That polling site I was using seems to have run into some bandwidth issues! Here’s the new version of the poll on a different site for now, while I figure out what site I’d like to use going forward.
Spook Mart – Part 9 [Interactive]
Ferris looked down at himself, at his new self, and laughed again–and then regained his focus. He needed to work quickly, and precisely, if he wanted to avoid the attention of other…things that were lurking here in the dark. Most of the beings in the dream realm had little interest in mortals–but they were the cause of much of what mortals considered to be their dreams, the energy of this realm bouncing off the mortals memories and thoughts, experiencing dreams like the wake of a boat moving by them. A lucid dreamer, however, can channel their own energy to create dreams, and just like how the closer you are to a wake, the more powerful the waves, an adept lucid dreamer could create dreams powerful enough to change, well, reality.
He wanted to be young again. He wanted to see Ellie again. He wanted to much, but he needed to focus on smaller things, on things he could do now–because the fact was, he didn’t have much experience in any of this. Still, youth was doable, reversing the aging process–but he needed to craft a dream around it, as big of waves as he could manage, waves strong enough to push beyond him into the world and reality beyond.
College, that would be a good anchor. College, an athlete. A good athlete. He focused, recalling his own school years, the tudor style buildings, the large quads, the smell of a locker room, the feel of grass, the sound of laughter and bells in the hals. He could feel it forming around him, and when he opened his eyes, it was there…kind of. He…hadn’t imagined it being dark, or this quiet. A true dark–he looked up, and there were no clouds, and no stars, and no moon–just the yellow sodium lights flickering along the path he was standing on…and there, at the end of the path, there was darkness too, even darker than the dead sky looming over him.
This… wasn’t right. This wasn’t his dream, not entirely, not anymore. He turned around and began walking away, and he heard the darkness shift behind him and come closer. The sound of it, it was so many sounds. Popping bones and claws dragging along concrete. It smelled of mildew and frosty evenings. It felt like a dying sun, slowly collapsing behind him, pulling the ground towards it under his feet. He ran faster, but it was eating, everything. There was only one thing it could be, only one thing that would do this. He tried to wake, did his usual routine to try and force himself to return to himself, but he couldn’t feel the tether. It was there, but cold somehow–not severed, but it was holding onto it. Looking back, he could see it, the thin strand running into the darkness, feel it tugging on it, and he was tugged with it.
This was a night terror. A true night terror. A beast of dreams that could feed on mortals–those who died in their sleep, without explanation? It was, more often than not, this very thing which had killed them. There was no fighting it–it was much, much too powerful, and it was to late to run. It reached out for him, gripping his arm, and it was so cold, so cold it burned him, singed into his soul, and it was…hunting. Hunting for his fears, for his greatest terrors to use against him. It found what it wanted, and they began to grow, feeding off him, expanding beyond him and creating…a new dream. Corrupting this into something else–a trap. Something the terror would use against him, use to keep him here so it could feed of him, and his fright, until he too, likely expired in his bed, unless he was strong enough to withstand it.
For all the world, it felt like he fell asleep yet again, and woke with a sudden start. However, he was not in his dream anymore–not really. He was somewhere else. He reached for his tether, and was relieved that it was still there–if he could keep it together, then at least come dawn, the being would lose its power and would have to release him. But dawn was a long time off, even longer in dreams, and his fears would be…great.
What are the fears driving his new nightmare?
- Humiliation
- Pain
- Beasts
- Filth
- Decay
- Family
- Parasites
- Slavery
Votes will be counted on Sunday sometime!
Arctos: Filters – Episode 2 (Part 2)
When he did wake up again, he felt…so much better, aside from the hangover. Everything about his old self, that old Bruce, was just a distant memory now, and in its place, all he could remember was being this massive, sex obsessed pig. It was like everything that had felt so empty before was full now–full of gluttony, and lust, and other base desires, but at least full. So what if Jean didn’t get it? He didn’t need Jean–he could find plenty of other guys around town eager to use him like the sexy hog he was. He got on the various apps he used for hookups, and less than an hour later he had a guy over to his apartment, begging Bruce for his piggy cock, and already it was better than most of the sex he’d ever had with Jean. Once he was finished with the first, he kept inviting men over, and when he couldn’t find anyone, he’d just sit around and masturbate, thinking about how he wouldn’t have to clean up for him, thinking about how he wouldn’t have to deal with Jean wanting to talk about complicated shit, like feelings, or what Bruce wanted in a relationship. He wanted to fuck, right? But then why, as the days wore on, and he continued his constant sexual conquests with men obsessed with his freakish body…did he keep thinking about him, the entire time? Why was he still so damn angry at him? Why did he…still want him, so damn badly?
