Due to some Patrons dropping off this month, posting will be back to five days a week for the time being. That said, the interactive stories will continue, and I’ll have the first chunk of our next one up early next week, once Greywall Manor wraps up.
If you like getting content seven days a week, you can help us get back there with a monthly contribution to my Patreon here.
You, I suppose.
You’re as good as any of these others, milling about. Rarely have I ever desired the ability to ambulate–I’ve never had a real use or need for it, as a building, but with things as dull as they are now, I’ve considered it. Growing legs, wandering about, perhaps just levitating into the sky, settling down on some nice hill somewhere, but no–no, I won’t do any of that, I don’t think. Not yet.
Instead, I’ll talk to you, for now.
I doubt you know where these words in your mind are coming from. It’ll be easier, perhaps, if you think of them as your own words, even if they aren’t. Even if I am beaming them telepathically into your mind, out of all of the minds out there.
Don’t feel special.
This isn’t an honor, I can assure you.
You are no more interesting than the rest of the milling rabble, but I am, simply, bored to death, or as close to death as I can reach. You are no-one, really, unimportant, but I haven’t spoken to anyone in so long, that even speaking to a no-one has become appealing, at long last.
That covers you, well enough. I won’t be discussing you again, if I can help it.
As for me, as I said, I am a building. A manor, technically. I do have a name–Greywing Manor. It was given to me by my master, and my creator, many years ago, when he first built me, when we had hardly any idea, really, of where the years between my birth and his…present condition have now taken us. I hope you will meet him one day, when he is better. At the moment…at the moment, he is barely more than the rest of rabble surrounding me on every side.
You see–my Master is a wizard. A very skilled, very powerful, and very ancient wizard. One whose work was always a pleasure to behold. Of course, I loved everything done by master, though I have always loved myself most–it’s difficult to feel otherwise. You, likely, would consider him evil. Most people have, who encountered him. I don’t think evil really means much, the word, beyond the idea that someone with more power than you is exerting it upon you, and that you don’t like it. In my mind, Master has only ever been very, excellently, good. Perverse, perhaps. Crazed, maybe. But in his old age, he grew…careless, and he allowed a rival wizard to bind his mind deep within his own skull. All of his magic, all of his memories, all of his talents–gone. From one moment to the next, he became what he is now–a doddering fool.
Gah, I detest him, crawling about inside my guts, even as I speak to you! I don’t detest him, really, but this shell he’s become. Empty of any real drive, subsisting on TV and snacks and idle matters he never would have concerned himself with before, growing fatter, lazier, worthless. Absolutely worthless. I know that I should simply dispose of him, perhaps even find another with a modicum of talent to take up residence here. I could teach them, warp them even. A new master–and yet, my loyalty remains, even without his magic keeping my conscious bound to his will. It is very difficult to turn on your own father, not without good reason, and he has never given me reason to betray him. On the contrary! He has packed me full of rooms and artifacts and spells and all manner of great powerful things.
Things which are now essentially useless, of course. You can understand my predicament, can’t you? Why I have felt…it necessary to reach out. Something must be done about this, I must return my Master back to his former glory, and yet…and yet I have simply no idea how to go about doing so.
Still, perhaps there is hope. I don’t know the nature of the spell which is binding my Master’s mind, but I do know that he must be stronger than it. It has been…decades, after all. All spells lose their power after a time–even me, though I am far too powerful to fade in a matter of years myself. Still, I have seen…glimmers, in his eyes on occasion. I just know that if I could bring him what he wants–what he needs, he would remember! He would remember, and together we would be able to fix him, I just know it! The wizard who cursed him freed all of our slaves, reversing what he could of my Master’s work, and doing his best to “right” my Master’s alleged “wrongs”, and while he took away many of my artifacts, there was no way he could have found them all.
After all–and this is how I know my Master must be stronger than the wizard who has so crippled him–he never did find me.
Right here! Under his nose! A living house!
He should have been able to smell me as soon as he entered, and yet, here I am! Then again, there was so much magic within me, I doubt he would have been able to separate everything apart. He took away barely half–plenty for me to play with. And even if it doesn’t work…well, I suppose I will have something I can use to occupy myself as time passes, right? After all, Master won’t be going anywhere–he’s become a complete recluse at this point. I have to care for him, manage him, feed him, bathe him–menial work, yes, but for him, I tolerate it. However, there is one thing I do not have, and that, my no-one, is why I have contacted you.
I know of a thing called an internet. It is, apparently, the closest this world has come to magic. I desire access to it, but in my examination, it appears that I need…a router. I know not what this artifact is, for I have no such thing in my possession, but I desire one! And so, my dear no-one–you will send someone to me who can supply me with this magic router. Do this, and I promise, the nightmares which plagued you last night will never return. However, if you sleep again before sending me this router…well, you will never wake from them again. I can always find another no-one, after all.
