Medical Trials (Part 3)

He knew he should be more shocked than this. He tried, as hard as he could, to make himself *feel* shock. To convince himself that because things like this didn’t usually happen to bodies, what he should be registering is shock, alarm, fear, terror, but beyond a general sense of unease, Evan mostly just…looked at himself, like he’d appraise an object. As something he didn’t have much attachment to, emotionally.

Before becoming a police officer, Evan had served in the army, serving two tours in Iraq. He’d never really enjoyed his time in the army, but he had always appreciated the routine it had instilled in him. As a teenager, he’d been a bit of a troublemaker, and he appreciated the fact that the military had helped him get past that. He’d kept up his exercise and diet even after leaving the army, moving through a few jobs before he ended up in law enforcement. He’d always been told, by the various women he’d dated, that he had a strong jaw, and a stronger body, with a six inch cock he knew how to use. Beyond his muscled frame, he was moderately hairy, with more than a few tattoos he’d picked up with his army buddies.

Looking down at himself now, however, it was clear this drug–whatever it was–had already ruined him, substantially. It was the gut which disturbed him the most. It made sense, to some extent, given how much cum he’d eaten, and how full he’d felt each time. The skin was paler though, and even the stretchmarks from such rapid growth were a mild pink where they should have been violently red. He ran his hands over the surface, feeling how soft and flabby it was, and noticed that his body hair was less thick than it had been, and appeared lighter than before. He’d always kept his face clean shaven, but brushing a hand over his face, he couldn’t even feel stubble there, and even the hair on his head seemed too fine, and thinner than it had been before.

Everywhere, he’d lost muscle and replaced it with fat. He felt weak and tired, lifting his arms was tiring, and he could see several of his tattoos looked like they were fading away somehow. His skin was smooth and pale–he couldn’t have been in here long enough to lose his tan, but he looked like someone who never went outside. He’d forgotten about his cock, in all of this. He…didn’t really want to think about it, or feel it. The pain and agony of the sessions had made him slightly afraid to touch it, but he did, eventually. It was swollen and red, but also smaller–only about three inches, and his balls had shrunk quite a bit as well, each the size of a large grape. Touching himself for the first time in…days?…weeks?…he felt nothing, beyond a vague sickness in his gut, and he pulled his hand away, happy to just let the calm wash over him. Though he would feel better, if he had some cum to eat–but it wasn’t worth the pain.

He was in a room similar to the one with the chair–the same white walls, the same mirror, the same door–but this one had a small bed, a simple chair and small table, a sink and a toilet. More like a prison cell, which wasn’t exactly much of an improvement. He heard a buzz, and the door unlocked. A man stepped into the room, dressed in a well tailored suit. Evan couldn’t recall his name in the haze, but he remembered interviewing him about Trinq’s missing employees. A vice president of…research and development? He wasn’t sure, but he had a disarming smile, not that Evan cared that much. Of all the questions he wanted to ask:–“What am I doing here?” or “What have you done to me?”–the one that feel out of his mouth was, “Can…can I have some cum?”

It was the first time he’d heard his voice unmuffled in all this time, and it was higher, thinner, than it had been.

“Ah, straight to pleasure, detective? No time for business?”

“I’m just…hungry, is all.”

“Yes, I’m sure you are. We’ll get to that, don’t worry. Still, I’m mostly here to check on your progress, in our Calmura trials. Are you enjoying them? We’re working with some private prisons to develop new systems of inmate management, though we’re still trying to work out some of the side effects. Still, in your case, I don’t see anything wrong, do you? Do you like some of the changes? How do you feel?”

“I…” Evan started to say, but he didn’t know how to talk about his feelings. After a moment of silence, he just shrugged. “I don’t…like it. I think.”

“Not sure?”

“Just don’t feel much of anything, really.”

The man sighed, “I was worried seven doses would take too much fight out of you–this would have been more fun after four or five. Oh well, next time, I suppose.” The man pulled a vial and a needle out of his pocket and set them on the table. Even in the dull world his eyes were registering, he recognized the blue in the jar.

“I don’t…want any more.”

“No?” the man said, smiling. “How about we make a deal. You inject yourself with the next dose of Calmura, and I let you suck my cock. You did say you were hungry, right? Still, if you don’t want anymore, you can leave–all you have to do is walk out that door–it’s still unlocked.”

Even before he’d worked out the logic, he was sitting in the chair, readying his next dose. It was simple really. He loved cum. He needed it. If someone offered him cum, he’d do anything to get it. The man was a bit disappointed to see how well the subject had responded, the police officer finding a vein and injecting himself without any apparent reservations, and he set the needle down. “Can I suck you off now?”

