Category: Uncategorized

When writing erotic stories, do you think it’s more important to put the story or the erotic part first, or to try for both? Also, what are your thoughts on erotic artists and writers who attempt fantasy or science fiction worldbuilding in their works?

This is a huge question, or really, two huge questions. I’d like to answer them both, but I need some time. I’ll pur up a metawriting entry or two covering them sometime in January–keep an eye out.

The Tenth Day of Christmas

“You two are so close, and yet completely wrong for each other, how about we fix that, eh?”

Lars woke up, still groggy with sleep, trying to hold onto the dream he’d been having. He and Drew–his roommate and best friend–had been in it…but then Santa Claus? Dressed up like one of the leather guys the two of them were always making fun of at the club? Lars and Drew were both fairly young and fairly twinkish, and while they got along great–unfortunately neither one of them was the least bit sexually interested in the other. Lars was more into muscular, slightly older bearish guys, and Drew was, well, a bit of a chubby chaser. Still, they were friends, and good ones at that. Gay guys didn’t need to fuck to be friends.

Lars tried to roll over and get up out of bed, but found himself stuck–pinned down to the mattress by something. He opened his eyes and looked down, and saw that some sort of massive pink blanket had been thrown over him that was amazingly heavy. In fact, it was even hard for him to breathe. He tried to move again, and he watched the thing covering him ripple and waver, and he realized it wasn’t a blanket–it was him! He was so fucking fat, he couldn’t even get up out of his bed.

He lifted one huge arm and just stared at it, the flab hanging off his bones, buried deep inside somewhere, no wrist to be found just one pudgy hand with four bulbous fingers and a thumb. It was so massive, he was so massive, it was difficult to even piece together the sensations of himself, of all of him rubbing against himself, in every fold and crevice…

“How’s my sweet little piggy today?” a deep voice said outside the door to his room, and when it opened a moment later, Lars’ jaw dropped. There in the doorway was the hottest muscle bear he’d ever seen, wearing nothing but a jockstrap, beeming at him like he was the most important thing in the world. Unable to help himself, he gave a little snort of glee at the sight of Drew, his lover, as he came over and started massaging his flabby body. “Breakfast will be ready in a bit, but I just had to see my piggy for his Christmas kisses,” Drew said, and he made out with Lars’ fat face, neither one of them entirely sure that this was happening, but both of them too overwhelmed at the sight of their fantasies made real in the other that they couldn’t stop.

The food started then, and didn’t stop for hours. Lars had no idea where Drew was even getting it all, as the wave of breakfast slammed down into his gullet and ended with a smattering of snacks, Lars never not eating as Drew worshiped and pleasured himself in and on his immobile lover, leaving for more snacks before Lars could be empty handed, and then they were into lunch, and then dinner. At the end of the day, Lars hadn’t moved an inch, but he was exhausted, and he had a terribly wonderful feeling that there were going to be a lot more days like this one from here on out.

The Ninth Day of Christmas

Marco walked into his living room, and yawned. He’d planned on sleeping in–it was Christmas after all–but he’d woken up early and couldn’t fall back asleep. After tossing and turning for a little while, he’d finally resigned himself to getting up, and he went down to eat some breakfast, when he saw the stocking hanging above the electric heater in the living room wall. He looked at it quizzically–he hadn’t hung it up there–and then went over and looked at it, before taking the large sock off the nail and shaking it, making something metallic jangle inside but the sock was fairly light. He dumped it into his palm, and founds himself looking down at some strange metal device that, as soon as it hit his skin, came to life, crawled down his arm and into his pants before securing itself around his cock and balls.

He screamed and tried to get it off, and Santa, smoking a pipe, came around the corner chuckling. “You know, I spent a lot of time wondering what to get the really naughty boys this year–coal is so…pointless now. Hell, it was always pointless, really. Why not get something that’s a real punishment? Why not give the gift of chastity?”

Marco was looking at his cock and balls, perfectly soft and secured behind a metal cage. He kept looking for a seam, for some way to get it off of him, but the device was seamless–he couldn’t get it off. “What the hell is this you freak! Get it off of me.”

