Interactive: Frat Daddy (Part 2)

“Come on boys, time to get those asses up. We have a lot to discuss today, because we’re going to be making a few changes around here.”

The young men of Phi Beta Alpha all moaned a bit, still struggling with their hangovers and their recollections of their first wild party under their new Frat Daddy. Tyler sat up on the couch where he must have collapsed, looked at their frat’s Daddy sitting in a high backed chair in front of the fireplace, a mug of coffee steaming on the small table beside him, and a cigar burning in his other hand, and tried to remember the man from the night before.

He’d been older, but rather unassuming. Average build. He could almost recall glasses, but he wasn’t sure. A beard, but a rather thin one. Not unattractive, but not particularly striking either. He’d been wearing khakis, a button down shirt, no tie. The man sitting in the chair before them, however, only vaguely resembled the man from his memory. It was hard to take in anything other than the clothes at first, the leather boots shining in the light of the morning sun through the window, chaps stretched tight across Daddy’s thick thighs and calves, his monstrous cock and balls exposed, lying against the side of his thigh. He had on no shirt, just a leather vest and an armband with the insignia of PBA made from steel studs. The same insignia was on the leather muir cap he was wearing.

Under the gear, the man was simply massive. It was difficult to tell because he was sitting, but he had to be over six feet tall, perhaps by several inches. His shoulders were broad, chest and torso shaped like a barrel, packed with muscle and a tight muscle gut underneath. There was hair everywhere, across his belly and chest, on top of his shoulders and down his arms. He had a thick full beard with a touch of silver, trimmed neatly to about an inch long. He picked up the mug in his massive hands, took a sip, and set it back down. “Come on boys,” Ethan said, his voice deeper, with a bit of a western twang, “Hurry up and gather around Daddy’s boots, we have a lot to cover today, and you don’t want to waste Daddy’s time.”

The fratboys gathered around, skipping the chairs and the couches and instead sitting on the floor around Daddy, where boys were supposed to be, looking up at him. The more they stared, the less out of sorts he seemed to be, and Ethan smiled. When he’d woken up this morning, he’d felt like he’d needed a bit of a makeover, and the amulet had helped give him the body of his fantasies. Now it was time for his boys to help make a few more come true. He looked down at their anxious faces, none of them knowing what to expect, and his cock got a little harder, leaking a little bit of precum onto his chaps.

“Now, as your new Frat Daddy, my first impression of you boys here is that you lack discipline. For far too long, you’ve had Daddies who let you do whatever you like, who don’t best know how to help young men like yourselves grow up and mature into proper PBA men. Well all of that is going to change starting now. You might find me to be a taskmaster. You will consider my methods too harsh, at first. But these are the rules my frat daddy had for me when I was a PBA boy, and so they will be the rules you must abide by as well.”

He allowed a pause, but none of the boys spoke up. A few looked confused, their heads trying to catch up to reality as best they could. The amulet glinted in the sunlight–it would sort things out in any case.

“First things first, will be the establishment of a proper uniform for all of you boys, while you are under my care. While in the house, the only thing you will be permitted to wear are the items I am about to show you now. Outside the house, when you attend classes, you will be allowed to wear civilian clothes over it, but you may not remove the uniform unless given explicit permission, is that clear?”

Silence again.

“When I ask a question boys, the proper response is ‘Yes Daddy,’ is it not? Or do all of you lack even that basic understanding of your role here?”

“Yes Daddy,” the fratboys said, but it was a mutter. Displeased, Ethan stood up from the chair, rising to his full height of six foot five, grabbed one of the boys in front by the wrist, and dragged him forward so he was on his belly, and then Ethan straddled his back, pinning the boy to the ground, head towards the fireplace, with his ass before the rest of the young men. Ethan picked him because he hadn’t said anything either time, and he groped the young man’s tight ass in his rough hands. He brought one hand down, hard, on the young man’s ass, and made him holler.

“All of you will need to learn quickly that I do not tolerate lax discipline among my boys,” Ethan said, and brought down a hand on the other cheek, bringing out another yelp of pain. “You will not question me, and you will obey my commands with enthusiasm. You are members of this fraternity, this brotherhood,” he said, and smacked the ass before him again, hearing the young man sob slightly, “because you all wish to become proper PBA men. But I know full well that the only way to become a man is to be a boy first. Obedient, eager, and submissive.” Another smack, and the young man was shuddering now. “Do you all understand?”

A resounding cry of “Yes, Daddy” came from the fratboys, along with one whimpered cry behind him, and Ethan got off the boy’s back, rolled him over, and pulled him into his arms. The sudden embrace surprised the boy, and he tried to flinch away for a moment, but Daddy’s arms were too tight, and after a moment, he relented, and pressed his face into Daddy’s chest. “I will be hard on you. You will resent me at times. I do these things because I believe you boys are capable of withstanding them, and growing stronger. Some of you will not rise to the challenge I give you. Some of you will break, and will be expelled. But trust me when I say, that if you embrace me, my rules, my dominance, my order, you will understand in time that it was all worth it. 

The young man in Daddy’s arms, named Jamie, was caught between too many different feelings in that moment, and much to his surprise, began to cry, though he didn’t quite know why. The other boys looked uncomfortable, but Daddy stroked his head, held him close, his musk washing over him. “Daddy has you boy, you did well, thank you for serving me,” Ethan said, only loud enough for Jamie to hear, and much to his continued confusion, Jamie felt his cock throb. When he’d regained most of his composure after a minute or two, Ethan stood up and returned to his chair, but kept Jamie with him, sitting on the ground between his legs, both hands on his shoulders, squeezing him gently, reminding him of his power, and also of his care.

“First, on matters of personal grooming,” Daddy said, “All boys will have their heads shaven each day, when you wake up. You will rise at six each morning, gather in the communal bathroom, and shave one another’s heads clean. No one is permitted to shave their facial hair without my explicit approval, and the same goes for all other hair on your bodies. Shaving your heads is a sign of discipline, and your status–growing your hair shows that you desire to become men, true proper, PBA men. On Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays, after you shave, you will be permitted your weekly, communal shower, and you all must soap and wash one another, never yourselves. Your soap will be unscented, and deodorant and any other scented product is forbidden. If you want to become men, you will have to smell like one soon enough.” He stood up from his chair, finished his coffee, and picked up his cigar. “Come on then, we might as well take care of that much. Then we will discuss the house uniform in more detail.

The boys discovered that all of the separate bathrooms in the house had disappeared, and one massive open bathroom had replaced them. Along one wall were several sinks and mirrors, along the other were toilets with no partitions. The third wall had a line of shower heads and soap dispensers between them. Daddy told the boys to pair up, take a stool from where they were stacked in a corner, collect a set of shaving gear, and begin–scissors first, if the hair was long, and then a razor–no electric equipment. Any boy who cut another would receive a spank from Daddy, for disrespecting their brother’s trust.

One boy, however, held back. Carter had been growing his hair out since he was little, and it was stunning–thick golden blond waves falling down to the middle of his back, which he usually had pulled up into a bun or kept in a ponytail. He was eyeing the scissors as someone would eye a noose, and Ethan went over to him, pulled him close, and guided him to a stool, telling him he would take care of him personally.

Carter sat on the stool, shaking a bit, obviously trying not to cry, while Daddy got out the scissors and ran his hands through his long hair, and at last, he begged, “Please Daddy, please don’t cut it, I’ve worked so long on it, please, anything else but not this…”

“Boy, that’s why I have to cut it,” Ethan said in his ear, “This hair is your pride, and no boy can become a man without being humbled. This is a gift for me. Offer this to me. I will not cut it until you ask it of me, because I have to know that you want what I can give you more than you want your precious hair.”

“I don’t understand why you’re doing this to us!”

