Category: Uncategorized

Hey, loved the conclusion to Andy’s Roadhouse. Would love to see a glimpse into what the other colors would have done. Maybe as vignettes?

I’ve been giving some thought into expanding it myself, but I don’t know if/when I might get around to it, or what form in might take. It might just be a few more vignettes focusing on some other colors, or it might be a more in-depth story following Andy as he tries to escape Ed’s roadhouse. All I know for now is that I have plenty of other stories I need to focus on at the moment, so it might be a while before I get to it.

Fairytale – Part 1 (Interactive Story)

***WARNING***
This story contains raunch, watersports and scat. Don’t like it? Don’t read it, or don’t complain later.

*****

Why do I always do this to myself? Harry thought as he wiped his sweaty palms on his shirt, and glanced over at his date next to him, who was engrossed in the movie playing on the screen. He’d met Jeff online, and was still amazed the cute cub had agreed to come out with him, even if it was only for dinner and a movie, and on the implied condition that Harry pay for everything. But now…now he’d guzzled his god damn mega-sized drink, he had to piss like a racehorse, and the movie was only half over. He didn’t want to be that guy, that “guy who disturbs everyone by going to the bathroom in the middle of a movie,” but it was starting to look like he wasn’t going to have a choice.

The whole night, really, had been going like this. Jeff had been perfectly sociable, while Harry had spent the entire time tripping over his words like a schoolgirl. He already could tell that Jeff wasn’t happy with him–probably because Harry hadn’t been completely honest. Sure, the picture he posted was a few years old…well, ten years. He was a lot greyer and quite a bit fatter in real life, and he hadn’t exactly shown off his best side at dinner, shoveling down a giant plate of spaghetti and getting sauce down the front of his shirt. Jeff had been nice enough about it, but, well, Harry had ruined his chance for anything aside from a handjob in the movie parking lot…maybe…if he was lucky.

God, he had to go, he didn’t have a choice. He stood up, and with a hushed, “Sorry…” squeezed his chubby ass past Jeff’s face, and hurried out of the theater, down the hall, and into the bathroom. Of course, before he could get to the urinal, he had to look at his face and body in the mirror, and he cringed a bit–no wonder Jeff had no interest in him. Sure, he’d showered before the date, but he’d forgotten his deodorant, and his hair was a couple of weeks overdue for a trim–not that his balding hair looked great cut back, either. And he really was a lot fatter than his pictures on the site–probably by a good fifty pounds, though he did his best to avoid weighing himself and finding out for sure. He heaved a sigh and said under his breath, “I wish someone would…help me figure this shit out…” and his face turned red as he said it. How stupid, a wish? That was ridiculous. But no sooner did the words leave his lips than a sudden wind erupted in the restroom, whipping Harry’s hair and clothes about, and when he turned around, he found that he was no longer alone.

There in the middle of the room, was a muscular, older man wearing nothing other than a pair of black boots and some grandfatherly glasses perched on his nose. In place of clothing, his entire body was covered in a series of intricate tattoos which Harry swore were dancing and shifting in front of his eyes, though whenever he looked at one straight on it stayed perfectly still. “Hello Harry. You wished for help?” the man said, smiling warmly, “I think I can be of some assistance here.”

“Who…who are you?” Harry said, backing up against the sink as the man approached him.

“Me? I’m the Fairy Godfather. Did you really need to wait so long? I’ve been getting all antsy, watching you flounder here,” the man said, cracking his knuckles, “Shall we get started?” with twirl of the wrist, a wand of some dark, slender wood appeared in his hand, and pointing it at Harry, he felt a strange force press into him, and a moment later, he too was naked, and blushing further, he rushed to cover himself.

“How…what are you doing? Bring me back my clothes,” he said.

“Those things?” the fairy said, “Oh no, those were far too classy for your true tastes, don’t you think? I mean, a polo shirt and khaki shorts? Did you really feel good in those? Sexy? Happy? I didn’t think so. I’m here to help the real you shine through, the more honest and comfortable you, because that’s the only way you’ll be able to relax and have a great time with Jeff. Now hold still, I’m thinking.”

This is insane, Harry thought, I have to get out of here, but when he tried to move, he found himself glued to where he stood. Apparently, when the fairy said to stand still, he meant it. As the man approached, Harry began to notice that he wasn’t all that…clean. He could smell him from a few feet away, in fact, and the ripe musky smell was overpowering. But…he was a fairy right? Maybe he really could make Harry’s dreams come true–and it was beginning to look like he wasn’t going to have a choice in the matter, considering he couldn’t get away.

“Hmm…yes, exactly as I’d thought,” the fairy said, whirling his wand once more, “a young man in denial of his true desires, and his ideal form. Well, the easiest solution to that is to bring the ideal form out! What do you say?” he said, and before Harry could answer, he’d waved the wand and a shower of sparks shot out, slamming right into Harry’s belly, winding him and making him double over.

