Archive: Matchmaker

Originally published July, 2012

Figured I might as well get back into cleaning up and reposting some old stories of mine! This was an old one with quite a few pics to go with it. This is the original version without much doctoring. For those interested, I added a few notes on to the end.

Synopsis: A young construction worker finds himself the heir to an unlikely legacy, and uses his new powers to help the men in his family find some unlikely romantic matches.

Click below to read more!

Table of Contents

• Part 1 – The First Matches
• Part 2 – Highway to Hell (Warning: Violence)
• Part 3 – Nicky’s New Daddy (Warning: Scat)
• Part 4 – Dad’s Dirty Blind Date (Warning: Scat)
• Part 5 – Looking Back (Warning: Scat)
• Author’s Notes

Part 1 – The First Matches

My name is Josh, and I’m a matchmaker. Yes, I know that isn’t a typical job for a guy, even if he’s gay like I am, but the story of how I came to my profession is a strange one. To start, I have to go back a bit, to when I was seventeen. I grew up with my father and two brothers, one older and one younger. My mother died when I was five, and as the middle child, I was kind of the punching bag of the family. It was kind of relief when Jack, my oldest brother, outed me to my dad, and the three of them threw me out of the house. Sure, it wasn’t easy. I was homeless for a while, but an older guy I hooked up with who worked in construction got me my first job as a grunt laborer, and before I knew it, I was on my feet again, and supporting myself. It was a relief, and to say I was proud of myself was an understatement. The story proper picks up a few years later, a few weeks before I turned twenty-five.

At the time, I had been renting a room from an older woman named Mary in the city. She was always nice to me, and I’d opened up about my history, and she’d really become my friend more than anything, and the rent was amazingly cheap. I knew that it wasn’t enough to cover her expenses, but I had no idea what sort of job she had. All I knew was that there was a steady stream of women who would visit her–I often came home when they were in the middle of a pot of tea. I asked her once what she did, and she dodged the question–so I left it at that. I made up for the low rent by fixing up the house and helping with the chores, and Mary was always very thankful for it.

One night, she came into my room and woke me up suddenly, telling me that she had made us a cup of tea, and she wanted to discuss something with me. I thought it was strange, but she insisted, so in the middle of the night, we sat down at the dining room table, and she told me everything. The women of her family, for as long back as she knew, had been matchmakers. However, more than simply having an intuition about who was suited for who, they had a particular knack for getting two people to come together as a happy couple–though she admitted that the method was a bit sinister.

Her clients, for the most part, were women who had been jilted by a lover, or who were in an abusive relationship. What Mary did was force the man to become the woman’s ideal lover. Sure, it was a bit cruel, but they generally deserved it, Mary told me. However, she had a confession. She was the last of her line, and had had no children–so she had no one to pass her legacy on to, and she asked me…if I would be her legacy.

Crazy, right? I thought she had gone insane, but I agreed, because–well, what else was there to do? I thought that would be it, but she showed me the entire ritual, the rules of her matchmaking, and the powers it gave her over the two targets. I played along, and the next morning, it was like nothing had happened. However, two weeks later, Mary had passed away, from a tumor she had told no one about, and I discovered that she had left everything, all of her possessions, her house, and her savings, to me. Of course, I thought her midnight tale was a joke still, however, a few days later, a young woman came to the door, begging for my help, and said Mary had told her before she’d died that I could help her. I didn’t believe the ritual would actually work, but what was the harm? So, I helped her. I did the ritual as Mary had shown me, using a picture of the woman’s boyfriend, and a couple days later, the woman came back, thanked me profusely, and handed me two hundred dollars cash.

Was it real? I had no idea, but I needed to see it work for myself if it was. I had been working with the same crew for a few years at that time, and gotten to know the various members pretty well. Surprisingly enough, a good number were gay–though they weren’t exactly open about it. They were all decent men, trying to get by like I was. The one exception was our foreman, Rick. This photo of him is a good example of his general attitude.

He was a handsome bear of a man, but just a damn bastard to everyone, and a raging homophobe and racist to make matters worse. Mary had told me that her matchmaking abilities could work for any couple I chose, so I decided Rick would be having a change of heart about his sexuality, and maybe meet a nice man in the process, and I had just the man in mind.

But before I get to that, I should probably tell you a bit more about how my matchmaking works. In general, all I have to do is cast the spell, and things usually find a way to work out. This is what I did with the first woman who came to me–just cast the spell and let it sort everything out for me. However, for more difficult cases, I can get more directly involved, and guide the spell from a closer distance. In particular, I gain some powers of suggestion over both targets–so that I can best help them come together happily, and realize how perfect they ought to be for each other. And the man I knew Rick would be best for was Juan.

Juan had been on the crew longer than I had, and I still don’t know how he could put up with Rick’s constant insults about being a wetback and so on. It’s a good thing Rick didn’t know Juan was gay, or he probably would have been fired faster than you could say fuck. Juan had never dated a man, preferring to stay in the closet and the backrooms of dirty bars, but he was a nice guy, so I thought it might be nice for him to have someone around permanently. I got pictures of both of them–since I couldn’t have them at the ceremony personally, and cast the ritual in the morning before going to work, being sure to leave room in the spell where I could get involved. After all, I needed to see if this shit actually worked at all, or if I was just going insane.

I got to the site, and saw that everyone getting ready for work, and Rick and Juan keep glancing at each other, though I doubt either one noticed themselves doing it. Rick runs down the work for the day, and I make the mental suggestion that he, Juan and I should all work in the workshop today, while everyone else does work on the site, and wouldn’t you know it? It worked! I mean, it still could have been coincidence, but hey, I was getting excited now. We broke from the meeting and the three of us headed into the workshop. As soon as I was alone with them, I decided to take a risk, and said that the two of them should spend the day working naked, aside from their tools, and that no one on the crew would find this odd.

It took a second or two, but I saw Rick suddenly pull of his vest, and this his shirt and pants and underwear before strapping his tool belt around his waist and putting on his hard hat, and it was all I could do not to exclaim with laughter. It had actually worked. I hurried over to where Juan was working, and sure enough, he had stripped down as well, smoking a cigarette, and I saw he liked wearing cock rings to work and keeping himself semi-hard all day.

