Category: Uncategorized

Symbiotic Justice (Part 3)

CW: Rape, Gore, Violence

“Erik,” Lief said quietly. He pushed open his brother’s door, his cock squirming and writhing towards where he was sitting at his computer, headphones on, oblivious. “Erik,” he said louder, “Erik, you have to get out of here.”

His brother dropped the headphones, “Faggot I told you not to fu-fucking disturb…” his voice trailed off when he spun and saw the freakish, two foot long, muscular tentacle where his little brother’s cock should have been, the skin writhing as sharp fragments of bone pushed their way out of the skin.

“Erik, I can’t…run, please try to run,” Lief said, “I’m sorry, I couldn’t, I’m so hungry…”

Erik got up from his chair and stumbled back, and Lief entered the room, the cock snaking out through the air, lashing at Erik’s ankle and cutting him to the bone. He fell to the ground and stumbled back up towards the window, but the toxin was already spreading through his leg, rendering it useless, even as Lief advanced, his brain shutting down, the only thing that mattered at this moment was his hunger. He lashed out again, feeling a burst of pleasure at tearing into his brother’s flesh again, the other leg now, leaving him crawling along the floor.

He deserved this, for everything he’d done. Yeah, this was right, this is what Lief had always wanted, what Erik deserved. He ran forward and tugged down his brother’s shorts, revealing his ass framed by the straps of the jockstrap he had on, grabbed him by the hips, and directed the spade like head to dive right into his ass. Erik screamed, and tried to keep crawling, but Lief’s hands felt like steel on his flesh, digging in, bruising him, as the thing pulsed, forcing it’s way deep into his body, the shards of bone ripping and tearing at his insides as it fucked him. “Yeah, you fucking asshole, I fucking hate you!” Lief screamed at him, even louder than Erik was crying for help, “You’re mine now, you’re all mine, you hear me? Mine forever!”

Something…changed, about the head of his cock. It seemed to split into smaller pieces, painfully enough to make him grunt in surprise, and Lief felt his cock push deeper into his brother’s body, digging into his muscles, and then, the orgasm struck…but rather than feel like he was ejecting something into his brother, it happened in reverse–his cock pumped, and drew something from his brother back into him. He shuddered with each draw from his cock, feeling whatever it was being swallowed down the length of his cock until it reached the base of his body, and a heat grew from the base of his cock and suffused his entire body. Bones cracked, and began to grow, his muscles were hot, stretched painfully tight until they cramped, but all through the pain, wave after wave of pleasure swept through him too, and he drove his cock in and out of Erik’s bloody ass over and over again, reveling in it. He didn’t know if he was dead or not–most of him didn’t particularly care. Whatever he was, he wasn’t…hungry, anymore.

After an hour, he could draw nothing else out of his brother. He looked like a husk, but Erik was still alive, from the sound of rattling breaths creaking through his parched lips. Lief felt drunk–drunk on power, on food, on conquest. His body had grown several inches taller, and he’d packed on pound after pound of muscle–he looked to be a bit larger than his brother had been, before this, and he felt…so fucking good. But he could feel…other things happening. Hair growing in all over his body, thicker than he’d ever seen on a person before, in patches. His hands and feet were growing as well, his nails thicker and sharper. The light…hurt his eyes, and so he smashed the lamp, discovering it was even easier for him to see in the dark than it had been in the light. He licked his bearded lips, feeling a tongue slip out of his mouth which was too long to be human, and which came to a sharp point, his teeth and jaws aching. He pushed into his brother, to the base, feeling his cock writing about to make space, and then, at last,m he felt the seed squirming in his sack pump out, down his shaft, and begin to fill his brother’s husk like body.