His ideal form? Did that mean he would be young and muscular? Or at least attractive again? Hell he’d settle for the picture he’d taken ten years ago, if nothing else. He managed to stand back up and turn around to face the mirror, and gasped. “What in the fuck did you do to me?” he shouted, appalled at his new image staring back at him in the mirror. His hair and beard had grown longer and tangled, looking like he hadn’t bothered to care for them in months, if not years. He was even fatter than before, with a massive apron hanging down past his groin which was covered in dense, matted hair, and beneath it he could make out crude tattoos which covered him from the top of his neck down to his wrists and ankles. He made the mistake of opening his mouth in horror, spying the rotten, yellowed and crooked teeth in his mouth, and he whirled back around to face the smiling fairy, and said, “Well? This is my ‘ideal image’? What the fuck?”

“Well, what did you expect? I am the Fairy Grungefather after all.”

“Grunge…what? I thought you said Godfather!”

“Then you thought wrong–you really shouldn’t make assumptions like that.”

“Wha–but…You shouldn’t make fucking assumptions that I want to look like this!” Harry cried, “Change me back!”

“Oh don’t worry, you’ll be back to normal come dawn.”

“Dawn? But I’m on a fucking date!”

“Oh would you calm down? Do you think I haven’t watched you all these years? Watched all those jack off sessions in that filthy, unwashed jock of yours, while you smell your ripe pits? Sensed that tingle of pleasure you get when when you don’t wipe your ass after you take a shit? That self-satisfaction when you piss a bit in your underwear ‘on accident’?”

That’s…I mean…” Harry said, but the blush gave him away–he did have a thing for raunch, but so what? That didn’t mean he wanted to look like this!

“Yeah, cat got your tongue? Well I have a better use for it anyway,” the fairy said, and held up one arm, the reeking pit inching closer to Harry’s face. “Go on, lick it. I know you want to.”

“Fuck…Fuck no,” Harry said, “I’m not gonna lick out your nasty pit.”

“No? Hmm…Maybe I underestimated just how stubborn you are. You know what you need? You need to loosen up, so how about I take all those inhibitions of yours, sexual and otherwise, and hold onto them for the night, hmm?”

Harry tried to shield himself, but he was helpless as the fairy raised his wand once more, and Harry felt all of the walls of resistance, of social pressure, and of proper etiquette simply disappear. And a moment later, when the fairy raised his arm again, all Harry could do was grin and lunge forward, lapping up all the filthy sweat he could find. “Oh fuck! Oh fuck, you’re so fuckin’ nasty man, I can’t fuckin’ take it,” he heard himself say, but on the inside, he was panicking. It felt like all of the brakes had been ripped out of his head–there was literally no stopping himself now. He felt the urge to piss suddenly reassert itself, and before he even realized it, he released his bladder, soaking the underside of his grimy apron, feeling it run down his legs and start puddling on the floor around him, and he tore himself away from the fairy’s ripe pit, got down on all fours and started lapping up as much of it as he could from the filthy tile floor.

Worst of all, Harry realized that his cock was rock hard through all of this, because…he wanted to do it. Deep down, he’d always wanted to do something like this, and this rush, this freedom was unlike anything he’d thought possible, and it only made him hornier. He let go at some point, stopped trying to put his feet on the brakes and just rode along, relishing the taste of his own piss, and the stench of his own filthy puts he could smell every time he bent down. Sure, he’d pissed on himself in the shower a few times, even tasted it once, but this…this was filthy. This was raunchy. This was so fucking hot. His licking was interrupted by a sharp, cutting whistle from across the bathroom, and Harry whipped his face up, wet hair throwing piss across the room, and he saw the fairy over by the urinals, his boot up on the small one, presenting his ass in Harry’s direction.

The piss no longer interested him. He crawled across the floor, loving the sensation of his hairy belly scraping across the tile, licking his lips the whole way. With no fear or trepidation, he dove into the crack, licking and chewing at the filth caught in the fairy’s ass hair, his tongue probing as deep as it could into the hole, and a moment later, he found his reward approach. “Go on Harry, I know you’ve fantasized about this. All those pictures you keep hidden deep on your computer? Those ones you can only bring yourself to look at when you’re drunk? Time to be one of them, Harry–time to take the big leap, pig.”

Harry felt himself cum as he took it in his mouth, chewed in a few times and swallowed, thankful when the fairy turned around and helped him wash it down with some of his piss, before nutting his own load onto Harry’s tangled beard. Exhausted from the thrill and exertion, Harry collapsed back onto the cold tile, panting, and when he finally managed to roll over and pick himself up, he was alone again. Suddenly afraid, he hurried back to the mirror and let out a sigh of relief when he saw he hadn’t changed back into his old self–the freedom from worry and inhibition was too amazing to let go of just yet. He looked at the piss puddle still on the floor, but held back–after all, he needed to get back to his date. Besides, leaving it there for someone else to find…oh fuck, that was damn hot too. On the counter, he saw a pile of clothing–though not the crap he’d worn when he came in. The fairy had been right, after all, he hated wearing classy stuff like that. The tattered army shorts worn commando, yellow stained wife beater, and black work boots were a much better choice, and he saw a letter underneath them, written in rough, but legible, script.

