Category: Uncategorized

The Votes are In! (Part #9)

Sorry I’m a bit late with the results this time! I’ll have the next chunk up today, hopefully on time, but it might be a bit delayed.

First, the public poll on twitter (which had 52 total votes):

  1. (House pet) 44% – 23 votes
  2. (Living furniture) 15% – 8 votes
  3. (Filth drone feeding) 27% – 14 votes
  4. (Sadistic master) 14% – 7 votes

Second, the private patron only poll on Patreon (which had 29 votes)

  1. (House pet) 41% – 12 votes
  2. (Living furniture) 24% – 7 votes
  3. (Filth drone feeding) 7% – 2 votes
  4. (Sadistic master) 28% – 8 votes

Here’s the total results, out of 81 votes!

  1. (House pet) 42% – 35 votes
  2. (Living furniture) 19% – 15 votes
  3. (Filth drone feeding) 20% – 16 votes
  4. (Sadistic master) 19% – 15 votes

Suggestions Open for February! | Wesley Bracken on Patreon

It’s that time of the month again! One dollar a month towards my Patreon gets you access to the suggestion box, where you can drop in ideas for stories you’d like to see me write. You can find more information at the link above! Here’s an example of one I did last month, if you’d like to see what these look like.

Roommate Rules

“Trust me man, things are going great! You have no idea how many subscribers I’ve picked up in the last month! My last video, like, broke 10,000 views.”

Curtis just glowered at his roommate, Peter. “Dude, you fucking got fired today! What about the bills?”

“Calm down man! I’m good for it, once I start monetizing my shit. Don’t even sweat it. Besides, you make enough to pay for things, I know you do. It’ll all be fine.”

It was true–Curtis made enough money that he carry the house bills on his own if he had to. The place was in his name, after all. Still, he liked having a roommate so he wouldn’t have to freak out about money–and for the company. Still, Peter was…a frustrating guy to live with. All he really wanted, was to be an viral internet sensation, and Curtis just didn’t have any patience for it. “Fine–but you’re gonna have to pick up some other responsibilities around here, got it? If I’m paying the bills, them the least you can do is some extra chores.”

“Of course!” Peter said, and gave his roommate a hug, squeezing the big man tight, which made Curtis feel a bit awkward. Peter knew Curtis was gay, and he secretly thought Peter did shit like that because he thought it was flirty and endearing, when it was just obnoxious. Peter wasn’t even his type at all–though most of his fanbase thought he was dreamy and handsome. Then again, if his dreams took off, it would be good, right? Curtis did really want to help, after all…but he did get the sense he was also getting taken advantage of.

The next couple weeks confirmed that sentiment. Peter did nothing else extra around the house, and if anything he did even less than before. It was then that Curtis passed an odd store on the way home from work, where the proprietor convinced him to purchase something odd. It was just a simple scroll of paper, with the words “House Rules” across the top.

“You’re the man of the house, aren’t you?” the old man said with a chuckle, “Then perhaps it’s time you took some control, eh?”

It…sounded good to Curtis, for some reason, and he went home, put the list up on the wall, and told Peter that he was going to start using it to list the chores he wanted done regularly. Peter just scoffed at it, told him it wasn’t necessary, but…Curtis wanted to do it anyway, so he started writing some basic chores–picking up clutter, washing the dishes, mowing the lawn. And the next day, to both of their surprises, Peter did all of them. Peter, in particular, didn’t quite know what had come over him–he didn’t…want to be doing the chores, but something in him knew that he had to do them–and when he’d finished the list, he was free to do whatever else he needed to do, and Curtis saw that the tasks had disappeared, like magic.

He kept listing chores, and Peter kept doing them. He found that if he added to the list that he needed something done regularly, the item would stay on the list, and Peter would do it every day. It was after a week of this, that Peter came to him and asked him where he’d gotten it–and they got into an argument. Peter tried to tear the list down, but it refused to come away in his hands, and he couldn’t write on it for some reason. In frustration, Curtis wrote down that Peter would obey all of the commands of the man of the house without question–and when he ordered Peter to sit down on the couch–he did.

He couldn’t even stand back up, and watching him struggle there, Curtis felt…something else–a rush of power. The old man was right. He was the man of the house, and that meant he should be in charge. “Alright, I think you need some punishment,” Curtis said, and sat down, “Bend over my knee boy, and let’s give you a spanking.”

To Peter’s horror, he couldn’t resist the command, and as Curtis smacked his ass, he found himself getting more and more turned on–and when he was finished, he sent Peter to his room for the rest of the night, told him he was grounded until further notice, and looked at the list again.

