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"Nonsense, I insist. Us swamp men git such a bad rap these days. Besides--it's the middle a the night--the two a ya ain't goin' nowhere til mornin' anyway," Daryl said, as he turned the tow truck onto a winding dirt road which wove through the dark swamp, Kent and Howie watching the twisted trees engulf them. Kent and Howie shared a look, but didn't object. The two frat brothers had been on their way to Spring Break in Miami when their car had broken down out here, somewhere in the swamps of Alabama or Mississippi. Luckily, there had been a gas station within a short walk, but the only tow truck who would come out to meet them was a local who'd come rumbling up after dusk, and he'd been everything Kent and Howie hadn't wanted. Big beard, hefty gut, missing and rotten teeth, bad BO, grimy clothes--but they hadn't had much of a choice, and so all three of them had climbed into the cab together and off they'd gone. Now, however, it looked like they were going to lose at least a day, if not more, depending on how long it might take to have their car fixed by a mechanic.

The drive down the road took around half an hour of uncomfortable silence, Daryl occasionally trying to make small talk--asking where the boys were from and where they were going, who they might be meeting, but neither Kent nor Howie felt like sharing more than the most basic information, until all that was left were the sounds of the swamp outside the truck windows. Even if it was early spring, the air was still hot and quite humid, neither of which helped with the stink rolling off Daryl. Howie was getting the worst of it, having taken the middle seat, but Kent, with his head nearly out the window, gave his friend as much space as he could.

It was a relief when they saw the lights through the trees. The building was something between a shack and a house--large, but still rather ramshackle, established but uncared for. On three sides, it was flanked by water--the road being the only way out. Daryl parked the truck and the three of them hopped out, Howie the most eager to get away from Daryl so he could breathe again.

"God damn, that guy smells like ass!" he said to Kent, quietly, but not quiet enough that Daryl couldn't hear him on the other side, and Kent elbowed him in the side, reminding him to be at least a little polite. After all, Daryl was now their only ticket back to the road, unless they planned on hiking through the swamp all night long.

"Well, thanks for giving us a place to stay, sir," Kent said, as they followed Daryl to the door.

"Yer welcome," he said to Kent, "It isn't much, and it might not be up tah the standards of a couple a city boys like you--" he shot Howie a glare, "But it's our home."

"Our home? Who else lives here?" Howie asked.

"Oh, my brother--he's out at the moment--probably finding some dinner."

"Where at? There isn't a store for miles."

"Oh, the swamp gives us most everything we need," Daryl said with a grin. "Have a seat boys--I'll git us some drink. Ya'll could probably use somethin' after yer long day."

Howie and Kent took a seat on the treadbare couch by the banked fire, and Kent said, "You know, you don't have to be such as asshole."

"At least I don't smell like one--I mean, you didn't have to sit next to the guy dude--it was gross."

"Still, he's trying to be nice, and you're throwing it in his face. Don't forget we need his help."

"Yeah, yeah..." Howie said, and leaned back, "What a fucking pain in the ass."

"You're the one who didn't take your car in for an inspection."

"Oh will you shut up about that? I said I was sorry, alright?"

Kent rolled his eyes, and Daryl came over carrying a ceramic jug in his hand. "Yer both in college, right? I bet ya'll can drink. This here's the moonshine mah bro 'n I brew--I'd like tah know what ya think."

"Oh, that's nice, but uh...I'll pass," Kent said.

"Well, I'll take some," Howie said, and Daryl smirked at him as he handed over the jug. "Alright, well let me see if I can rustle up some grub fer ya. Neither a ya is a vegetarian 'r anything, right? We only have meat eaters in this here house," he said with a laugh.

"Dude," Kent said, as Howie look a drink from the jug, "You know shit like that can kill you, right?"

"Oh? What happened to not throwing people's generosity back in their face?" Howie said, stuck his tongue out at Kent and drank some more. "It actually isn't bad--besides, it's Spring Break! I thought we were going to party?"

"Yeah, with some chicks on Miami Beach, not with these hicks in Buttfuck, Swampland," Kent said, shifting uncomfortably. "Damn it, I gotta shit."

