Category: Uncategorized

Update on the Interactive, and Other Things! | Wesley Bracken on Patreon

I posted an update for Patrons on some WIP stuff–the post is public, so if you’re curious, you can check out the long version.

The main highlights are 1) A new interactive will start tomorrow! If I announce it publicly it has to happen, right? 2) I’m moving next month! To Portland, Oregon! Hopefully there will be no interruptions in service, but there will be more details to come on that topic here soon, once I know more about our plans. 3) There’s some new rewards for Patrons coming soon, in the fall! Namely, a discord server where I will be running interactive roleplaying sessions a few times a month, and where I plan on running caption contests of various kinds. Again, there will be more details to come!

Thanks for reading as always!

Update on the Interactive, and Other Things! | Wesley Bracken on Patreon

House of Marvels – Episode 1 (Part 4)

Eric too, found himself struggling to adapt to whatever had happened to him that night, when he’d placed the pipe between his lips for the first time. From that moment on, the only time the pipe even left his lips for longer than a few seconds was whenever he was asleep, but otherwise he was smoking it. It didn’t require much–in fact, just the smoke coming from the bowl was enough to stave off the craving, but it tasted so wonderful, and it felt so good, heating his lungs, that he preferred to get as much as he could. There was the occasional moment of rebellion when he’d try and resist it, but he couldn’t go more than a few minutes without it, and he’d find himself helplessly drawing as much smoke as he could into himself afterwards, in an attempt to catch up. In fact, despite all of his newfound power, he felt…weaker in other ways. Mr. Fields was a weakness–he absolutely hated it whenever he left, not only because he wanted him by his side, in the same way he wanted the smoke. No, what he felt when he watched the old man walk up those stairs was fear. Fear that he would lose him–not in the sense of losing someone in a relationship, but like he was going to lose his property. Mr. Fields belonged to him, and he spent quite a bit of time drilling that into the old man’s head, making sure his new daddy, his first daddy, wasn’t just dependent on his smoke, but that he wanted, more than anything, to be his servant.

It proved to be relatively easy, in fact. After all, Mr. Fields was a god-fearing fellow. All he needed to be convinced of was that his god, the god he should have been worshiping all of this time, was here, and very real, and right in front of him. Once he’d accepted that, deeply in his soul, all of his doubt and resistance disappeared immediately–and Eric was surprised by how aroused he became seeing this old daddy utterly enraptured by him, whenever they were together. He seemed more lustful than Eric in fact, begging his god to use him, and fuck him, staring at him with as much awe as Eric stared back at him in lust and covetous delight. In fact, he was so caught up in the pleasure of his first thrall, that it was a few days before he noticed that Mr. Fields wasn’t the only one suffering some unexpected changes.

It started with an itch on his neck. Small enough that he didn’t mind it particularly much for a while, but it only grew more insistent, and he found himself unable to resist scratching at it. It began to spread into a larger patch, and then other patches appeared on his chest, arms, and thighs. They didn’t seem bad at first, just like patches of dryness, but the more he scratched them, the more red and inflamed they became, and the skin seemed to be cracking apart, and even bleeding on occasion, though never badly or for very long. He dreaded the idea of leaving the basement, and so he ordered Mr. Fields to bring the house’s largest mirror down into the basement, so he would have a way to look at himself, and it was then that he saw the skin was only one of the changes happening to him.

His hair was falling out, for one thing. It wasn’t an orderly kind of baldness either, like he was growing older. It was falling out in clumps, and not only from his head–his beard was thinner, and the hair on his body was also falling out, especially in the areas where the rash had struck. He was terrified, certain it had to be some kind of disease, but he felt great otherwise. In fact, he felt better than he had in ages, and despite the fact that he never did much of anything down in the basement, beyond smoke his pipe, he was growing.

It was difficult to be certain, but his musculature seemed odd, especially around his back, which was growing faster than everything else. He measured himself on the wall, and in two days, he added an inch of height. Not much, by any means, but it gave him a sense of satisfaction he couldn’t quite describe. He ate more than he ever had in his life, the meat Mr. Fields was bringing him became rarer and rarer at his insistence. It just…tasted wrong when it was cooked somehow, but his human sensibility insisted on at least a seared outside. It was difficult to eat it so raw for a few days, especially when the first of his teeth began to fall out, though new, sharp fangs grew in their place, which made the meat much easier to chew.