After a few days, the sex got old, as it always had before. Everyone wanted to see him as this animal, wanted to either treat him like some mindless beast, or be ravaged by him, but none of them really seemed to give two fucks what Bruce wanted. Sure, maybe he did enjoy ravaging, but was this all he was for people? Just some fucking animal? He knew he was more than that, but no one else saw it–Jean was the first person, he realized, who had seen anything about him beyond the surface, and that…that had terrified him, more than anything else in his whole life, more than the bullying he’d suffered at school, more than the looks of disgust he got on the way to work–the notion that someone might actually care had been too much for him to handle in so many different ways, he’d just lashed out and pushed him away, rather than deal with what he was feeling. Everything felt like a jumble, suddenly. As all of his old problems with his life, and with Jean, as a human had begun to fade away, all of his new past life as a pigman was coming into relief–and he was beginning to wonder if he’d made the right decision after all. Jean…might not have been the sexiest guy, but he’d cared about him, and he’d cooked real good food for him, and…and what if he’d just made the biggest mistake of his whole life, without even realizing it at the time?
The depression hit hard, and fast. The sex dropped off, and instead of finding random men to fuck online, Bruce stayed in his apartment, ordering a different takeout every hour, never once stopping until he was certain he was going to burst. He would look at pictures Jean and him had taken together–sometimes as the real Jean, and other times using the filter profiles Bruce had made for him, his fantasy Jean, a Jean…he hoped might be able to understand all of him–the sexy, wild hog, and the person behind the gruff, abrasive act he’d put on for as long as he could recall. He wondered if he’d be willing to give it a try, just once, to see…how it felt for them both. Maybe he’d understand how much Bruce needed this, even if he didn’t like it. Maybe Bruce could finally manage to show him what Jean wanted to see, to explain everything he’d never had any words for at all…but how could he ever even show his face there again, after making such a mess of things? In the end, he got drunk enough that the terrible idea of going back to Jean and begging him to forgive him sounded better than the idea of going on alone. He had to at least try, after all. He’d try, and Jean would shoot him down, and then…and then, maybe, he’d be able to get on with his own life, and put this awful episode behind him once and for all.
Suggested Story – Halloween Dreams (Prologue and Part 1) | Wesley Bracken on Patreon
For Halloween this month, I’m doing a multipart story for Patrons based off their suggestions from earlier this month. Here’s the little prologue as a teaser! If you’d like to see the first part, and the other parts coming along after it, one dollar a month towards my Patreon will get you access!
It requires the deepest need, and the four of them might not have needed it, but they certainly did want it. It required a target–and thankfully, they had just the sort of place in mind. After all, the local college had plenty of young men for them to target. They agreed on one fraternity in particular, with enough for all of them to enjoy. It required a conduit, something to connect them to the spirits that had the power to fulfill the need–one of them had an old ouija board, and so, the four older, lonely men gathered together, none of them certain that this would work, but too desperate to not at least try.
So they gathered in the dark, at the full moon before Halloween, each with their hands on the planchette, and chanted the incantation together. It turned out that the board wasn’t necessary at all, because the being that heard them, and answered them, was far more powerful than any of them were prepared for. But the demon was intrigued by these four lonely men, found their needs charming, and so easily twisted to its own ends and desires. So it, manifested, waited for the four of them to gather their wits, and they made their request–the request the demon had already seen written on their hearts.
“Young men,” their hearts said, “We desire them, and they do not desire us. Change that. Make them need us as much as we need them.”
The demon accepted their need, and accepted their target. It told them, that the four of them would be have their need granted, but that they must do so by the dawn of All Hallows, or else their souls would be forefit–as though they were not already, but the old men didn’t need to know that yet. With a few drops of blood from each, dropped on the conduit, the pact was sealed, and the demon slipped away into the ether–but not too far away. After all, it didn’t want to miss the show.
After the ceremony, the four men retreated, not feeling particularly different, but the manifestation had been too real to dismiss as fever dream or hallucination. None of them could really look at one another either, though, because the shame of what they had just done had begun to creep in, along with a deep exhaustion. Each of the four retired to their home, and fell into a deep sleep, and in their dreams that night, each of them was visited by the demon, who brought them visions. Deeper visions than any of them had ever witnessed before, deeper, filthier thoughts and desires they had all harbored, but had never wanted to know. Each of them woke late in the morning in cold sweats, their sheets stained with multiple loads of their seed…and they also knew, clearly, without any doubt, what was required of them, if they wanted to fulfill their need.
