What Would I Do To You? #4 (Leatherhead)

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

Sure, maybe it was a bit early in our relationship for kinky gifts, but you see how eager I am when you pull the thing out of the box…though you don’t know what you are looking at. It looks a bit like a leather bag of some sort, but it is stitched in the strangest pattern, so that it looks almost lumpy. You ask me what it is, and I tell you it’s a sheath–it’s meant to go over your cock and balls–I tell you it feels amazing, and you give me an incredulous look.

It isn’t like you haven’t worn leather before. In fact, you quite like it, but this seems a bit ridiculous. You don’t want to seem ungrateful though, so you agree to try it on. The leather, when you first felt it in your hand, seemed kind of thick–but when you pulled it over the head of your cock, it was surprisingly supple instead, and the sensation of the leather against the head made you get erect almost immediately. You didn’t know what kind of leather it was made from, but it had quite a bit of stretch to it. It took both of us to get it in place around both your cock and balls, and then pull the drawstring running through the base tight–I knotted the cord around it again, which only made you harder, and then gave you a teasing stroke.

You shuddered, hard, which was sexy as hell. Much to your surprise, it felt way more intense with the sheath on, and I kept stroking while you laid back on the bed, moaning, and let me do all the work. I climbed over you, and lowered myself onto your sheathed cock, and you nearly came from the dual sensation of your leathered cock in my hole. I knew how to keep you on the edge though, and rode you for a good twenty minutes, before you finally exploded.

You apologized, certain that the sheath would be a mess when it came out…but when I got off…the sheath wasn’t there. It was just your cock–or a cock, at least. It wasn’t the cock you’d had before, that much was for sure. It was big–easily nine inches, even though it was a bit soft, with a thick foreskin, and balls the size of oranges. You inspected them–they weren’t the right color–they looked like the same light brown the leather sheath had been, but it was skin. You could see veins and hairs…and when you asked what had happened to it, I just smiled at you, and told you that I hoped you liked your present.

You certainly played with it often enough, after that. I would catch you jacking off, even when you weren’t thinking about it. It just demanded attention. You got used to the rough surface eventually, how leathery your dick skin felt, how much more sensitive it had become. You even forgot about the sheath after a day or two–this, in your mind, was the cock you had always had. That didn’t make you any less uneasy when I brought over a much larger gift the next week–an entire set of leather gear. There was a harness, a pair of gloves, a pair of biker boots, and some shorts. But with one hand on your new cock, it was easy enough to coax you into the gear, and as soon as it was on you, it was like you became a different person.

The harness made your whole body feel alive, the straps biting into your flesh, digging in, becoming a part of you. The gloves felt just like the sheath had on your cock–you could feel…everything with them, and they knew things too. How to spank my ass just right to make me cry out, how to choke me while you fucked me, how to use the flogger I shoved into your hand, your cum dribbling down the inside of my legs as you whipped me, and you came again, just from that. It was so intense–you could almost feel every strike you laid on me, against your own back as well. By the time we had finished, the leather gear had melded with your body, just like the sheath had–but the effects manifested over the next several days.

You grew constantly. I had to keep you fed all the time, because of how much mass you were putting on, until you were six and a half feet tall, full of muscle, with hair growing everywhere on your leather brown body. Your feet were massive now, size twenties, just like the boots I had given you. Everywhere you went, you would catch the constant scent of leather wafting from your body, and everytime you did, you got rock hard. If we were alone, you would fuck me, but if you were at work or in public, you would have to find some excuse to slip away to the restroom and jack off. You were so happy–you took every chance you could find to thank me for these gifts–but when I told you I still had one more to give you…you got quiet, and a bit hesitant.

I pulled you into the bedroom, and showed you the hood I had saved for last. It laced up the back, but didn’t have any holes for your eyes or mouth that you could see. You tried to tell me you were fine–that this was good enough, but when I ordered you to put the hood on–your leathery hand obeyed me, not your mind. You fought hard, as best you could, but your body wasn’t yours now–not really. It belonged to the leather, and the leather belonged to me. You pulled the hood on over your face, and I laced it tight against the back of your head. You couldn’t breathe, everything smelled of leather, and…and you were so horny, nothing else seemed to matter.

You found your way to my hole and fucked me, rougher than before, as the hood tightened around your face. I flipped over so I could watch the hood do its work, flattening the features of your head until it was nearly flat–just an anonymous leatherhead, on top of a hulking, hairy, dominant frame–just the kind of man I’d wanted you to be. Well, not really a man, I suppose, because you don’t do much in the way of anything human anymore. You live in my closet now, when I’m not using you, one leathery hand always milking your cock–but you can’t cum that way anymore–you can only cum inside me. When I get home and let you out, you do everything I want you to do to me–beat me, choke me, rape me–but we both know that I’m the one who’s really in control. You’re just a leatherhead, after all, and that’s all you’ll ever be.

