Slave Swap (Part 3)

It was the first time Cameron could remember, where he actively resisted one if his Master’s commands. Certainly some of what Master had ordered him to do before had given him…doubts and reservations, particularly early on, as he’d been growing used to being used for gay sex, but this body, his lack of control, the sheer horror of this violation and betrayal–there was no way he was going to fucking diaper himself. No, this was ludicrous. He fought hard, as his body rose to a standing position, and then lurched out of Master’s office. As he did, he heard a notification on Master’s phone, and he checked it. “Significant resistance. Finally. You’d been far too accommodating thus far slave. I’m glad to see that the consequences of your…submission have dawned on you. Still, fight all you want–it only makes me harder.”

He found the stack of diapers–disposable ones–in the bathroom on the counter, took one from the package and grimaced as his hands pulled it on. He couldn’t stop this. He couldn’t fight this. Wasn’t there some escape clause in the contract? He knew that even a contract of total submission had some limitations, mostly regarding extreme self-harm and murder. But in those cases, the chip itself would shut down as a safeguard. It was obviously still functioning, which meant the contract was still in effect. He looked at himself in the mirror, some fat old man wearing a thick diaper, hands shaking slightly. How long was he going to be staying like this? If this was within the bounds of the contract, then he supposed it could be…for a very long time. If he died in this body, what would happen to him? More disturbing, if something happened to his real body, would he be stuck in this one?

He was feeling sick, and he wasn’t sure if it was because of the terror, or because of something else. There was a sense that…he was craving something, but he didn’t quite know what. Still, he was dressed, the front of his diaper warm from the piss seeping out of him non-stop, and he went back to the office where Master was waiting. “How long am I going to be in this body?” Cameron asked, as soon as he was back in the room.

“I’m not certain, to be honest. The other master and I didn’t agree on an exact timeline.”

“Like…a week? A month?” He didn’t dare mention anything longer, out of his own terror.

Master didn’t reply, he only smiled. “I’m sure that time will fly by, if you just try and enjoy yourself. Now, you should know that this body comes with quite a few quirks you won’t be accustomed to from before. In particular, you are programmed with quite a few…addictions. Physical needs that you’ll need to satisfy on a regular basis, or you’ll begin suffering quite severe symptoms. Some of them are more normal. The body’s owner notes that it’s used to smoking ten to fifteen cigars a day, and generally takes in around eight liters of beer. It also has…a substantial appetite. From the way you’re sweating, you must be feeling the first waves of withdrawal.” Master pushed a cigar, lighter, and a large beer across his desk towards Cameron. “I won’t…tell you to, slave. But if you need them, there they are.”

Cameron felt the body somehow…scream, when it saw the stuff there, and his hands were reaching for it before he even realized it, and he pulled them back, the pain growing a bit worse. The diapers were one thing, but he wasn’t going to let this body control him–he could at least manage that.

Master watched him fight, and groped his cock. Cameron saw he was hard again already. “Of course, the most severe of the body’s programmed addictions are to cum and piss. It requires so much that one person can’t provide enough to satisfy the body’s needs, so we’ll have to find a solution to that, I suppose. It’s a good thing I don’t mind sharing. Better perhaps, because I find you quite…repulsive, actually.”

“Then why…did you agree to this? If you didn’t want this, sir?”

“Oh, I do want this, slave,” Master said, “I don’t have to have sex with you to get sexual enjoyment from you, remember. See, if you’d read that psychological profile of me with an eye for detail, you would have seen that physical sex has never really…been enough for me. No, I love humiliating men, and have fantasies of ruining them. You’re repulsive, but that only…makes me hornier. Besides, I chose this body for you with good reason–your vanity is so…boring. Watching you stare at yourself in the mirror, day in and day out, those god awful clothes you’d buy for yourself? You claimed you were doing that to please me, but you were only pleasing yourself, and your ego. But look at you now! Now we can bring your focus back to where it belongs, because the only way you’re going to be getting that body of yours back, Slave, is by making me happy.”

Cameron didn’t know what to say to that. He felt, and then tasted a tear, and hated the fact that he was crying in front of this horrible man. His body was crying out even louder for the cigar and beer a foot away from him, and his guts were twisting, demanding food, cum and piss. He could smell his diaper already, wafting up, and it was making his mouth water. “This…slave wants you to be happy sir. How can I serve you best?” he said, gritting his teeth.

“I’ll show you.” Master said, “Sleep mode, Slave.”

Slave Swap (Part 2)

“Count backwards from 100 slowly, slave, and then you may force your way out. Take a look at yourself, and then come find me at the computer.”

Cameron started counting, and heard Master’s footsteps recede out of the room. While he laid there, counting quietly to himself, he tried to piece together what, exactly, his body was feeling. There was some pain–quite a bit of it really–but nothing too prominent, just some aches in his joints which he might expect after a trip somewhere, confined like this. But why put him to sleep? Where had this even come from? Master had never shown much interest in fetish play before this. He hit fifty, and realized that his voice sounded a bit odd as well, but passed it off as distortion from the mask he was wearing–though it seemed different from the one Master had put on him before. Was it? The shape was slightly off. From ten to one, he could barely stand waiting, but he made it, and started wriggling in the suit, trying to get the zipper to creep down. It was hard work, and he felt tired and sore and weak, but he managed to get it down past his head, and then pushed it open with his shoulders, letting him free one arm, and then the other. He pulled off the mask and looked around–they hadn’t gone anywhere! They were still in the bedroom, though the light was different, certainly. He got the zipper down further, and that’s when he noticed something was off–his usually flat stomach was not flat at all, but as he unzipped the rubber, he revealed a massive, flabby gut covered with grey and white hair.