Suggested Story – Halloween Dreams (Prologue and Part 1) | Wesley Bracken on Patreon
Spook Mart (Part 8) [Interactive]
Ferris had never been much of a dreamer. Rare was the time he had one that he could even recall after waking, and even those that he could recall were never particularly interesting or inspiring. Ellie, on the other hand, had always had vivid dreams, or perhaps it was just her skill in recounting them. Often, over breakfast, she would regale him with tales of journeys and quests, of falling, and monsters and terrors. She never seemed fazed by them, however. When he asked her if she was ever scared, she would often just shrug, and smile at him. Once, she added, “Sometimes, but they are also beautiful.”
He hadn’t known what to make of that, it had seemed so strange, that something could be beautiful and terrifying at the same time. Perhaps he was just feeling sentimental at the time, but when the book on lucid dreaming caught his eyes, he wondered what sorts of things it might have about them. He never imagined that it would do anything for him.
The first couple of chapters were…esoteric. Not unscientific by any means, but also not…well, as soon as he thought it was grounded in something resembling fact, it would spiral off in some other direction. Spirits and astral planes and hypnosis and metabolic restructuring. He didn’t understand much of it…but with each chapter, he began to notice something–he was dreaming.
Every night, he would have these dreams, these impossible visions, and when he woke, he would remember them, and he would cry. He would cry, because all he wanted, was to share them with someone, share with them how…how powerful they made him feel. And he knew then, what Ellie had meant, about the beautiful and the terrifying. Even the most nightmarish things had such a…strange ability to fascinate. He read the book obsessively, and finished it, then he started it again, and the first few chapters began to make more sense. He understood now, that he had more experience, what the book was talking about.
Control came slowly at first, but soon, he was dreaming actively, choosing what he wanted to see, being what he wanted, doing what he wanted, and he was sleeping more and more, pouring over the book when he was awake, especially about those rare times, those spirit times, like Halloween, where the boundaries between waking and sleep begin to fray, ever so slightly, when the impossible becomes possible, when nightmares can walk right out of your mind and into your room–if you aren’t careful, that is. But Ferris would be careful, ever so careful.
Come Halloween, the house was dark, because Ferris was in his room, in his bed, preparing himself. Sleeping, yes, but deeply, deeper than normal people might ever reach, slipping through layers of the self, layers of reality, sliding further and further from his body, almost entirely present in the dream, where anything might be possible–especially tonight. He could feel it, he could feel how powerful he was here, with only a thin strand connecting him to the world, to reality, to his body. It was risky, but the rewards could be…great.
He was in a void–a dark nothing, just himself. He focused, as he had learned, and thought about himself, felt himself, this dream self. It was nothing, made of figments, and yet could be so powerful. He harnessed his imagination, and his body began to shift–losing years, losing weight, nothing too extreme, moving him back into his thirties, as he remembered himself then. Slim with some muscle, but nothing too impressive, a full head of hair again, full of color. He could feel it, sliding back down the tether, back into his body–and it too, was changing, he could feel it! It was working, it was really working. He did a little whoop and a jig where he stood, wondering how much of his fantasies, how much of his dreams he might really want to try to bring back with him. After all, once the alignment faded, some of what he took would fade–but not all of it. But the more he tried to take, the riskier the venture would be.
And one of those risks, as it turned out, had been watching Ferris this whole time, in the void, which was not really a void at all. It was a being of dream–nightmare to some, fantasy to others–it could be many things, and take many forms, but it was mortals that fed it, mortals that it desired, and one had wandered ever so close, naively believing that he was safe here.
What does the dream being have in store for Ferris?
- The being wants to offer him power.
- The being wants to corrupt him into a nightmare.
- The being wants to control him into a thrall.
- The being wants to punish him for his hubris.
Votes will be counted on Thursday!
