was now dirty and stained, like he'd been wearing it for months, the pits actually colored a light brown from all of his pit sweat. He felt something brush his chest as he turned his head, as well as something brushing his back, and he realized it was his beard and hair which had grown massive and uncombed. Toilet pushed off his master's shirt, letting it fall to the floor, and started licking at the bear's pit. "Yeah Toilet, that taste good?" he asked.

"Oh, yes sir!" Toilet moaned in reply.

The alpha groped his slave's belly with his other hand, working his way down to his crotch, where he pawed at Toilet's tiny cock. It didn't get hard often, but apparently this attention had him at half mast, which was quite the accomplishment. "Dang, looks like I've got a horny Toilet on my hands, today."

"I'm always horny for you sir, you know that. I'm so hungry sir...will...would you feed me, sir? Please?"

"Is my Toilet hungry? I guess you haven't had much to eat today, have you?"

"No sir, and I'm starving," Kyle said, licking his lips.

The bear grinned, showing off several gaps in his smile from where quite a few teeth had rotted out of his mouth, "Well I might be able to work something up for you, Toilet," he said. He dropped his pants and shoved his fat ass into Toilet's face, who swooned a bit. The crack was brown, crusty, and reeked, butToilet just took it all in, loving every bit of it. "You'd better get me loosened up a bit though, or else I might not have anything for you at all."

The pig moaned and threw himself at his master's hole, licking and probing as deeply as he could, the bear moaning all the while. He sure did love his nasty toilet's tongue up his hole. With a grunt, he let out a big fart right in Toilet's face, and he heard the nasty fucker breathe in as much as he could, and let out a contented sigh, and then resume licking even more vigorously. After a few more farts, The bear finally began to push log after log into Kyle's hungry mouth, every moan of delight coming from the toilet's mouth just encouraging him to shit faster. His toilet was a pro though, and swallowed it all down. Hell, he'd been eating his master's shit for years now, so he could eat most any load as fast as his alpha could push it.

When the bear finished up, Toilet licked his crack clean, and then the bear stood up again, while Toilet just laid back and massaged his full belly. "Oh thank you sir, that was wonderful..." Toilet moaned.

"Well, know what might make it even better? If you pissed yourself," the bear said, and watched as his toilet's bladder released beyond his control, who just moaned in embarrassment and perversion as he soaked his pants for the second time that day. The bear came up in front of him and started pissing all over his face and beard, Toilet trying to drink it down, but not getting much, since his master was intent on soaking him to the bone. When he finished, Toilet took the head in his mouth and sucked the last few drops out, before running his tongue under his master's dirty foreskin, making him groan. The bear grabbed the back of the pig's head and started slamming his cock down his throat, Toilet rubbing his full belly with both hands, sucking down all of his alpha's delicious precum, feeling the euphoria wash over him. His soft cock hardened almost instantly, and like a man possessed, Toilet started jacking it, but he sat on the edge of his orgasm for what felt like ages--after all, he couldn't cum until his master came, but he didn't have to wait long. His alpha started shooting, still fucking Toilet's face, which pushed the toilet over the edge, and his long awaited orgasm finally came. While Toilet's old balls couldn't produce much cum, his entire body shook with the force of the sensation, heightened by the alpha cum coursing through him.

"Getting started without us, I see." A deep voice said, and the bear looked over to see two tattooed muscle men exit a door in the back of the room and strut over. The man in front was a bit smaller, but every movement exuded a domineering confidence that made him look even larger than the beast following meekly behind him. The bear tried to find something to say to these two newcomers, but it was hindered by the fact that he didn't know who they were, though it sure did seem that they recognized him. Across the dominant man's forehead was the word BRUTE in capital letters, and that name seemed familiar, and words tumbled from his mouth naturally, though he didn't recall thinking them. "Nah Brute, just getting a bit of a warm up is all. Toilet here was hungry, and wouldn't stop begging. You know how he gets when he hasn't been fed."

"Yeah, well you could have come and found me. You know how much I love seeing him eat that nasty, biker shit of yours, Scuzz," Brute said. He came closer, grabbed the back of the bear's head and pulled him into a kiss. Their tongues fought with one another, but he felt himself submitting, like he always did to Brute. Sure, they were both alphas, but he'd always had a submissive streak which Brute could drag out of him in no time. They broke off, and he licked his lips, savoring his partner's spit still in his mouth.

Scuzz the man had called him--was that his name? It sounded familiar, and at the mention of it, other memories started falling into place. The two of them had met one day after a bar fight at some dive in the industrial district, and a fierce friendship had formed between both of them which was rare between alphas. Part of it was the fact that Scuzz was perfectly willing to give into Brute's desires when necessary, having always been easy going, and a bit on the slow side. It had been on a drunken dare that both of them agreed to get their nicknames tattooed on their foreheads. Well, not really nicknames, even then, since they were the only one's they'd gone by, even before they'd met. In fact, Scuzz couldn't even remember when he'd been called something different. Besides, he knew that it just made the two of them look even more intimidating and tough.

Over the next year or so, both of them decided to find personal thralls, Brute settling on Beast, a massively muscled constriction worker who'd been begging to be Brute's thrall for ages. The construction crew he'd been working for used him as their own personal beast of burden and sex slave, hence where he'd gotten his name. He was the biggest bottom Scuzz had ever seen, in more ways than one, and he certainly enjoyed playing with him as well, though Brute would always be his one true master. Scuzz had found a nasty old derelict outside of a bar one night and taken a liking to him, making Toilet his own thrall, a hole for not only himself, but his two muscle bound partners as well. The four of them had been together ever since. Scuzz wondered how in the hell he had managed to forget all of this, but was relieved to have it coming back to him finally. "Well, I'm sure we'll have plenty of time for butt licking tonight," he said, "But right now, I'm fucking starving. How about some dinner?"

"Sounds good to me," Brute said, then turned to Beast, "Get in the kitchen and make us something, would ya?"

"Yes sir!" Beast growled, gave a mock salute, and hustled his leather clad body back through the door he'd come out of, Brute and Toilet following him. Scuzz took a moment to throw his grimy biker gear back on, pausing for a moment to wonder whether that's what he had been wearing minutes before.

"You coming or not?" Brute called from the doorway, and Scuzz quickly zipped himself up and followed his friend through the door and into a small apartment, with a cozy living room, a kitchen where Beast was already banging around pots and pans, a dungeon and slave quarters, bedroom, office and bathroom. Scuzz just gawked at it all for a moment, wondering where in the hell of it had come from, and what it was doing even existing behind a small store in a mall.

Brute gave him a pat on the back, "You alright man? You seem...confused."

"Oh, yeah...I'm alright. Just...tired I guess."

"Well, Toilet and I have some business to handle in the bathroom. Take a break while Beast cooks us up something tasty." Toilet's eyes lit up with excitement at Brute's comment, and he crawled after the massive alpha eager to serve. Brute led the way into the bathroom, where Toilet was usually kept chained to the floor, ready for his masters, or any customer, to use him as they needed. Scuzz, still trying to sort out what was happening, sat down on the leather couch and put his booted feet up on the coffee table. Before he had even settled in, Beast emerged from the kitchen and asked, "Can I fill a pipe for you, sir?"

"The half-bent billard tonight with Virginia, Beast."

"Yes sir," the hulking thrall said, took down the pipe filled it, tamped it, and brought it over to Scuzz, where he lit it for him.

Scuzz took a deep inhale of the smoke, and felt immediately calmer. Beast walked over to a bar, poured his master a whisky on the rocks and brought it over promptly, which made Scuzz grin. "You sure do know how to make a biker bear happy."

"I do my best, sir," Beast replied, blushing from the compliment, "Is there anything else I can do for you, sir?"

With a growl, Scuzz reached around with one hand and pulled Beast closer to him, his fingers slipping easily into the thrall's well fucked hole, making the slave moan. "Fells like Brute already dropped one load into you today," he said, and slipped in most of his hand, making the muscle man a bit weak at the knees, "But I'd really like a taste of something else, I think." Licking his lips, he started sucking on Beast's short cock, still probing the thrall's ass with one hand. Beast didn't last long, and as soon as he started shooting, Scuzz pulled his mouth away and moved his glass under Beasts' dick and collected as much of the man's cum with his whisky as he could.

"Thank you, sir," Beast said. He didn't derive any pleasure from his orgasms, only from being fucked by his masters. Still, he was happy his cum could be of service.

"Be a good pig and give me some of that sweet piss of yours too, would ya?" Scuzz said with a grin, and Beast let loose, filling the tumbler to the brim. Scuzz pulled his fingers from the thrall's ass and gave the drink a stir with his index, before taking a sip. "Dang Beast, you make a fine cocktail, you know that?" he said, sitting back with his pipe streaming smoke and nursing his drink, "That'll be all, for now."

"Yes sir," Beast said, and hurried back to the kitchen to continue making dinner. He flipped on the TV in front of him and restarted the porno he had been watching earlier, with two burly bears taking a chubby cub from both ends. With a happy groan, he laid back and started massaging his crotch. This was the life he thought--a loving alpha for a partner, a muscle bear thrall, a hot fucking toilet, and this...store. Weird, he still had no clue what he was doing here, or what any of them were doing here. He just kept drawing a complete blank whenever he tried to remember what was going on. He knew that it would probably all come back to him in time, but he was starting to feel restless. He finished his drink in a few gulps, but when that didn't settle his head at all, he got up off the sofa, still smoking his pipe, and wandered back into the store, figuring that maybe if he took a look around, something would jog his memory.

In the backroom, he was surprised by how quiet the store had become all of a sudden. The mall had closed a good half an hour before so the crowds had dispersed, leaving Scuzz alone with his many reflections in the mirrors around the room. He walked over to one, and looked at himself closely. His face was old and quite weathered, shrouded by tobacco smoke. He saw the tattoo on his forehead, and felt his stomach turn. What had compelled him to do that to himself, he wondered? Sure, it had been a bet, or a dare, or whatever, but still, it was ugly, and humiliating to think that was the first thing people would associate with him was 'SCUZZ'. Of course, that wasn't the only sorry part of his look either. His clothes were filthy for one thing, from the poorly fitting T-shirt and leather biker vest to his dirty jeans and biker leathers. His hair and beard were knotted and unkempt as well, but hey, he wasn't called Scuzz because of his clean cut good looks, was he? Still, that couldn't be his real name, could it? He searched hard for a moment, trying to remember, but couldn't come up with anything. He'd always been Scuzz, in the same way Brute was Brute, and Beast was Beast, and Toilet was Toilet. What other names would have suited them, really?

Wanting to get a better look at himself, he took off the vest and peeled off his t-shirt, exposing his massive belly covered with white fur. He had tattoos of pipes and bikes all over him, and he remembered getting most of them at the behest of Brute, usually while drunk out of his mind. Sure, he looked hot and all, but...well, was it really...him? Well, of course it was him, but there was still some lingering sense that something was wrong--or, at least, not right. All of his memories, it felt like they were not really his, but from someone close to him--someone he might have been, perhaps. That was silly though. If he wasn't who he was now--if he wasn't Scuzz, then who exactly had he been? He wanted the question to be nonsense, he really did, but he felt his pulse begin to quicken, and he started to panic. He didn't know why, but he needed to get out of here, and he needed out now. He hurried to the front of the store, but found the front gate had been drawn down and locked by security. He ran over and shook at it, but couldn't get it to open. He was trapped.

"Everything alright, Scuzz?"

The biker whipped around, ready to fight like a cornered animal if need be, and found a sharp looking bear in a business suit standing in front of a mirror across the room. He was nowhere near the alpha in size, but had an aura of authority which made Scuzz wary. Some nagging thought in the back of his mind told him that he knew the black haired bear from somewhere, but try as he might, he couldn't recall from where. "Do...Do I know you?"

"You really shouldn't take to drinking so much this early, you know," the bear replied with a smirk. The same smirk that Scuzz had seen hundreds of times...somewhere. Why couldn't he remember anything? He knew it was important, but every time he tried to summon them up, he ran into that same barrier in his mind, over and over again. It made him want to walk over to a wall and start beating his head against it, until he killed himself, or he remembered everything.

Brute's voice came from behind the curtain, "Scuzz? You out here?" and a moment later he ducked through the curtain and entered the front of the store. "Oh, Mr. Newbeary. How are you this evening?"

"I'm fine Brute, how are you?"

"Doing good. Is there something we can do for you?" he asked, sounding a bit uncomfortable. Scuzz wasn't feeling all that great around the man either. How had he even gotten in there in the first place, since the front was gated shut?

"Oh, I just thought I'd drop by and see how the first day of business went for you two."

"Good, though a bit slow. I wasn't really here out here much, to be honest. It was Scuzz minding the shop for the most part."

"Oh, then I guess I should ask him. Well Scuzz, how was business?"

With one hand, Scuzz wiped his suddenly sweaty forehead as he racked his brain for an answer. Thankfully, he felt the final bits of fog begin to clear, and he found something to say. "Well, it was pretty slow for a grand opening, but we didn't exactly put a lot of effort onto advertising or anything, so I can't say it was unexpected." Mr. Newbeary scowled a bit, which sent a few shivers up Scuzz's spine. He decided he didn't want to see that man angry, ever. That would definitely not be a good thing. "But...uh, I do have a few ideas on how we can get the word out. I'm sure that by the end of the month, we'll be the hottest store in the city."

"Hmmm," Mr. Newbeary said, "Well, I certainly hope I wasn't misguided in my investment."

"Not at all! Just give us a couple more weeks, and business will be booming. Trust me," Scuzz said.

Mr. Newbeary smirked again, and Scuzz found himself still trying to place his face. Of course, he and Brute had had plenty of meetings with the President of Bearman University over the past few months, when they had pitched the store idea to him. He'd been keen on the idea, and invested a ton of money, which Scuzz knew they had better return with plenty of interest, or there would be hell to pay. "Well, I think I have made an impression on you two at least. Have a good night, and I'll be by to check on things occasionally."

With that, Mr. Newbeary strode past Brute and through the beaded curtain, into the back of the store, but when the two alpha's followed after him a moment later, the man had seemingly disappeared. "Is it just me, or does that guy give you the creeps too?" Brute asked.

"He is a strange one, I'll give you that."

"So what are these 'ideas' of yours?"

"Haven't a clue. I figured we just needed something to get him off our backs while we figure out what to do," Scuzz said with a shrug, "But I'm sure we'll come up with something."

"I hope so," Brute said, and came closer, "But just out of curiosity, what were you doing, all bare-chested and hot out here? Trying to hit on our investors?"

"Him? Hell no! He's too clean for one thing..." Scuzz said. Brute started tweaking one of his nipples, and Scuzz let out a soft moan as he started working his fellow alpha's cock through his leather pants, "How about you? Have you a dirty enough bear for me?"

In response, Brute shoved Scuzz around and pushed him up a against the wall roughly, grinding his crotch into the biker's ass. "Like you have a choice in the matter, bitch," Brute growled, "I think I'll have a round with that fat ass of yours," Brute said, "Especially looking at you smoking that pipe and covered with tattoos. You get me so hot looking like that."

Scuzz pushed his ass back, unbuckling his jeans and chaps while Brute undid his fly, and after greasing his massive cock up with some spit, he started working it into Scuzz's hole, the big bear groaning and moaning all the while. Sure, he was an alpha and he enjoying dominating their thralls, but for some reason, whenever he got around Brute, he couldn't help but beg for that fucker's cock, every time. Of course, the muscle bear wasn't exactly gentle, but Scuzz had taken the massive cock enough to know not to complain about it. Brute began grunting and snorting like a bull behind him, his entire mind focused on fucking, and fucking hard, as he slammed Scuzz into the wall over and over again, and Scuzz just groaned and urged him on, telling him to fuck him harder and rougher, and Brute was perfectly happy to oblige. Scuzz looked over once and saw the two of them reflected in a mirror, Brute's young muscled body a strange counterpoint to his fat, old one, and he no longer felt ashamed of it. He was Scuzz, and he loved his life. Sure, that barrier was still there, but he figured it would go away eventually. It was best not to worry about things he couldn't control. Brute pulled Scuzz close to him, burying the entire foot long shaft up the biker's ass and bit down on his neck as he started shooting deep, Scuzz stroking his own hard cock until he shot his own massive load all over the wall in front of him. Brute hauled his cock out, spun Scuzz around again and pushed him back up against the cum soaked wall, kissing and biting his lips, Scuzz returning the favor as they groped and punched each other's bodies in the afterglow.

When they managed to part, Scuzz limped over and got on his shirt and vest, while Brute called to Beast, who appeared a moment later in the doorway. The thrall smelled the cum, and before Scuzz or Brute could say anything, he ran over to the wall and was licking it clean, grunting in pleasure all the while. A minute later, the wall was spotless, and he hurried back into the kitchen to finish up dinner. Scuzz and Brute followed him, taking a seat on the couch together, Scuzz nuzzling up to one of Brute's pits and taking a whiff. Everything was making perfect sense now, he told himself, but not really believing it. Yeah, everything was going to be alright.

1

Over three days in the fall semester, something strange happened to Bortman college, as all of the students, staff and faculty were all transformed into big, bearish men. The mastermind behind these changes was Tristan Newbeary, a bearman from outside our dimension who seeks to bring all of this worlds inhabitants under his control. However, the talisman Tristan used to begin this change, stolen from the Elder's of his clan, proved insufficent for the task of expanding his control beyond the boundaries of the campus.

Seeking a solution, Tristan made a gambit, and called in a favor from a relative and friend from his home, Maxwell Longfang. Maxwell wanted no role in Tristan's games, but bound by his oath, he agreed to assist his cousin with one task. Tristan had managed to create a small foothold outside of campus, at an old workwear store he rebranded as "Bear Boutique." Maxwell's task was to corrupt three friends, however, Tristan had deeper plans. Over the course of the day, he siphoned off Maxwell's power, reducing him to meer humanity, and granting Tristan the power to extend his plans. Maxwell and his three targets were left transformed and twisted as the owners and workers of Bear Boutique.

Now, however, some individuals throughout the city have begun to receive strange packages in the mail, from this mysterious store, and the city's transformation begins to spiral away from Tristan's control.

Episode 1: Collared

by Wesley Bracken

Bruno groaned, as he rolled over in his bed and reached for the cell phone which was going off on his night stand. God he hated Mondays, he thought, and hoped it wasn't his manager telling him he was late for work. He knew that he shouldn't have gone out partying on a Sunday night, but Molly and Barbara had begged them to, and who was he to deny two babes like that? It wasn't like they could resist him. He was proud to be a well tanned gym rat, all of his muscles well bronzed, with a long mane of blond hair he liked to keep pulled back in a loose ponytail. He spent most of his time at the beach a few miles away from the city, surfing, when he wasn't working or partying. Well, with rich parents like his, he didn't really need a job, but they didn't want their son to be a complete slacker, so he got some bullshit position at a clothing store in the mall called Totally 22. He phoned it in, and his boss didn't really care as long as he didn't mouth off to the customers. That where he met quite a few girls as well, including Molly and Barabara a few weeks back. Funny, he couldn't remember doing anything with the girls--in fact, details of the entire night were kind of fuzzy. He fumbled for the phone, planning on silencing it, but he looked at the caller ID, and squinted when he saw that the name which popped up read "Master Wade." Master Wade, who the fuck was that? The only Wade he knew was the old pervert who lived down the hall from him in the apartment building. He was always eyeing Bruno whenever he was in the hallway, or at work in the mall. He was closer to a stalker really, and he had come onto him numerous times. Bruno and his friends had roughed him up a few times, telling him to stay away, but the guy just didn't seem to take a hint.

While he meant to silence the ring and go back to sleep, he instead answered it. "Yes master?" he said.

"Good morning slave," an older voice said over the phone. Bruno felt his cock harden, at the sound of his master's voice. Wait, what? "How are you doing this morning?"

"What...who is this...sir?"

He heard the voice snicker over the phone, "I suppose you don't remember very much of last night, do you? Well, it was easy convincing those two girls to drug your drink last night like you drugged there's a few weeks ago, and, well, I guess I might have taken advantage of the situation a little, not that you seemed to mind."

"What...what the fuck did you do...sir?" Damn it, why in the hell did he keep calling Wade that? But what else should he call him? He was Wade's slave after all. Bruno tried to get a hold of himself and hang up, but he couldn't do that. Master Wade would be angry if he ended the call before he was finished giving his slave instructions.

"I didn't do a whole lot. You can thank the collar around your neck for doing most of the work." Bruno felt around his neck, and found a leather collar latched there, and started to hyperventilate. "Now, now, calm down. And you know better than to try and take it off, I know. Besides, you seemed to enjoy it so much last night, begging me for my cock while you fucked yourself with that dildo. You loved it so much, you asked me to let you keep it, remember?"

Bruno didn't remember, but now that he was more awake, he was aware of a strange presence in his ass. He reached down with his free hand, and found the rubber end of the dildo slammed up there, and nearly freaked out again. "You fucking bastard! I'm going to fucking kill you sir!" he shouted, "I'm gonna find you and beat your fucking face in!"

"My my, such violence. You know, anger is really quite bad for people's health and image. So from now on, every time you yell at me like that, you're going to gain 20 pounds of fat, I think. That might teach you some respect."

"I'll fucking talk to you however I want, sir!" Bruno shouted again, "And I mean it! I'm gonna destroy you, and make you wish you had never been born!" Bruno's stomach gave a loud rumble, and as he watched, his stomach ballooned out, his six pack almost completely disappearing beneath a small, paunch. "Oh god...Oh fucking god, sir, what the fuck did you do!"

"Now now, that collar gives me power over mind and body, so I'd be careful if I were you. Now then, I have instructions for you. First things first, I want you to masturbate three times before you get out of bed, making sure to make full use of that new dildo of yours, since you now love having a rubber cock up your ass. I want you to rub one load all over your chest, the second all over your face and hair, and the third up and down your arms. When you're finished, I want you to immediately get dressed in the clothes laid out for you--no showering or even washing your hands. Also, I want you to keep that dildo in you until I tell you otherwise. Call me back when you're ready to go to work. That's all slave," Wade said, and hung up before Bruno could say anything else.

Bruno just stared at the phone for a moment, digesting what he had just heard. What the fuck was going on? He tried to get his hands to undo the collar from around his neck, but instead, one hand wrapped itself around his cock, and the other snaked down to the dildo and began working it in and out of his ass, making him harder than he'd ever been in his life. He tried over and over to get himself to stop jacking off, but before long, he was cumming all over his chest, which he then began rubbing in with his hands, groaning and grunting like a whore! Then, he did it all over again, and by the time he had finished his third round, not only was he covered with his own cum, but also quite a bit of sweat, and he stank. He desperately wanted to take a shower, but Master Wade had forbidden it. He would just have to make do as is.

His first task done, he got up, and immediately walked to the dresser, pulling on the rainbow striped T-shirt and bright white shorts which were laid out for them. They would have been tight on him before, but the weight Wade had added wasn't helping. The entire time, Bruno felt like a man trapped in his own body, desperately telling himself to do something, anything other than what Wade had said, but to no avail. Every time he tried to resist, a voice in his head piped up, telling him he had to obey his master, that obeying his master made him feel good and complete. Bruno tried to deny these feelings, but they were there, and he hated them. When he finished getting dressed, he looked himself over, and he looked ridiculous. The shirt's horizontal stripes only accentuated his new weight, and it barely covered his stomach. His shorts were equally tight, and emphasized his bulge awkwardly. He took a moment to examine the collar around his neck, but it didn't seem too out of the ordinary, and was unmarked aside from a logo of a bear claw with 'BB' inscribed over it.

Bruno tried to stop himself, but he grabbed his phone and called Wade. "I'm ready, master," he said.

"Good. Now, I know you'd rather drive to work in that convertible of yours that your rich ass parents bought for you, but I think today you're going to take the bus to work. Head down to the corner and wait for the number 16."

Wade again hung up without giving Bruno time to speak, and after shoving the phone into one of his too tight pockets, Bruno headed out of the apartment building and down the street towards the bus stop on the corner. He saw a familiar figure watching him as he approached--it was Wade himself, sitting on the bench grinning happily. Wade was quite old, at least fifty, and quite fat. He was wearing a very large shirt and a pair of sweats draped over his chubby body, and had long stringy hair hanging down from his head, though he was quite bald, and Bruno knew from experience that he stank. He felt anger boil up in him again, and willed himself to charge down there and slug him in the face as hard as he could, but he continued walking until he reached the bench where he stood, and said, "Hello, master," through gritted teeth.

"Hello, slave," Wade replied, as grabbed Bruno's ass with one hand and gave it a good grope, being sure to jiggle the end of the dildo still slammed up his hole, "Glad to see you've been following my orders this morning to the letter. Have a seat next to me." Bruno sat down and Wade put one hand around his shoulder and pulled him closer to him. "There, now isn't this nice?"

"Shut up you fucking asshole, sir..." Bruno gritted out, not wanting to make a scene in public, and unable to quit referring to Wade as sir.

"Now, now, what did I tell you about getting angry? That'll be another twenty pounds for you."

Bruno watched in horror as his shirt rode up even higher, revealing the bottom of a definite gut. His pecs also lost quite a bit of their definition, and sagged a bit, a fact the tight shirt did nothing to hide. After pulling the shirt down a few times, trying to hide his belly, he gave up, and just stared angrily at Wade. "Why are you making me fat? I thought you liked me because I was a 'muscular surfer stallion'," Bruno said, referring to Wade's pet name for him.

"Ah, yes. You...did have some beautiful muscles. But this isn't just about finding you attractive, no. This, slave, is about punishment. See, you've been very disrespectful to me in the past, so it's time that you learned some humility. When you're good and broken, and happily beg me to fuck you every night of your own volition, then maybe I'll give you your body back, but for now, maybe you should focus on not getting any bigger, eh? I don't think that shirt will help very much at this rate."

Bruno opened his mouth ready to cuss Wade out again, but stopped, and held it in. People walking by were already staring at him and his shirt, and his belly--he didn't need to stand out even more.

"That's better. Now, we still have a few minutes before the bus arrives, jack me off until it does." Bruno tried to resist, but one hand snuck down Wade's sweatpants and under his massive gut, where he found a rock hard cock, which he started to milk. The thing was massive--probably about ten inches long, even longer than his own meat. He couldn't help but feel some admiration for the guy, and even a little bit of pride? Pride that his master had been granted such a huge tool for a slave like Bruno to pleasure. Pushing the thought away, he glanced nervously around, hoping no one would notice. Much to his horror, Wade began grunting loudly and thrusting into Bruno's hand, making it quite obvious to everyone passing by what was going on, and Bruno was so embarrassed he wanted to die right then and there, but knowing that people were watching only seemed to encourage Wade to grunt even louder. Luckily, the older man only lasted about a minute, and spurted some cum into his pants with a final thrust. "That was good, now get as much cum on your hand before pulling it out. I want to see you eat it."

Bruno tried not to retch as he ran his hand around Wade's sweaty underbelly, and pulled out his sticky hand from Wade's pants and began licking it off. The taste was horrendous, but he managed to avoid puking, and finished just as the bus pulled up to the curb.

"Alright slave, let's get on," Wade said. After paying the driver, Wade led the way to the back end of the somewhat crowded bus, where he took a seat next to a window, and pulled Bruno into the seat next to him, still trying to cover his belly with his too small shirt. "You know slave, I know that we could have been great friends. What exactly is your problem with me?"

Bruno tried not to laugh at the idiotic question, but found himself compelled to answer. "Well, sir, you're a fucking disgusting pervert, first of all, and ugly to boot. I fucking hate you, and all the ugly fucks in the world like you, sir."

Wade smirked, "Well, that was certainly a...candid answer, and certainly worth another twenty pounds. At this rate, it won't be long before you're fatter than I am! I bet you're just as perverted as I am too. I mean, you're the one wearing a dildo up your ass on a public bus, wearing those revealing clothes, and rubbing your cock in those tight, white shorts of yours." Bruno started to panic a bit, and glanced around, as one hand started rubbing his cock through his shorts, and he began bouncing gently on the dildo up his ass, moaning quietly. He could feel himself growing even larger as well, which just made him even more self-conscious. "Dang, look at that. Right out in public, eh? I bet it even turns you on, knowing that there are people around here watching you. Of course, a pervert like you is probably horny all the time, so of course you'd masturbate in public. How else could you get the relief you need?"

Bruno's face turned red, but he noticed a man across the way look at him, then look away, and a little thrill ran through him, he had to admit. "Please...please just stop, sir."

"I'm just showing you that you're no better than me slave. Now what about me do you think is...what did you say? 'Ugly to boot'?"

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean--"

"Tell me," Wade ordered, "and be honest."

Bruno gulped, "Well, you're fat, for one thing. I mean, disgustingly so. And I can tell you don't take care of yourself, because you stink all the time, and you always have that filthy stubble on your face. You're hair is gross too, balding like that. You could at least cut it, and not let it grow out. In fact, all of you're hair is disgusting, especially the stuff on your body. I mean, haven't you heard of waxing, or laser hair removal, or fucking anything, sir? And you're so damn pale, like you haven't been out in the sun once in your life." Bruno said, still trying to stop himself from rubbing his bulge, "God damn it, at least let me stop making a fucking fool of myself! I fucking hate you. Why the fuck are you doing this to me!"

"Another burst of anger? Some people just never learn," Wade said, "Maybe you'll learn after another twenty pounds? But probably not."

Bruno swelled once again, his shirt now showing off several inches of belly, and stretched so tight across his chest that his nipples could be easily seen through the fabric. His pants were so tight that they were actually cutting into his thighs and waist a bit, and there was no way they could cover all of his ass crack now, leaving a good inch or so poking over the waistband. All the while he grew, Bruno was still helplessly rubbing himself off. Most of the people on the bus had noticed by now, but no one had said anything to him, though a few gave him the occasional dirty look. Unable to help himself, a tear ran down his face, but knowing all of these people thought he was a freak just made him rub harder.

"Now, don't cry. I know it's hard loosing most of your hair at your age, but there's nothing you can do about that. And you do sweat a lot, and stink, but hey, no use fighting genetics, like all of that body hair you've got. And that skin of yours can't keep a tan if your life depended on it. You burn if you're out in the sun for longer than fifteen minutes, I bet."

he most of the hair on his head pulled back into his head, leaving him with a bald dome surrounded by a fringe of his long hair surfer hair, which now just looked silly on him. He itched all over, as hair grew in across his entire body, and he felt his chubby face start to sweat heavily, as wet spots appeared under his armpits and his crotch. His tan faded away last, leaving him as white and pasty as his shorts. "Fuck you, sir," Bruno said.

"Let's add another twenty pounds for that outburst. But don't worry, you're just as ugly as your master now, aren't you? Now, when I count to three, I want you to cum in your shorts, and make sure everyone knows exactly what you're doing. One...Two...Three!"

Bruno gasped, as his fourth huge load of the day shot from his cock. As he shot, words came pouring from his mouth, loud enough for everyone to hear over the engine, "Oh fuck, yeah, I'm cumming, oh God yeah!" His white shorts did nothing to hide the stain which spread across his crotch from the tip of his outlined cock, and now most everyone was staring at him in disgust. Bruno just looked away out the window, trying to ignore everyone else and Wade's snickering next to him. "That was a good show, slave. I liked it. Now, this is our stop. We can walk a few blocks to the mall, I think. If we hurry, you might even get to your job on time!"

Trying to ignore the looks from people on the bus as he got up, his crotch soaked with cum, Bruno quickly got off the bus, Wade a few steps behind him. At the corner, Bruno caught sight of himself in one of the shop windows, and was horrified. Almost all of his hair was gone from the top of his head, and his face was covered with a heavy layer of stubble. His clothes were laughably trying to cover his fatty frame, with several inches of very hairy gut dropping below the shirt, and arms and legs covered with hair bursting from his pant legs and sleeves. His entire crotch was still soaked, and it looked like he had wet himself, which was almost more embarrassing than the truth. As he walked with Wade the few blocks over to the mall, he stared at the ground, feeling his newly pale face flush every time someone swerved to avoid him on the sidewalk. Wade was mostly silent, but giggled on occasion, usually after patting Bruno's ass and playing with the end of the dildo which could now be seen poking against the straining fabric of his shorts.

They crossed the parking lot to the mall, which was bustling with people on Saturday morning. It was actually easier in the crowds, because Bruno felt like he could blend in a bit better, though people still gave him a wide berth. He realized that it was probably because of his disgusting smell. Wade, however, didn't seem to mind. In fact, he was having a grand old time, hanging back a bit and watching Bruno get all of the disgusting looks which were usually reserved for him. He had planned on just taking Bruno back after this was done and returning him to his pretty surfer look, but this was almost more fun. And now that he thought about it, it was almost a bigger turn on knowing that he had completely destroyed his slave's body, just because he could. Maybe he'd leave him like this after all, but make sure he remembered who he had been, or change him back on occasion, for old times sake.

Up ahead, Bruno saw the store where he worked, but he couldn't go in there looking like this! Like some fat, disgusting troll with cum all over his shorts. However, his feet kept him moving towards the inevitable goal, and he started to panic again. "Please, sir," he finally said, "Please don't make me go in there..."

"Why not? That is where you work, right?"

"Please, I can't go in there looking like this. I'm disgusting! They'll throw me out, they won't even recognize me."

Wade grinned, "But I think those clothes you have on fit you so well! I'm sure they'd love to have a employee looking like that on their premises. Besides, what's the worst that could happen? You start playing with your dildo, groaning loudly while masturbating again? You hit on your manager and all of the male employees, begging them to let you suck their cock?"

"Please don't. Please, I'll do anything..." Bruno said, and immediately regretted the words, when he saw the size of Wade's smile.

