Roundup (7/16/2017)

Edit: Forgot the link for “Bodywork below! It’s fixed now.

As promised, here’s a fresh roundup of stories for all of you! 

Tumblr Writers:

Some new writers have cropped up, or reappeared, or been discovered by me for the first time, and I want to give them a shout out.

  • @chaoticdjinn – A good writer of MC/TF fiction, whose stories tend to focus on muscle growth, incest, rednecks. A little too much wish fulfillment for my liking, but lots of other people are into that. 
  • @mcbaer – An excellent writer who’s blog has been silent for a bit, but he’s been posting weekly stories lately, and they’ve all been excellent so far.
  • @kinkygaystories – While not really within the MC/TF genre all the time, the stories are hot, and for people who love caption stories, it’s a good blog to add to your list.

Stories:

CYOC interactives:

CYOC has been pretty dry lately.

Use It or Lose It (Part 7)

The one thing that didn’t change at all, however, after a day without masturbating, was how horny he was. By the time he got home, it was even more intense than it had been the day before. He’d hoped, at least, that as the curse wore off the urge would dissipate as well–but it appeared that things were going to get harder before they would get any easier. Still, he managed the evening well enough, in the same way he’d done the day before–taking a long walk around the neighborhood–which was much easier now without an extra hundred pounds to lug around–stopping at a restaurant for dinner, and then going back home for an early bed.

Trouble came in the night. His dreams were vivid and filled with men. Sexy men. Cocks in his mouth, cocks in his ass. He was lost. It was too late by the time he began to struggle awake, and realized how close he was to cumming. “No!” he said to himself, desperate trying to will his hand off his cock, “No–not now, not after getting this far, you will…you are not–”

His objections dissolved into moans as his body unloaded a massive amount of cum all over his body and his sheets. A minute later, his body was back to the way it had been–a hundred pounds heavier, no body hair, reeking of cum…and as much as he hated it, the relief at finally releasing his load flooded through his body like lemonade on a summer day. Still, he hated himself. He’d managed to crawl one rung back up the ladder, and he’d lost it almost as quickly. Still–if he’d managed to do it once, he could do it again–at least he’d get a better night’s sleep this time.

In the morning, he checked the nightstand and saw the dildo had reappeared, good as new, but left it there. He didn’t even dare touch it, not as horny as he was. The morning went well enough, and by lunch he knew he’d passed the point of no return–he was either going to climb back up, or fall down yet another rung. It was clear that he was going to have to be smart about this, and so he started planning things out. So long as he managed to go two days–and reverse two sets of changes–he could afford to slide back. It wasn’t ideal, but two steps forward and one step back would have to do. In less than a week, he’d be back with his wife–and as long as he fucked her regularly, he’d be home free!

The day wore on. He was impatient with his students. They no longer respected him, now that he was a fat slob, and not the commanding sort of muscle pig he’d been before. Fuck, he could use a muscle pig fucking his old right about now…if only his dildo hadn’t left it at home! He snapped out of his fantasy, and refocused. At last, school was out, but Randal lingered in his office, twiddling his thumbs. It seemed harder today than it had the day before, and his dildo was there at home, waiting for him. He couldn’t face it, not yet. He worked on some lesson planning instead, playing with himself gently as he did–it seemed to help, though it did make him leak into his underwear.

“Not even bothering to slip into the bathroom today, eh Mr. Gray?”

The voice made him jump, and he spun around in his chair to find Mr. Jones, the janitor, behind him. He was younger, probably in his thirties, and not particularly attractive…though from the bulge in his uniform pants, it was clear he had plenty to work with.

“Like what you see, Mr. Gray?”

His eyes snapped up. “N-No…No, I…I think you’re mistaken.”

“I’m not mistaken, Mr. Gray. You slip off all day long into the bathroom. I can hear you, moaning. Watched you just yesterday, after than meeting, how you fucked yourself silly. Busted a load myself, listening to a slut like you! I’m glad you’re here, Mr. Gray–and that no one else is. I can offer you a real cock this afternoon instead, right here at your desk.”

