Arctos Audio 2: True Story (Part 1)

Nate had always been a fan of horror stories, and so when he stumbled upon the Arctos Audio website, that was the first section he decided to check out. Of course, the tagline of the section–”Stories so horrifying you find yourself wishing they’d happen to you!”–was a bit…disturbing, he decided to take a look around anyway. The prices were decent, and as a new customer he was offered a free audiobook just for signing up. It couldn’t hurt, right? The story he ended up selecting was one called, “To be a Hog.” He loaded it up and listened, and to his surprise, it was one of the most horrific stories he’d ever heard–it was so awful, that over the course of the story he tried multiple times to try and stop the file, but he was, at the same time, gripped by a grim curiosity–he needed to hear how the story ended.

When the file had finally reached completion, he wasn’t sure what he wanted to do then–vomit? Take a shower? Who in their right mind had come up with such a fucked up story? To his surprise, there was no author listed with the story, and a cursory search around the internet didn’t reveal anything about the book–it didn’t seem to be listed on any sites other than Arctos, and it was difficult finding any real details about that company itself. In the end, he thought it best to just…put the story out of his mind as best he could–he certainly wasn’t going to be purchasing any other stories from them–he was a fan of horror, and he didn’t mind gore…but that story had gone beyond the morn, and into a sadistic realm Nate had never contemplated before in his life.

But as much as he wanted to leave it behind him, the story stuck around with him, haunting him over the next several days. He would see something on the street–a fat man gorging himself at a table or an overturned trashcan, and he’d be reminded of the story, replaying it in his mind, the calm voice of the narrator replaying the scenes for him unbidden. He found himself picturing the young man dragging the hog’s head from the butcher’s trash, examining it with glee and excitement as he hollowed out the skull. How he’d snuck onto the farm, hiding among the pigs, feasting on their slop, groping himself…

He’d break free eventually, but it was taking a toll on him. Soon, the story was invading his dreams, and he would find himself in the position of the young man, at the mercy of the farmer, knife gleaming in the lantern light–and he’d awake, heaving for breath, terrified, and disgusted to discover that the dream had been accompanied by…a nighttime emission of sizable quantity–something he struggled to hide from his husband, Paul, each morning, who began to wonder why the sheets were freshly laundered every night when he arrived home from work.

Who could have possibly written such a monstrous thing, he found himself wondering over and over again. He would search and search, but he never sound any detail of the story’s anonymous author, though a small note on the copyright page caught his eye again and again:

“Based on a true story.”

How could it be so? It had to be impossible, and yet he couldn’t quite bring himself to doubt it entirely. He searched for news of men mutilated on farms, but only found a few articles regarding various equipment accidents–and nothing so vile as the book described, and yet…and yet…the horror was beginning to turn into something else. He wanted to know what could drive someone to such horrors; he wanted to know how someone could do something so twisted to their own body, and how someone else could strip another of their humanity. Slowly but surely, another possibility began to creep into his mind. Why, after all, had he chosen that story of all the ones offered? Why had the main character, that young man seemed so relatable and sympathetic? Who else would he still be thinking about this, if he, in some small way, didn’t want the same? If he didn’t want to be a hog himself?

The idea was farcical to him, and yet…before too much longer, reliving parts of the story was the only thing that could get him to cum, whether he was sleeping or awake. He was gaining weight, and while Paul was concerned by his strange behavior and emotional distance, he also couldn’t bare the thought of exposing his husband to any of it. What would he think of him? He would be crushed, right?

And so, in desperation, he wrote in to Arctos and described what he was feeling, and what was happening to him. He didn’t know why, exactly, he thought telling them would give him a solution, but more than anything else, he just needed to tell someone! It didn’t matter who. Better it was some anonymous no-one on the other end of the internet, than someone he might know–and when he’d finished and sent it off…he really did feel better. A bit better. He slept more soundly that night that he had in weeks, and when he woke up the next morning, feeling refreshed and ready to move on past this nightmare that had been consuming him for weeks, he found a reply from Arctos waiting for him in the mailbox. Apparently, he was being shipped two packages, which would arrive later that day, and there was also a note:

“We here at Arctos are pleased that you enjoyed the book so much! We’ve sent you a special gift, complimentary of course, to help ease some of your worries. Thank you for helping make Arctos Audio the go to destination for erotic literature!”

Jeremiah’s Biggest Fan (Part 4)

How much did Terrance like football? Not at all. In fact, Terrance hated football. He hated most sports, in fact. But within a moment after Jeremiah pressing a button on the Chronivac, all of that changed. Now, he didn’t just love football–it was his life. He watched as much of it as he could, all the time, followed both the pro leagues and the college teams, and so much in his head was pushed out to make room for what he would have thought of as useless stats and figures before, but now…now football seemed like the only thing that mattered to him.

