Author: wesleybracken8258

My Boys (Part 2)

“It’s stupid, this whole trip–you can say it, Nick, we both know it,” Sean said.

“Look, Dad wanted this for us, it’s the least we could do, really,” Nick said, but Sean was more interested in feeling frustrated than talking. He waited a moment, and added, “I have things I’d rather be doing too, you know. You’re still in school–you’re on vacation. Do you have any idea how much shit I’m going to have to catch up on?”

Sean just rolled his eyes at him, and Nick leaned back in the sagging, well worn booth. “Look, can you at least pretend to enjoy yourself a little bit? Dad needs this.”

“Dad needs to get a fucking life.”

The chef came around to take their orders–Nick got a salad, Sean a burger–and then they stayed quiet, until their new dad walked in, chuffing on his pipe, beard to his gut, saw his sons, grinned and walked over. “Scoot over, boy. Make room for your Pa,” he said to Nick.

Nick looked up, and his eyes went wide, and he looked to Sean. He had no idea what was going on either. There’s no way that this could be their dad…and yet they both knew, somehow, that this was him. He was in the right clothes, but the beard, and the hair, and the pipe smoke…

“I…I don’t think you can smoke…that in here.”

“Daddy never puts out a pipe before it’s done smokin’, you know that boy. Now scoot.”

Nick slid over slowly, and Bruce plopped down into the booth with a sigh and a grunt. “Fuck, I’m fuckin’ famished boys. What did you two order?”

“Just…Just a burger and fries.”

“A salad–everything else is too damn greasy. I have new suits I have to be able to fit into when I get home,” Nick said.

Bruce stared at Nick for a moment, and then blew a plume of smoke from his nose with a snort. “No fuckin’ son of mine is gonna be eatin’ fuckin’ salad while I’m fuckin’ alive,” he grumbled, and then called out at the chef, “Hey! My boy here wants to change his order. In fact, just bring all three a us two burgers each, and a shitload of fries, got it?”

“Sure man, whatever you want,” the chef grumbled. Nick tried to object, but before he could speak, he coughed–the smoke had gotten stuck in his throat all of a sudden. Bruce pounded him on the back a couple of times, telling him to man up.

“Dad…are you…feeling alright?” Sean asked.

“Never felt better boy–but what the fuck’s up with you two? Ya’ll look like you’re at a damn funeral,” he turned to the kitchen again, “Hey, you got beer?”

“Sure do,” the chef said.

“Give us a round.”

The chef brought out three bottles. Sean was happy for a drink, but Nick tried to object–Bruce bullied him into drinking it, and then gave him his as well.

“Damn, got my work cut out with the two of you, don’t I?”

Neither of them had any idea what that meant. Sean shrugged and looked to Nick, but his older brother had no idea what was going on either. The three of them sat in an awkward silence for a few minutes, and Nick gave a start when his father’s hand landed on his thigh, and then slipped inside his thigh, over to his crotch, groping at his cock. He kept trying to tell him off, to yell at him but his throat had sealed itself from the smoke, and the more his father exhaled in his direction, the more he relaxed into the booth. He looked to Sean, wondering if he could signal his brother somehow, but he too seemed to have zoned out, lying back against the back of the booth, mouth slack, taking deep breaths of his father’s pipe smoke.

“That’s better, you boys are just tired after a long day’s ride, right? Tired and hungry,” Bruce said, leaned in closer to Nick, “No boy of mine is gonna be eatin’ fuckin’ salad tonight–hell, you ain’t gonna be touchin’ a salad for the rest of your damn life.”

Nick’s frustration and confusion were growing into anger and fear. He didn’t understand what his father was doing, what he was saying. And why was he touching him like this? His father had never done anything like this–it was like he’d become a completely different person. Their food arrived, and all three of them tucked in, but Bruce ate slower than both of his boys, neither of whom felt hungrier than either could remember being in a long time. So hungry, that neither of them noticed when Bruce told the chef to make each of his boys another double helping of burgers and fries. Nick in particular found himself caught in a position he’d never felt before, with his father’s hand massaging his cock while he ate. He found himself…almost enjoying the act of eating in a way he never had before.

Finally, they finished eating, and the cook came around to clear their mess. Nick managed to look up and saw that the big, greasy lug looked just as dazed and confused as they were. His father reached out and grabbed his hand as he reached for his empty basket. “Hey man, those burgers were fuckin’ fabulous, just great. Thanks for all the cookin’ you were doin’ back there.”

“I…You’re welcome, sir.”

“I wanna give you a tip. Or rather, my boy there, he wants to give you a tip, don’t you boy?” he said, looking to Sean, “Go on man, let out your cock, my boy would love a load of cum for dessert.”

Sean’s eyes went wide, as did the cook’s, but neither of them could stop themselves, Sean twisting out of the booth to face the cook, who pulled off his apron and dropped his shorts to his ankles, letting the young man start sucking on his cock.