• 

• 

I was so excited, I just paced the room for a minute or two, trying to calm down. I honestly hadn’t imagined it would work, and now I realized I needed to actually follow through with the spell and bring these two together, and I decided to start with Rick. As he worked, I started planting new thoughts in his head, about how attracted he was to hispanic men like Juan. It was hard work, getting him to accept it–after all, going from an aggressive straight man to a submissive bottom bitch for latin cock was a long distance to go–but he got there eventually, and I was glad I was there to shape the spell, or else it probably wouldn’t have worked nearly as well as it did. Slowly, Rick started stealing glances over at Juan’s semi-hard cock and licking his lips. All he could think about was how sexy his coworker was, and how much he wanted that cock shoved down his throat.

Satisfied, I moved over to Juan, and he was easier to work with. It turned out, as I peeked in his mind, that he already had a thing for Rick, even though he was an asshole. I enhanced his existing feelings but put a twist on them. One thing Juan happened to like was chubbier guys, so I went ahead and made him an aggressive encourager. Now, he loved making big guys bigger. He was also going to be verbally abusive and domineering, to match Rick’s subservient role, and as a bit of punishment for his years of being a nice guy in the face of Rick’s past abuse.

I was so caught up in his head, that I didn’t notice him move at first, but he was walking over to Rick at the saw, where he started rubbing his hands all over Rick’s fat body. “Hey white bitch,” he said, “I’ve seen you looking at my cock. You want me or something? Are you a fat faggot?”

Rick, caught completely off guard by his feelings and by Juan’s dominance, simply stuttered, but Juan shoved him down onto his knees and Rick swallowed his cock before his knees hit the boards. He moaned around Juan’s huge cock and jacked his own, unable to help himself, and the insults and abuse Juan was raining down on him just made him harder. I felt him struggle against the spell, but with some more work on his mind he settled down into it, and I sealed it when Juan came down his throat. They were a couple now, and pretty soon everyone was going to know about it.

Not much work got done in the workshop that day–Juan was too busy giving his new boyfriend a good working over, and I was too busy jacking off while I watched. They also took a two hour lunch, so Juan could drag Rick to an all you can eat buffet and stuff him silly. The whispers flew around the rest of the crew, but the spell made everyone readily accept the new situation. Still I could see a few of the men looking a bit jealous, or at least the three other guys on the crew who were gay like me and Juan. However, I had a plan for them. See, neither of my brothers, nor my father, were in relationships at the moment–and I had a feeling I had their perfect matches standing right in front of me.

Part 2 – Highway to Hell

So I had a plan–set up the bastard men in my family with some of the perverse construction workers on the crew. Of course, I realized I had a lot to figure out before I could make any of this happen, after all, I hadn’t been in contact with anyone in my family in years. I spent the next few months honing my skills as a matchmaker and searching out my relatives, finding them rather quickly. My dad, Jerry, was the easiest, since he was still living in the family house, although my brothers had moved out. I decided to save him for last. My younger brother, Nick, was found next. A quick look around facebook showed that he was in his final year of college, and the same old lazy, immature dumbass he’d always been. The hardest one to track down was Bill, my older brother, and the one who’d set the whole ball rolling when he’d found my porn stash. He was working as a security guard for a strip mall a couple of towns over. I decided to start with him–it seemed like the most fitting beginning.

Bill had always been the righteous one, the one who felt the call of moral duty beyond all else, especially when he could warp it to serve his own interests. It was no surprise really that he’d ended up as a security guard, where he could flaunt some useless authority at people he deemed inferior to himself. He’d always wanted to be a cop, but I’m pretty sure that the academy would have kicked his ass out after one psych interview–although knowing how cops can be, they’d probably be happy to have him join their ranks. Still, I had always wanted to see what would happen if Bill had gotten into trouble more often in his life.

Regardless, I knew just who to set him up with, a biker on the crew named Spike. He was dirty, covered neck to toe in tattoos, with a blonde mullet and brunette fu-man-chu which just screamed trailer trash, and was always getting into trouble. I thought he was hot, and had played around with him once, but damn that guy was rough in bed, and domineering as hell. Sure, I don’t mind being a sub on occasion–still, I had never really felt the urge to stray too far into the BDSM zone. But, for a guy like Bill, who loved lording his power over others, I thought Spike would be the perfect man to whip him into a different shape. As a plus, I’d remembered Spike telling me that he loved ginger guys–and with my brother’s fire red hair, I knew they would be perfect for each other.

This time though, unlike with Rick and Juan, I didn’t want to have to supervise. That whole experience had been so taxing, I felt sick for a week afterwards, so I planned the spell intricately, to make sure it would take hold exactly how I wanted it to. Bill and Spike would have an impromptu meeting–and it would be love at first sight. The spell would intensify Spike’s fetishes and desires, and twist Bill to reflect them as they spent more and more time together. But how would they meet? Well, Bill loved camping and the outdoors, so how better for them to get acquainted than on the open road? Excited, I cast the ritual, and sat back, eager to see the results when they rode back into town.

***

“Fucking piece of shit!” Bill shouted, and kicked the tire of his car, the engine smoking and steaming. He came around and opened up the hood, dodging away to avoid getting burned by the vapors. God damn it,” he said, “so much for this camping trip.” He looked around at the somewhat arid landscape, and wished he hadn’t decided to head for such a remote campground. He pulled out his cell phone and cursed again–not a single bar. It was looking more and more like he was walking back to that gas station he’d passed a few miles back. It was about that time that he heard the distinct grumble of a motorcycle approaching from the highway.

He was heading pretty fast, and Bill only got a glimpse of tattoos and blonde hair as the guy blew by, but to his great surprise, the biker slowed down and pulled off onto the shoulder ahead of him. Maybe the guy was a mechanic or something, Bill thought, or he could at least hitch a ride with him to a pay phone. The man climbed off his bike, and Bill felt his heart leap up into his chest. The guy was definitely not someone Bill would have ever imagined being attracted to, but his racing heart was suddenly telling him otherwise. The man’s bleach blonde mullet, the cigar tucked in his mouth, his tattooed arms sticking out of his ragged leather vest, and the substantial bulge in the faded jeans and chaps all sent chills through his body. “Having some car trouble, man? The name’s Spike,” the biker said to him, and he nearly swooned. What in the world was happening to him?

