Hey Wes, love your work – mind if I use your tumblr as an advertisement of my own? Like you, I was sick of the lack of posts on our kinds of TF, so I figure I’d try and contribute my own – with a heavy focus on weight gain/age progression. I definitely have some work to do on my writing skils, but I suppose practice makes perfect. Thanks!

Hey, I’m always happy to have more people writing, and I definitely like the few things I read on your tumblr. Consider yourself recommended.

Great to see the captions back!! These last two were amazing!

Also glad you enjoy them, though more specific comments regarding which stories you meant are always helpful, because I always forget when these asks enter my inbox, and they don’t have a time stamp that I know of.

The last story was really good. Well done.

Thanks, I’m glad you liked it, whichever one it was. 😛

Do you think stories need comments? I don’t miss them at NCMC, I guess authors might but as a reader …

This is referring to my post regarding my Apologia that I gave last week. Comments are useful as a reader, sure, but comments, more than anything, are a key aspect of internet community, I think. Writers, or at least me and some others I know, like interacting with our audience. We like getting feedback or our stories, ideas from fans, but it’s bigger than that, I think.

Having a website without comments means that no criticism can be directed at any work, good or bad, which can be publicly viewed. A site can survive on that model, sure, but it isn’t a healthy community. It isn’t one which can effectively grow and develop. It isn’t one where authors can have an open dialogue with their readers and with each other. In the end, it isn’t much of a community at all, and that’s the issue.

As a reader, comments matter because they allow you to ask questions, voice opinions, and have some sort of stake in writing as an active project, rather than as a vessel that I just pour stories into. And, by making them public, it helps other people understand my writing and stories, and the nature of this genre. You obviously appreciate the ability to comment or you wouldn’t have sent me this, after all. It isn’t crucial for a site to survive, but it is crucial for a community to remain healthy.

Answering my backlog tonight. If you have any questions, now is the time to ask them.

“You know, before you can grow up, you need to go all the way back. Martin here, he’s almost there. You can hear him whimpering through that gag; he’s scared. Of course he is, nothing in that life had prepared him for this. Still, he won’t remember much of any of this–who remembers their childhood in any detail, really? He’s gonna like being himself too much to think about it anyway.”

The man gets down next to Martin, where he’s tied to the chair. I can smell the full diaper from across the room, and wonder how long since its been changed. He ruffles and strokes his hair with one hand, and it’s hard to tell whether the flinch Martin gives is trying to get away, or trying to get closer to him. “You’re almost there–I know you’re tired of fighting it? The drugs just want to set you free, you don’t have to fight them. You’re so close, and that final step is hard, I know, but do it for me–do it for daddy.”

He tweaks one of Martin’s nipples and the whimpering gets louder. “Can’t wait to see you grow up, you know. It’s gonna take a while, but it’ll be easier the second time around, and you’ll have a much better dad this time around. A tough one, one who’ll turn you into a proper fucker. Furry chest, muscular–you won’t take shit from anyone. Angry and self-centered, smoking cigars too big for your face, daring someone to say something, cupping that cock of yours through your ripped, filthy jock…”

He continues in a low voice, and Martin starts seizing against his bonds. It isn’t clear what’s happening exactly, and I realize he must be cumming, but more than that. There was pleasure, but also a look of death–with every violent shake, I wonder if his neck might break. I had assumed that he was bound up because he was being held back from escaping, but was he bound up to protect him? To ease the worst of it?

He strokes Martin’s hair, calming him down, and something is different. Martin’s posture is no longer tense, but utterly relaxed, sagging against the leather straps holding him in place. He was gone, gone where I hoped to be, soon. “He’s back where he belongs now,” the man says and turns to me, “So, boy, what do you want to be when you grow up again?”

The FAT Retreat (Part 2)

by Wesley Bracken

Commissioned by / Gift for Gaynerpig

– Day Two –

The lights in the room turned on suddenly, and Max snorted himself awake in the lower bunk, and looked around, momentarily confused about where he was. A voice came on from the PA in the room:

Good morning FAT members. Breakfast is scheduled in half an hour. Please be dressed and ready at the door in that time, clothing has been provided for you in your rooms.

