New You Resolutions (Part 9) [Interactive]

“So tell me Morg, what do you think of the last year? Have you liked being this new, massive brute?” the MC asked him, the rest of the audience staring at him.

Morg sputtered a bit, before managing to get some words to come out of his mouth in a coherent collection, his deep voice growling through the microphone. “I, uh…yeah, actually. I guess I did…mostly.”

He didn’t know why he suddenly felt so embarrassed, but it was the truth–he had enjoyed himself, the last six months in particular, slowly exacting his revenge on the unsuspecting football team at the college. He could see the rest of the audience all conferring below, and a moment later, the screen above him dinged, and the first change from the audience’s votes was revealed–yet another round of puberty, but this one would take minutes, instead of months.

Morg felt his entire body heat up suddenly, and he was growing again, his bones aching and burning as they stretched again, his muscles and tendons rushing to keep up with the sudden change. He went from close to seven feet tall, and after a new moments, he was a couple inches over eight feet, stumbling a bit, looking a bit out of proportion–at least until his muscle caught up. He began to bulk up next, the muscles growing and working overtime to fill in the space created by his new height–and there were other changes as well. The bald spot on his head grew more pronounced, even as the hair covering the rest of his body grew in even longer and thicker than before. His clothes started to burst at the seams, and in a sudden fit, Morg clawed at them, tearing them off like paper, leaving himself entirely naked on the stage, his massive cock growing even longer. It was flaccid at the moment, but easily nine inches long–he gave it a stroke or two, feeling it engorge with blood, and in another minute it was full erect–all fifteen inches of it.

There was another ding above them, but Morg wasn’t really paying attention–he was too focused on his new cock, how sensitive it was, how it felt in his massive hands. He didn’t notice his gut beginning to grow even larger, his muscular body developing a thicker layer of fat all over than made him even larger and more imposing. His gut ballooned larger than anything else however, and made it difficult to grip his cock–and he certainly couldn’t see it. He didn’t notice how much he stank all of a sudden, reeking of masculine, unwashed musk and cum, nor did he notice that when the MC handed him a fat, lit, 80 ring cigar, he shoved it in his mouth and sucked down the smoke like a hard cord addict.

Finally, there was one final ding–someone had made a purchase. The man who climbed up onto the stage was younger, a bit chubby–and he wanted a proper, abusive leather daddy bear to fuck him silly every night–and that was something Morg could get behind himself. He shoved the young cub against the wall and impaled him in his cock, fucking him relentlessly as well worn leather gear appeared on his massive frame, his hair turning silver and white as he aged into his late fifties, and the next morning, when he woke up in bed with his new cub, he barely remembered anything from his old life anymore. He gave his cub a rough fuck, and then got dressed and headed to work–eager to work up a good sweat his boy could clean up when he got home, before he fucked him all over again–just like he’d do every day for years to come.

*

The third person on stage stumbled out as Morg left, hunched over and small, wishing that his master and owner were with him, but he’d had to make the trip to the party alone. It was Leroy–or at least, it was the pitiful slave that Leroy had become over the last year or so. He was wearing just a collar and his diaper–a filthy, overused diaper from the look of it, sagging with filth around his meager waist. He had lost weight–his master’s diet was not particularly generous, and he had spent hours and hours of the last several months under the pen of a tattooist, finally getting the humiliating images and words he’d been fantasizing over for ages permanently inscribed on his body.

He shuffled to the edge of the stage, heard some of the men in the audience gag, and others just laughed at him, how he’d been reduced from the butch, masculine, authoritative professor in the images on the screen to this lowlife, diapered slave.

The MC announced that voting could commence, and the audience began to confer. Leroy was too stupid at this point to really understand what was going on–he couldn’t even read the simple words running on the screens around him, and much of what the MC had said was too hard for him to process…but he waited, as he’d been instructed to do, and discovered his final fate.

Here’s the next poll for Leroy, and here’s the Patron exclusive poll as well.

Of Favors and Family (Part 4)

“Well Jeremiah, I’m gonna level with you. You’re a bit late with the blackmail, because your dad is already threatening the same thing, and honestly? His word in my favor is going to count quite a bit more than the words of you and your friends, whether you have a tape or not.”

Jeremiah went a bit pale at that, but didn’t say anything.

“But I’ll tell you what–maybe we can come to a compromise. You won’t have to go to war, and your dad will think you’ve gone to war. Wait a couple of years, come back, honorably discharged, and everything will be just fine.”

“How the hell is that going to work?”

“I grew up around here–still have lots of my family pack living up in the hills around here. They keep to themselves–I’m the only one around here who even knows where they live. You stay with them, and I’ll cover for you here.”

“Bullshit, I’m not going to live in the fucking hills with a bunch of dumb mutts!”

“Well, even if you stay here, you really think your dad is gonna stop trying to get you sent off? You’re going to war one way or another, whether I get you there, or someone else. You’re going to have to give up something, if you don’t want to die in Vietnam–because trust me, I know, when I send a boy off, if I’m sending him to die–and you wouldn’t last very long–and I have seen a great many young men in my office, and my accuracy would haunt you, trust me.”

Jeremiah was weakening, and Wade refused to budge. In the end, he gave in, signed the enlistment form, but didn’t get on the bus with the rest of the recruits at four in the afternoon. Instead, he called his friends, told them he was going into hiding, but to hide the tape in case anything happened to him, and then got in Wade’s car and drove off into the hills.