Arctos: Filters – Episode 2 (Part 1)
For the next few weeks, he managed to keep the desires better under control, only pigging out on rare occasions, usually after having a bit too much to drink. Each time, he would begin with the package from the last time he changed…but each time he did, it never quite felt like enough, and so he started adding more and more filters to the package he’d been curating for himself. He gave into the snout next, but discovered that it did more than just affect him cosmetically. It was much harder to talk–his mouth just didn’t seem to be designed for human words, and it was so much easier (and so much sexier) to just lay around the house grunting, oinking and squealing his way to orgasm after orgasm. One night, in a drunken haze, he went and added a thick brass ring in his pig nose as well, and the sensation of it tugging down on the end of his snout was so hot, he went and added rings in both of his ears, and in his nipples as well. Out of curiosity one night, he decided to swap out the fat filter he’d been using for one that was even larger–and also decided to make himself a bit taller. The result was him growing to almost seven feet tall, weighing close to 600 pounds, listening to the floor creak underneath him as he lumbered to and fro, snorting, groping for his now slightly too small cock–but he fixed that too, his piggy member growing to almost ten inches long. He found a barnyard musk filter, and soon he was smelling like he’d been rolling around in muddy manure all day long–and the stink turned him on even more, made him long to be in a real puddle–longing for….someone. No matter how much he changed, though, no matter how extreme he pushed himself, something was always missing. He would turn the filters he’d used on Jean’s photo back on, and just scroll through, fantasizing about having a big, butch farmer to fuck his piggy hole, roll him around in the mud, collar him, chain him on all fours, treat him like the animal he deserved to be.
And then, in the morning, he would usually wake up with a hangover, still in his piggy form, take all the filters off, hating how…ashamed he was of this human body now, and he would go to work, and go see Jean, and just feel…miserable. He was so focused on himself, and his own strange obsession with the pig he’d begun to identify with, that he didn’t notice Jean losing patience with him. For a month or so, Jean took a softer tack. He could tell something was wrong, that as much as his boyfriend tried to tell him there wasn’t anything going on with him–he was clearly lying. Bruce was distracted and morose. He would be non-responsive, and then something minor would set off an inexplicable tirade of anger. He couldn’t read him–and he was no longer sure that he even wanted to know. Why was he putting all of this effort into a man who clearly had no real interest in being honest with him?
As Bruce found himself falling back into his obsession, he began to cling tighter to Jean as a reference point to himself, but Jean was already pulling away. Where Bruce had seemed mysterious and thoughtful, all he saw now was someone with no self-awareness, and no capacity for a mature relationship. Just as Bruce was beginning to think he could make this relationship work with Jean for the long run–Jean pulled the rug out from under him and broke up the next time they got together. He was so stunned, he didn’t know what to do about it, or what to say, or even what to feel, as Jean ran down the list of reasons why he didn’t think Bruce was ready for a relationship, and why Jean didn’t want to bother helping him learn. Bruce could only sit there, listening to Jean describe someone else. Someone he’d come to hate as well, someone he’d never understood. He just wished that he could just get away, back to his apartment where he could get drunk, turn on his filters, and be who he really wanted to be. Be the pig he was coming to think he really was, on the inside. Jean was surprised by how little push back he got from Bruce, as he explained his reasoning. He didn’t seem to care–and to Jean, that only served to cement for him that leaving him was the right decision.
Bruce left as soon as he could find an opportunity, and on the way home, everything Jean had told him just…didn’t seem to matter to him in the slightest. Maybe everything he’d said was true, maybe it wasn’t. It didn’t really matter, in the end, because all of Jean’s complaints weren’t about him, not really. They were about a man, about the man he’d been, but this had clarified something for him–Bruce didn’t want to be that man anymore. Nothing about the way he’d been made any sense to him anymore–the only time he felt complete was when he had those filters on, when he was a pig. A real pig. He knew it was impossible though. He knew he could never really be that pig, and he knew that being that pig couldn’t possibly solve all of his problems overnight. He got home, and started drinking. A few beers in, he turned on his filters and sat down on the couch, listening to it creak under his heft, groping his slimy cock and scrolling through pictures of him and Jean–and then he started digging into the app a bit further.
Underneath the settings, he found what he was looking for–reset default form. He clicked it, and a warning window popped up, telling him that if he reset his defaults, the filters he currently applied would become more detailed and fleshed out as they were fully incorporated into reality–but that once the choice was made, there was no going back. While he might be able to use other filters to get back to something close to who he’d been–it would be gone forever. His memories, too, would disappear or become faint. More like a half-remembered dream. This would be him, forever. He would finally get to be the pig he knew he wanted to be…but what if he didn’t really want this? Did it matter? He wanted it more than who he’d been, he knew that. He could always be something else, later, after all. All he really knew, was that he was done being this particular human, forever. Still, he wavered for a couple hours, and didn’t work up the courage to do it until after a few more beers. He didn’t remember much about the process–just a splitting headache, the sensation of the world twisting around him…and when it was finished, he didn’t feel…particularly different. Or at least, no different than he usually felt. Then, he passed out, snorting and snoring on the couch, and he didn’t get up until the early afternoon the next day.