The sensation was different than when he’d fed. Almost relaxing, as he filled his brother’s body. Erik groaned in pleasure, the first sound he’d really made in an hour, and Lief saw his body changing, skin growing pale, but also filling out again, but not with muscle. Instead, his entire form looked soft and flabby, missing the definition he’d had before, and looking…inhuman. Yet the more he changed, and the fatter he became, the hotter Lief found him. He leaned over him, pressing his muscular, hairy body against his brother’s rubbery body, pushed his mouth the Erik’s ear, and slid his pointed tongue into his ear. Erik cried out once, and then said nothing else, Lief’s tongue drooling into his brain, rewiring it, softening it, simplifying it, making it as worthless and gelatinous as the rest of him was becoming. When at last his sack was emptied and he withdrew his cock, Erik’s ass closed up behind him, and his brother rolled over, jaw slack, eyes lazy and unfocused.

“Service me, you fucking piece of shit,” Lief said, his voice…it didn’t sound human either, not with his tongue, and his teeth, and his jaw. Erik just nodded, and crawled over towards him, licking at Lief’s furry feet, eager to serve his master…and Lief watched, horrified at what he’d done, and yet the voices were pleased, and he felt so…full. He beckoned his brother, his thrall, closer, and shoved his cock down his throat, into his belly, fucking him gently, shuddering at the sensation, and when his parents got home from their date, Lief went downstairs, to have a word with them both.

Symbiotic Justice (Part 2)

When Lief woke up, it was dark outside. He could barely open his eyes, and his head was pounding–it felt like someone had scrambled everything up in his head–so much so that it took him a few minutes to remember how to make his fingers work, or perhaps that was just the toxin still lingering in his system. Still, he could move again, in any case. He looked down at his hands, but while they were smeared with blood, there was no sign of any of the cuts or punctures he’d seen when he’d tried to pull the thing off of him.

Fuck, the thing–he sat up as quickly as he could, looked down at his crotch, and breathed a sigh of relief. His cock was there–just like he remembered it, just like nothing had ever happened. He reached down with his hands and ran his fingers along the shaft, feeling the bristly skin shudder at his touch, and he lifted it in his hands, feeling the heft of all two feet in his hands, curling it around them, enjoying the sensation–

No.

No, this…this was wrong. This wasn’t his cock, the thing–the thing had dissolved his cock, it had fucking eaten it. He tried to think back and remember what it had looked like, but the memories–they were gone. All he could remember now, was this…monstrosity attached to his crotch, the heavy sack of fluid hanging below, taut with seed…

The thing constricted, and then unwound from around his hands all on it’s own–Lief couldn’t quite tell whether he was controlling it, like some prehensile tentacle, or if it was doing it on it’s own. The wide, spade shaped head turned, almost like it was looking at him, surveying him somehow, and he…heard something. Almost like white noise at the back of his head, an itch he couldn’t quite sense or scratch. It wasn’t sound, not really, but he could hear it–a voice. Garbled and indistinct, but whatever this thing was…it wasn’t just attached to him, it had dug its way into him.

He needed to get help. He needed to go to a hospital.

Sensing his thoughts, however, he felt every nerve all along his body release a massive blast of pain, and he bent backwards, certain his spine would shatter into a thousand pieces at any moment–but just as quickly as it struck, it was gone, leaving him panting and shuddering on the ground, tears streaming from his eyes.

No help then–he’d figure this out on his own.

He wrapped his cock high around his thigh, disguising the extra length, and then pulled up his boxers and pants, checking his phone. It was nearly eleven–he needed to get home so no one worried. That, and he was hungry. Really hungry, actually, hungrier than he could remember being. He grabbed his backpack and threw it over his shoulder, traced his way back to the trail, and set off for home, trying hard not to think about the strange creature wrapped around his leg.

He got home, and saw his parent’s car was gone–were they out looking for him? He let himself inside, only for Erik to appear at the top of the stairs. “There you are, faggot,” he said, “Mom and Dad went out for a date–they told me to tell you you’re up shit creek when they get home, for not calling them about where you were.”

Erik was a bulky, hairy jock–only around 5’9”, but solidly packed with muscle, and known for his dirty techniques on the wrestling team, techniques he’d honed for years picking on Lief since they were kids. Lief…well, he thought Erik was sexy, but he wasn’t prepared for the sudden rush of…attraction that welled up in him at the sight of him on the stairs. Not just lust, really, but that same hunger he’d felt when he woke up, his cock writhing at the sight of him.

