Category: Uncategorized

The Power of Reality – Preview (Part 2)

The continuation of “The Power of Belief”, featuring the further rise and eventual fall of Professor Larson, is up on Patreon for everyone contributing five dollars or more a month. You can find the download link here if you’re a contributor. It’s quite long, and I’ll be posting the first few chunks of the story here on tumblr, but if you want to read the whole thing, Patreon is the only place to find it (for now).

It worked–the watch had worked. The high frequency signal allowed him to change beliefs in subjects while they were conscious–so long as he could be persuasive enough. It had required a bit more power than he would have liked, to get Aaron to go along with his desires, and he checked the power supply as he walked down the hall to Professor Hubert’s office–the current chair of the department. Over half a battery left–plenty, if he was efficient. Of course, the persuasion was only part of what he needed–the other was authority. The more social capital he had, the easier it would be to realize his desired reality, and that was why Professor Hubert needed to retire–so that Professor Larson could become the new department chair. He knocked on the door, and Professor Hubert shouted “Come in!” Professor Larson opened the door and slipped inside, shutting it behind him.

Professor Hubert looked exhausted—then again, why wouldn’t he be? He was in the midst of a rather nasty divorce. Professor Larson had felt guilty about that–his wife had been one of his earlier test subjects, and Hubert hadn’t been allowed home in weeks, forcing him to sleep in his office. But that gave Professor Larson the opening he needed, and weakened his opponent in one move–now, he just had to give things a little stronger push. “How are you doing, Eddie?”

“How do you think I’m doing?” Eddie Hubert replied, rubbing his eyes.

“She still won’t even talk to you?”

He shook his head. “I just don’t understand. She won’t even tell me why!”

“Well, I heard that she just wants to save you the embarrassment of anyone finding out, you know?”

Hubert looked at him in a funny way. “What?”

“You don’t have to play coy with me, Hubert. I just don’t know why you never told me we play for the same team.”

It was obvious that Eddie still had no idea what his colleague was talking about. Harold rolled his eyes, came around his desk, and started opening a series of folders he’d created on Eddie’s computer a few days earlier, “Cynthia told me all about it,” he said, making sure the watch was close to Hubert’s ear, watching his eyes glaze over slightly, “about your stash, about the kind of thing you’re really looking for.”

He opened the last folder, revealing a huge stockpile of photos. Photos of men, all kinds of men–young and old, fat and thin, from all walks of life. There was just one similarity between all of them–the size of their cocks. The shortest was nine inches, any number of them looked like they’d been morphed larger than humanly possible.

“That’s not…mine. I don’t know…”

“You don’t have to deny it, Eddie. I know your secret, but I won’t tell anyone. I just wish I had known sooner. You can’t blame Cynthia for being a bit embarrassed–no wonder you haven’t ever been able to perform with her, when the only thing that gets you hard is a huge cock.”

It couldn’t be true. He loved his wife. Sure, he’d had a hard time performing sometimes, but this…no, it couldn’t be true…could it? One of his hands was in his lap, and his cock was hard. Why would his cock be hard if he wasn’t turned on by what he was looking at? Being gay wasn’t something to be ashamed of, just like Harold was saying. He shouldn’t be ashamed of what he wanted. He started stroking his cock, while Harold kept talking, looking through his collection, his own, two inch cock, hard at the thought of some of these monsters he was looking at. Thinking about trying to take them down his throat, and up his ass. He didn’t notice the knock on the door, but Harold went over and opened it while he kept jacking off, Aaron stepping inside, a bit nervous, seeing Professor Hubert jacking off openly, but Harold assured him everything was fine.

“Now Eddie, I know that you could use a pick-me-up, and I just happened to have a student with just the sort of thing you’re interested in, right Aaron? Go on, show Professor Hubert here what you’re packing, boy.”

Aaron looked at the older, fat professor. “Are…Are you sure?”

“Come on Aaron, I know you aren’t shy–you love showing off your big cock.”

He did like it, now that he thought about it, and he dropped his pants, revealing his ten inch cock, which he stroked until it was hard. Professor Hubert’s jaw dropped at the sight, and he kept playing with his puny cock.

“Now Aaron, you like to fuck, right? Anyone with a cock that big has to love fucking.”

“Yes, Professor, I love fucking.”

“I bet a young man like you, I bet you don’t even care what you fuck, right? As long as it’s a hole?”

Aaron nodded, but it was hard paying attention, now that his cock was hard.

“Eddie, I bet you have a hole for Aaron to use, don’t you? I bet getting fucked by his huge cock would improve your mood quite a bit.”Professor Hubert was two steps ahead of him; he was already up, dropping his trousers, and coming around the desk, bending over it, presenting his hole to Aaron.

“Come on boy, show my hole what you can do with that huge cock of yours.”

