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Donald T. Oolong here. I was wondering if I could shamelessly plug my tumblr? You awesomely posted the very first stories I’ve written here on your blog, and inspired me to write the fiction I write. I hope you take this as an “imitation is flattery,” more than a “I’m moving in on your shit,” move. You’re the original.

Ha, I have no objection to shameless plugs, I’d much rather have more people writing than less–I get kind of tired of shouting alone into an empty room, which is what it feels like sometimes. Besides, the stuff you’ve written so far is great–I just wish we had a better platform for publishing, but c’est la vie. It is a bit satisfying watching the NCMC die a slow death though, but that’s a bit off topic. I really like your first story though, so now go write some more please.

Where for you is the line between Daddy/Boy relationships and actual Father/Son incestual relationships? This last story I really liked, but then when I saw the #incest tag, it took a bit off for me. Is there a need to include that hashtag, or would it be better to allow the reader to read into the story the way that they want it? Either way, keep up the great stories.

Well, I tag #incest pretty liberally, mostly because it’s shorter to type than #daddy/boy or whatever. So it’s inclusion doesn’t necessarily imply blood ties–but more along the idea of two people taking the standard roles of father and son, or brainwashing someone to actually believe they are a father or son, or…actually being father son, etc. I include hashtags at all because that’s the only way people can search for stories. I try to keep things general, because if someone is looking fora story in particular, they’re going to have an easier time finding something tagged #incest than if I broke it down into innumerable categories. 

The tattoo artist took one look at Lucas shaking in the chair, a scrawny eighteen year old kid getting his first tattoo, and just shook his head. “Man, I can’t put anything on your skin if you don’t sit still.”

“Sorry…I’m just nervous,” Lucas said, blushing a bit. He’d always wanted a tattoo, and it was going to be his present to himself for graduating from high school last week, before going off to college.

“Look, you want me to give you something to help settle you down?” the artist said, smirking.

“I don’t do drugs.”

“It’s not a drug, just something to keep you still.”

Lucas relented, and took the pill the artist handed him, but after a few minutes he stopped shaking. In fact, after a few minutes he couldn’t move at all–he was frozen in the chair, and the artist’s smirk was looking a bit more sinister, and he called someone on the phone and said, “Pass it on, we’re havin’ an auction tonight.”

The shop closed down for the night, but men were still filing into the room. Lucas was still frozen in the chair, and looking at the collection of tattooed bikers and trailer trash eyeing him up and down. He didn’t know what was going on, as the artist started the bidding, and a short older man with a big beard and long hair, covered in tattoos won the auction, and they started the consultation, planning what to do with Lucas’ tattoos–and his body.

By morning, the older man was dragging a very different Lucas out of the tattoo shop, his chest and arms covered in crude tattoos, his young slender body covered with fat, his hair long greasy and unwashed. His new daddy raped him for the first time in the back of the truck–well, it wasn’t really rape by the end, with Lucas begging him to plow his fat ass harder, and they drove home to the trailer park, the old daddy very happy with his new tattooed son.

Every night, it’s the same thing, but always a little different, but they’re always getting worse, and you can always remember them perfectly. You had two of them last night–you remember waking up from the first just long enough to jack your rock hard cock off before you fell back asleep into the second dream, but you recall them both perfectly.

In the first–you remember the tiled room, but you don’t remember how you’d gotten there–still, you were dressed to serve. The leather gear was well worn and fit you like a glove, revealing every curve of your fat belly, showing off your tribal tattoos. You were on your knees, waiting–for something. For someone. For anyone. You could feel how sticky your body was, from the build up of all the cum splattered across you. In a moment of clarity, you try to stand up, but the cum has adhered to the tile floor, keeping you there, as man after man files in, coating you in their cum, and soon you can barely move at all. The cum encases you entirely–you’re frozen in place, mouth open, ready for the next load, just a permanent cumdump in some filthy, rundown bathhouse.

In the second, you’re more like you–but still different. No tattoos, but maybe a bit bigger? More muscular? A bit rougher? You’re out at the bar, drinking with your pals, when you tell them that you need to go take a leak. In the bathroom, you walk up to the middle urinal, drop your pants, but before you can piss, the urinal surges to life, erupts from the wall, and grabs the upper half of your body, bending you over at the waist, feet splayed apart, ass out, squirming and fighting against the porcelain. Man after man comes into the restroom, and you try to call for help, but your mouth doesn’t work–the urinal has forced some sort of pipe down your throat, and each man shoves his cock up your loose asshole and pisses into your guts. The urinal has done something to you–merged with you–the piss flows through you and out your mouth, into the sewer, and it tastes…better than anything you’d ever tasted. Soon, you’re addicted, desperate for men to piss down you, use you, fill you with their piss and cum–

You’ve cum again–where are these dreams coming from? What are they doing to you? You drank your own piss for the first time yesterday–it gave you the best orgasm of your life. You can’t stop jacking off and eating your own cum. You long to serve every man you pass on the street–you want to be their urinal, their cumdump, their slave, their property…Pushing the thoughts away, you get up and get ready for work, paying no mind to the dreamcatcher your friend gave you a few weeks ago. It was a strange gift, but he was into that strange occult shit–still, that stuff wasn’t real, was it?

