Author: wesleybracken8258

Requested & Submitted by @inchingtowardursinity

He couldn’t believe how long they’d been taking, building the house next door to his. He’d been surprised when the person who’d bought the large house beside his had simply bulldozed everything, opting to build a new house all from scratch. he hadn’t really seen much of the new owner; he appeared to be taking a rather hands off approach to his new house, and in Charles’s opinion, it showed in the amount of work the crew was putting into it. Often, it seemed like they weren’t doing anything all, beyond being rowdy, loud and a general nuisance. 

The crew was full of older, burly men—all of them with a considerable amount of tattoos, most with beards, and every single one of them seemed to be smoking something–cigarettes, pipes, cigars. The smoke was the worst part–he couldn;t seem to escape it, and the more he smelled it, the harder it was to focus on his own work around the house. One time, he’d been trying to do yard work, when he realized he’d just been…standing there for close to half an hour in one spot, just…smelling the smoke. He was angry at himself, and didn’t even notice the fact that he was hard, suddenly.

Still, Charles warmed up to the crew over time. He befriended a few of them over the fence one afternoon. It turned out that the reason things were taking so long was that the crew was understaffed, and the owner was taking forever, on the plans and details. Not too long after that, the men started suggesting he come over and hang out with them in the afternoons and evenings. He never really recalled the meetings well, but…but he sure did enjoy himself every time. There were flickers of clarity–once when he had his cock through a hole in his fence, getting sucked off by one of the workers on the other side. He couldn’t believe what he was doing, but he also couldn’t stop, and he fell back into his smoky stupor long before he came, got down, and returned the favor.

Soon he was craving smoke, but for some reason none of the men would let him smoke anything of theirs–all he could do was suck their second hand smoke from their mouths. It was not long after that, when the owner came knocking on Charles’s door. Charles was in the middle of a terrible week–he’d…simply forgotten to go to work for a few days, and his boss had called and informed him he’d been fired. The owner had heard of his troubles, and had come by to offer him some relief. He had a perfect job for him, he said–all Charles had to do was give him the deed to his property.

Charles refused at first–he loved his home. But when the owner laid out a pipe, a cigar, and a pack of cigarettes, and offered him one of those in addition to the job…he couldn’t stop himself. He grabbed the pipe, packed it and lit it like he’d watched the crew do countless time, and sucked down the smoke, feeling his entire body heating up, from his toes to his gut to his hands…and in a matter of moments, a very, very different man was standing there, chuffing on his pipe.

“What do you think Chuck? Think we can have this house torn out in a week?”

“W-What? I…I don’t…” Chuck looked down at his body, his full gut coated in a riot of tattoos–at least what he could see around his long thick beard, “I…where am I?”

“You’re a member of my crew Chuck. We’re looking at this house I just bought. I want to tear it down and add it to my property next door.”

“O-Oh…I…I guess me ‘n the crew could do it…”

“That’s what I like to hear–now you fat pig, bend over–I wanna fuck your nasty hole.”

Chuck was all to happy to oblige, letting his owner fuck him bent over the side of the couch, and then he went back and joined the rest of his crew. He was welcomed like an old friend, and all of them wanted a taste of Chuck’s new, eight inch cock, and a chance to admire his new, beautiful body; just like the bodies the owner had all given them over the years.

Ruining Mr. Fisher (Part 6)

The light died back after about thirty seconds, but Gerard kept his face turned away. He…didn’t want to look at him. He didn’t want to see what he’d just done to his only son. It didn’t really matter though, because he knew everything about the new Shawn anyway, from his new memories that were forming in his mind, coming unbidden to him, the previous Shawn fading away to a distant memory.

Shawn–he’d always been Gerard’s pride and joy. Brilliant from a young age, with his father’s drive and ambition, he’d funneled him into the most advanced private schools and academies he could find. They hadn’t always had the best of relationships, but that was because Gerard wanted him to be great, before all of this, before Ned had first flashed that medallion in front of his eyes, Shawn had been seventeen, at the front of his class, with full ride scholarships to Harvard and Yale. He’d been talking about becoming a Senator, or President, one day, and Gerard knew he could do it, and part of him had always hated it. Always hated him for…outshining him, for taking the stepping stones he’d provided as his father and using them even better than he’d imagined he’d might, even better than Gerard could have used them. As Ned had torn him down, few things had hurt more than the contempt he’d seen in his son’s eyes, every time he looked at his faggot failure of a father. Part of him had always wanted to see him fail at something, but what he’d done now, was make it so Shawn had never even tried to do anything in his entire life.

A difficult child, he’d gotten in fights even at preschool–he’d never made it far academically, and once everyone at all the other schools had gotten wind of his son’s violent tendencies, they’d all barred him admission. He couldn’t even succeed at public school, and Gerard had been forced to bail him out of trouble for bullying and violent outbursts for years. He’d been expelled two months into his freshman year of high school. Gerard had paid for tutors, but none lasted, and now Shawn didn’t have to do anything he didn’t want to do…and Gerard couldn’t make him do anything at this point. The rock in his stomach wouldn’t settle, and he finally turned around, and found Ned on top of his son, his new son, the two of them kissing and eating each other’s sweaty faces, grinding their crotches together.