They fucked for as long as the battery in Larson’s watch lasted, Aaron blasting load after load of cum into the professor’s hole, and Harold spent his time talking to both of them, telling them that they both loved how they other made them feel, that they couldn’t wait to fuck again, that they needed each other more than anything, and most importantly, that they couldn’t tell anyone about their budding relationship–well, aside from Harold, of course. In fact, he made sure that each of them would want to come by his office regularly, to discuss what was happening to them.

He couldn’t resist making a few additional changes to them, of course. By the time Aaron left the office, he’d put on quite a bit more body hair and grown a full beard, not to mention lost a large amount of his IQ. Still, Harold didn’t want him smart–the stupider he was, the easier it would be to keep him under his thumb. Eddie Hubert, on the other hand, finished up quite a bit fatter, and quite a bit older than he had been, with his hole plugged by a dildo, his one inch cock unable to get hard, but he happily sucked a load of cum from his colleague’s own massive cock once his student boyfriend had left the room. Things were going perfectly, and once he was finished, Larson left and headed home to recharge his watch, and watch the video he’d recorded of the two of them fucking. In a few weeks time, he had a feeling Eddie and Aaron wouldn’t be at the school any longer, but that didn’t bother Harold–sometimes you had to ruin a few lives to get ahead, right?

The Power of Reality – Preview (Part 1)

The continuation of “The Power of Belief”, featuring the further rise and eventual fall of Professor Larson, is up on Patreon for everyone contributing five dollars or more a month. You can find the download link here if you’re a contributor. It’s quite long, and I’ll be posting the first few chunks of the story here on tumblr, but if you want to read the whole thing, Patreon is the only plave to find it (for now).

Professor Harold Larson had quickly discovered that belief can only get you so far, in this world. “So far” had turned out to be a massive house full of personal slaves, all of them previous students of his, all of them helping keep his butler, Carter, company, and keep the house in perfect order. Two fat cooks, who believed they were identical twins, made him meals when they weren’t cleaning each other’s fat bodies. Two more butlers, as old and weak minded as Carter himself, tended to him and his occasional guests, and would often spend their free time outside, being fucked by the massive gardeners and pool boys. But beyond his house, every attempt to change the world beyond his small realm had proved nearly impossible.

It was, he discovered, rather impossible to believe something if everyone else around you didn’t believe it along with you. He tried making several of his students smokers, but generally they would quit after a day or two, and eventually they wouldn’t remember smoking at all. Attempts to make his fellow professors gay perverts like him had all ended disastrously–thank goodness none of them had any memories of what he’d done, or he would have been jailed for certain. Worse, he could feel that wall of belief wearing on him every day–no one took him seriously. Few believed him to be as old as he claimed, or as fat, or as mean spirited and selfish as he believed himself to be. Worse, he would come home each night, and have to reinforce his own self-image, or he might very well return to being ‘Harry’–stupid, young, thin, straight, naive Harry. That would never happen if he could help it. And so, he’d started tinkering with Carter’s original device, and he’d come up with a new plan.

***

“Thank you for coming to see me, Aaron,” Professor Larson said, “Please, have a seat.”

He was perfect. Relatively dumb, desperate to please, willing to believe. Aaron Gorman was a freshman athlete from the professor’s introductory seminar. If he wanted to stay on the team, then he’d need at least a passing grade–and he was just under it, with only a few weeks left in the semester. Still, if he was willing to help his Professor out with a special project, he could probably see a way to helping him out.

“What did you want to talk about, Professor?” Aaron asked, taking a seat. He looked around the room–there was a strange buzzing in the air, like static from a TV, but he didn’t quite know where it was coming from exactly.

“I wanted to ask you here to talk about your grade. I know that you need a passing mark to keep your athletic scholarship, but after that last test result, I’m afraid its looking like you’ll need some extra credit to pass.”

“Really? I thought I’d done pretty well on it.”

In truth, he had done well–well enough to push his grade up, but the test the Professor handed him was covered with red marks. “I mean, it’s really not a surprise you did so poorly, you were having quite a hard time focusing that day. In fact, it seems like you have a hard time focusing in my class regularly.”

That much was true. Honestly, Aaron just found engineering rather boring, and now that the professor said something…he could remember having trouble on the test. It wasn’t really a surprise he’d failed, now that he thought about it.

Professor Larson leaned back in his chair–this was the hard part, if he could just get him to go along with him. “Is everything alright with your health? I notice that you seem to touch your crotch often.”

Aaron looked slightly aghast, “What?”

“Now, I know it’s somewhat embarrassing, but whenever you’re distracted in class, I notice your hand is in your lap.”

“No it isn’t! I mean…”

“It’s in your lap right now, Aaron–you’re touching yourself right now, aren’t you?”

Aaron pulled his hand away from his lap, and stood up. He had to leave, this was too strange.

“Sit down Aaron, I really think you should talk to me about what’s wrong. If your cock in distracting you, I assure you I can help.”

