Category: Uncategorized

As Billy Fore once put it very eloquently, is the sexualization of people’s livelihood (workers, truckers, police officers) inherently problematic?

For those not familiar with Billy’s stuff, the original ask the question is referring to is here. And you should check out his tumblr for sure, @hypnohepcat.

This is going to be another one with a short answer and a long answer.

Short answer: Generally, yes.

Long answer: Usually, but I don’t think it’s “inherent”. Or rather, I think there’s a way to depict this sort of thing without it becoming insulting and demeaning, it’s just difficult to do. That’s not to detract from the original point, but I think we can do more to try an tease out what, exactly, the problem is with these sorts of fetishes, and whether anything can be done to try and mitigate that.

This issue, after all, isn’t a matter of who gets to have sex in stories. There can’t be something inherently wrong with a story about two construction workers having sex–that is, the act itself. But rather, there’s an issue about how these characters get portrayed in these sorts of stories, where they become flattened and reduced to cliche and archetype rather than filled out and given actual lives and development.

Because as Billy points out, a lot of the labor we tend to fetishize is, generally, rather skilled. Construction is a great example. We love our stories about dumb laborers, but there’s a tremendous amount of knowledge and skill that goes into construction, electrical work, plumpbing etc., but in our culture, we have created such a vast cultural gap between manual labor (brute force, low intellect), information labor (high intellect, cleverness), and social labor (service work, either controlling or worthy of humiliation) that it becomes very difficult to conceive of, say, a smart, clever, intellectual construction worker.

But these jobs are skilled, and people take pride in them, and they use them build lives beyond them. That’s what we tend to forget. When we fantasize about the dumb brute laborer, we don’t usually get so far as to figure out what sort of place he goes home to, if he has a union job with union wages, if he has a family, what he does for leisure, if he feels like his life possesses worth. We reduce these professions to their “sexy” elements, and everything else, everything inconvenient, disappears into the ether.

It becomes especially troublesome when the depiction becomes inherently demeaning. When the job becomes a symbol of a person lacking worth in society. I’m guilty of this part, especially, and it’s something I’m trying to do less of, especially because it is lazy, uninteresting writing. A character should be more than what they do for work, in the same sense that a character should be more than the culture they hail from (both in terms of race and class). We can still tell sexy stories with characters who are more than cliches, I think–it’s just a difficult challenge to do so.

Acceleration (Part 1)

“What do you think guys? Is Runt any taller today?”

Jack shoved Russell up against the lockers in the high school hallway, and he struggled against him, but his arms were several inches too short to get anywhere near Jack’s chest.

“Nah man, I think he’s just stopped!”

“Gonna be looking like he’s twelve forever, probably!”

Jack leaned in close, a cruel sneer on his face. “And a faggot too–not that surprising. I ain’t gay, but I do have something that might help you grow,” Jack said, and with his free hand he groped his crotch, making sure Russell could see the bulge through the mesh of the basketball shorts he had on. The other jocks clustered around their ringleader looked a bit nervous–it was clear that this part hadn’t been discussed, but Russell’s sexuality had been a hot topic at school for the last week or so–Jack was bound to find out eventually. “Eh? You and me, the bathroom after school? Nothing helps me grow like a good boost of protein, and you might as well get some practice, faggot.”

“Jack, leave him the fuck alone!”

Russell and Jack looked to the side, where Finn was standing a few yards away. As if things could get any worse–Russell would gladly have sucked Jack’s cock if it meant Finn could just fucking disappear. Still, Jack let go of Russell’s shirt, and he fell back against the lockers. It wasn’t very surprising, really–Jack liked to be the bully, but he knew when he was outmatched, and Finn was about the only person in school who could outmatch him–but then, Finn outmatched everyone, pretty much.

“I’ll be waiting, faggot. Be there, or fucking regret it,” Jack said, too low for Finn or his posse to hear him, and then he walked away, the guys laughing and joking, and Finn walked to where Russell was recovering.

“Russ, are you alright?”

“Fuck off, Finn,” Russell said, and hefted up his backpack, “Haven’t you done enough shit already this week to ruin my life?”

“I told you I’m sorry, Russ–”

“And I thought I could fucking trust you!” Russ said, “I don’t–fuck you, Finn. You don’t fucking know.” It was lame, and he knew it, but he couldn’t put everything he was feeling into words. He just pushed past Finn, in the opposite direction Jack had gone, and headed for his class, just wanting to get through the rest of school without the day turning into even more of a nightmare than it already was.

