Category: Uncategorized

Commentary: Joining the Family

I’m not sure how many people will find this interesting, but I often have some background / thoughts on stories that I write, but I’ve never really found a good time/place to communicate that. But, with this secondary blog, I think I’ll start posting these sorts of commentary pieces here, talking about stories, how I came up with the idea, how it connects to the larger network of themes and settings, and other things that may or may not be relevant. Hope you find it at least somewhat interesting!

So, for those of you who don’t know much about where I get my story ideas, the vast, vast majority of them are created in what I might call brainstorm sessions. Those of you who contribute more than ten dollars a month on Patreon might be familiar with these documents–they’re massive, and I usually keep one running for several months at a time, adding to the stories in that document over time. For those who don’t here’s how those brain storms are created.

A quirk I’ve always had, for years, is that I create odd little TF games using porn pics and complex folder systems and algorithms to essentially generate semi-random transformations. At some point, it occurred to me that I could also create games designed to give me random story ideas! Basically, I put in a bunch of random photos, and with the help of some random number generators and creative force, those photos get sorted into sets of three to four pictures, all of which contain in them the nugget of a potential story I want to write. As such, for nearly every story I’ve been posting to tumblr for the last several years, there is associated with it, three or four (or more) pictures which more or less inspired it. For example, here are the pics that inspired “Joining the Family”:

Gramps, the narrator

Mikey before

Mikey after

The rest of the story just emerged from there. It wasn’t really intended to head quite as directly into horror as it did–if anything, the story as I’d originally imagined it was going to be much more conventional, without much supernatural at all. I just liked the idea of Mikey having a fairly normal teenage rebellion, one which just happened to include getting his grandfather to relapse and start drinking again, start smoking, and then also have some good old fashioned incest. However, that original idea was a bit too slow paced for tumblr (I try to have sex in every chunk if possible, and this original idea wouldn’t have had much sex at all until the end. A slow burn is great, but not when you’re posting a story in bits). 

So I ended up speeding things along with a haunting. I honestly have no clue what the haunting is–it’s just there. Given that this story is yet another instance of Louisiana Acres, it’s definitely tied to the trailer–all of these characters were sucked in at some point, and were likely never related to each other at all to begin with. It may or may not have something to do with TV static–I just thought that was such a strange detail, when I wrote it, and even though it just sat there as an unused Chekov’s gun, I kept it when I went back and revised, because of everything it hinted at. There’s been a lot of more conventional horror elements in my stuff lately, and I blame @vikingzombieboyfriend for suggesting I read some Ramsey Campbell a few weeks back, and I demolished one of his short story collections, and it’s been influencing my thought process a bit. 

If the story seemed to end a bit quick, that’s because I’d originally planned a fifth chunk, but scrapped it. I hate first person stories that don’t provide some context as to why they’re first person. First person implies an audience outside of the reader, and without addressing that, I always feel like the first person is unnecessary. It was meant to take place at some point in the future. Gramps is telling his story to a new person trapped by the haunting, giving him some explanation as to what’s happening to him. It would also give a chance to see how the other family members had progressed since. But I just didn’t feel like writing a reunion special, and so I skipped it. If you’re desperate to know, the dad’s a huge slob, the twins are muscular brute dumbfucks, Mikey’s a chubby pig, Gramps is a decrepit old fuck with a huge cock, and the audience of the story, the new guy, is probably going to end up as the dad’s new toilet pig, since he’s too fat to move much anymore. See? No reason to waste 1000 words on that, when 50 will do just fine.