Aaron felt pulled in two different directions at once. Something told him he should sit back down, that he should listen to what his professor wanted to say, but the rest of him told him to get out, and get out fast. The buzzing grew louder, and the first voice started to make more sense; he eased himself back down into the chair, but kept his eyes on the door.

The Professor had been holding his breath, one hand on his watch, adjusting the dial up. He kept it high, and spoke again. “Listen, it’s nothing to be ashamed of, right?”

“R-Right.”

“It’s just a body after all.”

“Of course. I’m not, it’s just…”

“I mean, an athlete like you, I bet you’re rather proud of your body.”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“And you probably like showing it off, displaying yourself for other people to see.”

Aaron blushed a bit, but that was true–he did like having people stare at him.

“So let’s see what’s wrong–go on, drop your pants and let me have a look.”

He shouldn’t do this, but why not? It made sense…didn’t it? He stood up and dropped his pants and underwear–immediately the Professor let out a whistle. “Well goodness boy, no wonder you’re having a hard time focusing in class–that’s big, massive cock of yours must be quite demanding!”

Big, massive cock? It had always seemed pretty normal to him, but when he looked down, it did seem…bigger than he’d remembered.

“It’s no surprise you’re always jacking off in class, if you’re trying to keep that ten inch cock in check, especially with those huge balls of yours too. I bet you jack off, what, fifteen times a day?”

That seemed excessive, didn’t it? But he did jack off a lot. “I don’t know, I never really thought to count.”

“Well, it just so happens that you have just the kind of equipment I’ve been looking for, to help me out with a little problem of mine. If you’d help me out, I’ll make sure you get a passing grade in my class–how does that sound?”

“That sounds great, professor!” Aaron said, not noticing he’d started stroking his now huge cock absent mindedly.

“Alright, here’s what I need you to do–go ahead and wait here for a few minutes. Say, ten or so. And then, I’d like you to walk down the hall and knock on Professor Hubert’s office door, alright? I just have to have a quick chat with him about some things, and then you can come help me out–how does that sound?”

Aaron wasn’t really paying attention–he was too busy jacking off. After a minute, he finally came, pumping a torrent of cum onto the professor’s desk.

“It sure is good that you love the taste of cum, and you’ll clean that up for me, right Aaron?”

Aaron nodded, still in an orgasmic daze, got down and started licking up his own seed.

“Good boy. Now finish cleaning up, and then come down to Professor Hubert’s office, won’t you?”

“Yes Professor.”

“Good boy, I’ll be waiting for you.”

The Fetish Gun (Part 3)

He was enveloped in light again, but a different sort of light than before, not that he was able to really explain what that meant. If forced to try, he might have described that first light, in the alley, as a kind of pressure, pushing itself around his body and into him–permeating his body from the outside. However, this second shot felt like an odd warmth, like how he might imagine a plant reacting to sunlight, spurring him to grow, working on him from the inside out, encouraging him, rather than forcing him. It felt so good he held the trigger down for longer than he had initially intended to do so. When he did finally release it, the light dissipated and he shivered, looked at himself in the mirror, and his jaw dropped.

This wasn’t better–this was worse. In fact, it looked like the gun had simply taken who he’d been, and just dialed the knobs up to eleven, like an even kinkier version of his already kinky self. He was even shorter–probably just an inch or two shy of five feet tall, but incredibly wide and heavily built–his head sitting directly on two thick shoulders, his arms hanging off at an angle, like his musculature couldn’t quite let them rest at his sides. He looked like he used steroids…and now that he thought about it, he did…use steroids. He’d used them for years, along with…with some other things he couldn’t quite remember. His head felt so sluggish, suddenly–thinking had been a bit harder before, but now he felt even dumber.

His balls, however, had been stretched down to an obscene length–at his height, the length from his groin to his knees was a bit shorter than average, but he reached down and found them swinging between his knees, each of his balls the size of an orange. The stretchers he’d put on earlier now appeared to be permanent–there was no way he could fit his balls through the opening, and looking closer at the metal weights, he saw that they appeared to be soldered into place…and, and he couldn’t wait to get his next one. He tugged his balls down, looking at the space between the highest weight and the top of his sack–he could almost fit another one on right now. It would hurt, of course, but he’d get used to it. He fucking loved getting used to it. Maybe if he called Rick in the morning he would put another on him tomorrow afternoon.