Why couldn’t he have just kept his mouth shut? It wasn’t hard, after all, to just not say anything. Then again, Russell had told him, hadn’t he? Holding onto it for this long had just been…exhausting, and that night at Finn’s house, with a little alcohol from his dad’s stash, it had just…popped out. “I think I’m gay.” And Finn had been good! Really good, in fact. They’d talked through it a bit, and when Russell had left, he’d felt…good for the first time in a very long time, that his oldest friend would accept and support him no matter what, and no matter how they’d grown apart over the last couple of years.

Russell and Finn had bonded during Freshman year. At the time, they’d both been late bloomers, at the time, and together they had weathered the social trials of the first year of high school. But Finn had spent the summer away from town, visiting family on the other side of the country, and when he’d returned…well, he hadn’t been the same Finn who’d left, that was for sure. He’d grown a bit over a foot taller, packed on muscle and fat, and had somehow managed to grow a full beard. Russell had barely been able to believe it, and when they’d gone back to school, suddenly he and his friend were pulled apart. Finn was recruited to the football program, and quickly became the start of the JV team, while Russell was left in the dust–and that was when Jack entered the picture as well.

Jack was a year younger than them both, and while he couldn’t hold a candle to Finn, he immediately saw Russell was a perfect target for bullying, even if he was a year older than him. Hell, that actually made the whole thing even more fun for Jack–Russell could tell. And so, two more years had passed, Russell praying for a growth spurt and puberty which would never come–all he got was a light dusting of hair around his groin, an embarrassing cracking voice that never settled particularly low, and a case of acne that made him want to hide his face for half a year. Still, even if he’d had less time for him, Finn had done his best to remain friends with Russell, but it was inevitable that they would grow apart. Admitting to Finn that he was gay–part of why that had felt so good, was that it meant he was still his friend. But Finn had loose lips, and he’d let slip about it to Amy, the girl he was fucking at the moment, and Amy had told Emma and Trevor, and so on and so forth, and now everyone in the whole school pretty much knew, or would know by the next week.

Pervert Vision (Caption)

Drew was horny. This was nothing new for him, really, because Drew was always horny. He’d been horny for as long as he could remember. But Drew wasn’t quite like other perverts–no, Drew had always had something about him that made him…very special.

It had started with his father, when he was just a teenager. The burly man had always fascinated him, and played a regular role in Drew’s young fantasies. He’d been so innocent then, in some ways–but what he’d always wanted was for his father to…lust after him as well. It happened slowly, at first. Drew began to notice his father seemed to be…spying on him. Trying to catch him naked, trying to catch his son masturbating, stealing his son’s cumrags. Drew found it hard to believe…but the more he thought about it, the more true it became, until his father finally begged him for a load of cum–just like he’d imagined him doing the day before. That final year of living at home had been a year of…experimentation. Discovering what he could do, and who he could do–and he ended up doing most every man in the neighborhood, as well as the teachers at school. His father remained a favorite, however. Maybe it was time to pay him a visit, he hadn’t been home in quite some time, and his father always loved a chance to worship his perfect boy in person.

But no–not today. Often, Drew kept to himself. It was best that way, because he’d become so…powerful, that it was difficult to contain himself, once he got excited. Still, there was no rush quite like a hunt–and today, he felt like hunting. He threw on some cunstained clothes, headed down to the sidewalk, and decided to see what might interest him. He hadn’t been to the gym in a while, he supposed. He kept a membership, though rarely used it–he had never had much interest in working out, but it was a great opportunity to find some delightful men to play with.

He went inside, signed in, and headed right for the locker room, and found it sparse, without no one who really captured his interest. Still, he could wait. He sat on a bench in the corner of the room, behind a row of lockers, and masturbated idly for a few minutes, certain that something would come his way before too long. Sure enough, two young men entered, finished with their workout, and the scruffy one of the pair–oh, just seeing him drove Drew a bit wild.

Neither of them had been planning on taking a shower, but they made their way back there anyway. The sight of the chubby, slovenly pervert staring at them and jacking off should have disgusted them…but neither of them minded. Instead of taking a shower, however, the scruffy one got down on his knees while his workout partner stripped, and started sucking on his cock. He couldn’t break his eyes away from the pervert, however, no matter how hard he tried, and the pervert liked that.

