Ah, another satisfying conversation with Gareth on the CB. I haven’t spoken to him for a while–apparently his travels haven’t brought him through my neck of the woods lately, but as soon as he can, he dials into my frequency, begging me to let him shower. It’s been weeks, he tells me, but his fear of water just gets worse. He reeks, he says, but I console him. Surely he must enjoy it, I tell him.

He eventually admits that he does, and soon I have him sniffing his pits and jacking off on the road. He begs me to stop, to let him go, but then he’s back to his usual piggy self. Still, it was a bit unfair for him to never get a shower.

He tried not to listen when I told him to piss himself, when I told him that the only kind of showers he really wants anyway are golden ones from biker gangs and other dirty truckers like himself. He fought for a little, but then he did it–pissed his pants on the road, and came right after. I talked him into two more orgasms before he slipped out of range again, but he’s gonna be plenty soaked from here on out. Dang, I should’ve had him swing by my place–now I have a hard-on and it ain’t gonna suck itself. Oh hold on, there’s Clyde. That pig’ll do anything for a cock in his cunt–I’ll meet him out at Indian Crest and give him a good fucking instead, and maybe ram my fist up there for good measure.

200 Followers!

Thanks all, for following me, even when there’s a dearth of content (like now). It isn’t that I’m not working on stuff–just that, well, none of it is done. I should have some stuff to post soon, however, I’ve got a decent backlog of photo captions–so how about a week of those to tide you all over, and give you something to enjoy in the meantime? Thanks again–I mean it.

Metawriting #5 – Character Motivations

Alright, it’s been a little while since I wrote one of these entries, so if you want a refresher, here are some links to the previous four episodes in the series.

#1 – The Point of Intersection

#2 – Me Versus Them

#3 – Dominance and Submission

#4 – A Question of Fetish

***

If someone were to ask me what I think the most common flaw in MC/TF stories is, I would probably say that would be character motivations, that is, a good story will give us some sort of reason why the characters are doing the things they are doing–but more often than not, most stories skip over this entirely, or provide us with one of several well worn tropes as a superficial motivation to drive a plot. I, certainly, am plenty guilty of this in some of my stories, especially in my shorter/earlier works. Furthermore, it’s also worth noting that stories can still be enjoyable without solid motivations for its characters, but motivation is what separates a decent story from a great one–and so still is something worth striving for.

So, why is motivation important? Certainly this is a question relevant to all fiction, and it generally arises in more mainstream discussions concerning the difference between plot-driven and character-driven stories, with the latter generally regarded as superior to the former. In plot-driven stories, characters are generally reactionary–things happen, and the characters leap in response to the various events at hand. Motivations here are generally painted in broad strokes, and can often be reduced to “I need to survive these events,” or “I need to protect some X from these events.” There’s little room for characters to grow or become more than dolls being manipulated by the author. On the other hand, character-driven stories contain events which are set in motion by the characters in order to bring about some sort of targeted desire. This desire, i.e. their motivation, can be far more varied and precise if the character is actively pursuing something, rather than reacting to events beyond their control. It allows for deeper, more sympathetic characters, and can accommodate a wider variety of themes and genres than plot driven stories.

Now, depending on the type of MC/TF story one is writing, different problems arise concerning motivations. Typically, I would say that “sub” stories face one problem, while “dom” stories face a different one. Starting with “sub” stories, their issue is that the focus character, who is being dominated by another, is often inherently passive and reactionary, and as such, often impossibly flat and boring, eventually becoming little more than a stand-in for the reader to fill on their own, with themselves or someone else. While not necessarily bad, this kind of story tends to be forgettable. The easiest way to correct this is to give the character a chance to react and resist the change, generally through some sort of redemptive test, or weaknesses in the dom character’s powers–however, this does little to change the underlying problem, which is that the character’s motivation is still nothing more than mere survival. The best sub stories manage to instill some sort of motivation in their victim beyond this, but this is far from easy.

“Dom” stories don’t have this problem, because the primary character is actively changing another. Their motivations are already more interesting by simple virtue of story focus. However, their problem is one of trope–that is, three or four motivations are recycled so often as to render this entire side of the genre monotonous. The worst offenders include:

Revenge – Oh dear god, how many times do I have to read a story about some guy taking revenge against some bully who wronged them in the past? I admit to relying on this crutch in much of my early writing, but have tried to wean myself from it bit by bit. Still, a strong majority of the stories on the NCMC, CYOC and MCstories are revenge motivated. Is there no other human drive that we as authors might be able to tap into?

Make me perfect – The first instinct of the character is to use their new found powers to give themselves the perfect body, the perfect life, and usually the perfect lover. While these stories often attempt to inject conflict with some sort of karmic or ironic twist, generally they are thinly veiled wish fulfillment, and not all that interesting to read.

Megalomania – Why is the dom character transforming people? Because he can. These characters have no depth, other than a sheer dislike for other people’s original minds and bodies. Flat, boring–these stories tend to be little more than vehicles for various fetishes, and only become worse when coupled with revenge fantasies, as they often are.

These tropes are easy, I understand that. They are also fairly universal. However, they have become so overused that I find myself growing exhausted as I read stories which rely on them. The occasional story which utilizes some other motivation is generally a refreshing burst amidst the monotony, whether it be well written or not. And don’t get me wrong, I have used all of these tropes myself in the past, and they generally are my least favorite of what I’ve put out, and which also ought to demonstrate that I have no easy answer to this problem. There is no magic bullet, no solution other than not being lazy.

So then, what would be “better” motivations? Or, at least, motivations which haven’t been used so much as to be rendered entirely stale? Moving beyond these tropes requires going back to the heart of what this genre is about, and seeing what other sorts of motivations we might derive from it’s basic function. MC/TF is, at it’s core, about looking at the world, looking at ourselves, and looking at others, and fundamentally rejecting what we see. In reality, of course, it stops there, but in fantasy, characters can then be given the power to remake the world as they might see fit. In fact, each of those tropes above can be derived from this drive–when we change others because they disgust us we beget revenge, when we render ourselves perfect we harbor something unhappy regarding ourselves, and when we control the world we obviously tend towards megalomania. In fact, it could be the case that these tropes simply “are” these desires distilled alone. So how might we go about refreshing them? I’ll discuss one way in the next essay.

