I don’t know if you’d want to know this or not but my name’s Julian and whenever I read about him I both blush and laugh. Kind of random of me to tell you but yolo.

Well, I’ve had to use my own name in a story a few times when requested by a commissioner so trust me, I know how it feels.

Dude, “Into the Night,” makes you the Shirley Jackson of suspenseful erotica!

Well, if you thought part one was rough, the next two are gonna freak you out. If you pinned me down, I’d say part three is probably the most disturbing thing I’ve written.

Into the Night of God – Part 1

Commissioned by Anonymous

Part 1 – The Accident

The excerpts that follow were taken from Dr. Nathan Monroe’s personal journal.

***

August 16th, 2012

Just when you think you’ve seen the worst of it, the world surprises you. I mean, as a doctor, I’ve seen some pretty grisly scenes, sure, and ones worse than this I suppose, but still, it’s funny how little things can lead to horrific catastrophes. Patient Z, as I’ll call him (I have to call him that not just because of confidentiality, but we don’t have any way to ID him as of yet, but I’ll get to that) was admitted around 3:30 this afternoon after a car accident on Route 93. One of the farmers out that way reported he’d seen the truck Z had been driving run off the road after hitting his dog. The man had tried to swerve out of the way, apparently, but not soon enough, but even worse than the dog dying, well, he’d crashed hard enough for the truck to burst into flames.

The farmer had seen it happen, and had run inside to call for help, but by the time he’d gotten back out, the flames had swept into the cab. The farmer (I feel bad calling him that, but no one had gotten his name that I’d spoken to about it, so I don’t know it!) had run over and pulled the man out, but not before the unconscious man had caught on fire.

It isn’t pretty, I can say that. The burns cover about forty percent of his body, which, I suppose, could be worse, but most of the damage was incurred at the extremities and his face. I got a look at him today, shortly, and well, it isn’t pretty. I honestly don’t think we’ll be able to save his hands and feet, and even if we did, they’re so damaged he’ll never use them again. Amputation, I think, might actually be best–at least then he won’t have a constant reminder. Well, amputation would be a constant reminder, too, I suppose, but a negative rather than a positive. Is it worse to have something you can’t use, or nothing at all?

Still, funny, isn’t it? You try and do the right thing, you try to miss the dog, and you end up comatose in the hospital, burned all over, about to lose your hands and feet. How fucked up is that? We need to see if we can save his hands and feet first, if not, then amputation will be best, and help get rid of most of the burnt flesh. The face, well, we can probably get a plastic surgeon to fix the worst eventually, but I don’t know. It might heal well enough that it might just scar badly while remaining mostly functional–it’s too early to tell.

On top of all of that, we have no idea who he is. When the farmer got the guy out of the truck, still on fire, something happened to the patient’s wallet, so we have no ID on him at all. And to top it all off, by the time the firefighters and ambulance got there, the car had already exploded. We don’t have details yet, but they can’t even find the license plates. It’s all very strange, actually, but that’s an issue for the police, not for me. To top it all off, he’s in a coma, probably after sustaining some head trauma in the crash, so we can’t ask him either. Still, we’ll know who he is soon enough, once the police investigate, but I’m not looking forward to that phone call. There was no wedding ring, so I hope he wasn’t married, but he’s young enough to still have parents. Gah, how horrible is that, to have this happen to your son? I can’t think about that, it’s too awful. I just have to get him better, or as better as he can be, after something like this.

***

August 20th 2012

Well, as I suspected, in the case of Patient Z, amputation was necessary. The burns were just too extensive, and the tissue is already showing signs warning signs of wet gangrene. As awful as it may be, it saves us the trouble of treating the burns there, so in the long run, it might be better for Z. For his arms, we were able to save most of the forearm, cutting just about the wrist. His legs were worse, and unfortunately, we were forced to disarticulate at the knee. Still, it has made his prognosis better, I believe. The remaining burns are not as severe and appear to be free of infection, which is lucky. Those on his face, aren’t as severe as I first thought, and seem to be healing well. I’m hopeful–now we just need him to wake up, so we can figure out who he is!

Now, leaving work aside for a moment, I submit that I have a date for Friday night! I know, who would have thought that out in this rural shithole of homophobia, I would actually find someone who not only was gay, but who was willing to risk coming out to me? It’s a bit surreal, actually, but not unwelcome. It’s been lonely out here, even if the money is alright. I thought I would be able to handle it, but as you know, it’s been rough.

The guy, as a matter of fact, is the farmer who saved Patient Z–how strange is that? I was checking in on him today, when the farmer (whose name is Jerome, I have finally learned) when he came by, asking about Z’s condition. I updated him on what had happened, and he said he and the police had searched his property for anything that might have helped identify him, but found nothing. He wondered if he’d been driving without plates for some reason, but we both agreed that was the police’s problem, not ours.