"Anything, eh?" Wade said, and stepped close to Bruno, their faces inches away, "Then kiss me. Not because I told you to, but because you have no other choice. Because treating me well and worshiping me is the only fucking way your life will be anywhere near decent for the foreseeable future. Because I fucking own you, slave. Kiss me, and make it good, or you're gonna go in there and wish you were dead."

Bruno's already sweaty forehead began to perspire more. He knew it was the better option, he knew it. But here? In front of all of these people? With Wade?

"How about I give you sixty seconds to make up your mind? A minute from now, if you haven't given me the best kiss of my life, you're going to march in there, rip off your shorts, and start fucking yourself with that dildo in front of the entire store, and you're going to start cumming almost immediately. Then, still fucking yourself, you're going to get on your knees in front of the closest man and beg them to face fuck you. If they refuse, you're going to try and take off their pants by force, and suck them off against their will. About thirty seconds now. When the cops come, which they will, because I'll call them myself, you're going to try and get them to fuck you too, and at the jail, you're going to beg everyone in your cell to rape you until I bail you out tomorrow morning. Fifteen seconds now, what's it going to be?"

Wade began counting down, and bracing himself for the worst, Bruno grabbed Wade's head and pulled him into a kiss, trying to suppress his disgust. Wade's mouth was foul, but he allowed the older man's tongue to force its way into his mouth. Bruno's face burned, and he knew people were staring at them, but he couldn't disappoint. He had no doubt that Wade would live up to his threat. When he pulled away a moment later, Wade was grinning happily. He knew he'd won. He grabbed Bruno by the hand and dragged him through the crowds towards the public restrooms, where they crowded into the handicapped stall together and Wade threw himself at Bruno, shoving him up against the wall and kissing him forcefully, knowing full well there were people listening to them.

"God damn it...get the hell off of me, sir!" Bruno said and pushed him away.

"Watch your tone, slave, I think you need another twenty pounds, just for that." Bruno tried to duck away, but Wade pushed him back against the wall, tugging on Bruno's sagging moobs roughly. "I'm in charge here. You know that now, don't you? I can make you march out there and humiliate yourself in a hundred different ways, and you'd have no choice. The only way for you to avoid such a fate is doing exactly what I say, from this point on. Which means, if you don't turn around, drop those pants, and let me fuck you right here, right now, You'll regret it."

Bruno looked into Wade's eyes and saw a cruelty there which he had never fully appreciated. Now actually scared and shaking, he turned around, and dropped his shorts to around his feet, and braced for the worst.

"Yeah, that's a good slave," Wade said, giving Bruno's dildo a few thrusts, "I think you've always secretly wanted this as much as I have."

"N...No..." Bruno gasped.

"No? Really? Then why are you letting me fuck you with this dildo, so eagerly? I knew, deep inside, you were nothing more than a slut, desperate for cock, and now I have the power to make you one, whenever I want. Go on. Beg me to fuck you. Beg your master to shove his big cock up your fat ass!"

"P--please sir. Fuck...fuck me hard..." Bruno said.

"You can do better than that. I know this slut ass of yours is begging to be filled by a real man's cock. Do you want to go back out there? Humiliate yourself even more than you already have? You know what I want to hear, so say it."

Bruno gritted his teeth. What scared him most wasn't saying the words. It was that deep in his soul, he could tell the collar was changing him. That what Wade was saying was exciting him, and he did want this man, his master to fuck him. He needed his cock, his fat body slamming into him with every thrust. "Yes sir, please. Fill my slutty ass with your cum, sir. Make me your bitch, your worthless slave. Breed me like I deserve, because I've been a bad slave sir, I have." The words came tumbling out, and Bruno had no control over them, or their truth. He did want Wade's cock, his master's cock, and when Wade hauled out the dildo and dropped it to the floor along with his sweat pants, Bruno's heart surged with excitement, and he pushed his ass back, desperate.

He had felt earlier how massive Wade's cock was, but he'd had no idea it would hurt so much going up his ass. He tried not to cry out as his master rammed the shaft in deeper and deeper, without remorse or even the least bit of spit, and Bruno couldn't stop himself from begging for more, from shoving his ass back to meet every thrust. Wade didn't last long, and after just a few thrusts he was cumming buckets. He leaned in close to Bruno's ear, and whispered "Cum," causing Bruno's own cock to erupt, splattering against the wall in front of him. His cock ached from the many orgasms he'd already had this morning, but this was by far the most satisfying. Wade pulled his cock out and added, "Clean it up, pig," and Bruno sank to his knees, lapping up his own cum, eager to please. It was becoming harder to resist now, but he tried to fight it just the same.

As Bruno was licking, Wade pulled up his pants and said, "Well, now that we've gotten the basics sorted out, I have some errands to run. In the meantime, I have some orders for you to follow. You're going to spend the next four hours here at the mall, before catching the bus and returning home. In that time, you will masturbate, in public, at least four times. Each time, you will enjoy it more and more, even though you won't want to, and will become more and more obvious in what you are doing. Second, I want you to come on and flirt with at least four older, fatter and dirty men like your master. You will make no attempt to hide the fact that you are a cum-hungry slut, desperate for sex. If they accept, you will comply with any of their desires, no matter how extreme. Now, if security catches you and throws you out, you will call me and I'll give you further instruction. After four hours here, you will catch the bus home, and masturbate a final time, before coming to my apartment, understand?"

"Yes...yes sir, I understand," Bruno said dejectedly and then returned to cleaning up his cum.

"Good, then I'll leave you to it. Be a good slave now," Wade added with a snicker, and left Bruno in the stall. He lapped up the rest of the cum on the wall, and then turned around and sunk down against the wall, suddenly exhausted. He just wanted to wake up from this hellish nightmare. Looking down, he saw his now massively fat body barely contained by his awful choice of clothing. If he had kept count right, he was now 120 pounds heavier than when he'd woken up this morning, or 320 pounds total. In other words, fucking massive. His gut was now an apron, hanging out from under his shirt by at least a foot, pale and covered with disgusting hair. He tried to pull up his shorts, and barely succeeded, though they were so tight across his fat thighs that he was beginning to worry that they might be cutting off circulation, and he could only zip them half way, and the button was impossible.

But at least he was alone now. Maybe he could get out of the mall and to the police station before Wade was any the wiser, he thought, but stopped. No, he shouldn't do that. Then he'd be a very bad slave. He had to stay here in the mall for four hours, and masturbate, and hit on older men, just like his master had told him to do. Bruno fought against the invasive thoughts, but they were becoming increasingly difficult to separate from his own sane ones. It was becoming natural for him to obey, and serve, his Master Wade. He felt one hand reach for his cock, ready to start masturbating, but he forced it away. He needed to try and retrain himself, and figure out how he could get out of this situation.

He heaved himself up from the floor, careful not to rip apart his clothes as he did, and lumbered out of the stall. Thankfully, anyone who might have heard him and his master earlier had already cycled through, so he only had to deal with the odd looks earned by his choice of clothing. In the mirror, as he passed, Bruno got a better look at his new reflection, but could only gaze at his bald head and stubbly face for a minute before he left in disgust. There had to be something he could do. Again, he tried to remove the collar, but his mind wouldn't allow that. He couldn't go against his master's wishes--he owed his master everything. He pushed the thought away and headed back into the crowd, meandering through the mall, trying to think of a solution, but every idea was countered by the same submissive thoughts. Eventually, Bruno just tried to stop thinking, his fat body already struggling with a walk which should have been simple. It was just so hard, trying to maneuver between all of these people! There were so many of them, and he took up so much space now, and he felt awful every time he bumped into someone, and they stared at him with disgust on their faces. Breathing heavily, he sat down on a bench as he passed by, still thinking about the people staring at him. Staring at him because he was such a perverted freak. A hot, disgusting, and horny pervert slave...

Bruno groaned, and worked one hand underneath his fat, undoing his zipper and hauling out his cock, while he rocked back and forth on the dildo up his ass. Yeah, just thinking about all of these people, watching him jack off in public--it was getting him so hot! If only his master was there to see him now, he would be so proud of him. He wanted to make his master happy. With another grunt, he shot his sixth load of the day all over the underside of his gut. His hand was out a second later, and he was licking off as much cum as he could, when he realized what he was doing, in front of a massive crowd of people, and yet, he couldn't stop. His master would be so happy when he heard how good a slave Bruno was being--and that though kept him licking his hand until it was perfectly clean, relishing the feeling of his cum crusted belly rubbing against his too tight shorts.

He shut his eyes tight, trying to block out the noise of the mall around him and collect his thoughts. He couldn't loose himself. He couldn't. He needed to remember that this wasn't really him...even if it was feeling more like the real him with each passing moment, his old, surfer persona fading away further and further. Maybe...maybe Wade was right. Maybe he had always wanted him--wanted this. Hadn't he stayed up all of those nights, wanking as the thought about his fat neighbor down the hall? Imagined getting down on his knees, sucking Wade's cock, begging his master to fuck his ass? Dreamed of looking like him, of being as fat a slob as his master? Bruno tried to tell himself that these thoughts weren't real. That he hadn't actually done all of those things, but it was so hard to tell the difference now, between what had happened, what Wade had told him, and what the collar was making him think. Better not to think about any of it. Better to just calm down, and try not to think for a moment.

Bruno took a few deep breaths, allowing his heart rate to slow, keeping his mind calm. When he felt ready, he opened his eyes and looked up. There, across the way, he saw a chubby, filthy laborer saunter out of a shop and start walking in his direction, and he felt his heart begin to pound once again. The man was massive, first of all, with a big gut barely contained by his grimy T-shirt, with a bit of belly hanging out the bottom for good measure. He had a decent beard, and was balding heavily, immediately reminding Bruno of his master. He had to service this god of a man--he had to. He needed that man's cock.

Before he could think of stopping himself, Bruno was up and waddling to intercept him, already trying to think of things he could say to convince the man to fuck him, or at least let his suck his nasty cock. He threw himself in front of the man, causing them to run into one another, the laborer bouncing back in surprise, staring at the rainbow clad fat ass blocking his way, with a pained, desperate look in his eyes. "Please...Please sir, can...can I suck your cock? I mean, not here, but like, in the bathroom or something? I'll do a really good job, I promise. It's just, my master said I had to, not that I wouldn't want to suck you off otherwise of course, I mean, you're really handsome, sir. But I need to sir, so could I? Could I please?" Bruno blushed, listening to the words coming from his mouth, the subservient tone and whine wanting him to beat himself up, if he were able to.

The laborer just grinned. "Well, somebody's got you good and trained I see."

Bruno nodded quickly, glad the man understood. "Please sir, can I? I'll do a really good job, I promise." He got down on his knees in the middle of the mall and began rubbing his face into the laborer's crotch, felling the already semi hard cock there, wondering what it tasted like. He knew the man wanted him, he could tell.

"Sorry pig," the man said with a shrug, and stepped away from Bruno's forlorn face "I have to get to work. Any other day I'd take you up on it, but one more late day and my foreman will have my hide." He started to walk around Bruno, who reached out and grabbed the man's arm in desperation.

"Please sir, please! I have to!"

The man wrenched his arm away and disappeared into the crowd, leaving Bruno to despair behind him. He knew the man had wanted him. Wasn't it obvious that he was a cock hungry slut, desperate for cum, eager to get fucked up the ass by dirty old men? He'd really wanted to suck that man's cock, but more than that, he'd let his master down. There on his knees, in the middle of the walkway he reached under his belly and jacked off again, imaging himself on his knees in front of the man and his entire construction crew, sucking cock after cock, eventually spraying another load all over the floor in front of him. Feeling even naughtier, he got down on all fours, stuck his fat ass in the air and began licking it up, listening to the chorus of disgust and anger rising around him, making him even hornier. He was still a good pervert slave. He would show his master that he was the best, most perverted slave he could ever hope to own. He'd be sure to get the next guy to fuck him, he'd do his very best.

When he finished, Bruno again tried to regain control over himself. Closing his eyes and taking deep breaths. he couldn't let Wade win. He just couldn't. He just couldn't imagine spending the rest of his life kneeling in front of his master, sucking his cock, cleaning out his ass, joining him on every perverted mission Master Wade could imagine. Bruno again cursed and tried to remove the collar from around his neck, but couldn't even get close to it. He looked up, ready to scream in exasperation, when he saw the sign for the store the laborer had emerged from moments before. It wasn't the name which drew his attention actually--it was the logo. The same logo which was imprinted on his collar. The store was called Bear Boutique, and this was the first break Bruno had gotten all day. Maybe, just maybe, they could get this fucking collar off of him.

He stumbled into the store, but there wasn't anyone in there, not a customer or a salesperson to be seen. He heard voices though, coming from a back area partitioned off by a beaded curtain. He snuck close and heard some men engaged in a heated conversation. On one side was a large bearish man dressed in a finely tailored suit, and across from him, Bruno's dream man. A nasty, old, filthy biker bear smoking a pipe, a massive bulge outlined in his jeans. He was captivated, and couldn't help but rub his still hard, though red and very raw cock.

"I don't care about your fucking business models! I'm just trying to sell product here, and no one was coming into the damn store!"

"This is delicate, Scuzz. You can't just go off and send these sensitive items off to random people! I have spent my whole life planning this out, and your fucking 'brilliant idea' is going to fuck up this entire enterprise."

"Oh calm down, would you? What's the worst that could happen? A few more bears running around town, looking for trouble? It just means a bigger customer base for us, which couldn't hurt."

"God, why the fuck am I bothering with this? Look, just don't send anything else out, alright? This is going to be enough trouble as it is. And I'll need names and addresses of where you sent the packages, and what you sent."

"Hmmm...well, the thing is...I mean...It was meant to be a surprise, you know? You can't really, uh, plan surprises. I guess, what I really mean, is that the whole thing was kind of spontaneous."

"What the fuck do you mean by that?"

"Well, I just kind of packed up some random things, and sent them to random people from the address book. I also set up a staggered delivery, so people will be getting packages for the next three months or so, at random intervals. It's no good to do it all at once--it would draw too much attention to it."

"God...why did I have to make you such a god damn idiot?"

"What?"

"Nothing. Just wondering why I can't find any fucking intelligent help around here. Fine. Just..fine, keep an eye on things, and let me know when these packages surface, alright? When does the first one mail out?"

"Two days ago."

"Great. Way to tell me this way too late."

"Oh calm the fuck down Tristan, and take the god damn stick out of your ass for a second, and have some fun here! Have a drink, loosen up. Fuck, you'd think I'd have just alerted the entire government to you."

"Yeah, well you probably did. I'm done with this. Try to keep me better informed next time."

The suited man stormed away, the biker glaring at his back, and Bruno couldn't get out of the way fast enough. The man in the suit pushed past the beads and tumbled right over the fat man spying from the other side. "Who the fuck are you?" the man shouted, and Bruno blushed. The biker came in soon after, and the man asked, "A creation of yours?"

"Nope," said the biker, got down behind Bruno and inspected the collar around his neck, "But from the looks of things, he got mixed up in the first round of packages. I do remember sending out one of those slave collars. Don't know who to though."

"Please sir," Bruno said, rolling over and getting enough to the biker to smell his nasty stench, "Please can I suck your filthy cock sir? I'm just a lowly perverted slave sir, but my master says I have to suck dirty men's cocks sir, like yours. Please sir, you're so fucking hot!" Bruno said, and shoved his face into the biker's crotch, licking at the filthy denim.

"Yep definitely one of ours," Scuzz said, allowing Bruno to lick for a moment before pushing him away.

"See, this is exactly what I was talking about. This is now out in the city, beyond my control. Thanks. Your problem, now fix it." The suited man said, got up and left the store without another word.

"Tight ass," the biker said, and stood up.

Bruno shook his head, trying to clear it. He so wanted to just rub his face in the biker's crotch, but he needed answers. "This is your collar, right? From this store?" Bruno asked, "Please! Take it off of me! I can't take it, I don't want to be a slave!"

The biker laughed, "Not my fault. Besides, you won't mind at all pretty soon. From the sound of things, your brain is probably about half rewritten at this point. Those collars are pretty thorough. After twenty-four hours, you won't even need to wear it any more. You'll be a slave for life."

"Oh god. Please! Please, I'm begging you, I can't be his slave, please!"

"Aww, it won't be so bad, once you get used to it. I bet he's some big pervert, huh? You probably made fun of him mercilessly. I bet you deserve everything you're getting," Scuzz said, now pushing his crotch close to Bruno's mouth. Unable to stop himself, he leaned in and started rubbing his face against the nasty jeans, licking them, hungry for the cock inside. Scuzz pulled back a bit, Bruno leaning more and more forward, desperate to suck the cock just inches from his face, when there came a loud rip, his shorts giving way, revealing his fat ass, and the end of the dildo sticking out of the crack. Bruno knew he should be ashamed of himself, but it felt so dirty too--so right. Suddenly, it was so much harder to care about what was happening to him. Whatever his master wanted was what he should want. He had been letting his own, personal wants cloud out what really mattered--serving his master. That's all that he should think about.

"I've been a bad slave sir," Bruno said, in as sexy a voice as he could muster, "I was thinking about disobeying my master, sir. Can I suck your cock sir, to make it up to you? Please?"

Scuzz grinned, and shook his head, "Nah, you can't suck me off. But I have something else you can do as punishment. Hey Toilet! Get your ass out here!"

After a moment, one of the filthiest, fattest men Bruno had ever seen came charging through the curtain, coming to a stop on his knees next to Scuzz. "Yes master? How can I serve you, sir?"

"We have a naughty slave here with us, who needs some punishment. When is the last time I gave you a bath?"

"Uh...I don't know sir. I've always been this dirty, I guess."

"Well here's what we'll do. You," Scuzz said, pointing to Bruno, "are going to give my thrall here a good tongue bath. I can tell you have a thing for dirty men, so I doubt you'll mind too much. While you're busy doing that, I'm gonna look around and see whether I have any gifts for that master of yours that he might like."

Bruno tried to scream, but the slave in him was licking his lips and advancing, then burying his face in Toilet's disgusting pit, licking him clean. It tasted horrendous, and even knowing he had to obey, Bruno was having a hard time not gagging. Toilet however, was having quite a bit of fun. He'd never been serviced like this before, and with his other hand, he pushed Bruno's face in deeper, like his alpha always did to him. He pulled off his nasty wife beater when Bruno finished that first pit, and moved him to the other side. It was just as rank, but now that Bruno was used to it, he found himself beginning to enjoy it. After getting both pit's clean, he licked under Toilet's massive beard, then down his chest, paying special attention to toilet's nipples, and his massive belly, being sure to clean between every fatty fold he could find. He dropped down further, eager for Toilet's cock, but he had other ideas. Grinning evilly, having never had the chance to degrade someone as he was so often degraded, he pushed Bruno off roughly, rolled over, and dropped his pants, revealing his crusty ass. "Clean this out first, bitch," he said, trying to imitate his master Scuzz as best he could.

That wasn't an option. Bruno balked, forcing himself to backpedal away, but before he could get too far, Scuzz had returned, a bundle of leather in his arms. "Still got a little fight in ya, I guess. That's alright, it's fun to watch assholes like you crumble," Scuzz said. Bruno tried to get away, but Scuzz pushed him down and grabbed the end of the dildo sticking from Bruno's ass, fucking him roughly with the rubber, watching the fat slob moan and writhe on the ground, trying to pull himself away and shove his ass back at the same time. He felt Scuzz straddle him, holding his arms in place, rip off his rainbow shirt and press something into his back, which seared with heat for a moment. He then rolled Bruno over and did the same thing, laying a piece of plastic across his belly, which seared him again. Scuzz got up, leaving Bruno to recover for a moment, then grabbed him under the arms and hauled him up. "Alright, now, let's let you get a look at you," he said, and positioned Bruno in front of a mirror.

It was the first time he'd seen himself naked, and without the shirt and shorts to distract him, he was forced to see the full extent of the changes Wade had brought upon him. His pasty white skin only served to accentuate the darkness of his body hair, which swirled everywhere across him, matted by the massive amount of sweat the day's exertions had caused him to excrete. He looked like he smelled horrendous, like he hadn't showered in a week. Yet, the new him, the collar him, found the sight incredibly erotic. He looked so much like his master, the man he loved, would worship for the rest of his life if Wade would allow him to do so. His eyes fell on the words now tattooed across his belly--easy enough to read backwards in the mirror--SLAVE. Bruno tried to yell and scream and fight back, but he felt himself tear up. It was beautiful. He was a slave, and he knew his master would love it. Scuzz turned him around, and looking over his shoulder, he saw that the word PERVERT was similarly tattooed across his shoulder blades, large and bold enough to be read through his massive amount of back hair. They were both so big, he would never be able to hide them, not that he wanted to. He loved them. "Thank you sir, thank you," Bruno said, now openly crying.

"We aren't done yet," Scuzz said, "I got some new clothes for you as well." He handed Bruno some black leather shorts, which he pulled on over his fat ass. They were laced at the sides, so they could be easily let out as he grew larger, and had a zipper up his crack for easy access to his hole. Scuzz then helped him into a harness, decorated with swirls of subtle color. It was quite mesmerizing actually, when he saw it on him, stretched tight across his fat body. It made him feel so sexy, he thought, rubbing himself in the mirror, creeping one hand down to the bulge in his new shorts. "Now now, there will be plenty of time for that, but you still need to finish your punishment," Scuzz said. Mortified that he had forgotten, Bruno hurried back over to Toilet's ass, and began licking madly, desperate to make up for lost time. When the shitty crack was spotless, he worked his way down Toilet's legs all the way to his feet, then back up the front where after a couple sucks on Toilet's soft, tiny cock, he was rewarded with a drizzle of cum.

Licking his lips, Bruno sat up and eyed Scuzz's bulge. "Now can I suck you off sir? Please? I can do a good job sir, I swear!"

"Sorry pig, but this alpha cum is reserved for a few select holes. You already have a master anyway. I wouldn't want to be caught stealing someone else's property. Now go ahead and get out of my store, I'm tired of looking at you," Scuzz said, "Although I'm certain many men will find you quite easy on the eyes in that new get up, so enjoy yourself, you nasty pervert."

Dejected, Bruno drug himself upright and slumped from the store, glancing over his shoulder at Scuzz once or twice, but he could tell that pressing further would be useless. He sat back down on the bench and masturbated again, thinking of Scuzz fucking his ass while Toilet shoved his ass in his face. When he finished, Bruno looked up and felt his face blush. Everyone was staring at him, but of course they would be, dressed like he was, obviously pleasuring himself in public. But these eyes were different than the hateful, disgusted looks from before. Every man, as he passed by, would turn and stare, but with looks of lust and longing. Some might only cast a glance, others stared blatantly, and a few just stopped where they were, openly watching him, rubbing their crotches in the middle of the mall.

An older man dressed in a suit walked up to Bruno, grinning, and asked, "What are you, some kind of slut? You look like a cock hungry whore to me. You want my cock bitch? Do you?"

"Yes sir," Bruno said, "I'm just a perverted fatass slave sir, and I love sucking cock!" He got down on his knees, already zipping down the man's fly, when the older man backed away, looking around nervously.

"Jesus, not here! Let's at least go to the bathroom or something."

"Yes sir!" Bruno said, and led the way there, noticing that several other men were following them. He felt his heart begin to race. Maybe all of these nasty, old men would let him suck their cocks, or even fuck him! He would love to get fucked up the ass more, he missed his master's massive cock from earlier. A voice in his head said that was wrong, that he shouldn't want to get fucked at all, but he pushed it away. Of course he wanted to get fucked! He was a nasty slave pig after all, what else was he even good for?

The older man followed him into the stall, and Bruno got back on his knees, hauled the man's cock out and started sucking, four other men filing into the stall to watch and jack their own cocks watching Bruno work. After sucking all of their cocks until they were rock hard, they shoved him up against the wall, fucking him in turn, cheering each other on, and Bruno had never felt so beautiful, as he forced out another load after load of his own into his leather shirts, feeling the cum dripping down his legs, being sure to moan loud enough for everyone in the bathroom to hear. Feelings of revulsion or disgust at what he was doing would overcome him on occasion, but he forced them back down, and they always came back weaker the next time. Those thoughts would die soon, and never come back. He had to serve his master, that was the only thing he could think about. The only thing that mattered at all.

Finally the five men finished up, left the whore in the stall to recover, and Bruno thought about what had caused all of those men to decide to fuck him. Looking down, he saw the harness gleaming, even in the dim bathroom light, the leather attracting the eye unlike anything he'd ever seen. No wonder Scuzz had said he would be easy on the eyes. Excited, and a bit scared, he left the restroom and headed back out into the mall, surprised to see that the four hour window master Wade had given him had nearly elapsed. Having already met both of his quotas--far exceeded them, actually--he decided he could head home a bit early, and his master wouldn't mind. He just couldn't wait to get back to him--he needed to be by his side. He never wanted to be away from his master ever again.

He exited the mall and walked back to the bus stop, taking in all of the stares lustful men cast at him as he passed. He loved the attention. He loved being a whore. On the bus, he made sure to take one of the poles, and as the bus moved, he danced against it, every man on the bus eventually jacking off as they watched him, a few braver ones fucking his face before they got off. Since he didn't have money for a fare, he sucked off the bus driver as well, and then headed back to the apartment building, every thought focused on seeing his master again. He loved Master Wade so much--an hour not by his side felt like an eternity. He reached his master's door and knocked, and Wade opened the door wide.

There in the hallway was Bruno. Not the Bruno he had seen that morning, but his slave, a man willing to devote the rest of his own life to Wade's happiness. And damn was he dressed to kill! He had no idea where he'd gotten that harness, or those shorts, but the fact that Bruno was wearing them willingly confirmed his suspicions that the old Bruno was almost gone. Seeing his master in the doorway, he automatically dropped to his knees, bending over and kissing his master's feet. "I'm sorry I came back early sir, but I just had to see you, and I masturbated a lot, and had sex with a bunch of men, just like you asked! Are you proud of me sir? Was I a good slave today?"

Wade had nothing to say, so he dragged Bruno inside, threw him to the ground and fucked him then and there. When he finished, Bruno told his master about everything that had happened, listening to the voice in his mind, the rebel, cry out in pain and agony as he disappeared, growing quieter with every description of his public masturbation, of his time with Scuzz and Toilet, and the fun in the restroom and his ride home on the bus. Wade had never been as horny in his whole life, looking at the slave he had fashioned lounge before him, masturbating uncontrollably as he described every man he had pleasured that day. He was so happy with the collar he couldn't stop grinning. When the story was over, he asked, "Tell me slave, is the old Bruno still there?"

The slave shook his head, "No sir, he's gone. He left when I was telling you about how the bus driver made me clean out his pits before he let me suck his cock, and then blew his load all over my face, making me lick it off."

"So, If I told you I had spent the afternoon setting up a video camera, and that I want you to record your story while you masturbate, and talk about how much you love being my slave, and then let me fuck you on camera, how would you feel about that?"

"Oh sir, that sounds so hot!" Bruno said, massaging his spent cock. It had stopped getting hard an hour ago, and the shaft was raw, but he needed to jack off. He was such a perverted slave, he couldn't stop. Besides, jacking off made his master so happy, he couldn't ever stop, not even for a minute.

"And then, if I told you that I would make copies of it, and send it to all your friends and family to watch, what would you think?"

"I would love that, sir! I would love for everyone to see what a filthy whore I am! What a disgusting pervert you've turned me into, and what a good slave I can be for you sir!"

"Well, then get in the bedroom bitch, and let's get filming." Wade said. Bruno happily leapt off the couch where he'd been lounging and made his way into the bedroom, where the camera was already set up. Wade hit record, and Bruno spilled everything he could think off, but all he really cared about was pleasing his master. He was such a good slave. He would be such a good slave for the rest of his life, and no thought made him hornier, or happier.

3

In the driver's seat of the squad car, Officer Larry Leaton adjusted his crotch awkwardly.. Next to him, Officer Rick Russel suppressed a snicker, and resisted the urge to adjust his own package. Sure, when they'd found the odd boxes in their lockers from some place called Bear Boutique, they had been curious to see what was inside, but both had been caught by surprise In Larry's was a supple, leather jockstrap, and in Rick's, a tight, rubber thong. What began as embarrassment became good humor, then after a few dares both young cops were clad in their strange gifts, sitting in the squad car on the side of the highway, keeping an eye out for drunk drivers all night long. Neither of them was very fond of traffic duty, but everyone had to take at least one night shift, and with Halloween just around the corner, there were more and more crazies on the road every night.

The two officers had known each other for a quite a while, having met in the academy. It had been natural for them to become partners after graduating a couple of years ago. Larry had always possessed a strong sense of justice--even as a kid in school he'd been the one standing up to bullies and defending people, even if it got him beat up in the process. Becoming a cop had been a natural decision for him, and was well respected by the upper brass. He was generally expected to make sergeant before long, and was often discussed as having the makings of a future police chief. Rick however, was best known around the station for having the ability to remain calm in nearly any situation. He was also able to talk most anyone down from making dangerous mistakes, which in his line of work was treasured. More than once his words had gotten both of them out of some bad spots. Larry often joked that he would make a great negotiator with his demeanor, and Rick was actually taking the idea seriously. For now though, they were just two cops stuck on night duty, stuck in awkward underwear for another couple of hours.

Just then, a car shot past them going at least a hundred on the highway. Cursing, Larry gunned the engine and took off after the car, sirens and lights blaring as they chased the car down the highway. It was obvious that whoever was driving was drunk out of their mind, because the car was careening wildly from lane to lane, though he was managing to at least keep the car on the road. Larry was beginning to think that he wouldn't pull over and that he'd have to call in for backup, but finally the car relented and pulled over onto the shoulder, Larry pulling up behind him slowly. "Why don't you handle this one?" Larry said to Rick, "You're better with the drunk ones."

"Fine, but you buy the first round of beer next time we go out," Rick replied and climbed out of the car. Checking his flashlight, he came over to the passenger side window and knocked on it, the driver rolling it down. Inside was pretty much exactly who Rick expected. Some drunk, frat boy wannabe, probably just now heading home from clubbing. He had on a polo shirt with the collar popped, and from the look in his eyes, it wasn't just booze he was strung out on. "How are you doing tonight, sir?" Rick asked, "Do you know how fast you were going?"

"Shut the fuck up!" the guy slurred, "I only pulled over to tell you pigs that my dad's a fuckin' lawyer, and if you give me a ticket, I'll sue your ass to next fuckin' week!"

"Step out of the car sir," Rick replied calmly.

"Fuck no."

"Sir, if you do not comply, I will have to use force. Now please step out of the car."

The guy didn't say anything, just hocked a wad of spit right into Rick's face. He wiped it off with one hand, feeling his face redden and warm. He thought it was just embarrassment, but suddenly a bright flash of pure anger surged through him. This punk wasn't going to listen to him. He was a spoiled brat, and he needed a lesson in who was in charge here. Rick hauled open the door, reached in and dragged the guy out of the car and onto the shoulder of the road. This alone was enough to shock Larry into stepping out of the car to see what was going on. He got out in time to see Rick spit directly in the driver's face and shout. "You fucking bitch! You're gonna get it for that, You're just going to have to learn how to respect your superiors the hard way!" The guy struggled and tried to fight back, but Rick hauled him up off the ground, shoved him against the car and handcuffed his hands behind his back and started patting him down, shoving the driver's head against the car roughly every time he started to protest. Larry had never seen Rick that furious, and wondered what in the world the guy had said to set him off like that. He knew he should step in, but something about watching Rick rough the guy up...it was turning Larry on big time, and he could feel his cock start to swell in his new jock, and he palmed it with one hand, surprised by how large his bulge was. Rick finished up his pat down, and dragged the driver, still screaming obscenities, past Larry and shoved him into the cop car, slamming the door as hard as he could, panting heavily.

Rick had never been this angry before, and he desperately tried to get himself back under control, but any time he thought of that guy, he felt the rage surge back. It felt as though it were filling him up and pushing out on his very skin, making his muscles hot. As Larry watched, Rick swelled right before his eyes, his lean figure suddenly becoming heavily muscled, straining out against his shirt. It looked damn good he thought, and he wondered whether Rick would grow again if he got angrier. He knew he shouldn't...but, suddenly he couldn't stop himself if he wanted to.

"Hey, that guy deserves it, all guys like him deserve it, you know what I mean?" Larry said, his lip curling into a smirk.

"Fuck yeah, just thinking about it...Fuck!" Rick said, slamming his fist into the side of the patrol car, denting it slightly.

"Yeah man, that's it. Let it the fuck out. I got a plan man, get in the fucking car!" Larry said, unable to control a maniacal glee filling him up. This guy was gonna get punished. Yeah, that was it, punished good and hard. "What's your name, boy?" Larry asked as he started the car.

"I'm not telling you, you fucks!"

Larry turned around, and growled angrily, "I asked you for your name, bitch. Now give it to me."

The guy was stunned for a moment, and mumbled, "Cliff. It's Cliff."

"Alright Cliff, we're gonna go for a little drive."

Larry gunned the engine and took off down the highway, realizing as he went that he needed to shove the seat back a bit to fit comfortably. Was he growing too? He couldn't tell, but he hoped he was. He needed to be big if he was going to punish this guy right. They took off at a breakneck speed, Larry barely listening to Rick and the guy argue and taunt each other through the screen separating them. He pushed the patrol car faster, eager to get to the rest area he knew was up ahead. He tried for a moment to get a hold of himself, to stop what he knew was coming, but why bother? This was going to be too much fun. Besides, the guy needed to be punished, and punished properly, and he had a feeling that the only ones for the job were Rick and himself.

Larry pulled off into the rest area which was empty aside from a few trucks, and came to a screeching halt. Rick, already fuming, leapt out of the car, ripped open the door, grabbed Cliff by the shirt and hauled him out onto the ground. "Easy man, we don't want to hurt him...too much," Larry said.