Max hefted himself up off the bed and took a moment to rub his gut. He was getting so big now, he loved it. He could only vaguely remember his life before his first FAT meeting, how he’d always felt so guilty about his size, but no longer–now he just wanted to get bigger, and the videos he’d seen of himself on the web were so hot he couldn’t wait to star in a few more. He secretly hoped, though, that he wasn’t going to be staring in any with Leon–the slim guy just wasn’t his type at all. Thinking about Leon, he got up off the bed and looked in the top bunk, but it was empty–and he looked around his room, and there was no sign of his bunkmate anywhere. That was certainly strange, but he didn’t think too much of it–there was probably some sort of rational reason for his disappearance. Still, the young man had been pretty delusional–no one was here under duress after all–so he hoped he hadn’t run off or something.

Max looked around, and saw that a loose fitting shirt and some sweats had been hung on a bar by the door, and Max looked around, puzzled about where the clothes he’d been wearing the day before had gone. He gave a shrug, took a moment to use the toilet, and then pulled on his clothing. The clothes were very big on him, even at his size, and the shirt had a number printed in a large typeface on both sides, “367” but he didn’t know what that meant. He sat down on his bunk for a few minutes and smoked one of several cigars he found in his sweats pocket, until the door slid open, and he got up again and looked out into the hallway, as the voice spoke again:

FAT members, please follow the yellow lights lining the top of the walls to the mess hall. After breakfast, you will be directed to your first personalized session of the retreat.

The hallway was already packed with men, all of them around Max’s size, trudging down the hallway, and Max pushed his way into the throng and followed the current, seeing the yellow lights guiding their path up where the walls met the ceiling, and after a short walk, the hallway emptied out into a massive room which reminded Max of an airplane hanger with a horribly low ceiling. Still, the smells! He was starving, and pushing forward he could see that the tables were heaped with food of all kinds–it seemed like each was set differently, and while he wanted to look at them all and see what each offered, he saw that the mass of men was already crowding around the tables, not even using the chairs and benches, and he got the sudden sense that if he did not choose now, he would eat nothing, like a massive game of musical chairs, the runt who didn’t get to the bitch’s nipple in time. The fear of not eating raced through him, and he shoved his way up to the nearest table and simply ate–it didn’t matter what he was eating, all that mattered was that he didn’t go hungry. The competition of the feed consumed him for the next three hours, as the men ate each and every table in the room down to scraps, demolishing one before moving onto the next which was relatively unoccupied, and by the end of breakfast time they milled about, none of them hungry, and yet all of them desperate to eat, plucking scraps off the empty tables, biding time, and the men turned their attention to each other, eyeing each other guts appreciatively, and a few brasher men began kissing, licking the leftover food from each other’s faces, and perhaps smearing a glob of butter on another’s penis, feeling their fat shiver as they jacked them quickly.

Sensing the restlessness of the room, at least ten doors on both the long sides of the mess hall slid open, and the voice came on again:

FAT members, on your shirt is your subject number for the duration of the retreat. Please make your way to the gate your number falls within, and you will be directed to your first FAT session.

Max looked down at his shirt, and saw it was covered with food, but wiping some of it away he could make out his number, and pushed his way through the crowd to the gate marked “350-400” and queued up, where they were slowly filed through, and Max was collected by a robust man in a white lab coat and escorted down several hallways until they came to a small laboratory labeled “Metabolics Lab #3”. There was one other subject there already, slightly smaller than Max, in one of the chairs of the room, and a young, cubbish lab assistant was strapping him to the chair. The man who’d escorted him sat Max in the next seat, and when the assistant finished with the first man, he began securing Max to the seat, and he got a little scared. He’d participated in one light bondage flick with FAT, but this seemed a bit strange. Two more men were eventually escorted into the lab and similarly secured, before the door slid closed and the doctor came over.

“Welcome gentlemen,” he said, “We will be starting you off with a metabolic manipulation this morning. This will require several subcutaneous and intravenous injections, and then we will monitor your progress over the next three hours, to insure there are no unwanted effects.”

