Ideal Tenants (2/2)

After three months, both Josh and Greg had each packed on an impossible one hundred pounds–and neither one of them seemed the least bit bothered by their sudden gain. If anything, the two of them had become quite a bit more easy going over the last month–being more polite and accommodating to their neighbors, stopping in to chat with their landlord…each of them a bit embarrassed to find the older, bearish man somewhat…attractive, all of a sudden.

Something else they hadn’t noticed, was that they each appeared to be about a decade older than when they’d moved in–more like their mid 30’s than early 20’s. The apartment had changed as well–their gym equipment eventually disappearing into thin air, replaced by shelves full of books and a well stocked kitchen. They were still fucking quite often, but all of their sex now seemed to involve food somehow–just eating was enough to turn either one of them on. It was Josh that Mr. Emerson fucked first–showing up at the door with a dozen doughnuts he plied him with, until he got so horny he demanded Mr. Emerson fuck his wide ass. Greg succumbed not too long after that, to an entire cake, and after that, Mr. Emerson was paying them both regular visits, often at the same time.

With direct contact, the changes grew more extreme. Josh transitioned, overnight, from retail work to a rather cushy office job in finance. He was now in his mid 40’s, wearing suits everyday, and stuffing himself at his desk. Greg found a new job as a programmer, which allowed him to work from home–giving him ample time to feed, and also to service his landlord’s cock,whom he’d begun to address as master, as he ballooned past 600 pounds, while Josh hovered at a mere 375. Still, the gainers were a perfectly happy couple, and were very eager to sign a new year lease with Mr. Emerson, both of them under his desk vying for his cock, as he passed them sweets and candies for his two pigs to share.

Ideal Tenants (½)

Josh and Greg were two younger louts, who had managed to score a year long lease in a rather nice apartment building–and seemed intent to make everyone else living within the place hate their guts. They were loud, violent, didn’t care for the property of others, and when they arrived home one day to find a notice on their door–handwritten–which they didn’t bother to read.

Since I’d never get my lease back if I evicted you, I’ll just have to make you into some tenants I can live with! Your Landord.

The reason the apartment building was so nice, in fact, was because Mr. Emerson, the owner of the building, was a warlock. A warlock, who was rather fed up with the behavior of both troublemakers, and so, over rest of their lease, the two of them would find themselves…becoming Mr. Emerson’s ideal tenants. What they didn’t know, was that Mr. Emerson was gay, and had some rather specific tastes.

It was less than a month before their first awkward moment of sex. Josh and Greg often spent their time after work exercising on a shared bench they’d bought together. But lately, the two of them had found themselves becoming quite…distracted by one another. It was Josh who figured it out first, hauled down Greg’s shorts and started sucking at his cock, before demanding his roommate fuck his ass–Josh didn’t even bother to insist that he wasn’t gay, before fucking his friend’s hole for an hour straight.

From that moment on, every time the two of them tried to work out, they wound up fucking instead. And after every fuck, they found themselves ravenous, and would stuff themselves with anything they could find in the house. Meanwhile, Mr. Emerson was watching all of this on the various cameras he’d installed in their apartment, eager for the rest of the young men’s lives to fall into place.

Source: hornyserbian

Officer Wetzel Meets a Demon (Part 2)

It hurt. It was dry, and even though the baton was smooth, as Officer Wetzel tried to work it into his virgin asshole, it felt like he was ripping his ass apart. No one in the circle around him showed any sympathy to his situation. The man next to him, hand on his shoulder, was slowly unbuttoning his uniform shirt, sliding one hot hand beneath it, exploring the officer’s chest and gut. The man sucking him off was bringing him closer to orgasm, no matter how hard he fought–it simply felt too good, and the man whispering in his ear wasn’t helping him focus on who he knew he was. A good man. A christian man. A man who loved his wife. A man who’d never felt a single desire for a man before in his life–but that was a lie, and the man knew, he knew it. The officer could remember, unbidden, all those desires like they were new again. That time he’d jacked off with his patrol in boy scouts. The boy who’d blown him at that Christian retreat. That…desire he felt, eveny time he was alone with his priest, and he could always tell the man felt the same, but God kept them so far apart, so far–

His hand twisted the baton in deeper, and he cried up–something between a scream and a moan, and he came, the man drinking down his cum, the men around them urging them on, vying for position. Whether the man was manipulating them too, or whether this was simply their natural state, he didn’t know, but every single one of them saw him not as a person, but as a hunk of meat, an object, a tool.