He’d told him to wait in the car. That had been close to half an hour ago, and Jeremiah was growing more and more suspicious by the minute that all of this was bullshit cooked up by this idiot recruiter to buy himself more time. They’d been driving for hours now, following twisting back roads up hills and back down into valleys, going deeper into the country than Jeremiah had ever been himself, where his nannies had told him when he was younger feral packs of hounds and wolves still roamed around, looking for trouble. Those had all just been stories of course, but there were old families out here–hell, Jeremiah knew he came from a few of them himself. All the hounds in the city could trace themselves back here one way or another, Wade too, he was sure. But why park here, and tell him to sit tight? He had no idea where he was, he had no way to get help. He was starting to wonder if he was the idiot for agreeing to these terms at all.

The sun was setting, but he couldn’t see it behind the ridge. He was already in shadow down here, the light growing dimmer with each passing minute. They hadn’t eaten all day long, and his stomach kept growling louder each time. Could he really do this? Live out here in the sticks? Now that he was here, it just seemed…so damn uncivilized. It…only had to be for a little while. Long enough for his dad to think he really was shipped off, and then he could come back down and just skip town for a while, live with some sympathetic family one state over. Just a couple of months, and then he could have a normal life again.

There was a rustle of brush, and then Wade turned the corner on the dirt road, hauling ass, hat in hand. He slid to a stop by the car, nearly losing his footing, then climbed in, fumbling with his keys.

“Are–what happened?”

“Shut the fuck up, and keep your head down.”

Jeremiah didn’t know what to think of that, until he heard the gunshot in the near distance, followed by a whoop.

“What the fuck was that?”

“Family issues, get your damn head down!”

The car started up, and Wade through it in reverse. A few overall clad cur-looking hounds bounded onto the road, holding rifles and shotguns, and leveled them at the car as it rolled back. Then, Jeremiah finally got down. They were lucky–none of the windows ended up getting busted out. Wade was sure it was meant more to scare him off than actually hurt him–he was, after all, family…just not as close to family as he might have been when he was younger. He’d been hoping for a slightly more sympathetic ear, but the great uncle who had been the local alpha a decade back had passed on, leaving his much more…aggressive son to take the helm of the family. The negotiation had started strong, until the alpha wanted to test the newcomer for the purity of his bloodline, and Wade had made…a misstep or two, and now he was rolling back down the road, night falling, cursing himself for being an idiot.

“What the fuck–are those the fucks you were going to have me stay with?”

“I never said it was going to be a hotel.”

“They were fucking shooting at us!”

“Well, usually they’re a bit more welcoming to family.”

Wade slid the car to a halt, now that he was sure the pack wasn’t following them, and sighed, wondering what to do now. There were a few other pockets of family around that he could check on, but he’d thought this one might be most…accommodating, and now that he’d riled up one part of the family, leaving Jeremiah with another chunk was liable to rekindle old feuds.

“I’m done with this–take me home,” Jeremiah said.

“This is not a deal you can back out off just because you’re a little uncomfortable now.”

“Look at those crazy fucks! I’m not staying with them!”

“Boy, if you go back now, your daddy will ship you off himself.”

“If you don’t take me back, then I’ll make sure that tape sees the light of day, as soon as I get word to my friends.”

“Yeah? And how the fuck do you plan on getting back there?” Wade said.

Jeremiah just glared at him, and then got out of the car. “I’ll fucking walk.”

Wade…had not expected that, and so he didn’t quite know what to say. Walking back was impossible of course–they were a good 20 miles away from town at this point, and he knew Jeremiah hadn’t been paying well enough attention to get back there. He couldn’t risk it though–and he also…well, he might be alright with the cocky brat getting a limb blown off in the jungle, half a world away, but the thought of him getting lost and dying in the woods (and with it being far more directly his own fault) wasn’t something he wanted to live with. Wade got out of the car, and started after him. “Hey–get your ass back here, we had a fucking deal boy.”

“The deal is off, faggot–I’m done. Once I get back there, the whole fucking town is going to know what a pervert you are, and there’s nothing you can do about it.”

Wade growled, and wished he’d brought his pistol along–not to hurt him, but a shot between his legs would do more to straighten the boy out than pretty much anything else. He felt the cuffs there on his belt…Jeremiah was younger than him, and probably a bit more fit…but he had a feeling he wasn’t particularly used to roughhousing. Wade on the other hand–well he had too much at stake to lose. He charged at Jeremiah’s back and slammed into him, knocking them both to the ground where they rolled about and tussled. Jeremiah was surprised that someone would dare attack him–anyone, and when Wade landed a paw across his face, leaving a nice scratch across his cheek–he just laid there, stunned. Pain, apparently, wasn’t something he was accustomed to. It gave Wade an opening, and he rolled him over and cuffed him on the ground, panting a bit…and his cock hard in his uniform slacks.

“You fucking piece of shit, get these fucking things off of me?”

Wade just watched him squirm there, and fuck, if it wasn’t turning him on something fierce. He’d only cuffed a few boys in the past, usually one’s he’d already broken in, or who were enjoying the treatment themselves, and every time, it had been…a rush. But what could he do? They were in the middle of the woods, night falling…and he wanted that ass, badly. He’d wanted that ass this whole time, but had been restraining himself out of a sense of respect for Jeremiah and his father–well, his respect had run out, and Wade had a feeling a good, rough fuck would put the runt in his place faster than words could anyway.