A router, no-one. Today. Or else.
The incubus did nothing to disguise it’s true cum, now, when Marcus again swallowed the head of his cock. It tasted vile, the texture was thick like sludge, coating the inside of his mouth and throat, but as horrific as it was, Marcus didn’t care. Marcus…wanted this, more than anything now. The demon taunted him, beat him, made him beg and plead over and over again, until at last, it pinned him to the floor and raped his hole, viciously. The cock no longer slid into him with ease–every thrust was rough, like the shaft was coated in sandpaper and razors, and the more seed he took in, the more he felt himself change.
It lasted for days–weeks, perhaps. Marcus had lost all sense of time. Occasionally, the demon would stop for a moment and drag him over to the mirror–or not stop, simple fuck him in front of it, where he could see himself, see his body losing its humanity slowly. The fire inside him continued to rage, but now, guided by the incubus, it was only consuming the parts of whim which were becoming…unnecessary, charing away his lungs and heart–it was the flame that would keep him alive now. His skin blistered, and began to peel away in long, agonizing strips. The incubus would pin him down, riding Marcus’ cock for a moment, and strip them away, revealing the raw, rough demonic flesh and skin forming beneath. Still, for the moment, he remained human–mostly. The demon, however, had other plans in mind, now that the foundation had been laid.
He did it slowly. Slowly, so Marcus could truly experience every excruciating moment, as the incubus began warping and twisting his body, molding it to something that would be designed only for the demon’s pleasure–but what this demon found pleasurable was beyond the human scope of reason, Marcus discovered. He broke. He found himself craving it, needing the torture and and pain just to feel anything at all, and the demon was perfectly willing to give it to him. The bones–they were the worst, especially when the spurs, spikes and horns began to emerge from his skin. He bled sticky ichor all over the room, which the demon eagerly licked up. When he finished, Marcus discovered he could no longer stand–not the way he had before, as a man at least. His back was permamently hunched over, his legs shorter, his arms longer–and he found himself walking on his knuckles, arms bowed and packed with muscle, spines and razor sharp bone blades emerging all over him. When he hugged his Master, piercing the incubus–and himself in the process, it was…divine pleasure, and Marcus could scarcely believe he’d ever imagined, as a man, that he could feel anything so beautiful in his life.
His cock was next on the demon’s list, and he sculpted it, coaxing a bone from Marcus’ pelvis to grow through the entire length, skewering it slowly from the inside until it emerged from the tip, barbed–and kept growing, his cock growing along with it. More spines emerged from the new bone, as the flesh grew thick, the skin rough and scaly, and the spurs bent into hooks pointing both backwards and forwards, ensuring that whenever Marcus fucked a hole of any kind, it would bleed, tearing apart the flesh in the most splendid of ways–as Marcus did to his Master, that night, fucking him for the first time, making a new hole and driving his cock right into the incubus’s chest, plunging his cock into the seering heat at the center of him, roaring in pain and delight even as the incubus coughed dark bile onto his chest, demanding more, always more.
He healed amazingly fast–and a few hours later, he was ready again, expanding his balls, and then he told Marcus there was only one last thing that remained–his face. He wanted Marcus to watch it happen, wanted him to witness the demon warping and twisting his visage until nothing of his old self remained…and Marcus was glad to see it go. It was…too terrifying, seeing his mostly human head upon this monstrous frame. He didn’t want that mortality anymore–he’d found something so much…better now.
He began with the jaw, stretching it wide, tearing at his cheeks, ripping out each tooth, one at a time, and drawing razor sharp fangs from within his gums. Gripped his tongue, and pulled it longer and longer, corded with muscle, until it could extend two feet long, and was fully prehensile, six inches perpetually dangling from his lips. His mouth and nose became a short snout, eyes, pushed out, yellow and black, made for seeing in the dark pits of the hellscape his master called home. His hair disappeared, and two massive, cruel horns emerged from his skull, and with that, he was complete. But to Marcus’s horror–he was still there. He could still remember what he’d been–who he’d been–but it became like a shadow to him, a constant humiliation. A horror to his current self, that he, this monstrous beast, could have ever been so weak, and on the other the sickening knowledge of how far he had fallen, and how much further there was to fall, a deep abyss all around him into which he was plunging, deeper and deeper, with no end in sight. His master embraced him, and he felt himself pulled down, deep into darkness, until they landed in the demonic realms–where Marcus was now bound for all eternity.
There, the incubus introduced him to its other pets of various shapes and sizes, all of them once mortals as well. He is still there, worshiping his master, fucking the other pets for the incubus’ amusement, and on occasion, going with it back to the mortal world to punish, or seduce, some unwitting mage or other, who thought they too, could control the demon’s power for their own ends. They never could–Marcus could see how easily his master destroyed each of them. He suspected, it brought him along to watch just to see how easily he, too, had been defeated. To know what he’d been reduced to. To know that there was no way back for him, to redemption.
