Author: wesleybracken8258

Just jerked off to the mental image of a hot guy giving me a blow job, with me holding his head in place, face fucking him roughly and saying “take it, take it”. Why do we have fantasies like that?

Because you’re a bit of a sadist and probably don’t want to admit it, and are looking to me to try and explain it away? Maybe because you feel powerless over all and are looking to your sexual fantasies as a place to regain control over your life?

I mean, I can offer amateur psychology hour all you want, but if it really concerns you, I’d suggest a licensed therapist. Not that you’re crazy (because if that’s crazy then I’m reeeaaallly crazy) but because talking to someone trained in sexual therapy can help you understand your fantasies and how they interact with your past, your current life, and your latent desires.

Are there any kinks or fetishes you don’t like?

Sure are. I’m definitely not a fan of twinks and twink TFs. I’m not a big fan of age regression. I get tired of the jockboy transformations, and anything involving becoming a “bro” or a frat guy just bores the fuck out of me. I’m also not really into superhero stories, and I really despise using celebrities in stories–I’m not one for celebrity crushes at all, and I’d rather invent my own characters than use someone else’s character and persona for inspiration. I even feel weird using people’s tumblr pics sometimes–it just feels a bit disingenuous. That said, what I’m way more interested in is seeing something I haven’t seen before, even if it isn’t something I’d usually like, so I can be persuaded to look into it if it’s new territory.

I wanted to start by saying that I very much enjoy the diaper kick you have been on. You hit the tones of what I like about my fetish in a lot of ways. My question is when you want diaper stories from another source where do you look? Stories that mix diapers and bears are something I almost exclusively find on your blog.

Uh…I like bears in diapers I guess.

I like the juxtaposition of a grown man in diapers. I get really tired of the twink baby thing–it does nothing for me sexually, and I just find it boring as hell, for the most part. If that’s what you’re looking for they really aren’t hard to find–but I don’t exactly have any suggestions since I tend to avoid that look.

would be nice story about transforming people without they noticing it, how the last one that i love! : “bob-was-always-on-the-hunt-for-a-good-workout” mhmh more please!!!! im into musclejock and gym every day, but you changing my mind i want be big and buff mhmh

Yeah, it’s nice to see the unaware stories, but they’re harder to write than they may seem. It’s hard to describe and narrate a change happening to someone when they aren’t aware of it, because their reactions to the change provide a good framework. I’ll see if I can work it in more often.

Limited Content Hiatus

So my queue ran out a couple of days ago, while I was in the midst of a whole bunch of work. I’ve spent the last day or so trying to work up the energy to refill it, and it just isn’t there, and I’ve discovered that, as much as I like having daily content for all of you, I simply can’t both a) keep up with the work load of writing all of these captions, and b) not hate writing these stories and remain at all sane.

So, I’m going to ditch the schedule entirely for now. There will still be content, but I don’t know when or what form it will take. There might be weeks where there’s nothing, there might be weeks where I post every day–it’s going to depend on how I’m feeling, where my energy level is at, what sort of time I have to write, and what I feel like writing.

I do want to reinstate some sort of schedule eventually–I hate sites with wishy-washy “I’ll post eventually” schedules. However, I need some time to reduce my commitment, and figure out what in the hell I’m doing and what I want to write. That said, thank you for reading, and for all of your comments. When I started this blog, I thought I would be lucky to hit 100 followers, and I’m sitting here just shy of 700. I’ll probably be taking most of the next week off to regroup and recharge, so look for new content next weekend or so, or maybe sooner.

Underwear Trade Network Pt. 2

And work it did. The next package was a rubber jockstrap, and Henry found himself in his dream body–heavily muscled, sexually confident and domineering, alpha male–everything he’d always wanted. He was rich too–the beneficiary of an old family trust which meant he could spend his days fucking and sniffing and drinking and partying and living the liufe he’d always wanted. Sure, there were some drawbacks–he wasn’t really a fan of the cigars he smoked, and his cock was on the small side. Still, it way better than any life he could have wanted. Best of all, at the end of the month–no itching–and no new package. They were his to keep, and keep them he did for the next five months, living the life he’d always wanted…until the itching came, and the next day, a new package. He did everything he could to resist for as long as he could, amanging nearly a week before he finally had to rip them off, and open the box to see what he’d been sent instead.