Jeremiah had managed to push himself up onto his knees, and Wade shoved him back down, snout first, into the dirt, and then got on top of him. Jeremiah began to struggle further, now that he could more…directly feel the older man’s erection, and he started to shout for help.

“Who the hell do you think is going to come save you boy?” Wade said, “Everyone out here is my kin–not yours. They won’t take too kindly to a racket like that–but I’ll be in the car and gone, and it’ll just be you out here, cuffed and alone…and shoot you in the back is the kindest they can be to an outsider like you–trust me. I know all the old stories…”

Wade tugged down Jeremiah’s pants and underwear, running one of his claws up the boy’s crack, feeling him shiver. He undid the fly of his pants, and his cock was already hard and out of its sheath–he thought about warming the boy up…but he didn’t deserve it, and honestly, Wade liked hearing them shout, and beg, and pull away from him. It made it all the more exciting. He pressed the head to Jeremiah’s ring, and felt the boy try and crawl away–he didn’t get far, and Wade bore down, sliding the head in, and then the shaft, shuddering with pleasure as jeremiah started shouting in pain and anger. Wade ground the boy’s snout into the dirt, hard enough to make him shut up, and started fucking him, driving his cock in deeper, inch by inch, with each thrust, panting as he did, feeling how close he was. “Maybe I should just take you home with me boy instead–keep you in my basement. You have a real nice hole, I have to say. Better than Ashton and Dusty–I’ll be sure to tell them that, next time I see them.”

Jeremiah was whining now, just wanting it to be over. It was…less sexy, but probably better. Wade pumped a little faster, pulled out, and nutted all over his ass, tugging his pants back up, watching the cum seep into the fabric in the twilight, before hauling the boy upright, and half dragging him back to the car, and shoving him in the backseat.

The fuck had helped clear his mind, and had also brought back some…memories, of fucking in these woods with his family, usually during family reunions that seemed to be happening less and less as of late. Still, when he’d been a cub, around Jeremiah’s age or a bit younger, he and his cousins had run off regularly to go “exploring”, though they spent most of their time exploring each other some days. But one memory in particular stood out to him–of his third cousin, Bart, once removed (that is, his great great grand aunt’s grandson–one generation older than he was) had caught him and another boy playing…and joined in. He’d…particularly enjoyed fucking Wade that afternoon, but he seemed to have a thing for cubs around that age–around Jeremiah’s age. He’d be pushing sixty at this point, but Wade knew he lived alone, and that he was on generally good terms with the rest of the family. He’d probably be more than willing to keep an eye on Jeremiah, especially if he could get a fuck out of it. Sure, giving Jeremiah to his family as a sex slave was going to…complicate returning him later, but he was low on options, and as far as he was concerned, Jeremiah deserved it.

He put the car in gear, and drove off again–thankfully, Bart’s shack wasn’t too far off from here–assuming he still lived there. Then again, Bart’s family had lived there for ages, though Bart was, as far as Wade could recall, the last of the line. He took a little too firmly to cock, to be able to pick out a wife and bed her for an heir–or maybe that had changed too, in the last few years. Still, he was an old hound, and particularly stubborn, as far as Wade could recall. He doubted much would have changed.

New You Resolutions (Part 9) [Interactive]

Duncan was holding his breath, listening to the audience of men in front of him laughing and whispering, discussing his fate, toying with the devices they were all holding, until he heard a ding above him, and the screen changed.

“Well, it looks like the audience has decided to give you a little mercy, Duncan,” the MC said, and Duncan felt a rumble in his guts. The screen above him said he would lose some weight and regain some of his youth, and he was, well, thrilled. Some of the fat on him melted away, his heavy apron reducing, the hair all over him regaining it’s former brown color–but the hair didn’t lessen at all–it was still incredibly thick, his long beard intact. The weight loss tapered off far sooner than he would have liked as well–leaving him around 300 pounds, with a solid gut, and thick moobs, and a wide ass of course. He wasn’t quite as young as he’d been either, ending up around 30 or so in age.

“This…this isn’t enough!” he said, shaking his gut with his hands. “If you can change me back this much, at least change me back all the damn way! This…this is almost worse!”

The audience was laughing again, and toying with their devices, when he heard a second ding, and another change popped up on the screen.

“Well, it looks like they audience thinks you should be a little more…grateful, for what they’ve given you, Duncan,” the MC said.

He looked up at the screen, and the second change said that he was going to start becoming an exhibitionist, who loved flaunting his fat, filthy, and hairy body for everyone to see, and as he read it, he felt his head start…swimming. He didn’t want to feel like this. He didn’t want to enjoy this! But when he shook his gut again…it felt good. He belched, and when the men laughed at him, he felt a burst of pride, and belched again. Then, without really thinking about it, he hauled off his tanktop, showing off his whole hairy expanse of a gut, and the men were all laughing and cheering him on…and it was…almost like the resh he’d felt in front of the camera before, when he’d been modelling. Almost…better in some ways. He started groping himself, hornier than he could really imagine from showing off like this in front of all these men, when there was another ding above him.

He felt the change happening as he groped his crotch, before he even looked back–his balls growing larger, his cum production constant, and perpetually horny, so he wouldn’t be able to resist groping and jacking off almost constantly. The last bit of himself that held any shame tried to drag his hand away from his cock, which was rapidly being dwarfed by the size of his balls, but he couldn’t. It just felt too damn good, and the first load of pre gouted from the head of his cock, soaking the front of his mesh shorts, and he could smell it, how pungent it was, and then it was too late–he was openly jacking himself off now, feeling the precum flowing almost constantly, soaking his shorts, running down his chubby thighs. He didn’t really hear the final ding–different from the rest.

