Category: Uncategorized

Ruining Mr. Fisher (part 1)

Ned’s heart leapt into his throat when he pushed the janitor cart around the corner, and saw the light in the corner office of the fourteenth floor was still on. The office where Gerard Fisher worked, an upper level manager in the bank which owned the building–the same bank which had, a few years back, foreclosed on Ned’s home. The same company whose offices he’d been cleaning for over a decade, under contract with a cleaning company sure, but every fucking day he was here, cleaning up after these wealthy fucks. It had been enough though, to get a little piece of property, until the mortgage rate had skyrocketed out of his budget. The bank had been merciless, his credit was ruined, his savings evaporated, he was living in a shitty trailer park, commuting an hour to work every day, a commute he couldn’t afford for a job he couldn’t afford to give up. It wasn’t rational to pin the blame to Gerard, there in the corner office, but the way he’d always sneered at Ned, when Ned was pushing the cart through, on these nights he worked late…

Ned was from a poor working class family. He’d done poorly in school, but he wasn’t stupid. The stress of the last few years had sent him ballooning larger and larger, until now he was about 400 pounds but couldn’t stop eating, and couldn’t pay to eat better. It didn’t help matters much that he was also gay, but had spent his entire life in the closet, only fucking around rarely. Still, he was a hard worker, but he could see the game was rigged, and the men rigging it were the Gerard Fishers of the whole fucking world. He’d assumed his whole life he’d never be able to stand up to someone like that and survive in the world, and so he’d kept his pride low and head down, but now…but now was his chance–a meager chance, but a chance all the same.

Through his grungy coveralls he reached in and pulled the medallion out, letting it hang on the outside of his clothing, glinting oddly in the light. He hadn’t really believed the old man he’d run into while he was cruising for sex at the rest area a few miles down the highway. The stranger had looked like a hitchhiking derelict–he’d pleaded with Ned to take the gold medallion from him, telling him that he could get revenge, that he could use it to destroy the lives of those who had wronged him. Ned had to admit that he’d liked the sound of that, and even if it was bunk (which it had to be, right?) then he could always pawn the gold for some extra cash. But he’d taken it from the man, and it was like time had stopped around him, and his eyes–it was like they’d been opened to some strange reality he’d never even known existed. And in that flash, he saw that the man had indeed been telling him the truth, but not the whole truth. Yes, the medallion would allow the person wielding it to destroy the lives of others, but it also made that person incapable of improving themselves.

But it was worse than that–Ned looked down at himself, at his fat, slobby, grungy body, his dirty clothes, and where he’d always been disgusted with himself, suddenly he…he liked it. He went back to his truck and jacked off, thinking about what a fat failure he was, about…about how much he wanted others to be fat, nasty failures like he was. He couldn’t stop, he didn’t want to stop, and all he could do was think about Gerard Fisher in his corner office.

So here Ned was–a slightly different Ned. He hadn’t showered in a few weeks, or done laundry either, since he’d first touched the amulet. He had a rather wild beard, his hair was shaggy, his eyes…glinting with an odd golden hue as he looked at the lit window of that corner office, that office he knew he’d never have, especially now, but that office no one should have–especially not Mr. Fisher. His cock was hard, just thinking about it, and he abandoned the cart, walked down to the office door, knocked, and stepped inside before being invited in.

Mr. Fisher was in his forties, but he didn’t look like it. He was meticulous about keeping himself in shape, kept every little wisp of grey plucked or colored, kept up with all the latest fashions. He had the perfect wife, and the perfect son about to go to college. But most important, he despised everything about the janitor who stepped into his office, grinning like he owned the place, a strange necklace around his neck shining in the light. It took him a moment to realize it was the same fat slob who always cleaned the floor when he stayed late–it was just that he was looking fatter and slobbier than usual.

“I think you can wait until I’m gone for the evening to clean my office,” Mr. Fisher said, “Although it doesn’t look like you know how to clean anything. I’ll be reporting your hygiene to the contractor, just so you know.”

“No Mr. Fisher, I’m not here to clean your office. I’m here to show you something,” Ned said, and pulled the medallion from around his neck, and started swinging it gently in the air in front of him. Mr. Fisher found his eyes drawn to the medallion immediately, and when the fat slob started moving closer…he wanted to move away–but he couldn’t move a muscle. Distantly he heard the slob talking, as one hand unzipped the front of his coveralls, allowing the slob to haul out a disgusting cock which…Mr. Fisher started sucking on behind his desk like it was the most normal thing to do. Ned smiled–it was a good mouth, actually. In fact, everything about Mr. Fisher’s body–everything about his life–was perfect, and Ned couldn’t wait to ruin all of it.

are the plans to rewrite big bears on campus still out there?