"Ha, have fun with that--I don't think this place has indoor plumbing," Howie said, then held out the jug, "You sure you don't want any?"

"Nah, you go ahead--one of us should stay sober around this place I think."

"Suit yourself."

Kent got up and walked into the kitchen where Daryl was. "Hey, uh, Sir--where's the bathroom?"

"I told ya, ain't no need tah call me sir, boy," Daryl said, "and we ain't got no fancy bathroom--just an outhouse out back ya'll have tah use, though I promise it won't kill ya."

Kent felt kind of bad then, realizing he'd been just as much a jerk as Howie had earlier, even if it might have been for a better reason. Still, what could he say? He left, found the back door and headed for the outhouse, leaving Howie inside with Daryl.

"So? What do ya think, boy?" Daryl asked Howie after Kent had left, "You enjoyin' the drink?" He plopped down on the couch next to Howie, took the jug from his hand and had a swig himself.

"Yeah, it...it isn't bad..." Howie said, slurring his words a bit, the room swirling awkwardly, "Though it...hits kinda hard...fuck, I think I'm gonna be sick..." He tried to lurch up and make his way outside to puke, but Dylan grabbed his hand and pulled him back down onto the couch. Howie turned to tell the man off, when he say his eyes. His gold irises, and the pupils...were they slits? "Your...eyes are all...weird..." Howie slurred.

"Really boy? Why don't you keep on looking at them and make sure?"

Howie kept staring into Dylan's eyes, and he realized, as the room spun around him, what they looked like--they were reptilian. The redneck grinned, showing a few too many pointed teeth, and Howie tried to bolt back, but those eyes--he couldn't look away from them, and with the room spinning around him he wasn't sure he could even stand up. "What...what are you? What are...what was that stuff..." Howie slurred, as the tension in his body released, causing him to slump back, though his eyes remained glued to Dylan's.

"Like I said, it's just a moonshine me and my brother brew for ourselves...and our family. Now son, you sure are lookin' uncomfortable, in all of those clothes--how about we do something about that? It's so hot in here, after all--wouldn't you be more comfortable naked, with your daddy, just lounging on the couch?" Dylan took one of his hands, the skin cracking apart into scales and already tinged green, the nails now hard, long and black, and started ripping away Howie's clothes, first his shirt, and then his pants and boxers, Dylan kicking off his shoes and socks, compelled by the redneck's stare, the gator removing his own clothes as well. "There, isn't that better?" Dylan asked, putting his arm around Howie's shoulders, "Just you and yer daddy, hangin' out?"

"Not...Not my...daddy..." Howie managed to eek out, but he was feeling so strange now. He could feel the liquor pulsing through him, heating him up from the inside, but his throat and mouth were tingling and aching. Dylan took one scaly hand and ran it along Howie's jawline, smiling watching the young man's skull start stretching into a snout, the skin growing dry and cracking apart like his own, the teeth multiplying and growing sharper.

"Ha, maybe not yet, son, but soon enough--here, have another drink," Dylan put the jug to his lips and poured, Howie helpless in his gaze, the heat increasing in his gut, and then he realized that the liquor was doing more to him than making him sick. "Yeah, that's it. Now, what did you say about yer Pa outside boy? Go ahead and refresh my memory, if ya would."

"I...I said that you...you smell like ass," Howie said, and started giggling, the drink slowly choking off his inhibitions and rational thought. Everything just seemed so...easy. He just needed to go with the flow, and have fun, and enjoy himself. "'Cause you do kinda stink."

"Ha, yeah, I suppose I do, don't I?" Dylan said, taking a whiff of his own armpit, "Yeah, I sure do, but ya wanna know somethin'?" he said, then leaned in close to Howie, keeping his eye contact, "I kinda like it, 'n ya know somethin' else? I bet a son like you'll love it too. Yeah, sittin' next tah me in that truck, drivin' over here--it was hard to resist just shovin' that face a yers into my dirty, nasty pit, wasn't it? I bet my funk had ya hard the whole ride over here, just like it has ya hard right now."