Cameron didn’t know how to react at the sight. He stopped unzipping felt it–it was certainly…him. Had Master taen him to get his body reshaped? But then why the sack? He kept going, eager to get free now, and at last he managed to get out entirely, pulled the IV from his arm, and the catheter from his cock–but as he did, his cock kept leaking, dribbling piss onto the floor as he stood, and moved in front of the mirror, and found himself looking at…someone else entirely.

How much could this have cost? This was no minor set of modifications. Cameron looked to be at least sixty now–and an unmodified sixty–with a thick white beard, a shaven head, a septum ring through his nose. His gut hung down, blocking view of his cock and balls, but they seemed smaller than before, and the hair was everywhere. If he’d thought Master was fat and hairy before this…well, Cameron now had a much thicker pelt, and was heavier than him by at least fifty pounds. The weight was all concentrated in his gut, however–his arms and legs seemed thin and weak, and shook slightly as he stood. Piss was still dribbling, running from the head of his short cock and under his balls, where it hit the floor. He tried to clench, but his body didn’t even respond. Still, as horrified as he was, he had orders; he walked out on shaking legs and followed Master into his office the next room over, where he was sitting, naked, masturbating slowly to something that sounded like porn playing on the screen.

“Come slave, come take a look at this,” Master said, and Cameron obeyed, walking around behind his Master, one hand cupped under his cock to try and catch the piss, and found himself looking at a livecam. He didn’t know the man who was on top…but he did most certainly recognize the man getting fucked. It…was him. His face, his body, his…voice. He didn’t know what to say. Master turned in his chair, looking at Cameron’s surprised face, and started stroking faster. “Fuck…you’re fucking face, you stupid fuck…” He grabbed Cameron by the thick beard and tugged him down, “suck me off and drink my fucking cum, slave!”

Master didn’t last long–thirty seconds–and when he finished, he wiped his cock on Cameron’s new beard, smirking down at him, and Cameron…he just looked back at the show, at the stranger fucking his ass somewhere, and started to mutter, but didn’t know what question to try and ask first.

“It’s been five days, slave, since you were last awake. You’ve been delivered to a slave processing facility, which–thanks to your upgraded chip–is working on proprietary mind swapping. This isn’t the body you had a few days ago, slave, but it is your mind. You’re prior body is in the hands of that Master there. He felt his slave deserved a reward for excellent service, and I offered your body as that reward. You will be living in his, instead, for the time being. What do you think? Are you enjoying it so far? Be honest.”

Cameron looked down at himself, at his old, obese body, his hand overflowing with piss still dribbling out, and looked back up at Master, tears in his eyes. “I…I hate it. Did I upset you? Did I do something wrong? Is this punishment?”

No slave–this is service. Your body, and your mind, are mine. My property. That means I get to decide what to do with them. Still, that body…while pretty, was rather boring. I find variety to be much more interesting, among other things. As for your…leak down there. Do get that taken care of? The master who owns that body removed its ability to control any aspect of its bladder–they enjoy…diapers. I bought some–they’re in the bathroom. Please go secure yourself, and then we can chat a bit more regarding some…changes we’ll be making to your lifestyle, while serving in this body.

Slave Swap (Part 1)

Maybe it was neoliberalism run amok. That’s what the protesters and activists said, when the industry was fledgling. How could you put a price tag on freedom or autonomy? But jobs weren’t coming back with rapid automation, and even with a guaranteed income, people didn’t want to simply exist and do nothing with themselves. They were consenting, they were aware of the risks. There were regulations and safeguards, and everyone involved needed to be vetted and approved. Soon enough, it was widely regarded as safe, legitimate, and most importantly, legal. Within a decade, submitting yourself to a human bondage contract for five years was a ticket to wealth–or at least, that’s what Cameron thought.

He’d grown up as poor as you could be, in this world, but it was enough to know that he wanted more. But even as poor as he’d been, he knew he had other things going for him–looks and charm in particular–and they’d served him well in his youth. Now, at 25–the legal age required to indenture yourself–he decided to put himself on the market, and see what came up. There were a few modest offers, looking for modest trade offs. Mostly older men and women with wealth, interested in a sex slave. A few were more extreme, looking for live in help, with greater return at the end of the contract, and then there was one offer, and his eyes nearly popped when he saw how many zeros were attached. The conditions? Complete submission. Five year minimum, with optional renewal at five year intervals at the master’s discretion. The slave would only receives right to exit after fifteen years. Payment amount compounds with each five year term of service. Yes, it was risky, but he could effectively retire at 40, with three times the amount there on his screen! He accepted the offer for consideration–he could always back out of things got too strange.

He was vetted for psychological competence and sanity. He was required to review his potential master’s psychological profile. They met for an interview, and he seemed…so normal. Older, probably in his fifties, but with a face and a body that seemed…inappropriate for his wealth. At least, all the wealthy people on TV that Cameron saw opted to pay for the appearance of youth, but this man–still unnamed and anonymous–had opted to display his age. Thick beard, balding head, sizable figure. Hardly attractive to Cameron, who was straight anyway–though he was certain the Master would change that if he wanted. After all, complete submission meant giving the Master total control, allowing for behavior and bodily modification. Still, Cameron could handle anything for 15 years, and afterwards, he’ll be so wealthy he could look however he wanted. The required waiting period elapsed slowly, and they signed the contract together. Cameron received his control chip, and Master led him away into a new life.

As Cameron expected, his orientation was the first thing to flip, and that first night, he begged his Master to fuck his hole–and the man was all too happy to oblige him. He’d expected further changes in the weeks after that, assuming the man would want to groom him into his ideal human property, but beyond making him a fuck hungry bottom, Master did relatively little. He provided Cameron with a decent paying job in his company as his personal assistant, and beyond that, allowed Cameron to live a relatively independent life. He couldn’t quite believe he’d gotten so lucky; if this was all the man was asking of him, then he was wasting his money.