Still, he’s surprisingly bright, for a roughneck. Articulate, a nice sense of humor, but definitely a country guy, which as you know, doesn’t really appeal to me. Of course, me being a bit flamboyant cued him into my possible orientation, and while his question was a bit crude, it was nice to know that I wasn’t the only “faggot” around. He isn’t really my type, I must say. He’s a bit older–probably around 40 or so, and a bit heavyset–definitely a bear. Plus, he had a strange smell about him. Not unappealing, I suppose, but I suspect he’s a smoker, which is a definite turnoff for me. A friend would be nice though, and he didn’t seem very romantically interested himself–mostly he sounded lonely, which would be two of us. I’m going over to his house for dinner on Friday though, so wish me luck. Hopefully it won’t be a complete disaster.

***

August 25th 2012

Well, it wasn’t my usual kind of date, but I suppose I could call it a success. It was easy enough to find, I just had to look for the remnants of Z’s accident on Route 93, which is kind of awful. (Z, by the way, hasn’t woken yet, but that’s all I’ll say about that for the moment.) As I’d expected, Jerome is indeed a smoker, but not tobacco–it’s some sort of strange plant he grows himself. Supposedly, or so he claims, it’s a much cleaner smoke than tobacco, something the Native Americans around here used to grow or something, I don’t remember. Actually (and I hate admitting this) I don’t remember a whole lot about the evening. I must have had a bit too much to drink, because the evening is pretty much a blur until morning, when he woke me up, in his bed, with a rough fuck.

Did I mention how hot he is? Fuck, I love that big belly of his, and I never knew that feeling someone that hairy next to you could be so…fucking hot. I mean, I’ve always had a thing for roughnecks, why else would I have moved out to the sticks to work at a hospital like this one? Funny, that never occurred to me before, huh, but it’s true. Anyway, so Jerome fucked me, and to be nice, since he’d made me dinner the night before, I got up and made him breakfast (naked, I might add–I know, I’m such a bad boy) and after we ate, he fucked me again–God, I can’t enough of him. We’ve been sending each other filthy texts all day since I left, and I just can’t stop thinking about him, about how hot he is, about how…how safe I feel with him. He’s the kind of guy who you just…feel like opening up to, you know? The kind of guy who you just innately trust. Still, I need to try and take it slow, these quick burn relationships are the ones I tend to rush into and that bite me in the ass later, so I’m going to hold off as best I can.

***

August 26th 2012

Alright, so this is one of those angry entries, you know, the ones where my hand is shaking, and my face is red, so I’m just going to keep it short, and get it out of my system. So, since my date on Friday ran over into Saturday, I needed to go it Sunday morning to get some work done, which is fine with me, since most everyone is at church anyway, so the whole building was quiet. Z’s room happens to be on the way to my office, and as I was coming down the hallway, I saw Jerome of all people letting himself out of his room.

Weird, right? So I stop him and ask him what he was doing in there, and he tells me he was just checking up on him, which I suppose sounded reasonable enough, but what followed, well, it was fucking inexcusable. He was horny, apparently, because he pulled me into the room (which was really smoky by the way) and proceeded to fuck me right there, up against the wall, in the hospital, in a patient’s room! Fuck, I was so…well, I mean, it was hot, but just so fucking wrong. And…and it was so weird, the entire time, he kept telling me that–fuck, it sounds so rediculous writing it down–telling me that I was his God, and that I should be on my knees worshiping him day and night. How messed up is that? He left, and I just sat in my office, angry for a few hours, before I finally called him and told him off, telling him I never wanted to hear from him ever again.

Look, that’s all I can write, I just can’t deal with this right now.

***

October 23rd, 2012

I admit, that I had been losing hope in Z’s case, hardly anyone wakes up after a week, much less two months, but finally, he’s out of it, for better or worse. Still, I must say that while I expected there to be some cognitive issues…the symptoms he’s presenting with are rather strange, to say the least. On the positive side, he seems to have had no loss as far as his cognitive abilities go. He still is capable of processing language, of speaking, of visual and spatial reasoning, and yet…well, there’s the amnesia for starters. We still have no idea who Z is, and it turns out that he has no idea who he is either. The amnesia seems to be centered around the accident itself, as we expected, but beyond that, appears to be rather localized around his identity and his own, personal past. Nothing about what he was doing, where he was traveling to, where he was from, family, friends, just all of it gone.

Still, that’s not the strangest thing. I went in to see him, and as soon as I came close, he…started screaming in terror. Just, abject terror, and tried to worm his way off the bed as best he could, and the nurses were forced to restrain him as best they could. I left the room, and he calmed down a few minutes later, garbling something about “the night man” and “smoke.” Apparently something about me had scared him half to death, I’m not sure what. The nurses gave him some meds to calm him down, and when I entered next, I was able to explain his situation. Once he got calm, he was able to tell me that I smelled like “the night man,” which I don’t understand at all, but he was kind enough to tell me that I wasn’t him, and I promised I’d do my best to keep him safe. I know, silly right? But he seemed relieved.

Regardless, my explanation didn’t go as well as I’d hoped. When I tried to explain what had happened to him, and about his amputations, he refused to believe that he had ever had hands or feet. How strange is that? I have no idea what to make of it–I’m not a psychologist, and there isn’t one at the hospital capable of dealing with this kind of psychosis. I’m going to recommend his transfer to a larger hospital. We can deal with his injuries, but his mental stability really worries me.

