Pigtown Prison II – The Rookie (Part 2)

“Fuck…” Jeff muttered, the room spinning a bit, “Fuck, what the fuckin’ shit…”

“Hey now, Rookie, calm down for a second,” Keith said and stood up after him, “You feelin’ good man?”

“Fuck–hell fuckin’ yeah I feel fuckin’ good!” Jeff said, “I…I ain’t never felt like this, fuck!”

“Yeah, I thought you’d like this, once you got the hang of it,” Keith stepped closer, rubbing his leather uniform against Jeff’s bare skin. He looked up at him, having to crane his neck a bit further back than usual, because he seemed…shorter than before. Shorter, and wider. In fact, it was kind of hard to move his neck, because of how much muscle had been packed onto it–the same with his arms, and his thighs. Keith bent down, and kissed him roughly, Jeff returning it with plenty of fervor, wrestling with his tongue, but Keith simply forced his way into Jeff’s mouth, invading and dominating him with just his tongue, so that when he pulled away, Jeff was breathless. “Come on Rookie, let’s meet the rest of the guys, eh? I have a feeling you’re gonna have a great time tonight.”

Keith put his arm back around Jeff’s shoulder, and now the smell of the leather wasn’t off putting–but spicy and somehow exciting. Jeff reached down and idly stroked his cock, only to discover he was already completely hard–and much, much larger than he had been previously. He felt powerful. He felt…fuck, he felt like fighting. He felt like getting in a fucking brawl, and knocking someone flat, before rolling them over and raping their ass. He reached around and grabbed Keith’s ass as they passed through the curtain–but as soon as he did, Keith stopped, and gave him a side-eye. “Careful you don’t bite off more than you can handle, Rookie. I’ve been at this a whole lot longer than you.”

Jeff…wasn’t sure of what to make of the look in Keith’s eyes. The red light of the backroom met the green and just turned them a harsh, unyielding grey, and a spike of fear cut through him, and he pulled his hand away. “Good boy–why don’t you go say hi to our sergeant over there?”

Keith pointed to a threesome underway, an older, chubby bear spitroasted by two hung muscle bears, also in police uniforms like Keith was. The pig in the middle–it took Jeff a moment to recognize him, but it was, in fact, the sergeant…but twisted. A full tangled beard, eyes crazed with lust, a hundred pounds heavier–but it was him. He looked over at Jeff, and he knew what the pig needed. He stomped over, shoved one of his fellow officers out of the way and took over, ramming his cock in deep, fucking him roughly, and Keith just watched, for a moment, letting him get into a nice rhythm, before he went over, pulling his own cock free as he did. He shoved Jeff in deep, and then slipped two wet leathered fingers into the brute’s hole, listening to his moan with pleasure, and then fucked him hard, Jeff nearly lost in a sexual haze, pounding into the Sergeant with even more fervor, snarling and growling until he exploded, and Keith filled the rookies hole as well.

“That’s a good fucker–now go make some new friends, eh?”

Jeff, eyes glazed and lost, just nodded dumbly, wandered over until he saw another hole, and started fucking all over again, his cock not even going soft in between fucks. Satisfied, Keith slipped back out into the bar proper, and sat back down at the bar.

Rod just inspected a glass, and then set it down. “Not your usual flavor, I have to say.”

“He was gonna be a troublemaker, I could just tell. Better to nip it in the bud.”

“He has a solid will–think you can handle it?”

Keith gave him a wink, “I learned from the best, right boss?”

***

Jeff, woke up with a burning headache–unlike any hangover he’d ever experienced. He remembered Pigtown, or at least most of it, but it seemed–impossible. One minute he’d been himself, and the next he’d literally ripped his way out of his clothes, become some dumb hairy brute…and then he’d spent the rest of the evening in a sexual frenzy. He lost count, in his mind, of how many different holes he’d fucked–fellow officers of the force, both ends of their sergeant, other anonymous pigs who had all begged him for his seed. He’d kept expecting, after each orgasm, to finally come down from his high, but it seemed like every load only made him hornier, every load larger than the rest, his balls churning with need. Fuck, just thinking about it was getting him horny! He reached down for his cock, only to find it had shrunk.