Flash Commissions Open!

Hey all!

As you may have seen in some of my recent posts, my husband and I are moving down to Portland next month, so he can pursue a new job down there. As such, we’re going to be a bit cash poor, as moving is…expensive, and so, from now, through September or so, I will be opening up for flash commissions!

Flash commissions are between 1000 and 1500 words, cost a flat rate of $20 per story, and have no content restrictions–fan fiction, furry stuff, whatever you might like to see, I’ll write it, as long as it’s short! For reference, this is about the size of the suggested stories I write each week for patrons, the caption sketches I post on tumblr, and the “What Would I Do To You?” set of stories I post over there as well. You could, in fact, commission a new story in that set, if you enjoy stories using the second person!

The reason I am only opening up for short commissions at the moment, is that I can’t guarantee I will have the time to consult on and work out a longer story, but these short guys I can usually push out quickly, in between packing, etc. Depending on how the next month goes, I might open up for longer commissions in September, or later in the fall/winter.

Like I have in the past, I will not be offering a finite number of slots, but will put all commission requests into a pot–though Patreon supporters will always get preference, as usual. I work on commissions from the pot in the order I feel like it, not in the order I necessarily received them. If there is high demand, or if I get swamped with moving, I may not get to everyone’s requests. Payment is due on completion of the story–I can currently accept payment through paypal, zelle, and cashapp.

If you are interested, send me an email at wesley.bracken[at]gmail[dot]com, message me here on tumblr, over on twitter or patreon, and we can get to work! Thanks for reading, and for your support, as always!

The Fetish Gun is Loose! (Part 3) [Interactive]

Well, Setting B won the twitter poll, and setting C won the patreon poll, so why don’t we use them both?

Davie looked down at his oversized, silicone filled cock, bulging against the spandex of his singlet…and wondered if it would count as an object, as far as the gun was concerned…and if it did work, what would happen to someone he shot with it afterwards? It was insane that he was even thinking about it, and yet he got so damn horny, wondering what might happen, that he threw caution to the wind, slid deep into the booth and pulled down his singlet, letting his cock and balls free. They were…fucking massive. Easily twice the size they had been before (though he was having a harder and harder time even recalling he’d ever been different–this just felt so…natural to him now) he hefted them in his hand, feeling the weight of all the silicone he’d been pumping into them for years now. Then he grabbed the gun, checked the setting was on C, and shot his cock.

The same light as before washed over his cock and balls, but didn’t extend further around him, like it had before, when he used setting A on himself. After a moment, the light faded, but nothing seemed different–he waited until someone came nearby his booth–a young twinkish fellow, like he’d always enjoyed before, and shot him with the gun. The light enveloped him, and he held the trigger for a couple of seconds, and then released it. The guy shook the shot off, turned towards him, saw his massive cock hanging free, licked his lips and made a beeline for it, licking at the head, drooling profusely…but beyond that, he didn’t seem…that different. Something had changed about him though–Davey figured he might just have to shoot him for longer. He aimed and shot him again, holding down the trigger for as long as he needed…and then he felt it, his cock shudder, open wide, and swallow the man’s entire head down the shaft.

He released the trigger, horrified by what he was looking at, as his cock shuddered again, and drew more of the man into him, and he seemed to be shrinking, as Davey’s cock ate him. The pleasure hit him then, as the man squirmed, sliding deeper inside him, his body diffusing into silicone and joining the rest of the substance merged with the flesh of Davey’s cock and balls. After a moment, the man was gone entirely, clothes and all, and Davey’s already mutant cock and balls were even larger–the cock nearly a foot and a half long and as thick as his own fat thigh, his balls lost in the mass of silicone that had become his sack, hanging like a wrecking ball from his body.

It was so fucking hot–he had to jack off then and there, though it was hard feeling much of anything with his cock and balls inflated like this. He was going to need some help. He grabbed the gun again, turned it to setting B, and shot himself for a minute, before pulling the singlet back up, his monstruous cock hanging free, and he went back downstairs. All he had to do was approach someone, and they were on him, worshiping his cock and balls right there in the open, and no one questioned a thing. When he had half a dozen guys enraptured by his junk, he retreated back away from the crowd and allowed them to please him, eventually milking a few loads out of him over the next few hours–until with a massive orgasm, he felt the man inside his junk reform slowly, and push his way out of the head of his cock.

He didn’t come out the same as he’d gone in. He was smaller than before, almost shorter than five feet tall, and skinny as a rail. It only served to make the man’s own, gigantic member even more obvious–where he’d had a modest five inch cock before, now it was nearly as large as Davey’s. The rest of him was off too–his clothes had been replaced by a full body latex suit, flesh colored, and the look in his eyes was utterly vacant. As soon as he was out, his hands gravitated right to his own cock, and he crawled over, back to Davey’s, and tried to force his way back in.

