(Flash Commission) Monster Cock

Jeff saw the package sitting on the porch when he got home, got out of his car, hurried up, got it, and took it inside. He’d been waiting weeks for it to arrive, and finally, it was here. He put it on his table, opened it up, and hauled it out, turning it over in his hands, already wondering if his eyes had been bigger than his stomach, or his ass, rather. It was a custom dildo from a fellow who called his creations “monster cocks”–each one was one of a kind, and while he didn’t charge for them, getting your hands on one of them was hard as hell. The creator took applications for his work, but who received them always seemed a bit random. He said that his toys chose who they wanted to own them, but after trying for most of a year, Jeff had finally been chosen, and now, it was in his hands.

It was in his hands, and the thing was massive. Far larger than anything he’d ever taken before in his life. He had a modest collection of dildos for when he didn’t have anyone around to fuck him, and he’d always enjoyed it. Some guys he knew had suggested he start training to take a fist, and he was close to that at this point. This dildo though was thicker than most guys fists, and easily a foot long. The dildo’s skin was a dark brown mottled with tan up the shaft to the head, which had a sheath, or a foreskin, bunched up around the glans of the cock. He toyed with it, and saw that it was actually rather elastic, and could stretch over the head, even, giving it more of a sheathed look. The base of the dildo included a set of substantial balls, the sack the size of a small melon. The sack and the bottom third of the cock was actually covered with hair–running his hand over it, he couldn’t quite tell if it was real or not. It had to be synthetic, but it felt a bit like soft boar bristle–he wondered what it would feel like on the inside of his hole–if he could get it that far in, even.

Jeff tried at least. Got himself cleaned out and lubed up, warmed up with the largest dildo he had, and then gave it a go. He was just too tight–he couldn’t even get the thing in past the head. He felt demoralized, got cleaned up and onto his computer, where he saw a chat message from the dildo maker.

“I saw that the package got delivered, just wanted to make sure everything got there alright.”

“It did,” Jeff replied, “It’s bigger than I thought it would be. Don’t know when I’ll be able to take it.”

“Don’t worry too much about that. It’ll get in you faster than you think, just keep trying. I know this is the right one for you, it won’t be too long at all.”

Jeff wasn’t sure of what to make of that, but he poked around online, looking for a dildo to train with larger than the ones he had, but smaller than the monster cock, but all he could think about was the beast waiting for him upstairs, and how much he wanted it inside him. It was getting late, and he had work in the morning, so he went to bed. His dreams that night were intense, and when he woke up he couldn’t recall much of them at all, aside from a strange sensation of being stalked. That, and he woke up with the monstrous dildo in his arms, when he was certain he’d left it in the drawer with the rest of them before bed. Confused and a bit bewildered, he went to work, but found it more and more difficult to focus. At first, it was just because he was tired after his restless night, but as the day progressed, he found himself thinking more and more about the dildo waiting for him at home, and he rushed home so he could be near it again, feel it again, lube it up, and once again try and fit it inside him.

That day, after an hour, he finally managed to get the head inside his hole, and that alone was a revelation. It was a sign of progress, and Jeff kept working at it, sweating and grunting, until he was too starving and shaking to continue. He went downstairs, found a couple of steaks he’d been saving in the freezer, and cooked them both, not caring they were rarer than usual, he was just starved. He considered a shower, but felt too tired to bother, and simply went upstairs to bed, curling up around the dildo without even thinking about it. The dreams that night were no clearer, but he woke with a groan, rutting his own cock against the dildo, the sheets under him soaked with sweat and cum from what must have been a very active night. He pulled himself together as quickly as he could, not even bothering to shower, but when he headed for the door, he struggled. He couldn’t…leave it here. He bundled the dildo up and took it with him not quite sure what he was doing, but it felt instinctual. He managed to leave it in the car for most of the day, but found himself terrified someone might see it, or worse, steal it. On his lunch break, he went down, retrieved it, and struggled to resist the urge to take it out and start riding it right there in the office. He settled for taking it into the bathroom with him, licking and sucking on the head while he jacked off, horrified by his loss of control, but still unable to stop.

It was when he got home, that he noticed something was off. He hadn’t really bothered looking at himself in the mirror that morning, but in the bathroom, ready to clean himself out and try again, he saw his reflection, and just stared. He hadn’t been that hairy before, or that muscular. It wasn’t…much, really, but it was there. His clothes didn’t quite fit right, which explained some of his discomfort the day before. His beard was thicker, and when he lifted an arm up in the shower, he caught a whiff of his musk, and that was more pungent too. He didn’t have time to shower though–he hosed out his hole, skipped the soap, and was back in his bedroom, riding the dildo again, working it deeper, inch by inch, now sliding halfway down the shelf.

He could almost feel it…throbbing inside him, trying to wriggle deeper. He couldn’t tell if it was real, or if he was just imagining it. The idea of it was so hot, though, that he kept shooting load after load of cum all over his bed and his sheets until he collapsed again, too exhausted to move. It was nearly midnight, he’d been at it for hours. He had to piss, but was too weak to get up from the bed. He released it onto the bed under him, horrified at first, but the scent of it satisfied some deep, primal need inside him, and sleep took him soon after.

