New You Resolutions (Part 7)

Hugh didn’t hear the garage door open, on the sound of his father entering the house. He couldn’t hear much of anything through the headset he had on, while he was playing his video games, shouting into the microphone on occasion, but otherwise utterly absorbed in the TV screen, at least until the basement door slammed open, and his dad stomped down the stairs, as had been their habit ever since Hugh had graduated the year before, and decided to take what he was calling a gap year–but which his dad was beginning to suspect was more of a slacker year than anything else.

Carl wasn’t quite sure what had happened. Sure, Hugh had never been the brightest fellow at school, not showing much interest in anything other than football–which his father happened to coach at the school. Sure, Carl might have pulled a couple of strings with some of the administrators to make sure Carl graduated on time, but it wasn’t like every other parent at the school wasn’t advocating for their kids. When a football scholarship failed to materialize, Carl told his dad he just needed a break–a year to try and sort out what he wanted to do, and that had seemed reasonable. Carl had assumed that would mean Hugh getting a job, or studying, or…well, anything other than this.

Instead, ever since summer, all Hugh had done, really, was play video games down in his room in the basement. Carl had started pestering his son more directly, and more than once now they had gotten into shouting matches with one another, Carl demanding that Hugh do something with himself, while Hugh shouted back that he just needed some time, and some space. Maybe he wasn’t being fair. Maybe he’d helped him too much. Carl thought about trying to engage him again, but just shook his head. He was tired from his second job–and just wanted to relax for a while himself. He tossed the letter that had arrived for his son on the table in front of him, saw Hugh’s eye flick over to it, and then Carl went back upstairs, got a beer out of the fridge, and sat down on the couch to watch the news.

Hugh didn’t really have much interest in the letter, and so he kept playing until he got hungry, and then took a break. The six month streak of lounging and slacking had done a number of Hugh’s physique, and while he’d always been thick, the football had at least kept him from going from thick to fat–but he was decidedly in ex-jock territory now. His hygiene had also slipped considerably, he hadn’t gotten his hair cut in months, and had stopped shaving regularly too, and was no sporting a considerable beard–something else his dad nagged him about all the time.

Still, getting a snack or a meal would require getting past his dad upstairs…and Hugh just didn’t have the energy for another fight with him. His dad didn’t understand how he felt, how…Hugh just didn’t know what in the world to do with himself. High school was easy, and easier still than it could have been, because he had his dad there to help get him through it. He just felt…stupid, sometimes, and the only person he felt like he could count on, even more than himself, was his dad, but he was even fucking that up too. Everything just felt so…anxious all the sudden–it was easier to just play video games. Even if you lost, at least you didn’t lose anything for real, right? Wanting to put things off a bit more, before braving his father, he grabbed the envelope Carl had tossed on the table, opened it, and read the note inside.

Congratulations! You have been nominated by someone you know for our exclusive resolution program, and we have selected you from many excellent candidates as someone who could benefit from our unique service. Enclosed, you will find your tailored list of New Year’s resolutions for the year 2019.
Now, we know what you are thinking, that you don’t need someone else, especially some strange organization, to make resolutions for you! That’s where you are wrong. You see, people who are nominated for our program are those in the most dire need of change, but who often are incapable of changing themselves, often through supreme self-delusion. You’ll be glad to know, then, that the included resolutions are compulsory, and non-negotiable. Come 2020. You’ll be amazed at what a little change can do for you!
Included with your 2019 resolutions, of course, is a mandatory invitation to our 2020 New Year’s Eve party. We know that it’s a year away (and goodness, do you have an exciting year ahead of you!) but we just want to make sure you mark your calendars now. Not that you have much of a choice in any case!
Enjoy the new year, and enjoy the new you!
New You Enterprises

Hugh looked at the list inside, and then turned on a light, so he could read better, certain it must have been a mistake. It didn’t make any sense, what he was reading, after all, and more confused than ever, he felt something odd…stir in him, a small awareness that his slacker year was going to be very different from this moment forward.

Alright, here’s the last set of resolutions for this story! I’m still not sure how the final year end party is going to work out yet, and whether it will be interactive or not, but at the very least we’ll get to see how our four characters ended up after a year under their new resolutions. Don’t forget! If you’re a patron, you get access to the bonus poll, that counts for double! You can find it here, and the public poll is embedded below.

New You Resolutions (Part 6)

The list of resolutions that was included in the letter from New You Enterprises to Professor Leroy Herron was as follows:

I resolve to slowly lose my academic knowledge, my cognitive ability, and literacy.
I resolve to put my cock into permanent chastity, behave submissively to all men, and consider myself as a subhuman faggot.
I resolve to no longer use the toilet, and only wear diapers, which I will be unable to change myself.
I resolve to remove all of my hair permanently, and cover myself with humiliating tattoos.
I resolve to abandon my family, and instead serve dominant men as a sex slave for the rest of the year.

Leroy, naturally, found this entire list to be so ridiculous, so scandalous, that it had to be some joke, right? Some prank pulled by another professor in the department, or perhaps by a student. He certainly had no intention of doing any of these things. He went to throw the list in the trash, but as he did, he noticed that a small package had appeared on his desk while he’d read the letter and the list, something that he was certain hadn’t been there before. Hands shaking slightly, he unwrapped the package, and inside, he found a metal chastity cage, and a single diaper.