Short answer: 

Yes.

Longer answer: 

Yes, but I haven’t managed to hit upon what form, exactly, that rewrite might take, or if I want it to be a rewrite at all, all fighting with me wondering if I should just abandon the thing altogether.A lot of this confusion stems from the fact that Big Bears on Campus and City of Bears were never supposed to be this long. They weren’t supposed to be long at all! The initial run, Big Bears on Campus, was actually intended to be a series of short vignettes without any backstory or further development, making fun and riffing on the college campus where I was currently going to school. But it took off! Not only did people enjoy it, I really enjoyed writing it, and I found myself becoming surprisingly invested in these characters. So I left it open to a possible sequel of some form, and started figuring out where to go from there.

Bear Boutique was, at the time, the longest continuous story I had ever produced. That thing was hard to write. I still think it’s the weakest of all the sections, even though it has a few stand out parts here and there that I return to on occasion. What came from that was another series of vignettes, Special Delivery, which, like the first series, I had intended to be relatively unconnected to anything else. These were also my first commissions, and so my first attempts at trying to wed my own vision of a story with someone else’s with decidedly mixed results in places.

Then came the final chunk, written over the course of a month for NaNoWriMo. I love those two arcs that I put together–I think they’re well plotted, the characters are interesting, its one of the few pieces I’ve written which I felt managed to transcend to boundaries of the genre and push my ideas in new directions. But this was exactly the problem–I still had no idea where I was going with any of this. I’d never known where I was going with any of this. Sure, I had ***ideas*** of what I might write, but there was no clear sign of resolution. Was I just going to keep writing it forever? I didn’t know. I stopped, hesitated, put it on hiatus, and decided that the Frankenstein that it is was impossible to wrestle with–that what I needed to do was take everything I’d learned writing these disparate chunks, go back to the beginning, just start over and do it right. 

Turns out that’s easier said than done. I had a long burnout, where I over committed and had to stop writing for a few months while I put myself back together. I got back on my feet, and then I started my Patreon with the goal that if I could pull in a decent income, I could set more time aside to focus on longer pieces like City of Bears. Well Patreon was a great success (Thanks Everyone!) but also a sizable commitment. It’s taken a lot of work to juggle four sizable entries a week, as well as five commissions every month. I love doing it, and this last year has been amazing, but it hasn’t left a lot of time for deep work on projects like City of Bears (especially when you throw in all of the other turmoil of last year, including back surgeries, new jobs, etc.)

I still love this story. I have had about half a dozen false starts over the years, trying to figure out what this story looks like and how to tell it. Is it one massive novel? Is it a series of extended vignettes without much relation to each other? Is it a series of staggered close third person narratives which interlock? Is it simply a story world that has no real beginning or ending, but thousands of stories inside of it? The truth is, it’s all of those things to me, and cutting off any of those avenues to pursue one of them is excruciatingly difficult to decide.

At this moment, I’m still not sure what I want to do. There are some stories that I want to tell for sure. I have no idea how any of it ends. I secretly feel like every story I write is a constant continuation and rebirth of City of Bears, and that I will be writing new versions of this story until the day I die. This probably isn’t very satisfactory, but this is where the issue currently stands, as honest as I can render it.

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.

Source: kawi-stuff

None of them had noticed anything yet. I wasn’t sure if any of them would notice the spell at all. Still, it was working, that much was certain. All of them had been massively muscled just a few hours ago, hairy, oozing masculinity. Already they were starting to pudge up, their body hair becoming thinner, their facial hair disappearing bit by bit. It was hard to tell whether they were becoming a bit more flirty because they were a bit drunk, or because the next part of the spell was taking affect. Serves those fucking jocks right, though–this will teach them to pick on fat guys like me. They’re all going to be fat cockwhores by the end of the night.

Fuck, it sure is working, you should see the four of them! None of them is less than 300 pounds at this point, and all of them are obsessing with the guys around here, flirting with them, unable to peel their eyes away from the men’s crotches, even as their own cock’s shrivel up into nothing. This sort of shit would have gotten me pummeled into a pulp, but none of the guys here mind–the spell makes anyone the four of them take a liking to into a big, hairy brute who will give their holes a good reaming. Joey keeps looking at me, in particular, and fuck, it’s making me a bit horny. He can’t stop himself, and he knows it–I can see the terror in his eyes even as he licks his fat lips.

Yeah fucker, that’s fuckin’ right, who’s in charge now, huh! Who’s on top now? Yeah, I wanna year ya fuckin’ squeal, squeal like a pig!

