Well for one thing there’s been a huge explosion in great tumblr writers all of a sudden in the last few months, which I have been greatly enjoying. The most notable of which would be:
Beyond tumblr, there hasn’t been a whole lot. Gay Spiral Stories has a glut of muscle stuff, if that’s what you like. Best thing I’ve seen over there in a while was “Coffee Fix – Duncan” by Trylithin and “Noah’s Wild Night” by Will Topping, both of which are more along my style and interest.
Over on CYOC, the picking have been a bit slim as well. There was a great addition to the slobifier section, which you can read here. While it isn’t confirmed, I suspect it was written by the same author who wrote “Slobbing Up” (Parts 1, 2, and 3) which I have…enjoyed a lot lately. There have been a few other interesting bits, but nothing substantial. Still, I hope that gives you some new stuff to peek at–definitely check out those tumblrs above! They’re all great writers, and deserve to be shared.
It was just some stupid looking show on Netflix, something probably no one had ever watched, something that Chad popped on for a laugh and to burn an hour, just to see how bad it was. It was called “Ruining Your Life”–apparently, it was some reality show following around people who’s lives had gone from great to terrible–or so he thought. Instead, what came on his TV screen was a strange, swirling pattern, and then a floating head of some old man, big beard, chuckling.
“Well hey there Chad, so good of you to join me. Now why don’t we get down to business, eh?”
He tried to look away, but he couldn’t. All he could do was watch the man, listen to his deep, raspy voice, grope his hard cock and…and fantasize about what…what it would be like, to let this man ruin him. Now Chad had always been a good guy, went to the gym, was getting good grades in school, had lots of friends. But what if things were…different?
He found it impossible to avoid binging the show. He started skipping the gym and class, avoiding his friends. He’d still go out on occasion, but usually only for snack runs and to stop by the gas station for drink and cigarettes. He would sit in his room, on the couch, stuffing his face, chain smoking, and masturbating until his cock was raw, feeling his muscles fade and fat bulk up all over him, faster than should have ever been possible. By the time he got to the end of the first season–all 24 episodes in five days–he didn’t even recognize himself.
He didn’t watch the show as much, but it didn’t matter. His work ethic was shot–he started flunking his classes because he couldn’t bring himself to care about his assignments. Still, he managed to pull himself together, and eeked out enough to stay in school at the end of the semester. He’d…figure out something, he told himself, he’d get a job over the summer, he’d put his life back on track. Then, in June, the second season came out–and he couldn’t stop himself from watching every episode in a row, 24 hours straight, and by then, there was no going back, not ever, and he no longer cared at all.
When Nick moved back in with his father, after college, because he couldn’t find a job that paid him enough to live on his own, he immediately noticed that his father had struck up a friendship with a neighbor who had moved next door while Nick was at school. His dad wouldn’t say much about him, but the two of them would spend hours in the neighbor’s garage, and every time his dad came home, he’d reek of cigars and beer–things his father never would have touched when Nick was a kid, before his mom left them.
His dad had changed a bit too–he’d grown a beard, he’d quit his job as an accountant and worked as a delivery truck driver–something Nick told him was below his level of intellect…but the more he talked with his dad, the less he was sure of that. His dad didn’t seem too…smart all of a sudden. The man who’d taught him to build electric circuit boards when he was a teenager couldn’t figure out simple math problems. He sounded like some…hick.
He was certain something was going on, and he was going to figure out what it was. One morning, after Mr. Pescole, the neighbor, had left for work, he noticed that he’d left his garage door open. Curious, he went over, slipped inside, and closed it behind him, planning on just taking a little peek–when someone came up and forced something over his head. He fought whoever it was, but…but whatever it was, the mask, it was making his head hurt, it was making him…horny. He got down on his hands and knees, snorting, ripping at his clothes, the mysterious man tearing them away, and then forcing something else on him, these leather straps, but Nick didn’t care–Nick just wanted to cum.
