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I do think of making someone losing intelligence and education as erotic. It’s like if a powerful man sudenlly becomes subimissive to me under my superior intellect. A lawyer thats slowly turns into a redneck farmhand and cant understand his work anymore and has to submit to his lowly intern to keep appearances is a fantasy of mine. Or a mighty latino manager who is turning into a immigrant day laborer and is forgeting how to talk in english and how the society works. Can you relate ?

Well, like I wrote in my last ask on the subject, all of those would fall under the revenge category I described. So yes, I understand it and find it erotic, but I wouldn’t wish it on anyone in real life. Also that last one? Pretty racist dude.

What do you think of weight gain to extreme or unrealistic sizes, including partial or complete immobility?

Personally? It doesn’t really interest me as something I want to have happen to me, but I don’t really embody most of these fantasies myself, so that’s not really all that strange. As far as my stories go, I certainly enjoy including weight gain, but I’ve always found extreme weight gain to be a bit repetitive and dull as the story. This is because, usually, getting a character to that size takes a while, because for people who like that fetish, part of what they like is the slow, but noticeable growth. So a lot of extreme weight gain stories end up reading like: “He was skinny…then he was chubby…then he was obese…then he was really obese….then he was immobile.” Which doesn’t really progress anywhere.

Personally, I like using extreme weight gain as a form of bondage–a way to keep someone from moving or doing things they used to be able to do. I don’t really have the patience for growth stories though, unless it’s paced alongside other kinds of transformations, like filth/slob or age progression, or if it has a larger plot line it can rely on.

Warning: This one’s…strange.

“Now, why don’t we see just how close you two partners can get,” the artist said.

Officers Frosen and Garnet started to struggle against the bonds and rubber suits they were encased in, as they felt the pump connecting their cocks come to life, both of them slightly dizzy from the tube connecting their mouths, restricting them both to the same air supply–or rather, their smoke supply, since the only thing they could seem to breathe in was cigar smoke. The last thing they remembered really was gassing up their squad car and taking a smoke break out back, and then nothing, and now…this. Whatever this was.

They each felt the electricity start to run through the wires running underneath the rubber suits they wore, their cocks pumped larger and larger in the shared tube, until the heads met in the middle, and then began to press together. Before too long, it was nearly impossible to tell where one man’s cock ended and the other’s began, like they had been pressed together into one single shaft. The smoke which had choked them out before now felt as sweet as fresh air, and they inhaled it greedily, desperate for more from the source…and from each other. They could taste each other’s breath as well, through the tube, and…and they wanted to be closer…so much closer.

The process could have lasted minutes–it could have lasted days or weeks–they couldn’t tell. Finally, however, the suits were removed, and the two officers say that they had been rendered identical, their genetic code mashed together until they had found equilibrium. Even stranger, when the vaccuum tube was cut away, their cocks refused to separate–they had, in fact, fused together. Still, they both enjoyed that, stroking their cock together, hastily lighting their first cigars, taking deep inhales before locking lips and sharing the smoke for ages.

“Ah, perfect!” the artist cried when he saw them, “I will call it, Smoke! It’s perfect for the twin series–I’ve been needing another siamese. I must get this into the new exhibition next week, New York will simply fall head over heels in love with it!”

The two officers weren’t listening though, they were lost in each other’s eyes, cum dripping from the shaft to the floor, the two twins locked in the embrace they would now share for the rest of their lives, in the artist’s gallery.

“Trey, you really need to take a rest man–you make me feel nervous just looking at you,” Bill said on the couch, “Why don’t you sit down and play a game with me? We haven’t had a shooter session in weeks, man.”

“Can’t, I gotta go to the gym or coach will bust my ass at practice tomorrow,” Trey said, throwing his duffel over his shoulder, “You know, you really should come with me, you were in such good shape in high school man, it would be a shame to let it all go.”

Trey and Bill had been friends since high school, and had been thrilled when they’d been accepted to the same college, but since the start of classes, they’d grown further and further apart. Trey had joined the football team and devoted most of his time to working out–Bill had decided to skip athletics, and mostly sat around the dorm playing video games, looking like a bit of a slob. Still, after his workout, when he’d returned to the dorm, he’d felt kind of bad for his jab at his friend, but Bill wasn’t around to apologize to. Still, maybe he should take a break and play a game for a bit.

He loaded up the shooter Bill was always playing, and soon he was engrossed–in fact, he completely lost track of time, and played the game all night long, only coming out of it early in the morning to discover Bill had come home and gone to sleep at some point, he had broken into his friend’s junk food stash and stuffed himself silly, and he’d…pissed his gym shorts? He put the game away and changed, trying to forget it, but he asked Bill where he’d gotten the game the next day, and Bill just smiled knowingly, and suggested they play it for a while.

They played for almost twenty hours straight, both of them stuffing their faces and pissing and shitting themselves uncontrollably. Before the next marathon session, Bill managed to convince Trey to wear a diaper like he usually did, and this time, Trey realized he’d even cum in the diaper multiple times. Worse, he couldn’t stop playing–neither of them could, and when they unlocked the online mode a week later, both of them spent weeks diapered all day with their headsets on, zoned out, listening to the daddies they were playing against tell them what good little boys they were, slowly turning into fat, horny babies, just like they’d always wanted to be.