***

October 24th, 2012

Well, just when I thought yesterday couldn’t get stranger, I get home from the hospital, and what should I find on my doorstep? Flowers. From Jerome. I mean, I haven’t heard from him in weeks, not since I blew up at him after we fucked at the hospital that day. Still, it was a nice, if belated gesture, and I don’t know what kind of flowers they were, but they smelled just like him, and like that smoke of his, and I admit, I got a bit of a hard on thinking about him again. I didn’t feel like talking to him really, but I brought them in and put them in some water, not wanting them to go to waste, and that evening, my phone rang, and it was Jerome.

I thought about not picking it up, but he had sent me the flowers, so I thought I could at least hear what he had to say. We talked for I don’t know how long–hours? And I missed him so much, that when he told me to come over, I couldn’t stop myself, and over at the farm, on the porch, I got down on my knees, and told him how sorry I was for how I’d acted. I don’t know what had come over me, to be honest, he was so sexy, I was the one who’d begged him to fuck my ass in the hospital–he hadn’t forced me to do anything. How could I have forgotten that? Still, he was good enough to forgive me, but he refused to fuck me until after I’d licked his whole body clean (which was so fucking hot, especially his sweaty ass crack, fuck, I’m getting hard just thinking about it) and god, if it wasn’t the best fuck of my life after that.

I think I love him. No, I know I love him, my heart just aches being away from him like this, and at home, I just smell the flowers he sent me all the time and think of him, and how much I love him, how much I want to worship him, and how I’d do anything for him anything he asked me to, because he’s so smart, way smarter than me. I mean, he knew just what to do about Z, didn’t he? He gave me this list of drugs to prescribe, but I can’t call him Z anymore. Jerome’s right, Z’s a stupid name, I should call him Bruin, like he does. Isn’t that a good name for a dog? But anyway, he knew just what to prescribe for him, and I called the hospital and withdrew my transfer request because of course we can treat him here, just like Jerome says.

He just sent me a text! He’s horny and wants my ass–I have to go, I’ll write more later.

***

December 6th, 2012

Gosh, has it really been that long since I last wrote something? Still, I have been really busy. Jerome’s been putting me to work on the farm, and it’s getting close to harvest time, not to mention all of the cooking, cleaning and fucking I’ve been doing for him. Still, it’s a small price to pay. The only patient I’ve had any time for is Bruin, and he’s really starting to improve, I think. Those drugs Jerome suggested I prescribe have really helped his clarity of mind–he’s remembering more and more these days, the poor pup. What an awful thing, to be in a hit and run like that? Very traumatic, especially for a puppy dog like him. Sure, he still has some issues, like he keeps forgetting he’s a pup, and thinks he’s human. How silly is that? But he’s doing a lot better. Jerome thinks we’ll be able to take him home soon. Still, I wish I could do something about his night terrors–nothing seems to be working. His screams are waking up the entire hospital at times, but I just don’t know what to do.

Actually, I haven’t been at the hospital very much lately, because I’ve been getting these splitting headaches whenever I try and do my work. It seems like anytime I try to do something more complicated than cooking Jerome dinner or washing his clothes, my head starts beating itself against a wall. It means I can’t do a lot of stuff I used to enjoy, like read my medical journals or do crosswords and stuff like that, not that I really have much time anyway. When I tell Jerome about the headaches he just tells me I should smoke more–oh, did I tell you about that? Jerome got me hooked, I admit it, and the stuff is nice. Still, I don’t think it’s the same plant Jerome smokes, or if it is, it just makes me feel stupid and silly and really horny when I smoke it. He tells me that it’ll help with the headaches but it doesn’t do much at all really.

Work, with the headaches, has gotten really difficult, but someone else is going to have to deal with it this weekend, because I’m moving in with Jerome! Isn’t that exciting? I already got rid of most of my things–Jerome said I didn’t need them anymore, and he was nice enough to talk to the bank about settling my mortgage, so I’m all set. Not that I haven’t been living over there nearly full time anyway, but it’ll still be nice to make it official.

***

December 11th, 2012

Fuck.

Naturally, I take a weekend off, and everything goes to hell. Thank god Jerome was there, or I don’t know what would have happened.

I’m getting ahead of myself. So I spent the weekend moving my things to the farm, so I wasn’t at the hospital. However, from the sound of things, Bruin’s night terrors and screams only got worse, and apparently, one of the night nurses just went and lost it, took a scalpel, and tried to cut his throat. I mean, thank God Jerome was there, watching out for Bruin, or he might have died. The police took him into custody, but our poor pup–I don’t know if he’ll be able to bark, but he certainly won’t be speaking anymore. Jerome sounds hopeful, and that makes me feel good, but still, how crazy is that?

Jerome wants us to bring him home, and I agree. He’ll be safest home with us, taking care of him. Besides, he’s Jerome’s pup after all, where else would he go?