No–not shrunk. It was normal. It was his dick, but after a night wielding such a massive cock, it felt so…small. He gave it a few strokes, but despite being turned on my his memories, it remained flacid, and more than that, his arm ached too much to even begin to jack off. Every inch of him ached–but more than the hurt, he simply felt…weak. Whether, like his cock, it was a matter of exhaustion from the night before (a night he still wasn’t quite convinced had actually happened) or simply a matter of comparison, after being such a massive beast of a man, capable of hefting the three hundred and fifty pound sergeant into the air, and impaling him on his cock, he didn’t know–but what he did know was that he hated it.

He felt awful. He felt sick, but more than that, he couldn’t believe what he’d done–what Keith had done to him. What that bartender had done to him. He opened his eyes a crack, hoping to see his apartment ceiling, but it wasn’t. He was somewhere else, in a sizable bed, alone. He was filthy too–reeking of sex–but his body was back. For better or worse, he was himself.

Pigtown Prison II – The Rookie (Part 1)

Jeff looked around him, at the grungy side street he’d been walking down, and then up at the neon sign hanging over him, flickering the word “PIGTOWN” overhead, throwing blue and red light onto the potholes and trash around him. This was the place? Was this some sort of joke? This wasn’t the sort of place Jeff would have usually considered going–especially not as an officer of the law. It seemed more like a place where criminals would hang out and plot a heist–not the sort of place where a bunch of police officers would get drinks off duty. Then again, Keith hadn’t actually told him the name of the bar where they were meeting–he’d just given him precise directions–very precise. This had to be the place, but something was telling him that this was a bad idea, that little sense of danger he’d learned to trust even in his short time on the force, but still–it was just a bar. It was probably just a prank or something to see what he would do. Hell, Keith wouldn’t even be there at all, and all the guys would just have a laugh about it back at the precinct tomorrow. He climbed the steps, rang the buzzer, and a moment later the door unlocked and he stepped into an anteroom with a coat check.

He moved through into the bar proper, and there weren’t many people inside, a three or four at the bar, some others sitting at the tables scattered around the claustrophobic space. It was then that he realized something else. This wasn’t just some shady ass bar–this was a shady ass fag bar. Every man seemed to be wearing some strange leather or rubber outfit, and more than a few were engaging in rather unseemly–and illegal!–acts at and under, the tables and bar. Was it a test? Should he shut down the place and report everything in here? Before he could make up his mind whether to confront the manager about it, or simply leave in embarrassment, someone caught his attention at the bar–and his jaw dropped.

It was hard to tell in the low light, but yeah–it was Keith. Jeff felt a little bit of fear in his gut, looking at the imposing officer sitting at the bar. Everyone on the force had told him a story or two about Keith–and most of them were so fantastic that they couldn’t possibly be real, but looking at the guy, it was hard to doubt them all. When Keith had pulled him aside in the locker room and invited him out with some friends, Jeff had tried to turn him down, but Keith had ended up…almost browbeating him into coming along. He gave a little wave, and Keith acknowledged him with a not of his police cap–and Jeff realized Keith was still in his uniform. Then again, as he took more time to examine him, it wasn’t the usual uniform at all. Rather, it was crafted entirely about of shiny black leather–and a size or two too small for Keith’s frame, bulging with muscle. Jeff…didn’t know what to do, and so his feet acted on their own, and he stumbled over to the bar where Keith was. Keith shoved the man beside him off the stool, and told Jeff to sit with him…and he did, looking around awkwardly, noticing the bartender staring at him very…pointedly.

“New guy, Keith?” Rod asked, as he wiped out a glass.

“Rookie at the precinct, fresh out of the academy, ain’t that right, Jeff?” Keith said, and threw an arm around him. The smell of the leather was pungent, and while Jeff tried to shrug the arm away, Keith made it clear it was staying right where it was, when he gripped Jeff’s shoulder with a gloved hand.

“Rookie, eh? Yeah, he looks a little green if you ask me,” Rod said with a chuckle.

“Keith,” Jeff said, “What is this place? Where are the other guys you said hung out here?”

“Them? Oh, they’re already in the back,” Keith said, indicating a heavy black curtain hung across a hallway on one side of the bar, “I wanted to wait for you though. This place can be a bit…intimidating to newbies like you.”

