The Fuck Dream (Part 2)

The dream continued for months. He didn’t know what to do. He suffered from insomnia, but every time he did fall asleep, the dream was there waiting for him, the stranger there to fuck him in his ass for what felt like hours each time, and when he woke, he’d always find that he had cum in the night. He considered seeing a therapist, but he felt like he was going insane. He wasn’t gay! He’d never felt any sort of attraction to men. And then, as he was reching his breaking point, as suddenly as the dreams had begun, they stopped all together.

The morning after his first restful night of sleep in ages, he woke, and sobbed with relief. Still, he’d woken up quite horny, so he started to jack off, but instead of heading for his cock, his hand went around, found his hole, slipped inside and began digging in. He moaned in pleasure, but when he tried to stop, he couldn’t–he finger fucked himself for ten minutes, until with a long cry, he came without touching his cock once.

The dream never came back, but the horniness–and the urges–only got worse. For a while, he could satisfy himself with his fingers, but when he needed something…bigger, he broke down and bought a dildo at a sex shop–and when that worked too well on his hole, he bought a few more toys to go with it. He wasted entire days and evenings fucking himself and sucking on dildos, forced to go to greater and greater lengths before his cock would finally cum, and he would be allowed to stop. Still, he could sense that even these dildos would keep him content for only so long–he would need flesh inside him soon. Just…thinking about it, about some massive cock in his hole–it was enough to send him into another round of self–fucking, and this time it lasted three hours before he finally came. Still, he wouldn’t gibe in. No matter…no matter how much he wanted, he couldn’t…right? Then again, maybe…maybe just once…just to feel it, for real. The dreams were so distant now, but he…missed them. Missed how full he’d felt, with the stranger’s cock inside him. That night, he begged a stranger in a bar to fuck him, and never looked back.

The Fuck Dream (Part 1)

The first time he had the dream, he couldn’t believe how vivid it was–almost like he’d simply woken up in his bed, in the middle of the night, as happened sometimes. However, despite how vivid it was, it had felt like a dream all the same. The room…it didn’t seem to have a consistent perspective. He was looking out his eyes, and yet also…looking down at himself, somehow disembodied at the same time. But most disturbing of all, was the stranger standing at the foot of his bed. He ended up referring to him as the stranger, because the figures face kept…shifting. Every time he looked away, and then back, the face would have changed. One moment, it was his father. The next, one of his friends from college, another, his first grade teacher. It wasn’t really any of those people though–the stranger…well, he still didn’t know who, or what, it was.

He realized, as soon as the dream began, that he had no control over his body. Once, when he was young, he’d had several bouts of sleep paralysis, and it reminded him of that. It only grew worse as the stranger climbed on top of him, crushing him, forcing his body into a position on his side, one leg up, and he watched as a parade of faces–men he’d seen the day before in passing, old acquaintences from years passed–fucked him. It began slowly, with the stranger tickling his hole with his cock, as he fought to wake up from the nightmare, but soon, the stranger was pounding in deep, ignoring the young man’s cries and pleas, the dream only dissolving away after the stranger came, and he sat up in his bed for real, covered in sweat.

Sweat and…cum. Looking down, he realized he’d shot a load all over his chest in the night. Unnerved, he didn’t sleep again until the next day, when the dream returned again. And again the next night after that. And again, and again, and again…

Medical Trials (Part 4)

~~~A Few Months Later~~~

Evan pushed the janitorial cart down the hall, and into the last cell on the hallway. The room was filthy, but he knew better than to ask questions about what might have happened in there–he could smell some cum, shit and piss, but there was more blood than anything else. He stripped the bed and shoved the still damp, but cool sheets into the laundry bag, and then started cleaning up the walls.