“Because you need it. Because all of you need it, even if you don’t realize it yet. You think this is enough,” Ethan said, wrapping one hand in Carter’s hair and pulling it tight, “But what happens when you lose it? You think this hair makes you a man. You think this hair makes you who you are, but look in the mirror, go on, look,” Ethan said, and turned him towards a mirror, and Carter gasped.

It was…him in the mirror, but…older. Probably in his fifties, but what Carter couldn’t look away from was his head. His hair was gone–no, not gone, but the ensuing thirty years had not been kind. He only had a ring of hair left, brittle and greying and thin, but still long–but he could see in his older eyes how empty he was. How hard he had fought to keep that hair, where he’d stored so much of himself for so long, and now that it was gone, what was left? He wasn’t looking at a man, he was looking at a shell.

“Keep your hair if you so desire. Leave. I can expel you, but know that this is what waits for you if you do so, if you turn your back on your brothers now. If you turn your back on me.”

“If…If you cut it, what do I look like then?”

“I do not know–that is up to you, boy, and the work you do here for me.”

Carter ground his teeth for a moment, before whispering, “Cut it.”

“What was that boy?”

Carter realized that the entire bathroom had gone silent, and everyone was staring at him. “I said cut it, Daddy. Cut it off.”

“Thank you boy,” Ethan said, gathered his hair up in a fist, took the scissors and sheered it off. Carter let out a sob despite trying to remain strong, and then went quiet as Daddy cut away what remained, lathered his scalp, and shaved him smooth. Carter looked at himself in the mirror again, and didn’t recognize the face looking back at him. That…older version, he had known that was him somehow, even with all those years between them. But this new head, hairless and pale, he didn’t know who this was at all, and that terrified him more. But it was done. Daddy administered the required spankings for the boy’s whose blades had nicked one another, and after a shower observed by Daddy, the boys dried off and went upstairs, where their two room dorm rooms had been converted into one communal living area. The boys personal effects were gathered either in a small chest between the bunks or at the floor of the bed, or at the desks lining the other side of the room. On each bed was a small pile of gear.

Ethan led Carter over to his bunk, and used him to demonstrate the uniform. First, a bulldog leather harness on their chest, second, a leather jockstrap, and lastly, a buttplug. The plug, Daddy said, was especially important. Any boy found without a plug in their hole at any time would be subjected to substantial punishment. The plugs he’d provided them to start with were small–he saw the boys eyes go a bit wide when he said that. Apparently, they didn’t have the same understanding of ‘small’ that he did. Ethan helped the boys into their new uniforms, often having to work the plug in himself, since they were a bit too shy. Much to his surprise, one of the only boys to do everything himself was Jamie, the boy he had spanked downstairs. Without so much as a whisper of disobedience, he put on the harness as Daddy had demonstrated, sat down, and worked the plug into his hole with a grimace, but succeeded with less tears than others. Daddy made sure to put a hand on his shoulder, reach down and give his cock a little grope through the jock, showing him that he was pleased. When all the boys were dressed, they lined up for the final piece of their uniform–their collar. One by one, they kneeled down before Daddy as he went down the line, put the leather collar around their neck and padlocked them closed, and had each boy kiss the head of his cock and thank him for accepting them into the PBA brotherhood. He had them all stand again, and he looked down the line, head’s shaven, strapped into their new leather gear, all of their faces coated with a layer of fine scruff, and Ethan had to resist the urge to order them all to bend over so he could fuck them on a line. Later though.

Daddy brought the boys back downstairs and into the kitchen–where they found that most of the cooking equipment was gone, with a sizable machine against the wall. “From now on, you boys will be kept on a strict diet–a minimum of 5000 calories a day. This machine will dispense meals for you, and also keep track of your consumption, so I can monitor your progress. You are, of course, welcome to consume more if you so choose.”

The boys murmured a bit, and one of them spoke up, “Daddy…that’s…a lot.”

“Do you boys want to grow into men or not?”

“But what if we get fat?”

“Luckily, you have access to a newly installed house gym in the basement. The food here is more than willing to convert to fat or muscle. Whichever you would prefer is up to you and your discipline.”

No one was sure how to reply to that, and were a bit scared of upsetting Daddy, and so they stayed quiet. “In addition to your new diet, all of you will be expected to smoke at least two cigars a day,” Daddy said, leading the boys to the sizable humidor that had been installed near the kitchen. “Why don’t we get started, since I know some of you have never smoked one before. Take a cigar boys.”

Ethan walked the boys through the process of lighting a cigar. He used his lighter–a privilege, he emphasized. The boys used long cigar matches, cutting the end, turning the cigar for an even light, several of them taking in too much and coughing. 

“That’s good boys, nothing will get you going and feeling horny like smoking a cigar,” he said, feeling the amulet heat up slightly against his hairy chest. Sure enough, some of the boys reached down and started groping their cocks, only for Daddy to walk over and slap their hands away. “No masturbation! Men don’t need to masturbate–men need to fuck. If you want to nut, you’re going to have to use a hole. One of your brothers’ holes.”

The boys looked around at one another nervously.

You can, if you so choose, offer your hole to a brother willingly. But, any boy who subdues and forcefully removes the plug of another brother gains the right to that hole then and there, regardless of who it is–you will submit, and submit gladly. 

It didn’t take long for the first gasp to come up from the crowd of boys. They all turned, and saw that Jamie had reached out and tugged Tyler’s plug out with a pop, making him double over in pain from the sudden removal. Jamie, who had been hard and horny since receiving his public spanking from Daddy earlier, bent him over the back of a couch in the living room, lined up his cock, and drove inside, gently, but eager. Half the boys watched in shock, while the others all backed up against various walls and looked at each other suspiciously, their own bulges pushing out as they continued smoking.

“It’s up to you all, how you will negotiate this. I know many of you consider yourselves straight, though I have my doubts. One thing you are all, for certain, is brothers, and in my years as a frat daddy, one thing I can say with certainty is that you will only get through this together. You will need to learn to trust and appreciate and service one another as you service me.

Against the wall, two boys, Jameson and another, looked at each other, reached down, and pulled the plugs free from each other’s holes. Jameson was still loose from getting fucked by Daddy the night before, and part of him…missed it. He turned around against the wall, cigar gripped in his teeth, and allowed his brother to plunge into his hole and start rutting. Other groups of boys were wrestling each other to the ground, to discover who would come out on top. Daddy watched it all unfold before his eyes, his own cock growing to its substantial nine inch length, and growled in approval. A boy named Steve pinned Carter to the ground, pulled his plug free, and replaced it with his own cock in a moment, and Daddy stomped over, gripped the plug in Steve’s hole, tugged it free, and pressed his own cock to the boy’s hole. Steve tried to squirm away, but Daddy gripped him, shoving his own cock deep into the boy’s guts, and driving his own cock deeper into Carter below them, smashed beneath them both. Daddy provided all the momentum. With each drive into Steven’s hole, Steven would find himself fucking Carter, who would let out another groan of pain or pleasure, or something between the two. Steve came first, but Daddy didn’t relent. Steve ended up unloading a second time with Daddy holding him close, the heat of his cigar next to his ear, Daddy growling sweet little nothings into his ear before spilling his own load into the boy’s guts. He pulled free, and shoved the plug back in before any of Daddy’s seed could spill back out. He pulled Steve and Carter close to him on either side, sitting on the floor, sharing smoky kisses and paying extra attention to Carter’s smooth head, feeling the boy shudder each time Daddy rubbed his hand over his scalp. 

Yeah, Ethan was going to enjoy this, he thought to himself, he was going to turn the fratboys into real men–the men he wanted them to be, and he was going to love every moment of it.


Here’s the next survey! Again, two questions are available for everyone, while two are reserved for patrons only. If you’re a patron, you can find that bonus poll over here! Otherwise, answer the questions below, and we’ll see where the story takes us next. As before, click and drag the answers to rank them from top to bottom.