The young man zipped down his fly, letting his seven inch cock out for air–no underwear to be seen. It smelled musky and ripe, but as delicious as it probably was, he couldn’t do this. He couldn’t afford this, not right now. “I…maybe…I can’t, not right now…” he muttered, but the young man stepped forward, pushing the head to Randal’s lips, and they parted easily, his tongue slipping out for a taste, and he moaned.

“Don’t be a fucking tease–I know what you want.”

More of his cock slipped into his mouth, and he moaned around the shaft.

“Yeah, I know what you need, you old faggot.”

He sucked harder, getting it good and wet, his ass clenching and hungry for a taste as well. His cock was leaking more, and was hard as a rock–if he kept this up, he didn’t think he’d be able to stop. Maybe he could salvage this–after all, if he came without jacking himself off, it wouldn’t count, right? He pulled away from the cock, and trying to sound as seductive as possible, he said, ”Suck me off first, then you can fuck me all afternoon.”

“Hell no!” Mr. Jones said, “I’m not some fucking faggot. You’re just a hole–now get up, and bend over that desk–this thing has a date with that ass of yours. I might not be as big as that dildo of yours, but I think I can make you moan like yesterday all the same.”

Use It or Lose It (Part 6)

“Look…I’m sorry, alright? I’m sorry I lost my temper with you, and I’m sorry that I lied to your son about masturbation. It was wrong, alright?”

“Well, thank you for the apology. I trust you’ll be sticking to the facts from here on out?” Ms. Eleway asked.

“Yes, yes. I promise. Just…just change me back, alright?”

Silence. Her face didn’t change one whit, not even a turn at the corner of her lips. Randal just stared at her, waiting for something, even some confirmation that this wasn’t all just in his head. It…it wasn’t all in his head, was it? He got hit with a wave of doubt, suddenly. What if he’d…just thought things were changing? What if he was just crazy? No–No, he wasn’t crazy, this bitch was doing this to him, and this bitch was going to cut it the fuck out. He’d said his apology, he’d learned his lesson–now everything was supposed to go back to normal!

“I know you’re doing this to me,” he said, a hint of manic conspiracy in his tone, “I know it.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Mr. Gray.”

Did she not remember either? No one else had noticed any of the changes happening to him. “Please…I feel like I’m going insane, and…I need to know that this is really happening. Please, just give me my life back, I don’t want to be this person, I don’t want to be like this anymore.”

“Well, then why don’t you just stop?” she asked, a slight smile on her face.

“Because you’re making me do this! I don’t know how, I don’t know if you’re some kind of witch, or what this shit is, but it needs to stop,” He took a deep breath, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I’m trying to not get angry, but you have to understand that the last weekend was…hard for me.”

She stood up, and put her purse over her arm, pressing a few wrinkles from her shirt. “You’re apology is accepted, but it isn’t enough. You need to learn restraint and self-control. If you want to get your life back, Mr. Gray, you’re going to have to follow your own bad advice, and stop masturbating–for good.”

“Excuse me?”

“It shouldn’t be that difficult for you–after all, you yourself said you fucked your wife often enough that you’d never needed to masturbate before. For each full day you go without masturbating, you’ll get an inch back, and that set of changes will reverse. Of course, the more you lose, the harder it’s going to be to get everything back, and if you try and resist, but give in anyway…well, you know what will happen then,” she turned to leave, but added one more thing over her shoulder, “It’s probably best if you just stay as you are now–that’s the safest thing. In a couple of months, the curse will lose force, and you’ll never even remember being anything different. In any case, I wish you good luck with whatever you decide to do–just know that if you lose everything–” her eyes flicked down to Randal’s crotch, and then back to his face, “then there’s no going back for you, ever.” She started on her way, “Best to get used to being a fat, ass hungry faggot–I don’t think you have it in you to be much else now.”