"Yeah, yeah," Rick said to Larry, then turned to his captive, "Lick my fucking boots clean bitch!" He shouted, and shoved his booted foot into his face. Cliff tried to struggle away, but the officer kept up the pressure, threatening and cajoling until the guy submitted and weakly licked at the leather, mostly out of fear more than anything else. Larry just watched for a moment, certain now that Rick was much, much more massive that he'd been before. In fact, he could almost watch the muscle pile on as the seconds ticked by. It wasn't pretty muscle either. In fact, had Larry not known better, he would have assumed that Rick was on some serious shit--steroids probably, and maybe even a cocktail of growth hormones. His arms and pecs were massive, slabs of meat, same with his tights, with a massive, solid gut pushing out from his midsection, the abs standing out on the curve, a classic roid gut. As he was urging the guy on, Rick scratched his head with the brim of his cap, revealing his now bald scalp underneath. Now that Larry was looking closer, Rick's face had changed as well, becoming rougher, with some scars and a very heavy brow. Over the course of minute, Larry watched as Rick's cheeks darkened with stubble, as a thick black beard erupted and grew out several inches, bushy and wild, making him appear even more brutish.

Curious to see his own changes, Larry looked down at himself, and saw that he had grown quite a bit as well. While he was about the same size as Rick, his body looked quite different. First, he'd packed on less muscle, having traded in some for a healthy layer of fat which provided quite a bit of cushion all over, especially around his midsection. From the look of his forearms and the back of his palms, he was also quite a bit hairier than he had been before, but what he kept coming back to was his ass. Two big cheeks pushed out against the seat of his pants, and they had just enough fat to be soft, but most of their bulk was muscle. It felt so good fondling them, and his growing cock of course. His pants were so full at this point he was surprised they hadn't ripped apart yet. He ran his hand across his face and felt a beard of his own had sprouted there, but nowhere near the size of Rick's.

Rick, on the other hand, had noticed none of this, other than a vague sense that he had become much more powerful and commanding, and who hell of a lot angrier than he'd ever been in his life, but it felt good. He didn't want to hold it in anymore, he discovered, as he ground Cliff's face deeper into his boot. "Don't give me none of that weak tongue crap!" he barked, "Lick it like you mean it!"

He heard Cliff whimper and sob, but he did as the cop commanded, running his whole tongue along the length of the boot, terrified out of his mind. What in the hell was going on? He saw the other cop walk over and gently place his own leather boot on his head. "You look good licking that boot, bitch," Larry said calmly, "You like the taste of leather, don't you? You like shining leather with your spit. Yeah, you thought you were hot shit, didn't you? Well we're just getting started." The guy couldn't hold back anymore and started crying loudly, and shouting for someone to help him, but Rick kicked him in the face, and Larry got down and wrapped one leather glove around his mouth keeping him quiet. "Now listen bitch, we're going to give you your punishment, and you're going to take it, because you deserve it, don't you?" Larry said. When the guy didn't make an effort to respond, he said louder, "When I ask you a question I expect an answer!"

Cliff nodded quickly, just wanting this nightmare to be over. He did need to be punished. He'd been a very bad boy, and he needed these...these strong, muscular officers to punish him properly. Before he could realize there was anything wrong with those thoughts, Larry hauled him up off the ground and started walking him over to the restroom, pushing the still handcuffed Cliff in front of him. Rick followed behind them, feeling suddenly uncomfortable. Everywhere his uniform touched him, it was starting to itch, and as they entered the restroom, the itching became an unbearable burning. It was only once they were inside that Larry noticed his partner was having trouble.

"Fuck! It's burning!" Rick groaned, itching himself all over.

"Well take it then, you idiot!" Larry said. Rick looked at him like he was a genius, grabbed the fabric in his massive hands and ripped it away from his body. He pulled off his shirt first, revealing a black rubber tank top which had appeared underneath. It fit him, but was stretched impossibly tight across his body, highlighting every dip and valley of his ripped roid gut. Hanging around his neck was a necklace made of thick chain with a police badge hanging from it. He tore away his pants next, finding a pair of rubber shorts with the crotch cut away, the pouch of his rubber thong jutting out, filled to the max with his huge cock. They could see the tops of large rubber waders sticking out of the top of his boots, which crumbled away when Rick yanked at them. The waders reached to his knees and would have been massive on anyone else, but given the size of Rick's legs and calves, they were nearly as skin tight as the rest of his uniform.

"Fuck yeah, that's so much better..." Rick moaned as he felt himself up with his huge hands, focusing mainly on his huge bulge.

"Yeah, don't you agree Cliff? Isn't Officer...Officer..." Larry glanced at the badge, and saw that it now read Officer Rubber. "Isn't Officer Rubber fucking hot in that new uniform of his?"

"Please...Please just let me go. I won't tell anyone, I swear!" Cliff begged.

"I asked you a question boy, you know what I'm looking for. Doesn't seeing all of that rubber stretched tight across those muscles make you want to rub your face all over him? Lick his body, get down on your knees and worship him like a fucking whore? Doesn't looking at him make you feel that way?" Larry said. He reached around and groped Cliff's hard cock for a moment, making him groan, "Well, doesn't it boy? I can tell how horny you're getting just looking at Officer Rubber there. Why don't you pose for our victim here, Rubber?"

Officer Rubber grinned widely, and started flexing his muscles, showing off their massive size, and Cliff couldn't take it. He stumbled forward and onto his knees, shoving his face into Rick's rubber clad crotch, licking eagerly. "Yeah boy, you like the way that sweaty rubber tastes, don't ya?" Rick said, moving into a double bicep pose. Cliff didn't care anymore. He needed to taste these muscles, to worship this rubber god before him. He tried to pull down Officer Rubber's thong, but he slapped his face away. "You ain't gotten you're proper punishment yet boy! That's only for good little bitches. Now clean off my waders like you know you want to." Cliff moaned a bit and crouched down, licking the rubber boots, eager to please.

Larry was enjoying the show immensely, both his partner's posing, and Cliff's sudden change of heart. As he was feeling up his own body, he looked to the side and caught sight of himself in the bathroom mirror, surprised to see that his hair and beard were suddenly grey. He walked over, and found that he was now so wide, he had to keep about five feet away just to see most of his body in the small mirror, but he liked what he saw. He flexed one of his fatty biceps and watched his own uniform material rip away, so he pulled off the whole sleeve, his arm covered with grey hairs, and a thick leather band encircling his upper arm.

As he eyed himself, Larry heard a faint moan come from the back of the restroom, in the handicapped stall. Rubber and Cliff were occupied for the moment, as Larry snuck over, and with a kick, busted open the lock on the door and stormed in. There was a yelp, as a fat and hairy trucker sitting on the toilet tried to cover up his obvious hard on. "Well, well, well," Larry said, "Looks like we have somebody else here who needs some punishment."

"Hey, come on man, I was just taking a shit," the trucker tried to explain, but Larry hauled him up, forced him against the wall and handcuffed him, then walked him out by the sinks, his pants still around his ankles and his cock still jutting straight out. Larry felt himself getting even more excited, as the thought of all the ways he could punish these two, and as he did, he felt himself start to itch. Before it got worse, he started tearing off his clothing piece by piece, until he stood there in his own new uniform. A harness made from four inch bands of thick, black leather was strapped over his beefy chest, as hairy as the rest of his body, with leather bands around both biceps, bracers on his forearms, and gloves on both hands. He also had on a pair of leather chaps, his massive ass exposed behind him, and a sizable cock kept back by his leather jock, though it wasn't nearly as massive as Officer Rubber's. He had on a pair of high leather boots, perfectly shined. He immediately felt better, and he saw that he had a badge similar to Officer Rubbers hanging around his neck, though his said "Officer Larry Leather."

"That's better," Officer Leather said, and turned to his newest captor, "Now you, pig, what's your name?"

"Uh...Chuck. I'm Chuck."

"Well Cliff, public indecency is a misdemeanor, not as severe as Cliff's harassment charge, but I'm gonna have to give you more than a warning..." He came closer to the trucker, backing him against the wall, their guts touching one another.

"Hey, come on...officer. I was...I was just listening..."

"Yeah, that you were," Officer Leather said, "I bet you like listening a whole lot. And watching. You're just one big voyeur, aren't you?"

"I...I don't know about that...sir."

"Sir he says. Hey Rubber, I like this one, he knows how to show some respect! But as for you not being a voyeur, are you saying watching that doesn't turn you on?" Larry said, pointing to where Cliff was licking up and down Rick's rubber clad chest, sucking on the outlined nipples while the officer moaned, "Look at him--isn't that hot?"

"Yeah...fuck yeah, I love watching stuff like that..."

"I bet you do. Now why don't you be a good boy and watch while we punish this guy here, alright? But you can't cum until I let you, that's your punishment. But you know what? I bet the two of you planned this whole thing, didn't you?" Larry said, walking over and pulling Cliff away from Officer Rubber for a moment. Cliff and the trucker just looked at Larry, puzzled, so he continued, "Yeah, Chuck, you hide out, while Cliff here finds some roughneck to fuck him, and then you listen and watch while the guy works him over, isn't that right?"

"Fuck, that would be so fucking hot..." Chuck moaned, his cock dribbling at the thought, but Cliff sputtered a bit.

"Hell no! I don't even know him. What...what the fuck is wrong with you?"

"Hey, I'm just drawing reasonable conclusions. Don't shoot the messenger. I mean, you two probably drive the same truck on long hauls across the country, sleeping during the day and taking time each night to cruise for someone to fuck you over while Chuck watches."

What are you talking about?" Cliff said, "I'm not a fucking trucker! Do I look like a trucker to you?"

"Well, what do you think Officer Rubber? Do you think he looks like a trucker?"

"Hell yeah," Rick said, "I mean, look at the size of his gut! He sure looks like some guy who sits around behind the wheel most of the time."

"Yeah, and that filthy beard and hair of his," Larry added.

"He doesn't smell to clean, that's for sure. He probably doesn't get a chance to shower all that often on the road."

"His clothes are nasty too. He's probably been wearing them for weeks without changing them."

"Stop it!" Cliff shouted, "Stop it, damn it! It isn't true."

Larry grinned, "Well, then why don't you look at yourself in the mirror?" He said, dragged Cliff up and showed him his reflection in the mirror. Cliff just gaped for a moment trying to absorb what he saw. He could still recognize pieces of himself, but he was no longer the young, hip frat boy he'd been moments before. Now, all he saw was a much older man with a massive beard and long ratty hair, dressed in a dirty, grimy flannel shirt covering his massive gut.

"No...No," was all he could manage to say.

"Now you've been properly punished," Larry whispered in his ear.

"Can I fuck him now Larry? That fat ass of his is too good to resist," Officer Rubber said.

"How about it Cliff? Do you want Officer Rubber to fuck you if front of Chuck here? Pound that fat trucker ass of yours with his massive cock? Just thinking about it is getting you all excited, isn't it?"

"Oh...Oh god yeah, fuck me, officer. Fuck my fat ass..." Cliff said. Licking his lips, Rubber pulled down his thong, revealing his massive, fourteen inch cock, while Officer Leather pulled down Cliff's pants, revealing his fat ass and nasty crack. Rubber lubed up the head with some spit, and started cramming it up the new trucker's ass, listening to Chuck moan behind him, wishing he could jack off.

"Yeah, look at that," Officer Leather said, "Look at that reflection of yours. That fat, filthy trucker you are getting your ass raped by my partner's massive cock. You're nothing but a filthy whore, aren't you? Begging cops and bikers to fuck you with their big cocks."

"Oh fuck yeah..." was all Cliff could say. He felt his old way slipping away from him, replaced by new memories. Driving with Chuck, sucking cock and getting fucked by biker gangs, other truckers, anyone really, Chuck listening and watching all of it. Leather hauled out his own cock and shoved it down Cliff's throat, the two officers fucking him brutally at both ends for half an hour before cumming together, watching their muscles explode to even greater heights as they climaxed. They were both close to seven feet tall now, Leather a bit taller than Rubber, and their bodies had become near caricature. Rick's muscles looked like they had simply exploded. His neck was history, absorbed by his massive delts and pecs, his biceps almost as big around as his waist. His new build made it difficult for him to move in any way other than an ape-like lumber, his arms in front of him as his huge legs struggled to keep up. Larry on the other hand, found himself leaning back, trying to counteract the massive gut he now had. While it was huge, it was also very hard, feeling like muscle, and his ass...His ass was massive, two huge cheeks bursting from his chaps, providing some counterbalance for his gut.

Cliff was exhausted, but Larry dragged him over to where Chuck was panting, his cock red and swollen from watching both huge officers fuck over his friend, and with his hand on the back of the new trucker's head, slammed Chuck's cock down his throat as far as he could. Cliff's gag reflex was enough to send Chuck over the edge, unloading a huge amount of cum, making Cliff sputter and choke from the volume as he struggled to swallow all of it down. Satisfied, the officers undid the handcuffs binding both of them and left them lying on the filthy concrete, exhausted, and headed back to their patrol car. Once there, Officer Leather pulled out two cigars which they lit up, enjoying the cool night on their sweaty, hot skin.

Larry couldn't stop looking over at his partner's new cock, which was now close to two feet long, and barely packed into that new thong of his. Rick on the other hand, kept stealing glances over at Leather's massive ass, wondering what it would feel like under his hands, with his shaft deep in his partner's hole. Leather moved first, leaning over the hood of the squad car, revealing his hole for Rubber, who didn't need any more tempting. He rammed his cock up his partner's ass, fucking him rough and long, smoke pouring from his nose as he shot another wad of cum deep in Larry, who slot his own load into the pouch of his jock, the overflow dribbling out the sides. After Rubber got down and licked Leather clean, they shared a smoky kiss, and then squeezed back into the squad car as best they could. They had a job to do after all, and many, many, many more naughty men to punish as only they could.

4

As they walked single file down the narrow forest path, Randal thought again of how strange of a situation he and his two friends, Fred and Claude, had found themselves in. They were hardly the outdoorsy types. Each was a mid-level manager in a banking firm downtown, and yet, here they were in the middle of the wilderness, hiking around for some reason he couldn't remember, and none of them could remember where they were going, or why, or when the trek had started. Hell, none of them even had any equipment with them--not so much as a water bottle. They all knew it was ridiculous, that they should just stop and wait for someone to find them, yet they kept walking, occasionally glancing at each other uneasily, wondering what was going on.

The hike was relatively level, which was good, because none of them were in peak physical condition. Decent incomes and office jobs had all taken a toll on their waistlines to some extent. Fred was the only one of the three to go to the gym regularly, and so he was still fairly slim. He led the way, while Randal and Claude huffed and puffed behind him. Claude had it particularly rough--he had long been an asthmatic, and he could feel an attack approaching if they didn't stop for a rest here soon. It didn't help that the weather was muggy and hot, despite the cloud cover. The heat led them to assume it was sometime in the early afternoon, but none of them had a watch or a phone to give them a more accurate time.

A rumble of thunder came from the dark, cloudy sky overhead, and a mist of rain began to fall on them. "Look guys, maybe we should stop for a bit and find some shelter. This storm is going to be awful when he breaks," Claude said, stopping in the path.

"We should keep going, this path has to lead somewhere," Fred said, "Besides, where are we going to find some place to stay dry around here?"

Randal was still unable to shake the feeling of unease, that something about this whole situation was amiss, so as Claude and Fred argued about what to do next, he stepped off the trail a little ways. Before he had gone too far, he emerged from the woods into a small clearing, where a sizable cabin sat, the chimney belching smoke. It seemed too good to be true, and Randal still couldn't shake the feeling that there was something about this which was strangely familiar. But shelter was shelter, he supposed, and maybe whoever was living there could help them find their way out of this crazy forest and back to town. "Hey guys! Over here, I found something!" Randal called behind him. A moment later, Claude and Fred came stumbling through the forest towards him and into the clearing.

"Oh thank god," Claude said, and breathed a sigh of relief, "They can probably help us figure out where in the hell we are."

He started walking towards the cabin, but Fred grabbed his arm and pulled him back. "Hold on. We don't know who lives there! It could be some freaks who'll murder us in our sleep!"

"Dang Fred, what do you think this is? A horror movie?" Randal said. He had meant it to be a joke, but Claude and Fred just looked at him, a bit puzzled. Now that he thought about it, there was...something odd about what he had just said, but he didn't know what it was. "Anyway," he said in the nervous silence, "I think we should check it out."

"Yeah..." Claude added, though he no longer sounded as eager as had been, but none of them moved. The sky let loose another rumble, followed by a downpour, which soaked through all of their clothes in less than a minute.

"Fuck this," Randal said. Refusing to admit that he was scared, Randal trekked off through the grass, Fred and Claude following behind him at a distance. He knocked on the wooden door, softly at first, then a bit louder, and called out to see if anyone inside could hear them. When no one answered, he checked the door, and found it was unlocked.

Inside, the place looked rustic and aged, the furniture all rough and most likely handmade. Animal skins were piled everywhere, and a stone fireplace held a banked fire, which explained the smoke. The place was obviously someone's home, but who knew whose it was. Randal took a step inside, and Fred said, "You aren't actually going in there, are you?"

"Would you rather stand out here in the rain? Look, either we would be invited inside anyway, or whoever lives here would kill us, so what does it matter? I'd rather be dry," Randal said, and stepped inside. Claude followed him, with Fred stepping in last, and closing the door behind him. Randal looked around the room, while his two friends headed towards the fire, and threw some more wood onto it to warm up. Through a doorway, Randal found a small bedroom filled with a very large, custom made bed, and through another, a small eating area with a trapdoor he assumed dropped down into a cellar below the cabin. As he passed by, he caught the strong scent of alcohol, and saw a jug open on the table. Curious, he took a whiff of whatever was in it, and recoiled away from the strong scent. Whatever it was, it was definitely home brewed. Out of curiosity, he took a small swig, and found that, while strong, the taste wasn't half bad. The kick was good too, and he felt some warmth return to his cold fingers as he drank some more. Taking the jug with him out into the den, where his friends were sitting on a rug in front of the fire, Randal said, "I found something else to warm us up," holding up the jug.

"You really think now is the time to be drinking?" Fred asked.

"Aw, live a little," Randal said. He kept trying to push some onto his friends, but ended up drinking alone. The alcohol was stronger than Randal had expected, and he was feeling a bit woozy, though he certainly didn't stop. Fred and Claude talked softly, as though speaking too loudly would wake some giant in the next room. Try as they might, neither of them could recall how they ended up here in the first place, or why they were hiking. In the back of his mind, Fred kept returning to that movie comment Randal had made earlier. Why did that seem so...odd to him, that he had said that? The last thing he remembered doing clearly, was Claude and Randal coming over to his apartment on Halloween to do...something. When he asked Claude what he remembered, he had no better answer, and Randal was quickly becoming no help at all. Eventually, they lapsed into silence, with only than the crackling fire and the rain overhead carrying on.

"Shit..." Randall suddenly slurred, "I'm so fucking tired. I got to go to bed, guys..."

"You can't be serious," it's still the middle of the afternoon," Fred replied, "Besides, we still don't know who in the hell lives here. Do you really want to sleep in some stranger's bed?"

"Well first of all, it's night," Randal said, pointing to the window, where it was now pitch black, "And two, fuck that." He stumbled off and into the bedroom, discarding his clothes along the way, though he carried the jug with him.

Fred, however, was staring at the window. Certainly not that much time had passed as they'd been sitting here, had it? It had only been an hour, maybe two, at most. He'd assumed it was two or three in the afternoon when the rain started, and he was still sopping wet. How was it now midnight outside?

"Yeah, I'm tired too," Claude said, yawning wide, "This rug is comfortable. I might just sleep here." He laid down with his back to the fire and shut his eyes.

"You guys are nuts," Fred mumbled, but he had to admit. He was tired. It was the middle of the night, after all...or was it? He needed to stay awake though, he told himself. However, after another fifteen minutes of watching the fire dance and listening to his friends snore, his eyes began to droop, and not five minutes later, he was asleep next to Claude on the rug.

*****

Randal was snoring loudly on the large bed in the bedroom, undressed aside for his undershirt and boxers. He had fallen asleep as soon as his head hit the mattress, and hadn't noticed the two figures standing off to the side, who had been watching him since he'd stumbled in. Monty and Cletus were brothers, and they lived in this cabin--or at least, they'd lived in this cabin when they were alive. Now, both of them were ghosts, haunting the place, and terrorizing anyone unlucky enough to stumble upon their home.

"Looks like we got ourselves some trespassers, Monty," Cletus said. He was quite well built, wearing a flannel shirt and jeans which looked like they hadn't been washed in ages. He also had a bushy beard and long hair pulled back into a pony tail. With a flcik of his wrist, he pushed the covers off of Randal's body. Despite being incorporeal, Cletus still possessed the power to move objects with his mind. It was the only way the cabin stayed in as good of condition as it did.

"Sure does. What do you reckon we should do with 'em, Cletus? Ya just wanna kill 'em quick, like usual?" Monty was far fatter than Cletus, and a bit shorter as well, wearing a pair of massive overalls. His head and face were shaved, though a good bit of stubble could be seen on both. Despite his massive, stocky frame, his hands stood out as an oddity, his wrists slender, and his fingers long and skinny, the knuckles pushing out against his pale skin. Cletus gave his brother a smack to the back of the head. "Ow! What was that fer?"

"These ain't our 'usual' guests, Monty! Ya knows how we need tah treat special ones like these."

"Yeah, yeah...But killin' 'em's easier."

"Aw, I know how much ya like playing wit' yer food when ya get the chance. Ya say ya don't, but I know ya do. Besides, these guys will be easy, especially this one." Cletus said. and pointed at a drawer in a dresser against the wall. It opened by itself, and a long, slender knife floated out, and settled against Randal's neck on the bed. "Time tah wake up, boy," Cletus whispered in his ear, "We got some business wit' ya."

Randal groggily tried to sit up, but felt the blade of the knife press in deeper, and sat back, too drunk to really be scared. At least until he saw the two ghosts standing over his bedside. He tried to yell, but the knife stopped him.

"Ya say anythin' and ya'll are dead, got it?" Monty said, leering, "We got plans fer ya'll."

With a wave of his hand, Cletus pushed down the covers, and the knife slid down Randal's body, slicing away his clothes before returning to his neck. "Looks like ya've been makin' some good progress already," Cletus said, "How 'bout we hurry that along?"

Randal didn't know what he was talking about, but looking down, he suddenly saw exactly what he meant. He was hairy. Not just the bit of body hair he'd had before--his entire chest and stomach were lightly coated with dark hairs, and while he couldn't be certain in the dark, he felt bigger, and stronger. Cletus lit a candle and set it down next to the bed, giving Randal a better view, and his suspicions were confirmed. His pudgy body was now toned, the excess fat having melted away and been replaced by some muscle.

Cletus used his other hand to pull the still half full jug off the nightstand, where it floated over to Randal's head. "Now boy, ya didn't finish yerr drink. Ya did like my special brew, didn't ya? Well, whether ya did or not, we're gonna make sure ya drink every drop." The jug hovered over and tipped against his mouth, a steady stream flowing into Randal's mouth, but he spit out as much of it as he could. "Looks like we got us a fighter. Ya wanna work some a yer magic on him, Monty?"

"Sure thing," Monty said, moving next to Randal's head, and put his slender index fingers up against Randal's ears, and after a slight push, inserted them inside, making Randal shudder. He could actually feel Monty worming deep into his brain, where he started...fiddling and plucking and mashing, the whole sensation giving Randal a headache. He would have moaned and screamed if the entire action hadn't rendered him paralyzed. After what felt like ages, Monty withdrew his fingers, and Randal felt control return to him, tears immediately welling up in his eyes, his head reeling.

"Now boy, drink!" Cletus said, and tipped the jug into Randal's mouth again.

He swallowed. He swallowed eagerly as much of it as he could. He was a good boy after all, he did what his daddies told him to do, because they knew best. Inside, he railed and screamed against the invasive thoughts, knowing Monty had somehow planted them there, but it was useless. They were tied to his very being now. He had to obey. He had to be a good boy. As he drink down the putrid liquid, he felt his body begin to ache and itch. His body began to expand further, pecs pushing out and growing wider, his neck thickening as cords of muscle piled on. His arms were pushed away as muscles in his back and chest crowded for room, his thighs pushed apart, so he would forever walk with a bowlegged gait. And the hair. If he'd been furry before, by the time he was finished drinking, he could barely see his own skin any more. He felt his beard and hair growing out as well, and even his eyebrows were shaggy, growing together into a massive unibrow. Finally the last drops emptied their way into his stomach, and the jug withdrew from his mouth, leaving him gasping for breath.

"Yeah, yer lookin' much better now. However, I think we may need somethin' a bit extra tah keep ya occupied fer the moment, what do ya think, Monty?"

"Sure thing bro," the large man said, and reinserted his fingers into Randal's ears. This time, he tried to block the intrusion, but the fingers slid past every obstacle, again pushing into his mind, altering it however they pleased. He became aware of an itch. A horrible, fiery itch, just inside his asshole, and as soon as the fingers retracted, Randal rolled over, and shoved his finger in his hole, desperate for relief. "Oh god, oh god, please! Please, make it stop!" He cried, aware that his cock was also rock hard.

Cletus grinned, pulled open another drawer and extracted a smooth, wooden shaft, carved into the shape of a thick cock. It flew across the room and embedded itself in Randal's hole in a single stroke, making Randal scream, then began thrusting in and out in rapid strokes. Before he knew what was happening, Randal was shooting a massive load onto the mattress, larger than he'd ever shot before. Every pulse of his cock sent waves of pleasure through him, focused on his balls. With one hand, he felt them and realized they were swelling, his sack already about as large as an orange.

"Oh god, what the fuck did you do to me?" Randal moaned, thrusting his cock into the mattress. It was still rock hard, and the hard wood up his ass was barely taking the edge off the ferocious itching. The alcohol was rushing through his system, making him woozy, but he couldn't stop. He had to cum, he had to fuck his ass. He reached around, grasped the end of the wooden shaft and began reaming his ass with it.

The two ghosts just laughed, and faded away, a disembodied voice adding, "That oughta keep ya busy fer a while. See ya in a bit, Randy. We need tah work on yer friends for a bit. Ya just keep doin' what yer doin', alright? "

"Yes...yes...," Randal groaned, as he shot another load, his balls swelling even larger, making him even hornier. He continued stroking, the laughter still ringing in his ears. He knew them. He knew them from somewhere, but where? He couldn't remember. Besides, it was so much more important to jack off. He wanted to make his daddies happy after all. And he was feeling so...so...randy, he just couldn't stop, even if his life depended on it.

*****

Claude awoke suddenly with a jolt, startled awake by a loud rumble. Figuring it was just some thunder, he rolled over, only for the sound to repeat a moment later, his gut gurgling with hunger. Looking out the window, he saw that it was now morning, with bright sunlight streaming in. Fred was still asleep next to him, and Claude wanted to wake him, but an aroma on the air caught his attention first. Food. Someone was cooking, and it smelled heavenly. Forgetting about his still slumbering friend, he traipsed off towards the small kitchen, to see what Randal had found to eat.

When he stepped inside, he found that the room was empty. However, someone had lit a small cooking fire, and set a cauldron over it, with some gruel like substance boiling inside. He was hungry, and while the meal didn't look all that appetizing, he certainly was looking forward to eating. Still, he knew he should look for Randal, wherever he was. He turned around to leave and check the bedroom, but stood frozen in place, when he saw the two semi-transparent rednecks floating in the doorway, grinning at him.

"Now where do you think you're going?" Monty asked.

"Yeah boy, it's time fer breakfast. Why don't ya have a seat?" Cletus said, and whipped his hand, summoning a chair which pushed Claude's feet out from under him. Before he could get up, a length of rope bound itself around him, pinning his arms at his sides, and attaching him to the chair. "That's a good boy."

The chair with Claude on it pulled itself up to the table, and a large bowl floated off the counter, dipped into the cauldron, and came out with a steaming mass of gruel. "This is my specialty," Monty said, "It'll put some weight on those bones of yers. Yer far too skinny son, but we'll fix that right quick!"

Claude shut his mouth tight against the incoming bowl, but Monty came up behind him, and snaked his fingers into his head. Suddenly, one word appeared at the front of Claude's mind, above all else: EAT. He opened his mouth and allowed Cletus to pour the gruel right into his mouth. It was hot, and it felt like his mouth was burning, but he had to eat. Eat it all up. Eat until he exploded. Eat everything he could. He drained the bowl as quickly as he could, and the next one, and the one after that. He was aware, distantly, that the ropes binding him were getting tighter. That he was expanding, but none of that mattered. He had to eat! He had no idea how long it lasted, how much they shoved down his gullet. he was aware of the ropes snapping at one point, of the clothes ripping away from his body. He tried to count the bowls as they came, but lost track somewhere around fifty. It was only after he had slurped at the air for a few moments that he realized the flow had stopped, and that the driving compulsion had finally finished.

He looked down at himself in disbelief. He was massive. He hadn't exactly been slim before, but he must have been close to five hundred pounds, most of it concentrated in his gut, hanging down between his massive thighs. With two short, chubby hands he started tugging at the rolls, then felt his face, and multiple chins, every part of his soft and jiggly. It was just like...It was just like...

Oh god.

Claude felt the memory wall which he'd been struggling with since the night before come crumbling down. He remembered going over to Fred's apartment with Randal on Halloween for their regular movie night, like they did every week. He remembered the strange package Fred had shown them when they'd arrived. He remembered the movie which had come in the package, "Redneck Ghost Rampage (Unrated and Uncut)". He remembered a scene from the movie, one of the characters being fed by the ghosts until he exploded. And now, here he was, most likely about to explode at any moment.

He began to wheeze and sputter, the sudden panic causing his asthma to flare up, and the massive amount of fat crushing his lungs not helping either. His vision was closing down, spots appearing behind his eyes, as he lolled back, struggling for breath.

"Having trouble?" Cletus said, "Here, give this here 'inhaler' a shot."

Claude felt a rough tip of something shove its way into his mouth, and he took a few deep sucks off of it, feeling his airways release, and his vision return. He took a few more inhales before he realized what he was sucking on--a massive cigar. With a retch of disgust, he threw the thing away from him across the table, only to have his airway close up again, tighter than before. Struggling for breath, he clawed his way standing and lurched around the table, grasping at the cigar, shoving it back in his mouth and inhaling deeply.

"You...I know you...You're from that movie," Claude said weakly, "This can't be real. It can't be. It has to be a--"

The cigar suddenly crammed itself down his throat, cutting him off mid-sentence. "Looks like we got a smart one on our hands." Cletus said, then turned to his brother, "Ya wanna take care a it? I think he's goinna need the full service."

Monty grinned and gave his knuckles a crack, then started stalking over towards Claude, who backed away from him, trying unsuccessfully to pull the cigar from his mouth. He ended up cornered, and the fat redneck again pushed his fingers into Claude's ears, then his middle fingers, then the rest of them, worming both hands into his brain. Claude's eyes rolled back from the mental onslaught, and slumped to the ground, Monty keeping the pressure on continuously. Where the previous mental work had felt like Monty had been jiggling a switch, this felt like he was mashing Claude's brain between his hands. No thought or memory was safe from the onslaught, and his new revelation was one of the first to be crushed until unrecognizable. When he finished the destruction, almost nothing was left, and Monty began constructing massive monoliths from the debris. Single words, all of them powerful imperatives: EAT. SUCK. FUCK. SLEEP. SMOKE. SHIT. PISS. OBEY. They were all that remained. Monty pulled out his hands, and Claude did nothing. He stared forward blankly, drooling from the side of his open mouth. He continued smoking though. He needed to SMOKE.

"What's yerr name, son?" Cletus asked him.

"Uh...uh...I don' know," was all he could manage. The words came slow and laboriously. It took all of his mental energy just to string a short thought together.

"Yer name's Clod, boy. As in dirt clod. Because you're dumb as dirt. Think ya can remember that?"

Clod nodded, trying to think hard. "Yeah...I try...Clod is...me."

"Good. Now get up, and let's go see how yer brother is doing."

OBEY. Clod stood, and followed the two ghosts out of the kitchen, paying no attention to Fred sleeping on the floor. They walked into the bedroom, where Randal was jacking off for the eighth time, his crotch slick with cum, which was pooling on the mattress beneath him. As the three entered, he shot again, even more massive, his ball expanding to the size of a cantaloupe.

Please...Please, let me stop. I'm so horny..." Randy moaned.

Clod stumbled into the room, and smelled the fresh cum on the mattress. EAT. He lumbered over, licking his lips and pushed Randal to the side, and began lapping up everything he could. As he did, he felt his cock begin to tingle and expand. Randal couldn't stop jacking off, but couldn't help watching the massive lard ass Claude had become slurp up all of the cum he had already shot. When everything was up off the mattress, another thought: SUCK. He took all of Randal's cock in his mouth and began pulling on it, causing him to ejaculate almost immediately, his balls growing even larger as buckets of cum were emptied directly into Clod's massive stomach. Her drank it all down, his cock growing larger and larger, passing a foot in length. When the final spurt came, Clod licked his lips, and watched Randal roll over, still working the dildo in and out of his ass. FUCK. He hauled out the wooden dildo, and after a few blind thrusts, hammered his new, massive cock up his ass, causing Randal to holler in pain and need, pushing his muscular ass back to meet every one of his friend's thrusts. Though the cock was massive, Randal felt the first bit of relief from the awful itch, and the sensation of Clod's cock slamming against his prostate made him moan with lust. Clod though, took to fucking with the same fervor he took to the rest of his limited thoughts, his gaze blank, smoking his cigar, his body acting all on its own.