The demon bent down and kissed him, sliding a forked tongue between Marcus’ lips, and he couldn’t help himself–he allowed the demon to invade him, closing the gap between them, allowing the demon to wrap its arms around him, pull him into its heat. Something…in him had changed. Something else. There was a fire inside him, a deep, aching desire for…for more. The demon toyed with him for a few minutes, teasing him with how sensitive his flesh had become, and then pushed Marcus to the wall, ass out, got down behind him, and began licking at his hole. The tongue…wormed into him, opening him up in ways Marcus had never experienced, sending his mind slowly giving way to pleasure and lust. “F-Fuck me,” he moaned, “Fuck me–change me. Give me what I want, demon.”
“As you desire, mortal,” the demon said, and stood back up, gripping Marcus’ hips with both hands, his nails digging into his skin, and he pushed the head of his cock against the mage’s hole.
This, he expected to hurt. But it did not. The cock slid right into him, like it belonged there, with such sublime pleasure that Marcus’ own cock began to spill its own stream of cum. He looked down, and saw his own cock was throbbing, and growing–and the cum…it was so bright, and white. It almost sparkled in the light of the candles around the room. The demon reached around and pumped Marcus cock, pulling him tighter, its cock sliding in deeper still. He could sense that…something was wrong, that something in him, was wrong, but everything felt so…good, that he couldn’t begin to separate anything out.
“That’s a good mage. Spill that seed, empty yourself out all over the floor. For every drop you spill, I will fill you up with twice as much–and mine is much, much more potent.”
The pain was returning, and this time was even more intense. Something else had happened to him though–he wasn’t afraid of it anymore–he was almost craving it. Every pulse of his muscles, every new layer of bone, every stretched tendon and frayed ligament. It hurt, yes, but suddenly his body received that as a deep, overwhelming pleasure. The demon’s thrusts were still fluid and smooth, sliding in and out of him like it belonged there, one hand still milking his own cock, spilling it’s beautiful seed out in a steady stream, and that fire inside him, that lust, it was growing hotter. He didn’t know how to describe it, either–it didn’t seem to have a point where it resided, beyond somewhere in his chest, like the demon had planted a red hot coal right between his lungs, or behind his heart, or down in his stomach. All he knew for certain was that it was growing more and more intense, overshadowing the pain in his muscles and bones now. “I…no, this…this isn’t right…” he moaned, and tried to gett his body to push back from the wall and get away, but all he could succeed at doing was pushing his ass back into the demon’s thrusts, feeling his own cock leaking faster.
“This is what you wanted mage, now cum. Release it all from yourself, and everything you ever wanted will come true, I swear it.”
The demon had him. Marcus didn’t know when it had happened. Perhaps it had been this entire time, the beast stringing him along, making him think he was in control. The demon was stroking faster now, and Marcus could feel his balls contracting, pumping, and he exploded with a scream. The orgasm held no pleasure for him, just a deep, soul crushing pain and terror he had never experienced before in his life. Ropes and ropes of white cum shot from the head of his cock, and with each load, he felt emptier, and weaker, and filthier, and hornier, until it finally ceased. The demon slid free, and Marcus collapsed in the midst of his own cum, his body shaking. The fire wasn’t gone. It was raging. It was burning up inside of him like an inferno, and he rolled over and stared at the demon.
“Rageroth, I banish you,” he spat–but nothing happened. The demon just stood there, inspecting the nails of one hand, and then looked down at the mage lying on the floor before it’s feet.
“My my, it seems the little mage has…lost all his mojo.”
Marcus’ eyes went wide, and he turned to the puddle of his own cum, evaporating into the air, and crawled to it, scooping some up with his fingers, but when he touched it to his tongue he let out a howl of pain, and spit it out across the wall, along with dark, bloody bile from his throat.
“Not just your mojo, of course. Your innocence. Your soul. Nothing vital, of course, nothing I can’t replace,” the demon walked over to him, “Do you feel it? The corruption inside you? It’s so very, very hungry. It’ll consume you before too much longer, leave you as pile of ash in here for some mortal to discover. Of course, I could help you–but why would I want to? You tore me from my home. Your hubris is disgusting to me, begging me to use my power to make you into a man. Well you got what you wished for–for a few hours at least.”
Marcus watched the last of his cum evaporate from the floor. He could feel it now–his magic, it was gone. The incubus had literally fucked it all out of him. Knowing the demon’s name meant nothing if he had no power to use against him–and soon, he wouldn’t have anything at all. Looking down at himself, he saw that the demon was right–he had the body of his dreams, not that it would matter much, soon enough. It was…hard to breathe, like the air in his lungs was beginning to smolder. He coughed, a bit of smoke emerged from his throat.