He knew he shouldn’t. He knew it was wrong…but Peter was trying to take advantage of him. What was the harm with getting a little something in return, for his generosity? When Peter woke up, he found that where before, the list had been mostly empty, Curtis had, in the course of the evening, filled it. Peter could no longer leave the house without permission, and he always had to return home in time for dinner. While Curtis continued to cook–Peter had never shown much talent in the kitchen–the majority of household chores were now Peter’s responsibility, and they took so long each day, he generally didn’t have any time left to work on his videos. However, it was mealtimes that Peter dreaded. One of the first new rules, was that Peter eat everything Curtis put down in front of him. As a muscular young man with a small appetite, he had never been one for food, but Curtis began stuffing him morning, noon, and night–and making sure he was snacking in between meals as well. After a few weeks of this, Peter saw that his body was beginning to grow flabby, and when he complained to Curtis, he just laughed.

“You were the one who was always flirting with me, I thought? Well, I like my guys on the…hefty side. I’m sure you’ll learn to enjoy it soon enough.”

“But what about my videos? Curtis–please…you can’t do this to me, it’s not right!”

“Oh? Does someone still want to be an internet sensation? We can arrange that, don’t worry boy.”

More rules appeared, all of them becoming rather…sexual. Peter discovered that overeating was beginning to arouse him, and he wouldn’t be able to resist jacking off whenever he ate–and true to his word, Curtis began taping his feeding sessions, encouraging him all the while, before uploading them to the internet for the entire gaining community to see. As he gained more and more weight, Curtis began showing more and more interest in him as well, shaking his small gut and love handles, smacking his ass, making him dress in fewer and fewer clothes around the house, until all he was wearing was a pair of his new much too small briefs, while Curtis filmed him doing chores around the house. He would pin him down under his own, larger body, make Peter worship it, tell him how much he envied him, teased him by telling him that once he was even larger than him, he might let the boy move out on his own–if he still wanted to leave, that is.

The more Peter obeyed the list of rules, however, the more normal everything started to feel. He…wanted to keep eating, and he liked being humiliated by Curtis. When his briefs finally ripped open in film one day, he couldn’t stop himself from jacking off right then and there for his fans, while Curtis spanked him for ripping his clothes, forbidding his fatboy from wearing anything else in the house from now on. He grew fatter and fatter, passing 250, and then 300, no longer wanting to be thin ever again. Curtis wanted him to be fat, and Curtis was the man of the house. He was just Fatboy–he’d forgotten his real name, and that one suited him so much better anyway. He never did end up moving out–why would he ever want to be away from Curtis anyway? No–this was the life he’d always dreamed of–he was an internet sensation, after all! No one had gone from under 200 to 600 pounds in two years–but with the help of his master, and a few strict rules, Fatboy finally had the life he’d always wanted.

Suggestions Open for February! | Wesley Bracken on Patreon

What Would I Do To You (#1 – Dippig)

A new sort of thing I’ve had on my mind, ever since this post blew up a couple months ago. Not sure how often I’ll add entries, but it’ll be a different sort of thing each time. This one is dedicated to someone in particular, you know who you are.)

What would I do to you today?

Let’s start you off with some dip. If you’re a novice, even better–I show you how to pack that lip your first time, see that buzz in your eye, and you smile, but before you can finish jacking off, you have to race to the toilet to throw up. It happens–but it’s good to see how you take it. We don’t do anything else with the dip right then, instead, I wait for you to bring it up again, because even after that, you’re still curious…and a bit humiliated. You should have been able to take it, you tell yourself. It wasn’t even that much. So you ask, and I oblige. A bit less this time, get you comfortable, get you spitting in a little bottle, and you’re feeling good. You jack off, and you leave it in after, dropping it in the trash before you go.

We see each other more often, and everytime, we pack that lip for you. It helps you enjoy yourself–you feel more relaxed, and more energized with it. But for the moment, you still only do it when you’re with me–but why? You know the brand I give you, there’s nothing stopping you from stopping by the gas station as you leave to buy some of your own. You drop the occasional hint that it would be nice to have a tin of your own, but I don’t give you what you want–you’re not going to get any from me, no, you need to get it yourself. Finally, you do. You don’t use it often–maybe once every couple of days to jack off with, but that’s ok–we can take it slow.

You arrive with a packed lip, and you leave with one now. It isn’t long before spit begins to play a larger and larger role for you in sex. I make you watch me drool, I spit in your face, I lick your body, and I stop giving you a bottle. I want to see you drool. I want you to feel it running down your chin and onto your chest. I want to rub it in there, smear the dark, tacky liquid all over you where I can lick it off later–maybe.