Oh god oh god, wha happened tha me? I ain’t, this ain’t right! Where’d all this fuckin’ hair come from, ‘n why’s it so hard tah fuckin’ think all a sudden? The…spell? Fuck, I fucked Joey, ‘n this is what that made me? Got a damn good cock though, feels real nice. Bet…Bet it’d feel nicer in that other pig’s hole though, now that other guy’s done plowin’ him. Yeah, think I’d better give him a good fuck too, can’t fuck enough pigs after all, fuck yeah…

Source: huskyishusky

Would you be willing to write about a TWINK waking up in a dark room bound and fed until he grew into a bear a such??? I love the feeder rapidgaining stories you write.

I could do something like that. I assume the key modifier there is the guy starting out as a twink, given your emphasis there. Honestly, I never think about incorporating twinks into my stories–mostly they’re so far off my radar attraction wise that it doesn’t even occur to me to start someone out there. But yeah, I can do that–I might even get out a quickie story caption for you today.

I was just a teenager looking to earn a little extra cash, so when my neighbor, Mr. Junkett, told me he would pay me fifty bucks a day to help him with some home improvement work, I jumped at the chance, even though I didn’t really know anything about it. I assumed it would just be some painting or something, but I found out on the first day that he was putting in an entire new wing of his house! Still, I’d agreed to help, and it was good money, and I knew I’d learn a lot from him.

I don’t know when I noticed the first changes, how I was becoming more muscular, my gut filling out, picked up a couple of tattoos even though I couldn’t remember how I’d gotten them, and I’d started smoking cigarettes just like Mr. Junkett. This photo was taken about a month after we’d gotten started…and I remember looking at myself, not even sure it was me.

I started spending more and more time with him, working, and soon I was there constantly, sleeping on his couch after he fed me huge meals and encouraged me to drink beer after beer…and then I was sleeping in his bed, waking up with his arms around me, his…cock still lodged in my ass. I knew it was wrong, but I liked it–pretty soon he was fucking me all the time, and I was begging him for it–just the scent off his musky pits was enough to have me bent over, pants down, begging for a rough fuck. 

That old me has started to fade though. I’m not as smart as I was, and I don’t think I even finished high school. I’m in my forties with a mullet and a thick beard–my parents don’t even recognize me as their son, and…I live with Gary Junkett, my partner in public, and my master in private. Still, I can’t wait to see our new sex dungeon when it’s finished in a few more days. Master tells me we’re going to have a big party to celebrate, and my holes are going to be the main attractions.

Source: redneckindeed

How come you never do your Q&As anymore?

Well, there are a few reasons, actually. First, answering questions takes a surprising about of time, especially if you care about giving reasonably detailed answers. I simply haven’t had all that much free time to answer questions, or by the time I get time, the questions have often lost relevance. That said, I always really liked taking questions, so I miss the Q&A aspect of my work a lot, because it gives me a chance to touch base with readers, see what’s working and what isn’t.

Second, it was taking up a whole lot of space on my blog. Like I said, I love answering asks, but a lot of readers don’t necessarily care that much about them (which is perfectly fine and understandable!) and I would on occasion get notes asking me to do fewer asks, because it would clutter people’s feeds, and I decided, after a few heated discussions, to back off the Q&A stuff for a while, and focus on putting out stories, and figure out a solution to this later.

Well, I have a solution! I went ahead and started a secondary blog, Bracken’s Junkbox. Rather than cluttering up my main blog with Q&A stuff, I figured I might as well create a secondary space for everything else. That way, if people just want the stories, they can just follow my main blog, and if they want to see everything else too, then they can follow my junk blog too. But the junk blog will have more than just asks, I’ve also wanted a space where I could reblog pictures, create captions, start collaborative stories and engage with other writers, artists and everyone else. 

Nothing about this blog is going to change. There will still be four posts a week, just like always. Ok, so there is one change–this primary blog will no longer be accepting asks or submissions at all. If you want to send me one, then the only way to get it to me is through the ask page at Bracken’s Junkbox instead[1]. So if you have questions, or if you have stories or photos you’d like to see, make sure you get them to the right spot. The links above will now help you get to the proper location, to try and make things a bit easier for you. I may occasionally cross post as well, if I feel I have information important enough to bear mentioning on my main blog as well.

Other than that, things should go smoothly. I hope you all might find my junk interesting! There isn’t much over there now, but hopefully that will change rather quickly. I plan on doing a ask me anything session each Wednesday (including today!) So if there’s anything that’s been on your mind, now’s a good time to ask!

Thanks, as always, for reading!

Wes

[1] The reason for this is actually tumblr’s fault–instead of having asks go into one large pile, it divides messages between blogs, and prohibits you from answering questions from one blog on a different blog–and the same with submissions. That is, it forces a one-to-one relationship as far as submissions and asks go, which is a bit frustrating.