“Fuck, you’re going to make me a fucking football player?”

“No Tubbs–don’t worry about that. Someone with your physique? You’re too big to even be a defensive lineman. Sure, you might have played football back in high school,” he pressed another button, “but you were much too stupid to get into college, even on an athletic scholarship, if you’d been a good enough player to get one,” he hit another slider, “Now, all you are is just a middle aged loser, a pathetic worthless slob who obsesses on football because that’s the only thing in his life that has ever given him any meaning.”

Terrance did his best to fight it, the sensation of his entire history shifting away underneath him. Some of the details were the same as before–growing up gay in a small town–but most of it began twisting into something entirely new. Jeremiah saw him begin to shift again, though more subtly than before. His eyes lost a bit of their intelligence and dimmed, a thick layer of stubble filling in across his flabby face as his hairline began to recede. His body began to smell from a lack of care and washing, and he grew even a bit larger. In thirty seconds, Terrance was essentially gone–now there was just Tubbs, a thirty-five year old faggot pig, who spent his days working a shitty job delivering pizzas, and every second of his free time was devoted to his one true love: football.

Still, it wasn’t quite enough to satisfy Jeremiah. After all, even Tubbs could figure out that knowing a secret like this of a local college football star could be…rather worthwhile to the right ears. No–what he needed was a much more personal loyalty. “Tell me Tubbs,” he asked, typing in a new specification, “Who’s your favorite football player? The one you idolize over everyone else?”

“Aww fuck man! It’s fuckin’ you!” Tubbs gushed, his voice picking up the long drawl of the rest of the hick locals around here. “First time I saw ya play last year man, I knew I was lookin’ at someone special. I…I dreamed about you man, I know you’re gonna be pro, you’re gonna take a damn lucky team to the superbowl one day! I…fuck man, and…and I…” he got off the bed and onto his knees in front of Jeremiah, looking up at him with an almost childlike adoration, “I…anything I can do for you sir. Use me, my holes–I…You’re the sexiest man I’ve ever seen on a field, and if I can do this for you, if I can make you happy, fuck man it would be such a fucking honor. I know…I’m not much to look at, hell, I’m a dumbfuckin’ loser, I know it, but my ass is a good fuck, and its always open, whenever ya need it.”

“What I need right now, pig, is someone to clean my filthy fucking feet.”

“Oh fuck…Fuck *snort* fuck sir, yes sir!” Tubbs got down and started licking at Jeremiah’s foot, grunting and moaning, supporting himself with one hand while the other fucked himself with the dildo he had in his hole nearly all the time. Yeah–now this is something he could get used to, Jeremiah thought, hopped up on the desk behind him and started shoving his foot into Tubb’s fat mouth, jacking his cock while he watched the pig humiliate himself in front of his young football idol.

“You like those nasty feet pig?”

“Yes sir!”

What do you say pig, when your idol–when your fucking god is nice enough to let you lick your feet?”

“Thank you sir, *grunt* Thank you!”

“That’s right pig–you’ll take anything from me, won’t you, and you’ll thank me afterwards–isn’t that right?”

“Anything sir, I’m your fucking pig sir, anything, please, I’d be honored.”

“Get back on the bed pig, I got one last load of cum for you, and then you’d better get going, or you’ll be late to work.”

Twenty minutes later, Tubbs left the dorm room, adjusting his too small uniform from the local pizza delivery joint where he’d worked since he was a teenager. The front was stained and grubby, but he didn’t care–he had the best football player’s cum leaking out of his hole right this very second, and the world couldn’t get any fucking better than this.

Inside the room, laughing, unable to believe what had just happened, Jeremiah picked up the Chronivac, stepped out the dorm room, and triggered reality to alter and adjust for all of the previous changes he’d made. The room he’d just left was suddenly occupied by a completely different student, and Terrance–investigative journalist and notorious queer–ceased to exist for anyone other than Jeremiah. Later that night, he ordered a bunch of pizzas for the frat house for fun, and sure enough, Tubbs pulled up in his pickup truck, hauled out the six pizzas and took them to the door, gushing over the football players inside, who were a bit…put off that the filthy slob knew their own stats better than they did. But Jeremiah gave him a wink, and that alone had Tubbs fucking himself with his special, Jeremiah shaped dildo in a parking lot until he came in the front of his work uniform, looking forward to the next time he’d have the honor of serving his idol–which he’d have the opportunity to do many times over the next few years, until–as everyone knew would happen–Jeremiah graduated and got drafted immediately by a pro team across the country, and he was gone.