The man shrugged, and pulled his cock out of his suit pants, Evan getting down in front of him and sucking, hard, eager to get his next dose of cum. Still, he wasn’t very experienced, and eventually he just let the man fuck his throat roughly, until he came, and he swallowed all of his cum down, feeling…better. It would hurt, cumming again, but this had been worth it. Cum was worth anything. Cum was priceless.

The man just shook his head, and set a beaker down on the table. “There’s probably not much left in those balls of yours, but that will give you a snack for later, right?”

He left the room, and watched Evan position the beaker under his cock, the first orgasm building, and he shot into the glass, over and over again. “Well, that was so successful, I’m almost disappointed,” he said to the scientists observing Evan, “When will he be finished?”

“Another few weeks, at least. We’ll begin his final stage of programming today, once he finishes the ejaculation phase.”

“Good. Keep me updated.”

“Yes sir.”

Medical Trials (Part 2)

The feeling of calm indifference only lasted for about half an hour–but the tank had only been drained by about a third, when he felt like he was finally free of whatever strange mental state that drug had left him in. As disconcerting as it had been, he actually missed it in a sense, as he kept swallowing his own seed, desperate to not drown on his own spunk, his gut aching, because at least for that short window of time, he had genuinely enjoyed this. The speakers in his mask continued to repeat the message, however, about once a minute, and the repetition wore on him, and he fought it for a while. Now however, he was sobbing, about an inch of cum remaining in the tank, his gut feeling like it would burst at any moment. He’d gagged a few times, spewing cum out his nose, where it ran down the outside of his mask and dripped onto his chest and swollen gut. He let out a cry of relief when the flow eased up, and the tank was dropped back down to the floor, out of sight. The machine beside him administered something else to him, and he feared he’d see that ame blue liquid, as before, but all he felt, after a moment, was pleasantly floaty, and he fell asleep in the chair.

When he woke up, he was once again in the chair, though his gut didn’t ache as bad as it had, and he felt less stiff, like he’d been out of the chair for a bit, while he was asleep, and then returned to the same position. He tried to beg and plead through the mask attached to him, but he saw the drip once more turn blue, and he fought harder against his bonds. Fifteen minutes later, the first orgasm ripped through him, and he just focused on his mind, on maintaining his focus, but he was broken, sobbing and whimpering after an hour, and after two, when his cock was merely spasming weakly, the fact that the mask was pulling his head back to the chair was the only thing keeping his head upright. Once more, the tank was raised up to the ceiling, and the flow began again. The world was dull, meaningless, aside from a slight bright spot. The tank. He…enjoyed cum. He could remember that, somewhat, but little else.

“You love the taste of cum, officer Timmons.”

The tank grew brighter in his focus, and once the flow began, he drank it down hungrily. He drank, and the messages continued, though with greater variation than the last time.

“You crave cum, Officer Timmons.”

“If a man offers you his cum, you will do anything he demands of you to obtain it.”

“Cum is priceless, you will never have enough of it.”

The dullness lasted longer than it had the first time, and was more difficult to shake off. Or was it just that the tank hadn’t been as full as it had been the first time? He wasn’t sure, everything felt like a blur. He pushed the sensation away as quickly as he could, but he couldn’t deny that he felt a more lasting effect this time, a…craving for more. The taste of cum lingered in his mouth, and he didn’t want it to fade. His gut ached, but surely he could fit in another load or two, right? Oh fuck, what in the world was he thinking? It was a relief when the tranquilizer flooded his system again, and sent him to sleep, it was easier than trying to understand what was going on with his mind.

He was forced to endure five more sessions like this. He would wake up in the chair, once again. As soon as he was awake, the strange drug would be administered. He would cum, violently and repeatedly, for several hours, after which he would ingest every drop of cum he’d just expelled. The voice would repeat in his mind, and he was no longer certain whether everything he thought was his or not. One thing he did know, as the sessions wore on, was that, more and more, he looked forward to eating the cum. He could…survive the onslaught of orgasms (though they had become so painful, he was certain that if he ever left this lab alive, he would never cum, or have sex, ever again) so long as, when they were over, he could eat the cum. He loved cum, after all. That much he knew for sure. They wouldn’t be able to take that away from him, that was just…just who he was, right?

It was difficult to compare from session to session, but Evan thought that he was orgasming less and less each time. Certainly the cum he was fed wasn’t enough to sate his desire, and the tank never looked as full as it had that first time. He also wasn’t sure…but his body felt different, somehow. Of course, he hadn’t been able to see his body since waking up in the room, with his head pulled tight against the back of the chair, but he…sensed something was wrong, or at the very least, different than it had been. Most worrisome, however, was that the world really was beginning to lose some of it’s color, even after the drug had worn off. It was hard to care about anything beyond drinking more cum. He felt dull…but even stranger, he felt calm. Relaxed and at ease. Rationally, he knew that what was being done to him was terrifying, but the emotion attached to the thought was losing force. Every emotion was losing force. He’d think of his girlfriend naked, but only received a dull throb of arousal and love, nothing like he could remember feeling.