When does an obsession become an addiction? When do you go from dipping because you want to, and start dipping because you need to? Is it the first time you sneak a lipper at work? You keep it small, so no one can notice, keep the trash can nearby for spit, and be sure to enunciate. You’re hard though, and you slip off to the bathroom to jack off, drooling a bit down your chin as you do, and wipe it clean with some toilet paper when your finished. Your chin feels a bit sticky for the rest of the day, all the same.

But I want to take things further–and you do too. You’re enjoying yourself too much to say no. I suggest you grow out your beard, and you agree. We have off your hair, once you have a decent scruff balance the bare skull. More and more often, I start feeding you during our sessions together. It takes some practice, not swallowing the leaf and spit while I stiff you full, but you’re smart, aren’t you? You figure it out, like a good pig. Did you know how erotic eating could be? I don’t think you did. You’d read stories about it, sure, but had you ever experienced it? You start buying snacks when you stop at the gas station to get more dip. You become a frequent customer at the vending machine at work. You bring doughnuts for everyone–but eat a half dozen yourself. You feel less obvious, that way.

We carry on, for a while. It begins to feel normal, now. Your boss catches you using tobacco at work, and you get written up. It feels unfair–it’s not like you’re smoking after all–but rules are, apparently, rules. You try to stop for a day, figuring it would be good if you scaled back somewhat…but the withdrawl hits, and by the end of the week, you’re back to covertly dipping again, and being more careful this time. Is that all the willpower you had? Two days without? Not even without–just for an eight hour stretch at work. You jack off that night, thinking about it, realizing how much you need it–and wondering if you can even stop now, if you wanted to.

You’re spending the night regularly now. I make sure to stock up on all of your favorite snacks, and keep them close at hand all night long for you to binge on. He strip you down, pack your mouth full, and you start drooling like a beast, watching it run down into that beard of yours. I get plenty of spit elsewhere too–all over those soft pecs of yours, over your small gut, drooling all over your dick and balls until they’re good and brown, eat out that ass of yours too, before I fuck you. And you? You’re just in a stupor of pleasure, stuffing your face, with food and more dip, needing it to get hard now, needing all of it.

Do you want to move in yet? Ready to go all the way? I don’t let you quit your job–no, I want them to fire you. I want you to see just how much they’ll let you get away with. But no more showers, not for you. No bottles, either. That spit just drools right out your mouth and into your beard. The chin is stained several shades darker than the rest of your hair now, like some strange dye job, and the hair is crusty and matted together. I put you on a strict gaining diet, and you take most of your meals out of a small trough in the kitchen. Pretty soon, you crest 300 pounds, and not too long after that, they finally fire your ass–and you realize, then, that I’m the only thing you have left to rely on.

But that’s alright, isn’t it? You like being here. It feels good–you feel good, being my dippig. I slowly start breaking down the rest of your social shame, I warp you into an exhibitionist, I make you get off seeing other people see you dipping, seeing you filthy, seeing your fat ass in too small of clothes, covered in muck they can’t even recognize. You don’t carry a can anymore–no, we’ve switched to a different storage system, now that you’ve got that nice wide ass. We just pack chaw in between those cheeks of yours, and let you walk around with it all day long. Fuck, watching you rummage around in your underwear in the supermarket, haul a damp wad of chaw out and shove it in your mouth, right in front of a couple of breeders who just stare at you in horror–I drag you right into the restroom for a good fucking–and in your eyes, I see that that’s exactly what you’d hoped would happen.

Winter Vacation [Interactive] – Part 9

It was clear that there was something inside the cocoon, as it roiled, but what it was exactly was difficult to determine. At one moment, something would push from it, reaching out, almost like a hand, only to draw back. Other moments it seemed to bubble and pulse, like it was more liquid than solid. It was waste, really. The waste of the men above–combined with the magical runoff from the shower Maury had the week past–the only time the shower had been used, in fact, in the whole week the men had been there. That–and the demon’s own seed, melding with it, and giving it life, of a sort. Purpose, perhaps, would have been a better word.

The demon walked up to it, ran a hand over the surface, feeling it shudder beneath his touch. It was wet, and his hand came away black and tacky. With his sharp claw, he severed the seams holding the arms to the sides of the body, and as well as the seam connecting the legs, and they flung apart, splattering black goo as they did, the cocoon now resembling a body more than anything else, but a body with no real features to be seen.