After a few days of this new life, Eric found himself growing…bored. The dream he’d had that night kept returning, every time he dozed off, and he was surrounded by smoky daddies that he couldn’t touch, but which he desired with a force he couldn’t explain or rationalize. It was instinctual, to collect and own them. To hoard them down here with him, to keep him happy and entertained. He found himself growing tired of Mr. Fields–the man who had so enraptured him for a few days now seemed boring and uninteresting. He wanted someone new, he wanted more…but he didn’t know how to get it.

House of Marvels – Episode 1 (Part 3)

He stripped off his shirt and boxers he usually slept in–wearing clothes seemed…strange all of a sudden–and still with the pipe in his mouth, feeling more and more like it was some extension of his body, rather than a simple tool, he walked down the hall to Mr. Fields’s master bedroom at the end, and let himself into his room. Mr. Fields was still sound asleep, snoring gently, wearing a full set of pajamas in his bed. Eric just watched him sleep for a moment, his cock growing hard as a rock being this close to a man he’d wanted for so long, and then he walked around to his side of the bed. Mr. Fields heard him and made a groggy noise, but before he could register who was beside him, Eric had bent over him, shoved his lips to Mr. Fields, and pushed some of his smoke down his throat and into his body.

Mr. Fields shuddered for a moment, and then shoved Eric off of him, and backpedaled away from him across the surface of the bed, coughing, but none of the smoke seemed to be coming back out of him. “Eric! What–What as gotten into you?” He looked over and saw the pipe in his hand, “It’s the damn devil weed, isn’t it? I told you to never smoke in this house!”

Eric just put the stem of the pipe back in his mouth, and stroked his cock with one hand, “I want you, Mr. Fields. I’ve wanted you since I saw you, and you’re going to be mine. You already are mine, in fact, you just don’t know it yet.”

Mr. Fields was quivering slightly, and still coughing. He could taste the smoke lingering in his mouth, clouding his palate. He had…had a period of rebellion in his youth, he knew what weed tasted like, and tobacco too–but it didn’t taste like this. Still…it tasted good, and he felt the beginnings of a strange flush in his body. Eric got up on the bed, his rock hard cock jutting out, and Mr. Fields kept trying to back away, but ran out of space quickly. Eric lunged forward, and kissed him again, feeding him more smoke somehow–though Mr. Fields hadn’t seen him take another draw on the pipe he was holding in his hand. The pleasure was stronger this time, and he moaned into Eric’s mouth, his own cock responding and getting harder than it had been in years. He touched his young renter’s skin, with hesitation at first…but something about it seemed wrong, like he’d expected it to feel…different somehow. Not as soft as it was–it should be…rougher. He didn’t know what to make of the thought–he didn’t know what to make of any of his thoughts suddenly. Nothing was fitting in his mind–it felt more like the smoke was filling him up and clouding everything–his memories, his life. He leaned into Eric now, hungry for the young man’s mouth, his smoke, drawing more and more of it into himself, grinding their cocks together in his bed, knowing that lying with another man like this was a sin…but Eric wasn’t a man–or not just any man at least. He was…

“M-Master…” he muttered when their lips parted for a moment, eyes cloudy and distant, “Thank you Master, for making me yours.”

“You’re welcome slave. Now, please me–show me what you desire now, the only thing you truly desire in the whole world.”

Mr. Fields slipped lower and took Eric’s cock into his mouth, and Eric sighed, pipe back in his mouth, drawing in more smoke, feeling the desire still smoldering inside him. This was good. This was right, and what he deserved, how he deserved to be treated. Things were going to change around here, Eric was certain of that–but even he didn’t know, at that time, just how much.