There was the sound of a camera taking a picture, then he heard his father’s voice.
“Sir, he came, just like you thought he would.”
“…”
“All…all day? But, I only wore it for a few hours, I mean…”
“…”
“Yeah…I mean, yes sir, sorry sir. I understand, I’ll be punished when you get home, yes. We’ll be here.”
Nick tried to speak, but all he could do was grunt and moan. His body was hot, he could…feel something pushing from his skin, hairs. His father got down and wrapped his hand around Nick’s cock, his son thrusting into his fist until he shot a load all over the garage floor.
“I’m…sorry son. But Master–try not to worry, you’ll like it. There…won’t be much of you left, I don’t think, but you’ll be happy. I promise.”
I really like this idea, actually–it’s a kind of MacGuffin I’ve never thought of for sure. I’d need to give it some thought, but I think this will end up in a caption and/or a longer story at some point. Thanks!
I’m gonna be on for a while, answering questions if anyone has anything to ask, or if you have ideas you’d like to see written, you can submit photos or ideas for captions and stories. I’ll also be posting some new captions this afternoon, for everyone.
We didn’t hear it at first–both of us were a bit busy eating. I think I was the first one, and I nudged Jay to go see who it was. It was his house, after all. Mostly I just wanted a chance to stuff my face on my own for a moment–I had to try and get every advantage, if I wanted to be as large as Jay, right? Jay, I think, was just hoping that whoever it was would just go away, but they just kept knocking, and finally he was aggravated by it that he went to the door to at least tell them to go away. I heard the door open, and Jay gave a strange cry–I left the food and went after him to see what the matter was.
I found Jay at the door with a strange man–a sexy man, don’t get me wrong, he was beautiful. At least as large as Jay was at this point, he was wearing a black t-shirt with the words “Fat Action Team” down the front. He was smoking a cigar and had a big beard all over his face–and he was showing Jay something on his phone. I recognized it immediately–Jay was in one of those trances, like I’d seen him in before we’d started training together–his eyes and mouth slack, arms hanging at his sides as best they could, since his fat rolls wouldn’t let them hang straight any longer.
I asked the man what was going on. He told me to not worry–that he was simply a representative of the Fat Action Team, and had come by in order to give us a preliminary examination, and to prepare us for the next stages in our training. Before I could ask him what he meant by that, however, he’d swung the phone around, and the prismatic spiral there simply…wiped away my awareness. I don’t know how long he was there with us, but I think it was a few days, at least. I…recall surfacing on occasion, but it wasn’t very often. It was always…he kept trying to…to force me to do something I didn’t want to do, and…and I’d fight him. I remember looking at him, like he was seeing just how hard I was willing to push, how much fight I had in me. I mean, I always gave in eventually, there wasn’t…there wasn’t anything I could do, not really, but I tried all the same.
When he left us there, neither of us knew what to think about what had just happened to us, and we were exhausted, like neither of us had slept in days. We immediately went to bed, and curled up together, just enjoying the sensation of our fat pressed together, of the bed sagging under our combined weight, and when we woke up the next morning, each of us discovered that FAT had sent us a new training file, and even though neither of us really wanted to, were were helpless as we loaded the files up, and gave them a listen.
I was out for a few hours. When the file finally ended, I remember I was no longer by the computer, but sitting in an armchair in the living room, smoking a cigar and jacking my cock as I did, savoring the smoke like I’d been doing it all my life. I…I told myself that I hated smokers, that I’d always hated them, but I now felt like that was just a lie. I needed smoke as much as I needed food–I’d never be able to get enough of it. Jay was nowhere to be seen–I got up and found him in the kitchen, stuffing his face, but where before he’d always had a look of supreme joy on his face while he was eating, now he seemed…terrified.