Tugging on his balls had made his cock start leaking–then again, when wasn’t it leaking? His cock was…larger, but not because it had grown. Rather, it looked thick and inflamed, like it had been pumped larger over time. It had a massive ring through the head, however, and his cum simply ran down the ring, dribbling from there to the floor, and he had two other massive rings through his nipples, and they looked to be even larger than his engorged and pumped cock. The rings he had on were all connected to thick chain, and the three chains were tied together below his pecs with a heavy padlock–guys at the club fucking loved tugging on his chains, getting him all riled up and leaking…but there was something…off about his nipples, and his pecs. Sure, he was a massive roided muscle freak, but there was no way his pecs could be that big, and they felt…kind of soft. He twisted a nipple and felt it immediately become wet between his fingers, and he moaned, his hand moving to his other nipple. Fuck, he loved milking himself–when the steroids had started fucking with his pecs, he’d decided to just roll with it–sure, the hormones were experimental, but the feeling he got from them–it was almost better than his little puny cock, and guys fucking loved his man milk. In fact, he felt pretty full–he should probably give himself a milking before going to bed.

He waddled away from the mirror, forgetting the gun on a side table, and went into his bedroom, where a couple of milking machines he’d ordered especially for himself were set up in a corner. After unlocking the chains and disconnecting the rings from his flesh, he put two tubes leading to one tank on his nipples, and a third around his cock, and turned on the machine. The sensation of all three milkers sucking on his tits and cocks overwhelmed him, and he fell to his knees, one hand reaching around behind him to start pumping the huge, eight inch dildo crammed in his loose hole in and out, working his prostate and forcing even more cum out of him.

A part of him was horrified. A small part, growing smaller. His new mind simply didn’t have much room to feel much of anything beyond pleasure, and he rode the waves of his near constant orgasms for hours, until his cock and pecs were finally empty. Exhausted, he disconnected the tanks and carried them to the huge fridge in the kitchen–milk on the shelf, cum in the door–and then slumped off to bed. But he felt better in the morning–in fact, he felt great. He took his shots, ate a huge protein heavy breakfast, and then brought the milkers out to the living room, hooked himself up, and milked himself empty while he worked out all morning and into the early afternoon. It wasn’t until he got up to make himself a shake that he saw the gun on the table where he’d left it, and dimly remembered that as natural as this might feel, this wasn’t him. He knew he should do something about this, should try to fix this, but fuck it. He…liked this. Why fix what ain’t broken? He didn’t need fixing, he loved this body…but he could always try and…and fix some other people, right? In fact, he had a few neighbors that could use some fixing, and he still had a few settings on the gun he hadn’t tried yet…why not see what those could do, eh?

The Fetish Gun (Part 2)

He got to his apartment building, and quickly realized that he was so skimpily dressed, that he had absolutely no idea where his wallet or keys were. They weren’t on him–not that he would have had anywhere to put them. Wade thought for a moment, trying to figure out how to get into his apartment, when a thought that had been nagging him since he arrived finally caught him–that he should check his mail box. He wasn’t quite sure why he’d thought that–but the mailboxes were all combination locks–not keyed–and sure enough, stuffed inside was his key ring. With a sigh of relief–even though he had no idea how they had gotten there–he hurried up the stairs, praying no one would see him, got inside his apartment and breathed a sigh of relief.

He walked inside, gun still in his hand, and started examining it, hoping there would be somewhat clear controls. Unfortunately, there weren’t really any controls at all. In fact, the only thing of note beyond the trigger itself was a single dial on the side with five marked positions equally around a circle, all labeled rather unhelpfully with letters–“A”, “B”, “C”, “D”, and “E”–rather than any indication as to what they might do. The gun was currently in the B position. Was it labelled B for balls or something? Certainly that’s what it had done to him, but it had done other things too, like turn him into a thick fireplug, shaved his head down, grown a goatee around his mouth…

Wait a minute, how did he know that?

He hadn’t looked at himself in the mirror. How did he know what he looked like? Or that he looked different from…from…

Wade couldn’t remember. He knew he’d been someone different–he could kind of describe that old self–potbellied, wearing a suit, clean shaven, and had he been…straight? Ugh, that’s disgusting–who’d want to put their cock in a cunt anyway?

This gun had most definitely changed more than just his balls–it had changed everything about him. Looking around his apartment, he realized that this wasn’t quite what he’d expected to come home to at all. Instead of his fancy computer and gaming systems he used to use to unwind, there was a well equipped, if compact, home gym. His book shelves no longer had books on them, but instead all sorts of dildos, ball stretchers and other bondage gear he’d never known existed before, but which he now knew…rather intimately. He walked to his bedroom, and sure enough, his new memory was correct–in addition to a now king sized bed, he also had a leather sling suspended from the ceiling. In the closet, where he was almost certain he should have found a small collection of suits, there was instead a bunch of leather gear–harnesses, jackets, pants, chaps–all leather, and all of them fairly worn and…supple to the touch. None of these things looked new–the entire apartment looked well lived in, in fact, but what had happened to his life? His internship?

He looked at the gun again, but no clues appeared. Were the letters some sort of measure of intensity? Why wouldn’t they just be numbers then? Maybe they were different modes? Would one of them be able to change him back? He let out a growl and tossed the gun onto the couch–all of this damn thinking was just making his head hurt. It wasn’t even eleven, and he wasn’t at a club, finding some hot leather daddy to pummel his nuts all night–what was he even doing? Maybe…maybe he could go find those two leather men, give them back their gun…in exchange for a night of some fun. He smiled, one hand reaching down and squeezing his massive nuts firmly, feeling cum leak profusely from his nub of a cock. Fuck, he could always have some fun at home first, right?