The next day, he got up from the bed, sniffed his hairy pit, and before he even really realized it, he was pissing all over the carpet and the wall next to the bed. Part of him was concerned, but it was much quieter than it might have been usually. Instead, he hauled out his cock and jacked off as well–it was the only thing on his body that wasn’t larger, all of a sudden. He squeezed his way into some office attire as best he could, no longer certain why he was wearing this, why he was bothering with it. He had more important things to concern himself with, after all, but some part of him clung to that normalcy, tried to deny the drives and desires that were well on their way to overwhelming him.

He didn’t last long at the office that day. He kept sneaking away to the bathroom to masturbate, to worship the dildo, his cock, his monster cock, as he kept thinking about it. Each load that he shot did nothing to calm him down, it only seemed to drive him to more intense heights of desire. When he stepped out of the stall shortly after lunch, and saw the one of his burlier coworkers at the urinal pissing, maybe it was the smell, maybe it was the sight of his ass filling out the back of his slacks, but he went over, shoved the man up against the urinal, and rutted against his ass, grunting and snorting like some animal. The man managed to get away, and before security could get a hold of him, Jeff fled the office with the dildo, abandoning everything else, and sped home.

He wouldn’t go back there. It wasn’t safe. He was safe in his home, in his den. He had to finish, he had to fuck himself with his cock, with his monster cock. He threw himself into the task, he was so close. The dildo was warm now, he could feel blood pulsing through it, the hair no longer synthetic, but so close to the hair that beginning to sprout all up and down his own body. He only had a couple more inches to go, and He worked at it, pushing everything else out. Every time he shot a load of cum, he realized, the dildo would slide in a little deeper. His body was getting larger, yes, but he noticed at last that his balls were shrivelling, his cock dwindling. At long last he took the dildo to the hilt with a roar, and felt the monstrosity come alive, the entire thing digging deeper, screwing into his guts, his wrecked hole closing up behind him.

He felt it push out, forcing its way from his body, his human cock stretching and ripping apart as his new, monstrous cock erupted from his crotch, his massive balls coming through last and dropping, slapping against his hairy thighs. He could feel it, his new cock pumping…something through him, changing him. His teeth, already sharper than they had been, grew longer, into proper fangs, is mouth and nose distending into a furry muzzle. The hair that had been growing thicker on his body became a thick pelt of black fur, hands becoming paws with thick claws on the end, his whole body filling out with layers of muscle and fat, until he was nearly eight feet tall and close to seven hundred pounds of pure mass. He looked at his monstrous bear body in the mirror, cock throbbing and leaking, and that was the last thing he recalled clearly, as he wrapped his paws around his cock and kept stroking, kept pleasing his cock, a slave to his new sexual desires, no longer interested in anything else.

When he awoke, his body had reverted–somewhat. His room was wrecked, as were several of his doorways, but he hadn’t managed to make it outside at least. That didn’t matter now. All that mattered was what his new cock desired–and it wanted a hole to fuck. There was a knock on his front door, and much to his surprise, there on the doorstep was his old coworker from the bathroom, the one he’d rutted up against. He was shaking and sweating, muttered some excuse about needing to see him again, but Jeff knew what the man needed. He grabbed him by the collar with his clawed hand and dragged him inside, shoved him down to his knees, and pissed all over him, marking the man as his new property, or rather, the property of his cock. It would take a while to open this one up and fuck him properly, but he had no doubt that in time, he would be a perfect slave–and when he took him to the hilt, and filled him with a load of his corruptive cum, he too, would turn. He shook off the last bit of piss from his cock, and dragged the addled and horny man into the bedroom now reeking of his scent, threw him on the bed, and went to work.

TPC – Chapter 2.5

Chapter 5 – An Apprenticeship

Kyle did think about what Marshall had said. It was all he could really think about for the rest of that afternoon, that evening after he went home, while he tried to sleep, and in the morning when he woke up. He kept thinking about watching that little bit of smoke slide into Dennis’ ear, thought about what he had seen in the shed that night, thought about what kind of power could make something like that happen. He thought about Jim too, and Marlon, and what he’d told him. Would he disappear like that too? Would everyone just…forget about him, from one day to the next? He wondered if Marlon was there in Pigtown somewhere, trying to get free from whatever had taken him. He wondered if the offer Marshall was making him was just an attractive piece of bait for a hook he couldn’t see yet. He thought about what Dennis had said, he thought about his father and college, he thought about how everyone who walked into the shop seemed so pleased to be there. Marshall knew them all by first name, and if someone walked in who he didn’t know, by the end of the visit, it seemed he’d gained another customer for life. Mostly though, Kyle didn’t feel alone there, but out here, in the suburbs, all he ever felt was loneliness.