And so, when he woke up after that seventh session, and he wasn’t strapped to the chair, he didn’t really know what to feel. Or rather, he knew what he should be feeling–relief, happiness, anticipation–and all of those things were there to some extent, but mostly he just felt…calm, as he looked down at himself, and saw for the first time what the drug had done to his body.

Medical Trials (Part 1)

Evan looked around at the desks around him, all of which had emptied out my now, leaving him alone in the precinct, chasing his own tail on this investigation into several men over the last few months. There was no real connection between any of them–not age, neighborhood, habits…well, except for one. Every single one of the men was employed at a massive health conglomerate in the business district, Trinq Incorporated. The company was trying to claim that all of the disappearances were all likely to have been done by one of their chief, international competitors–and initially, that’s what had seemed like the most likely possibility. Now though, he wasn’t so sure. The evidence the company had provided had just enough holes to make it look reasonable, but also impossible to prosecute, and in two of the cases, he’d found evidence that the men in question had actually been preparing to blow the whistle on what was looking like some serious ethical issues in Trinq’s R&D department. But as soon as he’d started asking questions along those lines, the company had started stonewalling him. His boss was pressuring him to close the file as a cold case if necessary, but Evan’s detective instincts were telling him he was on the cusp of something big.

He heard the elevator ding, and assumed it was just the janitor, coming up to clean the floor. He didn’t have time to react when the two massive men attacked him, one of them holding a rag soaked in chloroform to his nose. He fought as hard as he could, trying to reach his sidearm, but he was out before he could do anything to fight back, and the two men carried him down to the basement parking garage, threw him in the back of a van marked with Trinq Incorporated’s logo, and drove off through the city, arriving at an unmarked office building, and disappearing inside.

He was trying to scream, but all he could manage was a muffled cry, with the strange tube shoved in his mouth, and held in place by the mask secured around his head and neck, holding it immobile. The only things exposed were his eyes, allowing him a limited survey of the room–white tiled wall straight ahead and to the right, a white door in that corner, and to the left, a wall with a large mirror. In his experience, he figured it was likely one way. Where in the hell was he? The last thing he could remember was sitting at his desk, and then everything else was a blurry haze. Had someone kidnapped him? He didn’t know if it was Trinq or some foreign company, but he was willing to bet he’d stumbled on a hornet’s nest, and hadn’t been smart enough to know it.

The rest of his body was immobilized as well, and all of his clothes had been removed, leaving him naked, though there was something on his cock, or perhaps more precise, inside it–a tube, almost like a catheter, though he couldn’t see where the tube led outside his range of vision. In his arm was an IV, and some sort of complex machinery which was pumping something into him–probably saline–though he had a feeling that he’d be subjected to something else before too long. Sure enough, now that he was awake, he heard the machine whirring to life, and a blue liquid was added to his drip. All he could do, was try to scream and struggle against his bonds as the drug–whatever it might me–slipped down the line and disappeared into his arm.

For what felt like a long time, but which in reality was likely only fifteen minutes or so, nothing happened, beyond Evan panicking and hyperventilating. Then, without any warning at all, he felt his cock stiffen all on it’s own accord in a matter of seconds, and a massive orgasm ripped through him, leaving him shuddering and shaking in the chair, and he only had a few moments to heave for breath through his nose, before a second orgasm, even longer and more intense, followed right on the first’s heels.

He had no idea how long it lasted–he quickly lost count of how many orgasms he suffered through in rapid succession. At first, it was pleasurable, but the euphoria dulled away, and soon every shot of cum was simply excruciatingly painful. It felt like his balls were being crushed in a vice, milked endlessly–and somehow, every time, more cum came out of him. He’d heard somewhere, that after a relatively small number of loads, a guy would just begin shooting dry, but not him–he could see his cum flowing through the tube lodged in his cock, flowing to some unknown destination below him.

After an hour of this, the time between orgasms began to lengthen again, and he did indeed begin to shoot dry–which hurt even more, somehow. His balls were throbbing, his cock felt like it was on fire, but after the intensity of the experience, those sensations felt so distant, and as the last few orgasms shook through him, what Evan actually felt was a surprising sense of calm. Or more than just calmness, also…indifferent. Like the world had emptied of meaning somehow, or he’d simply lost the capacity to grapple with things going on around him. And as the tension left his body, he saw something rising up from below him–a massive tank, full of at least four liters of his own cum. At the top of the tank, which was being slowly raised up into the air, was the end of the tube attached to his cock, and at the bottom, the end of the tube leading back to his mouth.

