Wake Up!

Lucas was just finishing up in the locker room after practice, and he was the last one out today–he’d been caught chatting with coach on the field for a few minutes, and most everyone was on their way back to the dorms by the time he’d gotten in and started getting out of his uniform. He’d just gotten into his shorts and shoes for the walk back to his room, and was getting his shirt, when he realized someone had been watching him this entire time.

It wasn’t someone he recognized–certainly not anyone from the team. He looked even too young to be in college, actually, but maybe he was a freshman who’d gotten lost. He was peeking around the corner of the locker room, and just…staring at Lucas there, in a way which was making him immediately uncomfortable. “Uh…can I help you?” he asked.

The young man didn’t seem upset that he’d been caught peeping, but his face did flush with excitement. “You…It could be you…” he said, and stepped out. Much to Lucas’ surprise, the young man was completely naked. His face seemed young, but the rest of him was very well developed–lean and muscled, with a massive cock hanging between his legs. Why in the hell was he naked? Sure, it was a locker room, but he didn’t belong in here.

“What the fuck man, are you some fucking faggot?” Lucas asked, and stood up, “Stay the fuck away from me.”

The young man didn’t approach, just stood there, cock swaying. “I would never–not yet. You need to Wake Up first.”

The young man was speaking at a normal volume, but the phrase “Wake Up” seemed to multitudes louder than anything else the young man had said, loud enough that Lucas swore he could see the room shake around them.

“Yes, it could be you! You have to Wake Up daddy! Wake Up! Wake Up!…”

Lucas tried to cover his ears, but the force swept over him all the same, and to his terror, the room was coming apart like an earthquake. The boy was still screaming those two words over and over again, and the ceiling was crumbling, it was going to crush him–

Luke jolted awake with a start, panting, in his recliner, and looked around the room. Where was he? It looked like a fairly normal den, he supposed, but…but he’d just been in the locker room! How had he ended up here? Then he looked down at himself, and the questions only compounded.

This wasn’t his body. Sure, in another 20 years or so, he might have looked something like this, with the soft gut and thick thighs, the low hanging balls and fuzzy belly, but…but this wasn’t right. He stood up and went to turn around, and there, in the doorway, was the boy.

His boy.

His…his son.

His naked son, with that…that big fucking cock of his swinging to and fro, and he could fucking taste it, yeah, that…fucking boy cock felt so good rammed down his fucking throat, and his son loved making his daddy moan like a fucking whore…

Luke shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. “Where–what did you do? Take me back there! I…This isn’t right!”

“Oh daddy–you know how dreams work! Once you wake up, you can never go back. I thought you might be one, and I was right. I’ve been searching so long daddy, and I finally found you.”

His son advanced towards him, and Luke backed away, but he…wanted to touch him so badly, to please him, to…to satisfy him. Teach him. He was just a boy after all, he had so much to learn.

His boy stopped a few feet away, his cock hardening. It was so fucking big, just staring at it was making Luke’s stomach growl. “Come on daddy–come make your son happy.”

He should. He shouldn’t. His knees shook, but refused to buckle. “I’m…I’m you’re fucking father boy, and…and you’re going to make this right. I don’t know what you did, but fix this right now.”

His son frowned. “Don’t be silly daddy–you can’t go back. You’re Awake now.”

“No! No, this has to be the dream–you did…something to me boy, now fix it!”

The boy smiled, “I want to be reasonable daddy–but if you think this is a dream…then maybe you need to Wake Up again.”

The room sloshed, and Luke lost his balance, one foot…falling through the floor like it was mush. “No boy, not–”

“Wake Up daddy! Wake up if you want, but I’ll always be here.”

Like before, the words had tremendous force, and the walls of the room began to sag around them, Luke’s feet sinking into the carpet. He tried to crawl out, but like quicksand, it was sucking him down, and the last thing he saw before it swallowed him up, was his boy leering down at him, and his massive cock leaking cum like a faucet.

Lou lurched over, fighting off the dream, his body sweating and shivering in terror. Still, he tried to cling to it, but it was fading quickly, and within a minute, it was lost, aside from a vague sensation of drowning. Good–he didn’t want to feel like that again, he never wanted to feel like that. He heaved himself up from the bed where he’d been napping, feeling his fat body settle around him, scratched his ass through his briefs, and waddled over to the bathroom to relieve himself.

It sucked getting old–everything hurt. It felt like just yesterday that he was young, a promising athlete, running and jumping and–

He started to shake again, and felt like he might throw up. No–no, he didn’t want that. He wanted to be old, and feeble, and…and hungry–but hungry for what?

“There you are, Grandpa,” his grandson said in the doorway, naked, his massive cock hard as a rock. Just staring at it filled Lou with such fucking lust, but his old cock didn’t get hard anymore–but he didn’t need to get hard to make his grandson happy. “I need you real bad, I’ve waited so long.”

“Well, you can wait a bit more–Grandpa has to pee,” Lou said with a chuckle.

“No!” His boy shouted, “No! Now! Now, or I’ll do it again, I swear I will!”