Still, Cameron was well aware that he had a job to do, and so he made sure his body was in peak condition for his Master’s enjoyment. He worked out five days a week, and with his generous allowance, purchased a new, flattering wardrobe–both for in and out of the bedroom–and fixed up a few…features which he’d always found rather unflattering about himself. Master was appreciative, but didn’t seem particularly impressed by Cameron’s efforts. He went out of his way to try and figure out what his Master wanted from him, and why he’d demanded such control over him if he was giving Cameron such latitude as his slave. Master revealed nothing, however, but Cameron could sense that there was a larger picture in all of this that he couldn’t see.

This continued for a year. Cameron was in the best shape of his life, and unable to believe how lucky he’d gotten in this deal. Still, Master had…grown a bit distant over the previous few months. He still used Cameron plenty, but he could sense that he’d grown a bit bored with him, which concerned Cameron to some extent, but if Master wouldn’t tell him what he needed, then there was only so much he could do, right?

Rather unexpectedly, Master told him he was scheduled for an upgrade to his control chip. They went to the doctor to have it replaced, and the entire time the procedure was taking place, Master seemed both agitated, and very horny. Cameron tried to service him in the car afterward, but Master pushed him away, telling him there would be plenty of time for that later. Back at home, they went straight into the bedroom, Cameron stripped and assumed Master’s favorite position, but he shook his head, and brought out something that looked like a black rubber sleeping bag.

“It’s time for you to really enter your true service, slave,” Master said, “Get in here.”

Cameron was reluctant, but couldn’t disobey any order. He climbed into the tight fitting rubber sack, and then Master zipped him up into it, stopping at his hips, and brought out some medical tubes and a mask connected to an air tank. When he tried to ask what all of this was for, Master just smiled wide. “You’ll see very soon. Now relax. I wouldn’t anything bad to happen to your body during your trip.”

Cameron tried to ask what he meant, but Master told him to be quiet. He put the IV into Cameron’s arm, slid a catheter into his cock, and then secured the mask over his face, before zipping the rubber sack up the rest of the way, and locking it. Cameron started to hyperventilate immediately, but Master told him to sleep, and he immediately passed out. He could never tell how much time passed when Master put him in sleep mode–it always seemed like an instant later. Master woke him up, and he was still in the sack, but he felt very out of sorts–it was obvious some time had passed, but how much? Were they somewhere new? He couldn’t ask anything through the mask, but Master unlocked the padlock, and cracked the zipper on the suit.

“Count backwards from 100 slowly, Slave,” he said, “and then you may force your way out. Take a look at yourself, and then come find me at the computer.”

Feeder Drones (Sketch)

“He’s out there again, isn’t he?” Max asked, when he saw Daryl fuming at the window of their apartment. It wasn’t a very good view by any means, facing another building in the complex, but that wasn’t the real problem. What Daryl was staring at the the massive fucker who’d moved in across the space from them, who right now was at the window, staring at the window, masturbating. He’d been doing it constantly, and always while looking at Max and Daryl. They’d reported it to the management, but no one had done anything about it, and it had gone from annoying to making Daryl, in particular, absolutely furious. Max figured that if they just didn’t respond, the guy would get bored eventually–he was just a pervert or something, right? But Daryl, he’d always hated fat people, and the guy had to be close to 500 pounds. The idea that someone that big could be attracted to him or his boyfriend was a deep, personal offence.

“No, fuck this, I’m gonna go solve this fucking problem myself,” Daryl said, and headed for the door.

Max tried to stop him. “Daryl, don’t fucking start anything! We’ll be the ones who get in trouble.”

“Fucking pervert just needs to be taught a fucking lesson!” Daryl said, flexing his muscle and pushing past Max and heading out the door. Max knew better than to get in Daryl’s way–he’d…gotten a couple black eyes from him by saying no before, but things had gotten better over the last year. Still, he felt sorry for the guy–Daryl wasn’t known to stop after one or two punches, especially as angry as he was.

Daryl hurried over to the other building and leapt up the stairs to the landing and pounded on the guy’s door. Should be break the fucking lock? That seemed like overkill, but it would sure as hell teach the fucker he meant business. He tried the knob, and to his surprise, it was unlocked. He pushed it open and went inside–the place was filthy, and he felt…like he’d been in here before at some point. It wasn’t just the fact that all of these apartments had the same layout either–he’d been in here, but when? Something was wrong, but the man was there in the doorway, leering at him. “Drone, report conversion process.”

“Flesh to Drone conversion complete as of 3:48 this morning. Flesh form has been archived as ‘Daryl Version Zero’.” Daryl heard his voice say, but he hadn’t told himself to say that, had he? And why had his voice sounded so fucking flat?

“Good, Assume neutral form from the neck down, drone.”

Daryl felt his entire body shiver–just just his skin, however, but everything…inside him, as well. Something was wrong with him, but he couldn’t even begin to understand what. He looked down at his hands and arms, and saw that what should be flesh…wasn’t. It looked like he had on a skin tight latex suit, but he could sense that…that it was rubber, through and through. He was rubber. He was made of rubber, he was a drone, he was…was Master’s drone. What the fuck was going on? He was trying to breathe, but he no longer had lungs. Master walked over, smiling. “Remove those clothes, drone.”

Daryl did as he was told, and saw that everything from the neck down–his entire body, was the same solid rubber as his arms. It still had the same shape as his body–well, aside from his crotch, which was completely flat. He ran a hand down the front of him, hearing the slight squeak of rubber on rubber–knew the sensation should make him feel sick, but he wasn’t…feeling anything.