Howie didn't know if it was true or not, but in his drunk state he was in no condition to resist. His head just didn't seem to work right, and he couldn't quite remember what he'd been doing in the truck. Still, he was hard now, wasn't he? And he could smell Dylan, and...and he did smell rank, but it was kind of...good? He kind of liked it? Dylan wrapped his scaly hand around Howie's cock and started stroking it slowly, making the boy moan loudly, and watched his last bit of resistance crumble, as he lurched over and started licking out his armpit.

"Yeah, that's good son--just let go 'n trust yer Pa--I wouldn't steer you wrong after all. You love my fuckin' stink so much--just enjoy it."

Howie felt his face ache as his bones stretched and grew, his snout crammed into Dylan's pit, the rest of his body slowly catching up as the liquor flooded his system. His skin was the most noticeable, as his belly slowly dried out, the skin darkening, and his vision blurred slightly as his eyes changed to match Dylan's...no his...Pa's? What was wrong with him? He needed to get out of here, but he loved licking out Pa's pits so much, and now Pa was running his claws along the base of the shaft of his cock and it felt so damn good, maybe he could just stick around for...a bit longer.

"Heh, so I smell like ass, eh? Well, I suppose it's a good thing I have a boy who loves ass stink then, eh?" Dylan said, "You wanna clean yer Pa's ass son? We ain't got no toilet paper, so I sure could use a good cleanin' back there. I know how much ya love cleanin' up yer daddy's rear end. Go on, lay down on the floor there."

He had to help Howie up of the couch, and he didn't have much choice but to lay down, since his head was spinning too wildly for him to stand for long. Looking up from the floor he saw that Dylan had fully transformed, a nearly seven foot tall, chubby gatorman standing over him, looking down at his son over his fat gut, long tail swinging behind him, and then he straddled Howie's head and sat down on his face. The stench was horrendous, but no longer disgusting--Howie craved it, and he let out a loud moan as his long tongue started clicking the crack clean, probing his Pa's hole as the big gator jacked his boy's cock, giving him words of encouragement, watching Howie's body continue to shift--growing larger, his fairly healthy gut filling out further, his long, thick tail shoving out of his lower back and down between his legs, his hands and feet thickening, the nails becoming claws, and he idly wondered what was taking the other boy so much time in the outhouse--and what was taking Al, his brother, so long in the swamp?

***

Kent wasn't going to have that--no way, no how. The outhouse was filthy--little more than a hole in the ground, and on closer inspection, he saw that there wasn't even anything for him to wipe with. Instead, he hiked over to the road, deciding he might as well drop his pants and do his business over there, and just use some leaves to wipe out in the dark. Unfortunately, he hadn't expected the land to drop off into the water quite as fast as it did, and Kent tumbled down the slope and right into the murky water below, where he came up sputtering and grasping for earth. He scrambled up onto a sandbar, sopping wet, and looked around for the light of the shack, but there was nothing--just darkness. He couldn't even tell where he'd fallen in, or where the road was. He shivered, and but there was nothing he could use to warm up, and he hunkered down for a moment to figure out what to do.

As he crouched, he realized just how loud the swamp around him was--but rather than being much of a comfort, he found it was only fueling his imagination. He pulled his phone from his pocket and was relieved when it lit up, allowing him to illuminate a small area around him. He swung it around to the side, looking for the slope up the road, but froze when the blue light illuminated something which quickly slithered out of sight and back into the darkness.

He froze, and after a few moments, his phone light went out, plunging him back into darkness, but now he was listening even more intently than before, for any sign that what he'd seen might be approaching him, swimming towards him. Had he even seen anything? Had he just imagined it? Maybe it was just a shadow, or a branch, or--

"What's wrong little boy--what're ya doin' down here?" a voice said behind him, sounding so close that he was certain something's claws were about to rip into him. The voice--it wasn't human. It had an almost serpentine quality to it, and Kent nearly bolted back out into the water, but held himself perfectly still instead. It had to be his imagination. There weren't really swamp monsters or anything like that, those were just tall tales.

"It's just my imagination, he whispered to himself, "there aren't really monsters, I'm just hearing things."