Interactive: Frat Daddy (Part 1)

Ethan went strolling down the sidewalk, fondling the amulet around his neck. It still seemed too good to be true–an amulet that would allow him to warp people’s minds to his own desires, an amulet that could change bodies and even warp reality around him. He’d tested it on a few small things, but now, it was time for the real show. He came to a stop in front of a large victorian style house in a nice neighborhood beside a college campus, and looked up at the house. “I wish this was my house, that I owned it, and that no one will ever take it away from me, no matter what happens.”

He watched as the car parked outside on the driveway disappeared, the various decorations in the yard vanished–whoever had lived here before no longer did–where they had gone was not Ethan’s problem, they had merely been in the way. He strode up the walkway and found the key to the house on his keychain. Inside, he found all of the furniture from his apartment across town inside–it wasn’t nearly enough to fill the large house, but that could wait. It was his. His house. But more important, was the fact that he now lived next door to Phi Beta Alpha–one of the hottest fraternities on campus, and a constant obsession of Ethan’s.

Ethan was a pervert. He had a perfectly normal life, or he had had one before the amulet had made such a thing unnecessary. Working in an office as a manager, nothing particularly impressive about him, aging more or less gracefully into his forties with a bit of a pot belly, and more hair on his body than on his head. Ethan was gay, but had never really found much success in relationships. What he’d always wanted was in the realm of fantasy, in any case. He’d always loved jocks. Back in college, he’d…gotten in a bit of trouble for spying on a fraternity then, as well, thinking about all the naughty things he wanted to do to those young men. The desires had only intensified for him as he’d grown older, imagining more and more perversities to visit on their youthful bodies, minds, and souls. And now, with the amulet in hand, he could finally make his fantasies reality.

He’d spied on this frat often enough to know the major players. The term had just started not too long ago, and the new Freshmen pledges had been inducted and were getting settled. He’d chosen today, of course, because Phi Beta Alpha was throwing their first major post-rush party. It was the perfect time to introduce all of the young men to their new Frat Daddy, who would be living next door, and taking control of their organization from now on. His cock was rock hard in his khakis at the thought, a dark spot growing where he was leaking. He wanted to jack off, but he could wait–it would be better, so much better, to wait, now that he was so close. Instead, he walked through his new home, filling in the rooms here and there, giving extra care to the extensive dungeon in the basement. Before he knew, it was night, and he could hear the party next door picking up plenty of steam. It was time for the new frat daddy to make his first appearance.

“I wish that I had the new title of frat daddy, for Phi Beta Alpha. As frat daddy, I can dictate all of the rules of the frat, and all members of the frat, as well as anyone in the frat house, is compelled to obey me without question. The members of the frat do not know any of this yet, but when they learn of it, they will all accept it without question.”

With that, the amulet glowed a bit, as it did for the larger wishes, and then fell dark again. Satisfied, Ethan left his new home, went next door, and let himself into the frat house. No one noticed him at first, between the loud music, the conversation, and all of the beer being drunk. The first young man to notice him as a fish out of water was Tyler, a sophomore, who was sitting with his girlfriend Natasha on the couch. “Hey! Who the fuck are you?” he said as Ethan looked around the living room.

“I’m your frat daddy, Tyler,” Ethan said, knowing everyone about the young man as soon as he saw him. It was natural, after all, for the frat daddy to know everything about his subjects. “You know that, don’t you?”

Tyler blinked, confused for a moment, and then nodded slowly, while Natasha just looked at him, wondering what was going on. “Of course Sir, sorry, I…didn’t recognize you, I guess.”

“That’s good boy, but who is this now?”

“This…this is Natasha. My girlfriend.”

“Now Tyler, you know it’s forbidden for members of PBA to fraternize with women. You’ll have to break up with her immediately.”

“But…but we…”

“Who makes the rules of the frat, Tyler?”

“You do, Daddy,” Tyler said, and turned to Natasha, looking a bit sheepish. “Sorry babe, we gotta break up.”

Natasha was dumbstruck, and waited for someone to tell her it was a joke. It never came. “You…you can’t just break up with me! What the fuck?”

“Natasha, leave his house. When you step outside, you will forget you were ever in a relationship with Tyler, and you will never return here. Now go.”

Natasha looked like she wanted to bite his head off, but instead she grabbed her things and left, without looking back.

“I’m sorry Daddy,” Tyler said, “I forgot that was a rule, I guess.”

“That’s alright Tyler,” Ethan said, sitting down on the couch next to the hot jock, “Now give Daddy a kiss.”

Tyler balked, but couldn’t refuse. He tried to lean in for a little peck, only for Ethan to wrap one hairy forearm around his neck, pull him in, and force his tongue into Tyler’s mouth in the middle of the party, kissing him for most of a minute before pulling away. Tyler was horrified, and tried to get up from the couch, but Ethan pulled him back down. “Say thank you.”

“T-Thank you Daddy, for the kiss…”

“Good. Now take that shirt off, and dance for me.”

Tyler did as Daddy asked, and started gyrating to the techno playing around them, shaking his ass for Ethan while he groped himself, telling Tyler what a good boy he was, until several other members of the frat noticed what was going on, and music stopped. Tyler stopped as well, and retreated away before Daddy could say anything else to him.

“What the fuck are you doing Tyler? Who’s the pervert?”

“It’s…he’s the frat daddy! He asked me to dance for him…”

Ethan watched as the looks of confusion all turned to realization in a matter of moments. Ethan stood up and looked around the now quiet room. “I see too many women here–you boys know women are forbidden from the grounds. All of you girls leave, forget you were ever here, and do not return.”

The girlfriends and dates of the frat brothers all swarmed out of the house, leaving just the brothers and their new frat daddy in the living room. The fraternity president, Jameson, stepped forward then, and cleared his throat. “Daddy, I don’t think that most of the guys here appreciate you sending the girls away.”

“But it’s time for the ceremony, Jameson. After rush, at the first big party, the fraternity president bends over right here, and gets fucked by the frat daddy while the rest of your brother’s watch. You recall that, don’t you?”

“I…I mean, of course, but…”

“But what?”

“But I’m…straight, Daddy.”

“Why should that matter to me? Bend the fuck over. Daddy’s horny as fuckin’ hell.”

Jameson gulped, and bent over the back of the couch. Ethan pulled down his athletic shorts and boxers, pushed the head of his rock hard cock against his hole, and said, “Beg.”

“What Daddy?”

“Beg me to fuck you. You’re straight as an arrow, but you want me inside you more than anything else in the whole world. You want all of your brothers to watch me fuck you. You want them all to feel jealous that I fucked you first, that you earned that right as president. You know it will hurt, but you don’t care, you want me inside you more. Now beg.”

“Please Daddy! Please fuck my ass, make it hurt, please, fuck me, your fucking hot jock boy, I’ve worked on my ass so much for you, I want you to enjoy it, I want to be so tight for you, I want you to ruin my hole, Daddy, I want you to rape me, please, fuck me!” The words spilled out of Jameson’s mouth faster than he could really process them, and at the end of it, Daddy did as he’d asked, and pushed the head of his sizable cock into his hole, making Jameson hollar in pain, but he pushed back, eager to feel the whole thing inside him, hungry for it, aching for it.

The rest of the boys watched, unable to look away, as Ethan started fucking Jameson in earnest. “All of you,” Ethan said as he fucked, “Strip, and start jacking off. You’re all going to fantasize about how much you wish it was you over this couch, getting fucked by the frat daddy. You’re all going to cum into your hands, and you will feed your loads to Jameson, who will thank you for each and every one of them, and lick your hands clean afterward.”

One by one, the jocks all came in their hands, thinking about how much they too desired Daddy’s cock. They walked forward and fed their loads to Jameson, who thanked them and licked their hands clean afterward. Ethan watched in glee, fucking hard, completely in control of his orgasm thanks to an earlier wish. When all of the boys had fed Jameson their cum, he came as well, pushing in deep, and pumping a massive load into Jameson’s ass. 