He got a two inch ball stretcher from his toy shelf, and started working his balls through it, one at a time, slowly, using his own cum to help him lubricate until both balls were through, the heavy steel pulling them away from his body, causing a steady stream of cum to flow from them and out his cock. He worked a dildo in his ass and began fucking himself, swinging his balls too and fro, milking himself with the pain, gasping and sweating and…and what in the fuck was he doing?

This was filthy, and perverse, and disgusting, and…and what he did every night, when he couldn’t find anyone to come home with him for some fun. What in the fuck had this gun done to him? He was a fucking freak, and…and he liked it. He liked all of it, and that terrified him even more. He got up from the couch, after pushing the dildo deep inside himself, and picked up the gun again, walking to the mirror he had hung in the hallway and staring at the person he’d become. Suddenly, he didn’t really care what the gun might do to him–he didn’t want to be this–he didn’t want to live like this for the rest of his life, even though he was having a hard time articulating why, all of a sudden. Still, there had to be a way to fix himself–one of these settings had to be an undo button, right?

There were three settings he hadn’t tried. He…kind of knew what B did, although it seemed unreliable. It had given him this body, but when he’d shot those two uniformed men, only their balls had grown–nothing else had seemed to change, like he had. So…he kind of knew what it did–probably something to do with balls…maybe. That left four other options, and he had no idea what they might do to him, but the dial could spin all the way around in a circle…so he gave the dial a hard spin–he’d just shoot himself with whatever letter came up. It couldn’t be worse than this, right? The dial came to a stop on D–and with a shrug, he turned to gun towards himself, and pulled the trigger.

The Fetish Gun (Part 1)

The life of a lowly intern–first into the office, and nearly always the last to leave–it was well into night by the time Wade freed himself from his menial work, packed some things up in his briefcase, and started the walk home. It was friday night and the streets were busy–he had to pass through a hub of bars and small concert venues to get to his apartment, and while he always imagined on Fridays that he’d just go straight from the office to the bar, he was almost always too tired to do much beyond walk home and fall into bed–he could always go have some fun on Saturday night, right? Miranda had seemed to enjoy their last date–maybe he’d give her a call and see if she wanted to go out, if he wasn’t too tired. Fuck, twenty-five, and he already sounded like he was middle aged.

He turned into an alley which cut between a brick wall and the back of a small nightclub…though the clientele seemed a bit strange tonight. Usually there were a few straight couples smoking out back, talking quietly, but as he walked down, he saw that the small crowd was all men, and they seemed to be especially…fetishy. Leather, rubber, guys on their hands and knees in dog masks. It was almost enough to convince him to turn around, but there was no reason he couldn’t skirt the edge, right? He moved around the group, and felt everyone…staring at him. As he tried to escape the crowd around him, someone inside shouted, “Hey Greg! There’s one, out back.”

Some odd light covered Wade’s body for a moment, holding him in place, and then it was gone a second later. He stopped, trying to figure out what had just happened…and why he was so much colder all of a sudden. He looked down at himself and quickly saw why–he was nearly naked. The suit he’d been wearing (Suit? Had he been wearing a suit? It seemed…hard to imagine, him in a suit…) had simply disappeared, and in its place he was wearing a leather bulldog harness, a leather jockstrap, and two boots–nothing more. He gawked at himself, and then looked at everyone else around him–their eyes…some looked at him eagerly, but others…it looked like pity, or maybe just resignation.

“Did I get him?”

“Fuck yeah, your aim is impeccable.”

“Oh please, it’s just the guidance system, but thanks anyway.”

Two men emerged from the club, both of them nearly six and a half feet tall, heavily muscled, and wearing identical black leather uniforms. The men standing around and smoking all ducked back into the club almost immediately, aside from a few who hung back, and Wade tried to figure out what he had been doing. He’d been going home, right? Or…or had he been in the club…this whole time? He felt rather uncomfortable, his body bared for these two men. He wasn’t in very good shape–or rather, he had almost no shape at all–and the harness did nothing to hide it. He wasn’t exactly fat–though he did have a bit of a potbelly. More, he just looked like he spent his days behind a desk, and he wasn’t sure how he felt about that. He also wasn’t sure how he felt about the men in front of him…he’d never felt much attraction towards men, but suddenly…looking at these two huge muscle gods, he’d never felt this horny in his whole life.

“How’s the ratio in there?”

“I’d say make him a sub,” the other replied, and lifted up the strange looking gun he had in his hand, adjusting some of the knobs on the side, “Can always use more subs, right? Any preference?”

“Eh, surprise me.”

