Fucking brute.

That was the only thing Jim could think as his Dad pontificated on all matters of life and love while he drove them both in his beaten-up white van to the job site.

His dad cleaned septic tanks for a living, and Jim was home on summer break for college, so he had been roped (read: forced) into accompanying him to today’s job, while his Dad’s regular guy, Simon, was out sick with a stomach bug, the product of some bad beef empanadas he had had for dinner the night before.

Jim looked out the window and sighed. Passing McMansion after McMansion, each one’s perfectly-manicured front lawn seemingly sporting the same sign imploring the reader to vote for that fucking asshole (along with his loyal running-mate, the other fucking asshole), he longed for nothing more than to be back in the City for the fall semester, among his own people. The tattooed, the pierced, the artsy - basically, all of the types his father would offhandedly dismiss as “fuckin’ queers.” But Jim knew what they really were: beautiful, unique, and vibrant, so unlike the tired, worn-out residents of this bleak, sprawling suburb, so caught up in the rat race that they didn’t realize it was slowly but surely killing them.

But it wasn’t just the people that he sorely missed. It was the food, sourced from all over the world, the entertainment, from live theatre to immersive experiences, the (liberal) culture, and last but not least, the public transportation, the subways and busses. Everything this boring, drab, car-centric, conservative shithole that he had grown up in and was forced to return to every extended break (they closed the dorms, much to Jim’s chagrin), decidedly was not.

“Now, listen, Jim: what you gotta do is dis: just go up ta’ dem and get him talkin’ to ya, about any fuckin’ ding. Ya know, “rizz” ‘em up or whatever da fuck ya kids say dese days, I don’t fuckin’ know…”

Jim rolled his eyes. He, personally, certainly didn’t say “rizz,” like some TikTok addict suffering from terminal brain rot. And he didn’t need dating advice from his Dad, who he wouldn’t be surprised hadn’t committed a few “date rapes” of his own back in the day (and maybe even more recently, at the local dive bar, where nary a craft beer was to be found).

His Dad just didn’t understand: the women (and non-binary front-hole havers) that lived, worked, and went to school in the City were more complicated than the inbred broodmares his Dad was used to out here in the sticks (and he was including his Wal-Mart cashier mother among them).

In the City, guys (and non-binary penis havers) always had to be cognizant of white supremacy, heteronormativity, rape culture, colonialism, the patriarchy, racism, sexism, homophobia, transphobia, biphobia, capitalism, imperialism, and misogyny. I mean, don’t get him wrong, - Jim 100% supported the effort, would even compel it by law if he had the power to. But, at the end of the day, he had to admit, it did make dating really, really hard. And that was even with the aid of all of those dehumanizing dating apps currently clogging up his phone.

“When I met ya’ Mudda, fer example, I introduced myself by comin’ up behind her and giving her big ass a nice fuckin’ squeeze. She turned around to give me a smack, but when she saw yer Old Man’s Mug, she fell in love at foist sight instead. But then she went and got all uppity just because I gave her a backhand across da mout every now and den when she got too mouthy! Can ya believe dat? Afta’ all I gave dat bitch!”

Jim was about ready to just fully tune him out and daydream instead about museums, art galleries, protests, and axe-throwing / sushi restaurants, when his Father looked at him and addressed him directly, in a markedly more serious tone of voice.

“Unless, son….”

Jim turned to make eye contact with his Dad.

“….ya one o’ dem fags,” he finished.

Jim was just about to address the many, many problems with that statement - namely that it wasn’t true (Hell, there were days he desperately wished he were gay!) - when his Dad suddenly turned to face the road.

“JESUS FUCKIN’ CHRIST!” his Dad yelled, and frantically turned the steering wheel to the left, obviously in an attempt to avoid hitting something.

Jim, naturally, also turned to look, and saw, inexplicably, a donkey standing directly in the middle of the road, the faded yellow divider marks running between both sets of his furry legs.

“HOLD ON!” Jim’s Dad screamed, as the tires screeched as a result of his blunt, inexpert maneuvering.