“I don’t think…look, I don’t know what you think, but I’m not gay. And is their sex happening on the premises? You know that’s illegal, if they’re serving alcohol!”

Rod laughed, and set down a glass in front of Jeff, “I see why you brought him.”

“I’m not drinking this,” Jeff said, “I’m leaving, and I’m telling the sergeant about this.”

Keith laughed, “Where do you think the sergeant is, right now, Jeff?”

Jeff just stared at him, and then at the curtain. “You’re a fucking liar.”

“Now now, take your medicine,” Rod said, pushing the glass closer to Jeff, “And you’ll understand.”

His hand gripped the glass, despite Jeff wanting exactly not to do that. The drink looked like whiskey, but it smelled much fouler, somehow. He picked it up, brought it to his lips, and downed it in a couple of glugs, dropping the glass back to the table and sputtering. It didn’t just burn–he could feel the liquid coursing down his entire throat, to his stomach–and then it went through his stomach and just…kept going. He let out a cry of pain, and nearly toppled off the barstool–he would have, actually, if Keith hadn’t been holding on to him. Jeff felt it push to every end of his body, like he was on fire, and he felt–fuck, he didn’t know what he was feeling. His skin burned, and his muscles were seizing and shaking, and then it was over, leaving his sweating, and nearly crying, on the stool. What…what the fuck just happened to him? What the fuck was wrong with his hands?

They were…too big. His forearms were too big. His clothes were too tight, and his head felt…cloudy. “What…what the fuck was that shit?” Jeff muttered, but his voice was slurred slightly, to seemed too deep.

“Think he needs another?” Keith asked.

“More than another–right man?” Rod asked, and poured some more in the glass, “Go on, drink.”

Jeff, hand shaking, grabbed the glass and chugged it down again, unable to resist the strange bartender’s orders, feeling the concoction rip through him. The pain was there–perhaps even more intense than the first time, but he could at least brace himself for it. He swelled larger, his clothes beginning to rip, but when Rod poured him a third round, he took it without even needing to be told, and fourth one after that. As much as he didn’t want to drink it, as painful as every shot was–he was starting to…crave it almost. It was a rush, and a heady one at that. He ripped away his clothes with a laugh, thrilled by how they tore like paper in his hands, amazed at how strong he was becoming. He felt…he felt like he could do anything. He noticed…hairs falling down into his vision, and ran his hand over his scalp–and all of his hair fell away, leaving him completely bald–but the hair covering his body more than made up for his sudden head of skin. He didn’t care anyway–it made him look tough. Hell, he was tough. Tough and…and horny.

Winter Vacation [Interactive] (Part 10)

The demon hadn’t quite counted on Maury becoming quite as much of a vegetable as he had–still, he supposed that’s what you get from watching far, far too much television–and not even good television at that. He found the remote and clicked off the screen, and it took Maury a moment to even realize something had happened. He failed about, muttering and grunting, obviously looking around for a way to turn it back on, but the words were just gibberish. He was certainly in no state to be the daddy of the house, by any measure–it was a pity too, because the coach had always been fond of him. He could be useful though–and plenty of fun. Since his mind was basically gone, leaving him slobbering and grunting like an animal–and since the hair covering him was nearly a pelt anyway, he decided he was going to be the house’s new pet.

But what kind of pet? Nothing so domestic as a dog or a cat–no, he needed to be…something special, for his new family here. Still–it was easy enough to know where to start, looking at the size of him. The demon laid his palm on Maury’s forehead, and he felt some force flow through him. Maury didn’t have the words to describe anything at the moment, but all he could really sense was that the strange figure looming over him had…warped some deep piece of him, some piece of his own humanity, and then he felt the bones and muscles of his face begin to warp and shift. He gave a wild scream of pain as his nose and mouth pushed out into a boar’s snout, a few teeth falling out while the incisors began to grow, blood dribbling down his chin as two massive tusks curled up on either side of his new face. He brought his hands to them, concerned, but the rest of his body felt..strange as well. There was an odd sensation running down the front of his body, as his fat began to rearrange–and after a moment, three new pairs of nipples erupted down his belly and began to engorge. The demon tweaked one, and Maury squealed in pleasure, as thick, fatty milk leaked out. He tasted it, and it was such a delightful blend of sweet and sour.