Joining the Family (Part 4)

All of us ended up waking up at about the same time, and went about trying to disentangle ourselves from one another. Unlike the night before, when everyone had been horny and out of their minds with lust, the morning was a much more sober affair–no one wanted to look anyone else in the eye, and Mikey couldn’t even glance at me, he just sat on the floor, head in his hands, mumbling something to himself. I wanted to tell him it was going to be alright, that we would get past it, but how could I tell him something like that? Decades of sobriety down the drain, just like that. I’d just fucked my own grandson–how in the hell could I ever get him to trust me again? How could I ever trust myself around him again? I didn’t know what to do, but I accepted a hand from the twin’s father, who helped me up, patted me on the shoulder, and he said “Welcome to the family, I’m sorry to say…” And then he walked into the bathroom, lighting a cigar along the way, and I heard him talking to himself cursing, and then he let off a thunderous belch, followed by a wet fart. “Hot damn, I’d been hoping that shit wasn’t gonna get any worse, fuck…”

The twins were next to each other, and I wasn’t sure whether it was the daylight, or just the fact that I’d never gotten a good look at them before, but the two of them seemed different than before. Bigger, more muscular, hairier. They didn’t look much like their father, now that I had light and time to notice. They lit cigarettes, and shared a few smoky kisses, but it wasn’t…lust. They just seemed to be searching for some small comfort with one another. All I knew was that I had to get out of there. The smoke was stifling, the air heavy. I went over and grabbed Mikey by the arm, and told him we needed to go home.

He told me he couldn’t. I asked why, and he said that he was home. Thinking back, what he actually said was, “We’re home,” but I didn’t notice, I wasn’t listening. All I could think of doing was regaining control. He kept insisting he stay, that he shouldn’t leave anymore, that he deserved this, that if he left it would just get worse. I hauled him up–he was heavier, and I was exhausted, but he didn’t fight me as I forced him back into his clothes, dragged him out of the trailer and into the sun. It felt so good, in the light, but it also…hurt somehow. We got in the truck, and he was sobbing at this point, muttering how sorry he was over and over. My hands were shaking; I needed a drink something fierce. I drove off, pulling into a gas station where I bought a bottle of liquor, and it was only when I got in my truck again that I realized how natural that had felt, how instinctual, and I resolved to pour the bottle out once we got home.

Mikey had gone quiet, but he was still crying. I told him everything was going to be ok, and he shouted back, “Everything is not ok! Don’t you know what happened last night? Why couldn’t you have just left me alone? Why the fuck did you have to show up? I…I didn’t want that, I can’t believe what I did…”

I tried to tell him it was me, but he stopped responding. I drove home, and the both of us went into my trailer. I went to pour the bottle out in the sink, only to discover a third of it was missing. I could…taste alcohol in my mouth, on my breath…and something else too. I looked down, and found a thick cigar smoldering between my fingers. Mikey was sitting in a chair, head in one hand, cigarette in the other. The bottle was at my lips again–I realized I had been drinking and smoking ever since I left the gas station, and I hadn’t even noticed it. I recoiled from the bottle, and left the cigar on the counter–Mikey saw my terror, and shook his head. He told me I couldn’t fight it. That it had me now, that there wasn’t anything any of us could do. He wasn’t crying anymore, but I could feel the weight dragging him down, dragging us both down, and at that moment…all I wanted was for him to be happy, was…was for him to feel good again, like before.

I hadn’t actually managed to put down either the cigar, or the bottle. I walked over, got down, and we kissed again, sharing smoke and booze until the bottle was empty. Over and over I told myself that this was wrong, that I shouldn’t be doing this, not with a man, not with my grandson. He started begging me to fuck him, telling me he was a slutty pig, that his hole was aching for a big cock like mine. I…I was so hard. The room was filled with smoke, it was like a dream. I slipped into him again, and I felt so alive, so heavy, so filthy, so…good. It was so good, being inside him again, I never wanted to be anywhere else. Words were pouring out of my mouth, words I never could have imagined saying in a million years, telling him what a naughty boy he was, how he was going to have to learn to keep grandpa happy from now on with both his holes, whenever I wanted it. I licked his sweaty body, he tasted so…so young and sweet. I filled him up over and over again, every shot just made me want to fuck more. It was evening before we finally managed to take a break for food. I wasn’t really hungry, but we needed to eat, I thought. While we snacked, I looked at myself in the mirror, at my sagging gut, my suddenly all white beard, my bloodshot eyes and red nose. I hadn’t looked like that before, but it also seemed…right.