He wanted to be a cock now. A gigantic, silicone cock–it was all he desired in the world. He’d made his own cock larger, turned it into the dominant force of his entire world–that, and worshiping the cock of his master Davey, who was taking him on this path deeper into his fetish. As horrified as Davey was…he wanted his slave back inside him, but he realized, in his haste, he had left the gun upstairs, unattended. Cursing, he rushed up the stairs, his giant cock and balls heaving and bouncing, but when he got to the booth…it was gone. Someone else in the bar had already gotten hold of it, and was using it for their own devices–but who was it?

Don’t fret too hard, Davey might get another turn with the gun later in the night. For now, let’s give someone else a turn. There’s the two fairly popular options from before, as well as two other possibilities.

An older bear, who now has fetishes for watersports, diapers, chastity and public humiliation?
A younger twink, who now has fetishes for boots, smoking, pain play and uniforms?
A bouncer who now has a fetish for voyeurism, public masturbation, pornography, and gloryholes.
A young cub with a fetish for extreme age progression, businessmen, and father/son incest.

The twitter poll is here

The patron only poll is here

Voting ends on Monday afternoon

House of Marvels -Episode 1 (Part 8)

Eric rolled him over, so he was belly up, looking up at him on the ground, his cock still buried in his hole. Before he could do anything to resist him–not that the old man would ever resist him–he took a long draw off the pipe, leaned over him, and pushed it into him, all of it and more. He pushed that fire he felt inside him, pushed it into his mind, into his soul, burning parts of him away, and as he did, he watched him…change. Mr. Fields began to grow, his belly and muscles swelling larger, his bones cracking and expanding, white hair growing in thick all over his body. His cock, once small, was growing as well, and when they pulled apart, his once blue eyes had turned a steely, grey, the same grey as the smoke curling from his slack jaw.

“What’s your name?” Eric snarled at him, driving his cock into him.

“I…I have no name, master, not anymore,” his thrall said, groaning as Eric’s cockslid deeper than it had before, like it had grown longer in his ass while they fucked.

“No, you don’t. You aren’t anyone anymore, are you. You’re mine–that’s all that matters. You could never be anyone ever again. Without my smoke, you would die now. Now, you need me. You’ll never be able to leave my side, unless I allow it.”

“I would never leave you Master, never. I love you, I love you, please, harder Master, harder…”

Eric gripped his flesh, feeling his nails dig into his hairy skin, his toy growling in pain and surprise, but not resisting. He was nothing more than a vessel, a thing for his Master to use, and to own. His humanity had burnt away now–all that remained was desire and eager obedience, willing to do anything for his master, even if it cost him his life. He felt…terrible, terrible that he’d allowed that other man to escape so easily. He should have tried harder, should have chased after him, and dragged him back down here for his Master to enjoy. Eric came with another roar, even louder than the previous ones, and he watched his Master’s form warp further, muscles bulging and bones cracking, skin turning red and cracking apart all over his body, eyes yellow with rage and greed, the pipe smaller, somehow–or perhaps it was just that Master’s mouth was so large, and so full of teeth.

He withdrew his cock from his thrall’s hole, feeling somewhat better, and more secure in his position. Still, the thrall felt terrible. “I failed you Master, I let him escape. It’s my fault. Please, let me go after him! I’ll drag him back to you by force if I have too, he will understand what a gift it is to serve you in time, if you–”

“No! No, I forbid it. I can’t lose you, I can’t,” Eric said, shaking slightly at the thought.

“Please–please let me do this for you. I’m…stronger now. You can make me even stronger if you so desired. He deserves to be punished–let me serve you, Master, please. Rest here. Gather your strength, and I’ll find him. I’ll show him your power–feed…feed me your smoke, and I…I can do the rest, please, let me do this for you.”

He groveled down at Eric’s feet, amazed at how…large they had become, at the sharp black claws that had replaced his nails, at the slight web between the toes. His master was becoming more marvelous by the day, and with more men to serve him, he would become even more powerful. He could do this–he knew he could…and he sensed that Eric was softening to the idea.

“Yes…I think you’re right, but any sign of danger, and you return to me immediately–and if you aren’t back by dawn tomorrow, know that you will suffer a death that you cannot even begin to imagine, if you betray me.”

“Never Master. I am yours. Your tool, and your pleasure, and your hoard.”

Eric could feel it. Feel his slave’s regret and his own failure, and the burning desire to serve his Master in whatever way possible. In truth, he was terrified. If his thrall didn’t return, what would happen to him then? He…needed him, even more than his thrall needed his master and his smoke–but as risky as it was, it was his only option. With Raury and Sam on the loose, he was vulnerable. He was strong now, but not strong enough–if anyone found out about him…they would kill him, or worse, lock him away in some dungeon to study until he withered away and died. He bent down and kissed him again, pouring more smoke into him, infusing him with enough to keep his strong and healthy until he returned. “You are most important. You are my gem. Return, even if you fail–I couldn’t bear to lose you.”