Should he beg? No–no, he wouldn’t beg. He wanted to kill her, is what he wanted. He rose from his desk, intending to follow her, perhaps bash her head in against the wall, but as the thought of harming her flared up, his need to masturbate flared as well–almost strong enough to signal another possible loss. Still, he couldn’t just let her leave, could he? She had to fix this! He’d learned his lesson, he wasn’t going to put up with this awful shit anymore! He hefted himself up and headed out the way she’d left, but didn’t see her down any hallway–and his cock was growing more insistent each moment. In the end, he retreated to the bathroom down the hall, dropped his grungy pants, and spent a few minutes fucking himself with his dildo he kept in his ass all day (for safety’s sake), jacking off until he came with a grunt all over the wall of the stall. Still shoving the rubber in and out, he got down and licked up his own cum, savoring the taste, thinking he might have to give someone a call today. Rubber was nice, but real was so much more satisfying, he’d discovered.

God, is this really what things had come to? Was he really ready to surrender to this?

He resisted the urge to break down into tears, hiked his pants back up–dildo shoved deep inside his ass–and left the bathroom again, heading back for his office. He needed to focus on the positives here–she wasn’t going to just give him his life back, that much was clear–but he could get it back all the same…assuming she was telling him the truth about the nature of the curse. Then again, he had no reason to doubt her, right?

Actually, he did. Not masturbating…it might change him back, if he could control himself, or maybe she was just laying a trap for him, knowing he’d attempt it and fail, losing more of himself in the process. Still, she hadn’t…sounded like she was lying. What choice did he really have? He’d have to take a chance and trust her–he could abstain for a day…right?

He pulled the dildo out, cleaned it off, and stashed it in a drawer in his desk–then he left and headed for home. He could do this–it was just one day, right? In fact, it was one of the most difficult days of his life. All evening, jacking off was all he could think about. It was hard to believe how central the act of self-pleasure had become to his daily routine. He walked, instead, exhausting himself, and settled in late for a restless night. There were a couple of close calls, when he woke–one hand in his ass, the other mindlessly stroking off–the orgasm of change building–but he managed to stop himself. Work the next day was worse. The dildo was right there, in his drawer. Just…one time. It couldn’t hurt, his body screamed, but he held off, all day long. He’d met her at 3:00, she’d left around 3:15, he’d last jacked off before 3:30. He watched the clock, cock screaming with need, groping himself, nervously opening and shutting his desk drawer. But the clock slipped closer, and he felt something happening to his body–it was shrinking. The fat he’d gained last time was disappearing, along with the beard. His clothes turning cleaner–it was true! She’d told the truth! There was a way out for him–he could do this. The dildo had disappeared, and he left the school, humming to himself, full of hope. Three more days, and he’d have his life back–then he’d teach that bitch a thing or two about self-control.

Use It or Lose It (Part 5)

Six inches now–almost half the man you were. What did you say back then? Fat dirty slobs who couldn’t get any action?

The note was taped to the bathroom mirror, but Randal could see the results well enough right in front of him. The nice clothes he’d put on were gone, replaced by grubby sweats and a t-shirt–both heavily stained with what he suspected was his own cum–and probably that of other men too. He’d been able to see some of his old body left in him before, but now, all of that was gone for good. He’d lost most of his muscle mass, and had packed on at least a hundred and fifty pounds of fat instead. The scruffy beard he’d started growing was now a shaggy mass, and his hair was balding severely, almost past the crown of his head–much of it now grey where it had been a younger black. His body hair, on the other hand, had greatly diminished, leaving his fat body looking much smoother than before. In fact, all of him seemed…a little less masculine. His angular face was rounder, he was an inch or two shorter, and his ass had gained at least as much size as his belly.