“Please, I can’t stop, I’m so hungry, I didn’t know I could be this hungry,” he said in between mouthfuls, “Help me…”
So I helped him. I stuffed food into his mouth as fast as I could, making him eat it, and…and fuck, it felt good, force feeding him like that. Being in control of him like that. It felt so good that I had to stop, shove him down onto his hands and knees and plow his hole, smoke billowing from my nose as I came deep in his fat ass with a growl, and then we kept stuffing him silly.
That…that was years ago now, though. After I completed that next training, FAT was more than happy to hire me on as a compliance agent. Now, it’s my job to go to FAT members who are resisting their programming, and I…encourage them for a while, to make sure they meet their goals of getting bigger. I’ve gotten bigger myself, of course–I just passed 500 pounds a while back, and FAT, to celebrate, has given me a free pass to one of their legendary retreats next month. I’d take Jay along with me, of course…but Jay can’t go anywhere.
I can’t believe how quickly he grew, after that training. Thankfully FAT agreed to supply us with food in exchange for filling the house with webcams, so people online could watch his progress–but he’s already 850 pounds, and isn’t showing any sign of stopping. He’s bedridden at this point, and I spend pretty much all day stuffing his face with food, making sure his enormous hunger is sated, and that he keeps on growing like a good pig. Still, after that tumble, when he broke his legs, FAT decided it would be better to just amputate–he’s bedridden for life, now, and he couldn’t be happier. I…I’m happy too, I think. At least, FAT tells me I’m just a bit stressed, and that this retreat will help me refocus on my real priorities. I…I don’t know what priorities they mean; they’re really vague sometimes. Still, FAT has given me all this, so I can trust them, right?
It’s…hard to remember precisely how it felt, because it feels so normal now. I reached up and pulled out my earbuds, and my arms felt so heavy. I mean, they’d always felt heavy, or at least they’d been feeling heavy, from all the effort I’d been putting in making them bigger, but this wasn’t the heaviness of exhaustion–no, they were literally heavy in a way I hadn’t quite expected. I looked down at myself, and I couldn’t speak, I could barely even understand what I was looking at. I don’t quite know what I’d been expecting–some part of me, I think, had been expecting to see muscles there. I mean, I’d been spending all of that time at the gym, hadn’t I?
No, not the gym. Why would I have been at the gym? I’d been eating, of course. Eating and eating and eating, just like the training had told me to.
Those thoughts, they hit so hard in my head, and it was impossible to disbelieve them, but I still felt like they weren’t mine. Like…like they’d been put in there somehow, I could still see the and feel the places where they’d been stitched it without even realizing they’d been put there. I tried to think around them, but every time I tried to challenge them, it was like they’d force my brain back onto the proper track. About how good it felt to be fat, about how hard I’d worked to look like this, about how much I wanted this. And the more I thought it, the fainter the seams became, the more the thoughts seemed…like mine.
I could barely even process my body, at first. It was such a…difference! How it the world had I not noticed? All this time, I’d thought nothing had been happening, and in fact I’d been growing so much. When Jay had first introduced me to the program, I had been about 220, a little pudgy sure, but still relatively fit. Now, though–I ran my thick hands around the sides of my gut, pushing up gently as I did, feeling them press into the flab there, before releasing it down. I…I jiggled, and my cock twitched. I ran my hands over it again, and this time went up, pressing into myself, amazed at the softness, until I reached my moobs, where my pecs had been, and I cupped them both, feeling their heft, pinching my nipples, and I groaned. My cock was…was so hard. I was so happy like this, this made me feel so good. I was so happy that all of my training hadn’t been for nothing.