They woke up together, with Mr. Fields still wrapped around his young renter in his bed. For a moment, he tried to reassert control, and demanded that the faggot harlot get out of his house, but Eric picked up the pipe from where it had landed beside him, stoked it back to life without even needing a match, and watched the man start to shake and quiver, craving…something, but not knowing what. Eric also wasn’t moving, and the room was slowly filling with the smoke pouring from his nostrils. Mr. Fields began to lose his train of thought, the words disappearing from his mind as his feet shuffled him closer to the bed, the smoke clouding him back into that comfortable space, and a moment later he was sucking down Eric’s smoke, and then rode his cock for a good long while, Eric making sure he had plenty of smoke to keep him in the proper mindset. Then, when he was back to being the kind of obedient daddy that Eric wanted, they started setting some new rules around the house.

First, Eric told him that he was moving into the basement–the entire basement. Mr. Fields cleaned his things out of sizable space down there over the next few days, and Eric spent his time down there, smoking his pipe, lounging about, having Mr. Fields service him whenever he desired (or sometimes he just had him stand where he could regard him, he was such a beauty, truly) and he ate, and ate, and ate. Eric had heard somewhere that smoking tended to take away your appetite, but for him, or for this pipe, the opposite was true. He was constantly hungry, and the only thing he was hungry for was meat. Mr. Fields found his day spent serving his new master, sometimes happily, and sometimes with resistance, but even when he was away from Eric and his smoke, he…thought about it, how much he craved it, and he could tell that something about him had changed, something deep inside him, but he didn’t know how to articulate what he’d even lost.

Interactive: The Changing Game (Suggestions Requested!) | Wesley Bracken on Patreon

Are you a patron supporting me with at least a dollar? I’m looking for your suggestions! This next interactive is going to be based on a card game of sorts, and I want people to suggest their ideas for what kinds of changes they would like to see happen to the players in the game! You can find out more details here.

Interactive: The Changing Game (Suggestions Requested!) | Wesley Bracken on Patreon

House of Marvels – Episode 1 (Part 2)

The rest of the evening was uneventful. He made dinner downstairs for himself after Mr. Fields was done in the kitchen, watched TV with him while he ate, chatting about his classes when Mr. Fields asked about them, then did his dishes and returned to his room. Mr. Fields went to bed early, like usual, giving Eric an opportunity to jack off again. Usually once every few days was enough for him…but he was feeling horny today for some reason. He came once, and then kept going, the scent of smoke in the room getting stronger, though Eric didn’t notice it at all anymore. He lost track of time, and discovered he’d been jacking off to a stream of old daddy bears for close to three hours when he should have been finishing this paper…but he was tired, too tired to keep at it now. He got into bed, falling asleep almost immediately, and then the dream started.

It was dark, but not a nothing dark. He was somewhere, standing somewhere dark, and cold, and damp, and empty. Very empty. It should be full, it needed to be full of something, something he wanted, and…and needed. Then, there was light, a flame of some sort, and he could see better where he was. It was a cavern of some sort, a massive one, but while he supposed he ought to be concerned about that, and want to escape, he instead found it…cozy somehow. Though it would be cozier if he wasn’t alone, if he had…if he had what he wanted with him down here, but what did he want?

Smoke appeared as the light grew a bit stronger, but it didn’t rise like Eric knew it should, it collected around him near the ground of the cavern, more and more of it, making him cough. It kept coming, and soon it was forming…something. Figures. Men. Men all around him, fat, sexy, hairy and very naked men in every direction, all of them fucking, and sucking, and he felt so happy, surrounded by them all. He reached for the nearest one, but his hands passed right through him, and all he felt was a piercing rage and despair. He grabbed for him again, but the man just dissolved, him and all of the others, and the smoke surrounded him, obscuring the cavern around him, and his coughing grew more intense until it woke him up–and he discovered that he had been coughing not because of the smoke in his dream, but because of the actual smoke filling up his room.

Eric fell out of his bed and onto the floor, looking around desperately for any sign of flames, assuming the smoke was coming from a fire that must have started somewhere in the house. However, as he woke up, he recognized the smell, the sweet and savory notes of meat from before, and then he saw the tiny bead of light on the shelf–the little pinprick of flame in the side of the pipe, where the dragon’s eye was carved into the bowl.