Still, Tubbs didn’t resent him–how could he? He’d settled into his life well–packing on another hundred of pounds thanks to drinking problem and binge eating Jeremiah had helped nurture in the pig. He liked to think that, maybe, he’d helped him a little. That with his sorry life, he’d done something for the one person in the world who really mattered. He watched every game that Jeremiah’s team played, lounging on his couch, drunk, one of his idol’s dirty jockstraps or jerseys from his private collection pressed to his face, bouncing on his dildo, wishing for at least one more fuck from him–and at the end of the season, he got a package that had his squealing with joy. Jeremiah remembered him, and liked him enough to send the pig a ticket to the superbowl–and after winning his first ring of what would be many, Jeremiah gave that pig a night long pounding he was certain would last Tubbs a good long while. After all, loyalty and silence had to have its rewards, right?

Jeremiah’s Biggest Fan (Part 3)

No, he supposed it hadn’t been a very nice thing to do, when he’d thought up the idea the semester before–the first time he’d heard the rumor about Jeremiah’s sexuality. But on closeted football player wasn’t that large of a story–or at least, it wasn’t the story he really wanted. No–it was the corrupt athletic staff and coaches he’d been after–that was the real scoop. Millions of dollars had disappeared from various funds over the last decade, and it was lining someone’s pocket–Jeremiah had been his ticket into the organization, to bust it wide open. But now–well, he’d thought he’d been setting up a honeypot, only to get stung by the hive instead.

He’d woken up a minute earlier, and Jeremiah had told him to go ahead, stand up, and look at himself in the mirror. It was obvious that he’d changed substantially from his real body again–it felt a bit like Terry as far as size was concerned, but it wasn’t muscle he was carting around anymore. No–in the mirror he was looking at a massively obese body–and a tall one at that. He had to be at least six four, and judging by the massive rolls hanging off him, he was close to 400 pounds. He’d never been a hairy fellow before, but now it didn’t look like there was a single hair anywhere on his body, aside from the short buzz cut on top of his head. He ran his meaty fingers over the top, disgusted by his particularly fat face–heavy jowls, three chins, small nose and close set eyes with big ears.

“Yeah, fuck–now that’s a sexy body right there,” Jeremiah said behind him. He was naked and sitting on the bed, looking at Terrance’s new body and jacking his cock–his now ten inch cock. Big enough to fit in his uniform still, but a much nicer tool than the four and half he’d been packing an hour ago.

A bit embarrassed, Terrance checked under the apron of fat hanging off of him, but all he found was a thick fat pad where his cock and balls should have been.

“Don’t bother–you’ve got half an inch now. Doubt you could even reach it if you wanted to. It isn’t your dick your body wants to please anymore anyway, trust me.”

“Look–this…this was a fucking mistake, I admit it. I’m sorry, I was wrong. I won’t tell anyone, I swear.”

“Of course you won’t,” Jeremiah said, toying with the Chronivac for a moment, “I can make sure of that–but for now, why don’t we pick up where we left off? You wanted to have sex with me, if I remember right. So come on Tubbs, get on the bed, and let’s fuck that wide ass of yours into next week.”

Jeremiah hit a button, and Terrance felt a massive amount of information surge into his head, displacing a bunch of other stuff which just…disappeared. When the sensation disappeared, he was left drooling at the sight of the massive football player just sitting on his bed, with that huge cock–he needed it inside him. He needed it fucking bad. But as he walked over, he caught a whiff of Jeremiah’s musk that remained from his workout earlier, and felt his guts knot up–he lunged and shoved his face into Jeremiah’s pit, snorting and grunting like a pig as he licked up as much sweat and stink as he could, drool pouring from his mouth, his tiny cock leaking cum into his fatty folds below his gut.

“Yeah, fuck! You even sound like a fucking pig, Tubbs. If you make my dick good and happy, I might let you sniff my feet later–how’s that sound?”

He didn’t want it to sound as good as it did, that was for sure. After cleaning out both pits, Jeremiah shoved him onto the bed on all fours, got behind him, and started working his big cock into Terrance’s now very loose hole, his eyes rolling back in pleasure, a chorus of grunts and snorts falling out of his mouth as Jeremiah fucked him deep and rough.

“Yeah Tubbs, that’s real nice. See? This is the kind of bitch I want–not some muscled out guy like me, but a fat fucking pig, tiny cock, who can only get off by being fucked nice and long. You like that Terrance? You like being my fat, disgusting, bottom pig?”

“Oh *snort* oh fuck! *Grunt* just don’t fucking stop, please!”

With his new tool, Jeremiah had plenty of stamina to keep the pig happy–he managed to hold off for fifteen minutes before he came once, but his cock didn’t go soft. He just kept fucking, feeling the massive load of cum leak out around his cock and down the pig’s thighs for another half an hour, until he came again. Terrance had cum twice in the meantime, and the sheets below him were soaked with sweat and cum, his muscles quivering as Jeremiah pulled out, leaving him with the worst sensation of emptiness he’d ever felt. He…he needed it. He needed to get fucked again, just like that, he had to have something in his hole.

