Category: Uncategorized

In Ruining Mr Fisher part 4, Shawn says he “could care less”, which means he does care, at least partially. I assume you meant couldn’t care less? On a different note, I have enjoyed your work ever since I found it, and was overjoyed when I discovered you had a tumblr. Keep up the great work.

I love pedantic correction of my poorly edited erotica, makes me so hot. Still, thaks for reading! I hope typos don’t ruin the effect for you too much!

Requested by Anonymous

He’d thought this would be a shortcut, cutting through the fields on his way back home, but Mitchell had underestimated the distance and gotten a bit turned around in a stand of trees. Now he wasn’t quite sure where he was, but he could see a few buildings in the near distance–a farm house and a long, low barn. If he could get back to a road, he could at least reorient himself, even if he was technically trespassing.

He got closer to the barn, and he started to smell something–whatever it was, it smelled like food, and he hadn’t eaten in a few hours–it was making his stomach grumble. Curious to see what someone could be cooking in a barn that smelled so damn good, he crept around and found a door, and inside he found a bunch of machinery pumping some kind of strange slop into a a huge trough lining one wall, and in the dim light it looked like a bunch of pigs were feeding at it. His curiosity sated, he tried to turn around, but his feet instead carried him closer. The smell was intense, and his hunger was only growing. Without really knowing why, he found himself on his hands and knees at the trough, drool following through his beard, eyes vacant, and he shoved his face into the slop.

He tried to resist for a while. The slop didn’t taste very good, but something about it made him feel good, and warm…and horny. The first orgasm caught him by surprise, filling the front of his jeans without him even touching his cock–and not long after that he didn’t even want to stop anymore. He kept eating until the machine finally shut off, and he and the rest of the pigs all finished off the slop, licking the metal clean before he could finally pull himself away.

He looked down at himself, unable to believe what he was seeing. He must have gained fifty pounds in a few hours, all of it in his gut! He looked around at the pigs, and saw all of them were forming a large mass, heaving piles of flab, all of them grunting and squealing–but they weren’t pigs at all. They were all men! massively obese men, their eyes blank, sucking at each other’s holes and cocks. He had to get out of here, but he was so full he could barely stand up–and he didn’t really want to leave. He just kind of stayed there, watching the pigs fuck…and kind of wanting to join them. he didn’t even notice the obese redneck walk in, wearing just a pair of overalls.

“Well well! Looks like another little piggy wandered on in here when I wasn’t lookin’!”

Mitchell managed to pry his eyes away, but there was nothing he could do as the man walked over, started ripping away his over stretched clothes, and putting a leather collar on him. 

“Bit too small though–gonna have tah give ya a boost so ya can catch up with the rest a the litter, ya runt!” the redneck said, and led Mitchell over to one end of the trough, shoved a tube down his throat, secured it with a mask, and then turned the machine back on–slop pumping it’s way right into his gut. 

“That’s better, ya’ll be as big and stupid as the rest a the swine in no time!” he said, “Still, gotta try out yer hole, right?” He dropped his overalls, slipped his cock into Mitchell’s ass, but the new pig was already too stupid to do anything but buck back, and spray another load of cum across the barn floor.

Have you ever considered writing a raunchy, love story? I’m a sap for romance.

Romance…It just doesn’t always appeal to me, to be honest. I’m more of a revenge fantasy / grudge fuck kind of writer. Not to say I’m not a bit of a romantic in real life, but this shit’s not for real life, is it?

That said, if you have an idea, I’m always happy to consider it. It’s not like I’ll refuse to write something romantic–it’s just not my default mode or interest.

That one where the young guy gets a genie yet it goes wrong sounds really awesome actually. Is it gone forever or is it still around?

Gone forever. It was terrible writing though. I mean, this is literally the second ever story I’d written–it was bad. Also, it was focused on hetero characters, because I was too scared to write gay characters into my stories. It did have a pretty decent wishing device, however.

The idea was, the genie could grant wishes, but only if the person making the wish gave up something else of equal value. The rest of the story was basically a riff on “Gift of the Magi”. The main character would wish for something, and then lose something he realizes he wants more. He wishes for money and loses his relationship with the girl of his drems. He’s angry, and he wishes he could be somewhere else, somewhere where he could be happy, and he ends up on an idyllic island with the perfect body, but he’s still lonely. He wishes for his girlfriend back, and in exchange he turns old and ugly. She no longer wants to be with him, so he wishes she was his slave, and he gives up his morals, kills her by accident, and when he tries to wish things back to what they were, the genie tells him he can’t wish for anything else, because he no longer has anything worthwhile in his life. The genie leaves, the guy kills himself, tragedy, blah, blah. 

Maybe if I get the time and inspiration I’ll write an updated version of it or something. I’ll go ahead and add it to my miles long to-do list. 

Ruining Mr. Fisher (Part 4)

“But dad, I had plans this weekend already! I don’t understand why I needed to come meet some fucking buddy of yours anyway, I could care less,” Shawn said, slouching down a bit further in the passenger seat of his dad’s luxury sedan. “Where in the hell does this guy live, anyway? We’re in the middle of nowhere. I thought you said he was a coworker of yours.”

“He is–he works at the same company as me,” Gerard, Shawn’s father, said. It wasn’t technically a lie. He did work with Ned…sort of. More accurately, Ned had made his life a living hell for the last half of a year. The anticipation of having his cock unlocked however was too exciting, and Gerard felt more cum ooze from his massive balls into his damp crotch.

“Dad…are you alright?” Shawn had noticed his father’s knuckles were white, they were clenching the steering wheel so tight. “This isn’t some nasty boyfriend of yours or something is it? You know I don’t want to meet any of your faggot friends.”

“I’m fine. He’s not…we’re not together, no. He’s just a friend. You’ll…you’ll like him, I promise. He just likes living out in the country, is all.”