“Uh, yeah…yeah, that’s it,” Bill said, but his voice was all squeaky suddenly, like he was back in middle school talking to a cute girl. “S–Sorry, it’s just embarrassing, and I’m a bit freaked out…” he added, trying to recover and not look like a complete dipshit.

“You smoke?” Spike said.

“What?”

“I asked if ya smoke, boy,” the biker said, and the tinge of authority in his voice did things to Bill’s cock he didn’t even understand. “Here, have a cigar on me. It’ll mellow you out. You could probably use it.” He handed him a cigar from a vest pocket, and Bill cringed.

“No…No I don’t smoke, but–”

“Take it boy,” Spike said, and Bill’s hand shot out and took the cigar from him, holding it in his mouth while the biker gave him a light. “There, that’s better, right? Now let me take a look at this cage of yours.”

At the word ‘cage,’ an image flashed through Bill’s head. He was in a cage, dressed in leather and Spike was looking in on him, his cock out–No, no, that was so wrong, he thought and shook his head, walking around behind the car to clear his head. He took a drag off the cigar, and did feel a bit better. It was really hot out here–he was sweating like a pig. He pulled off his shirt, feeling better with the fresh air on his skin, and tried to calm down. Calm down, and not think about how hot it would be to suck that biker’s thick, tattooed and pierced cock.

“Well man, I’m sorry, but your radiator is completely gone–you’re gonna have to get a tow–” Spike said, but stopped short when he saw the shirtless Bill smoking his cigar, and he was starting to think of a few possible reasons for why the guy had been acting kind of odd. The guy was definitely cute, and Spike was finding himself more and more interested every second. He’d always had a thing for gingers too. Hell, even if the boy was straight, he’d just need a firm master to send him all crooked. “Nice tatts by the way–they suit you.”

Bill looked at him, confused. Tatts? Tattoos? He didn’t have any tattoos. “What…what are you talking about?”

“How about you go ahead and address me as, ‘Sir,’ boy, seein’ as how I’m your superior and all. Yeah, nice tatts, and they look damn good with that cigar, I must say. And a jock–I love a boy in a jockstrap. Tell me, does the carpet match your curtains? I love the look of blood in red pubes.”

“I don’t…” Bill started to say, shocked by the suddenness of Spike’s approach, but when he looked down at his previously bare arms, he saw swirling tattoos starting at his wrists crawling up onto his shoulders and pecs. His astonishment was cut short by a sharp slap across the face from Spike.

“I said, you were gonna address me as Sir, boy. Now what was that?”

Bill cringed a bit from the hit–but…was his cock hard? “S–Sorry, sir,” he stuttered, looking down and away with submission. He felt Spike’s hand on his crotch crushing his cock and he groaned. “Please…please no, I’m straight…sir,” Bill said, but the words rang false even to his ears, and Spike just laughed.

“Oh? A straight boy who moans like a little whore when a big, dirty biker grabs his crotch? I don’t think so,” he said, and stuck his grimy, greasy hand down the back of Bill’s pants, groping his ass and pulling him closer, into Spike’s scent of rank body odor, smoke and cheap whisky. They inhaled each other’s cigar exhaust for a moment, before Spike added quietly, “Yeah, I think you just need a big biker master to show you how much of a faggot biker bitch you could be.”

Bill wanted to say no, wanted to get in the car and lock the doors. He struggled as Spike pushed him around and over the back of the car, then pulled down his jeans–but the struggle was all play he realized. He wanted Spike to pop his cherry, turn him into a little biker bitch. “No Sir, don’t fuck me here, in the open.” he heard himself say, but he wanted it–needed it so bad, and Spike grinned wide.

“Oh you little biker slut, you’re gonna get it! I’m not even gonna lube up for this, so you’d better brace your hole.” The pain was excruciating, but Bill fought through it. He wanted to be a good biker bitch for Spike. For his…his boyfriend, no, his master. Yeah, his biker master. He creamed his jock at the thought, and Spike didn’t even notice until he smelled the cum. “Dang, ya ain’t even trained yet. That’s a bad bitch, cumming before I give you permission. The only cock you should think about getting off is mine!” He pounded his big cock in even deeper, making Bill shout out in pain. Hearing the bitch scream sent Spike over the edge, and he filled his new bitch’s ass full of his cum.

“I…I love you sir…thank you,” Bill moaned, but Spike just slammed his face down into the rear end of the car hard enough to send blood spurting from his nose and down into his red beard.

“You little bitch–you think I want your fucking love? Fuck no. You’re a piece of shit. You aren’t even fucking trained! You don’t even deserve to wear fucking clothes of your own, strip out of those, that jock too.”

Feeling more ashamed than ever before in his life at the thought of disappointing Spike, he stripped down the rest of the way, not even noticing that his tattoos had spread over the rest of his body. “Please sir,” he said, getting down on his knees, completely forgetting he was on the side of the road, “Please sir, train me sir. Teach me how to be a good and proper biker bitch, sir…your bitch, sir.”

Spike grinned around his cigar, looking down at Bill, blood caking his red beard. God, that color really was hot. He grabbed the top of Bill’s head and shoved him down onto all fours, “Then you can start by cleaning by boots, bitch. And don’t get any of that faggot blood on them either.”

Without any hesitation, he started licking at the leather, swallowing down the road dust and trying not to cough and spray blood from his broken nose. He had to show Spike how much he wanted to be his bitch–if he couldn’t be with Spike–he would just die.

“Dang, you do learn quick. Fine, you want to be my biker bitch? I guess I could train you.”

“Oh thank you sir, thank you. I won’t disappoint you, I promise.”

“Well, you’re gonna need a few changes, but nothing I can’t handle. You’re looking pretty good already with all those tatts, and you’re kind of pudgy too. I like a man with meat on his bones. And forget about shaving that body of yours, I like a man with a furry pelt.”

“Yes sir, anything for you sir. I know…I know you don’t love me sir, but I’ll do anything to be your bitch sir, I swear.”