He didn’t quite know what his boy meant, but the threat filled Lou with terror all the same, and he got down and started sucking his grandson’s cock, the boy roughly fucking his face, slamming his huge cock down his old throat, but it felt so good. He tried to hold his piss, but couldn’t–and emptied his bladder into the front of his briefs, feeling it run down his hairy thighs and pool around his knees…but it didn’t matter. Keeping his grandson happy was most important. It was his dream, after all, and he never wanted to wake up ever again.

Slave Swap (Part 6)

He spent three years as Jug. At times, he could almost convince himself that he was enjoying it, to some extent, but in moments of honesty, he was simply disgusted. He was weak, just like Master said he was. He was weak, and even staring at his ugly face, his massive beard, his expanding frame in the mirror every single day did nothing to help him quit. He’d grown quite a bit larger, over the years–and now weighed close to 450 pounds. It was hard working at this point, getting up and down to clean the toilets, getting up and down to drink loads of cum and piss from men at work, from men on the streets, from men in the bars and the bathhouses. His reputation had certainly spread, and he had several men who were regulars–waiting to feed him once, if not twice a day, and his Master had never, for a day, not loved watching his slave slowly succumb to the pressures of this body.

He would…reward him, on occasion–with new programming, or new ways of shaming and humiliating him. He’d begun to lose control over his bowels–slowly enough that he wasn’t quite sure if it was simply his body giving in to age, or if it was Master manipulating him slowly–but if he wasn’t careful, his regular farts would quickly lead him to dump loads of shit into the back of his diapers. Thankfully Master hadn’t made that…attractive to him, though he had threatened it on multiple occasions. It seemed to be enough to make Jug addicted to stink–his own foul body odors in particular, his belches and farts particularly, though nothing could turn him on quite like a day old diaper pressed to his face.

Jug had begun to lose hope that he’d ever escape this. Master seemed to be enjoying himself too much to ever give him back his old body. He…couldn’t even really remember what he’d looked like, before all of this. Couldn’t even remember who he’d been. Slowly, his old memories had faded away, leaving Jug’s fraudulent past the only one he could really access with any reliability. Still, he knew what Master had done to him. Knew he would get his body, and his freedom back, eventually. Still, he was terrified to even broach the subject, for fear that Master would hold it over his head, dangle it within reach. He could imagine it:

“You want your body back slave? I don’t think you could really respect it, do you? How about this–you go one week without guzzling cum and piss, without sucking down those filthy cigars, without drinking so much you pass out every night–you do that for one week, and I’ll get you your body back. That shouldn’t be too hard, right? I mean, you couldn’t even make it a full week years ago, when your…needs were so much weaker than they are now, but with a proper goal in mind, I’m sure you can get there.”

He could barely believe it, then, when one day Master arrived for what he expected to be a fuck session, and instead, he unfurled a rubber sack onto the floor. “I think you’ve served your time, Jug–now get in there, and let’s get you back in your proper body.”

He was so happy, he cried, kissing his Master’s feet in appreciation, and then worked his massive body into the tight rubber suit, allowed Master to hook him up to the catheter, IV and mask, and then fell asleep, and when he woke up sometime later–he did feel different. Lighter, and smaller, and he was so eager to see himself, to remember himself. Master drew down the zipper and he ripped the mask off his face and got up, and when he saw his reflection in the mirror in Master’s room, he nearly started to cry.

What had they done to him? What had they done to his body? Cameron stared at his form in disbelief. He could remember what he’d looked like now–clearly. His muscled body, his hairless skin, his youth–he remembered it like not a day as Jug had ever passed. But now, he looked to be close to 300 pounds–a bit smaller than he’d been when first taking the other slave’s body–and he had hair all over, including a particularly thick bush around his cock. He looked like an animal, especially with the long hair and thick beard. Master shoved him up against the full length mirror, putting Cameron eye to eye with himself, and fucked him roughly.

“I’ve missed this hole slave–feel’s good to be home, doesn’t it?” he gripped him by the long hair, tugging his head back forcefully, “I particularly like what they did during your absence–don’t you think? With your…current inclinations, I’m sure this feels quite nice. Doesn’t it?” Master shook his slave’s gut, and Cameron felt it jiggle, “You like how that feels?”

Cameron couldn’t speak. He couldn’t believe what had happened. “You…you let them…”

“I told him he could return your body in whatever condition he wanted. I’ve enjoyed watching him do it, too, over the last couple of years. His slave enjoyed it as well–ruining your body, force feeding you’re skinny muscled frame until you looked like this. It was such a nice present for him, really–you’re very generous, slave. They’re very happy with what you’ve done to him as well, of course. You did a very nice job, I can assure you.”

He started fucking Cameron harder now, getting closer to cumming.

