Patron Bonus: The Rehabilitation of Resistance Fighter Marcus Willard

This is a longer story, based off of a few suggestions. I’ve had a lot of people want a sequel/continuation of this suggested story from a few months ago. This one was longer, because I missed a week due to other circumstances, so here’s the first half for free, and if you want to conclusion, you can check it out on my Patreon, if you support me at the $5 tier or higher!


The capture of James Woods was a coup for the government. Thanks to their conditioning technology, there were no secrets in Jame’s mind that were safe, and safehouses were raided all over the country, as the resistance scrambled to try and avoid the net closing in around them. Some of the resistance was lucky, and scurried their thin selves deeper underground, while others, like Marcus Willard, were not so lucky.

Marcus wasn’t like many of the other resistance fighters, who came to the group with muscle and jockish determination. Before the shift in policy, and the crackdown on anyone thin, Marcus had been wealthy, and with that wealthy, he had sought beauty–and thinness was part of that, for him. He had been bankrolling the resistance with his funds as best he could, converting it to cash, and using it to try and fund a solution to the nightmare–but that made him a prime target, as he knew everything there was to know about the cash flow of the resistance. When he was apprehended–well, he divulged everything, because no one can resist the conditioning of the government. When they had drained him of everything useful, they loaded him on a train with other thin undesireables and sentenced him to a five year stint at work camp #23 in Iowa.

Stepping off the train, he could see nothing for miles aside from stockyards, and the stench of manure was everywhere. With the countries new policies, the food production and consumption had skyrocketed–especially the need for meat. Here, at work camp #23, the prisoners of the government worked to supply that food, while also being fattened up themselves, at the source. Marcus was special, however, and so, while the rest of the prisoners were sent for their introductory conditioning, Marcus was instead brought to the home of one Terry Bastion, the commander of work camp #23. Terry had been a pig farmer in these parts, and always a sizable fellow. He’d ridden the government’s policies, and grown with them, into the man he was today–800 pounds, eating almost constantly, his desires twisted and perverted as the government had turned more cruel, and now, he had Marcus Willard right here, in front of him–and oh, did he have plans for the rich boy. Despite being on the run with the resistance, Marcus had always managed to keep himself looking rather preppy–even now, in his dirty slacks and shirt, he was projecting a city vibe that Terry detested.

Marcus was…afraid, standing there in the dining room, watching the massive redneck in front of ridicule him through mouthfuls of food, telling Marcus that he had a special sort of conditioning in store for him, one that he’d set up personally. Marcus cursed him out, but the hulking guards dragged him away, down into the depths of Terry’s house, hooked him up to a feeding tube and a VR set, and before Marcus could do anything about it, he was out, the fattening mush pumped right into his stomach.

Normally, men were conditioned in four hour blocks of time, with a mandatory rest, fed all the while, until they were deemed ready to enter the general population of the work camp. Longer stretches of conditioning, while not unheard of, came with…risks–but those were risks that Terry was willing to take on Marcus’ behalf. Marcus wasn’t the first, of course, Terry had been pushing the limits with the prisoners of the work camp since it was established–with the government’s approval of course, so he was fed for a month straight, his body pumped with a variety of drugs to shift metabolism and hair growth. Artists from town arrived and applied the tattoos early, before he had grown too much–Terry wanted them to look…stretched. Finally, after a long couple of months, he was given his final haircut, a couple of final changes, and laid down in a room to wake up properly, for the first time in ages.

Terry was there to witness the shock first hand, when Marcus managed to force himself up in the bed, and look in the mirror and the changes Terry had wrought on his body. The month long feeding had given him a huge gut, a wide ass, and dwindled away much of his muscle mass, leaving him weakened. In the mirror, he could still see his face–Terry had been careful to leave in unchanged, so people who knew him well, might recognize him, But his hair was cut into a short mullet in the back, his usually clean face now sporting a thick horseshoe mustache. There were trashy tattoos all up his arms and across his chest as well, all of them redneck in nature. He was no longer the preppy, suit wearing Marcus Willard of the resistance. Terry had warped him into some disgusting caricature of himself. But it was when he tried to talk, that he realized just how deep the changes had gone.

This wasn’t his voice. It was…deep, and slow, with a thick drawl even he could barely understand. Terry and the guards started laughing at him, and he couldn’t even shout, or yell, he just tried to stay silent, his face turning redder and redder, and Terry told him that this was who he would be for the rest of his life, a fat, stupid hick–even when he got out of the camp, there would be no changing any of this. He wouldn’t be able to tell anyone about who he was before this either–Terry said, and with a snap of his fat fingers, something…in Marcus’ brain warped again, and all of these new memories slotted into place. He tried to resist them, tried to deny them, but his past–his real past–was just a distant glimmer, something he could barely even recall himself now. No–he…he was just a stupid hick, abused by his fat daddy and brother’s all his life, abused so much he…he craves it. The guards sneer at him, groping themselves, and he tries to push them off, but they…make him squeal for it, in the end, and by the time he’s introduced into the camp, he can still feel their cum swilling in his guts–and he knows he can’t end up like this. They could take his dignity, but he…he would keep fighting all the same, even in here. He’d do everything he could, just to prove that he would never be broken. Not like they broke James–he’d push through this, no matter what.

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