What is it about change and transformation that seems to go hand in hand with erotic writing?

I’m not actually convinced that they do, actually.

I mean, if you look at the vast majority of erotica and romantic literature out there, the vast majority of it has no connection to either mind control or transformation at all. Most of them are just pure hetero fantasy–sexy ladies pine and fuck sexy men–the characters are so flat, that they rarely change at all over the course of a story.

That said, if we start restricting our question away from erotica at large, and start looking more closely at stories that utilize BDSM elements, both MC and transformation begin to pop up with regularity, and I think this has less to do with stories being erotic, and more to do about MC and TF being two primary methods for characters in erotic contexts to overpower and control one another.

Because that’s really what these themes are about–they’re about control, and usually about controlling people against their own judgment and wishes.

This, I think, sets up a more interesting dichotomy in erotica, I think, between what I might call “wish” fantasies and “control” fantasies. A wish fantasy is simply about a character being given what they want–whatever that might be–but the character is generally passive. They are largely receiving whatever the plot decides to give them, but in some cases, people really enjoy that feeling of helplessness, and idea that in a desperate situation a Charming can appear and whisk them off to a happy ending. Cinderella, in my opinion, is the archetype of this kind of story–she really takes very little action through out the story–instead, the plot is enabled by everyone around her–stepmother and stepsisters, fairy godmother, the prince, etc. Her passivity is rewarded, in the end, with what she desired, a man.

The other side, I think, is the control fantasy, where a character is not given what they want immediately, but they are given the means by which they can get it. They are, at their heart, power fantasies. To stick with the Disney theme, the flip side of Cinderella, I think, is probably Aladdin. He is a scrappy fellow, given a tool by which he can control and transform the world around him, in order to pursue the woman he desires, and win her over. These characters have all of the power, and they are rewarded for their cunning, their resourcefulness, and their vision.

These two archtypes exist as two diametrically opposed, gendered fantasies. The wish fantasy, in popular culture, is generally reserved for a feminine protagonist–even a story like “Frozen”, which is generally regarded as nominally feminist, relies of the wish tropes to deprive the sisters of agency in the story, and instead pass them over the the men pursuing them. On the other hand, the control fantasy is largely masculine. The protagonists of those stories are nearly always men, pursuing women who are passive/imprisoned/helpless. 

I think that when we start talking about queer fiction, these categories start to blur together and twist into something else, but a lot of homoerotic literature, in my opinion, relies on the control tropes much more heavily than wish tropes, which is, I think, why they feel a lot more universal than they are.

You have guys getting fat and hairy and dirty but I’d like to read a story where a guys is disfigured, or disabled?

I don’t do it often, but I have done it. The most recent example I can recall was a story called “Father’s Rules”, where the character ends up losing limbs at the end of the story. There’s a few stories that feature disfigurement, usually with inanimate TF components, like “The Trophy” that might interest you as well.

If you had complete control over a man, in mind and body. Having to deal with no repercussions from it,what would you do to them?

It would depend a whole hell of a lot of who, exactly, I could have control over. If it was a stranger, I don’t think I’d feel a whole lot of interest to do much, personally–I’d rather have control over someone I know, whether I like them or hate them.

If it was a friend, or someone who enjoys my writing, I think it would be pretty fun to give them their fantasies–but probably push them further than they would have ever imagined themselves going. Someone like @pugsleypig, for example–I’d have a lot of fun turning him into exactly the kind of piece of shit faggot he longs to be, or someone like @suitedsubmissive, making the coward finally walk the talk, find a nice blue collar master for him to serve, and make him ditch that shitty white collar life of his in the most humiliating way possible.

And that’s what I would do to the people I like. I don’t think anyone really wants to hear the fantasies of shit I’d do to people I don’t like. Well, some of you probably do, I suppose, that’s why you’re here.

Your writing is such a break for me from my day to day work life. I work in a professional environment and love taking a break from reality with your wonderful and sexy writing. Do you receive lots of comments like this and how you offer a chance to live out some amazing fantasies?

Thanks, I’m glad you enjoy it! I definitely get a few comments like this one, from a lot of people. Plenty of people are looking for an escape from late stage capitalism, so whatever I can do to help ease people ennui is a good thing, I think.