“They seem excited, don’t you think? I really should give them what they want–anything else would be rather cruel. Don’t worry–they’ll get tired eventually, and leave you alone for a few hours, but I don’t think you’ll be able to keep up that whole…straight act, not after we’ve shown you what you’re missing. Do you think that hag of yours will really look as good after you’ve learned how good it feels to have a cock in your ass?” The man smiled, his smoky breath hot against the officer’s ear. He stepped away, letting go of him for the first time, but the heat in his chest kept him there, kept him pushing the baton in deeper, the faggots closing in tighter around him.

“Please, don’t…don’t do this. I’m sorry, please.” he said, as a man in rubber, hooded, an unknown, stepped up close, pulling his uniform shirt apart the rest of the way, toying with the officer’s tender nipples, pressing their cocks together.

“Oh? Does someone want to make a deal?” the man said, leaning against the wall out of reach, watching the freaks close in around him. “Well, I suppose you can have an evening with them, or a weekend with me. It’s up to you, which you’d rather suffer.”

The rubber freak had one gloved hand on the top of Wetzel’s head, applying pressure, his other hand gripping his cock, eight inches, pierced in more places that the officer imagined possible, someone coming around the side, taking over the baton. His knees were buckling, he was…he was going to suck the man off. Then the next man too. Other’s would fuck him, and he wanted them to fuck him, he’d always wanted to know, he always wanted to know what it would be like to have a man inside him, and he’d confessed, to his priest, how he’d played with his hole while his wife was away, listening to the priest jack off while he told him, jacking off himself–“No, not them, please, not this. You can do what you want with me.”

The ring of men was pushed back by some strange force, allowing Officer Wetzel to take a breath, but it was filled with smoke, sulfur, brimstone, as the man, the demon, locked lips with him, pushing the smoke in deep, feeling the officer’s body melt against him. He was hot, so hot it felt like his skin might burn. Everywhere he touched, his skin ached with lust, his uniform caught fire and burned away, and the man turned the officer around, allowed him to brace himself against the wall. He’d become bigger, hairier, skin no longer any human tone, but a deep red, cock even larger than the rubber freaks had been, but Wetzel wanted it, he was begging for it. The demon hauled the baton from the officer’s hole and flung it away, hauling apart his ass cheeks with two hands, fingers tipped with claws, precum steaming as it dribbled from the tip of his cock. With a voice, halfway to a growl, the beast said, “You know, all it takes is one for the infection to happen, right?”

Before Wetzel could doubt his decision, the demon’s cock had forced itself into him. It burned, it was rough as sandpaper. He needed it, needed it deep inside him all the same, and he was bucking back as the beast fucked him. He felt a fever building in him, a horrific heat burning away the false faith he’d used, in desperation, to bind himself. His true self. Was he even human anymore? He was something different, that much he knew. There would be no coming back from this, now that he’d been seeded, and everything felt so…strange. Wrong. Different. The demon was pounding harder, the men still surrounding them, urging them onward. Could they see it for what it was? Could they see him changing? Or were they just victims in all of this? Did they know what was walking among them? What was inside of him?

The demon came, and after that, for a time, nothing mattered. Nothing even seemed to exist. It was white, or so black he know longer knew what light was. He was aware of his body existing. He could feel the cock slide out of him, and the heat began to flow out of him, exhaustion replacing it, and he fell to his knees, facing the wall. Who was he? What was he? He wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answers to either.

Officer Wetzel Meets a Demon (Part 1)

Every year. It was absolutely disgusting. Officer Wetzel could at least tolerate the pride parade in June–there was no modesty, but at least it wasn’t so…filthy. No, there were the drag queens, which were relatively harmless. The dykes on bikes, the…occasional man in leather or rubber, but this weekend, each year, the streets were clogged with them. Leather uniforms, rubber and latex body suits, men wearing next to nothing at all, men pretending to be dogs and pigs, the alleys stinking of piss even more than usual, as well as that sour odor he’d realized was cum a few years back, and was still hoping he could forget. Each year, he begged his Lieutenant not to force him to work that weekend–he’d request vacations, he’d try anything. Sometimes it worked, and then sometimes, like this year, he was stuck. Here, amidst the throngs, men leering all around at him as he scowled back, making sure they knew that his uniform wasn’t some fetishistic role play. Some of them still didn’t get the hint, and those were usually the ones who ended up with their face against the wall, and then in the drunk tank at the local precinct.

