Category: Uncategorized

Clarifying Story Requests

Wooowee, now they’re starting to flow in at a pretty good clip. First of all, thanks for all of the requests and suggestions! It’s always nice getting some fresh ideas from people, but at some point, I just can’t keep up with them. So I want to take a moment to clarify how I will be treating submissions and requests for stories and captions from here on out.

1. Just because you submit something does not mean I will write it for you. Even if I say I will add it to my list, does not in anyway guarantee that I will write it for you. These aren’t commissions, these are for fun, in my spare time. 

2. I choose which submissions and suggestions I’m going to write. There’s no waiting list, it’s all just me and what I feel like writing at any given time. There’s no way to guarantee yourself a spot in the lineup. However, I can say that there are a few ways to…encourage me to pay more attention to your submission over others. Here are a few things that catch my attention more than others.

  • If you provide me a picture for a caption, either by submitting a pic, or linking to a picture I can reblog, that saves me a lot of time, because finding a picture to match your suggestion/request often takes as long (or longer) than writing the caption itself. Saving me time = more time I can spend writing your story. 
  • Give me something interesting and fresh. Something you haven’t seen me write before. Something challenging. A new way of looking at a tired genre trope. If you just ask me for “more diaper stories” without anything else to entice me, chances are I’m gonna skip right past it. Nothing against diaper stories! But I just don’t feel like writing them all that often. But, if you have a diaper story with a new twist that I like, great! That increases the chance it’ll get written more than anything else. I want to see your creativity here–show me other places to go with my writing. Airplane sex? Sure, why not. That’s more inspiring and strange than most anything else I’ve heard lately! It would probably crash and burn, but hey, I’d give it a try.
  • Be a fan! I get a lot of notes from blogs, but I definitely notice and remember those who like/reblog my stuff on a regular basis, and I *really* appreciate that. The better I recognize you, the more likely I’ll be willing to say thanks for your support by writing your request. People who’ve commissioned me in the past might get to jump the line on occasion too. It’s a corrupt system, I admit it, but that’s how I roll. 
  • Don’t offer to pay me for these. Go donate to my patreon if you want to support me. I’m not looking to get paid for these, and I’m not looking for more commissions at the moment–I have plenty of stories I have to get done for other people already! 

3. I probably won’t reply to every request and submission. That doesn’t mean I will or won’t write it, it just means I’m saving my time for writing stories, rather than managing every ask and submission that comes my way. 

If this makes you upset….welll….

Ruining Mr. Fisher (Part 5)

That weekend was especially excruciating for Gerard. He’d only managed his energy to Saturday morning, assuming he would finally be free of this horrific cage once he’d delivered his son out to Ned’s trailer in the country. But driving back, he had to pull over and sob for half an hour, groping at his aching, giant cock imprisoned in a tiny meal device, his balls churning and pumping cum out anyway into his slacks, which he would wipe up with his hands and lick off, disgusted but unable to help himself. When he felt this way, the easiest thing was always to lose himself in sex.

He got home in the early afternoon, and immediately changed into his sex gear–the ratty leathers he’d had for years, which had suddenly appeared in his closet one evening after Ned had given him a sudden affinity, and history, with bondage and pain play. He went out, and started cruising. Everyone in the community knew him, of course, and the fast majority had fucked him, whether they’d known it was him or not in the dark. He focused on his service, on drinking cum, on licking bodies clean, and was lucky enough to find a leathered up silver muscle daddy to take him home and beat him for a few hours, to take his mind off his chastity for a while.

Sunday morning was still difficult. He slept late, at least, but then it was the waiting. Ned had said to come back at night, but hadn’t given him a specific time. If he arrived too early…he didn’t want to know what Ned might do. He decided to time it so he’d get to the trailer at seven, spent the day trying to focus on some work he was behind on at the bank but he ended up chain smoking cigars and getting a little tipsy instead, and then got in the car and started the journey back to see what Ned had done with his son. He…felt a lot worse than he’d expected to. Sure, in this new life Ned had made for him, his son hated his guts–and he hated his son in good measure as well–he also could remember how close the two of them had been…before all of this had happened. He couldn’t take it back though, not now. He wondered what Ned might have done to him, searching his own memories, but everything seemed the same as before. Would he even know if Ned had changed him with the medallion? No one else had noticed when he’d been changed, so maybe everything he could remember was normal now.

He pulled up in front of the trailer, and walked up the steps; he could feel a minor rumble as the trailer shook, voices inside moaning. He knocked, and he heard Ned’s voice shout, “Git in here!” Inside, the lights were dim. Ned was on the bed, soaked with sweat, Shawn was in front of him, clutching the head of the bed as Ned hammered his cock deep into his hole. The entire trailer reeked of sweat, cum, and smoke. “I’m almost done bitch, git a cigar lit, sit down, and watch me plow yer boy’s hole. You like Master Ned plowin’ your hole, right boy?”

