From @rbbrpigmen: fully concur. For my part, I’ve been more cautious of what sort of stuff gets shared. Fortunately I’m not as hot with the tumblr so much these days, but can find myself going to the original tumblr of something and notice posts that cross lines into dodgy ideology and anything political. There may be one or two posts that edge towards that, but ultimately the idea of these tumblrs are to get your rocks off in imaginative ways and hope everyone’s cool enough to enjoy.

and I could go on but was unaware these reply things had a limit godammit.


I think it’s becoming increasingly difficult to try and parse out who is being ironically edgy with this sort of thing and just erotically shitposting, and who is being earnest with it in a way that is actively harmful. In the end, I don’t think the two of them have that much of a difference in terms of outcome or appearance–you can think you’re just having a taboo laugh reblogging the 14 words or whatever, but it looks exactly the same as someone reblogging it because they actually believe it–and irony is a very weak shield, in my opinion. 

We’re all only responsible for what we post. We can’t control the content of others on here, or any other site like this. All we have is our own lines, our own judgement, and we’ll each have to bear whatever consequences come out of those choices.

The Fetish Gun is Loose! (Part 4) [Interactive]

Looks like the winner was out older bear into diapers, humiliation, and watersports. Let’s see what he does when he gets hold of the gun…


Earlier, in the club…

Had Anthony really seen, what he’d just seen? Even now, it was almost impossible to believe it, even though it had happened, right there across the upper floor of the bar. He had been stashed back in a dark corner, watching that man pick up and toy around with that odd gun he’d found in that booth. Then, he’d shot himself with it, and after…he’d been different. Really different, but Anthony hadn’t really been able to remember how different–it was like the earlier version of the man had been scrubbed from reality, and replaced by the freak in the booth–massively hung, wearing a singlet…but that had just been the start of the insanity. He’d just…eaten someone, with his fucking cock. He pulled himself further back as the man stood up, hauling along the heavy, monstrous thing hanging from the front of the singlet, and went down to the dance floor–he was so taken with the sight, he didn’t realize, for a moment, that the man had left the gun behind in the booth.

He moved quick–grabbed the gun and retreated back to the booth where he’d been, stopping only to grab the piece of paper that had fallen from the table to the floor, which turned out to be a summary of the gun–and it’s five features. It would have been unbelievable if he hadn’t just witnessed it in action. The shit he could do with this thing–the possibilities already had him hard in the front of his pants.

Anthony had a few quirks of his own–though they mostly had to do with other people, than himself. He loved humiliating guys more than pretty much anything–but most of all, he loved forcing guys into diapers and making them piss themselves. He didn’t get to enjoy his fetish very often, because finding guys to go along with it was…difficult. But with the gun, it wasn’t going to be a struggle at all. He turned the setting to A, and then went to the edge of the balcony, where he could look down at the crowd below.

The silicone guy was down there, with half a dozen guys clambering for his attention. He must have used setting B–and as tempting as it was to shoot him…he set his sights on someone else instead, as he dragged his obsessive group of hanger ons away from the dance floor and towards the dark back of the bar. Instead, he spotted someone better–someone he knew. Rick was an “A Gay”, always muscled, always on trend, and always desired. He was in the middle of the dance floor now, wearing just a skimpy thong showing off his substantial junk bouncing as he danced to the music. Anthony leveled the gun at him, held an idea of what he wanted in his mind, and shot him with a ray of yellow, watching it sink into his skin, the thong shuddering…and growing into a thick diaper.

Rick noticed, and was horrified, but he couldn’t stop dancing. People were noticing, pointing, laughing–and then he started pissing himself. He couldn’t stop the flow, and there was so much of it–it overflowed the diaper and ran down the insides of his thighs…and he was so turned on, by becoming the laughing stock of the entire club, that he started groping the front of his diaper, his cock hard, milking himself to orgasm in the warm, saggy diaper. Anthony shot him again as he did, and Rick’s perfect body began to melt and distort. He wasn’t muscled anymore–now he was more chub than anything else, his perfect hair lank and greasy, crooked teeth leering around him at the men laughing, groping harder, loving how everyone could see just how much of a loser he was now, and he came, loudly and obviously, before a bouncer dragged him off the dance floor–but Anthony intervened before they could kick him out, and pulled the much changed Rick into a corner, shoved the loser down to his knees, and soaked him down with his own piss, before making him suck him off right there in the club.