He laid his hand back on the thing, focusing, and found its mind. It didn’t have a brain, exactly–but it did think. It was confused. The spirit that had bound it all together was gone, and now it was searching for an outlet. It was meant to be drained away–it wasn’t supposed to be here, was it? The demon calmed it, and the filth inside began to rest and congeal, slowly, the body now undulating rather than rippling, almost…happy under the hand of its master, if such a thing could really understand happiness.

“You’re filth, yes” the demon said, “but not without worth. Let me give you shape.”

The thing felt it’s master push its well into it, infusing it, and it relented. It would be what the Master desired–that was the only purpose it could possibly have. The much inside congealed further, and finally solidified–not quite as solid as flesh might feel, under a rubber skin, but solid enough to be worked. It stood, shuddering a bit, almost like gelatin, and looked down at its master, wanting to know more, wanting to know what it was–and the master showed it the way. Bumps formed along the things arms and legs–awkward and uneven at first, but soon they shuffled about until the appeared to be muscle, the body still holding much of its mass collected in a round, sagging gut, heaving over its crotch. The legs, too, widened and thickened, solidifying until they were a sturdy base, the feet wide, with small claws at the end of sharp black plastic–harmless, one might think, but it could cut someone unprepared to the bone. Below the gut, something else was forming–cock like, but much thinner and prehensile, more like a hose. It sensed that it could be emptied that way–perhaps entirely, should Master desire it, but it hoped now. It was…enjoying this. It clenched a fist, feeling the sharp claws forming there as well, flesh becoming firmer still, its head beginning to take shape, a second hose–probiscus like–unfurling from it’s mouth and nose into a long snout a couple of feet long.

It had no eyes, but it could sense the things around it–and beside it, it’s Master pulsed with the most deliciously radiant force and power it had ever known. It got down on one knee, bowing its head, thankful to the beast which had given it life, purpose, and form–the demon grabbed the snout of the thing, slid the head of his cock into it, and pissed, watching the rubber drone shudder in delight as it took the demon’s filth into itself, storing it away, feeling its power and size grow.

“Yes, I think you will do nicely. Now–you know your place, don’t you?”

The drone stood back up and went to the wall where it had rested for the last week, and stood at attention. The master took it’s snout and connected it back to the plumbing of the house, feeling it shudder in delight, eager to feed more on the waste of the men above–and of its master.

“Don’t worry, I may allow you upstairs on occasion, but it would be best not to frighten the rest from their stupor just yet. But they will all have a chance to taste of you soon, I think–I’m excited to see just how potent that filth of yours has become.”

The drone nodded, eager to obey, and then went still, a statue against the wall. In the dark, it was almost easy to miss the hulking thing, unless you knew to look for it. The demon turned out the light and slipped back up into the house proper, enjoying the sense of freedom he had, now that the coach’s vessel was well and truly his.

The mortal plane–what a joy it was! And three souls here, ready and aching to be twisted and warped to his own ends. They wouldn’t be cast back to hell like Rich’s–no, that would not be nearly so satisfying. They would be his own twisted family here, slaves to their wicked vices–and to the demon’s sick desires, warped until they didn’t even recognize their own humanity. Three would be a good start, but more would come to him–willing or not. He had always desired a harem of mortals, and he was excited to sample the men they’d become, since unleashing them in this house of temptation and vice.

He wandered into the TV room nearby, drawn by the stores of Maury. He was on the couch–the place where he hadn’t left in several days, judging by the smell in the air. He was quite a bit larger at this point–nearly 700 pounds of flab, heaving for breath, covered in hair, drenched in sweat, mind rotted away by the static of the TV he couldn’t seem to stop staring at. Certainly a beautiful image of gluttony–but he could be so, so much more, couldn’t he?

So what’s gonna be Maury’s fate at the hands of the demon?

  1. He’s as furry as an animal–perhaps he should become the house pigman.
  2. He merges with the couch, and becomes living furniture.
  3. Call up the filth drone, and see how he likes a taste of its waste.
  4. Rewrite that empty brain, and make him the merciless sadist daddy of the house.

Here’s the public twitter poll!

Here’s the patron only Patreon poll!

Polls close on Saturday afternoon!

wesleybracken:

I haven’t got much of an inbox to answer at the moment, but figured I’d go ahead and answer any questions people might have, that or just get into some stupid argument with anon, which is always good for my time management, productivity, and blood pressure.

Also! There’s a big announcement coming in an hour or so! I’m pretty excited about it, and I hope ya’ll like it too. However, no interactive chunk today–it’ll go live tomorrow.

Still answering questions if you have them! Just realized I forgot to link to my inbox like a dolt too.

I have seen you do a few inanimate transformations before, plan to do anymore in the future? and any favorite kind of inanimate to do to a guy?