Nick started thrashing weakly. This was wrong, all of this was wrong, so fucking wrong. Bruce’s grip on his cock tightened, his other hand grabbed his son’s face and pulled him around. Before Nick could do anything, he locked lips and exhaled a full lung of smoke right into him. Nick took it in, the heat of the smoke horrible, and yet he pushed it back, and they shared it for a few moments. When he released Nick, he wasn’t struggling anymore–and when Bruce freed his cock, Nick bent over, careful of his very full gut, and started sucking his father’s cock, and Bruce heaved a sigh of smoke over all of them.

My Boys (Part 1)

It certainly wasn’t somewhere the three of them wanted to stop at for the night, but it was best they had seen for miles. Besides, this far from a city–not that they were really certain how far away from a city they were, at this point–a single story motel, an all-night diner and a small convenience store was obviously the best they would be getting this late at night. Bruce turned off the engine, exhausted after driving nearly the entire day–his two sons climbed out of the car, stiff and frustrated that their dad was so bullheaded when lost. They’d given up trying to get him to ask for directions, they’d just have to do it behind his back in the morning. Of course, for Bruce this was part of the fun of road trips. If you didn’t get at least a little lost, then how would you ever find something interesting?

Still, he was getting a bit too old for this, and his sons were a bit too old to keep humoring him for much longer. It had been fun, when they were little, to take these road trips–all three of them had sworn that they’d reach all forty-eight states together, but with college and internships and sports they’d been putting off this last leg for years–a trip through the upper midwest, from Iowa up through the Dakotas and Montana. It was clear to him, halfway, that he’d misjudged his now adult sons’ enthusiasm for the trip. They were just humoring him, really, and maybe he was just humoring himself too. Ever since Brianna had died a few years ago, he had to admit that he’d been in a funk. The road trip had seemed like…a way to get his old, younger self back. See something new, maybe. But in the end, he had to admit he was just fooling himself. They’d get back home in a week and a half, and she’d still be missing, the house too empty, his sons’ avoiding him.

“Do you want to get something to eat, Dad?” Nick asked. He was a year or two out of college, holding down a decent job. The younger son, Sean, was going to be a senior this year.

“You two go on and order me something, I’m gonna have a smoke.”

“Dad–”

“You won’t let me smoke in the car, so I’m gonna have a damn smoke.”

Sean was about to say something else, but Nick just dragged him along, knowing their dad well enough to let him be. The two of them had been trying to get him to stop smoking for years, especially after their mom died of cancer. Bruce knew he should quit, but he’d done it for so damn long–he was just happy his sons had never started–not that they’d taken after him much at all. He suspected that the reason he never saw them much was because neither of them had much love left for him, beyond that minimal amount that draws you back for the occasional holiday or two, with quiet dinners (quieter now, without Brie filling the vacuum with inane chatter he’d always hated, but which he now missed more every passing day) and this nagging expectation that things had always used to be better than this.

Nick and Sean stepped into the diner, he waited by the car for a moment, lighting one of his cigarettes. He only had a few left in the pack, so he might as well buy a few more. He walked towards the convenience store connected to the gas pumps, a few semis parked among them filling up, and a couple of rusted out, dirt crusted pickups, most likely owned by the farmers around here. As he walked, his nose caught a strange scent on the wind–it was smoke, but strangely sweet and floral. Curious, he began circling around to try and find the source of the smell, circling back behind the convenience store, where he found an older man smoking a large pipe.

The man had to be in his sixties or seventies, with a long white beard reaching town to his ample gut, his hair receding back into a overlong horseshoe of hair reaching the nape of his neck. He wasn’t particularly clean either–wearing just a grungy wife beater and a pair of jeans which had seen better days, and as he approached and got a better look at the short, fat man, he only grew more disgusted. Why was he even approaching him at all? The man had noticed him at this point, but paid Bruce’s approach little care, aside from a slight smile, revealing more than a few missing teeth.

“Howdy,” the man said when Bruce came close enough for a handshake, “Don’t see families like yours around here very often, that’s for sure.”

“I–I’m sorry,” Bruce said, “Who…are you?” His words felt silly and sluggish as the rolled out his mouth, and his cigarette tumbled from his slack lips. The old man stepped forward and put it out with a stomp of boot, coming closer to him.

“I just couldn’t help noticing what fine looking boys you have there,” the man said, “Handsome, strong. Always wanted boys like that of my own, you know. They don’t seem too fond of you. In fact, you don’t seem like a very good father figure at all, to me.”

Bruce wanted to storm off, get away, but the slackness had spread to the rest of his body, his mind increasingly numb. He was helpless as the old man unzipped each of their flies, reached in, and carefully freed both of their cocks. The old man was already hard, and with a few strokes Bruce was hard as well.