Maury could smell something now–something…powerful. He heaved himself off the couch onto his hands and knees, and snuffled at the demon’s crotch, rubbing his snout against the demon’s huge cock, drooling now, in hunger. The demon guided his face to the head of his cock, and the demon started sucking at it as best he could, and there was another flush of power pushing through him. Maury felt his tongue…grow. It became long and thick, and very strong–he wrapped it around the demon’s cock and started squeezing it, enjoying the sound of his master groaning in pleasure. He had to shift positions, too–as his arms and legs became the same length, and something was pushing out above his ass. He couldn’t see it, but a thick tail was growing from his rear, several feet long and covered with hair, but very prehensile, capable of wrapping a grown man up and squeezing the breath from him, if need be. His hands and feet were growing larger as well, the skin on the hardening and cracking apart into scales, nails growing into thick black claws. He exhaled, and a flicker of flame and a belch of smoke erupted from his throat, engulfing the demon’s cock–it frightened Maury at first, but the demon seemed to enjoy it more than anything else. He winced, as two wicked black horns pushed out of his skull, longer than his tusks–but not by much.

Still, there were a few remaining details to take care of, before his new chimera was complete. He pushed through one last wave of changes as the beast kept pleasuring his cock, and it felt it’s own cock shudder, and begin to grow. A fleshy sheath grew down his belly, swallowing up the cock almost as quickly as it grew, but a foot of cock still hung free, slimy and dribbling greyish cum on the floor below him. The eyes, as always, were the last to shift–the humanity draining away as the iris’ changed to a bright yellow, the lids sliding shut sideways like a lizards would. The demon slipped it’s cock free of the chimera’s hot mouth, walked around and fucked it’s ass, the beast pushing back, eager to be filled by its master’s cum. When the demon was finished, he sent the beast to go lie down, and it curled up, tongue wrapped around it’s own cock, teasing it with licks of flame until it milked a load out of itself, and swallowed that down hungrily too.

The demon went to the window, and saw that dawn was approaching quickly–almost time for his two boys to be rousing themselves. He shimmered, and again he was clad in a more human form, though not one that resembled the coach’s original appearance at all. He was tired of looking at that man’s face in the mirror–it was time to be his own man, now that he’d been unleashed on the mortal realm. He’d treat his two boys to a nice, gluttonous breakfast, but what’s the main course going to be

What’s the demon going to feed is two son’s for breakfast?

  1. Milk from the chimera.
  2. Filth from the drone below.
  3. Food to help them grow.
  4. His own, demonic cum and piss.

The public twitter poll is here!

The supporter only Patreon poll is here!

Voting ends on Tuesday afternoon!

The Votes are In! (Part #9)

Sorry I’m a bit late with the results this time! I’ll have the next chunk up today, hopefully on time, but it might be a bit delayed.

First, the public poll on twitter (which had 52 total votes):

  1. (House pet) 44% – 23 votes
  2. (Living furniture) 15% – 8 votes
  3. (Filth drone feeding) 27% – 14 votes
  4. (Sadistic master) 14% – 7 votes

Second, the private patron only poll on Patreon (which had 29 votes)

  1. (House pet) 41% – 12 votes
  2. (Living furniture) 24% – 7 votes
  3. (Filth drone feeding) 7% – 2 votes
  4. (Sadistic master) 28% – 8 votes

Here’s the total results, out of 81 votes!

  1. (House pet) 42% – 35 votes
  2. (Living furniture) 19% – 15 votes
  3. (Filth drone feeding) 20% – 16 votes
  4. (Sadistic master) 19% – 15 votes

Suggestions Open for February! | Wesley Bracken on Patreon

It’s that time of the month again! One dollar a month towards my Patreon gets you access to the suggestion box, where you can drop in ideas for stories you’d like to see me write. You can find more information at the link above! Here’s an example of one I did last month, if you’d like to see what these look like.

Roommate Rules

“Trust me man, things are going great! You have no idea how many subscribers I’ve picked up in the last month! My last video, like, broke 10,000 views.”

Curtis just glowered at his roommate, Peter. “Dude, you fucking got fired today! What about the bills?”