Spike grinned, “Really bitch? I’m gonna hold you to that. So how about this. You’re mine now–my property, got it? And property doesn’t get to own anything–property only gets to wear what I say it can. And all you’re wearing for the drive home is that nasty jock of yours, as a reminder of how bad of a bitch you were to cum without my permission.”

“Yes…yes, sir,” Bill replied, pulled on the jock, and followed his new master back to his bike, looking back at his still smoking car just once, before climbing on the bitch seat riding off into his new role, and new life.

---

Part 3 – Nicky’s New Daddy

Within a week of casting the spell–sure enough, a heavily tattooed, and very submissive Bill was working alongside Spike at the site, with a padlocked chain around his neck. Fuck if that wasn’t one of the hottest things I’d ever seen in my whole life. Spike introduced us on his first day, and as soon as Bill heard my name I knew he recognized me, but he didn’t dare disobey when his Master Spike told him to suck my cock on our smoke break. Needless to say–that was one down with two more to go, and Nick, my younger brother, was my next target.

Nick had gotten a nice scholarship with the local university in town based on his football skills and was finishing up his senior year–not that he’d bothered growing up or maturing at all in that time, or taken advantage of his education. Was I a bit bitter? Hell yeah I was. I had always been smarter than Nick, and a better football player, and here I was, working as a blue collar laborer while he was banging girls and getting drunk at college. Not that I resented where I was working, or who I’d become–it was just, well that could have been me, you know? Well, aside from the girl part, but he’d wasted it like a spoiled, immature brat.

But who to hook him up with? Well, that was a sadder story. Glenn was another gay guy on the crew, but one who’d bitten the straight-acting bullet and married his high school beard, figuring he could still fuck around with enough guys on the side to keep himself happy. Hell, it had worked for thirty years, and he’d somehow managed to get two young boys of his own, and he really did love his family. Unfortunately, his wife had come home at the wrong time and caught her husband giving it in the ass to a young, chubby cub…and well, that was that. She moved across the country to live with her parents, took the boys with her–and Glenn was heartbroken. But hey, I decided to make the best out of it, right? After all, Glenn made an excellent father, and I had a lout of a brother who wanted to live like an infant, so hey, it turned out for the best in the end.

***

Nick rolled over in the bed and moaned around his thumb, which was inexplicably stuck in his mouth. What in the hell had he gotten into last night he wondered, pulling his thumb out of his mouth, assuming he’d probably blacked out and one of his friends had stuck it in there as a joke. However, while that explanation would have made sense most any other night–last night had been…odd. He’d started out with his friends, bar hopping, but gotten separated somewhere along the line. Of course, that didn’t stop him from getting smashed–nothing could, really, but the night had taken a stranger turn on his way back to the car, stumbling the whole way.

He must have imagined it, it was just too strange to have actually happened, but he’d gotten to his car and was trying to get the key in the door when some strange, older guy had come out of nowhere, taken the keys from him, and suggested he not drive drunk. Nick had protested, of course. After all, who was this guy to tell him what he could and couldn’t do? Still, he’d been too drunk to really do anything to get the keys back, and it had almost felt like the older guy had been…playing with him–holding the keys just out of reach or jiggling them in front of his face just for fun. Somewhere in the midst of trying to get them back, Nick had felt a strange sensation as his crotch got warm all of a sudden, and he was pissing himself, and he tried to stop, but he couldn’t. His anger dissipated and was replaced by astonishment and shame, and the man had immediately come over and given him a big bear hug, telling him, “Don’t worry, it’s natural for little boys like you to have accidents like that. Let’s go home and get you cleaned up.” And that…that was the last thing he remembered.

He still hadn’t opened his eyes, but when he opened them, he was in a room he didn’t recognize at all. The surprise at that was immediately dwarfed by the realization that he also wasn’t wearing the clothes he’d had on the night before–instead he had on a Dr. Seuss shirt and…and a diaper.

He leapt out of bed, terrified, his thumb going right back in his mouth, and he felt a bit calmer with something to suck on. He had to get out of here–this was way too weird. He looked around for his clothes but they were nowhere to be found–in fact, there were no normal clothes to be seen, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to go out in public in a diaper…as turned on as that thought suddenly made him.

“Is that my little Nicky ready for his breakfast?” a voice said from outside the bedroom door, and Nick felt a strange twinge of arousal at hearing that name. He’d always been Nicky to his dad and older brothers, and he’d resented it his whole life, but now, he was just a little boy right? Why wouldn’t he want to be called that? The door opened, and in came the older man he’d met in the street, clad only in a pair of grimy briefs, his hairy chest and back shown off, and his bulge…fuck he had a huge bulge too. He looked like a daddy…yeah, Daddy Glenn. Nick shook his head, trying to clear away the thoughts crowding in around him, while Glenn set down the tray laden with baby bottles down in the dresser and came over to Nick. “You alright son? I know you had a rough night.”

“I’m not…I’m not your son. What is this? Where are my clothes?” Nick said around his thumb. He knew he should take it out of his mouth, but he was so stressed out–it was the only thing making him feel better. “Did you kidnap me or something? What–”

He was interrupted by Daddy Glenn pulling him into a big hug, and Nick melted against him, feeling his stress evaporate. It felt so good being in his daddy’s arms–he could relax there. Too late, he felt that same warmth from the night before flood his diaper as he pissed himself again, and then he started crying, just sobbing his eyes out, his daddy patting his back and cooing to him, lying him back on his bed and then bringing over one of the large baby bottles, which Nick started sucking on, feeling better already.

“Yeah, that’s a good boy,” Glenn said, stroking Nick’s hair, “Just drink down your breakfast and you’ll feel better, plenty of good stuff in there to make you a good little boy, right? And did little Nicky mess his diaper again? Seems like little Nicky likes laying around in a pissy diaper.”

