Category: Uncategorized

Ruining Mr. Fisher (Part 3)

Needless to say, Gerard began staying late much more often at the office. In fact, he found it impossible to leave until Ned had come through to clean the office, and to find some new way to bring the banker down a few more pegs at a time. It was the very next night that Ned made the banker strip naked in his presence–the fat redneck gave him a hand job and then as soon as Gerard’s cock softened again, forced his cock into a metal cage, and locked it with a padlock. It was a tight fit–immediately Gerard’s cock tried to get hard again, and the pain was excruciating, but he didn’t have a choice in the matter. Ned said he needed to be punished for cumming without permission, and so the cage would stay on until he felt Gerard had earned an orgasm for himself.

Gerard never earned an orgasm, not in the next several months. Most nights, Ned would simply come by the office, looking more and more filthy and disheveled and slobby each day, force Gerard to serve him in any number of ways, and then leave him again. At first, Gerard would do his best to not do anything to make Ned change him further–he was agreeable and wouldd serve him as required…and in some ways he kind of enjoyed it. He’d already found himself making time for himself throughout the day to slip away from the office for an hour or two, so he could go to the porn theaters and shops downtown and suck a few loads from strangers when he got hungry. On the weekends, he would spend the entire afternoon and evening there, drinking cum like a fiend, praying his wife wouldn’t figure out why he was suddenly completely uninterested in having sex with her–not that they’d had sex much at all, in this new life of his. Still, Gerard could only take so much humiliation, and from time to time, Ned’s picking and goading would work. Gerard would start resisting–would yell and scream and swear and try to punch and anything to get back at Ned for ruining his life, and Ned would use his outbursts as excuses to press the medallion to his heart again, and ruin his life bit by bit.

The second week, during his first outburst, Gerard made the mistake of ridiculing Ned for his size and fat body–so Ned shifted his life until Ned himself was a binge eater. His waist exploded in size immediately, and Gerard kept hoping it would stop, as he looked down at himself, but it just kept going, stopping only when he was over four hundred pounds. Not quite as large as Ned, but still, that shut him up. He hated it though–he was hungry constantly, and found that he had to have a snack with him at all times, or he couldn’t function, and the only place he could go for lunch and feel full were all you can eat buffets. After two weeks he broke down, begging Ned to let him stop eating for a bit. Ned took a kind of pity on him. Gerard didn’t stop eating by any means, but suddenly he loved the feeling of his fat body, and found himself fantasizing about becoming even larger. Eating became a challenge, to see how much he could stuff in his face each day, and even though he was disgusted with himself, he couldn’t stop. Worse, the fuller his belly the more turned on he got, but his cock, trapped in a cage, couldn’t be satisfied. Instead, he just ate more and more, driven into a sexual feeding frenzy–usually capping off his meals with at least ten loads of cum from strangers at the bathhouse.

The situation with his wife and son was becoming unbearable however–whenever he was home, it seemed like they were fighting. Two months after Ned first seized control of him, he broke down in tears, on his knees in front of the redneck, begging him for mercy, desperate to keep his family together. The redneck just laughed at him, pressed the medallion to Gerard’s chest, and when it pulled away, he didn’t have to worry about his wife anymore, since he’d been divorced for years. Ned consoled him as he sobbed, reminding him that now he lots more time to spend stuffing his face and sucking cock, without have to worry about hiding it from his bitch of an ex-wife. He still saw his son on occasion–one weekend a month. Shawn hated his father’s faggot guts however, and refused to spend any quality time with him at all, even when he did have a moment of custody.

Still, Ned helped him settle in a comfortable, bachelor lifestyle. Ned gave him a ten cigar a day smoking habit, and made him an alcoholic–helped him realize how silly it was taking a shower every day–or more than once a week. After six months, Gerard was a completely different person–close to over 450 pounds, reeking of sweat, smoke and booze, ill fitting and often unwashed clothing, crusty with food and cum. He’d gone from being the star of the company in a corner office to a low level manager barely hanging onto his job–but he hung on all the same. It was, really, the last bit of himself that he had left.

Then, one night, Ned told him that he’d finally thought of a way for Gerard to earn an orgasm for himself. All he had to do was, when the next weekend came that his son Shawn was staying with him, bring his son out to the trailer where Ned lived in the country, and give him to Ned. If Gerard brought him his only son, then he could get the chance to shoot his first load in months. Gerard refused, at first, until Ned pressed the medallion to a new spot on his body, right over his cock, inflating his genitals to massive proprotions. His cock, which ached already, was suddenly in constant pain in it’s enclosure, and his cum production was so constant that even in his cage he leaked constantly. The pain was too much to bear, and so Gerard agreed–he’d bring Ned his son, for a chance to be free of this pain. He couldn’t believe what he was about to do, but what choice did he have? He couldn’t live like this, and…and it wasn’t like Shawn loved him anyway. In fact, he kind of hated his son, hated the way he looked at him. If he could get a little comfort, then Shawn was a sacrifice Gerard was willing to make.