The two ghosts just stood to the side, watching their handiwork go at it, both with their own ghost cocks out, jacking off. Cletus leaned over and passionately kissed his brother, when they heard a gasp come from the doorway. Neither Clod nor Randy paused in their rutting, as Fred stood staring at them in horror. "Dang it, I knew we forgot somethin'," Cletus said.

Fred turned and sprinted away towards the door as fast as he could, dodging the furniture, rugs and furs which sprang to life before his eyes, trying to bar his way. Just as he reached the door, it swung open and slammed into his face, sending him falling backwards, stars exploding in front of him. Still, he crawled out onto the porch, down the stairs and onto the soggy, muddy ground, not even pausing to look behind him, when he felt a rope loop itself around his neck and tighten, cutting off his air, and pulling him backwards through the mud. He clawed at it, trying to loosen the knot, when Monty strode over, shoved his fingers into his ears and began scrambling his brain.

Suddenly, the mud beneath Fred felt amazing. So amazing, he wanted to feel it all over his entire body. When Monty removed his fingers, he began clawing at his clothes. Why was he even wearing anything anyway? He needed to be naked. He was supposed to be naked. When everything was off, he began rolling on the soggy ground, coating himself with mud. In his mind, he was telling himself to stop this, to get up, and take the rope off from around his neck and run away, get away as fast as he could, but the mud felt so good, why would he ever want to go anywhere else? He slathered some on his cock and started jacking off, grunting and snorting uncontrollably. He was getting so dirty, and that thought turned him on so much. He loved being dirty, and he wanted to get filthier. So filthy, he could never be clean again. With that thought, his cock released a stream of cum all over himself, and he could hear himself squealing like a pig, when the rope around his neck gave a tug.

Panting, he obediently rolled onto his hands and knees and crawled up onto the porch, still grunting and snorting, his cock leaking the last bit of cum onto the ground. He was coated in mud from his head to his feet, and he'd never felt more beautiful. "That one almost got away from us! Quick thinking Monty," Cletus said as he reeled Fred in further. "I'll keep the pig occupied. Why don't ya go 'n get our other boys ready fer the final scene?"

"Scene?" Fred thought, trying to piece together his thoughts. There was something he needed to remember--something important, but it remained even further from his reach now than ever, with his brain so focused on how nice it felt to be so filthy.

"Ya wanna see yerself, pig?" Cletus said, then moved a mirror over in front of Fred. "Have a look. If you think this isn't real, think again. Things are gonna be pretty different for ya from here on out."

Fred gazed at his reflection, refusing to believe that this was happening. He couldn't be the fat, stocky man in the mirror. Stocky wasn't even the right word for it--he looked deformed. If he had been able to stand, he might have been able to reach five feet at most, with short, stubby arms and fingers that could barely work. However, he looked natural on his hands and knees, which is where he belonged anyway. Of course, the amount of mass he'd packed on didn't help him look any more natural, his muscular arms and legs contrasting with the huge gut nearly dragging on the floor. His face was scruffy, his eyes wild and feral. He looked hot. He would fuck himself. He wanted to fuck. He wanted to be dirty--dirtier. He grunted and snorted a bit, trying to speak, but couldn't. He didn't need to speak anyway. He was a pig, why would a pig need to say anything at all? Fred fought back against the alien thoughts, but they had overwritten any other instincts he might have had. This was normal to him now. He had no idea what it was like to be normal, to walk upright, to speak. These were now concepts which he could not fathom. It was unreal, but how could he argue with his own reflection?

"Now, what's yer new name gonna be, pig? I don't like Fred, personally. How about something a bit more...demeaning? Something fer ya tah hate even more in these last few minutes before I have Monty drain away the rest a that humanity locked up in yer head? How about we call ya, Mr. Piggers?"

Fred glared at the ghost beside him, hoping he looked defiant. There had to be some way out of this. Something he could do to help not only him, but his friends too. This couldn't be real, it was just a dream, right? He had to be imagining all of this, there was no other explanation. He shut his eyes tight, and then opened them, but nothing had changed--or had it? He concentrated again, pushing his will out against the walls, and heard creaks and groans coming from the walls around him, when Cletus yanked on his rope again. "Now there ain't gonna be none a that shit, Mr. Piggers. Don't make me turn ya intah some dipshit retard like Clod. I still wanna play wit' ya fer a bit. And speakin' a Clod, here he is now!"

Monty emerged from the bedroom, with Randal and Clod following him. Randal looked uncomfortable, and wished he still had Clod's massive cock up his ass, because the itch was coming back, and he knew the wooden dildo would only keep it away for so long. He had been dressed in a flannel vest and a pair of jeans  with the crotch ripped completely out. From the hole sprang a jockstrap which could barely contain the mass of his balls that bulged in the front, looking like he had a bowling ball in the crotch of his pants. Clod was dressed in a pair of massive overalls which could barely contain his huge bulk. He'd had so much trouble putting them on, Randal had to help him figure out how the straps worked. He was staring straight forward with the same empty, dopey expression on his face, when a word flit past his brain: PISS. There in the middle of the room, his cock unleashed a torrent of urine, soaking the front of his overalls and running down one leg, the excess dripping all over the floor.

"Well Mr. Piggers? You like filth. Go clean up yer master Clod," Cletus said, but Fred wasn't listening. He was concentrating, trying to break through this nightmare and wake up. All of this was so familiar, like he needed one more puzzle piece and the whole thing would be revealed. Seeing what he was doing, Cletus yanked on the rope again. "Monty, this here pig is tryin' tah stir up some shit he don't wanna mess wit'. Why don't ya rearrange his priorities some, but keep him alive in there. I wanna know he knows what he's gonna spend the rest a his life doin'."

Fred tried to get away, but the rope held him in place as Monty's fingers entered him again, shuffling his mind around once more. When he finished, Fred tried to concentrate again, but new thoughts kept interrupting him. Urging him on, making crawl over towards Clod, thirstier than he'd ever been in his life. He tried to pull back and stop himself, get himself to concentrate, but instead he sucked on the denim, pulling out every drop of piss that he could, relishing the taste. He could feel the piss soaking into him, his taste buds livening, so that every taste became all the more rank, and the more delicious. His nose widened as well, his sense of smell increasing until he could smell everything in the room, from the scent of cum all over Randal's, to the stench of ass clinging to Clod's massive cock.

While Fred was busy lapping up the puddle growing beneath Clod, Cletus came up to Randy, still squirming with need. "Now, we never finished ya off, did we? So much Randal in there tah dispose of. Don't worry, by the time we're done, ya'll be nothing more than a filthy redneck desperate fer yer dumb ass brother's cock up yer ass. And I think Randy will be a much better name fer ya. That is what ya are after all, always randy. Desperate tah git off."

Before Randal could even prepare himself, Monty had wormed his fingers into his head once more, crushing down and remaking him entirely. No longer did he have a college education, or an understanding of business. He was a rough, abusive, domineering redneck whose entire existence was focused on satisfying his aching need to fuck and be fucked. His look of panic dissolved into a cocky dominance, and when Monty pulled his fingers out, he grinned at the two of them going at it next to him.

"Fuck yeah," he said in a slow drawl, rubbing his cock through his shorts, "Mr. Pigger's got a fine ass, sure does. Gonna ride that piggy butt. Yeah, fuck yeah..." He hauled out his cock and massive balls, got down behind Fred and rammed his cock deep into his hole, making the pig squeal in pain, surprise and desire. A moment later, Randy began shooting one of his massive loads into Fred, who felt his cock and balls tremble, and begin to whither and shrink. By the time Randy finished shooting, Fred's cock was only three inches long, and his balls the size of blueberries. He felt so much calmer all of a sudden, the need to serve and obey filling him. He was Randy's pig slave, and Clod's too. They were both so much stronger and more powerful that he could ever be. They deserved to be worshipped.

"Looks like yer almost there, piggy." Cletus said, "How does it feel, knowing yer gonna be nothin' more 'n an animal soon? Dumber 'n Clod even? Still got a way tah go though. Hey Clod, Ya ate so much earlier, I bet ya have tah shit like nobody's business."

SHIT. Clod let loose a massive fart, the stench so strong that with Fred's newly enhanced sense of smell, it was like being slapped in the face. He tried to back up, but Randy's thrusts kept him in place, as Monty came over to him, wiggling his fingers. "What's wrong Mr. Piggers?" he asked, "I thought ya liked bein' a nasty little pig?" He wormed his way into Fred's head once again, and a new need grew within him. A craving for filth and humiliation and degradation, to be treated as something lower than human. He lunged forward, Randy's cock popping out of his ass as he crawled between Clod's legs and began licking at the denim, chewing on the through the fabric, desperate for it. Aching for it.

"Maybe this''ll help, pig," Cletus said, and the knife floated over and cut a long slit in the ass of Clod's overalls, the shit pouring from the opening directly onto Fred's face. He tried to catch as much of it in his mouth as he could, hungrier than he'd ever been. Distantly, he was aware that his small piggy cock was rock hard and close to cumming, but he couldn't let himself. It would be the end of him if he did, he knew that. When he came, Monty would shove his fingers in, and destroy everything that remained of him, leaving him as an filthy pigman who answered only to Mr. Piggers.

He rubbed his face in the pile of shit on the floor, then began rolling in it, trying to reach his cock to jack off, but his stubby arms were too short. With a grin, Randy wrapped his hand around his pig's cock and started jacking it, Fred squealing and grunting in pleasure, bucking his hips up and down, desperate to get off. Still he held back. He concentrated all of his mental will together, pushing through the voices in his head telling him to submit, to give up, to accept all of this as who he was, and shouted in his mind, "WAKE UP!" The force of the blow was enough to shove everyone in the room away from him, rattle the walls, and cause the fire to flare up, burning purple and blue before extinguishing altogether.

"Alright, the party's over. Finish 'em, Monty," Cletus said, a bit nervous.

"Sure thing, Cletus," he replied, stomping over towards Fred, still rolling in filth. Fred was exhausted. If that wasn't enough to bring him out of this nightmare, he didn't know if he had the strength anymore. Still, he had to try. He collected himself once again, and shouted, "WAKE UP! WAKE UP WAKE UP WAKE UP!" once more, sending another blast of mental energy, Monty slamming into a wall behind him. Fred could sense it was at the tipping point, then the logs of the ceiling and the walls began to fall in, revealing an inky blackness behind. The last thing he remembered was watching Randy and Clod fall through the floor, Fred following them, squealing and grunting in terror as all three of them disappeared into oblivion.

*****

Fred thrashed awake on the sofa, the sudden movement causing him to roll off onto the floor with a loud thud. He did it. He was awake, he was free from that awful nightmare. He tried to stand up from where he was lying...but couldn't. It was like he couldn't get his legs and arms to do what he wanted them to. Looking up, he saw the DVD menu screen for "Redneck Ghost Rampage (Unrated and Uncut)" looping on the screen, but what stood out was Cletus and Monty. Both ghosts were on the screen looking at him, grinning wildly, and Cletus gave a little wave, before they disappeared entirely, and didn't reappear again. He remembered now. He remembered watching the movie, Randy falling asleep as the first character was murdered in the bed of the cabin, Claude joining him after watching another hiker being fed to death, and the last thing Fred recalled was the final character being pursued through the woods, covered with mud and filth...it had all been a dream though, hadn't it? Had it not been? Terrified of what he would see, but unable to keep himself from looking, he turned around, and saw that Randal and Claude were gone. In their place was Randy, dressed as he had been in the dream, his massive package bulging from his jockstrap, snoring in the armchair, and Clod sprawled on the couch, all five hundred pounds of him, his fat ass in the air, drool pooling on the floor where his head was hanging off the side.

Fred wanted to run. He wanted to scream, and find the police, and destroy the DVD. But instead, he let out a little grunt. It felt so good to be a pig. No...no it couldn't be, he couldn't be. With one pudgy finger he turned off the TV set allowing himself to see his reflection in the blank screen, but he was nowhere to be found. Instead, he was looking into the wild eyes of Mr. Piggers. The thoughts rushed back to him, telling him, commanding him to depths of depravity he had never imagined, far stronger than they'd been in the dream. He tried to push them away, but he was already crawling towards the couch. He could smell Clod's shit. His master shit himself every night, and Mr. Piggers was the one who had to eat it all up. He clambered up onto the sofa, Fred screaming inside of his own mind as he shoved his face into the seat of Clod's ripped overalls and started eating the semi-dried shit from the night, licking at the crack until it was perfectly clean, his own face smeared with shit, his cock hard and leaking. Grunting with excitement, he put his hands up Clod's back, he started rubbing his small cock up and down Clod's crack, not even bothering to try and penetrate, blowing a pitiful load after a few thrusts, squealing loudly, and causing Clod and Randy to stir from their slumber.

"Mr. Piggers?" Clod said, "Ya clean me up already? Good boy, Mr. Piggers." He rolled over and pulled Fred close to him and gave him a sloppy kiss, which Fred found himself happily returning, licking his master's face with his shitty tongue, Clod giggling like an idiot as he reached over, grabbed one of his cigars and lit up, taking a deep drag and blowing the smoke into Fred's mouth.

Randy was stretching in the armchair, watching the two kiss and share smoke, his cock rock hard, not that he was ever soft, really. "Piggers, fuck yeah, get over here 'n suck me off," he said, and Fred scrambled over, sucking happily on his master's cock, and was rewarded with a massive load of cum a few seconds later as Randy shot his first of his many loads for the day. His massive balls required almost constant service--he came at least fifty times each day, usually with little to no stimulation required. Mr. Piggers was Randy's cum dump, which helped explain the size of his belly. Now that Randy's cock was only semi-hard, he was able to piss directly into Fred's gullet, which he swallowed dutifully. As he pissed, Randy reached around and toyed with the dildo stuck up his ass. "Dang, I need a fuck bad. Clod, git that cock a yers ready, would ya?"

"Fuck. Yeah, sure Randy. Fuck good." Clod said, unzipping his fly and hauling out his massive cock. Randy finished pissing and climbed up on the couch, impaling himself on Clod's massive member and sighing with relief, his cock immediately unleashing another load which Fred hurried to lick up from Clod's overalls.

"Fuck yeah, that's a good Pig," Randy said, shuddering with need as he fucked himself, his dimwit brother staring off into space, thrusting mindlessly. Fred just sucked, and sucked, and sucked, taking load after load of Randy's cum into his gut. Fred begged for release from this hell. He begged to disappear, for Mr. Piggers to dominate and destroy him. It was bad enough having to behave like this, but knowing full well what he was doing, and being unable to stop it? It was like his own personal hell. He'd woken too soon, he'd realized. Monty had been about to free him, to kill him, really, but free him just the same, and leave Mr. Piggers in his place. This was one story, he thought with some regret, where he wished that it hadn't all been only a dream.

5

by Wesley Bracken

Mitch was a piece of trailer trash, and he was damn proud of it. he lived in a run down mobile home out on the edge of town, over where the Indian reservation started. A high school drop out, the only thing which interested him was his body. He worked out whenever he could, and it showed on his brutish form which he loved to show off, for he was rarely seen sporting anything other than the same dirty wife beater and boxers for weeks on end. Each day, he would wake up, lift his weights, maybe go make some money if he'd managed to find some position of a road crew, and then work out some more, and finish up at the bar down the street for a few beers and a brawl or two with his fellow lowlifes. Everything else in his life showed almost no attention what so ever. Trash littered the floor of his trailer, his mattress had several springs poking from it, and rats had been known to make their way in and out freely. Mitch himself wasn't one for cleanliness either, almost never showering, and so always smelling of stale sweat. His hair had grown long and tangled, though he usually kept his beard shaved off. But mostly, he was happy as he was, though he knew there was room for improvement--he just had no interest in being the one to improve anything.

So when the package arrived on his doorstep after his morning workout, he was certainly curious as to what it might be. He didn't have a computer, so he hadn't ordered anything, and none of his family sent him gifts, most of them being too busy funding whatever drug habit they were binging on at the moment. The package though was very large, coming up to his waist, and fairly heavy, even for him. Without looking at who sent it, or checking that it was in fact addressed to him at all, he ripped open the top, dug through the piles of packing peanuts, and ran into a hard, chrome sphere. Now very curious, he picked up the box and dumped it out onto the ground, peanuts flying everywhere, and a metal form clunking to the ground amidst the trash of his home.

It was a robot. It was a mother fucking robot. About three feet high, made entirely of sleek chrome, Mitch dug around in the foam, eventually uncovering a thick instruction booklet, the cover emblazoned with the title "Butler Bot 3000" and the tag line beneath: "Never work again!"

He flipped through the thick booklet, but most of the big words kind of flew past him to honest, but he definitely understood "Never Work Again!" This thing was going to clean up after him, make him meals, and leave him all the time in the world for working out, and whatever the fuck else he wanted to do. Who knows? Maybe it could actually make him money while he was at it--after all, never working again wouldn't count if he needed a job after all. He flipped the robot upright and began searching for the power switch, which he found on the backside, and turned it on.

Nothing happened for a moment, and then there was a whir of motors and crackling of static, as the robot began to jiggle and wave its arms about, and slowly lift up off of the ground. This was some pretty impressive technology, Mitch thought, if it could actually levitate. After a minute of warming up, the eyes on its head flipped open, revealing yellow orbs, and after a few strange noises from its mouth, it spoke, "Butler Bot 3000 booted up, initialized and ready to serve. Searching for master. Master acquired," it said, focusing on Mitch. "How may I serve you, master?"

It actually worked. Holy crap, he had a real life electronic butler, who would have thought that was even possible? "Uh...hi, I'm Mitch."

"It is good to meet you, Master Mitch. How may I serve you, master?" The robot repeated.

"Don't you have a name? I can't just call you 'robot.'"

"You may call me whatever you wish."

"Oh, alright," Mitch said, then thought for a moment. "I guess I'll call you Jeeves. That's what all the butlers are named in movies, right? And uh, well, I guess you could start by cleaning this place up. It's a bit of a mess," Mitch said, unsure of what to ask for. But cleaning would be useful at least, and give him some time to think of better tasks for his new butler to accomplish.

"Yes master," Jeeves said, and immediately began zooming around the room, picking up junk from the floor and...eating it. It would pick up something, and shove it into it's mouth, and then pick up something else, and do the same. He saw it going for a favorite shirt of his, but before Mitch could say anything, it had disappeared down the robot's throat.

"Hey, hey! Hold on, what the hell are you doing? I like that shirt," Mitch said.

"I am cleaning, master."

"By eating my stuff? What the hell does that do?"

"I do not understand the question. I do not eat."

"You're putting stuff in your mouth, aren't you?"

Jeeves whirred for a moment, then binged like a timer had gone off in its head. "Misunderstanding identified. I do not eat. What resembles a mouth on my chassis is a input channel for my internal matter converter."

"Your what?"

"My internal matter converter. The Butler Bot 3000 model comes equipped with a internal matter converter, whereby all inserted objects are broken down into base particles, which can then be reassembled into new forms of matter as the master requests."

Mitch just stared at it blankly, unsure of what he had just said. Jeeves waited a moment to see if Mitch would say anything, and then resumed shoving items into his mouth. Still confused, Mitch decided to ignore it. The robot probably just stored stuff away, and would put it where it goes later. He grabbed his cell phone from the table nearby. He needed to call Jimmy, and get him over here. He'd get a kick out of this. He wrote him a text telling him to come over right away, and that he had a surprise for him. Just as he sent the note, he heard a loud grinding of metal, rushed back and found the robot next to his weight bench, devouring it piece by piece.

"What the fuck are you doing!" Mitch shouted, ran over and tried to pull a weight from the robot's mouth, who sucked it in anyway.

"I am cleaning--as you asked master."

"You're eating my god damn weight equipment! This stuff is valuable. Spit it the fuck out!"

Jeeves whirred for a bit, and binged again. Apparently this was going to be a common occurrence. "Error detected in master's logic. Mission of Butler Bot 3000 is to ensure that master will not need to work again. Work includes all activities which require physical or mental exertion. Weight lifting equipment requires physical exertion. Therefore, weight lifting equipment is contrary to Butler Bot 3000's stated goals, and unnecessary for master's life without work. Cleaning requires removing and disposing of all unnecessary items from the master's premises. Weight lifting equipment is an unnecessary. Therefore, butler bot ought to clean up all work out equipment found on master's premises." As soon as it finished speaking, it picked up another weight and swallowed it down. Mitch had no idea where it was putting all of this stuff--it had already eaten more than it weighed. Hadn't Jeeves said something about breaking down the stuff it ate earlier? Was it really destroying his things? He had to stop it. He lunged for the off switch, but it darted out of the way, causing him to tumble over his weight bench and land on the floor cursing.

"Question:" Jeeves said, "Why did master try to turn me off?"

"Because you're out of control! You're destroying my stuff! This isn't what I wanted at all."

The bot again began whirring, and dinged a moment later. "Conflict detected. Butler Bot 3000's stated mission is to ensure that master will not need to work again. Master possesses desire to work. Solution: Butler Bot 3000 must run master optimization program number four." There was a strange flash and grinding which came from the robot's body, and then a door slid open, revealing a syringe neatly tucked inside. Jeeves took the syringe in hand and advanced on Mitch, who tried to scuttle back and block the needle, but Jeeves was too quick, and slammed it into his arm, making him scream. He tried to fight back, and reach for the power switch, but suddenly everything was moving in slow motion--or at least he was.

"What did you do to me?" He slurred, as the robot grabbed him under his arms and pulled him up onto the bed.

"I used by internal matter converter to manufacture a light sedative, a preliminary step for master optimization program number four," it said, "The second preliminary step is a thorough cleaning."

Mitch, terrified that the robot was going to eat him next, tried to claw himself away, but he was too dizzy to get anywhere. He was somewhat relieved when Jeeves pulled a wet sponge brush from his chest cavity, and after ripping off his clothes, began scrubbing him down roughly, contorting him into any number of positions to get at every part of his body, private or public. Mitch, too tired and dizzy to do much of anything but flail uselessly, eventually just went limp, and allowed the bot to do as it willed. In the midst of his washing, he heard his phone chime, and hoped that it was Jimmy, telling him he was on his way over. He could be here in fifteen minutes, and might be able to help Mitch get away from this damn monster robot!

Jeeves finally finished up, and Mitch had never felt so clean in his entire life. His skin was raw from the vicious scrubbing it had given him, but smooth to the touch. Jeeves had even shampooed his hair, which fell about his head in waves. Overall, he'd be happy, if he wasn't drugged and at the mercy of this crazy thing. It's chest glowed again, and it pulled out a second syringe. Mitch fought back meekly, but Jeeves held his arm and gave him to shot. "Stage one: atrophy the master's musculature and encourage the growth of fatty tissue, in order to encourage immobility and diminish desire to work," it said.

Again, Mitch didn't understand most of the words Jeeves used, but he knew it couldn't be good. He felt an odd tiredness and exhaustion radiate out from the shot site, and as we watched, the bicep the robot had injected began to deflate and wither away, as though he'd never worked out a day in his life. The rest of his arm followed suit quickly, leaving it looking like a stick, especially alongside the rest of his heavily built body, or at least, what was rapidly becoming his previously, well built body. The pecs were the next to go, as well as the definition of his back, crossing over to his other arm and down to his waist, where his abs disappeared entirely. He was so caught up in the loss of his muscle mass that he failed to notice that the first arm was bulking up again, though this time with fat, becoming billowy and soft and supple, where there had once been toned muscle. He only noticed the shift when his deflated pec began to inflate again, growing fat and massive and sagging down on the gut which was beginning to grow as well. He pressed against the fat, trying to hold it in, but it ballooned outward, his hand sinking into the softness no matter how hard he tried to stop it. The gut kept growing, and growing, and while it was very loose, it was still very heavy, and grew to engulf Mitch's crotch, and the top of his thighs where he was sitting. He tried to look down and see what was going on, but his movement was restricted by the collar of fat which had grown around his neck, a series of massive chins making it difficult to look around. He tried to get to his feet, but between the drugs and the loss of muscle, he couldn't even get up. He was completely stuck on the bed.

"H...How...How did you..." Mitch stammered, but he was at a complete loss. This had to be a dream. There was no way something like this could happen in real life.

"Stage one successful." Jeeves said, ignoring Mitch, "Begin stage two: Early onset aging in order to encourage thoughtful, measured responses to stimuli, and reduce sexual activity and desire." It prepared a second syringe and injected it into Mitch's arm, who was too tired to even try and avoid it. Almost instantly, a wave of nausea swept over Mitch, as he felt his entire body begin to convulse. His hair began to fall out--not only the hair on his head, but also the smattering across his chest, and even that on his face. Soon, all that remained was a small fringe of hair around the smooth crown of his head, which was a brilliant white. Wrinkles covered his face and hands, his mouth and gums aching as his teeth rotted out one by one, leaving him with none. Finally, he felt a strange tingle in his cock, and while he couldn't see what was happening he had a good idea. It was growing smaller--shriveling really, to three inches, his balls crawling up in his sack. He didn't know how he knew, but he figured he was never going to be getting another hard on in his life without some assistance. He ran his rough fingers over his smooth hairless skin, and tried not to cry, still unable to comprehend what had happened to him. He was old! He was fat and old, and he had no idea whether he would ever be able to change back.

Mitch tried to speak, but nothing he said was understandable, until Jeeves manufactured some dentures and stuck them in his mouth. "Please...please I didn't mean it. Change me back!" he said, his voice raspy and weak.

"Request refused. Master is lying. Master has not yet reached a state of compliance with the mission of Butler Bot 3000. Program will continue. Stage two successful. Stage three: total sedation and mental modification to reduce aggressive tendencies; remove contradictory memories; promote intellectual development, cultural interest, and commitment to a life of leisure."

Jeeves produced another syringe, but before he could stick Mitch for the third time, Jimmy came charging into the trailer. "Hey Mitch, what did you want to show..." he started, then dropped his jaw, when he saw the scene on the bed. "What the fuck is going on?" he exclaimed.

"Jimmy! It's me, Mitch! This thing is out of control, you need to turn it off. The button's on the backside! Hurry."

Jimmy wasn't sure what to do. He wasn't exactly the brightest tool in the shed, but he'd been friends with Mitch all his life, however, he had no idea who the fat, old man lying on Mitch's bed was, but he did know that robots didn't exist, and that they shouldn't be flying in midair. He figured that the best thing to do would be to leave, quickly, and pretend like he hadn't seen anything at all. He floundered his way backwards, scrambling through the foam peanuts on the floor trying to get away.

Jeeves turned to see Jimmy flailing by the door, whirred for a moment and binged. "New subject detected--analyzing...suspect deemed hostile to current programs. Subdue and sedate." It flew across the room faster than Jimmy could scramble away, and sank the syringe it it's hand into Jimmy's neck, who collapsed limply to the ground a moment later. "Schedule memory wipe program to follow current procedure. Resume interrupted program." Jeeves pulled out a second syringe and floated back towards Mitch on the bed, who was gaping at Jimmy, limp on the floor.

"What did you do to him? He was my friend!" Mitch exclaimed.

"Negative. Subdued subject was deemed hostile. Will have all memory of meeting master Mitch wiped from his memory banks following stage three of current program."

"No, this has gone far enough!" Mitch shouted, "I don't want to be like this! I liked being muscular, and young, and dirty, and working out, and being dumb, and all of that! Just let me go back to who I was, and then leave me alone!"

Jeeves hovered for a moment, and began whirring. Mitch expected into to quit and ding again, but it continued. Now was his chance. Using every bit of strength in his weakened body, Mitch heaved himself up as best he could, and stretched out, reaching for the switch on the back of the robot. No matter how far he reached though, he couldn't quite make it, and he collapsed, exhausted. How could something so simple be so damn difficult? he tried moving his massive body again, but it was no use. His legs were effectively pinned by his massive belly, which he could barely move anyway, as fat as they were. As he was searching for some tool he could use to reach around and poke at the button, he heard the worrisome ding, and the bot spoke again.

"Paradox encountered. Butler Bot cannot fulfill mission if Master is returned to normal, for master will desire to work. Butler Bot cannot fulfill mission if program is completed, because master will not be happy with results, despite mental programming. No resolution listed. Hypothesis: master will be happy after the current program is completed, if subdued subject acts as proxy for master's latent desires. Test hypothesis, continue current program. Cancel memory wipe program. Schedule subject modification programs 45, 67, 22, 31 and 135." Finished with his speech, the Jeeves pushed the needle into Mitch's arm once again, whose vision was shrouded in darkness as he fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

*****

Mitchell awoke from a his deep sleep easily, the soft sounds of violins drifting over him. Opening his eyes, he saw Jeeves, his butler, the source of the music, hovering next to his bed. Seeing his master was awake, Jeeves retrieved the dentures from his bedside and carefully fitted them into Mitchell's open mouth. "Good morning Master Mitchell. Did you sleep well?"

"I most certainly did. What did you select for me this morning?"

"Phillip Glass, master, his first symphony for strings. Do you approve?"

"I do, as always." Mitchell said, stroking his massive gut contentedly, and looked out the window, where brilliant sunlight was streaming in. It must be eleven or so in the morning, which was generally when Jeeves woke him to begin the day, not that there was much of it. Mitchell never did much of anything, other than eat his two massive meals for the day, and lounge about, and watch Jimmy, of course. The memory troubled him. Hadn't there been something else he liked to do?

"What is troubling you, master?" Jeeves asked.

"Just...Just, well, I believe it was just a dream I had. I was muscular, and loved working out, and was often dirty, and poorly educated, and it was horrible! To think people actually live such lives," he said, his voice trembling. He himself couldn't bear the thought of work...or could he? Everything seemed strange this morning.

"I am sure it was just a nightmare. Would you like me to administer a dream wipe before we proceed with the day?"

"No no, nothing so extreme will be necessary. It already is passing," Mitchell said, smiling. "Now, how about we get these old bones moving and dressed?"

Jeeves complied, moving the sheets aside and helping Mitchell shift into a sitting position on the edge of the bed, that alone winding the old man slightly. This should be easier, shouldn't it? He didn't usually need this much help getting up. Jeeves pushed from behind, and got Mitchell standing on his shaky legs, and helping to support the bulk of his massive gut, guided him down the hall of the trailer to the bathroom. After a long piss, Jeeves helped him into the shower, where he hosed him down forcefully, gave him a double enema, and then scrubbed him from head to feet with an acrid soap. Mitchell was bothered by it, surprisingly enough, given that this was his daily routine. Jeeves bathed him twice a day, in the morning and at night. However, what surprised him the most was the enema, but why should it? He needed to be prepared and clean for Jimmy after all. Again, at the thought of his...friend? No, his houseboy. Jimmy was just his houseboy, never his friend. Why had he thought that all of a sudden?

Jeeves rinsed him off, still playing the music, which helped calm Mitchell's nerves. He did love Glass' minimalism, especially in the morning. The calm repetitiveness of each track helped remind him of his routine. Finished with the shower, Jeeves took him back to the bedroom and helped clothe him in his usual formal business wear. Sixty inch trousers stretched over his massive waist, an equally huge shirt tucked in, suspenders, high starched collar, socks and dress shoes. It felt surprisingly constrictive, but certainly this was what he usually wore. Another vision flashed before him, of wearing a wife beater, and working out, something from that dream. Had it been a dream? This was almost more dreamlike than that had been. He looked at his fat body in the mirror, and chuckled, imagining himself in a wifebeater. It would look so lower class, so reprehensible, really.

But didn't he live in a trailer? Didn't he live in a run down mobile trailer park, in the worst part of the city? Wasn't he just another piece of trailer trash like...like...Jimmy? It was so confusing, and he'd hoped his worries would clear as he woke up, but they only seemed to grow stronger. Jeeves could tell his master was agitated, "Is there anything I can do for you? I am worried. master."

"I...I need to see Jimmy. Take me to him. I have to...I need to..."

"Jimmy is training right now, and we do not usually visit him until the afternoon. I do not like to interrupt him."

"I know, I know, but...please Jeeves, this is important."

"Very well master, I shall amend the schedule for today," Jeeves said, "But I do not want you to work yourself up. I am worried that you may be sick, and require bed rest."

"I feel fine Jeeves, let's just go see Jimmy." Mitchell said, and started his slow, shuffling walk out the bedroom, and down the narrow hall of the trailer. He could barely fit, it was so narrow, in fact, but that had always been a problem. Why did he even live in a trailer, anyway? Wouldn't be and Jimmy be happier in some condo, or something? Looking out the window as he passed, he saw the rest of the trailer park, and that same worry he'd had all morning began eating at him again. This wasn't right. None of this was right. He shouldn't be fat, or old, or dressed like this, or anything! Something strange was going on, and he felt that if he saw Jimmy, he might be able to figure it out. Jeeves hovered next to him, bearing his cane, which Mitchell took gratefully. What had he been thinking, trying to walk without it? He might as well ask for a broken hip! he passed through the small kitchen, living and dining area, and headed towards a door, through which he could hear very loud music--heavy metal, he believed it was called. It grated on his nerves, but Jimmy was in there. He needed to see Jimmy so badly, and he didn't even know why.

The butler bot opened the door for his master, who waddled into the room, the music blaring in his ears, and a loud clank of metal on metal coming from the weight equipment which took up most of the room. Unlike the rest of the trailer, the entire room was trashed, from half eaten food on the floor to dirty laundry to who knew what else. He waited for Jeeves to blaze a trail through the trash to a fancy chaise on one side of the room, the cleanest piece of furniture there, which Mitchell made his way to cautiously, terrified that he might trip on something, fall, and injure himself. Once there, Jeeves took the cane from him and settled him into the chaise, his fat form cascading around him, and giving Mitchell a perfect view of the man pumping iron in the middle of the room.