How had this gotten here? He didn’t know, but he certainly wasn’t going…to do this, was he? And yet, hands still shaking, he undid his pants, dropped then to the floor, stepped out of his shoes, and began working the chastity cage around the base of his cock. He…he had to put it on. He…he deserved to lock up his cock after all. Only men were allowed to have their cocks out, and free, and he…he wasn’t a man, not really. Not…anymore.

He fought the thoughts invading his mind, but his hands refused to obey him. The device clicked and locked–there was no sign of anyway to open it or remove it–aside from, perhaps, going to a locksmith and cutting it away from him…but he wouldn’t do that. No, the cage had to stay, and…and he still had to put on the diaper, right? He picked it up, and tried to put it on him, but for some reason couldn’t quite figure it out. He…he needed someone to do it, a man to do it for him. He was…too stupid of a faggot to put on his own diapers.

There was a knock on the door suddenly, and before Leroy could say anything, the office door opened, and the same student as before was in the doorway, eyes a bit puffy, but when he saw his professor with his pants down, cock locked in a chastity device…he just looked confused instead. “I, uh, I just wanted to…apologize…” the young man said, but didn’t get further than that.

“No, uh, I…I’m the one who needs to apologize,” Leroy said, the words tumbling from his mouth, and he got on his knees. “Of course you can go on your vacation, and see your family, I…I’m just a stupid faggot, I can’t tell you, a man like you, what to do, please forgive me for what I said earlier!” He go crawled forward, panting his head at the student’s feet, who just gaped at him, at his stern professor literally begging him for forgiveness…and as he watched it, something…brewed up in him, and he shoved his sneaker into Leroy’s face.

“If you’re really sorry, then…then clean my shoe, faggot!” he said, almost barking at him, his cock hardening as he watched Leroy obey him, licking at his sneaker, moaning as he did, cock trying desperately to harden in the tight cage, but it refused to budge. He cleaned one shoe, and then the other, and then…begged the young man to help him. He couldn’t get on his diaper, you see, and…and maybe he would be willing to help. The student agreed, but only if the professor would suck him off afterwards. He ended up getting several pictures of the professor, wearing just his diaper, a load of cum sprayed across his face and beard–and promised him it would be all over campus by the evening, so everyone would see just how much of a worthless faggot Professor Herron truly was.

Horrified at what he’d just done, a diapered Leroy fled to his car after the student had left resolved to drive home, but as he was sitting there, he felt piss flood into the front of his diaper…and he realized he couldn’t go home. He couldn’t let his wife and children see what he was becoming, he…he needed to go somewhere else, anywhere other than there. He ended up getting a room at a cheap motel off the highway, sitting alone in the room, trying to figure out what to do, trying to look up more information about New You Enterprises, but finding nothing. Over the next week…he found himself in a hopeless spiral. The male staff members of the motel soon discovered the faggot living there, and would humiliate him day and night, making him stew in his filthy diapers until they would change him at last, before the smell could be noticed by other guests. He shaved off his hair, and started…drawing on himself with sharpie, fantasizing about the tattoos he would get…soon enough, but what he wanted most…what he needed, was a master.

He started advertising on line, streaming videos of himself, begging anyone to be his master, looking for a dominant man to show this worthless diapered, sissy faggot his proper place in life. Mostly, men would just ridicule him, but eventually, someone took an interest in him–and so Leroy transferred all of the savings he had in his personal accounts to the stranger, bought a plane ticket with the remaining pittance, and drove off, ready to begin his service as a faggot for the year–if not for the rest of his life.

Alright, I’d like to do one more recipient of a set of resolutions, and then I’ll start wrapping things up with the end of the year party for all four of our lucky resolution winners. Who would you like the final target to be? The public poll is below, and the bonus patron poll can be found here!

New You Resolutions (Part 5) [Interactive]

“Look, I’d just like the week to go visit my family is all, some of the other students can keep an eye on the research while–”

“It’s simply out of the question,” Professor Leroy Herron said, looking over the top of his glasses at the grad student in his office, asking him for a winter vacation. “And frankly, the fact that you would even think of broaching this with me, makes me wonder if this sort of…career is a good match for you at all.”

The student stammered a moment, and then ducked back out of the office, realizing that he might have just put his entire PhD at risk. Professor Herron was not someone, after all, who was known for kindness and mercy. He was the preeminent scholar in his field, of course (though in reality almost all of his research had been done by overworked and burnt out grad students, which Herron could slap his name on, jetting to conferences all over the world while his grad students and post docs took care of his classes. Everyone knew it was unfair, and yet, a recommendation from him, or better yet, a phone call, was one of the only ways to get a tenure track position anymore, assuming one even opened up. Still, Leroy couldn’t care less. He had to do the same work when he was a grad student–this was just how the system worked. For him, it was working well, so why would he want to change it?