This guy was insane–that was all Nick could figure, but then why wasn’t he doing anything to get away? To be honest, the wet diaper did feel good, as did drinking the warm liquid from the bottle with his daddy stroking his hair. As he sucked it down, Nick started to feel a bit strange. First, he was feeling a bit floaty, and it was hard to focus on what was going on around him, aside from sucking on his bottle and what Glenn was saying. He also felt a bit weak, like his muscles didn’t want to do anything his head was telling them. “Yeah, that’s a good little boy. Drink all your breakfast, or you won’t be a big, fat, baby boy like daddy wants, will you? You do want to be a chubby baby don’t you?”

Nick tried to shake his head, but he couldn’t do anything besides drink, and before he knew it, the first bottle was gone, and replaced by another. He was already full after the first, and the drink was rich like cream, but with a medicinal aftertaste from whatever Glenn had laced it with. Still, he kept drinking–he did want to be a good baby boy, right? That’s what Glenn kept saying, and in his mental fog, anything Glenn told him sounded more right than the thoughts in his own brain, and he settled down, even though Glenn was now rubbing his hard cock through the padded diaper.

In the midst of drinking down the third bottle however, he felt–and heard–his stomach start to churn, and he realized that if he didn’t get to a bathroom soon, he was going to shit himself. He let go of the bottle and tried to sit up, but he was so weak–his daddy easily pushed him back down and returned the bottle to his mouth, but not before Nick managed to get out, “But…poo poo, daddy. I needs poo poo…” Nick had no idea why he was talking like a little kid–but at least he had gotten the idea across–however, Glenn just smiled.

“I bet you do–after all the laxatives I shoved up your hole last night. So go on, son–shit that diaper of yours, like the baby you are.”

Nick felt horror creep back into him, mostly at the thought of how hot it would be if he actually shit his diaper, and he tried to get up again, but the exertion made him lose control, and a massive pile of shit flooded from his ass, spreading up and down his crack in the diaper, and even between his legs to his balls. He smelled it, and felt ashamed of himself, but when Glenn rubbed his hair again and gave him a kiss, telling him over and over how good a boy he was for shitting his pants like a good baby, he slowly sunk back into his haze, sucking down bottle after bottle of Glenn’s strange formula, feeling fuller than he’d ever been in his life, and before long, he was rubbing his ass back and forth on the bed, smearing the shit around, his daddy helping coat his cock and balls in the diaper with the mass, and before he could stop himself, he came in his diaper as well, and Glenn watched him grunt and groan, Nicky’s belly taut with his breakfast, and Glenn had never felt so horny for someone in his whole life.

He pulled his cock from his grimy briefs, and said, “Here son, here’s your pacifier, suck on this.”

Nick was all too happy to do so, and he sucked down his daddy’s big cock, milking it for all it was worth, and not a minute later, he was rewarded with a huge load of cum which he swallowed down greedily, and Glenn pulled out, allowing Nick to suck his thumb again. He remembered thinking he should get out of here, but why? He liked it here, with his daddy, and he felt so weak all of a sudden, and tired. He yawned, and stretched, enjoying the feeling of a full diaper and a full stomach.

“Does little Nicky need a nap?” Glenn asked, “How about we get you cleaned up, and then you can sleep for a while.” Glenn said, but Nick shook his head no. “Oh, does Nicky like laying around in his nasty diaper? Is Nicky a dirty little boy?”

“Yes, daddy, I super dirty,” Nick said, the childish tone sliding out naturally. Glenn leaned in and tickled him, sending Nick into a spate of giggling and flailing, before giving him a deep kiss.

“Well alright, you can keep your dirty diaper on while you nap. Do you want your huggabear?” Glenn said, and with a big grin, Nick reached out and took the stuffed animal from his daddy and hugged him close, already feeling sleepy. He felt his eyes slip closed, and his thumb found its way back to his mouth, and a moment later, he was asleep. Glenn spent a few moments looking over his new diaper boy, happy to have a family again, and then left his son to his dreams of sucking the cum from his daddy’s giant cock.

Part 4 – Dad’s Dirty Blind Date

So that was two down. It was a couple of weeks later that I got to see Nicky again. Glenn had been acting pretty odd all week, and while I knew why, none of the other guys had a clue what was going on with him, though they did manage to pry out of him that he had a new boyfriend. Finally though, the gay guys on the crew convinced him to come out to a bar with whoever he was seeing, and so along comes Nicky, clad in his diaper and a pacifier stuck in his mouth–fuck, I’m not really into the whole diaper thing, but it was hot just the same. Everyone was a bit weirded out, but they saw that Glenn–and Nicky–were happy as could be, they got over it pretty quick, kind of. We were all a little put-off when Glenn invited us to Nicky’s bris a couple weeks later–that was really awkward.

But of course, this left me with my father, Max, and I’ll be honest, I wanted him to suffer a bit before I hooked him up with someone. He was an ex-marine, and had always expected the greatest out of us, and did his best to train us to be real men. Of course, he’d already failed once with me, so I wanted him to see that he’d failed with my brothers as well.

He met up with Bill first–who invited him out for a drink at his new favorite biker bar–with his new buddies, and Spike of course. I heard later that my dad wasn’t too happy with Bill’s new look, and when he found out he’d pledged himself to “Master” Spike–well, he kind of lost it. He held his own pretty well, but getting beat down by a slew of gay bikers–well, that will put a damper on any man’s self-image. It didn’t help when Nicky showed up on his doorstep a few days later, with Daddy Glenn next to him, and hell if Nicky didn’t rip him a new asshole. He told my dad how horrible he’d been for kicking me out, and how he didn’t want him as a father anymore, so Glenn was going to be his real daddy now, and they left him there on the porch sputtering.

Yeah, maybe that was a little cruel, but can you blame me for enjoying it? Besides, the worst was yet to come for him really, considering who I was hooking him up with. Hugh was his name, but we all called him Hog, because he loved getting dirty.

Piss, shit, mud, I don’t think anything was too much for him. I thought he’d be perfect for my clean cut, military asshole dad at least, and I think I was right. This time though, I wanted a little more control over what would go down, because I wanted a little public humiliation for him thrown in the mix, although we can get to that a bit later. I decided to send him a little care package, before he went on his blind date with Hog, so he could get into the spirit of things.