But didn’t he I don’t, it’s another headache coming on

Hurt so gotta stop

Fuck, oh my god, it’s never been this bad,

I…I remember, he’s not…not a pup? But then

Don’t know how long I can keep fighting it, so much pain. He’s not a pup, I think Jerome’s done something. I tried to stop smoking but it hurts so much, I feel like I might pass out any moment. I hear his truck, he’s coming in, I have to stop him, I have to stop this, but hide this first, where he won’t find it, and hope I’m strong enough.

***

[Undated]

Jerome was right I was thinking too hard. I’m just a stupid slut after all just his stupid slut and Bruin is his pup and of course Bruin needs to come home with us. Well, I’m not just any stupid slut, I’m his stupid slut. Jerome own’s my faggot ass, or at least that’s what he says to me when he’s fucking me. He fucks me so hard, I love it when he fucks me. I love it when anything fucks me, that’s what Jerome said, Jerome said my ass exists to be fucked, and it’s a shame that such a smart guy had to be attached to such a fantastic ass but that’s not a problem anymore I’m just a dumb slut like Jerome wants me to be yep just a dumb slut no more headaches for me just fucking and sucking and doing chores for Jerome because I love him I love him so much diary I can’t tell you because it’s like as big as the sky.

I’m not supposed to be writing in you by the way so this has to be our little secret. Jerome says I can’t have any secrets that I can’t tell him anything but I haven’t told him about you, and we’ve been good friends for so long I’m sure one little secret won’t hurt, right?

I can’t wait for Bruin to come home. Jerome says he’s been watching over him all nights and getting him started on his obedience training but that when he’s home the two of us will make him a proper puppy, and eventually Bruin will fuck me isn’t that exciting!!! Jerome can’t wait for Bruin to try on the paws Jerome made for him, I saw them and they look perfect Bruin will walk around just like a real doggy, and Jerome can’t wait to teach Bruin how to fuck me he wants all the animals to fuck my hole he said and I can’t wait because I love to get fucked I’m practicing now diary on a big dildo Jerome just gave me it feels so good I’m gonna go practice now and hide you again where Jerome won’t find you. Goodbye diary I don’t think I’ll have much time to write again but I’ll keep you safe I promise. And Bruin too. I promised him too, can’t forget that too. Ok I have to hide you now, gotta keep you safe. I’ll try to write soon I swear.

Are you cool with us answering with more than one option for your interactives? Just curious.

Yes, I just divide your vote evenly between the options.

Tim Jr’s de-punking takes things in a different direction than usual. These types of “guys gone mild” TFs are rarer than others–mostly the stodgy guy finds himself turning INTO a badass skinhead (e.g. Julian)! You talk a lot about the psychology behind various aspects of transformation fiction, and I was wondering what you might think is the drive behind an interest in these types of TFs as opposed to ones that seem a little more taboo.

Hmm…well, I can’t really speak to individual psychology, because the personal reasons someone finds something erotic is pretty hard to pin down. What I can discuss is how the aspects of the rebel-to-stodgy TF fit in with various fetishes, and that might help clarify a little bit.

So, the specific details in a Rebel-to-Stodgy or (R-to-S) TF line up best with age progression, I think, and the two share quite a bit in common. Part of the appeal of AP, one of it’s erotic triggers if you will, is that growing older cuts the aging character off from possible lives. By aging, it’s no longer possible for that person to do certain things or be certain types of people–losing that control is part of the eroticism of AP, especially extreme variations, into middle age and beyond. (Sidebar: AP into ages younger than this is different, actually, especially if the character starts as a teenager or younger. There, growing older, into one’s 20’s or 30’s is seen as a burgeoning of possibilities, not a restricting of one’s possible lives.) The R-to-S has that same sort of feeling–that control has been ripped from the character, and that their life is now predetermined, but in one way it’s even more extreme, because AP skips ahead, while R-to-S forces the person to live every moment of their now calcified life.

In addition, there are a few similarities R-to-S has with forced-into-slavery narratives. They both involve forcing someone into a societal role which is alien to them, requires them conforming to extreme social rules and standards of dress and behavior, generally in a submissive role. It’s just that instead of leather, rubber, shaving, and body modification, the tools of slavery in R-to-S are three piece suits, cigars and pipes, and dinner manners. Still, the underlying format and eroticism is the same, believe it or not. So, if that turned you on and you weren’t quite sure why, it’s probably one of these two similarities.

The latest Amnesia game “A Machine For Pigs” is gay sex away from being exactly something you’d write.

I’d kind of figured that, from some of the stuff I’d been hearing about the game. I may or may not play it though–atmospheric horror creeps me the fuck out. I end up feeling a little too immersed, if you know what I mean.

Gonna be cleaning out my inbox here for a little bit–if there’s anything you want answered, now’s the time!

Interactive – Transformation Contagion #6

“Hey Dad, I’m gonna go hang with the guys at the park!” Joey said, waving goodbye to his bearish father standing naked and flaccid in the living room. Joey could still feel his dad’s cum leaking out his ass and into the back of his pants, but it felt…good. He can’t believe he’d never had his father fuck him like that before. He itched his body, which still hadn’t finished putting on hair–he was only seventeen, and yet he already had as much hair as a man twice his age–with a full beard to boot–just like his dad. Joey got on his skateboard and went to the park a few blocks down from his dad’s house, where he met up with his two friends, Tim and Clyde, not knowing that the contagion would affect each of his friends, turning them into the perfect sons for their own fathers.