A Dog’s Tale (Part 6)

He held out as long as he could. For a while, just having the gear was enough for him to feel better–even his performance at work improved, though he still found it difficult to care about any of it. He would get done, rush home, and spend a few hours in the gear Joel had given him, parading around, doing tricks, fantasizing about a…Master coming home to find him there, and he’d greet him like a good boy and suck his cock. He kept the mask on all night, even when he had to go back to doing human things, like making dinner, or doing chores around his apartment. It was hard to look at himself without it on, in fact–he just felt so ugly when he had to look at himself. It was no longer a face he could ever want to have, for the rest of his life.

In time, this became failed to satisfy–mostly because he found himself longing for something he imagined every dog must long for to some extent–he wanted an owner. He wanted a master. He wanted a man who would come home, like he imagined in his dreams–who would play with him, and feed him, and fuck him, and go to the dog park with him. That’s what he really wanted, and thinking about it while he jacked off with his paws, it felt so empty–his life felt empty. One night, when he’d had too much to drink, he asked an old boyfriend to fuck him while he was in gear, but the guy called him a freak and blocked him. No one from his life would understand this–no one except one. He knew where Joel was–why wasn’t he going to him?

One Saturday, he decided he’d go and see what the place looked like. Strangely enough, he couldn’t find anything about the place on the internet, and he worried that Joel had been leading him on just to make him suffer. He went to one of his regular bars instead and after a couple of drinks he asked the bartender about it, and the man grew quiet. “Look, if you’re smart, you’ll stay the fuck away from that place. It’s a fucking freakshow, trust me.”

He pressed the young man for more details, but he seemed…a bit shaken. Still, he managed to get directions out of him, and after chugging down the last bit of his drink, he grabbed his bag from the coat check and headed over to Pigtown, which it turned out was just a few blocks away, towards the area of the neighborhood which dissolved into the industrial and warehouse district. Sure enough, there it was–how had he never even heard of the place before? He buzzed the bell, and was a bit worried when it didn’t open right away, and he saw a camera in a corner of the doorframe. Were they inspecting him for some reason? Still, he heard the lock click and he slipped inside, and found himself in an antechamber with a coat check and benches lining the walls.

“Put on your gear, boy. Joel’s at the bar, waiting for you.”

The huge man at the window had spoken to him with a grin, and he froze–how did he know about him? He went to speak, but the only thing which crossed his lips was a bark, making the man laugh. “You’re new here, pup, so you’ll find out this bar ain’t like the rest. You are who you are here–and what you are is a dog. Now gear up or get out.”

He’d come this far, and the way the man was speaking to him…he liked it. He stripped out of his clothes quickly, and got into the gear Joel had given him. As soon as he did, he found himself on all fours and unable to stand back up–the man behind the window came out and collected his discarded clothes for him and took the bag behind the counter.

“I’ll hold this for you, if you still need it when you leave. Get goin’ pup–don’t keep your friend waiting.”

He crawled down the hallway and found himself in a narrow bar. It was poorly lit, and he couldn’t see the end of it, where it led into darkness–the darkrooms, he supposed. Joel was there, however, dressed in leather gear. He grinned around the stem of a pipe when he saw the dog crawling up to him, panting and whining a bit in stress–but he settled down after a pat on the head and a taste of Joel’s cock under the bar. Other people came and went and quite a few made comments–a few just laughed at him, but a couple treated him the way he wanted to be–telling him what a handsome pup he was, and offering to give him a belly rub if he did a trick or two. It made him so happy, knowing that people could see him for what he really was. When Joel clipped a lead to his collar and started walking into the back room, he didn’t have any second thoughts about following along beside him, panting and grinning and swinging his tail to and fro as he crawled.

He lost track of how many men he serviced that night–but he no longer could say no to anyone, if Joel told them it was alright to play with his pup. He spent most of the time with dicks in both his mouth and tailholes, and while it hurt, and he didn’t…want to enjoy it, every time Joel told him he was a good boy for doing what he wanted, he couldn’t stop himself from feeling overwhelmed with happiness. He was a good boy. He was making his master happy. Those thoughts were simpler, and stronger, than the human doubts and fears he was having–at least until Joel took him back to the bar early in the morning, and left him there, telling him he’d be there next week if he wanted to play some more.

It crushed him in ways he could barely express. Hadn’t he done well? Hadn’t he been a good boy? Could he have been better? Didn’t Joel want to keep him, take him home? Why had he done this to him, and shown him these feelings, if he didn’t want to take any responsibility for it? He crawled after him, but by the time he’d changed back and could speak, Joel was gone, and he was alone, and the humiliation was crushing him on the sidewalk.