“Officer Evan Timmons, you will eat all of your own cum. You will enjoy it.”

The words came through speakers in the mask itself, and they lit up the grey, featureless world around him, broke through his indifference, and he found himself focused on the command, as the tank began to empty down the tube, and into his mouth.

Hypno Me Please (Part 2)

Well? What do you think? What a difference a year makes, right?

Heh, it took two months of baby steps before I dared take him out for his first test drive–that is, before I made him take the first step down the path I’d been designing for him in my head, a path he would have never agreed to in his life. So what did I make him do? I made him cut his hair. He knew exactly what he was doing, as he went into the bathroom, powered up his razor and shaved off those beautiful locks–I watched on the cam of course, pleased beyond the belief, even if he was sobbing and furious by the end of it. I told him it made him look better, and he told me he’d never chat with me again–as if he could help it.

No, he found himself unable to resist replying to me, and if I sent a hypno file to him, he’d find himself unable to resist opening it up and watching it. He tried to tell me the files weren’t working–but the fact was, he simply hadn’t noticed what they were doing to him. He’d stopped going to the gym a month later, and look at him now–that new gut of his, those flabby arms. I’ve been considering making him gain…but I’ve had other priorities.

See–he’s starting to like it. He won’t admit it easily, but I’m wearing him down, bit by bit. Being forced to do public cam shows for anyone who wants to watch, those new tattoos of his–and the diapers of course. I made him wear them once as punishment, and his reaction was so extreme–he sobbed for hours–that I had to make them part of his wardrobe permanently. Yes, permanently. He knows he has to wear them, but what I don’t quite think he’s noticed is how much control he’s lost over the last few months–but when I make him go a month without them, and he pisses and shits himself at work–well, he’ll be begging to be back in them soon enough.

Still, I have a flight to catch. A little one year anniversary surprise–he gets to meet his master in person for the first time. We’re going to have so much fun for the next week, and for years to come. Oh yeah–years. What can I say? He’s worth the commitment, whether he wants it or not.

Hypno Me Please (Part 1)

It was a public posting, on one of the hypno forums I lurk around, with a simple title, “Hypno Me Please!!!” Now, guys who are looking to be hypnotized are a dime a dozen around the internet–they’re about as common as guys who are actually capable of hypnotizing them are rare! It just so happens, that I’m one of those rare few, but I’m also finicky, and my interests can be…well, let’s just say that I love humiliating people, and we can leave it at that for now. So I follow the thread, out of curiosity. A few guys had sent him chat info, and a few others had asked for pics, and the pics the guy sent…well, let’s just say that, if they were real, I’d found an interesting, potential subject.

Still, I can’t do much beyond throw out a hook (granted, with some very tempting bait) and see if he bites. I send him a link to what I call one of my “hypno files,” and that if it interests him, we can chat more about some direct play.. The link actually leads is an automated hypnosis program of my own design, with two simple objectives–first, a simple suggestion to follow my commands and seek to serve me, and second, a hack in the program turns on the subjects webcam, and films them while they jack off, staring at the file, and sends it directly to me.

What can I say? I loved him. The pics had been real, it turns out, but a bit old–he’d obviously been going to the gym more regularly and started shaving since those pics had been taken…and fuck, all I wanted to do, as soon as I saw him, was ruin him, every bit of him. He cums on himself and wipes it up with a cloth, the file ends and the feed cuts–and I wait. A few minutes later, he messages me back, tells me he loved the file, and wanted to know if I had any more. Did I ever. Still, best to boil them slow. By the time he realizes something is wrong, there won’t be any way for him to escape.

Master Fitzroy’s Stables (Part 4)

A commissioner requested an additional chapter to this story from earlier this year. Here’s where you can find part’s one, two, and three. Also, this chapter’s a bit out there–animal hybrids, and castration.

“I’m very disappointed, Mr. Grant. I’ve made you a very comfortable home here, you know. To have my generosity thrown back at me in my face, well…what do they say about the hand that feeds you?”

“Fuck you, you fucking piece of shit!”

“Now, I don’t know quite how you managed to untwist your way out of my programming, but I am still the master of this house, and you will still treat me with the respect I require.”

“I’m not treating you for shit! You fucked me up! I’m some old fucking man, and that…that thing fucks me fucking twice a day! No, I’m going to get out of here, and I’m going to expose you, and you’re going to fucking jail.”

