Month: July 2017

Use It or Lose It (Part 5)

Six inches now–almost half the man you were. What did you say back then? Fat dirty slobs who couldn’t get any action?

The note was taped to the bathroom mirror, but Randal could see the results well enough right in front of him. The nice clothes he’d put on were gone, replaced by grubby sweats and a t-shirt–both heavily stained with what he suspected was his own cum–and probably that of other men too. He’d been able to see some of his old body left in him before, but now, all of that was gone for good. He’d lost most of his muscle mass, and had packed on at least a hundred and fifty pounds of fat instead. The scruffy beard he’d started growing was now a shaggy mass, and his hair was balding severely, almost past the crown of his head–much of it now grey where it had been a younger black. His body hair, on the other hand, had greatly diminished, leaving his fat body looking much smoother than before. In fact, all of him seemed…a little less masculine. His angular face was rounder, he was an inch or two shorter, and his ass had gained at least as much size as his belly.

He was disgusting. He was the kind of man he would have sneered at before, whom he would have considered lower than dirt in his, and in God’s, eyes. He was that low. He realized that now. He was worthless–he hated looking at himself, and yet, in some twisted way, that line of thinking was only making him…even hornier. He hadn’t jacked off since leaving the church, and the need was rising. He reached under his gut and found his cock…and trembled at how short it suddenly felt. Not only was it quite a bit shorter than before, his new gunt swallowed at least an inch. The five inches left for him to stroke was new–as was how skinny it seemed. His balls, too, were shrinking–they were closer to his body and didn’t swing as much as he was used to–still, it shouldn’t stop him from getting off, right? But much to his surprise, it was difficult to get off. His arm got tired, but the need to cum was only getting stronger. It wasn’t strong enough to change him–yet–but if he didn’t cum soon…

He saw the note and yanked it off, but before he could wad it up he saw something written on the back:

P.S. I don’t want to make this too easy for you. If you want to get off–you’re going to need…assistance from now on. Living, or rubber, should do. Check your nightstand, faggot–I think you might recognize it. Go fuck yourself.

Afraid of what he might find, but more afraid of what might happen to him if he doesn’t cum quickly, he heads into the apartment bedroom and to the nightstand. In the top drawer, where he’d usually kept his bible, there was now a flesh colored dildo and a container of lube. Like it might bite him, he reached in and pulled the cock out, worried about how large it was. The thing had to be ten inches long–and as he held it, he realized that the dildo was probably ten inches long exactly, just like his old cock had been. In fact, the dildo was exactly like his old cock–a complete replica.

He couldn’t think too hard about this, or he’d never get it done. Besides, the sight of it…had made him so much hornier, and hadn’t he always kind of wondered what it must have felt like, whenever he slammed that big cock of his into a tight pussy? He squeezed some lube on the head and shaft, laid back on the bed and started trying to force it into his hole, but the head was just too large to fit in easily, and his horniness was making him impatient. He had to work some of his fingers in first, stretching at the hole, before he could finally manage to impale himself on the dildo successfully. It hurt, he screamed, but one hand couldn’t leave his cock. He stroked faster, ignoring how much his weaker arm was burning, and forced the dildo in deeper, feeling his ass begin to adjust, the pain disappearing and being replaced by a deep satisfaction. He was a faggot. He could do this. This is what he was made to do! He slid down further, and started fucking himself on it, stroking faster, and even after he shot he kept fucking himself until he got hard again, and blew a second load, his fat body shaking and soaked with cum, lube, and sweat. At last he collapsed back, dildo still buried deep in his ass, and the first sob escaped his lips.

He’d lost. He had to admit it. He’d been wrong, and he’d lost. He didn’t know what that witch had done to him, but he wasn’t strong enough to fight it. He’d lost his body, he’d lost his family, and he’d lost his faith. He’d been wrong to lie, and he’d been wrong to lose himself to pride and anger like that in front of her. He’d assumed he was superior, when clearly, he had badly misjudged the situation. He would have to talk to her. He would apologize, and he was certain that she would put this right. He’d certainly learned his lesson, or so he’d thought. Still, there wasn’t anything he could do until he got to school in the morning, and so he left the dildo inside him for the rest of the day. It was comfortable–he had to admit that. By the evening, it seemed normal that he’d have to fuck his loose ass to get off–after all, what would keep an old fat faggot like him happier than an ass full of cock?

long time fan of your works. is there any kind of transformation/ kink theme you haven’t done much of or one that you haven’t done in awhile that you’ve been thinking of doing something with soon?