Harry–

I realize that your date tonight probably will not be as interested in your new self as we are, so I’m lending you a few, small spells to help out. Again, these will only last until dawn, so enjoy yourselves. By the way, your pumpkin is out in the parking lot, and your castle awaits you two after the movie.

Sincerely,
Your Fairy Grungefather

On the rest of the sheet, Harry saw several spells scribbled out, along with directions for how to use them, and he grinned wide–maybe he could turn this date around after all.

*****

What? More interaction? Yeah, I might as well take some spell suggestions from you guys. Send me them a message, and if I like one, I’ll try and work it into the story’s conclusion on Friday.

One Change #2 – Unpredictable

Making changes in the past and seeing how they shifted the future was a bit hard to anticipate. Sometimes, the smallest, apparently insignificant change would escalate into massive, unforeseen consequences, and other times, the biggest changes could have the smallest of impacts in the long run. Take Mr. Bradford Jenkins, for example.

A man of distinction and class, a paragon of his community, and quite the upstanding gentleman. In particular, he was known as quite the orator, and had used his influence as a local and state politician when he was younger to try and improve the world. Now that he was retired, he was actively involved in community theater, and loved volunteering at the library, reading stories to children. Out of curiosity, perhaps–I don’t think the Changer intended him harm–he decided to give Mr. Jenkins a debilitating stutter in his youth. A small change, but it was a very different man who walked the earth a moment later.

The new Mr. Jenkin’s had been terribly handicapped by his new impediment, doing poorly in school, and never going to college–instead getting a job in a machine shop, where he only had to take orders, not give them. His social life was equally impeded, and he never moved out of his parent’s home, spending his time masturbating, and growing very fond of games and fantasy worlds which he could involve himself in without speaking. He was now known around town as Jinx–it was said that if he spoke to you, only bad luck would follow.

On the other hand, sometimes the greatest of changes would produce the smallest of effects, or spring off into other territory entirely. Such was the case with Wade.

Wade was not a man who had ever done much good in the world. A lazy, slothful character, he preferred to lounge about and watch TV than be involved in the world around him. Perhaps in trying to do him a favor, the Changer decided to try and give Wade a hand up. Stretching the limits of his power, he removed Wade’s uncaring and frivolous nature, and replaced it with determination and resolve, expecting to see a very different man emerge. In fact, quite the opposite happened–Wade grew even fatter, his hair filthier and longer–it was as though he had grown worse, not better.

In fact, Wade had liked being a fat slob–the determination and resolve given to him was directed towards these desires, and Wade had now spent his life as a true gainer–doing everything in his power to become the fattest man in the world–and at 600 pounds, he was well on his way there. He’d made many contacts in the gaining and encouraging world, and he had a bevy of men and women sponsoring his diet and helping him achieve his dream. I’m sure the Changer was glad Wade had found a purpose for his life, but had probably hoped it would have been more beneficial to the rest of the world.

Ian had been watching the young man sleep on the chaise lounge for several hours now, and was quite pleased with the results of his sunblock. Well, he’d been young when he arrived at the hotel pool, when Ian had offered him some complimentary sunblock. He’d been a smooth, pale and slender guy in his mid twenties, and while he’d planned on swimming, the topical sedative in the solution soon had him relaxing and asleep in the sun.

Ian’s special solution absorbed that solar energy and generated several special chemicals the subject absorbed, most importantly testosterone, which caused the men to grow copious amounts of body hair. Of course, a few other, more dangerous chemicals were also released, particularly ones which caused the body to age rather rapidly and convert muscle mass into fat–the young man was already nearing his mid forties, and was quite heavy set. A final, unfortunate side effect was a massive drop in IQ, cognitive function, and often substantial memory loss. Still, he wouldn’t be needing any of that when he was added to Ian’s growing harem of bear sluts kept for the hotel’s clients. 

Source: speedochubby

Andy at the Roadhouse Part 2

Andy, oblivious to the near silence of the bar, kept drinking his beer and smoking his new cigar, completely ignorant of his slowly maturing body. However, this brew was really nothing more than a warm up, something to prepare and prime his system for Ed’s true talents. He had countless numbers of recipes, for both beer and liquor, and the men waited to see what he’d emerge with next for Andy to drink and move the transformation into its final stages.

The men sensed movement behind the bar, and they crowded over to see Ed come out of the kitchen with a large pilsner glass filled with a light ale, but with no foam on top. In fact, the brew looked completely flat, and a few men let out a whistle or a hoot, having already guessed which color had won the day. Ed ignored them and approached Andy, “Here man, consider this my apology for Danny Boy earlier–it’s a rare brew of mine I’d like you to sample–my version of a Norse honey mead.”