“Wait, injections?” one of the men in the room said, “I hate needles.”

The doctor simply ignored him, and he and the assistant progressed down the line, giving each man a number of injections in many parts of their bodies, and the first man, the one with the fear of needles, gave the greatest struggle, but otherwise the process was rather smooth, and after the shots had been given, the assistant and the doctor retreated back behind a row of computers to observe, though it wasn’t long before the doctor had his hands down the chubby cub’s pants and his tongue down the younger man’s throat.

The four men in the room, meanwhile, were watching the scene, all of them turned on, and Max noticed that he was starting to sweat. The temperature in the lab wasn’t too great, and yet in a matter of minutes, his shirt was nearly soaked through, and his hair and beard were sopping wet. Looking at the other men, he saw that they were all in a similar condition, their food stained shirts matted to their bodies, and then they started to smell. It started as a fairly normal scent of body odor, but as the hours passed, it grew worse and worse, until each of the men had started to feel a bit sick to their stomachs.

“Oh god, what the…is this normal?” one of the men said, as another retched a bit from the fuck rolling off his body.

“Yes… oh fuck yes…” the doctor said from the floor behind the computers where he was fucking the cub’s ass, but none of the men knew whether he was talking about them or not. Finally, the doctor and the cub finished up, and they started walking from man to man, examining them in turn, giving them each a pill to help with the nausea, and took samples of their sweat on cotton swabs from various areas of their bodies, especially their armpits, crotch and ass crack, and set them aside.

Max kept hoping the sweating would stop, but it seemed to only grow worse, and he was actually getting thirsty. Sensing their need, the doctor and assistant helped keep them hydrated, and by the end of the first session, all of the men were reeking like they hadn’t showered in weeks. The doctor checked the time, and started unbuckling the straps on each of the men, “Alright, everything looks normal–go have lunch, your first session is over.”

“Wait, what?” one of the men said, “You’re just…I mean, when will I stop sweating like this?”

“Yeah, I mean, this is kind of gross…” Max said.

“Don’t worry gentlemen, everything will be taken care of. Go enjoy lunch, I’m sure you’re all hungry.”

They were all hungry, but that was nothing new. Still, the four of them left the room and followed the yellow lights back to the mess hall, where they all devoured another meal, trying not to be alarmed by their new scent. The men in the room all seemed disconcerted for various reasons, but Max was too busy feeling embarrassed by his stink to think about what everyone else must have been going through, and he tried to find tables which were lightly packed, because every time he pushed up next to someone, they would retch or give him the worst scowl, and it made him feel awful.

Lunch ended eventually, and he made his way back to the gate, where a different sort of man escorted him off. Instead of being dressed in a labcoat, he was simply dressed in a business suit, and appeared unfazed by Max’s new stench, which he was thankful for. The man even offered him a cigar as they walked, and they arrived in a cozy looking office labeled “Mental Conditioning Rm. 33”, with a cushy armchair facing a massive TV mounted on the wall. The man had Max sit down in the chair, and then dimmed the lights, but before Max could ask what was going on, the TV turned on and a massive prismatic spiral drew him in within seconds, and Max’s entire world collapsed, but off in the distance, he could almost make out the suited man talking to him, telling him how much he loved his filthy stink, how smelling like a sweat and cum stained rag turned him on, how he smoked nearly constantly and loved the stench of strong tobacco, and how he refused to shower, wash his hands, brush his teeth, or even change his clothes, preferring to be as dirty and grimy as possible.

He had no idea how much time had passed, but when he came back to himself, the lights were back up and the TV was off, like no time had passed at all, and he took a deep inhale of his stench, and let out a sigh of pleasure, his cock hardening beneath his belly.

“Alright subject 367, I just need to ask you a few questions if that’s alright.”

“Huh? Oh…uh…sure…” Max said, but he was more interested in his armpit for some reason, and he lifted an arm and took a deep sniff of the funk there, and then licked up his own sweat with a moan.

“Alright, on a scale of one to ten, with one being low and ten being high, please tell me how much you like your current hygiene level.”