No one really remembered what happened after that. It was a flurry of sex and deabuchery, with plenty of beer helping to lube up the boys’ inhibitions. They woke the next morning in a pile of bodies, aching and sore, humiliated and shamed at what they had done. The only person who wasn’t was Ethan, fully dressed again, with a mug of coffee in his hand, sitting on a chair in front of the fireplace.

“Come on boys, time to wake up. We have some new house rules to discuss. Take your seats and listen closely–you will all be expected to obey all of these rules to the letter from now on.”


Hey everyone! I’m going to be trying something a little different with this interactive. There will probably be just one, maybe two entries a week, but they will be a bit more substantial than usual. The polls are also going to be different! I’m trying a different program here, which allows for the ranked choice voting I prefer, and also allows me to ask multiple questions! There are four questions below. Everyone will be able to provide answers to two of them, but for the other two, those will only be available for patrons. Patrons can find their extended survey over here. Everyone else, you can answer the questions below! Just click and drag the possible answers around, and rank them from top to bottom.

Interactive: Time Travel Takeovers (Part 3)

This is going to be the final entry in this interactive. I wasn’t planning on it being substantial, it was more about toying with the time travel story device and seeing if I liked it enough to use it in something else, perhaps something longer, or more twine focused. There’s an alternate version of this one over on my patreon, using a different set of winning options! If you support me, you can head here and check it out.


Needless to say, Jerry never showed up for his wedding. Edwin slipped into his mind that morning, while the bride was off getting her hair done for the ceremony that evening. He packed a bag, hopped in his car and ran. He didn’t quite understand why he was doing this, just that…he had to. It was the right thing to do, or at least, that’s what Edwin was telling him. Did he really want to spend the rest of his life hitched to a ball and chain? No–he knew he wanted something else, but he wasn’t sure what yet. A better life, one more suited to him. He’d just have to drive for a while and find it.

He drove for a couple of days, while Edwin wormed his way in deeper, trying to figure out what made Jerry tick. It wasn’t long before he found a good lead–Jerry had daddy issues galore. He’d been abandoned by his dad when he was a kid, and he’d never really gotten over the trauma of it, always looking for older men to praise him. He’d done well for himself, finding some reliable, older mentors in the company where he worked–where he had been working, rather. But Edwin had a new idea for his little puppet. They’d find him a new daddy, someone more along Edwin’s tastes.

He ended up in a large city, and Edwin decided this would be as good a place as any to begin his search. He took Jerry to the sleaziest, kinkiest gay bar he could find, and decided he’d find him a properly perverse Daddy to show him the ropes of his new life. Jerry had no idea what he was doing there. He wasn’t gay, and he certainly wasn’t into…this, all of this leather and rubber, the air smelling of piss and sex. He was still dressed in his business casual, and had never felt more out of place in his entire life. He ended up compensating by drinking too much, though Edwin remained clear headed–and late that night, he found what he was looking for. 

He was in his late fifties, probably. Still in great shape, wearing a leather harness, rubber vest, and rubber waders. He was smoking cigars, was covered in tattoos and piercings. Edwin slipped into the fetish daddy’s mind and poked around a bit–it didn’t take much convincing for him to start teasing Jerry, since he was cute, though obviously repressed. Jerry didn’t know what possessed him to go home with the old kinkster, but he spent the entire next day in the man’s dungeon, and it was the most exquisite sex of his entire life. By the end of it, he was begging his new Master to keep him, to train him, to remake him into the kinky pig he’d always wanted to be, deep down, without even realizing it. Dan, the old kinky bear, didn’t really want something permanent, but something about the young man’s begging changed his mind–he could do anything he wanted to him, after all. Somehow, he knew that Jerry would agree to anything.

But to test his resolve, their first stop, the next day, was the piercing and tattoo parlor. Jerry ended up with studs in his nipples, in his ears, a PA, and a new tattoo on his ass, which read Property of Master Dan across it. As far as Dan was concerned, that sealed the deal–and Jerry started his training with him that afternoon, with a trip to the local gay gym. Dan forced Jerry–or Cunt, as he was calling him for now, before settling on a more permanent slave name–to work out in just a jock, and he spent the evening in the showers, getting plowed by guy after guy, and drinking more than a few loads of piss as well. He was humiliated, but the act of service, and the delight in his dom’s eyes brought him more pleasure than he could really understand. Dan was impressed at the newbie–to go from being a virgin to gay sex to taking five loads in a public shower, it was quite impressive. All that meant, was that he could push him further.

More and more fantasies began to intrude into Dan’s mind, unbidden. He’d never really been this extreme before, but something about Cunt was bringing the true sadist out in him, and he wanted to see how far he could go. During the day they would work out, and by the last week of Edwin’s control, Dan had started Cunt on a steroid regimen, deciding he was going to be a proper muscle bull–but a total bottom, of course. No, his cock and balls were going to be pumped to an obscene size, too big to be ignored, but also functionally useless. He’d have so many tattoos and piercings he wouldn’t be able to hold down a regular job–he’d be confined to the life of a total kinkster for the rest of his days. 

Towards the end, Edwin made one last shift in them both–in their dreams, he convinced them that they weren’t just master and slave–they were father and son. That Jerry had begged his father to take ownership of him, to turn him into a proper musclecunt of a boy, so that Dan could truly be proud of him. It took like a charm, and only made Cunt more desperate to please his father, to show him what a good pig he could become. Satisfied with those first steps, Edwin returned to the present.

When he’d recovered, he found that Jerry no longer lived next door to him. This wasn’t surprising really, but the fact of it cemented for him the seriousness of what he’d done to him. He had to use the tachyon beam to find him, tracing his path from the point Edwin had left him to the present, and what he found pleased him to no end.

There was no trace of the boring, straight laced man Jerry had been. He no longer even remembered his old name–the only name he responded to now was his slave name, Bullcunt. He was massive–years of steroids and growth hormones had made his body explode with muscle, though as he’d grown older, he’d also developed a bit of a gut. At some point in his life he’d discovered saline and then silicone–his father had decided that Bullcunt’s cock and balls were going to be some of the largest on earth. Nothing could hold them at this point, other than the custom made gear Dan commissioned for his boy. It was expensive, but given his freakish body, covered head to toe in piercings and tattoos, willing to partake in any kind of sex no matter now taboo, Musclecunt made a killing as a porn star, and was lately taking more of a dom role, making young men worship his massive junk while he smoked one of his huge cigars, fisting them with his hands–sometimes both. There were two men who could actually take his massive cock, and several more training to be next in line.

Overall, it was a grand success. Edwin knew he’d have much more fun with his invention in the days to come, but first, he needed a meal from his encourager–twelve hours without a meal, and he was famished.

Interactive: Time Travel Takeover (Part 1)

Had he really done it?

Edwin looked at the monitor in his basement lab, looking at the stream of data passing by. It looked…right. He moved over and examined the tachyon laser, not that there was much to see. Tachyons moved faster than the speed of light, and that meant, well, they moved faster than time itself. And moving faster than time, with the right sort of setup, also meant going back in time. He’d really done it. He put in a command in the console, and then went to the corner of the basement. Where there had been an untouched corner a moment ago, there was now a small burn in the brick wall. He touched it, it was still warm. Sure enough, the beam had done that ten minutes ago, in the past, while he was still setting it up. Not just time travel then–could he really change things?

It was complicated, of course. You can’t send physical matter back in time, after all–just tachyons. But that had been his first breakthrough, really, that he could use a tachyon beam to communicate data–a massive amount of data. Say, the consciousness of a person in the future, beamed into the past. It worked in the same room too–he’d tested it with a subject or two early on. He’d been able to beam his own conscious experience into their mind with a shot from the beam. He’d made them forget, of course, but now, if the beam could go back in time and move through space, well…

He could be anyone, really, at any point in history. Almost giddy with excitement, he set up his equipment, put on the transmitting helmet, and connected into his new setup. He already had a target in mind, in fact–he was going to shoot the beam at the young man currently resting the upstairs room from him. His name was Josh, and he was a nice enough kid. Went to the local college, played on the baseball team, liked to go out and party a lot, as young guys did he supposed. He had been one of Edwin’s earlier test subjects, and the momentary experience of being young again…it had been a rush. It didn’t hurt that Josh was attractive, and that Edwin was a bit of a pervert.

