Personal Transformation Solutions
Last Edit: Dec 13th, 2016
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All characters in this story are at least 18 years old. You must be too in order to read it.
Dad shook his head and let the papers he had been studying sink to the dining room table. My heart sank right along with them. “Sorry, son,” he said, pushing his trademark square, rimless glasses back up his nose, and assuming the firm, no non-sense posture I imagined he regularly assumed when turning down shady loan applicants at the bank. “I realize that you’ve put a lot of work into this, but it all just looks too… risky. I’d consider releasing your inheritance from grandma and grandpa to you for something like college tuition, but not for something like this. It’s not what your grand-parents would have wanted.”
My mind raced, trying desperately to figure out how long it might take me to put together fake college admission documents. It would take time, and time was one thing I had simply run out of. Things could have been worse, I supposed. Dad had taken my proposal seriously and failed to see through it, but for all my cleverness I was no further ahead. My High School math teacher once told me that if I invested half the time into my school work that I invested cheating, scamming and avoiding my way through school, I’d be at the top of the honours list. With the benefit of hindsight, given the time and effort it had taken to put together this fake proposal for starting my own business in a pretty desperate attempt to get my parents to release my inheritance from my grand-parents, I was now thinking that she might well have been right. Hindsight is such a bitch! What was I supposed to do now!? I owed money to the man, a lot of money, and I had run out of time to repay it. With that one shake of the head, Dad had just sent my last hope down the toilet.
I opened my mouth to protest, to plead, getting ready to try just about anything when Mom spoke up. She had been peering down at my phoney business proposal over Dad’s shoulder. She didn’t seem to have any more of an inkling that it was all made up than he did, but the moment she shifted her gaze to me, I could tell that wasn’t going to help me, not one bit. She raised a long, manicured finger in my direction, and looked at me, eyes narrowed, mouth set in a severe line. Combined with the conservative cut of her red mane, the look was unmistakably that of a displeased schoolteacher, which only seemed appropriate, since that’s exactly what Mom was. The look she was giving me was, I was sure, the same she regularly adopted to intimidate the eighth and ninth graders she taught whenever they stepped out of line. I knew exactly what was coming. The words died in my mouth. “No,” she said firmly. “Don’t start, Daniel. We’ve been through this before. You’re father’s right. If you get into college, we can talk about releasing part of your inheritance early. Otherwise, you’ll get it when you turn 21, like your brother did.”
21! I was only 19, and I needed the money stat, not in a year and a half from now. I thought of my brother, Tyler, who had received his inheritance last year, and seethed with resentment. I had no reason to resent him really. He hadn’t done anything wrong. On the contrary, he had always done everything exactly right, becoming a star on the High School track team, graduating at the top of his class, going to college for a business degree and now working at Dad’s bank. But I couldn’t help it. Tyler was such a goody-goody, Mom and Dad’s favourite son. Oh, I know, I know, they would have disputed that, protested loudly that they loved us both the same. But that was crap. The fact was, Tyler had done everything by the book, lived the life my parents had wanted him to live, and I had not.
I had barely scraped through High School. As far as my parents knew, I made ends-meat with various part-time jobs. They certainly weren’t unhappy about that. I knew they were relieved that I wasn’t just sitting on my ass doing nothing. But it would have been quite a stretch to say that they were proud. They simply couldn’t understand why I couldn’t just be more like Tyler. Tyler was the perfect son, and they loved him for it. Really – what parent wouldn’t?
To say that I would have dropped considerably in their esteem if they knew how I really made money would have been an understatement. In high school, I had gotten involved with the road-side pharmacy business. In a word – drugs. I dealt drugs. Pot, cocaine, ecstasy and heroine – I had pretty much dealt it all. Then ERO came along, and I never looked back. ERO didn’t just make people high, it sent them into raptures of erotic pleasure. It gave people highs that allowed them to enjoy the best sex of their lives. There were draw-backs of course. In addition to being addictive, in large enough doses, it made its victims highly suggestible and compliant, making it a kind of date-rape super-drug. Its popularity had quickly gone through the stratosphere. The media called it an epidemic; I called it the mother of all business opportunities.
But I wasn’t the only one who called it that. I will spare you the details. The bottom line: I miscalculated badly, gambled that supplies of the drug would remain more limited than they were, that the price would go much higher than it had gone, and I now owed money, an awful lot of money to Carson Taggart, a man no one wanted to disappoint because those who disappointed him had a habit of disappearing. Carson had given me two weeks to get the money I owed him, “or else.” I didn’t know exactly what “or else” meant, and I didn’t need to. Hearing those words from his mouth had been more than enough. I had tried everything to raise the money I needed, but without success. Getting access to my inheritance had been my last hope.
After shooting me down, Mom briskly turned on her heel and walked away, back into the kitchen where she busied herself preparing tonight’s dinner. To anyone who knew her, her rigid posture and firm, no-nonsense gate as she strode away, heels clicking sharply on the hard-wood floor, communicated quite clearly that this discussion was over. But, in a way, that was neither here nor there. She wasn’t the real obstacle here. No, not even close. The real obstacle here was my hard-ass bank manager of a Dad.
I looked at him then across the dining room table, with his jet black hair neatly combed to one side; his square, rimless glasses; his straight posture and flat, no-nonsense gaze; his crisp, white, button down shirt and plain navy tie, and I realized my mistake. This plan had been doomed from the start. This, negotiating over money, was what Dad did for a living, and given how relatively well-off we were, he was clearly pretty good at his job. I was taking him on right on his home turf, and I was simply no match for him.
Sighing, I bowed my head, acknowledging defeat. Dad gave an almost imperceptible nod of approval. “Why don’t you talk to your brother about college,” he said. “It’s not too late, you know. There’s always a place at the bank for you.” He was wrong, of course. It was too late, far too late, but I couldn’t tell him that. I just nodded, scooped up my fake tables and charts, and retreated to my room.
On my way up, I of course met the last person in the world I wanted to see just then – Tyler. He was dressed like Dad, in a crisp white shirt and navy slacks. The top button of his shirt was undone and his red tie was slung casually around his neck, in the manner of a businessman who has just come home from a long but productive day at the office making money. He wore his new Clark Kent glasses, and the golden brown mop he had inherited from Mom’s side of the family was stylishly combed back. “Hey there bro, long time no see,” he greeted. I mumbled a hello and pushed passed. “Hey! What’s up with you, man! I haven’t seen you in days!”
I was about to ignore him and continue on my way when Mom’s words from a few moments ago suddenly came back to me: “you’ll get it when you turn 21, like your brother did,” she had said. Of course! How could I have been so dense! Tyler! Tyler had gotten his inheritance! He had undoubtedly paid off some of his student loans with it, but I knew that moving out on his own was next on his list, and that he had started looking at condos downtown. He must have had quite a bit of his inheritance still left. I turned to Tyler and gave him my best smile.
“Hmmm, let me think on it,” Tyler finally said, almost two hours later. I had managed to corner Tyler after dinner, once Dad had retreated to his home office. My heart soared at those words. He was doing his best imitation of Dad, but his best wasn’t very good, and not just because he was lounging on his bed in shorts and a tank-top that seemed designed to show off his swimmer’s build. He didn’t have Dad’s poker face, at least not yet, and he was clearly intrigued. ‘Yes!’ I thought. ‘I’ve got you!’ “Sure,” I said, “why don’t you sleep on it. We can talk about it again tomorrow.” I didn’t want to talk about it tomorrow. I wanted the money now, but I knew Tyler well enough not to push him too hard. He wasn’t yet the businessman Dad was. I could still play him, but I had to be smart about it. Tyler wasn’t as susceptible to pressure as I would have liked. Push too hard and he was as likely as not to run the other way. This was my only shot, so I played it safe. To my relief, he nodded. “Yeah, ok. Let’s do that. But I’m away this weekend. Going to the coast to hit the links with the boys. We can talk on Monday.”
I wanted to scream. Golfing! Now of all times Tyler was going to have one of his golfing weekends with his old business school buddies or ex-frat brothers! Fuck! Fuck it all to hell! I tried hard not to grind my teeth. “Sure, sure,” I said amiably. I could do this; I could rope him in. I would. I had to. I had no other choice. I thought of suggesting that he take my proposal with him and give it some thought while he was “hitting the links”, but I was afraid he’d talk about it with one of his pals, or worse – show them the proposal. If it had fooled Dad and Tyler, it might well fool them all, but I didn’t dare let him talk this over with others without my being there. I couldn’t afford to lose my only chance. I thought of asking to come along, but skipping town on Carson without his blessing would have been suicide. I decided that it was best to let Tyler go golfing, and turn all of my persuasive charm on Carson. I’d get him to give me a little more time, just a little more. I’d tell him about Tyler’s inheritance, and he’d understand. He would. He had to. That night I retreated to my crummy downtown bachelor’s pad and slept more soundly than I had in months. If only I had known….
The deadline Carson had set was midnight the following day. I called him the morning before the deadline to ask for “just a few more days.” To say that it went badly was an understatement. “Sorry, man,” Carson said, “answer’s no. The deadline is tonight at midnight.” My pleas were in vain. “Are you telling me you’re not gonna make the deadline, Danny?” he asked. “I just need a few more days. I’m….” He didn’t let me finish. “Ok then,” he said, and just hung up. Ok then? Had that been a yes? Somehow I didn’t think so. His tone had been disturbingly… final.
After a few minutes of blind panic, I decided that I had only one course of action left open to me: running. I didn’t think it would really do me any good. Carson and his people supposedly had a very long reach, but what else could I do? I packed a few things, got into my battered jeep and drove for all I was worth, heading for my cousin’s place across the state line, a cousin I hadn’t seen in years, one Carson hopefully didn’t know about, at least not yet. I had made quite some headway by the time I finally decided that I had to stop at a roadside motel for the night and get some sleep. I was exhausted. It was either stop to rest or end up in the ditch. I slept pretty soundly for a man on the run. The next morning, my phone rang just as I stepped out of the shower. It was Carson. He was Face Timing me. I hesitated for a long moment, but then, reluctantly, I picked up. His smiling face appeared on my screen. With his brown hair neatly slicked back, his piercing blue eyes, and perfect white smile, he was undeniably good-looking, but there was a hardness to his expression that put the lie to any initial impression of boy-next door good looks. The way that slightly predatory, too-white smile never reached his eyes sent a chill up my spine.
“Hey there, Danny!” he greeted. “Just thought I’d call and give you the good news!”
“Uh… the good news?” I asked, as I quickly checked that the chain was in place on my motel room door and ducked back into the bathroom, where there were no windows. “Yeah, you’re forgiven. The debt’s paid off.” I froze. “Wha… What? Really? Uh…. How?” That predatory grin of his widened. “Glad you asked, Danny,” he said. Another chill shot up my spine, and my stomach joined my heart somewhere in the motel’s basement, assuming a dump like this even had a basement. “I’ve got some guests here, Danny. Some guests you know pretty well.”
“G-G-guests?” I stammered stupidly. Carson turned his phone away from him and over to a sofa. I blinked, initially sure that I was seeing things. But no – some guy was lounging casually on the sofa, his arms stretched out across the top of the back cushions. The light was dim and I couldn’t see him very clearly. His hair looked dark, maybe black, and he seemed kind of good-looking, but he was skinny and long-limbed. His white dress shirt was unbuttoned, giving me a clear view of his relatively scrawny, hairless chest. His dress pants were unzipped, and some woman was kneeling in front of him, sucking on his long, thick cock, as she massaged his big balls. The dude seemed to be grinning stupidly, with his eyes half closed, his head swaying a little from side to side, a wet gleam of what was almost certainly drool on his lips and chin. “Uhhhhhh….” he groaned with obvious pleasure.
I had dealt ERO long enough to recognized the symptoms. The dude was high on it, so high he wasn’t coming down any time soon. But there was something more about the man, a very important detail that my mind seemed to register but refuse to process for a long moment. I stared at the man’s face as the camera zoomed in on it a little more. I stared at his neatly combed dark hair and square, rimless glasses… and… and recognized Dad! The realization hit me like a punch to the gut. It was Dad! The dude was Dad!
As if reading my mind, Carson zoomed out again to give me the full view. No mistake – Dad was lounging half undressed on Carson’s sofa, high as all hell, with some woman, most definitely not Mom!, kneeling between his legs, sucking his dick down her throat like she was being paid for it. She probably was – the hoar!