He’d been working in the Trinq labs as a janitor for…for as long as he could remember, which wasn’t really that long. He wasn’t exactly smart, and most everything failed to keep his interest, unless it had to do with his job, cum, or his boyfriend. He wiped down the mirror, looking at his face with disinterest. It still wasn’t quite…familiar to him, but that didn’t really matter. It was his face. How he felt about the face wasn’t important. How he felt wasn’t important. Feelings weren’t really…possible anymore anyway; all he ever really felt was calm detachment. It didn’t matter how he felt, all that mattered was that he did what he was told. He looked at himself anyway, through the red streaks. His head was perfectly smooth, just like the rest of his body. His hair had all fallen out–even his eyebrows–and none of it had grown back, not even months after his final injection. No longer strong and angular, his face was round and soft, cheeks puffed out and drooping, chins and jowls like pliable wax, eyes distant.

The rest of his body was similar. He’d shrunk substantially in the final round of tests, dropping from six foot three down to about five feet tall, even as he’d packed on fat. His weight had stabilized at 325 pounds, now that he was no longer receiving injections, but it hung off him in flaps and rolls, his grimy coveralls, grey with the Trinq logo on the breast, bulging and heaving with each movement. His balls were gone. They’d shrunk smaller and smaller until they simply ceased to exist, and his cock was less than an inch long, and completely numb to all sensation. He no longer felt like a man, really. He felt like something else entirely–genderless, perhaps, but not a woman either. Just a drone, or an object. Something unimportant. Something that existed to be used, like a tool.

He cleaned the room, hoping there might be a bit of cum he could eat, but while he could smell it, the blood was everywhere, leaving him disappointed and hungry. The room was clean in a few hours, and he checked his watch–his shift had ended fifteen minutes ago, so he wheeled the cart back to the janitorial area, threw the bloody sheets down the chute to the incinerator, got out of his jumpsuit and burned that as well, and back into his street clothes, before clocking out.

He left Trinq’s building, and walked to the bus stop. He’d grown used to the stares by now–everyone he passed could tell there was something wrong with him, that he wasn’t supposed to exist, that he didn’t fit into their usual categories. More than once, he’d been cornered by men and pummelled in alleys on the way home, but he didn’t mind that much. The longer men were around him, after all, the more likely they would feed him their cum. That was something he’d learned rather quickly–that something about him, either how he looked, or how he smelled, made men want to use him as a cumdump. He could imagine that might make a normal person feel humiliated, but Evan just felt something resembling gratitude. He liked being something that had a purpose–he liked being used.

There was no incident like that this evening, though he sat next to an older business man on the bus, and after a few minutes, the man pulled out his cock, and ordered Evan to suck it–he was happy to have a snack, at least. He got off at his stop, and walked the few blocks to where he lived with his boyfriend, Adam. But Adam wasn’t really a boyfriend, in the same way Evan wasn’t really a man any longer.

Adam worked as a police detective–in particular, he’d taken over the caseload of a certain Evan Timmons, who’d committed suicide earlier that year. He didn’t really work for the police, however. Or rather, he worked for the police, but he also worked for Trinq Inc.–burying cases, funnelling prisoners and inconvenient witnesses into experimental drug programs, destroying evidence. In return, Adam had been receiving samples of several new drug therapies from the company. He was already home when Evan arrived–he could smell him in the second bedroom of the apartment, which was where Evan slept in a cage, and where Adam worked out. Evan stripped out of his clothes and went and found his master, smelling him, hungry for his cum. Adam was naked as well, his extremely hirsute body matted with sweat, foot long cock half hard and leaking on the floor. Evan got down and began cleaning up–sweat, cum, piss, anything his master left behind as he continued his workout, not paying any attention to the thing following him around the room. Adam might have felt a twinge of guilt, at one point, but power and strength was more important to him now. In truth, Evan disgusted him, but also terrified him. Trinq’s executives had made it perfectly clear to him who Evan actually was–and that if Adam ever betrayed them, that he would suffer an even worse fate at their hands than the blob Officer Timmon’s had become. Trinq wasn’t about to let anyone stand in their way of power either, after all. They were going to change the world, whether people wanted them to, or not.

He’d been so focused on his bicep curls, that his six pack had already disappeared by the time he set down the weight, and went to flex at himself in the mirror. He realized the reflection seemed off, but it took him a moment, and another ten pounds gained, before he realized what was happening, lifted up his shirt, and nearly screamed in the middle of the gym floor.