“Oh, it might come off next Christmas, if Santa’s feeling generous–don’t you worry. Still, I am very proud of the little contraption–it even comes with a few different modes. Would you like to see them? How about puppy mode?”

A crushing pain in his balls, and before Marco even knew what had happened, he was on his hands and knees, and the device was heating up, activating the leather rubber which snaked it’s way out of him, and in less than fifteen seconds, he was in a full dog muzzle with a collar and fist mitts, a rubber dog tail buttplug in his ass, and the chastity device had sprouted a short, dog cock shaped dildo which smacked his belly as he gave a shake, unable to help himself, and then he woofed in confusion at Santa, unable to talk.

“Oh, he’s going to love that–now how about mummy mode?”

The dog gear retracted, and a cold rubber slime emerged, coating his body even as he tried to keep it at bay. It completely encased his body, trapping him within a tight rubber cocoon on the floor, able to breathe only through two small holes at his nose, and he was already starting to sweat. He flailed about for a moment, but the pain in his balls returned and he found that only by staying as still as possible could he avoid pain.

“Well well, you can learn!” Santa said, rolling Marco onto his front with the toe of his boot before squatting down and slipping a gloved finger into the hole in the rubber around his ass, feeling Marco squirm. “Now, I’d love to fuck, but I leave your cherry for Kip–yeah, that little faggot down the hall you love to tease! Don’t worry, he’ll find you here in a few hours, when he eventually wakes up, with a full list of all the modes he can use on you. Have a good year, bitch.”

The Eighth Day of Christmas

Five A.M. and Liam was up out of bed, grumbling and muttering as he started getting his suit on. These fucking unpaid internships–they were the only jobs he could seem to find these days, but all they seemed to do was string him along with possible job openings if he showed real dedication to the team, and then they’d still dump him at the end of the his contract. This was his second one, and thankfully his parents were footing the bill for rent, but maybe he actually had a shot this time…even if in meant having to get up and go into work at the office on Christmas.

It was only after he was dressed in one of his cheap suits that he realized he hadn’t even needed to get up that early at all–he usually got on the road early to beat the traffic, but there wasn’t going to be any traffic today. Hell, there wouldn’t even be anyone in the office today aside from a security guard or two. Certainly not his asshole boss, Marvin, who would be at home with his wife and kid, opening presents while Liam was busy finishing the presentation he would be giving to the board in a couple of days. It was ridiculous–Liam put more effort in at the job than Marvin did anyday, but he was the one getting paid nothing, and Marvin knew it. Still, if it meant landing a real job, it was worth it, right?

He left the bedroom and went into the kitchen to get some breakfast, but froze when he saw the fat, shirtless man scarfing down a pack of cookies and some milk from his fridge. “What the fuck?” Liam said, “How in the hell did you get in here?”

“Well, someone’s up bright and early!” Santa said, “And all dressed for work? Who in the world makes someone work on Christmas day?”

“I don’t–who in the hell are you?”

“Oh Liam, you already know the answer to that question,” Santa said, coming out of the kitchen towards the young man, “But you know what? You work too hard. How about I give you the chance to retire early, eh?”

Before Liam could step back, Santa had shot him with a ray of his Christmas magic, and the force was enough to send Liam stumbling back a few steps, but after only a step or two he felt something behind him, and he fell back into a cushy armchair that he couldn’t seem to remember owning. Still, it felt really comfortable, and he let out a sigh, giving his large apron a rub through the fabric of his favorite silk shirt, his tie knotted up under his third chin so he could feel his fat hang over the collar, and he took a long draw off his pipe, feeling more at ease than he had in years.

“Oh yes, that’s much better,” Santa said, looking at the obese old man in front of him, puffing on his pipe. Liam’s eyes still had a bit of confusion in them, and before he could forget his old self entirely, Santa gave a wave in the air in front of the chair, forming a large, ornate mirror out of nothing, and Liam gasped.

“What in the world!” he said, not even recognizing his raspy, deep voice, “I’m–I’m old!”