“Oh goodness, looks like someone has made an offer!” the MC said, and one of the men from the audience climbed up onto the stage. He was the owner of a collection of fast food franchises–and he had plans for Duncan. His hands were shackled, something that frustrated him to no end, since he had to stop touching his cock, and the man–his new owner–led him away.

In the new year, when he awoke, he was in a cage in the store room of his new owner’s fast food chain, who came and let him out–but only after servicing his cock, of course. Then, he spent the entire day working the fryers in the back, hands shackled so he couldn’t touch himself, until the evening, when he was released and dragged back to his cage, where he ate his meal of cold fast food and jacked off–his old life forgotten, and his new life of servitude stretching before him forever.

As Duncan was led off the stage, the next of the four was pushed out onto it–Morg. He was massive now, easily six and a half feet tall, with a massive gut, body packed solid with muscle. He was wearing some of his clothes from his work, grubby from his labor, and wondering what all of this was about–but part of him…wondered if there was a chance he could change back, go back to being that college student, because he was…terrified by how much he enjoyed this, being this rough, aggressive, domineering brute–the brute who had spent the whole fall hunting down and raping the entire football team, one after another, turning them all screaming sissy bitches impaled on his massive cock…

The MC announced him, and the audience began to deliberate and vote–and Morg waited to see what they had in store for him now.

The next public poll is below, and the bonus poll for Patrons can be found through this link!

New You Resolutions (Part 8) [Interactive]

It was December 31st, 2019–the end of the year, New You Enterprises New Year’s Bash had arrived, and all of the attendees were mingling together, excited to see what sorts of fun they would be having soon enough, once the stars of the event were brought out.

The company had selected four men this year to receive their batches of life changing resolutions, and the attendees had been assured that the results were simply unbelievable–if incomplete. After all, there was still a few hours left in the year, and that meant the magic affecting the four young men was still potent–once midnight struck, all of them would be stuck in their new forms, whatever that might be, but the company liked to give the men it selected an opportunity to beg for mercy–though it was up to the audience of the ball to decide it they deserved it or not–or if they deserved a few final changes to really make their new lives properly…interesting.

The clock struck ten, and the lights in the room dimmed, two spotlights hitting the stage on the far end, where the attendees all gathered to look and see who the company would reveal first. An MC stepped out, to a round of applause, and introduced the companies first selection of the year.

“Hello everyone, VIPs, executives–thank you again for attending our little gathering this year. It’s my pleasure to begin the main event of the evening–but first, I would like to introduce you to our first recipient–Duncan Everett!”

Up on the screen on the stage, a slideshow began, showing old images of Duncan from years past, back when he had been the slender, handsome male model.

“Duncan has made some massive changes to his life this year, thanks to our help, but before all of this, he was the rising star of the modelling world, on the cusp of nailing down contracts with several major designers and modeling agencies all over the world. However, our company saw much different potential in this young man, and we are over the moon with the progress Duncan has made on his new self in the last year–why don’t you come on out here Duncan, let everyone get a glimpse of the new you!”

No one appeared for a moment, because Duncan had no interest on getting on stage. In the end, it took two stage hands to shove him out into the center of the stage, stumbling over his feet, looking nothing at all like the lithe, hairless, handsome young man on the screen above him. The entire audience clapped, impressed at how easily New You Enterprises had turned the young model into the massively obese, extremely hairy slob standing in front of them now.

The remainder of the year hadn’t been particularly kind to Duncan–as he’d kept aging up into his fifties, his metabolism had slowed down more and more, and by the beginning of December, he had finally crested four hundred pounds, much to his horror. The grungy clothes he’d bought back in January were still the only clothes he could manage to wear, and standing on stage there, in his tight set of mesh shorts, crusty and stained with hundreds of loads of cum, a wifebeater completely unable to hold his hairy apron of fat, he was…horrified at all of these handsome, well dressed men staring and leering at him, like a piece of meat…and yet, he also wanted them all–all of them, to surround him, and jack off on him, cover him with their jizz, so he could leave the party smelling even more like a cumrag than he did already. He took a drag off his cigar–the smoke helped him feel a bit calmer at least–he didn’t know how he could have gotten through this without them.

“Well Duncan, is there anything you’d like to say to our audience here? Anything you would like to ask them? If you beg, they might even be willing to give you some of your old life back, you know…”

Duncan looked out at the men, unsure of what to say, what might induce them to feel a bit merciful towards him. “P-Please,” he croaked, still not used to how raspy his voice sounded after the hundreds of cigars he’d been forced to smoke over the last year, “I…I took it all for granted, I know that, but I…I didn’t ask for any of this. This isn’t who I am! I don’t…I just want…people to look at me without being disgusted by me again, I just want to be normal again.”

Some of the men in the audience laughed, and others just shook their heads.

“You sick fucks!” Duncan shouted at them, “I–This year has been like hell. I…I wasn’t a good person, is that what you want me to say? So maybe I was a jerk at times, but I didn’t deserve this, no one deserves this…”

“Well audience, the choice is in your hands–use your voting devices, and decide what fate is in store for Duncan here.”