He was disgusting. He was the kind of man he would have sneered at before, whom he would have considered lower than dirt in his, and in God’s, eyes. He was that low. He realized that now. He was worthless–he hated looking at himself, and yet, in some twisted way, that line of thinking was only making him…even hornier. He hadn’t jacked off since leaving the church, and the need was rising. He reached under his gut and found his cock…and trembled at how short it suddenly felt. Not only was it quite a bit shorter than before, his new gunt swallowed at least an inch. The five inches left for him to stroke was new–as was how skinny it seemed. His balls, too, were shrinking–they were closer to his body and didn’t swing as much as he was used to–still, it shouldn’t stop him from getting off, right? But much to his surprise, it was difficult to get off. His arm got tired, but the need to cum was only getting stronger. It wasn’t strong enough to change him–yet–but if he didn’t cum soon…

He saw the note and yanked it off, but before he could wad it up he saw something written on the back:

P.S. I don’t want to make this too easy for you. If you want to get off–you’re going to need…assistance from now on. Living, or rubber, should do. Check your nightstand, faggot–I think you might recognize it. Go fuck yourself.

Afraid of what he might find, but more afraid of what might happen to him if he doesn’t cum quickly, he heads into the apartment bedroom and to the nightstand. In the top drawer, where he’d usually kept his bible, there was now a flesh colored dildo and a container of lube. Like it might bite him, he reached in and pulled the cock out, worried about how large it was. The thing had to be ten inches long–and as he held it, he realized that the dildo was probably ten inches long exactly, just like his old cock had been. In fact, the dildo was exactly like his old cock–a complete replica.

He couldn’t think too hard about this, or he’d never get it done. Besides, the sight of it…had made him so much hornier, and hadn’t he always kind of wondered what it must have felt like, whenever he slammed that big cock of his into a tight pussy? He squeezed some lube on the head and shaft, laid back on the bed and started trying to force it into his hole, but the head was just too large to fit in easily, and his horniness was making him impatient. He had to work some of his fingers in first, stretching at the hole, before he could finally manage to impale himself on the dildo successfully. It hurt, he screamed, but one hand couldn’t leave his cock. He stroked faster, ignoring how much his weaker arm was burning, and forced the dildo in deeper, feeling his ass begin to adjust, the pain disappearing and being replaced by a deep satisfaction. He was a faggot. He could do this. This is what he was made to do! He slid down further, and started fucking himself on it, stroking faster, and even after he shot he kept fucking himself until he got hard again, and blew a second load, his fat body shaking and soaked with cum, lube, and sweat. At last he collapsed back, dildo still buried deep in his ass, and the first sob escaped his lips.

He’d lost. He had to admit it. He’d been wrong, and he’d lost. He didn’t know what that witch had done to him, but he wasn’t strong enough to fight it. He’d lost his body, he’d lost his family, and he’d lost his faith. He’d been wrong to lie, and he’d been wrong to lose himself to pride and anger like that in front of her. He’d assumed he was superior, when clearly, he had badly misjudged the situation. He would have to talk to her. He would apologize, and he was certain that she would put this right. He’d certainly learned his lesson, or so he’d thought. Still, there wasn’t anything he could do until he got to school in the morning, and so he left the dildo inside him for the rest of the day. It was comfortable–he had to admit that. By the evening, it seemed normal that he’d have to fuck his loose ass to get off–after all, what would keep an old fat faggot like him happier than an ass full of cock?

long time fan of your works. is there any kind of transformation/ kink theme you haven’t done much of or one that you haven’t done in awhile that you’ve been thinking of doing something with soon?

For the summer, my main focus at the moment is commissions, so most of my own ideas are going to be on the backburner for a little while. Still, I’m excited for some of those, because people have been asking for some stuff I don’t write very often, but always enjoy when I do. There will probably be some orc TF stuff, and my fursona will make an appearance in one story–he doesn’t come out very often, so it’s always fun when I get to use him.