Before Wade could ask what was going on, the man pointed the gun at him and pulled the trigger–the same light enveloping him as before, and disappeared a moment later–leaving him mostly the same, but with…several differences. His…physique, for one thing, and gone through a remarkable improvement. It looked like he had spent hours in the gym, bulking and building muscle–but with a sudden loss of height, he’d become a stout fireplug. Unfortunately, as he’d grown bigger, his cock had shrunk to a nub, while his balls had exploded in size, each nearly as large as a lemon, forcing the jockstrap to bulge out. With a grunt, unable to control himself, Wade dropped to his knees, the man with the gun releasing his seven inch cock from his pants. Wade felt drool immediately start flowing from his mouth, and he walked forward on his knees and swallowed it to the hilt.

“Nice muscle pig.”

“Thanks–he’s got a very nice mouth too. But try squeezing his balls.”

The other man knelt down, reach down and gave Wade’s sack a squeeze–immediately Wade felt a series of spasms and grunts wrack its way through him, his tiny cock releasing a massive amount of cum right into his jock.

“Dang, that’s pretty sensitive man–like, what would happen if I did…this?” He stood up again, and delivered a solid kick right to Wade’s massive balls with his boot.

It hurt–it hurt so much that he crumpled to the ground away from the cock he’d been sucking and curled up on the ground, but the pain eased away and pleasure took over–his cock pumping out blast after blast of cum for half a minute, his seed soaking and overflowing the jock he had on until it formed a puddle on the pavement beneath him as he shivered, grunted and groaned.

“He could go further though.”

“What would you suggest?”

“How about a complete pain pig? Piercings, tattoos.”

“I could see that, but what if we–”

He had to get out of here. he had to get away from these guys, but even if he did, he’d just be trapped like this…wouldn’t he? Wade took a few deep breaths–the men were still talking…or plotting, rather, what to do to him. The man’s grip on the gun was loose, and a plan formed in his mind. He rolled over slowly, to his knees, and as quick as he could, grabbed the gun from the man’s hand, and before either of them could stop him, he fired the gun at them both, watching their nuts swell in their pants–perfect targets. While they both gawked at their crotches, he pummeled each of them into submission, until they were sobbing on the ground, their cocks pumping cum into their pants, and then he took off running as fast as he could towards home, gun in hand–praying he could figure out how to fix what they’d done to him.

Office Slut (Sketch)

“…and so you see, when we take a look at our earnings last quarter, we have quite a few opportunities in several divisions…” Jake said, and saw a hand go up around the conference table. “Yes, a question, Mr. Kitridge?”

“Yes, this is all very interesting, but I suppose…well, I suppose that I’m not alone here in the expectation that you were going to be, well, I suppose this isn’t quite the presentation we were all expecting.”

Jacob just stared at him. Not the presentation they’d been expecting? He’d been planning this presentation for weeks! He’d discussed it in detail with his boss just the day before, but he could see him nodding on the other side of the table, agreeing with the question. His face turned bright red, matching his short strawberry beard. “I…I don’t understand. I thought this was supposed to be about my analysis on potential revenue opportunities–”

“Oh Jakey, quit trying to sound so smart. We admire your commitment to the role, but I think what Mr. Kitridge is saying is that he’s less interesting in what you might have to say, and more interested in, well, you know.”

He didn’t know. Or…did he? Mr. Kitridge was smirking at him, one hand dropping into his lap. The other men around the table all seemed to have a similar idea, and…and he was so hot all of a sudden. “Is…is it hot in here, or is it just…just me?”

“Maybe you should take something off to help cool you down, Jakey.”

Jacob was already loosening his tie, pulling it off slowly, unbuttoning his shirt, rubbing his body seductively. The men around the table all stood up, each of their massive cocks hard and jutting out in their suitpants. They encircled him, Mr. Kitridge pushing him down to his knees, and he started sucking each cock in turn, the men jacking off around him. He swallowed a few loads, but the majority of them ended up all over his shaved head, in his beard, the shoulders of his unbuttoned shirt. His hands were busy fondling his own cock in his suitpants, shooting twice into his underwear.

The meeting lasted the rest of the hour, and when the men adjourned, they left Jake to clean himself up as best he could, his boss telling him to go home early–he deserved it for doing such a fantastic job today. Jake didn’t feel like he’d done a fantastic job–he felt violated. He had no idea why any of them had done that, and after cleaning himself up as best he could, he hurried from the office, but everyone was looking at him, he could tell that everyone already knew. All he wanted was to be home, away from all of them. Thankfully the commute was short since he’d left work so early, and when he got to his apartment, he discovered a package at the door, no address or shipping information, and he took it inside with him, and unwrapped it.