“Le-Let him go, Carson,” I said, my voice a little hoarse with the shock. I heard him chuckle, as he moved his phone over a little to give me a view of the arm chair next to the couch. A man I had never seen before sat in that chair. The light was poor, and I couldn’t get a clear look at his face, but he was very obviously naked, hairy, and big, very big, and in more ways than one. He had a big gut, but he was also really muscular, with big biceps, well-rounded shoulders, and heavy pecs; and he had a long, fat dick that he kept beating against his stomach. It glistened wetly, as it smacked loudly against his hairy gut. “Come here, baby,” he crooned to someone just off camera. Another naked man with a hard fat dick walked into the shot leading a softly plump woman by the hand. She giggled, the high-pitched giggle of a woman high on ERO. She too was naked, of course, and I knew immediately who she was, even though all I could see of her was her legs and ass. My stomach clenched.
“Come on, baby, sit on my big, fat dick,” the dude in the chair coaxed. She giggled again, as the other naked dude helped her plant her feet to either side of his pal in the chair and lower herself slowly onto his cock. She gave a few high-pitched gasps, as he slid into her. As she did, she twisted and turned a little, and the camera zoomed in on her face: short, light brown hair, button earings, conservative lipstick, the severe look of a displeased school teacher that she normally wore replaced by the loose, lazy features of someone in the firm grip of ERO. Mom wore the same stupid grin as Dad, her eyes unfocused and half-closed. She looked high-as-a-kite, as she opened her mouth in a wide “O” and began to moan. My stomach churned, as the camera zoomed out to give me a view of her slowly starting to bounce up and down on that man’s enormous dick. “Ah yeah, baby, that’s it,” he was saying, as Mom lowered herself all the way down onto him before moving up his shaft again. “That’s my naughty girl.” Mom mumbled something incoherent that soon degenerated into obscene gasps and moans, which grew louder and louder with every thrust.
“What do ya think of that, Craig?” Carson asked, as he turned the camera back to Dad, who was still lounging on the couch getting blown. “Your wife is gettin’ pounded over there.” Dad, eyes still half closed and still grinning like an idiot, just nodded absently. “Yeeaaah,” he drawled, as a little more drool trickled out of his mouth. Carson chuckled again. “You,” I heard him say to someone I couldn’t see, “sit on his face.” A man walked into the shot. I think it was the one who had helped Mom… get into position. He was hard and hung. That was about all I could see of him. He plucked Dad’s glasses from his nose, got up onto the couch, turned toward the camera, straddled Dad and sat his ass down on Dad’s face. “Humumumum…” Dad mumbled, as the guy started to rub his crack over Dad with a cruel chuckle. The guy was rock hard, and soon had a threat of pre-cum dangling from the engorged head of his fat dick.
I felt my gorge rise and thought I might hurl then and there, but then Carson turned the Camera back on himself. He was grinning viciously, and I dearly wanted to plow my fist through that too-white smile. I harnessed that anger and used it to keep my rising panic at bay. “Wait!” he said before I could say anything. “There’s more!” He turned the camera in a different direction, and another armchair came into focus.
This one was occupied by a naked dude with a swimmer’s build, a bit more muscular than Dad. His face and part of his upper body were shrouded in shadow, but he was wearing a very familiar-looking tank top. He had running shoes on but was otherwise naked from the waste down, something made particularly obvious by his posture. He wasn’t sitting in the chair so much as sprawling in it; his legs were spread wide and dangled loosely over the arms of the chair, exposing his balls and ass, which looked like they had been shaved clean, though there was something in his ass. A plug? The camera zoomed in a little, and I could hear soft buzzing. It was a vibrator. A hand entered the shot, reaching for the vibrator’s exposed end – Carson’s hand. I recognized the Rolex at his wrist. He gripped it, pushed a little, pulled and then pushed again. The man moaned obscenely, clearly enjoying himself.
“How’s it goin’ there, Tyler, buddy,” Carson asked. I gagged, as the camera angle shifted a little to bring the man’s face into focus. Tyler’s eyes, like Mom and Dad’s, were glassy and half-closed behind his Clark Kent glasses. He looked as stupidly happy as they did, but it was a little hard to say, since there was a plug in his mouth. Drool leaked out from the sides of the plug, coated his neck, and soaked the material of his tank. “Yeah, boy, I know,” Carson said, sounding amused. “That feels real good. Don’t worry, when Dirk over there is done plowing your Mom, we’ll have him plow you. “Mmmm,” Tyler mumbled, nodding as if to say ‘Great! Looking forward to it!’
The camera angle swerved again, and Carson’s face came back into focus. “Ok, Daniel, here’s what you need to know. I’m gonna get the money you owe me, and then some, by turning custody of your parents and big bro over to an organization called Personal Transformation Solutions. PTS believes, like I do, that pleasure is a far more effective way of controlling people than pain. Through aggressive use of specially formulated batches of ERO, they specialize in helping people… find their true potential in the wonderful world of sex slaves. Now here’s the good news: it will take about three months for your folks and bro to... be processed by PTS. During those three months, if you work real hard for me, you can earn the money you’ll need to buy their freedom. If you don’t earn it, well, PTS will sell them on the open slave market.”
I totally lost my shit. “You…. You’re gonna…. What!? You can’t do that!? Slavery is… like… totally illegal! Like… more illegal than drugs. I’m gonna report you to the police! You and this… this PTS! I don’t even care if they arrest me for dealing! I… I….” Ok, I know. It wasn`t my most eloquent moment, but I was still in shock.
Carson silenced me with a raised hand. “Ah, ah, ah,” he said, “not so fast. “PTS owns this town, Daniel. That’s who I work for. You can try to report this to the police if you like, but they won’t be able to help you because they work for PTS too. If you start making trouble, well… you’ll simply end up at PTS yourself.” I must have looked incredulous because he gave me a knowing smile and added: “If you don’t believe me, go to your Dad’s bank and ask to talk to him, ask to see your bro. Go to your Mom’s school and ask to speak to her. You’ll find they’ve all been replaced, and no one will be able to help you get in touch with them. If you make trouble, well… you’ll be dealt with accordingly. Are we clear?”
My composure was all but shot, and I’m sure I stared at him open-mouthed. I had expected him to come after me. ME! Not my family. Had I been naïve? Fuck. Of course I had. But what could I say? He was threatening to prostitute my parents and brother if I didn’t get him the money. Worse, actually – he was threatening to turn them into sex slaves. Arguing with him now was obviously going to do no good. There was only one answer to a question like that asked under circumstances like these: “Yeah, we’re clear,” I said, “crystal clear.”
Carson’s vicious grin broadened. “Good. Looking forward to our new partnership.” With that, he hung up. My phone slipped from my hand and clattered to the moldy carpet. I had resented them all so much, but seeing them like that, my family, my flesh and blood, the parents who had raised me, the brother I had grown up with, being used like that…. I sank to my knees. Then, after a long moment, I did the only thing I could do. I pulled myself together, got back in my car and drove back to town.
When I finally pulled back into town late that afternoon, I found my parents’ house empty and intact, all the doors and windows locked, with no signs of forced entry. If Carson and his crew had helped themselves to any valuables or to my Dad’s financial information, there was no sign of it. I wasted no time wondering how Mom, Dad and Tyler had been taken. There was simply no point, not if Carson was right about this PTS and how much influence they had around here. That’s not to say that I was going to take his word for it. Not a chance!
During the next few days, as I went to work for Carson, hitting the pavement to unload as much ERO as I could, I did as he had suggested. I stopped in at Dad’s bank and at Mom’s school, and I found, unfortunately, that Carson was right. The bank insisted that Dad and Tyler were both away on business and wouldn’t be back any time soon. I was offered the possibility of meeting with their “replacements.” When I insisted that I was Dad’s son and Tyler’s brother, and that I knew they weren’t away on business, I got a pointed look from the woman behind the counter. She stared at me for a long moment through her pince-nez glasses before shifting her gaze a little nervously to my right. I turned to find a couple of security guards eyeing me. One of them smiled, a hard, predatory smile, as he tugged suggestively at the baton at his belt. His meaning could hardly have been clearer. “Never mind,” I mumbled, as I quickly took my leave.
Mom’s school insisted that she was away on sabbatical. When I started to make a fuss, I received a tap on the shoulder. “Is there a problem here, sir?” I turned and found myself face to face with a massive bear of a man wearing the uniform of a school security officer. His look was unmistakable. ‘Shut up, buddy,’ it said, ‘or I’ll make you.’ I don’t know what possessed me. I really should have simply walked out at that point, but, instead, I asked: “Do you work for PTS?” His eyebrows climbed into what was left of his hairline, as his look hardened still further. I didn’t wait for his reply. I ducked to his right and managed to slip out the door before he grabbed me. I all but ran to my car, but he didn’t pursue. Maybe he felt I had gotten the message. If so, he was right. I certainly had.
Preferring to leave my dump of an apartment vacant than my parents’ house, I took a couple days to move my shit back to my parents’ place, and then diligently applied myself to my appointed duties for Carson. But I didn’t give up on my folks. The conversation I had had with Carson that day kept playing over and over again in my mind. Details I hadn’t latched on to at the time, probably due to my state of shock, gradually began filtering back. He had mentioned that PTS was going to “process” my family. What the hell did that mean!? And if PTS owned this town, they had to be keeping them somewhere around here. So, I decided to deploy the only weapon I had left: my hacking skills.
My hacking skills certainly weren’t world class, but I wasn’t half bad. It didn’t take me long to find PTS’ hidden page on the dark net. The page itself was uninformative, full of some shit about PTS’ commitment to helping clients achieve their full potential through their unique forms of therapy. But PTS wasn’t as well protected as you might expect for an organization that allegedly owned an entire town, and I quickly got access to their files. It took me a while, but I finally found what I was looking for: the files they had on my family.
The first file I accessed was Dad’s. Weird didn’t quite cover it. There were pics, just lots of pics, each more disturbing than the next. There was a profile pic of him in which he looked high as a kite, followed by a whole bunch of naked pics that gave me the creeps. Two of these were of his entire body, once from the front and once from the back. He stood spot-lit in an empty, darkened room that gave no clues as to where he was being held. The pics were disturbing for the obvious reason that they were naked pics of my Dad, but also because he seemed to be willingly standing there, posing for the camera.
The pic of him facing the camera was the worst of the two full body shots. It was disturbing in part because I could see his face, with that incredibly un-Dad-like dopy grin and those half closed, vacant eyes; and in part because he was half hard. Dad was… well… he was really well hung. There was simply no other way to put it. Even half erect, his dick was huge, and it looked all the bigger because he was skinny as a post.
As creepy as those pics were, the rest were in some ways even worse. They were shots of his various naked body parts: one of his arm as he flexed what little bicep muscle he had, several of his thighs as he flexed what little thigh muscle he had, one of his calves, one of his ass taken straight on, one of his ass taken from the side, one of his dick flaccid, one of his dick fully hard, one of his balls, one of his chest taken straight on, one of his chest taken from the side, and one of his back. Each time, there was some kind of ruler or measuring tape in the pic, marking the size of different muscles and parts. So it was that I learned that my Dad’s dick was 9 inches long when hard, something I never in a million years wanted to know! What the hell were all these pics for!?
When I accessed the next file – Tyler’s, I found much the same thing, exactly the same thing in fact. The file contained the same sets of pics of him and of the various parts of his equally scrawny body, taken from the same angles and with measurements. There was only one important difference, and I was actually grateful for it: there were no pics of his junk. He was also flaccid in his full frontal pic, another small mercy.
Mom’s file was no better. In fact, it was worse. Something about seeing her naked body again, her tits being measured, and her privates…. That was by far the worst part because there were hands in those pics, hands that clearly weren’t Mom’s, pulling the folds of her cunt wide open to measure various aspects of its inner anatomy – the size of her labia, her clit etc…. Creepy didn’t begin to cover it. After I logged off, I took a deep breath and poured myself a stiff glass of Dad’s best whisky.
My dreams that night were disturbing to say the least. The less said about that, the better. I stayed away from PTS’ files for the next week or so, but, eventually, concern, and if I was being perfectly honest with myself, a certain sick curiosity, drove me to access my family’s files again. The pics were all still there, and their filenames included dates, so I didn’t have to look at them again to know that they hadn’t changed.