Something in his eyes must have conveyed his terror, and so his Master offered an explanation. “I wiped it from your memory banks, slave, but this is actually the second time we’ve met. The first time you stormed over here, I infected you with my drone serum. For the last week, your flesh has slowly been converting to smart rubber–you’re not a person anymore drone, you’re just an object–my object, to be precise, and I can make you be anything that I want. But I want you to keep your mind, for the moment. I want you to know you’re mine, and I want you to service me, drone, with that tongue of yours.”

Daryl tried to fight his body, but it was no longer under his control. He got down and he leaned in, pressing his mouth to Master’s fat pad, and started sucking on his cock. He was fighting it, trying to deny it. This had to be some horrible dream, it couldn’t be true, could it? This wasn’t possible, right?

“Yeah–you and that pretty boyfriend of yours–you’re going to be two excellent drones. I got found out a few months back–had to disappear. Ended up losing almost fifty pounds! But with the two of you as my new feeder drones, I’m sure I’ll put that back on in no time. I just won’t…recruit as actively as last time, as sad as that is–so the two of you will have to be multipurpose. Drone, generate pleasure skull number one.”

Daryl disappeared, quickly, as his head turned to the same black rubber as his new body, and his face…dissolved. Mouth growing wider, his tongue growing long and falling to his chest, slick with rubbery lube. Master turned around and bent over, pushing his massive ass and crack towards the drone’s face, and it responded as it had been programmed, driving it’s thick tongue into Master’s hole, fucking him deep. It didn’t pay any mind when it heard the gasp behind it–Max had come to investigate what was happening with his boyfriend, only to find the obese man and some…rubber monstrosity with the door open.

“Fuck, I forgot to shut the door…this is what I need drones for!” Master said, “Lucky it was you. Step inside, drone, and shut the door behind you.”

Max did as he was ordered, unsure why he was obeying the massive fucker standing there, but unable to resist.

“Drone, report conversion process.”

“Flesh to drone conversion at 92%,” Max said.

“Almost there. No worries–you can watch, and when you’re finished, we’ll put you both into proper service. Dig deeper drone–you know how I like to get tongue fucked.”

April Suggested Stories – Ready to Download! | Wesley Bracken on Patreon

Hey all! I posted this month’s short stories written from your suggestions over the weekend! Anyone who contributes $1 or more a month gets access to these stories, as well previous months’ suggested stories. Here’s one from last month, if you’d like a taste!

Shined Like a Mirror

“Detail oriented”. “High achiever”. “Perfectionist”. These were all terms people had used to describe me at one point or another. So, it wasn’t…surprising that I was being bothered by this, but at the same time, I didn’t exactly make it a habit to notice the condition of people’s shoes around me on a regular basis. Maybe it was the fact that everything else about his wardrobe seemed so…immaculate. The leather shirt that clung to every curve of his torso with barely a wrinkle. The skin-tight gloves holding that thick cigar of his, which I had watched him light with such care a few minutes earlier. The shine off his metal belt buckle–a detail I figured few people would even consider, or notice. The way his pants wrapped his thick thighs as he leaned against the bar, facing out, chatting with another cigar bear beside him–but then, I got to his boots, and the reason for my…annoyance. They rose up to his calves, his pants sliding inside them, and all over, the shine was immaculate, except…except for one blemish on the side of his left boot.

It was easy to see, from my perspective, because one of the lights in the bar was centered on the scuff–there was a perfect circle of shine, with a chunk of matte in the middle. I don’t even know why it was bothering me so much at this point, but I haven’t…really been able to look away from it this entire time. If he’s noticed me staring he hasn’t indicated any sort of interest–and honestly, I’m not interested in him sexually. Leather and kink aren’t really my cup of tea, but still, I should…tell him, shouldn’t I? I mean, if I’d put that much energy and thought into my outfit before going out, I’d want someone to tell me. It’s like…when a friend as food in their beard. Sure, it’s a bit embarrassing–I myself never grow one anyway–but they’d always rather you tell them than just…have them walk around looking like that.

I get up and walk over to him, he notices me as I do. His look is…disinterested. Whatever he’s looking for tonight, it isn’t me. That…makes things a bit easier, I think.

“Hey, I just wanted to let you know that…well, there’s a spot on your boot that you must have missed earlier, that isn’t shined right.”

He looks a bit surprised, and I point out the spot to him I had noticed, but he doesn’t seem concerned, or particularly thankful. Instead, he just looks at me and grins.

“Well, what are you going to do about that?”

I assume I didn’t quite hear that right. It wasn’t my problem to fix. If he wanted to play leather fantasy, then he should at least care about fixing his error, right? He turns away from me and continues his conversation with the other bear, like nothing had even happened, but my eyes are glued to that blemish. I can’t…just leave it. It’ll bother me all night. If he…isn’t going to take care of his gear, it shouldn’t be my concern, but…but in a move that I swear made perfect sense to me at the time, I got down on my hands and knees and started licking at the spot, getting it wet with spit, and then I buffed it with the sleeve of my shirt. To my surprise, it looked…lovely, like the blemish had never even been there. It was so shiny, in fact, I swore I could see my own reflection in the leather. I leaned a bit closer, trying to find myself, and when my face swam into focus, I let out a cry, fell backwards, and then stumbled upright.

In the mirror behind the bar, I was still…me. Young, clean shaven, slight of build, not particularly tall, though I did have a bit of bootblack around my lips and mouth. The man looked down at his boot, appraising my work, and grinned at me again.

“Thanks, boy, that looks much better.”

He pushed off from the bar and walked a couple of steps closer to me. I wanted to back up away from him, but my feet felt rooted to the bar floor.

“Tell me, boy, did you like who you saw in there?”

What…had I even seen in there? It had been my reflection, or a reflection, at least. But…but had that really been me?

“Do you need to take another look, boy?”