He loaded up the security cameras in the house, and found the exact moment and coordinates from the day that Josh had moved in a year ago. Then, he crossed his fingers, started the program, and the beam started to power up. One moment he was sitting there in his basement, and the next–he wasn’t. He was seeing through Josh’s eyes, one year ago. He could see the calendar on the wall and everything!

The sensation was the same–Josh was still in control, but the beam was broadcasting Edwin’s mental states on top of his. A passenger really, and Josh didn’t seem to have any idea it was happening, as he stood in the kitchen with Edwin a year ago, discussing the various rules of the house. Edwin was looking at himself–that was strange as well. He’d remembered what he’d been thinking about at this moment, actually, that what he’d really wanted was this hot young jock to get down and start sucking him off.

He felt the mind he was in lurch oddly around him. Had Josh…heard that? He had–it must have felt like an intrusive thought, or something like that. Could…no, he couldn’t make him do something like that, could he? For the next several minutes, he started forcing more and more thoughts into Josh’s mind, subtler, about how he found his new landlord attractive, how he could get a little discount on the rent, in exchange for, well, you know. He couldn’t believe it when he heard the words come out of Josh’s mouth, and knowing himself, Edwin was more than happy to oblige the young man. Josh sucked him off right there in the kitchen, and Edwin did everything he could to reward him, make his mind feel good, tell him how much he enjoyed this. When Josh was finished, and swallowing down the load of cum, Edwin killed the stream back in the present–and when he found himself back in his own mind, he had a sudden headache.

He could…remember it. Remember Josh sucking him off that day–and sucking him off once a week ever since. Sure, it had meant a fifty percent discount on the rent, but the boy’s mouth was so nice, and he was so eager for it, Edwin didn’t mind losing a bit of income. He still knew he’d changed it–but all of those memories were…harder to pull forward, and made the headache worse. He went upstairs for some water, and pondered for a moment.

How long had he been there? He’d expected a one to one conversion rate, but was surprised to find that his hour spent in the past had only been one minute in the present. That meant, he could spend an uninterrupted month in the past, and only lose around twelve hours in the present. 

One month. Fuck, if he’d been able to turn Josh into a cocksucker in one hour, what could he do if he lived in the young man’s head for a month? Who could he turn him into? He’d had so many fantasies–make the jock ruin his fit, muscular body and turn him into an obese pig. Make him his subservient butler. Convert him into a rubber gimp, maybe even as a urinal. Hell, he could warp his entire personality, drop out of school, a disgusting gooner. He went back downstairs, and started powering up the beam, hundreds of ideas circling through his head. He would go back there, and spend a month, he’d decided. See what sort of control he had over people in the past, and have some good, naughty fun while he was at it.


Alright, I thought it was time for another interactive, and I’d had this idea bouncing around for a bit in various ways, and figured it would make a decent one. We’ll probably have Edwin make some modifications to a few different people, starting with his roommate Josh. These polls will have a lot of options–I’ll mix and match the most popular ones into a result that uses several. Patrons get their own bonus poll of course! While you can only choose two options in the public poll, patrons can choose their four favorites on the bonus poll. I’ll probably do an alternate chapter or two for patrons as well, depending on how things go. The public poll is below, and the patron only bonus poll is over here.

Interactive: Orcish Recon – Thievery (Part 2)

When you work as a rogue, you pick up an eye for treasure, and as soon as Avoy laid eyes on that dagger, even at that distance, he knew he was looking at something that would fetch him a hefty price with the right buyer. It wasn’t like anything he had seen or heard of before, and working in this area, you came to be familiar with the kinds of magic that were around here. Sure, a decent enchanter could do help you out with a blade, but the kind of stuff he was watching–it took real emotion and purpose to imbue an item with that sort of power, whatever it might be doing. Sacrifice, even. A little theft would probably throw a wrench into the clan’s attack plans as well, since it seemed like the dagger was a key part of what they were doing. Losing it would buy the monastery some time–that, or the clan would ravage them looking for it, but with a token like that as a prize, he might not even go back to the monastery at all and just let the two sides duke it out.

When the ritual was complete, he tracked the dagger as best he could. It stayed with the shaman, who went into a smaller tent–probably his living quarters–and when he came out, the sheathed knife was gone from his waist, and he headed towards a large tent where the chieftain had gone, probably to strategize. This was his chance–and he’d have to be quick.

He scampered down the side of the outcropping where he’d been perched, a bit too quickly to be quiet or careful, but he managed to survive with just a couple of scrapes. He hadn’t bothered to memorize the patrols, but orcs weren’t exactly known for their guard prowess–he slipped through without too much trouble, and headed for the tent where he figured the dagger had to be.

He found it, and thankfully it was both unguarded and empty. That alone had Avoy doubting himself–if the thing was as powerful as he thought it might be, then why would they risk leaving it unprotected like this? He pulled a ward stone from his back, but it remained dull when he held it around the small tent–there were no traps that he could see, magic or otherwise. Perhaps he was just lucky? Best to be careful in any case. He poked around, and it wasn’t long before he found the sheathed dagger resting on a weapon mount beside the bed, reeking of orcish sweat and musk–enough to turn his stomach a bit. He picked it up, carefully, and pulled the dagger from the sheath a couple of inches just to make sure he had what he thought he had–and the light–this close to it, it felt like it was scorching his eyes. He slammed the dagger back into the sheath, but it was too late–he could…feel something in his head, a voice almost. Something raging around. Was it a curse? He didn’t know, but he’d come too far to second guess his decision now. He put the dagger in his pack and bolted out the tent and escaped the camp as quickly as possible. He’d just passed the outer line of guards when the horn sounded–his thievery had been discovered, and he didn’t have quite the head start he would have liked.

But something was wrong with him, he could tell now. He felt clumsy, legs and feet louder and heavier than they should have been. His clothes were hot and tight. His teeth hurt, his muscles ached–whatever this curse was, it was acting fast. Perhaps he should head towards the monastery after all–they would be a good bet to figure out what had happened to him and fix him. He didn’t make it that far, however. 

He made it down the mountains and back into the thick forest between the camp and the monastery in the foothills, but the chills and aches were getting worse and worse. He slipped down a bank and tumbled down into a muddy rut, and he didn’t have the strength to climb back up–all he could do was huddle there, a voice still raging inside him, screaming really. It wasn’t his voice, it couldn’t be, but why did it seem familiar?


He awoke sometime the next morning–not too late that the morning chill had burnt off, but late enough that he could see well enough around him. It took him a moment to scrape the mud off and realize that something was wrong with his skin–it wasn’t the pale pink from before–instead, it was almost green-grey. He’d seen skin like that before in only one place–on the hides of half orcs. 

He sat up, looked at the rest of himself, and in the course of the night, he had literally burst out of his clothes. He was close to six and a half feet tall, packed with muscle, small tusks threatening to push their way out of his mouth–whatever that dagger had done to him, it had turned him into a fucking half-orc! It wasn’t a simple polymorph either–those you could…feel your old body pushing back underneath it, looking for a weak point in the magic to break back out. This felt…normal. Like this is what his body had always been. 

He gathered up the stuff that had fallen from his pack, including the sheathed dagger, and sat for a moment on the slope above the mud, and tried to figure out what to do next. The monastery might help him…but the monks had strict laws about allowing anyone with orcish blood into the place, which made sense given the animosity. Perhaps heading back to the camp would give him an answer–but they wouldn’t be happy to see him, and he wasn’t changed enough to pass as one of them. The question was answered for him, when he heard a rustle and a shout–someone had spotted him from above, and had their bows trained on him–but who?