"Oh trust me, I'm as real as you are, boy," the voice said again, "Here, let me show ya..."

This time, he did feel the claws on him, grabbing the cloth of his shirt and ripping it off his body. Kent screamed then, and flung himself into the water, but the beast was on him before he could even start paddling, fat scaly arms wrapping their way around him, and he thought it was going to drag him under water. "Oh, don't worry boy--I'm not ready tah kill ya yet, I like tah play with mah food first..." the voice said, and a hot, slimy tongue scraped its way across Kent's face, and he felt something firm pressing against his asshole.

"Howie! Dylan! Help!" Kent called out, hoping his friend and the redneck would hear him, and to his surprise, a moment later the beast released his grip, allowing Kent to wriggle away and swim forward, scrambling up the slope which he crested and saw the shack right in front of him. Safe--he was safe. He ran for the door and burst inside, still sopping wet, but stopped short when he saw the scene in the living room.

"Gonna fart boy--ya wanna smell yer daddy's ass gas?"

"Oh fuck yeah, daddy--give it to me! Give it to me!"

Howie--it was Howie's voice--almost. That same hiss, and Kent went around the couch just as Dylan ripped off a wet fart right in Howie's face, the younger gator sighing and shooting his second load of the night all over his new gut, Dylan rubbing his son's gator cum into his scales, and using it to lubricate his cock as he jacked off, and he looked over at Kent, those gold irises, and he wanted to run, he really did, but he couldn't move. Paralyzed with fear, he felt an odd warmth in his crotch, and he realized that the piss he'd been holding in had released, forming a small puddle around his feet on the floor.

"Heh, Dylan, what did I tell ya 'bout bringin' more guys intah the family?" the voice from the swamp said behind Kent, and if he could have turned around, he would have found himself face to face with Al, Dylan's older brother, his beard and scales gleaming with swamp water.

"I'm sorry bro--but I was horny, 'n this boy a mine said I smell like ass."

"Ya do smell like ass, Dylan."

"Well I know that! But it was the way he said it, Al--I just thought I'd teach 'em a lesson is all, 'n he's doin' real good now, ain't ya son?"

"Oh yeah daddy, give me another fart daddy--they smell so good..."

"See he's fine," Dylan said, patting Howie's belly, "This one though--I figured we'd just eat 'em. He didn't want any moonshine--he was afraid it'd make 'em sick," Dylan said.

"Ha, well he was right, wasn't he?" Al said, "putting his clawed hand on Kent's shoulder. He was still caught up in Dylan's gaze, but Al turned him around and caught him up in his own, "Still, this one's smarter than that one--smart enough to be scared," Al said, sniffing the air, "though doesn't smell like you could hold it in, eh?"

"Please...please don't eat me," Kent managed to stutter out.

"Aww, but you'd be so delicious," Al said, grinning, "Yer gonna have tah give me some good reason not tah--show ya can be useful..." The hand on Kent's shoulder pushed him down, and his knees buckled, bringing him face to face with Al's thick, scaly cock and full balls. He didn't want to, but what choice did he have? He tentatively took the head of the gatorman's cock in his mouth, and was caught off guard when Al wrapped a hand around the back of his head and drove it down his throat. Kent tried to pry himself off, but he was no match for the gator's raw power, and a moment later, he caught the bitter taste of piss as Al released. "Aw yeah, how about we have one son for the front, and one for the back?" Al said to Dylan, and the two gators laughed, as Kent struggled, trying to gag the piss back up. However, from the burn in his gut, he could tell that the piss he was taking in had a good amount of alcohol in it, and the only place that might have come from was...

"Here, this might help him along too," Dylan said, getting up off Howie's face, grabbing the jug and sticking his cock in the neck, filling the half empty container back up with his piss. Al pulled his cock out of Kent's throat, and he doubled over, sick to his stomach.

"Hey boy," Al said, and Kent looked up at the big gator looming over him, but for some reason, the big gator wasn't staying still, as his vision kept spinning. "Here, I bet you're real thirsty, aren't you? Yeah, this'll help ya become a big man like me and yer Uncle Dylan, drink up."