“F-Fuck, fuck yeah…” Shawn moaned, “Harder sir…”

“Boy loves it, just like his fucking father. You want another raw load in your boy hole?”

“Yes, please…”

“Alright boy, here it comes–” Ned said, fucked a few deep thrusts, and came with a load moan, slamming Shawn up against the side of the trailer. “Bitch, be a good pig. Clean out your boy’s hole, and suck a load from him–he’s been very good, and he deserves a reward.”

Gerard couldn’t resist the order, and as soon as Ned pulled out, he had his face pressed to his son’s hole, tongue buried deep, lapping his master’s fresh cum from the hole, then flipped Shawn over and swallowed his cock to the hilt, his boy moaning. Ned had a clear view of Shawn’s chest now, and saw no mark of the medallion, like on him. Ned hadn’t done anything to him yet, but why?

Ned got off the bed and slouched in a broken in armchair, watching the father suck down his first load from his boy’s cock, medallion swinging from his fingers. “I haven’t changed him yet, as you probably noticed. Been waitin’ for you. Just wanted to break him in a bit, for fun.”

He didn’t speak for a few minutes. Shawn was getting close, and he finally let loose with a long groan, Gerard swallowing everything down like a good pig, enjoying the taste of his son’s cum. It…it reminded him strangely of his own. He pulled away and wiped his bearded face, looking away from Shawn lying and sighing and panting on the bed, unable to believe what he’d just done, without even questioning it. Ned chuckled behind him, stood up, and walked over to him.

“Been thinking about it though, what I should do tah him. Tah ya both. Course, yer boy’s an ass, but he ain’t that much of an ass. ‘Sides, all he can think about now is gettin’ cum in his hole. Still, yer his father, I thought it should be up tah ya, what happens tah him.”

“What…what do you mean?”

“I mean, I’m givin’ ya a choice, bitch. Two options. First, I let yer boy go. He’ll love cock, sure, but he’ll still have this cushy life a his. You though, yer gonna have tah give up yer job, if you want yer son tah be happy. Give up yer past. That’s the trade–your cushy office job, that college education, all that money a yers–all that fer yer son’s future. But if all that matters more tah ya than him, ya can take option two. I won’t change you, but I will change yer boy–ya won’ even recognize him when we’re through with him. Gotta say, he’s got a great life ahead a him–the medallion tells me…things, ya see. Great man. Shame tah waste it, but it’s yer call, bitch.”

“I–I can’t, I mean…” Gerard lost his words.

“Thirty seconds. If ya don’t give me an answer, I’ll just change ya both.”

Gerard stared at his son. He…he couldn’t do that to him, could he? But his job, it was the last thing of his, the last place where…where he still felt like he could be something, where he could be the person he’d always thought he was.

“Ten seconds. Better hurry…”

Fuck, he was a fucking horrible person. “Two. Number two. I…I don’t care what you do to him, I need my job.”

Ned just stared at him, and shook his head.

“It’s–It’s all I have left. You’ve fucking taken everything else from me, you fucker!”

Ned shook his head, “Sorry boy, but yer father sure is a bastard, ain’t he?” Ned said, and climbed on top of Shawn’s prone body.

“Wait…sir, what are you talking about? I don’t–”

“Don’t worry, it’ll all be better soon,” Ned said, and pressed the medallion to Shawn’s breast, Gerard turning away from the blinding flash of light.

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.

Requested by @andyreworld. 

WARNING: SCAT AHEAD

Kyle liked going to the gym in the mid-morning–everyone who got a workout in before work had left, and everyone who came around lunchtime wasn’t there yet–it gave him a good hour and half with most of the weights to himself, to focus on lifting. He’d sure been working out long enough to learn patterns like this, he’d been a gym rat for years, and maintained a near flawless physique–low body fat and ripped with muscle. Still, he wasn’t a far of people–especially fags–staring at his body, unless he wanted them staring, so he preferred off-hours. Usually he had peace, but, today, some fat fuck was crowding his space.

He’d seen him around the gym before, but Kyle didn’t usually care about what other people were doing, and if he wanted to work out, good for him. But it seemed like every time he turned around, the guy was within five feet of him, lifting something, or on the next machine over–and then the first one came, loud enough that Kyle could hear it over his music, a massive, horrific fart that lasted at least five seconds.

He looked over at the pig, disgusted, but the guy just leered back at him–and then Kyle smelt it–it was horrific, one of the worst things he’d ever smelt in his life. It was so strong that it was almost like his mind and body blew a fuse–he couldn’t move, he couldn’t think–his eyes went glassy, his jaw gaping as the pig got up, pulled the headphones from his head, leaned in and whispered in his ear, “Finally got you. Come on, you’re gonna spot me today.”