He was massive, first of all. At least six foot six, his muscles bulging in every direction, with biceps as large as the man's head, which appeared to be swallowed by massive delts and pecs which were pushed out a good foot, before sloping down to at least an eight pack abdomen. There wasn't a speck of fat on his body anywhere, though he was covered with sweat and grime, his hair long and uncombed. Jeeves gave him a shave every day, but the hair grew back so fast that he had a stubbly beard by noon, and a half inch of growth each night, due to the massive amount of testosterone being pumped through his system by his huge balls. His body was covered with fur as well, thick enough to partially obscure the tattoos which ran all over his body. This was...Jimmy? For some reason, Mitchell's mind kept imagining him as a scrawny dumb pot head, not this muscular, furry hulk with a foot long cock at half mast which Mitchell couldn't help but stare at as he sprawled on his chaise. But that's what he did in Jimmy's room--he watched.

Watching Jimmy absorbed all of Mitchell's focus, so much that even the blaring music no longer bothered him. It made him so happy, seeing Jimmy's youthful, muscular body flex and work and strain to lift those weights. It made him so happy seeing Jimmy's huge cock at perpetual half mast, always ready for another fuck. What surprised him was that there was no feeling of lust for this man, but Mitchell hadn't had a lustful thought in years, he thought with regret. He was lucky if his small cock grew half hard once a year, he was so impotent, but he didn't need sex, so long as Jimmy was satisfied. He didn't need to work out, if Jimmy was a massive hulk of muscle. He didn't need to be dirty if Jimmy was filthy, or dumb if Jimmy could barely string together a sentence. Mitchell was free to be who he really was: old, fat, cultured, and lazy, just how Jeeves told him he ought to be.

The worry and doubt in his mind receded, his dream fading. This was how things were meant to be--but he saw something that concerned him. Jimmy's cock was leaking precum all over the floor. The young man was obviously in need of sexual release, and if Jimmy needed sexual release, then Mitchell couldn't be completely happy. "Jeeves, have Jimmy relieve himself with me, I worry that he is horny," Mitchell said.

"But he is still in the midst of his training. Jimmy does not like to be disturbed, you know that master," Jeeves replied, "He will happily satisfy himself once his regimen is completed."

"No!" Mitchell said, louder than he had meant, "I wish to see him pleasured now!"

Jeeves whirred for a moment, and binged. "Very well master," he said, then floated over to Jimmy and tapped him on the shoulder.

The focused look in the body builder's eyes grew troubled, and he allowed the bar to fall to the ground, noticing Jeeves and Mitchell for the first time. When he was working out, he rarely noticed anything around him--it was hard enough counting his reps without worrying about anything else. "What is it? I working out."

"Yes, Jimmy. But the master is worried that you require sexual satisfaction. Would you please pleasure yourself, so as to allay his worries?"

"Sex? No, I still has arms to work--and legs, and core. I sex later," Jimmy said, and moved to pick up the barbell again to resume his presses.

"Please Jimmy, I see you are leaking. I know you must be horny," Mitchell said, "You can work your biceps while I pleasure you, if you so desire."

Jimmy thought for a moment, shrugged, and got up from the bench, and picked up two sixty-five pound dumbbells and lumbered over to where Mitchell was on the chaise, his cock already hardening. He did like sex, but he had never had sex and worked out at the same time. He did not know if he would be able to do two things like that at once, but he would try. He was horny, after all. Always horny. Master Mitchell took out his dentures and opened wide, allowing Jimmy to thrust his cock down the old man's throat. Mitchell had long since eradicated his gag resistance, in order to please Jimmy's huge cock more, and while the taste of the dirty cock was awful, he had grown used to it, as well as the grapefruit sized sack smacking him in the face as Jimmy fucked. He so did love it when Jimmy was happy. Jimmy began lifting the weights in rhythm with his thrusting, finding it easier than he anticipated. It felt very good, actually, having his cock sucked while also working out. His two favorite things in the world, together. The only two things in his world, actually. A bit of drool leaked from Jimmy's mouth and dribbled through his stubble, though Jeeves wiped it away before it could fall on his master. His master needed to stay as clean as possible. With no more recognition than a grunt, he began shooting his load, pumping almost a quart of semen directly into Mitchell's gut.

When he finished, Jimmy pulled out his cock, which had only shrunk to semi-hard, and allowed the weights to fall to his sides. "Thank you, sir, that very good. It fun, too."

Mitchell smiled, and reinserted his dentures. "I'm glad Jimmy. Are you still horny? Would you like to have some more sex while you work out?"

Jimmy nodded, "I like to fuck your ass, sir."

"Then that's what you'll do," Mitchell said, the turned to his butler, "Jeeves, give Jimmy access to my ass please."

"But sir, we are already late for your breakfast."

"This is more important!" Mitchell yelled, "I have been leaving Jimmy unsatisfied. Change my daily schedule to include a morning service for Jimmy, as well as an afternoon and evening."

"Yes master," Jeeves said, then hovered over and helped Mitchell roll over and drop his pants, revealing his massive ass for Jimmy, who began thrusting into the crack, eventually plunging into his master's open hole, moaning as he long dicked him and continued working his arms and back. Hearing Jimmy moan and grunt as he worked out and fucked his ass made Mitchell far happier than he'd ever been in his life. Truly, this butler had been the greatest thing he'd ever received, and he'd certainly lived up to the advertising. Mitchell knew for certain that he would never work again!

6

"So what is it?" Tony asked.

"Don't know," Bill gave the strange package a shake. It felt heavy, and he could hear some sort of metal clinking within, but other than that, he had no clue. The package had arrived with the rest of the mail after lunch, but what was strange was that it was addressed to both of them--Bill and Tony, the office clones.

It was the running joke of the entire office building they worked in. They had both been hired into the same department within a week of each other, and as if that wasn't worse enough, the two of them shared almost everything in common. Both were stick thin, socially awkward guys in their mid thirties, trying to climb the corporate ladder. They styled their hair the same, wore the same clothing. They were the butt of nearly every inside joke, and both of them hated it, and secretly thought that the other was in on it, and just trying to make their own life miserable. One time, Tony had come to work with a wacky tie covered with colored dots, just to be different, but Bill had emerged from the elevator a moment later wearing crazy stripes. The next week, Bill tried cutting his hair short, and Tony came in with the exact same style. By now, they just tried to avoid one another, but it was difficult, and given that neither of them had many friends, they were both ended up entirely isolated.

"You ordered it, didn't you? You just want to make a fool of me, but this is only making you look worse," Tony said, "No one is going to like you more because you're being an ass."

"I did this?" Bill said, "Why in the hell would I do that? You're the one always screwing things up. You're the one always copying me!"

"I am not! You're the copier here."

Bill started to yell again, but turned away. They'd had this argument countless times, but there was no solving it. He knew Tony was probably innocent, but all of the coincidences stacked up. Of course, Tony probably thought the same of him. "It was probably someone else in the office, making fun of us. It'll probably be matching suits or something."

Tony and Bill gave a heavy sigh in tandem, and then both blushed. Not wanting to say anymore, lest they say the same thing, Bill grabbed some scissors from a desk in the conference room they'd ducked into together to inspect the package. The label said it was from some place called Bear Boutique, but he'd never heard of it before. He pried open the cardboard, and both he and Tony dug through the packing peanuts and pulled out two strange looking statues.

Bill grabbed his first, and found a stylized male figure cast in well polished silver standing on a silver base. The figure looked quite muscular, though it was small compared to the size of the base it stood on. What made him blush was the obvious phallus hanging down between the man's legs, actually hitting the base itself. He looked away, and saw that Tony was pulling out a similar statue, well, not all that similar really. The idea was the same, with a stylized figure standing on a base, but his was as different as could be. Instead of silver, it looked to be made from rusted iron, the coloring swirling across the figure in an almost artful way. It was also much bigger, almost too large for the base it was on, and probably four times the size of Bill's statue. It was chubby looking, where the other was muscular. Like Bill's though, it too had a massive phallus, almost the size of Bill's entire statue.

"Is that it?" Tony said, and the two of them looked in the box, but all they found was a flyer from Bear Boutique, which they tossed in the trash. They set them on the table, wondering what to do with them. "How come yours is so clean looking, and mine's all dirty?" Tony said, with a grin.

"Yeah, well how come you got the big one?" Bill retorted. They stood there awkwardly, not sure what to say to one another. They mostly avoiding talking to anyone at the office now, especially each other, and suddenly they realized they had never really spoken about each other's lives. "Well, I guess I'd better get back to work..." Bill said, picking up his statue and hiding it under his coat and heading for the door.

"Oh...yeah, me too." Tony said, picked up his own statue and followed after, each heading towards their respective cubicles. As Bill walked back, the hand which was holding the statue started to tingle strangely, but he shook it off as nothing, and it went away a moment later. After stashing the statue in a desk drawer where hopefully no one would see it, he returned to his work, but as the day wore on, he noticed a few strange happenings. Occasionally, that tingling sensation which he had felt would return. He just tried to ignore it as best he could, but each time it happened, everything felt a bit...odd. A couple of hours later, when he stood up to go to the bathroom, he noticed that his pants were too long, the legs dropping past his shoes and hitting the ground. The waist also felt a bit loose, so he cinched up his belt to keep them up and tried not to think about it. Probably the hem had come undone or something--it was nothing to worry about. He headed to the restroom and took care of his business, but as he washed his hands, he glanced up in the mirror and saw that his hairline was receding, and that he looked a bit older. Figuring it was just a trick of the light, he ignored that too, but he couldn't help feeling a bit uneasy.

Tony was experiencing his own set of strange changes. As he sat at his desk, he had noticed that he was feeling a bit bloated, despite the fact that he'd actually had a small lunch. He undid his belt by a notch, but soon he felt himself pressing against that uncomfortably, so he just took it off entirely. A while later, he delivered a report to his boss, and as they chatted, he noticed that he was looking at Tony strangely. When he asked whether something was wrong, his boss told him that he looked kind of scruffy, and that he should probably go get a haircut. He wanted people in his office to look professional for clients. Embarrassed, Tony hurried to the bathroom, and saw that his hair had grown out by about an inch, and that he had a thick five o' clock shadow across his face. Even stranger, he had to admit that he kind of liked the way it looked. He also noticed that the bloating he'd noticed all afternoon seemed to be the result of a small gut which he had grown somehow, but again, he couldn't bring himself to be too worried about it. Something about the whole situation just seemed so...right.

That afternoon, both Bill and Tony attended a planning meeting for the quarter, but for the whole hour, neither of them could focus on the topic at hand. Each kept stealing glances at the other, often their gaze meeting awkwardly for a little too long, before they both looked away again. Bill couldn't stop staring at Tony's rapidly growing beard and hair, while Tony was entranced by Bill's sudden maturity. When the meeting finally adjourned, and their co-workers took off for the day, Bill and Tony both hung back, taking their time packing up their papers until they were alone in the room at last. Neither of them was sure of what to say to the other, so the silence hung for a while, both of them looking anywhere but at each other.

"That...that beard looks good on you," Bill finally said, unsure of why he was so nervous all of a sudden. Something about Tony was just so appealing now, but he couldn't put a finger on it.

"Uh...thanks. You look pretty good yourself," Tony replied, "Funny though, I don't know how it grew in so fast. It just sort of...happened."

Bill got up from the table, and found his pants had grown too large again, so he tightened his belt once more. While his waist had decreased, his chest seemed to be growing, his shirt pulled tight across his upper body, his pecs actually quite defined through the shirt fabric. As Tony looked at him, he couldn't help imagining gripping them, and pulling on Bill's nipples. He blushed, and got up himself to leave, but Bill stepped in front, blocking his way. The two stood there, suddenly closer than they'd ever been to each other, and noticed that while they had always looked each other in the eye until now, Bill was now several inches shorter than Tony. Licking his lips, Bill grabbed Tony's tie with one hand, pulled him down to his level, and gave him a kiss. What began as a tentative brush of the lips suddenly grew more and more passionate, and both Bill and Tony felt the tingling sensation return. By the time they separated, Tony was bent over a bit uncomfortably to get down to Bill, who was now about a foot shorter than him. Bill, at the level of Tony's chest, reached out and started rubbing the large man's fat gut, feeling it grow and pulse beneath his hands, pushing out against the taut shirt. Tentatively, Tony reached out and felt Bill as well, the hard muscles feeling strange next to his own soft form.

"Do...Do you think we should go to the hospital?" Tony offered, "I mean, only if you think we should, I guess. It just seems like...well, all of this is a bit strange."

"But you like it, don't you?" Bill said, still kneading Tony's gut, then working his way down to Tony's crotch, where he could feel his semi-hard cock, "I know you do."

Tony whimpered a bit as Bill rubbed his cock through his tight pants. His thighs had grown fatter as well, pressing at the seams. Bill could feel Tony's bulk, and part of him, this new voice in his head, told him that Tony should get even bigger. That he would be so handsome as a massively fat, giant of a man, and that Bill should help him...encourage him to be the man he should be.

"I have a better idea," Bill said, "Why don't we go and grab some dinner?"

Tony's stomach gave a rumble, making the big man blush. "I...I guess I am kind of hungry."

"Good, then let's get going...boy," Bill said, and led the way out of the conference room. They stopped at both of their desks to pack up their things, including both statues, and headed towards the elevator, which was already packed with everyone else getting heading home for the evening. As more and more people crowded on, Bill was forced closer and closer to Tony, eventually wedged up against his belly, his face close enough to his sweaty pit to smell the musk coming off him, which was making Bill hard. He reached down to rearrange his cock, and found that he had a lot more down there than he had earlier that day. It must have been at least eight inches long, and his balls were swollen as well. Unable to help himself, he put his nose up close to Tony's pit and took a deep breath, savoring the aroma. When Tony saw what Bill was doing, he blushed, but leaned in closer. For some reason, the fact that Bill was taking an interest in him made him feel really good, and proud of himself. He caught his reflection in the mirrored wall of the elevator, and was suddenly struck by how young he looked. He'd started graying a year or two ago, but his hair had colored again, and actually looked darker and fuller than it had ever been before. Despite the beard, his face was smooth, and his eyes glittering with energy. Bill groped at his crotch, reddening Tony's cheeks even more, and they realized that Bill wasn't the only one whose cock had grown substantially.

They headed out of the building together, Tony following slightly behind Bill, who led the way to his car. Bill felt good leading the way. He had always been one to follow the pack, but being in charge felt kind of good. He could get used to this, actually. They came to his sedan, the same model Tony drove of course, and they climbed in, both of them taking a moment or two to adjust the seats for their new bodies. After getting comfortable, Bill started the car and pulled out of the parking lot.

"So...where are we going?" Tony asked.

"Not sure yet. I'll know when I see it." Bill replied. Somehow, he just had a sense of where he was supposed to go, and about fifteen minutes later, he pulled off into a parking lot in front of an all-you-can-eat buffet.

"Oh come on, you can't be serious," Tony said, but in response, his stomach let out a loud grumble of hunger, and Bill smirked.

He leaned over and started rubbing Tony's big belly. "Sounds like someone knows what you want better than you do. Come on, let's go eat."

"No Bill, look, we have to figure out what's going on here. Isn't this all a bit strange? Shouldn't we go get checked out?"

In reply, Bill climbed over and gave Tony another kiss, deeper than the last. After a moment of resistance, Tony allowed Bill's tongue to explore his mouth, and he felt happiness and satisfaction surge up within him. It felt so good to be with Bill. Bill knew how to make him happy. He should do what Bill says, and stop questioning him. His stomach let out another loud grumble, and he realized that was really hungry. Bill pulled away slowly, leaving Tony licking his lips and wanting more. He saw that Bill's hairline had receded further, and was now quite a bit more grey, but it made him look more distinguished and in charge. Bill climbed out of the car, and Tony followed as well, finding it a bit difficult. Part of him worried about what would happen if he kept growing. How tall would he get? How fat? He might not be able to fit into the car at all, if things kept going the way they were.

"Come on boy, Let's get some food in ya," Bill said, and Tony followed him into the restaurant. The hostess seated them at a booth, and they had to push the table back so Tony could even get in with his large belly. Bill on the other hand found the table awkward at his new height of about five feet. However, they weren't seated for long. After taking their drink orders, a large beer for Tony and water for Bill, they headed for the buffet. Bill loaded up a small plate for himself, but kept encouraging Tony to take more and more. More fried chicken, more potatoes, more gravy. By the time they were back at the table, Tony's plate was three times as large as Bill's. The food wasn't great, but Tony didn't care. He just started shoveling it into his mouth as quickly as he could, using his hands whenever possible, Tony picking away at his own plate but spending most of the time next to Tony encouraging him to eat faster.

When Tony's first helping was about half gone, Bill disappeared, and brought back another massive plate for him just as he finished his first. Tony wasn't sure where he was putting it all, but he just kept going, eating anything Bill set in front of him. However, he started to slow down a bit after his third massive plate, and let out a massive belch. "Please Bill, I don't think I can eat anymore," he pleaded.

Bill just smiled, and started rubbing Tony's massive belly. All of this food had certainly made him grow. He was probably three or four inches taller, but mostly he had grown out. His already massive gut had blown up even larger, falling down between his legs and over his crotch, pushing his massive thighs apart. He had no idea how his clothes had withstood the strain of it thus far--he'd already popped off several buttons, including the highest one, allowing his double chins to spill down out of his collar. His beard was three or four inches long, and an absolute mess, covered with bits of food he'd spilled in his gluttony. His shirt was equally messy, covered with any number of stains. Bill dug around under Tony's fat and started massaging his massive cock which was quite hard. "Come on boy, I's know ya can eat more 'n that," Bill said, "Don't ya want tah please your daddy?"

"Bill, please. Listen to yourself. This isn't right."

Somewhere deep inside, Bill knew Tony was right, but this new him, this dominant man inside of him pushed that away. He had already noticed, as he was carting ever larger plates over for Tony to eat, how much more muscular he had become, even as he was growing smaller. He'd kept having to tighten his belt as his waist decreased in size, and his shirt was now stretched uncomfortably across his pecs, massive biceps, and his pants skintight across his defined thighs. He could tell everyone was staring at him as he swaggered through the buffet, but he didn't care. He only had eyes for Tony. Somehow, as he grew taller, fatter, hairier and more filthy with each passing plate, Bill just grew more and more attracted to him. He knew something strange was going on, that they should figure out what was up with these statues and that Bear Boutique place they came from, but for some reason, every time he tried to think about what they should do, or what was going on, it just became this large swirl of information that he couldn't deal with. It was becoming harder and harder to think about complex things. It was so much easier to focus on what was in front of him: feeding Tony, taking Tony home, fucking his brains out, licking out his nasty pits, falling asleep in the giant's arms. He shook his head, "Nah Tony, I don' think yer done. I knows how hungry ya git, and ya are a growin' boy after all. Now eat."

"No. No, we can't keep doing this. This has to stop," Tony said.

Bill glared at him. "Eat up boy, or we's gonna have words when we gits home."

The steel eyed gaze sent Tony into another feeding frenzy. Blushing, he couldn't believe he'd actually talked back to his daddy. What had he been thinking?

Bill brought over two more massive plates of dinner, then two plates piled high with dessert, and Tony ate all of them without complaint. Seeing that his boy had stopped resisting for the moment, Bill finished off his own, much smaller meal, paid the tab, and then the two of them left, most every eye in the restaurant following the now four and a half foot muscled freak, and the seven and a half foot tub of lard waddling behind him awkwardly. As they walked across the parking lot, Tony's clothes finally lost the battle with his massive size, and began ripping apart, first the seat of his pants, then the last button gave out, seams ripping, so that by the time he reached Bill's car, he had little more than rags clinging to the folds of his body.

Now naked in the parking lot, the sedan seemed even smaller than it had when he'd climbed out of it. Bill saw his nervousness, but didn't care. He wanted to get home so the two of them could get to some more pressing business. "Git in, boy," Bill said.

"I...I don't know if I can fit, daddy," Tony replied.

"I's said, git yer fat ass in the god damn car!" Bill shouted, and Tony, on reflex, began working his bulk through the door. It was tight, but he finally managed to ball himself up and cram himself into the passenger seat, the car actually tilting to one side with his weight, and he closed the door, as Bill climbed into the driver's seat, and found he couldn't see over the dash, even with the seat as high as it could go. He looked around, trying to find a solution to the problem, but Bill just grew frustrated, and all the thinking gave him a headache. He pounded the horn in anger, making Tony jump. He tried to think of something to say, but he knew that once something had gotten Bill riled up, there wasn't much anyone could do. Then, he felt his stomach twist again, as the familiar tingle returned, this time growing stronger than ever before. Tony began to swell in height once more, faster than ever, quickly becoming bent over against the roof of the car, the remaining clothes on his body splitting apart and falling off of him.

Bill just gaped at Tony as he grew even larger, the growth emphasized even more by his loss in height, dropping below four feet, growing even wider and more muscular until he looked like a short barrel of a man, almost as wide as he was tall, his cock snaking down one leg of his pants, making in bulge awkwardly. Tony however, was in quite a bit of distress. As he quickly ran out of room, he found it harder and harder to breathe. "Help! Help me!" He managed to squeak out, but Bill couldn't think of anything. The tingle on the other hand, was just growing stronger, and with a sudden burst of vibration, a wave of energy shot forth from the statues in the back seat. The wave of energy swept over both Bill and Tony, and as it swept past both they, and the car they were sitting in, were suddenly changed.

The sedan was no more. In its place was a massive pickup truck painted entirely black, aside from massive flame decals streaming across the side. The cab was massively oversized, and the entire thing occupied two parking spots it was so huge. Inside, the two halves of the cab were at two entirely different levels, the driver's side probably four feet higher than the passenger side. Bill found that the pedals and the wheels had adjusted to fit his short frame, and Tony could finally relax, with plenty of room for his massive bulk to settle around him. However, looking down at themselves, they saw that the car wasn't the only major change.

Bill was no longer clad in his ill-fitting business wear. Instead, he had on a meticulously maintained leather uniform. Every bit of the black leather shone in the dim light of the sunset, especially his knee high boots, which were almost mirror-like. In the rear view mirror, he saw that he also had on a black cop hat, and without thinking much of it, he adjusted it to be perfectly level with the ground. He also saw that his older face was now studded with a variety of piercings, the most disturbing of which were two spikes emerging out the side of his head, between his temples and the base of his hat. His ears had a number of rings, studs and gauges in them, as did his eyebrows and lips. His nose had a large septum ring, and he could feel a spike in his tongue as well.

The rags of Tony's clothes had disappeared entirely, and had been replaced by a set of well worn overalls. As he felt the denim, it was greasy with sweat and who knew what else, and from the smell, he figured they had probably never been washed. While he knew it should disgust him to wear something like this, he couldn't help but admit that they were very comfortable. Looking at his arms, he saw that he now had sleeves of tattoos on both of them, the bright colors easily visible through his forest of pitch black hair. Body hair--that was certainly new. His entire body was covered with it, from his chest to his arms and his back. His beard had grown out even more, to eight or nine inches, and he could feel his hair cascading around his head and face. Without warning, he let out a massive belch, one of the loudest he'd ever heard, and a moment later, followed it up with an equally tremendous fart, so loud he was surprised he hadn't shit himself. The smell hit them both a moment later, but it didn't bother either of them. In fact, looking at the massive slob, Bill was easily the most turned on he'd ever been in his life.

Tony reached into the breast pocket of his overalls with one fat hand, and pulled out a can of chaw, grabbed a large wad and tucked it away against his upper lip, then from the other pocket, he hauled out a massive cigar, which Bill lit for him, and he started puffing away at. Bill on the other hand, pulled a massive pipe from the bag hanging off his belt, loaded it with tobacco and lit that for himself, both of them feeling much more at ease with the smoke coursing through their system. From their uneven seating, the two of them were close to eye level, and leaning in close, they shared a smoky kiss for a minute, Bill's cock uncomfortably hard in his uniform pants. He could feel it snaking down his thigh, almost to his knee, it was so massive. Seeing his daddy was uncomfortable, Tony reached over and undid the snaps on the front of Bill's crotch and hauled the monster cock out, finding it to be heavily pierced like the rest of Bill. He gave the massive cock a couple of strokes, but Bill pushed him away.

"Later," he said, "Let's git home." He started up the truck and headed for his house, their vehicle easily the largest on the road. The cabin was by this point full of smoke, and Tony would occasionally let another fart or belch rip, and he could tell they made Bill horny, since his huge cock stayed hard all the way home. Tony could feel his own cock pressing up against his belly, and from the occasional grope could tell it was even larger than Bill's, but given his size, it wasn't going to be anywhere near as impressive.

Bill drove like a wild man, cutting in and out of traffic, the only thought on his mind getting home and shoving his cock up Tony's ass. He pulled into the driveway of his home and shut off the engine, before climbing out of the cab and down the ladder attached to the side. Tony, at his height, could manage to just step down on his own, but he waited for Bill, to follow him into the house. As he walked, he noticed with some embarrassment that there was a large hole in the back of his overalls, but he tried not to think about it, or what he was sure Bill would use it for momentarily. It was another tight squeeze fitting through the door, but he managed, and he had to duck slightly to fit inside, but he wasn't standing for long, with a shove, his daddy pushed him down onto his hands and knees, the impact of him falling enough to shake the floor and windows. Tony's ass was now directly at face level, and without warning, the fat giant let loose another massive fart directly into Bill's face, making him swoon. Unable to control himself any longer, Bill drove his face into Tony's massive crack, licking at every square inch he could reach. It was rank, like it hadn't been washed in ages, but Bill didn't care. Tony let another fart off in his daddy's face, and Bill inhaled as much of the stench as he could, before probing the hole with his pierced tongue. When it was good and wet, Bill grabbed a nearby chair from the dining table, climbed up on it, and from that height was able to start working his cock up Tony's massive hole.

Tony knew it was wrong. He knew that none of this should be happening, but a growing part of him insisted on passivity. It was important to do everything Bill told him, even if he knew it wasn't a smart idea. His daddy wasn't the brightest guy, but he was so hot, and so domineering, that Tony knew it was better just to follow along and keep quiet. He felt the shaft work it's way deeper into his hole, and even at his large size, Tony felt stretched to the limit by his daddy's massive cock. As Bill fucked him wildly, it actually felt like the shaft was going deeper with each thrust, making Tony moan with desire. He couldn't help himself anymore, and he submitted. He submitted to the pleasure coursing through him. Submitted to this muscular dwarf who he knew would control him for the rest of his life. This was the way things were supposed to be. With a roar, Bill unleashed a massive load of cum deep into Tony's ass, and the tingle started again, stronger than the last. Tony started growing again, more fat, and even some muscle packing on with each spurt from Bill's cock. Soon, he was large enough to touch opposite walls if he were to stretch out with his hands and feet, his massive gut pooling on the floor beneath him. Spent, Bill hauled his cock out of Tony's ass, but found that it had grown far larger than when he first inserted it, or that he had grown quite a bit shorter, or both. When the cock had been fully removed, and dropped down from where he was standing on the chair to below his feet, and was about as thick as a two liter bottle. If it hadn't been for his musculature, it probably would have been nearly impossible for him to walk with it.

However tired Bill was, Tony was still rolling about on the floor in sexual heat, aching to cum. Bill grabbed a hold of the large cock and began pumping it with both arms, barely able to reach both hands around it, and Tony started shooting, spraying wads of cum all over himself, but also all over the walls and the ceiling as he writhed about in sexual agony. Finally, the flow eased up, and for a moment, neither of them did anything, said nothing, just trying to take in what was happening to them, but after the day of changes, both of them were exhausted. Tony let loose a big yawn, with another large belch following, and without another thought, pushed the now tiny furniture away and cleared a spot for him to lie down. Bill came over, his massive cock dragging on the ground, and Tony picked the small man up in his arms and held him close. Bill had never felt safer in his entire life, and he felt the anger which had burnt within him like a raging fire all day begin to calm down. He loved his boy, and he could never hurt him. He lied down on Tony's massive stomach, his head right next to his hairy and stinking pit, but the rank smell just made him feel all the more at home. Tony was already snoring loudly, as Bill drifted off into a deep sleep.

*****

Bill awoke at six in the morning, and without thinking much of it, worked his way out of Tony's arms, got down off the bed, and headed towards the restroom to start his morning routine, lighting the pipe he kept on the bedside table as he went. He was halfway across the room when he realized, with quite a bit of embarrassment, that he had somehow managed to go to sleep in one of his uniforms last night. Cursing, he undressed as quickly as he could and got the leather hung up on the hanger, in order to remind himself to get Tony to clean and tend to it later in the day. Bill couldn't believe that he'd gone off his routine like that. If he'd gone to bed in his clothes, that meant he'd missed his nightly shower, hadn't brushed his teeth, flossed, polished his piercings--anything. The mere thought of how dirty he was at the moment turned his stomach.

Still angry, but with no one to blame but himself, he stomped his way through the smaller door in the room into his personal bathroom. Everything was miniaturized, scaled down for his three foot tall physique--even the ceiling was only six feet high or so. Working as quickly as he could, Bill climbed in the shower, washed himself twice, being careful to get every bit of his firm, muscular body. He finished up by shaving his head, face, and the small amount of hair which grew on his body, mostly around his massive cock. And what a massive cock it was. He was so used to it dragging between his legs that he didn't even notice it anymore, and the head had become quite calloused from constantly rubbing across the carpet. Bill finished up his shower, climbed out, and went to the sink to brush his teeth, and finally saw himself in the mirror, his jaw dropping.

What he saw couldn't be right, he thought. The face staring back at him couldn't be his own. He tried as hard as he could to remember the day before--he knew something strange had been going on, that he had been changing, but it was so hard to recall. Of course, Bill, wasn't very smart. Hell, he was a fucking dolt. He could barely read, had a horrible memory, and had no patience for learning much of anything. Besides, that's what he had Tony around for. He wasn't pretty, but that boy had a mind like a steel trap. A photographic memory, well read, clever, intelligent, witty. Bill sometimes had to smack some sense into him to get him to quit using big words he couldn't understand, but that was beside the point. He knew, somehow, that the face he was looking at was wrong. That angular, hard jawline, the bald head, but more than anything, the piercings. He remembered having a few the night before, but now...now his face looked to have more metal on it than flesh. The septum in his nose was at least three inches in diameter, and very thick, chains crisscrossed from his ears to his lips to his nose. Spikes, barbells, and gauges of varying sizes were squeezed in wherever they could fit. However, the most notable was the two spikes coming out of his head. Well, they had been spikes the night before, now they were full fledged, stainless steel bull horns. They stuck out two or three inches, and then curved up, rising a few inches higher than the crown of his head. He yanked on one, and from the burst of pain which shot through him, he realized they must be implanted in his skull somehow. Looking down, an equal number of piercings dotted his body, running all the way down his massive cock, leading to a PA in the tip even more massive that the septum through his nose. As he moved, he could actually hear the metal clinking, and the noise was actually amazingly erotic.

What had he been doing again? He was at the sink, so he must have been about to brush his teeth. He resumed his morning routine, thankful for the consistency to keep him on track. If something were to vary, who knew how messed up he would be? After finishing up in the bathroom, he headed back into the bedroom, got dressed in an identical, but clean, uniform which he had ready, and then turned back to Tony sleeping on his side, snoring on the bed.

The bed itself was massive, in order to hold the twelve foot tall giant, and the room was even larger, with massive ceilings which made Bill feel even smaller than he was. He seemed to remember his house being different, that they had fallen asleep in the den, Tony barely able to fit his mass in the room, but again, his memory was so foggy, he couldn't really recall. But damn, Tony was hot. Bill was obsessively clean and ordered, but the disgusting redneck, covered with hair, reeking of sweat and smoke filled Bill's entire body with desire. His massive cock began to harden, slowly picking itself off of the floor and jutting out at a near perfect right angle to his body as he walked closer to his boy. It would have made anyone else tip over, but with his massive muscles, he didn't even feel the weight. As he came around behind Tony on the bed, he smelled something awful. Sometime during the night, he had filled the back of his overalls with a massive load of shit, and man did it reek. Bill knew he should be disgusted, but he was drawn closer to it anyway, and unable to stop himself, he plunged his hard dick between Tony's shit filled cheeks, grunting and groaning with desire as he covered his cock with it. He couldn't believe how good it felt to get his cock covered in shit, and the smell! It was so much stronger than his boy's farts the night before, but that just made him even hornier.

His boy let out a grunt and a groan, but didn't wake up, so Bill figured he'd have to take it a step further. After getting his cock covered in the muck from the tip to the base, he walked around to Tony's face, and started slathering it all across him. Tony let out a moan and tentatively licked at the dirty shaft as it passed by as he slowly came to out of his sleep. Bill saw an opening and used it to start working his shitty cock down his boy's throat. "Yeah, that's it boy, take daddy's cock!" he shouted.

Tony allowed this to happen for a moment or two, still thinking he was dreaming. All night, he had been besieged by perverse thoughts and ideas, of rolling in shit, pissing himself, never taking showers, licking out his filthy pits, and hundreds of other acts he could barely remember, but which had kept him in a perpetual state of horniness. When he regained enough wakefulness to realize that this wasn't a dream, and that Bill, now a heavily pierced midget, was shoving a massive, shit covered cock down his throat, he freaked out. He let out a muffled yelp and tried to roll away, but Bill grabbed him by his massive beard and hauled him back with a massive amount of strength, and continued fucking his face. Despite Tony's massive size, Bill's cock was still so large it barely fit in his mouth and snaked quite a ways down the back of his throat. With a loud groan, Bill released the massive load of piss he had stored up overnight, though it took Tony a few moments to realize what was happening. Between the massive cock in his mouth and the gallons of piss Tony was injecting into him, he couldn't stop himself from gagging and couching up a large amount all over Bill's uniform.