There was, however, a creepy new addition to each file: a set of notes. In Dad’s file, the notes first listed his physical attributes in great detail. I assumed these were the measurements reflected in the pics I had already seen. Then, under the heading “Psychological Profile and Progress Markers”, the notes listed four attributes: “Compliance”, “Motivation”, “Libido” and “Production”. There were some numbers below each of these attributes that I couldn’t figure out. They looked like scores of some kind, but I had no way of knowing exactly what they meant. Next to each attribute was a qualifier. Dad’s compliance and motivation were both qualified as “Good”, while his libido and production were both qualified as “High”. Creepier still, after this list of attributes, a notation read:
“Craig is progressing quickly. He is compliant, and his initial course of treatment has left him motivated to change. He responds well to oral and manual stimulation from both women and men. He is also beginning to show arousal in response to anal stimulation. His progress is likely due in part to a naturally high libido. Semen production and quality are both high and expected to continue growing as physical therapy progresses.”
Part of me had hoped that they had just been holding them prisoner, that what Carson had shown me that night was just his way of getting revenge, not their new reality. These notes made it very clear that this was most definitely not the case. That last bit about semen production was particularly disturbing, not least because it made Dad sound like some kind of farm animal being assessed for his potential as breeding stock. That word Carson had used came back to me – “process”. He said PTS was going to “process” my family, and that they specialized in… what again? Helping people find their true potential in the world of sex slavery. Yeah, none of that boded well for Dad, Mom or Tyler.
Speaking of which, I took a look at Mom’s file and found much the same creepy notes as in Dad’s, except that her scores were a little different. She got ratings of “Good” across the board, including for production. Production? If that meant sperm for Dad, what the heck did it mean for Mom? The creepy notation didn’t say:
“Maddy is compliant, and she continues to show improvements, particularly in motivation and libido. Since her initial course of treatment, she has been responding well to vaginal, anal and oral stimulation from both men and women. Production is already good and expected to continue growing as physical therapy begins.”
What the fuck…! This was my Mom they were talking about! Carson would pay for this, and so would this PTS…. one way or another! I’d make them pay!
Tyler’s file was no better. He looked to have lower scores. His compliance was qualified as “Good”, but his motivation and libido were rated “Medium.” His production was rated as “Not Yet Applicable”. What the hell did that mean? The notation in his file read:
“Tyler continues to offer some resistance, though compliance has improved following parental intervention. Motivation and libido remains an issue. Both may be addressed through additional therapy, and are expected to improve further once physical transition is complete.”
Parental intervention!? Were Mom and Dad actually helping these creeps do… whatever they were doing to Tyler? I hated to think so, but, as horrible as it sounded, I knew that the answer could well be yes. ERO was a bitch of a drug, making people highly suggestible and willing to do things they would otherwise never entertain so long as it involved getting off. But what “physical transition” were they referring to? What was this therapy? What the hell were they doing to my big bro!?
I tried hacking into other files to try to find some more answers, but for some reason, I simply couldn’t find a way in. The only files I could access were my family’s. in a way, that was probably for the best. Part of me didn’t actually want to know exactly where all this was going, not if I had no chance of somehow getting themout of there before the deadline. Unfortunately, my efforts to find out where PTS were located also came up empty. Frustrated, I shut the computer down and went straight to bed.
Once again, my sleep was troubled to say the least. I tried to put all of this out of my mind over the next few days, but I found it hard. I kept thinking of those pictures, and especially of the creepy notations. The more I thought about the notations, the more disturbing I found them. They had described Mom and Dad as being highly compliant and motivated. Even if I could somehow get to them, it sounded like they were keeping them so high on ERO that they might well resist being rescued.
All of this weighed on me in part because my work for Carson was going well, and he was generous with the money. I was rapidly accumulating sums I could barely have dreamed of just a few weeks ago. At this rate, I was pretty sure I’d have enough to “buy” my family back in three months, but I was now beginning to wonder what state they’d be in by then.
My next few attempts to hack back into PTS’ files failed. I only managed to get access again about three weeks later. When I accessed Dad’s file, I initially thought that I had made a mistake and accessed the wrong file because I found a whole bunch of new pics that were clearly not of Dad. But when I double-checked, I found that I had the right file. The mistake wasn’t mine then; it was theirs. They had put someone else’s pics in his file. Like the first batch of pics from Dad’s file, these were all of body parts being measured in various ways, except that the arms, the thighs, the shoulders, the chest, the ass in those pics all bulged with some pretty impressive and well-defined muscle. Ropes of muscle also lined the back, and abdominals rippled across the stomach. The guy looked like a pro body-builder. He was hung too. His hard cock – a thick monster of a thing – apparently measured more than 11 inches, and his balls were so big it was kind of freaky. They hung so low between his thighs that I could clearly see the back of his sack in the shot of the guy’s ass. There was also a pic of his anus, which had been cleanly shaven and looked weirdly large. All in all, clearly not my skinny bean-pole of a Dad.
I was about to take a look at the notes when I realized I’d missed two pics. I clicked on them, and my jaw hit the floor. They were full body pics of the guy to whom all of those muscular body parts belonged – one was a full frontal pic and the other was taken from the back. And.. and the guy had Dad’s face. I blinked and blinked again, but no – I wasn’t seeing things. Why would they photoshop Dad’s face onto some bodybuilder dude’ s body? I wondered. But then I remembered that creepy notation in Dad’s file – “as physical therapy progresses.” Holy shit! Could this mountain of muscle somehow actually be my Dad? I had a sinking feeling the answer was yes.
In the full frontal, Dad was posing, quite willingly thanks to ERO, like a body builder might do, arms flexing as his clenched fists almost met in front of his rippling abs. The pose brought out the size of his biceps, triceps, pecs, shoulders and abs. He was rock hard, and his eyes were glassy and half closed as he grinned that same idiot’s grin, white teeth flashing at the camera. For the pic taken from the back, he had struck a different pose, arms raised out to the sides, forearms curling back in toward his shoulders, as he flexed his new biceps. His arms and shoulders bulged, lines of muscle rippled all up and down his back, and his glutes bulged like a couple of ripe melons.
“What the… What the…,” I said aloud, even though there was no one around. I’m not in the habit of talking to myself, but I just couldn’t believe what I was seeing. It wasn’t just that my super-skinny Dad had turned into a muscle-man. He looked to have grown and changed in ways that should have been impossible. I could swear that his chest, for instance, had broadened. His nipples, which had been small, pale rosettes, now looked big, thick and leathery. And then there was his cock and balls. I know those hadn’t been that large. I remembered the measurements from the last set of pics.
The notes only confirmed the impossible. The new measurements were all there, including for his cock and balls, and all showed marked increases. The measurement for his chest could only have been right if his chest had indeed actually broadened. According to the notes, Dad had also grown taller – to 6’2. He had always been my height – 5’11, if that. What the fuck…! How could this be!?
His ratings under compliance and motivation had gone from “Good” to “High”, and he still had ratings of “High” under libido and production. Each indicator was accompanied by those same cryptic scores. I still couldn’t make sense of them, but one of the scores under production was “7 ml”. 7 millilitres? I thought for a moment, and then I remembered that notation – “semen production and quality are both high and expected to continue growing”. The net confirmed that sperm volume was indeed measured in millilitres. Human males apparently produced between 2 and 5 ml of sperm, with 5 being at the very high end. And Dad was at 7!? My brief on-line research confirmed that the other figures under “production” reflected the quality of Dad’s sperm. They really were evaluating him like breeding stock, something only further confirmed by the new notation in his file:
“Craig is responding extremely well to physical therapy. Growth has been impressive. Targets may be expected to be reached well ahead of schedule. Genital growth has been particularly impressive, and accompanied by further increases in libido and a marked increase in semen production. Quality remains high. Craig now mounts women and men alike with equal enthusiasm, and is showing a marked increase in arousal when being mounted and performing fellatio. Cognitive capacity reduction therapy may begin at any time.”
My jaw would have hit the floor if it hadn’t been there already. I refrained from thinking too hard about any of that, particularly that last part, and forced myself to move on to Mom’s file. Unfortunately, what I found there was no better. She too had new pics, and had clearly changed physically. She had grown a lot more muscle, had grown a bit plumper, and her breasts looked truly obscene. They were huge, looked swollen, and her nipples looked almost too large to be human. Hands that looked distinctly male were holding her breasts as someone took measurements from all sides. The pics of her genitals were also extremely disturbing, with male hands holding her open as someone took measurements. As with Dad, everything seemed to have gotten bigger, including her clit and her anus. The full-body pics of her seemed to confirm as much. Like Dad, she was grinning stupidly, eyes glassy and half closed, as she stood there completely naked holding up her enormous new breasts, as if displaying them proudly for the camera. Seeing my Mom like that made my stomach churn.
The notes in her file didn’t help. They recorded her measurements, which, like Dad, showed marked increases, including in breadth and height. She had been 5’5 if that, but, according to this, she now stood at 5’10 – almost my height! Her compliance, motivation and libido were now all marked as “high”. Her production was marked as good, and included a figure in millilitres. Clearly, she wasn’t producing sperm, so what the hell were they measuring. The notation held the horrifying answer:
“Maddy has responded almost as well as her husband to physical therapy, showing marked growth in all areas. Breast and mammary growth have been impressive. Milk production has doubled in one week and product quality remains high. Targets may be expected to be reached ahead of schedule. Maddy also shows strong enthusiasm for oral, anal and vaginal intercourse, and for sexual stimulation of, and by, both women and men. Cognitive capacity reduction therapy may begin at any time.”
There was that horrible part again about cognitive reduction whatever…. I really really didn’t like the sound of that, but I had trouble getting passed the milking part. Milk! They were making her lactate and milking her like some cow! I balled my fists in anger and had to take a few deep breaths before reluctantly moving on to Tyler’s file.
Tyler’s file contained pics very similar to those in Dad’s file. He looked a lot more muscular than he had been. He didn’t look as large as Dad, but my relatively skinny runner-of-a-brother was certainly no more: his shoulders, arms, thighs, back and ass all bulged with impressive new muscle. A couple of things were amiss though. There were no full body pics at all, and there were still no pics of his junk. I was kind of relieved, and wondered if they were maybe still being uploaded. The pic of his chest was weird too. His pecs looked big, too big, and kind of rounded and puffy. His nips were also huge, bigger than Dad’s even, and they looked kind of swollen. Whatever they were giving him to grow like that, they needed to cut back a little or he’d grow fucking boobs.
Like in Mom and Dad’s files, the notes recorded increases in muscle size, including changes that really should have been impossible, like a marked increase in height to 6’0. Tyler had been shorter than me – maybe 5’9. His scores for compliance, motivation and libido had all increased, but he still had no score under “production”. I puzzled over that for a minute when I realized that there were measurements missing – those for his cock and balls. There had been no pics of those either, though, so the measurements were probably still being taken. The thought that they might be, at this very moment, measuring and photographing my big bro’s junk gave me the creeps. The notation in his file read cryptically:
“Tyler has responded well to therapy and shows marked increases in compliance, motivation and libido since the acceleration of his physical transition. These improvements are also likely due in part to successful cognitive capacity reduction. Recovery has been good and production is expected to commence shortly.”
There was that physical transition business again, and could cognitive reduction capacity really be what it sounded like? What the fuck were they doing to my family!? Once again, my efforts to find out more by hacking in to other parts of the website were in vain. Needless to say, I hardly slept a wink that night.
Still on edge the next day, I put the question to Carson. He looked at me, puzzled. “You know what ERO does to people as well as I do, Daniel. What do you think they’re doing to them?”
“They’re turning them into whores, I know, I know. I’m not a fucking idiot. But why does that take three months? You had them fucking like seasoned hookers in one day.” He gave me a level look. “You’re asking too many questions, Daniel. Now that you’re on PTS’ radar, that’s a very dangerous thing to do.”
“Fine,” I said, my frustration getting the better of me. “Just tell me one thing – do you know? Do you actually know what they’re doing to them?” Abruptly, the irritation in his eyes gave way to anger. “Too many fucking questions,” he said, each word tinged with menace. “Too many fucking questions. If you want details, go see PTS. I’ll tell you where you can find them. But I promise you, Danny boy, once you know, you’ll be joining them, willingly or not. Is that what you want?” I lowered my eyes and looked away. “No,” I finally mumbled. “Then shut up and get back to work,” he snapped, throwing the batch of ERO he had brought over onto the kitchen table before storming out.
I had known Carson long enough to recognize that burst of anger, and to know exactly what it meant. He didn’t know exactly what PTS did to people. He probably had suspicions, but he didn’t know anything for certain. I was sure of it. If there was one thing Carson hated, it was being out of the loop. Being Carson, he had undoubtedly tried to find out what exactly PTS did to its victims and how, only to find himself recruited by them, probably against his will. And it drove him up the wall. His reaction to my questions made that pretty clear. I had hit a serious nerve.