“Do you honestly believe that you’re the first one of my staff to have gotten their wits about and run off to your holy ‘authorities’? Please, I have an excellent relationship with the entire local government. I can assure you. even if you had gotten away without being caught, your feat would have amounted to nothing.”

“…”

“Silence? Fine. Still, we will have to punish you, I can assure you.”

“Edufuck me all you fucking want, I’ll just beat it again.”

“Oh, edification will be necessary, yes, but I think this situation calls for more…extreme measures. No, good night, Mr. Grant. I’ll see you in a few days.”

Mr. Grant smelled manure. It was a scent he’d grown accustomed to over the last few months, since when he first displeased the Master of Fitzroy Abbey, but not one he’d ever learned to enjoy. No, he hated it more with each day. But now, waking up slowly, it…comforted him. It smelled like home, somehow.

He was lying on straw, but why was he sleeping in the stable? Had he passed out? Slipped away for a nap? Master would be very unhappy with either possibility, and he didn’t want to upset master, no, not that–

He shook his head, trying to clear it, but it felt so…thick, all of a sudden. It wasn’t like Mr. Grant had ever been the smartest person, but before he’d been able to manage. Now, it felt like his thoughts were running through molasses. Had…had something happened to him again? He could remember a conversation, dimly. Master had been angry. He’d been angry too, but also…terrified. But what he’d done, he couldn’t recall at all. He opened his eyes, and where he was propped against the side of the stable, he had a clear view of his body, and that was what caused the scream which echoed across the grounds of the entire Abbey gardens.

His legs, what the fuck had happened to his legs! The terror cut through the static clogging his mind, and he ran his old hands over the furry flanks his ass and thighs had become, then down further, to his knee, the slender leg ending in a thick, solid brown hoof. He felt the whole thing with his hands, unable to believe it, but it was him, his body. The static was returning, and as it did, some of his shock and surprise faded as well. Had things been different? He couldn’t actually remember being different, so it was possible he’d always been this way, right? The one thing he definitely appreciated was his cock, the sheath running from the base of his heavy balls all the way up his slightly elongated torso, where the head of his cock began to emerge. He forced himself upright, finding it relatively easy to balance on the wide hooves, and with his hands, felt the shaft. He had to piss–and as soon as he’d thought it, the urine poured out of him in a torrent with no control at all–he barely managed to aim it at a corner, away from the straw where he’d been laying. The scent was strong, but not at all unpleasant, similar to the manure. He…liked it here actually…but didn’t he have work to do? Hadn’t he been…trying to get somewhere? The thoughts didn’t seem to connect up to anything, but he pushed open the door to the stable, and walked out, smelling the air. Something…else was in his nose, something…wonderful. Chopper. Chopper, he definitely knew, his new horse tail flicking at the thought, ass clenching.

Whistling a little tune, he took off, following the scent of his favorite horse. He smelled something else, but realized what–or rather, who–it was, too late. Master was waiting for him as well, with two burly servants of the house.

“Ah, Mr. Grant. I trust you’ve found your new accommodations acceptable? You’ll be staying here with the horses from now on, considering you’re mostly horse yourself now. You’re usual duties will be the same, though with that new brain of yours, I doubt you’ll have much time to think of escaping again. Still, there is one last thing I’d like to take care of. I did so love that tiny cock of yours, but gene manipulation…we can’t always have everything we want. Still, I think having you as a gelding will work out fine–calm you down a bit, make you more…pliable.”

The two men tackled Mr. Grant to the grubby floor of the stable, holding him down, allowing the master of the abbey to first, bind his huge balls with a series of bands, and once they’d turned a deep, blackish blue, to cut open the sack and extract both of his testicles, before sewing up the incision. Mr. Grant just stared, dumbfounded, but once they were gone he…felt better. Calmer. The panic in him died back a bit, and he got a stupid grin on his face. He was all too happy to let Chopper fuck his new hole–a wonderful new experience, since his wider frame could better take the huge shaft, and from them on, Mr. Grant settled into his new life, that of a grubby stable man gelding–and always ready for any of the stallions to mount him, if need be.

A Familiar Fantasy (Part 3)

Arthur woke up, groggy. He was sprawled out in a massive bed, and without really thinking about it, he swung his legs over the side, went to stand up, and instead fell about a foot to the floor on the side of the bed, where he tumbled over, and looked up at the room around him. It wasn’t a dream. It wasn’t his imagination. This was really happening to him. Derrick was really a wizard, and he was really shrinking, and he had no idea just how small he was going to become. He stood up, and found that the top of his head came just to the top of the mattress–if he were in better shape, he’d maybe have been able to climb back up to where Derrick was still snoring–but as old and out of shape as he was, there was no way he’d be able to make it back up there. Besides, he had to piss more than anything–but how in the world was he going to get up to the toilet, at two feet tall? He walked to the bathroom to inspect it, and sure enough, there was no way he’d be able to get up there…which meant he was going to have to get help, he supposed.