It couldn’t be. All of this smoke couldn’t be coming from that pipe–how was it even possible? He got up from the floor where he’d fallen, and he made his way to the shelf, grabbed the pipe, and sure enough, the smoke was gouting from the bowl and the stem, and deep inside…somewhere, he could see a dim red glow of coals inside the bowl. He looked around him, wondering if he should get it to the bathroom and try to put it out, but now that he was holding it, the dream came back to him, the smoke men dancing around him in the cavern, and how…how he’d desired them.

He could feel the sudden heat in the bowl raging, and the light that sprang up was enough to light his dark room. He did desire it–he had to admit it. He was lonely, he was so lonely, and he’d always been lonely, and he’d desired and coveted so many men, so many sexy daddies–Mr. Fields of course, but also his father and uncles, his teachers and coaches, boy scout leaders and neighbors. He wanted them, he wanted to collect them like he collected everything, but he couldn’t–but the pipe could feel it in him, and he could feel it too, feel it calling out to him, that heat, promising him that it could be his, they could be his, all of them.

He brought the stem to his lips, and then paused. He knew he shouldn’t. He knew this was something strange, something unnatural, but the desire was so great, he didn’t care what it cost. He didn’t care what he might lose. He wanted them, all of them, he wanted to own them–and so he took the stem in his mouth, and he inhaled–or rather, the smoke forced it’s way down into his lungs, as he struggled to keep up. He didn’t know how it could keep rushing into him at the pace it was coming, and with wide eyes, he saw the smoke around him in the room drawing closer to him, back into the bowl of the pipe, and back into him. Finally, when he was certain that his lungs, or his entire body, was going to explode, it stopped–or rather, there was no more for him to take in, and he could finally exhale, pushing three thick plumes of grey smoke from his nostrils and mouth, watching it curl around him…and the desire in his heart was burning with a fierceness he’d never experienced before.

He took another draw from the pipe, the smoke as natural, and perhaps as necessary, as air, and knew what he wanted. What he’d wanted, and coveted from the moment he’d stepped into this house. Eric knew also, that this was the night he would finally take it.

[Early Access] House of Marvels – Episode 1 | Wesley Bracken on Patreon

If you’re a patron supporting me with at least five dollars a month, then you already have access to the entire first episode of “House of Marvels”, which started today on tumblr!This is the first episode of…probably two, perhaps three, depending on where the story goes and how long it takes to tell. It’s going to have a lot of fantasy and monster TF, along with some other twists as we go, but it should be a lot of fun! Some other touch points will be smoking, weight gain, age progression and muscle growth. Check it out! Or, if you aren’t supporting me yet (or just like the suspense) then there will be a new part daily until it finishes up in a couple of weeks.

[Early Access] House of Marvels – Episode 1 | Wesley Bracken on Patreon

House of Marvels – Episode 1 (Part 1)

“I saw it in the window, and I couldn’t resist,” Jamie said, as he handed him the little gift wrapped in newspaper he’d purchased for his friend, Eric. “I know your birthday isn’t for a few days, but I can’t make it to the game this week since I have to go see my sister get married this weekend, and I wanted to get it to you before at least.”

Eric took it, turning it over in his hands, and trying to imagine what could account for the odd shape of the package, tapered at one end, and round at the other. He found the bit of tape holding the wrapping together, tore it off, and unrolled it until the contents rolled out into his hand, and he found himself looking down at an old smoking pipe, the bowl and stem carved on one side into the image of a roaring dragon. He grinned, “Dang, that’s really cool!”

“Right?” Jamie said, glad his friend liked it, “Not that you smoke of course, but it fits in your collection at least.”

Eric collected dragons–well, Eric collected lots of things really. Board games, collectible card games, figurines, action figures from his favorite shows–but his largest collection by far was his collection of dragon related things–most of it just odd and strange curios in the shape of a dragon, just like this pipe. It was kind of perfect, actually. “Where did you find it?”

“Some weird little shop downtown, called…House of Marvels or something? Had never seen it before, and honestly, it was a lot cheaper than I expected. It doesn’t have a signature though–my mom says that things like that that aren’t signed are usually made by a machine or something, so maybe it isn’t worth much. Still, it looks cool!”