Checking In

Commissioned by Calvinwolf

“Ah, you must be Jared–the airline called ahead, your reservation’s all set up,” the man said, as Jared approached the desk, exhausted, his duffel bag slung over one of his shoulders.

“Yeah, that’s me,” he said, and watched the older man give his body a lecherous once over and he sighed in his head. Looking around at the paint chipped walls and mismatched furniture, the air smelling of stale smoke, he grimaced. This wasn’t exactly where he had expected to stay when the airline told him that his flight had been cancelled, but it was free, at the very least, and considering how many people were probably stuck staying on cots in the airport, in this storm, he might as well count himself lucky.

Still–the owner was obviously a fag–why were they always fags? Granted, Jared’s body attracted a lot of stares, at six foot three and 260 pounds of nearly all muscle, he was an impressive sight, though not impressive enough, apparently. He’d flown here to compete in a regional body building competition, hoping he could finally break into the pro circuit, but he’d placed fifth–netting him no prize money, and he hadn’t gotten a single offer from a sponsor to boot. The flight cancellation was just more crap piled on, especially since that meant he’d probably miss work the next day, and he wasn’t even sure he would be able to make rent this month. Still, he had a room for the night, and he took the key card from the man’s hand.

“You look hungry–would you like me to send something up from the diner to your room for you?” the man said.

“Yeah, I could eat something,” Jared said, “But nothing too fatty, if you can manage it–and heavy on the protein.”

“Of course–gotta keep your figure nice and trim right?” the owner said, and gave Jared a wink which wouldn’t have been creepy, if the man hadn’t also licked his lips while doing so. Feeling a shiver run down his spine, Jared left the lobby and climbed the stairs to his room, letting himself in, throwing his bag on the floor, and falling back on the bed. He was exhausted, and demoralized. That competition was supposed to have been his big break–but now what? Back to training, he supposed, but he just didn’t know what he was missing. Was he just not big enough? Were his poses lackluster? Did he need more definition? He got back up, pulled off his shirt and went into the bathroom, practicing some poses, looking for weak points, checking his symmetry, trying to find the flaws which were apparent to everyone else, but not to him.

The knock on the door surprised him, and he opened it up, finding a rolling tray in front of the door with a tray on it heaped with a collection of food he hadn’t been expecting. There was a pile of french fries, a heaping bowl of mashed potatoes swimming in gravy, two dinner rolls, and the only protein on the plate was a stack of heavily breaded, deep fried chicken. He rolled his eyes–he should have known that a diner like this would have no understanding of what kind of diet he needed to eat, and checking the hallway, he didn’t see the person who had delivered the tray, so he could send it back. Still…it did smell good. He could have the chicken at least, and skip the carbs.

He wheeled the cart in, his stomach growling, the scent of the food filling the room, making him drool a bit. In the back of his mind he thought something was strange, but a new hunger was overwhelming that caution, and he picked up a drumstick, messily devouring it in under a minute, before picking up another piece and slurping that down as well, dropping the clean bones onto the floor, forgotten. When he finished off the chicken, he was so hungry that without thinking about it, he hammered through the fries, potatoes and rolls without much thought, not even bothering to sit down during the entire meal, and when he finished it all, he let off a massive belch. He felt more stuffed than he could remember in recent memory, but he felt…good, and he slumped down onto the bed, relaxed and happy.

Really relaxed, actually, and he couldn’t help but smile as he lay back, just staring at the ceiling, his gut gurgling and growling…and expanding. Shiny with grease, his abs slowly lost their definition as Jared lay there, forming a slight paunch, his pecs softening up, thighs thickening slightly, but Jared was out of it. With one hand, he reached down into his shorts, feeling them tightening up as he grew, and started rubbing his cock, getting it slick with grease as he stroked himself. In his head, he tried to figure out what was going on. He felt so strange, and yet…why stop? It was almost like he was drunk, the room losing focus around him while the sensitivity of his body seemed to increase, warm…thick…and without really thinking about it, he unloaded into his shorts, a wet spot forming on the tight fabric, and Jared let out a soft moan.

He wasn’t sure how long he laid there, lolling about, lost in the pleasure of his earlier gluttony. What finally roused him and forced him upright wasn’t any sense of clarity–it was hunger. More hunger than he’d felt earlier, more hunger than he’d ever felt before. His body had finished processing his enormous meal, and was desperate for a refill. Still, Jared knew he shouldn’t eat more…right? No, that was ridiculous–he had training and competitions to think about…didn’t he? Still, he was having a hard time thinking about them now–the hunger was overwhelming him, his stomach cramping and heaving. He stayed in the room for a couple of minutes, hoping it was just gas, but no, he really was hungry again. He picked the bones from the floor a bit cleaner, but that barely sated him for another minute. Finally, he called the front desk.

“Front desk, how can I help you?” the voice on the line said, which Jared recognized as the same lecher who’d checked him in earlier.

“Hi, this is Jared in room 210. I was wondering if I could get another order of room service.”

The man hmmed and hahed for a moment, before answering, “Well, I’m sorry sir, but we close down for room service at ten. Still, the diner is open twenty four hours, so you’re welcome to come down and we can feed you there.”

“Oh…alright. I’ll do that then.”

“Very good. I’m excited to see how you’re coming along,” the man said, and then hung up, leaving Jared puzzling over his statement for a moment, before hanging up. After ten? He looked at the clock on the wall and saw that it was half past ten–but he’d arrived at the inn and checked in at seven. How had he spent these last three hours–just eating and jacking off? Something stirred in him, and he walked into the bathroom, looking himself over. He could see that he was fatter, sure…but for some reason it was difficult to make himself worry about it. It felt good–he felt good. He found his shirt where he’d thrown it on the floor, and tugged it down as far as he could over his fatter, greasy frame, not even caring that it couldn’t cover his belly entirely, and was already soaking up the grease from his earlier meal. Letting off a mighty belch, he left his room and headed down the hallway, down the stairs and found his way to the diner connected to the lobby.

Even with the storm raging outside, the diner was quite busy, and Jared had the distinct feeling that he had been expected, because as soon as he entered, nearly every set of eyes in the room swung towards him, before returning to their usual spots. The clientele were exclusively men, and the help all seemed…rather chubby. The bartender was in his fifties, dressed in a flannel shirt, overalls and weighed in at close to five hundred pounds. The servers were all younger, but nearly as big. One of them came over and showed him to a booth, returning a moment later with a pint of dark lager.