I waited a few days before asking him my follow-up question, and set things up so that he’d be the one to give me the opening. I neglected to check in with him, which prompted a visit. He found me on the couch watching TV. “Why aren’t you out pounding the pavement?” he asked. “Taking a break, man,” I said. “I’ve spent the last few weeks netting you a small fortune. You can afford to give me a few days off.” He gave me a cruel smirk. “Sure,” he drawled, “take a few days off. Take a few weeks off if you like. But don’t think I’m going to spot you if you’re a few bucks short when it comes time to buy back your folks.” That was what I had been waiting for. “Not sure I want to buy them back anymore.” He raised an eyebrow at that, incredulous. “Well,” I said, “ think about it. What are they going to be like after three months on ERO, assuming that’s all they’ve been on? Will I want to buy them back?” Carson gave me a considering look. “You’d abandon your family like that? Just leave them in the hands of sex-slavers?” I shrugged. “Maybe they’d be better off. Maybe that would be easier than getting them off ERO.”
Carson shifted his gaze to the old Twilight Zone re-run I’d been watching and said nothing for a long moment. “Maybe,” he finally said. “Hard to say. But wouldn’t you want to know…?” He trailed off, but his voice had gone strangely solemn. Shifting my gaze, I found him still staring at the screen, or rather, staring right through it, handsome features marred by a deep frown. And suddenly I knew. Carson had lost someone he had cared about to PTS, and hadn’t had the option of buying them back, or hadn’t been able to get the money together on time, or, more likely, had decided not to bother and had regretted it ever since. “Who was it?” I asked. “Who did they take from you?” He turned to look at me, glaring. “Mind your own business,” he said, throwing a batch of ERO down onto the coffee table before turning abruptly to leave. Carson’s tone and something in his hard as nails gaze as he stormed out that day told me in no uncertain terms that if I tried to get anything more out of him, I’d be doing so at my own risk.
Having hit a wall with Carson, I turned back to hacking. Despite having had more than an inkling of what to expect, seeing the change in Dad when I next accessed his file left me staring at my computer screen in shock. I gaped at the full body shots of him, of the monstrous thing he had become. There were four body shots this time: the usual from the front and from the back, and two more that made my gut churn. In both, Dad was on all fours like some animal. One had been taken from the side, and one from the back, essentially a pic of his ass. In all four shots, he was wearing knee-pads.
If he had looked like a pro body-builder last time, he now looked like a championship body-builder on some serious steroids. Simply put, he was enormous. His arms were the size of my thighs, and his thighs were like tree trunks. His shoulders were so big it almost looked like he had grown rounded shoulder pads, and his pecs were massive slabs of rounded muscle with fat, leathery nips the size of walnuts. His ass was inhumanly large, both in terms of the size and roundness of the muscle, and in terms of its sheer breadth.
The most obscene pics were those of his cock and balls. His cock was inhumanly big, quite literally. It was maybe the size of my forearm. The pic of it showed it to be a foot and a half long, and about as thick around as my wrist. His balls were no better. They were the size of oranges and hung half way down to his knees. His sack was almost as visible from the back as it was from the front. The close-up pic of his asshole was also pretty gross. In the pic, a male hand was stretching it open. It was a gaping hole that somehow looked way too big for an asshole. It was all impossible, or should have been, and yet….
The creepiest pic of all, the one that felt most like a punch to the gut, was the full frontal, because it included a clear shot of his face. It too had changed. His features seemed to have become more chiseled: his cheekbones looked higher, his chin looked more square and his jaw-line more defined. His nose seemed to have grown too, but the change wasn’t for the better. It looked broader and had turned up a little, with larger, flared nostrils. For all that, the most terrible part was the expression on his face. His eyes, still heavily lidded, were totally blank, without a flicker of intelligence. His mouth hung partially open as he grinned, and I could see the tip of his tongue protruding a little from one corner, a streak of drool running along one side of his face and down one side of his thickened neck. The combination made him look like he was well and truly retarded.
The notes in his file confirmed his phenomenal growth. He was apparently now over seven feet tall! And his cock was indeed almost a foot and a half long. The other measurements were just as unbelievable. His compliance, motivation, libido and production were all rated “very high”, with his production being at a literally inhuman 12 ml per ejaculation. The worst part, though, was the notation:
“Craig’s physical therapy is almost complete. Against expectations, he has continued to grow and has exceeded all growth targets. He is now one of the largest specimens on file. Cognitive capacity reduction has also been very successful. He is now almost non-verbal and predominantly quadrupedal. He remains highly obedient, but reduction of cognitive capacity has slowed his responsiveness to commands. Sperm production is highest on record. Craig can ejaculate five times a day, producing over 60 ml of semen within a 24 hr period. Product quality also remains very high. All targets may be expected to be reached very shortly. Final physical modifications may begin.”
My heart sank through the floor. Not surprisingly, the part that held my attention the most was the one about his cognitive capacity reduction, and his being “almost non-verbal” and “predominantly quadrupedal”. This explained the knee pads and the pics of him on his hands and knees, and that terrible shot of his face. It also confirmed my worst fears. They weren’t just turning Dad into a happy, go-lucky prostitute; they were doing much, much more, turning him into some kind of sex-crazed animal. Worst of all, they seemed to be changing him in ways that might well be irreversible.
After that, it took me a while to have the courage to access Mom’s file. When I finally did, what I found was no better. Mom had become just as monstrous as Dad. There were five full body shots of her: the usual two of her standing, and three of her on all fours, one taken from the back, one from the side and one from the front. The one taken from the front was probably meant to help emphasize the sheer size of her breasts. They were now practically the size of watermelons, and her nips had elongated and looked a lot more like teats than human nipples. They practically touched the floor when she was on all fours. She had put on so much muscle that her arms, legs and shoulders no longer looked distinctly feminine. She had also put on weight, and now sported a large, rounded belly. The pics of her cunt and asshole were obscene. Both had grown huge. Her clit was now very prominent, and her asshole looked almost like a second vagina. She wore both knee and elbow pads, and looked completely retarded, with her glassy, empty, half-closed eyes, and that stupid smile, mouth open a little too wide and drool running out one side.
The notes in Mom’s file attested to her massive increase in size, including an increase in height to an incredible 6’4! Her compliance, motivation, libido and production were all rated as “Very High”. As with Dad, the worst part was the written notation:
“Maddy’s physical and cognitive capacity reduction therapy are almost complete. She continues to respond extremely well to both. Physical growth has been impressive, and cognitive capacity reduction has been highly successful, though it has slowed her responsiveness to commands. She is now almost non-verbal and predominantly quadrupedal. Mamery growth has been particularly impressive, exceeding expectations, and milk production is among the highest on record. Product quality also remains very high. All targets may be expected to be reached very shortly.”
Numb, maybe at the edge of shock, I didn’t really process any of that, and mechanically moved on to Tyler’s file. Surprisingly, I found no change from the last time. That probably only meant that his file update was in progress, but I was still kind of relieved. I had seen more than enough for today, and really didn’t think I could take any more.
Once again, I tried to find more information on exactly what PTS was doing to my family, or, more importantly at this stage something, anything that might indicate that it was all reversible. And once again, I found nothing. The rest of PTS’ sight was locked up tight. Anger so violent I felt myself shaking suddenly seized me, as realization dawned. They knew! PTS knew I was hacking in, and they were allowing me access, allowing me to see what they were doing to my family! I was suddenly sure of it.
Slamming the laptop closed, I took several deep breaths before turning my attention to adding up how much I had made pushing the drug responsible for my family’s predicament. I almost had enough to exercise my option to buy them back and enough time to earn the rest. Three weeks. Only three weeks remained until D-day. The only real question that remained was: would I want to buy them back?
“They’ll give you a call shortly to confirm when and where your folks will go on sale,” Carson told me when I asked him how I could exercise my so-called buy-back option. “You’ll get to see them at the same time as all the other prospective buyers do before you have to decide whether you want them back. Have you made up your mind yet?”
“About buying them back? No, not yet. I need to see them first, to see what state their really in, and whether whatever they did to them is reversible.” Carson nodded. “Yeah, I guess that’s the big question. Still, you wanna go, go and see for yourself. Then, one way or another, you’ll be sure. You won’t wonder….” He trailed off, as he realized what he had just implicitly admitted. I didn’t ask. I just nodded, and, he gave me the briefest of grateful looks.
“It wasn’t my decision, you know,” Carson said, after a long, uncomfortable silence. “Your folks…,” he continued when I gave him a puzzled look. “Taking your folks, drugging them and showing you like that…. I was acting on orders….”
“Orders from PTS?” He nodded. “So you’re telling me what? That you had no choice? Well, maybe, but you still looked like you were enjoying yourself.” To his credit, he didn’t try to make excuses. He just looked away and said nothing more.
As Carson had promised, I received a message about three weeks later. A computerized voice informed me that I was welcome to attend “a sale” at a given address, and it gave me a password. It also said that payment on the day of was not necessary but that “undertakings would be enforced.” I took that to mean that they would take my word for it if I told them I wanted to buy my family back, and that I didn’t need to bring suitcases full of cash. It also clearly meant that if I said I wanted to buy my family back, I’d have to follow through or else. No sooner had I listened to the message than it disappeared from my phone.
The location, of course, turned out to be a non-descript warehouse on the edge of town. A surly-looking guard buzzed me in after I gave him the password, and he waived me through to a bank of elevators. “What floor?” I asked. “Just get in,” he said curtly, as one of the elevators dinged, and the doors slid open. I got in and found that there were no buttons to press. The doors closed, and the elevator began moving down. It kept going for an unnervingly long time.
When the doors finally slid open, I stepped out into a very white, very clinical-looking hallway, lit at wide but regular intervals by bright pot-lights. There were no doors in sight except for a set of double doors at the far end. As I reached them, the doors slid open, and I entered a small room. An expensive-looking, designer armchair of some kind, clad in black leather with chrome armrests, sat on one side, and an enormous TV took up much of the wall opposite. The room was dark, lit by a single, very dim floor lamp in the corner nearest the chair.
“Have a seat, Mr. Caldwell,” a voice said. It seemed to come from a speaker mounted under the ceiling, and I only just kept myself from jumping in surprise. The voice was smooth but had an unsettling quality; it was seductive, and yet somehow immediately reminded me of a snake. I suppressed an involuntary shudder and did as told. The TV screen came to life, with the words “Please wait” appearing on the screen in blue letters.
I had only just settled into the chair when I heard a mechanism of some kind whir to life. With a sudden snap, metallic cuffs emerged from the chairs chrome arms to close around my wrists, even as the doors through which I had entered slid shut with a disturbingly final click. Panic seized me. “Hey! What the fuck!” I shouted, “let me go!” I pulled like mad at my restraints, but no dice. The chair seemed to be bolted to the floor and made of solid stuff. “Let me the fuck out of here!” I snarled through gritted teeth, as I redoubled my useless efforts to get the chair to so much as creek.
The voice gave a cold chuckle that chilled me to the bone. “Just a precaution to make sure you stay until the show is over, Mr. Caldwell. I assure you: once you have seen what we have to sell you, all of what we have to sell you, you will be freed.” That did nothing to calm my panic, especially not the creepy way he said “all of what we have to sell you,” but I stopped struggling if only because I was making zero progress, and the effort was beginning to kill my wrists. Silently, I berated myself for sitting down, but it hadn’t occurred to me that the chair itself could be a trap. They had me here and were holding my family hostage; I was pretty much at their mercy already; why bother with the wrist locks? What did they think I might do? Where did they think I might go?
“Allow me to introduce myself,” the voice continued. “I am Dr. Slater, and I have supervised the personal transformation of your family. In a moment, I will present them to a room full of eager buyers. You will watch from here. If you decide, after what you see, that you wish to exercise your option to buy your family back from us, you may do so once the viewing has concluded. I will be pleased to answer any questions you may have at that time, but I think you’ll find this presentation most informative.” Still gritting my teeth, I nodded tersely but said nothing. Dr. Slater gave a low, knowing chuckle. “Well then,” he said. “Without further ado, I’m going to start the show. If nothing else, Mr. Caldwell, I hope you at least come to appreciate the high quality of our… product line. Here at PTS, we never do things by half measures.” Another chill spider-crawled up my spine, but I kept my eyes trained on the screen across from me, as the words “Please wait” faded from the screen, and gave way to an image of a spot-lit stage.