“Sample,” Andy slurred, eyeing the monstrously large glass, “This is a bit big to be a sample…” still, he took it in hand and sipped a bit off the top, wincing at the rank, bitter flavor. “Dang, that’s a bit…rank. Shouldn’t it be a bit sweeter?”

“Oh, keep at it, I’m sure the taste will grow on you,” Ed said, and Andy took another drink, and then another. Ed was right, the taste wasn’t as bad as he’d first thought, and before he could stop himself, he tipped it back and chugged the last three quarters of the glass, not even minding when some of it dribbled down around his fledgling beard and down onto his chest, leaving an odd trail of blonde hairs where the stream had run down. “Alright boys, I have a tub in the back set up for our friend here,” Ed announced to the room, “However, I think it’s going to need to be topped off–if any of you would like to contribute.”

Now everyone laughed and clapped and hollered, some heading towards the rooms in the back of the bar, but others crowded in closer around Ed and Andy, who glanced about, drunk and confused by the sudden attention. “What–what are you talking about, Ed?”

“Don’t you worry man, you just sit there for bit and let that last brew sink in a bit,” Ed said, “You feeling anything? Thirsty…maybe?”

“Huh? I guess a little…actually, I kind of gotta go piss, where’s the restroom?” he asked, set the cigar down in an ashtray and tried to get off the stool, but Ed shoved him back down.

“Now hold your horses, don’t you think–” Ed started to say, but then leaned in closer, putting his hand on Andy’s cock through his shorts and massaging it gently, “don’t you think it would be so much hotter to piss yourself right here? In front of me and these hot guys? Wouldn’t that just feel so sexy?”

“Wha–Oh fuck, you freak! I gotta get…I gotta…oh god, I can’t–I can’t hold it…” Andy groaned, and suddenly couldn’t hold back his cock, releasing a blast of acrid, foul smelling piss into his shorts, which ran down his legs, onto the barstool and down to the floor, the men around him laughing and jeering at him, but while he knew he should be embarrassed–instead he felt really good, almost proud. His cock was rock hard, and his piss smelled so good, he could almost taste it and…and he was thirsty all of a sudden. Really, really thirsty. He licked his lips, and pushed himself off the stool, turned around and before he could stop himself, started licking up his pissbefore it could be sucked up by the dry sawdust below him, the men cheering him on as he lapped up as much as he could.

“Aww, don’t worry man, we have plenty of that for you,” Ed said, pulling out his cock and waving it in Andy’s face, “All you have to do is beg like a good little piss whore. Go on, beg for it, bitch.”

Andy, on his knees, looked around at the men surrounding him, their eyes hungry, and he knew he should run. He knew he should fight past them, get in his car and drive off as fast as he could, but fuck, the thirst! And that little bit of his own that he’d lapped up, it had tasted so good, he could only imagine what drinking Ed’s would be like. “Please…” he whispered, his voice dry and cracked. He took a moment, licked his lips, swallowed and tried to make some moisture so he could speak, “Please, please, Ed, can I…can I have your piss?”

The men jeered at him and Andy felt his face redden, or at least the bits which could be seen through his dark, full beard. “What did you say whore? You didn’t just call me Ed, did you? That name is reserved for the men and clientele of this establishment, not for its whores!” the men laughed, and Ed drank it in with a smile, “Now how about you try something with a bit more…respect.”

“Please…Oh god, I’m so thirsty, please…sir, please I need it, I’m so…” Andy groaned, but his voice dried out and he was afraid that if Ed didn’t relent he might never speak again.

“Alright, alright–I can see you’re suffering there. Here you piss whore, take a good, long drink,” Ed said, and started pissing, Andy latching his mouth around his cock as quickly as he could to avoid missing a drop, and the sheer ecstasy which rolled across his face sent the men into another bout of laughter and applause. Andy, however, heard none of it. The sheer satisfaction of a long drink of piss after his fear of starvation–it was overwhelming, and with with several full body jerks he shot a load of cum in his wet shorts, though he never released Ed’s cock for a second, nor stopped his relentless swallowing.

When he finished milking the last drops from Ed’s dick, he released it with a gasp. “Thank you, oh thank you sir, you saved me,” Andy said, feeling rejuvenated, but surprised at the deep, masculine voice which emerged from his throat suddenly.

“Ha, if you liked that, I’ve got a load of you, pig!”

“Me too, you can suck me dry anytime!”

Ed held up his hand, silencing the crowd, “Hold your horses, men, our new whore isn’t finished yet–now how about you all help me get him out of these soaking wet clothes?” Before Andy could even think of resisting, the patrons descended on him, ripping away his shirt and soaked shorts.