Still, it was only three days, one long weekend. That’s what he told himself, but it didn’t help matters much. If anything, he was becoming rather desensitized to the filth and perversion and whoring going on around him–and that alone was enough to worry him. No one should consider this normal. These displays were a modern Sodom; if only God would come down and wipe this place clean like he did Millennia ago. A little divine intervention, that’s exactly what this fucking city could use.

The day was wearing on him. It was mid afternoon, the heat still climbing even as the sun was starting to drop. His uniform was itchy and uncomfortable. This was just the first day, and he didn’t know if he was going to be able to take two more days of this filth without some well deserved police brutality. Maybe on the last day, when they were too drunk to care about reporting it. Still, considering some of the shit he’d broken up before, the pigs would probably just enjoy it, so what the hell was the point?

In his glum and dour mood, he hadn’t noticed the older fellow, a bit of a belly but quite muscled, shirtless and wearing a pair of tight leather pants, smoking a cigar and holding a beer, walk up and lean on the building beside him. “Well hello Officer,” he said, “You might be a bit more comfortable in this heat if you…took off a few layers. I could help, if you want.”

The man’s hand slipped closer, and Officer Wetzel recoiled, “Lay one of those pervert hands on me, and I swear to god, you’ll be in a jail cell so fast you won’t know what happened to you, faggot.”

“Oh my–I saw that you could use a little bit of temptation, but I suppose I hadn’t quite imagined how much.”

Officer Wetzel had had enough of this fuck–might as well get the bashing done early–as a plus, he’d have to spend the rest of the weekend doing paper work. He slipped his baton out of his holster, went to raise it up, when the man caught his wrist in a firm, sensual hold, and closed the space between them in an instant, lips inches apart, the air now mostly smoke. The cigar stank worse than most, with hints of coal and sulfur. They were in the shade of a building, but even in the shadow, the man’s eyes cast an odd glow, like a flame was reflecting in them. “Now now, officer Wetzel. Why don’t you relax for a little bit? Enjoy yourself a bit?” He glanced over at the people streaming along the sidewalk, caught the eye of some older faggot wearing only a collar and jockstrap, and pulled him closer with a beckoning finger. “How about you, cocksucker? You want to help Officer Wetzel here relax a bit?”

“Would I fucking ever!” he said, got down on his knees, right there on the sidewalk, and started opening the fly of his uniform pants. Wetzel tried to protest, he tried to shove the man away, clober him with the baton he still had raised in his hand, but he couldn’t move. The one hand, firm on his wrist, had frozen his entire body–or rather, everything but his cock, which grew hard as soon as the old pig took the head in his mouth. He was disgusted with himself. He couldn’t really be turned on by this faggot sucking his cock, could he? What kind of man was he? What kind of godly man was he?

“Oh, God isn’t here–God hasn’t come down here in a long time, Officer Beauregard Wetzel. But I come up here every year. And every year, I bring someone down to my level–and this year, I think that’s going to be you.”

Officer Wetzel’s eyes went wide, and he began to try harder to pull himself away, both from the stranger’s hand, and from the man sucking his cock. The man just gave a deep belly laugh, leaned in closer, locked lips with him, and blew the smoke deep. It was hot, so hot it hurt, deep inside him in a place he couldn’t quite identify. He tried to cough, but the force of the man’s breath just kept filling him up, making him light headed, his arm relaxing, the baton falling to the ground as his hand went limp. The man pulled away, gently, Wetzel following him without thinking about it, a slight moan escaping his lips.

“Oh officer, you droped your baton. You really should put that in a safer place, don’t you think?”

Officer Wetzel nodded. Careful to not disrupt the cocksucker, he squatted down and retrieved his baton, and allowed his pants and underwear to drop down around his boots. The thought was in his mind, and he was horrified. He wouldn’t do this to himself, he couldn’t do this, not here, not in front of these freaks. Indeed, men had started to slow, stop, and stare at the scene unfolding here. “Go on officer, I promise that there’s no place safer.”