“The owner sent this as an apology–on the house,” he said, gave Jared a wink, and then he was off again. Jared looked over towards the kitchen and saw that the same man who’d greeted him at the front desk was working the kitchen, gave Jared a wave, and then went back to work. Jared took a sip of the beer, finding in surprisingly dense and heavy, but also quite satisfying, and with more alcohol than he was expecting. Halfway through the glass, he was already feeling lightheaded and drunk, and when the server brought over a plate piled with fries and two double cheeseburgers, Jared didn’t even think before chowing down. Almost as fast as he could eat, more food was brought out, and he found himself in a race to keep up with the volume of food being thrown at him and his relentless hunger and thirst. He lost count of the beers after the sixth one, but he noticed his cock was rock hard in his pants and leaking, his gut growing steadily the whole evening.

He only realized something was wrong when he reached for a new basket of fried chicken and his hand felt only air. In the dim bar light, he saw that the table was a massacre of empty plates, but the rush of food had stopped, allowing him a second to lay back, breathe, and contemplate the excruciating fullness of his belly, though his hunger continued unabated. The server walked by and Jared grabbed at his shirt, “Hey, where’s my food? I’m still hungry,” Jared said.

“Sorry man, the kitchen closes down at two. We open again for breakfast in a few hours though. I’m sure the owner will find something to occupy you until then.”

“Hey! Piggy! Get over here, daddy’s thirsty,” a patron shouted, and the server let out a giggle, bringing the drink over, and as Jared watched, the older trucker pulled the chubby server onto his lap, lifting up the server’s tight shirt and giving his belly a rub. Jared almost couldn’t believe what he was seeing, but looking around, every server was similarly occupied. Even the older bartender was kissing someone across the bar, his shirt missing, the overalls unhooked, and his gut hefted up on the surface for other men to massage. However, a second need was making itself aware for Jared–he had to piss, and soon. He squeezed his way out of the booth and stood up, but the room was spinning, and he felt…so strange.

Before he could fall over, the cook and owner he’d spoken to earlier was there, helping him back into the booth. “Easy there, big boy,” he said, “You’re a little top heavy.”

“I gotta…I gotta piss…” Jared slurred a bit, and tried to get up, but the owner blocked him in, his hands running their way across his now obese frame, rubbing his nipples through his shirt, Jared moaning in pleasure.

“Goodness, doesn’t this shirt hurt? It’s way too small for you, and look at how filthy you’ve gotten it. Why don’t we go ahead and take it off?” Jared, unable to fight back, let the man yank away his tank, his gut bursting free, and looking down, Jared saw that it wasn’t just fat he’d gained, but hair. He’d always been fairly hairy, but he kept himself shaven for competitions, but this looked like he hadn’t shaven in months, not that he was objecting. The feel of the owner’s hands running over his hairy moobs and gut sent shivers to his cock, though he really did need to piss. He tried to protest once again, but the owner pushed him back down, “Relax, Jared, just relax. Everything will be alright if you just relax, and let go…”

The owner leaned in and started kissing Jared, and at first, the ex-bodybuilder thought he was cumming in his pants, but then the stench of piss hit his nose, and he realized he was pissing himself. The humiliation, far from clearing his head, only seemed to fuel his lust, and the domineering owner bore down, driving his tongue deep into Jared’s mouth, and nearly down his throat, twisting and pulling on Jared’s nipples.

His shorts had already turned cold by the time the owner came up for air, Jared now deep in the sway of the food and drink which had been foisted upon him. “Goodness, and now look at the mess you’ve made in my booth. You’re gonna have to clean that up, pig–now get up.” Jared did as the man said, and put up only a meager resistance, as the owner yanked off his shorts and tossed them away, leaving his naked in the middle of the bar, more and more men turning to watch the show progress. The owner bent Jared over, face towards the seat, and said, “Now lick that seat clean, and when you’re finished we’ll work on the floor.”

“No…No I ain’t…gonna drink my piss…” Jared slurred back, but when the owner shoved his head down, he obeyed, following the lecher’s orders, listening to the crowd jeering around them as the owner fondled and groped his frame, kneading his giant ass before slipping a spit lubed finger up his hole. Jared was so relaxed at this point that the sudden intrusion didn’t even hurt, but it did make his hard cock leak a little more, and he started fucking himself on it, moaning while he lapped up his piss, which didn’t taste as bad as he’d expected it to. When he was finished cleaning the seat, he moved down under the table on his own, finding a larger puddle there, the owner pulling his own hard cock out of his pants, and ramming it home after Jared was settled on all fours. Around them, a crowd of men had gathered to watch the new pig be broken in, many of them with their own cocks out, eager for their own turn.

In his head, Jared tried to resist what was going on, though his opposition was weak. The food–there must be something in the food and the beer which had done all of this to him, and even though he knew this was wrong, and that he should fight the owner off and get out of here, he simply…couldn’t. He just stay there, head shoved under the table, his gut still growing, licking the floor clean while some fat old man fucked him roughly, his own cock hard and leaking down his thighs. He shot his first load with a moan, not even touching his own cock, and the owner, amazed at how wonderful of progress his new pig had made in just a few hours, pumped harder, filling Jared’s ass with his seed.

“Alright, he’s all broken in boys–how about we take the pig back up to his room, and have a party?” the owner said, and the men cheered, dragging Jared out from under the table and dragging him through the inn, and up the stairs into his room, Jared lolling about, no longer able to resist. He blacked out as the men pushed him over the bed, and the rest of the night, thankfully, was spent in darkness.

***

He awoke slowly the next morning, a headache pounding in his temples, and let out a moan. Jared was still in the position he’d been left in, bent over the bed, face down, feet on the floor, ass towards the open door, his thighs tacky with cum. He ached all over. His throat hurt, and he stank, and he was exhausted, but he was alive, and awake. He shoved himself up with his hands, finding it much more difficult than he’d expected–he’d been growing again. Apparently his body had finished processing his second meal in the bar, along with his many beers, because any sign of his previous musculature was gone, replaced by soft, billowy fat. It felt strange, and he rolled over, sitting on the edge of the bed, letting out a sharp gasp as he felt something drive it’s way into his ass. Standing up, he reached around and pulled out a beer bottle someone had wedged in there, tossing it aside in disgust.