It any case, it was time for him to head home for the day. He was stuck dealing with some administrative busy work through the winter holiday, but after a couple more days, he’d be finished, and he could just relax at home with his wife and kids, while his students kept an eye on the projects in the lab. He stood up and stretched, scratched his beard and small gut he’d picked up from his mostly sedentary lifestyle these days, grabbed his coat off the back of his chair, and noticed something by the door to his office that he was certain hadn’t been there moments before. A small envelope, golden in color, just lying there on the ground. Wondering if, perhaps, his student had dropped it while he was leaving, he went over, picked it up, and say that it was actually addressed to him:

Congratulations! You have been nominated by someone you know for our exclusive resolution program, and we have selected you from many excellent candidates as someone who could benefit from our unique service. Enclosed, you will find your tailored list of New Year’s resolutions for the year 2019.
Now, we know what you are thinking, that you don’t need someone else, especially some strange organization, to make resolutions for you! That’s where you are wrong. You see, people who are nominated for our program are those in the most dire need of change, but who often are incapable of changing themselves, often through supreme self-delusion. You’ll be glad to know, then, that the included resolutions are compulsory, and non-negotiable. Come 2020. You’ll be amazed at what a little change can do for you!
Included with your 2019 resolutions, of course, is a mandatory invitation to our 2020 New Year’s Eve party. We know that it’s a year away (and goodness, do you have an exciting year ahead of you!) but we just want to make sure you mark your calendars now. Not that you have much of a choice in any case!
Enjoy the new year, and enjoy the new you!
New You Enterprises

Leroy had no idea what to make of this letter–it sounded ridiculous. Most likely it was some stupid ploy by his grad students, something to make him ease up on them, or what have you. He’d even heard talk of a possible graduate student union being formed on campus, but as soon as he found the instigators of that, he’d have them thrown out of their programs in days. Expecting to just have a laugh, he looked at the included list, but his expression first went to confusion, and then to horror, at the various tasks put to him by the industry for the next year.

As before, you can vote for up to four resolutions below. Patrons have their bonus poll over here as well. I will usually use three to five of the most popular selections in the next chunk of the story.

New You Resolutions (Part 4) [Interactive]

There was no way he was going to do this, Morgan told himself. The list he was holding read like a nightmare:

Morgan’s Resolutions for 2019

Drink lots of cheap beer, and grow a big beer gut.
Drop out of college and find a job doing menial labor.
Go through a second, intense puberty, and age an additional ten years.
Act like a lazy slob, rarely shower, and get off on my own musk.
Become an aggressive, dominant top, and double the size of my cock.

Why in the hell would he do any of this shit? Who in the hell was this company anyway? He looked back at the letter, and then at the list again, looking for more information, but there wasn’t anything else, just this sudden wave of anxiety, and he…he…

Fuck, he needed a fucking beer.

Morgan shook his head, trying to clear it. Why in the world had he thought that? He didn’t drink much at all for one thing, but it did nothing really to slake his thirst. The older couple were out of the house for a while, running some errands…and before he could muster any mental opposition, he went down into the kitchen, opened the fridge, grabbed one of the beers the man always kept on hand, but which Morgan had always refused, and chugged it, letting off a long belch afterwards.

And fuck, if he didn’t feel so much better, almost immediately.

He spent so much time trying to be perfect, so much time trying to live up to some standard, to prove everyone wrong, to be everything he was supposed to be…but why? Why was he doing this, any of this? He knew he’d had answers, he might have even had answers when he’d woken up that morning, but he didn’t have them right now…and he found that to be such a relief, somehow. He grabbed another beer, drank that too, and then figured he should just go buy some of his own to replenish what he’d taken. He bought a twenty-four pack at the nearby gas station, went home, and in three days, it was gone.

In three days, he hadn’t taken a shower, he hadn’t thought about school, he hadn’t thought about those jocks or being bullied, or any of it. He’d sat in his room, drunk off his ass, doing jack shit, masturbating to the smell of his pits, and feeling…odd. It took him a few more days to realize what was odd–it was that he was aching in a weird way, like he was growing again, but faster than he had in his teens. He was angry too, all of a sudden. Angry, and lazy, and he had so many hormones rushing through him, that by the time school started back up a few weeks later, it was a relief to have an outlet, that he could charge up to the registrar, drop out, and be done with the whole mess.

It felt good, doing it. It felt good, like he was freeing himself. Sure, he didn’t have a job or anything, but he’d find something. He had some savings, some cash from his parents, enough to pay the rent and coast for a couple of months, and figure some things out–that, and finish growing. He hurt all the time now, in ways that he hadn’t remembered since high school. Each day, it seemed like something new happened–his voice cracking and dropping to a low bass, acne appearing across his face, his cock…growing. It seemed like it packed on another inch each week, and Morgan found his desires shifting as it grew, away from the mostly bottom he’d been, to something far more aggressive. He’d watch porn videos of gay guys taking down straight homophobes, raping them, and nothing would get him harder–he’d explode all over himself, thinking about the jocks he hated, so happy he’d never have to see them again–but if they did, boy, would they have a surprise coming to them.

By the time March hit and he had to hit the streets to look for work, Morgan looked like a brand new person. He was about six inches taller, more muscular, his jaw stronger and covered with a thick beard growing up his cheeks, his arms and chest similarly coated with hair from his renewed puberty. His gut, however, was the most notable part about him, jutting out like a beach ball in front of him, making him balance it out by leaning back a bit. He didn’t have a hard time finding a job in the city, and ended up working in a warehouse down on the docks, amazed at how much he could rake in with a union job, enough to move out of that room and rent his own place by June–a proper bachelor pad, he told himself.

By then, he barely recognized himself at all in the mirror, and sure, part of him was horrified…but part of him liked it. A growing part of him, a brute thrumming in his chest, the mean drunk that came out when he’d had a few too many, the brute that had…forced himself on a couple of the guys at work, who had, to his surprise, relented, and let him plow their holes with his massive, ten inch cock. But the greatest conquest was something special–after finals, one of the chief jocks who had bullied him ended up there in the bar–in his bar. Morg knew just what the prissy piece of shit needed–and he cornered him in the bathroom, and fucked the young jock’s brains out, raped him for all the shit he had done to him, and he realized, then, that perhaps these resolutions weren’t so bad after all.