“Please…please keep going, *snort* it hurts without you in there.”

“Sorry pig, but I have class in the morning, so we need to wrap this up soon, and you still need some more work, don’t you think?”

Terrance wasn’t really listening–he was reaching around and sliding as many fingers into his ass as he could. Jeremiah rolled his eyes, fiddled with the Chronivac, and a moment later, Terrance’s hole was sealed with a massive dildo–a replica of Jeremiah’s own cock, and that settled him down, and allowed the pig to think.

“Fuck–please change me back–you have to. I can’t just stay like this, no one will believe it.”

“What–knowing what you know now? Sorry Tubbs–but this was always a risk, you know. I can’t change you back, and I…really like that ass of yours, so I’d like to keep you plenty available in the future. So we’re going to have to find a way to keep you nice and compliant for the future–but don’t worry Tubbs, I have just the solution for us both. So tell me Tubbs,” Jeremiah said as he pressed a button and adjusted a setting, “How much do you like football?”

Jeremiah’s Biggest Fan (Part 2)

“Are you doing ok? You seem jumpy–no one’s going to notice, I promise.”

It was a few days later, and the longer Jeremiah had stewed on the strange shit he’d witnessed in Terry’s, or Terrance’s room that afternoon, the more angry he had gotten. It was clearly a honeypot–he was hoping to get Jeremiah on video having sex, and then expose him. But what fucking right did he, or they, have to do any of that shit to him? Maybe in another life, Jeremiah would have been able to be open about his sexuality–the world was changing fast. Hell, if he did make it to the pros, maybe he could come out then and help change some minds. But it was his fucking decision to make, not some stranger’s, so they could raise their own profile at his own expense. Still, was this the right decision? He stepped into the dorm building while Terry held the door open for him, and then followed him upstairs to his room, pretending to not know where they were going after he’d followed him before.

It was that…change, which still confused him the most. How had Terrance gone from being that five and a half foot wisp of a twink to being Terry–six two, 250 pounds of muscle–in the course of a second? He still found it hard to believe what he’d seen with his own eyes. He was going to get to the bottom of it, in any case, and after a nice rough up, he was sure Terrance, or Terry, or whoever they were, would be happy enough to go find someone else’s life to fuck up. Terry unlocked the door with another wink at Jeremiah, who did his best not to look too flustered in return, and followed him inside. As soon as they were in, before the door even closed, Terry was stripping off his shirt–but Jeremiah didn’t give him a chance to do much else. He grabbed him by the head, tangled in fabric, and slammed him into the wall beside them.

“You fucker–you think my life is a fucking joke, eh? Think it’s fucking funny, ruining someone’s fucking life?” he shouted, and started kicking at him where he’d fallen and was struggling–with one solid kick to the chin, however, he stopped moving. Worried he might have killed him, he hauled the shirt away from Terry’s face and felt for a pulse–it was there, he was just unconscious for the moment, which gave Jeremiah plenty of time to find that strange device, and see if he could solve the other piece of this puzzle.

It was on Terry’s desk, where he’d picked it up before. It looked like a really thick smartphone, with an operating system he’d never seen before. As soon as he picked it up, the screen flashed a message:

“Chronivac 5.0 has detected a new user. Download manual?”

It had a yes/no prompt, and he his yes–not really caring–and felt his brain start…exploding for a few seconds. When it stopped, he looked down at the device in his hands, and realized that it had downloaded the instructions right into his brain. This thing was a Chronivac, and this thing could…change people. Make them different in about every single way possible. It seemed impossible, but between his sudden burst of knowledge from the thing, and what he’d seen happen with Terry/Terrance the day before…could it really be true?

He found Terrance’s profile, and sure enough, he was currently in the middle of a transformation–a profile he’d called Terry. He reverted him, and watched as the massive hunk on the floor shrank, and a few seconds later the twink was there, moaning slightly and nursing the side of his face where he’d struck the wall. He looked up at Jeremiah, standing over him with the Chronivac in his hand–his eyes went wide and he lunged, but Jeremiah stepped back, swung, and sent him careening back, before finding the freeze command on Terrance’s profile. In a moment, he was stiff as a statue on the ground, obviously in a panic.

“You fucker–you little fuck!” Jeremiah screamed at him, “This was your fucking plan? Not only would you get me to fuck you, you were then…what, going to make a video of it? Show the whole fucking campus?” He looked around, and sure enough, there were a few small, inconspicuous spy cameras on some of the shelves around the room. He grabbed them, stomped on them, and then started looking for more. Terrance was desperately fighting his frozen body, but every muscle had locked solid–even drawing breath was a struggle. How in the world had a brute like Jeremiah even figured him out? This was supposed to be the easy one! He had a few articles that were going to take the whole year to pull off–and now he’d been brought low by some closeted fucking football player.