“Sir, I’m gonna have to give you a pat down,” the officer said.

The metal detector had gone off for the third time, and Jack swore he didn’t have anything metal on him, but the officer pushed him up against the wall and patted him down the back and front, and everything was normal until the officer suddenly shoved his gloved hand between Jack’s legs, and Jack felt something push into his asshole. He let out a surprised yelp, and the officer smirked.

“Ah, so that’s the problem–we got a tail. You’re gonna have to follow me sir.”

“E–Excuse me?” Jack said, but in response, the cop just grabbed the back of his pants in both of his gloved hands and ripped the denim apart, letting the rubber tail attached to the six inch plug stuck up his ass loose from the inside of his jeans. Jack started panting, relieved to have it free, and he wagged it back and forth, wondering what in the world he was doing.

“Come on boy,” the officer said, “We need to get you trained for the K-9 squad.” The cop pulled out a leather collar which he clipped around Jack’s neck, and led him through the police headquarters on all fours. No one paid this any mind, and Jack tried to protest, but for some reason all he could do was whimper and bark. Down in the basement, however, all was made clear soon enough. He was just another squad dog, trained to serve his master officers–the pack alpha set him straight in a few days time, and he was just another obedient K-9 unit, out on patrols, by the end of the week.

You like the smell of my piss ‘n cum in that toilet, don’t you, boy? Yeah, you probably didn’t smell it right away, but look at how horny it’s got you already. Can’t stop, can you? Don’t worry, I don’t want you to stop, and you obviously don’t want to stop, so why don’t you just keep on jacking off for daddy?

Bet you didn’t even hear me come in here last night, eh? You were pretty damn drunk, I doubt you remember much of anything. Thought you were all alone, waking up, going in to have your morning piss, and now here you are, jacking off, one of your fingers probing that sweet little hole of yours. Yeah boy, you remember me at all? I was at that club last night, watching you, smokin’ my cigar. Here, why don’t you have a taste? Go on–take it easy though, you don’t have the lungs for a full draw yet. Fuck yeah, so fuckin’ hot, watching that smoke billow out that mouth of yours. Give it to me, gonna suck the smoke out of your lungs, boy.

Sweet, fuckin’ sweet. So, how’s that hole of yours? Gettin’ loose? I bet you need something better than all those fingers, eh? How about some daddy dick? The dick I’ve been savin’ for you all night long. Gonna fuck you right here on the toilet boy, over this nasty swill of our piss ‘n cum. Go on, smell it boy, take a deep breath of that funk, our smoke, or piss…just let it relax you back…that’s it.

See that wasn’t so bad. I’m all the way in ya boy, all the way up this hole of yours, and from that load of cum you just sprayed, I think you like it. I have a feeling we’re gonna be spending a lot of time together from now on–you’d like that, wouldn’t you? You can come over to my place, and we can work out together, father and son, getting all pumped and sweaty and musky, plenty of cigar and fuck breaks. Gonna have you stinkin’ and smokin’ like a good muscle jockboy soon enough. Now suck that cigar–daddy needs focus on fuckin’.

Fuck, Russ almost couldn’t take it anymore, seeing Drew like that, his shirt off, growing belly hanging out, but he had to stay in control.

“Dude, what are you staring at my gut for?”

Russ yanked his eyes up to Drew’s face, where he could see his friend’s beard starting to fill in, and as he stared at it, it started to thicken and grow a bit denser, and he blushed and looked away. “Sorry, you just look…bigger…”

Drew didn’t look bigger–he was bigger, but Russ knew that of course. The potion he’d taken would let his gaze transform anyone he wanted, but it would only work until he and his target had sex–and he came. He should have invested in a chastity device or something, just to hold back, because the potion was making his libido rage out of control. It had only been an hour, and Drew had packed on 50 pounds, and was way hairier than he had been, and he hadn’t noticed a thing. Still, Russ wanted him bigger–hairier–butcher and tougher and rougher…

He needed something to calm his nerves, maybe some alcohol. The potion had said to not eat or drink anything for six hours before he took the potion, and to not eat or drink until the potion’s spell was completed, but one shot of something wouldn’t hurt, certainly. He excused himself and went into the kitchen, digging out some booze and taking a swig from the bottle, but his head immediately clouded up. The last thing he remembered was collapsing to the kitchen floor and seeing Drew rush over to him.

***

Russ woke up slowly. The headache pounding in his temples was one of the worst hangovers he’d ever experienced. He struggled up from the floor and went to grab his head, but found his hands were covered by some sort of mitt. Confused, he started to take them off, but stopped. Master Drew wouldn’t want him to do that–Master Drew wanted him to be a good pup.

“That you, pup?” A deep voice said from the bed, and he heard the creak of bedsprings as the massive man his roommate had become heaved himself up off the bed, over six feet tall and close to 400 pounds, and all master–his master.

This wasn’t right, he hadn’t wanted Drew to be his master, had he? Sure, he’d always liked bottoming, and he’d had a few fantasies…and Russ finally figured out that the alcohol must have lowered his inhibitions far enough that his subconscious had taken over the transformation. Still, he loved his big master, and Master Drew loved him, his pup–his slave. He nuzzled up against his thick leg, feeling his cock harden, and wondered what Russ might have in store for them today. Whatever it was, it would be good.