For me, inanimate transformations in and of themselves are…well, I like them if they have a purpose behind them. There needs to be some further plot focused reason for why that character is becoming an object, or else all you’ve really done is cut off a whole lot of possibilities.

So honestly (and this is true for a lot of the stuff I write, as far as fetish content is concerned) I don’t decide to write an inanimate story–rather, if I have a story in mind, and an inanimate TF fits with the overall plot and theme of what I’m going for, then yeah, it’ll be in there. Otherwise, the TF tends to just completely kill the forward momentum, because the character no longer possesses any agency, pretty much by definition. 

That said, there are a few inanimate TFs I definitely enjoy. Toilets and urinals are right at the top of the list, especially if they retain a bit of their human form and biology as they shift. Pipes and cigar TFs are fun…but difficult to do well. Maelstrom was the king of these, but I’ve only ever attempted a few off and on, with varied success. Clothes are always fun, particularly underwear, but always feel a bit…overdone and obvious to me. Drones are great, though I don’t really know if that gets classed under inanimate necessarily.

The Familiar by wesleybracken

Hey all! 

As I mentioned before, I have quite a few larger works that I’ve been wanting to put out, but haven’t really found a platform that I preferred. However, Over the next few months, I’ve decided to start putting out some longer novellas and serial stories on itch.io! It’s a platform that mostly supports independent game developers, but allows creators to distribute pretty much anything they want, doesn’t charge fees for the service (instead, they rely on contributors giving them a percentage of their choice of what they make using the platform) and is, in my opinion, a better model for online distribution than something like amazon. 

This here is the first of several stories I’ll be posting. Some of them are largely finished (like this one here) and others are what I might call…in development. That is, large chunks of them are written, but they still have a ways to go. I’ll have more details about those sorts of projects when I post them–I should have one up in the next couple weeks or so.

This here is a commission I have been plugging away at for the larger part of a year, and I’m very happy with how it turned out. Because it was a commission (and essentially paid for by a very generous fellow) I’m going to offer it as a “name your price” download, though you can pitch in a donation if you choose. 

I wouldn’t say the story is…completely finished. It needs a deep edit, and I want to, at some point, write a couple alternate chapters, as well as an alternate ending (or two) at some point in the future. That said, it was fin to write, and contains a lot of…well, it has a wide variety of fetish stuff in it, but is largely focused on micro and shrinking. 

If you’re curious, here’s an excerpt! You can download it using the link above, or click here!

Excerpt from “The Familiar”

“Arthur, come inside,” Derrick said again, but this time there was something else attached to the words. The only word that came to his mind was…power, but when he heard them, he suddenly didn’t have control over his own body. He tried to back up, but instead he stepped up into the house, and Derrick closed the door behind him, and locked it.

Arthur looked down at himself, confused by his body’s sudden rebellion. “How did you do that?”

“You’re mine now, Arthur. You’re going to find it rather difficult to disobey a direct order of mine from now on.”

Arthur looked up at Derrick, terrified by what he’d just said, but his friend was just grinning, obviously self-satisfied, but not particularly malicious, and that…eased his concern slightly. “Excuse me?”

“Isn’t that what you wanted?”

“I…No, hold up, you need to tell me, right now, what the fuck is going on here, because I have felt, all day, like I’m going crazy, and now I’m pretty sure I’ve gone insane. So…so please, what’s…happening to me?”

Derrick smiled, but didn’t say anything–just took a hand and placed it to Arthur’s bearded cheek, only for them both to feel a large static shock leap between them. “Hot damn!” Derrick cried, and unlike Mark…Arthur could see the spark running up Derrick’s arm and around his neck, down his other arm until it ended up in his hand, just hovering there as a tiny ball of light. Derrick shivered, and lifted it up to examine it like this was somehow expected, and gave a whistle. “That’s a bit more potent than I was expecting it to be. You’re going to be a pretty impressive conduit here soon.”

“What in the hell is that thing?”

“This,” Derrick said, holding the small light close to Arthur’s face, “Is magic. A rather crude, unfocused magic, but magic all the same. Your magic, I suppose I should say, since it came from you,” he waved his hand, and the little ball of light came apart into a few flickering motes of light, and dissipated. “Pretty powerful stuff, as I said. You must have had a bit of potential in you already.”

Arthur just backed up a step, and then went for the door, trying to get it unlocked so he could run away and never come back to this strange place again, but the deadbolt wouldn’t turn in his hand, “What’s up with this thing?”

“It’s enchanted. It only works when I turn it.”

Arthur kept trying for a moment, and then looked back at Derrick. “This…this is really happening, isn’t it?”