Spook Mart (Part 7) [Interactive]
Jules…was feeling odd. He’d been feeling odd for a while now–he thought about just saying he was drunk, but this wasn’t quite the same thing as being just, drunk. No–he didn’t feel drunk, not exactly. He felt dumb, and…and aggressive, and horny, and not at all like himself at the moment, not at all. There was something wrong with him, something he couldn’t quite pin down, and there was also something wrong with the beer he’d been drinking all night, but Jules didn’t know that.
The Cave Aged IPA had sounded interesting, and certainly packed a punch, but now that the bottle was finished and he was trying to figure out why he felt so strange…and he wondered if he needed to puke. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d done so–hell, the frat had found him passed out a few times in there as a freshman, so this wouldn’t be a first at all, but usually he had better control of himself, but as soon as he got in there, he realized that control was something he didn’t have much of at all, as his cock released a blast of piss, wetting the front of his costume, running down his legs, and pooling at his feet.
He snorted up the smell, and it triggered something in his mind, and he grunted. It smelled…not good, but right. He…He was marking his territory, it was good that things smelled like him. He turned to look at the mirror, squinting at his face, trying to recall it. His brow…shouldn’t be that heavy, should it? Or his mouth that wide? There was definitely too much hair, and he gave the side of his head a scratch, trying to focus. Something…was wrong. He was wrong. Clothes…why was he wearing these clothes? They were so tight, and so constricting. He pawed at them, trying to figure out the snaps and buttons and zippers, but all they did was frustrate them, and so, with few grunts he just started tearing them off, at least, the ones he wasn’t growing out of. His shoes burst before he could figure out the laces, and he wiggled his massive toes and huge feet, heavily calloused and smelling…wonderful, snorting in his own scent that was filling the small bathroom, and his…cock was so hard, all of a sudden, but that wasn’t what mattered. What mattered, in his fading mind, was that something was wrong, that he needed help from someone.
He stumbled out of the bathroom, crouching now, and went to the next room where he head people talking, but when he opened it…what he found weren’t people at all, not really. Two pig men, frat bros as well, whose costumes and room had been laced with pork powder were rutting on the bed, their fat frames jiggling, oinking and squealing, and seeing them fuck was making Jules hard–and as he got hard, the worry and concern left with them, and he…he wanted to fuck too.
The two pigs were more than happy to let the caveman join in, though Jules was more interested in dominating than just fucking. The two pigmen didn’t mind in the least–they wanted nothing more to have their holes filled, preferably with food, but cock would do in a pinch. But as Jules fucked them, the powder on the two pigs, and on their bed and clothes, began to rub off on him as well–and a curious reaction took hold of him, as he changed again.
His skin became a rough hide. Two tusks erupted from his mouth as the rest of his teeth flattened slightly. His cock warped, but not as much as the two pigs’ cocks had. It no longer looked human though, and it was massive, easily a foot long, with a thick foreskin covering a tapered cock head. His fingers fused into three thick trotter like fingers, and the toes of his massive feet turned into hard trotters as well. With every thrust into the pigs’ holes, the more his human mind retreated, until he was nothing more than an animal–and after a few hours, the pigmen lost all sense of their human selves as well, happy to keep rutting with their filthy, massive caveman master. Shortly before dawn, the three of them left the house, two massive boars and their hulking pigman master, all of them eager to add a few more pigs, boars and hogs to their stable.
Part 3 – Halloween Alone
It had always been his favorite holiday, Halloween. Dressing up in costumes as a kid, the parties in college…but while it still had a certain charm, Ferris was a bit too old for any of that now, especially now that his kids were grown up and out of the house, and especially since Ellie had passed on a few years before. He still decorated the house of course, though not as much as some people did, but usually it was a quiet night in, passing out candy, reading by the fire. Still, he hadn’t seen this store before, and it piqued his curiosity–Spook Mart. It wasn’t the largest store, or the most high end, but it had a surprising amount of charm–and quite a few brands of products he’d never seen before. It was also the first Halloween store he’d been in that had a section of books to sell!
Some of them were obvious–pumpkin carving, house decorating, horror stories–but some of the others were much more fantastic, and hard to believe even existed. They all had to be joke books, there was no other real explanation, and yet…he was still delightfully intrigued, but when he tried to open one up to read it, the shopkeeper appeared behind him and smacked his hand, telling him reading was only allowed after he’d bought it. The old fellow had gusto, Ferris had to give him that. So he picked the one he found the most interesting, bought it, took and home and started to read.