I could tell that there were people sitting in front of the stage but could make out little more than the outline of heads and shoulders. The stage light was so bright that it cast them all into deep shadow. The stage had two tears, a lower one just a couple of feet or so above the ground, and a second one recessed a little from the first. That second tear was a good three or four feet higher than the first, and was clearly the focus of the spotlight. Off to the far left, a ramp connected the second tear to the first, and another connected the first to the ground. A doorway stood nearly lost in shadow at the foot of the lowest ramp, outlined only by the thin slashes of light shining over and around the heavy curtain draped across it.
Somebody must have flipped the sound switch because I could suddenly hear the murmurs of the audience. My stomach churned with trepidation, as a figure parted the curtain across that shadowy doorway and stepped through. As it mounted the first ramp to stand on the lower of the two stages, the figure passed into the light and resolved itself into a man, a tall, thin man wearing a white surgeon’s mask and cap, surgeon’s gloves, and a lab coat. All that I could see of him was his eyes. “Welcome, ladies and gentlemen,” he said. “Welcome, and thank you for coming today. You may call me Dr. Slater. I am a personal transformation specialist here at PTS, and I will be your host for today’s viewing.” Slater’s little intro was greeted with hushed silence, the hushed silence of a crowd anticipating something momentous.
“I have promised you all a viewing of our product,” he continued, “and you are all very much in luck. We have just completed the transformation of a family, a man, his wife and their son, and all three are specimens of rare and outstanding quality. We have a prospective buyer who has a right of first purchase. If he declines to exercise his right, they will go to auction. In light of their quality, their price will likely be high. If you cannot afford them or are out-bid, rest assured that our product line is plentiful and varied. Others are being trained and transformed, some just like those you will see today.” He paused for a moment, as sporadic clapping erupted from the audience before quickly dying back down. “Alright, with that in mind, ladies and gentlemen, let me bring out our first specimen.”
Slater stepped toward stage right and raised one arm toward that curtained doorway at the bottom of stage left. The curtain rippled. A figure appeared from its dark folds, and, stepping onto the lowest ramp, moved into the light. It was… it was a woman, a tall, slender woman garbed like Dr. Slater in full medical attire. Only her eyes were visible, but something in her stance, in the way she moved, made me think she was probably relatively young. She was holding something in one hand, a rope of some kind, or the end of one. The rest of it snaked out behind her, and disappeared into the shadows from which she had just emerged. She tugged on it almost playfully, as she stepped up to the lower of the two stages. Something huge pushed through the curtained doorway with a snort and a huff. My stomach clenched, as the thing crawled forward on all fours and began to follow the woman up the ramp. It lumbered into the light, and, even though I didn’t have a clear view of his face, I knew.... I knew that it was Dad!
He was completely naked, and absolutely monstrous, looking even bigger than he had in the most recent pics of him I had seen. His biceps looked bigger than most mens’ thighs, and his thighs were out of all human proportion. The light limbed his enormous muscles, flexing with every move he made, as he slowly lumbered forward on his hands and knees. He wore knee pads, just like in those pics I had seen, and there was a flash of something white at his temple that I couldn’t quite make out. He wore a thick, black collar around his neck, but the leash wasn’t attached to the collar. It seemed to be attached to… to his face? Was he biting the leash? I couldn’t quite tell from this angle.
Seeing my Dad’s naked, heavily mutated body, even from a distance, was like a punch to the gut. Having had a pretty good idea of what to expect, I hadn’t thought to be so shocked. But it was one thing to see still pics, it was another to see a video, to say nothing of a live feed. Maybe some part of me had been holding on to a vain hope that what I had seen – the pics and the notes – had all been fake, some sick joke, or something meant to teach me a lesson. Well, here, now, right in front of my eyes, was proof that all of the changes I had seen in those pics were real. As if that wasn’t bad enough, Dad was collared and leashed, and being made to crawl like an animal, and he didn’t even appear to be offering any resistance. Carson’s words from what seemed like an eternity ago suddenly came back to me: “PTS believes, like I do, that pleasure is a far more effective way of controlling people than pain.” Fuck! Of course he wasn’t resisting. They had trained him to like it!
“Come on now, Craig,” the woman coaxed as she led him up the second ramp to the top tear of the stage. “This way. That’s a good boy.” AT this, Dad let out a long, low, distinctly bovine-sounding “moo-oo-oo-oo,” as he crawled forward. That sound was like another sucker-punch to the gut. He was bellowing like a bull! A fucking bull! They hadn’t just mutated my Dad and taught him to enjoy being leashed and crawling around naked like some animal, they had turned him into livestock! Fucking livestock! The audience had a very different reaction from mine. They ooh’ed and aah’ed, and some people applauded.
The camera zoomed in a bit on Dad. I quickly wished it hadn’t. After panning over his enormous arms and shoulders, his huge, wide flank, and his massive thighs, all for some reason well-tanned and shaved smooth, the camera zoomed in on what swung heavily between those huge thighs: a half-hard cock a real bull would have been quite pleased with, and a heavy ball sack to match. I was relieved when the camera zoomed back out a little, until I noticed that Dad appeared to have a tattoo of some kind on his right buttock. No – not a tattoo, I soon realized. A branding mark! They had branded him – fucking branded him like cattle!
The camera zoomed out again, and Dad let out another long and very bovine “moo-oo-oo-oo,” as if to underscore what that branding mark meant. “There we go, good boy,” the woman crooned, as she led Dad to the middle of the top tier of the stage. She then tugged on his leash again as she crossed in front of him to stand to his other side. “This way, Craig, look this way. There we go. That’s a good bull.” Dad made a quarter turn to face the audience, and his face came fully into view. Another punch to the gut, and a big one.
Once again, seeing the real thing – Dad looking seriously retarded, with those glassy, completely empty eyes devoid of even a flicker of his once keen intellect, that too wide grin, the tip of his tongue poking out one corner of his mouth, and a bit of drool running down along one side of his chin – took the wind right out of me. But, unfortunately, there was more, a lot more. Dad’s nose had grown broader and turned up, exposing wide, flared nostrils. A thick, iron ring dangled from those enlarged nostrils, and the leash the woman was holding was attached to that ring. His lips also seemed thicker and his mouth a little wider. All in all, the lower half of his face looked like it had pushed out a bit, and conveyed the general impression of an embryonic muzzle, giving Dad a distinctly bovine look. Contributing to that look was the flash of something white at his temple I had noticed a moment earlier. I now had a clear view of that something, that pair of somethings actually, a pair of short but thick bull’s horns protruding from his tousled black main on both sides of his big head. Those words from those creepy notations came back to me in a rush – “Final physical modifications may begin.” I could only gape in horror at the… the monstrous thing that had once been my straight-laced, skinny, nerdy, bank-manager-of-a father.
In hindsight, I think that may have been when I first smelled it – that sickly sweet, telltale odor. I can’t remember for certain…. If I smelled it then, it was still faint, and I was far too preoccupied with the horror show unfolding on the screen to notice it. It wouldn’t have helped me if I had.
On screen, Dad slowly opened his big mouth wider: “Moo-oo-oo-oo,” he lowed again, sounding almost pleased to find that he had an audience. The woman laughed affectionately, as she patted him on the head like some grotesque family pet. “This is Craig,” Dr. Slater announced, stepping a little closer to Dad. “He has become a human bull, or what we like to call a hu-bull. Prior to his transformation, Greg was a successful banker from right here in town. Those of you who are local may recognize him.”
To the right of Slater and a few paces behind, a screen descended to the stage. On it were two pics of Dad. In one, he wore business attire – a pressed white shirt and navy dress pants, navy tie, square rimless glasses, his hair neatly combed to one side. He appeared to be standing in a conference room, ready to start a meeting, looking every inch the capable, no-nonsense business man. In the other, he was smiling, as he stood on a beach in his swim trunks, beach volley-ball in hand. I immediately recognized that second pic, that beach. It was a beach in Maryland where we had vacationed many times as a family when Tyler and I were younger. That pic was taken on our last trip there some years ago. In both pics, Dad looked very much as he always had. The thin, pale , bright-eyed man standing on that beach, and the confident, sharp-eyed banker standing in that boardroom could hardly have contrasted more sharply with the tanned, muscular, bull-faced, glassy-eyed, horned hulk on display on all fours on that stage.
“Woo! Looking good, Craig!” someone called out from the audience. “Yeah Craig, my man! Looking good!” another shouted before giving a lewd whistle. Fuck! There were people out there who knew him! Acquaintances, clients, maybe even so-called friends! Anger surged, hot and sharp, and I gritted my teeth in rage. Dad didn’t even react; he just kept staring dumbly out at the audience, as if he couldn’t hear them, or worse, as if he didn’t have the brain cells left to understand them.
Slater seemed to smile behind his mask, as he casually rested a hand on one of Dad’s enormous, rounded shoulders. “Indeed, but don’t expect him to recognize you,” he said, confirming my worst fears. “He is no longer the Craig you knew. Thanks to our revolutionary new gene therapies, he has put on some 300 pounds of muscle, has grown quite a bit taller and broader, and has acquired some bovine-inspired facial features. We are particularly proud of those beautiful new horns. More importantly as far as recognizing any of you is concerned, thanks to our revolutionary new cognitive capacity reduction therapy, his intellectual capacity has been greatly reduced. This makes him easy to control, and it helps make the main effects of ERO, high compliance and libido, permanent. In other words, Craig here is now a happy, highly compliant sex machine, with no ability to generate thoughts of his own, and no memory that he has ever been anything else.”
“For those of you who prefer something a little less…. bestial, a little less primitive, something perhaps capable of limited speech, we can, for a small fee, restore some of his intellect without undermining ERO’s long-term effects. Conversely, for those of you who prefer something even more bestial, we could also push his mutation a little further for you, growing him a full bovine snout, a tail, the full genitals of a bull, and perhaps even hooves. Of course, these kinds of more radical changes may lead to reductions in his sexual functionality, and to further reductions in his intellect, slowing his responsiveness to commands. But, for the right price, we are always pleased to indulge our clients’… preferences.” Applause, whistles and cat-calls from the audience filled the room.
Slater’s words – “bestial”, “primitive”, “intellectual capacity greatly reduced” – echoed through my ears, but their full implications didn’t register, not yet. I was too distracted by the shock of what I was seeing, and by that strange smell. Because I could definitely smell it now, a slightly cloying sweetness, still faint but growing stronger, and somehow familiar. I couldn’t quite place it though, and, at the time, it seemed trivial compared to what was on screen. At the time ….
Slater signaled his assistant, who tugged on Dad’s leash to make him turn slightly to one side so that more of his right flank faced the audience. Reaching out, Slater grabbed hold of Dad’s obscenely large cock. It immediately twitched and began to harden, making it grow even larger, as Slater pulled it out from under Dad’s big belly and into the light with all the rough casualness of a farmer or breeder showing off his stock. He pointed Dad’s enormous dick at the audience, its fat head already glistening faintly with something wet. Dad snorted, as he shook his head in a distinctly bovine manner, but he otherwise gave no sign that he even noticed. He didn’t even look Slater’s way. He just let himself be handled like that, like… like some animal.
“Before the effects of ERO were made permanent,” Slater continued, “Craig’s genitals were also substantially enhanced through gene therapy. This not only greatly increased their size, it dramatically increased his sperm production and led to further increases in libido. As a result, Craig now produces somewhere in the order of 20 milliliters of semen every time he ejaculates. To put that into context, the average human male produces about 3.4 milliliters, with 5 being at the very high end. In one day, Craig can easily ejaculate a full load of semen six times. He can reach orgasm up to 8 or 9 times with some reduction in output if you really push him. Truly remarkable!” That elicited more oohs and aahs, and more than a few whistles, from the audience.
Dad’s cock slowly hardened in Slater’s hand until it reached what seemed to be its full size, growing almost as big as your average baseball bat. Slater’s shoulders shook slightly in a silent, satisfied chuckle, as he gave it a good squeeze, eliciting a huff and a snort, and another very bovine shake of the head, from Dad. “Alright,” he continued, “I think Craig is ready to give you a little demonstration.” More clapping rose from the audience, along with chants of “Make him cum! Make him cum!” Slater released Dad’s cock to swing heavily beneath his belly, and signaled his assistant, the one holding Dad’s leash. She pulled on the leash a little to make Dad turn his head toward her. “Craig, stand. Stand, boy, stand,” she said. Dad looked at her for a long moment and blinked his vacant eyes, before finally doing as told. Turning slightly to face the audience head-on once again, he rose with some difficulty, huffing and grunting, as he gradually straightened his enormous body to stand on two legs. There were more gasps from the audience, and I gasped right along with them.