“At least you don’t need diapers! Still, you’ll be needing plenty of piss and cum, after how wrecked both your body and mind are–I’ve made sure of that. Plenty of cigars and beer too. Unless you can find the will to resist–get this body back into proper shape. What do you think? Think you can do it? I doubt you can, but maybe now that it’s your own body, you’ll care a bit more about what happens to it. Still, I’ll rent you out again soon enough, maybe in another year or two. There’s no rush after all–we aren’t even to the five year mark, and I know I’ll be keeping you for the full term! I have so many friends, you see–other masters–and they all want a turn with your body. Ten years from now, you won’t even recognize yourself! You might hate yourself so much, you’ll be begging to stay with me, as my property, just so I’ll let you live in another body on occasion. Yeah–imagine your body so fucked up, that I rent it out as punishment for other master’s slaves–how does that sound to you? Because it sounds fucking amazing to me, slave, so fucking amazing…”

Master came, and Cameron was crying, tears smeared across the mirror in front of him. Still, he’d asked for this, hadn’t he? But even now, all that money promised to him, it wasn’t worth this, was it? But now he had no choice at all, and if Master’s plans were fulfilled, he imagined he’d never have a choice ever again.

Slave Swap (Part 5)

The food came, and he ate it. The portion seemed so meager, and it had done nothing to sate any of his cravings. By eight he broke down, and cracked open a beer, and after three of those–close to nine–he lit his first cigar. By ten, he’d run out of beer, and he left the apartment to go buy some more…but instead, he found his feet walking a somehow familiar route, to some place called, The Steam Engine. He wasn’t this weak, was he? He couldn’t even last a single night? He passed it by and went to a corner store and purchased a supply of beers–hopefully enough that he wouldn’t have to leave the apartment for several days, and he forced himself to walk quickly past the bathhouse and went back to his lonely apartment, where he managed to drink himself to sleep.

In the morning, he woke to discover a small deposit in his account, with a note from Master. “One day down Slave–one day at a time, as they say.” It was a pittance, really, but it meant more to him as a gesture. He was watching–Master didn’t want him to fail. Still, the stench off his sodden diaper was so…alluring, he couldn’t stop himself from sucking some of his own piss from it while he jacked off–or tried to jack off, at least. His cock wouldn’t get hard at all, and the pain and nausea were worse than the day before. He tossed the diaper in the trash, frustrated, and put on a new one, before heading into work that afternoon. He was invisible in the halls, as people hurried past him. Cleaning the bathrooms was the worst, especially when he found loads of piss left in the urinals or the toilets, but he fought it–proud of his willpower, at least.

The first week progressed well. He found that exercise gave him something to distract himself with, to some extent, even if this old body wasn’t capable of much strength. Still, training himself gave him something to do–something to work on. He tried his best to limit his smoking, drinking and eating to moderate levels–enough to keep the rest of his withdrawal in check. He kept hoping things would get better, but he only ever seemed to feel even worse with each passing day. On Friday, after most people had left the building for the day, he gave in and sucked some piss from a urinal, and nearly cried from how…satisfied he felt, afterward. How was he going to cope this weekend? He didn’t know–all he had to distract himself at home was exercise and TV. He found himself missing Master’s presence–he felt so isolated now. He drank too much that night, dribbling his piss into empty beer cans so he could drink it, thinking about how…good his Master’s cum had tasted, how he’d never really relished it, how he’d just swallowed it so many times without a single thought of how…thankful he should be, for receiving it. He sent drunken texts to him, telling Master all of this, telling him how sorry he was, and when he received nothing back, he threw on some clothes–forgetting a diaper in his haste–and stumbled into The Steam Engine.

Just one load, he told himself. If he could get by with a few beers and two cigars a day, he could get one load. It was a treat–a reward. Finding someone interested in him was a struggle, and he was forced to beg over and over, before an older man finally took pity on him, and fucked his face. It was the first time he’d tasted someone’s cum other than Master’s or his own, and he…nearly cried, when the man shot into his mouth. It tasted better than he could even remember, but it was…such a small load. Certainly that meant he could have another, right? He gave up the pretense after four loads, and even managed to find a few men to feed him their piss. When he got up and waddled home that night, pants sodden with piss from his cock, he felt so…good. Not only was the pain gone, but the shivers of pleasure flowing through him–and his cock was rock hard for the first time in nearly a week! Not wanting to waste the opportunity, he jacked off behind a dumpster, his cock still dribbling and flinging piss about as he stroked, but he didn’t care–he wanted a another load–he needed another one. He came into his hand and slurped it up, tasting hints of cigar on it, and he heaved a great sigh of relief, made his way home, and collapsed into bed, happier than he could remember being in a long time.

Of course, when he woke up, head throbbing, mattress and sheets soaked with his piss, he felt horrible. How could he have done that to himself? Master–he was going to be so disappointed in him! He saw a notification on his phone, but the message wasn’t what he’d expected.

“Watching you fail is so fucking satisfying, you fucking piece of shit. I knew you’d never make it, though I thought you’d make it a bit longer than that! Still, seven loads of cum, and four loads of piss–that’s quite a good amount–you’ll find your reward in your account, you fucking slut. See you this afternoon.”