Tim–or Timothy Jr. as his father, and only his father, called him–begged off early, saying he had to get home for dinner. This struck the other two as odd–after all, Tim usually did everything he could to avoid going home to his strict, overbearing dad. From a young age, Timothy had been groomed by his father to follow him into the white collar business world, but as soon as he could, Tim had rebelled against him every step of the way–getting a mohawk, piercing his ears, learning to skateboard, flunking his classes on purpose and refusing to apply for colleges. Still, by the time he reached his father’s large mansion, he was looking rather different.

Instead of patched jeans and a ratted vest and hardcore metal t-shirt, he was wearing a three piece suit and tie, and riding a sensible bike instead of a skateboard, his piercings and mohawk gone. He parked the bike in the garage in the space his father had provided for him, and then went inside, ten minutes early for dinner, as his father preferred. His dad, a rather portly man in his fifties was already in the dining room, and as they ate, discussing Timothy Jr.’s college applications and planned summer internships, he began to look even more like his father, even packing on a substantial gut and double chin, his hair mimicking his father’s slicked back cut. After dinner, they retired to the study where Timothy Sr. smoked his pipe and drank his whisky, while he pumped load after load of cum down his wonderfully obedient son’s throat and ass, before sending him off to bed early.

Clyde left the park last, and he also wasn’t thrilled at the prospect of going home to his dad, Barry. He lived with him in a trailer park on the edge of town, barely subsisting on his father’s disability checks, even though Barry was perfectly capable of working, as far as Clyde was concerned–he just was lazy as fuck. He spent his days lounging in front of the TV, unwashed and mostly undressed, jacking off to porn, and always with a beer in his hand. He was dumb as shit, too, and Clyde was doing his very best in school to make sure he could go off to college and never return to this his father’s shitty trailer.

By the time he’d gotten home though, Clyde already had a very different viewpoint on life. He’d traded in the goodwill preppy clothes for some of his fathers old workwear–he loved wearing his dad’s old clothes, just the scent of Pa around him got his cock so damn hard. He spit a wad of tobacco juice on the ground and grinned, the ambition and intellect draining out of him. He’d dropped out of school two years ago–who needed it? he could just live with his Pa, where he belonged. He went inside and gave his Pa a deep kiss, and then started licking his fat body clean, relishing the musk, and then drank down his dad’s beer flavored piss, before ordering a few pizzas. He fed most of them to his Pa–he had to keep his dad’s fat belly growing after all–and then took his place between his legs, massaging Pa’s huge gut, and sucking down his cum and piss into the wee hours of the morning.

***

What happens next?

1. Timothy Sr. goes to work the next day, and discovers that everyone below him on the corporate ladder is impossibly submissive to him, and everyone above him fiercely dominant.

2. Pa and Clyde’s sloth spreads through the trailer park in a matter of hours, and then worms it’s way into the gated, suburban neighborhood on the other side of the hill, where it is decidedly less welcome.

3. The twins still have time to go visit that young professor of theirs and turn him into their elderly, pipe-smoking grandpa.

4. Trent still can get to practice and bottom for the entire team and the coaches, turning them all into stupid, fuck-hungry tops.

5. Julian leaves Art at his house as his new dildo, and decides he needs to stock the house with a few more slaves. He decides to modify the next person he sees into a urinal for the bathroom.

What would you all like to see?

Birthday Boy

Commissioned by Anonymous

Someone commissioned me to expand this caption from a few months ago. Remember, if you have a favorite caption you’d love to see me expand, I’m still open for commissions!

***

Oliver felt his head come back to him slowly, as he tried to remember what had happened to him. He’d been coming home from work late, on his usual route, when a van had pulled up next to him, and some men had jumped out, drugging him and dragging him inside the van. His head hurt and was very foggy, but he shook himself awake as fast as he could, and got his bearings–but that didn’t help make sense of what had happened.

He was in a small room which had been decorated to look like a baby’s nursery, all bright blues, toys in every corner, and he was in a massive crib, on his knees, with plastic handcuffs holding his wrists to the bars. He was wearing some ludicrous outfit too–a full fleece onesie with his hands mittened so he couldn’t even grab anything, and as he struggled, he realized he had something else on underneath that–a diaper. “What the–what the fuck is this?” he shouted, “Let me out of here, you sick fucks!”

He struggled for a few more minutes, and then he heard a click of a lock and the door opened, and in stepped a massive bear of a man. He was probably in his fifties or maybe even his sixties, and something about him, maybe it was his smiling, beaming face, or his fuzzy beard, he just looked…sweet and kind, and like someone Oliver might have wanted to meet in any other situation than this one. “Hows the baby today? It’s your birthday today! Isn’t that exciting? How does baby like his birthday outfit? I think you look super handsome in it.”

“What the hell, let me go man, come on…” Oliver said, pulling at the cuffs again, but the big man grabbed his wrist hard enough for it to hurt, and he froze.