A Dog’s Tale (Part 5)

It was at this point that Fido paused in his story, looked down at my lap, and licked his chops–I mean, his lips, or whatever. I followed his eyes, and was disturbed to see that his rather detailed description of his first time in gear had, for some reason I couldn’t quite explain at this moment, given me a massive erection in the front of my pants. But that…I knew I shouldn’t be turned on by this. Fido had, as the story progressed, gone from a mere curiosity to someone much creepier. Why in the hell was I even still listening to him? I needed to get home, I had work in the morning, but more than anything, I didn’t want to have to listen to the fucker’s strange ravings anymore. And yet, even as I tried to stand up and head for the doors of the train, my body stayed right beside him. He reached out with one hand, stuck in the paw of the suit, and groped my crotch, whining a bit.

“Don’t worry master, I’ll help you out soon, once we get home. Then I’ll be your pup. I’ll be a really good pup, I promise. I can’t wait to be…me again.”

“No–No, fuck you, I don’t know what your fucking shit is, but I’m fucking done with you.”

It took all the will I could muster, but I did, at last, lurch up to standing and squeeze through the people on the train towards the door as we approached the next stop. I didn’t care if Fido was following me or not–I’d get away from him somehow, or at least find some security guard or police officer to get him to stop fucking harassing me. I got out on the platform–one I couldn’t remember ever seeing in my life–where in the world was I even?

“Master! This isn’t our stop!” Fido shouted, but I just headed for the stairway out–I needed some fucking air, I needed to get away from this crazy fuck. As I hurried off, I passed a map of the subway system, and realized I had somehow gotten on the complete wrong train, heading in the opposite direction from my apartment. Instead, I was heading towards the rundown section of town, mostly occupied by small apartments where the lower class workers and laborers tended to live. I should turn around and head for the trains, but that would mean passing Fido…and all I knew was that I needed to get this fuck away from me, but he caught up to me soon enough.

“Sir, I don’t understand, why did you get off?”

“Please, just fucking leave me alone!”

“But I haven’t finished my story yet–I haven’t even gotten to the good parts!”

I turned on him, and screamed in his face, “I don’ wanna hear anymore a yer fuckin’ story, ya fuckin’ mutt!”

Something was wrong again–my voice…that wasn’t how I was supposed to sound, was it? I felt dizzy and a bit lightheaded, and as I turned around, I saw people staring at me–at me, like I was the crazy fuck, and not the fucker beside me in the fucking costume.

“Why’s he yelling at his doggy, mom?” said a little girl passing by, but her mother just shushed her, gave me a wary look, and pulled her along.

“I’m ain’t fuckin’ crazy…he’s the crazy fuck,” I muttered, but Fido just tapped at my hand with his.

“Let me finish the story sir, and everything will make sense, I promise.”

“No, I don’t fucking want to listen to anymore of this crap,” I said, quieter so only Fido could hear, and kept walking, until I passed an advertisement on the subway wall behind plastic–letting me see a translucent reflection of myself, and what I thought I saw–it couldn’t be right. My body…I could remember it not looking quite right before, but now I seemed even more off–my gut even more pronounced, and I seemed to have lost another couple of inches of height…but now, there were new differences. My usually clean shaven face was covered with a thick beard, one that looked like I’d been growing it for years, and my head was completely shaven. Almost worse, my perfectly tailored suit was gone, and replaced by a pair of grungy, hi-viz coveralls, the kind worn by guys in construction. I didn’t even fucking look like me anymore, I looked–and sounded, I realized–like some lower class, uneducated grunt. Then Fido caught up with me, and in the mirror…in the mirror, I didn’t see the man in the suit, no, what I saw was…was a dog. Was my dog, the big fucking mutt, almost to my waist–I turned and looked at him, and he was still standing there in the costume…but what the fuck was wrong with me?

“What the fuckin’ hell is this? What the fuck’s happenin’ tah me? I ain’t supposed tah look like this, ‘n why’s everyone think yer a real fuckin’ dog?”

“Because I am a dog, master–that’s what I’m trying to tell you! See, I thought it was a curse, but Master Joel–he helped me see what I needed to be, and after that first night in Pigtown everything made so much more sense, you see.”

“I don’t wanna listen anymore, I don’t wanna hear any more crazy shit from yer fuckin’ mouth.”

“Come on Master, you’re just cranky because you haven’t smoked your pipe in a while. Let’s go sit down outside, you can smoke a while, and I’ll keep telling you my story–how’s that sound?”