“It sure is little man,” Derrick said, “now come on. Let’s have some tea and talk for a little bit. But take off those clothes–you’re going to be naked in this house from now on, understand?”

Arthur tried to protest, but his hands were already stripping off his tie, his shirt, his pants and underwear–none of which fit him much at all any longer anyway, but he still felt…embarrassed to be completely naked beside the fully clothed Derrick. Humiliated and…small, and even a bit…inhuman. His cock started to get hard at the thought, much to his embarrassment, and he willed it back down before Derrick could notice, as he followed him into the living room and sat down on his sofa, waiting for Derrick to bring them tea. He came back with two cups, set one down in front of Arthur on the coffee table, and carried the other over to an armchair, where he settled down. Arthur stared at him for a moment, waiting for him to say something, but Derrick just smelled his tea, and took a sip. “I suppose,” he said at last, “I might as well start off by telling you that I’m a wizard.”

“A wizard.”

“Yes. I received my powers from…a mentor, about 200 years ago.”

“You’re 200 years old? Are you kidding me?”

“I was born in 1784, in Philadelphia. I met my mentor in 1802, and became his successor in 1815.”

“You can’t honestly expect me to believe that.”

Derrick shrugged. “It sounds impossible, I know. But you’re the little man shrinking as we speak, with magic sparks coming out of your hands, so you tell me something more plausible.”

Arthur blushed again, pushing away his arousal at being called a little man again. “Alright. So you’re a wizard, and what, you cast a spell on me?”

“Essentially. Less a spell, and more an…enchantment. It’s a blurry line really, it’s all just magic at the end of the day, regardless of what you call it.”

“So what? I just keep shrinking then? How small am I going to get exactly?”

“Honestly? I’m not entirely sure.”

“You’re not sure? What the fuck does that even mean?”

“I mean, you could end up within a…range of sizes. I’d rather not spoil the surprise for either of us.”

This isn’t fucking funny, Derrick!” Arthur said, standing up from the couch, “This is my fucking life you’re fucking with! What fucking right do you fucking have, doing this to me? I was happy, you know? I mean, I had my fantasies, and that’s what they were–fantasies, and now you think you have permission to just fuck up my entire world, for fucking what? Because you think this is what I want? How am I supposed to go to work, if I’m a foot tall? How am I supposed to buy food? Is this just some fucking joke to you?”

“Arthur, sit down, and drink some tea.”

He sat, as much as he tried to stay standing, snatched up his mug from the table and took a sip. Whatever the brew was, it was…soothing, and he relaxed somewhat. “You could have at least asked me. Or warned me, or something.”

Derrick laughed, “If I’d told you, you would have never taken me seriously, you know that.”

“But–”

“Look, Arthur,” Derrick leaned forward, “I…like you. You’re young and a bit silly, but you’re charming, you listen, and you’re patient. But I also felt sorry for you. People…so many people wander the world, thinking they can never have what they want, and I wanted to give you this.”

“But what if…I don’t want this?”

“But you do want this.”

“Yeah, but–”

“Arthur, don’t fucking lie to me. I know you want this.”

The words had borne that same force, and when Arthur tried to retort again, his tongue locked up, unable to deny it a third time. “Alright. I do want this. I am…really turned on right now. I am also incredible terrified of you, and of all of this. I don’t know if I can trust you. I don’t understand how any of this is possible.” He was shaking, and took another sip of tea to settle his nerves back down. “I don’t understand why you want to be around me. I…really like you. I just…what if you don’t like me? What if I just disappoint you?”

“Come on over here, little man,” Derrick said, and patted his knee as he sat up. Arthur got up from the sofa, taking his tea with him and walked around the table, to sit down on Derrick’s knee. He was still a fairly normal height, but sitting there made him feel small anyway, and as he did, another spark leapt from his skin, running all over Derrick’s body. He watched it this time–and it looked like the spark was trying to get…inside him, but something kept rebuffing it. “Goodness, you are just full of energy, aren’t you?” He caught the spark in his hand again and held it, observing it.

“What…is that, exactly? Why does it keep coming out of me like that?”

“Well, the spell I cast on you was a bit more than just a shrinking spell, I should say. We wizards often use familiars in our work–animals we enchant and imbue with magical spells, power and intellect. Part of the spell I cast on you linked us together–me as master, you as a…kind of familiar. That’s why you have to obey my commands, and why you have this magic rubbing off of you. I’ll help you learn to control it in time, but for now, these are…pretty raw,” he looked closer, “and pretty sexy, actually. You must be horny.”

“What do you mean?”

Derrick laughed, “Wanna see for yourself?”