“It got me thinking–maybe you don’t deserve those boys. Maybe you can’t love those boys enough, the way they deserve to be loved. But I can, so why don’t I take things over from here?”

The old man pressed the heads of their cocks together, grabbed his long loose foreskin and stretched it out, so that it covered Bruce’s head, linking them together. Bruce had never felt anything like this before, and when the old man started stroking his cock, he felt…something start pumping from his balls, through his cock, directly into the old man’s sack. He tried to pull away, but the smoke had him tight within its clutch, and all he could do was watch as the old man’s face started to grow younger. No, more than younger, the more he pumped, the more he was certain that the old man was beginning to look like…him. That same broad nose, the man’s chin growing more angular. He was growing younger as well–his hair growing back in, though it remained the same semi-long, tangled mess as before–the same with the man’s beard, which turned to match Bruce’s own hair color, but remained just as long. All the while, Bruce was feeling weaker and weaker, smaller, like he was shrinking, his head…something was wrong with his head…

“Yeah, an old faggot like you, you don’t have sons. Hell, you don’t have anyone.”

Old…faggot? He tried to shake the words, but struck some odd, deep truth that he couldn’t avoid. Bruce shuddered, pumping the last of himself into the stranger’s heavy, full sack, and he stepped back, disconnecting them. When the man commanded him to strip, he did it without hesitation, putting on the man’s nasty clothes, which fit him better than the baggy things he’d been wearing. The man sucked on his pipe and examined the wallet he found in the back pocket of the jeans. “Bruce, eh? I can be a Bruce.”

“But…Bruce…my name.”

“Your name ain’t Bruce. Your name is Faggot. Now get out of here–go find some trucker dick to suck, and don’t come near me and my boys ever again, you hear me?”

Bruce watched the new old man, now nameless, totter off towards the trucks parked off by the gas pumps, and then walked towards the diner to join his new sons for dinner.

The Fetish Gun (Part 5)

This time, he could feel it–like he had in the alley. The gun was pulling from his own thoughts, ideas and fantasies, pushing them out in the ray which enveloped the young derelict. As he watched, he saw the man shift and change as he held down the trigger for a few seconds, and when he released it, he found himself looking someone quite different. Some of him was the same, now that he looked. His clothes hadn’t really changed much–he was still in his piss soiled denim–but the man had gone from being relatively fit and trim to a much, much larger body. He looked to have gained at least fifty pounds of muscle, and he was looking at Wade, blinking…and then squinting…

“You…what the hell did you do to me?”

Tell him? Don’t tell him?

The guy pushed himself up to standing and started walking towards him–or lumbering, rather. But as he got closer, the guy’s nostrils flared out, his mouth dropped open, and he let out a moan. “F-Fuck…what’s that…smell?”

Before Wade could do anything to avoid him, the guy had rushed over and pushed him up against the wall, nose pressed to Wade’s body until he wrapped his lips around one of his fat nipples and started sucking and biting at it, his milk gushing out into the man’s mouth. Immediately he started groaning and moaning, grinding his cock against Wade’s bare thigh–the pisswet denim clammy against him, and Wade wondered what in the hell he’d done exactly, but he couldn’t think that hard with his milk flowing–he pushed the man down to his knees and freed his cock from his rubber pants again. It was already wet, and the man started drinking down his cum, sucking it freely, one hand thrust down into his jeans, massaging his own cock.

Wade looked down the alley and saw they were in full view of the rest of the world. This didn’t exactly bother him–if anything, the idea of people seeing what was happening kind of excited him. However, it wasn’t going to be very helpful for either of them to get caught by the police, especially with the gun. He pushed the guy free from his cock, as much as it hurt him to do so. “No, we need…fuck, we gotta go.”

The guy was obviously trying to sort through what had just happened to him on the asphalt, and he looked up at Wade. “What did you do? I was pissing, and then…then I couldn’t get enough, and now…fuck, your cum, I need it so fuckin’ bad. Please…”

Well, at least he wasn’t going to have to try and convince him to return home with him. “You can have all the cum you want, but you have to come back to my place with me for it.”

It was obvious that had the guy not just tasted cum which had a drug like hold on him, he never would have left his alley to go home with some stranger, much the less a rubber freak like this. But he…needed to taste it. Drink it. So he got up, and nodded. “But…but what was that thing? That thing you shot me with?”

Wade stashed the gun in his backpack again, and looked at him, wondering how much to say. “It’s…well, I don’t really know. It changed me, but I don’t know how it works. I’m trying to change back to my old self,” he lied, “but I need someone to test it out on. You’ll be back to normal by morning, if you help me, I promise. What’s your name, by the way? Mine’s Wade.”

“Ben.”

“Alright, can I get your help for the night, Ben?”