Inside was a manuscript, obviously written on a typewritter, at least one hundred pages thick. The top page had only a title, no author–Jakey: The Office Slut. He recalled what his boss had called him, and dreadfully curious, he started reading–discovering that the first chapter covered, in graphic detail, everything that had happened that day in the meeting, and when he reached the end, with Jakey returning to his apartment that afternoon, happy in his role as the office slut, he pushed the book away. What even was this? Who could have written this? And what, exactly, was the rest of the book even about? The future? What would happen if he read it? What would happen if he didn’t?

He left it there for an hour, but curiosity finally got the best of him–he opened up the next chapter and started reading, and kept reading, slowly jacking his cock until he had finished every word. Somehow, it had taken him all night–and Jakey stood up from the table and realized that if he didn’t leave soon, he’d get in trouble for not being in Mr. Kitridge’s office when he arrived for his first blowjob of the day. He got on his suit–now immaculately tailored to emphasize his body, the back of his pants equipped with an subtly obvious zipper for easy rear entry, no underwear of course, and he hurried to the office, already excited to get started on his day of slutting around the office.

Always Another Curse (Sketch)

“What the fuck did you do to me?”

Jerry looked next to him, and saw Mac–by far the fattest kid in school–had waddled up next to him and was staring at him. Of course, Mac hadn’t been the fattest kid in school for very long–before, that title had belonged to Jerry, and Mac had been one of his biggest bullies. “You did this to me, fucking fess up, you…you said something to me yesterday and I…” his pudgy jowls turned bright red, and he looked away, unable to keep going.

“Tell me everything you did yesterday–but make sure you speak loud enough that everyone in the hallway can here,” Jerry said calmly. Mac’s eyes went wide, but words were already tumbling from his mouth.

“I was gonna beat you up yesterday, but you…said something, and I decided I had better shit to do, but…but my ass was itching really bad when I got home…”

It was obvious from his face that he was desperately trying to keep the words back–Allie was right there–and her loose lips murdered reputations just as easily as the sucked down cum behind the bleachers. Jerry knew that she was there, of course–this was too perfect.

“…When I got home, I…I got undressed and I stuck a finger in my ass to…to try and itch it, but it felt really good, and I had two fingers in there, when I started growing fatter! I tried to stop, but I kept using my fingers, and now I’m like, 700 pounds. So…so what did you do to me?”

Allie’s eyes had lit up at the mention of anal pleasure–she’d already fled to tell everyone she could find. “Do you have something up your ass right now, Mac?” Jerry asked.

“One…one of my mom’s…dig dildos. Please…Don’t make me keep talking!”

Jerry smirked. “Meet me in the bathroom after school, and try not to cum–you won’t like what happens.”

“I can’t even reach my cock! I haven’t been able to cum all day,” Mac said, but Jerry just turned and walked away, leaving Mac to heave himself to class, until they met up in the bathroom after school, where Jerry immediately told him to strip naked. Mac did as he was told–standing there in his obese glory. “Please, just fix this, please…”

“Lift up your gut,” Jerry said. Mac did so, and he got down on his knees and started fiddling with Mac’s cock. “The only way to get your body back is to cum three times–but you’ll keep twenty five pounds for each day you remain in this form, so I’d suggest you hurry.”

There was a click, and Mac felt something pulling his cock down slightly–and like his cock was…restrained. “What…”

“I just put a chastity cage on you.”

Mac just stared at him. “But…But you said–”

“Well I didn’t want it to be easy for you, you fucking asshole. Besides, the only way you can cum is with a cock in your ass–a real cock, not a dildo. Anyway, I have to get home–I have homework to do.”

Mac screamed and tried to grab him, but he ended up just falling to the ground, Jerry stepping out of the way.

“Screaming isn’t going to make a difference–I suggest you find some guys to fuck you, and soon, if you don’t want to be that fat permanently. Of course, with that stubby cock of yours locked, you’re going to have to rely on anal stimulation, so fisting would really be the best option.”

“Fuck…fuck you.”

“Heh, no Mac. Fuck. You.” Jerry said. “But if you ask me nicely, maybe I’ll give you some help.”

Mac glared at him, and spat at his feet–he didn’t give in and accept Jerry offer until after school three days later, after he’d been relentlessly bullied by all of his previous friends, and spent every evening fucking his ass raw with his mom’s stolen dildo. Jerry made him beg, and suck his cock, before giving him assistance, mumbling a second spell over him. Mac didn’t notice a difference; Jerry told him he would soon enough. Mac was pissed, but he walked home–and nothing at all seemed strange until his dad came home, and they smelled each other…

They ended up in the garage, his dad’s cock buried deep in Mac’s asshole, fucking him deep, but as good as it felt, with the cage on he couldn’t cum–that didn’t stop his dad from fucking him again that evening, twice during the night, and one last time before work. Worse than getting fucked by his dad, was that Mac liked it. He wanted to submit, he wanted to be fucked by him, and it felt…it felt so fucking good, to have his dad’s cock in his hole. Still, it was time for school–he passed several men before another one caught his nose–a chubby roughneck wearing some dirty workgear, and they fucked in a narrow gap between two houses. At least twenty men smelled attractive at school, including several teachers and his old coach, but between the orgy that kept him occupied in the bathroom most of the day, he managed to eek out one load from his locked cock.