He got to the shop half an hour before they opened, as requested, helping Marshall get the store ready. He tried to bring up what they’d spoken about the day before, but Marshall pushed the topic to other subjects, telling him they would discuss it later. Then, the doors were open, and it wasn’t long before the regulars were coming in for their cigars, their tobacco, their magazines, their gossip and conversation about Pigtown. Kyle tried to follow as much of it as he could, but little of what the men talked about seemed to make much sense to him, and none of them made much effort to clarify who, or what, they were discussing. Lunch came and went, and still they didn’t discuss it. Kyle felt that they were waiting for something, but he didn’t know what.

At around three, while Kyle was rotating and restocking some of the bulk tobacco, the bell over the door chimed, he looked over, and saw that a different sort of character had wandered into the shop than usual. He wasn’t too different from Kyle, really–younger, thin, looking a bit nervous and unsure of himself. Marshall treated him like he did most any other newcomer, making them feel at home, asking them what they were interested in, and the young man seemed like he wasn’t quite sure why he was here himself. Marshall nodded, and told him to just take his time. If he saw something that caught his attention, just let him know, and he’d help him out.

The young man spent a few minutes at the glass counter, looking at the pipes in the display case, and at some point, he must have lingered over something a little longer than the rest, because Marshall walked over and pulled a pipe from the stand it was on, and rested it on the counter.

“This one, eh?”

The man nodded. “Yeah, I…I don’t know why, but…”

“It’s alright, here, I’ll help.”

“I’ve never smoked anything like this before, I don’t know why I’m even–”

Marshall took a drag off his cigar, and pushed a couple of jets from his nose. Kyle watched them twine around the young man’s face, caress it, ease it, relax him gently. “I’m here for you. Now, let’s get this packed for you, alright?”

Marshall took some tobacco from a sample jar he kept on the counter, and helped the young man pack the pipe. Kyle stood at the back of the shop, a little confused by what he was watching. The young man seemed distressed, like he didn’t quite know what he was doing, or why. Marshall was kind, but firm, almost pushing the pipe on him. He felt like he should intervene, and yet he also knew, somehow, that this is what he’d been waiting for, what Marshall had wanted him to witness. He slipped the pipe between the man’s lips. They quivered for a moment, and then firmed up enough to hold the bit while Marshall lit the pipe, and he drew the fire into the tobacco, getting it lit at Marshall’s urging, and as he did, Kyle watched the young man begin to change.

It was difficult to pin down how it happened, exactly. Looking back on it, he couldn’t quite describe a clear progression. One moment, there was a young man drawing on a pipe, and the next, there was an older fellow, short and a bit pudgy, with a thick grey beard and manicured mustache, holding that same pipe and grinning over at Marshall, who was beaming back. He could describe how it must have happened, how his belly must have grown, how his clothes must have changed, but it seemed to detract from the central astonishment. That first man was gone. In his place, was another man, and looking at him, Kyle…knew him. As a regular, William, coming in for his usual supply of pipe tobacco, just like every Wednesday. Marshall and William chatted for a bit, while he got his usual purchase ready, he paid, and then left, leaving Marshall and Kyle alone in the store again.

“Now do you see?” Marshall asked him. “That’s what this place will do to you. You’re different from him, of course. Stronger, in some ways. That, or because you want it, it’s more…lenient.”

“You…could change me like that?”

“No, I don’t quite think so. Not so easily. I wouldn’t want to, anyway. I think we could have much more fun together along the way.”

Kyle was quiet again.

“So, did you think about it? What did you decide?”

He had thought about it. He’d thought he’d decided. But watching that happen, right in front of him, he didn’t quite know anymore. Marshall stepped out from behind the counter, and flipped the sign on the door to closed, then walked over to Kyle, smoking his cigar.

“I know you decided, Kyle, or you would have run screaming out that door after that.”

He gulped.

“And you know, you’ll be able to do that too, eventually,” Marshall said, opening his lips and blowing a pair of smoke rings out. They drifted through the air, slipped around Kyle’s wrists, and he felt them clamp down. With a push of the hand, they dragged him towards the back of the store, pinning him to the wall, while Marshall advanced on him again, Kyle struggling a bit as he came closer. “Easy now, easy…” Marshall said, stroking the side of Kyle’s face with a plume of smoke, calming him down again, easing his breath. “We’re going to have so much fun together, my little apprentice.”

Marshall pressed his cigar between Kyle’s lips, and he grasped it in his teeth, pulling on the smoke gently while Marshall’s hands pushed up under his shirt, caressing him gently, working back down and undoing the fly of his jeans, and pushing them and his underwear down. Kyle’s hard cock sprang out, and Marshall grinned. “Ah, you are enjoying this. A boy’s cock never lies, you know. Now, why don’t we get you a little more used to that smoke.”

Marshall got down on his knees in front of him, wrapped his bearded lips around the head of his cock, and sucked on it, and as he did, Marshall felt his own lips seal around the cigar in his mouth and draw the smoke deeper into his lungs than he had before. He tried to cough and sputter, but his mouth wouldn’t open back up. He had to force the smoke back out through his nose, eyes watering.