That was at least a bit of reassurance, and even though he was uneasy about his new addiction, he followed Wade out of the alley and back towards his apartment. What Wade hadn’t noticed was a dark figure hunched down at the other end of the alley, who had arrived around the time Ben had tried to whore his mouth out to him. Now, he stood up and followed the two of them at a safe distance, his uniform and body immaculate aside from a curiously large bulge at the crotch, where his grapefruit size sack was held. The uniform thought about calling his partner to help, but it would be better if he could handle this on his own, rather than involving his other half. Besides, then he could be the one in charge of the gun, rather than just playing second fiddle–yeah, he liked that idea a lot–besides, what trouble could these two give him really? Some rubber freak with a massive sack and tiny cock, and a derelict urinal cumwhore wouldn’t be any match for him, even with the gun. And then he’d be in charge–like he should have been all along.

The Fetish Gun (Part 4)

Wade waited until night to emerge from his apartment. Part of him knew he should try and keep from looking too conspicuous, but that proved easier said than done, with his limited wardrobe. He ended up stuffing his balls into some bulging rubber shorts and paired them with thigh high rubber waders. He couldn’t find anything that would cover up his leaking nipples–everything was either a harness, or had holes cut for them to pop free through, and the more tops he tried on, the more he enjoyed the look. He ended up picking out a rubber tank cut so narrow that his nipples were revealed through the wide cut arm holes, and last he grabbed a rubber hood. If those two uniformed guys he’d stolen the gun from were still looking for him, at least they wouldn’t be able to get a good look at him.

He hit the streets, and immediately regretted emerging this early in the evening. It was a Saturday night, and while seeing people in strange fetish garb wasn’t that odd in this neighborhood, it was clear from the stares that if his goal was to avoid attention he was going to have to give up on that. He had the gun in a small backpack he had over his shoulder, and even though he didn’t know what the settings did (and even though he liked his body) he also couldn’t deny the temptation to duck into an alley and try and become something more normal. Of course, the other question was whether the gun was even capable of making someone normal again–for some reason, he kind of doubted that it even could. Still, he’d find out soon enough–if he was going to figure this thing out, he’d have to find someone to experiment on.

It was pretty clear at this point that the settings didn’t have anything to do with their literal letters–but that just made things even harder to figure out. Setting D, he was pretty sure, had simply amplified his existing fetishes, making them stronger and warping his life around them further. The only other setting he’d seen was B–but he hadn’t seen enough to know for certain what it’s rules might be. So he wandered the streets for a half an hour, looking around for someone he might be able to use as a test subject. He needed someone alone, away from large groups of people. Finally, he caught sight of someone he might be able to use–a young, somewhat drunk guy slipping into an alley, no one else with him, and Wade slipped after him, pulling the gun from the backpack. The question, then, was what setting to use–might as well try something new, he figured, and rotated the dial to setting A, crept closer to where the guy was pissing against the side of a dumpster, and fired.

The light from the gun was…prismatic. It struck the young man, coating him for a few minutes, and becoming opaque–when it dissipated a moment later, the guy was still there, but…well, instead of the casual straight cug chic he’d been wearing, he was clad head to toe in well worn denim gear. Instead of pissing on the dumpster like before, now he was pissing into a plastic cup, licking his lips, and while Wade watched, he took the full cup and drank the entire thing down in a few gulps, stroking his hardening cock as he did, before looking over his shoulder and seeing Wade standing there. He looked surprised, sure, but he also looked, eager. “What, you got a load for me?”

The young man turned around, and Wade could see that his gear was soaked down the front–it even looked like he’d pissed himself at some point, a patch of wet running down one leg of his jeans. Had the gun sensed the guy pissing and turned him into a piss freak? He hadn’t been thinking about piss…beyond thinking about the guy pissing. Had it taken it’s cue from his own thoughts? Any one of those ideas seemed reasonable, but it was hard to know with any certainty from a single example. Still…he did need to take a piss. And the guy did look hopeful and more than a little eager.

The young man got on his knees and Wade walked over, pulling his tiny, yet engorged cock from his rubber shorts and unloading his bladder across the man’s face. More had changed about him that just the clothes and the piss fetish–he didn’t look older exactly, but he did look…nastier. Like he’d spent less time in bars and more time in alleys like this, getting pissed on. No, if anything, he looked like the alley suited him. Like he belonged here, like he had changed to match the place, more than anything else. If he was asleep here, Wade doubted he would have even noticed him, the grey denim disguising itself against the concrete. He finished pissing, and the guy licked the piss from his mustache. “I’ll suck that cock too–twenty five bucks.”