But who else got a letter from the company?

Here’s the next poll! I used two fairly popular ideas from the last poll, to give them one more chance, and also used two ideas from readers that they submitted with the last poll. The public poll is below, and the patron only poll can be found here.

New You Resolutions (Part 3) [Interactive]

College was supposed to be better. That’s what Morgan had always told himself. That’s what teachers had told him, what his parents had told him, what his friends had told him. That college would be better. In college, he’d be accepted. In college, everyone would understand him, and support him. College was the future. College was everything that high school wasn’t. As it turned out, though, everyone who bullied him in high school ended up going to college too–not the same college of course, but the same kinds of people. The jocks, the bigots–every flavor of bully was still here, and somehow, this was worse.

He’d gotten through the first semester, but it had been hard. Hard to have that illusion shattered, hard to realize that everything was going to be this hard, forever, probably. That there would be more days when someone shouted “Queer!” and “Faggot!” at him than days when no one did. That if he wanted to be who he was–and he most certainly wasn’t about to give the assholes the satisfaction of not being out and proud and weird and all the wonderful things he loved about himself–he was going to have to deal with all of it, always, and there was no way he’d be able to avoid it. That high school wasn’t the problem–the problem was people, and there was no way to get rid of people. That things never really get better, even if they do get easier–or rather, it gets easier to deal with them.

It didn’t help that he was thin, and somewhat frail. It didn’t help that he had a bit of a lisp, that he liked bright colors, that he was a bit of a slut (not that there was anything wrong with being a slut either, he would tell himself). It didn’t help that his response to getting picked on was to just get louder. Bolder shirts, bolder hair, lipstick and eyeshadow. He liked it, in a way. He liked how much he confused them. He liked how he knew they wanted him, that the big football jocks knew he could suck their cock better than any of their girlfriends. Knew that they wanted him to suck their cocks more than they wanted their girlfriends. He knew that they hated themselves more than they could ever really hate him, and that was a small touch of justice he could use as a buoy to guide him.

For the moment though, there was peace. The year was new and fresh. He was new and fresh. Campus was quiet and empty of everyone. He lived a few blocks away, renting a room in a nearby house from an older couple who were nice enough, even if he confused them as well. College might not be better, but he could be better. He could face anything. It was with this resolve in place, that he found the odd golden envelope on the floor of his room in front of his door, like someone had slid it under in the night. Confused, he opened it up, and found himself looking at a letter addressed to him–and with it, a short list of resolutions.

Congratulations! You have been nominated by someone you know for our exclusive resolution program, and we have selected you from many excellent candidates as someone who could benefit from our unique service. Enclosed, you will find your tailored list of New Year’s resolutions for the year 2019.
Now, we know what you are thinking, that you don’t need someone else, especially some strange organization, to make resolutions for you! That’s where you are wrong. You see, people who are nominated for our program are those in the most dire need of change, but who often are incapable of changing themselves, often through supreme self-delusion. You’ll be glad to know, then, that the included resolutions are compulsory, and non-negotiable. Come 2020. You’ll be amazed at what a little change can do for you!
Included with your 2019 resolutions, of course, is a mandatory invitation to our 2020 New Year’s Eve party. We know that it’s a year away (and goodness, do you have an exciting year ahead of you!) but we just want to make sure you mark your calendars now. Not that you have much of a choice in any case!
Enjoy the new year, and enjoy the new you!
New You Enterprises

Morgan read the list next, and gasped. This…this had to be some kind of fucking joke, right? There was no way he was going to do any of these things! What Morgan would soon discover, though, was that he had no choice in the matter at all.

Alright, here’s another list of possible resolutions for Morgan to contend with over the next year. Each person can vote for up to four, and I’ll use 4-5 of them to craft the next part of the story. The patron only poll can be found through here–votes in the Patron poll count twice as much, and I’ll usually use at least one option that’s popular with patrons that doesn’t get as much attention in the public poll. Thanks for reading, and for voting!

New You Resolutions (Part 2) [Interactive]

Duncan read the list a few times, mostly just disgusted and confused by what was on there. Hell, some of the things didn’t even make sense, or didn’t even seem possible! There were five items on the list:

Stop going to the gym and work to get fatter instead.
Start smoking cigars, and age an extra thirty years.
No longer cut my hair, beard, or body hair, and grow it three times as fast, and three times as thick.
Cum only on myself and my clothes as often as I can, get as many men to cum on me as I can, and never shower again.
Replace my wardrobe with slobby clothes, and never wash them again.

He couldn’t control how fast he aged, or how thick his hair grew in–it had to just be some stupid prank someone was pulling on him. In any case, he had so much he had to get done today, and this stupid thing had wasted too much time. He skipped breakfast in his apartment–there was nothing that…would satisfy him here, went down and got in his car. Instead of going to the gym, like he thought he would, he wound up at a fast food place, went inside, ordered a massive amount of food–and ate all of it.