Got a question? I might have an answer! Drop it in the box, and I’ll answer it on Tuesdays.

Hi, I love you works. I am a trainee lawyer but always hoping to be suddenly trained into blue collar job. I’m sure you would describe how would it happen, how I would become a burly muscle and bald bear working in a construction site instead in an office

Sounds like something that should go into the suggestion box on Patreon next month!

Got a question? I might have an answer! Drop it in the box, and I’ll answer it on Tuesdays.

Any chance for bringing back the tumblr and cyoc story recs? Those were always great.

Yes, I do like doing the roundups, although there was a bit of a slump until recently. I’ll probably get one together and post it this weekend. In the meantime, @mcbaer is posting stories again on Fridays! That’s super exciting. @vikingzombieboyfriend and @chaoticdjinn have some good stuff (and new Patreon accounts for those who like helping us writers and artists out!) I’ll have more stuff on Saturday or Sunday.

Got a question? I might have an answer! Drop it in the box, and I’ll answer it on Tuesdays.

Do you have a story you wrote that you wanted to end differently?

That’s…kind of a hard question to answer, really, mostly because I’m not sure it’s the *right* question. In trying to come up with an answer to this, I feel really puled between two very different feelings about the stories I write:

  1. Every story I’ve written, I think, has the ending that it needed to have in that particular moment. In a broader sense, no, every story has the ending that I think it needed–or put even more strongly, I think every story resolves in the only way it could have done so.
  2. Running completely counter to the first, at the same time, every story, as I start writing, feels like it has an infinite number of possible permutations of elements. Probably the greatest source of writer’s block, for me, is trying to decide and settle on one particular path for the story to go down, because every option feels worthy of pursuit.

Those aren’t particularly easy to reconcile, and they probably seem contradictory, but they aren’t. Once I’ve narrowed down the potential options in number 2 to the story I decide on writing, the ending of the story is pretty heavily determined from that decision, hence why I also feel number 1. 

That said, I’ve had stories which I settled on, but which didn’t turn out particularly well, making me wish I could have gone back and picked a different sort of option at the beginning, but most of those stories never get posted as complete stories–they either get abandoned towards the end and posted as a sketch of some sort, or wind up in the unfinished story pile, which I keep promising I’ll get back to at some point. 

I don’t know if this is a satisfactory answer to the question, really, but that’s as close to the truth of my process as I can, at the moment. A good example of this would probably be “Rick and the Beast”, as a story I’ve started, but which petered out without any clear development, and so it has ended up mostly abandoned.

Got a question? I might have an answer! Drop it in the box, and I’ll answer it on Tuesdays.

Use It or Lose It (Part 4)

He didn’t sleep much that night. Something was happening to him–but all of the changes felt so natural, that he found himself happily accepting them, even though in his heart, he knew this wasn’t right. That his life, in a matter of days, had crumbled to pieces. He’d been a successful, happy father, a good Christian man, a pillar of the community–and now, who was he? An overweight slob, reeking of cum, paying men to fuck him, masturbating all day long like a pervert. How had it come to this? He thought of the notes, trying to pin them down, wondering who could have sent them–and he remembered that cunt from school, that afternoon, the concerned mother. She had been complaining about his lie, about masturbating–and now, it was coming true…sort of. It didn’t make sense, actually. Whenever he jacked off regularly, nothing happened to him, but as soon as he tried to resist, he’d have one of those…intense episodes, and afterwards everything would be worse than before! So what should he do? Should he keep jacking off like a freak, or should he resist and fight back? He couldn’t let this get any worse, but he also couldn’t just…accept this as his life either. There had to be some way back, right? But how?

He was certain God could help. God had always been there, guiding him. He’d been successful because of his belief–he’d always felt that, in his heart and soul, that God would never turn his back on him. He’d allowed himself to be led astray, but no more. He’d confess–he’d admit what he’d done, and he would ask for help and guidance. It would be hard, but he’d do it–there was simply no other option for him. So he abstained in the night. He got up early, and found a third note on the table when he entered the kitchen:

“Seven inches left. I don’t think you need to trouble women anymore, Randal. In fact, maybe it’s time you learned what it feels like to be used.”