Wade didn’t have any cash, and he told him that. The guy seemed disappointed, but whether it was because he wouldn’t be getting any money, or because he was also thirsty for cum and was sad he wouldn’t get any without undermining his own business, Wade didn’t know for sure. Either way, it was obvious that their interaction had completed, and Wade started retreating to the opening of the alley–his target didn’t move, just stayed witting against the dumpster, making no effort to leave, like he belonged there. This didn’t seem…good. Maybe Wade couldn’t make things normal again with the gun, but he could try to make them different. Someone more helpful, someone he could bring home with him, to keep testing the gun on, but what setting? He went with his gut, twisted the knob on the gun to setting B, and fired at the young man one more time.

Coach’s Lil’ Fuckpig (Sketch)

“Fuckin’ great game, wasn’t it Tommy?” Coach Billings came up behind the chubby linebacker in the locker room and gave him a smack on the ass–between the cheeks, right on the plug the young man had had shoved in his hole all evening, under his uniform. He tried to suppress his shock, feeling his cock leak a bit of precum into the pouch of his jock. Billings knew the plug was there of course–Billings himself had put it there before the rest of the team had arrived in the locker room.

Four weeks now. Four fucking weeks he’d been his coach’s “little fuckpig” as he often referred to him in private, or whispered in his ear, making the young man blush heavily. He didn’t even remember how it had started–one day coach had asked him to stick around for a moment after practice, and without really understanding why, he’d ended up on his knees in the coach’s office, his cock down his throat. He’d never had so much as a gay thought in his life, but from that moment on, if Coach needed satisfaction, then Tommy was going to provide it. He’d tried to report it, but he hadn’t been able to get a word out–either because of the shame of it all…or because coach wouldn’t allow it, and he wasn’t sure which possibility would be worse.

Coach had already told him that he’d need to stay late, and so he milled around, leaving his uniform on. He got a few odd looks from his teammates, who wondered why he wasn’t at least changing back into his street clothes, but Coach had been very specific before hand–leave the uniform on, keep the plug in, and wait further instructions. After about ten minutes, the rest of the team had filed out, leaving them alone, and with a couple of words from the coach, words he knew and yet…didn’t, it was like the world turned blurry, like he was there, but not. Coach was talking to him gently, just above a whisper, and again, while part of him understood him and internalized his instructions–even answering back when prompted–Tommy had no idea what he was talking about, like he had been forced from his body, and could only return when Coach started counting down from ten–by the time he hit one, he shook his head, unsteady on his feet, and the coach helped steady him, pulling him into a hug…but something felt…off.

Small. He felt…small, in the coach’s arms. Granted, Billings was a sizeable guy–a few inches over six feet, and while he was out of shape, he had remained beefy into his mid-forties. But in his arms, Tommy suddenly felt…weak and small and…and safe, and comfortable. Billings hugged him closer, breath hot on the back of his neck, and he licked the sweat and grit from the player, and then released him, and Tom stumbled, not quite steady without his daddy holding him tight. What in the hell was wrong with him all of a sudden? He took a few steps and got to a mirror in the locker room, only to gasp.

What in the world was wrong with him? He was still in his uniform, but he looked like he’d…shrunk. He knew that wasn’t possible, that it couldn’t be possible–people didn’t just shrink! Coach Billings just watched him walk to the scale used by the wrestling team, and he stepped on it–260 pounds, the same as he always was. Then what it the world was wrong with him? Why did his body suddenly look so puny in the mirror?

“What…what did you do to me, daddy?” He asked Billings, “Why do I look so…small?”

“Because you’re just a little boy, Tommy–my little boy. Still, if you’re good, then we can make sure you become big and strong like before…if that’s what you want.” He stepped closer to him, and even though they were nearly the same height, Tommy felt helpless in his arms, his daddy pulling him over to the sink, pulling down his uniform pants, and hauling the plug from his boy’s hole. “Here, let me show you what I can do for you.”

It hurt–but not as much as it did sometimes. The plug had him loose, but his Coach–his Daddy–he was always rough, but…but he did kind of like it…didn’t he? He tried to push the thought away, knowing it had been planted in there, but his cock was hard and pressing against his cup in his shorts, and he was pushing back into his daddy’s thrusts, and when he looked up and saw himself in the mirror, it looked like…like he was inflating. Each time his daddy slammed into him, he got a bit bigger–soon, he looked even bigger than he had been before, and he was eagerly pushing back, wanting to see how big his daddy could make him, when Billing’s finally grabbed onto his shoulder pads, buried deep in his boy’s hole, and let loose, and Tommy had never felt so…so huge. And…and so horny. When coach pulled out, he already had his hands in his pants, jacking his cock, but as soon as he did, he watched his figure begin to shrink and wither again–terrified, he yanked his hand away from his cock.

It was all a trick, just a trick of his eyes, and yet…

“I’d be careful, touching your cock. You might just wither away to nothing.”

This…this fucker.

“You don’t want to be small, do you? You don’t want to be weak? You want to be a man, a real man, like your daddy, right?”

He nodded.

