Patreon Exclusives: “Stud Service” & “Arctos: Scents #1 and #2”

Got a couple new stories up for Patrons this week! The first one is currently in early access, which means that it’ll get posted publicly in a week or so. I’ve had it sitting around for a while and never got around to posting it. It’s got some good old fashioned weird shit–anthro, furry, feral, cock swapping, fairy tale oddities etc. You can find it here, or you can hang on for a while and catch it here in a bit.

The others are a pair of suggested stories based off ideas from Patrons. Folks liked the first one I did last week, and so I did a follow up with a different scent I’d mentioned. I’ll go ahead and post the first one in full–if you enjoy it, you can find the second one here.

As always, if you haven’t signed up for my Patreon, I’d recommend it! You get early access to full stories, as well as access to the suggestion box, all of the stories I write based on those suggestions, and the occasional freebie too. You can find more details here!


Blake didn’t know what the package was when it showed up in his mailbox, nor did he recognize the company on the label–some place called Arctos Industries. He took it inside with the rest of his mail, opened it up, and three little canisters fell out, along with a note:

“Blake,

You’re a man of discerning scent. We here at Arctos are offering you a sample pack of our new personal scents–Mechanic, Dungeoneer, and Truckstop. Now you too can smell like an Arctos man. The full strength formulas can be found at our website, once you’ve settled on your favorite. Happy scenting.”

“Fucking weird ass marketing campaigns these days,” Blake said, and looked at the three aerosol cans. They must be some kind of deodorant or body spray. Out of curiosity, he popped the top off one, labeled Mechanic, and gave it a little spray in the air.

Grease. Motor oil. Sweat. New car smell. Metal shavings. Battery acid. 

It was…strong. If this wasn’t full strength, he didn’t want to know what the real thing smelled like. But the smell was lingering in his nose, he couldn’t quite seem to shake it, somehow. Something…something was off. He realized then that he’d taken his shirt off at some point, but when? He tried to move away from where he’d sprayed it, but it followed him–he lifted an arm up, gave a sniff, and realized it was on him–he’d sprayed himself with it, but when? Looking at the clock, he’d lost…fifteen minutes? He was feeling woozy again, woozy, and…horny. That was the last thing he remembered clearly, until he found himself lying in his bed.

With a moan, he stood up, and looked around. What time was it? He looked for his phone, but it was nowhere to be seen. He got up and went into the kitchen, and discovered it was…morning. He turned on his computer, and found out it was morning…two days later. He’d just lost around 36 hours of time, and he had no way of accounting for it at all. He heard the buzz of his phone, back in his bedroom, and he found it in the pocket of some filthy coveralls he had never seen before in his life, coated with grease and motor oil. He couldn’t imagine wearing something like that ever–but then why were they here, with his phone in the pocket? The buzz had been a message from some stranger he didn’t even know, asking why he wasn’t at the shop–probably a wrong number.

Other stuff was off though. He went to make himself some breakfast, and found leftover take out from some fast food place in the fridge–shit he would have never ordered in his life. He threw it out. His hands were filthy, with grease under the nails from who knew what. He drank his coffee, and noticed the canister of deodorant was still on the counter. Mechanic–that was the last thing he’d done before blacking out. Did that have something to do with all of this? He didn’t want to test the theory–he just chucked it in the trash with the fast food, and wondered if he should call the doctor. 

In the end, he felt fine though–he watched TV for the rest of the morning and early afternoon, only for his show to be interrupted by someone knocking on the door. Wondering who it could be, he opened it, and found himself looking at a stocky guy wearing some grungy looking coveralls. He looked surprised, and then confused. “Oh, hey. Is Blake here?”

“Uh…yeah, I’m Blake.”

“No, I mean…big guy, roommate?”

“I live here alone, no other Blake as far as I…what are you doing?” Blake asked, as the shorter guy started sniffing the air. 

“I…I smell him, he’s here somewhere,” he said, and pushed past Blake into the apartment.

“Hey! What the hell are you doing?” The guy made a beeline for the trash can, and pulled out the canister, then came back and sniffed Blake. “What the fuck is wrong with you? Get out of my apartment.”

Blake tried to shove him back out into the hallway, but before he could, the guy pulled off the top of the canister and sprayed Blake with the Mechanic scent again. As soon as he smelled it, he blanked out again for a second, and when he came to…he was…different. 