Here’s the next poll! Patrons of course have their own bonus entry to read, and their own poll that they can vote in, to see what happens along the alternate course of the story.

Interactive: Orcish Recon (Part 1)

Sorry it’s been a while since I did one of these, the last few months have been, well, a mess as you can all probably imagine. Writing has been a bit of struggle, but I’m doing my best to get done what I can, and have been focusing on commissions for the last while to keep my head above water. I thought I would try something new with this interactive, and maybe a few after it, so we’ll see how it goes. Welcome to the land of Horalon–a fantastical realm full of magical creatures of all sorts, where fantastic machines, strange spells, and disturbing urges collide on a regular basis. For the next couple of interactives, I think it might be fun to toy around with a fantasy setting, since I don’t write in that sort of genre very often. These are going to be more narrative adventures than anything else–and depending on time and energy I might flesh some out into small twine interactives. Anyway, without further ado, I present Tales of Horalon #1 – An Orcish Reconnaissance.


Avoy cursed as he slid back on the rocks a bit, and listened in the darkness for any sign that someone had heard him. If ever there was a time to have invested in some climbing gear, it would have been now, but why had the whores back in Hilveride had to be so beautiful and so expensive at the same time? He checked his footing, and kept climbing–not too much farther now, and he thought he had enough grip strength to get to the top of the ridge, which ought to give him a good vantage on the orc camp below.

Avoy had been hired by a monastery in the foothills of these mountains, which had always had an uneasy relationship with the orcish tribes that lived higher up. Generally, the two groups managed an uneasy peace, but depending on chieftains, and depending on which monastery guards had the ear of the head monk, various disputes flared up from time to time. It appeared that a new something was brewing in the region–there had been a succession dispute among the orcs, resulting in rather new blood taking leadership, with a need to prove strength. Lately, some knights on patrol had failed to return to the monastery, and a few days prior, right before Avoy arrived to accept the task, a monk had been swiped by a roving patrol of scouting orcs–as close to a declaration of war as there was likely to be. Yet kidnappings were new–usually, the orcs would slaughter knights and monks found on their patrols and leave their corpses where they would be found later, as warnings–the change in tactics had the whole monastery on edge. So the head monk had sent Avoy to do some reconnaissance–figure out what the orcs were planning, so the monks and their knights could be ready when the time came to battle.

He hauled himself up onto the ridge, found a mostly sturdy position, pulled out a spyglass and began getting his bearings of the camp below. A basic count put the number of orcs around 500–the monastery had a reserve of nearly a thousand knights–but even in small numbers, orcs were ferocious opponents. They seemed better organized than most orcish camps he had laid eyes on before–guards posted and mostly doing the work of guarding, instead of napping or eating or fucking, as was more common. This looked to be a temporary camp of some sort, because as far as he could see, there were no women–odd really, because orcs generally didn’t discriminate when it came to battle. As he was observing, a horn blew, and the orcs not on patrol or on guard duty headed towards the center of the compound–a large open arena-like space that Avoy had a decent enough sight line on–though he couldn’t hear anything over the wind.

But what he witnessed was enough to chill him to the bone. Drums pounded first, as was common during these sorts of ceremonies–loud enough that Avoy could hear them quite well. The warriors danced and wrestled as the drums grew louder and faster. Then the drums ceased a moment, and two warriors hauled the kidnapped monk forward into the center of the ring, while the orcs hollered and screeched around him–apparently, he had been taken as a sacrifice. A shaman stepped down from a raised dais, where the chieftain was also seated, and the warriors held the monk down on a slab of rock in the middle of the space. The shaman pulled forth a knife–even from high above, Avoy could see that the blade was glowing a steady green, not dissimilar from the skin of the orcs around it–and the shaman began to carve.

Silence, aside from the monk’s screams of pain then. The orcs were silent and still while the shaman cut long, shallow wounds all over the front of the monks body. The lines were jagged and sharp, running the length of the monk’s body, the slab soaked with blood–though not as much as he might have expected. Avoy anticipated the killing blow at any time, but much to his surprise, the shaman ceased his work, the orcs cheered and rioted around him, returning to their fighting (and even a few instances of fucking, that Avoy looked away from quickly) while the guards dragged the unconscious, but allegedly alive, monk away in the direction they had come, leaving Avoy to contemplate what he’d just witnessed.

He’d certainly never seen a ritual like it before. He’d also never seen anything like that dagger wielded by the shaman. He put his spyglass away, and pondered his next move. Night would fall soon–he’d learned some, but everything he’d seen raised more questions than answers. He would have to go down, into the camp, and see what he could find out there. But what should he target? Rescuing the monk would certainly be a victory, though very risky, especially as wounded as he was now. He could investigate the shaman’s quarters, and see if he could get his hands on that knife. There was something special about it–but he wouldn’t know what until the monks at the monastery could examine it. Lastly, he could try spying on the chieftain. Orcs weren’t known to keep great written records of their plans, but Avoy knew enough of the tongue that he could catch the important bits, if he overheard them. That might be enough to give the monks an advantage.

So, what does our rogue decide to do?


Here’s the poll! Patrons have their own bonus poll as well, like usual. However! There’s a new twist to this–since I’m thinking about fleshing these out anyway, I’m going to be posting exclusive, alternate entries over on my Patreon, depending on what they want to see most–so if you’re a patron, you’ll get other branches that you won’t find here. These alternate chunks will be available to anyone supporting me with at least $1. You can find the bonus poll over here. The public poll is below:

New You Resolutions 2020 (Part 12 – Finale)

Martin heard the Sergeant wake up and start shouting for him to free him, but that was the last thing Martin had in mind for him. He was in the Sergeant’s supply room, looking at the massive amount of BDSM gear on on the shelves, hanging in the closets, and tucked into drawers, but he didn’t know what he was doing exactly, with any of it. He should just run, shouldn’t he? But the resolutions that had been made for him wouldn’t allow him to run away, of course. What was he going to do then?

As he was looking around, at a loss, he saw a small golden envelope lying on a table, next to a strange looking helmet. The helmet Martin recognized. The Sergeant had used it on him a few times down here, both as a means of conditioning him to obey him, and as a way to toy with his mind during a session. It was a VR system designed to play hypnotic visuals and tracks that the subject would be unable to resist. He picked up the envelope, tore it open, and read the contents:

Well, it seems that you’ve hit a bit of a wrinkle in your year, Martin. Now, it isn’t too late, you know. You can still go out there, free the Sergeant, and accept your punishment. If you do so, things will continue as they would have–after a year in training with the Sergeant, you would have been returned to your old life, generally, though with a physique you could have only dreamed of a few months ago. However, if you do not wish to free him, then there is only one thing for you to do. We have taken the liberty of loading an appropriate file into the helmet–don’t bother trying to pull it out or change it. If you do, you’ll find yourself wearing it instead. If what you really want is revenge–then place it on his head, and we will give you the revenge you so desire. Beware though–revenge can come with costs of its own.

It was the middle of summer. Six more months of this nightmare, before he could go back to his old life, and try and put it back together? It wasn’t like those six months would be easy either–the Sergeant was not the forgiving sort, and his punishments were…severe. For a betrayal like this, Martin didn’t even want to imagine what the Sergeant might do to him. He picked up the helmet, eyed the slot where the disc went to play the hypno program. What could be on it? He didn’t have any idea, but whatever it was, it had to be better than six months of torture, right?

He went back out into the dungeon where the Sergeant was still sitting in the chair, and when he saw the helmet in Martin’s hand, the Sergeant looked shocked, and then outraged, demanding that Martin let him up this instant. Before he could doubt himself, he dropped the helmet over the Sergeant’s head, hit the play button, and after a few minutes of protest, the Sergeant went quiet as the programming washed over him.