“Well, then we’re going to have to keep it under control, right? And you’re going to have to start working out much more, I think. And we’ll have to talk about your caloric intake too, right? If you want to be a man, that is. I can help you, but only if you ask. Only if you agree to do everything I tell you, without question…or else I might not help you at all, anymore.”

No. No, he wouldn’t. He wouldn’t say it. No, no…No!

***

He said yes, of course.

It was several hours later when he was finally permitted to leave. Coach had iced his boy’s cock and locked it up for him–to make sure he’d be able to resist the urge to play with it. He’d just have to focus on his new weight lifting regimen and the 4000 calorie a day diet his daddy was insisting on. He got back to his room, and looked at himself. He was still…big, but he was shrinking still–the coach’s load of cum was only good for so long. He’d look puny in the morning–thankfully he had his first weight session with his coach tomorrow morning–he had a feeling he’d be feeling pretty pumped by the end of it.

And as much as he hated admitting it, he was looking forward to it–his cock was pressing against in his new cage, the dirty plug still in his hole, and he fucked himself to sleep–well aware that he was in a cage much larger than the one holding his cock.

The Power of Reality – Preview (Part 3)

“It’s just like, doesn’t he understand? I’m a young buck, you know? I’m horny all the time. I guess that makes me needy, but what the hell should I do, Professor?”

“I don’t think you’re being unreasonable.”

“You don’t?”

“No! Certainly not. After all, it isn’t like it takes much effort for him to bend over and let his boyfriend pump a quick load in his hole.”

“That’s what I was thinking! I’m glad I’m not crazy.”

“If anything, it’s rude of him to refuse.”

“But what can I do? It’s not like I can just…force him.”

“Why not?”

“What do you mean why not?”

“Aaron, you may be big and strong, but you aren’t very smart, are you?”

“I ain’t too smart, you know that.”

“Look, you like being in control, right?”

“Yeah.”

“And you should be in charge, right? You like feeling in charge? Certainly if anyone should be holding the reins in this relationship its you. You’re the one wearing the pants, certainly.”

“I don’t know, he is a professor.”

“Outside the bedroom. But inside he’s your bitch. Your hole. You made him that–and it’s your job to put him in his place.”

“I mean–”

“I can see you, strutting in there, your massive cock hanging out of those jeans of yours. What’s he going to say to that? Even if he says no, you know he’s really thinking yes. So make him say it. Rip down those trousers of his and make him scream. That’s what you want, isn’t it?”

“Fuck, you got me hard just saying it.”

“Then do it–you’re a man of action, not a thinker, so go fucking take his hole. Claim, and make him regret telling you no at all.”

***

“It’s over.”

“Now Eddie, be serious–”

“I am being serious! It’s over.”

“You’re just letting your emotions get a hold of you. I could hear you in here, and you were obviously enjoying yourself immensely.”

“You could…you heard us?”

“Oh now calm down, no one else is here this late.”

“But what if someone had been here! I can’t do this, I can’t keep doing this.”

“Look, all subs get cold feet on occasion, and maybe he just pushed you a bit too far. That’s not a reason to throw him away! That’s a reason to give in.”

“I mean…wait, what?”

“Look, Eddie, Aaron is good for you! I haven’t seen you looking this satisfied in ages.”

“That’s not really the point, I don’t think–”

“But of course it is! You need this, Eddie. I mean, look at you. A fat, old, size queen like you, I mean, how often is this going to walk into your life? Just give him what he wants, and you’ll get what you want to.”

“I don’t think you really understand–”

“I understand better than you think. You’re scared, right?”

“Of course I’m scared!”

“You’re scared of giving up control.”

“That’s, no!”

“Please, Eddie. I can tell.”

“I mean, that’s not…all of it.”

“You’re scared of giving up control, but you want to. You like it when he dominates you, when he forces you, when he gets rough with you and rams that huge cock in your hole. It feels good, doesn’t it?”

“…”

“And you even like how dirty it makes you feel. How humiliated you feel, knowing someone so much younger, someone as stupid as Aaron, owns your hole.”

“…”

You got very quiet.”

“Shut–shut up.”

“You know I’m right.”

“…Fine…Fine, you’re right, and I–maybe I fucked everything up.”

“Look, you have to stop fighting him, Eddie. Here’s what you need to do. Go to him, find him, and get on your knees, and give yourself to him. You need to stop trying to be his boyfriend, and you need to let yourself become his slave. That’s what you both want.”

“I don’t know if I can do that.”

“I know you can. Now go on, before you let your master get away, go find him and tell him what you really want from him.”

“…Alright. Alright, you’re right, I have to…I have to find him, thank you Harold, thank you for everything.”

“No trouble at all, Eddie, no trouble at all.”

***

“All I’m saying Aaron, is that I just don’t think college is the best option for you.”

“Fuck Professor, ya really think so?”

