New Faith, Inc.: Clean Up Your Act (Patreon)

He’d been out of prison for a month, but Sam still felt trapped.  There weren’t many prospects for someone with only a high school diploma and no vocational training, and even fewer if that someone had been locked up on a drug charge for nearly a decade.  Sam hadn’t even been able to enjoy his youthful freedom since he got picked up immediately after graduating, and while he wanted to make up for lost time, the first thing he needed was a job.  He told himself he was still only twenty six; he didn’t need to rush and risk getting himself in trouble again.  It wasn’t like he was a career criminal or had hurt anybody, an opportunity would come, he’d thought.

But as the weeks stretched on, Sam was starting to worry.  Door after door was shut in his face, and he feared that the ones left open, in places like kitchens and warehouses, would only lead him right back to bad habits.  So when Sam had come across the posting for a night janitor at a tech firm downtown, it seemed perfect.  He easily met the requirements, he’d been on the custodial crew while incarcerated so he actually had experience, and working alone at night would keep him away from any negative influences.

His hopes fell significantly when he’d arrived for the interview to find Jason waiting for him.  He hadn’t seen the other man in eight years, but it felt like only yesterday that Sam had been shoving the scrawny blonde into a locker.  His target-turned-potential-employer had always been tiny, and even now the smaller man barely topped the five-foot mark.  Like himself, Jason had grown into his features during the intervening period, the brunette was now lean and handsome in a sharp, bookish way, but that appeared to be the only place he’d grown.  Not even a custom, five-figure suit could hide Jason’s petite physique, and while it clearly hadn’t hindered him in the business world, Sam couldn’t help but think about all the things that would have happened to his former classmate if their positions had been reversed.

Then again, Jason had always been the smart one while he’d always been a bit of an asshole.  Just because he hadn’t been locked up for a violent crime didn’t make Sam a saint.  With his short, raven hair, broad shoulders, and a naturally athletic build, he’d spent a good chunk of his youth bullying others.  He was attractive enough to charm his way out of trouble and into girls’ pants, and he’d been bigger than most of the other kids, a combination that had turned him into an arrogant punk.

Unfortunately for Sam that air of superiority had been quickly deflated during his time in prison.  He was more built and handsome than ever, having spent a good chunk of his time in the weight room, but he’d at least learned the error of his ways.  It hadn’t taken long for him to realize that there was always someone bigger and stronger, and what it felt like to be on the receiving end of abuse for the first time.  He still wasn’t a saint, but he’d at least developed enough empathy to know the first thing should do was apologize when he found himself in Jason’s spacious office.  Job or not, he owed the little blonde at least that much.

Fortunately, Jason wasn’t the type to hold a grudge.  After a brief conversation and a bit of catching up Sam finally had a job, or at least he would once all the paperwork had been filled out.  He’d been scribbling his name on form after form without bothering to read through them, but he hesitated on the last one.  The font was different, the paper itself thicker, closer to parchment, and it said “New Faith Inc.” at the top instead of the company name.

Sam’s heart started racing as soon as he read it.  He’d heard people talking while he’d been locked up about a company where you could “sell your soul” for a new start, and he may or may not have uttered the words “I’d give anything for a chance” several times during his job search.  Apparently something had been listening.  He rubbed at his stubble-covered jaw and opened his mouth to ask Jason about it, but something in his head told him to keep quiet.  This wasn’t a deal between himself and the short blonde, it was a deal between himself and something much more powerful.  According to the fine print, he was trading in all of the accumulated torment he’d caused in exchange for a clean slate, a new existence altogether, and it was a package deal.  If Sam didn’t agree to this he knew the job would go with it, leaving him back where he’d started.

It was both tempting and terrifying.  His throat was dry and his palms were clammy, but at the same time Sam felt his cock throb, so excited by the idea of a fresh start that it was a turn on.  As long as he agreed to the terms and conditions he could literally leave it all behind and start over.  Reading through them, Sam knew he should have been more alarmed than he was, but he was desperate.  He was tired.  He was already exhausted by the prospect of a future where he would be constantly just scraping by, always teetering on the brink of winding up right back where he’d started.  Compared to that, the potential cost was nothing.