“Now, now, daddy can’t have his newest baby boy getting out on his first birthday, now can he?” Daddy said, “No, we have to keep you secure for a little while, until I can trust you to stay in your crib like a good baby.”

“I’m not staying in here asshole, let me out, let me–” he said, but the man pulled out a big pacifier and stuffed it in Oliver’s open mouth and strapped it around the back of his head so he couldn’t spit it out.

“Babies aren’t supposed to talk like adults, you know. I think this’ll keep you quiet until you’re talking more like yourself,” the man said, and then walked over to a massive TV on the wall across from where Oliver was handcuffed to the crib, “Now, I can’t play with you until a bit later, so we’ll just have to keep you occupied with the electronic babysitter for now, eh little boy? And I have just the show for a little baby like you to watch, I’m sure it’ll keep your attention.”

He turned on the television, and the bright cheery colors of some toddler’s TV show came on, and then the man gave Oliver a forced peck on the cheek and left the room. Alone again, Oliver renewed his struggles for a few minutes before he tired himself out again, and without really thinking about it, he started watching the show on the big television. It was so big that he couldn’t really avoid it after all, and it turned out to be really soothing, actually. The show was simplistic and relaxing, and the music sounded like Mozart, but a bit too quiet to hear clearly, and without realizing it, he started sucking on his pacifier, his eyes glazing over as they focused on the TV, and then suddenly, it shut off.

He shook his head, trying to clear it, and realized he must have dozed off while watching the show, or something. It was obvious that some time must have passed, because his legs were asleep from staying the same position, and he just ached. He looked over and saw that Daddy had turned off the TV, and was coming over to the crib where he was. “Well birthday boy? How are you doing? Did you enjoy the show so far? You’ve been watching for a few hours now. I bet it’s time for a diaper change.”

Diaper change? Oliver had forgotten he was wearing a diaper, and his cheeks flushed as he felt the cold sensation around his groin–had he pissed himself while he was watching the show? How could he have done that? How had he not even noticed it happening? He tried to keep Daddy from undoing his onesie and checking, but it was obvious what had happened, but Daddy just beamed. “What a good boy, going pee pee in his diaper just like he should. Still, no poop yet though. That’s ok, you’re a very good boy for going pee pee just like Daddy wants.”

Oliver tried to fight back as Daddy undid the handcuffs, but he felt so weak for some reason, like he just couldn’t get his hands and feet to do what he wanted. In the end, while he fought as best he could, the big man managed to undo Oliver’s onesie, change his diaper, and get him sitting up in the crib, before removing Oliver’s pacifier.

“Pwease,” Oliver immdediately begged, “Pwease Daddy, please just let me go, I don’t like it here, I’m scared.” After Oliver spoke, he realized that he’d called the big man Daddy, and that…that he thought of his as Daddy too. His Daddy, his big, important, amazing Daddy who he…he loved? No, no that so wrong, what was going on? “Pwease, I won’t tell anyone, I just wanna to go home.”

“Silly baby, you are home. You’re home here with Daddy, safe and sound. Now, here’s baby’s bottle, drink it all down like a good boy.” Daddy shoved the nipple of the bottle between Oliver’s lips, and while he told himself he wouldn’t drink it, for some reason as soon as the nipple was in his mouth, he couldn’t help but suck on it, and it did taste…kind of good. It was milk, but it had some other, slightly medicinal tang to it, but with his Daddy urging him on, he drained the whole thing, and the warm solution left him feeling full, and a bit groggy.

“That’s a good boy, you like being a good boy for Daddy, don’t you?”

Oliver felt himself nod, and agreeing with his Daddy sent a surprising jolt of pleasure through him, and his cock got hard in his clean diaper. He blushed, and was thankful his Daddy couldn’t see what had happened–that would have been embarrassing. Still, he was sleepy–it was hard even keeping his eyes open. He slumped over in the crib, fighting against sleep as long as he could, but Daddy turned on the music from the TV show again, and it was so soothing, so comforting, he couldn’t help but drift off almost immediately.

He woke up hours later feeling…good. Relaxed and happy and just…at ease. Oliver couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept so nicely, and he rolled over, feeling the shit he’d packed into his clean diaper during his nap squish around, but even that felt kind of good. He’d been a good boy, filling his diaper with poopoo like daddy wanted, and he’d even peed too. Daddy would be happy when he came in to check on him, he just knew he would. He loved making Daddy happy, he loved seeing that bearded face smile, it made him feel so good, and made his pee pee hard. Just thinking about, his pee pee was hard even.

He humped the floor of the crib a couple of times before Oliver realized what he was doing, and what he’d been thinking. He snapped out of it and rolled over, disgusted that he’d apparently lost all control of his pissing and shitting for some reason. Still, he had to get out of here. If he could just find a weapon, or something to fight Daddy off with…but he didn’t want to hurt Daddy…did he? He shook his head, and pushed himself up onto his hands and knees and then…then nothing.