It was another jockstrap, but one of the filthiest he’d ever seen, and it stank to high heaven. It was so bad that he nearly gagged, but his hands wouldn’t let go, and he found himself cringing as he slid the jock up his legs, the wet mesh settling against his cock, and then he was changing again. Younger now, until he couldn’t have been older than twenty or twenty-one, and his head–it felt like all of his brains were just being turned to mush. He could barely piece together a sentence, but all he knew was that he smelled fucking amazing. He took a deep drag off the huge cigar in his mouth and sniffed his reeking pits, the room twisting around him, his apartment growing dingy, the floor heaped with trash, and on the couch–someone he both didn’t know–and knew intimately.

He was huge, nearly five hundred pounds. The man reeked, and Henry couldn’t get over there fast enough to cram my face between his sweaty thighs and start licking him clean. Memories started cramming their way into his dim mind, how his fat master had enslaved him with his foul stench, and Henry remained his personal slave for months on end, neither of them leaving the apartment, and in his mind, Henry screamed, trying to get out, trying to resist, and he was so thankful when the jockstrap started to burn, and he received the next package, and he put on the equally filthy jockstrap that was in there as well. Certainly nothing could be as bad as this, right?

He was wrong. He grew up into his thirties, a filthy workie wearing a high viz vest, his apartment even filthier, and he put on a gas mask and shoved the tube into his ass, breathing in his own fumes, nearly suffocating as he jacked himself off, over and over again. He discovered the next day, at the construction site, that his primary duty was as the men’s cumdump and personal toilet slave, and he realized that the UTN would probably never forgive him for trying to game the system, and he’d be stuck in raunchy, filthy hell after raunchy, filthy hell until he died.

THE END

The FAT Retreat (Part 6)

Warning: Still extreme stuff.

– Day 6 –

The flourescents flickered on in their room, and Max shielded his eyes from them, not quite able to handle their glare this morning. He rolled over, the mattress beneath him wet and cold, his cock hard and leaking as always, and looked over across the room where his son was awake already. Leon, the pig, face buried in the toilet bowl, swallowing down the muck, and aware that the lights had come on, he hauled his face up, covered in shit that dribbled down onto the rim and the floor, and he just stared at his father and master, like a dog caught with a bag of treats in it’s mouth.

To punish or not to punish? Max erred on the latter–Leon had been well behaved all week (hadn’t he? he couldn’t seem to remember much of it actually) and so he got up from the bed, stroking his cock, getting himself to the edge as he crossed the room, so that as he slid his huge cock into his son’s amazing hole he came almost immediately, and then he started fucking properly, bending over the pig’s massive, 600 pound frame to shove it’s face into the toilet bowl, giving it unspoken permission to finish its first breakfast.

Leon had drained the toilet and was licking the bowl, rim and floor clean around the toilet when the door finally slid open, and the intercom announced that it was time to eat. Max finished off his sixth orgasm, feeling slightly less horny and able to function for the moment, and yanked on Leon’s collar, telling his son to follow him out of the room.

Neither of them had clothing on. Max enjoyed parading his huge body down the hall, staring down all the men he passed. He stood at least head taller than most of them, and between his musk and his glare, everyone hurried to get out of the brute’s way, the man’s pig following behind him, shit covered face to the floor, lapping up the dribbles of cum that seeped out of it’s father’s cock as he walked, still hungry, always hungry, never big enough, always disgusting, but never enough, never good enough (for his father? For his dead father? A dream, more than a dream?) for anything more than this.

Breakfast proceeded as usual. Max ate first, and Leon cleaned up after him, eating the scraps, drinking the piss that suddenly streamed from his master’s cock as he devoured a massive chocolate cake, taking the moments in between to clean bits of Max’s body–his feet, his asscrack, his shitty cockhead. When Max was full, he turned his attention to his massive pig, positioning him next to a table and stuffing him as quickly as he could. Leon had long since become used to eating like this (Like this, he’d never eaten like this) and so he focused on swallowing it all down, knowing that the merest slip up would leave him choking on the floor, and that his father would probably just abandon him to die, not even good enough to be fed like a proper pig, and that would it, that would be everything. So he swallowed and swallowed and swallowed, afraid of his father, afraid of wasting away even now, afraid of everything–a true coward of feeble mind and weaker soul.