“Yeah…fine, I’m gonna…eat something,” Lief said, hoping his brother wouldn’t antagonize him tonight…not with this…thing on him.

“Whatever, don’t fucking disturb me, I’m playing a game.”

Good–that would keep him occupied at least, while Lief tried to figure this out. For now though, food. He went to the kitchen, found some snacks, but…nothing sounded good. Even when he tried to force himself to eat something, it just…tasted bad. Rotten, even, and he’d spit it out, even as the hunger grew. Oddly enough, he wasn’t feeling the pangs in his stomach, like usual–it felt…all pervasive, a needling, constant pain and tug, a need, a desire. He felt shaky, and sat down at the kitchen table, closed his eyes…and saw something.

He saw his brother, upstairs, playing games at his computer. Then, he saw him on the ground, naked, and Lief was fucking him with his cock, driving in deep, rough, feeling good, feeling pleasure, eating his fill…

He opened his eyes with a gasp. No–No, he couldn’t do that. He wouldn’t do that. He tried to eat again, but nothing stayed down. He held out for an hour, as the tremors and pain grew worse, and then he snuck quietly up the stairs, cock uncurling from his leg, willing to do anything to make it stop.

Symbiotic Justice (Part 1)

CW: Gore, Mutilation

Lief kicked the rock down the sidewalk one more time, and watched it skitter off the curb and into the gutter, before he turned and cut through the field on his way home from school. Today had been a decent day. He’d gotten shoved into a locker, but no one had stolen his lunch money, or given him a black eye. It had been two months since his older brother, now a senior in high school, had started telling everyone Lief, his wimpy little brother, was a faggot. Things had been…awful for a few weeks, but everyone had seemed to move on, for the most part, aside from his brother Erik and his friends on the senior wrestling team. It didn’t help matters that Lief was a late bloomer–even though he was nearly seventeen, he still was only about 5’6” and 150 pounds soaking wet. The fact that Erik, his brother, was so much larger than him, despite only being a year and a half older, didn’t help anything. Still, Erik would be leaving for college in the fall, at least, so maybe next year would be better.

The trail was well worn by years of kids using it as a shortcut between school and the nearby subdivision–Lief knew it well enough that he could walk it with his eyes closed, even in the dark. But that late afternoon, he felt a sudden shift in the air, heard a high whistle, and something flew over his head and smashed into the ground about ten yards away in the field, sending off a plume of dirt and dust. He looked around, but didn’t see anything else. Curiosity got the better of him, and so he cut off the trail and into the grass, towards the smoke, stamping out a couple of small brush fires as he went.

It had to be a meteorite, he thought, when he saw the crater. The rock was about the size of his fist, and looking at it, it seemed to still be pulsing red with heat–but when he stepped closer still, he realized it really was pulsing, and the red color wasn’t heat at all–because it wasn’t a rock. He didn’t know what it was, exactly, but he could tell it was alive. He couldn’t believe it–what should he do? Call the police? Take it home? Take it to the science teacher at school? He inched a bit closer, and saw it was pulsing a bit larger, and with a few disgusting noises it tore apart, and out crawled…something. It looked like a snake, Lief thought, but not like any snake he’d ever seen. He needed to kill it, whatever it was–he’d seen enough horror movies to know you never let an alien escape onto your planet. At least it seemed harmless enough, for the moment. He went to stomp on it and pin it down, but the thing…looked up at him, scooted out of the way, and before he could do anything, it wrapped itself around his ankle and slithered up his leg, under his pants.

It was slimy, and wet, and hot. He dumped his backpack on the ground, trying to swat the thing as it climbed higher and higher up his leg until it reached his crotch, nuzzled under his boxers, found his cock, and with a yelp, the thing…slid itself over Lief’s soft cock…and started sucking. Quickly, he dropped his pants and boxers, and found himself looking right at the thing–it’s pale, veiny body engulfing his cock, and he could feel himself hardening from the sensation of the alien’s guts massaging his shaft. The long end of the beast was still wrapped tight around his thigh; he tried to grip it with both hands and tear it off, but it tightened down hard enough to make his cry out, and then he felt the skin of the beast turn sharp, and he yanked his hands away, seeing a multitude of tiny puncture wounds from where the thing had stung him. In a few seconds, his hands went completely numb and limp, followed by his arms, which hung uselessly from his body–the beast had stung his leg as well, and he collapsed to the ground, unable to move as the alien continued sucking at his cock.