“What do you think now, hotshot? Think you’re the coolest fucker in the club now? Can you even remember was a hot piece of meat you were before?” Anthony said.

Could he? Rick could remember, vaguely, who he’d been–but thinking about that only made him even hotter, knowing that he’d fallen so far, into this nasty piece of shit, stuck in diapers, humiliating himself in the hottest gay bar in town. “No sir, I’m a filthy, diaper wearing loser. Can…can I suck your cock sir?”

Anthony made Rick beg for his cum, plead for it, tell him exactly what a loser he was and how much he loved it, making sure everyone around them knew exactly what kind of pervert he was, and what he wanted–and Anthony finally milked his load onto Rick’s face, and told him to leave it. Then he grabbed the gun and twisted the dial–he wasn’t done with Rick yet, not by a ways.


This time around, we have a bit of a twist! There are three standard options, but the fourth one is special–the more people who vote for backfire, the more likely it is that the tables will end up turned against Anthony next chapter, in different ways, depending on which one of the top three gets the most votes. So mind your vote!

  1. Uses setting C to turn his diaper man into a literal, corruptive diaper he forces another jock to wear.
  2. He uses setting A to add more humiliating fetishes to Rick’s mind.
  3. He uses setting D to create an incestual relationship between them, with Anthony as Rick’s domineering father.
  4. Backfire! – The ending total percentage of this option (combined between both polls, not averaged) is the possibility of the top option among the other three backfiring on Anthony.

Here is the twitter poll

Here is the patron only poll

Voting ends on Thursday!

From @yearofthepiglet: I think this post is thoughtful, and I appreciate ot! Regarding the previous comment, in erotic context, there’s no purely visual cue to separate a racist/nationalist/naxi skinhead from a purely gay fetish-type skinhead. Eroticizing the latter often looks/feels like eroticizing the former. A PoC or Jewish person reading stories about skinheads could easily believe fetishists were becoming even more unwelcoming to them by fetishizing the people who brutalize them.


I think, visually, this is spot on, but I have a bit more latitude in written erotica to draw out these sort of distinctions. I also think that PoC and Jewish folk (speaking as someone who comes from a Jewish family) can make their own determinations about what excites them sexually–which might have nothing to do with what they want to experience in real life. People are…complex, and oppression is complicated, and sexual desire is murky, confusing, and impossible to rationalize. What you feel just is what you feel–these answers today are just my attempt to communicate how I am feeling now, at this moment, about what I (don’t) want to write and why.

Mostly, I think it’s important to distinguish between sexually fantasizing about fascist behavior and relationships (which I think is, generally, outside of ethics, because I don’t think we’re really capable of controlling these sort of feelings) and actually belonging to an authentic fascist group (which is most certainly not, ever, ok). Fantasy is…complicated. Sexual desire is complicated. The joy of BDSM as a sexual politics is that it provides a framework where these sorts of complex desires can be mediated between people in a safe environment and with consent. In the same way, fiction and erotica can be a way for people to explore these desires in safe contexts. But these same frameworks can be hijacked and used to excuse behavior and beliefs which are damaging, hurtful, and dangerous to not only others, but to our own communities as well.

I generally want to believe the best of people, but realistically speaking, gay men aren’t immune to the pull of white supremacy as an ideology, and I have no real interest in enabling that, or fueling it. I think, at this point in politics, it’s more important to be careful about what we say, and how we appear, and take stock of what we are enabling, and who we are valuing, in our communities, and why.

From @mynewme88blog:   I thought gay skinhead where the a bigger fetish thing no need to put put poletics into any thign and why not make a erotic horror tranfomation


It’s impossible to just remove politics from something. The choice to attempt to divorce something from politics is a political choice itself–a choice to ignore the implications and context of what your doing, because otherwise, it might make you, or others, uncomfortable. The idea becomes all the more laughable when you suggest removing politics from a cultural fetish which is coded throughout with political history, symbolism, and meaning. 

That said, if it doesn’t bother you, it doesn’t bother you–that’s fine! I’m not here to pass judgement on it, just that, over time, it has come to really, really bother me, in a very visceral way. I don’t enjoy looking at gay guys playing dress up as authentic fascists. I don’t know, personally, how to really write stories that navigate a space with that kind of content anymore. The few things I have written along those themes before just kind of make me feel sick now, honestly. 