Marshall pulled his lips free, and looked up at him. “Easy now, the first time is always the hardest. It’ll be as natural as air, soon enough. You can’t be afraid of the smoke. You have to control it, own it. Dominate it. Relax and let it in. I won’t let it hurt you.”

Kyle murmured and pleaded around the cigar he couldn’t release, but Marshall wrapped his lips around his cock and pulled on it again, the smoke again drawn into his lungs, and then deeper than his lungs. Kyle’s heart raced from the sensation, heaving smoke out his nose, but Marshall drew again, and again, sucking the smoke deeper, further into him, until after a couple of minutes, he pulled away from Kyle, who let out a groan as something…was sucked out of him, or through him. He thought it was an orgasm at first, but it didn’t feel quite right. Marshall pulled away from the head of his cock, and pushed a stream of smoke up at him, grinning. Kyle was confused, until he saw the tendril of smoke curling out of the head of his cock. “That’s a good boy,” Marshall said, and did it again.

The pleasure grew with each draw, and Kyle could feel it. Feel the smoke pulled into his lungs, through his lungs, circling through his entire body. He felt sick and exhilarated, terrified and powerful. At last, he felt his balls begin to churn, felt the heat of the smoke in there as well, filling him up, swelling, mixing with his cum and he came, gouts of smoke and cum, all of which Marshall drew into himself, leaving Kyle there, hanging from the smoky manacles, shuddering and gasping for air around the cigar. Marshall waved the smoke away, plucked the butt of the cigar from Kyle’s mouth, and caught him as he sagged forward into his arms, holding him close while he gasped.

“That’s it, you did good, so good…” Marshall said to him, “You’re my apprentice now, I’ll always take good care of you.”

He got Kyle some water, sat him on the floor, and just held him for a bit. Kyle could still feel it, the smoke all through his body, but it was…cooling, and he started to feel more nauseous than pleasurable. He excused himself, went into the bathroom and threw up. Marshall followed him in, telling him that was to be expected, but there’s no real way to avoid it. A few minutes later, Kyle felt himself start to shake, and when Marshall handed him a cigar, he looked up, a bit confused.

“You need it now, boy,” Marshall said, “It will never hurt you, but you also won’t be able to go without it for long. You should light up.”

His hands were shaking a bit too much to get a good light, and so Marshall helped him. He took a mouthful of smoke, and then took a long inhale. It didn’t hurt, not like before. He pulled it deeper, feeling it slide through his body again like before, and he let out a little moan of pleasure–and Marshall gave him a kiss. “That’s better. Now come on, we’d better open up again. I know we’ll have some angry customers if we don’t. They bring down the door and want to join in.”

Kyle spent the rest of the afternoon in a state of shock, trying to finish his list of duties for the day, but had trouble juggling the cigar he now craved in ways he couldn’t quite understand. As uneasy as he felt at first, he found himself enjoying it, at least until closing time came. Marshall flipped the sign over, and Kyle realized that he was going to have to go home soon, and the consequences of his decision crashed down on him in ways that he wasn’t quite ready to deal with.

“I…how am I going to explain this to my dad? If I have to smoke–” he started to say, but Marshall just shook his head.

“You live here now, with me. You’re a part of Pigtown now, for good. Now come on, let’s get some dinner on, and then we’ll get started on your training, properly.”

Kyle gave a little gulp, and looked at the door again.

“If you don’t believe me, check your keys.”

He did–and realized a few were missing. The keys to his parents’ cars for one thing, and their house key. But there was a new one, for the shop of course. He…it was real, wasn’t it? He wasn’t going back there. He expected to feel fear, but the relief was much stronger. He followed Marshall up to the apartment over the shop where he lived, realizing that he’d slipped his track completely–and now, his future belonged to Marshall.

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Interactive: Porno Virus (Part 10)

Viruses mutate, in time. What started as a simple infection can become monstrous, with the right evolution. Jacob stumbled down the street, wearing only a bathrobe that, on a normal person, would be rather oversized, but which could barely encompass his huge frame. His mind was a jumble–he…he hadn’t always looked like this, hadn’t always felt like this, hadn’t felt these needs welling up inside him, like the milk that seemed to pulse through his cock, through his massive tits, through his very veins. What…was he now? What on God’s earth had he become?

But God, that God, the God he had followed all his life until this very afternoon, he now knew to be a false god. In his heart, there had always been doubts. Doubts that what he was doing, and what he served, were empty–empty of any real power, beyond the power that the men who believed it gave it, but now…now he had a taste of real power, of something more, something that…that he could give. Christ could only give of his body as metaphor, but he–through this new god pulsating inside him, changing him still–he could give of it literally.

It was twilight now, and he could, to some extent, go unnoticed, but he knew that he had to try and find someone, somewhere that he could be safe. He ached, ached for someone to feed from him. The milk inside him was welling up, filling him to bursting. He could feel it under his very skin, welling up from his pores, sweating out and down his hairy chest, dripping from the hair that had grown there, smelling like sex and cream. He turned up a driveway, up the steps, pounded on a door, kept pounding, until it opened, and a man stood there, older, the age of Jacob’s father, and of Jacob’s new god, looking at the heaving bestial man in the door frame, dripping with milk, his eyes wide with terror and confusion.