Come Halloween night, however, Ferris’ home was dark, and there was no candy to be found. Ferris had…learned something. Something vital, and was occupied with something quite a bit more important. Something that was going to change his life forever.
This is the third story arc in the Spook Mart series, and probably the last of them. What sort of book did Ferris buy, and decide to try out before Halloween?
- Demon Summoning for Dummies
- Working With Portals: Your Ticket to the Outer Planes
- Lucid Dreams: Control Your Mind, and Control Your Sleep!
- The Magic of Time: Alternate Pasts, Alternate Futures
Votes will be counted on Sunday!
Spook Mart (Part 6)
Harrison loved Halloween–mostly because it was an opportunity to grind himself up against as many scantily clad women as possible, whether they liked it or not–but to be honest, there weren’t many who didn’t. After all, Harrison was a proper alpha male, as far as he was concerned–with an eight inch cock to boot, and the skill to use it. This Halloween he was showing off all of it, wearing a slightly too tight wrestling singlet and not much else, and he was getting so much attention he wasn’t paying attention to much else–he went to the fridge to grab a beer for himself, and grabbed something else instead–an odd soda pop in an odd looking can. He popped the top and took a sip, then grimaced–it was so damn sweet! He never drank pop–that shit could ruin a physique faster than anything else, but once he’d gotten one sip of it…it was kind of good. As he danced around in the living room, he finished it, determined he’d only have just one and then go back to light beer, like usual.
Instead, he found himself at the fridge, digging around for another soda–he just wanted one more, and one more couldn’t hurt. Besides, he was pissed off–Amy had just told him he stank, after he tried to dance with her, but whatever–he knew he smelled great, he always did. He did find another soda like the one before, and started slugging it down, but the more he drank, the less he felt like dancing–the less he felt like moving at all, really. In fact, all he was really feeling was, well, hungry. The house had ordered plenty of pizza of course, but Harrison had already eaten his one slice…but a few more couldn’t hurt. He started stuffing himself, the other guys from the frat laughing as they walked by, wondering who in the world had invited the fat ass–and what sort of balls he must have had, to come wearing a wrestling singlet of all things.
Harrison, mostly, was just confused. Confused by how hungry he was, confused about why the musk rolling off his pits was making him so damn horny, confused about why he just wanted to take a few of those sodas to his room, load up some porn and jack off for the rest of the night…but then, it wasn’t that confusing at all, and so he did just that, sitting alone, jacking off for a solid hour before his roommate, a cleanfreak by the name of Eric, came up with a potential conquest, and assumed their room was free. He opened the door, and gagged at the stench inside, the girl he was with running off immediately. He grabbed for the air freshener he usually kept by the door and sprayed it all over–at least until he heard the scream inside, and turned on the light.
There at his desk, wearing nothing at all (since the singlet had long since lost the battle with Harrison’s exploding frame) was a four hundred pound slob, covered in greasy hair with a thick beard, hand around his sizable cock, jacking off to the nastiest porn he’d been able to find on the internet–or at least, he had been. He’d spun around in his chair when he’d heard the door open, and the air freshener Eric had sprayed had been replaced by the nerds with…something else–a living latex spray, which was no coating a wide swath of Harrison’s large frame.
“What the fuck is this shit?” Harrison said, trying to wipe it off with his filthy hands, but he only succeeded in coating himself in more and more of it, and the liquid rubber seemed to be spreading all over his body as he sat there.
“Who the fuck are you?” Eric said at him, but by the time the words were out, Harrison couldn’t reply–the rubber had covered his mouth–all he could do was try and scream, until he was completely coated–and then relaxed as the rubber began to…shift, and squirm, conforming to Harrison’s body, and his new desires–and then the massive rubber drone stood up from the chair, and took a hesitant step towards Eric.
Before Eric could run, a tube where Harrison’s cock had been snaked out and forced itself into Eric’s mouth, the rubber sticking to the inside of his mouth–dragging him closer to the drone as other tubes began to emerge from the stink drone–from Harrison’s pits, from his ass, from his feet, all designed to collect his stench and feed it directly to Eric’s struggling body. Eric fought for a while, at least until the pleasure centers in his mind were rewired–and then he started to jack off, while the drome began to feed him its putrid concoction distilled from Harrison’s body, bloating up Eric with fat, warping his body’s chemistry to be even stinkier, and eroding his mind until a few hours later, when the rubber hood retreated from him, he was nothing more than a disgusting, fat slob, just like Harrison had been–and then the drome abandoned the new slob to jack off in his room, and went to go find other young men it could corrupt in the house.