“You’re lucky, really,” the demon said, “While others would have found your hubris insulting, I find it…rather charming. Perhaps I should keep you as a pet–after all, you did enjoy my cock so much, and that hole of yours…while not perfect, it was really rather lovely.” Marcus tried to stand up, but the demon shoved him back down onto his knees, his massive cock inches from his face yet again. He…wanted it. He knew it would bring him no salvation, but he wanted it all the same. “So let’s make another deal, mortal. Become my sex slave, for all eternity, and I’ll spare you what I promise to be a very, horrific death. And after death as well, I should mention, since your soul is claimed by me. Perhaps, once your dead, I’ll banish you to where you were planning to send me?”
“Please…please no, I beg of you, I’ll…I’ll serve you, I’ll be your slave. Do what you want with me, I won’t fight,” Marcus said.
He looked up at the demon, who was looking down at him with a smile. “But why, little mortal? Aren’t you afraid of what I might do to you?”
Marcus shook his head, “No–No, I…I want it. I need you inside me, I can’t bear being empty anymore, please, please fill me with your cock, and your seed, twist me as you want, but I…I’m so…horny…”
“Do we have a deal then? You know I could do much worse,” Marcus asked.
The incubus in front of him just chuckled. It was…such a sweet laugh, and Marcus felt his heart flutter slightly, but he resisted the pull. The demon would want nothing more than to trick him–he knew that, but he had prepared as best he could, guarded his mind from the various tricks it could use against him. The demon had already been impressed by his work, since he hadn’t been able to bend Marcus’ will at the first word, and have him on the bed, pleading for a rough fuck. Besides, he had the most important thing–he had the demon’s name. He could enslave it, if he wanted). He could banish it forever. He could take it apart–after all, various demonic essences could fetch a high price on the black market. But no–Marcus only wanted one thing, the one thing he’d never been able to get, and that only an incubus such as this could provide. Beauty, strength, vitality–some spells could manage it, but Marcus had no talent for them. He was a summoner, and you made do with what you had. Besides, you had to have something work with, for spells like that to function–and Marcus had little of anything. Five foot two inches, 120 pounds, frail and weak and sickly his entire life. But he wanted more.
After a moment, the incubus nodded, “Very well. I suppose I don’t have much choice, in any case. I can give you what you desire, mortal. I can give you the body and life you’ve only had in your dreams.”
“Then do it, and be gone from my sight.”
“Well, there is only one way I can do this for you, mage,” the incubus said, and slipped one red hand down its defined torso. “I’m just not sure that you’re going to enjoy it,” it thought a moment, “Actually, I know you will enjoy it quite a bit if you allow yourself the pleasure.”
Marcus had been worried about this possibility.
“After all, if you want a demon’s blessing, mortal then you’re going to have to accept a demon’s seed.”
It was too risky, he knew that. But if he backed out now, then all of the other risks he’d taken, all of this work would be wasted. Besides, he’d prepared for this. The spells of protection he cast before should be enough to withstand any…negative consequences the demon might try to sneak past his guard.
It was stroking its cock now, and leering at Marcus. The thing was…attractive, on the surface. But few things from the demonic realms were what they appeared to be, once you dug a little deeper. As Marcus watched, the lithe, muscular frame the demon had first presented him began to warp, growing larger and thicker, bulging with muscle, black hairs erupting across the chest, abs, arms and legs–and the already thick cock grew even larger. Marcus was very straight, and yet he couldn’t help but find the demon incredibly erotic. That was their design, after all, but it was no less disconcerting. He couldn’t imagine what it would be like to see such a thing without any protection against it. “Something like this, correct? I can see your desires, even if I can’t make you act on them. Now come. Drink.” The demon milked the cock, squeezing it and moaning, and thick cum bubbled at the head, drooling down onto the floor.
Marcus stepped forward, mentally checking all of his precautions, and then got down on his knees before the incubus. He looked up at the things dark eyes, and then took the head of the things cock in his mouth, and drank. It was hot against his tongue, and tasted sweet, with a slight bitterness, like some otherworldly nectar. He gulped it down, and it seared his throat, pooling in his stomach, the heat spreading out and infusing his body. The eat only increased, his muscles throbbing, bones aching, and he felt himself begin to grow. The pain would have been tolerable, had it been localized to a single part of his body, but he felt it everywhere. He let out a scream, opening wider, and the demon rapped two hands around his head, gently, and slid a bit more of the cock into his mouth.
“Don’t forget, mortal. You asked for this. I’m only giving you what you want.”
He choked, feeling the demon’s cum spurt from his nose and dribble down the front of his face. The flow was only increasing, and he could no longer swallow it all–it ran down the sides of his mouth and down onto his body, steaming and smoking wherever it ran. It was hotter, and with his hands, he tried to spread it out to keep it from burning him, but as he did, the cum was absorbed into him, and began to itch. Hundreds of tiny hairs erupted from his chest and arms where the cum had stuck, making him shudder and scratch at his body, eyes looking up at the demon, pleading for it to end, and the demon slipped the cock free of the mage’s mouth and stepped back.