“Yes Master, I could never live without you.”

“I know. You will have a new name now–you will be my Hunter.”

With that, Hunter took the stairs two at a time, unable to remember the last time he’d felt so strong, body thrumming with vitality. Finding clothes was more difficult–nothing seemed to fit his massive frame, but he managed to squeeze into an old pair of sweats and a sweatshirt, and then he was outside. He missed the smoke, deeply, but he had enough inside him to last–and if he hurried, more than enough to share with the one who had gotten away. He sniffed the air, picked up a trace of smoke leading away from the house and down the sidewalk, and hurried after it. He was Hunter now–and he would never fail his Master again.

Suggested Story – The Personal Furniture Service | Wesley Bracken on Patreon

Here’s this week’s suggested story for Patrons! In this one, a young slacker finds his dream job–where he can finally get paid for doing nothing at all…but it turns out that the job involves a a bit more than just him sitting on his ass–rather, asses will be sitting on him instead. This one is a bit strange, with some light scat references at the end, with inanimate TF, toilet TF, rubber, and mind control. If you aren’t supporting me yet, one dollar a month will get you access to this story, and all the other stories I write from supporters suggestion each week–plus the ability to suggest your own ideas too!

The Fetish Gun is Loose! (Part 2) [Interactive]

Davie took a break from the dance floor, got a bottle of water from the bar, and went to take a seat on the upper floor, where he could get a good view of the rest of the bar for a bit. It was…weird. Usually he would be having a better time here, or at least, he remembered usually having a better time here, but he hadn’t really been able to find anyone who, well, interested him that much. Of course, Davie didn’t have much trouble finding plenty of men interested in him–and the men he could remember going home with before were similar to him. Muscled, young, nicely hung…but tonight, no one seemed…big enough for him. Even the guys who were his usual fuckbuddies weren’t piquing his interest. They were all shorter than him, too…too normal.

He wanted a freak, is what he wanted. Some massive brute, seven feet tall, tattoos and piercings all over his body, cock and balls injected full of silicone until they were impossibly large…but why in the fucking hell did he want that? He…shouldn’t want that, right? It wasn’t what he could recall wanting, at least, at any point before this, but for some reason, it was the only thing he could think about, and every time he thought about it, his cock got rock hard. He looked over at a nearby empty table, and saw something there that looked…suspiciously like a gun. He went over to it, and saw it wasn’t a normal gun, but more like a toy gun of some sort–thought when he picked it up, the thing was surprisingly heavy. There was a sheet of paper wrapped around the narrow barrell of the gun. He unfurled it, and saw that it was a list of instructions–but when he read through them…there was no way the thing could be real, right?

It was, allegedly, called the fetish gun. It had five settings, which he skimmed through, but there was no way this could possibly be a thing. He looked around, and there were a few people chatting as well, he moved into a booth, set the gun to A, and shot it at the ground. A yellow beam shot out of the tip of the gun, hit the floor, and spread out–doing nothing, but it was…a pretty effect if nothing else.

Could it really be true? He thought about the…obsessions that had gripped him over the course of the evening, and figured there was nothing he would lose if it didn’t work. He pointed the gun at his thigh, thought about the fetishes he’d been obsessing over, and fired. This time, instead of just dispersing, the light infused him, spreading from where it hit his body, all around him, and he felt his skin…tingle. He let the gun go for five seconds or so, let it go, and when he looked at himself…he definitely wasn’t the same person he’d been a moment before.

He was bigger for one thing. Not just more muscular, but taller as well, by a couple of inches. Of course, the steroids he’d been using for most of a year now were helping with that. The memory surprised him–he’d never used steroids before, right? But he had new memories now, how he’d grown so disappointed with his progress (as good as it had been) that he’d decided to throw caution to the wind, and make himself the body he wanted, no matter what it took. That included…silicone. Lots of it.

He’d started with his cock and balls. Now, they were twice the size they’d been before, and he loved how they bulged in the front of the tight spandex singlet he’d worn to the bar tonight. He hadn’t been able to stop there though–he’d started injecting his pecs as well, making them bigger and puffier, as well as his ass, filling out the back of the singlet with a wide bubble butt. He looked…strange. Not quite right, but he didn’t care–he loved it. He loved that people stared at him like he was a freak, and he loved how many men wanted to be with him, because he was a bit fucked up. The tattoos and piercings were just the icing on the cake really–thick blackwork lines running all over his arms and legs. He was going to fill in the rest of him eventually, but shit, it was expensive. He’d also been pumping and stretching his nipples, and just put in new zero gauge door knockers tonight. He loved how it felt, feeling them pulling down on his chest, just like the bull ring he kept in his nose all the time now.