The pervert liked it so much, his friend started spitting on him, calling him a faggot, and then shoved him up against the wall of the showers, fucking his ass, Scruff moaning and begging for more. Still–the pervert watched him, adored the confusion in his eyes. This would be a fun one–one to play with for a little while. His friend came deep, and then left. He was already forgetting about his friend, and Scruff collapsed to the tile, horrified by what had just happened to him, even as the pervert walked over to where he was. The scent rolling off his was strong–thick with cum, and it was…making him hungry, somehow.

He looked up at the pervert looming over him, a thousand questions running through his mind, but what came out of his mouth was, “Fuck, you’re a sexy looking fucker–wanna head back to my place for some fun?”

Drew liked that idea–but he was horny first, and so be made Scruff beg for another load from him before they left, and Scruff was more than happy to swallow down another load…but then again, he was a real cumpig, wasn’t he? It was hard to remember, but the straight, gruff jock he’d been when he’d walked into the locker room less than half an hour ago seemed so distant, and he felt like someone else. Someone he didn’t even know, to be honest. Drew came, Scruff swallowed, and then they left the gym, Scruff leading the way to his apartment. A…girlfriend was there, for some reason, but that wasn’t right. Scruff wasn’t dating anyone at the moment, and so he kicked her out, and once he was alone with the pervert again…well, things just seemed to…appear, as they needed them.

The poppers, first. Scruff kept huffing on them, feeling his cock throbbing harder and harder as the pervert fucked his ass, which seemed to be getting…looser, and the looser it got, the better it felt, to be honest. The pervert found the can of crisco in the dresser, lubed up a fist, and Scruff only had a moment of doubt before the hand was inside him, the pervert complimenting him on his technique, telling him he was one of the better fistpigs he’d found in the city.

Scruff kept expecting it to end. He would cum, the pervert would cum, but it only seemed to make the pervert hornier, and the look in his eyes–Scruff would be ready for another round before the pervert even suggested it. It was two days before the man finally left–Scruff looked around had his grungy one bedroom apartment, outfitted more as a sex dungeon than as a living space, before falling on the bed and at last falling asleep, still thinking about him, the perverts eyes still on him, still in him.

When he woke up, it was nearly night, and Scruff was horny as ever. He got dressed in some of his favorite gear–red and black, of course, threw his legs up, and took a pic.

He sent it to some of his favorite tops in the city–they all ran in the same circle as Drew, of course, but then, Drew seemed to know every perverse fuck in town. Before the hour was up, two men were inside him, Scruff was poppered up, and he knew it was going to be another great night to be a fistpig.

The Votes are In (Part 11)

Well, the twitter poll was perfectly divided, 50% to 50% in favor of Brett and Nate, so that left it up to the Patreon supporters, who favored Brett by a decent margin, with 55% for the slob, and 45% for the redneck. I think this is probably the final poll of this series, and I’ll wrap things up here with another one or two chunks this week.

The next interactive will start up in early March, and have a VR theme–though I’m still working out the details of it!

Pigtown Prison II – The Rookie (Part 5)

Jeff looked up at him, where Keith loomed large over everything, over his entire life. What did it really matter, if he agreed or not? He’d be Keith’s toy either way–but at least, if he agreed…maybe he would be happier with himself. So he said yes, and Keith told him to take two days, sell his things, end his lease, and return with a single bag. He’d be living with Keith from now on, as his slave. The word made Jeff balk, and when he left, he told himself he wouldn’t do it…but the desperation returned, as it always did. Two days later, he was there on the porch, one small duffel packed with only the necessities, and he stepped inside, got on his knees when ordered, and sucked his Master’s cock, showing his gratitude that Keith was willing to train him.

He stayed on at the force, but Keith had his hours cut back quite a bit, and arranged it so Jeff’s checks would be deposited automatically into his own accounts. Keith had a sizable personal gym in his house, and when Jeff wasn’t at work or completing his chores, he was there–working out and lifting weights. His meals were massive, and from the first day, Keith would inject him several times during the day, but always refused to tell Jeff what, exactly, the injections were. Still–they were working. Three months later, he was already larger–when he looked at himself in the mirror, he was beginning to see the sort of brute he longed to be…but his looks weren’t the only changes. His mind was slowing down. He had a difficult time making decisions, and relied on Keith–or Master, as he called him now, to decide everything for him–when to eat, what to eat, when to sleep, how to work out, what chores to do. It was a comfort, really, that he didn’t have to think. He knew he was being reduced to a stupid beast…but rather than be horrified, the idea actually turned him on more and more.

