Julian was sitting at his desk, his notebook for his next class–macroeconomics–open in front of him. Ever since he was in high school, he’d made a habit of taking meticulous notes, and studied them several times between class sessions. It added a lot to his reputation as a know-it-all, he knew, but there was nothing wrong with wanting to be intelligent, even if it did make him a bit of a bore. He was 22 and still hadn’t tried anything alcoholic, aside from a glass of wine when his father took him out to dinner on occasion, and he’d certainly never been to a party–they disgusted him.
There was a sharp pain in his ear, suddenly, which made him cringe and cry out. He felt around the lobe with one of his hands, and…and there was some sort of hole in it? Confused, he got up from his desk and walked over to the small, slender mirror hung on the wall in the house, and took a closer look, and sure enough–it was a hole. A piercing, a thick gauge stuck in it, almost an inch in diameter–a stainless steel ring holding the lobe open, and he felt sick to his stomach, looking at it. How had that happened? That was insane, he’d vowed to never do something like that to his body–and then the same sensation, that sharp prick started up all over his body. First, an identical gauge in his other ear, and then a variety of barbells, rings, and studs all across his face in a variety of colors and sizes. He tried to pull them out, but they couldn’t come, no matter what he did, and then something new–a burning itch across his arms, his chest, even down onto his legs.
He unbuttoned his shirt and saw the tattoos through the white undershirt underneath, and he nearly went into hysterics. He peeled the shirt off, however, and the actual designs left him speechless. The word “Skintrash” was written across his chest, and he saw violent, sexual images spiraling up and down his arms, and onto his stomach, and then the worked their way up as well, dark, tribal spirals circling his neck and then climbing up onto his face, weaving between his piercings and then his hair pulled back into his head, until all that remained was a pitch black skinhead mohawk, a two inch strip of short hair with shaved, tattooed scalp on both sides.
He just stared at himself in the mirror for a few moments. A freak–he was a total freak, but the changes didn’t stop there. His pants–the only clothing he had on still, were growing up his body, covering him skintight. He pushed against it, and it was rubber, or latex, or something, and as they pulled tighter, they were turning clear. Before long, a latex skinsuit covered him from wrist to neck to ankle, and he could see all of his changes, the tattoos covering his legs and feet, as well as the riot of piercings in his cock and scrotum, his sack stretched down one leg of the suit several inches beyond natural, and he looked so freakish and so…so sexy.
His mind, what was happening to his mind? It felt like some strange corruption was growing within his skull, and every fact, every piece of manners and decorum it touched was replaced with some sexual fetish, some new obsession, some disgusting habit he hadn’t even known was possible. “Fuck…” he said, “Fuck cock shit ass, fuckin’ A I’m such a fuckin’ hot piece of skintrash meat!” He shouted. one hand groping his pierced cock through the latex, rubbing it while he screamed obscenities at his reflection until he shot a wad of cum in the suit, watching it pool in the air pockets and slowly work it’s way down one of his tattooed legs, and damn if he needed a fuck. Something freaky, something kinky, something…strange.
He leered at himself, and then started pulling on his bleached jeans, held up with narrow red suspenders, over his latex body suit, but decided to skip the shirt–he wanted people to see he was a freak, he wanted people to see it, and be a freak like him, he had so many ideas, so many fetishes, but first, maybe one more load in his suit.
He started massaging his crotch again while Art watched, having already shot himself on the carpet hallway, and exhausted, he went over to a window at the end of the hall, and smiled to himself. These glasses were amazing, but he wanted to take a break. He took them off and looked out the window, which he noticed gave him a look directly into his now bearish neighbor’s living room window, where the new bear was fucking the daylights out of his son…his son who was now…a cub? Art just stared at him. He hadn’t changed his son, what was going on? Art, however, was about to discover exactly what was happening, when he spun around and found one of the changed roommates eyeing him down the hallway.
~~~
1. Is it Eric and Charles? The daddy and son would probably love a more elderly addition to their family.
2. Is it Trent? He’s pretty thirsty for cum and a good fuck, but I doubt Art is ready to become the top Trent wants.
3. Is it Julian? He seems to have some pretty kinky interests, and Art would probably end up heavily modded and with a few other kinks.
If you have a particular suggestion for Art’s change, feel free to mention it along with your preferred number. What do you all want to see?
Bracken's Corner 