What had happened to him? His head felt a bit clearer than it had the night before, and he could recall the basics of his night, but none of the details–not that he really wanted to know. He needed to get out of there–he knew that for certain, and he needed to get out fast. However, he quickly noticed a problem–his bag was gone. Just gone. He was naked in a hotel room, with no clothing–what in the hell was he supposed to do? Well, first things first, he struggled up and shut the door, making sure it was locked, before returning to the bed, and sitting down on it. God, it reeked–he could smell piss, and cum, and sweat…his cock was getting hard–no, it couldn’t still be affecting him, could it? He got up and went into the bathroom, hoping a shower could clear his head a bit, but, unsurprisingly, the water had been shut off, and in the toilet…piss. The bowl was full of it, and he could smell it, and he was suddenly so thirsty…

He backed out of the bathroom as fast as he could, suddenly not feeling nearly as safe there as he’d imagined himself to be. He was so hot, and it was becoming hard to ignore how hard his cock was, and then, came the knock on the door. He turned towards it, and a moment later, he heard a voice shout, “Room Service!”

No, he couldn’t eat anything else, he just couldn’t. He looked over at the clock on the dresser–his delayed flight was scheduled to leave in the afternoon, and of he didn’t get out of here…he would miss it. The knock came again–obviously whoever was out there wasn’t going to go anywhere. His best bet would be to just push past them and run for it, naked as he was, at least he would be out of here. He went to the door and opened it–but as soon as he laid his eyes on the tray laden with food right outside his door, he started salivating, and his will left him. The cub who had served him the night before shoved him back into the room, and then wheeled in the cart. “The owner said you would probably be a bit resistant this morning, so he sent me up to make sure you ate everything all up, but I don’t think you’re going to put up much of a fight, do you?”

Jared whimpered a bit, trying to sort out his fear and all of his competing desires, his eyes welling up a bit, but the cub picked a piece of bacon up off the tray and held it up to the now obese bodybuilder’s mouth, watching him swallow it down, unable to help himself. They settled on the bed, Jared now willingly stuffing himself while the cub massaged his frame, encouraging him to let go, twisting his thick nipples, running his hands through his hairy body, and digging into his gunt, twiddling his rapidly shrinking cock, coaxing out several loads which he then spread onto waffles and pancakes, forcing Jared to eat his own seed, the cub occasionally pissing into a glass, giving it to Jared to wash down the food whenever he took too big of a mouthful, but he had Jared just piss himself where he was sitting on the bed. After an hour, the cub spotted the beer bottle where Jared had tossed it, and brought it over, driving it back into the fat man’s ass and watching Jared fuck himself on it, stuffing himself silly, now begging the cub to jack him off again, or give him another glass of piss, which the cub was now fetching from the toilet bowl, having run out of his own.

Hours later, the cart demolished, the cub wheeled it away, Jared laying back on the bed, stuffed to the throat, groaning, mind addled once more. He had to get up–he had to get out of here, right this very moment, or he’d never catch his flight–and then, he’d never be free. He struggled up, quelling the urge to vomit, and stumbled out of the room, using the wall for support as he stumbled naked down the stairs. The door, he could see the door, it was right there, but before he could take a step towards it, the owner came around the front desk and stopped him.

“Ah, Jared–on your way to catch your flight? I thought that meal would incapacitate you for a bit longer, but if you really want to be on your way, so be it. If you just step over here, we can settle your bill and you can be on your way.”

“My…My bill?” Jared said, finding it difficult to understand what the owner was talking about, and fighting the urge to just drop to his knees and suck the older man off, “I thought the airline was paying for it.”

“Well yes, they paid for a night, but there’s still the issue of your room service, and your bar tab to resolve. In fact,” the owner said, looking at his computer, “It looks like you owe an outstanding balance of eight hundred and seventy-six dollars and twenty-three cents. Will that be cash or card?”

Jared just gaped at him. “Eight…I don’t…I don’t have that much–much money,” he said, and realized he didn’t even have his wallet–hell, he was butt naked, standing in a hotel lobby, nearly out of his mind with lust and hunger.

“Oh really? Well that’s too bad,” the owner said, “I guess we’ll just have to get the money out of you some other way…” he said, stepping around the desk, something metallic glinting in his hand. Jared stepped back, but ran directly into both the bartender from the night before and the cub who’d stuffed him earlier, each man grabbing one of his arms–holding him in place. Jared struggled weakly, the owner getting down and giving Jared’s cock a few strokes, until he shot another load all over the carpet and went soft, allowing the owner to secure the chastity device around his cock, locking it closed with a padlock, and pocketing the key. “There, you’re hired! You’re working for me now. Don’t worry, you might pay off your debts someday, if you work really hard, and make me happy,” the owner said, leaning in, leering at Jared, whose face had paled, “Now, how about we show you where you’ll be working?”

Jared tried to fight back, but the three of them dragged him into the diner, and then into the bathroom, where Jared saw three spaces where the urinals should be, but where, instead, two men just as fat and filthy as he was were kneeling, collared and chained to the wall, the room reeking of piss. “We don’t have many positions open at the moment,” the owner said, “So you’re gonna start out working the bathrooms. Don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll absolutely love it in a few days–you won’t be able to imagine doing anything else.”

Jared tried to protest, but the owner shoved him down onto the ground in the third, empty spot and collared him before he could get back up. “You can’t do this–this is illegal. Someone is going to find out, someone will stop you.”

“Please, I’ve been running this business for too long to have to worry much. I’ve bought half the police force, and I pay the airlines to send…candidates like yourself to my inn whenever a flight is cancelled. Besides, if anyone starts snooping, well, let’s just say they develop quite the appetite. Now, let me explain how this works. These three are your coworkers. Now, I like competition–I think it brings out the best in people, so here’s how it works. Each of you has a tip jar,” the owner said, pointing to a steel cup bolted to the wall above each of their heads, “You get tips whenever you give one of your patrons service over and above their expectations–whatever that might be. Now, each week, whoever gets the most tips has the privilege of cumming once.”

“Fuck you, I’m not going to do this, I’m not.” Jared said, half to the owner, and half to his own growing desire, but then something he’d said caught up with him. “Wait, three? There’s…there’s only two here.”

“I’m getting to that. You see, I know that not everyone is motivated by positive reinforcement, so whoever gets the least tips…well…” the owner walked over and pushed open the door to the handicapped stall, and Jared gasped. There was another man, covered in filth, looking completely down trodden. “Whoever loses gets to be the toilet for a week–so if you don’t want to work the urinals, that’s fine–we can just unchain Mitch here and move you right in–”

“No!” Jared shouted, “No, please…I’ll…I’ll do it..” he said, hopeless.

