Category: Uncategorized

Louie was a total slacker on campus. Thanks to a rich grandmother who’d died and left him mountains of cash, he’d been able to put off graduating college–and growing up–for two years now, and he was about to start his seventh year at school, when the IRS caught up with him, and made that mountain into something much smaller. Faced with the fact that he might have to actually get a job, Louie opted for the easiest thing to could find which would pay wads of cash, while still letting him do whatever he wanted–being the guinea pig medical and psychological experiments done by the faculty on campus.

However, this newest study was a bit strange. One of the psychology professors was doing an experiment on the effects of isolation as a form of torture, and was being pretty secretive about it. He was even offering to pay Louie under the table, because he didn’t want the department to know about it, and made Louie sign a mountain of forms before taking him on, and together, they drove to a large warehouse, where as soon as Louie was in the building, the professor pressed a cloth soaked in chloroform over his mouth, sending the big student crashing to the ground.

When Louie woke up, he discovered that his hair had been shaven from his head, he was gagged and mitted, and chains attached to the leather mask on his face kept him on his tiptoes. After he’d struggled for a few minutes, growing increasingly agitated, a voice came on right next to his ear.

“Well Louie, how do you like your new accommodations? You’d best get used to them, because you’re going to be living here for a whole year.”

Louie struggled–he thought he’d agreed to a week, and classes would start in two weeks, and–

“Now, I may have lied about all those papers I had you sign. One of them was actually a declaration for a year long leave of absence, and another signed over the remainder of your wealth to me–I don’t think you’ll be needing it as my slave. So, shall we get started?”

The professor entered the room, now clothed in leather, and first saran wrapped Louie’s arms and legs together into a tight cocoon, and then covered his entire body, aside from his nose, in duct tape, sealing him away from the world. Then, he felt something around his groin–the professor cut the binding away from his cock, and began to stroke it, teasing him, edging him for several hours while loud, disorienting white noise blared in the headphones taped into his ears, wearing down his will until he was screaming, begging for the man to stop through the mask, but he never did–it just kept going, and going, and going, and going…

Carefree cigars, that was what the label said. Still, they weren’t too expensive, and Tony still hadn’t really settled on a brand that he especially liked, so he decided to give them a try, and as he walked down the street he found a bar with some outdoor smoking where he figured he could sneak a smoke, ordered a beer, and lit one of them up. Carefree was right–the feeling they gave him was stronger than most any other brand he’d ever had, and they just made him…happy, and not really care about what was going on around him. His beer arrived, and he drink it down a bit faster than he’d intended, and then ordered another one, and downed that too, before starting on the second cigar in the pack.

Three beers later, Tony was feeling good–well, aside from one thing–he was horny. Hornier than he could remember being, well, ever. His cock was rock hard in his shorts, and he kept rubbing it, not really able to stop himself, or even care what people might think about it. He pulled his cock out, discovering it was bigger than he remembered, and started jacking off at the table, making no effort to disguise what he was doing, and he shot a load all over his shirt, before he came to, realized everyone was staring at him, and drunkenly stumbled up and hurried home.

Still, the privacy of his house wasn’t much better, and he stripped down to his jockstrap and started jacking off, unable to contain himself, shooting load after load as he sat on the couch, smoking cigar after cigar, guzzling beer, the other thoughts and cares taking a back seat to his raging horniness. As the night progressed, he started to change little by little, picking up some grey in his hair and beard, tattoos forming across his body, all of them crude and obscene but he didn’t care. All he cared about was getting off.

By morning, it was a very different Tony who stumbled out of his apartment, covered with tattoos, wearing nothing but a leather vest, chaps and some jeans with the crotch ripped open, showing off his ten inch cock for everyone to see, and he hopped onto his motorcycle and drove off. He needed some more cigars first, and then he needed to get to the biker bar. He’d remembered seeing a piggy pipe for sale, and he figured he could probably find someone there to smoke it for him.

Huey just wanted to be cool–he’d tried to be cool for most of high school but nothing seemed to work–he was just hopeless. Hell, even his tattoos had ended up coming off as “cute” instead of cool. His gauges just looking silly rather than hip. When he lamented these concerns to his friend, he recommended that Huey go to a different parlor downtown which specialized in more holistic changes. Still, he’d always liked his friend, and though he was cool, so he took his advice, and signed up at the shop for their “The Works” package.

“So, what do you want?” the guy asked when he went in for a consult.

“I wanna be cool,” Huey said, and the guy cocked an eyebrow at him.

“Well, being cool is more about believing you’re cool than anything. Still, if that’s what you want, we can deliver.”

Huey nodded, and he went to the shop on Saturday, but the entire process was a whole lot more intensive than he’d expected. They seemed to be tattooing him all over, and they even applied some strange creams to his head and face which itched horribly, but he toughed it out. When they finished everything, after hours of work, they finally let him stand up and take a look at himself, and he was horrified. “What the fuck did you do to me?” he shouted.