Martin didn’t know how long the program would last. The helmet was very effective–but it could still be hours, depending on what the company had in mind for the Sergeant. He didn’t want to leave him though–so he sat there and waited. That made him anxious, so he passed the time with some exercising, mostly pushups and pull ups around the room, until he heard a grunt come from inside the helmet, signalling that the Sergeant was coming out of his trance.

He walked over, and saw another envelope taped to the back of the helmet, which had appeared at some point out of thin air. Martin pulled it off, and opened it up.

Revenge it is! We can work with that. However, we will need to provide you with a few new resolutions, Martin.

I resolve to take the Sergeant’s place here. I will style myself as closely to him as I can, wear his clothes, adopt his haircut and his vocal style. I will exercise everyday, following his exact routines, and maintain a physique just like his. I will forget my own name, and only know myself as Sergeant from now on, even in my own mind.

I resolve that I will no longer find muscular bodies attractive. From now on, I will only be attracted to fat, obese men.

I resolve to keep this man as my personal pigslave for the rest of my life. His mental faculties are now closer to beast than to man, and so I will have to feed him from a trough and care for him like a pet pig. I will love him dearly, and I will have my pig fuck my hole at least twice a day.

I resolve to work for New You Resolutions from now on as a feeder and trainer. I will take men in and fatten them up into the sorts of obese men I desire, as required by my employer.

Welcome to the team Sergeant! We hope you find these new conditions acceptable–not that you have a choice, of course.

He tore the helmet off his pig, who was grunting and snorting, and looking around a bit crazed and confused. He could speak–sort of. Anything more than short sentences was difficult, and he usually got out more grunts, squeals and snorts than words anyway. The new Sergeant, however, could only think about one thing–he dragged the pig over to the trough that appeared along the wall, went upstairs for the pig’s slop, dumped it in, and watched the muscular man shove his face in and scarf it down as quickly as he could.

While the pig ate, he went upstairs and got dressed in his new clothes. They were loose on him, of course, but after another few months in the gym, he would fit into them like a glove, just as his predecessor had. Inside, he was horrified. This wasn’t what he’d wanted at all! He looked at himself in the mirror, and found himself disgusted–he was so…ripped. He didn’t want this sort of body at all, but he was trapped in it now, for good. He went back downstairs, and his pig had finished eating, his musclegut bulging from the massive meal. The pig could barely move, but that didn’t stop him from mounting the Sergeant and fucking him with his piggy cock, grunting and squealing the entire time while the Sergeant cried, disgusted with himself in ways he could barely explain. 

Six months later, the new Sergeant was ready–the spitting image of the old one, though brown haired instead of strawberry blonde, green eyed instead of brown. His pet pig was always naked, and always at the Sergeant’s side. The pig was weighing in at 350 pounds now, and the Sergeant was so proud of his massive beast, and how far he’d come in six months. It was January now, and he’d just heard from New You that his first client would be arriving in a few days for a four month fattening. The Sergeant sighed, and looked at his muscled body in the mirror. For the rest of his life, he’d be giving men that which he could never have. All he wanted now for himself, was to be fat–but he’d never have that again. He’d just have to fatten his pig instead, and every man that crossed his path. It would be enough, probably, right?


That’s it for this interactive! I’m taking a couple of weeks to focus on commissions, and I’ll be posting those as I finish them. I’ll have a new interactive starting up sometime in March!

Interactive: New You Resolutions 2020 (Part 11)

Martin found himself, eventually, falling into a routine. Before, when he’d try to lose weight, he’d always end up running into a wall of some sort, something coming up that was just more important to him than exercise was, and so he would skip the gym, and before long, abandon his resolution entirely. Now, however, there wasn’t anything else–there was just him, the Sergeant, the woods, and his punishing exercise. There was no work, other than the general upkeep of the house where they lived. There was no TV, there was no internet. On a calm night, the Sergeant would, at most, relax with a cigar, some bourbon, and a book of history, while Martin finished his chores–or more likely, sat at the Sergeant’s feet, polishing his boots, or servicing his cock.

The thing that he hated most, however, was that it was working. The weight fell right off him, and after three months, he barely recognized himself when he looked in the mirror, fifty pounds lighter, without a hair anywhere on his body, with a bit of muscle starting to show under his skin. The sun was out in the Spring, and he was already starting to tan a bit. Satisfied that his charge was progressing well, the pace of the exercise slowed somewhat–that, or Martin was simply getting used to the punishing pace. Instead, Martin found himself spending more and more time with the Sergeant down in the dungeon, working on various other exercises.

The first time he went down with his Sergeant, he wasn’t sure what to expect. The basement was rather bare, with just a cement floor, the walls painted black, the lighting dim. The Sergeant collared him, then cuffed him, then put a blindfold over his eyes. After a few minutes, he was hauled up by a leash, pulled over to a cross on the wall and shackled there–and then the Sergeant pulled off the blindfold. He had swapped out his fatigues for a full leather military uniform, with a flogger in his hand–and he proceeded to whip Martin until he was begging for mercy. Only then did the Sergeant fuck his ass, still shackled there on the cross, Martin feeling the precum dribbling from his caged cock onto the floor under him.

The collar never came off after that–the Sergeant padlocked it in place. Martin begged him, pleaded with him to never to that to him again–the Sergeant just laughed at him, and that night, he found his cot was replaced with a mummy sack. After he was locked securely inside, the Sergeant placed headphones over his ears, and Martin spent the night listening to hypnosis, conditioning him for…well, who knew what. But the pain…he found himself enjoying it, more and more. The act of submission, the punishing workouts, seeing the smile on the Sergeant’s face after he’d served him well–outside, in bed, in the dungeon, it didn’t matter where. He…found himself wondering if he might actually be falling in love with his captor.

That, he decided, could not happen. Martin did his best to balance the knife’s edge, pretending to be the perfect slave, while keeping his own thoughts of resistance alive. Eventually, the opportunity presented itself–and he found a stash of chloroform while cleaning out the dungeon. That evening, while the Sergeant was reading his book, Martin got up to refill his bourbon, and returned with a cloth soaked in the drug, which he forced over the Sergeant’s face. The man struggled mightily. Thankfully, Martin was no longer the weakling he’d been when he arrived, or he would have lost easily–but soon the Sergeant was passed out in his arms, and Martin found himself with an aching cock inside his cage. Had…this turned him on? Really? He couldn’t quite process that–all he could focus on was getting the Sergeant downstairs, where he hauled him into a bondage chair and secured him in place.

But now what, exactly? 

He was angry. Furious, really. He found the key to his collar, and he took it off–he felt naked, so naked without it, but free too, so fucking free! It took some searching, but he found the key to his cock cage as well, and freed himself. By then, the Sergeant had woken up from his nap, and was struggling against the chair, shouting and screaming at Martin to free him, or else he would be in for a nasty fucking surprise.


Use the poll below to select the final chapter in this story! After this next chunk, I’ll be taking a little time off from interactives to work on some commissions–the next one will start up sometime in March! Patrons have their bonus poll over here as well.

Interactive: New You Resolutions 2020 (Part 10)

Martin gulped, and heard a notification on his phone. He checked it, and saw that someone had sent him directions…somewhere, and he knew he had to go there. This was a nightmare–this thing couldn’t be serious, right? But he found himself going into the bedroom, packing up a bag of gym clothes and almost nothing else. He got in his car and drove off, simply abandoning his keys on the counter–somehow, he knew he wouldn’t be coming back here, if New You Resolutions had anything to say about it. 

The directions led him out of town on the interstate, and after a good fifty miles into the rural part of the state, he took an exit onto a smaller highway, and drove through the night, deeper and deeper, away from the city he’d known almost all of his life. All he could do while he was driving was think about how much his body ached from his exercise that day, and wonder who in the world he was going to be meeting on the other end of this journey. The sun rose, and he was close. Exhausted and nearly asleep at the wheel, he finally reached his destination.