“Fuck, can I answer eleven? I smell so fuckin’ hot…” Max said, and unable to help himself, reached into his pants and started groping at his cock. “Oh yeah, definitely a…well,, maybe a nine, but only because I bet I…I bet I can get even filthier, oh fuck…”

“Now, how many showers would you say you plan to take in the next month.”

“None, I don’t shower ever.”

“Alright, and how frequently do you wipe after defecating?”

“You mean, like, when I take a shit?”

“Yes.”

“Uh…I guess not very often. Maybe if it’s a real messy one, but not usually.”

“Sleep, subject 367,” the doctor said, and Max’s eyes went blank, “You do not wipe your ass after taking a shit. Never. Do you understand?”

“Yes sir…”

“Wake subject 367,” Max jolted up again, and without missing a beat the man repeated his question, “Subject 367, how frequently do you wipe after defecating?”

“Oh, never. My underwear takes care of that.”

“Alright. Now, how often do you change your clothes?”

“I don’t. I fuckin’ love wearin’ clothes until they’re stinkin’ rags.”

“And you’re a smoker, right?”

“I am–cigars, preferably.”

“What kind of cigars do you like to smoke, 367?”

“Oh man, the smellier the better. They’d better reek, and make me reek too, for hours after I’m done with them…speaking of which…” Max added, figiting a bit, “Do you mind if I light up? Feels like I haven’t smoked in hours.”

“Well, I suspect you haven’t. And here, try one of these, I’m sure you’ll like them, given your tastes.” The doctor handed him a large, rough cigar, and the smoke was far more acrid and thick than Max was used to, but man did it stink. It was giving him a hard on, sitting in a cloud of foul smoke and musk, and the doctor, smiling a bit, got up and shoved a hand down the front of Max’s sweat soaked pants, into his gummy fatpad and jacked him off quickly, Max happy for the attention, even if the suddenness left him feeling a bit uneasy. The doctor wiped his cum soaked hand across Max’s beard, letting him lick the last bit off his fingers, before sitting down again.

‘Alright 367, everything seems to be in order. Just one last question. How important is it for a sexual partner to approve of your hygiene?”

“Oh, very important, man, I need a man who fuckin’ loves my stinkin’ body like I do.”

“Alright, it looks like you check out. Why don’t you go to dinner?”

“Dinner?” Max asked, “But I just ate lunch, like, half an hour ago.”

“Lunch was three hours ago. Now, go on and eat, and then return to your room. You’ve had a long day.”

A bit confused, Max got up out of the chair and followed the throngs of men outside the door to the mess hall, where he devoured another massive meal, but this time, instead of avoiding people, he pushed his way into the throngs, loving how his stench could drive men away, letting him get closer than anyone else. After eating way too much, even for himself, Max waddled off back to his room and lumbered inside, where the first thing he did was take a massive shit, and then he sat on the toilet, smelling the stench and jacked off, wiping the cum on his sweaty gut and into his gunt, enjoying the sticky feeling, before getting off and flushing. Then, he stripped out of his clothes and laid down on the bunk, smoking cigar after cigar while jacking off over and over, licking up his sweat and smelling his funk for several hours before finally collapsing and falling asleep long after the lights had turned off, wondering what the next day would have in store for him.

Bob was always on the hunt for a good workout music mix, something that would keep him going, but nothing that would draw his focus away from his workout. He’d been working out for a few months now, and he liked the progress he’d made, dropping some weight off and gaining some energy, but the weekly routine was starting to wear on him. He tried a few playlists over the next week, but he didn’t really enjoy any of them until he found a link to a “Zone Out Mix” on a weightlifting website.

He gave it a try during his next workout, and zone out was definitely an accurate description. He accidentally ended up staying at the gym for an extra hour, and he hadn’t even noticed. He couldn’t actually recall what the music on the playlist had been, and the thing came as one long playlist, so he couldn’t break it apart. Still, it became his regular workout track, and before long his four days at the gym had become six, and his hour and a half routine had grown to three. In fact, the gym had started cutting into some of his friendships, and he ended up cutting off his girlfriend of two years. She’d been harping about him going to the gym all the time, but he needed to get bigger, right? That was all that was really important.