For the summer, my main focus at the moment is commissions, so most of my own ideas are going to be on the backburner for a little while. Still, I’m excited for some of those, because people have been asking for some stuff I don’t write very often, but always enjoy when I do. There will probably be some orc TF stuff, and my fursona will make an appearance in one story–he doesn’t come out very often, so it’s always fun when I get to use him.

Got a question? I might have an answer! Drop it in the box, and I’ll answer it on Tuesdays.

Hi, I love you works. I am a trainee lawyer but always hoping to be suddenly trained into blue collar job. I’m sure you would describe how would it happen, how I would become a burly muscle and bald bear working in a construction site instead in an office

Sounds like something that should go into the suggestion box on Patreon next month!

Got a question? I might have an answer! Drop it in the box, and I’ll answer it on Tuesdays.

Any chance for bringing back the tumblr and cyoc story recs? Those were always great.

Yes, I do like doing the roundups, although there was a bit of a slump until recently. I’ll probably get one together and post it this weekend. In the meantime, @mcbaer is posting stories again on Fridays! That’s super exciting. @vikingzombieboyfriend and @chaoticdjinn have some good stuff (and new Patreon accounts for those who like helping us writers and artists out!) I’ll have more stuff on Saturday or Sunday.

Got a question? I might have an answer! Drop it in the box, and I’ll answer it on Tuesdays.

Do you have a story you wrote that you wanted to end differently?

That’s…kind of a hard question to answer, really, mostly because I’m not sure it’s the *right* question. In trying to come up with an answer to this, I feel really puled between two very different feelings about the stories I write:

  1. Every story I’ve written, I think, has the ending that it needed to have in that particular moment. In a broader sense, no, every story has the ending that I think it needed–or put even more strongly, I think every story resolves in the only way it could have done so.
  2. Running completely counter to the first, at the same time, every story, as I start writing, feels like it has an infinite number of possible permutations of elements. Probably the greatest source of writer’s block, for me, is trying to decide and settle on one particular path for the story to go down, because every option feels worthy of pursuit.

Those aren’t particularly easy to reconcile, and they probably seem contradictory, but they aren’t. Once I’ve narrowed down the potential options in number 2 to the story I decide on writing, the ending of the story is pretty heavily determined from that decision, hence why I also feel number 1. 

That said, I’ve had stories which I settled on, but which didn’t turn out particularly well, making me wish I could have gone back and picked a different sort of option at the beginning, but most of those stories never get posted as complete stories–they either get abandoned towards the end and posted as a sketch of some sort, or wind up in the unfinished story pile, which I keep promising I’ll get back to at some point. 

I don’t know if this is a satisfactory answer to the question, really, but that’s as close to the truth of my process as I can, at the moment. A good example of this would probably be “Rick and the Beast”, as a story I’ve started, but which petered out without any clear development, and so it has ended up mostly abandoned.

Got a question? I might have an answer! Drop it in the box, and I’ll answer it on Tuesdays.

Use It or Lose It (Part 4)

He didn’t sleep much that night. Something was happening to him–but all of the changes felt so natural, that he found himself happily accepting them, even though in his heart, he knew this wasn’t right. That his life, in a matter of days, had crumbled to pieces. He’d been a successful, happy father, a good Christian man, a pillar of the community–and now, who was he? An overweight slob, reeking of cum, paying men to fuck him, masturbating all day long like a pervert. How had it come to this? He thought of the notes, trying to pin them down, wondering who could have sent them–and he remembered that cunt from school, that afternoon, the concerned mother. She had been complaining about his lie, about masturbating–and now, it was coming true…sort of. It didn’t make sense, actually. Whenever he jacked off regularly, nothing happened to him, but as soon as he tried to resist, he’d have one of those…intense episodes, and afterwards everything would be worse than before! So what should he do? Should he keep jacking off like a freak, or should he resist and fight back? He couldn’t let this get any worse, but he also couldn’t just…accept this as his life either. There had to be some way back, right? But how?

He was certain God could help. God had always been there, guiding him. He’d been successful because of his belief–he’d always felt that, in his heart and soul, that God would never turn his back on him. He’d allowed himself to be led astray, but no more. He’d confess–he’d admit what he’d done, and he would ask for help and guidance. It would be hard, but he’d do it–there was simply no other option for him. So he abstained in the night. He got up early, and found a third note on the table when he entered the kitchen:

“Seven inches left. I don’t think you need to trouble women anymore, Randal. In fact, maybe it’s time you learned what it feels like to be used.”