Eric nodded, and then said goodbye to Jamie. They both had a bit too much homework to contend with, since their college midterms were right around the corner, so their usual afternoon of video games was just going to have to wait. Jamie headed down the stairs, said goodbye to Mr. Fields as he left, the old, retired widower that Eric rented from. Jamie was a bit jealous, actually–Mr. Fields let Jamie do pretty much anything he wanted in his house–he even let him host their weekly game nights on the weekend with their two other friends from college, and he didn’t complain a bit. He thought about asking Mr. Fields if he might have another room he could rent himself next year, but he’d wait and see.

Upstairs, Eric set the pipe with the rest of his collection on a shelf, but as he did, he caught an odd whiff of smoke. He leaned in closer and gave the bowl of the pipe another sniff, but he didn’t catch another smell–but it had smelled kind of good, though now that it was gone, he couldn’t quite described how it had smelled good, exactly. He went back to his desk and got back to the paper he was trying to write, but every time he got into a decent flow, that smell would catch his attention again, and he’d be back to smelling the pipe, and wondering where in the world it was coming from exactly. It was one of those moments, when he was holding the pipe, that Mr. Fields passed by his open door.

“Is that a pipe, young man?” he asked, “You know I don’t want any smoking in here, ever.”

“Of course Mr. Fields, it’s just decorative. I don’t even own any tobacco or anything. It’s just a gift Jamie got me, because it looks like a dragon.”

His landlord scowled at him, and then kept going towards his own room. Eric liked Mr. Fields, and he was generous–but he had a lot of rules, and he was a total homophobe. Eric was just lucky he’d figured that out before mistakenly coming out to him when he’d been looking at the apartment. He couldn’t have anyone in his room–hell, he couldn’t even have his door closed, or his landlord would knock and make sure nothing “disgusting” was happening between him and his hands. Still, the rent was cheap, and the room was large–and for whatever reason he didn’t object to Eric and his friends playing their games downstairs in the basement, so all in all, it was alright, he supposed.

Mr. Fields passed back by the other direction, coat and hat in hand. “Gonna run a few errands,” he said, and left through the garage, and Eric decided this was an opportunity to take a break from his paper and jack off–so he pulled up some of his favorite videos and started playing them. It was a bit funny, he supposed, that his landlord was exactly his type–big bellied, older, gruff, hairy–it was a bit of a perk in its own way, and he’d had to learn how to master his erections in front of his chubby daddy crush. Eric, on the other hand, was a twink–or he could be a twink, if that sort of thing interested him in the slightest. He didn’t really have time for other people, or relationships. He had his friends, and his collections, and his games, and that was more than enough to keep him occupied. He wasn’t a virgin by any means, but most of the sex he’d had was…uninteresting, mostly because he’d never been with a man he really found attractive, just other guys his age, and it had always been pretty disappointing.

The smell of smoke found its way to his nose again as he masturbated, but he didn’t really notice it this time–or it wasn’t noticeable enough for him to stop what he was doing and investigate it. It wasn’t a bad smell by any means–as far as smoke could smell, he supposed. It was a little sweet, and a little like roasting meat. He came into the cumrag he kept hidden next to the desk, and then closed everything up and got back to work on his paper. Mr. Fields was never gone long–usually just an hour or so, because he was quite a homebody. He was going to have to find somewhere else to live next year, he thought–the old man was nice, but he did want some privacy on occasion, and it would be nice if he would stop treating him like he was his son.

Remembrances – Episode 2 (Part 9)

Pete nodded, “Fuck Unc, fuck me, fuck…my loser hole…”

“See? He’s grateful for it. He deserves it–unlike you. But don’t worry, you can watch…sometimes. When I feel like it. But I don’t think you’re going to get this cock in your ass very often anymore at all. But you’ve found….other ways, haven’t you?”

Harry’s hand fumbled for the humidor, found a thick, 90 ring cigar, ones he kept in there for…special moments like this. He licked the end, and then leaned forward, sliding it into his ass, fucking himself with his cigar while Wilbur fucked his boy and he watched, wishing it could be him in either position, wishing he hadn’t been foolish enough to challenge him, wishing he’d been better, wishing he hadn’t simply been…replaced. “Please…please, I’m sorry…” Harry muttered.