He couldn’t take his eyes away from his face, now deeply lined with wrinkles, a thick walrus mustache covering his upper lip and drooping over his mouth, the stem of his large bowl pipe sprouting out from it, puffing smoke. He had a pair of half moon spectacles perched on a bulbous nose, and what remained of his hair was little more than a thin horseshoe of white above his liver spotted ears. Looking around the room, he saw that his cheap apartment was gone, and he was in what appeared to be a huge mansion that he could vaguely recall living in…but this couldn’t be real, could it?

“Now, what should I get a new retiree like you as a present?” Santa asked, chuckling, “How about a new toy to play with in your free time?” He motioned to the fireplace, and a moment later someone fell out of it–Marvin, his old boss. “How about a nice, obedient cub for a perverse old grandpa bear?”

Marvin, coughing and unsure of what had just happened, stumbled to his feet, but something was wrong. He was…shorter? And had he always been this chubby? He looked over and saw his daddy smoking his pipe in his favorite armchair, and his heart started beating faster, as Liam sneered and pulled out his cock from a thicket of white pubes. He might need viagra to get it up, but once it was up, he could be hard for hours. “Should…should I go get a pill daddy?”

“I think so cub,” Liam said, “I think I know what you’re going to be getting for Christmas already…”

Marvin scrambled up and Liam watched his cub, naked as he liked in the house, scurry to the bathroom to retrieve the magic blue pill, and Liam looked around, feeling like there should have been someone else there…but who? No matter, he thought, taking a long draw on his pipe, a horny cub and a long retirement is all he really needed anyway.

The Seventh Day of Christmas

“Ok, what the fuck? Who in the hell actually asks for socks and underwear for Christmas?” Santa said and he leaned over Edgar’s bed. Edgar was in his late 20’s and had always been sensible and pragmatic, and it had served him well so far. Waking up, he stared up at Santa for a moment, before reaching over and grabbing his glasses from his nightstand and turned on the light. When he could actually make out the figure looming over him, that’s when he really freaked out.

“Oh shit, what in the hell are you doing in my room!”

“I’m Santa Claus–I can go wherever the fuck I want, and you still didn’t answer my question–why in the hell did you actually ask for socks and underwear? What the hell is wrong with you?”

“But…but I do need socks and underwear…”

Santa rolled his eyes and looked around the room. The whole place was perfectly organized and tidy, and Edgar looked like he took good care of himself. He wasn’t muscular, but just healthfully slim, and aside from his eyesight there wasn’t anything wrong with him. Santa scowled–how fucking boring. “Well, I don’t know why you need new underwear…I was under the impression that you still loved your old underwear…”

With a wave that knocked away Edgar’s covers, he saw that a few bits of clothing had magically materialized on his body, and looking down at them, he shuddered. They were definitely underwear and socks alright, but not the kind he was used to wearing. It was a ribbed tank, a jockstrap, and two calf length athletic socks, and they were all filthy. The tank was nearly brown and felt kind of crispy, the jock felt like it was actually wet, and the soles of the socks were so filthy they were almost black with his big toes sticking out of the end of both. “What the fuck? These aren’t mine!”

“Sure they are,” Santa said, “You’ve been wearing them for about nine months straight–sleeping in them, working out in them–yeah, you’ve been working out a lot in them, haven’t you, Edge?”

Edgar felt his body start to heat up, his muscles tensing all over his body as they started to swell in size, he groaned in pain, and soon, the underwear that had all been quite loose on him was looking too tight, the tank stretched across his thick pecs and unable to hide the bottom of his abs, the jock elastic cutting into his waist, the pouch distended with  a nearly ten inch cock, the socks stretched to the limit against his size fourteen feet. Something between a week and a half of stubble and a short beard spread across his face and neck, and his hair looked like it had been shaven off recently as well, but had partially grown back in. He reeked of sweat and cum, and it was so fucking fantastic…Edge pulled the tank up to his nose and took a deep sniff off the month’s old cum, piss and sweat, and let out a deep sigh of satisfaction.