Jeremiah sat down on the bed, and tried to control himself. He’d done it–he’d won, but he didn’t feel any better. This fuck–this machine. It could fuck with everything. Terrance could just wipe his memory of this, he could get him one way or another. No–this…he was going to have to do something about this, to get rid of this rat permanently. He scrolled through some menus, and found the settings he needed–making Terrance obedient to his commands, first and foremost, and then unfreezing his mouth, so he could talk–after ordering him not to scream or try and get help.

“Look, we can work this out,” Terrance said, “I’m sorry–this was shitty to do, but you can help me! That’s what this was really about. I…needed an inside guy, to get to the rest of the football team. I wasn’t going to leak it, I really wasn’t!”

“What, you would just blackmail me for the rest of my life?”

“No!”

It was a lie, and they both knew it. Jeremiah was going to have to make sure this fucker couldn’t talk–or that…he’d never want to talk. A bit of an idea was starting to occur to him, and with this Chronivac thing, he could do it easily. “Well, first of all, you should know that ‘Terry’ isn’t really my type at all. If you really want me to fuck you, then we’re going to have to fix you up a bit first. But why don’t you take a quick nap, Terrance? I’ll wake you up when you’re ready.”

Before Terry could even beg, Jeremiah had put him to sleep with the chronivac, and started working on a new custom profile for the little faggot. Little did he know, but he’d just solved a few of Jeremiah’s problems–he certainly wasn’t going to have to worry about going without sex anymore–not with Terrance helping him out from now on.

Jeremiah’s Biggest Fan (Part 1)

Jeremiah snuck a quick glance over down the row of lockers, and sure enough, the guy was still staring at him with that smirk on his face. Did he know? How in the world could he possibly know? His cock throbbed a bit–it had been a few week since Jeremiah had last gotten laid–it wasn’t the easiest thing getting tail when you’re a deeply closeted football player at a southern university, so he took what he could get. In any case, he certainly wasn’t going to let being a faggot ruin his chances at going pro in a few years time, and he certainly couldn’t risk fucking around with anyone on campus–or even anyone in the little college town where the school was.

He got dressed quickly, trying to ignore the guy he’d noticed the last few weeks, ever since the start of school. He was…ripped. Impressively so, even Jeremiah had to admit that, but when he’d asked around…no one had known who he was, beyond the rumours that he was a transfer from some other college. For someone in that good of shape, he didn’t seem to be on any sports teams either. It wouldn’t have mattered one bit, in any case, if the guy didn’t have a weird habit of ending up in the locker room with Jeremiah all the damn time, cruising him openly. Did the guy want to get a fucking beating? Didn’t he know how risky this shit was for them both?

“Jeremiah, right? I just gotta say, you were amazing last Saturday–especially that last touchdown–a 47 yard run! Got me pretty damn excited, if you know what I mean.”

The brazen little fuck. Jeremiah gave a strained smile, and looked over at the guy. “Thanks, but it’s a team effort.”

“Modest too–wouldn’t have expected that,” the guy said, and extended a hand, “My name’s Terry–transferred here this year. Heard a lot of rumors about you–hoping to go pro, some other stuff…”

Jeremiah glanced around, but thankfully the rest of the locker room was empty. Terry must have known that too, because he reached out and openly groped his crotch, giving his thick cock a couple of squeezes, before Jeremiah had the sense to knock it away.

“Fucking faggot, I don’t know what the fuck you’re fucking thinking, but I should beat your face in.”

Terry just gave him a wink. “Well, I think you’d rather do a few other things to me, back in my room. What do you say?”

Jeremiah just grabbed his clothes and shoved past him, feeling eyes on the back of his neck–real or imagined–the whole way out of the athletic facility. It was too fucking risky, he fucking knew that–especially with someone on campus, someone who could blackmail him. The guy wasn’t even really his type, but in all honesty Jeremiah was so lonely he would have taken any port in the storm. There were a stand of trees off to the side, and he slipped among them, trying to keep the tears to a minimum–when he saw the guy–Terry–leave the building, glance around, and then head off towards campus proper. Should he? He…what would it hurt? The guy obviously wanted him, right? But something about it all didn’t feel right at all–it felt like a trap. It was too perfect of a scenario–and how did Terry even know about him? Maybe it was time to do a little investigating of his own, and find out a little bit more about his strange admirer.

He followed a good distance behind him, watching Terry, but nothing seemed that strange beyond the fact that as they walked, he didn’t say hello or even wave to a single person on campus. Sure, it was a big school, and few people were as popular as Jeremiah was himself, but not a single person seemed to even recognize him. Was it just because he was a transfer? That could be, he supposed, but it still rubbed him the wrong way.