“That’s a good piggy. Now, make sure you get lots of tips, and don’t forget that you’re still going to be racking up room and board charges–so you need about…hmm…two hundred bucks a night to break even. Good luck!” Laughing, the owner left the bathroom, the server and bartender following behind, leaving Jared with the other urinals. Still, the owner was right about one thing. Two nights later, Jared was happily cemented into his role, begging along with the other urinals for piss and cum from the nightly patrons, trying to wrack up as many tips as he could, his stomach churning a bit every time he saw a man go into the handicap stall. Still, that wasn’t going to be him, not if he could help it. And if he worked hard enough, who knows? He might actually be able to work his way out of here. Sure, no one had succeeded in checking out before, but there was always a first time for everything…right?

Interactive – Greywall Manor #17

Alright, the final chapter. It sounds like 2B and 1B are the choices people would like to see. So how a combination of them both?

***

The satyr and the demon met in the sunroom, the overgrown garden seen through the glass walls, though the room was sweltering with the heat necessary for the demon to keep moving. “What has it been now, fifty years?” the demon asked.

“Oh, what’s fifty years to immortals?” the satyr replied with a chuckle.

“You call being turned to stone immortal?” the demon shot back, “That wasn’t what I asked for.”

“Now, if I recall correctly,” the satyr said, “you asked for unlimited power and immortality. Well, demons are by far the most powerful creatures in the multiverse, and that little stone skin enchantment makes you, well, fairly invulnerable, if not without a few weaknesses.”

The demon glowered at him, “Well, I’ve had a few hours to go over my notes, and I think I know what to do about this stone problem,” he said, “but first, I think I need to do something about you, and keep you out of trouble.”

“Ha, well you’d have to get a hold of me first,” the satyr said, “and song travels faster than you ever will.”

“Oh I think I can resist one or two of your merry melodies,” the demon said.

“Oh do you? Well, then why don’t you have a listen?” the satyr said, picked up his pipes and started to play. The demon readied his mental defenses, expecting the satyr to try and change him back into a mortal. Fifty years earlier, he’d been human and acquired a real satyr by chance from an excavation in Greece, and while the years had crawled by, he had no interest in returning to that sorry existence. However, much to his surprise, the song slipped right past his defenses, and it took him a few moment to realize why. He’d tailored his mental wall to protect his demonic nature–but the satyr had no intention of returning him to normal, and now it was too late for the demon to resist, and he started to dance.

The satyr laughed, and watched as the demon’s muscular form started to bubble and shift, fat packing itself on his body, the dominating drive in him disipating and replaced with simple…laziness. The inertia of his change was pushing against the satyr’s song, and suddenly moving seemed too difficult. Better to sit and loll about. Better to feast, better to be lazy, and then the demon saw what the satyr had planned for him. He was certainly still a demon, however not the demon of domination and lust he had been. Now, the only things that interested him were sloth, filth, and gluttony. Well, all of those, and sex, but not domineering, controlling sex. He wanted to be used, he wanted to be filled. He wanted to be passive while hordes of men used his holes as much as they could. He wanted to feast on their seed, on their virility. Finally, the change climaxed, and he could dance no more, crashing to the floor, a mass of fat, stinking to high heaven, drool leaking down his multiple stone chins, his eyes drawn directly to the pig cock of the satyr’s minion.

“Well my pet, why don’t you go ahead and give our demon friend his first meal?” the satyr said, and Ken snorted, stomping over, grabbing the back of the demon’s head and ramming his cock down his throat.

The demon sucked–he was so hungry, but…but he could sense that this wasn’t over. No, he may not be the demon he was, but he still had power, he could sense it, and he wasn’t about to let the satyr get away with this. He sucked on the monster’s cock, and he realized that it wasn’t only cum he was drawing from him–it was his sexual power. He sucked, and too late, Ken realized something was wrong. His muscles began to atrophy, his form softening and fattening up. In a panic he tried to pull himself away from the demon’s maw, but his fangs clamped down on his cock, sucking harder, and his balls, his massive bull balls, the demon was draining them dry, until the shriveled up entirely, leaving him as nothing more than a steer, a fat hog who collapsed next to his new, demonic master, licking the filthy stone folds of the demon’s body, and the satyr just watched, slack jawed.

Something was wrong–he needed to play a song, he needed to get out of this mess, but something was holding him in place, and it was…a stench. The demon’s rancid musk held him in place, and then began drawing him closer to him, the satyr’s mind slowly degrading as he approached, all thoughts beyond servicing his filthy master disappearing from his mind, but when he knelt down to clean him, the master pushed him away.

“Please…please master, please may I serve you?” the satyr groveled.

“Release me from this stone curse, and you may serve me until the end of days, slave.” the demon said, and the satyr whipped out his pipes, undoing his old work, the demon’s stone skin softening into real flesh, red, but covered with muck and filth. When the satyr finished, he dug into the demon’s folds, reveling in the joy’s of service, and the demon took the pipes, opened his maw wide and swallowed them whole.

Grinning, the demon gave a lilting whistle, the satyr’s powers of song now his own, and he felt himself gain enough lightness that he could move. There were still three men in the house after all–and he ought to make sure that they were all fully under his control before resting.

None of the fraternity pledges returned to campus the next morning, and despite a citywide search for the four of them, not a single trace of them was found, not even when the police searched old Greywall Manor. However, that isn’t to say that the four of them were gone, by any means, but the demon was biding his time, and building his might, until he could begin expanding his influence beyond the house.

Ken, the piggish minotaur, and the satyr were now the demon’s personal pets, generally following at his heels, eager for a chance to serve the master, who eclipsed everything else in importance.

As much as it pained the demon to do so, he needed to keep both Dan and David muscular, and working the furnace. However, he did enjoy making it impossible for either one of the men to ever clean themselves, and the two are now lovers, or rather, David is Dan’s bitch, the ugly troll happily servicing the bigger brute’s cock whenever he gets a chance, as well as serving as their toilet on their twenty hour work shifts.

Bob, however, was much more to the demon’s liking. While he was sad to see Butler go, he decided that having a human puppet around might prove useful. Indeed, in a few months, when an eccentric, obese redneck named Bubba Bob, who’d recently won the lottery, decided to buy Greywall Manor and convert it into a bed and breakfast, the town didn’t really mind. In fact, they hoped that the new addition would improve the local economy, and make for a few positive changes around town. But they had no idea what sort of changes the demon had in mind.