The room around Santa had changed as well, reeking of stale air and the stench of men, and we went over and sat down on the weight bench, hauling off his boots, showing off his own filthy socks, and Edge leered at him, before getting down on his knees, shoving his nose into the sole, licking at the grimy fabric, massaging his hard cock through the pouch of his nasty jock. He was already leaking cum, like always, but he lived on the edge–his goal was to never cum more than once a week, just hover on the edge, filled with horny energy, and workout all day long, smearing his precum into his underwear, rehydrating with his piss, and occasionally he would blow a huge load all over himself and sleep, before doing it all again.

Santa had laid all the way back on the bench now, and Edge had his socked feet in the air, his tongue rammed as deep into the old man’s filthy shit chute as he could get it, grinding his cock against the bench. He was so close! He couldn’t stop himself, and he shot all over the bench with a loud groan, Santa stroking himself off to the sounds of Edge’s satisfaction, and then he tucked the nasty muscle ape back into bed, and slipped out of the room. He wouldn’t be needing new underwear for a good long while he figured, and maybe next year Edge would ask for something better.

The Sixth Day of Christmas

Wade’s heart was beating fast in his chest, and he gripped the bat tighter in his hands and peered around the corner. There really was someone in his house! Probably someone trying to rob him–well, he’d show them that they’d picked the wrong place to invade. He snuck around the corner, hefting the bat up, ran at the stranger, and swung the bat at the back of his head, connecting with a solid sound, and sending the man to his knees.

“You think you can just come in my fucking house and steal my fucking shit?” Wade said, “You picked the wrong fucking house, you fucking…” He stopped talking and looked down at the person he’d just hit with his bat, the white beard, the big hairy belly, the leather harness? “S–Santa Claus?” he said, stepping back and dropping the bat to the ground.

“What the fuck is wrong with you people!” Santa said, rubbing the back of his head, “Good thing I’m fucking immortal, but that still fucking hurts. Every fucking year, someone hits fucking Santa with a bat, or tries to shoot him, or whatever. Well you know what? I’m fucking sick of it. I was going to leave you something nice, but I think you might make a nice present instead!”

Before Wade could even react, Santa had hurled something at him, what looked like a solid black ball, but when it hit his chest it splattered and stuck to him, and when he felt it, he realized it was some kind of liquid latex–and that it was really, really sticky. In fact, he couldn’t pull his hand away, and the rubber was starting to spread across his chest and up his hand onto his arm. He tried to shout for help, but it was moments before both of his arms were pinned to his chest, and he watched as they actually merged with his body, disappearing entirely. The rubber spread down his legs, and suddenly he couldn’t stand up, and he fell forward onto his knees, the rubber sealing his legs together with his ass. The only place the rubber hadn’t spread was onto his face, and by now he was screaming in terror, trying to move his arms, but his body was now just a hunk of solid rubber. “What is this shit! What the fuck did you do to me!”

“Heh, I’m just making sure that you aren’t going to a danger to anyone else ever again is all. After all, what could a cumdump urinal like you ever do to hurt someone?”

“Wh–What?”

Santa pulled out his cock, and waved it in Wade’s face, “Come on little urinal, open up for Santa–I’ve had to piss for fucking hours now.”

Wade shut his mouth tight–for a moment–but then the rubber crawled up past his jaw and forced his mouth open, freezing it wide open, and Santa slid in his cock, and Wade shivered with pleasure. He could hear…something. No, it was more like a feeling, coming from the rubber. This sensation of…service? What he was…made for?

Santa started pissing, and he could feel the piss flowing down into him, could taste it inside of him, and it gave him such pleasure he would have orgasmed if he’d still had a cock, and when Santa finished with his load of piss he started fucking Wade’s hole roughly, but that felt good too. It felt good to be used–to be abused–it’s what he was made for. The rubber rose higher, absorbing his ears and eyes, but he didn’t need to hear or see–only taste, and feel the pat on his head from Santa after he’d shot his load, telling him he’d done a good job, and then Santa picked him up and shoved the new Wade into his bag. Now he just had to decide where to put him. He could always give him to a private owner, but it would be a shame to see him used rarely. In the end, Santa left him in the seediest bathhouse he could find, where he was fed many times a day, the happiest rubber cumdump urinal in the whole wide world.