Terry disappeared into a dorm building, and Jeremiah was able to slip inside along with someone else with a key card to that door, and follow him up to the third floor, and get his room number–then he retreated back down, found the building across the way, and climbed up to the matching floor, hoping he might be able to sneak a peek inside his room.

It was a sunny fall day and everyone had their drapes open for the afternoon light, and he had to count twice to make sure he was right–there was only one person in the room Terry had gone into, and it sure as hell wasn’t Terry–he recognized him as one of the few open queers on campus–a guy named Terrance. He had a reputation as a wannabe investigative journalist who had a habit of writing inflammatory articles in the school paper. No one was sure how he got his scoops, but he’d wrecked an entire frat the year before, when he’d exposed how the men were running an entire drug ring, supplying the campus with roofies and party drugs.

He’d been right. He didn’t know where Terry was, but he was obviously in cahoots with that fucker. It wasn’t surprising–if he could out Jeremiah as a faggot, that would be the story of the fucking year–and ruin Jeremiah’s career in the process. Still, he kept watching for a bit, the young man writing something in a notebook–he was waiting to see Terry in there with him, to confirm what was happening…and then, the strangest thing happened–the young guy got up, fiddled with a device that looked a bit like a remote control, and a second later…the little faggot was gone, and there was Terry. He flexed a bit, and then started jacking off…and Jeremiah just gaped. How could they be the same person? Confused and terrified, unsure who he could trust, he retreated back to his own frat house and considered his options. He doubted that Terrance and Terry–or whoever he was really–would just back down, and that meant Jeremiah was going to have to shut him down. Thankfully, he always had his fists for that–it had worked on pushy queers before, and it was bound to work again, right?

June Request Thread (OPEN) | Wesley Bracken on Patreon

wesleybracken:

Hey everybody! It’s the start of a new month, and that means I’m once again taking suggestions and requests for flash stories, of around 1000 words or so. Anyone who is contributing at least a dollar to my Patreon can participate, and will be able to read the resulting stories when I finish them later this month! I have a lot of fun doing these each month, and the more ideas I get, the better. Thanks again to everyone who contributes, and I look forward to seeing what your ideas and requests are this month!

I’m still taking requests today and tomorrow, so if you have anything you’d like to see, feel free to chime in.

One more day! I’ll be closing the thread tomorrow, and I’ll announce the short stories I’ll be writing this month on Wednesday or Thursday.

June Request Thread (OPEN) | Wesley Bracken on Patreon

June Request Thread (OPEN) | Wesley Bracken on Patreon

Hey everybody! It’s the start of a new month, and that means I’m once again taking suggestions and requests for flash stories, of around 1000 words or so. Anyone who is contributing at least a dollar to my Patreon can participate, and will be able to read the resulting stories when I finish them later this month! I have a lot of fun doing these each month, and the more ideas I get, the better. Thanks again to everyone who contributes, and I look forward to seeing what your ideas and requests are this month!

I’m still taking requests today and tomorrow, so if you have anything you’d like to see, feel free to chime in.

June Request Thread (OPEN) | Wesley Bracken on Patreon

June Request Thread (OPEN) | Wesley Bracken on Patreon

Hey everybody! It’s the start of a new month, and that means I’m once again taking suggestions and requests for flash stories, of around 1000 words or so. Anyone who is contributing at least a dollar to my Patreon can participate, and will be able to read the resulting stories when I finish them later this month! I have a lot of fun doing these each month, and the more ideas I get, the better. Thanks again to everyone who contributes, and I look forward to seeing what your ideas and requests are this month!

You still have all weekend to put in any requests! I will probably be closing the thread sometime Monday, so if you have anything you want to see me write, now’s the time to ask!

June Request Thread (OPEN) | Wesley Bracken on Patreon

Smoke Spirit (Part 10)

He could feel Howie groping his fat tits while his son, Stew, sucked the last few drops of piss from the head of his cock, and then started sucking on the fat head. He could feel Pete stroking his cock while he watched his own father fist his cousin’s tight hole. He could feel Stew’s ass clench tight around his own fist. They were all one. They were all one with the spirit in the smoke surrounding them, and with a cry, all four of them came, sealed away in their new fate–four slaves to the spirit of the smoke which had infested Doug that night, and the thick haze in the house finally began to disperse, allowing them all to see Stew, their final member, in between them all.

He was fatter than the rest of them–even Howie–large enough that his gut hit the ground where he was on his knees, mouth still wrapped around his dad’s cock, sucking hard, making sure he sucked down every drop of cum to go with the piss swilling around in his gut. Their history had shifted as well–now, the prostitute Howie and Doug had fucked had brought twins, and the two of them had raised the boys in their…respective fashions. Where Pete was turning into a handsome muscle cub, taking after Doug, Pete had learned to indulge his greed and gluttony, just like his father. Howie leaned back, moaning, a thick cloud of smoke escaping his mouth as he did, and Doug could feel how close his brother was. He walked over, straddled his nephew’s back and started tugging on his brother’s tits, knowing just how to push him over the edge, feeling how happy the spirit was inside them all, now that it had a family again, a family like it had had before.