“Holy fuck, the pig shot a load already! Just from drinkin’ Ed’s piss!”

“What a fuckin’ hog–we might as well hook him up to the urinals full time!”

“That true pig?” Ed said, grabbing Andy’s constantly growing beard and yanking his face around inches away from his own, “Did you just shoot a load from drinking my piss, you fucking bitch?”

“Ye–Yes sir, I’m sorry sir, I was just–just so thirsty, I–”

“You fucking whore!” Ed said, slapping Andy across the face, “You don’t cum unless someone tells you to, got it? You’re here for our pleasure, not your own–if you cum, it’s because we want you to, got it? Gonna have to do something about this one–apparently he’s a bit more eager than I anticipated. Alright whore, I have a little party all set up for you in the back, shall we go check it out?” Still clutching Andy’s now foot long beard, he pulled him up and dragged him into the dark back rooms of the bar, where Andy saw a group of men standing in a loose circle, and the scent of piss was heavy in the air, making his lips dry out once more. In the middle, he saw a washtub filled three quarters of the way with the same amber mead Ed had brought him, though this had now been augmented by over a dozen loads of beer piss from the patrons, with more coming every minute. Ed parted the circle with a shove and then pulled Andy to the edge, and with one whiff it took all of his nerve to keep from plunging his face in and drinking all that he could. “Well? Go on whore, we all know you want it…” Ed whispered in his ear, but when Andy still didn’t move, he grabbed the back of his head, twisted his fingers into Andy’s now shoulder length hair, and shoved him down into the yellow liquid.

In his terror, Andy choked and breathed in, but was soon taking in as much as he could, not caring whether it went to his lungs or his stomach as long as it was inside of him. Too soon, far too soon, Ed pulled him back up, letting Andy shake the liquid from his eyes and lick his lips, and notice that everyone was laughing. “Someone grab a mirror and show our urinal his new look,” Ed said, and one of the men ran off, returning a moment later with a mirror, showing Andy that his hair, beard, and even his eyebrows were now a bright, but dirty, blonde. With the long beard and hair, he almost looking like some piss sodden viking. Still, he couldn’t hold back anymore, and he wrenched himself out of Ed’s grasp and flung his face back into the tub, but a moment later, he felt hands grab his legs and fling him in, face first.

He drank–it was all he could do, all his brain could think about, how he needed it all inside of him. The cheers of the men felt so distant, and he could feel himself filling up, growing as his body was forced to expand and make room for the gallons of liquid in the tub. It shouldn’t be possible, he thought to himself more than once, he shouldn’t be able to hold all of this inside of him, but inch after inch he drained it, until there was a layer too difficult to lap up, and the men hauled him out of the tub and dumped the rest right down his throat, tipping the tub up and pouring it into their new whore’s mouth.

Finished, he gasped for breath and air, exhausted, amazed that he was alive, and when he could open his eyes and look around, his vision faint, he caught sight of the mirror being held up for him, but he couldn’t see–didn’t want to see himself, really. What he could make out was a massive, round figure, but that was just his tight, swollen gut, matted with hair the same blonde as his head and face. But behind the gut–he was huge and massively muscled, with bulging arms and solid pecs. It was so much, and the room was spinning faster and faster at odd angles. He slumped onto his side, the cold concrete soothing against his hot, flushed skin and taut gut. Even the men crowding in around him, trying to keep him awake wasn’t enough to keep his eyes open, and the last thing he saw was Ed pushing through and bending down over him, and Andy was out.

*****

There was something–something slapping him in his face. At first, he thought it was a cock, but it was a hand, and he opened his eyes, seeing the man in magenta he’d spotted in the bar earlier looking down at him. “Hey, Hey! You ok? Come on Eskel, let’s get you up and empty you out. Don’t make me shove these pits in your face and get you up that way,” he said, and grabbed the blonde beast’s muscular arm and helped him up with a deep groan. Musky couldn’t believe how big the new guy, Eskel, had gotten last night–Ed had really outdone himself with this one. The last yellow they’d had couldn’t hold anything like this guy, he must have tweaked his mead recipe from before.

There really wasn’t much the slender Musky could do to help the nearly seven foot tall and over three hundred pound muscle man Eskel had grown into up out of bed. It didn’t help that his swollen gut stuck out nearly three feet in front of him, and was as rock solid, so while Eskel pulled himself out, Musky took out a cigar from the humidor on the bedside table, lit it, and gave it to Eskel when he sat up. The cigar brought some new life to him, and with some coaching, he managed to haul him into the bathroom, sit him down on the toilet, and Musky pressed down on Eskel’s swollen gut, hearing the piss suddenly shoot out of Eskel’s thick, short cock and into the bowl, the scent of urine making the norseman lick his lips in thirst, as he shook his head and became truly aware of his surroundings. “Where…where am I? Who are you?” the man growled, but Musky shushed him and focused on milking his gut down to a reasonable size. “I…remember you, from the bar–I saw you…what happened? Where–where’s Ed? I don’t…”

“Look, Eskel, maybe….” Musky said, stopping his pressure, leaving Eskel with a beachball sticking out under his pecs, “Here, that’s good enough, let’s flush and then get you in front of a mirror, it’ll be easier to show you.” He tried to get Eskel to stand up, but he started struggling against him, and rather than be slammed into the wall by the muscle man’s huge, hairy fists, he backed up and let him stand on his own.