“Fuck, I knew you had to be here, I had to smell you again,” the guy said, his face shoved into Blake’s armpit. He…He was naked, mostly naked. But something was off. He was bigger, hairier. He tried to push the stranger away, but ended up using his hand to shove him harder into his armpit. Things began to swim, losing more clarity, and then, he wasn’t in his apartment.

He was in a bathroom. Not the cleanest bathroom he’d ever seen. It was obviously a business bathroom, single occupancy, lock on the door. Blake looked around him, totally disoriented, and saw himself in the mirror, face coated in grime, wearing the coveralls he’d found in the apartment, the nametag patch on them said Blake. They fit…poorly. They pooled around the work boots he had on, which were also too small, and hung off him, like they were made for a guy at least a hundred pounds heavier. What in the world was happening to him? He found his phone in his pocket, but couldn’t unlock it–someone had changed the pin on him to something he didn’t know. He could see the date though–he’d lost…five days this time! How was that even possible?

He left the bathroom, and found himself in the lobby of a mechanic’s garage. One of the customer’s waiting did a double take when he came out, then buried his face back in the magazine he was reading. Blake, red in the face, left the lobby and looked for his car, but it wasn’t anywhere that he could see. He was still wandering about when the guy who had shown up at his apartment before came jogging over to him.

“You! Where…where the hell am I? What did you do to me?”

“Hey, easy now, calm down, I can explain,” he said, but he just pulled the canister from his pocket and shot it all over Blake’s body, “I was hoping a smaller dose would be ok, since we’re running low, but the full strength spray should arrive today–it’s all going to be fine.”

Blake choked and gasped, and he…he could feel it. Feel his body growing larger, his gut filling out the front of his coveralls, hair receding and filling in with grey, a bushy beard across his face, and the stench! Fuck, he smelled fucking good, made his fat cock get hard and start leaking in the front of his favorite coveralls…but what was he doing out here in the parking lot? Last thing he remembered, he’d needed to take a piss, and his boy wasn’t around to drink it for him. “What the hell, I fergot some shit again…” he muttered, embarrassed. That had been happening lately, just…losing time without any explanation. 

“Don’t worry Daddy, your medication will get here today–you’ll be feeling better soon enough,” Sam said, and gave the massive, smelly mechanic a hug, taking a deep inhale of his scent, his own cock going crazy. “It’s lunch time Daddy, why don’t we hit the drive through, and we can both get fed,” he said, and groped Blake’s crotch.

“Fuck boy, sounds like a plan tah me,” Blake growled to him. They hopped in the used truck they’d bought a few days before–he didn’t know what he’d been thinking, buying a little car he could barely fit into, but this was so much more comfy. They headed for the drive through–Blake would get his usual massive meal, and while he ate, his boy would get a load of mechanic cum for his troubles.

Horny Hugh (Part 3)

WARNING: This chapter includes some abuse, pain play, and snuff elements. If that’s not your thing, I’d suggest moving on to something else.

“Goodnight, babe, I’ll see you in a few days,” Josh said to Kyle outside his apartment. The two of them had just shared a fun night out at the bars, followed by a nightcap and sex at Kyle’s apartment. Now, Josh was heading home–he was leaving on a business trip for a few days, and Kyle was already missing him, throwing him a pouting lip which looked a bit ridiculous on the buff fellow he was.

“Yeah, alright–but give it some thought, eh? What I asked about?” Kyle asked, trying not to sound too pleading.

“I will, I promise,” Josh said, leaned in and gave Kyle a kiss goodnight, before heading off down the hallway.

Kyle stepped back into his apartment and shut the door, heaving a sigh. He’d been anxious to even ask the question, but Josh had taken it well. It was a big step, sure, but Kyle had never felt this way about someone before, and he just hoped Josh felt the same way. It wasn’t a marriage proposal, but asking him to move in felt like the next logical step in their relationship–not to mention it would help them both out with the finances. But now it was late, and Kyle was ready for bed. He took a quick shower, climbed in, and it wasn’t long before he had fallen asleep.

Now, since his encounter with Hugh a week before, Kyle hadn’t thought once of that strange fellow who had hit on his boyfriend. The same could not be said of Hugh, who, after his fling with Sam, had found himself obsessing more and more over Josh–and in turn, Kyle. Hugh knew, of course, that if he wanted Josh bad enough–and he did want him very bad–that he would be his, no matter what, especially with the new powers that had been revealing themselves to him over the last week. But the more he thought about Josh, the more he found himself stewing about Kyle, about the disrespect he had shown him in the bar, about how he didn’t deserve a beautiful, handsome man like Josh. That he needed to be punished first, and then, Hugh would sweep in and show Josh what a true lover was like. 