He crumpled it up and tossed it in the trash, containing his anger as best he could. He focused on making a good breakfast and then exercised to keep his mind off his growing need. He got dressed in the nicest clothes he could find, and drove to the megachurch where he’d always attended services–but where before everyone had known him by name…now, he was a stranger.

He sat through the service, and found himself growing restless. He’d never had a problem paying attention before, but his cock was demanding–he could tell that it had passed the point of no return again–if he gave in now…things would only get worse once more. The fear was enough to keep his hands at bay–he sat on them. When the service was over, he went down to the head pastor, a friend from another life.

“Benjamin–it’s me, it’s Randal. Can I speak to you, please, in your office?”

Benjamin looked at Randal, confused. “I-I’m sorry, I don’t…do I know you? I don’t think we’ve had a chance to speak yet. You must be new here.”

Randal bit his lip, embarrassed. “Yes–this is my first time. But can I…speak to you? Alone perhaps?”

“I have office hours every weekday in the afternoon. I’d be happy to speak to you then, Randal.”

“Please! Today, it’s urgent. I’m…in a crisis, and I don’t know who else to talk to about it.”

“But we don’t even know–”

“Please, sir…please…” Randal felt an odd tingle at the word ‘sir’ but ignored it. It was enough to sway Benjamin at least, and the pastor led Randal back into his office, and shut the door.

“Now, what did you need to speak about?”

Randal let it all come pouring out. How he had fallen over the last few days, how he’d given into temptation. How he’d abused his body, how things had only gotten worse, how he’d allowed a man to fuck him and use him–and then paid him for the pleasure. He was about to ask for guidance from Benjamin, when he saw the sneer on his one-time friend’s face, and froze.

“You faggots–you’re all the fucking same,” Benjamin spat, “You aren’t misled–you’re fucking broken. There’s no helping you.”

Of course, Benjamin had never been kind to homosexuals and their agenda from the pulpit, but the words, now directed at himself, stung Randal in ways he couldn’t explain. “I’m trying…to ask for help. Please.”

“There’s no helping freaks like you,” Benjamin said, and stood up, “Here–let me show you.” He dropped his pants, and revealed his cock, half hard. Randal couldn’t take his eyes off of it. “See? This is all you care about. You could never love God the way you love cock. Now make yourself actually useful, and stop wasting my time.”

Randal tried to object, but somehow he still ended up on his knees, his old pastor’s cock slamming into his throat. It didn’t take long before Benjamin fed him a load, and then slapped him across the face.

“Now get the fuck out of here. If I ever see you in here again, I’ll call the fucking police.”

And so, Randal left the office, but didn’t make it out of the building. Instead, he ran right for the bathroom, locked himself in a stall, and started masturbating furiously. Benjamin was right. There wasn’t going to be any salvation here, not for him. It had felt too good, feeling that warm cock in his mouth, the taste of that cum! He was a faggot–a disgusting worthless cock hungry faggot! It was a few minutes before he finally exploded–he caught as much of his load in his hand and guzzled it back, feeling a heat in his gut as it expanded, packing on even more weight as his muscles began to recede again. When he left, he barely recognized himself in the mirror–but he didn’t bother washing his hands. He didn’t…want to look too closely, and so he didn’t see the full scope of changes until he got home half an hour later.

I mentioned it on Sunday, but since I haven’t been using the sideblog for much anymore, I decided to go ahead and open up for asks again on my main blog. On Tuesdays, I’ll go ahead and clear out the inbox, and answer everything I received in the last week. 

However! I’m not taking submissions or requests for stories through the ask box–if there’s a story you’d like to see me write, for one buck a month you can get access to the submission box on Patreon every month!