On two legs, Dad was even more frightening. Although his mammoth new body seemed devoid of hair everywhere but his head and pubes, with those horns and that bullish face, it was impossible not to think of a minotaur, an actual living minotaur. Dad’s shoulders were huge, rounded masses. His pecs were broad, thick slabs of muscle, so thick and heavy that they jiggled slightly as he rose. They were capped by thick, leathery nipples pierced with rings like the one in his nose. His stomach bulged with so much muscle that, at first glance, he looked a little overweight. He stood with his huge arms far out to the sides, like those bodybuilders who are simply too muscular for their arms to hang normally by their torsos, and his massive legs remained slightly bent at the knee, as he spread them wide to bear his new bulk. His wide-legged stance unfortunately only served to make the bull cock and balls hanging between his legs more prominent, and, of course, that’s where the camera zoomed in. His balls had grown to truly inhuman proportions. Seriously, they were about the size of grapefruit, and looked swollen, heavy with seed, as they swayed beneath him over half way down to his knees. His hard cock, a good two feet long, was no less impressive. It swayed lazily back and forth in front of him, as Dad struggled for a moment to find his footing. A thick strand of milky pre-cum dangled from its flared, fist-sized, mushroom-shaped head. The audience was briefly silent, as if awed by the sheer size of him.
The camera zoomed out again, as the assistant walked around to Dad’s rear, all but disappearing behind his enormous bulk. Then her gloved hands appeared, reaching out from between his legs, as she grabbed hold of his massive testicles. They were so big that she had to grab one in each hand in order to squeeze and pull. “Alright, Craig,” she said, “cum for me. Cum for me now.” Dad’s empty eyes widened slowly, as if he were processing the command, gradually realizing what it meant, what he had been ordered to do. Then, he suddenly threw his arms further out to the sides and his head back, as he opened his maw and bellowed like… well, like a bull in heat: “Moo-oo-oo-oo! Moo-oo-oo-oo!” With no one even touching that long, fat bat of a dick, it jerked and spasmed, as sperm began to shoot in heavy jets from its huge head, coating a big part of the stage, and flecking his size extra-extra-large feet. It was soon dribbling down the side of the second tier in long white ribbons. Some of it may well have reached the front rows of the audience, who erupted with wild applause, whistles and chants of “Cum! Cum! Cum!”
That’s when my pants suddenly grew tighter, as my own cock began to stiffen. The sensation was so shocking that I jumped, or would have if I hadn’t been cuffed to the chair. What the fuck? Watching my horribly mutated Dad, who had been turned into some kind of sick sex-livestock, cumming on stage – why the hell was I getting hard!? “Look at all that cum!” I heard someone in the audience yell, sounding like he was about to cum too. “There’s so much of it I can smell it from here!” some woman cried out, practically in the throes of orgasm herself.
My cock stiffen further. Smell… smell… Suddenly, I became aware of it, truly aware of it – that sweet, cloying smell. Finally, it clicked. My shock-addled brain made the connection at last: ERO! It was the smell of ERO! Horrified, I looked around the room for traces of the telltale pinkish powder, but nothing. I could see nothing, but I could smell it, and the smell was getting stronger. Gas – I realized; some kind of gaseous version of the stuff – it had to be! And it was slowly filtering into the room! My stomach hit the floor as true panic seized me, and I began to pull frantically at my restraints. “No!” I shouted at the top of my lungs. “Please no! Let me out of here!” But no reply came. My desperate efforts to free myself only blistered the skin of my wrists; neither the chair nor my restraints budged an inch, and my dick only got harder.
The question “Why!?”, “why on earth would they bring me here under the pretext of buying my family’s freedom only to lock me up and get me high on ERO!?” flitted through my mind. It was a good question. After all, if PTS really did control this town, their goons could have brought me in at any time, couldn’t they? Unfortunately, I was too busy trying to master my panic and tamp down my growing arousal to even begin coming up with answers. It was one thing to make me watch this sick little show; it was quite another to make me enjoy it like this. I was determined not to give these sick little fuckers the satisfaction.
On the screen, Dad was still standing and cumming, and cumming and cumming! He gave deep, throaty snorts and grunts, unlike any noise I had ever heard him make, as his massive cock jerked and spasmed with every spurt and jet he ejaculated. The camera periodically zoomed in on that fist-sized cockhead, as it discharged load after load almost in perfect time to the chants of “Cum! Cum! Cum!” It seemed to take him forever to finish, but, gradually, the volume of sperm spewing from his bat of a cock decreased. “Good boy,” the assistant cooed, as the last of Dad’s cum finally spurted out. “Very good boy.” She released his balls as suddenly as she had grabbed them, and, with a heavy huff and snort, Dad suddenly toppled forward, landing in puddles of his own cum on his hands and padded knees with a thud that shook the stage. He raised his huge head and gave a triumphant “moo-oo!” before grinning stupidly at the audience, like a dog happy to have pleased its master. The audience roared its approval.
“Cum! Cum! Cum!” – the chant echoed through my ears. I tried to push it aside, but the effort was in vain, as ERO’s sweet perfume slowly filled my nose and lungs. “Let me out of here!” I yelled once again, but, once again, there was no reply.
“As you can see,” Slater resumed, “Craig has been… engineered to produce truly herculean quantities of semen. His testes never stop producing. This means he needs to ejaculate regularly. He cannot, however, ejaculate of his own accord. He has been programmed so that he can only ejaculate on command, with one exception: if his testes accumulate too much semen, he will ejaculate in his sleep to expel the surplus. So if you choose to share a bed with him,” Slater said, patting Dad on the shoulder again, “make sure you drain him a little first or you may wake up quite soaked. Then again, I know some of you would enjoy that.” Raucous laughter, together with more clapping and whistling, rose from the audience. As if in confirmation, Dad snorted again and shook his head up and down, in a gesture that once again looked disturbingly bovine.
“Is he only trained to respond to women?” a man’s voice asked from the audience. “Oh no! Not at all!” Slater said. “He is fully trained to please both sexes, to fuck them, to be fucked by them, to perform fellatio, and more. And if you enjoy something he isn’t programmed for, we would be pleased to make the necessary adjustments, for a small fee, of course.” That earned another round of roaring applause.
“Now,” Slater resumed, hushing the audience with a wave of the hand, “as you have doubtless noticed, except for some short pubic hair, Craig here is hairless from the head down. This is because hairless slaves are easier to keep clean, particularly when they are as… bestial as Craig has become. That said, if you prefer your hu-cattle a bit hairier, we would be pleased to grow hair on any part of Craig’s body: on his chest, his testicles, his arms, his legs, his belly and back. We can grow him a veritable pelt if his owner so desires.”
“ You should also be aware that Craig has been given a number of… enhancements in addition to his new size, libido and rigorous training.” Slater reached up into Dad’s mouth and unceremoniously pulled out his tongue. Dad barely blinked. He simply opened wide and let Slater pull his tongue as far out as it would go, which highlighted how inhumanly long and thick it had become. “You ladies who enjoy cunnilingus and you ladies, and gentlemen who enjoy a good rim job,” Slater said, “this tongue is especially for you. Of course, it can also have any number of other uses.” More laughter and applause rose from the audience, as Slater released Dad’s tongue. It flopped down over his chin and just hung there for a long moment, thick and wet, saliva running down its length to dribble onto the stage, until Dad finally seemed to realise and pulled it back in.
At a signal from Slater, his assistant tugged on the leash, getting Dad to turn his massive body around. With a bestial snort and huff, he turned until his enormous, branded, muscular ass was facing the audience. The assistant spread his cheeks as widely as she could to give the audience and the camera the clearest possible view of his gaping asshole, and of the back of his low-hanging sack, the whole of it perfectly smooth, with not a hair in sight. “Last but certainly not least,” Slater said, “Craig’s anus has also been enlarged and modified to ensure that he receives and gives a maximum amount of pleasure during anal penetration. He can milk any size penis almost as effectively with his anus as he can with his mouth and throat. His training has also included fisting and extensive use of dildos; he can take any size fist, and just about any sized dildo.”
Many in the audience moaned so loudly I could hear it. A wave of arousal washed over me, and I moaned right along with them, even bucking my hips several times before finally managing to still my body, cock painfully hard in my pants. I cursed beneath my breath, anger sparking, briefly countering my arousal. I could feel the voyeur in me, fed by ERO, slowly getting stronger and more sadistic, and he wanted to see more, much more. I was probably doomed to lose this fight. I knew that, but I refused to give in and harnessed my anger to take the edge off my buzz.
“Alright, alright,” Slater said, “now that you’re all acquainted with Craig here, let’s bring out his son, Tyler, and his wife, Maddy.” The announcement alone was enough to send a new wave of arousal coursing through me, and I moaned again, half in arousal, half in despair.
The two pics of Dad on that screen off to the far right faded, and were replaced by two new pics. One was of Tyler in a tank top and shorts, jogging in the park, looking every bit the preppy young jock. His blonde hair was dark with sweat, and his damp tank clung to his lithe frame. It must have been a recent pic because he was wearing his dark-rimmed, Clark Kent glasses, the ones he had been wearing the last time I had seen him at home. The other pic was of Mom in a conservative white blouse buttoned to the top and a navy skirt. She looked confident and in control, as she smiled brightly, eyes alert, doubtless surveying her audience of eighth or ninth graders, as she pointed at the chalk covered blackboard behind her. I had never seen either pic before, and wondered dimly through the fog of my growing arousal how long PTS had been watching me and my family.
More applause erupted from the audience, and I held my breath as the curtained doorway rippled again. A second assistant, garbed like the first, emerged from the shadows. This one looked to be a slim youngish man of medium height. He too held a leash, and he was soon followed by an enormous figure crawling on all fours. That was another punch to the gut, and it momentarily helped stave off another wave of arousal. I realized in that moment that since I hadn’t seen any recent pics of Tyler, changing, growing like Dad, part of me had hoped he had somehow been at least partially spared, that what they had done to him wasn’t as extreme as what they had done to Dad. That vain hope, one I hadn’t even realized I had been harbouring, died as I watched Tyler crawl up the lowest ramp and into the light.
At first glance, from a distance, Tyler looked a lot like Dad. He was a bit smaller in overall size, but he was still enormous, with massively muscular biceps and thighs that any bodybuilder would have been proud of. They bulged noticeably as they flexed with every move he made, as he slowly crawled forward. There was a flash of something pale at his temple, probably a horn, and he too wore knee pads and sported a branding mark on his ass. But unlike Dad, Tyler was also wearing elbow pads, and he didn’t seem to have a nose ring. His leash was attached to the collar around his neck, and from that collar dangled a cow bell that gave a dissonant clang every time Tyler moved to crawl forward. A bell! They had put a fucking bell around my brother’s neck! As if all that wasn’t enough, Tyler’s slow progress up to the top tier of the stage was accompanied by taunts from members of the audience who seemed to know… have known Tyler before his transformation. “Woo! Yeah Tyler! Yeah buddy! Yeah bro! Hoo, hoo, hoo, hoo…!” It sounded like some of his former frat brothers were in the audience! What the fucking hell….!?
The initial shock of seeing Tyler’s massive, mutated form passed quickly, and my first clear glimpses of his new body sent new spikes of heat shooting through me. Fuck! The sight of my own brother leashed, naked and crawling like an animal as former frat buddies of his taunted him was turning me on! And how! These sickos! These fucking sickoes…! I tried to harness my anger again to tamp down my body’s reaction, but I could barely feel a thing. The ERO was getting stronger and stronger.
As the camera zoomed in a little more to give me the same view of Tyler it had given me of Dad, I noticed that there was something wrong. I didn’t see an oversized cock and balls swaying between Tyler’s legs. Instead, there was something huge swaying between his muscular arms along with that stupid bell. I didn’t have time to wonder about it, though. I noticed another leash, one running from Tyler’s collar under his enormous body and out through his legs. As if reading my mind, the camera followed that leash back to what it was attached to: the collar of a second enormous figure crawling up right behind Tyler and into the light. Mom!
She looked much as Tyler did: huge, with a collar and cow bell around her neck, knee and elbow pads, a branding mark on her buttock, and a flash of horn at her temple. She looked less muscular though, with a few more feminine curves, and she seemed to be holding her head higher. Her appearance was also accompanied by taunts: “Yeah Maddy! That a girl!” “Woo Ms. Merino! Yeah bitch!” Fuck, that sounded like former students of hers. Heat surged through me again and quickly drowned out the answering spike of anger.