Wetzel gave a quiet sob, and bent over, moving his baton to the opening of his asshole.

“Daddy, I’m home!” Sammy said, shutting the door behind him. He dropped his backpack by the door, took off his shoes, and then started pulling off the rest of his clothes as he walked through the house, towards the TV den. “Sorry I’m home late daddy, traffic around the university was a nightmare.”

He stripped off his pants as he entered the den, where his daddy was on the couch, longways on his forearms and knees–where he was required to be as soon as the clock his 4:30 and his boy might be home. He had three dildos balanced across his flat back, and a tub of crisco at the top of his ass. He was sweating slightly from the exertion of holding the position, but nothing had fallen today. Too bad–Sammy had felt his daddy was getting too cocky lately, so he’d have to devise something else to knock him down another few pegs. The three dildos were sizable, but none were as large as Sammy’s ten inch cock, which he released from his underwear, half hard and already leaking. Sammy had banned toys bigger than his tool from Daddy’s house–but perhaps it was time for Daddy to take something larger than even his cock.

He went through their usual routine. Daddy kissed his cock and thanked his boy for choosing him as his daddy–said through gritted teeth, as always. Still, he said it–he’d learn to like it eventually–they always did. Sammy had only been training this daddy for a few months, since arriving here to attend school. Daddy had tried to pick him up at a bar, but had ended up on the receiving end instead. After paying tribute to his boycock, they started on the dildos. Daddy tried not to let on how good it felt, having his hole plugged, but like all of them–the more they had their boy inside of him, the more they needed to be filled. The poor daddies he’d left back home when he’d left for school–miserable, desperate creatures, all of them. He’d made them all life sized casts of his cock as souvenirs, but nothing could match the real thing.

Finally, after all three dildos in sequence, Sammy slid into his hole with no resistance. Daddy tried to fight back, but after two thrusts he was gone–his cock spewing cum, eyes vacant, drool flowing from his mouth as his boy rode him. Perhaps it was time to branch out–this daddy, he was thinking, could be a fist daddy. And so the boy started speaking to him in his trance, telling him that he’d always want his boy’s cock, but also his boy’s fists–and the fists of any man his boy took a liking to. Yeah, when daddy has to beg men at the bar Friday night to fist his hole, Sammy had a feeling he wouldn’t be feeling so cocky anymore.

Ditto Sketch (2/2)

Don’t ask me how I got my Ry clone home, but I did. It was slowly beginning to discern human behavior from it’s observations of me–but I had something else in mind–I sat the thing down in front of the computer, and started playing a massive compilation of porn in front of the strangely dead eyes, allowing it to absorb positions, fetishes, appearances, and then we started playing. The flesh wasn’t…quite right to the touch–mostly because it was room temperature, but it had a nice ass which I was more than happy to fuck, and just like in the porn films it had absorbed, it made it perfectly clear that it enjoyed having my cock in its hole.

So now, after a few weeks, I have my own version of Ry–except mines much, much better than the original. It doesn’t have to eat or drink. I’ve taught it how to do all of the chores around the house with general success. It’s perfectly obedient to everything I say and command, and I can dress it up in whatever kinky gear I want, and do whatever strange thing I want to do to it. Or at least, that’s how it was, for a while.

Admittedly, I’ve never tested Ditto in this fashion. Id’ never even allowed it to hole a form for longer than a few hours before this. Naturally…it’s starting to behave a bit strangely. For one thing, it’s cock has grown massive all of a sudden. I don’t know where it got the extra mass to grow larger, but somehow it did. It’s also become kind of…clingy all of a sudden. I keep waking up with the thing wrapped around my body in a tight hug, and I have to pry it off me each time. I think it’s time to retire this blob, and return it to mush–but I think, one more fuck first.

Fuck! Oh fuck, it’s out there. I woke up with that thing around me again–but this time, I was…literally inside of it. I had to claw my way out of the mass, and I ran in here, and the shit’s still all over me, and I can’t get it off! Worse, it’s…melding to me, becoming a part of me. I think…I know where it got the raw material for it’s extra mass now–it got it from my cum…and piss…and all those things I thought had gone missing over the last few weeks. Oh god, it’s growing, it’s taking over my body, I can feel it–I…I look just like it now, and I can’t breathe, but that’s…that’s ok? Everything is…dull…I need…fuck. Yeah, need to fuck. Find other fuck thing, there’s fuck thing. Fuck. Fuck, grow, spread, more fuck things. Make more fuck things.