The food tasted rotten, even though it wasn’t, and we didn’t eat much. The hunger was still there, the darkness clawing at my guts. Mikey told me we should go back, that we’d been away too long. He was pale and shivering, sweating. I knew he was right. We got back in the truck and drove back to Dale and Rick’s, with a quick stop for more booze and smokes. We got there, and Dale opened the door. He told us to make ourselves at home, and we haven’t left since.

Joining the Family (Part 3)

I realized too late that Rick and Dale had said something, that Mikey had gotten up off the mattress from between them, grabbed a liquor bottle and taken a swig, carrying it with him as he walked over. This wasn’t Mikey, though. I don’t quite know how I knew that, instinctively. Something in the sway of his hips, the way his face seemed to catch more shadow than the rest of the room. “Hey Gramps,” he said, “I was gonna wait until tomorrow, but the boys say no time like the present, right?”

I told him that he was going to get dressed, and get in the car. That we were going home, and we were going to have a long talk about what he’s doing, about not throwing his life away like this. He laughed, but something in his eyes didn’t match the mirth, like I’d noticed with Rick’s father. I was getting ready to grab him and haul him out, but he moved first, caught me off balance, shoved me back and I toppled onto my back. I tried to get up, but he landed on top of me will all his weight. He was heavier all of a sudden, even though he didn’t look different–like something else was pressing down on me through him, my arms pinned to my side by two strong thighs. He took another gulp from the bottle he had in his hand, holding it in his mouth. I yelled at him to let me up–he took advantage of my open mouth to lock lips with me and feed me the mouthful of liquor.

Now I hadn’t so much as tasted alcohol in decades at that point, and…and fuck, it wasn’t like I hadn’t thought about it. I sputtered that first mouthful out, but god, the desire was there, and I sure as hell wanted a drink, I can tell you that much. Mikey tisked me, told me not to be so wasteful, took another swig and locked lips with me again–this time with more force. I couldn’t wrench my head away, it was like something else had stuck us together, the booze sloshing between us until I…I swallowed it, and I just felt my entire body relax, the whiskey burning it’s way into my gut, so warm and familiar, and fuck I’d missed it so damn much. He took another drink and fed me that one too, and then I was happily drinking and kissing him, my own grandson. The booze raced to my head, it was numbing everything it touched. I lost track of time, of space, of myself. At some point, the twins came over and repositioned Mikey, giving them access to his ass while we kept kissing, their father masturbating over all of us, huffing and panting and grunting, the only other sound in the trailer was the occasional moan, and the static from that damn TV.

One of the twins got down below the other and started sucking my cock. I just tried to pretend it wasn’t happening. They took a moment to move Mikey up, lining his cock up with my mouth, and I resisted, refused to suck it until…until they coated it with liquor and fed it to me that way. My face was inches from my grandson’s hole, I could hear the twin’s cock squelching inside him, I could smell their sex, and it was…it was making me hornier. The weight was only getting heavier, but instead of it being focused within a body, it felt like it was pressing into me, joining with me, some strange, alien darkness.

I would only take breaks from sucking on my grandson’s cock, so I could drink from the bottle–anything, at this point, to dull what was happening. As soon as that bottle was empty, someone handed me another one. The twin came inside my grandson, I felt his cum dribbling back out of his hole and onto my chest, where someone’s hand rubbed it into my skin. Mikey was getting close, a voice was urging me on, telling me to suck harder, suggesting motions with my tongue, how to keep myself from gagging. I thought it was one of twins or their father, but thinking back it wasn’t any of their voices, and it felt like…like something resonating in my own head, some irresistible suggestion inside myself. Mikey came with a choked gasp, and I swallowed all of his sweet, young cum at the voice’s urging, my head spinning.