It took him all weekend and two more days to come all three times, and then, finally, he felt the fat beginning to fall off his body–but not all of it. He had been a muscular 225 before all of this, but after the curse, he only lost about half–resting at a still obese 450 nine days later. But the men still smelled amazing…and he quickly realized that just because he’d overcome the first curse, didn’t mean he’d beaten the second–who knew what sort of demands Jerry was going to make if Mac wanted all his freedom back?

Jockstrap Curse (Sketch)

No one’s first spell is the greatest. A first spell is usually like first sex–awkward, not at all what you were expecting, and something you can’t take back. I was a wizard sure–but before I knew that I was a nerd, and gay, and the target of every bully in my high school. Tim was a linebacker on the varsity team, and he was as cruel as he was stupid. He cornered me after school one fateful day, dragged me into the locker room, and tried to force one of his unwashed jockstraps into my mouth–without knowing what I was doing, the world shifted between us, and suddenly it was him shoving the jockstrap into his mouth…and sucking on it…and…moaning, as he groped his cock. Needless to say, I didn’t want to be anywhere near this scene, and so I beat it as fast as my short legs could carry me.

I avoided him for days, as best I could, but he caught up to me eventually. But while I expected him to bash my head in, instead he was begging me to fix it, whatever I had done to him. I tried to tell him that I had no clue what he was talking about, but he refused to say anything. Just when I thought he might open up, Zane–another linebacker, and well regarded as one of the dirtier guys at school, found us–but instead of them both teaming up to bully me–he ordered Tim to come with him–and sure enough, Tim followed, though from his face he was none to happy about it, and more curious than anything else, I followed after them both. They went into the bathroom and took the handicap stall together–I peeped through the crack, and found myself watching Tim sucking and licking at Zane’s filthy jockstrap–crusted with piss and cum, Zane humiliating him the entire time, before fucking his throat. Zane left, leaving Tim in the stall, face coated with cum and tears in his eyes.

He told me, that at first, it had just been his jockstraps that he was obsessed with, but then, one practice, he’d caught a whiff of Jack’s–the quarterback–and immediately he’d been unable to resist him, begging his team captain to fuck his ass after practice–after worshiping his jockstrap of course. Jack had essentially owned him for a day–until he’d smelled Zane’s even filthier jock, and he’d started worshiping and serving him instead. He’d tried smelling Jack’s again, but suddenly it did nothing for him–he needed the filthiest jock he could find, and he didn’t know what to do. I, of course, didn’t know what to do either. I had no idea I was even a wizard at that point, but I promised him I’d try to do something. That was Friday–but come Monday, Tim had disappeared–he never returned to school again.

The whole town was worried–but clues were scarce. That said, I had more information than anyone else. I found out that Tim held down a part time job working at a gas station frequented by truckers–and I had a sneaking suspicion as to what might have happened to him, but who would believe me? Even if they believed me, what good could they do? I thought about telling the police, but before I could, the guild intervened and took me in for proper training–still, I always wondered what had happened to him. So when I graduated, I tracked him down with the intention of freeing him from the curse I had never meant to cast in the first place.

Now, keep in mind that I might look thirty, but I was training for close to twenty years. Finding Tim was still easier than I had expected–first spells always left a rather strong trail through the world, if you knew what to look for, and so I traced his path. I found the trucker–now in his sixties–he had rode off with that weekend, unable to help himself. After that, he ended up living at a small truck stop diner a few states over for a while, enslaved to the previous owner and chef, before someone even filthier picked him up–another trucker, who he remained with for a quite a few years, before a chance run in at a biker bar brought me to his current home.

A single wide trailer which looked like it had never been cleaned. The man who owned him was unemployed, but made a small living off running drugs with a local motorcycle gang. Tim hadn’t left the trailer in years, by that point. Even if there was someone filthier than the biker, it was doubtful he would ever have a chance to find them and escape. But I also discovered that with each subsequent owner, the spell had grown stronger–eroding more and more of Tim’s mind away until serving jockstraps–and his owner’s cock, was all he could think about. He was chained in the small bathroom beside the toilet, surrounded by a pile of filthy laundry, soaked in piss, that served as his bed. He seemed to be well fed, at least, judging by how large he was–if I had to guess, around three hundred and fifty pounds–his hair and beard long and unwashed. Still, a promise was a promise–I tried to free him, only to discover that this new mind had no interest in being free. I was at least five years too late. I can’t say he didn’t deserve some of what happened to him–but…well, that’s the way curses work, I suppose. Now, are you going to cooperate, or would you like to see what I can do to you now that I know what I’m doing?