What the fuck was happening to him? He grabbed the flab in his hands, just to see if it was real, and discovered that…he could feel it growing and expanding. He looked around in a panic, unable to understand how something like this could even be happening, and then he ran for the locker room. He had to get to a doctor or something, he had to figure out what was wrong with him!

But by the time he got to the locker room, his clothes no longer fit. The changes had accelerated, and he pulled on his jeans just in time to have the seams ripped apart my his expanding ass. He stared at his new, hairy body in the mirror hanging over the sink, disgusted with himself, when he noticed someone watching him with a smirk…someone…he thought he should be able to recognize.

It wasn’t until he was bent over the sink, the stranger’s cock buried in his fat ass, holding his hair back, filming the video to post later, and he realized it was Ian, a massively obese guy he’d bullied for years in college, now looking slim and trim after transferring all of his fat to his old bully, and taking his muscles for himself. He was nice enough to leave him some 4XL clothes once he was finished, but for his old bully, getting clothed was only the beginning of his problems. His hole was still itching for a cock…and if he didn’t find something to plug up there, he felt like he was going to go insane.

“Who’s the fat ass faggot now?” was all Ian said as he left the locker room, and the ex-jock to his new life.

Source: hotchubsblog

Medical Trials (Part 3)

He knew he should be more shocked than this. He tried, as hard as he could, to make himself *feel* shock. To convince himself that because things like this didn’t usually happen to bodies, what he should be registering is shock, alarm, fear, terror, but beyond a general sense of unease, Evan mostly just…looked at himself, like he’d appraise an object. As something he didn’t have much attachment to, emotionally.

Before becoming a police officer, Evan had served in the army, serving two tours in Iraq. He’d never really enjoyed his time in the army, but he had always appreciated the routine it had instilled in him. As a teenager, he’d been a bit of a troublemaker, and he appreciated the fact that the military had helped him get past that. He’d kept up his exercise and diet even after leaving the army, moving through a few jobs before he ended up in law enforcement. He’d always been told, by the various women he’d dated, that he had a strong jaw, and a stronger body, with a six inch cock he knew how to use. Beyond his muscled frame, he was moderately hairy, with more than a few tattoos he’d picked up with his army buddies.

Looking down at himself now, however, it was clear this drug–whatever it was–had already ruined him, substantially. It was the gut which disturbed him the most. It made sense, to some extent, given how much cum he’d eaten, and how full he’d felt each time. The skin was paler though, and even the stretchmarks from such rapid growth were a mild pink where they should have been violently red. He ran his hands over the surface, feeling how soft and flabby it was, and noticed that his body hair was less thick than it had been, and appeared lighter than before. He’d always kept his face clean shaven, but brushing a hand over his face, he couldn’t even feel stubble there, and even the hair on his head seemed too fine, and thinner than it had been before.

Everywhere, he’d lost muscle and replaced it with fat. He felt weak and tired, lifting his arms was tiring, and he could see several of his tattoos looked like they were fading away somehow. His skin was smooth and pale–he couldn’t have been in here long enough to lose his tan, but he looked like someone who never went outside. He’d forgotten about his cock, in all of this. He…didn’t really want to think about it, or feel it. The pain and agony of the sessions had made him slightly afraid to touch it, but he did, eventually. It was swollen and red, but also smaller–only about three inches, and his balls had shrunk quite a bit as well, each the size of a large grape. Touching himself for the first time in…days?…weeks?…he felt nothing, beyond a vague sickness in his gut, and he pulled his hand away, happy to just let the calm wash over him. Though he would feel better, if he had some cum to eat–but it wasn’t worth the pain.