It was soon after he’d broken up with her that the insomnia started. He was getting maybe two or three hours of sleep a night, and it was getting hard to focus at work, and the zone out mix was the only thing that kept him going to the gym. Now, he could barely remember being at the gym anymore. He’d put the mix on as he left his apartment to jog to the gym, and would come to back in his apartment three or four hours later, exhausted, every muscle on fire.

On one sleepless night, on the internet, he found another file by the guy who’d made the Zone Out Mix, a track designed to help people sleep. Desperate for a good night’s rest at this point, he downloaded it and listened to it on his earbuds, and had the first restful night he’d had in weeks. Thankful, he also found a second Zone Out Mix, and downloaded that as well. Before too long, his periods of lucidity were growing fewer and farther between. He woke up in the bathroom staring at his muscular body, and saw that he’d shaven off all of his hair–all of it. His scalp, his beard, his body, his pubes. Still, it looked real damn good.

Another time, he came to on his bed, a thick, seven inch dildo rammed deep in his ass. He yanked it out, terrified of what he was doing, but zoned out again almost immediately, and came to hours later, coated in his own cum, and from that moment on, going without something in his ass was nearly impossible. He never met his master–eventually, he simply zoned out so deep that he never came back. He abandoned his apartment and moved in with his master across the country, just another muscle beast working out all day, and pimped out to wealthy men every night, eyes empty, mouth drooling around the parade of cocks that were rammed down his throat, happy as could be.

The FAT Retreat (Part 1)

by Wesley Bracken

Commissioned by / Gifted to Gaynerpig

– Forward –

So, a while back, Gaynerpig told me he wanted to expand two captions I’d done into longer pieces, the first, about the Fat Action Team, and the second about this young man’s gassing experience. I suggested that we try and put the two together into one story, and, as things sometimes to, it ran a bit longer than I’d been expecting. So, he did commission some of it, but mostly it’s just a gift from me to him, and hopefully a few of you. Enjoy.

– Day One –

“No, you don’t understand! You hired me so you could test out a new training program! I mean, please, do I look like I belong in a fucking fat camp?” Leon said, protesting as the two white suited orderlies came up behind him.

“I’m sorry for the misunderstanding, Mr. Grindel, but our programs are non-refundable, and the contract we sent you, which you signed here, is still binding. I’m going to have to ask you to stay for the entire camp–don’t worry, after a few days, you’ll understand how much you need the Fat Action Team,” the chubby, suited man behind the information table said, and waved the large man in line behind Leon forward to the registration table.

Leon backed up, but ran right into the belly of the first orderly and swung around. Leon was by no means small–a few inches over six feet and massive–he’d been building muscle for years, working out in his family’s shed from the first time he’d realized he could make his body look like the ones he’d seen in the muscle magazines he used to flip through on shopping trips with his mom. He’d just gotten his body fat down to seven percent, and he was looking better than he ever had in his life, but he’d really needed a second job, and so he’d jumped at the opportunity to be a counselor at a fat camp, or at least that’s what he’d thought he’d been signing up for. These creeps thought he was supposed to be attending the camp instead of leading it! Still, the man blocking his way was a bit taller than him and hugely fat–probably close to three hundred pounds–but his body was also packed with muscle. At 180 pounds, Leon figured he would have a hard time fighting him, because of the orderlies’ weight advantage.

“Sir, if you could come with us, we’ll show you to your room.”

“No, this is bullshit–I’m leaving,” Leon said, and tried to step around him, but the second orderly stepped up, blocking his path again, and Leon just tried to push his way between them, which ended up being a mistake, as one of the men grabbed him in a big bear hug while the second slipped a metal collar around his neck and sealed it in place in some manner that he couldn’t fathom, when the orderly released him and he tried to figure out how to undo the collar. “What the fuck is this?” he shouted, “I’m calling the police.”

The first orderly raised his wrist, where a small metal bracelet was clasped, and spoke into it, “Subject 436, follow us to your room.”