He looked up, and the rim of the crib was so high–how could he get up there? He could…stand? He tried pushing himself up onto his feet, but it was like his body had forgotten every position other than crawling. He managed to make a little progress by gripping the bars of the crib which helped him balance, but he was too weak to pull himself over. He was just a little baby anyway, he needed to stay safe in his crib. If he got out, Daddy would be sad, and he didn’t want Daddy to be sad and disappointed in his little baby, did he?

What was happening to him? He felt so strange. His thoughts felt like they were pushing their way through some sort of thick muck, pushing back against something he couldn’t even sense, something that was crushing the life out of him. He was just…just so scared, and he didn’t know what was happening, and then he was crying and bawling as loud as he could. He wanted Daddy, he wanted Daddy more than anything. Daddy would make him feel better, Daddy would know what to do.

After a couple of minutes, sure enough the door opened and Daddy stepped through, cooing at him, and he hugged Oliver close, patting him on the back and whispering softly in his ear until he calmed down. “There there little baby, what’s the matter? Do you need your diaper changed?”

“Ya Daddy, I went pee pee and poopoo, but I scared Daddy, what wrong wit’ me?” Oliver said, not quite able to get the words to come out of his mouth right.

“Oh, that’s ok baby, I’ll just get you cleaned up, alright?”

“But I scared, Daddy.”

“Sush,” Daddy said, pulling Oliver into a tight hug, “I’ll keep you safe, ok? You just focus on being a good baby for me, and then everything will be alright, you’ll see.”

Oliver nodded, still crying a little, but he started sucking on his thumb, and that made him feel better. It felt good to just…suck, comforting, like Daddy. He laid still as Daddy undressed him and changed his diaper, congratulating him on going poo-poo like a good baby, and seeing how proud his Daddy was of him, Oliver felt his peepee get hard, and a little too late he realized that his daddy could see it.

“Uh oh,” Daddy said, looking down, “It looks like someone’s gotten a little excited. That’s ok, but we’d better diaper you up in case you have an accident, right?” Daddy diapered Oliver back up, his peepee staying hard the entire time, and he felt such an odd mix of awkwardness, embarrassment and happiness that he nearly started crying again.

When he was all set, Daddy decided it was time for Oliver to have some playtime, and Daddy let him out of the crib. Oliver immediately looked up at the door handle, but it seemed…so far away, and he had no idea what might be on the other side. That was scary. He was safe in here with his Daddy, why would he want to leave? He had a very fun afternoon playing with his daddy, stacking blocks and then knocking them over, and they even played with dolls for a little bit in a big dollhouse Daddy showed him, where two big daddy dolls lived with their big baby doll.

“But where’s the Mommy?” Oliver asked, searching for the other doll.

“Silly baby, there isn’t a Mommy, you know that. Daddy’s take care of big babies just fine. You do like having a Daddy, don’t you?”

“Yes!” Oliver shouted, and threw himself at his Daddy, hugging him, “I love you Daddy,” Oliver said.

“I love you too, baby,” Daddy said into Oliver’s ear, and felt his Baby give a shudder against him, and Oliver pulled away, redfaced. That had felt so strange, his pee pee had gotten hard, and then, it had peed something into his diaper in big spurts, but it wasn’t pee…

“Did Baby have an accident again?” Daddy asked, and Oliver nodded, letting his Daddy change his diaper again, and after that play time was over. Daddy gave him another bottle to drink, and turned the TV on again before leaving, and Oliver sat in his crib, watching the TV, sucking on his thumb and drinking his bottle like a good Baby.

There was something strange going on, something wrong with all of this, but Oliver couldn’t get his thoughts in order. Every time he did, they’d just sink out of his grasp or scatter, and every time he tried, it was like there were even fewer pieces than before. Still, as he watched the TV, the gibberish the characters had been speaking was starting to become clear, and everything they said was true.

…feels so good to be a Baby. You love your daddy very much, more than anything. Daddy makes your pee pee hard. It feels good having a dirty diaper. Having a dirty, filthy diaper makes your pee pee hard. It feels good to cum in your diaper. It feels good to be dumb. You’re just a dumb baby. You can’t talk. You can’t walk. You’re just a dumb, horny, dirty baby, and you love it…

As he watched, Oliver felt poo flood into his diaper again, and he peed too, but it didn’t scare him–it felt good. In fact, it made his pee pee hard again, and he started rubbing the front of it with his mittened hands until he moaned loudly and felt his body spasm. The same thing that had happened when his Daddy hugged him earlier happened again, and he shot a load of special pee into his diaper again.

“Pee feel goo goo…” Oliver said, and shoved his thumb into his drooling mouth. Daddy would be coming in soon, and he’d change baby’s dirty diaper, but he’d enjoy it for a little while longer first…and maybe…maybe he’d rub his pee pee a few more times. Slowly, Oliver’s mind dwindled until all of his doubts disappeared, and he managed to cum in his diaper two more times before his Daddy came back in and changed him. He was happy to see that in the baby’s empty eyes all of his intellect had disappeared, and as soon as his daddy set him back in the crib and given him his bottle, little Oliver sucked it down, cooing and giggling as he watched the TV set, the final bits of programming implanting themselves into his ruined mind, ensuring that he would remain a baby for the rest of his life. Tomorrow, he’d be put up for adoption, and after some personalized conditioning, ensuring that the new fathers would get exactly the kind of baby they wanted, he would be shipped off to his new home, where he’d make his new family very, very happy–daddy was sure of it.