The hand he put on top of my head wasn’t…demanding, but it was suggestive. I was…incredibly curious, I admit it. I got back down on my hands and knees, my eyes an inch from the shimmering leather, and this time, when I saw myself, I didn’t flinch away. It was…more than an image. I was there–a different me, a possible me, but even though I could only see my face, I could also…know so much else about him–about me–about…who I could be. I was muscular–massively built, putting in as much time at the gym, under Master’s direction, as I did at work now. Building my chest, especially, those…massive pecs and thick nips I could see in the black shine. My nips were leaking, but the hormones he had me on did that. Master liked milking me, draining my tits and my little cock all at once, while his little muscle tit pig groaned for mercy and release. Distantly, in my real body, I felt his other boot underneath me, rubbing against the crotch of my slacks, making me groan. I could see my massive frame strapped down over a fuck bench, here in the bar, with men lining up at both ends to use me. Master had taken complete ownership of his tit slave now, not that I was fit for much else beyond service. Something…he’d given me had ruined my brain–thinking about anything more complex than sex and working out was almost impossible. My tit milk was squelching under me on the bench–I could smell it, even…taste it, as it ran along my chest and dribbled to the floor–I lurched forward, groaning, my cock exploding in the front of my pants as I rubbed my face on Master’s boot, trying…trying to force my way inside, into that world, but…but it didn’t actually exist. It was just…just a possibility, a figment.

“Seems like you saw something in there you liked, boy.”

I looked up at him. It was the first time I had done so, and yet it felt like the thousandth, like he’d already been a part of my life for so long. I…ached for him, for that…version of myself, as disgusted as I was by the entire vision. But I couldn’t deny it. He didn’t speak to me for the rest of the night, but I spent it on my knees beside him, cleaning his boots, and the boots of his friends. I went home with him that night, for my virgin plowing, my clothes ruined and covered in boot black. I wanted to ask Master if he’d known. If he’d…forced me to see what I’d seen. It didn’t matter, in the end. I wanted it all the same–to be master’s big titted muscle pig, and I was going to do everything in my power to make that vision a reality.

Method Roleplay (Part 5)

He stumbled out of the bathroom, but felt a strange sense of vertigo–he was in a hall, but not…the hall he should be in. The walls were covered with paint that was chipped and peeling, the carpet covered in stains. There should be a doorway across from him, where the computer had been in Brett’s office, but there wasn’t a door–a bit further down the short hall was one, which led to…the bedroom he and daddy shared together.

No, this had been Brett’s apartment, they weren’t living together yet, right? He opened the door, and saw the messy room covered with clothes, and he could smell them both in there, their musk, their sex…fuck, it was so hot, how much it reeked. It got Evan worked up just like it did Brett, smelling the stale, stinking air. His dad’s cum was still dribbling down the crack of his ass, and he ran one hand up it, getting it good and coated, and started licking it off, grunting and moaning as he rubbed his little cock.

Why…had he come in here again? He’d been looking for a computer, right? But…they didn’t have a computer. They were too poor for that–Daddy just had his smartphone, and that was it–but hadn’t they listened to something together? There had been something, he was sure of it, but it was like the harder he tried to grasp it, the further away it got. He…he should talk to daddy about it. Daddy would remember it right? He had to! Daddy was so smart–he was just a dumbfuck little shithead boy–or at least, that’s what daddy said he was, and daddy was usually right about those sorts of things.

He turned around and walked back towards the main room of their apartment. He could hear the TV on, and smell…smoke. The smell concerned him–was something burning? He found his daddy where he expected him, on the couch, watching sports on TV, a can of beer in one hand and a cigar in the other, but this wasn’t right. This apartment wasn’t right. Brett should be changing back to his old self, but things only seemed to be getting even worse. After all, Evan hadn’t said anything about Brett being a smoker, and now he was sucking down cigar smoke? It was like reality was moving around them, and trapping them in the fantasy they’d created.

“Daddy? I…I know it’s hard, but I think we need to change back now?”

Brett looked over at Evan, a confused look on his face, and belched. “What the fuck are you talking about, boy?”

“Re-remember? We listened to that…thing together? That song, or…or somebody speaking? Maybe it was a book. You remember that right?”

“Boy, ya know yer old man’s memory is pretty shot. Ain’t too bright, ya know.”

“But do ya remember?”

“Boy…” Brett paused, “Boy, I remember a lotta shit, but ain’t none a it makin’ much sense right now. But I’m feelin’ a whole lot better, now that I got a cigar ‘n a couple a beers in my gut, and I’d feel a bit better with my boy next to me eating out my nasty pits, so git over here, sit down with yer daddy,” he said, patting the cushion beside him.

Evan didn’t want to disobey him and get another spanking, so he did as he was told. As soon as he was on the couch, Brett threw an arm around him and pulled him in tight, Evan’s face inches from his sweaty pit, and they reeked of sex. He gave a grunt without really meaning to, and felt a bit of his cares slip away.

“Yeah, that’s my sexy boy, ya make yer daddy real fuckin’ happy, ya know that?”

“No daddy, I’m…this ain’t how I’m supposed tah look–it ain’t how we’re supposed tah look. Ya do remember, I know ya do.”

“I was just bein’ thick boy.”

“No! I was lyin’ before! Ya were right! This ain’t right!”

“People can’t git younger, Evan. I ain’t ever gonna be a kid again–the world don’t work like that. How fuckin’ dumb are ya?”

“But daddy–”

“Boy, shut up–I wanna fuckin’ watch TV ‘n not care about shit until work tomorrow.”

“Ya can’t go tah work lookin’ like that! No one’ll recognize you.”

“What the fuck are you talkin’ about?” Brett said, looking at Evan like he was crazy, “I been a mechanic there fer years.”