It just isn’t what I want to write. If that’s what you want to read, there are plenty of other writers here on tumblr to fill in the gap for you.

How do oyu feel about bodybuilder and skinheads ? will you at soem point make more storyies featuring themagain liek the filthy body builder in oen of oyur x-mas story?

I fell pretty neutral on bodybuilders as a general concept, and skinheads are–well, they’re a bit difficult to read and write at the moment, honestly, with rising tides of fascism. Not all skinheads are fascists and nazis, obviously, but it becomes a bit difficult to see where one ends and the other begins with some folks on here, and that makes me hesitant to utilize them. But I cross lines in my stories all the time, of course–that’s why I consider them, primarily, horror fiction before I really think of them as erotica. But it’s…exhausting, honestly, trying to find all the boundaries (both my personal ones, and larger social ones) between irony, fantasy, authenticity, the taboo, and the fetishization of forces that want to kill us at the end of the day, is such a painful task, and one that can hurt me, and others, if done wrong.

Because I don’t want these stories to hurt people. Make them horny? Of course. Make uncomfortable? Sure. Scare and terrify? Sure. But hurt and injure? Not what I’m aiming for, and so I’m going to avoid those things that I don’t feel like I have a good enough grip on to walk that line.

I struggle with other areas too–redneck and rural stereotypes, for instance, are becoming difficult for me to deal with in some ways. I don’t know if I can go so far as to say it’s “bad” to write this or that, because I’m pretty sure that, at the end of the day, most of what I write is “bad”, but for me, it’s also necessary to write it, for reasons that I can certainly rationalize, but which don’t lie within the realm of rational thought (if that makes sense). I can only write what I know, and what I enjoy–and at the moment, there’s a growing list of things I just don’t enjoy writing anymore, because I kind of makes me feel a bit sick. Skinheads are at the border of that. Racial change is definitely in that category. I can’t pretend those are universal “No’s” for everyone, just for me, personally.

Will I make stories about them again? Probably. I’ll certainly write something about it for someone’s commission, I just might not publish it.

Ever use any Tumblr users in your story? I’d love to see what perverted things you’d do to them!

I have, on occasion, used pics from people I know in stories, either by accident (before I became friends with them) or after, either as the very occasional gift, or commission. I’m hesitant to share the reference stories though, without their permission, because most of them weren’t advertised as them. That said, if we’re in the same networks, you might recognize a few folks in photo captions here, or over on my now defunct side blog, @brackenousjunk

There is, also, one picture of me on this blog, in a rather compromising situation, taken by a good friend of mine, also on tumblr. Consider it an easter egg, if you know me well, and know what I like irl, you can probably guess.

Haven’t gotten to my inbox in a while, so I’ll probably go ahead and empty it today. If you have any other questions for me, go ahead and throw them in the box, and I’ll give you my always candid answers!

Don’t forget, I’m open for flash commissions this month! They are $20 dollars for 1000-1500 words on any topic. You can also request things like:

  • Photo captions! Got a photo and a story to match? I can write that for you.
  • “What Would I Do To You?” sketches, for those of you who like the second person stories I write on occasion. I’ll do anything you want! Just let me know.
  • Alternate branches for the interactive stories I write! Were you disappointed with the turns the stories have taken on occasion? Want to see an alternate ending? I can do that for the stories I’ve written, or for any chapter on CYOC you might like to see extended.

Send me a message or an email, if you’re interested!

How Lucky (Sketch)

I’m currently open for flash commissions like this one! For more details, check out this post, or send me a message!


“You’d be so fucking lucky if you were straight, you know that?”

Evan looked over at Raymond, his dormmate. They were in their room, homework done (or done enough, at least) and were taking a break to play some video games together. Evan was gay, and Raymond was straight, but he’d never made a offputting comment like that before. “Excuse me?”

“I mean, if you were straight, girls would throw themselves at you. You got everything–looks, muscles…I don’t have shit.”

Raymond didn’t have…much, in those categories. Evan would have called him a twink, and a cute one at that, if you were into that sort of thing, but Raymond hated his short, petite frame. He must have gotten shot down again–he always got a bit petty and morose when a girl turned him down. He was a nice guy, but in Raymond’s opinion, the self-pity was exhausting. “I don’t have trouble getting guys either, so I guess I’m lucky anyway.”