The equipment his Dad stored in the rear of the van all moved and crashed into the left side of the vehicle. Jim screamed. His Dad screamed. Another, louder crash, from outside of the car, as they plowed through the metal guardrail.

Then, there was nothing but total and complete darkness.

….

Jim awoke on a large bed. An absurdly large bed, probably capable of offering a baby blue whale a comfortable place to sleep, if it one day decided it had no more need for the ocean.

A large, ratty, unkempt bed, with stained sheets, pillows, and blankets. But that wasn’t the most offensive aspect of the strange place in which Jim awoke. That was the smell, the stink, the stench. It was so bad, he wondered if they hadn’t managed to crash into the very same septic tank they had been on their way to fix, and had, inexplicably, found that some madman had built a home himself a cozy little home there.

He rolled out of the wide bed and walked over to the misshapen, square-ish widow. No, he wasn’t in a septic tank, but he hadn’t been very far off, because he was in a swamp. A lush, vibrant swamp, but a swamp, nonetheless, and that was never a very pleasant place to be.

In fact, as he looked around the room, he wondered if this whole house hadn’t been built out of mud, by hand. Not only was it a light brown, but upon closer inspection, he could see little leaves and the bones of small mammals and fish embedded in it.

But how had he gotten there, and where was his Dad? Remembering his phone, he took it out of his shorts pocket, only to find it had been smashed to the point of uselessness. How had it taken so much damage, and yet he apparently didn’t have a scratch on him anywhere?

Obvious he wouldn’t find any further clarification there, he walked out of the bedroom to further investigate.

But, the other room didn’t offer much more in terms of answers. All he found was a beat-up-looking (large) celadon-colored rocking chair and a non-descriptive (large) dining room table. Sunlight streamed in from a few more deformed windows, that looked as if they belonged in a sand castle made by a child, one that was already melting from the pummeling of the tide.

But then he heard whistling coming from outside. It was the melody to an old boomer buttrock song that he knew and hated. But it was a tune he knew his Dad loved. In fact, it was his favorite song, always making sure to put a nickel in the jukebox to play it whenever he went down to Al’s (the aforementioned dive bar) after work to unwind.

He opened the front door, and stepped into the swamp proper. On his right was a mud pit, and just beyond that, an outhouse. Some kind of long serpentine creature was swimming in the muck, while a swarm of large, prehistoric-looking flies hovered above the roof of the latrine. Somehow, Jim’s estimation of this little hideaway was getting lower by the minute!

But the whistling was coming from his left. Jim had never felt such relief at the prospect of seeing his ignorant oaf of a Father, a man he hadn’t respected or liked since he was 10 years old (nothing crazy happened, it’s just that by that point Jim already knew he was his Dad’s clear intellectual superior).

Emerging from the lush vegetation was… a green, humanoid monster. A naked green, humanoid monster, with a humongous head, small tube-like ears, a broad, hairy chest, massive beer-belly, and the biggest cock and set of balls he had ever seen (and Jim was, to his shame, an avid watcher of porn, despite his sincere belief that women could not every truly consent to it in their patriarchal system).

Upon seeing Jim, the monster stopped whistling, smiled, and, wincing, let out a nearly-deafening fart. Seriously, this thing could have registered on the Richter scale!

And it was just as potent as it was loud. Exotic birds fell from the trees surrounding the monster, struck dead from the smell of his body’s exhalation. The monster looked around him at the mass of felled avian, and smiled in satisfaction.

Jim, understandably scared shitless, ran back into the house, grabbing one of the wooden chairs at the dining room table and jamming it under the doorknob, all in a (likely vain, he knew) effort to stop the beast from entering.

This gave him some much-needed time to think. The monster had looked so familiar, but where did he know it from? But then he remembered - it was Shrek, from those old, lame, problematic animated movies. He had never actually sat down and watched any of them, of course, but one had played in the background at a sleepover he had once attended (with a friend that grew up to be a real chud), and he also knew the character from some obscene(but funny, he had to admit) memes he had seen on Reddit.