He felt so weak. He knew he shouldn't drink it, that he should fight back, but when Al helped him up and Dylan put the jug up to his lips, he started drinking anyway, both of the gators giving him plenty of encouragement, telling him how much he loved drinking piss, how much he loved pleasing his family and didn't want to disappoint them. Soon Kent had drained the jug, his face already starting to reshape, and he licked his lips, before Al shoved his cock back down Kent's throat, face fucking him while Howie crawled over and resumed licking Dylan's ass.

"Nah son," Dylan said, pulling Howie back, "I got somethin' else fer ya to do. All that hole lickin' has got me all excited--how about ya fuck daddy's hole like a real man?" Dylan sat on the couch, his legs up and tail down, giving Howie permission to ram his rock hard cock up his new daddy's ass. "Aw yeah, that's it son, how's it feel tah have yer cock up yer daddy's hole?"

"Feels...feels great daddy, oh fuck..." Howie moaned, driving his cock in deeper.

"Ha, look at those two go, son--" Al said, but Kent couldn't see anything beyond the underside of his own daddy's gut. "Aw yeah, just lookin' at those two fuck--can't fuckin' hold it--" He pulled his cock out of his son's maw and with a couple of strokes shot his load all over Kent's face, before getting down and licking it off with his slimy tongue, Kent groaning as his bones shifted and grew, his skin turning scaly and a deep green just like his daddy's.

"Yeah, that's it son!" Dylan growled, "Shoot yer fuckin' load deep in yer daddy's hole!"

Howie , snorting and grunting, slammed his cock in deeper and deeper, before unleashing his own load up Dylan's ass. Kent looked at Howie and couldn't really recognize him anymore--his goofy demeanor was replaced by--this hunger, and licking his lips, Howie got down on his knees and started licking Dylan's ass, felching his own cum from the loose hole.

"Yeah son, you like watching your big cousin go to town on your uncle like that, don't you?" Al said, and Kent looked up at his Pa, finding himself enraptured with those gold iris once more.

"No, please...please don't do this."

"Oh, don't be such a fucking weakling--be more like your cousin! In fact, since he's a few years older than you, I suppose you probably do everything he says. Yeah, you're gonna be the baby of the family I think--hell, you can't even control your own piss." With a groan, Kent felt something shoot out of his cock, and it was so pleasurable he thought it was an orgasm at first, but the stench of urine hit his nostrils a second later, and he realized he'd pissed uncontrollably for the second time that evening. "Oh, what a naughty fuckin' gator--get down there and clean up your mess, son."

Humiliated, Kent got down and started lapping up his own piss, but it tasted so good he didn't really complain. Besides, his Pa was right, he was the baby of the family, not that he minded. It meant he got fucked more than anyone else, and he did love getting fucked...right? Some other voice was telling him to resist, but it was slowly being devoured alive by his new instincts. Family came first, and he needed to obey his family if he wanted to grow up big and strong like Pa, Unc and Howie.

Howie finished cleaning his own Pa's hole out, and stood up, strutting over to where Kent was on his hands and knees, and started pissing on him, Dylan joining his son a moment later, the two sharing a kiss while the soaked him down. It was too much for Kent, who felt his cock unload again--this time a wad of gator cum into the puddle of piss growing underneath him, which he happily lapped up as well, his head dimming as thinking became more and more difficult. When he sat back a few minutes later, the floor clean, he was just another gator--a bit smaller than chubbier than the rest of his family, and let out a loud, satisfied belch.

"Well boys, that was damn hot, but it's a bit too late for boy's like you to be up. Besides, I think you're daddies need some alone time," Al said, groping his brother's ass. "Why don't the two of you bunk up together in the bedroom tonight? We're gonna have to expand the house again, dang it."

Kent and Howie headed into the large bedroom, and before Kent knew what was happening, Howie had him bent over the side of the bed and was shoving his tongue deep into his asshole. He shivered, and couldn't resist pushing back, eager for his big cousin to fuck him with his big cock. Still, doubts lingered, but he could already tell they would be gone by morning. Besides, he was so happy here, with his family. The swamp was his home--and he never wanted to leave.