“I do. I mean, to be honest, I’m not quite sure how you got in to begin with.”

“Yeah, I guess I ain’t too good with my head, am I?”

“That’s not to say you don’t have plenty of other redeeming qualities, of course. I mean, that cock of yours, for one thing.”

“Fuck yeah man, fuck yeah, right? This things a fuckin’ beast! Keep suckin’ bitch, I wanna see that jaw stretch!”

“Your slave sure looks happy.”

“Yeah, he gets ideas sometimes. Ideas that ‘cause he’s a professor he should be the one in charge, but I set ‘em straight right quick.”

“Oh…he hasn’t given you much trouble lately, has he?”

“Nah, he’s been real good, right bitch?”

*Mmmph*

“He said yes.”

“Look, as I was saying, I just don’t think college is the best step for you–oh goodness, I forgot to offer you something to smoke! Would you like a cigar?”

“Hell yeah, you know I’m always up for a stogie.”

Here…let me get you lit up…Like I was saying, I think you’re much too free a spirit to be tied down to a school. I think a man like you, big, burly, hairy bear like you, you need to be on the road! Go buy yourself a bike, and take off! Go explore. I think you’ll be happier.”

“Fuck, that does sound nice…but…”

“But what?”

“But what about my slave? I can’t just leave him here.”

“Well, take him with you. He can learn how to ride, I’m sure.”

*Mmmph!* Wait, but I can’t just leave in the middle of a semester, I–”

*Slap*

“Did I say you could stop sucking, bitch?”

“No sir, sorry sir.”

“Eddie, I know what you’re trying to say, but you have to face reality sometime–I just don’t think you’re fit to work here anymore.”

“What…what do you mean?”

“I mean look at you. You’ve been skipping classes. You have reams of papers from all of your classes you haven’t graded. Your head just isn’t in it–your head is focused on your master, where it belongs.”

“But–”

“You have to let it go, Eddie. You have to let this go, so you can be the best slave you can be. Besides, you’re getting on in age now–you’re over seventy, you just aren’t as sharp as you were before.”

“But what about the department?”

“I’ll be happy to take over as chair–on a temporary basis of course. Me and a few others can cover your classes for you. I promise, after a few days on the road, you won’t even remember that you were a teacher, will you?”

“N-No..?”

“Nope. You’ll be so caught up in being a slave that all your memories of teaching will just float away. That’s what you want, isn’t it? Won’t that be freeing?”

“I…I guess so.”

“So it’s decided then. Finish sucking your master’s cock, and then send your letter of resignation to the faculty. Everything will run much smoother when you’re gone, and you’ll both be so much happier, I think–no, I know you will, and you both believe me, don’t you? Have I led you astray before?”

“Nope.”

“I guess not…”

“Good. I think this all worked out for the best, don’t you?”

If you want to read the rest, you’ll have to support me on Patreon! For five dollars a month you’ll also get access to a massive archive of unpublished work, access to patron-only stories (including this one), and plenty more to come. Plus you get to help make sure I can provide more stories and collections in the future. Thanks again to everyone contributing already!

Would it hurt if I may ask for a list of story tags you use be displayed somewhere on this tumblr? Glossing through the archive for certain stories is a huge pain.

Yes, it is a huge pain, I’m aware. Unfortunately, my tagging system has gone through more than a few permutations over the years, and what I’d really like to do is go back through and retag everything consistently, and then provide an index page which would allow people to easily select various tags and see all the stories in that category. That said, I’m not at all sure when I’ll get time to do this–but it is a goal. I’ll try to have it done by the end of the year, but we’ll see.

The Power of Reality – Preview (Part 2)

The continuation of “The Power of Belief”, featuring the further rise and eventual fall of Professor Larson, is up on Patreon for everyone contributing five dollars or more a month. You can find the download link here if you’re a contributor. It’s quite long, and I’ll be posting the first few chunks of the story here on tumblr, but if you want to read the whole thing, Patreon is the only place to find it (for now).

It worked–the watch had worked. The high frequency signal allowed him to change beliefs in subjects while they were conscious–so long as he could be persuasive enough. It had required a bit more power than he would have liked, to get Aaron to go along with his desires, and he checked the power supply as he walked down the hall to Professor Hubert’s office–the current chair of the department. Over half a battery left–plenty, if he was efficient. Of course, the persuasion was only part of what he needed–the other was authority. The more social capital he had, the easier it would be to realize his desired reality, and that was why Professor Hubert needed to retire–so that Professor Larson could become the new department chair. He knocked on the door, and Professor Hubert shouted “Come in!” Professor Larson opened the door and slipped inside, shutting it behind him.

