Author: wesleybracken8258

I really love how you play around with the concept of hope. That is why I love Breaking Point so much and some others such as Mr. Drake’s Games so much due to how you give them a chance of redemption just before completely destroying who they are. It makes the transformation all the more sweeter, since they fight harder for a chance to keep some semblance of their previous selves.

Hope is crucial for my writing, which is why it’s everywhere in my stuff. If there’s one thing about writing in the MC/TF genre, it’s that it’s deceptively difficult to get a good story going along side the porn, because it’s really hard to foster any sort of dramatic tension. If I have one complaint about most of the stuff in this genre I’ve read, is that there’s no plot–usually it’s just long, drawn out wish fulfillment, and nothing more. You gotta have something else going to keep people interested, I think.

I rely on hope a lot to create tension, because that fosters at least some conflict between the changer and the changee. That said, I often feel like it’s a bit of a crutch–a really useful crutch, but a crutch all the same, because hope is only good at *simulating* conflict between characters. It doesn’t actually mean that conflict actually exists.

Some of the best stories I’ve written, and some of the best one’s I’ve read, manage to put two characters into conflict such that the outcome of who comes out on top really in indeterminate (and in the end, both characters usually end up very different than they were). “Dream Camp” did this really well, I think, as did “Fall of Troy.” Those are the kinds of stories I wish I could come up with more often. 

Don’t get me wrong–the stories you mentioned are good, and I enjoyed them, but the hope the characters feel doesn’t actually have any corresponding chance of them escaping. Both of the antagonists in those stories hold all the cards, they can dangle little bits of hope for the person to grasp for, but they have no actual chance of getting them. Of course, this power dynamic is sexy–the idea of someone with so much power toying with their victims is definitely a sexual trigger for a lot of people, but just because something is arousing doesn’t mean it’s good plot, if that makes sense.

Still, thank you for the compliment! I didn’t mean to seem like I was talking badly about what you said up there. It’s nice when people notice the sorts of techniques I use in these stories, but I also like to go into them with a bit of depth when they come up.

Ruining Mr. Fisher (Part 3)

Needless to say, Gerard began staying late much more often at the office. In fact, he found it impossible to leave until Ned had come through to clean the office, and to find some new way to bring the banker down a few more pegs at a time. It was the very next night that Ned made the banker strip naked in his presence–the fat redneck gave him a hand job and then as soon as Gerard’s cock softened again, forced his cock into a metal cage, and locked it with a padlock. It was a tight fit–immediately Gerard’s cock tried to get hard again, and the pain was excruciating, but he didn’t have a choice in the matter. Ned said he needed to be punished for cumming without permission, and so the cage would stay on until he felt Gerard had earned an orgasm for himself.

Gerard never earned an orgasm, not in the next several months. Most nights, Ned would simply come by the office, looking more and more filthy and disheveled and slobby each day, force Gerard to serve him in any number of ways, and then leave him again. At first, Gerard would do his best to not do anything to make Ned change him further–he was agreeable and wouldd serve him as required…and in some ways he kind of enjoyed it. He’d already found himself making time for himself throughout the day to slip away from the office for an hour or two, so he could go to the porn theaters and shops downtown and suck a few loads from strangers when he got hungry. On the weekends, he would spend the entire afternoon and evening there, drinking cum like a fiend, praying his wife wouldn’t figure out why he was suddenly completely uninterested in having sex with her–not that they’d had sex much at all, in this new life of his. Still, Gerard could only take so much humiliation, and from time to time, Ned’s picking and goading would work. Gerard would start resisting–would yell and scream and swear and try to punch and anything to get back at Ned for ruining his life, and Ned would use his outbursts as excuses to press the medallion to his heart again, and ruin his life bit by bit.

The second week, during his first outburst, Gerard made the mistake of ridiculing Ned for his size and fat body–so Ned shifted his life until Ned himself was a binge eater. His waist exploded in size immediately, and Gerard kept hoping it would stop, as he looked down at himself, but it just kept going, stopping only when he was over four hundred pounds. Not quite as large as Ned, but still, that shut him up. He hated it though–he was hungry constantly, and found that he had to have a snack with him at all times, or he couldn’t function, and the only place he could go for lunch and feel full were all you can eat buffets. After two weeks he broke down, begging Ned to let him stop eating for a bit. Ned took a kind of pity on him. Gerard didn’t stop eating by any means, but suddenly he loved the feeling of his fat body, and found himself fantasizing about becoming even larger. Eating became a challenge, to see how much he could stuff in his face each day, and even though he was disgusted with himself, he couldn’t stop. Worse, the fuller his belly the more turned on he got, but his cock, trapped in a cage, couldn’t be satisfied. Instead, he just ate more and more, driven into a sexual feeding frenzy–usually capping off his meals with at least ten loads of cum from strangers at the bathhouse.

The situation with his wife and son was becoming unbearable however–whenever he was home, it seemed like they were fighting. Two months after Ned first seized control of him, he broke down in tears, on his knees in front of the redneck, begging him for mercy, desperate to keep his family together. The redneck just laughed at him, pressed the medallion to Gerard’s chest, and when it pulled away, he didn’t have to worry about his wife anymore, since he’d been divorced for years. Ned consoled him as he sobbed, reminding him that now he lots more time to spend stuffing his face and sucking cock, without have to worry about hiding it from his bitch of an ex-wife. He still saw his son on occasion–one weekend a month. Shawn hated his father’s faggot guts however, and refused to spend any quality time with him at all, even when he did have a moment of custody.