But what the hell was he doing here? This was ridiculous, impossible! Surely this was all just a bizarre, surreal dream, and Jim would wake up any minute now? Yeah, that was it, that made sense: this was all a nightmare! He’d be awake and posting Late-Stage Capitalism memes on BlueSky before he knew it…

He heard a loud crash, and ducked as the wooden chair he had tried to use as an obstruction flew toward him, colliding and splintering on the wall behind him.

Shrek entered the room and burped, the confines of the hut magnifying the sound to the point where Jim had to cover his ears to protect his hearing.

“I feel like I could eat a dragon, which is funny, because I just did!” Shrek said in his trademark Scottish accent. “A big, pink one – you should have seen the size of her! Should have minded her eyelashes, though – I can already feel the heartburn setting in!”
Jim made a break to run into the bedroom, but Shrek stepped forward and grabbed his wrist, his strong hand threatening to snap it like a twig. At that moment, Jim deeply regretted not ever bothering to pick up a weight once in his life, despite all of the warnings that “A fascist worked out today,” along with the obvious follow-up question “Have You?”

“And where do think you’re going?” Shrek asked, menace in his eyes.

“Please don’t eat me!” Jim pleaded in a high-pitched shriek.

“Eat you? No, I’m just “rizzing” you up. Remember, just like I told you?”

For a second, Jim was confused. But then he understood. God help him, he understood.

“Dad?” Jim asked.

Shrek-Dad winked. “But my style of “rizz” is a little bit different than you might think.”

Shrek-Dad pulled Jim towards him, opened his cavernous mouth, and let out an even bigger belch than the previous one. And, man, did it fucking reek!

He let go of Jim’s wrist, then, but Jim was no longer capable of escape. Instead, he fell to the makeshift wooden floor of the makeshift house, coughing and gagging on the noxious gas that he had just ingested against his will.

Never taking his brown eyes off his son, Shrek-Dad pulled up the last remaining chair, and sat in it, resting his powerful hands on his round emerald belly, his scrotum actually resting on the floor.

“I suppose you’re wondering how I became…this. Funny story, that. A few hours ago, I awoke from the crash, still in the van, with you knocked out beside me. My phone had been destroyed in the accident, so I lifted you out of the passenger seat and began to look for help. All I found was this empty cottage, though.”

Jim still couldn’t speak over all of the dry retching he was doing.

“I went inside, laid you on the bed, and went back out looking for help. I found something else, though. Deep in the woods, my arms and legs were ensnared by a bunch of vines, which held me in place as one of their flowers shot a spiked barb right into my neck. They let me go after, but by then it was too late: I was already turning into Shrek.”

“Everything got bigger, as you can see.” Shrek-Dad grabbed his handful of fat on his belly for emphasis, causing the penis hanging under it to twitch with a shock of pleasure.

“My clothes were no match – I think they’re still lying somewhere back in the forest. Oh well.”

“But, I have to say, when it was all over, I felt really, really good. This height, these muscles, and especially this!” He lifted his cock, before letting it go and allowing it to smack against his testicles.

“The source of the vines then revealed itself to me: a great Tree with a human face in the middle of its trunk, and it spoke to me. It told me that I was Shrek now, ruler of this swamp, and there was no way for me to ever turn back.”

“Now, boy, you may be wondering if I believed him, and the truth is: I do, with all my enlarged heart. You try talking to a giant sentient Tree and walk away skeptical of its claims!”

”But fear not”, said the Tree: for you will have a loyal, beautiful mate always at your side!”

“Well, I liked the sound of that, I can tell you. I was already very eager to try out the new equipment!

“So where is she, I asked?”

That’s when the Tree told me to go out and slay the she-dragon, eat her, and then come back here and burp directly in the face of, I quote: “your loser wimp of a son.” Then he said I could sit back, relax, and watch the magic happen!”

“There was one more bit, come to think it: the Tree started going on and on about why it turned him into Shrek, how I was supposed to be the “Protector of the Swamp” or something, but, honestly, I was getting bored and horny, so I punched it directly in its prattling face, killing it with a single blow. Then I came directly here to find you!