“My name…My name isn’t Eskel, why you keep calling me that? My name….my name is…” he started to say, but he caught sight of himself in the mirror over the sink and his jaw dropped. “No…No, no, no…” he said. He was huge, he couldn’t even see his whole self in the mirror, but the sheer mass–it was incredible. He was hulking, he was a blond, muscular piss freak, he could smell it on himself and he was so thirsty. “No, fucking no!” he shouted and slammed his fist into the mirror, sending down a shower of glass before collapsing back against the opposite wall and descending into sobs, clutching his bloodied knuckles and sucking on his cigar for deer life, the smoke being the only thing keeping his rage in check.

“Eskel…” Musky said, stepping closer, “I know…trust me, I know what its like, but just trust me, alright? I’m here to help you, we all have to help each other, or we don’t have anyone. Or else it’s just Ed, and…” but he stopped not even sure if Eskel was listening to him or not, and deciding to just take a chance, he got down and pulled the huge man into a hug. Eskel flinched at first, but pawed his way around Musky and pulled him closer, not even minding the man’s stench.

“Why…Why can’t I remember my name? I wasn’t Eskel, before…I don’t…”

“Ed took it,” Musky said, “He took all of ours–I don’t know your real name or I’d use it, I swear. He just called you Eskel, and so, that’s all I have. Now, I’m sorry, but we need to get you dressed, because we have a meeting to go to, and trust me when I say you don’t want to be late, or try and resist, alright? It isn’t worth it.”

Eskel thought about it, thought about how angry he was, but…the small man was probably right. “What’s your name?” Eskel asked.

“I don’t know, but you can call me Musky. Now lets get you ready, Ed told me how he wants you to look, so…well, just hold on.” Musky said, lit a cigarette for himself and left and brought in a pair of bright yellow hip waders held up by suspenders which he helped Eskel into, and then pulled out two yellow handkerchiefs, braiding both of them into Eskel’s permanently wet beard. The big man was happy he’d shattered the mirror, because he didn’t want to see himself like this, but Musky looked like he approved, though he could sense the big man’s apprehension. “Look, just trust me on this. It isn’t forever–Ed let’s us all go eventually. And…and I know this isn’t much solace, but if you let go, and if you try not to fight it? You might even like it eventually.” Eskel snorted in doubt, and Musky smirked, “I know, I know–but, well, let’s just say I know from experience. You ready to face the world now? We don’t want to be late.”

Eskel nodded reluctantly and started to follow Musky out of the room, but stopped, “Wait,” he said, licking his lips, “I’m…” he said, but couldn’t get the words out, but Musky understood well enough and pulled out his cock. Eskel grinned, got down on his knees and drank down Musky’s rank piss, and already feeling a bit better, followed his newest friend and fellow whore to the bar, to face the new day.

One Change #1 – Introduction

There is a curious thing happening to some men–it appears as though something has started messing with the space-time continuum. The effect appears to be rather small–one change, sometimes big, sometimes small–which happens in a man’s past, but which can radically alter the future. No one knows who is chosen or why–but the changes do seem to have a love for karma.

John was an early target, an older contractor who was a stickler for order. This was generally a positive trait, but John liked to force everyone else to live as he did. He was the tyrant of his neighborhood association, and was the first to make a formal complaint should someone try and decorate their lawn, or put their Christmas lights up even a day early. As a contractor he was a stickler for building codes, and he inspected every renovation to any house whether the owner asked him to or not. Apparently, someone decided to go back and with a little tweak, make John a messy child. 

John was in the midst of cleaning his living room when he noticed the changes cascading over him. Whenever he picked up a piece of clutter, three pieces would suddenly appear behind his back. He had no idea where all of this stuff was coming from, but he recognized it all as his…didn’t he? Before long, he was pushed out of the living room by the piles, and he caught a glimpse of himself in a tarnished mirror hung askew in the hallway. When did he get so fat? And why was his hair and beard so long?

Hell, why wouldn’t it be that long? He hadn’t cut his hair or shaved his face in years, why in the hell would he start now? He gave his belly a scratch and let out a loud belch. He should probably take a shower, but why bother? He clambered over the piles of junk still filling his house from floor to ceiling and made his way outside, not caring that he was suddenly naked. No memories of his old life remained–the slobby kid had grown into a adult hoarder.