“Calm down man! I’m good for it, once I start monetizing my shit. Don’t even sweat it. Besides, you make enough to pay for things, I know you do. It’ll all be fine.”

It was true–Curtis made enough money that he carry the house bills on his own if he had to. The place was in his name, after all. Still, he liked having a roommate so he wouldn’t have to freak out about money–and for the company. Still, Peter was…a frustrating guy to live with. All he really wanted, was to be an viral internet sensation, and Curtis just didn’t have any patience for it. “Fine–but you’re gonna have to pick up some other responsibilities around here, got it? If I’m paying the bills, them the least you can do is some extra chores.”

“Of course!” Peter said, and gave his roommate a hug, squeezing the big man tight, which made Curtis feel a bit awkward. Peter knew Curtis was gay, and he secretly thought Peter did shit like that because he thought it was flirty and endearing, when it was just obnoxious. Peter wasn’t even his type at all–though most of his fanbase thought he was dreamy and handsome. Then again, if his dreams took off, it would be good, right? Curtis did really want to help, after all…but he did get the sense he was also getting taken advantage of.

The next couple weeks confirmed that sentiment. Peter did nothing else extra around the house, and if anything he did even less than before. It was then that Curtis passed an odd store on the way home from work, where the proprietor convinced him to purchase something odd. It was just a simple scroll of paper, with the words “House Rules” across the top.

“You’re the man of the house, aren’t you?” the old man said with a chuckle, “Then perhaps it’s time you took some control, eh?”

It…sounded good to Curtis, for some reason, and he went home, put the list up on the wall, and told Peter that he was going to start using it to list the chores he wanted done regularly. Peter just scoffed at it, told him it wasn’t necessary, but…Curtis wanted to do it anyway, so he started writing some basic chores–picking up clutter, washing the dishes, mowing the lawn. And the next day, to both of their surprises, Peter did all of them. Peter, in particular, didn’t quite know what had come over him–he didn’t…want to be doing the chores, but something in him knew that he had to do them–and when he’d finished the list, he was free to do whatever else he needed to do, and Curtis saw that the tasks had disappeared, like magic.

He kept listing chores, and Peter kept doing them. He found that if he added to the list that he needed something done regularly, the item would stay on the list, and Peter would do it every day. It was after a week of this, that Peter came to him and asked him where he’d gotten it–and they got into an argument. Peter tried to tear the list down, but it refused to come away in his hands, and he couldn’t write on it for some reason. In frustration, Curtis wrote down that Peter would obey all of the commands of the man of the house without question–and when he ordered Peter to sit down on the couch–he did.

He couldn’t even stand back up, and watching him struggle there, Curtis felt…something else–a rush of power. The old man was right. He was the man of the house, and that meant he should be in charge. “Alright, I think you need some punishment,” Curtis said, and sat down, “Bend over my knee boy, and let’s give you a spanking.”

To Peter’s horror, he couldn’t resist the command, and as Curtis smacked his ass, he found himself getting more and more turned on–and when he was finished, he sent Peter to his room for the rest of the night, told him he was grounded until further notice, and looked at the list again.

He knew he shouldn’t. He knew it was wrong…but Peter was trying to take advantage of him. What was the harm with getting a little something in return, for his generosity? When Peter woke up, he found that where before, the list had been mostly empty, Curtis had, in the course of the evening, filled it. Peter could no longer leave the house without permission, and he always had to return home in time for dinner. While Curtis continued to cook–Peter had never shown much talent in the kitchen–the majority of household chores were now Peter’s responsibility, and they took so long each day, he generally didn’t have any time left to work on his videos. However, it was mealtimes that Peter dreaded. One of the first new rules, was that Peter eat everything Curtis put down in front of him. As a muscular young man with a small appetite, he had never been one for food, but Curtis began stuffing him morning, noon, and night–and making sure he was snacking in between meals as well. After a few weeks of this, Peter saw that his body was beginning to grow flabby, and when he complained to Curtis, he just laughed.

“You were the one who was always flirting with me, I thought? Well, I like my guys on the…hefty side. I’m sure you’ll learn to enjoy it soon enough.”

“But what about my videos? Curtis–please…you can’t do this to me, it’s not right!”