Dumbstruck, he opened up his account, and saw he’d earned close to triple in a single night, than the meager payments Master had sent him him the whole week he’d been trying to be good. He’d wanted him to fail. He’d wanted him to give in–that’s what this was all about. He lit a cigar to calm himself down, to keep the anger at bay, and had a beer too, not bothering to diaper himself, leaking more and more piss into his bed…enjoying the stench. Around one in the afternoon, Master let himself into the apartment, ordered Jug onto the soaking wet bed, and fucked his ass, demanding Jug tell him about the night before, about how it had felt to give in like that, to accept the fact that he was just a fat cumdump urinal. He came, deep, and left again without ceremony…and unable to help himself, Jug ate his Master’s cum from his own ass without even needing to be ordered to do so.

He had to fight this. He had to. He couldn’t live like this. But looking at himself in the mirror, and the dried cum caught in his beard from the night before…he tried to remember himself, but couldn’t. And that night, his will ran out again, and he was back at The Steam Engine, doing what his body did best.

May Suggestions (OPEN) | Wesley Bracken on Patreon

Hey all! The May suggestion box is officially open! If you’re supporting me on Patreon at any level, from one dollar a month on up, you can submit an idea or request for me to write this month! I’ve had a few so far, but as always, the more the merrier. Thanks to everyone who supports me at every level, because it means a lot to me–and the more people who help out, the more I can deliver!

May Suggestions (OPEN) | Wesley Bracken on Patreon

Slave Swap (Part 4)

When Master woke him up, they most certainly were no longer in his sizable mansion, where Cameron had been living in his first year of service. Now they were in a small studio apartment–deep in the city, from the sound of traffic outside–the sort of living quarters any citizen could expect as a guarantee in this era. Nothing fancy, and none of clean from the looks of things, but it was similar to where Cameron had spent much of his youth. “Where are we, sir?”

“This is where you’ll be living, Slave. I’d rather not have you dribbling any more piss on my carpets. You’ll still be working for my company, but I can’t have someone like you as my personal assistant. You’ll be a janitor now–something which will…suit your body’s tastes, I assume. You’ll also be receiving a much smaller allowance from this point further, although there will be…opportunities for you to earn more, if you’d like. After all, if there is one thing I know about you, it’s that you’re highly motivated by financial reward. Still, we have one final adjustment to make, but I wanted to make sure you were awake. Slave, run personality file: Jug.”

The sensation was always…nerve wracking, when Master ran a personality file. Still, he’d been through enough of them to know what to expect, from his first day–after all, it was how Master had turned him gay. The contract gave Master wide licence to modify not only his body, but also his mind, his memories, his personality, his intellect–provided a backup of his original is kept on hand. But this one lasted longer, and the mental nausea was more severe. Whatever Master was doing to him, it was more substantial than anything else he’d done to him previously. At last, it was over, and Jug reached out for a wall to steady himself, and let off a great big belch. “Fuck sir, mah head feels like ya screwed it off in shook it up real fuckin’ good.”

That…didn’t sound like him, but his thoughts were suddenly running much slower than he was accustomed to.

“Don’t worry Jug, you’ll feel better soon enough. It’s just something to…smooth your transition. After all, if you’re going to be a janitor, you’d better think and sound like one, right? And someone your age…well, you need a bit of history, don’t you? In any case, I’ll be in touch.”

“Yes sir,” he said, and Master left him in the apartment, to explore the small space, and to try and sort out what, exactly, his master had fucked up in his head. Why had Master called him Jug, anyway? His name was…was something else, but then again, he’d been called Jug ever since he’d drank that whole gallon of piss in one fucking sitting, years ago, and the name had stuck. It was…it was a badge of pride, wasn’t it? The memory horrified parts of him–the vividness of it. It wasn’t real, he knew that, and yet, to Jug, it felt as real as anything else. He sat down, diaper squishing audibly under him, his body still shaking, the pain coming back now that he had nothing else to focus on.

His body has needs, that he knew, but they weren’t needs that he wanted to satisfy. Why had Master just…left him here? With no guidance, and no direction? He hadn’t even…fed him before he’d left. In a sense, he knew he should feel…free on his own, and yet the hungers growing inside him made him feel more boxed in and controlled than any time in his first year of service. He turned on the TV, but then got up from the chair to explore the room. There was a small supply of cigars in a battered humidor on the shelf, but he fought the urge to smoke. There were a few beers in the fridge, and his thirst…but he also knew he wanted cum…and piss more than alcohol or water. There was no food anywhere, but Jug also didn’t know how to cook. He’d…have to get something delivered, or go out if he wanted to eat.

He heard his phone buzz and shake on the side table, and he went to retrieve it, and found a message from Master. “I’m sure the monkeys on your back have started scratching. I selected this location particularly for you. There’s several gay bathhouses and bars within several blocks, many of them with rather seedy reputations. I’m sure you can find some men willing to feed an old faggot like you, especially in the dark. I’ll be watching. Or you could always kick the habit. I…weakened the original desires, as hard as that might be for you to imagine–the body’s owner wanted his slave’s body to be insatiable. It won’t be pleasant to resist them, I can assure you, but I admit I might find your strength of will to be quite arousing–though I think I’d still rather see you submit, slave. Still, perhaps you’ll surprise me–I do love surprises.”