I looked over, and Jay was there–I also hadn’t been able to see what had been happening to him. I was big, sure–when we finally managed to weigh ourselves later, I was 365 pounds, and Jay had crested 405. His gut sagged further than mine, so far that some of it drooped over his crotch. He was…crying, when I looked at him. I think they might have started out of fear, but my the time he looked up at me, they were obviously tears of happiness. And why not? We’d both been working so hard on this, on our bodies. He looked…he looked good, too. And sure, I was a bit jealous. I’d tried so hard, but how in the world had Jay gotten that much larger than me in the same amount of time? Still, I wasn’t…unsatisfied with my own body, but the idea that I could get even bigger–my gut was rock solid now, and pressing against the bottom of my gut, as I walked over to…to touch Jay’s body. I had to feel it, and he…he wanted to feel mine too, and then we were kissing, and…and everything just kind of snowballed from there.
Neither of us had thought we were gay. We’d both been with women–that is, not recently, of course. We’d been much too busy training to date anyone, of course. But when our eyes met, I think we both felt a hunger neither of us really understood until we were pressing our fat together, feeling how…how good it felt, how warm we both were, how soft. How hungry were were, not for food, but for contact, and validation, and…and for someone who wanted to get bigger too. We did it right there on the floor–he sucked me off first, and then I dug around in his amazing fatpad until I could fish out his cock (it was surprisingly small, actually. He’d always told me he had a good sized piece of meat, but it couldn’t have been more than three inches) and sucked on the head until he came with a long groan, and I swallowed all the cum down, and fuck the taste of it! It was one of the greatest things I’d ever had, and I knew right then I was gay. Or even if I wasn’t, cum was the only thing I would crave out of sex anymore.
We laid there on the floor for a few minutes, sweaty and tired and too happy to try and figure out how to get up from the carpet. His gut grumbled first, and mine followed soon after, and it was that which finally propelled us back up and into his kitchen, where we proceeded to stuff each other’s faces, pausing on occasion to suck down another load of cum as soon as one of us got close to exploding. It was…I was so…happy, but at the same time, I was so terrified. I…I couldn’t control myself. I’d never acted like this in my life, and yet it felt so natural, it felt like I’d been doing it all the time. My body was moving before my brain could catch up. By the end…it felt better, but the lag was still there. I’m still not sure I’m ever in control, really, and I…I want to be in control, you know? Maybe that’s why we ended up going in different directions, after that, Jay and I, I mean. Sorry, I’m getting ahead of myself. What happened next, was that towards the end of our meal, someone knocked on Jay’s front door.
Going to college in a small rural town didn’t exactly have many perks, unless you liked cows. and farming. You liked your school, sure, but there wasn’t much to do, which is how you found yourself at the State Fair in October, killing a Saturday when you’d rather be partying in the city with friends. The place was full of hicks, and it was a bit disgusting to be honest. You’d kind of been hoping to spy on some hot cowboy butt, but there was more plumber’s crack than anything else. You’d been closeted since you got here–it didn’t really seem like a good place to be gay.
It was early afternoon when you started to get hungry–that was when you spotted the oddest sign–an “All You Will Eat Buffet”. What the hell did that even mean? You went in, and a big bubba welcomed you–and before you could get any information about the place, he had you seated on a bench, and a big plate of food set down in front of you.
“I–wait, I didn’t order this?” You yelled after him.
The man laughed. “Don’t matter! You will eat it all up, won’t you?”
The words were like magic–you started shoveling the fried food into your mouth as fast as you could, unable to stop, terrified at the sudden compulsion overwhelming you. You finished the first plate, and second one was immediately set down on top of it.
“There you go. You’ll eat that too, won’t ya? Yeah, that’s nice. I don’t get skinny college kids in here too often, but yer always fun–I think you will be eatin’ a whole lot today, don’t you?”
Plate after plate came, and you couldn’t stop yourself. The afternoon, and when you got too tired and full to continue, the bubba would be there, massaging your growing gut, and whispering in your ear. Calling you a pig. Calling you a slob. Calling you a hick. Calling you stupid and gluttonous and horny. Soon, you were demanding more food, eating as fast as you could, reveling in your own gluttony, and when the bubba mentioned that you will be sucking the cum from his balls along with dessert, you were only to happy to swallow his thick cock down too.