“Ya ain’t a…mechanic…” Evan muttered, but as he did, he saw his daddy’s clothes change in front of his eyes, becoming a set of grease covered coveralls, his hands coated black, and the scent of oil and metal mingled with the other odors of their apartment. “Daddy, ya gotta stop, or ya ain’t gonna be able tah git back if ya keep goin’!”

“Course not, boy–but I got ya with me, so I’m fuckin’ good.”

“No–No, I’m–this ain’t me daddy, I don’t care what ya wanna be, but this ain’t me,” Evan hauled himself off the couch, and started fishing around for clothes to put on. He had to get out of here–maybe get back to his apartment, where he could remember himself better, and change back. “I ain’t gonna fuckin’ live like this. It was just supposed tah be a game! I don’ wanna live like a fuckin’ nasty pig!”

“Boy, watch yer mouth, ‘n sit yer ass back down this instant.”

“I got a job daddy, I got a future, and a life. I ain’t givin’ that up fer some fucked up fantasy.”

“Please. You? Git a fuckin’ job?” Brett said, standing up, “Boy, yer thick as a fuckin’ brick, ‘n fat, ‘n lazy. They even fired ya from the fuckin’ garage, remember?”

“Daddy, I don’t…wanna remember that…” Evan said, but he could. He could remember how his daddy had gotten him work there after he’d dropped out of high school, but he’d just sat around eating and jacking off until their boss had fired him. And now…now he just…

“All yer fuckin’ good for boy, is sittin’ ‘round here, stuffin’ yer face, jackin’ off like a good pigson, and when I git home ya serve yer daddy like a good little porker should. Ain’t that right?”

“Nuh-uh, ain’t…nah daddy…” Evan said, but his words were slow, and even thicker than they had been. He could feel his body growing, his gut sagging and covering his cock completely, the smells of the room growing more intense. “Mean…I gotta…” and with that, his mind broke. He really was too stupid to figure this out–what the fuck had he been thinking? He knew better than that. He was…he was just his daddy’s pig–he was never gonna be more than that. “S-Sorry dad, I know I’s just a dumb pig ‘n stuff.”

“It’s alright boy,” Brett said, put his hand on Evan’s head, and pushed his 400 pound, idiot son to his knees. “Daddy’s got some nice beer piss fer ya, pigboy–‘n then how’s about we order pizza ‘n git ya fed nice ‘n full?”

Evan liked the sound of that a lot, and he gulped down daddy’s piss, grunting and snorting as he did, and by the time he’d been stuffed full, over two hours later, neither of them would have ever believed that the day before they’d been anyone other than the incestuous pigs they were now.

Method Roleplay (Part 4)

By the time Brett was getting ready to cum in his son’s hole, he’d been plowing him for close to half an hour. The hole, which had started out tight, was now plenty sloppy, with Brett’s copious amounts of pre-cum providing ample lube, while the rest ran down between Evan’s fat thighs. Evan wasn’t think about much beyond the simple pleasures of his father’s cock–just snorting and grunting, one hand tugging at his nipples while the other rubbed the head of his short cock poking out of his fat pad. He’d already cum twice, but that hadn’t slowed either of them down–Brett had just reached around, scooped up as much of his boy’s cum as he could, and used it as extra lube, before ramming his dick back into him. His boy, after all, wasn’t really good with self-control–something he’d spent a while reminding Evan off while they’d been fucking. His son could barely keep his hands out of his pants, even when they were out in public. It would have been embarrassing, he supposed, but Brett wasn’t one to feel much shame. If anything, he was fucking proud that his son was as much of a pervert as he was, right? Still, something was bothering him about all of this, but he was so horny that he could ignore it entirely for a while longer, and feel his balls start to swell slightly, getting ready to dump one of his huge loads deep in his son’s guts, which Evan had been begging for. He started fucking harder, Evan snorting and grunting in time with his father’s deep thrusts, and at last he drove in hard and pumped shot after shot of cum into him, gripping his boy’s fatty sides tight, his sweaty, hairy gut pressed to Evan’s slick back.

“I love you boy, daddy loves you so fucking much…” he said softly, leaning over and licking up some of Evan’s sweat.

Evan was only half listening, as he was close to his third shot, and with a shudder, he blew another load all over the front of the counter, and then collapsed onto it, feeling like he’d taken enough of the edge off that he could finally think again. The bathroom mirror had fogged up, and with one hand he wiped it until he could see himself–this…other self. This wasn’t him–it wasn’t Brett behind him. He could…remember listening to something, and even he hadn’t thought it would really work, but it had done something to them, and now…now they had to figure out how to get back.

Brett’s cock was softening, and he slid out, a gush of cum following him as he did, Evan groaning at the sensation of being empty again. “Fuck boy…that…” he stumbled back, legs shaking a bit. “God, why the fuck do I feel so fucking strange?” he muttered to himself.

“Because this isn’t real, Brett–we’re just…I don’t know if we’re imaginin’ this shit or what, but we gotta go back tah who we were before–ya remember right? Ya were young, not that fat, and–”

“Shut up boy, that was just…I was just bein’ thick I thought. That wasn’t real,” Brett said, looking down at himself, hefting his gut, “I mean, I…kind of remember, but…but then how…”

“It ain’t real daddy, we gotta git back,” Evan said, turning around and looking at Brett, hoping he’d be shifting back towards…who he’d been before. Evan couldn’t really remember who they’d been–not well at least–but he could almost tell that the closer they got, the better he’d remember. Still, Brett wasn’t changing–instead, his daddy looked like he was freaking out. “Dad–Brett. It’s gonna be ok, we can fix this.”

“Ya don’t–use my name, son, ya know better.”

“Brett, we aren’t roleplaying anymore, we’re done.”