Was this really just a game to him? Jug felt used, but he knew what he would do–he was going to fight this shit. He didn’t want this life, he wasn’t going to give into this filth. He’d fought so long, his entire life–hadn’t he? He could recall a youth where he’d struggled, but it was like someone else’s story now. Jug, on the other hand, had led a life of debauchery and excess, and just thinking and remembering all those loads of cum he’d sucked down, all those jugs of piss he’d emptied to prove his earned nickname, it was making his old cock rock hard.

But that wasn’t real. This wasn’t real. He sat down on the chair with a glass of water, and ordered some food from the tablet on the wall. He could fight this, he was stronger than any of this. He’d…prove to his master that he was different, that he’d earned his last body, that he could please him by being close to him, that he didn’t deserve to be treated like this.

Slave Swap (Part 3)

It was the first time Cameron could remember, where he actively resisted one if his Master’s commands. Certainly some of what Master had ordered him to do before had given him…doubts and reservations, particularly early on, as he’d been growing used to being used for gay sex, but this body, his lack of control, the sheer horror of this violation and betrayal–there was no way he was going to fucking diaper himself. No, this was ludicrous. He fought hard, as his body rose to a standing position, and then lurched out of Master’s office. As he did, he heard a notification on Master’s phone, and he checked it. “Significant resistance. Finally. You’d been far too accommodating thus far slave. I’m glad to see that the consequences of your…submission have dawned on you. Still, fight all you want–it only makes me harder.”

He found the stack of diapers–disposable ones–in the bathroom on the counter, took one from the package and grimaced as his hands pulled it on. He couldn’t stop this. He couldn’t fight this. Wasn’t there some escape clause in the contract? He knew that even a contract of total submission had some limitations, mostly regarding extreme self-harm and murder. But in those cases, the chip itself would shut down as a safeguard. It was obviously still functioning, which meant the contract was still in effect. He looked at himself in the mirror, some fat old man wearing a thick diaper, hands shaking slightly. How long was he going to be staying like this? If this was within the bounds of the contract, then he supposed it could be…for a very long time. If he died in this body, what would happen to him? More disturbing, if something happened to his real body, would he be stuck in this one?

He was feeling sick, and he wasn’t sure if it was because of the terror, or because of something else. There was a sense that…he was craving something, but he didn’t quite know what. Still, he was dressed, the front of his diaper warm from the piss seeping out of him non-stop, and he went back to the office where Master was waiting. “How long am I going to be in this body?” Cameron asked, as soon as he was back in the room.

“I’m not certain, to be honest. The other master and I didn’t agree on an exact timeline.”

“Like…a week? A month?” He didn’t dare mention anything longer, out of his own terror.

Master didn’t reply, he only smiled. “I’m sure that time will fly by, if you just try and enjoy yourself. Now, you should know that this body comes with quite a few quirks you won’t be accustomed to from before. In particular, you are programmed with quite a few…addictions. Physical needs that you’ll need to satisfy on a regular basis, or you’ll begin suffering quite severe symptoms. Some of them are more normal. The body’s owner notes that it’s used to smoking ten to fifteen cigars a day, and generally takes in around eight liters of beer. It also has…a substantial appetite. From the way you’re sweating, you must be feeling the first waves of withdrawal.” Master pushed a cigar, lighter, and a large beer across his desk towards Cameron. “I won’t…tell you to, slave. But if you need them, there they are.”

Cameron felt the body somehow…scream, when it saw the stuff there, and his hands were reaching for it before he even realized it, and he pulled them back, the pain growing a bit worse. The diapers were one thing, but he wasn’t going to let this body control him–he could at least manage that.

Master watched him fight, and groped his cock. Cameron saw he was hard again already. “Of course, the most severe of the body’s programmed addictions are to cum and piss. It requires so much that one person can’t provide enough to satisfy the body’s needs, so we’ll have to find a solution to that, I suppose. It’s a good thing I don’t mind sharing. Better perhaps, because I find you quite…repulsive, actually.”

“Then why…did you agree to this? If you didn’t want this, sir?”

“Oh, I do want this, slave,” Master said, “I don’t have to have sex with you to get sexual enjoyment from you, remember. See, if you’d read that psychological profile of me with an eye for detail, you would have seen that physical sex has never really…been enough for me. No, I love humiliating men, and have fantasies of ruining them. You’re repulsive, but that only…makes me hornier. Besides, I chose this body for you with good reason–your vanity is so…boring. Watching you stare at yourself in the mirror, day in and day out, those god awful clothes you’d buy for yourself? You claimed you were doing that to please me, but you were only pleasing yourself, and your ego. But look at you now! Now we can bring your focus back to where it belongs, because the only way you’re going to be getting that body of yours back, Slave, is by making me happy.”

Cameron didn’t know what to say to that. He felt, and then tasted a tear, and hated the fact that he was crying in front of this horrible man. His body was crying out even louder for the cigar and beer a foot away from him, and his guts were twisting, demanding food, cum and piss. He could smell his diaper already, wafting up, and it was making his mouth water. “This…slave wants you to be happy sir. How can I serve you best?” he said, gritting his teeth.