Before Arthur could ask him what he meant, a strange membrane of energy rose up from Derrick’s skin and surrounded the spark of energy Arthur had shot out, and then the entire thing began to drop down, touched to the palm of his hand and went…into him. Derrick gave a shiver, and groaned. “What…did you just do?”

“I let you do what you want to do to me,” Derrick said, smiling down at him, “It was your spell, after all.”

“I didn’t want–” Arthur started to say, but his tongue locked up, as he realized he’d been caught in a lie without even realizing it, making Derrick laugh. “What’s going to happen to you?”

“Woo, it’s starting to kick in a bit. Get up little man,” Derrick said, and Arthur slid off his knee and backed up, letting Derrick stand up tall and…taller than usual even. In fact, more than that was different–Derrick’s beard, which was usually fairly short, looked bushier than it had been, and his short hair was pulling back into his scalp. “Better get out of this shit,” he said, shucking his clothes off, revealing a body substantially more hairy than Arthur recalled it being, with a bit more grey than usual too. “Fuck little man, I hope you’re fucking ready for this, because I like where you’re going here,” he said, stroking his cock, getting it hard. It was already sizable, but now, along with the rest of him, it was even larger by three or four inches. “We’d better take this upstairs,” Derrick said with a bit of a snarl, grabbed Arthur and swung him into his arms, leaned in and kissed him, shoving his tongue into his mouth with a growl. The force of it–Derrick had never been rough like this before, but it was turning Arthur on in ways he hadn’t anticipated.

After some kissing and mutual lip biting, Derrick headed for the stairs of his house, easily taking them three at a time. Arthur looked down from where he was being held in his arms and felt a bit of vertigo–he seemed…higher off the ground than he should be. Derrick kicked open the bedroom door, ducked under the doorframe, went in and dropped Arthur onto the bed–he fell a couple of feet and bounced on the mattress, looking up at Derrick looming over him. “Uhh…Derrick, how…are you taller, or am I shorter?”

Derrick had to shake his head, his longer beard waving a bit as he did, to focus on something other than how much he wanted to plow Arthur’s hole. He looked at himself in the mirror on the wall–he had to be close to eight feet tall, judging by how close he was to the ten foot ceilings. He was thicker everywhere, hairier everywhere, and his entire brain seemed to be wired for sex. It was a good thing he’d sealed the spell in a barrier to make it easy to reverse, because if this had gotten into him as it was, it would have taken quite a bit more effort to get back. Still, that was for later–now was for fucking. He forced Arthur onto his belly, Arthur trying to object as Derrick ran his cock up and down his crack before forcing the thick head against his hole, and like rubber, it simply opened up to accept it. The sheer pleasure of the sensation caught Arthur by surprise, moaning and clutching the sheets, pushing back, eager to have more of the cock inside of him.

“Don’t worry, you’ll be able to take me no matter what fucking size you are, little man,” Derrick growled, pushing in deeper, “Comes with your new position in life.”

“Fuck, how…”

“Shut up, quit worrying, and fucking enjoy it. Don’t forget; this is what you fucking wanted, so I’m gonna fucking give it to you.”

Derrick plowed him deep for almost an entire hour. Arthur lost track of how many loads of cum shot out of his own cock, the sheets beneath him soaked with semen by the time Derrick started pumping faster, snorting and huffing and letting loose a huge load, flooding his ass with so much cum that it spewed back out as he continued fucking. It wasn’t too much longer before Derrick hauled himself out, panting for breath. “Fuck, I could fucking do that, fucking all over again.”

Arthur just moaned where he was on the bed–as exhausted as he was, the fuck had left him thrumming with excitement. He’d never just been…used like that before. Like a toy, or an object. He hadn’t really known how much he’d needed that in his life, until now. He rolled back over and looked at Derrick, who had kept growing for the first bit of their fuck. He was now close to nine feet tall, hulking with muscle, a thick gut covered with hair, a grey beard to his pecs and a completely bald scalp. “You’re one of the sexiest men I’ve ever fucking seen,” he muttered to himself.

“Be careful what you say, or you’re going to get me going all over again,” Derrick said, and slowed his breathing. He held out his hand and the sphere appeared again, light included, and with a wave from his fingers he made it vanish into the air. The changes began to revert soon after, Derrick slowly shrinking back down to his normal height, beard drawing back in as his hair grew back out. “I’m…sorry about that. If I’d know it was going to be that strong, I would have been a bit more careful.”

“Don’t apologize.” Arthur said. “I…liked it. A lot.”

The Familiar by wesleybracken

I haven’t got much of an inbox to answer at the moment, but figured I’d go ahead and answer any questions people might have, that or just get into some stupid argument with anon, which is always good for my time management, productivity, and blood pressure.