He went back into the bedroom and went around to Derrick’s side of the bed. He reached up, but couldn’t touch him, and so he was forced to yell up at him to get him to wake up. His voice was strange–the smaller his neck was becoming, the higher pitched his voice had become. He was almost sounding a bit…squeaky? He didn’t want that to turn him on a bit, and yet he was getting hard all the same. The humiliation of having to get someone up to help him piss was just as horrifying, and yet also…something he had fantasized about before, actually.

It took some effort, but Derrick finally roused himself and got up. He went with Arthur into the bathroom, lifted the little man up onto the toilet seat and helped him balance while he pissed, and then made him wait while Derrick emptied his own bladder, and then made Arthur jack him off into the toilet bowl as well. He wasn’t exactly enthused about the idea, but Derrick threatened to abandon him on a high shelf for a couple of hours, and so Arthur did as he was told, and jacking a cock which was so large compared to his own–he got hard as well, and ended up jacking himself off after Derrick had cum-and then he lifted Arthur back off the toilet, and offered to make breakfast.

The table was too big for him, so he sat on the floor, with a little box and a little dish of food. It seemed like so little, and yet he was full as soon as he’d finished it, and Derrick insisted he measure him. A foot and a half. Eighteen inches. He didn’t even reach Derrick’s knee. He felt puny, and helpless, and yet so…excited somehow, when Derrick picked him up and put him on his shoulder. The height was a bit dizzying for him, and he could barely believe that just one day before, he’d been standing at that height all the time.

“So what do you think? Is it everything you wanted it to be?”

“Actually…yeah.” Arthur hadn’t felt this happy in ages. He felt like himself, somehow. He spent the rest of the day with Derrick in his library, and while his master read, he sat in his lap and toyed with his massive cock, which a few hours later, had grown as large as he was, when erect. He was shrinking slower now, and yet every lost inch at this point only made the entire world around him expand exponentially. Everything looked new to his eyes–while Derrick cooked dinner, he explored the counter top with a strange glee, amazed at what he could fit inside, amazed at what he could see. He’d finally stopped shrinking it seemed–he was now three inches tall, and looked to be able the size of a large mouse. He ate the bit of dinner his master set aside for him, and then Derrick carried him in the crook of his arm down into his workshop.

“So, do you want me to change you back?” Derrick asked, setting him down on his desk, crouching down so he could look Arthur in his tiny eyes. “Don’t think about the rest of the world, about that life you had. You can have a home here with me as long as you like. It’s been a rather long time since I’ve had a familiar, and I think I would be the first person to have a human one, but you would be a help in certain tasks. So just think of what you want to be.”

Derrick sat down on the desk and looked around him. The lamp towered over him, and the room was so dark he could barely see into the corners, but he could see Derrick’s face–the creases and lines, the age he’d never noticed because he’d never known where to look, but it was amazing how being this small brought the little things to focus.

“I want to stay, I think. Maybe…maybe not forever. But for now, I do.”

“That sounds like a good plan to me too,” Derrick said, “Now, do you want to see some magic?”

Arthur nodded. Derrick put his hand on the desk, and Arthur climbed his way up his arm, sweating a bit when he reached the man’s shoulder, but he had a wonderful vantage point from which to see everything, clinging to his new master’s collar, and for the first time that he could remember, Arthur felt he was right where he belonged.

“Please, I’m sorry…just–fuck!–please, just let me stop!”

Mr. Goldman had been pounding on his nuts with his metal ruler for about twenty minutes now. I was just watching, enjoying myself. I’d tried to warn him about flunking me in his class, but some people just think they’re beyond the reach of punishment. I mean, I could have always just *made* him give me an A in the class–but then how would he have learned anything at all? The only way we can improve is by making mistakes, after all.

Still, I suppose he’s had enough pain for the moment. The next time he smacks his sack with the ruler, I see the pleasure light up his eyes, and he moans, with a tinge of confusion, before smacking himself again. They’d swelled slightly, in the course of regular punishment, but now they were expanding much faster, his sack bulging until it was the size of a softball, and then larger–large enough that it would be obvious in the front of any pants he wore, even as his cock shrank in size to little more than a nub.

“Oh fuck, how…how are you doing any of this?”

“Heh, if I told you, I’d have to kill you,” I said, “Or figure out something worse than death, perhaps. Are you sure you want to know?”