“Do…do not be afraid, I come from God to…to feed you the milk of…of life…” Jacob grunted, trying to make the words connect up in his mind, but all he could really do was reach out, grab the fellow by the collar of his shirt, and pull him into his hairy, milky chest. He…had to taste it, they all had to taste it, to know it. To know God.

There was screaming then–a woman had rounded the corner to see her husband in the grips of some massive, wet beast. Jacob looked at her, uninterested, disgusted–they would find somewhere else to go, somewhere they would not be disturbed. Jacob released the man, looked down at him, his milk glazed lips, his wide eyes realizing what he had just tasted, and he turned and walked back down the steps, and back down the driveway.

The woman went to go to her husband, but he shrugged her off–one taste hadn’t been enough, the virus was coursing through him now, changing him, his mind now…obsessed with the beast, with feeding from him, tasting everything the man could give him, and he stumbled down the steps after him, leaving the woman shouting for him in the doorway, as he followed Jacob down the street.

More men encountered them. None of them could resist the beast, neither young nor old, and each fell into step behind him, until they came to a small greenbelt, and towards one end, a thicket of trees. There, Jacob knew he could rest a while, and his new flock could feed, could better understand what he was offering. He could give them over to his new God. He nestled down at the base of a large tree, and the men swarmed around him, fighting over him, licking at his milk-sweating skin, sucking on his teats, fighting for the stream of cum flowing from his cock. Jacob could feel his body draining, and the virus inside him quickened again, more teats sprouting down the front of his chest and down his belly, the glands of his mouth no longer producing spit, but rather thick, viscous cream he could drool into the mouths of his disciples, watching them all grow larger, hairier, bestial, groping themselves and each other in horny delight, their humanity dissolving away as they each embraced their new God, their new purpose.

Here’s the next poll, and the bonus Patron poll can be found over here!

Porn Addiction (Caption Sketch)

Jackson knew that porn addiction was a thing, of course, but it wasn’t something that he imagined might happen to someone like him. That was a problem that losers had, losers who couldn’t get cock, or ugly old men who never left their houses. He wasn’t an addict…but the videos on this site–once he’d found it, he kept thinking about them, all the time, and thinking about them would get them horny, and he found himself needing to watch them more and more. So much so, that he’d started sneaking off to the restroom at work with his phone in hand, and he’d work out a quick load watching one…first just once a day, but then, more and more.

It was sex he’d never seen before. The guys in the videos–they were no holds barred, total freaks and perverts with no limits. He watched them do things he’d never even contemplated before, and…and once he’d seen it, he found himself obsessed with it–things that had disgusted him before, like watersports or fisting, were now just warm ups. Still, he wasn’t an addict. He was just…kinkier than he’d thought, is all. He hadn’t had sex with another guy in weeks (or was it months) but what did that matter? He didn’t know anyone like this in real life–the only way he could enjoy it was…in porn, right?

He kept denying it, as long as he could. The days when he called in sick, that he spent in his room, edging for hours, stuffing himself with food he had delivered. When he hit his limit on the site…he had to subscribe of course, but the cost just seemed to keep going up every month. Sure, he didn’t…need it, but he wanted it, and that’s what really mattered. That is, until he got fired. Until he spent three solid days in his room, edging for hours on end, watching video after video–then…he realized he had a problem. Then he realized what a mess he’d become. He’d gained close to fifty pounds of fat, his body was filthy, he…looked older. He looked like the losers he’d always imagined a porn addict might be–and he realized that was exactly what he’d become.

Jackson reeking of musk and cum, in the midst of a four hour edge session

That’s when he’d gotten the email–from the site, offering him a choice. Keep paying to watch, and the site would keep draining him. Within the year, he’d be in his sixties, massively obese, sitting in his own filth, mindlessly jacking off until he just keeled over and died from one last massive orgasm–or he could come join the company as an actor, and make all of his fantasies come true.

He was scared at first. Then his hair started to grey. Then, he realized he could barely take leaving the house at all. If he didn’t go now–he knew he would never get away. So he left. He left, and went to the address the email told him, and two days later, he was in his first film.

No one would have known it was him, of course. Even he wouldn’t have known himself, if there was anything of Jackson even left in the filthy fat whore’s mind–but the company had gotten rid of all that for him. No–he was just another slave to their perverse, demonic pleasures, channeling that lust into the videos, broadcasting them to the world, hungry thinking about the souls corrupted by his unending desires, and he went back to groping his fat body and sucking at the cock in front of him, lost to lust forever.

Holiday Curses – Thanksgiving (Part 2)

The results of the polls were pretty clear on the winners, so I went ahead and wrote the next chunk early!

“Hey John, why don’t you come with me for a second, there’s something I’d like to show you,” Mark said.

“Faggot, what the fuck could you possibly want to show me? Your dick?” John said, not really realizing that his body was standing up from the couch and coming closer to his youngest brother.