He was in a room similar to the one with the chair–the same white walls, the same mirror, the same door–but this one had a small bed, a simple chair and small table, a sink and a toilet. More like a prison cell, which wasn’t exactly much of an improvement. He heard a buzz, and the door unlocked. A man stepped into the room, dressed in a well tailored suit. Evan couldn’t recall his name in the haze, but he remembered interviewing him about Trinq’s missing employees. A vice president of…research and development? He wasn’t sure, but he had a disarming smile, not that Evan cared that much. Of all the questions he wanted to ask:–“What am I doing here?” or “What have you done to me?”–the one that feel out of his mouth was, “Can…can I have some cum?”

It was the first time he’d heard his voice unmuffled in all this time, and it was higher, thinner, than it had been.

“Ah, straight to pleasure, detective? No time for business?”

“I’m just…hungry, is all.”

“Yes, I’m sure you are. We’ll get to that, don’t worry. Still, I’m mostly here to check on your progress, in our Calmura trials. Are you enjoying them? We’re working with some private prisons to develop new systems of inmate management, though we’re still trying to work out some of the side effects. Still, in your case, I don’t see anything wrong, do you? Do you like some of the changes? How do you feel?”

“I…” Evan started to say, but he didn’t know how to talk about his feelings. After a moment of silence, he just shrugged. “I don’t…like it. I think.”

“Not sure?”

“Just don’t feel much of anything, really.”

The man sighed, “I was worried seven doses would take too much fight out of you–this would have been more fun after four or five. Oh well, next time, I suppose.” The man pulled a vial and a needle out of his pocket and set them on the table. Even in the dull world his eyes were registering, he recognized the blue in the jar.

“I don’t…want any more.”

“No?” the man said, smiling. “How about we make a deal. You inject yourself with the next dose of Calmura, and I let you suck my cock. You did say you were hungry, right? Still, if you don’t want anymore, you can leave–all you have to do is walk out that door–it’s still unlocked.”

Even before he’d worked out the logic, he was sitting in the chair, readying his next dose. It was simple really. He loved cum. He needed it. If someone offered him cum, he’d do anything to get it. The man was a bit disappointed to see how well the subject had responded, the police officer finding a vein and injecting himself without any apparent reservations, and he set the needle down. “Can I suck you off now?”

The man shrugged, and pulled his cock out of his suit pants, Evan getting down in front of him and sucking, hard, eager to get his next dose of cum. Still, he wasn’t very experienced, and eventually he just let the man fuck his throat roughly, until he came, and he swallowed all of his cum down, feeling…better. It would hurt, cumming again, but this had been worth it. Cum was worth anything. Cum was priceless.

The man just shook his head, and set a beaker down on the table. “There’s probably not much left in those balls of yours, but that will give you a snack for later, right?”

He left the room, and watched Evan position the beaker under his cock, the first orgasm building, and he shot into the glass, over and over again. “Well, that was so successful, I’m almost disappointed,” he said to the scientists observing Evan, “When will he be finished?”

“Another few weeks, at least. We’ll begin his final stage of programming today, once he finishes the ejaculation phase.”

“Good. Keep me updated.”

“Yes sir.”

Medical Trials (Part 2)

The feeling of calm indifference only lasted for about half an hour–but the tank had only been drained by about a third, when he felt like he was finally free of whatever strange mental state that drug had left him in. As disconcerting as it had been, he actually missed it in a sense, as he kept swallowing his own seed, desperate to not drown on his own spunk, his gut aching, because at least for that short window of time, he had genuinely enjoyed this. The speakers in his mask continued to repeat the message, however, about once a minute, and the repetition wore on him, and he fought it for a while. Now however, he was sobbing, about an inch of cum remaining in the tank, his gut feeling like it would burst at any moment. He’d gagged a few times, spewing cum out his nose, where it ran down the outside of his mask and dripped onto his chest and swollen gut. He let out a cry of relief when the flow eased up, and the tank was dropped back down to the floor, out of sight. The machine beside him administered something else to him, and he feared he’d see that ame blue liquid, as before, but all he felt, after a moment, was pleasantly floaty, and he fell asleep in the chair.