Alright, that last poll was fairly evenly divided between the various options, so I thought I would break it down a bit, for each character. The poll below has a few different kinds of choices in it. “Before” choices will bring back some of the character’s qualities from their prior life. “Extra” choices will enhance or intensify some of the changes already made to the character. Lastly, “Partner” choices will have someone from the audience claim the character as their own, and make some additional modifications to their lifestyle. I plan on mixing and matching options together from the various categories, depending on what’s popular, so there will be multiple winning options, as before in this interactive. Patrons have their own poll as well, over here!

Whore on Demand (Patreon Exclusive)

Here’s another story based off of the suggestions from folks who support me on Patreon! In this sketch, a lecherous father decides to get a specialized whore for his son’s bachelor party, but things don’t go quite how he expected. You can find the story here! Anyone supporting me at the one dollar level or more can get access to all of these short stories, and also gets the ability to make requests of their own!

Of Favors and Family: Episode 1 (Part 3)

Jeremiah Hawthorne’s appointment at the recruitment office was for three in the afternoon on Monday, the bus for new recruits left the office each day at four. Wade was in his office, waiting, and the young hound didn’t show up until ten after, which made things a bit easier, really. Both because it was ten less minutes he had to keep him here, and because he felt much better about sending off young men who were late, than those who had the decency to actually be on time for their appointments. Even if he wasn’t under threat from the boy’s father to send him away, he probably would have done so anyway, since he made him wait.

Jeremiah did arrive eventually–it was clear he believed he was here for an exemption, from the way he held himself, the smug smile on his snout. Wade wasn’t going to feel particularly bad about this one at all. “So, can we make this quick? I have a date tonight, and I still need to go home and get ready. What do you need from me?”

“Oh, I’ve handled everything already for you. A bad case of bone spurs. All I need is your signature here, at the bottom,” Wade said, turning around the enlistment form he’d already filled in for the young man, aside from the signature. “One John Hancock, and you’re good to go.”

“John Hancock?”

“Your signature, son, sign on the line.”

“Why do I have to sign anything?”

“You have to attest that you understand the terms of your exemption,” Wade said, hoping he’d just buy a bit of bullshit, and sign his life away to the war already.

“Pa says to never sign anything I haven’t read over.”

“Your Pa helped arrange this last night, Jeremiah. Now hurry up.”

He was suspicious, and Wade supposed he had a right to be so. After all, in his shoes, Wade would have been suspicious too. Beauregard had been pressuring Jeremiah to enlist since before the draft had even started–and now, suddenly, he had changed his mind? The young hound picked up the sheet and started reading it, and Wade sighed. He’d just have to do this the hard way, then.

“Wait a minute, this says, ‘agrees to enlist–” but before he got anything else out, Wade was up, and had him shoved up against the wall. He slipped one handcuff on the young hound’s wrist, and then the other, and shoved him down into a chair by the door. “What the fuck is this shit! I’m not signing a fucking enlistment form! Pa said you were going to get me an exemption. Let me go, you mutt, or I’ll sue you into fucking oblivion!”

“Unfortunately, Jeremiah, your Pa had other plans. He wants you in the army, one way or another–so you have two options. You can either sign this paper here and go willingly, and I’ll pull a few strings, without your daddy knowing, to get you a decent deployment after basic training, or you can throw a fit, and we’ll ship you off with a forged criminal record, which basically means you’re cannon fodder. Either way, you’re going on the bus in an hour, whether you want to or not.”

“Fuck, I knew it was too fucking good to be true…” Jeremiah said, “Look–I know what you like. I’ll suck you off.”

An alarm bell went off in Wade’s mind. The young hound hadn’t said that with the air of desperation they usually used, when they begged for mercy at the end of his dick. He sounded smug–and how the hell did he even know about that, anyway? “That ain’t gonna work, boy.”

“It works for Ashton Everett, and Dusty Willis.”

Friends of his–Wade should have known those two wouldn’t keep their mouths shut, but they were both…sweet, and Wade had a soft spot for sweet, on occasion, especially since they both had to pop back around every couple of weeks to see if their bone spurs had healed up yet. Wade leaned against the desk–even if the boy knew, it wouldn’t help him, and Ashton and Dusty were about to find out just how fast bone spurs could heal. “Sorry. No deal this time. Now, are you gonna sign this paper, or are you gonna go die in a jungle? It doesn’t matter to me one bit, but it’s going to matter a whole lot to you.”

“No, here’s what’s going to happen–you’re going to unlock these cuffs, give me an exemption, or I’m going to take the recording I have of you fucking Dusty’s ass, and have it sent to your superiors. How do you think they’ll feel about that?”

“Boy, don’t bullshit me.”

“I’m not bullshitting, sir, if I don’t arrive on time for that date tonight, that tape will be in the mail tomorrow.”

Was he bluffing? Probably, but could Wade really take that risk? Then again, if he did let him loose, Beauregard would have word sent to his superiors anyway about his…dalliances. It didn’t matter what he did–so which was going to be worse for him? The word of the father, who was well regarded in various circles of the military, especially locally? Or a possible tape recording, delivered anonymously, but perhaps with much more damning contents? He was…rather loud when he was with a young man, especially Dusty. He had seemed rather eager last week, and a bit…too descriptive, of what was going on. More so than usual, at least. There was a chance he could talk his way out of either one–after all, he did meet his quotas regularly, and that was all that really mattered as far as the army cared–but Wade had never been one to take chances like this, and Lizzie…she already suspected enough. With word like this getting out, she would likely take off, along with his son. But what could he do? He couldn’t exactly fake Jeremiah getting enlisted into the army…right? Then again, maybe he could.