Of course, the culprit of these changes also tried to reward individuals who had done well in their lives, but who had never been able to get as far as they should have. Be in a small boost in confidence, or a little twist of luck, a few people found their lives put on a better track than before. Howie was a good example.

Howie was a good man, or at least he tried his best. He’d grown up poor, but rather than turning to crime and drugs like a lot of his childhood friends, he worked to pay his way through truck driving school, and was finally doing well for a change, however, he wasn’t happy. The years of work had been murder on his body, and the driving didn’t leave much time for exercise. He hated his gut, his balding head hidden by his hat, and his cigar habit, but there wasn’t much he could do about it. His slow metabolism and high testosterone level caused most of his ills, but apparently whoever was behind these changes felt a bit sorry for him. So, Howie went to bed that night with a slight tweak body’s molecular makeup.

When he woke the next morning and looked in the mirror, he didn’t recognize himself for a second. He ran his hands across his firm stomach and pecs, the sensation of his smooth skin something new, and not unwelcome, along with his new tan. Sure, the sudden lack of testosterone had shrunk his cock and balls quite a bit, but with his increased metabolism and tendency to pack on muscle, he had never really minded, nor did the men who lined up to worship his massive body. He lit a cigar for himself as last night’s catch woke up, and quickly got down to suck Howie’s cock, running his hands up and down the bodybuilder’s front. Exhaling a thick plume of smoke, he knew he should try and quit this nasty habit, but hey, some changes still had to be made the old fashioned way. – 

Any more votes for Andy and the Roadhouse Part 2?

I’m still taking votes for the conclusion of Andy and the Roadhouse! Once again, the choices are red, yellow, or grey. I got reports that the link I posted with the story didn’t work–so I’ll try again: http://user.xmission.com/~trevin/hanky.html – or just search “hanky code” on the world wide internets and I’m sure you can figure it out. Or just take a wild guess–that’s fun too.

And don’t be shy–I’m not going to reveal your preferred kinks to the rest of the world unless you ask me to.

Andy at the Roadhouse Part 1 (Interactive Story)

Sorry, no extra pics on this one–so you’re just going to have to have to use your imaginations, lazy bums! However, in exchange, how about you all help me finish it. I have too many ideas, so read it, pick the ending you want to see, and send me a message or reply telling me your vote.

*****

Andy saw the flicker of neon up ahead, and sped up a little, eager to get off the road for the night. A cross country trip on the backroads of America had sounded like a good idea when he was plotting the course, but after getting lost countless times, running out of gas twice, and quite a few run-ins with some of the unsavory characters of the backcountry, he was beginning to think this might have been a misjudgement. The sign belonged to a roadhouse, apparently a small restaurant and bar with a tiny motel tucked in behind it–and wouldn’t you know, it actually looked pretty clean compared to some of the places he’d bunked up in recently, even if that wasn’t saying much. Still, he was starved, hadn’t slept in a bed in over a day, and his grumbling stomach was willing to tolerate pretty much anything at this point.

He pulled into the gravel parking lot, sliding his station wagon in between two hulking, rusted pickup trucks and with a nervous look around, he walked up onto the porch and into the restaurant. The place was busy enough that only a few people near the door noticed him come in–and the glares from those who did were something he’d started getting used to, although these, almost seemed more interested and curious about him than angry or suspicious, which was a relief. Looking around, the place looked like it had missed a few decades of renovations, the floor covered in sawdust with a creaking and lopsided jukebox pumping out country classics of the 60’s and 70’s. The clientele, he saw, was entirely men, which while not all that odd, was still a bit surprising–otherwise, it looked like the general crew of roughnecks, truckers and bikers places like this tended to collect. However, the cloud of smoke in the room was unusually thick–nearly everyone had a cigarette, cigar or pipe in their mouth. Andy used to smoke, but had quit a few years ago at the urging of a now ex-girlfriend. The smell of it was a sudden reminder of how good smoking had felt, but he pushed that thought away and worked his way deeper into the room.

Working his best mosey, he made his way through the crowd and up to the bar, catching the attention of the bartender–a burly man with a beard several feet long wearing jeans and a leather vest, showing off his tattooed arms and chest. Still, the man was nice enough, and Andy quickly learned that Ed was the owner, bartender, cook and innkeeper of the entire establishment. He seemed very pleased to have someone from out of town, which surprised Andy a bit–he was more used to being shunned than welcomed–and Ed gave him a beer on the house while he waited for his food from the kitchen. Ed winked as he handed the young man the bottle, telling him his homebrew was famous around the parts, and Andy, doubting the man’s statement, took it to be kind. Still, what was the harm in a drink? It wasn’t like he was going to be driving any more tonight. He took a sip of the beer and found it to be strong and quite bitter, but drinkable, and took a seat along the wall where he hoped he wouldn’t be stared at too much, and now that he’d been noticed, they were all staring when they thought he wasn’t looking at them. A few of the gazes started making him feel like they were inspecting and sizing him up–it was unnerving, and he downed the beer quickly in defense.