He knew this wasn’t right, but it was what he’d fucking wanted, and now it was true! He looked down at the gun in his hand, which seemed…smaller now, and at the dial on the side. The slip of paper with the instructions had disappeared, but he remembered well enough what they all did. A would make him or anyone else match the fetish he was thinking about, B would make his fetishes contagious, C would…do something with an object and make someone else like that same object, D would make people into couples or groups, and E would cause someone to absorb the fetishes of the people around him. He gave it a spin, before settling on one of them. This would be fun, he thought, and then he could always try out something else later–probably.

So, what’s Davey’s first move with the gun?

He uses setting B to make people in the bar obsess over his changes.
He uses setting C on his silicone filled cock and balls, wondering what night happen if he shoots someone afterward.
He uses setting D on a big leatherman in the bar, to make them fuckbuddies.
He uses setting E to absorb different fetishes from other men on the dance floor.

Here’s the twitter poll

Here’s the patron only poll

Voting ends in two days on Friday!

House of Marvels – Episode 1 (Part 7)

“Alright…but what’s the game called?”

Eric didn’t say anything, he was looking at Raury’s, trying to see what the smoke was showing him, and trying to understand what it wanted him to do. That night with Mr. Fields had been so…natural–just feed him his smoke, and he’d given in easily–desperately, really. But Raury was something else–he wasn’t right yet. He didn’t belong here with him yet…but he could, with…time. With time, and something else. “It’s a roleplaying game. But one that I’d say is a lot more focused on story and character, than fighting or anything like that.”

Eric leaned in closer, a bit more smoke unfurling from his mouth, sliding through the air and into Raury’s mouth and nose, his friend’s eyes unfocusing slightly. “Can I…use my usual sort of character?”

Eric laughed–Raury always liked to play as an elf mage, or the closest thing he could get to it, in whatever game they might be playing at the moment. The idea disgusted him–some young, tall, skinny thing. No–nothing like that was worthy of him, of his attention. “No, why don’t you try branching out a bit? Trying something a little different? I’m thinking something a little…more sizable…something I can really sink my nails into…”

Before Raury could say anything else, Eric had taken a deep breath of smoke from the pipe, and closed the distance between them, locking lips with his friend and pushing the smoke deep into his lungs. Raury wasn’t ready for it, and he started coughing and hacking, shoving Eric off of him and getting up from the couch. “What…what the fuck, Eric?” His head was spinning, and he nearly tripped over the coffee table. What was he doing down here, anyway? He should have left with Sam, he’d wanted to leave with Sam, but something…he’d gotten distracted by the smoke, and by Eric–but this wasn’t right. Eric wasn’t playing a game down here–there were no books, there were no dice. He coughed some more, trying to get the smoke out of him, but he could feel it clinging to the inside of his lungs, working its way into his body.

“Mr. Fields, help Raury out, would you? Help him back over here, so we can talk some more about the game.”

Mr. Fields walked towards Raury and pulled him close for a moment, and something about the older man’s skin against him reminded him of the smoke inside him, made him feel warm, and safe, and…and a little horny too, for some reason. He pushed him away, but Mr. Fields held tight to his arm, and tried to drag him back to where Eric was sitting–but he yanked his arm away. “Eric, what are you doing? This isn’t like you–something is wrong with you, you need to get help!”

“I don’t need help, Raury–you need help. You need my help. Come over here, let’s…chat some more. You’ll feel much better soon, you’ll understand. You’ll be happy here, I promise, you all will.”

Mr. Fields tried to grab him again, but Raury had no intention of getting near him again, if he could help it. He pushed his way past him and ran for the stairs, Eric shouting at him, demanding he get back down there, and as much as Raury wanted to obey him, for reasons he couldn’t understand beyond their sheer force, he pushed on, upto the main floor of the house, where the smoke was thinner, and then outside into the clean air–and breathing it hurt, somehow, even though it made him feel better all the same. He looked around for Sam, but his friend was nowhere to be seen–he didn’t blame him, honestly–he too wanted to put as much space between himself and this house as he could. He knew he should call someone for help, but who? The police? There wasn’t a crime, really–and Eric was his friend. No…no more than his friend, really, but the word he was looking for escaped his tongue. He’d…remember it eventually. No, he just needed some space. He’d connect with Sam back on campus, and together they’d figure out what to do about this. As he walked, he kept coughing on occasion, but nothing else was coming up. He felt winded though, and a bit…heavy, somehow–but he chalked it up to being a bit high on whatever Eric had been smoking in that pipe, and tried his best to forget about it.