Sam signed his name and handed the papers back to Jason, noticing that the rough, thick parchment was missing from the bottom of the stack where it should have been.  “I think that was all of ‘em,” he said, a strange lightness washing over him.

“Great,” the smaller man nodded, extending a hand across his desk.  “Welcome aboard.  Wasn’t expecting to see a familiar face, but I’m glad you found your way here.”

Sam took the hand, a shiver running through him on contact.  “Me too,” he said, hoping Jason wouldn’t notice the way his cock suddenly twitched.  “

The short blonde shrugged and sat back in his chair.  “Well, I’ll let you get to it then.  Feel free to stop by and see me later.”

“Sure thing,” Sam grinned.  He didn’t know why the words excited him the way they did anymore than he knew why he was getting up and heading down the hall instead of towards the exit.  He was a passenger in his own body, merely along for the ride as he made his way through a building that was increasingly, impossibly familiar with each step.  By the time he lumbered down the stairs and arrived in the basement, his heavy footfalls echoing through the concrete labyrinth that he could somehow navigate in the dark, Sam knew where he was headed.  The small locker room was as familiar as his own home when he stepped inside, already popping the fly of his khakis while he crossed to a locker that he knew was his own.

It was the smell that gave it away more than the number.  Sam’s head spun as soon as he got a whiff of the musky reek, his stomach fluttering as the stench crept up his nostrils.  It was primarily a mix of old sweat and body odor, though other, more exciting notes peppered the pungent melange.  As he dropped his khakis and shucked his boxers on autopilot, Sam was well aware that he wasn’t just getting naked; he was shedding his old skin.  The clothes vanished as soon as they hit the floor, a process he watched when his discarded polo simply winked out of existence when it reached his ankles, leaving his well-built frame and hefty, half-hard cock on full display for anyone who walked in.

But Sam wasn’t worried about being interrupted.  He’d long ago gotten used to a total lack of privacy, and a trivial consideration such as modesty suddenly seemed like a foreign concept.  The naked, dark-haired hunk was much more interested in what awaited him in the locker.  A massive, filthy jumpsuit hung from the hook, while a pile of equally dirty clothes lay scattered at the bottom.  It was a far cry from what he’d anticipated.  Sam had expected to wear a company polo and khakis like the ones he’d recently had on, not yet another jumpsuit like he’d dealt with for so many years.  And he definitely hadn’t expected to find a crusty, crimson jockstrap immediately catching his eye.  The well-worn garment was stained and coated in old sweat and dried cum, the sour, musky aroma making Sam’s stomach flutter as he held it to his face on instinct and took in a long, deep breath.

“Wait…what the fuck am I doing…” he muttered to himself, a wave of embarrassment washing over him when he realized he was huffing the filthy jock.  The excitement he’d felt earlier in Jason’s office started to waver, that sensation of being a prisoner in his own body growing stronger as he bent to pull the underwear on. “This is dis…disgusting…” he stammered, second guessing whether the terms and conditions of the New Faith Inc. contract had been so agreeable after all.  They’d said his new life would be different, but that all involved parties could expect to be perfectly content with the outcome.  Sliding the aromatic underwear up his thighs, though, Sam had a hard time picturing a scenario where he’d enjoy something so slovenly.  “Oh, gross, it’s even itchy,” he sighed, absently scratching at the weathered pouch.  “Why hasn’t this thing ever been washuuunnhhh…!”  He broke off in a grunt, a sudden pressure at his core hitting him like a punch in the gut as his balls began to swell.  Sam had always had a package that hovered just above average, but that appeared to be changing as the churning orbs puffed and inflated to the point where they spilled out the sides of the now-straining jock.  “What the fuck!?  What the fuck?!  How…how did that just…” Sam cried, his eyes wide as he stared down at the oversized knockers.  He felt like he hadn’t cum in days, and already the markings of a fresh damp spot were beginning to form.