I…I don’t know how it happened. I…I want to say someone put him there, put us into position, made us do it. I want to say it was the voice, compelling me. But I…I think it was me. I was the one who pushing the twin away from my cock, slid up, and told my own grandson to sit on my cock, to feel his grandpa’s big cock deep inside him. He was loose and wet, well used already at that point, but…but that only made it hotter for some reason. I blacked out not long after that, but I do remember filling him up. I came, and at the same time, it felt like the darkness inside me solidified, turned to barbed wire and thorns, tearing its way into my soul, impossible to unwind and disentangle. I couldn’t stop the thoughts anymore, they felt like…like my own. They were my own. I demanded one of the twins sit on my cock, and he obliged, the other keeping me plied with liquor kisses. My grandson, meanwhile, worshiped the twin’s father’s filthy body, and sucked his cock. I…I kept drinking in the hope that I wouldn’t remember any of it, and honestly, nearly all of it is a blur, but it’s there, all the same, the certainty that it happened, even if I can’t access the particulars. It never seemed to end, but it did end at some point, because eventually I woke up on the filthy trailer floor, entangled with everyone else, and as much as I wanted to feel horrified by what I’d done, all I wanted was, first, another bottle of booze, and then second, to plow all their holes all over again.

It was getting harder and harder to remember I’d asked him to come over so he could help me, and not so I could make him like me. Maybe…maybe the former was just a lie I’d told myself. When I picked up my phone to text him, hands shaking, the cigar still between my fingers where I couldn’t release it, had my cock been hard? Had it…wanted me to bring someone over? Had it wanted me to try to escape? 

It doesn’t matter now of course. There is no escape. When I’d called, I’d had a hairy ballgut covered with hair. I could have passed for a man in his fourties. Now, I’d be lucky to be in my sixties. I hadn’t grown much larger, but I can grown weaker, my muscles weakening and dying , making it…so much easier to just sit here in my chair (my chair–this chair? Its chair? Our chair?) and smoke this endless cigar, and drink this endles bourbon that appeared not too long before, and watch him lap at my cock.

He was about where I’d been, when I’d called him. He hadn’t believed me, when I tried to tell him who I was, his best friend, and before he could get out, his eyes had glazed slightly, and I’d had all these…ideas suddenly. They were in him too, I knew, because he’s the one who got down on his knees and started sucking at my cock–now shorter and thicker than before, and we’d moved here, to the chair. 

I don’t know how many loads I’ve fed him at this point. I don’t know what time it is, it’s stopped all the clocks. Its timeless. We’re timeless. Almost like we’re caught in a loop, changing a bit more each time we go around. My hairline still creeping back. I didn’t have these glasses earlier, I’m certain. He’s only getting larger and fatter, chins jiggling around my shaft, hair sprouting everywhere, even as his head balds messily. Maybe it will let us go, eventually, but will we want to leave? Will there even be anything out there for us? Maybe we should just stay–that would be easier, wouldn’t it? 

you write the best tranformation stories ever. Gator nights is my favourite because it’s nasty and beastly. Any other stories like that? Would you ever write something similar again?

Thanks, I’m glad you enjoyed that one so much. As a general rule, if a story of mine that you like is a furry story, nine times out of ten it was commissioned by someone in the furry community–those sorts of stories don’t “pop out” of me all that often without some outside prompting. That said, Gator Nights was a nice one, and I have a few other lizard/monster/strange stories over on my fur affinity profile from years back. There’s also “The Lizardman Plot”, which I posted a few years ago, which has some similar themes, as well as, perhaps, “The Book of Spirits”. Hope those help with your cravings!

He’s fucking clueless. 

It all started after that day in our intro to psych class, the one where our professor discussed hypnosis, and even demonstrated it on one of our classmates–with his permission of course. I was amazed–I had no idea it was so easy to put someone under like that, and I just couldn’t quite shake the idea of…my roommate for some reason. 

He was a bit of a pig, kind of a slob, and it had always bothered me. I thought I’d…put him under and just make him clean up after himself a bit better, but once he was under, I just…it seemed like such a good idea to get him to suck my cock for me. I’d always been gay, and I hadn’t exactly had much luck with any of the guys here, and he seemed game enough. 