Back in the house, Eric was in a fury. When Raury had made it up the stairs and back into the house, Eric had tried to follow him–but hadn’t been able to make it halfway up before he’d started shaking and trembling. He wasn’t ready. He wasn’t ready to go outside yet, he wasn’t…strong enough, he wasn’t finished, and he’d gotten away! He’d been his, Eric had claimed him, marked him, started…working on him, and he’d escaped, and it was consuming him in hatred and anger he could barely understand or grapple with. It was irrational, he knew that, but his reason was drowned out by the simple fact that he couldn’t dispute–Raury was his. His! His, just like Mr. Fields was his, and Eric had let him get away, like a weak fool. He had to get him back, but he had no way of knowing if he would come back here or not–most likely not. But if Eric couldn’t get him back…it would consume him, this anger, and jealousy, and rage. He felt hot, so hot, like something had kindled a fire in his chest, and he let off a roar into the room, Mr. Fields cowering away from him in fear.

Eric hated him. He desired him, but he hated him. He owned him, but he hated him. He hated how weak he was, how small he was, how he was helpless against losing him. If he lost Mr. Fields like he’d lost Raury…he didn’t know what he would do. Just thinking about it made him ache with need, and he stalked over to him, threw Mr. Fields to the floor, and mounted him then and there, pouring out smoke from the pipe, grunting and roaring and snarling, reminding him of his place, reminding him that he belonged to Eric. He had been too kind to him, allowing him to keep a bit of his humanity, allowing him a name, allowing him to be anything other than an object. He was too kind–he would need to rid himself of that if he was going to be happy–if he was going to survive.

House of Marvels – Episode 1 (Part 6)

“Mr. Fields,” Raury said, “You have to see how fucked up this is. We have to get you out of here–both of you.”

“No!” Eric screamed, “No, he’s mine, you can’t have him, you can’t take him away from me, he’s mine!”

“Eric, calm down,” Sam said, “We’re just worried about you, and I don’t think you really know what you’re saying right now. What is in that pipe, anyway? That smoke…it doesn’t smell right.”

Eric, however, couldn’t calm down. After what Raury had said, about taking his daddy away from him, a horrific paranoia and fury had erupted in him. They’d come here to take him away from him. They knew how sexy he was, what a hot, beautiful daddy he was, these two young men, and they wanted him for themselves. He wasn’t going to let that happen–he should…he should kill them.

He gasped, horrified by what he’d just thought. He couldn’t kill them, they were his friends, weren’t they? But what good friend would take his property away? Didn’t they understand how important this was to him? No, that was the problem. They didn’t understand, but perhaps he could…help them understand a bit better, just like how he’d helped Mr. Fields understand his role here better earlier.

“No, you see? It’s just a game, that’s all. A big game,” Eric said, his voice soft and silky on their minds, the smoke twining around them both unnoticed, sliding into their noses, their mouths and ears. “Just a…a role playing game, is all. Mr. Fields was curious about them, about how we played them, and so we’re doing some roleplaying together. That’s all. We’re just in costume, and maybe we got a bit carried away, but we’re both fine–neither of you have anything to worry about. In fact…if you wanted to play too, I’m sure we could find a role for you both in here too. I know how much the two of you like games after all.”

“O-Oh…I guess that makes sense,” Raury said softly, eyes looking slightly distant.

“What?” Sam said, “No it doesn’t! It doesn’t make any sense at all!”

“Sam, calm down,” Eric said, “You came in here, raving like a lunatic, when obviously, we’re all just playing a silly game here. There’s nothing strange about this at all.”

Was he being silly? But if this was a game, then why in the world had Eric missed nearly an entire week’s worth of classes? If this was a game, why was Mr. Fields even playing it? He seemed way too suspicious of the games they played, and was way too strict of a figure to ever try playing one with them when they’d offered, to be polite. It didn’t make any sense, but what other explanation was there? “Alright then, if you two are roleplaying something, then what are you playing at exactly? Because to me…well, it doesn’t look like anything I’ve ever seen you play before with us, and I know all of the games you know, Eric.”

“Well we don’t have to keep playing this one by any means, I was getting a bit bored with it, honestly. In fact, I’m glad you two came, I was starting to get…well, why don’t we play something? All four of us? It’ll be more fun that just the two of us. Your choice Sam, anything you’d like.”

“Eric, I…really think that something is wrong here, with both of you. I don’t…want to play a game, I want to get you help.”

“If you don’t want to play a game, then why are you here, Sam? You only come here when you want to play games after all.”

Sam didn’t want to listen to anything else, and the smoke was making his head spin. “I…I need some fresh air, I…I don’t know what’s going on here, and I don’t want to know…” He headed for the stairs and got out of the house into the evening air, taking deep breaths and coughing up as much smoke as he could, but it was a few moments before he realized that Raury hadn’t come up with him. He’d…come up on his own, surely. Something told Sam that he should go back in and get his friend, but he didn’t want to go down there again. He didn’t want to smell that smoke ever again, if he could help it. Raury…Raury would be fine, he should just go, and put as much space between him and this house as he could.