“Oh? Does someone still want to be an internet sensation? We can arrange that, don’t worry boy.”

More rules appeared, all of them becoming rather…sexual. Peter discovered that overeating was beginning to arouse him, and he wouldn’t be able to resist jacking off whenever he ate–and true to his word, Curtis began taping his feeding sessions, encouraging him all the while, before uploading them to the internet for the entire gaining community to see. As he gained more and more weight, Curtis began showing more and more interest in him as well, shaking his small gut and love handles, smacking his ass, making him dress in fewer and fewer clothes around the house, until all he was wearing was a pair of his new much too small briefs, while Curtis filmed him doing chores around the house. He would pin him down under his own, larger body, make Peter worship it, tell him how much he envied him, teased him by telling him that once he was even larger than him, he might let the boy move out on his own–if he still wanted to leave, that is.

The more Peter obeyed the list of rules, however, the more normal everything started to feel. He…wanted to keep eating, and he liked being humiliated by Curtis. When his briefs finally ripped open in film one day, he couldn’t stop himself from jacking off right then and there for his fans, while Curtis spanked him for ripping his clothes, forbidding his fatboy from wearing anything else in the house from now on. He grew fatter and fatter, passing 250, and then 300, no longer wanting to be thin ever again. Curtis wanted him to be fat, and Curtis was the man of the house. He was just Fatboy–he’d forgotten his real name, and that one suited him so much better anyway. He never did end up moving out–why would he ever want to be away from Curtis anyway? No–this was the life he’d always dreamed of–he was an internet sensation, after all! No one had gone from under 200 to 600 pounds in two years–but with the help of his master, and a few strict rules, Fatboy finally had the life he’d always wanted.

Suggestions Open for February! | Wesley Bracken on Patreon

What Would I Do To You (#1 – Dippig)

A new sort of thing I’ve had on my mind, ever since this post blew up a couple months ago. Not sure how often I’ll add entries, but it’ll be a different sort of thing each time. This one is dedicated to someone in particular, you know who you are.)

What would I do to you today?

Let’s start you off with some dip. If you’re a novice, even better–I show you how to pack that lip your first time, see that buzz in your eye, and you smile, but before you can finish jacking off, you have to race to the toilet to throw up. It happens–but it’s good to see how you take it. We don’t do anything else with the dip right then, instead, I wait for you to bring it up again, because even after that, you’re still curious…and a bit humiliated. You should have been able to take it, you tell yourself. It wasn’t even that much. So you ask, and I oblige. A bit less this time, get you comfortable, get you spitting in a little bottle, and you’re feeling good. You jack off, and you leave it in after, dropping it in the trash before you go.

We see each other more often, and everytime, we pack that lip for you. It helps you enjoy yourself–you feel more relaxed, and more energized with it. But for the moment, you still only do it when you’re with me–but why? You know the brand I give you, there’s nothing stopping you from stopping by the gas station as you leave to buy some of your own. You drop the occasional hint that it would be nice to have a tin of your own, but I don’t give you what you want–you’re not going to get any from me, no, you need to get it yourself. Finally, you do. You don’t use it often–maybe once every couple of days to jack off with, but that’s ok–we can take it slow.

You arrive with a packed lip, and you leave with one now. It isn’t long before spit begins to play a larger and larger role for you in sex. I make you watch me drool, I spit in your face, I lick your body, and I stop giving you a bottle. I want to see you drool. I want you to feel it running down your chin and onto your chest. I want to rub it in there, smear the dark, tacky liquid all over you where I can lick it off later–maybe.

When does an obsession become an addiction? When do you go from dipping because you want to, and start dipping because you need to? Is it the first time you sneak a lipper at work? You keep it small, so no one can notice, keep the trash can nearby for spit, and be sure to enunciate. You’re hard though, and you slip off to the bathroom to jack off, drooling a bit down your chin as you do, and wipe it clean with some toilet paper when your finished. Your chin feels a bit sticky for the rest of the day, all the same.