Of course, it hadn’t been a family quite like this one–Bandgar had gotten into a fight with a rough biker gang one night, and as he’d always been able to do, he turned them into a single spirit of smoke, and absorbed them into his body, where he’d begun warping and twisting them into something else. Bandgar liked to think of the spirits he made as gifts, and this spirit was a gift he’d decided to give to Douglas after that concert. Doug couldn’t be more thankful–he was alive again! He’d forgotten what it had been like, to be alive, and made of flesh, and how good it felt to cum in one of his boys’ nasty fucking holes. He–no, they needed to thank him.

“Keep playing you dirty fucks,” Doug said, “I gotta check a message.” He went upstairs and found his phone–or Douglas’ phone, rather. He wasn’t…quite the spirit, but he wasn’t quite Doug either. He was someone new–someone better. Something better, actually, because he couldn’t forget that he wasn’t alone here. Sure enough, Bandgar had sent him a message–a link to the band’s touring schedule, and that night they were playing in a big city one state over–close enough that they could make it if they ride all day. Of course, to do that, they’d need bikes. His family had to ride hogs, right?

He went back downstairs, and felt the rest of his family falling into yet another smoky orgy, but with a few smacks upside the head, he set they straight. They had to get on the road, and they had to get going soon. The smoke in the house had thinned somewhat, but hadn’t dissipated–it had been waiting, it seemed for the thought to form that they needed to leave, and it starts to swirl around each of them. It wasn’t like before, where they’d been swallowed up–this time it stuck to them and became clothing–and like their identical tattoos, all four of them were dressed in the same basic outfit–ragged jeans and leather chaps, boots, leather vests with no shirts. The two boys had on collars, of course, showing their place in the hierarchy below their fathers. They headed for the door, and the rest of the smoke followed them, flowing out into the late afternoon sun and forming a cloud on the driveway. It faded away after a minute or so, revealing four old Harley’s–the men all headed for them, instinctively knowing which of them was theirs, and with a cry from Doug, they all drove off, abandoning their house, and their lives, without a second thought.

It had been a decent gig, and tear-down was going smoothly–smoothly enough that Ned felt he could justify taking a break for a cigar outside, while the rest of the crew got shit wrapped up. He wondered how that kid from the night before was getting on–from the sound of his message that morning, the spirit he’d been working on had been…vigorous. Still, those were the best kind, in the end. The kid might not have deserved it, but fuck, Ned had been horny, and having the four of them hanging around in his head had been getting a bit tiresome. It was time to start a new project, but to do that, you gotta get rid of the old shit first.

He stepped out into the alley, cigar out, when he saw them–four hulking men standing beside four Harley’s, smoking cigars and watching the door. “There you are, ya fucker!” one of them shouted, and ran for him. Ned braced himself–depending on how things had settled he was either about to get punched, or…well, something a bit more pleasant, hopefully.

It was a kiss–a nice smoky one, though it didn’t last long enough for Ned’s liking. “Heh, guess the day went well for you. Got the family back together?”

“Sure fucking did! All four of us. I–We…fuck man, what ya fuckin’ did tah us–we’re so fuckin’ happy to be out again man. We owe ya a nice long night before we hit the road again, what do ya say? You wanna fuck around with four dirty fuckin’ biker bears?”

It sounded like a real good time to Ned–he was getting good at this. He lit his cigar, and hauled open the door, “Hey boys! I gotta take off. I’ll see ya in the morning before we leave!” A few guys complained at the boss ditching work, but Ned didn’t give a shit–he was following Doug over to his family for introductions, and then climbed on with him and rode off for a night of sex with his creations, before sending them off again in the morning. Still, he had a feeling this wouldn’t be the last time he met up with the four of them–after all, the highways could be a surprisingly small place, when you’ve been on them as long as Ned had. He reached around and groped Doug’s hard cock, admiring the size, and knew he was in for quite the ride himself later that night.

Smoke Spirit (Part 9)

It wasn’t long before Steven got home from class. He was shy and a bit of a loner, keeping to himself in the house. Wiry and short, with medium length hair cut into bangs, he managed to hide from attention more often than not–while he honestly didn’t care much about Douglas’ smoking, he sided with the other two just to avoid conflict as much as possible. And so, when Steven entered the house and saw the thick haze of smoke, his only thought was whether he could get away fast enough to avoid dealing with whatever must be going on inside, but instead, he found the sweet smelling smoke drawing him in, and he shut the door behind him, almost in a daze. The smoke was so thick, he could barely even see, and he started coughing immediately. In his head, he knew he should turn right back around, leave, and call 911, but instead he found himself stumbling into the haze, still coughing, trying to keep the smoke out of him as best he could, pulling up the collar of his shirt over his nose and mouth.