The whole time, he was trying to make himself stop…but he had to do it. He had to get fatter, right? That’s…what the list said. He didn’t understand where the compulsion was coming from, and eating the greasy food was disgusting to him, but he couldn’t get his body to stop, no matter how hard he tried. Once he finished, he again tried to get himself to drive to the gym, but instead he looked up the nearest smoke shop that sold cigars, went in and bought a pack, along with a lighter and a couple of ashtrays. He told himself to throw it out, but instead, he drove home, lit one, smoked it as best he could, and started stuffing his entire wardrobe into trashbags, and threw the whole thing into the dumpster. It took long enough that he finished the cigar–though it made him sick to his stomach and he nearly vomited, but he was…proud of himself, for finishing it. Proud of himself, for…for doing it, doing what he was supposed to do. Proud, and a bit…horny? Horny enough to sit down on the couch and rub out a load, which he onto his thigh, rubbing it in, feeling it get…tacky. He…wanted to shoot again, but he had more errands to run first.

He left the house again, this time going to the nearby thrift shop, and buying himself a new wardrobe–sweats and undershirts, some…used underwear, which disgusted him, and some mesh ahtletic shorts and beat up sneakers. Then he went home, lit another cigar, despite the fact he still felt sick from the first one, and he jacked off–spraying his load all over his flat belly, rubbing it in, and feeling the stubble growing there.

Duncan had always had quite a bit of body hair, and at his agency’s request, he kept himself shaved all over, and photoshop took care of the rest. Now though, he could see the first dark hairs coming back, much faster than they usually did…and there were so many of them! He went into the bathroom, and saw that the same thing was happening to his face, his stubble was so thick, and so obvious–he tried to shave it, but his hands just threw all of his shaving equipment right in the trash. Furious, he figured he could at least take a shower–but again, his body refused to even get in the tub. When he kept trying, his body ended up disassembling the entire shower fixture and throwing that away too.

And that was just the first day. He lost all of his modeling contracts in a week, and his agency dumped him by the end of January. He had some savings, but not nearly enough–he had, however, befriended the guys at the fast food joint where he went for most of his meals now…and while he held onto his dignity for a while, he eventually had to ask them for a job. He thought they would be disgusted by the idea–after all, he reeked like a cumrag and was so damn hairy now–but when he asked them they were eager to have him there…after all, it was handy having a cumrag around for them to use whenever they got horny. Even the owner of the place didn’t seem fazed by his hygiene, though he usually kept Duncan in the back, making fries and cleaning equipment, getting even filthier and greasier as the months wore on.

It was June when he realized, finally, how much he’d aged in just six months. He’d been 25 this year, but he’d already added another fifteen years or so, making him an even forty, according to his driver’s license, that was always accurate somehow. He was balding, his thick, already inch long beard was starting to grey, and his teeth were yellowed from the cigars he smoked almost constantly now when he was home, and always on his breaks at work. He got kicked out of his apartment for smoking and wrecking the place, and had to move in with one of his coworkers, another fat, horny slob like him, one who was more than happy to keep him around as a personal cumrag. More than once, he’d be woken up to his fat coworker looming over him, spraying his beard and hair with another massive load of cum, and Duncan, would just…thank him, and usually milk out another one of his own to go with it.

All he wanted was for 2019 to end, but he kept remembering the letter, and the party it had mentioned. He didn’t know what that might entail…but if it meant this nightmare could finally end, he’d be willing to do pretty much anything to get his body, and life, back to normal.

Of course, New Life Industries sent resolutions to more men than just Duncan. Who else got a letter from them this January?

Here’s a few options for possible targets by New Life industries. Some of these are more…revenge focused, while others are more about helping guys stuck in a rut become something…different. Also note, that there’s a space to write in your own ideas too! If I like them, I might include your suggestions in the upcoming polls to pick other victims of these New You Resolutions! Here’s the poll for Patrons (remember, your votes count for double in the Patron poll!) and the public poll is embedded below!

New You Resolutions (Part 1) [Interactive]

Alright, I haven’t been particularly happy with how “Home for the Holiday’s has been progressing, mostly because I kind of lost the thread on where I wanted the whole thing to go, and haven’t really been satisfied with it since. In any case, I had an idea I liked better, so I’m going to go with that instead! Something to ring in the new year a bit better. A mysterious company has been gifting people lists of resolutions–ones that they have to follow in the new year, whether they want to or not. I’ll probably do three or four different vingettes, kind of like what I did with Spook Mart a few months back, and each vingette will cover what their resolutions were, and how they ended up at the end of the year. Hope you enjoy it!

Duncan hated New Year’s more than most other holidays, and the main reason, was that, come January, the gym was flooded with so many fat asses and sorry looking losers that getting through his usual workout would often take an hour longer than usual. And so, it was with that in mind that Duncan was up early, at five, getting dressed in his gym clothes, to go out and beat the crowd as best he could.

Duncan worked as a model, and so his physique and good looks were part of his job. He knew how much work it took to look like he did, and he also believed that most people didn’t have the kind of resolve necessary to really get what they wanted. No matter how much they wanted to be thin and muscular, they’d just fall of the wagon by the end of the month (and a few might even get pushed off by Duncan himself, with a few snide glances in the locker room, or out on the gym floor). In any case, he certainly didn’t have any resolutions for himself–as far as he was concerned, his life was going perfectly! All he had to do was keep pushing on, land a few more big campaigns, and he’d be set.