But I want to take things further–and you do too. You’re enjoying yourself too much to say no. I suggest you grow out your beard, and you agree. We have off your hair, once you have a decent scruff balance the bare skull. More and more often, I start feeding you during our sessions together. It takes some practice, not swallowing the leaf and spit while I stiff you full, but you’re smart, aren’t you? You figure it out, like a good pig. Did you know how erotic eating could be? I don’t think you did. You’d read stories about it, sure, but had you ever experienced it? You start buying snacks when you stop at the gas station to get more dip. You become a frequent customer at the vending machine at work. You bring doughnuts for everyone–but eat a half dozen yourself. You feel less obvious, that way.

We carry on, for a while. It begins to feel normal, now. Your boss catches you using tobacco at work, and you get written up. It feels unfair–it’s not like you’re smoking after all–but rules are, apparently, rules. You try to stop for a day, figuring it would be good if you scaled back somewhat…but the withdrawl hits, and by the end of the week, you’re back to covertly dipping again, and being more careful this time. Is that all the willpower you had? Two days without? Not even without–just for an eight hour stretch at work. You jack off that night, thinking about it, realizing how much you need it–and wondering if you can even stop now, if you wanted to.

You’re spending the night regularly now. I make sure to stock up on all of your favorite snacks, and keep them close at hand all night long for you to binge on. He strip you down, pack your mouth full, and you start drooling like a beast, watching it run down into that beard of yours. I get plenty of spit elsewhere too–all over those soft pecs of yours, over your small gut, drooling all over your dick and balls until they’re good and brown, eat out that ass of yours too, before I fuck you. And you? You’re just in a stupor of pleasure, stuffing your face, with food and more dip, needing it to get hard now, needing all of it.

Do you want to move in yet? Ready to go all the way? I don’t let you quit your job–no, I want them to fire you. I want you to see just how much they’ll let you get away with. But no more showers, not for you. No bottles, either. That spit just drools right out your mouth and into your beard. The chin is stained several shades darker than the rest of your hair now, like some strange dye job, and the hair is crusty and matted together. I put you on a strict gaining diet, and you take most of your meals out of a small trough in the kitchen. Pretty soon, you crest 300 pounds, and not too long after that, they finally fire your ass–and you realize, then, that I’m the only thing you have left to rely on.

But that’s alright, isn’t it? You like being here. It feels good–you feel good, being my dippig. I slowly start breaking down the rest of your social shame, I warp you into an exhibitionist, I make you get off seeing other people see you dipping, seeing you filthy, seeing your fat ass in too small of clothes, covered in muck they can’t even recognize. You don’t carry a can anymore–no, we’ve switched to a different storage system, now that you’ve got that nice wide ass. We just pack chaw in between those cheeks of yours, and let you walk around with it all day long. Fuck, watching you rummage around in your underwear in the supermarket, haul a damp wad of chaw out and shove it in your mouth, right in front of a couple of breeders who just stare at you in horror–I drag you right into the restroom for a good fucking–and in your eyes, I see that that’s exactly what you’d hoped would happen.

Winter Vacation [Interactive] – Part 9

It was clear that there was something inside the cocoon, as it roiled, but what it was exactly was difficult to determine. At one moment, something would push from it, reaching out, almost like a hand, only to draw back. Other moments it seemed to bubble and pulse, like it was more liquid than solid. It was waste, really. The waste of the men above–combined with the magical runoff from the shower Maury had the week past–the only time the shower had been used, in fact, in the whole week the men had been there. That–and the demon’s own seed, melding with it, and giving it life, of a sort. Purpose, perhaps, would have been a better word.

The demon walked up to it, ran a hand over the surface, feeling it shudder beneath his touch. It was wet, and his hand came away black and tacky. With his sharp claw, he severed the seams holding the arms to the sides of the body, and as well as the seam connecting the legs, and they flung apart, splattering black goo as they did, the cocoon now resembling a body more than anything else, but a body with no real features to be seen.

He laid his hand back on the thing, focusing, and found its mind. It didn’t have a brain, exactly–but it did think. It was confused. The spirit that had bound it all together was gone, and now it was searching for an outlet. It was meant to be drained away–it wasn’t supposed to be here, was it? The demon calmed it, and the filth inside began to rest and congeal, slowly, the body now undulating rather than rippling, almost…happy under the hand of its master, if such a thing could really understand happiness.

