City of Bears 2 - Episode 4

By Wesley Bracken -
published July 7, 2011

Or: why you shouldn’t watch horror movies on Halloween night.

City of Bears - Series 2: Special Delivery

Episode 4: Redneck Ghost Rampage (Unrated and Uncut)

by Wesley Bracken


This story contains graphic depictions of watersports, incontinence and scat. If any of these fetishes disturb you (and they probably should) I advise that you read no further. This is a work of fiction, and the behaviors depicted in this piece should stay that way.


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.

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