When he woke up, he was once again in the chair, though his gut didn’t ache as bad as it had, and he felt less stiff, like he’d been out of the chair for a bit, while he was asleep, and then returned to the same position. He tried to beg and plead through the mask attached to him, but he saw the drip once more turn blue, and he fought harder against his bonds. Fifteen minutes later, the first orgasm ripped through him, and he just focused on his mind, on maintaining his focus, but he was broken, sobbing and whimpering after an hour, and after two, when his cock was merely spasming weakly, the fact that the mask was pulling his head back to the chair was the only thing keeping his head upright. Once more, the tank was raised up to the ceiling, and the flow began again. The world was dull, meaningless, aside from a slight bright spot. The tank. He…enjoyed cum. He could remember that, somewhat, but little else.

“You love the taste of cum, officer Timmons.”

The tank grew brighter in his focus, and once the flow began, he drank it down hungrily. He drank, and the messages continued, though with greater variation than the last time.

“You crave cum, Officer Timmons.”

“If a man offers you his cum, you will do anything he demands of you to obtain it.”

“Cum is priceless, you will never have enough of it.”

The dullness lasted longer than it had the first time, and was more difficult to shake off. Or was it just that the tank hadn’t been as full as it had been the first time? He wasn’t sure, everything felt like a blur. He pushed the sensation away as quickly as he could, but he couldn’t deny that he felt a more lasting effect this time, a…craving for more. The taste of cum lingered in his mouth, and he didn’t want it to fade. His gut ached, but surely he could fit in another load or two, right? Oh fuck, what in the world was he thinking? It was a relief when the tranquilizer flooded his system again, and sent him to sleep, it was easier than trying to understand what was going on with his mind.

He was forced to endure five more sessions like this. He would wake up in the chair, once again. As soon as he was awake, the strange drug would be administered. He would cum, violently and repeatedly, for several hours, after which he would ingest every drop of cum he’d just expelled. The voice would repeat in his mind, and he was no longer certain whether everything he thought was his or not. One thing he did know, as the sessions wore on, was that, more and more, he looked forward to eating the cum. He could…survive the onslaught of orgasms (though they had become so painful, he was certain that if he ever left this lab alive, he would never cum, or have sex, ever again) so long as, when they were over, he could eat the cum. He loved cum, after all. That much he knew for sure. They wouldn’t be able to take that away from him, that was just…just who he was, right?

It was difficult to compare from session to session, but Evan thought that he was orgasming less and less each time. Certainly the cum he was fed wasn’t enough to sate his desire, and the tank never looked as full as it had that first time. He also wasn’t sure…but his body felt different, somehow. Of course, he hadn’t been able to see his body since waking up in the room, with his head pulled tight against the back of the chair, but he…sensed something was wrong, or at the very least, different than it had been. Most worrisome, however, was that the world really was beginning to lose some of it’s color, even after the drug had worn off. It was hard to care about anything beyond drinking more cum. He felt dull…but even stranger, he felt calm. Relaxed and at ease. Rationally, he knew that what was being done to him was terrifying, but the emotion attached to the thought was losing force. Every emotion was losing force. He’d think of his girlfriend naked, but only received a dull throb of arousal and love, nothing like he could remember feeling.

And so, when he woke up after that seventh session, and he wasn’t strapped to the chair, he didn’t really know what to feel. Or rather, he knew what he should be feeling–relief, happiness, anticipation–and all of those things were there to some extent, but mostly he just felt…calm, as he looked down at himself, and saw for the first time what the drug had done to his body.

Medical Trials (Part 1)

Evan looked around at the desks around him, all of which had emptied out my now, leaving him alone in the precinct, chasing his own tail on this investigation into several men over the last few months. There was no real connection between any of them–not age, neighborhood, habits…well, except for one. Every single one of the men was employed at a massive health conglomerate in the business district, Trinq Incorporated. The company was trying to claim that all of the disappearances were all likely to have been done by one of their chief, international competitors–and initially, that’s what had seemed like the most likely possibility. Now though, he wasn’t so sure. The evidence the company had provided had just enough holes to make it look reasonable, but also impossible to prosecute, and in two of the cases, he’d found evidence that the men in question had actually been preparing to blow the whistle on what was looking like some serious ethical issues in Trinq’s R&D department. But as soon as he’d started asking questions along those lines, the company had started stonewalling him. His boss was pressuring him to close the file as a cold case if necessary, but Evan’s detective instincts were telling him he was on the cusp of something big.