The rest of the morning was a blur to Leon–his master paid him little attention in their only morning session–an exit interview with a doctor in a since study, a study Leon didn’t want to enter, because he could tell he didn’t belong there, that he would just ruin it all with his filth, but the doctor brought him in anyway, and he crawled gingerly accross the carpet, trying to leave as little of himself there as possible.

The doctor was very pleased with them, and Max was very pleased with the retreat–it was exactly what he and his pig slave had needed, and he felt so well rested and relaxed now, it was wonderful. The doctor was very pleased, and got up to open a window, the musk of them both combined with Max’s cigar smoke too much for him. The doctor finished by talking about them and their future plans. Of course, they would continue trucking around the culture and uploading their “cabcast” to FAT’s collection of websites. After all, men all over the world loved the saga of the huge beast of a trucker and his filthy pig son. FAT had also assembled an itinerary for the both of them over the next six months, a collection of orgies and porn shoots for Maxc, Leon, or both of them to participate in, for which FAT would pay them of course–they needed to keep up with their rising food costs somehow, right? But what about after those six months? Had they thought that far ahead yet?

“Honestly,” Max said, “I haven’t really planned very far ahead at all. I woke up feeling kind of…odd actually, like–”

“Yes, I know how things can feel, but that’s not really important. I’m sure uyou’ll feel right as rain before too long, but we really do need to discuss a few things, especially about your pig. He’s over 600 pounds now, and is gaining faster than we expected. We ought to begin planning for his eventual immobility.”

“You mean, when he can’t move at all? Hell, he’d be fucking worthless if you ask me.”

“Well, when that day comes–soon I’m sure–we’d be happy to take him off your hands. We have programs for the immobile. I can assure you your son–”

“He’s not my son.”

“Yes, well, your slave would be well cared for and have a very enjoyable life, given his interests.”

“I don’t care what you’d want to do with him to be honest.”

“Well, we have some openings remaining in our winter retreat six months from now–why don’t both of you attend, and we can see what we’d like to do about you both then. You, Max, I think will be very popular with all sorts of men–I can’t wait to see what you might do when your pig isn’t of use to you anymore.”

“Heh, well, I’d miss him a little probably, but like I said–a worthless pig is a pig I don’t want. So, are we free to go now?”

“You certainly are,” the doctor said, and indicated two bins against the wall, “The clothes you arrived in are in those bins, and your truck is outside where you parked it. I’m excited to see you in six months, it’s going to be a very exciting time, I think.”

Max rolled his eyes at the doctor, obviously impatient, and the doctor glared at him. “Subject 367, sleep now.”

Max, who had been in the midst of standing up from the chair he was in, plopped back down, his bearded shin smacking against his chest. Leon looked up at his master and over at the doctor, not sure what to do, and decided to just do nothing, and think about other things. He hadn’t really been paying much attention to the conversation, and so he never did remember what the doctor told his master, that over the next six months, Max would find himself falling deeply in love with his pig. Not just emotionally, but physically. He would find himself desiring the pig’s cum, his piss, and his shit as deeply as Leon desires his. He would hate these new feelings but find them irresitible, and the thought of being separated from his son forever would seem like the worst torture in the world.

He woke Max up after a few minutes, and sent them both on their way, reclothed in their old (new?) clothes that neither of them could quite remember wearing ever before in their lives. Max squeezed his huge body into a pair of ragged jeans, the seat brown and crusted with shit, and threw on an old denim jacket which had been crudly cut up into a vest, and lastly pulled on a pair of mud and shit crusted boots. Leon was put into the pair of overalls he’d worn for almost two years straight now, and it was nearly time to give his pig a new pair to ruin, Max figured. The knees were ripped open, Leon could barely fit his massive rolls of fat into them, and one of the straps had broken off entirely during an orgy they’d been at a year ago. Still, they smelled so good, like his pig, his son, he loved that smell so much–

Max shook his head, not at all sure where those thoughts had come from, and utterly disturbed by them. He hated that pig, he hated him more than anyone he’d ever met. There was no love for him, none at all, and the thought scared him that he, a huge alpha male, could ever love something as weak and disgusting as that.

He fucked Leon roughly in the office, right then and there, just to reassure himself of his hatred, the doctor just watching it happen, head cocked to one side, thinking. Max, his confidence restored for the moment, dragged Leon away by his lead and stormed out of the building and into the parking lot.