It felt…good for a few minutes. He even orgasmed, and he felt the beast drink it down, swallowing his sperm, and when it did…the thing’s skin…rippled, and changed, the color becoming less pale, matching his own skin tone–and then he felt the teeth. The clamped down at the base of his cock, and he screamed, trying to fling his paralysed limbs into action, but it was no use. The beast clamped down hard, and at the same time, the pleasant sucking on his cock grew more violent, grinding and pulsing against his cock, mashing in and crushing it, and he could feel heat against his skin, a burning sensation, almost like it was dissolving away inside of the thing’s gut. Every nerve in his cock was on fire, and he quickly lost his voice from screaming, until he couldn’t feel…anything, aside from the beast’s teeth latched to his crotch, and then…he felt something pushing its way into his body, drilling and worming into him from the alien’s mouth. Small tentacles, he imagined, like worms, digging into his flesh, making him squirm and nearly throw up in disgust–until one found it’s way to the nerve endings which had led to his cock, and for one brief flash, everything was…pleasure.

He could feel again, but not his cock–he could feel the thing clinging to his body, the entire surface of it, even where it was wrapped around his thigh. It felt…so intensely pleasurable, it was easily five times as sensitive as his cock had been, so much sensation it hurt in entirely new ways, as he writhed and cringed on the ground, the tentacles burrowing deeper and deeper still, down into his balls, where he felt them probing around his testicles…before swallowing them, dissolving them just like they had his cock. The tail of the beast unwrapped from his thigh, and slipped between his legs, probing his ass for a moment before sliding into him. Lief had never been fucked before, but the sheer sensation of the alien fucking him made him orgasm–or what would have been an orgasm, if the creature hadn’t completely replaced his cock. Instead, he felt the tail, the end of his new cock, probing to the base of his spine, and in one blast of terror, it latched onto his spinal cord, making him scream in agony as small tentacles wormed their way up to the base of his skull, to his brain, and then everything went white.

Cleaning House (Part 8)

CW: Scat

~Daddy’s POV~

He’s my boy.

He’s dumb, filthy, nasty, fat, and a total pervert. He’s mine. He’s everything I wanted, and now, it’s all he wants too.

It’s difficult to explain what happened to me–honestly, even the experts are still puzzling it out. I saved the world, somehow, but I don’t remember a thing about it. They said I was a hero, but when I woke up that day, looking like this–fat, hairy, reeking, horny as can be–I had no memory of who I was. Still, the government sends me the fat checks, and want me living somewhere quiet–somewhere alone, and I could manage that for a while, but I’m…not alone in here, in my body. There’s something else inside me, a fragment of something, and it’s…so hungry.

I found out, by accident, what I could do. Hypnotize people, I guess. Change them, slowly, encourage them, make them lose themselves. I was caught between my desperate loneliness, and my own terror at what I wanted, what it wanted–what we wanted. So I placed the ad in the paper, and I chatted with him over the phone, got a feel for him, and I liked him a lot, the sound of him even. When he showed up at the cabin and saw the state of how I lived–fuck, I was so hungry for him, for that disgust on his face when he saw me. He tried to turn around and leave, but I had too many hooks in him from our phone chat–he marched right in, terrified out of his wits, and then we had our first chat, face to face.

Those first few months were tough. Controlling people is…exhausting, and I can only do it for so long–I have to convince them that they want to be controlled by me. I made him fantasize about me, long for me in all of my filth. I made him want to be my boy. I made him want to be bigger, and dirtier, and fatter, and hairier. He began to crack, after a few months, and I could start feeding him, and that night he gave in and masturbated for me–fuck! Then, I knew he was mine. Our boy.