He heard the elevator ding, and assumed it was just the janitor, coming up to clean the floor. He didn’t have time to react when the two massive men attacked him, one of them holding a rag soaked in chloroform to his nose. He fought as hard as he could, trying to reach his sidearm, but he was out before he could do anything to fight back, and the two men carried him down to the basement parking garage, threw him in the back of a van marked with Trinq Incorporated’s logo, and drove off through the city, arriving at an unmarked office building, and disappearing inside.

He was trying to scream, but all he could manage was a muffled cry, with the strange tube shoved in his mouth, and held in place by the mask secured around his head and neck, holding it immobile. The only things exposed were his eyes, allowing him a limited survey of the room–white tiled wall straight ahead and to the right, a white door in that corner, and to the left, a wall with a large mirror. In his experience, he figured it was likely one way. Where in the hell was he? The last thing he could remember was sitting at his desk, and then everything else was a blurry haze. Had someone kidnapped him? He didn’t know if it was Trinq or some foreign company, but he was willing to bet he’d stumbled on a hornet’s nest, and hadn’t been smart enough to know it.

The rest of his body was immobilized as well, and all of his clothes had been removed, leaving him naked, though there was something on his cock, or perhaps more precise, inside it–a tube, almost like a catheter, though he couldn’t see where the tube led outside his range of vision. In his arm was an IV, and some sort of complex machinery which was pumping something into him–probably saline–though he had a feeling that he’d be subjected to something else before too long. Sure enough, now that he was awake, he heard the machine whirring to life, and a blue liquid was added to his drip. All he could do, was try to scream and struggle against his bonds as the drug–whatever it might me–slipped down the line and disappeared into his arm.

For what felt like a long time, but which in reality was likely only fifteen minutes or so, nothing happened, beyond Evan panicking and hyperventilating. Then, without any warning at all, he felt his cock stiffen all on it’s own accord in a matter of seconds, and a massive orgasm ripped through him, leaving him shuddering and shaking in the chair, and he only had a few moments to heave for breath through his nose, before a second orgasm, even longer and more intense, followed right on the first’s heels.

He had no idea how long it lasted–he quickly lost count of how many orgasms he suffered through in rapid succession. At first, it was pleasurable, but the euphoria dulled away, and soon every shot of cum was simply excruciatingly painful. It felt like his balls were being crushed in a vice, milked endlessly–and somehow, every time, more cum came out of him. He’d heard somewhere, that after a relatively small number of loads, a guy would just begin shooting dry, but not him–he could see his cum flowing through the tube lodged in his cock, flowing to some unknown destination below him.

After an hour of this, the time between orgasms began to lengthen again, and he did indeed begin to shoot dry–which hurt even more, somehow. His balls were throbbing, his cock felt like it was on fire, but after the intensity of the experience, those sensations felt so distant, and as the last few orgasms shook through him, what Evan actually felt was a surprising sense of calm. Or more than just calmness, also…indifferent. Like the world had emptied of meaning somehow, or he’d simply lost the capacity to grapple with things going on around him. And as the tension left his body, he saw something rising up from below him–a massive tank, full of at least four liters of his own cum. At the top of the tank, which was being slowly raised up into the air, was the end of the tube attached to his cock, and at the bottom, the end of the tube leading back to his mouth.

“Officer Evan Timmons, you will eat all of your own cum. You will enjoy it.”

The words came through speakers in the mask itself, and they lit up the grey, featureless world around him, broke through his indifference, and he found himself focused on the command, as the tank began to empty down the tube, and into his mouth.

Hypno Me Please (Part 2)

Well? What do you think? What a difference a year makes, right?