“Boy, I am the man a this house, ‘n ya do what I fuckin’ say!” Brett roared, shoved Evan around and bent him back over, before giving his ass ten hard smacks, making Evan count them off and thank ‘daddy’ after each one. When he finished, he…he found it hard to believe how turned on he’d gotten, doing that–how turned on he’d gotten by all of this. But hadn’t he hated the idea of this? Hadn’t…someone, at least? He needed to calm down, but the air in the bathroom stank of sex and sweat and he was so fucking tight–he had to loosen up.

Brett left Evan in the bathroom, and his boy tried to recover from the punishment. He’d been a bad boy, he knew better than to use daddy’s name–why had he done that? He felt awful, and yet he also knew that these feelings, this body, all of it was a lie–but he didn’t know how to disentangle himself from it. Still, getting his ass pounded had gotten him hard–like usual. Maybe…maybe a little longer wouldn’t hurt, right? He looked at himself in the mirror and knew he should be disgusted–that the old him would have been disgusted by this. This had never been his fantasy–he’d wanted to be a twink, not some dirty chubby pig like this–and incest had always turned him off, but he could…see daddy’s face in his, and it was making his cock leak again, but he couldn’t afford to get swept any further away from his real life. The file had warned about something like this, hadn’t it? That’s what he needed to do–get to the file, and maybe he’d figure out a way out of this mess.

Method Roleplay (Part 3)

Evan didn’t need to be told twice–he dropped to his knees on the tile of the bathroom floor, and scooted up to his daddy’s cock, still unable to believe that his young roommate from moments before had actually…become this fucking daddy of his dreams. He could smell the powerful musk rolling off him, and it was making his hard cock start to leak–he shoved his face into his daddy’s crotch and took a few deep snorts of the smell, enjoying it.

“Yeah, you like that smell don’t you boy? You want daddy’s scent all over you.”

“Fuck daddy, you know I do.”

“Pretty fuckin’ lucky that a slobby daddy like me found a nasty boy like you, ready to worship my fucking filthy body.”

“Oh…fuck daddy…”

“Perverted fuck–you want daddy to soak you down in his smelly piss? I bet a filthy boy like you would fucking love that.”

In fact, watersports had never really been much of an interest for Evan, but for this man? He…he’d probably do anything he asked him to do, without any doubts. He nodded, and after a could of moments, Brett started pissing, aiming his stream all over Evan’s face and chest–and he nearly came just from that alone. Why had he thought he wouldn’t enjoy this? Of course he fucking enjoyed this! He…he bathed in his daddy’s piss every…every chance he got, didn’t he?

He opened his mouth wide, and Brett directed the stream there, watching his boy gulp it down, stroking his cock, and grinned. “Gonna fill up that gut of yours boy. You want a big gut like daddy, don’t ya?”

Evan nodded without much thought, and kept drinking.

“Yeah, you wanna be just like your daddy, don’t you boy?” Brett said, grabbing Evan by the back of head and pulling him closer to his cock, pushing the head into his mouth as the piss slowed, “Fat, stupid, hairy, lazy, horny all day and night. Just like your daddy.”

Part of Evan was trying to push back–after all, for him, part of the pleasure of older men was the difference between them. Him–old, fat, grungy, and perverse–and him–young, slender, clean, and corruptible. But…had there been more? He had always liked the idea of an older man corrupting him, ruining him, hadn’t he? It seemed like he had, but everything was a bit fuzzy.

“Course, ya ain’t gonna be like your old man in every way, right son? Not with that little boy prick, and that hungry ass of yours. Still, I’ll keep ya plenty satisfied.”

Evan could swear something strange was happening to his cock, while he started sucking on daddy’s cock. It wasn’t growing soft, but it was getting smaller. And his hand kept brushing up against something else–his belly–but he’d been toned, hadn’t he? No–he shouldn’t be worrying about these things, he needed to focus on his daddy, and making him happy, getting him good and horny so he can fuck his boyhole, and make him scream–fuck, that’s what he needed. He’d feel better after a nice ride on daddy’s cock.

“Fuck boy–talkin’ bout it makes me fuckin’ want it. Git up and bend over the counter.”

Evan didn’t need to be told twice–he knew what happened if he ever disobeyed his daddy after all–and it wasn’t like this was an order he’d ever disobey anyway. He hauled himself up–which seemed a bit more difficult that it should have been, and daddy had to give him a hand, but he made it, turned to the counter and leaned over, facing the mirror, and he froze. That–that wasn’t him. That wasn’t his face, with the scraggly beard, overgrown hair and zitty skin. That most certainly wasn’t his body either, behind him, with that big gut hanging off him, his ass much, much wider than he remembered…or…or did he? Something didn’t seem right, but before he could sort it out, Brett, behind him, had slicked up his index and third finger with slobber and shoved them into Evan’s ass, making his boy shudder and groan, pushing back onto his daddy’s fingers.

“Oh fuck, thank you daddy…”

“You’re welcome, son. You know it’s always a pleasure for me, and you want to make me happy, don’t you?”

“Oh…Oh fuck daddy, more…more than anything!”

“Yeah, because you’re a good boy aren’t so? A total slut for your nasty father? My fucking pigboy? That what you wanna be son?”

“Oh fuck daddy, that sounds…fucking hot…”

“Fatten you up even more, open up this hole of yours, cleaning my body and drinking my fucking piss all day long?”

“Dad, get your big fuckin’ dick in my piggy hole, I can’t fuckin’ take it. Ya know I hate it when you tease me!” Evan said, grunting and snorting and shoving back on Brett’s hand, trying to get as much inside him as possible.

Brett was stroking his own cock with his free hand, and didn’t notice was it was growing again, to nearly eleven inches, so thick he couldn’t meet thumb and finger around the shaft–even with his big hands. He let a gob of drool roll off his tongue and land in his palm, which he used to coat the head of his cock–he liked it a bit dry in his boy’s hole–and then started pushing it inside. Evan suppressed a cry of pain, but he’d take it for his dad–he’d do anything for him, after all.