***

Max sat on the couch in his home, staring at the blank TV screen on the wall, a half drunk bottle of whisky on the side table, trying to comprehend what the fuck was going on. Hadn’t he been a good father? Hadn’t he done everything he could to raise his kids right? He grabbed the bottle and took another swig. It had to be in the genes–it had to be. First Dan–he’d tried to cut that weed out quick, but now Bill…and Nick? What in the hell was going on?

God he was drunk off his ass–he hadn’t been this drunk in years, but how else was he supposed to try and deal with all of this shit? He hadn’t even bothered showing up for work the past couple of days, and his boss kept calling, but what could he say? Sorry, I can’t come into work today, I’m afraid all my boys turned gay on me while I wasn’t looking? What if it was him–what if he went all faggoty like they had? It was ridiculous of course, shit like that couldn’t happen, but then…how could he explain what happened to Bill and Nick? Everything was going around in circles, and nothing made any sense at all.

The night quiet of the room was broken by a knocking at the front door–but Max didn’t want to answer it. He didn’t want to see anyone, and he definitely didn’t want to talk to anyone right now, especially not some salesman or something, although why anyone was coming around at this time he didn’t know. After a few seconds, the knocking came again, but louder, and then after another brief pause, the knocking became a pounding, which actually shook the pictures hanging on the walls, and refused to quit. “Alright! Alright god damn it, I’m coming!” Max shouted, and stumbled his way to the door, which was visibly shaking from the force of the pounding, but when he opened it up–there was no one there. Not even a single person on the sidewalk that he could see in the dim street lights.

He was about to close the door, more freaked out than ever, when he saw the cardboard box on the stoop at his feet. After looking around again, to make sure that no one was there, he bent down and picked it up, bringing it inside as he pulled the door closed behind him. This was all just a little too strange. The box didn’t have an address on it, and wasn’t even taped closed–though there was a note taped on top–

A blind date? No one had set him up on a date–he wasn’t even interested in dating. He pulled open the box, and felt himself gag when the stench hit him–something between a week old porta-potty and a high school locker room slamming him right in his face. They were clothes, but there was no way he was going to wear anything that disgusting, or go on this crazy date. He threw the box and the clothes in the trash, before returning to his booze and the blank TV.

He didn’t even last an hour. The smell–now that it was in the room, he had to think about it, and as he got drunker, everything started to make–sense. Maybe…maybe he had gotten set up on a date, and he’d just forgotten. Not even noticing how hard his cock was, he fished out the package and unpacked the clothes, stripping down and pulling the yellowed jockstrap, grimy jeans and oily work shirt on over his naked body, strapping the ball stretcher around his sack, and sliding the thick butt plug in his hole with a groan. He looked at the clock, but it was only 1:30–he still had forty-five minutes before he needed to leave–and he still didn’t feel…dirty enough. After all, he needed to make a good impression on his blind date.

He went into the garage and found some extra motor oil, and brought it into the bathroom, where he began pouring it all over his body, being extra sure to lube up his cock. When the oil was gone, he went ahead and pissed all over himself as well, before jacking off while playing with his huge butt plug and smearing the cum into his chest hair.

Feeling better now that he was all washed up–he got out of the tub, but when he saw himself in the mirror he let out a groan of disgust. This wasn’t him–it wasn’t what he was supposed to look like, covered in piss, oil and sweat. What was happening to him? And yet, wasn’t this who he’d always been? A dirty slob? 

Looking around the bathroom, he couldn’t see much evidence to deny it, from the hair clogging the sink, filthy laundry on the floor and the toilet backed up with two loads of shit. He walked through the rest of the house, still tracking footprints of oil, and saw piles of trash in every room, stacks of pizza boxes, and he felt at home here–he couldn’t deny that. He looked up at the clock and saw he had to leave now if he was going to get to his date on time. Still wanting to look his piggy best, he pulled on his rubber waders and a long rubber overcoat, glanced at himself in the hall mirror, hoping he was filthy enough, and then left for the construction site mentioned in the note.

***

Yeah, like I said, I set my dad up for some public humiliation–what can I say? I was pretty angry. I decided to give Max and Hog a couple of hours to play around in the mud of the construction site together, before the rest of us showed up to join in. Work usually started at six in the morning, so I had the rest of us–my brothers, their new masters, Juan and Rick show up around then. I got there first, and listened without revealing I was there.

“You want it pig? Go on, beg for it.”

“Please, sir, give me your shit, sir! This dirty pig is starving, sir, please!”

“Alright pig, here it comes. Eat it all down now like a good piggy.”

They carried on like that for a while, and everyone else arrived in the next few minutes, and when we did reveal ourselves–I saw what my father had become.

Covered in mud, shit all over his face, jacking off while Bud pissed all over him again, and then he looked over and saw his three sons watching him, and the sheer shame in his face was…well, sexy as fuck, but maybe you’re not as vindictive as I am. But he knew he’d been caught, that he’d fallen just as far as his sons had–hell, even farther than us, I think. Leading the pack, I strode over and started pissing on him as well, and Bill was close behind me, though he had to ask Spike permission to play before joining in. The two of us pulled him up onto his hands and knees, and while I pounded his ass, Spike pissed down his throat and skull fucked him, Hog raining down praise at what a good pig Max was being, taking his son’s loads from both ends.

Looking over, Rick and Nicky were sucking their own masters’ cocks while they watched the festivities. Seeing all of my work gathered up in one place was just too much, and I blasted my cum deep in my bastard father’s filthy hole, Bill following suit moments later. Hog made Max thank both of us for giving him our loads, and then he cleaned off our muddy, shitty cocks and boots with his tongue.

The rest of us decided that maybe it was time to let the pig let off a load himself. Glenn had kept Nicky in the same diaper for a few days now in preparation, so we made Max beg to have his face smothered in it. Nicky sat on his face, and ridiculed our father while Max jacked his cock harder than he had in his whole life, and he finally sprayed his cum all over himself just as the rest of the crew was about to show up for work. Hog decided to take his new pig home for some private training–and the rest of us quickly made ourselves as presentable as possible before any of the straight workmen caught sight of us. But damn, it was hard to focus on work that day–I’d never felt so satisfied in all my life.