He went out into the kitchen of his apartment, and before he could make himself his usual pre-gym breakfast, he saw something odd on the counter top. It was a small envelope, the paper rather classy, looking almost like a fancy invitation or something. He was certain it hadn’t been there the night before, when he’d gotten home from that New Year’s party hosted by a designer he was cultivating. He picked it up, and saw the front had no address, just his name on it, and in the corner, a monogram for something called “New You Enterprises.” He’d certainly never heard of such a thing, but thought it might be something from an agency that had been slipped to him during the party, that he’d forgotten about. He opened the envelope, and inside was a letter, and a second piece of paper that he set aside. The letter read:

Dear Duncan,
Congratulations! You have been nominated by someone you know for our exclusive resolution program, and we have selected you from many excellent candidates as someone who could benefit from our unique service. Enclosed, you will find your tailored list of New Year’s resolutions for the year 2019.

Now, we know what you are thinking, that you don’t need someone else, especially some strange organization, to make resolutions for you! That’s where you are wrong. You see, people who are nominated for our program are those in the most dire need of change, but who often are incapable of changing themselves, often through supreme self-delusion. You’ll be glad to know, then, that the included resolutions are compulsory, and non-negotiable. Come 2020. You’ll be amazed at what a little change can do for you!

Included with your 2019 resolutions, of course, is a mandatory invitation to our 2020 New Year’s Eve party. We know that it’s a year away (and goodness, do you have an exciting year ahead of you!) but we just want to make sure you mark your calendars now. Not that you have much of a choice in any case!

Enjoy the new year, and enjoy the new you!
New You Enterprises

Duncan reread the letter, certain it had to be some kind of joke. It sounded idiotic–what kind of idiot company would just go about making up resolutions for other people, especially people who had no idea who they were? He crumpled up the letter, and went to do the same to the other piece of paper that had been in the letter, but his hand…refused to crumple it. Instead, he picked it up and read the short list, growing more and more horrified at what was listed there. They couldn’t possibly be serious–this wasn’t a list of resolutions, it was self-sabotage! He certainly had no plans to do anything on the list–unfortunately, Duncan was about to discover that he was going to have to do everything on the list, whether he wanted to or not. But what were the resolutions on Duncan’s list?

Alright, below are eight options for the resolutions that Duncan found on his list. You can select up to four options below, and I’ll pick three-five of the winners to inflict on Duncan, depending on how they all work together. The winning option of the Patreon poll is guaranteed to be in the mix, and Patreon votes count double! Here’s the patron only poll, and here’s the public poll:

Home for the Holidays – Episode 2 (Part 5)

“Well, that was a good start, I think,” Buzz said, as Mark came out of the bathroom, “but you still have a ways to go, before you really blossom into your own, I would say. Magnus told me about the curses you laid on those other guys in your family, and I think a few of them…got off a bit too easy, if you ask me. Why don’t we pay that oldest one a visit, eh?” he said, and pulled on a jacket over the filthy clothes he’d pulled on while Mark was collecting himself in the bathroom.

“No–no more of this, I–What…what the fuck happened to me? What the hell are you doing to me?” Mark said to him, “Please just…just let me go, I didn’t know what I was doing! I’ll put things right, I promise, I’ll do what I can, and–”

“Oh be honest, would you?” Buzz said, “Don’t bore me with the lies you tell yourself.”

Mark tried to keep speaking, after Buzz had interrupted him, but he couldn’t–he couldn’t keep talking, because it wasn’t the truth, not really. He wasn’t sorry, about what he’d done, not to any of them, but he was…terrified. Terrified of what it was doing to him, of how…much he was enjoying it. “Please, I’m scared, I don’t understand what you want with me.”

Buzz sighed, “You’ll understand soon enough, what you are, really. Who we are, too. You can’t even see us yet, not really,” Buzz said, and smiled at him–and for a moment, Mark saw…something else, other than the rotten teeth in Buzz’s head. He saw…fangs, sharp and glistening, and behind them, a darkness–

He shuddered, and kept shaking, nearly crying. Buzz had to order him to get dressed, and Mark ended up wearing some of Buzz’s cast off clothing, since that was all that fit his sizable frame now. He was…disgusted by how filthy they were, but wearing them made his pig cock rock hard all the same. With that, they climbed into Buzz’s truck and headed for John’s place in the city, to see what had become of him in the last few weeks, since Thanksgiving, and they left Luke alone–Buzz assured him his piggy brother wouldn’t get into any trouble on his own–probably.

John, on the other hand, had been struggling with his new habits, trying to control them and deny them, but it was a battle he’d lost rather quickly. Within a few days, he’d relented to the smoking, and was chaining as many cigars as he could during the day. He stopped doing his laundry and showering, anything to build up his own musk, but he still prefered the grungy clothes Mark had given him on Thanksgiving–though his weeks worn, unwashed underwear was starting to get some good character, as were his socks. But it was the fucking which was the worst–he…craved it, all the time. Keeping a dildo inside him helped, but it wasn’t enough. He’d…tried to keep up with his girlfriend, but she wasn’t what he needed anymore. He started cruising for cock on the internet, usually bringing over three or four guys a day to plow his itch into submission–but it wasn’t enough. He…needed Mark’s cock inside him again, he knew it had to be his, but he had no idea where his younger brother had gone off to.

So, when Buzz and Mark knocked on his door, and John opened it–even though it didn’t quite look like his brother, he knew it was him, and his heart leapt. Unable to help himself, he dropped to his knees and pleaded with him, and at first, Mark thought he was begging him to get rid of the curse–but no. John was begging him for a fuck. Nothing was the same as his brother’s cock, nothing could satisfy him–and while Mark was horrified, Buzz saw no reason why he should leave his brother so desperately unsatisfied. He pulled his strings a bit (though he required less of a push that Buzz had expected) and soon they were in John’s bedroom, on his sex scented sheets, Mark shoving his piggy cock into John’s hole raw while Buzz watched, stroking himself, and musing about what to do next.