Method Roleplay (Part 2)

“Did it work?”

Brett didn’t want to say that it had, but he certainly had fallen asleep, hadn’t he? And he felt…kind of strange, almost like he wasn’t all here at the moment, or like some little hole had opened up in his head, and something was…coming in, or going out. “I don’t know…do you feel…kind of strange?”

“I feel pretty good, actually,” Evan said, standing up, “Even if there was nothing to it, at least I got a good nap. So, come on–you ready to give it another shot, daddy?”

“You know, I don’t…actually feel that horny right now–how about later tonight?”

“That doesn’t sound like my daddy–my daddy is always fucking horny,” Evan said, got close and started groping Brett’s crotch through the shorts he had on, and to Brett’s surprise, his cock had gone from flaccid to hard in less than a second…or had…hadn’t be been hard the entire time? It was hard to remember, exactly. “Please don’t…call me that Evan. I’m serious, I feel really weird–don’t you?”

“I always feel weird when I’ve been too long without my daddy’s cock in my holes. And why don’t you want me to call you daddy? Whenever your boy calls you daddy, it turns you on, doesn’t it? I can feel your cock throbbing daddy, don’t lie to me.”

“B-Boy, you’re…fuck…” Brett leaned back, just enjoying the sensation of Evan’s hand kneading his cock and balls.

“Yeah daddy, let your boy take good care of you–you just lay back and play with that big furry gut of yours, and those meaty tits while you’re boy gets a taste of thick daddy cock.”

Yeah, fuck, that did sound hot all of a sudden. He leaned back in the computer chair while Evan started hauling open the fly of his shorts, and as he did, he felt his shirt ride up–he pulled it up the rest of the way, rubbing his big gut, coated with hair…but…it felt bigger than usual. He just had a bit of a paunch, but this gut…it was big and round, like a beach ball, and it obscured his vision of his boy sucking him off more than it should. There was more hair than before too, and when he pulled his shirt up, and off, he saw that his nipples were both the size of pencils, jutting out from his fat chest, and he started to breathe a bit quick. “Evan…Evan, this isn’t right, I’m not…I don’t actually look like this!”

Evan pulled away and stood up, blinking at Brett’s bigger gut and tits–and realized the nine inch cock he’s been sucking on was only supposed to be five and a half. He reached out, and rubbed Brett’s furry gut, unable to believe it was really there, but more turned on than he could really imagine. “I…I mean, I guess it worked then, didn’t it?”

“This…I don’t think I can do this, Evan. Change me back!”

“Calm down, it’s just an illusion caused by the hypnosis. It’ll go away. Just calm down.”

“Then how in the hell are we both seeing the same fucking thing! I’m 26, I can’t look like this.”

Evan didn’t have an easy answer for that one, but he didn’t really want to answer it–he was too fucking turned on looking at his boyfriend there, becoming more of the man he’d always wanted him to be–could it go even further? “Daddy…you’re just confused is all. You’re just remembering things wrong. You aren’t 26, you’re turning 50 next month.”

“Shut up boy, I’m fucking serious.”

“You had a bad dream–this is who you are. A big bellied, extremely hairy, big dicked daddy bear. You get confused sometimes–after all, you aren’t that smart. Pretty much all you think about is all the dirty, kinky sex you want to do to your boy, day in, and day out, isn’t that right?”

“Boy, you need tah listen to your fuckin’ daddy.”

“No daddy, listen to me. Go on, look at that big flabby gut covered with silver hair, give this huge cock of yours a nice stroke, feel that thick beard of yours and how much you’re balding. You aren’t 26. You aren’t that young kid you think you remember–you’re my big, dirty, perverted daddy, aren’t you?”

“Boy, ya need tah fuckin’s shut yer fuckin’ mouth!” Brett growled as he hauled his ass out of his chair, shoved past Evan and made his way to the bathroom in his apartment. It couldn’t be true. He was so…so fucking sure, but when he got in there and turned on the light, and say himself in the mirror…there he was. His huge gut hanging out, covered with a thick layer of hair, his half erect and leaking daddy cock hanging out the front of his grungy boxers, thick beard across his face, a month or two overgrown, crawling up his cheeks. Hair a mess and balding badly, more silver than the brown of his youth. What…what in the hell had he been thinking? His boy was right–he wasn’t some young kid! God, he can be fucking thick sometimes…and yet, something was still nagging at him all the same–still, it probably wasn’t important, right?

“Fuck, I can’t…believe it,” Evan said beside him. He’d gotten to the doorway behind Brett, and he still could barely believe his words had really done that to his boyfriend. It didn’t seem real–in fact, the changes he’d just seen were seeming less real by the moment. Words…they couldn’t do this. No, this was just his daddy, of course–the same he’d always been.

“Fuck boy, sorry, daddy was outta his fuckin’ mind, but I’m feelin’ a whole lot better now,” Brett said, leering at Evan–at his boy–stroking his fat cock nice and slow while he did, “Yer horny daddy’s ready tah play–now git the fuck down here ‘n help daddy out.”

Fighting With Science (Part 2) | Wesley Bracken on Patreon

This month’s Patreon exclusive story is up, for everyone contributing five dollars or more a month! It’s the second part (of three) of last month’s story, and in this part the title starts to make more sense! There’s brutal fight clubs, hyper muscle growth, violence, abuse, humiliation, pain play, and more inside! If that intrigues you, and you aren’t helping me out already, then consider throwing five dollars my way each month! It helps me keep providing regular content to you all, and with another 50 dollars, I’ll be getting started on creating a complete, searchable archive of all of my stories on the internet! Thanks again for all your support, and I hope you enjoy!

Fighting With Science (Part 2) | Wesley Bracken on Patreon