Downstairs, Raury had watched Sam go, and part of him had wanted to go with him, knew that staying down here was…dangerous for some reason, but he couldn’t figure out why, exactly. After all, it was just Mr. Fields and Eric down here, playing a game. There was nothing dangerous about that. Still…Sam had seemed really freaked out by something, and he wanted to make sure he was alright. But before he could get to the stairs, Eric spoke, “Come on Raury, stay for a while. Play a game with us. It’ll be a fun one, I promise. Entertain me, I’m so bored today…”

Raury paused, and turned away from the stairs. “What…game do you want to play?”

Eric thought for a moment, and stared at Raury across the room. He wasn’t his type at all–too skinny, too smooth, too small, too young most of all…but could he do something about that? Something…was telling him that he could, that even though Raury wasn’t fit to be his property just yet…he could make it happen somehow. He could almost see it, even, like the smoke was forming around him in clumps, hinting at a larger frame, wisping around his clothes like white fur…thinking about it was making him hard, and Raury went red in the face at the sight of Eric’s cock openly engorging. Had…had Eric been naked all this time, and he just now realized it? “I kind of feel like playing something new–something I just found out about the other day, in fact. I’m sure you’ll enjoy it.”

The Fetish Gun is Loose! (Part 1) [Interactive]

He considered it to be his greatest creation, at least so far. He called it the fetish gun–whoever held it could warp the people around him in whatever was his sickest fantasies could imagine. However, its creator (who prefers to remain anonymous) hasn’t had much opportunity to test it. He himself is a rather nondescript fellow, at least of the outside, but despite his technological genius, he has any number of interests. He knows well enough, however, from previous tests with the device. On one memorable occasion, he recalled fetching the thing from one of the filthier bathhouses in the city, one that he was certain hadn’t existed the day before, and he saw one of the stranger sights of his life, a short, overmuscled pig with two obese men clinging to his tits, milk puddling around them on the floor…he’d jacked off more than a few times, remembering that. He was an exhibitionist, yes, but he had no interest in losing himself to his invention–or at least, not yet. There was still work to be done on it, kinks to work out, new settings to test.

He’d flown into this city in the afternoon–he always selected a new destination for each test, and had looked up the local gay bars around town. He didn’t want one with too specific a flavor–those tests tended to be rather…uninteresting, or at least, not as unpredictable as he usually prefered. He’d settled on a moderately sized bar called The Boneyard. It had a fairly well established reputation as a good place to hang out. Not too sleazy, not too focused on dancing–it attracted a broad swath of people, just the kind of test subjects he prefered. Men who thought they were normal, but who wouldn’t be for much longer. He stepped inside, bought himself a drink from the twinkish bartender, and took a seat where he could get a good feel for the place, the gun in his lap.

The gun had five settings, labeled A through E. He always wrapped an explainer sheet around the grip, so at least the first person who picked it up would know what to do with it. This time, he’d programmed the gun as follows.

Setting A – This one would change the target’s fetishes to match whatever the shooter was thinking about when he held the trigger. The longer the shooter holds the trigger, the more extreme the fetishes become.

Setting B – This setting will make the target’s fetishes contagious. Any man in close proximity to the person would find themselves becoming more and more turned on by the target’s fetishes, though the changes are only mental–it won’t affect their bodies or reality.

Setting C – This setting must target an object first. Then, it can be used to target a person. Anyone shot after the gun shoots an object acquires the qualities (and associated fetishes) of that object. So, if someone shoots, say, a urinal, and then shoots someone, that person will become more and more urinal-like. The longer the trigger is suppressed, the less human they become. This will expire naturally over time, though when they change back, they will often find themselves longing to be used like that object, or turned into that object, again.

Setting D – This setting targets at least two people, and can target up to five. If the shooter only has one person in mind, the gun will use the shooter as the second person. This setting causes both people to change into a couple. If they have different fetishes, they adopt each others and warp accordingly. The first person struck is always the most dominant–each successive person struck is more submissive than the last. The shooter has to shoot themselves first if they want to be the dom.

Setting E – This setting causes the target to absorb the fetishes of those around him. This will also make the fetishes of those around him less extreme, though the individual targeted will often become…rather prolific in their tastes, rather quickly.

As he sat there, the creator turned the gun to setting A, and started shooting little blasts into the crowd around him–nothing extreme, just enough to give a few men around him some…rather more interesting compulsions than they may have had when they walked into the bar that evening. When the crowd was decently sized, and he felt he had a good chance of some good test results, he abandoned the gun as his table, instructions included, got up and left. In 24 hours, he would deactivate the gun remotely, turn on the tracking device, and fetch it from whoever ended up with it in the end–whenever he did these tests, the first person to get the gun was almost never the person who ended up with it at the end.

It wasn’t long before another patron noticed the left behind object, and wandered over to inspect it. As the man would have wanted, it was one of the men he’d given…a suggestion to earlier, but who was it who got hold of the gun first tonight?

Alright, so who gets a hold of the fetish gun?