Moments after he finished his first brew, a second one came unbidden, brought by a slender boy who couldn’t have been close to twenty one from behind the bar–and who had strange idea of fashion. His shoulder length, wavy hair was dyed a deep green, which actually looked surprisingly good on him, though Andy was certain he himself could never have pulled the look off. He was also wearing a green tank top and some green gym shorts with green sneakers, to keep the color theme going. He set down the beer with a coy grin, looked Andy over while he puffed on his cigarette, but before Andy could even thank him, he bounded off laughing, ecstatic for some reason.

Looking about the bar, Andy saw that there were a few other colorful characters scattered around the room. The first one he spotted was a short but well built man with a flattop dyed pitch black, with a perfectly trimmed short boxed beard and clad in a leather harness, shorts and boots with a thick collar cinched tight around his neck. Near him was a massively obese man wearing nothing other than some peachy latex shorts stretched around his massive thighs, with a shaved head and a strawberry blonde goatee around his mouth. He also saw a filthy looking man with a magenta colored mohawk, wearing an identically colored tank top showing off his raunchy, amazingly hairy pits for everyone to see. Like everyone else, they were all smoking cigars and cigarettes, and looking at all these freaks, he was starting to feel creeped out, but the beer was making him feel pretty mellow, and he was still really hungry. If anything, the brews were increasing his hunger–and his thoughts of smoking. He hadn’t smoked in so long, and the thick second hand smoke was intoxicating all on its own. When the same man delivered a third beer, Andy worked up the screwed up his nerve and asked, “Hey, do you…could I bum a cigarette off you? I–I quit years ago, but all this smoke…” he trailed off, feeling silly suddenly.

“Well sure, I got a smoke, but it’ll cost ya,” the green boy said with a smirk, pulling a cigarette and lighter the pocket of his shorts.

“I got cash, how much do you want?”

“Oh I don’t want cash,” he said, coming closer and invading Andy’s space a bit, “I want a kiss, before these beers of Ed’s hit you too hard. How about it? As a bit of a farewell?”

Andy started to protest, but the boy lit the cigarette, took an inhale, and before Andy could duck away, locked lips with him and exhaled the smoke deep into Andy’s lungs. What sort of place had he wandered into? As these thoughts crossed his mind, Andy realized he had started kissing the boy back, and was actually enjoying it–and the room around them had grown quiet.

“Danny Boy! Stop harassing him, god damn it!” Andy heard Ed shout, and the green boy broke off the kiss and scurried off, but not before sticking the lit cigarette between Andy’s lips.

“Sorry about that,” Ed said, coming over with a plate laden with food, “He a bit anxious tonight. Here’s your dinner buddy, on the house after that incident.”

“Look, thanks, but I think I’d better go,” Andy said and started to get up, but Ed pushed him back down onto the stool.

“Nope, yer gonna eat, and stay, and drink, and have a good time,” Ed said, the sudden force behind his words stunning Andy a bit, and he tentatively picked up the greasy burger and started chowing down. “That’s a good man, enjoy!” Ed said, and returned back behind the bar. He set the cigarette down on an ashtray, taking the occasional puff between bites, and when he finished, Ed swooped out and took the plate away, leaving Andy with a full belly, a new beer, and his cigarette, which appeared suspiciously unsmoked. Andy was starting to feel a bit bloated, and he undid his belt before starting on his fourth…or was it fifth, brew. He certainly had quite the buzz going, and it felt like as soon as he finished one beer another was in his hand before he could even think about it, and it was getting hard to focus on the room around him.

However, while Andy was losing focus, the rest of the room grew quieter and quieter as their attention shifted over to Andy. They had already noticed small changes–Andy’s burgeoning gut, the sideburns creeping down and growing thicker, the thick layer of hair being revealed as Andy’s tight, white tank was pushed up bit by bit. The cigarette in Andy’s hand grew and darkened with every inhale, soon shifting into a short, thick cigar which he seemed perfectly at ease with, not even noticing the change. However, what the room was waiting for with baited breath was the color–what would the color be?

All the full members of the roadhouse had already cast their votes soon after Andy had arrived, and they knew Ed was busy in the back tallying up the votes. He would emerge soon, and then they would know what their newest whore’s specialty would be. Some were sad to see Danny Boy go–especially the older men who were irresistible to him, but they all had to retire eventually. Besides, there would be new adventures, but what was this man’s color to be?

*****

I don’t know, how about you tell me? It’s an interactive story, celebrating 50 followers! Go ahead and send me a reply or message with the color you want to see. Here’s your three options: Red, Grey, or Yellow.

If you don’t know what these colors might mean for Andy, then maybe go here: http://user.xmission.com/~trevin/hanky.html

Give me your answer by Thursday afternoon to make sure you get counted, and thanks to you all for the follows, likes and reblogs, they’re much appreciated!