Where did you come up with your pen name?

I always knew I wanted a pen name which was actually a name. Wesley is my middle name, but I’d never gone by it in my life. Bracken was the result of searching through a few random wikipedia pages. I liked it, because the literal definition of bracken spoke to my writing and the kinds of fetishes I like: dark, dingy, overgrown, hard to get out of, likely to swallow you whole if you don’t know your way. And so, Wesley Bracken.

How old are you? Because I’m picturing a Daddy Bear…

I am 27! Not a daddy bear, but definitely in the bear category. You wouldn’t know my age was that low, looking at me, however. With the big beard and receding hairline, most everyone guesses that I’m in my 30′s or early 40′s even. The husband and I regularly get mistaken for brothers, even though I’m 25 years his junior. 

Still, I’ve always kind of considered Wes and I to be two different people, so imagine him however you want! He’d probably rather be a daddy bear anyway. (Hell, I’d rather be a daddy bear for that matter. Genetics, do your worst!) In the furry realm, in fact, Wes definitely has his own separate persona (fursona, really–fine I said it, ugh). He’s a chubby anthro skunk in his 40′s who owns a massive sex shop! Although he doesn’t sell many items, he mostly just spends his day seducing and transforming his customers. I haven’t written much featuring him, mostly a few private stories and commissions for friends but yeah, I should do more with him at some point, actually…

Your smoke stories are always hot. Like a lot of folk in the UK I made the switch to vaping an electronic cigarette. But no one’s got a fetish for that. Maybe you could help us out by writing a story. A Guy makes the switch to be healthier but it back fires and ends up begging guys to fill it with piss and cum (and Yeah I tried it)

That’s funny actually–the idea of vaping hasn’t even been on my radar as a form of smoking, even though I have a few coworkers who have made the switch to that from cigarettes. It just doesn’t seem that sexy at all–maybe because the idea is that it’s supposed to be healthier. It just seems too fucking clever, you know? Plus the guys I know who use them are so fucking smug about it. 

I do like the idea of vaping piss and cum though. I have no idea how those things even work, to be honest, but the idea of turning anything into a vapor, and that vapor becoming addictive, is certainly an appealing MacGuffin. That said, that’s not really about the smoking side of things, and actually relies more on science fiction tropes than anything else, which raises an interesting question–what is it about smoking that makes it sexually appealing?

Part of the smoking appeal, at least for me, is the anachronistic aspects of it. Cigars and pipes have a sense of being “out of time and place” in the present. They’ve become so shunned publicly that the mere act of using either becomes an inherent form of rebellion/conservatism (yes, those two shouldn’t go together, but they do here) which appeals to me. The same with the unhealthiness of it–the conscious sacrificing of your own well being for short term pleasure. Lastly, the lack of self-control, of course. The appeal of tobacco in my stories in particular is about losing one’s power of one’s own choices, and eventually over your own life, once the cigar/pipe takes full control of you. None of these qualities work for vaping–it’s futuristic, it’s allegedly healthier, and the choice to vape is cast as regaining control away from tobacco itself (even though you’re still just as addicted in the end).

Sorry, this has turned into a metawriting tangent at this point. The upshot: vaping can work as a fetish/trigger/MacGuffin in a few ways, I think:

1. Treat vaping as a science fiction device. Think of it like a variation on the fetish gun–a vape device you can fill with different liquids which either act on the smoker in different ways, or which can he exhaled in people’s faces to change/control them in various ways. 

2. I think, if put in the right context, vaping could be made sexy for it’s own qualities. I’m thinking here of pairing vaping as a trigger for change in something like a chav story. This isn’t something I would ever write, but I could see other people going off in this direction and having it succeed.

3. Here’s the idea I like best, personally. An older owner of a smoke shop, frustrated and annoyed with the whole vaping trend, finally breaks down and starts selling vape products. However, he gets revenge, by making sure the vape products actually turn the men who smoke them into older, bearish tobacco users, the vape actually shifting into their new addiction as they change. Additionally, some of the fluids might encourage addictions to…other things as well–musk, piss, cum, farts, etc. 

Anyway, that’s my thoughts on the topic. I’ll add it to the list–my…really long ass list of things to write at some point.

brackenousjunk:

Requested by Anonymous

Something strange had been happening around Wellsprings Senior Living Center lately, where Burt was a resident. He hadn’t thought much of it at first, when the first couple of his friends suddenly traded their golf polos and khakis for leather jackets, harnesses and rubber. It had been…different, sure, but for some reason it hadn’t alarmed him–even when these happily married men–some for fifty years–announced they had kicked their wives out and were divorcing them. Then, when he’d gotten the knock on his door that evening, and been greeted by a flash from that strange gun Mr. Lingleton had in his gloved hand, everything made more sense.