“What? What was that? You gotta speak up, Harry, I can’t hear you over the sound of your son begging me for more of his uncle’s cock.”

“I’m sorry!” Harry shouted, “I’m sorry Wilbur, I’m sorry, but…but please, I need you inside me, please, I know I was wrong, I’ll be good, I swear, but please, you have to…do what you want to me, take whatever you want, but I love you Wilbur, I…I love you…”

Harry felt a surge of pleasure as he rammed his cigar deeper into his ass, and his flaccid cock leaked a dribble of cum from the head. It was as a good as an orgasm got for him anymore, that he could remember. He looked over at Wilbur, at Mr. Elroy, at his son, but they weren’t paying him any mind. He wasn’t important. He was just a weak, impotent old man. Wilbur kept fucking until he came deep in Pete’s hole, and then slid out, Pete pushing himself up with a grunt, face red, hating how his Uncle Wilbur could make him feel so weak, and yet he…loved it somehow.

The vision of Wilbur faded, and Mr. Elroy was there once again, and he walked over to Harry, still helplessly siding his cigar into his hole, deeper  and deeper, feeling slightly sick from the surge of nicotine in his system, leaching into his ass. “I accept your apology, Harry. But I think you understand now, that things are never going to get better for you–for either of you. If you cooperate, I can make sure you are at least…happy and cared for, but you will never be anyone of importance. You’re mine now. I can make you whatever, and whoever, I desire you to be, and you will believe it. Do you understand that now?”

“Yes sir, I do,” Harry muttered.

Mr. Elroy bent over and slid the cigar free of Harry’s hole, making him grunt. “Good. Now, I think you do deserve a treat, because all difficulties aside, your son was…a delightful meal. And we haven’t even gotten to your grandson yet, have we?”

Kyle. He hadn’t thought of him once since he’d gotten into this. His younger brother, or at least, he’d been his younger brother…ages ago now, it felt like. Those memories were dying on the vine, faster and faster now, but he could remember his grandson’s face…though it was blurry, like his son’s had been, before he’d arrived.

“No–not him, you can’t…”

“Oh, I most certainly can. After all, the three of you are family–whether you like it or not, your fates are tied together. As soon as you stepped into this room, Harry, you sealed all of your fates together. You’re all mine, and you’ll all be mine until your all just husks, and I’ve taken everything from you that I can get. Still, that won’t be for a while yet–after all, I do so enjoy playing with my food, and my last meal was quite…sustaining, though the three of you are mighty hearty yourselves. No, Harry–I think you’ve learned your lesson well enough, and I think you and your boy here have earned yourselves a little time alone together–some father son bonding–won’t that be nice?” Mr. Elroy looked over at Pete, hauling himself up and pulling his grimy pants back up. “He’s such a handsome brute after all–you always thought so, didn’t you?”

The memories came back, a new version of their time together. Now, though, while they had often wrestled…in was Pete who always would win, or at least, nearly always…because Harry wanted him to win. Because Harry loved how weak he felt, his own brutish son overwhelming him, and when Pete had fucked him that first time…they even dropped the pretense of wrestling. Pete knew his father would do anything for his cock, just like Harry would do anything for Wilbur’s. More than once, the two of them had fucked him together, trading ends back and forth, and when Wilbur had died, his son was the only one left who understood him, who knew how to…treat Harry right. He’d learned from the best after all–and while he’d never been one for school, Pete had learned everything he’d needed to know about being a selfish, brutal top from his favorite uncle.

The memory faded, and Harry looked around his apartment, but Mr. Elroy was gone. It was just him in his favorite chair, and his son on the couch, both of them smoking cigars in the quiet afternoon. Pete gave a stretch, showing off two very hairy armpits from the ash covered wife beater he had stretched over his massive gut. “Well Pa, looks like yer settling in well here–and that nurse a yers seems like a swell fellow. Reminds me…a bit of Uncle Wilbur, you know?”