Leon didn’t really know how to describe what happened next, other than he found himself compelled to walk after the men down the hallways of the massive complex, which seemed to be more of a science facility than a fat camp. In fact, as the walked down numerous hallways, he passed by several open doors that led into white, sterile research labs of some sort, and he felt a pang of fear that he couldn’t quite describe. What in the world had he gotten himself into? Still, he protested loudly making sure everyone in earshot knew he was there against his will, and asked the people he passed to help him, but none of the doctors–all of them male, and all of them overweight, bothered to even look up from their clipboards as Leon passed them.

Finally after what had seemed like ages of seamless hallways–Leon didn’t even think he would be able to find his way back out if the collar would let him try and escape, which he figured it probably wouldn’t. The orderlies eventually stopped in front of a door and it slid open, the first speaking into his bracelet again, “Subject 436, enter your room and remain inside of it until you are collected for your first session tomorrow morning. Do not try to escape.”

Leon entered the room, and the door slid closed behind him, melding almost seamlessly with the white wall, but he couldn’t even look for some way to open it back up–the collar wouldn’t let the thought of getting out translate into any sort of action. Instead, he sat down on the bunk bed–the only furniture in the room besides a single toilet with no privacy screen–reminding him more of a prison cell that anything else, and tried desperately to get the collar off of his neck. Still, he couldn’t find a seam anywhere–if felt like one perfectly round circle of metal, and every time he tried to get a grip on it, it felt like the metal actually contracted around his neck, threatening to choke him if he kept at it. Unable to get the collar off, and unable to explore the room far before finding himself restrained by the order to not escape, he used the toilet and then laid down on the bed, trying to sleep, but the light permeated the room, and the terror and confusion he was feeling refused to leave him. When the door finally slid open, he honestly thought for a moment that it might be morning, but then a massively fat man smoking a cigar stepped into the room, looked over at Leon and smiled, “Hi! You must be my roommate, the name’s Max.”

Leon wasn’t entirely sure what to make of this development–he thought about the possibility that he’d get a roommate given the bunk bed, but he’d expected it to be someone like him, muscular and also there under duress, but Max didn’t even have a collar, and he looked relaxed and unworried about what was happening. “Ok, what’s the fucking deal with this? Did they give you a collar, or what?”

“A collar?” Max asked, not quite understanding what Leon was talking about until he saw the metal around Leon’s neck, and then he rolled his eyes, “Oh, I got put with a newbie–now I get it.”

“A newbie? You mean you’ve done this before?”

“Oh yeah, I’ve been a FAT member for about a year now,” Max said, and gave his huge, fat belly a hard slap, “Looking good, right?”

“Wait, you’ve been a member for a year, and you look like this?”

“Trust me, it’s taken a lot of work.”

Leon wondered how big Max must have been to begin with, if this three or four hundred pound frame was an improvement. “Well…keep working at it, I guess…” he said, and then added, “So wait, none of this seems strange to you? You actually want to be here?”

“Trust me, I know how it is when you attend your first event–I’m surprised they have any newbies here actually–I thought this retreat was by invitation only.”

“Well, I thought I was going to be hired as a counselor in an experimental training program–” Leon stared to say, and then Max laughed, “What?”

“Oh, just the thought of someone looking like you being a counselor–dang, you’re a bit delusional.”

“You’re the fucking delusional one!” Leon said, “They put this collar on me, and they’re fucking controlling me somehow! What the fuck is going on–what do you know that I don’t?”

Max took a drag off his cigar and just shook his head, “Fucking newbies.” Just then, a voice came on over the loudspeaker, in the room, and announced that lights out would commence in half an hour. “Guess we might as well get ready for bed then, eh?” Max added, “How about you take the top bunk–I doubt I could even get up there.”

Leon was still utterly confused by what was going on, but he agreed, and climbed up onto the top bunk, wondering what the hell was going to happen to him. His worry was interrupted by a loud grunt from Max, and he realized the big man was on the toilet, shitting, and he tried not to think about it, and before too long there was a five minute warning for lights out, and a few minutes later, they were plunged into darkness.