***

Thanks for all of your suggestions and participation! This was a whole lot of fun, and something I’d like to do again in the future. However, for now, I need to focus on some commissions, but don’t expect the blog to be silent.

Replies here!

Sorry, I forgot to add a reply box, and tumblr won’t let me add one. So what do you want to see?

Interactive – Greywall Manor #16

Alright, sorry for the long period of silence–it’s been a busy few weeks. That said, let’s get this story finished!

***

He couldn’t keep up–he just couldn’t. Dan was huffing and panting as he shoveled coal into the furnace, the flame always calling for more–more heat, more power,but Dan just couldn’t keep up, no matter how fast he went, and even in his muscled form, he was growing tired, and the flame wasn’t happy–it wasn’t happy with him at all, but all he could do was shovel as fast as he could.

At the top of the stairs, David sat, hmming quietly to himself as he watched Dan work away, one hand tracing the horns on his head, as he considered his next move. It wasn’t Dan giving him pause–he knew he could take Dan under his control in a heartbeat–no, it was the furnace, the center of the house’s power which had him worried. The flame was nearly as great a trickster as his master–and if he wasn’t careful, he could be undone. He decided that the best course of action would be sabotage, and so be began a low tune, matching the pace of Dan’s work, the muscular man naturally falling in step with the song, and then, when David was confident that he was ensnared, he began a slow decellerando, watching as Dan struggled to move quickly, but his feat couldn’t leave the pace set by David’s music.

Below, Dan could sense that something was wrong. He knew he could move faster than this, and yet it was almost as though he the air were made of molasses, and the flame–oh was the flame angry with him now. Fear gripped his heart as Dan realized he was failing in his duty, but there was nothing he could do, and though the flame tried to urge him on, there was nothing Dan could do as he slowed to a crawl, and then froze in place, David holding his single note as he watched the flame in the furnace die back, running out of fuel in a matter of minutes, until it was just a flicker once more.

He’d done it–he’d really done it. David danced down the stairs now, knowing that the furnace was too weak to tempt him while his master’s song protected him, and spun a little jig around Dan’s still frozen body. “So Dan, this is where you disappeared to, I see. Well, don’t worry, you’ve been found, and goodness, with a body like yours, I’m sure my master would love to play with you. So how about the two of us march out of here and pay him a visit? It’s over now, the demon has lost–so let’s go play!”

David raised the pipes to his lips, ready to begin a new song when a flare of fire erupted from the furnace, striking the wooden pipes and incinerating them to ash in a moment, and immediately, the songs enchanting David and Dan unravelled, the massive worker free to move once again, as David stumbled back, free of the satyr’s influence, the horns gone.

“You hurt the flame,” Dan growled, stalking towards David, “You hurt the flame, and now I gonna hurt you!”

“Dan, fucking snap out of it man! We have to get out of here,” he said, scrambling back, but he was too slow. the giant grabbed him by the ankle and hauled him back, dragging him to the furnace burning weakly, but far from dead. David, lacking the protection of the satyr’s magic, found his eyes pulled to the fire, and hatred–so much hatred burned there, anger at what he’d done, at how he’d almost undone all of the demon’s work, and that hatred poured out into him, and he felt himself changing. Like Dan, he too packed on a massive amount of muscle, but he actually shrank to a little over five feet, his face morphing inot that of an ugly troll, greasy hair and beard growing out his head and face as his brain emptied of will and knowledge. He’d done a bad thing, a very, very bad thing, and he needed to be punished, he needed to pay for what he’d done–he could see that now.

Together, the filthy muscular men started shoveling, and together they could shovel far more than Dan had managed alone, finally allowing the furnace to reach it’s full potential, every vent in the house blasting heat, raising the temperature to sweltering. Bob, busy feasting under the ghost’s supervision, barely noticed, too far gone in his new life to even notice that the satyr’s song was no longer compelling him onward, and Ken, under the thrall of the master was also unaffected, though they all heard the roar of excited triumph from upstairs. The demon was loose to roam the house, and the satyr, out in the garden lost some of his joyous demeanor. He’d hoped to avoid this, but there was no helping it. “Come on, pet,” he said, to Ken, his newest monster, “Let’s go finish this once and for all.”

***

Alright, here we are–the final battle, and only one of our antagonists can come out on top. So, who’s it going to be?

1) The demon wins out in the end, by a) transferring the stone curse to the satyr and Ken, leaving them trapped as statues in the garden, or b) his magic simply overwhelms the both of them, reducing them to his subservient monster pets.

2) The satyr wins out in the end, by a) Ken killing the demon, while the satyr absorbs his powers, making him the master of the house and everyone within it, or b) he uses a song to ensnare the demon, making him a demon of gluttony and sloth, instead of wrath and domination.

No matter what, this next chapter will be the last one, so pick well! What do you guys want to see?

Interactive – Greywall Manor #15

Alright, sorry I missed a post on Wednesday, I’ve kind of been mulling over where in the hell to go with this story, since it’s evolved into a bit of a monster, not that that’s necessarily a bad thing. Still, it does mean that I’m not entirely sure how to direct it towards some sort of climax, though I can feel a climax building–it’s kind of strange. Regardless, way more people seemed interested in following Ken into the garden, and as far as preferred TF’s, the pig idea edged out a slight lead, though I might take it in a more minotaur direction–who the hell knows anymore. Gargoyle voters, don’t despair, Gaynerpig gave me a good idea, and you’ll have a chance next round to make it happen.

***

Ken, his feet moving beyond his control, danced his way out the back door, into the garden, and found himself drawn towards the ramshackle stable a ways off from the house. He could hear the song in his head growing louder as he approached, and it took him a second to realize he was actually hearing the song. Someone else was playing, or rather as Ken discovered a moment later–something else was playing it. There, still perched on the barrel, was the satyr, playing the song on a second set of pipes, and listening to it, Ken felt the attraction to filth increase by magnitudes he couldn’t even grasp.

“Ah, a simple composition, though I must admit, it’s rather effective. I’d say that my little faun has been doing rather nicely, wouldn’t you?” the satyr said, somehow managing to speak without interrupting the lilting tune.