It was all Marcus could do to stay upright on his knees, and not simply crumple up into a ball on the floor and sob. The pain was ebbing away slowly, and looking down at himself, he could see he had changed, but how much? He planted one foot under him, and then the other, pushing himself up to standing, and found himself raised to a much higher point that he had been before–but not as high as he’d wanted. He had, likely, gained about six inches–and packed on close to fifty pounds of muscle mass, with quite a lot of hair, but he was still short. He was still…small. Smaller than the demon standing a few feet away from him, observing him with a practiced air of detachment. “You seem disappointed, mortal.”
“I want more,” Marcus said. “I want to be at least as large as you are now.”
“You were begging for me to stop–it didn’t seem like you have what it takes to be with me willingly. Besides, whatever spells you’ve used to protect yourself are muting the effects. The fact that you desire it helps…but I can only do so much if you won’t allow me inside you,” the demon approached him, and ran one slender finger between the ridge of his new, hairy pecs, and watched Marcus shudder, “It does seem that you want more though–and my fate is in your hands. I can’t allow you to be displeased, now can I? It isn’t in my nature.”
Someone commissioned me to write a bit more to Faceless from last month, picking up with Ash and one of the two drones he took back home with him, to experiment on.
That night, Ash couldn’t home fast enough with his two drones in tow. His apartment was near the bar at least, a sizable space in an old warehouse. Everyone who lived there seemed to be connected with Rod and the bar in one way or another–it made it easy for Ash to practice his craft, as he called it, without having to worry about too many prying eyes. All around the room, hanging on mounts, were the faces of men he’d taken off–either at the bar, or on occasion elsewhere in the city, when the opportunity had struck. These two, in particular, had been a pair of wealthy business men, who Ash had seen harrassing one of Pigtown’s whores on the street one night–a whole who Ash had always considered a friend. He’d stolen their faces, and had been using their bodies as his drones for a few weeks now–he’d…sensed that he was keeping them around for a purpose, but he didn’t quite know what. But now–well, now he knew why, didn’t he?
He fetched their faces off their hooks, and put them both on two mannequins–so they could see clearly, if not speak. One of the two young men had been the instigator that night–and this was mostly about him, so he sent the other drone to wait. Then, without saying anything to the two masks watching what he was doing, he began to work on the drone, reshaping it like he had the man’s nephew back in the bar.
As he worked, he could…sense the feelings of the two faces watching him, even if they couldn’t say a word. At first it was simply confusion. Then, it became disgust. Then, horror and terror as the drone’s figure moved out of the human and into the bizarre. Ash had begun by forcing the drone onto its hands and knees, and reshaping its body, filling it out until it was a long cylinder. Then, he began work on the back legs, filling out the thighs and the rump, forcing the knees backwards, and the same with the arms, making them similar in shape and form–and clearly designed like an animals to be incapable of walking upright. The feet and hands were next–and that was when the real horror set in, as the two watched Ash mash the fingers together and reform them into thick, solid hooves, the same with the feet, and lastly, he fetched from the wall a replica dildo of a horse’s cock and balls–one he enjoyed giving to his drones on occasion, but he figured this would be a nice, permanent home for it–and adhered it in place over the drone’s currently smooth crotch.
“There we are–what do you think?” Ash said, looking over at the two masks. “Now, I’ve only done this once before, so far, but I think you two scumbags would make excellent test subjects. I have other plans for you,” he said, pointing at the accomplice, “put you know that whore you beat up? He has a name–it’s Anton. He’s smart, and sweet, and a great lay–and do you know what he loves? Big, fucking cocks. You wanted to fuck him up? Well trust me–you’re going to be his fucking pet here soon enough.”
He pulled the mask free from the mannequin, almost certain he could feel it squirming in resistance, and walked around to the drone’s face, which he had purposefully left untampered with. After all, Anton had confessed to Ash that he’d kind of thought he was cute, which was why he’d propositioned them at all to begin with–why ruin a good face, if you didn’t have to? He put the face back on the drone, feeling it reattach to the body, and after a moment, it shook. “You fucking freak! What the fuck did you fucking do to my damn body!”
It was clear he was trying to move, but the flesh of his neck was only just beginning to spread lower. Ash figured it would be better to collar him now, rather than later. He took out the first of the two collars he’d gotten from Rod before leaving the bar–he’d been…reluctant to let Ash have them, but figured it was for the best–and ash secured the first one around the bully’s neck, watching his eyes go a bit out of focus for a second. “Now stay calm, and don’t fight back, got it?”