Shawn had always been in decent shape, but now he was massive. After all, he spent all his free time (and he had a lot of free time) working out and practicing boxing and wrestling with men who doubled as fuck buddies most of the time. Gerard had caught him with steroids over and over, but had never been able to stop him from taking them, and that had only made him bigger and more aggressive than before. Shawn had gotten the first of his piercings when he was eleven, behind his parents’ backs, and his first tattoo in exchange for a blow job when he was fourteen. At this point he had more metal in him than Gerard could count, and at least three quarters of his body covered in shoddy, sloppy ink work.

“Fuckin’ A,” Shawn said, when Ned lifted away from his mouth, his nose broken in multiple places, eyes swelled from beatings, half his teeth missing from his mouth. “Didn’t…fuckin’ know I could feel this fuckin’ good. Fuckin’ powerful man…Fuck! I feel fuckin’ good, ya know?”

“I bet you do,” Ned said, “But here, let me give you some better equipment, eh?” Ned pressed the medallion into Shawn’s flesh, above his cock, and Gerard wanted his son’s cock and balls grow to obscene proportions–maybe not as large as his own were, confined tight in this cage, but at least eleven inches, and the size of two oranges.

“Yeah man, now that’s a fuckin’ fuckstick,” Shawn wrapped both scarred, tattooed hands around the shaft and started milking it, “Fuckin’ fantastic…”

Ned took a step back, admiring the muscular monster lying on his bed, veins bulging, huge roid gut, stupid stare on his face as he drooled and stroked his meat. “Hard tah believe a sexy fucker like that came outa yer seed, bitch, gotta say.”

“You…what the fuck, you fucking ruined him…”

“Sure fuckin’ did, but he likes it. Still, a deal’s a deal, so let’s get that cage off ya,” Ned said. Gerard hefted up his apron and let Ned get at the cage there–but instead of unlocking it, he felt a searing heat as Ned pressed the medallion in the spot over his cock, and after a moment there was a loud clank, as the cage hit the floor, and Ned stood back up. Gerard reached under for his cock, but found nothing but fat. He kept looking, and couldn’t find his balls either. Eventually his hands found a half inch nub of a cock–more of a nipple buried in his gunt, and a couple of small balls. His face went red with rage. “What the fuck did you do to me?”

“The cage is off–I didn’t say how it would happen. Don’t need it anyway–that nub is dead flesh–no nerves, and you can’t shoot anyway, not with those dry balls. Now all we gotta do is fix the two of you up, and we’ll be golden.”

“What…what are you talking about?”

“Well, yer ex ain’t gonna want tah deal with a monster like that. ‘Sides, I have a feelin’ yer gonna like yer son a lot more in a second.”

Gerard tried to move, but he was frozen in place as Ned took the medallion and pressed it to his own breast–a seemingly endless flash later, he stumbled back, unable to believe what he was remembering, as his son got up from the bed and started towards him. “No–No, Shawn, please no, I–”

The right hook caught him mid sentence, and he felt another tooth dislodge from his mouth as he fell to the floor, his son grabbing him in a raging, erotic heat, driving his massive cock deep into his father’s hole. It hurt, and worse, it didn’t…feel good. All it did was hurt. Before, when Gerard had been fucked, it had felt good, but this, he screamed, and tried to crawl away, his son biting into his flabby shoulder and drawing blood as he drove in deeper, slamming his father’s face into the floor of the trailer, stunning him so he laid there and let his son rape his hole.

I have a question about your use of addiction in your stories. Which method do you find more thrilling to use: a narrative wherein the addiction is used as a tool and there for kink, such as giving a man a huge addiction in a few lines, having it pop up as needed to spice up the story’s kinkiness, or making it a plot in itself, forcibly hooking someone on something, light amounts at a time, hating themselves for it until they grow to love it and become complicit in the addiction’s corruption?

The second is better. If anything, the second is the only way to write a good addiction story. That said, a lot of my stories end up looking more like the first, because…I’m really, really bad at remembering to keep mentioning people’s addictions, and incorporating them into the story.

It’s terrible, really. I’ll give someone a cigar addiction, and then, a few thousand pages later, realize they haven’t smoked once since that initial puff. I tend to get carried away with other, more plot focused aspects of the story, and the smoking/drinking/etc. kind of falls by the wayside. I usually go back in and try and edit more instances of the addiction in, and that’s why the stories which are supposed to look like the later type actually end up looking like the former. I’m not a perfect writer, you see, and I just don’t have the time to edit all of these stories to the best they could be. People seem more interested in quantity over quality! I wish I could get these stories into perfect shape every time, but sometimes I fail, like everyone else. 

Which of your stories are you the most proud? And which one did you enjoy writing the most?

That’s…not an easy question, really. I’m really proud of parts of Big Bears on Campus and City of Bears. I’m really proud of Letters From Prison, because that thing took me forever. But which do I enjoy writing? I’ve enjoyed all of them, to be honest. The ones I enjoy more tend to get…longer. So I really enjoyed “Dream Camp” and that “Garage Sale Story” from a while back. I’m a big fan of “Ruining Mr. Fisher.” Basically, if a story runs longer than three entries, chances are I…kind of got into it.