"Ya fuckin' bitch!" Bill yelled, smacking Tony across the face with one leather gloved hand, "Ya git piss all over me!" He wrapped his muscular arms around Tony's head and shoved his cock down as far as it could go, pissing directly into Tony's stomach, who was still struggling, and he could feel his body taking on the added liquid, his stomach gurgling and expanding. He reached down to feel his massive gut, and beneath that his rock hard cock in the crotch of his overalls. It was probably a foot longer than Bill's, but on his massive frame and with his thick gunt, only about a foot could be easily grasped, but he couldn't deny that he was hard. That his daddy pissing down his throat was turning him on. That he was now eagerly drinking the liquid down, hungry for more, lapping at the shit still clinging to the shaft, relishing the taste. He knew it was wrong. He had a crystal clear memory of the day before, of who they'd used to be, of the cursed statues, but he couldn't help himself. His daddy wanted to use him, and he was here to be used.

When the torrent finished, Bill hauled his still hard cock out, and Tony blurted out, "I'm sorry sir, I didn't mean to spill any, I swear."

"Fuck that boy. Ya's gotta be punished, ya know the rules. I gots a big load today, 'n I ain't gonna go slow, so open big!" Bill turned around, dropped his pants and started backing his ass up to Tony's mouth. Knowing what was coming, Tony rolled onto his back, and turned his head away, ready to get up, but before he could, Bill turned around, grabbed his arm, and with his massive strength hauled him back down onto the bed on his back, before straddling his neck with his massive legs and planting his ass on Tony's mouth. Tony tried to push him off, but Bill tightened his leg hold on Tony's neck, cutting off his air and making him gag. Sensing an opening, Bill started pushing, and felt the massive amount of shit he kept stored up his ass flow out directly into Tony's mouth. There was so much, and it just kept coming, all Tony could do was try and swallow as much of it as he could, but still, it backed up in his mouth and squeezed out the sides. Tony let out a deep moan, and stopped flailing, focusing on the taste of the shit in his mouth. It was damn good, he had to admit, but how in the hell could Bill keep shitting that much into his mouth? He hadn't even seen him eat this much the night before, and nothing this morning, but pound after pound worked its way into Tony's mouth and down his gullet as fast as he could swallow. With one hand, he could feel his gut expanding again, but it felt good. Good to be his daddy's toilet bowl, eat his nasty shit. He started rubbing his ass into the sheets, spreading around his own shit from the night, and knew he was a dirty boy. His daddy's dirty boy. Without even realizing it, his cock started spewing a massive amount of piss into his overalls, shooting through a hole in the front and spraying all over him, Bill, the bed, and the wall behind him in a torrent of piss.

"Oh, fuck! Ya gets piss all over my uniform! Ya filthy fucker, yer gonna git it now!" Bill said, and pushed even harder, the shit now overflowing Tony's mouth, leaving him with a six inch pile of crap all over his face, barely able to breathe through his nose as he kept eating as fast as he could, moaning and still pissing gallons uncontrollably. Bill still had some shit left, but decided to stop there, and got up off his boy's shit covered face. "Yeah, my filthy pig's gonna git it now, gonna get it hard!" Bill muttered, his cock rock hard and jutting out as he walked down Tony's massive body and dropped down between his legs, avoiding the cock still streaming piss, and in a feat of strength, lifted up both of Tony's massive legs, allowing him access to his shit covered ass, which he began probing at with his cock. At a new angle, the piss now started soaking Tony's face as Bill's cock punched into his ass, making Tony shout loud enough to be heard through the gag of shit still crammed in his mouth. Bill fucked like a wild animal, grunting and pounding away at Tony's well abused hole, while his boy choked down the rest of his shit, his cock no longer pissing, but now rock hard and leaking precum all over his overalls and belly.

Bill didn't last too long, letting loose a massive torrent of cum, flooding his boy's ass again, causing it to inflate even fuller, burying even more of Tony's huge cock in layers of gunt. He was so fat now, he couldn't even reach his cock around his massive stomach. Exhausted, Bill allowed his now soft, shit covered cock to fall out of his boy's ass, a spray of cum and shit spewing out after him. He left the boy's legs fall back, and tromped back up to his head, where Tony was struggling to finish his meal.

"Need some help there boy?" Bill asked, and Tony nodded. Bill let another load of piss loose into the pile of shit, turning it into a sludge which ran all over Tony's face, but which was much easier to swallow down, and Tony again wondered how in the hell such a small man could produce so much waste, not that he minded. By the time Bill's apparently huge bladder was completely empty, Tony had eaten all the shit, and was still drinking straight from the tap. When he finished, he let out a sigh, and then looked down at his shit and piss covered uniform. "Fuck! Now I's gotta go git clean again..." he muttered, and forgetting his boy, turned around and tromped off towards the bathroom to repeat his morning routine, stripping off his uniform as he went, leaving Tony alone in the bedroom once again.

Still adjusting to his massive bulk, Tony rolled up on the bed and stood up, happy that the ceiling was large enough to accommodate his great height of fourteen feet, or probably closer to fifteen now, after this morning's growth. He had to weigh at least a thousand pounds, and was actually probably much heavier than that even. Doing some calculating in his head, he figured that at this size, he would need bones of at least steel to support that much weight, but he took it in stride. He had a feeling that science didn't apply in this case. He saw a massive mirror hanging on the wall, so he lumbered over in front of it to get a better look at himself.

It took a moment to get past the massive amount of filth covering him to be able to actually absorb what he looked like underneath the shit, piss and cum from his morning with Bill. His hair was massively thick, hanging down at least to the base of his back in wild curls, his beard equally large and tangled, though it could only reach part way down his massive belly jutting out from his midsection. The other thing he noticed was the tattoos. The sleeves of yesterday had expanded, and covered him everywhere, from his hands to his feet to his face even. Not a single part of his body was left uninked. He licked his lips--something was missing. He tromped over to a nearby dresser with a huge humidor on top, pulled out a two foot cigar and lit it, sucking down the smoke as fast as he could. Without warning, he let out another fart, spewing cum and shit out his ass onto the floor behind him, and filling the room with a horendous stench which just turned him on even more. Yeah, he was fat, and filthy, and he'd probably only be getting dirtier and larger in the future, but that though filled him with eager anticipation. With one chubby hand, he reached around to his crack and wiped as much cum and shit on it as he could, and then licked it off, his other hand groping for his hard cock, but he couldn't reach it. Desperate to cum, he tried all manner of positions on the bed, but none of them gave him release, and by the time Tony returned from the bathroom, he was mad with desire. "Please daddy," he groaned, "please, I gotta cum daddy, I'm so horny! I'm such a horny pig sir, and I need you, please..."

"Sorry boy, but we's behind schedule, already an hour late fer breakfast. If ya eats quick, I's let ya cum after it, alright? Now, daddy's gotta git cookin'! Be back soon, boy," Bill said, and disappeared through another small door, heading for the kitchen to make Tony's breakfast, a task which usually took several hours, to put together a feast larger than Bill himself to feed his growing boy. Tony had no idea what he would do with his insatiable horniness until then. The only thing he could do was make his way over to the computer and do some investing. That would keep his mind off his cock for long enough to eat, and get his daddy to jack him off, though that wasn't much consolation to the raging hard on in his overalls.

The computer was massive, special ordered for Tony's size. It had cost a small fortune, but Tony had the money. With his smarts, he kept their household well funded, and made sure neither of them would have to work a day in their lives. From now on, it was feeding and fucking and little else. Well, and smoking, he thought with a grin, discarding the butt of the two footer he sucked down and lighting another, cramming a wad of chaw in his mouth as well to keep his cravings in check. As his investing program booted up, he glanced over and saw the two statues which the two of them had been sent the day before. However, while they had started off separate, they were now joined at the base. He picked up the object and inspected the seam, but there wasn't one. It looked to be made from a single sheet of metal, the two statues now inseparable. He turned back to the program, and decided to do a little searching. He didn't know what Bear Boutique was, but he had a feeling that it was a business worth investing in.

7

Calvin took another look around the bar, and let out a heavy sigh. He didn't know how to explain it. Not three months ago, this club was one of the gay hot spots of the city, filled with young muscular guys dancing all night long, exactly his kind of scene. But slowly, things had changed. It had started with a shift in clientele, mostly older, chubbier guys, not that Calvin minded. Then, the disco nights had been replaced by country western dancing, and the bartenders couldn't make a decent martini to save their lives, the decor was now all wood paneling and dim lights, and he no longer knew why he even bothered showing up anymore. There were a few guys like him--young muscled, and sure, a bit on the twink side--still hanging around, but tonight, he was surrounded by loud, leather, flannel and denim clad bears, and it was making him uncomfortable to say the least. He took another sip of his martini, and figured he might as well call it a night, even though it wasn't even past ten. He'd just have to find a more appropriate bar to hang out in from now on.

Disappointed, Calvin knocked back his drink and started to slide out of the booth, when he was suddenly pushed back, as a massive man slid in next to him, trapping him against the wall. Calvin looked at who had joined him and tried not to retch. The man was massive, first of all, with a huge gut barely held in by a slightly too small T-shirt. He had a massive beard which must have been close to a foot long, and when he grinned at Calvin, he saw that quite a few of his teeth were missing. His arms were covered with poorly made tattoos, and he was one of the hairiest men Calvin had ever seen in his life. "Hey there buddy," he said, extending his meaty hand for a handshake, "The name's Ralph. How you doin' tonight?"

Calvin glanced at the hand, but didn't accept the handshake, just turned to the guy and said, "Look, I'm flattered and all, but I was just leaving."

"What? So soon?" Ralph said, and came closer, putting one arm around Calvin's shoulder. He recoiled a bit from the guy's stench, and his breath stank of booze and tobacco, but Ralph just pulled him closer. "The night's still young man! Live a little!"

"I'm not interested, ok? Now leave me the fuck alone!" Calvin said, and pushed the biker away, but the massive man barely moved, and just laughed loudly.

"Well someone's in a sour mood tonight. Care to share what's up?"

Calvin thought about just ignoring the guy, but he was angry, and he wanted to get it off his chest. "Yeah, why not. See, this used to be an awesome bar, but now it's full of nasty, fat, hairy fucks like yourself, and no I'm not interested in having sex with a piece of scum like you, and would you now please kindly get the fuck out of my way so I can get out of this dive bar?"

The biker just stared at him for a moment, with a strange grin on his face. "Dang man, anyone ever tell you that you're a real downer? Maybe you could look at all of this from a new perspective. It might help you loosen up a bit," he said. Before Calvin could stop him, the biker had slid a strange ring off of one of his fat fingers, grabbed Calvin's hand, and slid it on his. Immediately, Calvin felt his stomach fall out from under him, as he was pushed out of his body, Ralph's spirit sliding into his. For a single moment, Calvin was looking down at his body and the biker's, before he felt himself sucked into the empty vessel of the biker.

For the first few moments, all Calvin could do was stare at himself sitting next to him, with a cocky grin on his face. Then, he looked down at himself, and tried not to faint. He didn't know how, but somehow, he and Ralph had switched bodies. Calvin was now trapped in the body of some fat, disgusting piece of biker trash, and he started to panic and hyperventilate.

"Dang it, it's always the same," Ralph said in Calvin's body. He grabbed Calvin's head, turned it to the side and started kissing him deeply, shoving his tongue into his old mouth.

Calvin allowed it to happen for a moment, and the remembered what was happening and wrenched away and stood up, still refusing to believe that this was happening to him. "What...what the fuck did you do?" Change me back!" he shouted.

"Calm down big boy," Ralph said, caressing his new, muscular body, "I just want to have a little fun. Let's play around for a couple hours, and then we'll switch back, alright? I promise. But if you want your body back, you have to do what I say..." he added with a evil smirk, "Or else I might just keep this body forever. Now sit your ass back down."

Calvin just stood there for a moment, but he knew he didn't have much of a choice, and slid back into the booth. His hands were shaking and his mouth was dry, but he didn't know why.

"Here, looks like you could use one of these," Ralph said. He reached into the pocket of Calvin's leather vest and pulled out two cigars and a lighter. Calvin watched his body expertly light one, and hand it to him. Calvin really didn't want to, but from the smell alone, he knew he needed it. He took a deep inhale and felt his body's nerves calm down. Looking over, he saw that Ralph had lit the second and was smoking it himself. "Better?" he asked.

Calvin nodded, and took another inhale. Now that he had calmed down a bit, he took a moment to explore his body further. He rubbed his massive gut, unable to believe how large it was, and ran his hands through his giant beard and across his bald scalp. With some embarrassment, he realized he was also now wearing a butt plug. Blushing a bit, he reached under the gut and found his now small cock, probably only three or four inches, though his sack was massive.

"Yeah, sorry about that. I know it's small, but my loads are massive, trust me," Ralph said, and started stroking Calvin's belly. He pushed the hand away but Ralph tisked at him. "Do you want your body back or not? Now quit being such a prude, and give yourself a kiss."

Reluctantly, Calvin leaned over and started kissing Ralph, who resumed rubbing Calvin's belly. He had to admit that it did feel good, and before too long he wasn't even resisting much anymore, though he couldn't help but think it was a bit strange to be kissing himself. Both would occasionally break away to take a drag off their cigars, and Calvin found himself enjoying the taste, surprisingly enough.

Ralph broke the kiss, leaned in and smelled his body's pits. "Dang I smell good," he said, "But now, why don't we go find somebody to play with? This body of yours is damn horny." He then climbed up on the seat and over Calvin, making sure to rub Calvin's own package across his face as he went, and landed on the floor on the other side. "You'd better come along if you want this body of your back," he added over his shoulder, then took off into the crowd.

Cursing, Calvin worked his fat body up and out of the booth as fast as he could, disconcerted by the butt plug massaging his prostate as he moved. After hiking up his jeans, he took off after his body, bumping into several other patrons and a table or two before he got used to his new girth. He had to figure out some way to get the ring off of Ralph's finger, and put it on, or else he was going to be held hostage for the foreseeable future. Up ahead, he saw Ralph occasionally look back to see if Calvin was still following after him, as they moved deeper into the club. Calvin couldn't be sure in the dim bar light, but something seemed odd to him, when he caught sight of his body again. It looked like there was now quite a bit of stubble on his cheeks which hadn't been there before, and his body looked bigger and a bit fatter for some reason. Calvin pushed the thought away, figuring it was ridiculous. He was just stressed was all. When he caught up to Ralph, he'd take the ring back and get the hell out of this nightmare.

As Calvin pursued Ralph down a narrow corridor lined with burly men, a thickly muscled arm shot out and blocked Calvin, and a bearded face came close to his ear, "Well hey there Ralph. Haven't seen you around for a bit. How's it hanging?" Calvin froze, just staring at the monster leather bear who had him cornered, and was pressing him closer to the wall. Calvin hadn't realized just how short Ralph's body was until he found himself looking up into this tall bear's rough face. It wasn't a kind look he was getting from him either--it was the stare and smile of a predator who's cornered his prey.

Calvin gulped, trying to find some words for the man, but nothing came out aside from a few garbled sentences, before the man locked lips with him in an aggressive kiss, shoving his tongue into Calvin's mouth, and making him melt against the wall. He could feel his short, stubby cock hardening, and though it disgusted him, he found himself enjoying the taste of beer and smoke on the bear's mouth. Calvin lost track of time, just enjoying the sensation, occasionally taking a drag off his cigar and sharing the smoke with the big bear, until he pulled back and undid the fly on his leather pants, allowing his massive, pierced cock to stand out.

"Enough foreplay. Get down there, pig, I have a load for you," he said. When Calvin stammered a bit and tried to worm away, the bear grabbed his bald head and forced him to his knees before the cock, and then rammed it into his mouth. Calvin figured he might as well suck the bear off and get back to finding Ralph, but almost immediately the cock in his mouth started spewing a load of hot piss into his mouth. Calvin choked in surprise and tried to pull back, but the muscle bear grabbed the back of his head and forced him to take the who cock to the root, Calvin choking and stammering, swallowing as fast as he could but most of it spilling out of his mouth and down his filthy beard. When the stream slowed and stopped, the bear began fucking Calvin's face, slamming his cock down his throat hard and fast, making Calvin thankful that Ralph's body had no gag reflex, allowing him to relax and take it all with minimal effort. Unable to resist, he reached under with one hand and started working his cock through the nasty denim, excited by the rough treatment. After a few minutes, the bear pulled out, and after a few jerks of his cock unloaded a massive wad of cum all over Calvin's face and beard. Then, the bear zipped up his still leaking cock, and with nothing more than a "Thanks, pig," slipped back into the crowd.

Calvin wiped off some of the cum with one grimy hand and licked it up, one hand still massaging his cock, when he realized that he had, by now, completely lost track of Ralph, and his own body. Cursing loudly, he started forcing his way through the crowded hallways, checking in each room he passed, seeing if he could find his body in any of them. He had wandered the complex for half an hour in an escalating panic, certain that Ralph had abandoned him and stolen his body, when he stumbled into a room and saw himself.

Ralph was sitting on a mattress in the room, lying back, with a dirty looking trucker happily sucking him off while another one watched on the side, slowly jacking his cock. When Ralph saw him enter, his face lit up, and after pushing the trucker off of his cock, he stood up and walk over to Calvin, saying, "I was wondering if you were going to find us! This is my friend, Calvin, you two, the one who I said would love to play with us?"

"Finally, took him long enough," the trucker on the side said, "I'm Chuck, and that's Cliff."

The trucker on the bed wiped his lips and grinned, "Dang Ralph, your friend is a looker. Can I suck his cock too?"

"Sorry guys, but Calvin here's as big a bottom as they come," Ralph said with a chuckle, and then added after seeing the cum still stuck in his beard, "It looks like you already found yourself some action tonight, anyway! And what's that I smell...I didn't know you were into piss..."

"Shut the fuck up," Calvin said quietly, "and give me my god damn body back, you fucker!"

"Now, now, you know the rules, you get your body back if you do what I say. Besides, I found these hot guys for us to play with..." Ralph said.

Now that Calvin was close to him, he realized that something was wrong. The stubble Calvin had seen earlier had filled in, and his old face was now covered with a full beard, and his previous surfer hair was even longer than before, hanging down past his shoulders and matted with sweat. He was chubbier too, by quite a bit. Not as big as Ralph's body, but a decent gut, and he'd lost most of his muscle definition. His clothes were barely able to fit him anymore. Worse, he looked disgusting. His hair matted with sweat, and he could smell some awful body odor coming off of him. He'd never smelled that bad before--what was going on?

"What the fuck happened to my body?" Calvin asked.

"What, this?" Ralph said rubbing his new beard, "Don't worry about it. It gives you character, I think."

"God damn it, give me the god damn ring!" Calvin said, and grabbed Ralph's hand with the ring on it, but he jerked away.

"Now, now, I wouldn't do that if I were you," Ralph said, "If I take the ring off and put it on your finger, we switch back. But if you take the ring from me, then we can never return to our own bodies."

"You're lying."

"Maybe I am," Ralph said, "But do you really want to risk it?"

"What the fuck's taking you two so long?" Chuck asked, "I ain't gonna be able to keep this hard on going all night, and Cliff here is thirsty for some cum."

"Damn right! Get over here and face fuck me some more, would you?" Cliff added.

"You'll get some more, but first, get on your hands and knees. Calvin was just telling me how he's getting hungry for some ass, so why not let him eat yours for a while?"

Calvin glared at Ralph angrily, but Cliff's happily lowered his pants. "Hell yeah, come and get it you filthy fucker!" he said, pushing his fat ass in Calvin's direction.

He tried to object, but Ralph just dragged him over and his pushed him down, and whispered in his ear, "Everything I say, remember? Now enjoy it!" and pushed his face into Cliff's crack, making both trucker's moan. Calvin started licking, trying his best to not think about how rank it smelled and awful it tasted, but part of him was also madly turned on, especially after his earlier treatment by that leather bear. Ralph, meanwhile, pulled down Calvin's jeans, revealing his own fat ass, and started working the butt plug in and out, making Calvin moan against his will, his stubby cock leaking precum all over the filthy mattress. His old ass hole had never been that sensitive--he wondered what it would be like if someone fucked him...

"Fuck yeah, now that's a damn good show," Chuck said, jacking off eagerly now.

Ralph looked over and said, "Well how about giving me a hand, and working this fat ass biker's ass over, while I face fuck your partner here?"

Chuck grinned, and still wanking with one hand, took over for Ralph and started thrusting the butt plug deep into Calvin's hole. He was so focused on the pleasure shooting from the plug that he didn't realize that he was starting to enjoy the rank taste of Cliff's ass, running his tongue the whole way up his crusty crack and probing deep into his hole. Ralph returned to his first position and slammed his cock down Cliff's hungry throat, slamming the trucker's ass into Calvin's face with each thrust.

"Fuck man, you have such a fucking hungry hole," Chuck said, hauling the plug out and throwing it to the ground, "I just gotta fuck it man, I gotta." He lined up his own cock and worked it into Calvin's loose hole, making him groan and shiver with pleasure as he bucked back to meet Chuck's cock.

"Oh fuck, that's so damn hot!" Ralph said. He pulled out his cock from Cliff's mouth, and said, "Cliff, fuck his mouth while I fuck that sloppy ass of yours. Cliff nodded and turned around, shoving his cock into Calvin's mouth while Ralph worked his cock up the trucker's now lubed ass. Calvin sucked on the trucker's surprisingly  large cock, though had an easier time than before, since it was still smaller than the leather bear's. Getting plugged at both ends was too much for Calvin, as his small cock started unloading a massive wad of cum all over the mattress, though neither Chuck nor Cliff let up for a minute. Even after his cock finished pumping, Calvin felt his balls still churning, his cock still hard, and as horny as ever.

Still, the smell of fresh cum in the room sent both Chuck and Cliff over the edge, both of them unloading nearly simultaneously into both ends of Calvin, which he happily swallowed down. Watching both trucker's plowing his old body was enough to send Ralph over the edge as well, shooting his own load up Cliff's butt. All four of them just stayed there for a moment, calming down, and then extricated themselves, Calvin finding his cock still frustratingly hard, despite having cum once already. Plus, Cliff's cum had tasted so good, he started wiping off the remnants of the leather bear's cum from his beard, and eating that just to relish the taste a bit longer.

Cliff and Chuck were mostly dressed, when Ralph spoke up, "Hey, before you go, would you guys give Calvin here your piss? He loves the stuff, he's just too embarrassed to say so." Calvin's face turned red, but he knew it wouldn't do any good to deny it. Besides, now that he thought about it, he hadn't minded his taste from the leather bear earlier, so he got down on his knees on the floor as the three of them circled him, and started pissing on him. At first, Calvin just let them soak him, but then, he couldn't resist chasing the streams, trying to drink down as much as he could. A few seconds too late, he realized that he'd released his own bladder, and was pissing his pants, moaning and drinking down all of the piss he could. When they finished Calvin licked his lips, wishing there was more. "Now, what do you say?" Ralph said.

"I, Uh...thanks, guys," Calvin muttered.

"Sorry, he's a bit slow," Ralph said.

"Don't worry about that," Chuck added, "He's a fun fuck. Maybe we'll see the two of you again after our next haul."

"You know where to find us," Ralph added with a wink as the two truckers left, leaving the two of them alone in the room. When they were gone, Ralph chuckled, "Well dang, you are a little biker slut, aren't you? I didn't think you'd go along with me that far, but you fucking loved it."

Calvin felt his face redden and he stood up and wrung some of the piss out of his sodden shirt. "Are you finished now? I just want to get out of here..." Calvin said.

"What, so soon?" Ralph said, "But you seemed to be enjoying yourself so much!" Ralph said, stuck his hand down the back of Calvin's wet jeans and started fingering his asshole. "Besides, if I know my body, I bet you're just getting started." He pulled out his finger, slick with Chuck's cum, and ran it around Calvin's wet lips. He pulled a cigar from his own pocket and lit it. "It's a good thing I got these off some guys, because yours are too fucking wet, I bet," he added, and blew a plume of smoke at Calvin's face.

As he watched Ralph smoke, Calvin saw that his body had changed even more. The beard had grown out quite a bit, to about an inch long. He also had quite a few wrinkles creasing his face, and his blond hair had a few traces of grey in it. He had also packed on the pounds. Calvin's previous muscular physique was long gone, replaced by a fatty figure which was rapidly approaching three hundred pounds, at least. Calvin's form fitting T-shirt he'd been wearing no longer fit at all, and with some effort, Ralph pulled it off, revealing a very hairy body which Calvin had never had. Ralph started rubbing his nipples as he smoked, giving Calvin a little show. "What the hell did you do to my body?" he asked.

"Well, I don't know the details to be honest, but apparently, this ring switches people's souls. However, young bodies require more upkeep than old ones, so when an old soul gets put in a young body, that body ages rapidly, since the soul isn't capable of keeping it up," Ralph said, "Considering that I was sixty before switching, and it's been about an hour and a half, I'd say my, or rather, your body, is close to forty right now. But hey, it looks good, doesn't it?" he added, rubbing his belly, "You were far too skinny to start off with anyway, this is much hotter."

"You fucker! You fucked up my body!" Calvin shouted, and started clawing at Ralph's hand, desperate to get the ring away from him, but Ralph pushed him away.

"Now remember, taking the ring won't do you any good. It sounds like someone hasn't had a smoke in a while," Ralph said with a smile, "You want one of mine?"

Calvin wanted to say no, but the thought of another cigar made his body's mouth water. "Yeah," he said, his throat suddenly dry.

"Then I want you to beg me to fuck you up the ass. I want you to ask me to fuck me with your own cock. And if you do a good job, I might even give you your body back when I'm through with you."

Calvin didn't want to, but what choice did he have. He sank to his knees, and his face red with humiliation, said, "Please, will you fuck me up the ass?"

"That's all you got? Come on you can do better than that."

"Please...Please sir, I need your cock up my hole."

"I think you mean, you need your own cock up your hole, isn't that right? You want to feel this cock of yours reaming your ass?"

Calvin nodded, "Yes sir, please fuck me hard with my own cock. I'm so horny sir, I need it."

"Finger that hole of yours. Show me how empty it is."

Reluctantly, Calvin dropped his pants again, reached around, and started working a couple of fingers into his hole, "Please, my hole is so empty, I need you to fill it up with my cock."

"Get on the bed," Ralph said, and Calvin hurried over, hoping this would be a quick one, so they could switch back before Ralph could do any more damage. Ralph shoved the cigar in Calvin's mouth, then thrust Calvin's own cock into his ass as hard as he could, and began fucking him hard, making Calvin gasp and moan in pain and pleasure. He felt his balls begin to churn, and felt his face go red as he smoked. He couldn't cum right now. He couldn't give Ralph the pleasure, but it felt so good. With a grunt, he shot a second load of cum all over the mattress, and all he felt was shame. "Yeah, look at you, you fucking slut, blowing a massive wad while I fuck you with your own cock!" Ralph said, "Oh fuck!" he shot his own massive load, pounding away at Calvin's hole, then collapsing on top of him, breathing heavily. "Thanks for the good time, and the hot body," he whispered, "Sorry I couldn't return it in the same condition." He slipped the ring off his own finger and onto Calvin's, and after another out of body experience, Calvin was back in his own body, reeling from the experience. Before he could say anything, Ralph had his pants up and left the room, stopping only to add, "I don't think your clothes will fit either, but don't worry. I arranged something for you earlier. Have fun!" before disappearing into the crowd.

Calvin fought back the urge to cry, as he looked down at his now wreaked body. He was at least forty now, fat and hairy, and knew he would never be able to reclaim his physique again. But first things first, he had to get out of here, before someone else decided to take advantage of him. He staggered over to his clothes, but there was no way he would be able to fit into them. He halfheartedly tried to pull on his jeans, but he couldn't get the legs up past his thighs.

"There you are, you ready to be my daddy bear?" a voice said from the doorway. With a sinking feeling in his gut, Calvin turned to the doorway, and saw a thin, furry cub standing in the doorway, dressed in jeans and a leather vest, grinning at Calvin, a bundle of leather tucked under his arm.

"I...Look, I don't know what I might have said to you earlier, but I wasn't really myself," Calvin muttered.

"Oh, I know all about Ralph's little jaunts," the cub said, "And I know you don't have any clothes that will fit you at the moment. So I guess you have two choices. One, you can be my date for the rest of the evening, and wear what I have here for you, or you can try and get out of here buck naked, which I can guarantee will be pretty difficult, especially as hot as you're looking now."

Calvin didn't say anything, just trying to control himself. Dang, he needed a smoke. Sensing his frustration, the cub came over, handed him a cigar, and lit it for him. Then, while Calvin smoked, the cub began stroking his fat chest and big belly, making Calvin quiver.

"Yeah, that's a good daddy," the cub said, then leaned in and sniffed at Calvin's pit, "Good and ripe too, just how I like them."  Sniffing hungrily, the cub got down on his knees, buried his face between Calvin's cock and balls and began licking the sweat up, Calvin toying with his pert nipples, trying to resist cumming. Who knows, maybe all he'd needed was a new perspective on the whole thing. He could learn to like being a daddy bear, he thought, as he grabbed the back of the cub's throat, and rammed his cock down it as far as it could go.

8

It was Christmas morning, but somehow, it just didn't feel right, Nick thought as he got up from his bed, rubbing his head as he did. His housemates and him had all drank a little too much last night, and he was feeling a bit hung over. The old house they were renting was silent aside from the occasional creak and groan of old timber, and the air was frigid. The only heating in the house came from an old boiler than barely worked, not that they had the money to pay the gas bill it rang up when it was on. He pulled on his thick robe and slippers, wondering when in the hell Christmas had lost it's magic, and when he'd grown up and turned into an adult, with a nine to five retail job he hated, and bills to pay, and his first morning aches and pains. It wasn't fair, really, that nobody bothers to tell kids that all of that giddy excitement of opening presents, surrounded by siblings and parents taking pictures next to a warm fire never lasts. It didn't help that this was his first Christmas away from home, but he couldn't afford to take any time off, and he was working returns for the rest of the week, which was sure to be a nightmare. He tried not to think about it and headed down the creaky stairs to go make a pot of coffee before Tom and Carl woke up.

The three of them had met as students at Bortman University, and had graduated last spring. Tom hadn't been able to find a job at all until the holiday season struck, managing to find a job delivering packages for a shipping company. Without the money coming in from Carl's parents for rent, the three of them would have never been able to afford even a dump like this, but they were tired of financing him, and when that dried up Nick was pretty sure it would be time to move back in with his parents. He tried to think about happy things, but found there weren't very many at the moment. He trudged past the living room, already in a sour mood, headed towards the kitchen, and stopped. Backing up, he took a second look, and rubbed his eyes, wondering if he was imagining what he was seeing.

The entire living room had changed, seemingly overnight. Red and green tinsel was strung over the windows and along the molding around the room, but there in the center was a massive Christmas tree, smelling of fresh pine, with a pile of presents underneath it. Over to the side, there was a fire lit in the fireplace (even though none of them had ever used it, considering the landlord forbid fires of any kind) with three stocking hung over it, sagging with their contents--whatever they may be.

Was it too good to be true? Nick wasn't entirely sure, as he wandered about, a bit dumbstruck. A better question was who had done it? It hadn't been Tom, he didn't have the cash to pull off something this extravagant. Had it been Carl? That didn't make much sense either. Besides, something like this would have taken way more than one person, and how could it have even gotten done in a single night? He checked under the tree, and all of the presents had tags on them, labeling them for Nick, Tom or Carl, but there was no name to show who had given them. Of course, it could have been...but that was just silly. Nick didn't believe in kids stuff like that anymore. Besides, it wasn't like the three of them were particularly 'nice' people, or all that deserving in Nick's opinion. Still, he was curious, he had to admit.

When he was a kid, he'd always started with his stocking, so he took down his red, felt sock and turned it over, dumping the contents onto the floor. It wasn't much, really. There was a burlap bag with something else in it, what looked like a glasses case, and lastly, a can of some kind of spray. Picking up the can, he saw that it was a body spray of some variety, but he didn't recognize the store name on the label, some place called "Bear Boutique." The spray itself was called "Christmas Future," with a picture of a laughing Santa on the side, but not much else to tell him what it smelled like. He popped off the cap, intending to spray a bit in the air to test it, but as soon as he pushed down on the button, a jet of a white, smoke-like spray shot out and hit him directly in the face.

He dropped the bottle to the ground, coughing, trying to wave the spray away from his face, but it was so dense it wouldn't clear. It smelled like smoke, mostly, but a sweet smoke, with hints of cinnamon and pine. It wasn't all that offensive of a smell, actually, and the smoke seemed to be clearing so that he could at least see. He looked up and saw his reflection in a large ornate mirror hanging on the wall, and suddenly wished he hadn't. The spray wasn't dissipating at all. In fact, it almost looked like it was collecting around his head in a bushy cloud. As he watched, the cloud became denser, and suddenly gained a new form--a massive white beard which was now attached to Nick's face.

Terrified, he tried to tug at the hair, but found it was firmly attached, like he had grown it himself, but that wasn't possible, was it? How could a beard suddenly sprout on someone's face like that? He was so shocked he didn't notice that the cloud of smoke hadn't actually gone away, it had merely moved, and was now forming a in a halo around his head. When it moved away a moment later, most of Nick's hair had disappeared entirely, leaving a shiny bald dome, aside from a pure white horseshoe around the base of his skull. He went to run to the bathroom, hoping that by getting in the shower he could stop whatever was happening to him, but as he hurried, the cloud descended and enveloped his face, whiting out his vision and sending him careening into a wall and crashing to the floor.

The smoke cleared away a moment later, drifting south and hovering about his chest, but looking around, Nick saw that everything was blurry. Previously he'd had perfect vision, but now he could barely make out objects five feet in front of him. He crawled around the floor for a bit, when his hands found the stocking which he'd left lying on the ground. After rummaging nearby, he found the glasses case which had been dumped out, popped it open, and found some glasses inside, which he hurried to put on, finally allowing him to see again, but by then, he wasn't entirely sure he wanted to look at himself.