Keith shaved his head, pierced his nipples and cock, and began taking him to a tattoo parlour, his entire body slowly being covered by blocks and swirls of black ink, from his neck down to the tops of his feet. He loved it–especially when he was in Pigtown and caught sight of himself in a mirror, while he was balls deep inside a pig’s hole. He looked like a nasty minded thug pig, just like Keith told him he was going to be–and it was all he really wanted to be, anymore. At the bar, he would still take Rod’s drinks, but now that he was larger, the effect was even more substantial. Each time he was there, he would up even larger than before–and in turn, his daily body never felt large enough–no matter how large he got. He knew, in his mind, that he should be satisfied, but between Keith’s humiliation, and the rush of those evenings behind the curtain, even when he finally plateaued at 280 pounds of muscle and fat…he still felt puny. It didn’t help that, somehow, he was getting shorter. He lost almost six inches, from the time he moved in with Keith–and he was never able to get a straight answer why. The loss in height only made him work harder for more and more mass. He lost flexibility, his muscles restricting his movement–especially in his shoulders and neck. The pills and shots Keith were forcing on him fucked with his hormones as well, his cock and balls growing and constantly horny, hair sprouting all over his body in thick patches, and acne erupting all over his face and back, leaving his face scarred and pitted. His face–he barely recognized old photos of him anymore. He seemed so square and boxy, his head sitting right on his massive, inflamed chest, a thick beard hiding his mouth, usually stuck in a scowl.

As thick as he was, and as aggressive as he found himself behaving around the precinct–especially around guys on the force he knew he’d be fucking later in the evening, Keith kept him under his control at all times. He loved the fact that he could bend Jeff over, anywhere and anytime, and have his way with his muscle bull–with Rook, as everyone had started calling him, joking that he was built like a tower on a chess board. Keith had come up with it–as a way to shorten his usual nickname of Rookie, now that he was no longer new–and he especially loved it because Rook had grown too stupid to really understand the reference, but he knew it was a compliment, and so he grinned when he heard it all the same.

A few years later, Rook had nearly forgotten about Jeff entirely. He was Master’s enforcer, bruiser, and pet monster–whatever Master Keith wanted him to be, and whoever he wanted him to hurt, Rook obeyed him without question. The last time he felt Jeff at all, was when he was down in Master’s dungeon, punishing one of his prisoners. The leather body bag was hanging from the ceiling, squirming, as Rook went at it for another round, treating it like a literal punching bag, enjoying the feel of the flesh breaking and squishing inside so much more satisfying than the fluff of the bags he usually practiced on. Still–it had had enough. He unzipped the head of the bag, and saw the face inside–it was some old pig named Oliver, who’d been down here as long as Rook could remember, and looking at his bloody face, he felt a flicker of regret…but he stamped it out. That was weakness. He didn’t want to be weak. He grabbed Oliver by the ears, shoved his dick into his mouth and fucked him roughly, imagining he was fucking himself, that old self, breaking it up and throwing it away for good, and by the time he came, feeding the grateful Oliver a good sized load, Rook felt better. Rook felt like everything was exactly the way things were supposed to be.

Pigtown Prison II – The Rookie (Part 4)

He went back to the gym, and again worked himself to exhaustion, and then kept going. It wasn’t enough. He wasn’t strong enough. If he was stronger, he could beat Keith at his own game. If he was bigger, he’d be in control of himself, he’d be in control of everything. He collapsed, hours later, shaking and covered and sweat, and looked at the clock. It was five thirty, and if he jogged…no. No, he wouldn’t do it. It was a trap, and he knew it was a trap, and still, he was getting up, still in his sweat soaked gym clothes, and he left, hustling down the sidewalks through rush hour until he reached the precinct building, where Keith was on the steps, in his uniform, waiting. “You had me worried, Rookie–you’re a couple minutes late. Good thing I was feeling lenient today.”

Jeff wanted to pummel him into the ground. He wanted to drag him in, throw him in a jail cell, and find someone–anyone–who would believe him. But being this close to him, smelling him, he found himself shrinking slightly as he approached…and he hated it. “You can’t…do this to me.”

Keith smiled, “Rookie, you still don’t get it. You’re going to be doing this to yourself, soon enough. Now let’s get going.”