“I’ll show you.” Master said, “Sleep mode, Slave.”

Slave Swap (Part 2)

“Count backwards from 100 slowly, slave, and then you may force your way out. Take a look at yourself, and then come find me at the computer.”

Cameron started counting, and heard Master’s footsteps recede out of the room. While he laid there, counting quietly to himself, he tried to piece together what, exactly, his body was feeling. There was some pain–quite a bit of it really–but nothing too prominent, just some aches in his joints which he might expect after a trip somewhere, confined like this. But why put him to sleep? Where had this even come from? Master had never shown much interest in fetish play before this. He hit fifty, and realized that his voice sounded a bit odd as well, but passed it off as distortion from the mask he was wearing–though it seemed different from the one Master had put on him before. Was it? The shape was slightly off. From ten to one, he could barely stand waiting, but he made it, and started wriggling in the suit, trying to get the zipper to creep down. It was hard work, and he felt tired and sore and weak, but he managed to get it down past his head, and then pushed it open with his shoulders, letting him free one arm, and then the other. He pulled off the mask and looked around–they hadn’t gone anywhere! They were still in the bedroom, though the light was different, certainly. He got the zipper down further, and that’s when he noticed something was off–his usually flat stomach was not flat at all, but as he unzipped the rubber, he revealed a massive, flabby gut covered with grey and white hair.

Cameron didn’t know how to react at the sight. He stopped unzipping felt it–it was certainly…him. Had Master taen him to get his body reshaped? But then why the sack? He kept going, eager to get free now, and at last he managed to get out entirely, pulled the IV from his arm, and the catheter from his cock–but as he did, his cock kept leaking, dribbling piss onto the floor as he stood, and moved in front of the mirror, and found himself looking at…someone else entirely.

How much could this have cost? This was no minor set of modifications. Cameron looked to be at least sixty now–and an unmodified sixty–with a thick white beard, a shaven head, a septum ring through his nose. His gut hung down, blocking view of his cock and balls, but they seemed smaller than before, and the hair was everywhere. If he’d thought Master was fat and hairy before this…well, Cameron now had a much thicker pelt, and was heavier than him by at least fifty pounds. The weight was all concentrated in his gut, however–his arms and legs seemed thin and weak, and shook slightly as he stood. Piss was still dribbling, running from the head of his short cock and under his balls, where it hit the floor. He tried to clench, but his body didn’t even respond. Still, as horrified as he was, he had orders; he walked out on shaking legs and followed Master into his office the next room over, where he was sitting, naked, masturbating slowly to something that sounded like porn playing on the screen.

“Come slave, come take a look at this,” Master said, and Cameron obeyed, walking around behind his Master, one hand cupped under his cock to try and catch the piss, and found himself looking at a livecam. He didn’t know the man who was on top…but he did most certainly recognize the man getting fucked. It…was him. His face, his body, his…voice. He didn’t know what to say. Master turned in his chair, looking at Cameron’s surprised face, and started stroking faster. “Fuck…you’re fucking face, you stupid fuck…” He grabbed Cameron by the thick beard and tugged him down, “suck me off and drink my fucking cum, slave!”

Master didn’t last long–thirty seconds–and when he finished, he wiped his cock on Cameron’s new beard, smirking down at him, and Cameron…he just looked back at the show, at the stranger fucking his ass somewhere, and started to mutter, but didn’t know what question to try and ask first.

“It’s been five days, slave, since you were last awake. You’ve been delivered to a slave processing facility, which–thanks to your upgraded chip–is working on proprietary mind swapping. This isn’t the body you had a few days ago, slave, but it is your mind. You’re prior body is in the hands of that Master there. He felt his slave deserved a reward for excellent service, and I offered your body as that reward. You will be living in his, instead, for the time being. What do you think? Are you enjoying it so far? Be honest.”

Cameron looked down at himself, at his old, obese body, his hand overflowing with piss still dribbling out, and looked back up at Master, tears in his eyes. “I…I hate it. Did I upset you? Did I do something wrong? Is this punishment?”

No slave–this is service. Your body, and your mind, are mine. My property. That means I get to decide what to do with them. Still, that body…while pretty, was rather boring. I find variety to be much more interesting, among other things. As for your…leak down there. Do get that taken care of? The master who owns that body removed its ability to control any aspect of its bladder–they enjoy…diapers. I bought some–they’re in the bathroom. Please go secure yourself, and then we can chat a bit more regarding some…changes we’ll be making to your lifestyle, while serving in this body.

Slave Swap (Part 1)

Maybe it was neoliberalism run amok. That’s what the protesters and activists said, when the industry was fledgling. How could you put a price tag on freedom or autonomy? But jobs weren’t coming back with rapid automation, and even with a guaranteed income, people didn’t want to simply exist and do nothing with themselves. They were consenting, they were aware of the risks. There were regulations and safeguards, and everyone involved needed to be vetted and approved. Soon enough, it was widely regarded as safe, legitimate, and most importantly, legal. Within a decade, submitting yourself to a human bondage contract for five years was a ticket to wealth–or at least, that’s what Cameron thought.