Riley was on an adventure, and he was just going to let the road take him wherever it wanted. He’d always wanted to go on a long road trip, but being poor on cash and rich with time, he decided that the best idea would be to simply hitchhike around during his summer break from college. Everything had gone well so far, but the next person who stopped for him was in a beat up, rusted out pickup truck, and the hick rolled down the window, letting fly a stream of black tobacco spit onto the ground inches from Riley’s foot. “Where ya headin’, boy?”

“Oh…uh, anywhere, I guess…” Riley said, but he didn’t really feel like getting into the truck with this nasty fat man in grimy overalls.

“Heh, well, I’ll take ya anywhere ya wanna go, if ya suck mah dirty cock fer me.”

“I’m not a faggot, and I’m not that desperate,” Riley said.

“Heh, yeah, I reckon ya ain’t–how’s ‘bout we change that?”

Riley felt something shiver it’s way through him, and he dropped his pack to the ground, looking down at his shirtless chest and torso, as it started to sag out with a soft layer of fat, his skin growing rough and wrinkled–and covered with grey hairs. Something brushed against his chest, and reaching up, he felt a thick beard descending from his face, his hair growing out wild and unkempt into a huge, curly mass and fell back past his shoulders. In a panic, he spun around to the shop window, where he could make out his reflection in the glare–no longer a fit college athlete traveling the country, but a destitute old man. New memories flooded into him, how he’d been homeless for decades now, relying on the kindness of strangers for shelter and food, traveling the country before any place could get too sick of him. He was trying to move on out of town now–and while it wouldn’t be the first cock he sucked to get a ride…no, not this guy, he’d done something to him, changed him.

“What the fuck did you do to me!” he shouted at the man.

“You want a ride or not?” the hick said.

“Fuck no, not with you, no fucking way.”

“Heh, guess yer still not desperate enough–we can fix that though.”

Riley felt a second shiver deep in his gut, a new need stirring within him, and he licked his grimy lips. Fuck, he was hungry for some cum–he hadn’t sucked any dick all day, and he was desperate, and he bet this guys cock was good ‘n ripe, just how he liked them–the filthier the better.

“Sure man, I’ll ride with ya, ‘n I’m happy tah suck yer cock too,” Riley said, throwing his ragged pack in the back of the man’s truck and walking around to the passenger seat, his head down in the fat farmer’s lap even before he’d gotten the truck moving, the farmer grinning from ear to ear as he headed off down the road and onto the highway with his passenger.

“Just focus on the beat, just…keep on walking,” Mikey told himself as he walked the block, keeping his hands in his pockets, glancing around nervously. The day was going fine, he could…just forget about how he’d woken up that morning, on the couch…

No, best to just not worry about it, best to just get through the day. Still, how could he forget them? The tattoos covering both of his arms, the fact that his body was completely devoid of hair? He’d been able to laugh that off with the guys at the station as a bar bet gone wrong, but the tattoos…how could he explain those? And worse…he was certain they were spreading. He couldn’t be sure considering he hadn’t taken his uniform off all day, but he could feel this strange itch all over him, and the back of his hands…Just focus on the job, he only had a few more hours of his shift left, and then he could sort this all out. It was almost the weekend, he could…go get them removed or something, and his hair would grow back eventually, it would all be fine.

He was passing a shop window, and looked at himself in the evening reflection, and he stopped. His face–what was wrong with his face? He had…piercings? A huge ring in his septum, rings in his lips, bars in his ears and eyebrows, gauges in his lobes. When had that happened? How long had he been walking around with his face like this? And his neck, he could see the tattoos crawling up there as well, and he ducked into an alley to try and figure out what to do. He couldn’t go back to the station looking like this, he couldn’t go anywhere looking like this–

“Well, well–here’s our little piggy, right where we left him yesterday,” a voice said, and Mikey spun around, finding the alley blocked by a gang of skinheads, and he remembered the day before, how they’d dragged him in here, the needle, the drop of ink–

“What–what did ya do tah me…” he said, his head thickening. He couldn’t stop staring at the ringleader’s…at Ringo’s cock outlined in his bleached jeans, licking his lips, feeling his short, heavily pierced cock try to harden in his tight rubber shorts.

Ringo didn’t answer, he just unzipped his fly and let his ten inch cock flop out, Mikey dropping to his knees with a grunt and swallowing it hole, the gang’s newest sexpig, eager to taste all of their cocks before heading back to the hideout–where they’d be fisting his piggy hole all night long.

What are your thoughts on intelligence loss in transformation stories, what exactly about it do people find erotic?

Loss of intellect is generally used as a form of contrapasso–the punishment befitting the crime of the individual within a revenge story. So, generally, people like it because it’s a way to punish a character for wrong doing, like making a businessman who crashed the stock market through clever derivatives, unable to do the simplest math problem. The loss of intellect generally isn’t erotic–but it works as a specific trigger within what I would call the “revenge genre.”

That said, I know some people who do like the idea of losing intelligence as a positive thing. It’s not nearly as common, but for them the idea losing some cognitive ability is all about being able to live a simpler life. They might feel too smart in their day to day life, pressured to succeed because of their intellect, and the idea of being a simple minded jock or redneck who just sits around and masturbates all day turns them on, because it would be a easier life. It doesn’t work for everyone, but that’s the basic impetus.