Of Favors and Family (Part 2)

Having known Beau for quite a long time now, Wade supposed he shouldn’t have been surprised by his request–but he’d gotten so used to helping wealthy men of alleged character and patriotism get their prized sons out of the war, that finding one eager to send his son away was a surprise all the same. “With your connections, I’m sure I could find him a spot as an officer,” Wade said, but Beau just laughed.

“Jeremiah couldn’t lead a blind horse to water. Do you want him to murder an entire platoon in the jungle? No–basic infantry, just like I was. If he wants to survive, he’s going to have to prove he has what it takes–though I sincerely doubt he has the guts.”

Wade nodded, “If that’s what you want, the army will always have a need for strong young men,” Beau chuckled a bit on the word strong, but Wade pressed on, “but the draft is going plenty strong–why not just…wait? After all, I can’t force him to sign enlistment papers.”

Beau leered at Wade around his pipe, “I may be old, Wade, but I can still smell a two timing skunk from a mile off. I know about the little deals you have running with some of the young men around these parts–and I even know about those little examinations you do at your office, after hours, with more than a few of them. What is it you say–that you won’t excuse them from service for something like homosexuality without a bit of…evidence first?” he took a sip, “Does your wife know about your taste for teenage whelps, I wonder?”

Wade remained stoic. He wouldn’t give him a denial–if Beau had wanted him found out, he would have been carted away by an MP by now. He wanted something still–though Wade hadn’t given him nearly enough credit, apparently.

“I will admit to…having enjoyed the company of the men on my platoon, on occasion. There’s really no harm in a bit of comradery, when one is without the pleasure of a proper bitch. I can forgive you your…infidelity and perversion, so long as my son is on that bus. Forge his signature–I’ll attest to its validity, even if he denies it. Promise him whatever you’d like–a position as an officer, if you’d like. Hell, examine him if he’s…your type, but my worthless son is going to need a war if he’s ever going to grow up and make something of himself. I’d rather he come back in a box than tarnish this family’s name by running around town, proud of his cowardice. Jeremiah may have been led to believe by his mother that I have listened to her pleas, and am presently persuading you to draw up and document…reasons for him to be exempted from service, even should his number come up in the draft. I will likely allow them both to believe that up until the bus pulls up tomorrow afternoon. All you need to do is keep the rascal in your office until then–and no one will need to know anything about the sordid little things you do on your own time. I’ll even defend your honor as if it were my own. Now, do we have an understanding?”

As far as Wade was concerned, this was easier than what he’d been expecting. Less paperwork, and he’d be one young soldier closer to meeting his quarterly quota. He agreed, and their conversation drifted off to other topics, though as the old hound across from him drank more and more bourbon, he was fairly certain that Beauregard kept sneaking glances down at his crotch. Apparently, someone hadn’t had any comradery in quite a while–perhaps he missed it. Wade wouldn’t have objected–despite what Beauregard had hinted at, Wade didn’t have an interest in young men in particular. Rather, he enjoyed the desperation, and the control he had over them more than anything else. Beauregard was too proud to be a good lay, as handsome as he was. It wouldn’t hurt to keep that information in his back pocket, all the same. They each finished their pipes, and Wade excused himself. Amber Hawthorne and Wade’s wife, Lizzie, were in the dining room gossiping about the business around town when they emerged–they said their goodbyes, and left. Lizzie knew better than to ask about what Wade and Beauregard had discussed, though she had her suspicions of course. Wade didn’t broach the topic–he was cool towards her, as he was always, all the way back to their home, where their son was already tucked in by the babysitter. Just another normal night. Halfway around the world, it was daytime, and young dogs, cats, pigs, and everyone else was fighting for their lives, if not for their country. Wade wondered if it should bother him more, the whole business. Then again, if it hadn’t bothered him yet, he doubted that it would any time soon.

Of Favors and Family – Episode 1 (Part 1)

Some of these characters and settings are created by others, particularly the commissioner of the work.

Dinner had been lovely, but then, dinner was always a pleasure at the Hawthorn residence. Wade always enjoyed his time here–it was so much more pleasant that the rest of his time in town, constantly struggling to fill his quota of new recruits to send off to the jungles in the east. Here, in this beautiful antebellum manor, it was like nothing was wrong at all–no war, no protests, no riots. While he was certain that the Hawthorns kept up with the news, they made no mention of unpleasant topics over dinner conversation. Everything was bright, the conversation easy, the wine flowing. He did his best to not get too caught up in the ease, however–a wealthy man like Mr. Beauregard Hawthorne the Third didn’t invite a man like Wade, a hound mutt with nothing prestigious going for him beyond his position as the county’s army recruiter, which, in a time of war such as this, could open the strangest of doors, at times.

Now, however, dinner was finished, and Wade had retired to the study with the family patriarch for a glass of bourbon and a pipe–and for a chat, Wade assumed. He tugged the cuff of his dress uniform straight–Beauregard Hawthrorn showed him to a firm armchair and poured him a glass of bourbon. They chatted about the town for a bit, and a little about the war. Both of them knew what the chat was really about, however–the draft. This was not the first wealthy family that had welcomed Wade into their home, to plead for him to keep their sons from having to enlist. He found the conversations rather exhausting at this point, only because they had all grown so desperate. And so, he waited for the elderly hound to make his pitch.