Still, Ned helped him settle in a comfortable, bachelor lifestyle. Ned gave him a ten cigar a day smoking habit, and made him an alcoholic–helped him realize how silly it was taking a shower every day–or more than once a week. After six months, Gerard was a completely different person–close to over 450 pounds, reeking of sweat, smoke and booze, ill fitting and often unwashed clothing, crusty with food and cum. He’d gone from being the star of the company in a corner office to a low level manager barely hanging onto his job–but he hung on all the same. It was, really, the last bit of himself that he had left.

Then, one night, Ned told him that he’d finally thought of a way for Gerard to earn an orgasm for himself. All he had to do was, when the next weekend came that his son Shawn was staying with him, bring his son out to the trailer where Ned lived in the country, and give him to Ned. If Gerard brought him his only son, then he could get the chance to shoot his first load in months. Gerard refused, at first, until Ned pressed the medallion to a new spot on his body, right over his cock, inflating his genitals to massive proprotions. His cock, which ached already, was suddenly in constant pain in it’s enclosure, and his cum production was so constant that even in his cage he leaked constantly. The pain was too much to bear, and so Gerard agreed–he’d bring Ned his son, for a chance to be free of this pain. He couldn’t believe what he was about to do, but what choice did he have? He couldn’t live like this, and…and it wasn’t like Shawn loved him anyway. In fact, he kind of hated his son, hated the way he looked at him. If he could get a little comfort, then Shawn was a sacrifice Gerard was willing to make.

Where did you come up with your pen name?

I always knew I wanted a pen name which was actually a name. Wesley is my middle name, but I’d never gone by it in my life. Bracken was the result of searching through a few random wikipedia pages. I liked it, because the literal definition of bracken spoke to my writing and the kinds of fetishes I like: dark, dingy, overgrown, hard to get out of, likely to swallow you whole if you don’t know your way. And so, Wesley Bracken.

How old are you? Because I’m picturing a Daddy Bear…

I am 27! Not a daddy bear, but definitely in the bear category. You wouldn’t know my age was that low, looking at me, however. With the big beard and receding hairline, most everyone guesses that I’m in my 30′s or early 40′s even. The husband and I regularly get mistaken for brothers, even though I’m 25 years his junior. 

Still, I’ve always kind of considered Wes and I to be two different people, so imagine him however you want! He’d probably rather be a daddy bear anyway. (Hell, I’d rather be a daddy bear for that matter. Genetics, do your worst!) In the furry realm, in fact, Wes definitely has his own separate persona (fursona, really–fine I said it, ugh). He’s a chubby anthro skunk in his 40′s who owns a massive sex shop! Although he doesn’t sell many items, he mostly just spends his day seducing and transforming his customers. I haven’t written much featuring him, mostly a few private stories and commissions for friends but yeah, I should do more with him at some point, actually…

Your smoke stories are always hot. Like a lot of folk in the UK I made the switch to vaping an electronic cigarette. But no one’s got a fetish for that. Maybe you could help us out by writing a story. A Guy makes the switch to be healthier but it back fires and ends up begging guys to fill it with piss and cum (and Yeah I tried it)

That’s funny actually–the idea of vaping hasn’t even been on my radar as a form of smoking, even though I have a few coworkers who have made the switch to that from cigarettes. It just doesn’t seem that sexy at all–maybe because the idea is that it’s supposed to be healthier. It just seems too fucking clever, you know? Plus the guys I know who use them are so fucking smug about it. 

I do like the idea of vaping piss and cum though. I have no idea how those things even work, to be honest, but the idea of turning anything into a vapor, and that vapor becoming addictive, is certainly an appealing MacGuffin. That said, that’s not really about the smoking side of things, and actually relies more on science fiction tropes than anything else, which raises an interesting question–what is it about smoking that makes it sexually appealing?

Part of the smoking appeal, at least for me, is the anachronistic aspects of it. Cigars and pipes have a sense of being “out of time and place” in the present. They’ve become so shunned publicly that the mere act of using either becomes an inherent form of rebellion/conservatism (yes, those two shouldn’t go together, but they do here) which appeals to me. The same with the unhealthiness of it–the conscious sacrificing of your own well being for short term pleasure. Lastly, the lack of self-control, of course. The appeal of tobacco in my stories in particular is about losing one’s power of one’s own choices, and eventually over your own life, once the cigar/pipe takes full control of you. None of these qualities work for vaping–it’s futuristic, it’s allegedly healthier, and the choice to vape is cast as regaining control away from tobacco itself (even though you’re still just as addicted in the end).

Sorry, this has turned into a metawriting tangent at this point. The upshot: vaping can work as a fetish/trigger/MacGuffin in a few ways, I think:

1. Treat vaping as a science fiction device. Think of it like a variation on the fetish gun–a vape device you can fill with different liquids which either act on the smoker in different ways, or which can he exhaled in people’s faces to change/control them in various ways. 

2. I think, if put in the right context, vaping could be made sexy for it’s own qualities. I’m thinking here of pairing vaping as a trigger for change in something like a chav story. This isn’t something I would ever write, but I could see other people going off in this direction and having it succeed.

3. Here’s the idea I like best, personally. An older owner of a smoke shop, frustrated and annoyed with the whole vaping trend, finally breaks down and starts selling vape products. However, he gets revenge, by making sure the vape products actually turn the men who smoke them into older, bearish tobacco users, the vape actually shifting into their new addiction as they change. Additionally, some of the fluids might encourage addictions to…other things as well–musk, piss, cum, farts, etc. 

Anyway, that’s my thoughts on the topic. I’ll add it to the list–my…really long ass list of things to write at some point.