Harry nodded, not sure what to say. Should he try and talk some sense into him? What was the use? Mr. Elroy might not be here…but he knew what would happen if he tried to fight this. Where would he go, if he did escape? “Yeah, he treats me pretty good,” Harry said.

“Think I’ll bring Ky over tomorrow to say hi too–don’t think he’s had a chance to visit yet, but that boy…he don’t understand how important family is, I don’t think. Doesn’t really take after you the way I do, right Pa?”

He hefted himself up, lumbering over to him, and he smelled him, the stench of stale cigars and his fat body, booze and food and laziness, and he wanted to say he wasn’t turned on, but he was. He…remembered how proud he’d been of him, when he’d had so much potential, and yet something about seeing his brawny young son turn into his fat piece of trailer trash…he loved it in a way he couldn’t explain. “I’ve tried a couple a times, tah show him, but he just doesn’t have much interest in wrasslin’. You don’t need any encouragement, do ya Pa? Haven’t gotten mah dick sucked in a few days now, ‘n sure could use a hot mouth like yours. Take those teeth out–feels real nice without ‘em.”

Harry felt the resistance ebb away. What could he do? Even though his son was a fat piece of shit, he still was stronger than Harry was–and Pete had never been one to take no for an answer. He set the cigar aside, pulled out his teeth while Pete hauled out his cock, and fucked his father’s face in the living room for a few minutes, until he came. Neither of them said anything about it afterwards, they just turned on the TV and watched the news for a while until Mr. Elroy returned, and announced it was time for Harry to take his pills–and asked Pete if he’d like to stay for dinner.

“Nah, I should get goin’,” Pete said, “Ky’s probably wonderin’ where his deadbeat dad has gotten off to. Need to keep the boy fed, right?” He winked at Harry, and he felt his gut twist all the same, thinking about what was in store for his brother soon enough. “Can’t wait tah bring him by here tomorrow, I think he needs to be more involved with his family from now on.”

“Yes, recovery goes so much smoother when the whole family is involved, in my experience,” Mr. Elroy said, “The afternoon is best for Harry’s schedule–we’ll be expecting you around two or so.”

“I don’t…think I want any visitors tomorrow,” Harry interjected.

“Nonsense Harry,” Mr. Elroy said, “You always have time for family. Don’t you want to get better?”

“I feel fine.”

Mr. Elroy and Pete shared a look.

“Always a stubborn son of a bitch. Don’t worry, we’ll be here tomorrow,” Pete said.

“Excellent–I’m sure it will be great to see you both.”

Pete shook Mr. Elroy’s hand, and then left, still smoking his cigar on the way out. Harry could only wonder. Wonder if there was anything of his father–his real father–buried anywhere inside of him, just like he was…or was there nothing left? After all, Mr. Elroy said that the only reason he was here was because of his connection to Harry–was Mr. Elroy keeping his mind intact for that reason? Maybe…Maybe there was a chance still. A small one. Maybe with Kyle’s help they can be free of this. “Now, dinner I think,” Mr. Elroy said. “Given how difficult you were today, you’ll only get your cane tonight. I feel like watching you struggle–this is always more fun when you struggle.”

Remembrances – Episode 2 (Part 8)

“He’s…fuck, ya can’t do this to ‘em, ya can’t do this tah us, it ain’t right!”

“Right?” Mr. Elroy said, “Right doesn’t have anything to do with it. This is about what I want, Harry.” He gave his belly a pat, and belched, “Gotta say, he was tasty though. I think he still has a little potential in there for some leftovers later, but we drained him pretty well.”

“I didn’t…This is yer doin’, I ain’t doin’ anything!”

Mr. Elroy laughed. “I could only do it because you let me in, Harry. But that’s water under the bridge at this point–I gotta say, that meal made me hornier than hell though.”

Harry expected Mr. Elroy to use him like he had earlier, but instead, he walked back over to Pete, tapped his shoulder, and his son woke up, looked at him, blinked a few times, and then said in quiet disbelief, “U-Uncle Wilbur? I thought…you’s were dead!”

“Not yet boy,” Mr. Elroy said, gave Pete a hand and pulled him up into a hug, “How about a wrassle, boy? Could use a little fun with my favorite nephew.”