The walk to the bar was quiet. Jeff did his best to memorize the path, so he’d, hopefully, be able to find his way back on his own, so he could report the place…later. But the street wasn’t even the same one as before–even if the bar looked the same–and now even more confused, he followed Keith up the steps and into the bar–and once he was inside, everything just came naturally, like sliding into a dream. Four or five painful drinks, and then he was himself again. He was the self he wanted to be, and then he was back behind the curtain, fucking any hole he could find, but now, Keith stayed close by, urging him on, both of them fucking pigs together, occasionally fucking Jeff while Jeff fucked someone else, and Jeff found himself…envying Keith. His uniform, and his confidence. The next morning he was back in Keith’s apartment, and back to himself, but when Keith wanted to fuck him…Jeff found himself looking forward to it, in some sick way, and that was when he realized he had, without even thinking about it, given in entirely.

He managed to keep some semblance of himself together, for a time. But every night he spent in Pigtown with Keith and the other pigs on the force, the more he wanted to be that brute, and the more disgusting he found his relatively small frame the next day. When the sergeant suggested he become Keith’s partner on the force, he jumped at the chance–and quickly discovered that Keith had quite the racket going on the side. Usually, at the end of their shifts, they’d pick up a suspect or two, with or without evidence, and take them to Pigtown. None of them ever left again, to Jeff’s knowledge…but that didn’t faze him like he knew it should. He honestly didn’t care what he had to do anymore, so long as Keith kept taking him there…but eventually, the bar wasn’t enough. He didn’t just want to be the brute at night–he wanted to be him all the time. He didn’t care what it would take, or what he would have to give up, and so, one night, while Keith was distracted, Jeff went to the bar, where Rod poured him another drink–but he didn’t take it.

He was about halfway there, at this point. Muscles hulking, cock aching for a good hole, but still…capable of thought, even if he didn’t really want to. He pushed the drink away, which caught Rod by surprise. “What’s up, Rookie? Wanting something different tonight?”

“No…I…” he hesitated, “I don’t…want it to end, anymore.”

Rod cocked an eyebrow.

“I don’t want to wake up tomorrow, and be small anymore. I can’t…take it. I hate it, I hate myself. I just…I want to be this. This brute. I don’t…care what you do to me. I know guys disappear here. I know most of the guys Keith and I bring here just go behind that curtain and never come back out. I don’t care what you do to me back there, but I can’t go back out. I can’t bear it anymore.”

Rod nodded, “As sexy as that would be, chaining you up down there, making a real monster out of you–that’s not quite my call.”

“You own this place! It can be your call. I give you permission, please, just…just take me.”

“This is the deal I have with Keith. He brings me men, and in return, I let him do what he likes with the ones he claims–men like you. And trust me–he likes you a lot, and he likes how miserable you look the morning after. I suppose you could ask him. He might be willing to let you stay down there, if you beg. He likes it when they beg–trust me.”

He looked at Keith, and then back at Rod. “He won’t do it, I know him. He won’t.”

Rod shrugged, and pushed the drink over to him. “Then bottoms up, Rookie. Get what you can, if you can’t get what you want.”

The next morning, even though he knew what Keith’s answer was going to be, he asked anyway. He got down on his knees and begged for it, really, begged for Keith to let him be the brute, begged him to let him stay there, if he wanted. Keith just listened, laughed, and shoved Jeff onto all fours, and fucked him again, right on the floor.

“Why the fuck would I do that?” Keith asked, “Sure, you make a sexy beast, at night, but what I love is this,” he hammered in his cock for emphasis, “This, the morning after, seeing how weak you are, seeing you realize how weak you are. Letting me do whatever the fuck I want to you, all of that ego, and all of that power just stripped away, and you turn into a desperate little faggot, everytime. Because that’s what you really are, you know. A desperate faggot. All of my pigs are. Don’t feel too bad about it–none of you can help it. Not you, not the sergeant, not the captain, not anyone on the squad. You’re all just pigs–and nothing more.” He kept fucking, Jeff trying to feel some anger or rage at Keith…but he just felt empty. The cock in his ass filled the hole slightly, but it wasn’t enough–it was never going to be enough. Keith finished, and slipped free, and while he wiped his cock off, he said, “Still–you want it that badly? Then fine. I’ll help. But you don’t get it the easy way, and you have to do everything I say pig. No talking back, no resistance, and never, ever say no. One chance–take it, or don’t.”