He crumpled it up and tossed it in the trash, containing his anger as best he could. He focused on making a good breakfast and then exercised to keep his mind off his growing need. He got dressed in the nicest clothes he could find, and drove to the megachurch where he’d always attended services–but where before everyone had known him by name…now, he was a stranger.

He sat through the service, and found himself growing restless. He’d never had a problem paying attention before, but his cock was demanding–he could tell that it had passed the point of no return again–if he gave in now…things would only get worse once more. The fear was enough to keep his hands at bay–he sat on them. When the service was over, he went down to the head pastor, a friend from another life.

“Benjamin–it’s me, it’s Randal. Can I speak to you, please, in your office?”

Benjamin looked at Randal, confused. “I-I’m sorry, I don’t…do I know you? I don’t think we’ve had a chance to speak yet. You must be new here.”

Randal bit his lip, embarrassed. “Yes–this is my first time. But can I…speak to you? Alone perhaps?”

“I have office hours every weekday in the afternoon. I’d be happy to speak to you then, Randal.”

“Please! Today, it’s urgent. I’m…in a crisis, and I don’t know who else to talk to about it.”

“But we don’t even know–”

“Please, sir…please…” Randal felt an odd tingle at the word ‘sir’ but ignored it. It was enough to sway Benjamin at least, and the pastor led Randal back into his office, and shut the door.

“Now, what did you need to speak about?”

Randal let it all come pouring out. How he had fallen over the last few days, how he’d given into temptation. How he’d abused his body, how things had only gotten worse, how he’d allowed a man to fuck him and use him–and then paid him for the pleasure. He was about to ask for guidance from Benjamin, when he saw the sneer on his one-time friend’s face, and froze.

“You faggots–you’re all the fucking same,” Benjamin spat, “You aren’t misled–you’re fucking broken. There’s no helping you.”

Of course, Benjamin had never been kind to homosexuals and their agenda from the pulpit, but the words, now directed at himself, stung Randal in ways he couldn’t explain. “I’m trying…to ask for help. Please.”

“There’s no helping freaks like you,” Benjamin said, and stood up, “Here–let me show you.” He dropped his pants, and revealed his cock, half hard. Randal couldn’t take his eyes off of it. “See? This is all you care about. You could never love God the way you love cock. Now make yourself actually useful, and stop wasting my time.”

Randal tried to object, but somehow he still ended up on his knees, his old pastor’s cock slamming into his throat. It didn’t take long before Benjamin fed him a load, and then slapped him across the face.

“Now get the fuck out of here. If I ever see you in here again, I’ll call the fucking police.”

And so, Randal left the office, but didn’t make it out of the building. Instead, he ran right for the bathroom, locked himself in a stall, and started masturbating furiously. Benjamin was right. There wasn’t going to be any salvation here, not for him. It had felt too good, feeling that warm cock in his mouth, the taste of that cum! He was a faggot–a disgusting worthless cock hungry faggot! It was a few minutes before he finally exploded–he caught as much of his load in his hand and guzzled it back, feeling a heat in his gut as it expanded, packing on even more weight as his muscles began to recede again. When he left, he barely recognized himself in the mirror–but he didn’t bother washing his hands. He didn’t…want to look too closely, and so he didn’t see the full scope of changes until he got home half an hour later.

I mentioned it on Sunday, but since I haven’t been using the sideblog for much anymore, I decided to go ahead and open up for asks again on my main blog. On Tuesdays, I’ll go ahead and clear out the inbox, and answer everything I received in the last week. 

However! I’m not taking submissions or requests for stories through the ask box–if there’s a story you’d like to see me write, for one buck a month you can get access to the submission box on Patreon every month!

Use It or Lose It (Part 3)

He jacked off when he woke up the next morning, later than he would have ever before, in that old life. It was so distant now, that he could barely recall any of it–not even the names of his wife and daughters. No–in this life, he’d lived as a perpetual bachelor. He’d been in a few relationships over the years, but he’d never found them particularly satisfying, and few women had been able to put up with his rather brutish behavior. The church had receded from his life–he no longer attended with any regularity–but the misogyny had remained unhindered. If anything, it had intensified.