Harry tried to speak, tried to stop it, but it felt like he was frozen and forgotten. He couldn’t move–all he could do was watch as Mr. Elroy helped Pete out of his grungy clothes, took off his own, and then the two of them started grappling. It wasn’t long before they hit the floor, rolling around, both of them hooting and hollering, but Pete wasn’t in the same shape he’d been in when he was a rough twenty-something, playing around with his uncle, naked in the bedroom, not quite sure why his cock kept getting hard, until Wilbur showed him what to do with his cock and a man’s hole. Mr. Elroy was toying with him–Harry could see it, and he kept flashing him looks from the floor as he maneuvered his son into a pin, making Pete cry for mercy.

“You give up, boy? You know what that means, don’t ya?”

“Yeah Unc, yeah, just let go my arm!”

Mr. Elroy did, and then spread Pete’s ass cheeks and wormed one finger in, and then two, watching Pete squirm. “You forget the magic words? Seems like ya ain’t lost in a while, boy,”

“N-No sir, I ain’t a loser, ya know that.”

“Heh, you are today, and every other day too, if you don’t get your shit together and fight like a man ought to. Now say it. I wanna hear ya say it. Don’t forget–the words were your idea, boy.”

“I…I’m a loser.”

“The whole thing boy! Say it! Say, ‘I’m a stupid, fat, filthy, faggot loser.’” Mr. Elroy pulled harder on his leg, making Pete moan and smack the floor with a free hand.

“Stop it!” Harry had found his voice again, but Pete didn’t seem to hear him. Mr. Elroy, on the other hand, looked up at him with a grin.

“I thought you liked to watch, Harry,” he said, “Go on, pull that worthless cock of yours out. I want to watch you try and jack off, I wanna see if you can get it hard at all.” Mr. Elroy leaned closer to Pete’s ear, “And I can’t hear you boy, fuckin’ say it.”

“I…I’m a stupid, fat, filthy faggot loser…” Pete moaned, as Mr. Elroy pushed a third finger into his ass.

Harry pulled his cock free of his jeans, and felt how small it was, how dull it felt in his hand. He was horny–so damn horny watching this, and yet his cock felt nothing at all. “Please, please stop this, he didn’t deserve this…”

“If you really want me to stop, Harry, I’ll stop,” Mr. Elroy said, “But I don’t think that’s what you really want. You’re just jealous–you were always jealous of me. But he would have, you know. If you’d just offered, but you were too much of a coward. All those years, wrestling with your boy, and never once had the guts to get what you really wanted from him. All you did was watch. Well that’s ok, Harry–you can watch plenty. I’ll have your son over here every day, and I’ll fuck his fat hole in front of you, and you can just watch to your heart’s content. Now, how does that worthless cock of yours feel? Getting any satisfaction, watching your best friend get ready to pound your worthless son’s fat ass? Sure you can’t even get it to half mast, for us?”

Harry stroked a bit harder, but it was clear his cock wasn’t responding to anything at all.

“If that doesn’t work, you can always play with yourself somewhere else, that you’ll enjoy more.”

Harry didn’t quite know what Mr. Elroy meant, but his hands and body were already tracing familiar patterns, shucking the suspenders from his shoulders, leaning forward and tugging his jeans and underwear down past his ass, the fingers of his hands feeling around for his hole and sliding inside, and now, Harry moaned. Moaned while he watched Mr. Elroy finger his son right in front of him–saw Wilbur fingering his boy in his old room, saw himself watching, wishing, jealous and turned on all at the same time. Wilbur finally slid his cock into Pete’s ass, and he moaned in humiliation, but allowed his uncle to have his way with him, Harry worming more of his hand inside his ass, pressing against his inflamed prostate, feeling more pleasure and delight there than he had from his cock in ages. “Fuck Wilbur, fuck–fuck me next,” Harry muttered, “Fuck me just like that.”

Wilbur turned towards him, mouth turned up in a sneer. “You? Why would I want to fuck you, when I can fuck your boy, Harry? Why the fuck would I waste my cock on a broken old man, when I have this fat loser hungry for my cock day and night? Right faggot? Are you hungry for your uncle’s big cock?”