The Fifth Day of Christmas

“Psst, hey–where’s the fucking milk?”

Gary groaned and felt a hand shake his shoulder, rousing him from sleep, and he found a wide shadow looming over him in his bedroom, and he let out a shout of surprise.

“Oh don’t be such a wimp,” the shadow said, and it flipped on the light next to them, and Gary found himself looking up at what had to be Santa Claus, although he’d never imagined his outfit might be so…revealing. “Look, I scrounged around and found some cookies,” Santa said, holding up the package of Oreos in his hand, “But all you have in the house is fucking soy milk–how disgusting is that?”

“I’m…I’m lactose intolerant–I never have milk in the house…” Gary said.

Santa did not look amused. “Hmmph, well I guess we’ll have to do something about that then, won’t we? Santa needs his milk after all, even if I have to make my own cow to get it.”

Santa pushed down Gary’s sheets and grabbed hold of both of his nipples, making him gasp in pain as the big man worked them over…and he could feel something happening to them as Santa twisted them–they were growing larger. Not just his nipples though–Gary had always been a thin guy, and as he watched, his chest started to grow and expand with fat, turning into heavy moobs in a matter of moments…and they ached. It was like they were balloons filled with too much water, and he saw that the thumb and forefingers on Santa’s gloves were wet with…something. “What–What are you doing to moooee?” Gary moaned.

Santa didn’t reply–he just licked his lips and started sucking on one of Gary’s thick nipples, and he felt his milk gush into Santa’s mouth. With a quiver, he realized that he was actually getting close to cumming, and he reached down to stroke his cock, but Santa beat him to it, stretching and kneading his cock and balls in his gloved hand, Gary shivering, mooing and moaning as his balls grew three times their original size, and they ached just as much as his milk filled moobs. Before long, cum was dribbling out of him at a constant dribble, soaking the sheets beneath him, and Santa–after sucking his first moob dry–moved onto the second, his hands massaging Gary’s stomach, growing a huge gut and fat pad which swallowed up half his cock, and when both his breasts were drained, Santa rolled Gary over, kneading his ass into two fat cheeks before thrusting his hard cock deep into Gary’s hole.

“Fuck, milk always makes me so fucking horny–it’s a good thing this fat ass of yours was made for plowing cow–feels fucking great,” Santa grunted out as Gary felt the last few changes overtake him–two short horns growing out of his temples, the rest of his body filling out with fat, and the overwhelming desire to feed. To feed men his manmilk, to make them addicted to it’s taste, and to watch them grow fatter, until they were obese or even better, immobile. Santa finally finished up his fuck, unloading a huge wad of cum into Gary’s ass, and the fat cowman let out a grunt of satisfaction, rolling back over and kneading his full tits, his cock leaking profusely.

“Fuck Santa, that was great—are you sure you don’t want to stick around and drink some mooore?” Gary groaned.

“Oh you slutty cow,” Santa said, slapping Gary’s gut, “Tell you what–why don’t you spend tonight milking yourself, and give samples to all of your friends? I’m sure you’ll have plenty of guys lining up for that milk of yours in no time. Me though? I gotta get going–places to go, gifts to give, you know the drill.”

Santa waved a large pile of glass milk bottles into existence next to Gary’s bed, and the cow did spend the rest of the night milking himself into them, excited to give them to all of his friends, so that before long they could all live with him, drinking his man milk, and growing bigger every day.

The Fourth Day of Christmas

It was the smell of smoke that woke him up in bed, and Marty thought something must be on fire. He got up and hurried out of his room, but there weren’t any flames in the living room–but there was smoke, and he saw that it was coming from a smoldering cigar on an end table next to the Christmas tree.