“So I really hope this is quick, because my balls are fucking full!” Shrek-Dad exclaimed, and Jim, to his horror, could see that his already elephantine cock was getting even bigger as it became ever more erect. And then, to top it all off, it started leaking thick, nearly translucent pre-cum, the product of Shrek-Dad’s obvious sexual (or, shall we say, Shrekexual) excitement.

But Shrek-Dad was lucky, because it was fairly quick. Over the span of a mere couple of minutes, Jim’s legs, torso, arms, feet, hands, toes, and fingers lengthened. He was still on the ground, but, had he stood up – had he been able to stand up - he would have found that he had gone from a paltry 5’5 (speaking of detriments to dating) to being well over 7 feet tall (not as tall as Shrek-Dad was, but still pretty fucking tall).

And this wasn’t the only thing that got longer. His hair turned red and grew until it was almost touching his small, square ass. But it wasn’t small for long - it, along with his hips and legs, began to swell and widen, beyond all natural measurements. When they were finished growing, his butt cheeks resembled two soft, squished-together globes, and his meaty thighs would have been too big for even Shrek-Dad to wrap both of his new hands around.

There went his black shorts.

The coughing had ceased. Now, with each new change to his body, Jim was filled with pleasure, not being able to help but loudly moan like a cow in heat. Shrek-Dad, for his part, licked his dense lips in approval.

His stomach followed suit, filling and expanding with fat until it touched the hard cold floor below and even began to pool out to either side some. His chest wasn’t far behind, either, as his ““““““pecs”””””” became HH-sized boobs that quickly joined his big fat gut on the ground, while his nipples also became dark and saucer-esque in shape.

And there went his white T-shirt.

His thin arms thickened with muscle and fat until they were nearly as big as his legs, while his neck shot his head forward with its sudden growth. Then his head engorged to match the rest of his body in size, and his ears became tube-like counterparts to Shrek-Dad’s.

As each of these parts of his body changed, they also became green, albeit a lighter shade than Shrek-Dad. But the final transformation happened, as you might expect, to his genitals. His already-small penis (dating detriment #2) shrank and became his clit, while his testicles receded up into his body and became a pair of fertile ovaries. While this was happening, his dick had expelled all of the remaining cum that had been stored in his testicles, as it was no longer needed.

With that, it was complete. Jim looked over at Dad-Shrek, and saw that he was already stroking his green penis with both of his hairy hands. It was clear what Shrek-Dad’s intentions were.

“But I’m your son!” Jim managed to stammer out.

Shrek-Dad leaned forward. “Do you really think I care?”

But, as Jim’s newly female brain flooded with hormones, and he gazed at Shrek-Dad’s handsome face, big, muscular arms, round, sexy belly, and gargantuan genitals, he had to admit: he didn’t care, either.

Second later, Shrek-Dad was carrying Fiona-Jim into the bedroom, their chests and stomachs pressed together, their tongues wrestling with each other like wyrms during a mating ritual.

Arriving at the bed – the same one Fiona-Jim had awoken on no more than an hour before, Shrek-Dad tossed him on top of it.

“Face down, ass up,” Shrek-Dad commanded with a growl.

Fiona-Jim complied, gladly, getting on his stomach and presenting his colossal, jade ass and soaked, pulsing vagina to Shrek-Dad.

Not wasting any more time, Shrek-Dad got up onto the bed, inserted himself into Fiona-Jim, and began thrusting. With each shove of his hips, his gut collided against Fiona-Jim’s butt, causing each cheek to ripple, and the bed to creak dangerously, threatening to collapse under the staggering combined weight of the two lovers.

“Who are you?” Shrek-Dad yelled between gritted teeth, desperately hoping to delay his ejaculation, and thereby strengthen it.

A strange question, but Fiona-Jim knew what Shrek-Dad wanted to hear.

“Fiona!” Fiona yelled in response, also desperately trying to hold back the orgasm she could feel building in her plump sex.