“What…what did you do to him? To us?” Ken said, groaning as he felt himself release another load of piss into his soaked jeans, unable to stop himself.

“Still, I can’t help but feel like it’s just a theme. How about we add a few variations, to make it more fun? Now, it looks like the house wanted a cowboy, but I’ve always fancied cowmen myself.”

The song shifted, it’s previous lines growing twisted and warped, though still recognizable, and Ken felt his body warp and twist with the song. He grew taller, his muscles ripping through the clothes the house had given him. The lower half of his body started filling it with a long, foul smelling coat, his feet thickening and hardening into two massive, cloven hooves, a long tail whipping out behind him as he gave a snort, two bull horns pushing out from his skull.

“Ah yes, that’s better, but still…hmmm…a bit boring, I think, how about another variation…on top of that one? Oh yes, I like that…” the satyr said, and warped the tune a bit more, a second wave of changes crashing into Ken. His face, at this point relatively unchanged, started morphing into a chubbier version, his nose flattening, resembling a pig’s nose, two tusks growing out of his bottom jaw and curling up over his upper lip. His ears, too flattened and became piggish, and while his now seven and a half foot frame didn’t lose an ounce of muscle, fat began filling in as well, growing into a firm, thick barrel gut and chest. Lastly, his still human cock started to twist, almost as though it were attached to a corkscrew, and pulled up into a sheath. Snorting and grunting like an animal, his human sensibilities nearly destroyed, Ken grasped his new cock and started jacking it, not even noticing as his tail lifted, Ken shitting onto the stable floor like a common barnyard animal–though he was hardly common, the satyr thought with a laugh.

Finally, the satyr stopped playing the song, leaving Ken there, snorting and horny, and the satyr leaned back on the barrel, putting his legs up. “Well come on big boy, why don’t you give that new piggy cock of yours a test drive?”

Ken didn’t need a second invitation, strutting forward and ramming his cock home with no pomp, rutting like a true animal, the satyr directing and encouraging him to new heights of pleasure. In his head, there was a kernel of Ken left, but no shame, no human sensibility. Why should he care about modesty or self control? He could only thank David, for showing him the way, and he knew that sooner or later, he would be fucking his old friends hole long into the night, under the sway of the satyr’s song.

***

Alright, let’s go back to David, who I’m sure has found his way to the basement by now, but what might happen down there?

1) The satyr wins, through David, and he succeeds in killing the boiler’s power, but does David a) change Dan in the basement, turning him into a sex crazed beast, perhaps a rat, or b) lure him, and also Bob, out into the garden for a couple final transformations.
2) The demon has a ninth inning comeback, and the boiler overpowers David, and a) he becomes Dan’s assistant, both of them shoveling enough coal to allow the demon to amass enough power to directly confront the satyr, or b) the boiler absorbs David, sending his spirit into the house, when he ends up inhabiting a gargoyle, who flies down to confront Ken and the satyr.

What do you think? No matter what, I think we’ll only have a few more episodes left, so choose wisely–this is the end game. Thoughts?

Interactive – Greywall Manor #14

Well, we ended up with a slight lead for 2a, but my favorite suggestion came from flame-of-all-chaos:

Option one with A has the main point with B as a worry Butler will have as he is forcibly gourged

Essentially combining option 1a and 1b, pushing it into the lead, and which sounds hot to me.

***

Butler, in control of Bob’s fatter, and now much cleaner body, headed towards the basement, the house happily allowing him passage, and Bob slowly began to recognize the areas of the house he’d explored earlier in the night, and Butler could sense his host growing, agitated. Still, it was of no concern to him–he was firmly in control, though that song he’d noticed after putting Bob in his clothes was still there, and still nagging at him, though he couldn’t figure out why he wasn’t able to simply get rid of it.

He passed through one of the houses several dining rooms, when Bob’s nose caught the scent of food–the same pot he’d gorged himself on at the beginning of the night, and Butler suddenly felt control ripped away from him, as Bob’s fat frame, of it’s own volition, surged into the kitchen, nearly slathering with hunger, and it was all Butler could do to keep the reins on and hold Bob back from the massive pot on the stove.

“Ah, I knew you wouldn’t be able to help yourself,” the chef said, “Couldn’t resist a second helping, could you?”

“Chef, what in…what in the hell did you feed him?” Butler asked, feeling Bob’s stomach heave with hunger, “I can’t…the master needs us for a mission, we can’t stop to eat!”

“Butler? Is that you?” the chef asked, “Well you old bat, how in the hell are you? Well, I don’t think you can complete a mission on an empty stomach, right? Besides, you were always such an uptight asshole, I think a good feeding might help loosen you up.”

Butler felt his control beginning to slip again, and Bob’s mind had lost all rational focus. It was hungry–that’s all that mattered, and as Bob’s mind lost focus, descending into an animalistic fervor, the song that had been plaguing Butler started growing louder, slowly working against his bonds of control, until after a few moments, Butler suddenly found himself without control. Bob’s body stumbling forward, taking the spoon the chef handed him as he passed, returning to the pot he’d eaten from earlier, and downing more of the gruel, moaning in gluttonous pleasure.

In Bob’s head, Butler worked to try and regain control, but it was like the song had isolated him inside Bob’s head, and he quickly realized that it had done more than isolated him, it was attacking him–changing him. It was then that he realized what kind of mistake he’d made–the song, it wasn’t just any song–it was satyr song. In his lust for Bob’s bigger body, he hadn’t bothered to think about what had made him bigger, and now that he’d fallen into the trap, he didn’t know what he was going to do. The song was wearing away at him, shifting his personality bit by bit, and as it did, the clothes on Bob’s frame started changing too.

Butler’s suit, already covered with much down the front, was slowly simplifying, as Butler himself was worn down and ripped apart by the satyr’s magic. The suit’s coat shifted from expensive Egyptian cotton and became flannel, the arms shrinking up into a cut off vest. The shirt’s buttons disappeared as the fabric grew more worn and aged, the sleeves also shrinking up until it became a massive wifebeater stretched across Bob’s massive belly. The pants shrank up into a pair of cut off jean shorts pulled tight against Bob’s inflating thighs, his belt barely able to hold them up, and they still left a good amount of ass crack exposed in the back, and last, the perfectly shined dress shoes morphed into muddy combat boots.