But Hugh had wanted something special for Kyle. He’d been taking little peeks into Kyle’s dreams, and into his mind, for the last week or so, getting to know him better–what he hated especially. The things that turned him off more than anything else in the world. See, Hugh had made a discovery over the course of the week as he’d been playing with guys at the bars and bathhouses around town–Hugh had discovered that he could draw out someone’s fetish entirely and store it inside him, and then, when someone else blew him, he could feed that fetish to the new person–though it was usually quite a bit stronger after Hugh had held onto it for a while, toying with it, improving it. So for the last few days, Hugh had gone hunting, and he’d found three men with fetishes and lives that were the perfect torments for Kyle. He was going to hate what he loved now, though by the end of it, Kyle wouldn’t want to be anyone different.

And so, Hugh slipped his way into Kyle’s dream…though he was looking quite a bit different from how he had looked back in the bar, when Kyle had confronted him the first time. He was still human, mostly, though the more Kyle looked at him, the more he noticed that certain things about him seemed off. The horns, of course. They were longer though, and their color was darkening from something between ivory and grey, to more of a charcoal. The skin around them on the temples didn’t look great either–there was clearly an infection of some sort spreading across the skin, veins of blue and black spreading out from the roots of the horns across Hugh’s scalp and face. Hugh smiled when he saw Kyle in the dream, and the same was happening to his teeth–they were darker, and also much more pointed than they should be. 

He was naked in the dream, and the proportion of his limbs was a bit off as well–legs too short, arms a bit longer than they should be. Hugh was hunched over slightly, legs wide, fingers longer and the nails were almost…claws. “Found you…” Hugh said, though it wasn’t so much that he was speaking in the dream, so much as the words appearing in Kyle’s mind. In any case, this dream was way too fucked–he tried to wake up, pinch himself, slap himself, but nothing would work. “Oh, don’t think you can get away from me so easily,” Hugh said, “Not until you’ve had your treat.”

Hugh was clearly referring to his cock–and that was something Kyle had no interest in getting anywhere near. It was big, for one thing–eight inches? Nine? It was the barbs that were confusing, and the fact that the head was…it was too bulbous, almost like it was storing something in there. It was a dark purple, and almost pulsating. “Come on now, I’ve found such good treats for you. Get over here, maggot, and drink up.”

Kyle turned to run, but the void around them offered no traction. As fast as he ran, Hugh crossed the space between them in a couple of strides, shoved Kyle to the ground, and flipped him over onto his back. Hugh straddled his shoulders, and gripped Kyle’s face with his clawed hands hard enough to draw blood. He screamed, and Hugh took the opportunity to thrust his vicious cock into his mouth. Kyle struggled, but every time he tried to pull his face free of the cock, the barbs would catch in his mouth and throat, threatening to rip him apart if he resisted. Eventually, he relented, and allowed Hugh to rape his throat for what felt like hours, choking and gasping for breath the entire time, tasting his own blood in his mouth until Hugh finally came–and when he did, it was unlike any load Kyle had ever tasted before. 

It tasted like ash. Like old cigarettes. As Hugh pumped the filth into him, he stared down at him, eyes yellow, wide and manic, while he licked his lips with a tounge a bit too long to be normal. “Oh yes, oh drink the fuck up, you fucking pig. I’m going to enjoy this, and when I’m done with you, he’ll be mine, he’s going to be all mine…”

Kyle was choking now, for real. He kept trying to draw breath, but there was nothing to do other than swallow more and more of the vile cum into his guts–if it was even cum at all. Eventually, he passed out, darkness overwhelming him–and then, when he was certain he was dead, he awoke in his bed, thrashing and gasping for air, but he was alone.

He was alone, it was morning, and there was absolutely no way he would be getting back to sleep before his normal morning alarm went off for work. He laid in his bed for a few minutes, trying to calm down, trying to get the taste out of his mouth. He’d never had a dream as vivid as that had been, and as much as he tried to convince himself otherwise, he was somehow certain that it had been…real. But that wasn’t possible. Of course it wasn’t possible.