“This…this can’t be real…this can’t really be happening,” he sputtered, his body once again moving on its own.  He saw a length of chain sticking out from underneath a pile of fabric, but as he bent to reach for it his trek was interrupted by a fresh surge of pressure, this time at his backside.

“Fuuuuuuuuuuck,” he groaned, shooting upright and arching his back as his perky rear tripled in size.  He’d reached back so fast that he managed to feel the last of the growth, the supple, muscled melons pressing back against his frantic fingers.  “No…no way…no way…” Sam said over and over, his face going as crimson as the jock as he bounced the heavy globes.  They were firm when flexed, but the overabundance of muscle left them malleable, making them quick to ripple and shake at the slightest movement.

And the worst was yet to come.  “No!  Absolutely not!  Goddamnit…quit moving…” Sam yelled at himself, his eyes going wide when he returned to the locker and grabbed the chain.  Much to his increasing dismay, the short leash was attached to a large, silicone plug, the destination of which became alarmingly apparent when he grabbed the bottle of lube from the locker’s top shelf.  “Oh come on!  I can’t really…why won’t you fuckin’ listen to me, arms,” Sam cried, his heart racing as he greased the inverted teardrop and bent forward against the locker.

He’d never done anything like it before, had never even thought about it, but somehow his hands knew what to do as they lined the plug up and began pressing it against the tight hole.  “FUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK,” Sam roared, his eyes blurring from the bolt of pain that shot through him.  The plug was huge, and even with the copious lube his tight hole felt like it was being split in two. “Guuh…god…goddamnit…” he huffed and grunted, gritting his teeth against both the pain and the embarrassment.  “Ma…made it through…eight years’a lock up without…takin’ a dick…and now I’m…givin’ it to myself like a…bitch…wait…” Even through the haze of humiliation and pain, Sam recognized the change to his voice.  It had dropped and deepened considerably, swapping its smooth charm for a rough, unrefined edge.  “...the fuck am I talkin’... like this…forrrrrrooohhhhhhh fuuuuuck,” he bellowed again, his jaw dropping when a surge of pleasure joined the pain.  He hated the way his inflated rear rippled and shook as he squirmed, and he hated how much he was starting to like it even more.  “Can’t…can’t believe I signed up…to be some…bottom-bitch pig…” he grunted, just barely recognizing that he sounded more excited than anything else by the descriptor.  “A…filthy…cock-hungry…cum slut…”

Sam was too caught off guard by the abrupt transition from pain to pleasure to notice the jock getting tighter.  The plug was fully inserted, the thin chain dangling like a small tail from between his plump pumpkins and ready to be pulled free at a moment’s notice, but the foreign fullness had gone from dreadful to delightful.  Sam shivered as he felt the invading object light him up from the inside, not registering the way his cock had grown until he absently reached for it.  “FUCK!  Where’d this come from,” he half-cried, half-laughed as he gripped the fleshy wine bottle.  His seven inches had become at least a foot, the formerly impressive girth now an impossible width that shot from the crusty pouch.  Oozing like a leaky faucet, Sam let out a low, rumbling groan as he felt the chain brushing against the inside of his thighs while the monstrous organ throbbed.

“Not bad…not bad at all…” he said, giving the fat log a tug as he reached back into the locker.  When he pulled out a pair of smelly, yellowed socks, there was no longer any hesitation as he slid them on.  “Gonna get ‘em good and ripe you freaky little fuck,” he said, unsure who he was referencing until a flood of memories rushed in once he’d slid them on.  He saw himself back in Jason’s office, only this time the scrawny blonde was naked and on all fours, eagerly lapping at the stinky socks.  “Who’s the nasty one now,” Sam sighed, seeing an image of Jason sprawled on his back, naked save for the tie that Sam clutched like a leash, while the bigger man pressed a sweaty sock into the blonde’s face.