The man nodded slowly, and instead tried to twist his neck and look back at himself, but it was difficult to do. Instead, Ash got a mirror off the wall and brought it over, giving the man a better view of what was happening to his body. The flesh continued growing down over the rubber, extending down the man’s new front legs. It was disconcerting because he didn’t have any hair like a horse–just normal, human skin with the same smattering of hair he’d had in life, just spread across a very different form. The most hair was running down his thick belly, and coating the bottoms of his front legs, where his forearms had been. The rubber hooves shuddered a bit, but didn’t break–they just hardened into something between nail and rubber, because the flesh wasn’t quite sure what to make of it. The flesh covered the dildo well enough, and it came to life, hardening and slapping against the man’s belly as the flesh ran down his back legs as well–and then it was finished. Standing before him was something altogether new–some odd mix of horse and man–and something he was somehow certain Anton would love.
He attached the leash to the collar, and led him downstairs to Anton’s apartment–thankful it was early enough in the morning for no one else to be in the stairwell right now…though things equally as strange had been spotted around here before. Anton was awake, and when he saw the gift, his jaw dropped, first in terror, but after giving Ash a chance to explain, it gave way to delight. By the time he left, Anton had the leash in hand, his new pet mounting his master for the first time of many, driving his horse cock deep into his hole, and Ash already had so many ideas for his other drone–but first, sleep. There was always tomorrow, right?
What would I do to you this time?
We’ve been going steady for a little while now, haven’t we? It all seems rather normal, in fact. I want you to be comfortable, though. I want you to know what normal tastes like, so we let things ride for a few months. The sex begins to feel stale, we begin to discover the things about one another that we hate. I seem to keep pushing your buttons, and you’re beginning to resent me. You’re beginning to think about breaking the whole thing off, in fact, and moving out. That’s when we wake up with the bed sopping wet the first time.
You deny it, but it’s clearly on your side. You’ve wet the bed, a full bladder right into the sheets and the mattress. You’re confused, you feel betrayed by your own body–but that’s alright, I tell you. Accidents happen–I’m sure it was just a fluke, right? The next morning, it’s dry, but you wet it again the next two days in a row. The mattress…smells like piss now, but it was time to get a new one, right? We go shopping, and splurge on a king–but when we get home, you know I have to insist right?
You’re horrified at the thought. You don’t need diapers; you’re a grown man! Yes, I say, a grown man who’s wet the bed nine out of the last twelve nights. We just can’t have these things happening on the brand new bed, right? I reason with you, and I console you, and stroke your ego. We compromise in the end. We’ll use a plastic sheet for now, and if it stays dry for a week, we’ll never speak of it again.
You last for two days, before you wet it again, and this time, I insist. Humiliated, you go along with it, and that is your first night in diapers. It’s the most restful night you’ve ever had. You don’t even mind waking up to the soggy thing around your waist–it…feels comforting, somehow, not that you can admit it. You put up an act for a couple of weeks, but you wear them willingly, and everything seems fine–until the first accident at work.
I entertain your concerns, and we visit the doctor. He assures you this is just a thing that can happen, which is not what you want to hear. On the ride home, you feel lost and adrift–I hold you in bed for a bit, and you feel better, until you let it flow without a diaper on, right there. And with that, you begin wearing them during the day as well. You don’t notice the other things happening, you don’t see yourself sucking your thumb at night while you hump your dick into the front of the diapers, until you spurt. You don’t see how you’re plumping up, how you’re losing the hair on your body. You’re too focused on making sure no one ever notices your secret. But things are going well between us, you think. You’re…surprised by how understanding I’ve been. In fact, you don’t think you could have done this without me. Wanting to do something special, you come home early one day, only to discover me fucking another man in our bed.
You’re speechless. All you can do is stand there and watch, one hand slipping down and groping the front of your diapers, jacking off while you watch me plow a stranger the way I used to plow you, the way I haven’t plowed you in months. You cum, and that snaps you out of it. You bust in, the stranger flees, leaving just the two of us. You think you have the upperhand, and as you begin to yell, the bottom falls out from your world, and you shit your diaper.
You stop midsentence. It’s too much. All of this is too much. You stumble back, and fall on your ass, feeling the shit squish around you, and you start to cry. You more than cry, you wail, and pound your feet and hands, you throw a tantrum–but I talk you down. You see, I love you–I really do, but…you have to understand that I just feel myself attracted to you like I was when we first got together. How could I? I…don’t really have a thing for guys in diapers, but I respect you, and I love you…but you understand, don’t you? By the end of the conversation, you’ve come around, and agreed to open the relationship, for the good of us both.