Leon still couldn’t sleep at all–and the fact that Max snored loud enough to wake the dead didn’t help. He must have laid awake for hours, and the lights in the room were still out when the door to the room slid open silently–Leon wouldn’t have even noticed if not for the sudden rectangle of light that appeared on the floor, and he got down quickly out of bed–still in only his underwear, and peeked around the corner, before leaving the room and walking quickly down the unattended hallway in the direction he hoped the exit was.

However, he’d taken a few steps when he realized he wasn’t walking of his own volition–his feet were moving for him, just like they had with the orderlies, and he realized that he wasn’t escaping at all–he was going somewhere. Somehow his feet knew where to go, and they walked deeper into the complex before finally arriving at a staffed lab, and he walked in, finding a couple of doctors in labcoats looking at some computer monitors. “Sir, the subject is here,” one of them said, and a fatter doctor with a bushy white beard, looked over at Leon and smiled, “Ah, Subject 436, welcome. I’m glad you found us alright.”

“I didn’t have much of a choice.”

“Well, that’s true, but still, in a day or two we won’t need that collar on you at all. Now, subject 436, if you’d be so kind as to follow me, we’ll get you situated.”

It sounded like a kind enough request, but the doctor spoke into a bracelet identical to the one the orderly had used, compelling Leon to follow him into the middle of the lab, where he found himself strapped to some sort of cross shaped like an “X” with a series of plastic straps. After he was situated, the doctor took some scissors and cut away his underwear, leaving him completely naked, and then the doctor secured some sort of mask over his nose and mouth, which fed had a tube connected to a series of massive metal tanks of some sort of gas against one wall of the lab.

“Alright,” the doctor said, “Are we recording? We know we don’t want this to be like the last trial–no recording means fewer subscriptions. We want the full narrative on this one.We’re good?”

“Yes sir, all cameras are recording.”

“Good. Then lets begin the administration of gas batch #36.”

Leon watched as the clear tube filled with some sort of grey-black smoke, drawn down into his mask, but he held his breath for as long as he could, before finally inhaling as shallowly as he could. The smell of it was almost sickly sweet but with a strange burnt tinge, like caramel that had gone a bit too long on the stove. Still, it didn’t smell harmful, and he didn’t really have much choice after the doctor ordered him to simply breathe normally. He did for a few minutes, and as he did, he began to feel a strange tingling sensation all over his body. At first he thought it was just the discomfort from being strapped in such a strange position, but the tingling changed into something else strange, almost like a bubbling underneath his skin. He could still move his neck, and he looked down at his belly and nearly threw up–it looked almost like there were worms crawling beneath his skin, slowly squirming over his muscle, but as soon as they settled, they seemed to sag and dissolve away, and yet, after an hour of fascinated watching, he realized that the worms were something else–it was fat. Already, his six pack had become barely a two pack, the rest of it obscured by the beginnings of a paunch, and the rest of him was putting on weight as well. He tried fighting and struggling, but orders from the doctor to remain calm and not struggle had more power than his growing panic. What sort of experiment had he volunteered for exactly?

“Alright subject 436, we have a baseline, and it looks like you’re accepting batch #36 as we’d expected. Now, it’s time for your first round of conditioning,” the doctor said. He brought over a set of goggles which he fastened over Leon’s eyes, blocking out all of the light, and the a set of heavy headphones which shut out all of the sound from the room around him. He struggled for a second, trying to dislodge one or the other, but a few seconds later, the screen inside the goggles leapt to life with a massive swirl of bright color, too dazzling for him to keep his eyes open, and yet he couldn’t blink. In fact, he couldn’t do anything–his body had gone completely relaxed, and in his mind, he fought back as hard as he could, trying to regain control, but even that was becoming difficult. It was so much easier just to let himself be sucked in, just let himself be washed away. He could hear something as well, someone saying something, but he didn’t know what. It didn’t matter, he just needed to listen and watch and obey, always obey.