“John, where you going? It’s the middle of the quarter!” His father said.

“None of you need to worry about it–you’ll get your turn soon enough. For now, dad, go turn off the appliances in the kitchen–I don’t think any of you will be getting your thanksgiving meal tonight. Then, all of you just keep watching your precious football, and don’t disturb me, or do anything stupid like try and get help. Just watch TV, and wait until it’s your turn.”

The unease on John’s face spread to the rest of them, as his dad got up and realized his wife had left without him even noticing, the dinner half cooked. When he came back, John and his faggot son Mark were gone, disappeared into the back rooms of the house, but he couldn’t do anything but sit down with the rest of the men and keep watching the game, none of them understanding what, exactly, was going on.

In the bedroom where Mark led John, however, he began to get an idea–there, on the bed, was some strange stuff–a gas mask, some dirty looking clothes, a massive cigar, and a…really, really large dildo (in reality, it wasn’t that large, but John lacked much context in this arena, and wasn’t particularly large himself). “You really are some fucking faggot! What the fuck is this shit?”

“You know John, all these years, you’ve taken such good care of yourself,” Mark said, “Lording it over everyone else. Well you know what? I happen to think that vices are healthy–and that it’s high time you pick up a few. Get undressed, sit down on the bed, and put that gas mask on.”

He struggled now, harder, but his body couldn’t resist the compulsion to take off all his clothes, sit down on the bed and pick up the mask, not noticing the chalk circle he crossed over, a circle that Mark sealed with a drop if his blood behind them both, as he followed him in, feeling the crackle of power around them. This was a curse of threes, and of vices–he’d already imbued the items with the power–now, all he had to do was use them–or make John use them, rather.

John pulled on the mask, and then Mark cinched it tight, ordering him to not remove it until the next morning came. Then, he took the dirty underwear and socks, and shoved them down the tube connected to the mask, and whispered the first incantation. Inside the mask, the stench overwhelmed him, and Mark could see his older brother’s eyes dilate with excitement. “Smell that bro? You don’t know what that jockstrap and those socks have been through, but you sure to do love it. Look at how hard that pecker of yours got already, and we still have two to go.”

The smell was rank, like the nastiest locker rooms of his youth, but Mark was right–it was like something in his mind had been rewritten, and now the stench of unwashed man musk was…thrilling. He huffed harder on the hose, while his brother cut the cigar, plugged the end of the tube, making it hard to breathe, and lit it, speaking the second incantation as he did. The smoke poured into the mask, and he had to inhale it–not that he minded after the incantation finished. In fact, he craved, feeling his head go light, and his stomach go queasy, but he…he needed the smoke.

He was horrified–he hated smokers, and he struggled on the bed, trying to fight Mark off, but a couple of words froze him in place, and Mark just laughed at him. “Now now, John, I can tell you’re loving this. Fuck, I remember when I came home smoking those cigarettes one year, and you flipped your shit! Now you’re going to be smoking so many cigars a day–you fucking hypocrite. How’s that smoke taste with that grungy funk in there? It’s probably fucking ambrosia to you right now–well just wait, things are only going to get better from here.” He shoved the end of the tube with the cigar in it into John’s hand. “Now be careful–you don’t want to lose your cigar, do you? Now get up on the bed, on your hands and knees, ass at the edge.”

His brother, shaking now, and careful to keep the cigar in the tube, got up and assumed the position as his brother ordered, eyeing the dildo on the bed beside him. Fuck that though–his brother needed a taste of the real thing first–raw. Mark dropped his pants, his cock rock hard, and pressed the head against his brother’s hole. “Think of this as a warm up–besides, I’ve been looking forward to popping your cherry, bro.”

John struggled, but there wasn’t anything he could do–he was locked in position as his little brother fucked him for a few minutes–but since he didn’t say the incantation…he didn’t want it. John felt his orgasm coming, and as he shot, he spoke the incantation, feeling is brother start to push back to his thrusts, and when he was finished cumming, he pulled out, and slammed the dildo into the hilt, his brother screaming in pain–and need. Mark stepped back, breaking the circle and unsealing the spell–and watched his brother reach around, grip the dildo, pull it out…and then plunge it back in of his own accord, over and over again.

The desires will fade somewhat, but the next hours, until dawn, were crucial. The more he stuck to his vices now, the harder they would stick after dawn, when the spell lost strength entirely. “Here bro, too keep you well supplied through the night,” Mark said, and set a pack of cigars on the nightstand, along with a cutter and lighter. “Oh, and if you need some variety…” he opened the drawer, and revealed a set of dildos, different sizes, some that vibrate, “that should keep you busy all night long, I think. Be good now, and do what you want to.”

With that, Mark left his brother in the room, and returned to the living room. “Alright Isaac,” he said to his cousin, “Your turn.”

The men on the couch could hear something happening to John in one of the bedrooms, but they hadn’t been able to do anything to get up and stop watching the game. Isaac tried to make a break for the door, when he found his body free, but he found himself following his cousin back into the bedrooms.