Spook Mart (Part 5)
I tabulated the results, and I’m going to use the top six pranks to create three short vignettes from the party–hope you enjoy them over the next few days!
The guys in the house could just be a bit much sometimes. Sure, the partying was great, usually, but Blake could only take it so long before he needed a second on his own. He stepped out of the house and onto the back porch of the frat house, and shivered a bit. His costume, a gladiator, wasn’t exactly layered or well insulated, and he wouldn’t be able to stand the cold fall evening for too long, but that was alright, he just needed a breather.
But on the table out there, he spotted something odd–a package of cigars sitting beside the ashtray the bros usually used when they were smoking, but to Blake’s knowledge, none of them had ever smoked cigars–well, no one other than him. His dad smoked them, and he’d taught Blake how to do so after his high school graduation as a rite of passage, and he’s smoked them with his dad and uncles during summers past–but in all honesty, he could use one. They always gave him a bit of a boost, and he could smoke one for a bit before going back to the party.
He unwrapped one, bit off the cap since he didn’t have much of a choice, and used the matches there to light it. It was…stronger than the ones his dad smoked, and he coughed a bit after getting it burning–but it was good. It was exactly what he needed, in fact. He took a seat at the table and took a deeper draw–he usually only boy scouted it and never inhaled, but this time…it felt right. He pulled the smoke down into his lungs, feeling warmth spread through him, and sighed, smoke curling out of his nose and down his front, not noticing the facial hair beginning to fill in around his lips and mouth where the cigar smoke landed.
He lost track of time, he was enjoying his smoke so much–that, and he was feeling pretty horny, but not for pussy, like he usually felt. No, he wanted…something else, but couldn’t quite put his finger down on it, at least until Garth came out onto the porch looking for him. But the man in the gladiator costume wasn’t Blake–or at least, not the Blake he remembered. No, he was a stranger now, with a thick, salt and pepper beard, a hefty gut covered in fur, balding severly, and eyeing Garth hungrily while he groped his own cock openly. That, Blake thought, was a handsome looking boy–that’s what he was craving, what he wanted was to fuck a boy. Was to fuck his boy.
He told the boy to come over and help his daddy out, but Garth was having none of that, and he retreated back into the house. Blake, with a growl, heaved his much heavier frame up and followed after him, somehow knowing that if he could feed the boy a few lungfuls of daddy smoke, he’d be…his, for good. Garth ended up retreating upstairs, and Blake followed after him–in Garth’s room, they struggled a bit, Garth slowly succumbing to the daddy’s smoke–at least until he jostled his dressed where one of the nerds had stashed a baby bomb. It fell off and exploded, consuming them both in the cloud of choking baby powder, and as they tried to wave it away, they both became a bit woozy, and couldn’t quite remain standing the way they had been.
When the dust cleared, neither of them was wearing the costumes they’d had on–instead, all the two of them were wearing were big, fluffy diapers around their waists. As much as they tried, neither of them could seem to get the diaper off–they were just too weak all of a sudden. Garth felt a sudden pressure in his peepee, and before he could do anything about it, he flooded his diaper with a massive load of piss, and it felt…good. So good, he didn’t think twice about filling the back with a load of shit as well. He sat down in it, feeling it squish around, stuck his thumb in his mouth and rubbed his hard peepee through the front of the diaper, knowing he was being a good little boy.
Blake resisted a bit longer, tried to talk Garth into his senses, but his words just wouldn’t come out right. Everything was garbled together, and he couldn’t form sentences more than a few words long. Then, he too pissed in his diaper, and let out a laugh, and in a few more minutes, they were both reduced to dumb babies with full diapers, rubbing each other’s peepees through their diapers, wondering where their daddy might have gone to.
In the end, after filling their diapers with a load of cum each, they crawled off to search for one–and for some milk. Babies needed milk to grow, after all, and the best milk came from…men. From cocks. They did find one after a while, pinning a frat boy down and sucking him off, the risidual powder from the babies warping his mind, convincing him that he was the daddy of them both–and after sucking down one the rest of baby daddy’s cigar, he looked like one too.
Arctos: Filters – Episode 1 (Part 4)
Jacking off had never felt like this before. Every stroke was so thrilling, and his heavy balls were throbbing with excitement. He didn’t last long, and after a few minutes, he was spraying his piggy cum all over the floor in his apartment, feeling the orgasm building inside of him, and it just kept coming. Wave after wave of pleasure washing over him, overwhelming his mind and his sensation, and he sprawled out on the couch, enjoying the feeling of his body settling around him, enjoying just…being a pig, for once. Being a pig like…like he should be, right? Like he wanted to be.