Kyle did as he was told, even though he fought the compulsion as best he could, but his body wasn’t his anymore. The smell lingered in his nose, and just as he’d start shaking the pig’s control off, the fat fuck would nearly shit his pants again, and he’d…lose it all over again. The pig kept talking to him while he lifted, telling Kyle how much he loved the smell of him, how much he loved his farts, how much he loved submitting. Soon, as much as he hated himself for it, he started craving it, the smell, the filthy thoughts his master whispered in his ear. Finally, he couldn’t resist it anymore–his master was doing squats, and let a huge fart loose, and something in Kyle broke. Snorting and grunting, he got down behind him, shoved his head to the man’s ass and started crewing at his shorts, cum spewing in his jockstrap.

“That’s a good pig–I think you’re ready for your post-workout meal, don’t you?”

Kyle didn’t know what he meant, but he crawled after his master, who went into the locker room, commandeered the large stall, and sat backwards, his hole right in Kyle’s face. He fought as hard as he could, hesitating, but a wet fart pulled him in, lips locked to his master’s hole, tongue burrowing in, ready and eager for his first feeding.

How do you keep your stories so fresh? Every one of them maintains the same fun themes, but you always seem to bring something new to the table.

A whole lot of practice, a whole lot of reading, and a whole lot of inspiration.

I have read a lot of porn. I had already read a lot of porn way before I wrote my first story. Porn I liked, porn I didn’t like, and I’ve learned a lot from all of it. I’ve also read a whole lot of queer and sexual fiction outside of the internet, which had greatly informed a lot of these stories as well. Themes explored by so many authors–from J. G. Ballard to George Orwell to Ursula K. LeGuin to Octavia Butler to Anthony Burgess to Aldous Huxley to Dennis Cooper to Oscar Wilde to H. P. Lovecraft–have all popped up in these stories of mine in one way or another. 

This genre is, often, incredibly derivative, and that’s frustrating–part of what I’ve tried to do is push the boundaries of this and see where it can take us. Also, freshness is relative! Very few of these stories I write feel all that fresh to me anymore. If anything, I’m constantly terrified I’ve fallen into a rut I can’t escape! Maybe that paranoid helps me break out of the molds I’ve made for myself as much as anything else.

I’ve also made much of my reputation by being an author who will write pretty much anything. I’ve kind of cornered the market on the strange, the unusual, the furry, and the filthy. I never bothered restricting myself, as far as what I’d write (ok, so there are some things I hate writing about and avoid, but in a few cases I’ve buckled and written them anyway). Commissions have helped in this regard, because everyone has their own strange ideas that I could never have come up with in a million years. I never imagined I would write a scene with a guy fucking a car. I never imagined I would write a story about a rich anachronist populating an abbey with helpless old servants while he fucks around with nubile young men. I get forced out of my comfort zone a lot. I know way to much about how various animal cocks are shaped. And I love it–this is the best job I’ve ever had, and I hope I can keep doing it for a long while yet.

What trait in a subject do you find enjoyable to transform?

I’m a big fan of more procedural/temporal/reality changes, I think. That probably sounds weird, so let me explain.

You might be familiar with procedural programming. It was a big deal a few years ago, when a computer game called Spore came out, made by the same guy who makes the Sims. The game itself was shit, but it had a revolutionary character/creature editor. Basically, you could design a creature with however many arms, legs, etc. you wanted, and the game would figure out, based on what the player did, how to make the creature move in a sane, understandable fashion. It does this (as far as I understand it, so don’t flame me if I’m super wrong, because I’m just making a metaphor here) the programming has a system of broad scope rules regarding how limbs behave, and when the player gives it a unique set of limbs, it adapts those broad rules to the new instance, and (hopefully) it all works out like it’s supposed to! 

See, you can always change a feature of a character–that’s easy. Make them fat, make them short. Make them a twink. But make them follow a new set of rules, and that’s where the fun begins. Like, make a character unable to bathe in anything other than piss. Or, make them compulsively consume 3000 calories of food every time they get a hard on. These force them to change, but it also a) gives the character space to react and try and manage the change as best they can, and b) can deliver surprising and unexpected results, that simple changes can’t deliver. 

I fit temporal and reality shifts into this broader category as well, because they also have unexpected and wild side effects. The butterfly effect, essentially. 

You should write a part 2 of big bear on campus episode 8 that was soooo hot

The story of the Master’s Program was already continued! You can actually find it here on this tumblr, if you hop on the archive and head all the way back to November 2012 you’ll find everything I wrote for NaNoWriMo that year, continuing City of Bears. The back half of the month in particular revisited the Master’s Program, and all of those winners and losers in a paranoid battle royale. Check it out!