Isaac’s curse was a bit more…complicated. Called the curse of the imago, it was about freeing the inner impulses of the target from within, taking off the outer layers of the self, and revealing the true self with in. The results could be…freakish, but Isaac had figured out a solution for that already. Isaac had always been good about hiding himself behind a facade–but what sort of self is he hiding, that Mark wants to reveal?

Issac has always been a violent brute, though he doesn’t look like it.
He’s a lazy glutton, but none of what he eats shows on his waistline.
He’s a sex obsessed pig, with a clean cut appearance on the outside.
He’s a sycophant for Mark’s brothers, always enabling their abuse.

Here’s the public poll

Here’s the patron only poll

Voting ends early next week!

Slave Swap (Part 5)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Slave Swap (Part 4)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Slave Swap (Part 3)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Always Another Curse (Sketch)

“What the fuck did you do to me?”

Jerry looked next to him, and saw Mac–by far the fattest kid in school–had waddled up next to him and was staring at him. Of course, Mac hadn’t been the fattest kid in school for very long–before, that title had belonged to Jerry, and Mac had been one of his biggest bullies. “You did this to me, fucking fess up, you…you said something to me yesterday and I…” his pudgy jowls turned bright red, and he looked away, unable to keep going.

“Tell me everything you did yesterday–but make sure you speak loud enough that everyone in the hallway can here,” Jerry said calmly. Mac’s eyes went wide, but words were already tumbling from his mouth.

“I was gonna beat you up yesterday, but you…said something, and I decided I had better shit to do, but…but my ass was itching really bad when I got home…”

It was obvious from his face that he was desperately trying to keep the words back–Allie was right there–and her loose lips murdered reputations just as easily as the sucked down cum behind the bleachers. Jerry knew that she was there, of course–this was too perfect.

“…When I got home, I…I got undressed and I stuck a finger in my ass to…to try and itch it, but it felt really good, and I had two fingers in there, when I started growing fatter! I tried to stop, but I kept using my fingers, and now I’m like, 700 pounds. So…so what did you do to me?”

Allie’s eyes had lit up at the mention of anal pleasure–she’d already fled to tell everyone she could find. “Do you have something up your ass right now, Mac?” Jerry asked.

“One…one of my mom’s…dig dildos. Please…Don’t make me keep talking!”

Jerry smirked. “Meet me in the bathroom after school, and try not to cum–you won’t like what happens.”

“I can’t even reach my cock! I haven’t been able to cum all day,” Mac said, but Jerry just turned and walked away, leaving Mac to heave himself to class, until they met up in the bathroom after school, where Jerry immediately told him to strip naked. Mac did as he was told–standing there in his obese glory. “Please, just fix this, please…”

“Lift up your gut,” Jerry said. Mac did so, and he got down on his knees and started fiddling with Mac’s cock. “The only way to get your body back is to cum three times–but you’ll keep twenty five pounds for each day you remain in this form, so I’d suggest you hurry.”

There was a click, and Mac felt something pulling his cock down slightly–and like his cock was…restrained. “What…”

“I just put a chastity cage on you.”

Mac just stared at him. “But…But you said–”

“Well I didn’t want it to be easy for you, you fucking asshole. Besides, the only way you can cum is with a cock in your ass–a real cock, not a dildo. Anyway, I have to get home–I have homework to do.”

Mac screamed and tried to grab him, but he ended up just falling to the ground, Jerry stepping out of the way.

“Screaming isn’t going to make a difference–I suggest you find some guys to fuck you, and soon, if you don’t want to be that fat permanently. Of course, with that stubby cock of yours locked, you’re going to have to rely on anal stimulation, so fisting would really be the best option.”

“Fuck…fuck you.”

“Heh, no Mac. Fuck. You.” Jerry said. “But if you ask me nicely, maybe I’ll give you some help.”

Mac glared at him, and spat at his feet–he didn’t give in and accept Jerry offer until after school three days later, after he’d been relentlessly bullied by all of his previous friends, and spent every evening fucking his ass raw with his mom’s stolen dildo. Jerry made him beg, and suck his cock, before giving him assistance, mumbling a second spell over him. Mac didn’t notice a difference; Jerry told him he would soon enough. Mac was pissed, but he walked home–and nothing at all seemed strange until his dad came home, and they smelled each other…

They ended up in the garage, his dad’s cock buried deep in Mac’s asshole, fucking him deep, but as good as it felt, with the cage on he couldn’t cum–that didn’t stop his dad from fucking him again that evening, twice during the night, and one last time before work. Worse than getting fucked by his dad, was that Mac liked it. He wanted to submit, he wanted to be fucked by him, and it felt…it felt so fucking good, to have his dad’s cock in his hole. Still, it was time for school–he passed several men before another one caught his nose–a chubby roughneck wearing some dirty workgear, and they fucked in a narrow gap between two houses. At least twenty men smelled attractive at school, including several teachers and his old coach, but between the orgy that kept him occupied in the bathroom most of the day, he managed to eek out one load from his locked cock.