Leon blinked a couple of times, the glare of the sun not so different from the halogens he’d been living under for the last several days, but it seemed to stir in him something he could not recall precisely. A feeling of…excitement? The FAT headquarters loomed behind him, Max in front of him, the bookends of his life. Max was scanning the parking lot, almost like he wasn’t entirely sure what to do now that the retreat was behind him, before finally finding the thoughts to spring into action, he lumbered off towards the side of the parking lot where his rig was parked, Leon following behind on his hands and knees.

The cab smelled strangely clean. It seemed to him that the cab had always had a strong scent of his father’s messes, considering he usually drove for hours, shitting and pissing his seat, Leon’s face buried in his crotch most of the way, draining his dad’s balls for him, but it had to be their truck, right? It was probably just his memory being wrong. Besides, it would smell like home soon enough, he was certain. Max hefted himself up with considerable more ease and gave his son a rare smile. The retreat had been good for him, Leon thought, good for them both. A chance to relax and unwind for a little bit, and eat, of course.

Max turned the key and checked his itinerary–they were due for a shit orgy in Baton Rouge in two days, and then a pig party in Houston after that–checked the cameras in the cab, and pulled out. Leon smelled the piss before Max did, and leaned over, sucking it from the denim as it leaked out, and they pulled out of the parking lot, their new lives behind them, eyes on the future, and already looking forward to their next FAT retreat in a few months.

THE END

The Underwear Trade Network Pt. 1

Henry had always had a bit of an underwear fetish–he remembered stealing jocks from some of the hot guys in high school, just to smell them. Something about getting that close to another guy, it was intoxicating. Still, he hadn’t been able to do much beyond swapping dirty jocks with other guys online, but the more he did it, the more he realized that it wasn’t enough. He had these vivid fantasies of not just stealing guy’s underwear, but their bodies too–their lives. He started looking for other men who felt the same, and it was in this way that he received his invitation into the UTN–the Underwear Trading Network. He’d jumped at the opportunity without really reading all of the details, assuming he’d just signed up for a group that pooled underwear and sent it to members. He sent off a pair of his own cumstiff boxers as part of the “initiation fee,” and the next week a package of his own had arrived–and when he put on the ripe jock inside, something amazing had happened–his entire body started changing.

Henry was relatively young and had stayed in shape, even after college, but the body he had a few minutes later was still very different from his own. Much shorter, for one thing–he dropped from around six foot two to about five and a half feet, but much more cut–without the fatty layer he’d had covering up his muscle. That, and he looked to be in his mid fifties, his body hairy, face and head shaved, but with a layer of heavy stubble, and even a few tattoos–and the desires. Fuck! Suddenly, thinking about men pissing made him more aroused than he’d ever been in the past. That first night he pissed all over himself and his jock in the tub, but after the first week, his own piss wasn’t enough, and he’d spend the whole night out at bars, begging men to soak him down, and come how stinking of piss, unwilling to shower it off.

The world shifted around him as well. He’d wake up early every morning and get dressed in workwear he hadn’t owned before, and headed off to the worksite, shooting the shit woith his new/old buddies there, drinking their piss in dusty corners of unfinished, suburban houses. This conitinued for a month, and then the jock strap he hadn’t removed in all that time started to itch, and a day later, another package arrived from the UTN. Inside that box he discovered a pair of yellow cumstained, 3XL briefs, and as much as he didn’t want to put them on, he couldn’t stop himself from removing his piss soaked jock and pulling them on. He watched his body bloat, and soon he was someone else entirely–someone he had absolutely no interest in being.

He was huge, probably close to 400 pounds of flab, and somehow a bit shorter than he’d been before, making him look even larger. He was balding, and his fat stank, but as soon as he’d sent to jock back in the return package, he realized something else–he was hungry. For the next month, all it seemed that he did was eat, and eat, and eat, and only when he was as full as he could get could he manage to shoot a wad from the three inch cock he could barely reach around his massive gut. He had no friends either, and worked from home as a computer programmer, eating day and night, miserable beyond belief–but then it hit him. He was smart in this body, smart with computers, and so he hacked his way into the UTN’s server and started fiddling with their delivery system. He had a plan–now all he could do was hope that it works.