Was this just something he’d always wanted without even realizing it? Or was it just that being this…empty and simple felt so much better than anything else he’d felt before? No one would expect him to be anything special, not like this–not even Jean. Jean–he didn’t know what to feel about him now, especially after their nice day today…or what had been a nice day. Suddenly he was feeling a bit…differently about it. About how Jean just didn’t understand him, and what he needed. Sure he was sexy…if that’s what you were looking for in a guy, but Bruce wasn’t sure if that was what he was looking for at all, really. It hadn’t been enough to get him off today at least. He tried telling himself that the dissatisfaction he was feeling was different, but to this version of himself…it was just how things had happened. He’d had a decent day with a nice enough boyfriend who he wasn’t that attracted to, who wasn’t that attracted to him, and…why was he even with him in the first place?
He opened up the filter app again, and started scrolling through it, but he wasn’t quite sure what he was looking for. He took a look at himself with a pig snout, thought about adding it to the package, but hesitated. It seemed like…a dangerous idea, even if he did look damn good in it. Then, as he was looking through some old pictures of him, all of which were modified by his new piggish self, he scrolled past a picture of Jean and him taking a selfie–and the program recognized his boyfriend’s face as a target.
Curious, he pulled up the photo and added a filter, only for the app to display a warning message. While he could test filters on a photo, and create packages for use later, no filter applied to an old photo would be effective on the subject. Filters could only be applied to real life by taking a live photo. That piqued his interest–and he started by taking the pig package he’d applied to himself, and put it on the picture of Jean.
In a moment, the photo of his slim, good looking boyfriend had morphed into one that looked quite a lot like him–floppy ears, a second chin, the hint of a fatter chest at the bottom of the selfie. It was hot, sure, but was it quite what he was looking for? He thought back to their sex earlier, how Jean had fucked him (was that what had happened? Part of him could remember topping…but bottoming was more his thing, right?) but it just hadn’t been enough, really. Dick a bit too small, and not nearly…rough enough. No, what he wanted was someone who knew how to ride a pig’s ass properly. He took the filters off, and then looked around on his phone until he found a different picture of him alone, a full body one of his standing in the kitchen cooking a big meal for Bruce (that was one saving grace, the skinny fuck sure could cook!) and then started looking through the filters again, this time thinking about what he’d like to see.
He added some weight first, and then a bit of muscle, giving him a thick, powerlifter physique. Next hair. He toyed with a few filters, but kept adding more, until he had a thick layer down his arms, over his shoulders, and down his ass (along the way, he’d found a filter to edit out clothing, and found a much nicer view after that). A new cock, eight inches long, and uncut. Better, but it could be more than better. He needed a man who knew what a pig wanted, after all. He found the lifestyle filters he’d noticed before, scrolled down until he found one called Farmer John, and applied it–and this time the entire photo shifted.
Instead of a small apartment kitchen, Jean was now standing in a spacious kitchen in a house, somewhat worn down, but still nice. Jean himself had a few changes, but nothing too noticeable–dirt on his hands, his beard a bit longer and knotted, and when he removed the clothes filter, his shirt and jeans were replaced by overalls and a flannel shirt. Fuck, seeing that had his piggy cock leaking all over his belly and thighs, and he started stroking himself again, scrolling through, finding other pictures of his boyfriend, and the filters carried over. Now, in every picture where his young, slim city boyfriend had been, instead there was a hulking muscle bear farmer…and it wasn’t long before Bruce was shooting again, imagining Jean behind him, plowing his ass, telling him what a good pig he was in that sexy country drawl he could almost imagine…but not quite.
The pleasure ebbed, and in its place was restlessness, shame, and disgust. He took the filters off, not noticing they were saved as a package when he did, and then also took the filters off himself as well. It wasn’t possible. He wasn’t a pig, not really, and Jean…Jean didn’t deserve that, did he? He took a shower, still felt dirty afterwards, and then climbed into bed and tried to sleep, but couldn’t get comfortable. It took him an hour of flopping back and forth to realize it was because he was trying to accomodate a gut that wasn’t there, and the frustration came roaring back, but he refused to give in, and eventually slept–though it wasn’t restful, and he awoke in the morning, dimly recalling he’d dreamt of a big, burly farmer fucking him in a mud puddle, and wondered if he was ever going to feel normal again.
Bracken's Corner 