He’d grown up as poor as you could be, in this world, but it was enough to know that he wanted more. But even as poor as he’d been, he knew he had other things going for him–looks and charm in particular–and they’d served him well in his youth. Now, at 25–the legal age required to indenture yourself–he decided to put himself on the market, and see what came up. There were a few modest offers, looking for modest trade offs. Mostly older men and women with wealth, interested in a sex slave. A few were more extreme, looking for live in help, with greater return at the end of the contract, and then there was one offer, and his eyes nearly popped when he saw how many zeros were attached. The conditions? Complete submission. Five year minimum, with optional renewal at five year intervals at  the master’s discretion. The slave would only receives right to exit after fifteen years. Payment amount compounds with each five year term of service. Yes, it was risky, but he could effectively retire at 40, with three times the amount there on his screen! He accepted the offer for consideration–he could always back out of things got too strange.

He was vetted for psychological competence and sanity. He was required to review his potential master’s psychological profile. They met for an interview, and he seemed…so normal. Older, probably in his fifties, but with a face and a body that seemed…inappropriate for his wealth. At least, all the wealthy people on TV that Cameron saw opted to pay for the appearance of youth, but this man–still unnamed and anonymous–had opted to display his age. Thick beard, balding head, sizable figure. Hardly attractive to Cameron, who was straight anyway–though he was certain the Master would change that if he wanted. After all, complete submission meant giving the Master total control, allowing for behavior and bodily modification. Still, Cameron could handle anything for 15 years, and afterwards, he’ll be so wealthy he could look however he wanted. The required waiting period elapsed slowly, and they signed the contract together. Cameron received his control chip, and Master led him away into a new life.

As Cameron expected, his orientation was the first thing to flip, and that first night, he begged his Master to fuck his hole–and the man was all too happy to oblige him. He’d expected further changes in the weeks after that, assuming the man would want to groom him into his ideal human property, but beyond making him a fuck hungry bottom, Master did relatively little. He provided Cameron with a decent paying job in his company as his personal assistant, and beyond that, allowed Cameron to live a relatively independent life. He couldn’t quite believe he’d gotten so lucky; if this was all the man was asking of him, then he was wasting his money.

Still, Cameron was well aware that he had a job to do, and so he made sure his body was in peak condition for his Master’s enjoyment. He worked out five days a week, and with his generous allowance, purchased a new, flattering wardrobe–both for in and out of the bedroom–and fixed up a few…features which he’d always found rather unflattering about himself. Master was appreciative, but didn’t seem particularly impressed by Cameron’s efforts. He went out of his way to try and figure out what his Master wanted from him, and why he’d demanded such control over him if he was giving Cameron such latitude as his slave. Master revealed nothing, however, but Cameron could sense that there was a larger picture in all of this that he couldn’t see.

This continued for a year. Cameron was in the best shape of his life, and unable to believe how lucky he’d gotten in this deal. Still, Master had…grown a bit distant over the previous few months. He still used Cameron plenty, but he could sense that he’d grown a bit bored with him, which concerned Cameron to some extent, but if Master wouldn’t tell him what he needed, then there was only so much he could do, right?

Rather unexpectedly, Master told him he was scheduled for an upgrade to his control chip. They went to the doctor to have it replaced, and the entire time the procedure was taking place, Master seemed both agitated, and very horny. Cameron tried to service him in the car afterward, but Master pushed him away, telling him there would be plenty of time for that later. Back at home, they went straight into the bedroom, Cameron stripped and assumed Master’s favorite position, but he shook his head, and brought out something that looked like a black rubber sleeping bag.

“It’s time for you to really enter your true service, slave,” Master said, “Get in here.”

Cameron was reluctant, but couldn’t disobey any order. He climbed into the tight fitting rubber sack, and then Master zipped him up into it, stopping at his hips, and brought out some medical tubes and a mask connected to an air tank. When he tried to ask what all of this was for, Master just smiled wide. “You’ll see very soon. Now relax. I wouldn’t anything bad to happen to your body during your trip.”

Cameron tried to ask what he meant, but Master told him to be quiet. He put the IV into Cameron’s arm, slid a catheter into his cock, and then secured the mask over his face, before zipping the rubber sack up the rest of the way, and locking it. Cameron started to hyperventilate immediately, but Master told him to sleep, and he immediately passed out. He could never tell how much time passed when Master put him in sleep mode–it always seemed like an instant later. Master woke him up, and he was still in the sack, but he felt very out of sorts–it was obvious some time had passed, but how much? Were they somewhere new? He couldn’t ask anything through the mask, but Master unlocked the padlock, and cracked the zipper on the suit.

“Count backwards from 100 slowly, Slave,” he said, “and then you may force your way out. Take a look at yourself, and then come find me at the computer.”