The dazed, dark-haired man hadn’t noticed the way his feet had been growing as the memories settled.  With each phantom encounter, as Jason massaged them and licked them clean, Sam’s feet had attained colossal proportions, a trait that was necessary for what came next.

“Fuuuuuuck yes,” he spat, reaching for the last piece of clothing at the bottom of the locker.  “Now we’re talkin!”  He beamed as he held up the sweat-stained, sleeveless undershirt and read the XXXL tag.  Sam had been afraid that he was going to wind up a filthy, fat-assed bottom with an oversized showpiece for a cock, but things began to even out as soon as he slipped into the massive shirt.  His thickened cheeks and impossible package would continue to appear overly large, but the contrast would be less jarring against the wall of muscle he was becoming.  His shoulders swelled and pushed outward, the excess mass spilling down to puff his pecs into a prominent shelf while his arms became massive pistons, sporting hulking biceps with veins like rope beneath the skin.  His waist remained tapering, though his abs deepened into a lumpy muscle-gut, making the excessive mass at his thighs all the more noticeable as his lower-half expanded outward like his shoulders.  In a matter of moments, Sam had gone from athletic to lumbering, his neck-less mass so unwieldy that his range of motion would be severely impacted going forward.  Everywhere was flesh-on-flesh, muscle rubbing against muscle in a constant struggle for space that left his leaking, overloaded cock ready to pop off at a moment’s notice.

“More like it,” he rumbled, his voice hitting like a cannonball as he plucked the jumpsuit from the locker.  It took a moment of careful maneuvering for Sam to lift one heavy leg after the other inside, the zipper straining against his bulky barrel of a torso as he pulled it up.  His lengthy log of a cock was clearly outlined against the straining fabric, but Sam was more interested in the name tag that adorned one of the cresting pecs.  Below his name it read “property of Jason, CEO”, cementing the last piece of the puzzle that had become his new existence.

He wasn’t just a night janitor; he was Jason’s personal project.  Treated more like a pet than an employee, Sam didn’t know if he should be thrilled or horrified at the memories of himself in his square-jawed, oversized new form lumbering around the building in his filthy getup.  He fortunately didn’t come across many other people, but the ones he did all knew exactly what the arrangement was, somehow overlooking the obvious cum-stains and their equally obvious source.  Anyone who worked late often enough quickly became used to the sounds coming from Jason’s office as the tiny blonde worshiped the mountain of muscle that Sam had become, savoring the stench and musk and meat the way other people savored a fine wine.  Sam saw himself throwing the smaller man around like a ragdoll, the image of Jason’s impressive definition and surprisingly impressive cock making his mouth water.  He saw himself bent over against his new boss’s desk, his inflated cheeks rippling as the man he used to shove against the wall would now yank the plug free whenever he wanted and hammer into Sam’s brawny bulk for hours.  Sam wouldn’t make it easy.  He’d make Jason beg, and lick his socks clean, and he’d stretch the blonde’s jaw to capacity with his fleshy piston of a cock first, but sooner or later Sam’s animalistic howls would echo down the empty halls.

“HHHNNNGGGGHNNNNnnn…” the hulking hunk shuddered and came at the rush of memories, the phantom remains of his former existence trickling down his legs with the sticky eruptions.  What little there was of the old Sam at that point had been mortified at what he’d become, but he knew it was far too late to turn back.  As promised, the grimy god at least seemed perfectly content with his existence.  He slept all day, came to work and got his brains fucked out by Jason for a few hours, then had the rest of the building to himself all night to do whatever he wanted.  The day crew did most of the cleaning anyway, which meant he could spend most of his time in the company gym keeping his size up and jerking off in the showers.  Or jerking off anywhere he wanted to, really.

“Fuck…gotta clean that up,” he said when he’d caught his breath, more focused on the glistening liquid on the floor than on the sopping remains that soaked his jumpsuit.  He took one of his oversized feet and wiped up the puddle of cum with the filthy sock, grinning.  “Should probably go and show Jason what a good job I’m doing,” he said, wiggling his huge, stubby toes against the now-damp fabric.