“You’re filth, yes” the demon said, “but not without worth. Let me give you shape.”

The thing felt it’s master push its well into it, infusing it, and it relented. It would be what the Master desired–that was the only purpose it could possibly have. The much inside congealed further, and finally solidified–not quite as solid as flesh might feel, under a rubber skin, but solid enough to be worked. It stood, shuddering a bit, almost like gelatin, and looked down at its master, wanting to know more, wanting to know what it was–and the master showed it the way. Bumps formed along the things arms and legs–awkward and uneven at first, but soon they shuffled about until the appeared to be muscle, the body still holding much of its mass collected in a round, sagging gut, heaving over its crotch. The legs, too, widened and thickened, solidifying until they were a sturdy base, the feet wide, with small claws at the end of sharp black plastic–harmless, one might think, but it could cut someone unprepared to the bone. Below the gut, something else was forming–cock like, but much thinner and prehensile, more like a hose. It sensed that it could be emptied that way–perhaps entirely, should Master desire it, but it hoped now. It was…enjoying this. It clenched a fist, feeling the sharp claws forming there as well, flesh becoming firmer still, its head beginning to take shape, a second hose–probiscus like–unfurling from it’s mouth and nose into a long snout a couple of feet long.

It had no eyes, but it could sense the things around it–and beside it, it’s Master pulsed with the most deliciously radiant force and power it had ever known. It got down on one knee, bowing its head, thankful to the beast which had given it life, purpose, and form–the demon grabbed the snout of the thing, slid the head of his cock into it, and pissed, watching the rubber drone shudder in delight as it took the demon’s filth into itself, storing it away, feeling its power and size grow.

“Yes, I think you will do nicely. Now–you know your place, don’t you?”

The drone stood back up and went to the wall where it had rested for the last week, and stood at attention. The master took it’s snout and connected it back to the plumbing of the house, feeling it shudder in delight, eager to feed more on the waste of the men above–and of its master.

“Don’t worry, I may allow you upstairs on occasion, but it would be best not to frighten the rest from their stupor just yet. But they will all have a chance to taste of you soon, I think–I’m excited to see just how potent that filth of yours has become.”

The drone nodded, eager to obey, and then went still, a statue against the wall. In the dark, it was almost easy to miss the hulking thing, unless you knew to look for it. The demon turned out the light and slipped back up into the house proper, enjoying the sense of freedom he had, now that the coach’s vessel was well and truly his.

The mortal plane–what a joy it was! And three souls here, ready and aching to be twisted and warped to his own ends. They wouldn’t be cast back to hell like Rich’s–no, that would not be nearly so satisfying. They would be his own twisted family here, slaves to their wicked vices–and to the demon’s sick desires, warped until they didn’t even recognize their own humanity. Three would be a good start, but more would come to him–willing or not. He had always desired a harem of mortals, and he was excited to sample the men they’d become, since unleashing them in this house of temptation and vice.

He wandered into the TV room nearby, drawn by the stores of Maury. He was on the couch–the place where he hadn’t left in several days, judging by the smell in the air. He was quite a bit larger at this point–nearly 700 pounds of flab, heaving for breath, covered in hair, drenched in sweat, mind rotted away by the static of the TV he couldn’t seem to stop staring at. Certainly a beautiful image of gluttony–but he could be so, so much more, couldn’t he?

So what’s gonna be Maury’s fate at the hands of the demon?

  1. He’s as furry as an animal–perhaps he should become the house pigman.
  2. He merges with the couch, and becomes living furniture.
  3. Call up the filth drone, and see how he likes a taste of its waste.
  4. Rewrite that empty brain, and make him the merciless sadist daddy of the house.

Here’s the public twitter poll!

Here’s the patron only Patreon poll!

Polls close on Saturday afternoon!

wesleybracken:

I haven’t got much of an inbox to answer at the moment, but figured I’d go ahead and answer any questions people might have, that or just get into some stupid argument with anon, which is always good for my time management, productivity, and blood pressure.

Also! There’s a big announcement coming in an hour or so! I’m pretty excited about it, and I hope ya’ll like it too. However, no interactive chunk today–it’ll go live tomorrow.

Still answering questions if you have them! Just realized I forgot to link to my inbox like a dolt too.