It was a rather secluded piece of property in the foothills of the mountains. There was a bit of winter snow on the ground from a few days ago that hadn’t melted off yet. Martin got out of the car, and trudged his way up the wood steps of the house and knocked on the door. There were a few moments of silence, and then he heard the sound of heavy shoes on the other side of the door, and it opened, revealing, he assumed, his new trainer, and landlord.

He was…massive. Easily six foot six, and probably close to 300 pounds. He was older, most likely in his late fifties, his chest covered in grey hair, face shaven but with a layer of stubble, hair cut into a close flattop. He was wearing nothing other than a set of fatigue pants and combat boots. He stared down at Martin with a sense of disdain, and then stepped aside without a word, allowing Martin inside, sizing him up as he squeezed past the massive fellow.

“So this is who they’re sending me this year? Fucking hell. You projects are usually rough around the edges, but I haven’t had to shape up a doughball like you in a long time,” the man said.

“Please, there’s been some mistake, I…I just want to go home, please–”

Before Martin could get anything else out, the man’s hand was around his neck–tight enough to constrict his air a bit, but more an expression of power. “In this house, you will address me as Sir, do you understand? You are here because you want to get in shape, and god damn it, I will do so. I was a drill instructor for twenty years, and I have become very good at taking weak little pieces of shit like you and turning them into something resembling actual men–but the plus side of doing it for private clients is that I get to do everything the army never had the balls to let me do.”

He released Martin’s neck, and he stumbled backwards a bit, falling against the wall behind him.

“Now, drop and give me twenty.”

“What?”

“I said, you fucking worm, drop and give me twenty pushups! This isn’t fucking rocket science, and if I don’t hear a Sir after your next sentence I will beat your ass red and raw to make sure you remember.”

Martin gulped, and got down in the hallway of the house, arms shaking from their massive workout the day before, and he could barely keep himself up in a plank position. 

“Come on, let’s see what you have in you.”

He lowered himself down, but not far enough to the sergeant’s liking, and one boot came down on his back, and pushed him to the floor. 

“All the way down, come on. Kiss my boot each time, let’s see if that gives you a little more incentive.”

Martin pushed himself back up, and the sergeant slid his boot right under his face. Martin tried to will himself upright, tried to walk out the door, but couldn’t–he lowered himself down, kissed the sergeant’s boot, and then tried to push himself back up–and failed. He collapsed against the top of the man’s boot, shuddering, and the man laughed.

“If you’re going to stay down there, at least give it a good cleaning, faggot,” the sergeant said. Again, Martin pushed his tongue out against his will, and started licking at the man’s boot, tasting the fresh boot black on the surface and trying not to gag. He pushed himself back up and down a few more times, licking the boot in between–and he finally noticed that he was hard as a rock. Each time the sergeant insulted him, each time he had to lick that damn boot, he was leaking in the front of him gym shorts from the day before.

He wasn’t gay, he wasn’t into any of this shit–what the hell was happening to him? He made it to ten pushups before he shuddered, and his cock came while on the sergeant’s boot, letting out a little groan of pleasure as he did so.

“You fuckin’–roll the fuck over.”

Martin did as he was ordered, and the front of his shorts was soaked with his cum.

“Just couldn’t fucking contain yourself, eh? Well, we can put a stop to that. Clearly you aren’t in shape enough to workout today, so we might as well get you cleaned up.

Cleaned up meant a cold shower, having all of the hair on his body shaved off, his hair buzzed down to almost nothing, and finally, a chastity cage secured around his now hairless cock and balls. He was left in the bathroom, shivering and staring at a stranger in the mirror, until the Sergeant brought him his new uniform–nothing more than a pair of too tight fatigue pants, and a pair of combat boots like his. Then, it was time to eat, and the Sergeant allowed him to rest, finally, on a small cot next to the Sergeant’s own, much larger bed.

He was awoken by the feeling of the Sergeant’s body pressing down on him, and before Martin could do anything, the man’s massive cock was inside his virgin ass, one hand around Martin’s mouth to muffle his screams. He fucked him quick, and Martin was horrified to find himself enjoying it–enjoying the pain, the tightness of his chastity cage, all of it–and then it was over, and Martin discovered he’d slept until the next day. It was time to train.

The days fell into a rhythm. Breakfast. The Sergeant would put him through a rigorous workout, after a long morning jog. Lunch. Martin would complete his chores around the house and the property. Dinner. A couple hours of time to relax. Then bed. The sergeant would fuck him, and then they would sleep hard until the next day.

Winter thawed. Spring came and Summer was blossoming. Martin’s training was progressing–until a new development came along that changed everything again.


Use the poll below to vote! You get two choices. Patrons have their bonus poll over here as well!

Interactive: New You Resolutions 2020 (Part 9)

Martin groaned as the alarm went off, and he fumbled with his phone for a few minutes, until he managed to get it swiped away, and his bedroom went quiet again. January first–time to try again.

It was a tradition at this point. For the last five years or so, Martin had made the same resolutions to himself in the New Year–to lose weight, and get in shape, and start going to the gym. When Martin had been younger, in high school, he had actually been a decent athlete–playing football in the Fall, and wrestling in the Winter. He hadn’t been particularly good at either of them, but he’d enjoyed being fit, and he’d liked the camaraderie of the sports. In college, however, he’d fallen out of practice, and when he had, the weight started piling on. He hated it, the flab around his waist that seemed to expand a bit more each time he weighed himself, but no matter how hard he tried, he’d never managed to get back into the habit of going to the gym.

Sure, some years were better than others. Two years ago, he managed to keep it up for a couple of months, and lost ten pounds. Then, a business trip had unraveled his habit, and in three months he’d gained everything back, and then even more. It was discouraging, and this year, he wasn’t feeling it at all. Maybe…it was time to give it up for good, and just accept that his athletic years were behind him for good. He grumbled, refusing to give in that easily, and got out of bed.

He made a protein shake, and it was terrible. He couldn’t find his gym shoes. His shorts didn’t really fit anymore. He looked like a fool. There was no way he could do this–maybe tomorrow. He could buy some new gear today, he could…he could just forget it entirely. He heaved a sigh, took off the tight clothes, and went back to bed–where a strange, golden envelope was waiting for him on his pillow. He picked it up and tore it open, and read the note inside.

Well Martin–we’ve decided that this year is the year that you finally make good on your resolution, and we’re going to help! Who are we you ask? We’re a very special organization, called New You Resolutions. We make resolutions easy! We’ll handle all the planning, and make sure you have the motivation and desire to make your fitness goals a reality for good.

Now get those clothes back on! Here’s your first resolution:

— I resolve to go to the gym every single day, for at least three hours.

Have a good time! We’re rooting for you.

Martin scoffed at the note, tossed it in the trash, but instead of climbing back into bed, he grabbed the shorts off the floor and pulled them back on, and the shirt as well. Confused, and a bit freaked out, he got his shoes on, and he was out the door, and on his way to the gym before he could really comprehend what was happening. 

And once he was there, he couldn’t stop. The best he could manage was a short water break when he absolutely couldn’t handle the thirst anymore. At the end of the third hour of the most intense workout of his life, all he could do was lay down on a mat and pant, legs and arms trembling, until he could finally manage to stand, and hobble his way out of the gym, and back to his car, and then to his apartment.

He didn’t understand how that had happened. He had to use the rail on the stairway to haul himself up to the second floor, because his legs refused to lift high enough on their own. At last, he was back inside, collapsing, crying from the pain–and then he saw it. Another golden envelope, just like the first. He tore it open, hoping it would provide some answers–but it didn’t. It just had more awful news:

That looked like it was a bit rough, Martin. Do you know what you need? You need a trainer! Lucky for you, we have just the fellow in mind. Pack a bag of gym clothes, because you’re moving in with them, starting today! They’ll take good care of you–and we’ll have a few more resolutions ready for you when you get there.


So who is Martin’s personal trainer going to be? Use the poll below to vote, and patrons can find their bonus poll over here!