Professor Hubert looked exhausted—then again, why wouldn’t he be? He was in the midst of a rather nasty divorce. Professor Larson had felt guilty about that–his wife had been one of his earlier test subjects, and Hubert hadn’t been allowed home in weeks, forcing him to sleep in his office. But that gave Professor Larson the opening he needed, and weakened his opponent in one move–now, he just had to give things a little stronger push. “How are you doing, Eddie?”

“How do you think I’m doing?” Eddie Hubert replied, rubbing his eyes.

“She still won’t even talk to you?”

He shook his head. “I just don’t understand. She won’t even tell me why!”

“Well, I heard that she just wants to save you the embarrassment of anyone finding out, you know?”

Hubert looked at him in a funny way. “What?”

“You don’t have to play coy with me, Hubert. I just don’t know why you never told me we play for the same team.”

It was obvious that Eddie still had no idea what his colleague was talking about. Harold rolled his eyes, came around his desk, and started opening a series of folders he’d created on Eddie’s computer a few days earlier, “Cynthia told me all about it,” he said, making sure the watch was close to Hubert’s ear, watching his eyes glaze over slightly, “about your stash, about the kind of thing you’re really looking for.”

He opened the last folder, revealing a huge stockpile of photos. Photos of men, all kinds of men–young and old, fat and thin, from all walks of life. There was just one similarity between all of them–the size of their cocks. The shortest was nine inches, any number of them looked like they’d been morphed larger than humanly possible.

“That’s not…mine. I don’t know…”

“You don’t have to deny it, Eddie. I know your secret, but I won’t tell anyone. I just wish I had known sooner. You can’t blame Cynthia for being a bit embarrassed–no wonder you haven’t ever been able to perform with her, when the only thing that gets you hard is a huge cock.”

It couldn’t be true. He loved his wife. Sure, he’d had a hard time performing sometimes, but this…no, it couldn’t be true…could it? One of his hands was in his lap, and his cock was hard. Why would his cock be hard if he wasn’t turned on by what he was looking at? Being gay wasn’t something to be ashamed of, just like Harold was saying. He shouldn’t be ashamed of what he wanted. He started stroking his cock, while Harold kept talking, looking through his collection, his own, two inch cock, hard at the thought of some of these monsters he was looking at. Thinking about trying to take them down his throat, and up his ass. He didn’t notice the knock on the door, but Harold went over and opened it while he kept jacking off, Aaron stepping inside, a bit nervous, seeing Professor Hubert jacking off openly, but Harold assured him everything was fine.

“Now Eddie, I know that you could use a pick-me-up, and I just happened to have a student with just the sort of thing you’re interested in, right Aaron? Go on, show Professor Hubert here what you’re packing, boy.”

Aaron looked at the older, fat professor. “Are…Are you sure?”

“Come on Aaron, I know you aren’t shy–you love showing off your big cock.”

He did like it, now that he thought about it, and he dropped his pants, revealing his ten inch cock, which he stroked until it was hard. Professor Hubert’s jaw dropped at the sight, and he kept playing with his puny cock.

“Now Aaron, you like to fuck, right? Anyone with a cock that big has to love fucking.”

“Yes, Professor, I love fucking.”

“I bet a young man like you, I bet you don’t even care what you fuck, right? As long as it’s a hole?”

Aaron nodded, but it was hard paying attention, now that his cock was hard.

“Eddie, I bet you have a hole for Aaron to use, don’t you? I bet getting fucked by his huge cock would improve your mood quite a bit.”Professor Hubert was two steps ahead of him; he was already up, dropping his trousers, and coming around the desk, bending over it, presenting his hole to Aaron.

“Come on boy, show my hole what you can do with that huge cock of yours.”

They fucked for as long as the battery in Larson’s watch lasted, Aaron blasting load after load of cum into the professor’s hole, and Harold spent his time talking to both of them, telling them that they both loved how they other made them feel, that they couldn’t wait to fuck again, that they needed each other more than anything, and most importantly, that they couldn’t tell anyone about their budding relationship–well, aside from Harold, of course. In fact, he made sure that each of them would want to come by his office regularly, to discuss what was happening to them.

He couldn’t resist making a few additional changes to them, of course. By the time Aaron left the office, he’d put on quite a bit more body hair and grown a full beard, not to mention lost a large amount of his IQ. Still, Harold didn’t want him smart–the stupider he was, the easier it would be to keep him under his thumb. Eddie Hubert, on the other hand, finished up quite a bit fatter, and quite a bit older than he had been, with his hole plugged by a dildo, his one inch cock unable to get hard, but he happily sucked a load of cum from his colleague’s own massive cock once his student boyfriend had left the room. Things were going perfectly, and once he was finished, Larson left and headed home to recharge his watch, and watch the video he’d recorded of the two of them fucking. In a few weeks time, he had a feeling Eddie and Aaron wouldn’t be at the school any longer, but that didn’t bother Harold–sometimes you had to ruin a few lives to get ahead, right?