Source: golfadicto

Ditto Sketch (½)

At some point, in order to make progress, you have to step over at least some ethical line, right? Or at least, that’s what I kept telling myself, watching the thing I’d invented–a thing I liked to call Ditto, for reasons you’ll understand in a moment–take on the spitting image of a the rat in the cage with it. Was it alive? It was in a sense, I suppose. Over the next few hours, as Ditto figured out how to observe and take in it’s environment, as it learned, it began to move, following the parent rat around the cage. Learning how to eat, learning that it pooped, learning to drink water. Later, when I cut it open, Ditto had formed a rudimentary internal structure to accomplish the tasks at hand, but nothing like a real rat would have–because, of course, it wasn’t really alive. It was more like…a smart substance. Perhaps, even, a kind of artificial intellect, and amazingly easy to mass produce. And perhaps…well, it wasn’t exactly human testing, right?

See, I have a crush on this guy–his name is Ry, and he doesn’t know I exist, but whatever. He’s cute as fuck, and I’d never have a chance with him in real life, given that he’s straight and popular and so on, but maybe, with a sample, I could have a Ry of my own. It took about a month to assemble enough raw Ditto for what I was thinking, and that gave me plenty of time to sneak into the locker room while Ry was practicing and collect a DNA sample for Ditto to use. I waited until everyone had left the lab that night, and gave Ditto the sample and jolt of energy–watching the mass of goo begin forming into a coherent shape–seven hours later, there it was, a perfect replica of Ry, essentially comatose, right in front of me.

So yeah, I jacked off–and to my surprise, the Ditto started to copy me, and began to jack off as well. Not long after I came, it too spurted a solution which at least looked like semen, even if it really wasn’t. I hadn’t planned on this going any further–I’d duplicate Ry, just to see if I could, and then dissolve the Ditto back down to mush. But if it could, in fact, learn, then why not have a bit more fun with it?

Source: dirtyhairymind

Don’t let all the offended idiots get you down! I absolutely adore your stories, and try to read them all (even if they have content that I’m unused to). They’re incredibly well written and very enjoyable. Don’t stop doing what you’re doing, just because some people are too stupid to stop reading if they get upset.

Oh, I’m hardly down or upset. Rather, I enjoy the opportunity to pontificate. I mean, the troll does have a good point, and it’s one which I have addressed multiple times before, and it’s worth discussing, even if they didn’t really have much investment in any kind of constructive conversation. Luckily, I’m well versed in talking to myself.

Could you list any stories you have written involving silicone enhancement? I’m pretty certain you did a story involving a guy that transforms his arm with silicone so he could better fist his master…

I would check out all of the stories involving the tag “rubber,” which you can find here. I’m not sure about the story you’ve described though–it sounds like something I would write, but it doesn’t sound like anything I have written.

Trolls aside, I am glad you take your work so seriously even if you have the understanding that it is basically just porn material for people. Though I suppose it is a little saddening that TF in general relies on stereotypes to exist as it does in any format.

As I said, I’m perfectly willing to consider the fact that the stuff that I write is inherently problematic in a variety of ways–in all honesty, that’s pretty much what I believe. That said, (a) I don’t think the harm caused by these stories is particularly sizable in scope or damage, and (b) sex itself is pretty problematic in any number of ways, so I’m not entirely sure what a just sexual politics would look like (what I can say, is that it wouldn’t look like the stories I write.)

I just try to be up front about it. These are horror stories, at heart–that’s where I draw most of my inspiration. Most of these stories involve stereotypes, but that’s not even the worst aspect of what I write here. Most of these stories involve mental snuff–that is, the mental life of a character dies in pretty much every single one of these stories. Most of these stories are rape stories–that is, the plot revolves around various forms of non-consensual sex. But they’re also fantasy, and I’m pretty sure everyone who reads them (alright, let’s say 99%, because I get some crazy messages on occasion) knows that they aren’t real, and further, aren’t at all meant to reflect reality, either ideally or practically.

So that’s the somewhat comfortable ethical ground I’ve staked out around this issue. It isn’t perfect, but I can bite the bullet.