“In here, Steve!” A voice called, and it wasn’t a voice he recognized at all. Who in the world could that even be? He…he didn’t know why, but he needed to find out. He needed to…to join them? No, why had he thought that? He froze in the middle of the living room, holding his breath, trying to focus, telling himself he had to leave, that it…it was dangerous in here. The voice called out again, “Steve! Git yer ass in here, Howie’s about tah blow his bladder all over the floor, ya pig. Unless ya wanna lick it all up–I know…I know ya wanna do that sometimes…” the voice started chuckling then, and then groaned. He realized, too late, that his legs had started moving him closer to the doorway into the kitchen, and it was…hard to see, for some reason, like something was wrong with his eyes. But inside, he saw the most disturbing sight of his life–three men, all of them covered with tattoos–the same tattoos, in fact, in the midst of of a sweaty, smoky sex session. He could smell it on the air, the musk, and…and it was making his…his piggy cock so fucking hard.

No–why the fuck was he in here? Something was obviously very wrong, but…but didn’t he need to help out Howie? He always helped out Howie, and Pete, and Doug, of course. He was frozen in place, between his good sense and this strange compulsion, when Doug walked over to him, reeking of smoke, eyes bloodshot and smirking at him. “Don’t think too hard pig–we all know ya ain’t good at thinkin’. Hell, yer fucking dumber ‘n yer dad, ain’t that right Howie? This boy a yers popped out with even fewer fuckin’ brain cells than you did.”

“Yeah boy, git yer dumb ass over here ‘n help out yer Pa with this big ol’ load a piss I been savin’ fer ya. Ya know I ain’t gonna use a toilet when mah nasty boy is thirsty, right?”

No. No, he wasn’t doing this. None of this could be real. Everything seemed so…fuzzy all of a sudden. He tried to step back, but his Uncle Doug tugged him back, and shoved his cigar in Steve’s mouth, and the smoke made his head go light, his stomach turning itself into knots. Did he want to throw up? No…No, he…he was thirsty, wasn’t he?

“Come on, you dumb fucker, git down there ‘n drink.”

Everything seemed even more hazy than before, like something was clouding up his eyes, but one thing he could se was his fat, lazy pa, sittin’ in a chair by the table, cock hanging out, and fuck, that thirst of his was only getting worse. He stumbled forward, his body feeling…too light all of sudden, like he might blow away if he wasn’t careful, but he was down in front of his dad, mouth around his thick cock head, and as soon as his dad started pissing, all his other cares just…slipped away. Why in the hell had he been trying to worry about all of that other shit before? He was no good with thinking stuff–hell, none of them were, aside from Uncle Doug, who called the shots. The smoke was getting thicker around him, and when Pete stepped up and started pissing all over his filthy cousin, he could feel the stream running down his head and his back, but all he could see was Pete’s cock–the rest of him was lost in the thick smoke surrounding them.

On the outside, Doug could see the clouds condensing around the scrawny kid who’d come into the house–he could…kind of remember him from before, like he could kind of remember all of them, but none of that really mattered. No, what mattered to him now, was family. His family. His dirty, nasty, piggy biker family, and fuck, he was so fucking horny, he could just fuck his boy’s ass again, or hell, maybe he’d take a turn with Stew’s hole–that boy’s ass was so fuckin’ loose, but then again, when you got fists shoved up there as often as he did, that’s what tended to happen. Yeah, that’s…that’s what he should do, give his nephew a good fisting–break him in right.

He barely noticed the spirit pulling him over towards the other three, all of them already disappearing into the thick clouds of smoke surrounding Steve, where he was kneeling on the ground, moaning and gulping piss. Doug got down, fished around in the haze until he found Stew’s ass–not quite wide enough yet, but he’d be himself soon enough–and started probing it with his fingers, feeling the boy shove back onto his hand, hungry to have his filthy hole filled up. The spirit was in front of him, his smoky cock right in Doug’s face, and he…swallowed it to the hilt. It wasn’t solid…but it was there. It was energy, it was force, it was…him, in a sense he could barely describe. The thing started pumping smoke into Doug’s guts, and he could feel the heat of it infusing every bit of him, burning away the last remnants of Douglas from every corner of his mind, the spirit slowly losing form, shoving its way down Doug’s gullet until it disappeared entirely, and then, Doug’s eyes–like the rest of his family–clouded over, becoming a swirling mass of smoke even thicker than the others…and he realized that he could feel them.