Needless to say, he’d basically my pet pig at this point. I did make him clean up his act a bit, but I’ve been increasing his appetite, and it shows–he’s packed on the Freshman Thirty at this point, and it’ll be fifty by the end of the semester. All I have to do is say a word, and he’s on his knees, eyes shut, begging me for my cum. Yeah, fuck, just seeing him, the fucking mindless slut, it makes me nut every time. I’m gonna start whoring him out, I think–I know a few other guys in my psych class who might enjoy the pigs mouth for some cash, and he loves sucking cock so much, I doubt he’d object.

He’s fucking clueless.

Ever since that lecture in psych, I just knew I had to. My roommate and I, we’d never really connected, you know? I was too dirty, he was a clean freak–I thought that if I hypnotized him, I could get him to loosen up a bit, you know? But once I had him under, I thought–why not get something else out of him too?

I’d always been a bottom, and he wasn’t about to object to getting his cock sucked–and damn did he have a fine cock–the rest of him just wasn’t much to look at you know? Well, we’ve been working on that lately, of course. He’s going to the gym five days a week at this point, working out with a couple of other guys from our psych class, and dame, he’s looking buff all of a sudden, and I think the workouts are making him hornier.

He sure as hell is making me hornier–he hasn’t noticed that he’s stopped showering at this point, and the musk rolling off him when he walks in the room, it’s enough to send me to my knees, tongue out, eager for a load of cum. I’ve been molding his personality a bit, and he’s turned into a nice, brutal top now–fucking my face and my ass long and hard, talking dirty to me. I think I’ll start whoring him out–I know a few other bottoms who’d love a top like this, and he won’t complain about the extra tail, not after another one of our conversations.

I’d always hated him, Mr. Wallingford, my parent’s next door neighbor. A total fruit, and everyone knew it–but while that was disgusting, what made it worse was how much he wanted me. Ever since I was a teenager and had started coming into my own, I’d noticed how often he looked at me, whenever I was playing outside with my friends, he’d be watching me through the window. I tried telling my parents but they wouldn’t listen, and he never did touch me or say anything to me. He’d just…watch. Stare. 

I was so happy, when I went off to college, that I could be away from him finally, but coming home for breaks and summers was horrible. I’d get home, and there he’d be again, still staring, still licking his lips, still…disgusting. I did my best to ignore him, and that worked fine until the summer between my Sophomore and Junior years, when I got home and something changed. Not right away. The first month was the same–he would still watch me, but now he had a strange glee in his eye that he hadn’t before. Every year the neighborhood throws a big block party for independence day, with a big potluck. Mr. Wallingford provided the cake that year, and everyone had a piece–it was delicious, but after that…

Suddenly, I was the one who couldn’t take my eyes off of him, and he made sure I had plenty of opportunities to see him. He would walk around the neighborhood naked, and no one would bat an eye or find it the least bit strange, but I was the only one who knew, and I couldn’t divert my eyes. Every waking moment I had to follow him, stare at him…lust for him. He was in my dreams, all of these sick, twisted fantasies I’d never had, they were all I could think about. At first that was it, but now, things are getting worse.

My…body. Something’s wrong with it. I’m putting on weight, I have these dreams were I’m massively fat, and I deserve it, I deserve to have my hot, muscular body ruined for ignoring him all these years, for…for never serving him how he needed to be. My…my dad raped me last night. He went in my room, threw off my covers and fucked my ass, loud enough for my mom to know, and I wanted it, and he watched it happen through the window, jacking off. Now, he’s out on his driveway, pissing, and as soon as he goes back inside…I’ll be out there, on my hands and knees licking it up off the concrete, because I need it, and everyone will watch me, everyone will see me. And then I’ll crawl to his door, and I’ll beg him to use me, because… because I need him. Because I’ve watched him forever, but I never knew how much I needed him until now. Because I’m his pig now, and that’s all I’ll ever be from now on.

Source: gbendana