At least if he got up early, he’d have time to get to the gym before work. He hauled himself up, and after taking a shower, getting his breakfast ready, and dressing for the gym, he felt normal, mostly. With his bag over his shoulder, he took a sip of his usual morning shake, and he grimaced. It didn’t…taste right. He took another few sips on the way to the gym, and less than a third of the way through, he felt certain he was going to vomit–he had to pull into a parking lot so he could throw open the door and hurl onto the pavement. He stared at the shake on the ground, wondering if he should call out…no, just get the gym, and workout. Now that he’d thrown up, he felt fine other than the fact he was still hungry.

But at the gym, all he could think about was that hunger, but at the same time, just thinking about food made him want to hurl. He’d never experienced anything like it in his life, and he was so out of it, he couldn’t even really make it through his workout. He was craving something, something he couldn’t quite pin down–and it wasn’t until he left the gym and saw a couple of guys smoking cigarettes on the sidewalk outside that he realized what he was craving. He wanted to smoke.

He shook his head–no, he was past this! He’d been a smoker for years, since he was a teenager, and quitting had been the hardest thing he’d ever done in his life. He hadn’t had a craving in ages, and now, all of a sudden, he’d woken up aching for one? It…made a little bit of sense, he supposed, but he’d fought through all kinds of craving before. He’d just have to fight through this one too. It was easier, really, knowing what it was at least. It didn’t quite tell him why he was so hungry though. In any case, he had to get to work. He arrived, got through the morning well enough, but by lunch, he was nearly doubled over from cramps in his guts. It had never been this bad–if smoking a cigarette would make him feel better…maybe he should at least try it.

He used his lunch to go to the convenience store, bought a pack of cigarettes, smoked one–and it did help, much to his disgust. It took the edge off his hunger, but it didn’t stop it. He needed to eat something, but when he walked to a restaurant, just the smell of the food made him nauseous. Instead, he smoked the cigarette down to the butt. Then, when he should have just dropped it and snuffed it out on the sidewalk, he popped the still burning butt into his mouth, gave it a chew, and swallowed it down.

He realized what he’d done a second too late, feeling it slide down his throat, and he was horrified. Had anyone seen him do that? Looking around, he was relieved that no one had seemed to, but he did feel a bit better, in all honesty. Putting the strange incident behind him, he returned to work, but the gut cramps got so bad he had to relent and leave work early. The hunger was worse, and he could still…taste that cigarette butt, and he wanted more, but this time, smoking it wasn’t enough. He had to force himself to not eat it when he was done with it, but stamping it out on the sidewalk seemed like such a fucking waste. He’d go to the doctor tomorrow, though none of this made any sense to him at all. He got home, and found a sizable package waiting for him, though he hadn’t been expecting anything. He took it inside with him, put it on the table, opened it up–and the contents only confused him more.

Inside, it was like someone had taken the contents of a bunch of ashtrays, dumped them into ziploc bags, and mailed them all to him. There were a few coke bottles too, filled to the brim with a dark, syrupy liquid he couldn’t quite place. There was a letter too–he opened it up and read it:

“Here’s your latest supply–hope you fucking enjoy it you nasty fuck. Been collecting everything from the bar ashtrays as usual, and everything from home. As a little plus, a guy at work on the crew keeps all of his spit in coke bottles. You told me once how much you like the shit, and when I told him your deal, he was more than happy to fork over a few full ones. Looking forward to your next vids, ashtray.”

Who the hell would send him something like this? It didn’t make any fucking sense. He went to throw the whole box in the trash, but before he could even pick it up, the cramps returned, stronger than ever, and he was doubled over on the kitchen floor, panting for breath. He was so fucking hungry, and just…just thinking about all of that fucking ash in those bags, maybe…maybe just a little. Just to take the edge off. 

No! What the hell was he thinking? He didn’t want to eat that shit, that was fucking vile. But it wasn’t that he wanted to eat it, exactly–it was that, somehow, Kyle knew that he had to eat it. If he didn’t, the cramps would get worse, and…and he could somehow tell that the cramps were only the first stage of worse withdrawals to come, if he didn’t give in and…and eat. He told himself he’d just have a little. Just get rid of the worst of it, and then he would call the doctor and figure out what in the hell was wrong with him. But as soon as one of the bags was open, he couldn’t contain himself–he dumped all of the ash, the cigar and cigarette butts, the match ends on the table, and he started licking it up, chewing it all down. It was disgusting–he was disgusting, fuck, he was a disgusting ashtray of a human, fucking hell…

He looked up at himself, and his face was coated in soot. Why was his cock so fucking hard through all of this? Was this turning him on? It was turning him on, knowing that he was nothing more than a receptacle for men’s cast offs, not good enough to smoke the shit himself, only subsisting on the remnants. He wanted to throw up, but instead he took a fresh bag, a bottle of tobacco spit, and sat down in front of the computer, where he filmed himself eating and drinking and masturbating for the next hour, adding it to the collection of other videos he had of himself doing the same filthy shit. Videos he could not recall making, but there he was, devouring all manner of filth. He sent the new video to his benefactor first, and then uploaded a couple more–trying to stop himself, but…but he had to. He had to show everyone what he was, didn’t he?