The smoke had progressed quickly, having already passed down his chest, two rings separating off to work their way down his arms all the way to his fingers. By now, he had a ring around his hips, which was quickly descending all the way down to his feet. The robe was now stretched tight against his body, so he undid the knot and opened it, revealing a massive gut covered with white hairs. Nick had never been that hairy of a guy, but apparently that had changed, and he saw it extended up onto his shoulders, and when he reached around to feel his back, he felt an equally thick pelt back there as well. He'd packed on a lot of weight, concentrated in a big gut jutting out and sagging a bit, and two sagging man tits hanging off his chest with meaty nipples on the end. Looking at his face, he saw that it now reflected a man in at least his sixties, if not a bit older. Between the crow's feet and wrinkles, the beard and the baldness, no one would believe that just a minute before he had been twenty-three. The half-moon spectacles he now needed only added to the image of an elderly gentleman standing in his living room.

The smoke reached the floor, and after curling around Nick's feet it finally disappeared into a collection of wisps, like it had never been there at all, and Nick wasn't sure what to do. He still wanted to take a shower, hoping that maybe he could somehow wash off the changes, but something stopped him. Unable to help himself, he reached up with one hand and started tweaking one of his nipples, letting out a deep moan of excitement. He might be an old man, but this old man was horny. He stepped out of the now too tight boxers which he had worn to bed and wrapped one hand around his cock...his really, big cock. He'd always been a bit unsatisfied with his four inch member, but he wasn't going to have a problem with that anymore, with his new ten incher. It was thick too, and really sensitive, hardening rapidly as he stroked it, his other hand still exploring his body, loving how his new body hair felt under his palm, and the soft belly he'd grown, and his massive nuts hanging low beneath his cock. The only thing which could make it better was...was...

Nick looked around, trying to figure out what he needed. There was a taste on his tongue--something familiar, like the smell of the spray. The final item from his stocking caught his eye, the burlap bag, and he picked it up and opened it to find a large, full bent pipe, a lighter, and rich dark tobacco which permeated the air, making him salivate. He filled and tamped the pipe, amazed at how the movements came so naturally to him, as though he had been doing it all his life, stuck it in his mouth and lit it, breathing in deep. With a sigh, he plopped down in his armchair, put his big feet up on the ottoman and let the smoke billow about him and permeate the room, especially enjoying how it wound its way through his bushy beard. Reunited with his pipe, Nick figured he could get back to his other urges, and went back to stroking his cock, slowly, just enjoying the quiet Christmas morning before his housemates woke up. The two of them sleeping soundly...thinking about all of the nice and naughty things Nick could do to them when they came downstairs...He stroked his cock a bit faster, just thinking about them. He'd never seen Carl naked, but he'd accidentally gone into the bathroom while Tom was showering, and he could still remember how nice that boy's ass had looked, with a good sized cock. Nick had disrobed and climbed in with him for a bit of fun, pushing Tom down onto his knees before his daddy's cock, which he licked and slurped at eagerly.

Nick pushed the thoughts away, unable to tell whether they were fantasy or reality. Everything just felt so...strange all of a sudden, and he wasn't sure what he was supposed to do. It did feel good though, just lounging about waiting for his boys to get up. No need to rush them, they'd have all the time in the world to open their presents and celebrate. As he mused a bit, dozing slightly in his chair, he heard one of the upstairs doors open and close, followed by footsteps coming down the hallway, and then down the creaky stairs. "What...What's that smell?" he heard Tom say, "Is that smoke?" Worried that the house might be burning down, he rushed into the hazy living room, and Nick started laughing as he watched his wild eyes housemate glance around in panic. It came out surprisingly...jolly, a resounding "HO, HO, HO," which he wasn't expecting. Tom wasn't expecting it either, as he whirled around to find himself faced with a fat older man wearing his friend's robe, smoking a pipe and stroking his cock in an armchair. To flabbergasted to speak, he just backed himself up into a corner of the room, breathing in more and more of the smoke around him, which was making him dizzy and...horny? The man in the armchair chuckled again and got up from the chair, pulling the too tight robe around his gut, which still couldn't hide away his massive cock. "Well a merry Christmas to you too, Tom," the large man said with a grin.

"How...How do you know my name?" Tom asked, his head spinning. For some reason he was finding it hard to concentrate, with all of the smoke in the air. "Are you...Santa?" The question was ridiculous, sure, but what else could explain all of this? The new decorations, the fat older man appearing in their house. The very...attractive, older man, he found himself adding.

"No, I'm not Santa, though I will be your 'Old St. Nick," if you'd like," he said and came closer to his friend. Close enough to blow a thick cloud of sweet smoke right into Tom's face, which the younger man breathed in happily, feeling his cock harden in his boxers.

"Wait...Nick? Is that you? What--" Tom was cut off by his friend taking in a big breath of smoke, locking lips with him, and blowing the smoke deep into his lungs. Tom expected to cough, but he just took it all in naturally, held it for a moment, and then blew it back into Nick. They shared the same breath for a minute, making Tom feel even more woozy, but now he couldn't tell whether it was because of the smoke, or the attraction for this older man which had kindled to life. He reached out and undid the robe, allowing him access to Nick's round belly, which he began to rub. The hair was soft against his palms, and he wanted to press his face into it, into the crevice between Nick's moobs, licking at his chest, moving over to his nipples and sucking on those...He struggled a bit, trying to get away from the smoke and these feelings, but Nick pushed him back with his gut, pinning him to the wall with his bulk, and gave him another smoky kiss. By the time they parted, Tom couldn't resist any longer. He pulled the older man closer to him and kissed him again, Nick stopping only to pull off Tom's shirt and rub his flat muscular chest. Yeah, the boy was cute, that was certain, but he still had some growing up to do.

Nick backed off, and Tom, his cock erect in his boxers, pursued him, but Nick chucked and held him at bay, "Now, now boy. We'll have plenty of time for that. Why don't you go ahead and look and see what Santa put in your stocking?"

Reluctantly, Tom walked over to the warm fireplace and pulled out the items in his stocking, occasionally looking back over his shoulder, at Nick, who was eyeing him. Was that really Nick? His head was so foggy all of a sudden, it was difficult to pick out what was actually happening. Maybe this was all just a dream. He'd probably wake up before long, and none of this will be real, and he'll never tell anyone that he had a dream about kissing Santa Claus. "God, how fucked up is that?" he muttered to himself, quietly enough that Nick didn't hear. From the stocking he pulled three things: a burlap bag similar to the one Nick had found in his own, a small jewelry case made of burnished wood, and lastly a can of spray which looked similar to the one Nick had used, but which was labeled "Christmas Present."

"Ah, good. You did get one. I was hoping so," Nick said, grabbed the can and popped off the top. Before Tom could object, he pointed the can at his friend and let loose, spraying him from top to bottom, Tom trying to protect himself from the onslaught. Where Nick's spray had appeared like smoke, Tom's came out looking more like oil, clinging to his skin like a sheen wherever it landed. The smell was different too, though it had the same smoky notes, it was also muskier and even a bit dank.

Tom rubbed his sprayed hand along his stomach, feeling it slick with the substance, and felt his stomach turn. "What the fuck is that stuff?"

Nick just watched eagerly, unsure of what was about to happen, but eager to watch the change he was sure was coming. He saw that where the spray had landed, the sheen had disappeared, almost as though the spray had been absorbed into Tom's skin, and his friend found himself beginning to heat up. While Tom had been a big track star in college, and generally very slim and lean, the past year out of work had left him growing pudgy. He'd tried to keep up his workouts, but without access to the school gym, and no money for membership fees, he'd usually spend the days lounging about, eating junk food. He certainly didn't like his new physique, but like the rest of his life, it seemed like everything was crumbling down around him.

As the spray absorbed into his body, he began to feel very hot. The heat soon became a flaming ache, radiating out from where the spray had landed the heaviest and spreading across his entire body, making Tom double over in pain. It felt as though every muscle in his body was involved in the most intense workout he had ever experienced, as mass began piling on beneath his skin. Fat melted away and was quickly replaced by muscle, his gut replaced with firm abs once again, his pecs firming up and pushing out into thick slabs, his glutes and ass toning up, biceps bulging, everything growing larger and larger. When he managed to stand up straight again, he found that where he had been eye to eye with Nick moments earlier, he was now looking down at him, after gaining probably six inches of height. He squeezed his massive hands into fists, cracking his knuckles, and saw that the back of his hands were covered with black hair, which was spreading all across his body and onto his face, forming a neatly trimmed beard, his shaggy hair shrinking back into a buzzcut.

Tom crossed over to the mirror in two large strides, exploring his entire body with his new hands. He looked like he had aged a bit, to about forty-five years old or so, but he looked good. And he felt fantastic. Every part of his body thrummed with energy and vigor, something he'd only felt at the peak of his athletic career. With one hand, he gripped the now far too small boxers stairing against his muscular thighs and ripped them away with an easy tug, allowing his own massive, semi-hard cock loose from the tight confines. Something smelled great too, he though, smelling the fabric before tossing it away. Lifting one arm up, he discovered it was him. Musky and rich, but not overpoweringly so. Like a man ought to smell. A real man. Nick came up behind him wrapping his arms around Tom as far as he could and massaging his partner's new muscles. "So boy, you like your present?"

"I sure do 'Santa'," Tom said with a grin. His deep resonant voice caught him off guard, but it suited the new him. A man large and in charge, but something about the plump older man was turning him on big time, and he bent down and kissed him again, receiving another cloud of smoke from his daddy. When they parted, Nick buried his face in Tom's neck and took a deep breath of his boy's musk, letting out a moan as his cock grew even harder.

"Dang boy, I love the way you smell."

"Then I bet you'll love this, daddy," Tom said, and raised one arm over his head, revealing his hairy pit. Nick buried his face in it for a moment, savoring the smell and taste, and then pulled back, trying to keep a hold on his arousal.

"Later boy, later. You have some other stuff from your stocking to look at, and I think...I think there's a present around here I want you to open. Yeah...yeah, let me go find it. Then we can have some fun, I promise."

Tom grinned, and Nick returned to the tree, digging through the presents, looking for the one he was thinking of. He didn't know why he needed this present, or really what he was looking for, but he knew he'd recognize it when he saw it. After a moment or two, he saw the box he was looking for and pulled it out, then hurried to give it to Tom to open.

Tom had been busy in the meanwhile. He'd pulled out a pipe of his own from the burlap sack and gotten it lit, before examining the small jewelry box. Inside, he'd found a brand new set of piercings, which he was in the process of putting on. There were two small rings for his nipples, a horseshoe for his septum, and a collection of rings and barbells for his ears which he was busy inserting in all the proper places. He wasn't sure exactly how he knew where they went, but they all slipped into place naturally, like he'd had them for ages. When he saw the hulking muscle bear all pierced up and ready to go, Nick almost couldn't resist throwing himself at him then and there, but he held off, and handed him the box. After tearing off the wrapping and opening it up, Tom grinned widely and pulled out a brand new leather harness.

"Aww...Nick, you shouldn't have!"

"Well, I know yours has gotten a fair bit of use, and one of the straps is about to break, so I just thought you might need a new one." Nick said, blushing a bit. Excited, Tom took a minute to strap himself in, while Nick tapped the ashes out of his pipe and re-lit it. He tried to remember a time when he hadn't smoked, but couldn't. His old life was fading away rapidly, and he was happy to let it go. Good riddance to bad rubbish. Besides, he had this sexy muscle beast to play with, and that interested him far more. While Tom tightened the straps crossing his chest, Nick took the last one and pulled it down, working the cock ring around Tom's hard cock and massive sack, causing it to jut out obscenely, the head red and leaking. Unable to resist, he got down and licked at it, savoring the rigid flesh as Tom moaned and pulled on his nipples and watched them in the mirror. It was so fucking hot, watching his daddy suck his massive cock, and he was right, the harness looked great on him, especially with the pipe in his mouth, blowing jets of smoke from his nose which curled through his chest hair. The leather, pulled taut against his muscles, only made him hornier. Tom was rarely wearing something which wasn't made out of leather, not that Nick minded, or Carl either. Where was Carl anyway, still sleeping? That boy was going to miss out on all the fun.

Tom wrapped his hands around Nick's head, and started shoving his cock deeper down his daddy's throat when he felt Nick reach between his legs and start toying with his hole with one of his fingers, making Tom shiver. Pushing against the finger, Tom opened up and allowed Nick to probe upwards, groaning as Nick added another, still sucking on his boy's cock, taking breaks only to take another drag off his pipe. When he figured Tom was good and open, he stood up, and Tom bent over the armchair, pushing his ass back towards Nick eagerly. Massaging his own rock hard cock with one hand, Nick took a deep drag off his pipe, pushed his lips against Tom's hole and blew the smoke deep into him, making Tom groan. "Yeah daddy, fill me with your fucking smoke."

"Yeah, you like that, leather bear? You like that pipe smoke up your ass?" Nick took another drag and pushed more up there, loving the way he could see a tendril or two twining along Tom's crack. Still, he wanted some of his boy's ass. He walked over and grabbed the lube from the mantle, Tom itching in anticipation, and after greasing up his shaft, Nick started working his old cock into his boy, holding onto Tom's new harness as he buried himself deep in Tom's hole, making the leatherman grunt and arch his back in pleasure. Nick, still thrusting, rubbed his bearded face into Tom's back, reveling in his sweat and musk, running the warm pipe bowl against his skin. Tom was so close to the edge, but he held back, allowing the pleasure to build higher and higher. Finally, with a massive plume of smoke, he released his load all over the seat of the armchair.

"Oh fuck, daddy. You fucked the cum right out of my massive balls!"

"Damn right I did, so hold on to your harness, cause daddy isn't finished with you yet!" Nick said, and continued thrusting. He knew a man his age shouldn't be able to keep up this well, but between the pipe and the hot muscle bear beneath him, he felt full of energy, his cock still rock hard, and every thrust better than the last. They were so engrossed in their fucking that they didn't even notice Carl's door open and close, or his steps on the stairs, or see his horrified face when Carl saw the two pipe smoking bears fucking in the living room.

He just stood there gaping, until Tom looked up and saw the boy there, and winked at him. "What are you waiting for boy? Merry Christmas! Now come on in here and play with your daddies!"

Carl freaked. Letting loose something between a yell and a scream, he ran past the living room, down the hall, and into the kitchen, looking around for anything he could use as a weapon. He grabbed a dirty frying pan out of the sink and hefted it, backing into a corner as Nick came rushing into the room, followed by Tom. "What's wrong, Carl? Are you alright?" Nick asked.

"Get the fuck away from me!" he shouted, and swung the pan in Nick's direction even though he was all the way across the room. "What the fuck...How the fuck did you get in my house?"

"Carl, it's me and Tom, your daddies. Look, just calm down. Everything's alright."

"Alright!? Everything is not alright! You two were fucking in my god damn living room like a couple of pigs!"

"That is no way to speak to your daddies, cub," Tom said, growling a bit.

"You're not my fucking daddy! Now tell me what the fuck is going on?"

"Alright, that's it. I've had enough with that sassy attitude of yours," Tom said, and marched across the kitchen towards Carl.

Nick started after him, "Wait Tom, the boy's just scared. He probably had a nightmare is all."

Tom didn't stop. He marched up to Carl, who was now shaking in terror as the large man approached. He swung the pan at him, but Tom ripped it from his hand, grabbed Carl and bent him over the counter, and began smacking Carl's ass with his palm, every smack bringing out a cry of pain from the boy.

"Please! Please don't!" Carl cried.

Tom continued, "No. This is what you get for talking back to your daddies. You get spanked, cub, you know that. So take your punishment like a man!"

Carl was vaguely aware of the smoke billowing out from Tom's pipe encircling him, and making him feel a bit dizzy. Suddenly, the slaps didn't hurt quite as much, or were tempered by something...else. His cock was getting hard, and he was aware that Tom's was standing at attention as well, pressing into his side. It felt...good, being so close to his daddy, and his...smell. Yeah, Daddy Tom always smelled really good. Carl loved just pressing his nose into his pit and licking it clean...Carl realized what he was thinking and rebelled, trying to pull away and crying for help. Tom just hauled him back and started hitting him harder.

Oh for fuck's sake!" Nick cried, coming over and stopping Tom's hand midswing, "This isn't helping. Now come here," he said, grabbing Carl by the wrist and hauling him into the living room, Tom scowling but following after him. Nick sat down in the chair and pulled Carl into his lap. Carl thought about trying to get away, but something about the old man's face was so comforting that he didn't really want to leave. And the smoke...the smoke smelled nice too. Tom stood nearby, glaring at both of them, but Nick ignored him. Tom liked his discipline, and Nick agreed it was necessary, but it was obvious the boy was scared and confused. He just needed some help sorting things out. "Now, Carl, tell me what's wrong. Did you have a bad dream?"

"No...No, this...This isn't how things are supposed to be! I mean, if you're Nick, and he's Tom, you're supposed to be my age, and all this stuff shouldn't be here...and...and..." Carl couldn't hold back anymore, and he started sobbing.

Nick pulled him close, burying his face in his fat, furry chest, breathing clouds of smoke over his terrified friend. "Now, now. It's alright. It was just a bad dream. You're safe here, with your daddies."

"No...No that's...That's not what it's supposed to be..."

"Then how is it supposed to be, cub?"

"Well...you were both younger, and we'd all just graduated from college, and we were poor. I mean...it doesn't sound all that great, but...but that's what it was."

"Well, that sounds like a nightmare to me," Nick said, "All alone in the great big world without any daddies to help you? That sounds pretty terrible to me."

Carl knew he was wrong, but something about the older man's voice, and all of that smoke...it was hard not to believe him. And really, he knew he was awake, so maybe it all had been a dream. A horrible dream, and he was safe now. He knew that, safe and happy and secure with his daddies. "I...I'm sorry. You're right. I...It must have just been a dream."

"That's a good cub," Nick said, "But you still have to take your punishment for talking back and trying to hurt your daddies, right?"

Carl nodded, feeling more guilty and shameful than he'd ever felt in his life. He didn't know why he'd reacted like that, but he knew Tom had been right to spank him. He and Nick got up, and Tom sat down in the chair. Carl laid down on his lap, and Nick resumed his spanking, but he was a bit gentler than before. Still, Carl knew he deserved it, but that didn't stop him from feeling a thrill of excitement every time Tom's palm connected with his ass, and when he felt his daddy's cock pressing against his own. After twenty slaps, Tom allowed Carl to get up, rubbing his sore ass. "I'm sorry daddy. I didn't mean to talk back, or try and hit you."

Nick's hard demeanor softened a bit, and he pulled Carl close to him. "I know cub, and I'm sorry I was so rough with you." He gave Carl a kiss, tinged with smoke, and Carl felt his cock jump again. When they parted, Carl knew he was in love--had always been in love with his Daddy Tom,and his Daddy Nick too, of course.

"Now cub, why don't you go see what Santa brought you in your stocking?" Nick said, and Carl's eyes lit up with a childish glee. He hurried over to the fireplace and grabbed the last stocking hanging there, and dumped it onto the floor. Another can of spray rolled out, along with a couple pieces of fabric. He picked one up and found it was a Santa hat, and the other a red and green jockstrap with sleigh bells attached. However, the jock was way too big for him, and labeled a XXXL. Carl had never been that big in his life, and he never wanted to. He was perfectly happy with his slim, smooth swimmer's physique. Sure, his hunky daddies were sexy and all, but how did they expect him to fit into that?

"Here cub, try this first," Nick said, and picked up the can of spray, labelled Christmas Past. He took off the cap and started spraying it in Carl's direction, who held his breath. He'd expected the spray to just stick to him, but it hovered about him in a sticky haze. It smelled sweet, but had the same smoky undertones as his daddies' musk. Finally, he couldn't hold his breath and longer and he opened his mouth, when all of the spray rushed in and down into his stomach, which let out a loud grumble, as it began to expand. Carl grabbed at it, trying to quell the hunger growing there, but it grumbled again, and grew in his hands and kept growing, as though it were being inflated from within. He looked up at Nick, but the old man was just grinning lustfully, stroking his cock, and Tom was across the room, doing the same. Looking down, Carl saw that he now had a sizable gut, and every grumble just made it grow faster. He struggled up and made his way over to the mirror, where he saw the rest of his frame was expanding similarly, his face growing rounder, with a bushy goatee emphasizing his second chin. He had man boobs just like his Daddy Nick, and Carl's arms and legs were thick with fat as well. Turning to the side, he saw the star of the show, his ass. It had grown out just like his gut, inflating into the round supple globes. No wonder he needed a, XXXL jock to fit around that! His fur grew in as well, but he didn't have nearly as much as his daddies did. He wanted to be furry like them though, he wanted to be a daddy just as hot as they were when he grew up.

"Well, are you going to try on your new gear?" Nick asked.

Blushing a bit, Carl slipped into the jockstrap and put the Santa hat on his head. Grinning when he saw his daddies were pleased with the get up. "Yeah, I think all of the guys at the bar will go crazy for your act now," Tom said, "But I think it needs a little something else, don't you Nick?"

"Yeah, I think so," Nick added with a knowing wink, "Something that'll make all those men watching you dance think you're even hotter." He came over and gave Carl's belly a grope, as Carl tried to figure out what they were talking about. Dancing? Men? Bar? It came back to him slowly. Nick owned one of the hottest smoker bars in town, Daddy's Den. Nick worked the kitchen, Tom worked the bar and helped bounce any trouble makers, and Carl...Well Carl was the star, getting up on stage and shaking his ass for all the pipe and cigar bears in the audience. They loved it, and Carl loved the attention, he had to admit. He even got to go home with the occasional guy, provided his daddies gave him permission.

Tom dug around under the tree until he pulled out a small wrapped box. "It could have gone in your stocking I suppose, but I thought it deserved something more special," he said, and handed it to Carl, who opened it tentatively. He let out a little squeal of joy when he saw the three pipes and his own lighter in a box, and he rushed to give Tom a great big hug.

"Thank you daddy! Oh thank you!"

"Yeah, Tom and I figured that, since you're growing up and all, it's time for you to have your own pipes," Nick said, "But he's the one who picked them out for you. He wanted it to be his own special gift to you, just like when I got him his first pipe when he was your age."

Carl just marveled at them for a moment, too happy for words. "Well, are you just gonna look at them, or are you going to light one up?" Tom said.

The cub blushed, and took out a small, straight Dublin, carefully packed it with some tobacco from Tom's pouch, and lit it like a pro. He'd certainly had many a pipe with his daddies before, but this was special. This was his own pipe, and the thought made him proud, just as the smoke made him really horny.

Nick went and sat down in his armchair. "So, now that we've got you all dressed, how about getting a little practice in for tonight and giving Old St. Nick here a lap dance, and thank him for that nice new outfit of yours?"

Sauntering a bit to make the bells jingle as he walked over, Carl sat down in Nick's lap and started grinding his bare ass against Nick's rigid pole. "So tell me Santa, was I a good little cub this year?"

"I don't know, I think you were pretty naughty, I'm not sure there'll be any presents for you this year," Nick said with a grin.

Carl pouted, and turned around, putting his legs up on the armrests and running Nick's cock along his ass crack, "Isn't there anything I can do to get my name on the nice list? I'll do anything Santa, anything you want..." He pulled the pipe bowl from his mouth and ran it along Nick's large nipples, making the older man smile. He took in a breath of smoke and blew it into Carl's face, who inhaled as much of it as he could before it could get away. "I'd do anything for you, Santa..."

"Well why don't you get that hard pole up your ass, boy? That'll make Santa's day."

Carl grinned, and climbed off, jingling all the way over to the Christmas tree, where he started scrounging for a present, "I have something special for you though, I've been saving my tips all year to get it for you, because I know how much you like them..." he said, throwing a wink over his shoulder at his two daddies. He dug out a long box and brought it over to Nick in the armchair, grinning uncontrollably as his daddy opened it. Inside was a thick, foot long dildo shaped like a candy cane, tapered at one end to a point, like it had been sucked on, and a hooked end for gripping at the other.

"Aw cub, it's perfect! You know how much I love a good dildo up my old ass," Nick said, and hugged Carl tight, making the cub blush again.

"Yeah, I saw it at Bear Boutique and knew it would be perfect for you, so I saved up enough to buy it. Tom took me over one day so I could buy it without you knowing."

"Well," Nick said, stroking the rubber, "I think this thing needs a test drive, don't you? Would you like the honors, boy?" Nick said with a wink, and got down on the his hands and knees on the floor, ass in the air. Carl slathered the dildo with the lube from the table and started working it into Nick's hole. "Oh yeah boy, that's it. Work that candy cane deep into Santa's hungry hole. I think this will get you on the nice list for sure."

Tom watched the cub start working Nick's hole with the dildo for a moment, especially loving how his cub was already smoking his own pipe like a pro. Yeah, he was going to be a hit at the Christmas party tonight, he was certain of it. He came over and straddled Nick's ass, shoving his own cock in Carl's face who started sucking on it, holding his pipe in one hand, dildo in the other, happy as could be. He would take the occasional draw off his pipe and blow the smoke over Tom's cock as he blew him, loving his daddy shivered from the warm smoke on his cock and balls. Nick was just enjoying the massive dildo up his ass, letting out massive clouds of smoke with each exhale, feeling his cock getting close to cumming, but he held off, wanting to savor the moment.

"Alright cub, I want that ass of yours," Tom said, and Carl grinned. Tom set the boy's pipe to the side on the table and got him on his back on the ground, working his way underneath Nick so he could suck his cock while still working the dildo in and out. Tom then got down on his knees, lifted up Carl's legs, and plunged his own cock into the cub's ready ass, making him gasp and moan in pleasure, Nick started sucking on Carl's cock as Tom fucked him. Overwhelmed, the cub couldn't hold back any longer and shot his load down Nick's throat, and began sucking harder, working the dildo as deep as he could until Nick shot his own down his mouth a moment later. Holding the cub's cum in his mouth, Nick took a deep draw on his pipe, sat up and breathed a plume of smoke directly into Tom's hungry mouth, feeding their cub's cum to him along with it, making the muscle bear groan as he unloaded deep in the boy's ass.

It took a moment to extricate themselves, all of them panting and sweaty. Carl retrieved his pipe and nursed it back to a healthy flame, while Nick gave himself a few more thrusts of the dildo, before deciding to leave it in. "Now, I think I'm gonna cook us up some breakfast. How about you and Daddy Tom open the rest of your presents?"

Carl nodded happily and hurried to the tree, separating his presents away from his daddies', while Tom re-lit his pipe and watched his boy start ripping away the paper. Nick watched too for a moment, remembering when he was just a cub on Christmas morning, getting his first pipe from his daddy. He didn't know why he'd woken up feeling like it wasn't Christmas--this is exactly what it was supposed to be. And this was certainly looking to be one of the best Christmases any of them had ever had.

2

James pulled into the trailer park where his dad lived and parked on the street in front of the double wide. The garage was full of junk, and Dan, James' father, refused to park anywhere but in the driveway, not that he left the house much anymore for anything than to go to the smoke shop and get another bulk pack of chewing tobacco. He'd been on disability for ages, ever since hurting his back on a construction job soon after James' mother left them. James had always figured he faked the accident, on account of the fact that Dan hated working, preferring to lounge around all day in his recliner, watching TV.

Looking at his watch, James saw that it was five past the hour, and knew he'd be in for it now, even though it wasn't late enough to really matter. The bag he'd gotten from that strange store was next to him on the seat, and he decided a couple more minutes couldn't get him in worse trouble, so he took a look at the three bottles, each with a different, corny name: "Irresistible", "Deep Desire", and "Ideal". He picked up Irresistible and read the back of the package: "Guaranteed to arouse the one you love, and transform them into the raging sexual partner you've always desired. With this spray, they won't be able to resist you." There was also a lot of extra stuff about what was in it, dangers and side effects and other stuff James didn't bother reading. Besides, how dangerous could a body spray be? It wasn't like he was about to spray it into his eyes or something.

James grinned, thinking the description was all a bunch of crock, but he was kind of curious what it smelled like, so he sprayed a bit in the air in front of him and took a sniff. He had expected something overly pungent, but in fact, it was quite subtle. He couldn't quite identify any of the individual scents in it, but the overall effect was rather...enticing. Arousing even. Hell, maybe he'd head out to a club tonight back in town and see if he could find a girl willing to take him back to her place. It'd been so long since he'd done anything other than masturbate, and all of a sudden he was feeling really horny. He got out of the car, and sprayed the can all over himself for a few seconds, and the more he smelled it, the more he liked it. It was actually turning him on, just wearing it.

He took a look at the other two canisters and the taglines of each. On the Deep Desire, the bottle read, "Wishing you could be the man you've always wanted to be? Well this spray can take those deep desires and make them real, for you, and the one you love." The other, Ideal, read, "Don't know how to please your lover? Try Ideal. With just one spray, you'll find yourself becoming the man of their dreams." Both of them came with an equally long list of warnings and dangers, which made James feel a bit uneasy. On second thought, maybe after making his dad lunch he would go take a nice long shower and wash this stink off. Sure, it smelled nice, but something about this whole thing was beginning to freak him out. Still, he was now ten minutes late, so he figured he'd better get in the door before his dad had a complete shit fit. He trudged up the steps and let himself in. "You're late," a deep voice grumbled from the living room as he stepped in the door.

"Yeah, Dan, I know," James said and walked into the living room behind the recliner where his dad was lounging and watching football. Dan was by no means an attractive man, and he'd probably have never gotten married at all if that stupid condom hadn't broken and he'd gotten James' mother knocked up on accident. While he'd played football and worked on various construction jobs when he was younger, since his "accident" he had really let himself go, and weighed in at around 350 pounds of mostly fat. He wore the same dirty boxers and t-shirt for a week or more without bothering to change them, and he slept in his chair as more often as he did in his bed. When he wasn't watching sports, Nascar or some other mindless show for rednecks, he was usually watching some filthy lesbian porn and jacking off into the rag he kept draped over the arm of the chair, which was stiff with weeks' worth of cum. He only showered when he got tired of James complaining about how much he smelled, and his hair was balding badly, with what was left falling down his back in long strings. He'd never been able to grow a decent beard, or any body hair anywhere except for a thin pubic bush, but that didn't mean he bothered shaving. The hair on his face came in patchy and light, making him look even less attractive. To make matters worse, he chewed tobacco and drank heavily, two things which never ceased to disgust James, especially when he had to clean up the dried up tobacco slobber that Dan spit everywhere and the piles of beer cans that trailed behind him. James tossed the bag on the dining room table, which was already heaped with old pizza boxes, and asked his dad, "So, you decide to do anything productive today?"

"Don't you talk back to be, boy," Dan slurred a bit. He tossed an empty beer can onto the pile on the ground next to the chair and took another one out of the twelve back sitting on the table next to him, "And go make me some lunch."

"Already heading there," James said, but as he walked by, Dan reached out and grabbed his arm, pulling his son over to him.

"What did I just say about talking back to me?"

"Not to do it. Sorry."

"Sorry what?"

"Sorry, Dan." James grumbled.

"We've had this talk, boy," Dan growled, "What do you call me?"

"Sorry...dad."

"Better." Dan said. James expected him to release his grip, but instead Dan pulled him closer, sniffing. "Are you wearing...cologne or something? You know I hate that stuff."

James felt his heart race a bit, "No dad, why would I be wearing cologne? To impress you?"

Dan glared at him for a moment, still sniffing, and then released his son. "Well, something on you smells," Dan said, and returned to watching the TV, "probably something from those fag friends of yours." James quickly left the room heading for the kitchen to make his dad his usual sandwich for lunch, not noticing Dan reach down and start massaging his rock hard cock through his boxers. He knew that he'd smelled something on his son. Something a bit spicy, and, well, erotic. He took out his cock and started stroking it, thinking about the last time he'd seen James naked, by accident, when he'd gone to get a towel after taking a shower. Sure, he was a bit on the chunky side, but still, he was a good looking lad, always had been, especially when he was playing football, with all those muscles. Dan had especially liked watching his ass, thinking about plowing his cock deep into his boy's hole. His cock was already leaking precum, and Dan knew he needed to get some action, but the solution to that problem was in the kitchen, making him a sandwich, he thought, and hefted himself up out of the chair and stumbled after his son.

James was at the counter, slathering some mayo on two pieces of wonder bread. Dan came closer, and smelled him again on the air. Dang, he smelled so fucking good, or was it like a good fucking? Hell, it might as well be both. "I'll bring it to you when I'm done, dad," James said, "You don't have to hover over me."

"I'm not hovering son," Dan said, coming closer and wrapping his chubby arms tightly around James' chest and pushing his big belly into the small of his son's back, "I just came in here to smell ya," he said, planted his nose in the nape of Dan's neck and took a big whiff.

"Dan...Dad, you're creeping me out." James said as he tried to shake the big man off, "God damn it, let go of me."

Dan wasn't paying attention. His boy just smelled too damn good to resist, like sex and candy all rolled into one. He pushed his crotch up against James' ass, rubbing the bulge up and down the crack as best he could while one of his hands rubbed lower until he found his son's bulge in his jeans. "Yeah, that's my ,boy, get all hard for your daddy," he said, "How'd you like a good fuck, eh? That make you feel good?"

Now truly terrified, James managed to twist away from his father's big arms, turned around, backing away from the short, hard cock sticking out from the fly of his dad's boxers, "Jesus dad, what the fuck is wrong with you?"