It was clear that John had gotten off relatively easy–he still had his day job after all, he still had his luxury apartment, and while these habits might bring him low eventually, that was no reason that Mark and him couldn’t speed up the process a bit. Besides, piling another curse onto him would only accelerate Mark’s descent into his own power. By the time Mark had cum up his brother’s ass, John sobbing in relief, Buzz had settled on the curse he would add onto John’s predicament–but what did he decide on?

Alright, since I haven’t been able to find a decent ranked choice platform that doesn’t break halfway through the month, I’m going back to a more traditional poll system. However, I’m giving you all the ability to select more than one option in the poll, so feel free to pick two or three of the options if you have multiple interests! The poll is also embedded in the post now, so you don’t need to go anywhere else to put in your vote. Here’s the options for what Buzz has in mind for John next.

A demonic curse — infuse him with demonic lust and sloth
An inanimate curse — make him a living pipe that needs to be smoked
An obedience curse — give John a few more commands to make his life even worse
An physical curse — twist John’s body into something filthy and inhuman

Everyone can vote using the poll below, and if you’re a Patron, you can find the Patron exclusive poll here!

Home for the Holidays – Episode 2 (Part 4)

WARNING: SCAT

Mark could feel himself…growing. He tugged at the belt he was wearing, getting it off from around his thin waist, as his gut began to expand, filling with fat just as his brother had a moment before. It was…the same sensation he’d felt with his father and uncle, that the curse was rebounding on him somehow, that he was tied to it, sympathetically. It didn’t hurt exactly, but it also wasn’t exactly comfortable–and when Buzz walked up and started rubbing his belly, delighting in Mark’s changes, it only made him feel even sicker somehow, seeing the old slob enjoying his change this much.

“Why *grunt* is this happening to me,” Mark managed to get out, hearing himself grunt just like his brother had, and with one hand, he tentatively felt his face, and sure enough, a short snout had sprouted there–not as pronounced as Luke’s, but enough to be unmistakable for what it was.

“Because you’re becoming a warlock, Mark–you’re embracing the darkness inside of you. It’s going to grow and grow, and pretty soon, you won’t be able to remember a time when your head wasn’t full of this perverse darkness, same as me, and same as that friend of ours, Magnus.”

“Magnus…he’s nothing like you.”

“Oh, the only difference between Magnus and I is that he cares more about…keeping up appearances. Just wait until you lay eyes on him, once you’re ready. You’re going to see him for who he really is, and then you’ll understand what I mean.”

Mark wanted to deny it, wanted to push that darkness away, but…he could feel it, inside him. It was a power he hadn’t felt before, but also a need, a hunger. He sniffed the air, and he…smelled something. Something he wanted. He rolled over on the bed and followed his snout over to where his brother was sitting in his filthy coveralls, jacking his pig cock, smelling the shit, and piss, and cum, and musk welling up around him, and…and it was turning him on. He wanted to deny it, but he couldn’t, and he tried to pull himself away, but Buzz was still inside his mind, still pulling his strings, dulling his intuitions, feeding that…hunger.

“You see, being a warlock isn’t about just about forcing this darkness onto others, we revel in it as well. We share it. Everything you have forced onto these men, it’s inside you as well, it always was, just waiting to grow. Don’t fight it–you won’t win, and giving in is going to feel so good. Just…embrace it…Accept what you need…”

Mark didn’t…remember what happened next, exactly, how he dug into the back of Luke’s coveralls, devouring the mess there, unable to help himself, how it had driven him into a state of bliss, and delight, and he’d pinned him down on the bed and fucked him, both of them rutting like the pigs they were, while Buzz urged them on, eventually taking the other end of Luke, pumping a load of his own cum down Luke’s pig throat, and after Mark came in his ass, he could feel some of the darkness receding, and he was able to break away, run to the bathroom, and vomit up what he could into the toilet, horrified at what he’d done, horrified, and yet…so satisfied at the same time. So eager to try it again, so eager and hungry for more.

Buzz came up behind him, aimed his cock, and started pissing all over Mark’s head, and the hunger returned. He found himself laying back against the toilet, maw open, drinking down as much of Buzz’s piss as he could, still stroking his piggy cock, unable to help himself, while Buzz just laughed. “There’s no going back for you now, you realize that, right? Every step you take is just going to make this even worse–and I can feel how much you want it. Fuck, I fought too, when Magnus helped me down the path, but this was the best thing I could have ever become–you’ll see too, in the end, that this is what you were made for. This is what you have always needed to be.”

He finished pissing, and then left Mark there in the bathroom, covered in piss, jacking off wildly, desperate to control himself…but unable to find the will to resist. He came again, and when he did, the darkness ebbed away a bit further, and he was left on the floor of the bathroom, horrified at himself, but also…part of him was embracing it. Buzz was right, there was something inside him, something real, a twisted knot he’d always felt as long as he could recall, and now…now he didn’t think he’d be able to put it back, to shrink it, or anything…

He wanted to cry, but just felt numb. Eventually, he stood up, and stumbled out of the doorway and into the rest of the filthy house. Buzz was waiting for him, dressed, and told him it was time for them to pay someone else a visit, but who?