I hired him as a cleaner at the beginning, but honestly, I love the filth. I kept up appearance for a little while, while I was cleaning out more and more of his mind, but now, with our second winter coming, the house is even more of a sty than it was when he first arrived, but he loves it even more than I do at this point. I honestly…I wasn’t going to push him this far, but when he left for that funeral–I can’t explain how I felt, when he was gone. I was terrified he wouldn’t come back, I was terrified I’d be alone again, but I couldn’t be alone, not with the voice. When he came back, sobbing in misery, horrified at himself–I was so angry. I started cleaning out even more of him, like he’d cleaned out my house, getting rid of everything that didn’t concern me, letting the sick, twisted loe he felt for me now grow larger and larger until it took up nearly everything inside him. Getting rid of his intelligence, of his shame, of his confidence, of his self-control. He can still talk, for now…but that’s a project for the winter, too, I think.

We’ll be alone here for months, with nothing but the snow for company. I’m going to scrub him out completely, and then I’m going to fill him back up again. He’s going to be my boy–my son–for real, or at least believe it with all of his heart. My stupid boy, with a vocabulary of 500 words, who usually just speaks in grunts. My perverse boy, with a cock that’s always hard, and two hands that can’t keep away from it for longer than a couple minutes. My nasty boy, pissing and shitting himself, unable to stop anything, unable to even feel shame as he drops load after load into the back of his underwear to eat later in front of me. My fat boy, pushing at least 600 pounds, but still able to work for me, for his daddy, the man he’ll do anything for.

I try to tell myself that it’ll be enough, if I finish the job, if I destroy him. I hate myself for doing it, but I can’t stop, it won’t let me stop, and I enjoy it too much, I’m so fucking ashamed of it. But one–one will be enough. One boy, one helpless boy for me is all I need. He can take it–he’ll have to, everything I can give him, because whatever is inside me…it wants out. It wants to grow, and consume, and destroy…everything, but I can’t let that happen. Whoever I was before, he died to stop that from happening, and I have to stop it too, I have to keep it from happening, and this…this is the only way I know how to do that, anymore.

He would understand, right? Who am I kidding, he wouldn’t understand it. At least…it’s what he wants now. He’d never be able to function without me anyway–he needs me now as much as I need him, to stay in control. He can take it–he’s a good boy. He wants to make sure Daddy is happy, he wants me to control him, and own him, and abuse him, and feed him–so I will. And after this, I’ll stop. The voice…it tells me that this won’t be enough, it laughs at me for lying to myself, but I know better. All I want his him. I can’t…explain how it makes me feel, when I see the love in his eyes, the complete devotion he has for me–what else could a Daddy possibly want? In any case…it will have to be good enough.

Have you considered taking your stories and transformations in them to more of a fantasy realm such as transforming people into objects? Also you seem to shy away from finality in your stories after the conflicts culminate in some sense; ruination is all fine, but no one actually meets their end but are left in kind of a torturous limbo… do you prefer to leave those aspects to the reader’s imagination?

I have done some stories, on occasion, with people turning into objects–usually underwear–but I tend to shy away from those themes more generally. For one thing, inanimate TFs aren’t really my favorite ideas–I use them, but usually not as a end goal. Also, its really hard to generate conflict and a good story around an inanimate TF, because it removes all agency from the character being transformed. The story, then, has no capacity for any sort of push and pull between antagonist and protagonist, because one character is now completely powerless by definition.

As for finality and death…I don’t really find death to be particularly erotic–or I should say, I don’t find the death of a body to be particularly erotic. I mean, most of the characters in my stories do die, at least so far as their non-physical identity is concerned. They emerge on the other side of the story as someone entirely different in most cases: new motivations, new desires, new bodies, new memories, etc. You can call it a torturous limbo if you want, but those characters are people too–they have as much inherent worth and value as the people they were before. But more than that, death is lazy writing. Stories don’t really end, the author just stops paying attention to them. There is no real finality in these stories, and that’s the point. I suppose you could say I prefer to leave up to the reader’s imagination, but I’m by no means expecting the reader to keep doing the work, imagining a story beyond what I’ve written for them. In each case, the story I wanted to tell has reached its conclusion. There’s a new status quo beyond, but that’s a set up for a different story, not the one that’s finished.