“And what are you?” Shrek barked, pulling Fiona’s braided red hair with his right hand. Fiona’s eyes rolled back in her head in ecstasy.

“Your loving, loyal wife” Fiona responded, “forever and ever.” She was begging to drool.

“That’s right,” Shrek barked. “Our old lives are gone. You were never Jim, and I was never your father! And we will never, ever speak of it again!”

With that, Shrek placed the thumb of his right hand deep into Fiona’s asshole, causing her to wail in pleasure. When he removed it, she let out a fart that rivaled even one of his own. He breathed his wife’s gas deeply. It smelled fucking good.

Finally, they could not contain themselves any longer, and the ogres roared in synchronized pleasure as they came simultaneously.

Outside the hut, the fearsome cry spread and reverberated, causing songbirds to spontaneously explode, deer to drop dead of heart attacks, and fish’s lungs to explode.

It seemed their lovemaking was destined to have a body count!

But never fear, Dear Reader: ogres, despite their obesity, tend to have a lot of stamina.

They were up and at it again in under 20 minutes. First, in traditional ogre foreplay, they licked each other’s pungent feet, savoring the taste. Then Fiona lowered her mammoth rear onto her husband’s face, and made sure to let out more than a few thunderous farts directly into his wide nose (at his explicit request). They finished up with some missionary, Fiona on her back, her feet behind her ears, and her gut popping out even more, while Shrek furiously kissed her. They came in concert again, the thunder of their voices causing fairies outside to combust into piles of pixie dust. This time, the bed did break, and they fell to the floor, laughing.

Then, at last, they took a little break, both of them falling into deep, dreamless, satisfied sleep.

Months have now passed, and Fiona and Shrek, standing in front of their home, are adorned in leather armor (only covering their chests and crotches, both of their bellies being far too rotund to ever wrap armor around), and stand facing a mob of angry, sword-wielding knights.

“Listen, if you didn’t want us to eat your wives, you shouldn’t have let them go berry-picking by themselves,” Shrek explained, in a tone of voice that implied it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Yeah, but what was left sure made for some fine armor!” said Fiona with a wink, her prodigious stomach hanging over her thick, padded armor-shorts, the belly button piercing she had made out of a polished kobold skull shining in the afternoon sun.

The knights charged, and Shrek and Fiona, hand-in-hand and with a primal scream, leaped forward to meet them in vicious, bloody battle.

They would end up winning, easily, and each knight would ultimately find themselves reunited with their wives as fat (or as Shrek might put it: “fuck-padding”) on the bodies of the ogre husband and wife.

The story of these corpulent lovers would continue, of course. Both grew larger and larger, on a diet of dragons, unicorns, living gingerbread men, sentient bears and pigs, witches (both green and pink), blind mice, pied pipers (creepy fucks, they were), fairies (of the godmother and sugarplum varieties), (cross-dressing) big bad wolves, elves, wizards, dwarves, humpty-dumpties (always cooked sunny-side up), the old woman (along with her shoe), and many, many villagers. And all the while, they had lots and lots of hot, stinky sex, in seemingly every position two bipedal creatures could be capable of.

But they would reach new heights even outside the realm of these baser endeavors, eventually making themselves King and Queen of this land, and twisting it into their own personal, profane kingdom. A long-lasting, personal, profane kingdom, that would exist in perpetuity as shepherded by their many, many ogre descendants.*

But, for now, just to sum it all up? Well, what else can I say?

They lived happily ever after.

*Despite Shrek’s sizable harem of (adult) princesses, the spoils of their conquests, consisting of: the Pale One, the Blonde One, the other Blonde One, the Fish One, the Smart One, the Dark One, the Less Dark One, the Eastern One, the More Dark One, the Long-Haired-Blonde One, the Red-Haired One, the One that Could Control Water, the Other Eastern One, and the Cold One (and her sister). Not that Fiona minded – in fact she frequently enjoyed them herself, sometimes even without the presence of her beloved husband!