His academic curiosity was sated, but I still had plenty of plans for my least favorite professor, and he had all summer to discover a brand new side of himself, with my help.

A Familiar Fantasy (Part 2)

Derrick had been so nice about it, despite the fact that it was so damn strange. Because Arthur didn’t really want to be someone’s boyfriend. He didn’t even necessarily want to be human, exactly. What he really wanted, as strange as it might sound…was to be a pet. Not that he becomes a animal, no, just that he…shrinks down. Too small to do anything for himself, too small to object to anything, just at his owner’s mercy–and honestly, being at the mercy of someone like Derrick was appealing, and part of him was worried that this weekend–he’d try to do something to Arthur, set up some scene or something, and he just wasn’t that interested. He was ok with his fantasies being impossible! He’d managed to come to terms with the fact that he’d just always be…too big to feel right. He’d tried, with a few exes, some…things, but all it had done was make him feel self-conscious. Better to just accept his strangeness and move on, accept that…sometimes life can’t be what you want it to be.

Then again, depending on who you know, sometimes it can be.

That’s what Arthur discovered when he arrived at Derrick’s house, frustrated at his ill-fitting seat in his car, both eager for the company of a friend, and yet terrified that he’d do something to alienate him, like he always seemed to do to men he liked. He didn’t notice that the cuffs of his pants were brushing against the ground, but the steps up to the front door did seem a bit higher than they had the first time he’d visited. He knocked at the door, and after a few moments it opened, and he found himself looking…up.

That wasn’t right–he and Derrick were the same height, and he’d always seen him eye to eye. The sensation of looking up at him was enough to send a flurry of sexual excitement through him, but it was just a trick, of course. Platform shoes? A higher step into the house? He looked down–but Derick was barefoot, and the step was only a couple of inches higher than where he stood–but then how…

“How’s my little man doing this evening?” Derrick asked him.

The small inconveniences of his difficult day started repeating in Arthur’s mind, fitting together into a larger picture. How he’d only ever adjusted his office chair up–never down. The same with the seat in his car. How his boss had been at eye level, despite being an inch or two shorter than Arthur. How poorly his well chosen clothes were fitting. There was no way it could actually be happening, right?

“You doing ok, Arthur?”

“I don’t…I think…” Arthur started to say, looking down at himself. “This is going to sound a bit crazy…but do I look shorter to you?”

“Sure. I’d say you’ve probably lost about six inches. Now, are you going to come in or not, little man?”

He said it again–that’s how Arthur had described his fantasy to him, in simple terms. To be a little man, someone’s pet person. Small, even kept in a cage, brought out for fun on occasion, cared for, perhaps even adored…But wait, had he just agreed with him? That he was shorter? And…he hadn’t even seemed curious about the question? No, he’d been expecting it, or something similar. Arthur narrowed his eyes at him. “Do you…what…”

“Come on in Arthur, we should chat.”

Part of him told him to run, to get to a hospital or…something. But his cock was hard, and that smile on Derrick’s face…Arthur stepped inside, and the wizard closed the door behind him.

“Ok…so you’re a wizard.”

“I am a wizard, yes.”

“You…cast a spell on me?”

“I did. I have to admit, I have a certain, soft spot for men who find themselves hopeless in the world, who want the impossible. This is…a new one for me–but you are rather cute, you know.”

“No one’s ever called me cute before.”

“Well, you’ve never been five feet tall before, either.”

“…You can change me back though, right? I mean, this isn’t permanent?”

“What if I don’t want to change you back? What if you don’t want me to change back? Wouldn’t those be more interesting questions?”

“This isn’t a joke, Derrick! This isn’t–I mean, you have to ask people before you do stuff like this! This is really fucked up.”

“But you like it–I can tell. Besides, you never would have come if I’d told you. You never would have believed me. You’d already resigned yourself to the impossibility.”

“But I have a life! How small am I going to get, anyway?”

“I’m honestly not sure. I’m as interested in finding out as you are.”

“I can’t go to work if I’m a foot tall, Derrick.”

“Who says you’d have to work? The world is so much larger than you imagined–sorry for the pun, but it’s true. There’s so many other possibilities.”

“But–Hey! You can’t just–put me down!”

“Why should I? Now give me a kiss, little man, and then we’re going to bed–I want to fuck you while I can still fit inside you.”