He just stared at it for a moment, not entirely sure what to think. He lived here by himself after all, and he wasn’t a smoker. In fact, Marty was pretty boring all around–he didn’t even have a girlfriend, didn’t drink, just went to work, came home watched TV, day in and day out, but that was good enough for him. He wasn’t the kind of person who craved excitement. But then where in the world had the cigar come from, and if it was still smoking like that, wouldn’t that mean that someone would have had to have been smoking it in here…recently?

He looked around the apartment but there was no one there, but the smell of smoke just wouldn’t leave his mind, and part of him really wanted to try it. He didn’t know why really–it seemed like such a dumb, impulsive thing to do–but the more he tried to resist, the more he found himself looking at the cigar, until he picked it up with a shaking hand, put it to his lips, and took a tentative drag.

The sensation of the smoke was overwhelming, and somehow…liberating. It was like the smoke worked it’s way inside of him, loosening him up, undoing the restrictions he’d placed on himself all of these years, and then he was coughing up the smoke, and set the cigar down, he head spinning. “Fuck, that’s some crazy ass moutherfuckin’ shit,” Marty said, using more curse words in one sentence than he’d used all year, and ran his hand through his beard.

His beard?

He felt his face again, and found a thick beard had grown in all over his face, nearly an inch thick, and looking down at himself, that wasn’t the only thing that had changed. He’d packed on quite a bit of fat as well, and he looked hairier as well.

“Ho, ho, ho–so I did leave my cigar here, eh? Looks like someone took a bit of an interest in it, eh Marty?”

He spun around and saw that the sexiest Santa he’d ever seen had somehow materialized in his living room. No, not sexy, what was he thinking? He’d never been into guys, but damn, the way the harness was stretched across his gut…“How–how did you get in here?”

“You know, you really shouldn’t go sucking on things that don’t belong to you. Still, since you started it, you might as well finish it, eh?”

Santa walked up to Marty and pushed the cigar into his mouth, and he reflexively took another inhale, the same sensation sweeping through him, undoing all of the control he’d worked into his life, and this time he drew it in deeper, before he managed to pull himself away from it. “Fuck, what the hell is in that thing? Makes me feel fuckin’ nuts,” Marty said, but his voice sounded different all of a sudden, with a subtle country twang.

“Yeah, that’s got you looking better already,” Santa said, “You should take a look Marty, I think you’ll enjoy it.”

Santa pushed Marty towards the bathroom, and when he saw himself in the mirror, his jaw dropped. His beard had grown longer by a couple of inches, and his hair had grown out as well, the front still short, but in the back it was down past his shoulders. He was even fatter and hairier than before, but none of this could be possible. “Ah don’, Ah mean, this can’t be right, Ah don’t wanna look like this…”

“Oh Marty, you really ought to lighten up–you think too hard, did you know that? You really need to appreciate the simpler things in life,” Santa said, spun him around so they were face to face, and locked lips with him, blowing a huge amount of smoke into Marty’s lungs, deeper than it had gone before, and when the separated, Marty felt like his whole head was full of cotton. He’d changed again, his beard and hair now not only longer, but greasy and unkempt. He was missing a few teeth, and the ones he did have were stained yellow from smoke, and he felt a wet fart rip out of his wide ass, but it felt good. It felt good just letting go, not thinking at all, except about how much he wanted in Santa’s pants. “Fuck Santa, yer so damn sexy…” he said, unable to resist the attraction any longer.

Santa had him on his knees in a moment, his cock shoved down Marty’s throat, and he knew there was something wrong with all of this, but he was just enjoying himself too much. When Santa finished all over his nasty beard, he let Marty take the final draw on the cigar, and he knew what he’d been missing. All this time he’d wasted working, he should have been on a Harley, riding around the country, sucking cock in every rest area, fucking truckers in the backs of their cabs–he’d missed so much! But no more. Santa helped him up, and Marty wasn’t naked anymore–he was wearing his muddy biker leathers, and when Santa handed him the keys to his bike and a few cigars, he grinned. He was just a cigar smoking, cocksucking, redneck biker now, and he’d never wanted to be anything else.