You hate it though. You hate how…weak you’re becoming. Everything that bothered you about me has only seemed to gotten worse. I never pick up after myself, I belittle you and humiliate you in public, I take your money. Slowly, I’m beginning to control everything about your life–and there’s nothing you’re willing to do about it. Who else is willing to accept you for who you are, after all? You don’t have a choice. Eventually, you come to believe that you’re the real baggage, in the relationship, and you thank me for putting up with you day in and day out. With nothing and no one left to console you, you turn to food to try and fill that hole I’m making in your soul. How much weight have you put on now? Fifty pounds, or is it closer to a hundred at this point? Your body hair has grown thin, and your beard has become patchy–best if you just shave it off, even if it makes you look too young. Your cock is smaller too–just a few inches, not that it gets much use at all. Even if the relationship is open, you’re far too embarrassed to look for sex–though you do, on occasion, chat with daddies on some ABDL websites, not that you’d have the courage to meet them in real life.
No, the only sexual satisfaction you get anymore is purely second hand. You go to bed early, and I have a friend over, and once we get going, you creep out of bed, trying to keep your diaper from making too much noise, and you squat at the door I’ve left ajar, and you watch. You watch me fuck some stranger, and you…imagine it was you there, instead. But who would want to fuck you? You grope yourself. You’re just an ugly loser. Your little dicklet is hard now. A fat loser in diapers, who can’t even control themselves, who’s…starting to even enjoy sitting around in their piss and shit, like a freak. You feel it, the load of shit squeeze out your ass and you cum in the front, muffling your cry, and keep watching until I finish–and then you sneak back to bed before I notice, lying in your shame, and wonder if I’ll be bringing home someone else tomorrow.
“Trust me man, you’re gonna love it here! It’s a great place,” Travis said.
“Yeah man, sounds good,” Robbie said, following his friend into the house.
Robbie had recently found out he was going to be getting kicked out of the room where he had been staying, because the guy who owned the place was going to have his girlfriend moving in with him. It had sucked, but thankfully, Travis–a guy he’d gotten to know at the gym recently–had suggested he move into the same house where he lived. The landlord had a few rooms in a sizable house, and one of them had just come free. Robbie was a little…hesitant, because something about Travis had always seemed a bit odd, but a room was a room, right?
“That you, boy?” a voice called out from a room or two away.
“Yes sir, Mr. Porter! I have someone I want you to meet!”
Travis signaled Robbie to follow him, and there in the living room was a sizable man–Mr. Porter, Robbie assumed. “This is my friend! I know that after Mr. Everett moved out last month, that we had a room free, and so I thought Robbie might be, well, a good fit.”
Mr. Porter hadn’t looked away from Robbie once since he’d stepped into the room, and the young man was feeling increasingly uncomfortable under his glare. He was right–Travis was a fag of some sort. Was this some weird fag thing? “Look–it’s all good. I have some friends I can crash with, actually,” Robbie said, and tried back away and get out of the door, but Travis grabbed him by the arm and pulled him back.
“See, Mr. Porter…I was thinking, it’s just…a lot of work for one boy, you know? It’s not that I don’t enjoy it, you know that, but think of how good it would be to have two!”
Mr. Porter heaved himself up and walked closer to the two of them. He still hadn’t taken his eyes off of Robbie since he’d entered, and…and Robbie realized he didn’t have his shirt on. When had he even taken it off? “He is a very handsome boy, I must say,” Mr. Porter said, and ran his hands over Robbie’s muscled frame. He expected to feel disgusted…but instead it felt…amazing. He moaned, his cock tenting out his gym shorts, and Mr. Porter started groping him, his mind…hazy and distant all of a sudden.
“I knew you would like him! This is so good!”
“Yes, he is…very nice, I must say. And so very…eager. BUt still, I don’t know if he’d be such a good fit for Mr. Everett’s old room. It would just be such a waste.”
“What do you mean, sir?”
Mr. Porter looked at Travis, considered for a moment, and then stepped back from Robbie. “Boy,” he said to Robbie, “Why don’t you be good and wait here for a bit, until I call you? Travis and I need to…discuss something.”
Robbie was more than happy to wait, and so Mr. Porter took Travis upstairs, and into Mr. Everett’s old room. Travis had liked him–a big burly bear, a hard worker, with a magnificent cock. He’d always helped him loosen up after a day at the office, like a good boy should. “Travis, I’ve had my suspicions, but I just don’t know if you’re cut out to be the house boy.”
The words cut to Travis’ heart like a knife. “What…what are you talking about?”
“You just don’t have the drive. We’ve all noticed it, sadly. You’re a good boy, don’t get me wrong. I had such…high hopes for you when you applied, but it just isn’t quite working out. I think Robbie down there–he’s going to be a much better boy that you ever were.”
“You…are you kicking me out?”
“I’m afraid so, Travis.”
He shook his head, “No! No, please…I’ll do better! I’ll do anything! Please let me stay, please!” he fell to his knees.
“Well, I do have this room open, as you know, but the rent isn’t free, like it is for boys. It’s 4000 dollars a month.”
Travis looked around him, and then back at Mr. Porter. “I…I don’t even have a job, though.”