Interactive – Transformation Contagion #5

Art was still looking out the window, trying to figure out what was going on with his neighbors and first targets, when he heard a voice behind him, “Fuck, what are ya doin’ here, cunt?”

Art spun around and found himself face to face with Julian, who’d just stepped out of his room. This close to the kinky skinhead, Art could get a much better look at the piece of skintrash he’d made, and he was getting turned on again, when he yelped, feeling a sudden pain in his nose. He raised his hand to it and felt a thick horseshoe hanging from his septum, and just looked at Julian, confused.

“Looks fuckin’ good on ya, pig,” Julian said, and strutted over, “Think you need some more though.” Julian smashed his face into his, kissing him, and biting him? No, they weren’t bites, they were piercings, and he lost count of them by the time Art managed to shove Julian away and stumble back against the window. “Nice,” Julian said, smirking, “Fucking face full a metal, fuckin’ awesome.”

Art spun around and found his reflection in the mirror, and sure enough, his face was, almost literally full of metal…and more. mostly in was piercings, but stranger than that even. He had…holes in his cheeks, and…he could see his teeth through them. He opened his mouth to scream, and saw that his tongue was pierced as well and forked down the middle–split right in two. But the holes in his cheeks, they needed…something. He reached into the pocket of his pants and found two cigars there, and salivating already, he shoved one in each of his cheekholes, holding them in place with his teeth, and lit them. The cigars were big enough to plug the holes solid, letting him inhale smoke from both, and exhale the smoke in a plume out his nose.

“Fuck that’s hot,” Julian said, and grabbed Art’s hand, “Get it here, I wanna fuck.”

Art was dragged along, his head clouding with smoke, and it felt like he was just growing stupider. Still a fuck sounded good, yeah, he could use a good fuck, especially with a hot skin freak like Julian. He was so fuckin’ hot, a hot fuckin’ piece of meat. From where Julian gripped his hand, tattoos were spiraling quickly up Julian’s arm and across his entire body. The motif, appeared to be smoke, tribal swirls all over his body originating from two massive cigars crossed on his chest and belly, with an identical image on his back. Julian ripped Art’s clothes off and stripped him down, but looked down at the man’s cock, obviously dissatisfied.

“No fuckin’ good, gonna have to do some shit to this, gonna freak you the fuck up,” Julian said, and started sucking on Art’s ball sack, and he felt it just start–growing. In less than a minute, Julian couldn’t even keep it in his mouth, and he just started licking the sack as the silicone Art had injected into it over years accumulated until it was about as large as a watermelon. Apparently satisfied, Julian moved onto his cock, and like his sack, it grew as well, but rather than the soft, cushy silicone of his sack, his cock was stretched and extended with hard, rigid silicone until it was little more than a fourteen inch, permanently rigid dildo covered with his own tattooed skin, with countless pearls inserted under his skin as well.

“Now that’s what I’m talkin’ about,” Julian said, “That’s a fucking cock that I want to ride!”

“Then climb on fucker!” Art said, exhaling a thick stream of smoke out his mouth, his words distorted and twisted by his new tongue, “Split yourself on it like the skintrash you are.”

Julian didn’t need permission though, he was already dropping his jeans and unzipping the back of his rubber body suit, lowering his well stretched hole onto Art’s massive shaft, fucking himself roughly on the new skinpig’s permanently rigid cock, Art enjoying the feeling of smoke coursing through his body as Julian pleasured himself on his shaft. Out in the hallway, the glasses sat on the carpet for a moment and then faded away, their task complete. While Art and Julian enjoyed themselves, however, the other strains of the contagion all spread out of their houses, looking for other people to infect. What happens next?

***

Alright, so here’s the plan. I’ll probably write 5-7 more entries in this story before going back to captions and vignettes. What I’d like to do is see how these four “strains” infect the people in the neighborhood/city/college campus/etc. These strains, however, mutate. So, considering Julian and Art, Art, having been infected, can also spread his infection, but it’s not the same as Julian’s–rather, he makes men that crave anal stimulation. Hope this all makes sense, I’m sure you’ll all figure it out. Now, the choices. Who should we follow?

Walt’s son, newly changed into a hot bearcub by his father, leaves the house to go play with his teenage friends, infecting them so that:

a. all of his friends rapidly age into their fifties, new daddies who gang rape their cub friend.

b. all of his friends become cubs too, but with a variety of different fetishes.
Eric and Charley leave and head for college. Do they:

a. meet with a younger professor, aging him into a pipe smoking grandfather?

b. meet a couple of friends from a fraternity, who become their brothers in real life?
Trent realizes he’s late for football practice, and:

a. he reaches the locker room while the team is still there, and he bottoms for the orgy that follows?

b. he has a meeting with coach about his attendance, which results in some “discipline”.

Feel free to float your own variations and ideas as well, along with your vote. What do you think?