The camera zoomed out again to show Slater’s female assistant coaxing Dad to the far right of the top tier of the stage, as the male assistant led Tyler to take his place at center-stage, Mom right beside him. He unhooked the leash tying Mom to Tyler before making first Tyler and then Mom turn to face the audience.
As with Dad, seeing their faces hit me hard, even though I had known more or less what to expect. My arousal even dimmed a bit at the shock of it. Mom’s face had changed the least. Her eyes were completely blank, without so much as a flicker of her sharp intellect, and horns gleamed under the lights of the stage, as they protruded out through her neatly combed red mane on both sides of her head. Her cheeks had become plump as a result of the weight she had gained, but there was no sign of a developing muzzle. Her nose was unchanged, and she smiled broadly, mouth slightly open, only a hint of drool glistening at her chin. Her lips looked fuller than they had been, and she was clearly wearing lipstick. I wasn’t sure what was worse: Dad looking so changed, or Mom looking so relatively unchanged, so much as she always had. Except for the vacant look in her eyes, something about the way she smiled proudly was disturbingly reminiscent of her demeanour in that pic of her on that screen, in which she stood facing her class.
If Mom’s face looked closer to normal, the rest of her, what was visible from this angle anyway, looked anything but. Her arms were too muscular to be feminine, and between them hung two enormous, watermelon-sized breasts tipped by fleshy protrusions so long and pale they looked far more like teats than nipples. Her monstrous breasts appeared swollen, heavy with milk, as she stood to attention, head held high, looking, as Dad had a few moments ago, almost pleased to be facing an audience. The site of those massive, swollen breasts and teats made me moan, as another wave of arousal swept through me from head to toe.
Tyler, for his part, looked a lot more like Dad in all the worst ways. Apart from the short, thick horns sticking out from either side of his head, his nose had widened and turned up, exposing enlarged nostrils, and his mouth seemed to have grown a little wider with thickened lips. As with Dad, the change to the lower half of his face reminded me more than a little of a bovine muzzle. His eyes were heavily lidded, glassy and totally blank. He smiled broadly, head cocked slightly to one side, tongue protruding from one corner of his half open mouth, a couple strands of drool hanging from his chin. He looked completely retarded, even more so than Dad.
By far the worst part, though, was that his blonde hair was neatly combed in that conservative, preppy way Tyler liked to comb it, and he was wearing his Clark Kent glasses, the same ones he was wearing in that picture of him on the screen at stage right. The effect was terrible and obviously very deliberate. By serving as links to the old Tyler, to the confident, preppy, athletic young man in the picture, the neatly combed hair and glasses were clearly designed to emphasize and mock what he had become - the empty eyes, the retarded grin, the drool, that enormous new bulk, and…. and the….. My eyes dropped to his rounded, oversized shoulders, to his heavy arms thick with the kind of bulging muscle he could never have hoped to develop without some serious steroids, to the cow bell hanging from his neck between.... between…. No…. No…. it can’t be…! It can’t be…!
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Slater said, as he raised one hand to shush their applause and cat calls, and swept the other toward Mom and Tyler in a grandiose gesture, as if to present them like prised livestock. “From your reactions, I can tell many of you recognize Craig’s wife, Maddy Merino, until recently a high school teacher from right here in town; and Craig and Maddy’s son, Tyler Caldwell, until recently a very successful junior analyst working at his father’s bank, or former bank, I should say.” More raucous cat-calls and applause.
“Now, as you may have guessed,” Slater pressed on, resting a hand on one of Tyler’s huge, muscular shoulders, “young Tyler here is our first slave to successfully transition in part from one gender to another.” He slid his hand down from Tyler’s shoulder to cup one of the… the things dangling heavily between his overly muscular arms. They were huge, the size of large watermelons, and capped by long, fleshy teats rather than nipples, just like Mom’s. As Slater kneaded his fat breast a little, Tyler opened his mouth wider and gave a long “Moo-ooo-oo-oo.” The audience erupted in a mix of laughter and applause. “Yeah buddy!” someone called. “Nice jugs there bro!” I opened my mouth to scream, but heat suddenly coursed through me, making my cock as hard as it could get, and I moaned instead, as I slowly started bucking my hips again.
“These gorgeous babies are, of course, Tyler’s udders,” Slater said. “They fill up every day with high quality milk, which is a good thing because we designed young Tyler here to enjoy being milked, to enjoy it a great deal. His sexual pleasure centers are linked in part to his new mammary glands, so that whenever he expels milk from his udders, he experiences a minor orgasm. The more milk he expels, the more his pleasure grows. ” Slater tugged on the teat of the udder he was holding and a stream of milk shot out, arcing forward to splash on the lower tier of the stage where it mingled with the long streaks of Dad’s drying sperm. Tyler’s eyes immediately widened, as he threw his head back and gave a loud, higher-pitched and almost relieved-sounding “Moo-oo-oo!” The audience applauded wildly and briefly broke out into chants of “Milk him! Milk him!”
“Patience, ladies and gentlemen, patience,” Slater said. “I promise you will see some milking here today, but I have a few things to show you first.” When the chants finally died down, he continued. “While Tyler’s udders are designed to fill up of their own accord twice a day, they are also designed to produce milk whenever Tyler receives ejaculate. So the more sexually active he is, the more sperm you pump into him, the more he will need to be milked. However, unlike with the udders of an actual cow, there is no danger of medical complications if Tyler isn’t milked regularly enough. He will simply experience spontaneous lactation as his udders automatically expel the excess milk. He will, of course, experience orgasm whenever this occurs.” Tyler bobbed his head slightly, as if in confirmation. The movement was disturbingly bovine, and made one of the strands of drool hanging from his chin plop down to the stage. More applause and taunts from the audience echoed through the room, as Slater casually strode over to stand beside Mom.
“Maddy’s udders function exactly the same way,” Slater said, as he grabbed one of her heavy udders, and raised it toward the audience. “These beauties will fill with milk as often as Tyler’s, and more often when she receives ejaculate. As with her son, the more sperm you pump into her, the more she will produce, and let me tell you, Maddy’s production levels are truly impressive. Her udders will expel milk of their own accord if she isn’t milked regularly, and, of course, whether her lactation is spontaneous or not, she will experience orgasm every time milk leaves her udders.” He tugged on her long, thick teat, and milk squirted out, arcing toward the audience. Mom’s eyes widened suddenly and she threw her head back with a loud, high-pitched “moo-ooo-ooo!”, as orgasm coursed through her, sending the audience into more rapturous applause. I groaned, as a flash of raw lust spiked through my groin.
“Yo – my bro Tyler looks even more retarded than his Mom and Dad,” a voice called out from the audience once the applause died back down. Slater seemed to smile behind his mask. “Yes,” he confirmed, as he strode back across the stage to stand beside Tyler. “We reduced Tyler’s cognitive capacity in the same way as we reduced that of his parents’, but it seems he wasn’t quite as bright to begin with. As a result, he has become even more… primitive. As I mentioned, however, we can make some adjustments in that regard at his new owner’s request. As it turned out, the greater reduction in cognitive capacity was helpful in training him. It helped him to adjust more easily to his new… attributes. Speaking of which….”
Slater signaled his male assistant, who tugged on Tyler’s leash. Tyler huffed and snorted very much like a cow might do, as he slowly turned his bulk around, the motion making his udders sway heavily between his arms. He turned until his broad, muscular, branded backside faced the audience, and the camera zoomed in on his enlarged anus, and, of course, on the large cunt between his legs. It was wet and swollen, dribbling fluids down the inside of Tyler’s heavily muscled, incongruously masculine thighs. The male assistant placed his finger tips on its folds and stretched it wide open. The camera zoomed in even closer on its dark pink inner folds. Tyler gave a horny-sounding “moo-oo,” and pushed his ass out, as if asking to be fucked. The audience clapped and whistled wildly. “Shit man, he’s wet!” one audience member called. “Feelin’ a little horny, Tyler buddy!?” “Need a good fuck there pal!? My big dick could take care of that for ya!” I moaned, bucking my hips faster. “Oh pleaes make it stop…. Make it stop… Please….” I begged in vain.
Slater nodded. “Indeed, you’ll find that young Tyler here has a very high libido. Like both his parents, he’s always ready to go, and, as you can see, he produces his own lubricant.” An aggressive sounding “moo-oo!” suddenly boomed through the room, and I was pretty sure it hadn’t come from Tyler. The camera shifted over to Dad, still standing on all fours on the far right of the stage. He gave an aggressive snort and grunt, and shook his head like a bull getting ready to charge. Oh hell no, I thought. They wouldn’t! Not that. “Ah, our bull smells one of his cows in heat,” Slater announced. “How about a little demo?” Wild cheers, cat calls and applause resounded. “Yeah, breed ‘em! Breed ‘em!” “Your Daddy’s gonna take care of that wet cunt of yours, Ty, buddy. He’ll fill you up real good!”
“No!” I shouted, breath already horse with arousal despite myself. “No! Please! Anything but that!” My please were of course in vain, and if the still lucid part of me reacted with horror at the very thought of what might come next, my ERO-laden body felt very differently about it. As I watched, wide-eyed, I felt something give inside of me, something break and something else snap into place. I knew that strange feeling and what it meant: I had lost the battle completely; the ERO was now firmly in control.
The male assistant dragged Mom off to stand on the far left of the stage, before returning to Tyler and making him shift his back end a little to the right, until his ass was mostly facing Dad. Slater’s female assistant reappeared from somewhere off stage to stand beside Dad. “Craig, eat out your cow,” she urged, sounding oddly encouraging, as if talking to the family dog. “Eat her out real good, and get her ready to be bred.” Dad didn’t need to be told twice. He snorted and gave another very bovine shake of the head, as he crawled forward. He didn’t hesitate for a moment before plunging his face into his own son’s crack. Tyler’s deep “moo-oo-oo-oo” sounded almost grateful, as Dad began to lick and slurp with abandon. The camera briefly panned over to Dad’s back end to show that, despite having just cum buckets a few moments ago, his massive cock was rock hard and leaking heavily. I began to feel lightheaded, pleasure spiking through me in ever more intense bursts. I started bucking my hips frantically, my breathing quickening sharply. “Ah fuck, eat him out, Dad. Eat him out….” I found myself repeating. Some still lucid part of me raged in horror at the words escaping my lips, but its shock and anger felt distant, and growing more so by the moment.
After what seemed like an eternity of Dad pushing his long, thick, bovine tongue about as far as it could go into Tyler, punctuated by applause, cat calls and taunts from the audience, Tyler suddenly threw his head back and mooed loudly, giving several long, relieved-sounding bellows. No one needed to be told that he was climaxing, brought to orgasm by his own father. The audience erupted into more wild applause, and I wanted to join them.
Slater signaled his female assistant, who jerked on Dad’s leash, forcing his head up and out of Tyler’s cunt. The whole lower half of Dad’s face glistened wetly with Tyler’s vaginal fluids. “Alright Craig,” she said, “your cow is ready to be bred. It’s time to mount her.” Once again, Dad didn’t need any encouragement. He gave an aggressive, bestial snort, as he lunged forward, heaving his bulk on top of his son. Tyler grunted, as he went down onto his padded elbows, fat, milk-laden udders partly sprawling on the stage. He seemed on the verge of collapsing completely for a moment before he finally managed to steady himself under Dad’s considerable bulk. Dad pushed relentlessly forward, massive cock prodding through Tyler’s muscular thighs. Tyler arched his back inward a little as he pushed his ass back and up against Dad to give him better access, but in vain. The camera zoomed in on Dad’s cock as it tried and failed to find Tyler’s slit, thickly smearing Tyler’s muscular stomach with pre-cum. “Craig will sometimes need a hand to find his mark,” Slater announced, as the female assistant took hold of Dad’s massive member and guided it into Tyler’s pussy, like a farmer breeding livestock.
As soon as his cockhead was in, Dad gave another aggressive “moo-ooo!” and jerked forward, pushing almost to the hilt into his son, heavy, semen-laden balls slapping hard against Tyler’s muscular thighs. Despite the size of Dad’s cock, it slipped into Tyler like a knife into butter, except much harder. The motion was so violent that it made Tyler’s cow bell give a dissonant clang. Tyler gave a sharp “moo-oo!” of pain or pleasure or maybe both, and they began to fuck, my Dad breeding my brother, breeding his own son! They huffed and grunted and snorted and mooed as they went at it, Dad thrusting with raw, bestial lust into Tyler, Tyler’s cow bell announcing every thrust with a loud clang. I was pretty sure real cattle didn’t mate like that, but they still looked, and certainly sounded, far more animal than human.