It’s night now, and the buffet’s closed for the day. You stumble, impossibly full, weighing at least 400 pounds. You aren’t a college student anymore–just a fat ass trucker pig, begging for cock whenever you can get it. But you think you’ll be hanging around here for another day or two–that’s the best buffet you’ve ever seen, and that bubba back there was already mentioning how much you will eat tomorrow.
I do photo captions each Wednesday on my secondary blog, @brackenousjunk! I also answer questions on a fairly regular basis, and take requests over there as well.
He couldn’t believe how long they’d been taking, building the house next door to his. He’d been surprised when the person who’d bought the large house beside his had simply bulldozed everything, opting to build a new house all from scratch. he hadn’t really seen much of the new owner; he appeared to be taking a rather hands off approach to his new house, and in Charles’s opinion, it showed in the amount of work the crew was putting into it. Often, it seemed like they weren’t doing anything all, beyond being rowdy, loud and a general nuisance.
The crew was full of older, burly men—all of them with a considerable amount of tattoos, most with beards, and every single one of them seemed to be smoking something–cigarettes, pipes, cigars. The smoke was the worst part–he couldn;t seem to escape it, and the more he smelled it, the harder it was to focus on his own work around the house. One time, he’d been trying to do yard work, when he realized he’d just been…standing there for close to half an hour in one spot, just…smelling the smoke. He was angry at himself, and didn’t even notice the fact that he was hard, suddenly.
Still, Charles warmed up to the crew over time. He befriended a few of them over the fence one afternoon. It turned out that the reason things were taking so long was that the crew was understaffed, and the owner was taking forever, on the plans and details. Not too long after that, the men started suggesting he come over and hang out with them in the afternoons and evenings. He never really recalled the meetings well, but…but he sure did enjoy himself every time. There were flickers of clarity–once when he had his cock through a hole in his fence, getting sucked off by one of the workers on the other side. He couldn’t believe what he was doing, but he also couldn’t stop, and he fell back into his smoky stupor long before he came, got down, and returned the favor.
Soon he was craving smoke, but for some reason none of the men would let him smoke anything of theirs–all he could do was suck their second hand smoke from their mouths. It was not long after that, when the owner came knocking on Charles’s door. Charles was in the middle of a terrible week–he’d…simply forgotten to go to work for a few days, and his boss had called and informed him he’d been fired. The owner had heard of his troubles, and had come by to offer him some relief. He had a perfect job for him, he said–all Charles had to do was give him the deed to his property.
Charles refused at first–he loved his home. But when the owner laid out a pipe, a cigar, and a pack of cigarettes, and offered him one of those in addition to the job…he couldn’t stop himself. He grabbed the pipe, packed it and lit it like he’d watched the crew do countless time, and sucked down the smoke, feeling his entire body heating up, from his toes to his gut to his hands…and in a matter of moments, a very, very different man was standing there, chuffing on his pipe.
“What do you think Chuck? Think we can have this house torn out in a week?”
“W-What? I…I don’t…” Chuck looked down at his body, his full gut coated in a riot of tattoos–at least what he could see around his long thick beard, “I…where am I?”
“You’re a member of my crew Chuck. We’re looking at this house I just bought. I want to tear it down and add it to my property next door.”
“O-Oh…I…I guess me ‘n the crew could do it…”
“That’s what I like to hear–now you fat pig, bend over–I wanna fuck your nasty hole.”
Chuck was all to happy to oblige, letting his owner fuck him bent over the side of the couch, and then he went back and joined the rest of his crew. He was welcomed like an old friend, and all of them wanted a taste of Chuck’s new, eight inch cock, and a chance to admire his new, beautiful body; just like the bodies the owner had all given them over the years.
I do photo captions each Wednesday on my secondary blog, @brackenousjunk! I also answer questions on a fairly regular basis, and take requests over there as well.
Bracken's Corner 