“They should have never allowed camera over there. War never looks nice through a lens. I, for one, don’t need a play by play of how many we’ve lost, and where. All we should be hearing is about how we’re winning,” Beauregard said with a huff, blowing a cloud of smoke from his snout as he did. “I’m not surprised, really. Most of the men of character were lost in the great wars, after all. All we have now are cowards who pretend at honor, but wouldn’t know it if it was looking them right in the eye. Cowards, and men looking to make a buck off the young men doing the real work of fighting off the stinking commies. If you ask me, the press is in on it. They’re trying to undermine national morale! They’d be perfectly happy to let a red fleet sail right into San Francisco–they’d broadcast it as a great victory for America!”

He continued on like this for quite some time, and Wade only half listened. He’d heard it all before, after all, the last time he’d been over here for dinner half a year back. Wade generally considered himself to be paid well enough by the army to have patience with men like Beauregard, and he threw in an occasional courteous nod at all the right pauses. It wasn’t polite, after all, to disagree with your guests about that sort of thing in these parts. Civility, after all, seemed to be the only thing holding the country together these days.

Not that Wade was a communist by any stretch. No, Wade was, more than anything else, tired. Tired, jaded by war, sick of sending more and more men away, only for his superiors to demand ever larger quotas from him. It was easier to grow cold to it, to keep your emotions locked up tight. Desperation could be contagious, and he liked his position–besides, he had a family to support. It only bothered him slightly, that the young men he shoved onto the bus each day were only a few years older than his son. More likely than not, he’d get sent off too, just as he had been. War was, more than anything, a business, and Wade was tasked with finding the raw materials to keep the machine humming along, wherever they ended up fighting.

Beau heaved a sigh, and for a moment, Wade wondered if he was finished, and what he might say. Thankfully, he continued, sparing him the effort. “I was one of them, I should say. When I was younger. Idealistic. I thought I knew how things worked. I thought we could all get along. It takes war to understand the world, to understand yourself. I learned that in the world war, as you know.”

Wade nodded. Beau was well known in these parts not only as a fine coonhound of well bred stock (though the rumor that his great parents had been from the same litter was naturally horrible slander, never to be repeated in town, unless you were looking for an invitation to duel) but also as a war hero with a purple heart, and a slight limp to use as an excuse to talk about it. Wade always made sure to thank him for his service, when he saw him. It was both polite, and when he did that, he was less likely to hear the story of his wounding in France yet again. It was dull, mundane, and Wade had heard of far worse injuries from more capable storytellers.

“I want my son to learn it too. He has, so far, refused to enlist, and so I fear I am forced to use…rather extreme measures. I want him on a bus to boot camp tomorrow, Wade, I honestly don’t care if you hogtie him and throw him in with the luggage.”

New You Resolutions (Part 7)

The list that Hugh had in his hand had the following resolutions on it:

  • Instead of gaming, I resolve to spend my time working out, and masturbating to kinky gay porn from now on.
  • I resolve to swap ages with my father, and he will become my son. I will also take over his job and role in life.
  • I resolve to become submissive to my new son, and service his every need and demand, no matter how perverse and humiliating his demands might be.

This had to be a joke–was this some stupid thing his dad had come up with or something? He knew that his dad was pissed at him for not doing something with his life (something that Hugh was in the middle of trying to figure out!) but this weird shit was uncalled for. He stormed upstairs and showed the list to his dad, demanding to know what this was all about, but his dad didn’t seen to have any idea–but that didn’t stop Hugh from getting angrier and yelling at him–at least until Carl shouted at his son to shut the fuck up–and he did.

Hugh tried for a moment to keep talking, but he suddenly felt such a wave of shame at what he’d been saying to his dad, that he couldn’t muster the anger anymore, as his father tore into him, telling him he needed to get his act together, that he needed to grow the fuck up…and he was right. Carl ended the argument by telling Hugh to clean up his room at the very least…and much to their mutual surprise, Hugh…complied. He went downstairs and cleaned his room for the rest of the afternoon, trying to figure out why…he was so hard all of a sudden. He took a break to look at some porn, but the usual sites wouldn’t load for some reason–they kept diverting him to new ones, kinky sites showing muscular men being dominated by smaller guys, and Hugh found himself watching them, obsessed with them, imagining himself a big guy like that getting ordered around by his father…

He shot before he even realized what had happened, and was horrified at the thoughts going through his head–just like the strange list had told him to do. He finished cleaning his room, and tried to start up his game again…but he couldn’t focus. He…needed to get rid of some more energy first, and so he started doing some calisthenics in the basement, until dinner was ready, and then kept working out after dinner too, stopping only to watch more strange videos, and jack off.

He didn’t play video games for days, and then weeks. He found himself drawn back to the gym, lifting weights, wanting to get bigger, and stronger–stronger so he could…could be even more humiliated, like the videos he found himself obsessing over now. His father’s control over him was growing stronger as well, as his dad discovered just how much he could make his son do…and much to Hugh’s horror, he found himself urging his father on, suggesting more and more humiliating things he could make him do. By the end of the school year, Hugh was thick with muscle, and had taken over most of the household maintenance–cooking, cleaning, repairs–doing most of it while only wearing a skimpy set of underwear, his father laughing at how ridiculous he was, before ordering him to give him a foot massage, or suck his cock like a good boy.

