Everyone on the block called him Nasty Nick, and he was damn nasty–that’s the truth. He never kept up his lawn or his house–it was just a sty. His house was back to back with mine, so I could see into his overgrown yard from all of my back windows, and I can’t tell you how many times I saw him back there wearing nothing other than a filthy jockstrap, beard wild and unkempt, smoking those big cigars of his, just one big filthy mess of a fuckup.

Now, I’m gay, not that I’d ever told Nick–he was as homophobic as they came, but one regret I’d always harbored was that I’d never had any kids. It didn’t help that, even though I was a big bear of guy, kind of like Nick, but chubbier and much cleaner, I was kind of into twinks, and the idea of having a son in his late teens who I could fuck around with–well, it was just a fantasy right? No real problem having a fantasy, until the fantasy generator appeared on my doorstep. I didn’t know what it was to be honest, but I soon discovered that it could make any dream of mine come true, and so the next time I saw Nick in the backyard, I decided to make a son of my own.

I compelled him to climb over the fence into my yard, and I met him back there, before changing him bit by bit. First, making him disgusted by the taste of his own cigars, watching him spit out the one he was smoking, staring at it on the ground like it had bit him. Then, I took away his beard. Oh man, he was so angry at me, but he couldn’t do anything to me as I removed all of tattoos, cleaned up his jockstrap, and aged him back to eighteen. I gave him a smallish cock too, and the most amazing ass–it felt so amazing him fucking him out back, listening to his new high tenor moan in pleasure, begging me, his daddy, to fuck him harder and rougher. So now the house is vacant, but I have everything I’d ever really wanted–a son with benefits.

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