He let off a belch, and a little cloud of soot erupted from his mouth. He knew he should feel sick. He had to eat something–real food, but he was stuffed. It felt like he’d just had the most satisfying meal of his life, and there was still so much in the box to enjoy later. It was too late to call anyone for help–and he didn’t think he’d be able to admit what he’d just done to anyone either. Exhausted, he crawled into bed, still covered in ash and tobacco spit, and fell asleep almost immediately.

But then, he was back in the void, and Hugh was waiting for him. “Looks like someone had a nice meal today,” Hugh said to him, and laughed, a tail swishing behind him that he hadn’t had the night before.

“You…you did this to me, what the fuck did you do to me?” Kyle demanded.

“I’m just giving you a few new things to focus on, since you won’t have your relationship with Josh for much longer, not when I’m through with you both. I just want to make sure you’re happy, and out of the way for good. Don’t you like being an ashtray? I found that especially for you–the man I took that from didn’t really want to give that up, you know. I had to give him something better, just to calm him down.”

“You’re fucking sick! Just…just make me normal again. You can’t fucking do this to people, how the fuck are you doing this?”

“Let’s not waste time with silly questions. After all, I still have more for you to drink up, Kyle…” Hugh said, and stepped forward. The head of his cock was still swollen large–though the swelling had gone down some. “Get over here and suck it.”

“No–no, I’m fucking waking up! I’m not doing this again, I’m not, I’m n–”

That was all Kyle got out, before Hugh’s tail wrapped around his throat, and squeezed enough to leave him lightheaded and gasping for air. “Less talking now, I’m done talking.”

The prehensile tail dragged Kyle down to his knees in front of Hugh’s cock, and started fucking his face on the barbed member, slamming Kyle’s face into Hugh’s crotch over and over, the massive cock drilling deeper and deeper into his throat with every pound. He clawed at the thing around his neck but it just constricted tighter, until he was seeing spots and certain he would pass out. Then, Hugh came, pumping another load deep into his guts, and when he was finished, the tail relaxed, and Kyle collapsed.

“See you tomorrow–just one more dose…” Hugh said with a chuckle, and then Kyle passed out, and woke up in his bed again, this time in the middle of the night. He sobbed in his bed, exhausted and terrified, wondering what in the world was going to happen to him this time. What in the world was Hugh? He’d been certain, in the bar, that those horns had been fake, but…but all of this was too real now. When the sobbing subsided, all that remained was hunger, but he didn’t dare indulge in his new found vice–he was too ashamed. Sleep eluded him however, until he got up and grabbed the pack of cigarettes from his nightstand. He chained smoked a couple on the balcony, eating the butts down when he finished them, and when he had calmed down at last, he went back to bed, and slept fitfully for the rest of the night.

He couldn’t possibly face work the next morning. He called his boss, letting him know that he wouldn’t be coming into the office, and was too sick to work from home too. He felt better now that he didn’t have to go out, but now he was stuck in his apartment, with that package, with nothing to distract him from the cravings gnawing away at him. They were stronger today, without a doubt. He needed to go see a doctor, but he couldn’t bear the thought of confessing any of this to someone. What could they even do? There wasn’t exactly a treatment out there for demon-men invading your dreams and making you crave filth like this. He passed the time smoking instead, which kept the hunger at bay, though it wasn’t nearly as satisfying. He finished the pack of cigarettes before noon, and was faced with a new dilemma–go get more, or…or eat. He was so fucking hungry now, and the hunger was beginning to win out over his shame. He relented and dug in, chewing down a few cigar butts, relishing them, washing them down with murky spit from the bottles, letting it run down his chin and onto his chest, rubbing it in there, using it to lube up his cock, licking his fingers, recording and jacking off for his patrons, showing them all how much he appreciated their gifts.

