New You Resolutions (Part 9) [Interactive]

“So tell me Morg, what do you think of the last year? Have you liked being this new, massive brute?” the MC asked him, the rest of the audience staring at him.

Morg sputtered a bit, before managing to get some words to come out of his mouth in a coherent collection, his deep voice growling through the microphone. “I, uh…yeah, actually. I guess I did…mostly.”

He didn’t know why he suddenly felt so embarrassed, but it was the truth–he had enjoyed himself, the last six months in particular, slowly exacting his revenge on the unsuspecting football team at the college. He could see the rest of the audience all conferring below, and a moment later, the screen above him dinged, and the first change from the audience’s votes was revealed–yet another round of puberty, but this one would take minutes, instead of months.

Morg felt his entire body heat up suddenly, and he was growing again, his bones aching and burning as they stretched again, his muscles and tendons rushing to keep up with the sudden change. He went from close to seven feet tall, and after a new moments, he was a couple inches over eight feet, stumbling a bit, looking a bit out of proportion–at least until his muscle caught up. He began to bulk up next, the muscles growing and working overtime to fill in the space created by his new height–and there were other changes as well. The bald spot on his head grew more pronounced, even as the hair covering the rest of his body grew in even longer and thicker than before. His clothes started to burst at the seams, and in a sudden fit, Morg clawed at them, tearing them off like paper, leaving himself entirely naked on the stage, his massive cock growing even longer. It was flaccid at the moment, but easily nine inches long–he gave it a stroke or two, feeling it engorge with blood, and in another minute it was full erect–all fifteen inches of it.

There was another ding above them, but Morg wasn’t really paying attention–he was too focused on his new cock, how sensitive it was, how it felt in his massive hands. He didn’t notice his gut beginning to grow even larger, his muscular body developing a thicker layer of fat all over than made him even larger and more imposing. His gut ballooned larger than anything else however, and made it difficult to grip his cock–and he certainly couldn’t see it. He didn’t notice how much he stank all of a sudden, reeking of masculine, unwashed musk and cum, nor did he notice that when the MC handed him a fat, lit, 80 ring cigar, he shoved it in his mouth and sucked down the smoke like a hard cord addict.

Finally, there was one final ding–someone had made a purchase. The man who climbed up onto the stage was younger, a bit chubby–and he wanted a proper, abusive leather daddy bear to fuck him silly every night–and that was something Morg could get behind himself. He shoved the young cub against the wall and impaled him in his cock, fucking him relentlessly as well worn leather gear appeared on his massive frame, his hair turning silver and white as he aged into his late fifties, and the next morning, when he woke up in bed with his new cub, he barely remembered anything from his old life anymore. He gave his cub a rough fuck, and then got dressed and headed to work–eager to work up a good sweat his boy could clean up when he got home, before he fucked him all over again–just like he’d do every day for years to come.

*

The third person on stage stumbled out as Morg left, hunched over and small, wishing that his master and owner were with him, but he’d had to make the trip to the party alone. It was Leroy–or at least, it was the pitiful slave that Leroy had become over the last year or so. He was wearing just a collar and his diaper–a filthy, overused diaper from the look of it, sagging with filth around his meager waist. He had lost weight–his master’s diet was not particularly generous, and he had spent hours and hours of the last several months under the pen of a tattooist, finally getting the humiliating images and words he’d been fantasizing over for ages permanently inscribed on his body.

He shuffled to the edge of the stage, heard some of the men in the audience gag, and others just laughed at him, how he’d been reduced from the butch, masculine, authoritative professor in the images on the screen to this lowlife, diapered slave.

The MC announced that voting could commence, and the audience began to confer. Leroy was too stupid at this point to really understand what was going on–he couldn’t even read the simple words running on the screens around him, and much of what the MC had said was too hard for him to process…but he waited, as he’d been instructed to do, and discovered his final fate.


Here’s the next poll for Leroy, and here’s the Patron exclusive poll as well.

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