“Yeah… yeah… yeah…. Fuck him… fuck him… fuck him…,” I mumbled desperately. I started tugging at my restraints again, trying to free my wrists, but I wasn’t trying to escape, not anymore. Escape couldn’t have been further from my mind. I wanted desperately, more desperately than anything, to wrap my hand around my swollen, aching cock and make myself cum, and cum and cum and cum!
The two assistants tugged on Dad and Tyler’s leashes to get them to turn their asses toward the audience even as they kept going at it, kept mating like barnyard beasts. They turned bit by bit without breaking rhythm, until their backsides faced the audience. A spot light suddenly came on, aimed squarely at Dad’s enormous glutes and thighs as they flexed. The camera zoomed in closer, focusing on his massive ball sack, as it swayed and slapped hard against Tyler with every vicious thrust. A pair of hands reached into the shot and moved Dad’s heavy balls out of the way, holding them to one side, as another reached between Dad’s legs and tugged on the folds of Tyler’s cunt. Amazingly, despite the ridiculous size of Dad’s cock, Tyler’s cunt opened a little, giving the camera a view of part of Dad’s girth, gleaming under the spotlight slick and wet with Tyler’s juices, as it slid back and forth. This of course produced more applause, gasps, whistles, and cat calls from the audience, even as increasingly desperate moans escaped my lips.
“Now,” Slater said, making shushing motions with his hands, as he raised his voice above the din of Dad and Tyler’s mating, and the clanging of Tyler’s bell. “I mentioned earlier that our young Tyler here had become partially female. I said partially because he still has his testes. They are inside his body and continue to discharge some male hormones. That’s why, udders and vagina aside, he still looks so male. However, he is now also the proud owner of a fully functioning female reproductive system. There is, in theory, no reason he couldn’t be impregnated. We have had him on birth control, but we recently took him off it, and this is the first time Craig has mounted him since then. If Craig manages to impregnate Tyler today, we would be willing to pay Tyler’s new owner quite a premium to allow us to study the pregnancy.”
Sick! I thought, as anger and horror sparked despite my arousal. These people are completely sick! Unfortunately, that spike of anger and horror, strong as it was, was soon completely overwhelmed by the most powerful wave of arousal yet, as the image on screen shifted again and again, showing Dad and Tyler mating like animals from just about every angle. I screamed and don’t remember what I said, but I’m pretty sure I begged to be released so that I could grab my dick and make myself cum. Slater’s announcement of Tyler’s possible impregnation by his own father seemed to have a similar effect on the members of the audience. They roared their approval, with more than a few orgasmic-sounding moans rising above the din. Dad and Tyler, of course, took no notice, fucking away like the barn-yard beasts they had clearly become.
At long last, Slater signaled his assistants. “Alright, Craig,” the female assistant said, “breed your cow. Fill her up with your seed.” Her command had an immediate effect on Dad. His eyes suddenly went wide, and his head jerked up as his hips jerked forward, plunging his cock as deep into Tyler as it could go. “Moo-oo! Moo-oo! Moo-oo!” he bellowed, as his whole body shuddered, arms and legs spasming, and he began to ejaculate. The image shifted to a close-up of his grapefruit-sized balls, swollen with semen. I could clearly see them contract as Dad started pumping his load into Tyler, filling his own son with his sperm. That got Tyler going. He began to bellow too, albeit at a slightly higher pitch, climaxing in time with Dad.
I screamed and arched my body upwards, the motion pressing my painfully hard, leaking cock against the fabric of my pants. “C-cum…. Need to cum…!” I cried out, as my body shook with need, but in vain. Although I felt on the verge of erupting, some traitorous part of me refused to give, refused to allow me that pleasure.
On the screen, Dad and Tyler had no such problem. They were both cumming, and cumming and cumming! It took several minutes before all the snorting, grunting and bellowing finally died down. As long streaks of Dad’s sperm appeared oozing down along the inside of Tyler’s thighs, Slater’s female assistant began to tug on Dad’s leash. “Alright, Craig, that’s enough. Your cow is full. Come on now,” she coaxed. Dad huffed, snorted and grunted, as he slowly dismounted, sliding his massive frame off Tyler’s back. When his cockhead finally slipped out of Tyler altogether, it was followed by a rivulet of his sperm, spilling out of Tyler’s pussy and onto the stage between Tyler’s spread legs. The assistant made Dad crawl back to his spot on the far-right of the stage, and the camera briefly zoomed in on his cock, still hard and huge and slick with Tyler’s juices, swaying heavily under his muscular belly as it pumped out a few more loads in time with Dad’s heavy snorting.
The camera then panned back over to Tyler, whose branded ass was still facing the audience. Thick, glistening streaks of Dad’s sperm coated the inside of Tyler’s thighs. The male assistant reached over and stretched Tyler’s cunt wide open again. More of Dad’s sperm gushed out in a small stream. “Alright,” Slater said. “I think we can safely say that our new hu-heifer has been well and truly bred. If a load like that doesn’t get young Tyler here pregnant, I don’t know what will.” More wild applause rose from the audience, along with calls of “Yeah buddy! That feel good there bro, bred by Daddy?” As if in reply, Tyler gave a satisfied-sounding “mooo-ooo.” Raucous laughter erupted through the room.
Tyler’s cry was echoed by another high-pitched “moo-ooo!”, as Mom’s head suddenly entered the shot. I barely had time to think ‘fuck yeah!’ when Mom opened her mouth, stretched out her abnormally long tongue, and began to lap at the cum still oozing down Tyler’s thighs. The audience roared its approval, and one of the assistant’s turned Tyler toward Mom a little to give her better access to her son’s pussy. Mom didn’t hesitate. She plunged in, eliciting more delighted mooing from Tyler, and more cat calls from the audience. “Yeah bitch! Eat ‘em out! Eat out your son!” Slater let them go at it, and Mom eventually brought Tyler to yet another orgasm, to wild applause from the audience, before one of Slater’s assistants tugged on her leash, pulling her back. The camera briefly zoomed in on Mom’s face, wet with Dad’s cum and Tyler’s juices. She looked incredibly pleased with herself, like a dog who had just done exactly as her master had asked and knew it. She gave a satisfied “moo-ooo”, as the camera panned back over to Tyler, zooming back out a little, bringing Slater back into the shot.
Slater raised his hands to quiet the audience. “I’ve just realized that I haven’t yet explained feeding,” he said. “You will be interested to know that we’ve designed our new hu-cattle to be on a purely liquid diet. This ensures that they only discharge toxins by sweating and urinating, and that their assholes can be used for more than defecating. A lifetime supply of feed comes with your purchase, which is factored into the asking price. The amount of feed that will be provided is designed to keep your bull or cow at or near their ideal weight. If you prefer your bull or cow a little heavier, an additional fee will be charged for any extra feed required. You may also be interested to know that while all of our pets come toilet trained, they can be re-trained to urinate in any way their owners wish.” As if in answer, a stream of yellow piss suddenly shot from Tyler’s cunt, spraying his legs and a good section of the stage. Tyler gave a relieved sounding “Moo-ooo-ooo.” Slater chuckled. “In the course of first evaluating Tyler,” he said, “we detected some urophilic tendencies. We may need to double-check his programming.” Laughter, whistling and clapping rose from the audience, along with a few calls of “Yeah, Tyler! Yeah, baby, piss yourself!”
With every passing moment, I got more and more desperate to cum. “Need to cum!” I cried out. “Please! Need to cum!” – as I arched my back, pressing my painful erection against the fabric of my pants, hoping against hope that the friction would do it, would push me over the edge, but still nothing.
Once Tyler had finished pissing, Slater signaled his assistant, who tugged on Tyler’s leash. Tyler grunted and snorted, as he slowly turned to face the audience. He looked exactly as he had before, eyes blank, staring sightlessly through his glasses, grinning broadly, mouth hanging part-way open, a bit of drool gleaming at his chin, cheeks flush with the after-effects of his multiple orgasms. “Now,” Slater continued, “as I mentioned, young Tyler’s milk production is triggered whenever he receives ejaculate. Since he just received quite a load from his dear old Dad, and we didn’t milk him before bringing him out here, he should be more than ready to be milked. You can tell from how rigid his udders are.” The camera zoomed in on one of Tyler’s udders as Slater raised it up, stiff teat pointing straight at the audience. Suddenly, Tyler snorted and gave a loud, almost surprised-sounding “moo!” as a jet of milk spurted unassisted from his teat, arcing out toward the audience. “Ah, excellent,” Slater said. “I was hoping for this – a demonstration of spontaneous lactation.” The audience whistled and applauded, breaking into chants of “Milk him! Milk him! Milk him!” I joined in, chanting right along, as I bucked madly, trying to make myself cum.
Slater released Tyler’s udder to swing heavily between his arms and signaled his male assistant, who entered the shot with a couple of large, clear bowls. He placed one under each of Tyler’s udders, gripped his teats and began to tug. Tyler’s eyes immediately widened, and he started mooing with obvious pleasure and relief, as milk spurted out and began filling the two bowls, much to the audience’s delight. Tyler’s orgasmic bellowing got louder and louder with every spurt of milk, until he finally threw his head back and gave a kind of high-pitched bellowing roar: “moo-ooo-ooo!” His whole body seemed to shudder with another massive orgasm. The audience applauded wildly, and I cried out and begged to cum again.
Once the bowls were full, Slater pulled one out from under Tyler and raised it to show the audience. “Would anyone like a sip?” he asked. Several people clamoured for the milk, and Slater handed the bowl he was holding down into the audience before doing the same with the second one. “Alright, alright,” Slater said after the audience furor had died down a bit. “I think young Tyler has done his bit for today. Let’s give him a bit of a rest, and let Mommy have her turn with Daddy, shall we? We took Maddy off birth control too. Let’s see if Craig can go two for two, and get Maddy pregnant. If he does, we would be pleased to make her owner the same offer as we would make to young Tyler’s. Wild applause, cat calls and whistles filled the room, along with chants of “Breed ‘em! Breed ‘em! Breed ‘em!” Slater’s male assistant led Tyler passed where Mom stood placidly to attention and down the ramp. His now deflated udders swayed between his muscular arms, as he slowly crawled back through the curtained doorway and disappeared from view.
I barely had the mental energy to process what happened next, as Mom was moved to the middle of the stage, her back end facing Dad, pussy visibly wet and swollen. Dad started eating her out, as he had Tyler, and by the time he mounted her, I was almost completely out of it. I could feel pre-cum running down one of my legs, soaking my pants, as I bucked my hips weakly, desperately hoping against hope to cum, arousal flooding my entire system.
“So, Mr. Caldwell,” Slater’s voice suddenly boomed through the small room. “Have you been enjoying the show?” I could only groan in reply – “uhhhhh,” as I watched a close-up shot of Dad’s balls, once again swollen and heavy with sperm, swaying and slapping against Mom’s thighs. Slater chuckled. “I’ll take that as a yes.”
“W-w-why?” I managed to croak out. “Why the gas?” Slater asked. “Well, I just wanted you to enjoy the show, Mr. Caldwell. Call me a sadist.” He chuckled again. “Or were you perhaps asking why you can’t cum?”
“Uhhhhh….” Another cruel chuckle. “ Well, Mr. Caldwell,” Slater continued, “you are currently breathing in our newest product, a version of ERO that brings you to the edge of orgasm even as it blocks the release mechanism that allows you to finally climax. Devlish little drug, isn’t it?”
“Uhhhhh….” This time, Slater full on laughed, sounding absolutely delighted. “Worry not, Mr. Caldwell. I have the antidote at my fingertips. In fact, I am releasing it into the room as we speak. You should be able to climax very shortly. Once you have, we can discuss your right of first purchase. If you decide to buy back your family, we can discuss arrangements for….” I didn’t hear whatever he said next. The most violent orgasm I had ever experienced suddenly wracked my body. I shuddered from head to toe, and let out a roar that probably shook the rafters, as I came and came and came, wetness flooding my pants, streaming down my legs. I think I was still cumming, the echo of Slater’s cruel laughter ringing in my ears, when I finally passed out.
To be continued... if I can figure out how. Feel free to message me with ideas.