“He makes this commute everyday?”

“Yep.”

Shawn was seventeen, and currently attended an elite private school his father paid for. He only saw his massively obese, disgusting faggot father one weekend a month, but that was almost too much for him. He hated his father’s guts, to be honest–he couldn’t believe he was his father actually, this obese fat worthless fuck. Still, he’d insisted Shawn come with him, or he’d tell his ex-wife about those…photos Shawn had on his computer. Finally, after almost forty-five minutes on the road, they pulled into a gravel drive, and pulled up in front of a mobile home. Shawn took one look at the ramshackle single wide, and turned to his dad in disbelief. “Here? This guy lives here?”

“Come on, I’ll introduce you,” Gerard said, and got out of the car, sounding a bit stressed, but Shawn didn’t even unbuckle his seatbelt.

“No–I’m not…this is fucking dumb. Take me home, I don’t care what you tell mom.”

“Come on son, this is important,” Gerard said, and opened the passenger door. “Just…just do this for me, please?”

Shawn just looked up at him, and said, “No.” That one word had settled enough arguments for him in the past with his parents, but just to be cautious, he added, “No, and if you don’t drive me home this instant I’m going to tell mom about this, and her lawyers are going to have a field day. It won’t matter what you tell her, because you’ll never fucking see me again.”

Gerard let out a noise of frustration, and stormed away from the car, “You’re such a spoiled brat!” he shouted, “Just get out of the fucking car.”

The door to the trailer swung open, and silhouetted in the door was a massively fat figure, and some obese redneck tromped down the stairs, “Ya bring ‘em, bitch?”

“Y-Yes sir, he’s in the car, but he won’t get out.”

“Heh, I got it, since a bitch like you can’t control a fuckin’ boy.”

Ned lumbered over the the car door, and Shawn closed it before the fatass could get there, but the guy didn’t seem to care, he just leaned against the glass, with something shiny swinging from his fingers. What…what was that? Some medallion or something? Shawn found himself obsessed with it, unable to look away, unable to do much of anything, actually. Without really knowing why, he opened the car door again, undid his seatbelt and got out of the car, all without removing his eyes from the shiny thing still swinging in front of his face. Distantly, he was aware of the redneck running his chubby hands all over his body, even down the front of his pants, feeling his cock and balls in his underwear, before turning away from him and walking back towards his dad–without the medallion in his eyes, he felt his mind leap forward, and he tried to shout…but he couldn’t do anything. He couldn’t move, he couldn’t speak, all he could do was stand there like a statue, listening to the redneck talk to his dad.

“Look…I brought him like…like you told me to. Would you please unlock it sir? I…I can’t fucking sleep, it hurts so much.”

“No bitch, It stays locked.”

“But you said–”

“I keep the boy fer the weekend. Come back Sunday night, eight o’clock to pick ‘em up. Then ya git some time out a there. Now drop yer pants, I got a load fer yer ass.”

They didn’t move out of Shawn’s eye sight, and he couldn’t close them, as he watched his dad drop his pants and lean up against the side of the trailer, while the redneck dropped his own pants and with some adjusting of his own fat apron shoved his cock in his father’s ass…and…and it looked like Gerard was enjoying it. It sounded like it too, and he kept begging the redneck to unlock it, to let him shoot. The redneck finished, and when his dad turned around, he saw his father’s cock was…encased in some metal thing, like a cage, but then he had his slacks pulled up again. Without looking at his son, Gerard walked around to the car, got in, and drove away, trying not to think about what he’d just done, and the redneck came around beside Shawn.

“Name’s Ned, boy, but ya don’ git tah call me that. Ya jus’ git tah call me master. Now git in there, ‘n let’s see if yer hole’s as tight as yer bitch father’s was.”

I really love how you play around with the concept of hope. That is why I love Breaking Point so much and some others such as Mr. Drake’s Games so much due to how you give them a chance of redemption just before completely destroying who they are. It makes the transformation all the more sweeter, since they fight harder for a chance to keep some semblance of their previous selves.

Hope is crucial for my writing, which is why it’s everywhere in my stuff. If there’s one thing about writing in the MC/TF genre, it’s that it’s deceptively difficult to get a good story going along side the porn, because it’s really hard to foster any sort of dramatic tension. If I have one complaint about most of the stuff in this genre I’ve read, is that there’s no plot–usually it’s just long, drawn out wish fulfillment, and nothing more. You gotta have something else going to keep people interested, I think.

I rely on hope a lot to create tension, because that fosters at least some conflict between the changer and the changee. That said, I often feel like it’s a bit of a crutch–a really useful crutch, but a crutch all the same, because hope is only good at *simulating* conflict between characters. It doesn’t actually mean that conflict actually exists.

Some of the best stories I’ve written, and some of the best one’s I’ve read, manage to put two characters into conflict such that the outcome of who comes out on top really in indeterminate (and in the end, both characters usually end up very different than they were). “Dream Camp” did this really well, I think, as did “Fall of Troy.” Those are the kinds of stories I wish I could come up with more often. 

Don’t get me wrong–the stories you mentioned are good, and I enjoyed them, but the hope the characters feel doesn’t actually have any corresponding chance of them escaping. Both of the antagonists in those stories hold all the cards, they can dangle little bits of hope for the person to grasp for, but they have no actual chance of getting them. Of course, this power dynamic is sexy–the idea of someone with so much power toying with their victims is definitely a sexual trigger for a lot of people, but just because something is arousing doesn’t mean it’s good plot, if that makes sense.

Still, thank you for the compliment! I didn’t mean to seem like I was talking badly about what you said up there. It’s nice when people notice the sorts of techniques I use in these stories, but I also like to go into them with a bit of depth when they come up.