What should happen next?

Buzz wants to visit John, the oldest brother, with his new habits.
Buzz wants to visit Isaac, his cousin suffering under the imago curse.
Buzz wants to visit Magnus, to take Mark down the next step in his path together.
A mysterious stranger arrives, and helps Mark escape from Buzz, telling him he wants to help.

The public poll is here!

The patron only poll is here!

Voting ends in a few days!

Home For the Holidays – Christmas (Part 3)

Ever since Thanksgiving, Luke hadn’t been able to sort out what was wrong with him, but he knew that something had to be wrong with him. He’d…fallen asleep, or whatever, with Mark in that room, and when he’d woken up with a load of shit in the back of his jeans and the front wet with piss, instead of feeling horror at what had happened, he…he’d climbed into his truck and drove off, heading somewhere–heading to Buzz’s place. Luke couldn’t recall what Buzz looked like, or where he’d met him, or why he thought this stranger was his best friend…but he had to see him. See, Luke was sick of working in real estate–what he really wanted to do, more than anything else, was work as a trash collector.

The dissonance in his mind gave him a headache, as he tried to reconcile what his commandments were telling him with what he knew he was supposed to be feeling, but everything in his mind was just being…rewritten faster than he could even begin to understand it. By the time his shit cooled in the back of his jeans, he could come up with a hundred reasons why he hated real estate, and why he’d always wanted to be a trash collector. By the time he pulled up in front of the rundown house with the brown, overgrown yard half an hour later, the new rules were just…him.

As soon as he saw Buzz, memories created themselves in his head, of past times they’d hung out, of all the good times he’d had with Buzz, how safe he felt here, and he asked him–asked Buzz to help him out, that he finally wanted to make the jump–he wanted to be a trashman, he’d do…anything to get there, and he knew Buzz could help him…and the cruelty in his friend’s face was so obvious, it gave Luke pause for a moment, until his head could catch up and bring that back under control.

Buzz made him beg. Buzz made him humiliate himself, tell Buzz about how he couldn’t control himself, how he wanted to be dirty, how dirty men turned him on so much. Buzz asked Luke if he was dirty enough for him, making him smell his rank pits, his nasty feet, working Luke up into a lather, telling him in was no surprise that he wanted to be a trashman, because the only thing he really wanted to do was clean up other people’s filth. In the end, he told Luke that the only way he’d help him be a trashman was if he ate the shit right out of his ass, if he showed him just how filthy and nasty he wanted to be…and while Luke tried to resist it, tried to get out of there, tried to get control of himself…he knew the truth. He was in control of himself. He was here because he…wanted to be here. And so, he did what Buzz demanded, and ate the dirty old man’s shit for the first time. He ate it, and felt so…dirty, and perverse, that he couldn’t stop himself from jacking off while he did it, couldn’t resist reaching down the back of his pants, so he could taste his own, cold shit too, see…see how they compared.

The rest was a blur, really. It had only been a week, but Luke was so…different now, his mind twisted so far by those three new commandments, that he couldn’t possibly think of his life going in any other direction. He wore a diaper at work, usually, the same diaper, day after day, and he would empty it at lunch and after his shift was over before putting it back on. During his days off, he would stay with Buzz, and Buzz would help him become dirtier, help him with new obsessions, help him be the kind of man he was supposed to be–and then Mark arrived in his room…and he could almost remember what his brother had done to him, that he was here because of him…but then Luke and Buzz started chanting at him, and he began to change again.

Buzz had been…frustrated by how skinny Luke was. He’d put him on a feeding regimen to help pack on some pounds, but it was taking too long. Now though, Luke felt his body suddenly expand with fat, and he let out a series of snorts and grunts as he felt himself, rubbed his grubby body, feeling a new, horrific, insatiable hunger welling up inside of him, even as he kept changing. His face…ached, mouth pushing out into a short snout, two tusks curling up from his lower jaw, his short beard turning rough and bristly, the same as the boar bristle running down his back, growing in thicker, even as his belly turned soft and hairless, three more sets of nipples appearing down the front. His cock changed too, growing a bit larger, twisting into a corkscrew as it did, wet from his sheath, and Luke…gripped it, stroked it, feeling the lusts inflamed inside him, feeling his mind shutting down little by little as violent, insatiable instinct crowding out his reason, and the half man, half pig, sat there in his own filth, masturbating, grunting and squealing, while Mark looked on in horror at what Buzz had just made him do.

“There we go, isn’t that better?” Buzz said to him, “He was such a skinny little thing–when he’s out in public, most people will just see him as a fatass glutton, but he’s going to be a fuck and food hungry pig from now on–how do you feel, Luke? Feeling…better?” Buzz leered at him, but all Luke was feeling was…lightheaded, and sick to his stomach. It didn’t feel like he had pushed the darkness out, it felt like it had grown inside him somehow, that even more of him was corrupted by some insidious force, and he stumbled, falling on the bed behind Luke, who barely noticed, Buzz looming over him, soothing him, telling him everything was going to be just fine, soon enough.

Luke picks up some of the pig qualities from the curse he just cast.
Luke’s reality shifts, and he’s a dirty trashman now too.
Luke finds himself compelled to fuck his pig brother, now just as turned on by filth as Buzz is.
Luke grows even older, and finds himself looking more and more like Buzz–and he’s attracted to him too.

Here’s the public poll!

Here’s the patron only poll!

Voting ends in a couple of days!