It took him all weekend and two more days to come all three times, and then, finally, he felt the fat beginning to fall off his body–but not all of it. He had been a muscular 225 before all of this, but after the curse, he only lost about half–resting at a still obese 450 nine days later. But the men still smelled amazing…and he quickly realized that just because he’d overcome the first curse, didn’t mean he’d beaten the second–who knew what sort of demands Jerry was going to make if Mac wanted all his freedom back?

Father’s Rules (Part 2)

Blake woke up at six o’ clock on the couch, right on the dot, like someone had thrown a switch. He looked up at saw his dad was up as well, dressed in his clothes for work, next to the list of rules on the wall.

“What, watching me sleep, pervert?” Blake said, sitting up.

“No, I was just waiting for you to wake up–no more sleeping in for you. Up at six o’ clock every morning, whether you like it or not. Now I have to get going to the site, but I wanted to make sure you saw your new rules.

Blake looked at the list, and saw a number of new entries had appeared:

My son will consume at least one pot of black coffee and at least 2000 calories between six A.M. and noon.

My son will consume at least one twelve pack of beer and 4000 calories between noon and midnight

My Son will consume at least six cigars a day.

“What the fuck? But what about school?”

“Both of us know you weren’t even going to school when you could go to school. No, I think you’ll be staying here for a while, where I can keep an eye on you, son.”

Blake tried to protest, but Saul just left the apartment, abandoning him to his rules. The first few days he fought–but his body wouldn’t let him disobey. His father had kept the house stocked with plenty of food–almost all of it fatty snack foods, and since he couldn’t count calories easily, he’d just eat until the hunger died away, usually jacking off as he did to get to fifteen ejaculations by the end of the day. He was a mess the first week. The second week he managed better, but by the third week, his father increased the numbers–two pots of coffee, 9000 calories a day, eighteen beers, and ten cigars. Almost every night, his father would bring home another man to fuck around with, and he’d managed to find a quite a few guys who didn’t mind Max watching them fuck, while he drank his beers and smoked his cigars, but he couldn’t keep doing this, he just couldn’t.

He got a knife from the kitchen and tried to attack his dad when he got home one evening, but the list wouldn’t let him harm Saul, he couldn’t even bring himself to try and land a blow on him. So Saul made a new rule that Blake had to eat all of his own cum. He lasted two days before he finally broke down, sobbing. He couldn’t live like this, he had to get out of the apartment. He felt sick all the time, his cock was chaffed, the smoke hurt his lungs, he couldn’t take it anymore. He’d do anything, anything Saul wanted him to do, if he could just go back to being a normal teenager again.

Saul didn’t do or say anything right away. Then, he laughed. “Teenager?” he asked, “Son, you haven’t been a teenager for quite a while now.”

Blake just looked at him, confused. Saul rolled his eyes. “It usually takes a few days for your head to catch up and fill in, but you’ll figure it out. Now, I’m fucking beat–I’m gonna go jack off if you wanna watch, and then I’m going to bed.”

Blake figured out what his dad was talking about the next day, when he finished taking one of his long beer pisses, and caught sight of himself in the mirror. He was a mess, of course. He eyes were bloodshot, and he’d gained quite a bit of weight from his binging. Too much weight, really. It had only been a month–he managed to dig an old scale out from under the sink, and sure enough, he’d gone from one hundred and fifty pounds to two hundred and sixty in less than a month. That didn’t make sense, did it? Then again, he hadn’t weighed one fifty since he was in high school, so–

He ran that thought back. Since he was in high school? He was still in high school…wasn’t he?

He knew the answer. He’d dropped out when he was sixteen–he was too lazy to do much of anything beyond smoke, drink, eat and jack off in his dad’s apartment. He looked at himself in the mirror, and he did look older–like he was probably around twenty seven or so, not sixteen. He freaked out–all he could think to do, however, was drink more beer and smoke more cigars, anything to calm him down until his dad got home from work, and Blake demanded answers.

“The more you fight it, the more you age, son. That’s how it works. And you become whatever the rules you’re following think you should be. You’re a fucking slob now, son. You stink–Have you even showered this week? You didn’t even notice the beard either I bet–hell, it almost reaches your chest–the same with that hair of yours.”

“No…no, this is insane.”

“No, this is your fucking punishment. But if you’re ready to grow up and be a man, then we can have a conversation about what your rules might be, but–”

“Fuck you!” Blake screamed, tried to punch him, but he only hit air, “I fucking hate you! I don’t fucking care what you do, fuck you!”

Saul scowled, “I’m trying to be patient. My dad wasn’t this patient with me, but I know how it feels. If you just cooperate…”

Saul could see Max wasn’t listening, so he shrugged, and went to bed; Max sat on the couch and did his best to keep his hand away from his cock, but he…he simply couldn’t. He was addicted to masturbation as he was to the cigars he was smoking and the cheap beer he was guzzling. What was this list doing to him? Hell, what was his dad doing to him? He was beginning to suspect this was less about punishment and more about his own father’s twisted imagination, but what could he do?