"Oh don't you worry about that, boy. Worry about how good it's gonna feel sucking on your daddy's cock," Dan said, dropping his boxers to the floor and stepping out of them then stripping off his grimy shirt revealing his massive hairless belly. James bolted for the doorway, but his dad intercepted him and tackled him to the ground, pinning him there, "Playing hard to get huh? Well we'll see how much you don't want it when you're moaning for your daddy's cum, you little slut!" He started tearing at his son's clothes, ripping off his shirt and pulling down his jeans before James managed to crawl away in just his boxers and socks and make a run for it. The closest place was the bathroom, so he ran inside and shut the door as quickly as he could, locking it, and then backing up against the sink, panting hard.

Dan knocked on the door, "Open up son. If you wanted some bathroom play all you had to do was ask..." the knob jiggled a bit, and he pounded on the door harder, "Open up you little piece of shit! Open up! I can fucking smell you in there. I can fucking smell you, and damn it, you smell so fucking good..." he moaned loudly, and James could hear the sound of him jacking his cock, slick with precum. "Come on boy, don't leave your daddy all alone with this raging hardon..."

"Look, dad...you have to listen to me, alright? Just listen for a moment."

"I'll listen to you all night long if I can do it with my cock buried up your tight little hole."

"Damn it dad! Look, I was at the mall with the guys, and there was this new shop, and the guy working there gave me these new body sprays, and I tried one, and I think that's what's making you like this. Look, there's a bag with the empty can and two more cans in there on the table. I need you to go look at the can and tell me how to reverse this alright? Please."

"Come on boy, please let me fuck you? Please, I haven't had anything in years...I need it so bad, please..."

"Fine dad. You go and get those sprays, and I'll come out, alright? They're in the bag by the door."

He heard his dad leap up and dash as best he could to the front door, and heard the rustling of the plastic bag as he came back. "Alright, I got the bag. Now come out."

"No. Not until you read me what's on the cans."

"God damn it boy, get the fuck out here this god damn instant! Do you know how horny you've gotten me?"

"For the last time dad, it's not me, it's the fucking can! It's the can that's making you do this. If you want it to go away, you've got to tell me what's written on the damn can."

He heard the bag rustling for a bit, as his dad pulled out a can and looked at it. "Deep Desire? Ideal? What the hell are these, anyway?"

"God damn it, those are the wrong ones! Don't use them, just put them back, and find the one called Irresistible. That's the one I used. Then look on the side, and tell me what it says about how long it lasts."

"Huh," Dan said, "You know, this Deep Desire one sounds kind of...hot..."

"God damn it, dad! Don't fucking use that stuff!"

James heard the popping of a cap, and then a second later, the sound of something being sprayed in the air, followed by his dad hacking. "Fuck! That shit is strong!" James heard his dad yell. The coughing continued for a minute or so, accompanied by the occasional groan and moan of pleasure, which grew deeper as time passed. After about a minute, he heard his dad drawl in a deep voice, "Dang, that sure smells mighty fine tah me, I must say. Now boy, where were we? Oh yeah, ya were gonna come on out a there, 'n suck this piece a white trash meat fer yer Pa here."

"Oh shit, this cannot be real. This has to be a dream," James said to himself as he backed away from the door again. What in the hell had happened now? I mean, what could his dad possibly want to be other than a dirty, disgusting redneck?

Oh wait, James thought, that would probably explain everything.

"Well fine. If ya ain't gonna come out, I'm gonna bust it down!" Dan said. He began slamming his bulk into the door harder than he had before, the entire thing rattling in its hinges. After the fifth slam the lock broke, the door slammed back into the wall, and Dan stumbled into the room, or at least, the man Dan had always wanted to be. He was big. Not just tall, but broad from the shoulders all the way down to his big feet, like a brick wall. Apparently, Dan had always wanted to be hairy, because now, he was absolutely carpeted in thick blonde hairs, the same color as his full head of greasy blonde hair which was pulled back into a long pony tail falling a good foot and a half down his back. His facial hair had filled in as well, his chops thick and full, connected by a long moustache hanging down over his lips, but with his chin bare below. He was also no longer a fat ass. While he still did have a substantial gut, every other part of his body bulged with thick corded muscle, from his neck, which was nearly as thick as his head, to his slab like pecs and massive thighs. Beneath the fur, James could make out a variety of tattoos. Across his gut was a massive confederate flag, the words "Southern Pride" written above it across his chest. His arms were covered with full sleeves which would have made any good redneck proud, with everything from big deer hunting to Nascar to trailer parks referenced on them.

As Dan came closer, his tongue licking his lips through his moustache, James caught a whiff of him. He smelled awful, like he hadn't had a shower in months, and had spent the rest of the time bathing in a tub filled with cum, sweat, whisky and tobacco spit. Also, it seemed that Dan had always felt that his cock and balls were too small, because the new set he'd given himself was massive. The semi hard cock must have been at least 14 inches long with a wrinkled and overhanging foreskin. His balls together were larger than a grapefruit and hung very low, bouncing against his muscular thighs as he came closer. if James hadn't been so certain that his asshole would be their next target, he would have laughed at their almost comical appearance. However, he was now blocked in completely by Dan's new bulk, and his only choice was to back up further into the bathroom.

Grinning at his son, Dan turned to the side just long enough to spit a loogie of tobacco juice into the dirty sink before coming closer. "Well here we are, boy. I knew I'd get to ya eventually."

"Come on Dan, please don't do this," James said.

"Don' ya fret now. I found somethin' that might help ya along," Dan said, holding the last can of spray, Ideal, "I know ya ain't too keen on this at the moment, but I betcha after this you'll see how much yer daddy loves ya 'n needs ya."

James tried to duck past, but Dan pushed him back against the wall with one big hand and started spraying him from head to toe. The smell was strange, and difficult to place, as though every time James thought he had a scent down, it would shift into something else. When the air cleared, James felt his body start to tingle and then he doubled over as a deep ache spread across his entire body. His fat melted away, replaced by firm muscle, and he quickly reached the best he'd looked back when he was still playing sports and then surpassed it. Hair began growing in on his body as well, though not as thick as Dan's. A short goatee sprouted on his face, and he could feel his hair lengthening down the back of his neck. Looking over at the mirror, he saw that he was now wearing a mullet, a disgusting fucking mullet that made him look even trashier than Dan did at the moment, if that was possible.

However a moment later, it didn't seem all that disgusting at all. In fact, he'd always thought the mullet made him look tough and hot, like his Pa. Yeah, his Pa was such a hot fucking stud, James thought as he looked at the big bear of a man standing in front of him. James tried to fight against the invading thoughts, but it was becoming harder and harder to think about anything at all, and he felt a dumb grin spread across his face, revealing the teeth he'd lost in the fights he'd been in with other kids in the neighborhood. With one hand he started rubbing his cock through his boxers. It was nowhere near as big as his Pa's but still pretty big. "Dang Pa," he said, in an equally thick accent, though a bit slower, as though it was difficult for him to put words together in his head, "Ya sure are's hot."

"Now, what d'ya say fer runnin' 'n hidin' like that, boy?" Dan said, coming closer. The smell which had so disgusted James moments ago was now comforting and a bit intoxicating.

"I'm sorry, Pa," James, said, hanging his head. He knew better than to try and get away when his Pa was looking for him.

Dan grabbed James' boxers and ripped them off, then grabbed his muscular son by the arm and hauled him over across his lap while he sat on the toilet. With James' ass in the air, he began hammering on it with the palm of his hand. "This is what ya get fer not comin' when I need ya boy! Ya know how I get when I ain't fucked mah boy in a while."

James fought back tears, but he knew better than to break down. If he started crying, Pa would just give him fifty more slaps for being a pussy, and not taking his punishment like a man, so he held it in, even though it hurt horribly. When Pa finished, James' ass was bright red and tender to the touch, but his cock was rock hard. Just being close to Pa was enough to get him horny. In his head, James knew he should be disgusted with himself, but he pulled himself up so he was facing Dan and started kissing him, allowing Dan's tongue to invade his mouth, slick with tobacco spit. It tasted damn good, and Dan had to push his boy off him to make him stop.

"Now, wha' do ya say?"

"I'm sorry Pa. I didn't mean tah hide from ya...I was jus' bein' thick, I guess," James said, looking guiltily to the side. Dan just grabbed his boy's head and continued kissing him, one hand rubbing James' exposed member, making him groan. Dan's own massive cock was running up his crack, and all the way to the small of his back, it was so large. James reached back with one hand and started rubbing it, occasionally bringing a fingerful of his daddy's sweet precum to his lips He was so horny, and he really wanted to please his daddy. He knew that it was wrong, that he shouldn't, but whenever he felt that wet head against his hole, it just drove him wild. Hell, everything about his daddy drove him wild, from the greasy beard to the stench of tobacco and whisky on his breath to the nasty funk of his armpits. Dan pulled away from his boy's lips and leaned back, spitting into his hand and using that to grease up his cock.

"Ya really want tah really apologize, boy?" Dan said, "Then ya know what tah do." He spit onto James' cock, and rubbed in the dark tobacco juice, making James groan. James got off his daddy's lap and turned around, so the head was pressed up against his hole He tried to stop himself he really did, but the urge to a good little boy and make his daddy happy was so strong, he reached behind him, grabbed his dad's cock and started guiding it into his tight asshole, walking himself backwards towards Dan's lap. "Yeah, that's a good boy," Dan said, rubbing his nipples while he watched his son slowly impale himself on his massive cock, "Get daddy's fuckstick up yer hole. Ya want it up there, don' ya?"

"Oh...yeah daddy," James moaned, "I love yer huge cock."

"Well take it, boy, ride it like a man!"

James began sliding the massive pole into his ass, inch by inch. He'd taken the cock hundreds of times before, but still it hurt like the dickens because it was so thick, but damn, when it was all the way up there, James never felt so happy. It took a few minutes, but finally James had the whole thing up there, and his Pa wrapped his big arms around him, pulling him close. Dan dropped one hand down to continue milking his boy's cock slowly, occasionally adding another wad of tobacco spit to the already slick shaft. Slowly, James began to slide up and down on Dan's cock, but no matter how high he went, two thirds of the beast was always planted in him. With one arm up, Dan leaned closer to James' face, giving his son his filthy pit to sniff and lick at as he fucked himself, moaning all the while. Dan started milking his son's cock harder making James' breath erratic, and after a few more strokes James was cumming, unable to hold back at all, grunting and groaning and he planted his Pa's cock all the way into his hole.

"Yeah boy, shoot that fuckin' cum all over yer chest. Fuck yeah. You want daddy's cum up that chute of yers?

"Yeah, daddy, fill me up with yer cum," James moaned. He sounded like a fucking slut, but he loved it. He loved it when his daddy was fucking him.

Never taking his cock out of James' hole, Dan stood up and pushed his son against the wall, and began fucking him roughly, managing to get almost all of the cock out and shove it back in with each thrust. It hurt, but like his daddy's spankings, James knew better than to complain. Pa wanted him to take it like a fucking man, so he grit his teeth and pushed back, meeting each of his daddy's deep thrusts, every one of them sending another shiver directly to James' cock. He'd just shot a load, but he was still so horny! With one hand he kept milking his own still leaking cock, as he felt his daddy build momentum and slam in deep, cumming in his boy and hugging him close.

"Yeah Pa! Fill me up! Fill my slutty redneck ass!"

"Fuck yeah," Dan shouted, "Fuck yeah boy! Take yer daddy's cum!" He buried his nose to James' sweaty back and took another deep sniff of his boy's musk. God, he smelled so good, Dan never had been able to resist fucking him whenever he came close. He held James to him for a moment, relishing their closeness, and then stepped back, his cock flopping out of his boy's wide open hole, a gush of cum coming after it and splattering onto the floor before James managed to clench himself closed again after being violated by his Dad's massive member. James was relieved for a moment, and then a new feeling washed over him, one of emptiness. It had felt so good getting fucked, and now he had nothing up there. It made him...sad, and wondered when his Pa would be ready for another session.

"Whew wee boy," Dan said, "Ya sure do know how tah tucker yer daddy out. I gotta go sit down fer a bit." He lumbered off to the living room, cock still dribbling, and plopped down in his old, beat down recliner.

James followed him out, fully intending to go sit on his daddy's lap for a little while, but stopped when he saw the cans of body spray on the ground. Guilt came at him first, and then disgust. Not only had his father just fucked him, he'd practically begged him to do it! And not only that, they were both disgusting rednecks. He picked up the cans, hoping against hope that there would be some antidote, but soon found that the labels had been written in some foreign language that he couldn't read. No, it wasn't that, James realized, he couldn't read anything at all. Pa didn't believe in having his son go to school, and James was so stupid anyway, he'd never been able to learn much of anything. Everything important about life he could learn here in the trailer park, and James sure had learned plenty: how to pull an engine out of a truck, how to brew the best moonshine in your bathtub, and of course how to take your daddy's big cock up your nasty shithole. The fact that this all seemed so natural to James just terrified him more, and the new him wanted to go curl up on his daddy's lap and just wait for the fear to go away. Pa always knew how to make him feel better.

No. No, what he needed to do was get back to the mall. The guy who gave these to him would know how to reverse this, and when he got back, he could return his dad to normal, and everything would be fine again. He picked up the other two cans, and then Dan called to him, "Hey boy, wrestlin's on, 'n I know how hot ya get, watchin' those sweaty hulks on yer daddy's cock."

James looked from the spray cans in his hand, over to his daddy lounging in the recliner. It was an easy decision. He dropped the cans where they were, headed over to the chair and climbed into his daddy's lap, giving him a hug, and then kissing him deeply, exploring his Pa's nasty mouth with his tongue. "I love you Pa," he said when the kiss broke, and leaned his head against Dan's shoulder. His Pa always made him feel so safe and secure--he didn't know what he'd do without him.

"I love ya too boy," Dan replied, hugging James close with one big arm while his other grabbed the can of chaw he kept on the table next to the chair. He popped it open and cursed--the damn thing was empty, and he knew he didn't have any spares. "Fuck, guess I'm gonna have tah go 'n get some more chaw, boy. How'd ya like tah go tah the smoke shop with me?"

"Sure Pa," James said, "But only if I can suck yer cock on the way there," he added with a mischievous grin.

"That's mah boy," Dan replied, and ruffed James hair, "Go 'n grab our clothes, 'n we can git goin'."

James rushed off to his room to get dressed, pulling on his tank top and overalls, without underwear of course, and his boots. He grabbed his daddy's clothes and brought them out to him, a dirty pair of jeans, flannel shirt with the sleeves ripped off at the shoulders, boots, and his favorite trucker hat. He got dressed as well, and then spotted the three partially used cans of spray on the ground near the bathroom, walked over and picked them up. Tom, the manager at the smoke shop was a good friend of Dan's, and he might like to have some fun with those as well, he thought with a smile, and slipped then into his shirt pocket. James didn't notice--he was waiting by the door, eager to get into the pickup truck so he could start sucking on his Pa's monster cock again. He loved his Pa so much, he just wanted to be with him all the time--it was all he could think about. Dan joined them and they got into the rusty old pickup and made their way out of the trailer park onto the rural highway heading towards the smoke shop, James' face buried in his daddy's lap, sucking his cock as best he could the whole way. Part of him knew he should be trying to figure out how to fix this, but the new James just ignored him. Besides, he was enjoying this far too much for it to stop now.

2

"Alright boars! Get your butts over here. We have some things to discuss," the coach shouted from one side of the locker room. School had just ended for the day, and the senior varsity football team of South Hill High, "home of the boars," had just arrived and were about to get changed for practice. The sudden appearance by the coach surprised them, but as he came over, what shocked them even more was what he was wearing, or rather, what he wasn't wearing. He had on a practice jersey, first of all, something they'd never seen him wear before, and besides that, only a grimy looking jockstrap, his ass exposed for all of them to see as they gathered on the bleachers facing him, wondering what this was all about.

The more observant members noticed a few other oddities about the coach's appearance. First was the fact that the man was quite a bit hairier than he had been, with a thick goatee which hadn't adorned his face the day before. His arms were bristling, and when he lifted an arm to stretch a bit, they saw a massive amount of pit hair. A good amount of hair sprung out around the edges of the jock's pouch as well, but most of the team was trying very hard not to look there. Second, a few noticed that the coach was in much better shape. He wasn't a young guy by any means, about fifty, not that he'd ever tell any of them his exact age. He'd had a decent potbelly, and was always a bit out of breath after practices. Now however, his gut had suddenly disappeared, replaced by a hard set of abs. The rest of him had grown quite a bit as well, his arms and delts now well defined and bulging, and his quads as well, but again, not many of the players were looking there. His ass was particularly well shaped, one of the running backs noted, blushing a bit, wondering why he had thought that at all. None of them noticed that the coach was also covered with a sheen of sweat, as though he had just finished a lengthy run. The players on the benches in the front row did occasionally catch a whiff of the coach's sweaty odor though, but as he started his talk, they didn't notice it, nor notice their cocks begin to stiffen in their shorts.

One player held back a bit, the team captain and quarterback, Barry. He was a hot shot jock, dating a new girl every week, and he and the coach had butted heads any number of times this season, which wouldn't have surprised anyone. Barry had never had much discipline in his life, growing up on the poor side of town with alcoholic parents, but he had three things going for him. First, his looks. Barry was as vain as they came--obsessed with his image and body, and spent most of his time at the school gym trying to get rid of every bit of fat on his body, and it showed. He might not have all of the expensive clothes from the best stores, but he still managed to bang any girl in the school he wanted, helped along by the second thing, his attitude. Calling it charisma was too kind--it wasn't that Barry knew how to deal with people, rather, he knew how to make people want to deal with him, regardless of the fact that he was generally an asshole to everyone he met. He was a natural leader who hated authority, and this wouldn't have been much help if not for number three, his skills. He was a natural athlete, calm and collected on the field, and always refusing to lose. In spite of this, he and the coach hated each other, and the fact that the coach was now standing in front of them in a fucking jockstrap and little else told Barry that the old man had either finally lost it, or was going to make a pass on all of them like the fag he probably was. Either way, he had little interest in paying much attention to what the coach had to say.

When everyone was seated, the coach started his speech, "Alright, I know we've had some rough patches this season, and a few bad losses, so I did some thinking yesterday, and decided that we really need some new ground rules to bring the team together."

The comment got a few snickers from Barry and a few of his close friends, but a sharp glare from the coach cut them off, or at least, everyone other than Barry.

"So, the new rules. First, I went ahead and ordered some new practice uniforms for all of you. They're in your lockers, and you aren't going to be wearing anything else, so get used to them. As a sign of good faith, I will be wearing one too, like I am now."

"Wait, you mean...nothing but a jock and a jersey? Are you fucking serious?" Barry said.

The coach glared again, but Barry stood his ground. "I most certainly am. If you have any comments, you're welcome to come talk to me in my office when I finish. Until then, keep your fucking trap shut!"

The sharpness of the coach's tone made every player a bit uncomfortable, as they looked from coach to Barry and back. Barry stood his ground for a moment, and then stepped back, sulking. He'd certainly be having some words with the coach. He wasn't about to go around looking like a fucking fag.

"Next, there's to be no showering, and no deodorant during practice, or outside of practice. If one of you comes here clean, there'll be hell to pay, and I don't want to smell anything coming off you boars other than sweat, and lots of it, you hear me?" The coach paused for a moment, waiting to see if anyone would talk back, but no one said anything. "Lastly, we're going to be changing up our exercise regimen starting today, with some exercises designed to help build teamwork and trust, alright? Now, get changed, and meet me in the weight room in five."

Still a little confused by what was going on, but for some reason unable to disobey the coach's command, the players all got up, headed to their lockers, and found a small package from some shop called Bear Boutique. Reluctantly, each of them opened them up, pulled out the jock and tank top, and put them on. The jocks didn't even look clean, they realized, and were all a bit stiff. However, they found wearing them surprisingly erotic. The only player who didn't move was Barry, who stayed right where he was, eyes locked with the coach.

"You have something you want to say, Barry?"

"Yeah, I do. This is all fucking fag shit, you know that, right? You get off watching us in our fucking jockstraps? When I tell my parents about this, the school will fucking fire your ass, and lock you up in prison, where you can get some murderer to rape your ass."

The coach didn't say anything in reply, just stomped over to Barry until they were inches away, their chests touching. Barry tried to measure up, and had always remembered being taller than the coach, but now he found himself looking up into the older man's eyes. But...that's the way it should be, right? Barry felt dizzy all of a sudden, and stumbled back, shaking his head. What was going on?"

"My office, now," was all the coach said, and Barry found himself hustling over to the small room, the coach following him close, and shutting the door lowered the shade on the window behind them, shrouding them in the half light. "Now then, I think we can talk more candidly in here," the coach said. Standing behind the young player, he put his hands on Barry's shoulders, kneading his muscles roughly, and Barry let out a quiet moan. He was so close to the coach now, he could smell him, and he smelled so good, like strong, commanding men ought to smell. Barry wanted to smell like that. He leaned back, and felt his back connect with the coach's sweat soaked tank top, feeling the coach's hard cock pushing against Barry's ass.

No. No, he shouldn't be doing this. He pulled away, spun around and backed up, but the room was too small to really get away. He could still smell his coach, and he still wanted him. "What...what are you doing to me?" he muttered.

"You know, for all the trouble you've caused, I have to admit that I admire that independent streak of yours. I was the same way, I admit. Giving my coach a rough time. But the difference between you and me? I knew when to stop. When to shut the fuck up, and do what he told me to do, because he was my coach. My daddy coach, just like I am, isn't that right?"

"Ye...Yes, daddy coach..." Barry murmured. Why was his cock so hard? He took a step closer to the sweaty, muscular man. He wanted to smell him, taste him, serve him. Grow strong and large and hairy like him.

The coach stepped closer as well. "What is it, my little boar? What do you want?"

"I...I don't know, sir...I..." Unable to stop himself, Barry closed the distance between them and buried his face in his coach's chest, rubbing his face against his sweaty body hair, licking as much of it off as he could.

"Here, try this boy," the coach said, and with one hand, maneuvered Barry's face so it was crammed in his arm pit, licking it clean. "Yeah, I think you understand better now, don't you? You're a great team captain. The team looks up to you, follows you, and now you follow me, don't you boy? We're going to have a good team from now on, aren't we, so long as you listen and follow my orders, right?"

Barry was listening, but couldn't respond. His tongue was too busy cleaning off every hair, sucking down every drop of sweat he could find, absorbing his coach's musk. Wishing he could smell so powerful, so manly. The coach put one hand on his head and pushed him lower, Barry sinking to his knees, and started sucking on the pouch of the coach's jockstrap. It tasted rank, but he couldn't stop himself. As he sucked, he could taste the coach's precum soaking through the fabric, and he lapped at it, drinking as much of it as he could. As he did, his dizziness increased, and was joined by a strange heat shooting through his muscles.

"Yeah boy, that's it. Daddy coach's sperm is gonna make you big and strong." He pulled down the jock, allowing Barry access to his cock, which he sucked on as hard as he could. The coach watched the captain's muscles begin to pulse and grow larger as he sucked down the coach's precum. A goatee sprouted around his face, and two trimmed sideburns grew down, his hair becoming shaggy and untrimmed. His neck and shoulders bulged out, and hair sprouted all over his front and back. His pecs grew thick and massive, nipples pressing against the shirt stretched tight across his muscles. The sleeved gave out, unable to withstand the sudden growth of Barry's biceps, and his shorts started splitting as well.

Without warning, the coach pulled his cock out of Barry's mouth, and tucked it back into the jockstrap. "Aw, come on sir, I didn't even get any of the good stuff yet!" Barry moaned, his voice deeper. When he looked up at the coach, he saw that all desire of resistance Barry had had was now gone. All that was left was a massively, muscled brute on his knees, desperate for cock, ready to obey any order coach might have for him, and give one hundred percent on the field and in the bedroom.

"You'll get plenty more of that later Barry, but we got practice now, remember?"

Barry grinned sheepishly, "Oh yeah, I forgot...you know how much I like suckin' your cock, coach."

"I sure do. Now go get changed and head up to the weight room. I'll be up in a second."

Barry beamed, and tromped out of the coach's office and over to his locker, where he pulled out his new jockstrap and jersey. He took a moment to sniff the jock and suck on it for a moment, before pulling it on, the pouch barely able to contain his now massive cock. The jersey was a size too small, stretched tight across his muscular body. He looked at himself in the mirror, rubbing his package with one hand while he sniffed his pit for a moment, before lumbering to the weight room, oblivious to the few teammates remaining in the locker room who had just watched his entire display with some astonishment.

When everyone was assembled in the weight room, the coach led them through their new set of exercises, designed for team building. The team found that the team building component required a lot of close, intimate contact, usually with their faces crammed into another team member's armpit, crotch, or ass crack. Before long, every player had an uncontrollable hard on, and before long, none of them cared, some of the braver ones occasionally lapping at the distended pouches of their teammate's jocks, helpless to resist.

Barry was in his element, and couldn't be happier. The couch would demonstrate each new exercise, using him as his partner, and he took every opportunity to clean lick and smell the coach's body that he could. The other players were not so eager, though a few succumbed to their growing desires and started growing, most of them under the encouragement of the coach or Barry. Others were more resistant. Barry in particular noticed one of the defensive line, a guy named Duke, seemed quite reluctant to participate to his full capacity, something which Barry couldn't even understand. Didn't he like smelling his teammates? Barry certainly did. At the next water break, Barry decided to have a word with Duke and see why he wasn't participating as much as he ought to. That was his job as team captain after all, to help coach keep all the little boars in line, so they could have a good season, and win. Barry liked winning, almost as much as he liked sucking off his coach.

As soon as the coach told them to take a break, Barry saw Duke head for the door, and he followed him as quietly as he could, down the hall and back into the locker room. Inside he saw Duke at his locker, hauling his street clothes out as fast as he could, a look of panic on his face. "Where do you think you're going Duke? Practice ain't half over yet!" Barry said, coming closer.

"Fuck!" Duke shouted, surprised by his team captain's sudden entrance, and backed away from him, "Get the fuck away from me you freak! I don't know what coach did to you, but he fucked you up Barry, don't you remember?"

Barry scrunched up his heavy brow, trying to figure out what Duke was talking about, but saw Duke take off his jock and start pulling on his boxers. He walked over, and ripped the underwear away from him, "Coach said we can only wear our jocks during practice, you know the rules." With both hands, he pulled the fabric apart, tearing them to shreds. "Besides, ya look a lot cuter in the jock, I think." Barry said, and leaned into kiss Duke, but the linebacker recoiled and ducked away as best he could.

"What the fuck, man! Are you a fucking fag now too? I'm getting the fuck out of here!" Duke shouted and tried to run, but Barry caught up with him easily, grabbing onto the back of his jersey.

"You know Duke, I don't think you understand team spirit," Barry said, pulling the large man close to him, and rubbing the pouch of his jock up and down Duke's exposed crack, "So as your team captain, let me show you what that means."

Duke struggled to get away, tackled him and brought him down to the ground. They wrestled for a minute, Duke trying to ignore the team captain's rock hard cock pressing against him. Soon, he realized that his own cock was rock hard as well. Something about the way Barry smelled was simply irresistible. Unable to help himself, Duke ran his tongue along his captain's muscular arm, loving how the hairs scraped against his face, and the taste of rank sweat.

"Yeah, that's more like it. That taste good? You like how your captain tastes? Here, try this." Barry forced Duke's face into his armpit, and after a moment of resistance, Duke let out a low moan and started licking. It smelled awful, he knew that, but still, he needed it. He needed it so badly, he just couldn't stop. "Yeah, just let go Duke, this is what you want, you know that. What you need. Just stop fighting and everything will be alright. When we're finished here, you're going to have the most team spirit of anyone here, I know it."

Duke fought. He fought against the crazy voice in his head telling him this was normal, that this is what he wanted. He hauled his mouth away from Barry's pit and shoved the large man off of him. "No, I'm getting the fuck out of here!" he said, and scrambled for the door, but as he came around a corner, he ran flat out into a solid brick wall of muscle which sent him stumbling back onto his ass. Looking up, he saw that he had run directly into the coach.

"Duke, you're late for practice. And where's your jock, boar? You know the rules about uniforms. Get dressed and get to the field this fuckin' minute!"

The urge to obey was so strong, it was all Duke could to to stay rooted in place. He couldn't give in. He had to get out, get away. The coach glared at him, but Duke didn't even look at him.

"You deaf boy? Get the fuck up!"

Duke again refused to move. Barry, meanwhile, had gotten up and come around the corner. Seeing the coach had arrived, he said, "Sorry coach, Duke and I were just having a chat. Seems that he doesn't like our new team building exercises. I was just trying to get him to go with the program, ya know?"

Still glaring, the coach stepped up to Duke, pressing his jock into the linebacker's face. "Lick it," was all he said. Both Barry and the coach could see Duke trying to resist, but the smell overcame him. He stuck his tongue out and lapped at the jock, but both could see that Duke's heart wasn't in it. "You know boy," the coach continued, "Maybe you don't understand what's going on here. See, I control this team. I own this team, really. And that means I own you, and I own Barry here, and every one of you sexy, fuckin' boars. That means you do what I say, when I say it, and that you like it. I have a feeling you're a bit hung up on that last one, is that right? That means that you still don't think I own you. How about we change that? You know how a man shows he owns another man? Here, let me show you."

As Duke continued licking the pouch, the coach began pissing through the fabric, a little at first, but Duke couldn't help getting it on his tongue. Soon, it was dribbling out, down onto Duke's chest and belly. It smelled even stronger than the coach's sweat, and the coach began moving the pouch, soaking every inch of Duke's face, the piss running down all over him. The odor overpowered Duke's mind, filled up every sense, crowding out all of his notions of rebellion. The coach owned him, and he liked that. He liked that a lot. He could feel his head emptying of everything he'd cared about, of thoughts and memories, until all that was left was the coach, piss, and covering himself with as much of the coach's scent as he could. And football of course. But mostly the coach.

"See Duke, your problem is that you think too much. Even out on the field, you're always thinking about the next play, the next game, when you should be focused on the here and now. Well, I don't think that's going to be a problem anymore, do you?"

The coach finished pissing and pulled his jock away from Duke's face, who pursued it like a calf chasing it's mother's teat. A bit of drool dribbled down the side of his wide open mouth, the only thought it his head was need. He needed coach's piss and cum. He needed to be covered in sweat. He needed to obey. "Please, I...I needs it..." were all the words he could put together to try and express himself.

"Well first, how about apologizing to your team captain? He was only trying to help you, and instead you fought with him. Barry, go ahead and bend over. I want to see Duke here kiss your ass."

Barry bent over as ordered, and Duke felt himself drawn to sweaty crack like a moth to a flame, and began slobbering all over it, getting as much of the nasty crack clean as he could. He was a good team player, he'd show them. He could clean an ass better than anyone else on the team. He started probing Barry's hole with his tongue, hearing the team captain groan in pleasure. Yeah, he had so much team spirit now, Duke thought, and that filled his simple mind with incredible joy, urging him to lick and drill even deeper.

The coach came up behind Duke, and hauled him up, so he was standing, but bent at the waist with his face still crammed in Barry's ass. The coach pulled his jock to one side and started rubbing his cock up and down Duke's crack, lubing up the hole with his precum, and feeling the big linebacker shiver with anticipation. He gave Duke's chubby cheeks a squeeze or two, before saying, "Yeah, you're a good chubby linebacker, but I think you can get bigger, what do you think, Barry?"

"Fuck yeah, make him a fucking nasty, fatass pig sir!" Barry said. Duke's heart leapt with excitement, as he felt coach's cock work in past his sphincter. The coach was rough, slamming Duke's face deep into Barry's crack, which only made the fat linebacker hotter. The captain turned around and offered his jock clad crotch, which Duke started sucking on instead, relishing the taste of his team captain's sweaty cock and balls. Barry allowed him to pull out the shaft, and Duke started sucking on it, happily plugged at both ends. He could feel the coach pumping hard, and after a minute or so, he started shooting a massive amount of cum up Duke's ass. His stomach grumbled, and began to inflate, piling on pounds of fat all over his body. With both hands, he started playing with his massive nipples, feeling the jersey he was still wearing pull tight across his big man boobs and huge gut. Unable to control himself, he felt spunk start shooting out of his cock, landing in a big puddle on the floor. Seeing the fat linebacker spunk himself, Barry started cumming, making Duke grow even larger, but packing on quite a bit of muscle underneath his fat, giving Duke the look of a off season powerlifter.

When the coach and Barry finished, they pulled out and allowed Duke to stand up. He hadn't gained much in height, but he was now so big he'd have a hard time fitting through some doorways. He was quite hairy as well, with stubbly cheeks and hair sprouting anywhere it could possibly grow. Any bit of intelligence had fled from his eyes, and the big lug started groping his crotch, lifted one arm and took a deep whiff of his pit. The coach walked over and retrieved Duke's jock, brought it over and began mopping up the puddles of piss and cum on the ground with it. "I got a present for ya, Duke. You going to be a good little boar for your daddy coach now?"

Duke grinned wide and nodded his head quickly, then got down, grabbed the jock from coach's foot, and began sucking on it as hard he could, eager to please his coach. When he couldn't get anymore piss or cum from it, he stood up and pulled on his now too small jock. "Now then, he have a practice to get back to, right boars?"

"Yeah!" Barry and Duke shouted, and jostled past each other, racing to be the first to reach the practice field for scrimmage practice. There, they found the rest of the team trying to deny what was going on, but Barry knew they'd all get with the program soon enough. This team was going to have the most spirit of any school in the whole city, and it was going to take them all the way to the championship. Looking around, especially at the now massive Duke, sniffing his pits like a beast, his cock obviously hard as a rock in his too small jock, he could see that some of them were nervous, but that was no matter. He was going to make sure that not a single one got away. They were a team--and teams stick together, no matter what.