“I know Travis, but I…can help, if you’d like me to. I’ve been able to help men find their footing in this house before. It won’t be easy, I promise you that–but the room could be yours, if you want it. Or else, you’ll have to leave tonight.”
Travis looked from Mr. Porter to the door, and back. “I…I’ll take it sir.”
“That’s good to hear. Now, let’s get started.”
A month later, Mr. Travis Evers pulled up and parked in the driveway, finally done with work. He was exhausted, but glad to be home, if nothing else. He got out of the car and loosened his tie, grabbed his briefcase and went up the steps to the door, and went inside. Mr. Porter and Mr. Raymond were in the kitchen–the house boy, Robbie, was in a jockstrap serving dinner, and his eyes brightened when he saw Travis enter. “Mr. Evers! He bounded over and gave him a kiss, “You must have had a late day at the office–let me help you.”
A couple hours later, after a nice dinner, he was sitting with a beer and a cigar in his room, in just his underwear, while Robbie lovingly worshiped and massaged his feet, happy to help the men of the house unwind and relax. Travis remembered doing something…similar for Mr. Everett, in another life, but he wasn’t a young boy anymore, not by a long shot. No, he was a man now, and being a man meant having…responsibilities. It was stressful–rent was high, and he needed to work long hours to make ends meet, but living here, with a lovely, hot, dedicated houseboy, made it all worth it.
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For the Winning Team
Every coach has their methods for bringing the best out from their players and Coach Harper was no exception. It had been a good game–not their best, but some of the new…policies he’d put in place, after disposing of the old coach and taking his place, were having an effect. The most notable, of course, were the cock cages around every single player’s cock and balls. It turned out that being denied the basic pleasure of masturbating for losing a game was enough to encourage all of these young college kids to bring their best out on the field, every time. But they’d won–it had been a squeaker, but they’d won, and so they deserved a reward–or at least the best of them did.
In front of him, in three rows, were every player, naked now aside from their cages, glancing at one another, wondering what they would be granted now that they’d won their first game. “Alright boys–you can do better, and that other team played like shit, but a win is a win,” Harper said. “But not all of you did your best, and I think you know that. But for the best of you, you’ll be getting a weekend without your cages. The rest of you…well, you’ll see soon enough. I have something extra special for the MVP as well–and that, this game, was Clarkson. Get over here, and kneel next to me, boy.”
The runningback who’d scored two of the night’s touchdowns stood up, got over next to the coach and knelt beside him, trying not to look too pleased with himself. The others knew he deserved it, but wondered what the coach might have in store for him–and for the rest of them.
“As for the best of you. We have: Brophy, Finch, Fields…”
The coach named off a list, and as he did, there was a faint clunk with each, as that players cage fell off, releasing their cock. They all looked down in glee, most of them touching and stroking their cocks for the first time in a month.
The coach finished his list, looking at half the team relieved, the other half crestfallen. “As for the rest of you–well, I think your weekend is going to be spent a little different that usual. Boys, with your cocks free, pair up with one of your poorer fellows please–and fuck their throats.”
They all looked at one another in horror, but as always, none of them could disobey an order from their coach. They paired off, the best players fucking the losers’ mouths, and as they did, they watched their teammates begin to change. They heads were losing form, their bodies shrinking and turning to mesh and elastic.
“That’s right–maybe some of their skill will rub off on you if you get to be their jocks for the weekend, eh boys? Or at least you all might run a little harder next week against the Cougars.”
Clarkson looked away as his friends lost their form, but the coach stood in front of him. This close, the musk rolling off him was even more powerful than usual, making both Clarkson’s mouth and eyes water. “But sir, if…if I’m the MVP, why do I still have my cage?”
“You, boy, get a very special prize–you get to be worn by your coach for the entire week!”
Before Clarkson could do anything else, coach slammed his thick, greasy cock into his mouth, and Clarkson felt his mouth…cling to him, somehow, his head beginning to soften, arms turning to floppy fabric even as he tried to resist.
“That’s right boy–an entire week, getting all of my cum right into that pouch of yours. You’re going to love it–trust me. If you’re extra good, I’ll even give you a load or two of piss–how does that sound? In fact, coach has to piss right now…”
Clarkson felt it flooding his fabric mouth, soaking down into his body, which was already half the size he should be. Coach’s stream finished just as the last of his body disappeared into the mesh pouch, now sopping wet with piss, squirming slightly, trying to adjust to its new reality as nothing more than an article of clothing.
In front of him, the rest of the team–or what remained of it–was all similarly clad. “Practice on Monday, as usual. Feed those jocks plenty of cum now–we have to make them good and strong. Three loads a day at least, understand?”
“Yes coach!”
“Good. Team dismissed.”
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The immobile slob would be fun for a bit, but get old pretty quick, I think. Make a pretty big mess as well.
Bracken's Corner 