This is another caption series I’m running over on my discord server for Patrons! This is just one possible ending for our hapless groomsman, out of four. If you’d like to support me, and get access to bonus content like this, then you can do so over on my Patron account here!
I knew I shouldn’t be hunting so close to family, but as soon as I saw Porter, posing for pictures with the rest of wedding party, I just couldn’t resist thinking about it. He was just so dang cute! A little chubby, a nice beard, and that little bit of smugness that I just find it so fun to toy with. But he was close to my nephew, one of his friends from college, and so at first, I really was just thinking about it, I promise. But it’s surprising how quickly thinking about things can slide to doing something about it rather quickly.
Maybe if he had been more social during the reception, instead of sitting off by himself at a table staring at his phone, I wouldn’t have kept thinking about it. Maybe if I hadn’t wrapped up another project a couple weeks ago, I wouldn’t have kept thinking about it. Maybe if he hadn’t gone under so damn easily, I wouldn’t have kept going. But it was so easy. I slid into the chair next to him, and we chatted easily–he was so trusting, I could feel him relaxing, begging me to relax him. I probably could have just talked him under with an hour, but in the open, I wanted to be quick. I showed him a spiral on my phone, kept talking, and five minutes later, he was gone, happy to talk to me about anything, happy to do anything I told him to do–but I couldn’t there, not so brazenly. Maybe if he’d had more strings–a girlfriend, roommates, anything at all–I wouldn’t have gotten scared off. As it was, I suggested he come by my hotel room later that night–without telling anyone–so we could continue our nice conversation, and he was more than happy to agree with me.
In my room, we slid under again right away. It was like he wanted to be under, like he wanted it even more than I did. We talked a little more, while he stripped for me. He told me that he’d always liked girls, but it wasn’t hard to convince him that he was mistaken, that it was men he’d always wanted, especially older men, men like me. By midnight, he was there willingly–I didn’t even need to have him under trance for him to be begging for my cock–and fuck, if he wasn’t so god damn sexy, and so damn easy.
Usually I like a challenge. I like wearing them down, I like finding ways to break them, to turn their own minds against themselves, but rarely do you find someone like this, like Porter, with a mind so easily bent that its like he wants you to do it to him. Maybe if he hadn’t just moved into the same town where I lived, things wouldn’t have gone any further, but as it was, he was due to start a new job next month–and was so eager to see me again. How could I resist? Flying back home, it was all I could think about–what I might do to him, who I might make him into. There were so many options, how could I even choose?
I do know what he wants, what he told me when he was so open and honest that he couldn’t help it–he isn’t happy with how he looks, with his gut, with his chubby face. I suppose I could help him with that. We could start off easy at first, get him a gym membership, fix his diet–just some small suggestions to help him feel like he’s making progress, little things that help make him trust me more and more, and he slides deeper and deeper under my control with every visit. But just giving him what he wants doesn’t do anything for me–and my needs…well, if he’s only enjoying himself, where’s the fun in that? He needs…to lose himself. Lose control. That’s what I want to see, that’s what gets me off.
He’ll start working out more and more, neglecting his other relationships, looking at himself in the mirror and feeling more and more…dissatisfied. He feels caught between his old self, his friends, his job, and this new…something. It’ll scare him. He’ll try to pull back, and pull away from it, from me, but there’s no way I can let that happen.
I’ll tell him what the injections are–growth hormones and steroids–and he’ll be horrified, but I’ll watch him inject them himself, unable to resist my orders–and then he’ll jack off while I fuck him, telling him what a monstrosity he is going to become. I’ll start reducing his intellect, wearing it down around the edges, making it harder and harder for him to do anything beyond lifting and counting. He’ll beg for his job, in the end, but it’s only getting in the way of lifting more and more–it has to go too, in the end. He wanted this body, I’ll tell him. He wanted this–all I’ve done is give it to him.
I wonder if I’ll let him remember any of it. Probably, on occasion. He’ll have glimpses, as he’s resting in the gym, thinking about the man he’d been–clever, funny, happy even. He had no idea it would be this much work, that being this big would be so exhausting, but when he sees himself in the mirror, fuck if it doesn’t make him horny–even if the drugs are shrinking his cock. Even if he can only get hard around fat older men. Even if all he really wants is to be abused and humiliated in this massive body by men like me, and all of my friends. Fuck, he’ll hate it, but he won’t be able to stop himself…still, there are other ideas too…