They’d tattooed his entire body, from the tops of his feet to the base of his neck, down to his wrists. His hair had been dyed a disgusting blonde, and his small goatee had grown out into a thick horseshoe mustache, and the color difference made it obvious his hair was a dye job. He just gaped at himself, horrified, and then turned to the guy who’d done his consultation and said, “You said you’d make me cool! I look like a freak.”

“No, if you’ll remember, what I said is that being cool is all about believing you’re cool,” the man said, and then turned on the video monitor behind him, and Huey was sucked into the prismatic spiral in a matter of moments. When he woke up, he took another look at himself and smirked–damn, he looked cool as fuck. “Hey man, ya got a cig?” he asked the tattoo artist.

“I’ll trade you one for a blow job.”

“Sure man, that’s cool,” Hugh said, and swallowed the artist’s cock to the hilt.

Sometimes Rudy hated the subway at night. He was a member at a twenty-four hour gym, and with his work schedule it was just easier to work out late at night or in the early morning. On occasion it was wonderful–an empty car maybe, or just a couple other people, being quiet or reading a book. At worst, in was a group of young hooligans or creepy homeless guys, or old faggots leering at him–and tonight that was what he was dealing with. Some old retired guy–saggy body, wrinkled skin–sitting across from him on the subway, just eyeing him up and down as they rode. Rudy did his best to ignore him, but there was one thing he couldn’t seem to ignore–the light on the guy’s phone kept blinking like a strobe light, and he couldn’t…quite seem to look away…it was getting hard…to…

***

What was he doing here?

“Just give me one more moment, you stud–I’m almost up and ready.”

He looked around at the shabby old apartment he was in, and then looked down, and realized he was naked. “What…what the fuck?” he shouted, and a moment later, the old man from the train came through the doorway, his cock the only thing solid about him.

“Oh, a strong willed one, eh? Don’t worry, we have all night to wear you down,” the old man said, and then his phone was blinking again…he tried to look…away but couldn’t…

***

Why did his ass hurt? What was happening?

“Say it–say you’re a whore for old man cock!”

“No…” Rudy managed to squeak out, but why was he so weak? The light…just look at the light…so…

***

Rudy moaned and rolled over in the bed, and found himself looking at one of the hottest geezers he’s seen in his life. The saggy skin, the wrinkles, the lecherous smile–everything was just right. The man was standing up at the side of the bed, his cock hard as a rock, and Rudy licked his lips.

“Hungry, boy?”

“You know it, daddy.”

“Then get over here and suck me off. And make it quick, I have five more old guys coming over who want to fuck you, so that hole of yours had better be ready slut.”

The man reached over and started probing Rudy’s tight hole, and he groaned. God, he was such a whore for old man cock, and he fucking loved it. Riding the subway can be the fucking best.

When he moved to a new city, Nate was happy to discover a gym was within running distance. He’d always loved lifting, but usually hated working out at big gyms, because there were too many amateurs fucking around while he wanted to get his workouts finished. This gym was independently owned though, and looked like it was made for serious guys looking for serious workouts. He joined up the next day, but the more he went, well, the more he just felt kind of out of place. He’d always been able to resist sizing himself up against his fellow gymrats, but the guys here were…well…massive. They must have been on steroids or something, but he never dared ask–not that he had a chance. The place was one giant clique, and he was on the outside of it, the other lifters always looking at him and laughing, which just made him feel self conscious.

It didn’t help that the lifters all looked like they had popped out of the same mold. Shaved heads, furry bodies, tattoos all over, usually working out shirtless. Nate wasn’t ashamed of his body, but he just didn’t fit in. Still, the owner of the gym was nice enough, and so one day he broached the topic.

“Hey,” Nate asked, “What’s the deal with all those guys?”

“Oh, they’re all Gold members is all–they take themselves pretty seriously.”

“Gold membership?”

“Oh, for serious lifters–you have to be sponsored by two other Gold members though to qualify,” the owner said, and then left, and Nate shrugged and went to leave, but then thought better of it, and walked over to the Gold members and decided to try and make some friends. Much to his surprise, they weren’t too mean at all, and they invited him out for drinks that evening. Of course, when the roofied him, and he woke up tied to a bed with a dildo up his ass, he realized they had other plans.

“So you want to be a Gold member?” the owner said, looming over him and laughing, “We don’t have any openings except for one–our club sex pig. Still you got everyone to sponsor you, so congrats! How about we start with the fattening, boys?”

The guys cheered and hooked the tube up to Nate’s mouth, and his new training regimen started. Still, he was a great success–he was a permanent fixture in the Gold Member’s Locker Room three months later, ready to serve.

Commissions are Closed (mostly)

Well, October was a busy month. On top of finding a new place to live, where my husband and I will be moving on December, during the height of holiday season, I also picked up a new full-time job on top of everything else. The commissions have been enough to tide me over bill wise for the last few months, but I really need to pay down some debt, and the job is actually decent, so I couldn’t pass it up.