Over the summer though, is when the rest of the changes hit. Every few days, his father would lose a year, and Hugh would gain one, and as he grew younger, his father would grow more petulant, and more and more lazy. Soon, the game system was back out, but it was Carl using it now, taunting his son (or brother now, really) with it, telling him that if he worked really hard, maybe he’d let him use it for an hour each week–but Hugh knew there was no chance of that. As he grew older, he only grew larger and larger, even bigger than his dad had been before, but while he could appear imposing, inside…he knew he was weak. He was just a big muscle slut enslaved by his fat, lazy son, and as humiliated as he was by the fact, it also turned him on to no end. Come August, he took over his father’s position as coach at the high school, and the entire role came perfectly naturally to him, like he’d been doing it for years, but seeing all these young sweaty men, all Hugh really wanted was for them all to dominate him, just like his son had. Still, he had the whole school year, right? Maybe…maybe he’d be able to resist. All he had to do was make it to the party at the end of the year, and maybe–maybe he’d be able to convince this company to give him his life back.

Alright, this is the end of the setup–let me know what sort of ending you might like to see for our four characters here. I might not use the winning suggestion for every single character-if some of the other options are popular, I might use those where it makes sense with the characters here. The public poll is below, and the patron only poll can be found here.

Ethan’s Birthday (Part 5)

The rest of the men all gave off a series of grunts, lows and barks in agreement, and Wes stepped away from Ethan, letting him get a better look at himself in the mirrored wall on one side of his bedroom. The horse behind him was still fucked him rough, but the cock was no longer struggling to fit inside him. Ethan could…feel it. Hell, he could see it, when the horse drove in deep, the tip pushing against the inside of his belly. He couldn’t see any flesh remaining on him anywhere–his entire body, inside and out, was coated in the same orange rubber as the mask itself. Wes came closer to add one final touch–he squeezed a big handful of rubber into his hands and slopped it over Ethan’s lower back, pulling and shaping it into a thick fox tail. He gave it a tug, and Ethan let out a surprised mew–he could feel it, suddenly, swish it back and forth, and it felt…right. He felt right.

“Yes, looking good, though you’re still a little…big, I think,” Wes said, laid his hands on Ethan, and he felt the rubber contract, pulling tighter and shrinking, his frame shrinking until he was nearly a foot shorter, just barely cresting five feet tall, and the massive horse leaned over him, grabbed him, and picked him up in his hooved hands, fucking him roughly on his massive cock in the air, Ethan feeling it sliding the entire length of his body to the middle of his chest, his own puny fox cock dribbling its own rubber cum onto the floor. “Better–much better…but you know? I just don’t buy it, you know? Such a slutty fox, and only two holes to use. We can do better than that, can’t we?”

Wes stepped up and started rubbing Ethan’s tight rubber ballsack in his hand, and then started pushing it up against his body. He could feel them shrinking and collapsing in on themselves–it was painful, but also so…delightful, feeling his body manipulated while this horse impaled him. Wes pushed two fingers in, carving out a little indentation below the fox’s puny cock, and then widened it, his balls now gone entirely, a narrow slit replacing them, and Wes pushed in deeper still.

“Yeah, how about that? Now you have a little slutty pussy to go with that tiny little cock of yours. Hey Rover–get over here–let’s put that big red bone of yours to work on this slut’s newest hole.”

The bright red pup bounded over, eager at last for some attention. The horse sat on the side of the bed, and Rover rammed his knot into Ethan’s new pussy, the two cocks meeting in the middle, inside of him, and wave after wave of pleasure washed over Ethan, his body and his mind, pummeling him and his will into submission until at last, he felt a final orgasm over take him, his puny cock spraying a load of bright orange cum in a fountain between him and the dog, still fucking him quickly, and close to orgasm himself.

“Yes, I think you’ll do very nicely,” Wes said, pulling something out from his coat, something of black rubber, and sliding it over his head. It was a mask of his own, solid black with a white stripe running from the top of the forehead down the back. He stripped off the rest of his clothes and revealed a thick black member underneath, stroking it, watching the thick black ooze begin to slide over his body, the musk of him growing even more powerful as he changed, growing even larger than the horse, body thick with muscle and fat. He climbed up and forced the massive cock down the fox’s throat, and the three of them fucked his small frame, stretching and abusing him, and the rougher they were, the more pleasure he got from it. The heady musk in the room was working on all of them, reminding them that they were owned by their master, by this rubber skunk, that even when their bodies had returned to flesh, and even when the masks came off, none of them would be free souls ever again–none of them wanted to be free ever again.

For the next several hours, Ethan was pummelled from all sides, fucked by every animal multiple times, rainbows of rubber cum spewing from every hole he now had, until at last, exhausted, Wes allowed them all to begin to change back. All of them except for Ethan, at least. He remained in his fox form, mewing and growling softly, one hand toying with his tiny cock, while the other sliding into his new pussy, amazed by how sensitive it is. Wes allowed his other animals, now back in their masks, to return to the party, leaving him and Ethan alone. “Now, as for your birthday present, I happen to have a friend with a kennel full of dogs–all of them studs. How would my little fox like to spend the night with them, getting his little pussy filled with the real doggy cum?”

Ethan tried to say something, tried to do anything at all, but at a touch, the rubber coating him had solidified, and was shrinking further, until he was small enough to slip into a pocket–which Wes did, taking his leave. He’d return Ethan home in the morning–probably–if the little fox hadn’t been so mindfucked by the end of his very special birthday to remember he’d ever even been human at all.