Butler, now, was no more–or rather, he was still there, but his new name was Bubba. His master was no longer the demon upstairs, but the song stuck in Bob’s mind. He would serve the song, and serve Bob as his filthy clothing, helping push him deeper into the life David had composed for him in the theater. Bob, his hunger a bit slated, as he cleaned the bottom of the pot, came to realize that it was futile to try and resist what David had done to him. His gut growled in hunger, swelling a bit larger, his body quickly reverting to its grubby, unwashed form, and he turned to the chef, and asked, “Ya got any more? This here gut a mine is just gettin’ started,” he said, and let off a massive belch.

The chef grinned, “Well, I do love a man who can eat. Let me see what else I can whip up for you.”

***

Well, with Butler and Bob distracted for the moment, I suppose the question is what will happen when David finally makes his way to the basement, or, we can always check in with Ken, and see what’s happening with him out in the garden.

1) David finally makes it to the basement, when he confronts Dan and the boiler. Either a) David’s song wins out in the end, enchanting Dan away from feeding the boiler, and returning the demon to stone, or b) the boiler devours David’s spirit, burning the power and giving the demon access to the rest of the house.
2) Ken finally makes it to the stable, and finds himself on his knees before the satyr, who decides our cowboy needs a few more changes. Maybe a) the satyr decides he needs to be a literal cowboy, and transforms him into a minotaur who will live in the garden’s labyrinth, or b) the satyr becomes a fat pig slave, happily spending his life groveling in mud and filth, or c) a possibility mentioned earlier, he transforms him into a gargoyle, an ally in the fight against the demon master of the house.

Send me your preferences in the reply box, or as an ask. What do you think?

Interactive – Greywall Manor #13

Well, by a pretty solid plurality, you all wanted to see David run into Cowboy Ken, and have David come out on top, so how about we see how raunchy our new cowboy can get, eh?

***

David danced down another hallway, humming to himself, and paused at a junction, looking down a couple of hallways before jigging off down another. He was lost, unfortunately. He’d hoped to find his way to the basement to try and do his master’s bidding, but the house seemed…determined to keep him away from there. The hallways inexplicably curved away from where he wanted to go, sending him away every time he got close. Still, he was too happy to be angry–he was still reveling in how he’d changed Bob earlier, and was starting to wish he’d find someone else to draw into the satyr’s fold. And then, almost in answer to his prayers, he turned the corner and nearly barreled directly into Ken–old, grizzled and chewing tobacco with a bushy mustache–but it was Ken none the less. The cowboy just gaped at his old friend, horned, naked and dancing in place, spit some black juice onto the floor, and said, “David? What in the world happened to you?”

“To me?” David said, laughing maniacally, “Why, I met the master, of course.”

“The demon?” Ken said, “You met the demon too? Is that where your horns came from?”

“The demon is no master!” David shouted, turning suddenly angry, “There is only one true master–perhaps it’s time for you to meet him as well, and see for yourself.”

“No, David, look–I just want to get out of here–we need to get help man, this place is fucking us up.”

David, however, wasn’t listening, he was circling Ken, looking at him, composing a new song in his head for his one time friend. “My goodness, you sure are a dirty cowboy, Ken…I wonder what would happen if we made you the raunchiest cowboy in the west.” David lifted the pipes and started playing a new song, a tune similar to any number of old west cowboy songs, but with…a raunchy edge–that was the only way Ken could describe it in his head, and he could feel the song moving through him, into his shoes, making his boots tap in time to the beat.

“No…No David, stop it–what are you doing?” Ken said, the song making him throw his arm up in the air, and the stench–it was far worse than he’d smelled before, and yet…it turned him on just as much as before, maybe more so. His feet were dancing along now, his mind swept up by the song, spiraling into the satyr’s control, tobacco spit leaking out of his mouth, yellowing his mustache and staining his shirt. The song’s introduction ended, and erupted into a hot spray, Ken noticing a moment too late that he’d heard himself start pissing his pants, looked down, and sure enough, a dark spot grew quickly down one leg of his jeans. “Shit!” he cried, and hauled his cock out of the fly, but he couldn’t stop the stream–the song had made him abandon all control, and instead he pointed it up, soaking his shirt, pushing it out faster, bending over and drinking from the fount, swishing the piss around with his tobacco, the flavor disgusting, but he needed more, so much more. He started jacking his cock, snorting like a beast, feeling his new foreskin pull up over the head, quickly forming a thick coating of cheese he would occasionally lick from his fingers.

David ended the song there, pleased with Ken’s new disgusting desires. “Hey Ken, I have something for you…” David said, brandishing his own cock. Ken got down on his knees and took the head in his mouth just in time to catch the blast of piss David unleashed down his old friend’s throat. He most of it down, allowing some of it to spill out of his mouth with his dark spit onto his now even filthier clothing. When the stream ended, David turned around, presenting his ass, which Ken started licking at, jacking off his cock all the while, shoving his tongue as deep as he could, and after a couple of minutes shot a load of cum onto the floor beneath him, David turning around a nutting directly onto the filthy cowboy’s mustache, watching his crazed friend lick it up hungrily.

“See? That’s much better, isn’t it? Now, I bet our master would love to have a cowboy like you in the stable to play with–why don’t you go pay him a visit?”

“No, no David, please…I can’t…” Ken said, but the song had already taken over his feet, dancing him down the hall towards the garden, the cowboy both terrified and thrilled about what might wait for him in the stable. David in the meantime, realized he’d been distracted by the house on purpose, and annoyed, set off for the basement once more. The house could only deter him for so long–he’d find his way to the boiler before too long, and then the demon will be stone once more, and his master will rule the house once again.

***

Well, it looks like Ken is heading out back, but I think we should check in with Bob and Butler next. Here’s a few possibilities:
1) Bob and Butler run into some trouble on their way to the basement. Either a) they run into the chef from earlier, who demands Bob join him for the meal he escaped from earlier, despite Butler’s objections, or b) the song stuck in Bob’s head starts making some changes to Butler, perhaps into Bubba.
2) Bob and Butler make it to the basement. Either a) sensing that Dan can’t shovel coal fast enough, the boiler overpowers Butler, transforming him into a partner/assistant for Dan which gives the demon freedom to move about the house, or b) the satyr’s song interferes with Dan’s mind control, freeing him from the boiler’s compulsion, and the boiler enslaves Butler and Bob as the new shoveler, or c) Bob regains control from Butler with the song’s help and breaks the boiler, giving him and Dan a chance to escape, and returning the demon to stone.

What do you all think?