That said, I now have a whole lot less time to write. This isn’t to say that I’m going to cut back on content here, merely that I am going to have to pick and choose what I am going to spend my time writing, and with a job (and a hefty backlog of commissions I’ve already promised to people) I’m going to stop taking commissions, both long and short ones, until further notice. If you have already paid me for a commission, don’t worry, you’re still on the list, which is as follows:

  • Karwood #1
  • Karwood #2
  • Gunderian
  • Gaynerpig
  • Boreas
  • Rossc and boyn2changes (hiatus)
  • Keto (that last part)
  • Scot158f (the long thing)

If you’re not on that list, sorry, I’m not taking your commission. I’m going to be working through my backlog, and then I actually want to get around to writing some stuff of my own, that I’ve had on the backburner for way, way too long (City of Bears especially). So, sorry to disappoint. I’m sure that in the new year I’ll open up some slots again as I feel like it, but until then, you’ll just have to enjoy what I have to offer.

That said, there are two kinds of commissions I will still be taking. I will still be open for caption expansions, and CYOC chapters (limit of five at a time on those however). So, have a happy Halloween everybody. 

Does he at least do any leather/bear transformations until the most recent chapter? After the fourth it seems he’s just doing feminization stuff.

It’s a lot of musserfags throughout. The best chapters for bear and muscle are:

Or at least those are the ones I like returning to. Onix’s stories and mine definitely aren’t on the same fetish wavelength–the reason I recommend his is because he’s a smart writer, and does muscle growth TF’s better than anyone else I’ve read. That said, he, like everyone else (including me) has his favorite TF’s that recur. Don’t hold it against the guy for the femmy musclemen, in the same way it would piss me off if you held it against me that half my stories ended up with someone shitting themselves. Appreciate his larger story, his world, and his characters (melodramatic though they may be at times) because that’s what his stuff is really amazing at. 

Let’s just say that, since I came out at the age of sixteen, my relationship with my dad has been a bit rocky. Hell, rocky, that’s a joke really, and my coming out to him was more like him discovering my porn stash on the computer and then throwing me out onto the street that same night, after a massive argument. I ended up living with my Grandmother (on my mom’s side) until I was eighteen and could legally do whatever I wanted, and while I’ve spoken to my dad on occasion, I’ve never forgiven him for throwing me out, and he’s never forgiven me for being a fag.

Still, life goes on, right? I managed to scrape through college with a combination of massive loans and a few scholarships, with one year paid by my grandma. She’s always had a sweet spot for me, ever since my mom had passed away when I was ten, and she was the only relative left connected to my mom. She’d always tell me that she had something else to give me, but she wasn’t particularly rich, so I never knew what she meant, until she was diagnosed with cancer and moved into hospice, and she gave me the wish powder. “It can do whatever you want it to do, but only three times in your life. Use it wisely–use it justly.”

Those were her last words to me, now in my mid 40’s. What was I going to do with it? I didn’t know until my father didn’t even bother to show up for the funeral, and then I knew what my first wish had to be. By then, my father and I could speak and even be in the same room, so long as nothing unsavory came up. I paid him a visit, powder in hand, and sprinkled a bit of it into his pipe while he was out of the room for a few moments, and then sat back and watched.

So, what do you think of my new pipe slave? He’s a sexy one, isn’t he? Pretty kinky too. Sure, he still remembers his old life, and goodness, when we’re alone and I give him permission to speak, he’s generally livid, but I don’t let him vent for long. After all, I’d rather see his smoke a pipe, or suck my cock–justice sure can be sweet sometimes, eh?

Stressed didn’t even begin to cover it. Cade was trying to freelance with three different websites, each of them looking for several articles a week. His girlfriend was threatening to break it off with him if they weren’t engaged by the end of the month. One of his bosses still hadn’t cut him a check for his last article, and he needed that to make sure the bills were paid. So yeah, stressed didn’t even begin to cover it, and he wasn’t entirely sure how he was going to work his way out of the corner he found himself in. Hell, he’d even started smoking just to keep away the terror and crying spells he’d drifted into over the course of the week.

Then he heard the knock at the door to his apartment, and nearly jumped out of his chair. Who in the hell could that be? He walked over to the door and opened it up, and he found a large squat box sitting outside his apartment wrapped in plain brown paper, and no one else in the hallway who might have delivered it. He brought it inside and unwrapped it, revealing a large box with two beautiful leather boots inside.

He pulled them out, the leather cool and soft against his hand, he felt himself calm down immediately. The voices and shouts of his bosses and girlfriends disappeared from his mind, and he heard the silence in the room, and let out a sigh. He slipped off his shoes and started to pull one of the boots on, but stopped himself. These weren’t meant for him to wear, he realized, they were meant for him to receive sure…but…but not to wear. He set them down on the coffee table, but as soon as they left his hands the voices came back, and he grabbed them again, but it wasn’t enough.

There had to be someone to fill these boots, he realized. Someone who could make all of this go away. Someone he…someone he could serve. Someone who could care for him and give him peace. Then, he was licking the leather and shuddering as he came in his pants for the first time of many in the night, and the next night, he brought the boots with him to a leather bar and set them on a stool, and kneeled in front of them, head bowed. He’d sold his things and abandoned his lease. He’d given away his clothes and opted for a set of leather gear and a collar, and so he waited. Waited for someone worthy of his service to step into them. All he had to do was wait.