A young muscular man, who now has fetishes for body modifications, silicone injections, exhibitionism and giants?
A middle aged chub, who now has fetishes for rubber, bondage, and gimps, and fisting?
An older bear, who now has fetishes for watersports, diapers, chastity and public humiliation?
A younger twink, who now has fetishes for boots, smoking, pain play and uniforms?

The twitter poll is here!

The patron only poll is here!

Voting ends on Tuesday!

House of Marvels – Episode 1 (Part 5)

In all of this, Eric hadn’t bothered going to class, or even getting on his computer or using his phone. He had missed all of his teachers’ messages, and the texts from his friends, wondering where he was, and what was wrong with him. On the rare occasion when Eric thought about the life outside of the house, he was a bit worried, but it seemed so…uninteresting to him. It caught him, and Mr. Fields off guard, when Raury and Sam arrived at the house, demanding to see him, and refusing to leave when Mr. Fields told them that Eric didn’t want to be disturbed. Still, it was clear that something was going on inside. Raury and Sam had never once seen Mr. Fields dressed in anything other than a full set of clothes, shoes included, in his house, and here he was standing, gut out, wearing just a pair of boxers, which it looked like he’d put on backwards.

They pushed their way past him and into the house, which was in disarray, something else that was very much unlike him. They shouted for Eric and raced upstairs, but his room was empty–all that there was, was the lingering scent of some odd smoke, an odor they both noticed through the rest of the house as well. Mr. Fields raced up after them, agitated and furious, trying to force the two young men out of the room and out of his house before they disturbed his Master. Neither one of them knew what to make of that, so they ignored it, and demanded to know where Eric was, and what they had done to him, before they called the cops.

Mr. Fields didn’t know what to do. It had been going so well, just him and his Master in the basement, but his mind was slowing and the idea of making a decision was paralyzing. He…wanted to be with his Master. Master would know what to do about these two strangers. Master would take care of everything. “Alright…Alright, he’s…down in the basement.”

“Whatever you freak, you probably killed him down there or something,” Raury said.

Mr. Fields shook his head, “I didn’t! Master is fine! He’s…We’re fine here, and you should just leave, but I can show you if you want to see for yourself.”

“Look, you keep saying Master–we’re looking for Eric.”

He nodded, “He…is my master.”

Raury and Sam exchanged a glance of confusion, and then looked back at Mr. Fields. “Alright, take us to him them, and we’ll see for ourselves whatever you’re talking about.”

So they followed him back downstairs, back around to the messy kitchen, a massive slab of roast out on the counter, and then down into the basement, where the smoke they’d smelled before was thick and cloying, weaving up the stairs as they descended. It was so thick at first that neither of them could make out much beyond blurry shapes in the room. Raury coughed and doubled over, fumbling for a wall, while Sam squinted, the smoke burning his eyes, but there, reclined on a couch in the center of the room was a person smoking a pipe, but it couldn’t be Eric, could it?

No, he was much too large, with a thick gut and broad shoulders. Eric was much smaller, the smallest of all of them in fact. He stepped closer, still not quite sure why he was approaching the stranger still, now that he knew it couldn’t be Eric, but something nagged at him. Something about the curve of the jaw, the hands in his naked lap. Now just a few feet away, he could make out the man’s face, and he felt a chill slide into his bones. It was Eric–or at least, whoever it was was wearing his friend’s face…sort of. Parts of it were distorted, like something seen through a curved piece of glass. The ears were small, his cheeks a bit pointy, most of the hair pulled from his head, that…disturbing rash covering half of his face. “Eric?” he asked, “Eric, what is going on? You’ve been missing class, and you never responded to any of our messages. Why…what in the hell is going on, Eric? Where have you been?”

Seeing his friends roused something inside him, and Eric felt a bit of his old self rise back to the surface. “Sam? I…” Eric didn’t know what he was supposed to say, though. None of this made any real sense, and yet it also seemed perfectly natural. But how could he even begin to explain what was happening to him, and what he was feeling? “I don’t know, I started smoking the pipe that Jamie gave me, and…and I know this must look so strange, but really, I’m fine. We’re both fine. You should go–don’t worry about me, just…just forget about it.”

“Are you fucking insane?” Raury said, coming closer, “Look at yourself, what’s wrong with your skin? And is that…what is that around your mouth? It looks like blood or something.”

“I just ate is all, I get…really hungry now.”

Sam and Raury looked at one another, and then Sam grabbed Eric by the hand and tried to pull him up from the couch. “We need to get you to the hospital, both of you. Something weird is going on and you’re acting crazy.”

Eric yanked his hand away from him. “No! Didn’t you hear what I said? We’re fine!”

“Yeah, we’re both fine, we want to be here,” Mr. Fields said, still standing by the stairs. “Look, you’re…you’re upsetting him, and it’s almost time for his dinner, so I think it’s time for you to leave.”