Also! There’s a big announcement coming in an hour or so! I’m pretty excited about it, and I hope ya’ll like it too. However, no interactive chunk today–it’ll go live tomorrow.

Muse of Fantasy II – Reconciliation (Part 7)

Oliver could see his eyes softening slightly, and with a gentle touch, he opened up Ed’s mind once again, but this time the image was…fuzzy, and indistinct. They were outside, and standing in something soft, but beyond that, Ed didn’t know quite where he was…but he also know that he was where he belonged.

“Yeah, you’re not a faggot, Ed. But you’re much too horny to not fuck anything, but women make your stomach turn. You don’t want to be anywhere near them, do you?”

Ed shook his head.

“Well, that doesn’t give you many options, does it? Still, you can think of something to fuck, can’t you? Out on the farm?”

Ed just blinked at him–it was clear that the rubber had…destroyed some of his more creative thought, which was fine, he supposed. He didn’t need to be a smart roughneck, after all. Still, why not just give him an illustration? The fantasy around them expanded, and brought in both Will, still on all fours on the bround–as well as the puddle of black cum still dribbling from his hole–but now, the puddle slowly began to squirm to life, and began coating the drone’s body. His legs were shortening, the foot melting and becoming stocky trotters, thighs thickening into a proper rump, and a curly rubber tail popped out above his ass.

“A…A fuckin’ pig?” Ed said.

“A fuckin’ pig exactly,” Oliver said. You’ve always liked animals, haven’t you? Not quite as much as you fantasize about faggots, but you loved fucking pigs, donkeys, dogs, bulls–anything you could get your hands on. It only made sense, right? You can’t fuck a faggot–but they’re basically animals anyway, and that marvelous cum of yours can make them into whatever beast you want them to be.”

The rubber was spreading up Will’s body now, and he was thickening and growing, his torso and chest rounding out into a proper pot belly. He felt…hollow, but the thing enjoyed the feeling–it meant Master would be able to fill it up with whatever he wanted to put inside of him. Swirls of color were forming on him now as well, the black now interspersed with tan spots, becoming a piebald pattern, though the skin was still perfectly shiny and smooth. The one thing that did not change, was his face–which, even though it was covered in rubber, it still seemed…human, to Ed. He couldn’t fuck the face, not if it looked like that, but that piggy hole–yeah, he was excited to fuck that some more. He lumbered over and slid his cock back into the pig’s hole, feeling the rubber beast shove back onto him, eager to please its master, eager to be filled with his rubber cum, storing it for later when the Master might need it.

Oliver admired the scene, and then felt another presence beside him, and he gasped when the slender hand grazed his chin. “Well done, my muse,” Amoredie said, “I like them very much–they will bring much pleasure to the world, I think.”

The blurry fantasy around them slowly began to solidify. The mud surrounding them became a pig pen, and beyond that, a rundown barn, stable, and farm house where Ed lived alone in the country–far enough from civilization to not draw too much attention, but close enough that whenever the need rose, it was just a couple miles to the highway rest areas, where Ed could fuck some pretty little faggot, pump them full of his rubber cum, and drag them back to the farm, to become the beast they deserved to be–just another member of his livestock harem that he cared for and fucked from dawn until dusk.

Ed looked back over his shoulder, pleading one last time for the life he and his husband had lost, but he found himself looking at the most glorious being he’d ever witnessed. He had no idea how to describe them, beyond every fantasy he’d ever had, brought to life, and before he even realized it, his old memories had vanished, leaving him just a simple brutish roughneck, and he turned back to his prize hog and kept on fucking it, rutting with it roughly until he unloaded another huge load of his special cum deep into it’s hollow guts, and then pulled free.

The sun was setting–and he was still plenty horny. Maybe it was time to go find a new faggot–he’d been itching for a big chubby cowboy to go with his bull back in the barn. Invisible to him, both Amoredie and Oliver watched him hop the fence surrounding the pig pen, and the pig settled down into the muck, satisfied for the moment. He got in the truck and headed off down the road towards the highway.

“Yes–this will be a bustling farm, in a few months,” Amoredie said with a giggle, “We’ll have to come back and visit then, I think.”

“A-Anything you want, of course,” Oliver muttered, “I’ll do anything for you–anything to just feel your touch, please, it’s been so long! Show me…let me please you, let me know I’m still worthy of you.”

“Hush now, my muse–you’ve earned my love,” they said, and pulled him to their breast, and he melted into the infinite possibility of existence, and knew nothing but pleasure, once more.