What are your thoughts on the demise of gay spaces? As more and more social acceptance breaks out there’s less need to flock to a gayborhood or be sequestered to a handful of gay bars, shops or any other location. What does it mean for the future of a discernable gay culture?

Honestly, I’m not at all qualified to even attempt to answer this question with any sort of academic force, so I’m just going to speak from my personal experience instead.

I never had much luck with physical queer spaces, but whether that was because the spaces themselves were collapsing, or those spaces were losing the ability to provide the sort of resources I was looking for, or because I was locked out of many of them at the time I was pursuing them (can’t get into a gay bar when you’re under 21) it’s difficult to really know. The queer club at my college didn’t interest me much, and seemed less interested in offering personal support and camaraderie than pushing for visibility and political action, which I wasn’t particularly interested in. Beyond that, I couldn’t enter into spaces reserved for queer adults, and I felt…really fucking alone for a while. 

It was probably one of the worst depressions of my life, because I felt so alone, at a liberal college, which I had been telling myself for years would finally give me a chance to be gay in the way I wanted to be–but which I quickly found out couldn’t actually provide me with the sort of support/relationships I was looking for. In the end, I turned to online spaces instead–at the time, that was Bear411.

I can’t say that it was perfect–my husband and I met on there, but at the same time, I also suffered through a couple of abusive relationships with men on there as well. But at the very least, it was a place I could go to find men in some semblance of a community which reflected the sort of life I wanted to live. Seeing a bunch of older gay bears online gave me some hope that there was a future for me, somewhere.

I don’t know who or what I’d be without the internet, but I think you can’t avoid, with this question, the usurpation of physical spaces my non-physical ones instead. I think gay bars and queer spaces aren’t dying because of a growing acceptance–they’re dying because they’ve been replaced by apps and other internet spaces–which isn’t to say, of course, that these non-physical spaces are necessarily better. 

I know that alienation is fairly prevalent. I feel it, and it’s a feeling that has been stated by other queer friends I know. You open up an app, and there are so many *men” around you, and yet it feels like you are completely, utterly, alone, typing at a screen, waiting for a reply, sharing pics. The few gay bars I have been to, especially in the Seattle area, can feel very…insular. Unless you know the right people, or are displaying the right look/gear/appearance, it can be…a really lonely experience. In Europe, the atmosphere is very different, for reasons I don’t quite know how to articulate. I feel at home in a gay bar in Amsterdam, even as a tourist, in a way that the Seattle Cuff, Eagle, or Diesel will always feel like foreign territory when I walk in.

As for gay culture, assimilation is real, and assimilation is a problem, but gay spaces can’t do anything to stop that, whether they are physical or not. The problem isn’t that gays are leaving spaces and joining mainstream ones–the problem is that displaying cultural and physical signifiers of queerness and femininity are, at the present time, really fucking dangerous for one’s safety. It’s a new closet: one where you can be gay and out, as long as you are white, nationalist, monogamous, follow the gender binary, and otherwise cater to the comfort of cishet society. It’s a closet I think a lot of people, gay men in particular, are more than happy to inhabit, but it’s incredibly harmful to the cause of queer liberation. 

The problem, to my eyes, is that queers stopped demanding liberation, and began asking for tolerance. We got what we asked for, but it isn’t what we should want, or what we need.

what would you do to a bunch of politically correct hipsters sant Francisco when they strand in the south?

I’d be more interested in a story involving a young guy from San Fran going to the south to live with some family for the summer, only to come back…different, while the rest of his friends in SF try and figure out what happened to him, the more time they spend with him…well, the more they start to see the appeal of country life themselves.

Requesting a short story about pewdiepie being tormented

But isn’t being Pewdiepie torment enough?

Nah, in all seriousness, he would end up at a cam site instead of his usual streaming services, and be forced to obey the commands of all the old perverts on the site, installing cameras all over his apartment to livestream himself 24/7, begging men to come over and abuse him in whatever way the perverts desired, just for the attention.