Winter Vacation [Interactive] (Part 11)

The sun rose, but neither Nate nor Brett stirred until it was quite high in the sky, shortly before noon. Still, that wasn’t uncommon–Brett had been up late in his room, watching reruns of Dukes of Hazard, dipping the whole while, and Brett–well, it Brett was a awake, he was usually watching porn and jacking off. Brett didn’t do much else, anymore. With a grunt, he rolled over in his bed, feeling the soggy mattress squish beneath him, reeking of piss and cum. Brett just took a long snort of the fumes, shoved his hand into his underwear and started milking his cock, already excited for the first cum of the day. It was always the best, somehow–he liked to let this one last a bit longer than the rest.

Brett hadn’t weighed himself once since arriving at the house, but if he did, he would have been amazed to discover that he was now cresting 500 pounds. Reaching his cock, however, was getting difficult–but the sensation of his fat shaking, slapping and sloshing around him was heavenly. However, the larger he got, the more he seemed to sweat. Some days, he actually dribbled a trail behind him as he walked, like he’d just emerged from the shower. Still, he never felt dehydrated–if anything, all of the liquid seemed to be coming from inside him, replenishing itself no matter how hot he got–and the same went for his bladder. He seemed to piss every hour, and no matter how large of a piss he let go, he could let off another one, just as large, within an hour. His mattress, which had already been wet when he’d arrived, was now sodden. Whenever he laid down on it, he could hear piss, cum and sweat dribble from it and onto the floor, where it soaked into the clothes piled around him. Still, as large as he was…he wasn’t big enough.

All week, it seemed, Nate had been just ahead of him, always the bigger brother. He hated it–mostly because that meant Nate could order him around, and make him do whatever he wanted. Nate would holler for him across the house, and Brett–so comfortable in his soggy bed, would have to get up, head downstairs into the garage, where Brett would bend him over a bike and fuck him, or dress him up in leather and make him be his slave pig for an hour, or two, or five. Once, however, he’d won. He’d been the big brother, and he dragged Nate upstairs, made him drink his piss and suck his cock all night long, dressing him up in filthy clothes, feed him his dip spit–fuck, that had been amazing. Just thinking about it–he was so close. He came, filling the front of his underwear with a massive load, and sighed. His gut rumbled–and he smelled breakfast on the air. He heaved himself up, shook off his night sweat, and headed downstairs, leaving a trail of wet footprints in his wake.

On the other side of the house, Nate was awake too. He was nearly 550 at this point, a massive, hairy apron sagging down to his thighs. He stepped into his grungy, greasy overalls and pulled them up, feeling his gut grumble. Still–first things first, he packed his bottom lip with chaw, the drool starting to flow into what had become a massive, black beard growing high up his cheeks. The rest of his body was caked with filth–grease, dip spit, cum, and who knew what else, not that he minded at all. A redneck like him ought to be good and filthy, after all. He stepped into some boots, put a stained hat on his head, and headed through the garage to the main house, just as Brett was coming down the stairs. “Mornin’ little bro,” Nate said with a grin.

Brett scowled at him, “Mornin’ big bro.”

“What’s say you ‘n I have some fun in the garage after breakfast? I’m feelin’…might filthy, ‘n I could use a nice tongue bath.”

“What…whatever you say, big bro.” In his head, however, Brett had other ideas. Other, much filthier ideas, if he could just be big enough.

They went into the kitchen together, and found themselves staring at the most massive spread either of them had seen–and a stranger waiting for them as well. Or was he a stranger? It was…their daddy, wasn’t it? But it wasn’t the same daddy they’d had–that daddy had been fat…and kind of stupid. More like a vegetable, really. This daddy had a sharp gleam in his eye, and he was…muscular. “There’s my boys–you two ready for breakfast?”

Brett and Nate nodded, still not quite sure what to make of this change of events.

“Now, I’ve been watching the two of you, you know,” Daddy continued, “your little competition to see who’s the big brother around here, but today–well, let’s just say that whoever the winner is after this meal, isn’t going to be losing the title from now on. If you want to be the big brother, well, you’re going to have to eat like you’ve never eaten before.”

Brett and Nate looked at each other, and then they rushed the table, grabbing for anything they could reach, and shoving it in their face. Occasionally, they would glare at each other, try to shove each other out of the way–and the demon just stood back and watched his boy’s grow. But they weren’t just growing fatter–no. Brett and Nate were both now several inches taller at this point, looming a bit over the table, oblivious to what Daddy’s special meal was doing to them.

Still–there could only be one winner. Who is it going to be? Brett or Nate?

The public twitter poll is here!

The supporter only Patreon poll is here!

Voting ends in 48 hours on Saturday!