“You don’t have to rub it in, you know.”

Evan shrugged.

They were silent for a moment, and then Raymond mumbled something quietly, but loud enough that Evan could hear it. “I wish I was bigger–then I wouldn’t have any problems.”

Evan tried to suppress a smirk–maybe it was time for Raymond to learn a lesson or two. Evan happened to come from a very long line of witches, and was quite powerful himself, though he prefered to keep a low profile. Raymond had exhausted his patience, though, plus Evan was horny, and maybe a little drunk from his secret stash of booze in the closet. He turned to Raymond, and said something in an odd tongue, something so complicated that Raymond couldn’t even begin to parse it into words, much less understand it. It felt…odd too, hearing it, like the words were doing something to him…but as soon as Evan finished speaking, he forgot the oddity, and went back to playing the game.

An hour later, when they finished, Raymond also didn’t notice that when he stood up, he was a bit taller, with a bit more muscle on his frame, and a five o’ clock shadow that hadn’t been there before. He went down the hall to the bathroom to take a shower and brush his teeth, and while he felt a bit…off, he couldn’t really pin down why. When he got back to the room, Evan was in his bed, reading one of those old tomes of his he’d brought to school with him. He looked at him…and felt a twinge of attraction, along with the usual jealousy, and made another comment about how lucky Evan was–but all Evan did was say the same strange phrase again, but it was just as difficult to understand as before, and when Raymond climbed into bed, his feet stretched to the end of the extra long twin beds they had in their room.

He also couldn’t sleep. He kept thinking about Evan, in the bed next to him–not just about how good he looked, but how…sexy he was. Raymond’s cock was rock hard, and after half an hour of tossing about, he had to get up and go down the hall to the bathroom to jack off, thinking about Evan as he did. It felt…normal to think of him, but shouldn’t he be thinking of girls instead? He felt better with a load out of him, and went back to bed, mostly oblivious, although Evan had also jacked off when Raymond had left the room a second ago–and left his cum rag under Evan’s pillow. He found it after a moment, and got so horny immediately, he jacked off again, right in the bed there in front of his gay roommate, and then fell asleep with the crusty rag pressed to his nose.

The next few days were…strange. Raymond, or rather, Ray, as he was being called by most everyone, found his life becoming rather…unrecognizable. He woke up early and went to the gym to work out, and ended up sucking off one of the football linebackers in the shower afterward. He tried to keep focused on girls, but it was men he wanted–the burlier and hairier the better. It was a couple of days before he made another complaint about his life to Evan, and again, he said the same phrase as before, just as confounding…but it seemed stronger than before, somehow. Evan had to study at the library for a while, and so Ray ended up back in their room alone–where their beds were pushed together, for some reason. He stripped down to just his musky jockstrap, not even aware of the tattoos that had formed all over his thicker, hairier frame, nor the piercings in his ears, nipples, and the head of his cock. He did some school work, but had to take regular breaks to jack off, usually while sniffing Ray’s current cumrag, until his boyfriend got back from the library, and fucked Ray’s ass on their bed, just like always…right?

Evan imagined that Ray had probably had enough for now, but after a couple of days, he was bemoaning something else, how uptight the guys on the football team were about him sucking them off in the shower. It wasn’t a big deal, right? Evan just replied with the same phrase, and Ray bristled. Now seven feet tall, and packed with muscle, musk rolling off him, he was the center of attention no matter where he was–not just because of how big he was, but often because of what, and how little, he was usually wearing. Since the weather was nice, he was wearing only his custom leather harness, and a pair of tattered jean shorts tight against his wide ass, almost tight enough to see the end of the plug he always kept up his ass.

He looked down at himself, trying to take all of him in, and at last, Evan saw his face relax into contentment, and he looked over at his shorter, but still beefy boyfriend with a sigh. “Fuck, what the hell am I even complaining for? My life is pretty damn good, right?”

Evan just chuckled, nodded, and then pulled the big slut off to their room for an afternoon fuck. In the afterglow, Ray asked Evan what that thing he’d been saying lately meant. After considering for a moment, Evan said, “It’s hard to translate, but I suppose you could say it kind of means, ‘Be careful what you wish for.’”