Still, as the day progressed, with no company beyond his thoughts and his hand, there was restlessness, and there was shame. What was he doing with himself, on a Saturday, just sitting in his apartment, jacking off over and over again? He needed to get out, he decided. It had been a while since he’d last fucked a broad–some company would be a nice change, he supposed. Through the afternoon he resisted the urge to keep jacking off and felt better for doing so, for demonstrating he still had some willpower, at least. By seven he was good and horned up, he got in his car and headed for a nearby bar where he had a bit of a reputation as a regular.

The drinking was new, but he hadn’t noticed the shift. Before, he’d never been much of a drinker, considering it to be a sign of weakness to rely on alcohol. On the weekends, he might have the occasional glass of whiskey, but nothing beyond that. Now, however, he bellied up to the bar and started hammering back beers. He told himself he wouldn’t drink too much–just enough to help him loosen up around the women. Still, as soon as he started striking out with every woman he chatted up, three drinks became six, and he was lost. He was so fucking horny, that he thought about slipping off to the bathroom to jack off quickly, but that would amount to admitting defeat. No–he might not be able to get a woman to want to sleep with him, but he could at least pay someone, right? There were a couple…regular woman he slept with on occasion, who were willing to tolerate him for slightly inflated rates. He got back in his car and drove home, went inside and placed a call–the sensual woman on the other end promised to be there in half an hour, but that seemed like forever, suddenly.

His cock was raging like the day before, and the intensity was only increasing. He started stroking, telling himself he was just going to edge himself for a moment, to make sure he could stay hard for the bitch who’d be arriving soon, but the heat of it was too much. Still, he was sweating and panting by the time he finally managed to push himself over the edge, the world lurching around him as his cock exploded, coating his belly and chest with a massive load of cum, leaving him panting and heaving in the mess, head spinning, and feeling like an idiot. How was he supposed to perform now? The whore would be here any minute, and he’d just shot his wad!

There was a knock at the door–heavier than he would have expected from a woman’s hand. Shit–should he just tell her to forget it? He’d probably still have to give her some fucking money, or she’d throw a fit. Not bothering to clean himself up–forgetting, in fact, that he was coated in his own cum–he went and answered the door, but his mouth went agape when he saw the older man on the other side of the door. He was so shocked, first, because he hadn’t expected a man, and second, because the man was so…damn sexy, and he’d never once thought that of a man before in his life.

Or had he? At the sight, he suddenly couldn’t remember being with many women before this. Or…any women, really. “Hey daddy–looks like someone got a bit too excited already.”

Randal blushed, “I…yeah, I don’t think I’ll…be needing anything tonight, actually.”

“Oh, but daddy–we both know what you need more than that, don’t we?” he said, stepping inside, pulling Randal into him, squeezing his ass and making him moan, “Yeah–it’s my cock you need, right daddy?”

Randal tried to object, but his body was like putty in the man’s hand. They ended up in the bedroom, Randal bent over the side of the bed while the man slid his cock up and down his crack. He should say no. He didn’t want this, did he? It didn’t matter–as soon as the whore was inside him, the pleasure of it wiped away all doubts he might have felt, and he was begging for it, shoving back, demanding the young hunk seed daddy’s dirty hole. The whore was more than willing, and fifteen minutes later he was on his way, two hundred dollars richer, and Randal was feeling the cum leak from his ass while he stroked his cock off again, unable to believe what he’d just done–but he’d needed it, right? He needed to get fucked, almost as much as he needed to jack off. He tried to convince himself it was a lie, that he’d called a woman, that he’d been married before all of this, but none of that even seemed possible anymore. No–he was a faggot. A faggot who loved to get fucked. A faggot willing to pay to get fucked by a nice, massive cock.

A cock like he’d had, once. He could remember that better, his ten inch tool–but now it was just seven. He wasn’t imagining it, it really was getting smaller–still larger than average, but for how much longer? Was it because he was jacking off too much? It had to be. He’d stop–he’d get help. He’d go to church tomorrow, and talk to someone. They would have to remember him, right?

Commissions Are Open!

Hey all!

Summer Commissions are officially live! You can find all the details on the commissions page here. In particular, at the bottom, I will be keeping an updated list of the commissions currently in progress, lists of the requests in both the patron and non-patron pots, as well as requests that are still currently under discussion or on hold for various reasons!

I’ll pick the first round of stories in a day or two! In any case, if you’d like a commission this summer, I’d suggest you let me know soon! The earlier you can get your request in the pot, the more likely I’ll get to it this summer. Thanks again for your interest, and as always, for reading!