Heh, it took two months of baby steps before I dared take him out for his first test drive–that is, before I made him take the first step down the path I’d been designing for him in my head, a path he would have never agreed to in his life. So what did I make him do? I made him cut his hair. He knew exactly what he was doing, as he went into the bathroom, powered up his razor and shaved off those beautiful locks–I watched on the cam of course, pleased beyond the belief, even if he was sobbing and furious by the end of it. I told him it made him look better, and he told me he’d never chat with me again–as if he could help it.

No, he found himself unable to resist replying to me, and if I sent a hypno file to him, he’d find himself unable to resist opening it up and watching it. He tried to tell me the files weren’t working–but the fact was, he simply hadn’t noticed what they were doing to him. He’d stopped going to the gym a month later, and look at him now–that new gut of his, those flabby arms. I’ve been considering making him gain…but I’ve had other priorities.

See–he’s starting to like it. He won’t admit it easily, but I’m wearing him down, bit by bit. Being forced to do public cam shows for anyone who wants to watch, those new tattoos of his–and the diapers of course. I made him wear them once as punishment, and his reaction was so extreme–he sobbed for hours–that I had to make them part of his wardrobe permanently. Yes, permanently. He knows he has to wear them, but what I don’t quite think he’s noticed is how much control he’s lost over the last few months–but when I make him go a month without them, and he pisses and shits himself at work–well, he’ll be begging to be back in them soon enough.

Still, I have a flight to catch. A little one year anniversary surprise–he gets to meet his master in person for the first time. We’re going to have so much fun for the next week, and for years to come. Oh yeah–years. What can I say? He’s worth the commitment, whether he wants it or not.

Hypno Me Please (Part 1)

It was a public posting, on one of the hypno forums I lurk around, with a simple title, “Hypno Me Please!!!” Now, guys who are looking to be hypnotized are a dime a dozen around the internet–they’re about as common as guys who are actually capable of hypnotizing them are rare! It just so happens, that I’m one of those rare few, but I’m also finicky, and my interests can be…well, let’s just say that I love humiliating people, and we can leave it at that for now. So I follow the thread, out of curiosity. A few guys had sent him chat info, and a few others had asked for pics, and the pics the guy sent…well, let’s just say that, if they were real, I’d found an interesting, potential subject.

Still, I can’t do much beyond throw out a hook (granted, with some very tempting bait) and see if he bites. I send him a link to what I call one of my “hypno files,” and that if it interests him, we can chat more about some direct play.. The link actually leads is an automated hypnosis program of my own design, with two simple objectives–first, a simple suggestion to follow my commands and seek to serve me, and second, a hack in the program turns on the subjects webcam, and films them while they jack off, staring at the file, and sends it directly to me.

What can I say? I loved him. The pics had been real, it turns out, but a bit old–he’d obviously been going to the gym more regularly and started shaving since those pics had been taken…and fuck, all I wanted to do, as soon as I saw him, was ruin him, every bit of him. He cums on himself and wipes it up with a cloth, the file ends and the feed cuts–and I wait. A few minutes later, he messages me back, tells me he loved the file, and wanted to know if I had any more. Did I ever. Still, best to boil them slow. By the time he realizes something is wrong, there won’t be any way for him to escape.

Master Fitzroy’s Stables (Part 4)

A commissioner requested an additional chapter to this story from earlier this year. Here’s where you can find part’s one, two, and three. Also, this chapter’s a bit out there–animal hybrids, and castration.

“I’m very disappointed, Mr. Grant. I’ve made you a very comfortable home here, you know. To have my generosity thrown back at me in my face, well…what do they say about the hand that feeds you?”

“Fuck you, you fucking piece of shit!”

“Now, I don’t know quite how you managed to untwist your way out of my programming, but I am still the master of this house, and you will still treat me with the respect I require.”

“I’m not treating you for shit! You fucked me up! I’m some old fucking man, and that…that thing fucks me fucking twice a day! No, I’m going to get out of here, and I’m going to expose you, and you’re going to fucking jail.”