A Familiar Fantasy (Part 1)

Derrick walked around the set up in his kitchen one more time, double checking the details of the ritual. It wasn’t something he’d told many people in his long, long life, across a string of shifting identities as he moved from place to place, but Derrick was a wizard, and a rather skilled one at that. The gift had been passed to him almost two centuries earlier by an older lover at the end of his own life. As far as wizards were concerned, Derrick was just now approaching middle age, and he appeared it…but he’d also found himself growing a bit lonely over the last few decades. This modern world was so strange–it was rather astounding how fast things were changing now. His own magic felt almost…unnecessary at times, now that he had a mini computer in his pocket. Still, there were some things technology couldn’t do–but one thing it could do was…facilitate meeting men, and Derrick had, much to his own surprise, found someone interesting. A man named Arthur who looked close to Derrick’s own age, and therefore often seemed childish to Derrick, and yet he was sweet…and he also had something else that Derrick found fascinating. Arthur’s fantasies–well, as far as he knew, they were hopeless. But to a wizard, well, nothing was quite as hopeless as it might seem.

It was always a bit nerve wracking conducting a spell he’d never attempted before-especially one which, he assumed, could have some rather…unfortunate side effects, were someone to miss a detail or two. Still, there was no way of knowing without trying, right? He focused, and began–in the center of the circle in front of him, a few strands of Arthur’s hair, and as the spell progressed, and the energy in the room thrummed about Derrick’s mind and body, he could see the strands began to pull into themselves, growing smaller and smaller. He stopped the ritual and broke the circle when he could barely see the hairs, the energy pent up released into the night, surging out in search of their target, and he searched about for the hairs–he hadn’t gone on too long, had he? In the end, he had to dig out a magnifying glass from a cluttered drawer of various tools, but he spotted them, and breathed a sigh of relief. Everything had gone as it was supposed to–now all he could do was wait. The two of them had already made arrangements to spend the weekend together, so Arthur would arrive tomorrow afternoon–and depending on how things went, he might not be leaving for a while. Derrick grinned at the thought–he was too energized to sleep, something which always happened when he performed magic too late–and he pulled a recently acquired grimoire from his shelf and perused it until the early hours of the morning.

What a strange day, Arthur thought, as he wrapped up his work on Friday afternoon in preparation for his weekend with Derrick. He was still a bit…surprised that he’d ended up in a relationship with him, or at least, it was a relationship to him. They hadn’t really made anything official yet, but Derrick didn’t really seem to be the kind of guy who liked making things official. In fact, Derrick was someone who kept himself frustratingly apart, so much so that more than once, Arthur had assumed he hadn’t really been interested in a close relationship–and yet, Derrick had pursued him anyway, and it was difficult to not feel a bit flattered that someone as impressive as Derrick would want him, for whatever reason. As far as Arthur was concerned, he didn’t really have much to offer anyone–he was just a middle aged guy, overweight, insecure, burdened by highly unrealistic fantasies which made sex rather uninteresting for him. He’d been to Derrick’s house a few times–a large manor on the outskirts of town, sitting on a few acres of property–but this was really the first time he’d be spending any sustained period of time with him. He was nervous, and as far as the day had already progressed, he wasn’t too confident that things would go well.

It wasn’t that anything particularly bad had happened, it was just that, all day, things had felt a bit…off. It was little things, really. His clothes had felt uncomfortable, his pants slipping down a few times, forcing him to tighten his belt a bit uncomfortably. Same with his office chair, which he couldn’t quite seem to find the right height for, no matter how many times he adjusted it. He’d been clumsy all day, his hands not quite grasping what he’d been trying to do, and he’d broken a coffee cup both in his own kitchen, and it the break room. He’d tried to chat with his boss about a project as they were walking, but found it oddly difficult to keep up. Everything had just seemed a bit more difficult than it should have been, and now he was feeling frazzled, exhausted, self-conscious, and wondering whether he should just call Derrick and cancel their weekend plans.

There was a buzz in his pocket–a text from Derrick: “Excited to see you! You coming soon?”

To cancel or not to cancel? Arthur’s thumbs hovered over the keyboard, and despite his doubts…why not at least give it a chance? “Leaving soon,” he typed, slower than usual, because his fingers kept missing the keys for some reason, “See you in an hour.”

He wrapped up his work as quickly as he could, got up from his awkward chair, put on the coat he’d worn in that morning, and to his surprise, found the sleeves were an inch or two longer than they should have been. Was someone fucking with him at the office or something? He tried not to think about it, and left. Down in the parking lot, he had to spend a minute or two readjusting his car seat, even though he hadn’t needed to touch it in months, and then headed for Derrick’s home, about a half hour drive away, still nervous, still not very sure about all of this–still not at all sure what Derrick saw in him. Last time had been awkward enough–they’d gotten a bit drunker than he’d intended, and Derrick had started kissing him, and that had been fine, but he hadn’t really felt like going further, and then everything about all of his weird…fantasies and fixations had just sort of poured out of him in a mess. A rather humiliating mess.