Burt had a bit of a secret, you see–he’d lost consistent control of his bladder a few years back, and had been wearing diapers ever since he’d gotten tired of wetting himself on accident. He hadn’t let anyone know–he had always been so embarrassed by his lack of self-control–but he didn’t have to worry about that now. He fell to his knees in his rubber waders, his cock spewing a massive load of piss across the carpet at the threshold of his apartment, as Mr. Lingleton hauled out his cock and showered Burt with piss from head to toe, and then left the old man to suck whatever he could from the carpet, before retreating back inside. 

From that day on, he simply pissed wherever he stood–often while wearing his yellow rubber chest waders–and when he got back to his apartment he’d drink all it down–adding it to all the other piss he’d been drinking from the men who lived in the complex all day long. He’d been a bit worried when his son and grandson came to visit a couple of weeks later, but once they were in his apartment, both of them began changing as well. His grandson lost control of himself as well, almost immediately, and his father wasted no time forcing the protesting boy into his grandfather’s diapers, disciplining him sternly when he tried to run and get help. Burt just watched his middle aged son grow and expand into a massive, heavily tattooed leather daddy bear–and once his grandson was pacified and diapered like a good baby bear, his son bent Burt over the sofa and gave him a proper plowing–and afterwards gave his father a load of piss to share with his grandson.

For anyone who missed it, I have a new, secondary blog called Bracken’s Junkbox! That’s where I’ll be doing asks, reblogs, and photo captions again! I’ll probably repost some of them on Saturdays here, on my main blog, but if you follow the new one you can see them sooner.

Source: beblingchet

brackenousjunk:

Story Requested by @alexstrider008

Jimmy had gone to the club that night, dressed in some of his sluttier best–all spandex and rubber, stretched tight over his lithe, muscular body, blonde highlights spiked up just so, looking like every other twink there–but then again, that was the point of being a twink, right? Looking like everyone else? He felt like he belonged with them all, out on the dance floor, their muscular bodies pressed together…but tonight he found himself talking to someone different.

The man didn’t look like he belonged in this kind of club–not wearing that much leather, and certainly not with that big gut hanging over his waistband. Jimmy and a few of his friends had been pointing and laughing at him all evening, secretly hoping the fat leather fuck would get the hint, finish his beer, and leave. But…somehow (he couldn’t quite remember now, and in fact, everything was becoming oddly foggy) he had ended up next to the man in the booth, having a conversation with him. The rest of the twinks were scandalized, of course–no so much as he was, when he found himself getting up after the man and…following him out of the bar.

They ended up going into a small house, and immediately down into the basement where the stranger stripped Jimmy of his spandex, shoved him up against a wooden cross and secured his ankles and wrists to the four boards. Next, a blindfold, and then the man shoved something in his mouth–a thick tube which was narrow at first, and then widened to the point that it stretched his jaw, and pushed down his throat–making it difficult to breathe except through his nose. “That’s good, such good boy,” The man said, “Gonna get you good and big, just you wait.”

There was the sound of a pump, and then he felt something oozing through the tube, but he couldn’t do anything to stop it–he could feel some strange sludge sliding it’s way down his esophagus and right into his stomach. For a few minutes it was fine, then he felt the first pangs of discomfort, his stomach swelling–but it didn’t stop. All he could do was moan and whimper for hours, while the man went about his work. First, he heard the sound of an electric razor as his perfect hair was shorn from his head. Then, the man began toying with him–clamping his nipples and cock, edging him, filling his hole with dildos–each larger than the next.

He felt so full, but…other things too. An exhaustion crept into his body, and it was like he could feel his muscles…dissolving. Turning to jelly in him. The fog coating his mind grew thicker, and he found himself craving this feeling of fullness, craving abuse from this man, this…this master. He was happy, he could hear him, could feel him groping his…his gut. He had a gut, he could feel it hanging off him where he was bound. 

At long last, the pump ceased. His stomach ached, but already rumbled, needing more. The man hauled the tube free of his mouth, unhooked Jimmy’s wrists and ankles, and he immediately fell to his knees, hands behind his back, awaiting a command. He couldn’t see, but it was a brand new morning, as his master fucked his throat, before hooking him up for a second, even larger, feeding.

For anyone who missed it, I have a new, secondary blog called Bracken’s Junkbox! That’s where I’ll be doing asks, reblogs, and photo captions again! I’ll probably repost some of them on Saturdays here, on my main blog, but if you follow the new one you can see them sooner.

Source: kawi-stuff