“Do you honestly believe that you’re the first one of my staff to have gotten their wits about and run off to your holy ‘authorities’? Please, I have an excellent relationship with the entire local government. I can assure you. even if you had gotten away without being caught, your feat would have amounted to nothing.”

“…”

“Silence? Fine. Still, we will have to punish you, I can assure you.”

“Edufuck me all you fucking want, I’ll just beat it again.”

“Oh, edification will be necessary, yes, but I think this situation calls for more…extreme measures. No, good night, Mr. Grant. I’ll see you in a few days.”

Mr. Grant smelled manure. It was a scent he’d grown accustomed to over the last few months, since when he first displeased the Master of Fitzroy Abbey, but not one he’d ever learned to enjoy. No, he hated it more with each day. But now, waking up slowly, it…comforted him. It smelled like home, somehow.

He was lying on straw, but why was he sleeping in the stable? Had he passed out? Slipped away for a nap? Master would be very unhappy with either possibility, and he didn’t want to upset master, no, not that–

He shook his head, trying to clear it, but it felt so…thick, all of a sudden. It wasn’t like Mr. Grant had ever been the smartest person, but before he’d been able to manage. Now, it felt like his thoughts were running through molasses. Had…had something happened to him again? He could remember a conversation, dimly. Master had been angry. He’d been angry too, but also…terrified. But what he’d done, he couldn’t recall at all. He opened his eyes, and where he was propped against the side of the stable, he had a clear view of his body, and that was what caused the scream which echoed across the grounds of the entire Abbey gardens.

His legs, what the fuck had happened to his legs! The terror cut through the static clogging his mind, and he ran his old hands over the furry flanks his ass and thighs had become, then down further, to his knee, the slender leg ending in a thick, solid brown hoof. He felt the whole thing with his hands, unable to believe it, but it was him, his body. The static was returning, and as it did, some of his shock and surprise faded as well. Had things been different? He couldn’t actually remember being different, so it was possible he’d always been this way, right? The one thing he definitely appreciated was his cock, the sheath running from the base of his heavy balls all the way up his slightly elongated torso, where the head of his cock began to emerge. He forced himself upright, finding it relatively easy to balance on the wide hooves, and with his hands, felt the shaft. He had to piss–and as soon as he’d thought it, the urine poured out of him in a torrent with no control at all–he barely managed to aim it at a corner, away from the straw where he’d been laying. The scent was strong, but not at all unpleasant, similar to the manure. He…liked it here actually…but didn’t he have work to do? Hadn’t he been…trying to get somewhere? The thoughts didn’t seem to connect up to anything, but he pushed open the door to the stable, and walked out, smelling the air. Something…else was in his nose, something…wonderful. Chopper. Chopper, he definitely knew, his new horse tail flicking at the thought, ass clenching.

Whistling a little tune, he took off, following the scent of his favorite horse. He smelled something else, but realized what–or rather, who–it was, too late. Master was waiting for him as well, with two burly servants of the house.

“Ah, Mr. Grant. I trust you’ve found your new accommodations acceptable? You’ll be staying here with the horses from now on, considering you’re mostly horse yourself now. You’re usual duties will be the same, though with that new brain of yours, I doubt you’ll have much time to think of escaping again. Still, there is one last thing I’d like to take care of. I did so love that tiny cock of yours, but gene manipulation…we can’t always have everything we want. Still, I think having you as a gelding will work out fine–calm you down a bit, make you more…pliable.”

The two men tackled Mr. Grant to the grubby floor of the stable, holding him down, allowing the master of the abbey to first, bind his huge balls with a series of bands, and once they’d turned a deep, blackish blue, to cut open the sack and extract both of his testicles, before sewing up the incision. Mr. Grant just stared, dumbfounded, but once they were gone he…felt better. Calmer. The panic in him died back a bit, and he got a stupid grin on his face. He was all too happy to let Chopper fuck his new hole–a wonderful new experience, since his wider frame could better take the huge shaft, and from them on, Mr. Grant settled into his new life, that of a grubby stable man gelding–and always ready for any of the stallions to mount him, if need be.