I tried to resist, but he just grabbed me by the hand and pulled me out of the station, parked me on a bench, and as he kept speaking, he helped me light a pipe that had somehow appeared in the breast pocket of my new coveralls. I listened, and felt my cock start to harden again, but once I had a nice buzz going from my pipe, I settled down, and groped my cock as my dog described his first night in Pigtown.

A Dog’s Tale (Part 4)

– Fido’s Story Continued –

He had held out hope that, given time, the ache would go away, or at least diminish in scope. After all, who in their right mind would actually want to be an animal! It wasn’t…normal, or natural. He went to a couple of therapists, but the shame of admitting his fantasies and desires to them always led him to abandon the effort after a session or two. He was terrified that talking about it would simply normalize it for him, but he didn’t want it to be normal, he wanted these thoughts…gone. Instead, they calcified, and hardened, and grew heavier. Nothing seemed to be getting better, and he felt like he was stuck carrying around some awful secret, worse than when he’d still been in the closet, because if he told anyone about this…no, he couldn’t imagine what that might even look like.

He still had sex, on occasion, but every instance now was rife with anxiety. He had a hard time getting erect, and the only time he managed to cum with someone else was jacking off while they fucked him doggy style. Thinking about what it would be like to be owned by them. To be their dog, imaging what kind of dog he might even be. He studied breeds in his spare time, thinking about them all–he couldn’t believe how many varieties there even were! In his perusal, he also discovered pup play, and it quickly became his only porn. He…dreamed of trying it out for himself, one day, but would it even be enough, just pretending? He knew it wouldn’t, so then why bother with it? If anything, it would probably just make his ache worse.

He had less and less sex, as the months wore on, and spent more time at the park, and several other dog parks around town. Should he get a dog himself? No, he’d just be jealous of the mutt, and that wasn’t fair. He went on a few dates with guys he knew who had dogs, just…to be around the entire dynamic of master and pet. He’d get a vicarious thrill, just being there as they walked the dog, or played catch, but even that stopped scratching the itch soon. The dreams grew more intense, and some days he would wake up and just cry for an hour, before being able to face work. Something was going to snap–but he didn’t know what, or when, or how.

It was a relief, in a sense, when Joel surprised him, and sat down on the bench beside him at the park one afternoon. He’d gone through the entire summer now, and as fall and the rains were approaching, fewer and fewer pups were out to watch. He begged Joel to fix him, that he was sorry for what he’d said and done, but he didn’t know how he could live with this, with himself. He’d been thinking of suicide, he lied, but he also thought it might become true soon enough. Joel just listened, and it was only after a few minutes that he noticed the older bear had a wrapped present in his lap, and he stopped speaking. Joel noticed where his attention had gone, and smiled.

“For you,” he said and handed him the package, “Be a good boy, now. Maybe I’ll see you this weekend.”

“Be a good boy.” His cock was rock hard at the words, and he whined, unable to help himself. Joel just chuckled, then stood up and went on his way, whistling, leaving him there on the bench, clutching the gift, hands shaking. He should throw it in the trash. He should throw it in the trash, and then go back to work–he did have to go back to work, didn’t he? Maybe…maybe he didn’t. He went home instead, the package under his arm, and tore into it once he got there, shaking as he pulled the items inside out, one by one. A collar. A buttplug with a dog tail. Mitts for his hands. Knee pads. A pup mask. A collar. He laid them all out, gently, on the floor, like they were deadly weapons, and just stared at them for a long while. Throw them away, he told himself. You can’t give into this, it’s not right. It’s not normal to want any of this.

Two hours later, he was on his hands and knees in front of the mirror, staring at himself in the gear, cock rock hard and leaking cum. Closer–he felt so much closer like this. He’d imagined it would feel like a complete disappointment–but instead he felt so…happy, he couldn’t stop himself from giving a loud bark, rolling over, and jacking his cock with both paws until he shot all over his belly like a good boy, a very good boy indeed. Then came the shame, and he stripped out of the stuff as quickly as he could, and got right in the shower, shaking in anger at himself for giving in like that. He’d throw it all away, that was the only option. He got the box, intending to load it all back in there and throw it right out, when he noticed an envelope in the bottom he hadn’t seen before. He opened it, and read the short note inside.

You can find me at Pigtown, Saturdays and Sundays. Be yourself, pup, and let’s have some fun together.