Feeder Drones (Sketch)

“He’s out there again, isn’t he?” Max asked, when he saw Daryl fuming at the window of their apartment. It wasn’t a very good view by any means, facing another building in the complex, but that wasn’t the real problem. What Daryl was staring at the the massive fucker who’d moved in across the space from them, who right now was at the window, staring at the window, masturbating. He’d been doing it constantly, and always while looking at Max and Daryl. They’d reported it to the management, but no one had done anything about it, and it had gone from annoying to making Daryl, in particular, absolutely furious. Max figured that if they just didn’t respond, the guy would get bored eventually–he was just a pervert or something, right? But Daryl, he’d always hated fat people, and the guy had to be close to 500 pounds. The idea that someone that big could be attracted to him or his boyfriend was a deep, personal offence.

“No, fuck this, I’m gonna go solve this fucking problem myself,” Daryl said, and headed for the door.

Max tried to stop him. “Daryl, don’t fucking start anything! We’ll be the ones who get in trouble.”

“Fucking pervert just needs to be taught a fucking lesson!” Daryl said, flexing his muscle and pushing past Max and heading out the door. Max knew better than to get in Daryl’s way–he’d…gotten a couple black eyes from him by saying no before, but things had gotten better over the last year. Still, he felt sorry for the guy–Daryl wasn’t known to stop after one or two punches, especially as angry as he was.

Daryl hurried over to the other building and leapt up the stairs to the landing and pounded on the guy’s door. Should be break the fucking lock? That seemed like overkill, but it would sure as hell teach the fucker he meant business. He tried the knob, and to his surprise, it was unlocked. He pushed it open and went inside–the place was filthy, and he felt…like he’d been in here before at some point. It wasn’t just the fact that all of these apartments had the same layout either–he’d been in here, but when? Something was wrong, but the man was there in the doorway, leering at him. “Drone, report conversion process.”

“Flesh to Drone conversion complete as of 3:48 this morning. Flesh form has been archived as ‘Daryl Version Zero’.” Daryl heard his voice say, but he hadn’t told himself to say that, had he? And why had his voice sounded so fucking flat?

“Good, Assume neutral form from the neck down, drone.”

Daryl felt his entire body shiver–just just his skin, however, but everything…inside him, as well. Something was wrong with him, but he couldn’t even begin to understand what. He looked down at his hands and arms, and saw that what should be flesh…wasn’t. It looked like he had on a skin tight latex suit, but he could sense that…that it was rubber, through and through. He was rubber. He was made of rubber, he was a drone, he was…was Master’s drone. What the fuck was going on? He was trying to breathe, but he no longer had lungs. Master walked over, smiling. “Remove those clothes, drone.”

Daryl did as he was told, and saw that everything from the neck down–his entire body, was the same solid rubber as his arms. It still had the same shape as his body–well, aside from his crotch, which was completely flat. He ran a hand down the front of him, hearing the slight squeak of rubber on rubber–knew the sensation should make him feel sick, but he wasn’t…feeling anything.

Something in his eyes must have conveyed his terror, and so his Master offered an explanation. “I wiped it from your memory banks, slave, but this is actually the second time we’ve met. The first time you stormed over here, I infected you with my drone serum. For the last week, your flesh has slowly been converting to smart rubber–you’re not a person anymore drone, you’re just an object–my object, to be precise, and I can make you be anything that I want. But I want you to keep your mind, for the moment. I want you to know you’re mine, and I want you to service me, drone, with that tongue of yours.”

Daryl tried to fight his body, but it was no longer under his control. He got down and he leaned in, pressing his mouth to Master’s fat pad, and started sucking on his cock. He was fighting it, trying to deny it. This had to be some horrible dream, it couldn’t be true, could it? This wasn’t possible, right?

“Yeah–you and that pretty boyfriend of yours–you’re going to be two excellent drones. I got found out a few months back–had to disappear. Ended up losing almost fifty pounds! But with the two of you as my new feeder drones, I’m sure I’ll put that back on in no time. I just won’t…recruit as actively as last time, as sad as that is–so the two of you will have to be multipurpose. Drone, generate pleasure skull number one.”

Daryl disappeared, quickly, as his head turned to the same black rubber as his new body, and his face…dissolved. Mouth growing wider, his tongue growing long and falling to his chest, slick with rubbery lube. Master turned around and bent over, pushing his massive ass and crack towards the drone’s face, and it responded as it had been programmed, driving it’s thick tongue into Master’s hole, fucking him deep. It didn’t pay any mind when it heard the gasp behind it–Max had come to investigate what was happening with his boyfriend, only to find the obese man and some…rubber monstrosity with the door open.

“Fuck, I forgot to shut the door…this is what I need drones for!” Master said, “Lucky it was you. Step inside, drone, and shut the door behind you.”

Max did as he was ordered, unsure why he was obeying the massive fucker standing there, but unable to resist.

“Drone, report conversion process.”

“Flesh to drone conversion at 92%,” Max said.

“Almost there. No worries–you can watch, and when you’re finished, we’ll put you both into proper service. Dig deeper drone–you know how I like to get tongue fucked.”