Time disappeared for him. It could have been a minute, or hours, or days even, in front of that screen. Eventually, the lights faded away, leaving him with a bright afterimage in the darkness of the goggles, the silence of the headphones lifted as the scientist removed them, and then the goggles, and when Leon saw him standing in front of him, his heart immediately leapt up into his throat. This massively fat man in a lab coat, the man who had so disgusted him when the goggles had gone on, was now…so amazingly sexy. Leon had a hard on before he could even try to control himself, and looking down, he quickly realized that he could barely see his cock. The two pack he’d sported when the goggles went on had grown substantially, and now could only be called a gut, and it looked damn good on him, didn’t it?

Leon shook his head, trying to fight off these feelings. He didn’t want to be fat–he was terrified of being fat! But then why in the hell did it feel so damn good? He was starting to hyperventilate, breathing in even more of the sweet gas from the mask, and the doctor came around into view again, now completely naked, and said, “Subject 436, why don’t you go ahead and calm down. Now, I’m going to go ahead and see how the conditioning worked for you. Just enjoy yourself.”

The doctor came close, his huge apron rubbing up against Leon’s much smaller gut, and he groaned, unable to help himself. The older man kneaded his softening pecs and twisted his nipples, and all Leon could do was mumble through the mask, begging him to stop, but his cock was so hard, and this man was so fucking sexy, why would he want him to stop, really? The doctor leaned in and licked and nibbled at the fat willing in under Leon’s chin and around his neck, pulling harder on his nipples, before one hand reached down and started stroking his rock hard cock, getting it slick with precum. He hefted up his apron with one hand and guided Leon’s cock underneath. The doctor’s fat pat was massive, and it swallowed Leon’s cock nearly to the hilt, and he rammed his huge body up against Leon, over and over, their cock head’s ramming into each other deep in the doctor’s fat, and after a few slams, Leon felt his cock shoot filling up the doctor’s fat pad, and the doctor came a few moments after, panting from the exertion, and he stepped back, cum dripping onto the floor between his feet. “Assistant, clean me up please,” the doctor said, and his cub hurried over, getting down on his knees and burying his face under the doctor’s apron, lapping up all of the cum there, before cleaning the tile floor as well.

“Well, that was a great response from just one conditioning set–most guys need three or four before they respond that well–subject 436, I must say that you’re quite the natural at this. I have a feeling you’re going to have a very successful retreat if you keep this up. Now, how about a few more rounds of conditioning? We’re going to have you loving fat and nothing else by the time you’re finished here, just you wait.”

Leon tried to fight off the doctor as he put the goggles and headphones on Leon again, but the lights returned like an old, comforting friend in a time of need, and Leon was more than happy to fall into them again. It was better than watching himself grow fatter, wasn’t it? Still, he would be so beautiful by the end of it, he couldn’t wait to see.

When their new neighbors invited Leif and his son, Mac over for dinner, they didn’t realize that the two older men’s cum would be on the menu. However, it didn’t take long for the spell the two older bears cast on them to deprive them both of their free will, and as they sucked their new master’s off in the kitchen, the two bears congratulated each other.

“See, I fuckin’ told you it would work! Damn, this boy’s mouth is fuckin’ hot as fuck–gonna love havin’ you as my new boy.”

“Fuck yeah–this old fuck though, what are we gonna do with him?”

“I already got a buyer–and he wants him untrained, which makes it even better. Said he would be coming by tonight.”

Sure enough, a couple of hours later there was a knock on the door, and the older, leather clad master came in, took a look at Leif, and dragged him out the door by the metal collar he shackled around his neck, before he could even say goodbye to his son–not that Mac was paying attention. He was too focused on pleasing his new dads–in fact, he already forgotten about his old one entirely by the time the night was through. From that moment on, he was his dad’s sexy rubbercub, ready for a load of cum or piss at any moment, but there was nothing he loved more than getting plowed by his dads from both ends.

Lief on the other hand, didn’t have as nice of a training session. He still remembered everything, and his master–an older man whose real name he never had the chance to learn, beat him mercilessly, training him into a sniveling old boot licker who he’d drag to the clubs, where Lief would be fisted for hours on end, and he would, on occasion, see his son there too, watching him from a far, growing up with his two dads into a chubby bear slut, and the desire for vengeance burned it’s way through him. Still, he would never be able to get to him, would he? Unless he managed to get his hands on some magic of his own, of course…