---

Part 5 – Looking Back

So that, I suppose, brings my tale of revenge to an end. Of course, that was a few years ago at this point. I’d be lying if I said that, when I started all of this, I hadn’t wanted all three of them to suffer for the rest of their lives, but it didn’t quite turn out that way–and to be honest, I’m happy about that. In fact, everyone settled into their new relationships and lives quite quickly, more or less, so how about we play a quick game of “Where are they now?”

I suppose it would only make sense to start with Rick and Juan, since they were my first. It was also, perhaps, the sloppiest, but I still have enjoyed watching their relationship grow and change, especially Rick. He stayed on as foreman for a few months, until shortly after my father’s first morning in the mud at the construction site, but his new submissive tendencies were making it difficult for him to lead the crew–especially considering he spent most of his time fantasizing about sucking most of us off, especially the Mexicans. Hell, before too long, Juan had him sucking most everyone’s cock, and to be honest, it’s hard to respect someone when a few minutes ago you had your cock buried down their throat, and you watched him cum buckets just from the satisfaction of having his face buried in sweaty pubes.

When he stepped down, it only made sense for Juan to step up–after all, he’d been working in construction for years, knew the strengths and weaknesses of the crew, and how to utilize us well. The new, domineering attitude helped him cement the job all the more easily, and he’s done great. Rick returned to being a laborer, and now that his position of authority was gone–he sucked more cock than ever, and ate, and ate, and ate.

I have never seen anyone eat like Rick does, and Juan encouraged him all the time, telling him how good he looked with a big wide ass for fucking, and heavy jowls and chins to shake while he deep throated big, latin cocks. The two of them were infamous for their many-hour long lunch breaks, and they would always return with Rick stuffed to the throat with deep fried mexican, or greasy fast food. It wasn’t very long at all before Rick crested three hundred, and at this point, he’s getting close to four. I think Juan is planning a big feeding and fucking party to commemorate the milestone–it should be a lot of fun.

The two of them got married after a year, and it was sweet when Rick took Juan’s last name–Rodriguez. One night at a bar he confessed to me that he wished he could be Mexican like his husband–I think that was why he started picking up as much Spanish as he could, and even mimicked Juan’s Latin accent when he spoke English. He got pretty good, and his developing tan helped a lot. He was all excited one afternoon when some foreman shopping at Home Depot had asked him in Spanish if he needed work for the day, like a common immigrant. Still, all the quirks aside, the two of them were deep in love, and when he didn’t have his ass or mouth around Juan’s cock (which was rarely) they were kissing, giggling, hugging, or just looking in each other’s eyes. It was sweet, really–it was.

Now Spike and Bill on the other hand–I guess you could say they were in love, but in public, they never strayed from the biker master and slave personas. Spike, in fact, took great pains to cement their roles by making some changes to his new bitch’s looks. I must say, that when they rode back into town together, I hadn’t expected to see Bill tattooed from neck to foot. Next, Bill was quickly taught how to properly smoke a cigar, and I have never seen him without one in his mouth or nearby since, well, unless he was smoking pot I suppose. He got a few piercings too, but nothing extreme–I think Spike liked his tattoos more than anything. That just left inducting his new bitch into the gang, something involving a weekend long orgy at the clubhouse, which left Bill at work on Monday with a gaping hole, and smelling of piss, cum and ashtrays.

Spike did love Bill’s red hair though, and he forced him to grow it out along with his beard and body hair. I’d had no idea my brother was so hairy–apparently Spike had gotten everything he’d wanted in that category as well. Over the next few months, the greasy food they ate on their rides, along with Spike’s encouraging forced Bill to pack on quite the gut, which he was apparently proud of. He liked working shirtless on site, showing off his tattoos and letting his gut hang out for everyone to see. On slow days, sometimes we’d pit Bill and Rick against one another, and see who could get two of us off the fastest–fuck, it was so hot seeing my goody-two-shoes brother, now nothing more than a sexpot, roughneck biker–I always nutted first when he was sucking me off.

Now his tattoos, those were funny. Apparently, there was a bit of magic latent in them, such that they always seemed to shift around and change depending upon what Spike and Bill were doing at the moment. If they were in their leathers getting ready for a ride? Suddenly he was emblazoned with Harley logos, with the gang’s symbol covering his entire belly. Having a long smoke slave session? Now he’s covered with images of pipes, cigars, and motifs of smoke from head to toe. A leather bitch for the clubs? He’s got slave across his chest, and all sorts of images telling men all the painful things they ought to do to a leather bitch like Bill. My favorite though, is when he’s relaxing at home, high on pot, and pretty drunk–because a bit of my old brother suddenly pops out–the stoner comic book slob–who would have known?

Yeah, the Silver Surfer on his arm, and the word “RANK” across his gut, with flies buzzing around it–how hot can he get, right? I asked him about it, and he confessed that he’d always loved comics as a kid, but that our dad had forced him to stop reading them, though he’d always kept it up in secret. Then he confessed, blushing, that Spike loved his hobby too, and together they had amassed quite the collection–so apparently their relationship did have a little give and take. He’d never really wanted to be a cop, or a security guard–but dad had wanted it, so that’s what he did. He was happier now, much happier. I’d misjudged him, I realized, though I still wished he hadn’t ratted on me in the first place. Still, he did apologize, right before asking me to fuck his ass real rough how he likes it, so I guess I can forgive a hot biker like him.

As for Nicky and Glenn—dang, where do I even start with those two? Watching everyone settle into their relationships has been an interesting experience, but none of them went quite as far down the rabbit hole as those two did. It wasn’t much at first–Nicky seemed happy enough to act the part of the immature, innocent child, while Glenn was the rough daddy, but as the weeks and months wore on, we all started to notice that Nicky was undergoing a few, greater changes. The first, and most prominent, was the weight gain. I’m not sure what Glenn was feeding him, but it sure did pack on the pounds, and fast at that. They hadn’t been together a year by the time Nicky hit three hundred and kept on growing.

That was only the most obvious change, but not the most sudden. One week, I saw Nicky and he suddenly had no hair. Nothing, not on his head, not on his body–he was completely smooth. I asked Glenn about it, and all he’d tell me was that babies weren’t supposed to be hairy, so he’d talked it over with Nicky, and the two of them had agreed to get all of it removed permanently. I pressed him a little further, and found out about some of the other things he and Nicky had spent their time doing, and honestly? Some of it even freaked me out, and as you can tell, I have a pretty twisted head when it comes to sex.

By that time, Nicky was entirely incontinent–he had lost all control over his bladder and ass, and as far as both of them were concerned, he was going to be in diapers for the rest of his life. While Glenn was working, Nicky was at home, listening to a variety of hypnotic recordings designed to regress him permanently to as young a mindset as possible. Glenn had been testing him often, and he was losing at least fifty words from his vocabulary a week, and he always talked like a little kid without even thinking about it. I asked him how the sex was, and this was the part that surprised me, he said they weren’t having any, really. Nicky occasionally sucked on his daddy’s pacifier, and Glenn would jack his son off in his diaper once in awhile, but I think even that quit by their second year together. They were really becoming father and son, in a way–and that was how they loved each other. It was sweet, but also unnerving if you thought about it too much.

Glenn took a second job on–apparently it was hard raising an adult baby on a single income, and so he tapped some of us “gay uncles” to babysit Nicky on occasion. It was always a bit surreal, whenever I watched him. He loved to play peek-a-boo, or play pretend with his huge collection of stuffed animals. He was–so innocent really. It reminded me of when he had been a baby, before he’d turned into the immature jackass I’d hated most of my life. And he really was happiest with a full, stinking diaper, who would have thought it?

And that leaves my dad–Max. Boy, I sure did a number on him, didn’t I? Still, from the very beginning, I could tell that something had gone wrong with his spell. Sure, it had worked well enough, but he never seemed to settle down into his new life fully. I mean, don’t get me wrong, from that day on he was a mud slinging, shit eating, piss loving pigman, but you could see in his eyes that he knew something was wrong–that this wasn’t how things were supposed to be. I heard from Hog that the two of them would have terrible fights, usually after Max had gotten a bit too drunk, and they always ended with Max storming out and leaving for days at a time, with Hog having no clue as to where he had gone, or when he might be back.

One night, Hog texted me and told me Max had gotten violent, and that he was worried he was going to hurt himself or someone else. I hurried over, and arrived just in time to see my dad storm out and throw a knife into the bushes. Hog was in the doorway–unharmed, thank goodness–crying and begging him to stay, but Max climbed in his truck and drove off. So I followed him, deciding to get to the bottom of this once and for all. It might be important to note that my dad had been raised a Catholic, and while he had drifted away from church in his later years, it was still important to him. So when he pulled up at a large Catholic church, one with a shelter attached, I wasn’t too surprised. Inside, he immediately went to confession, and then got cleaned up, and was given a room in the shelter, where he could, apparently, pray and work out his inner demons.

He didn’t last long. Two days later, he was back on the streets in his filthy clothes, a hungry look in his eyes, and he would binge all night long. Scarfing derelicts’ shit and piss, begging men passing by to fuck his ass or feed him. He was insatiable, and happy–yes, happy. He didn’t seem upset that he’d given in, if anything, he looked relieved, and the next day he drove back to Hog’s, apologized, and then everything was fine until his next explosion a few months down the line. The next time it happened, I was ready. I confronted him before he could get into the church, and told him to talk to me, and that afterwards, I’d drop him anywhere he wanted to go. He didn’t want to, but eventually, he climbed in.

Back at Mary’s house, in the kitchen where this had all started, we talked–as father and son–for the first time in ages. He told me how happy he was with Hog, how much he loved being a trashy pig, how much he wanted to make Hog happy, but there was another voice–it was always there, screaming at him, shouting him down, telling him it was wrong, that he needed help, that he needed God. He would run, but being clean–he hated it so much, and he’d fall back into his new ways, relieved that the voice was quiet again for the moment. I felt sorry for him, to be honest–I didn’t want him to suffer with that old conscience. I think that was where my moment of weakness hit.

See, I told him everything. How I had become a matchmaker, about my magic, about how I had changed all of them, Rick and Juan, Bill and Spike, Nicky and Glenn, and even him and Hog. I told him why, and he listened, but he didn’t say anything. I wanted him to say something, anything, but when I’d finished, he just got up and left, went back to Hog’s and never had another crisis of conscience that I heard about. Still, I shouldn’t have told him. He never confessed it to me, but he’s the one who started the next mess, I’m sure of it. Still, I managed to come out on top of it, didn’t I? What was the next mess you say? Well, why don’t we save that story for another time.

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Author’s Notes

I feel like a few of these older stories of mine could stand a few extra notes, and some thoughts on how I might have written them differently now, and to answer some of the questions people have brought up about them over the years.

This was one of the first really detailed image stories I did back on tumblr, and in all honesty, I have always found the pressure to include images in stories rather frustrating. They tend to do a lot better in terms of being shared, but they are just, well, harder to write, and I’ve always felt like I spend more time looking for images than I do actually writing the damn story. As I was getting this one ready to repost, I couldn’t believe I had four images per part in this thing! That’s really damn hard! For the most part, I think the images all work fairly well with the story, though I’m one of those people who’s a stickler for little details. I don’t just want the images to be close to the story, I want them to really feel like they’re those people. Little things, like how Bill’s tattoos shift over time, were only added in there so that the images would match the stories better. If I did it again, I probably wouldn’t rely on images so much.

Over the years, I’ve gotten a lot of questions from people about whether or not this is ever going to get a sequel, and at this point, I doubt it in all honesty. I should know better than to end a story on a cliffhanger like this one does, but at the time, I’m sure I had a brilliant idea for where to go next with this, that I didn’t bother to write down anywhere, and now I just kind of stare at it and wonder what in the hell I would do with it now. If I had to spitball a guess, I’d say it probably involved his father telling someone he shouldn’t about the magic of matchmaking, leading our protagonist to become a target of some darker magical folk, but that’s mostly a lot of hand waving. Mostly, this is a story deeply indebted to Peircedskin’s “Turning the Tables”, right down to some of the TFs inside it. I don’t think it has the bones to hold much of an extended story, though I do love the matchmaking MacGuffin. That I might steal for something in the future.