The horniness was more powerful today too–he stroked as hard as he could, trying to climax, but it was like the hunger was keeping him right at the edge. He ate more, stuffed himself, and when he was certain he couldn’t eat anymore, he finally came–but what came out of the head of his cock wasn’t cum–it…it was smoke.

Hanging there in the air, around his cock, forming a consistency somewhere between fog and some strange goo, he pushed his hand through it, and felt nothing as he passed right through it. This was it, he told himself. He eaten all of that shit, and how he was hallucinating, and now he was going to die from it, right? He could only stare as the smoke from his cock began to congeal, becoming a hand that wrapped around his cock–and then he could feel it, as it stroked him off, more and more cummy smoke coming out of his cock pooling in the air around the end of the hand until it was an arm, until the arm was connected to a body, until a face appeared at the top, and legs below, and Kyle was staring up at a massive muscle bear that had somehow been formed out of his own smoke-cum, right in front of his eyes.

He felt one last long pulse from his groin, and the man pulled a cigar out from Kyle’s urethra, stuck it in his mouth, where it flamed to life–along with the man’s eyes. “What…what the fuck are you?” Kyle said, standing up from his office chair and backing away from the smoky figure standing in the midst of his living room.

“Me?” the man said in a deep, raspy voice. “You made me, Ashtray–who the fuck do you think I am?”

Kyle didn’t know, but he did know one thing–despite his massive orgasm, his cock was still hard as a rock, and looking at this man, so different from any man he’d ever been attracted to in his life, he found himself…aching for him in ways he couldn’t really explain. He took a tentative step forward, reached out, and tried to grab the man’s thick cock, but his hand passed right through it, the thing becoming smoke as soon he would have touched it, and forming once his hand had passed back out. “How…how is any of this happening?”

“God, you’re fucking stupid,” the man said, “It’s a good think you’re just a fucking ashtray or I’d feel sorry for you.” He reached out, grabbed hold of Kyle’s nipple and gave it a rough twist, making him cry out and pull away from him. “You made me because you need someone to use you, Ashtray–it’s as simple as that. You can’t touch me, but I can touch you all I want–and I’m going to be touching you a whole fucking lot.”

He grabbed hold of Kyle and threw him onto the bed, and then climbed on top of him. Kyle tried to kick him off, but his feet went right through the man’s torso–he scowled at Kyle, took the cigar from his mouth, and slammed the lit end right into Kyle’s forehead, making him scream, the smell of seared flesh in his nose while the man ground it there. “Stop fucking fighting, Ashtray–you’re going to get used, and the sooner you just accept it, the sooner you can start enjoying it.”

He rolled Kyle over, climbed on him, and forced his cock into his hole dry, Kyle trying to crawl away, but the man’s hands were like a vice, cinders kept falling from the cigar over him and scalding his back, while the man laughed. “Look at you, you fucking loser. Can’t get a real man to fuck you rough like you want, so you make your own sadistic fucks instead. Filthy fucking thing, no good for anything other than taking the waste men leave around, their ash, their cum–you’re fucking worthless, and you fucking love it, don’t you?”

Kyle couldn’t reply, he was trying to leave, trying to not think about what was happening to him, trying not to accept the fact that part of him was enjoying this, it was craving it, it needed this just as much as it needed the ash, and the cigarette butts, and the spit. The smoke man came, and not too long after that, his cigar finished–he forced open Kyle’s mouth, made him eat the last bit of it, and then he dissipated around him, settling all over the apartment in a fine layer of soot. Kyle was left to nurse his wounds and his burns. The man had gripped him hard enough to bruise, and the burn on his forehead was…severe. He did what he could to bandage it, but the more he thought about it, the more he…he wanted more. His hole was raw, but his cock was still so fucking hard, harder than he could recall it being ever in his life. He’d…needed that. He’d deserved that. The smoke man was right, he’d never been able to find someone to treat him like that in real life, someone he couldn’t resist even if he wanted to, and now…now he could make someone like…like that whenever he wanted.

He knew this was Hugh’s doing, that he was in his mind, warping him, making him want things he should have never desired in his life. He hated being degraded. He was proud of his life, of his job, of his body, of how he was always in charge. But now, that life seemed so far away, so distant, like a haze of smoke had settled over it and rendered it impossible to distinguish. Now, he wanted to be used. So he jacked off again, but this time, he thought about it, about who he wanted to create. The same man as before, almost. But taller. Bigger cock. Clad head to toe in leather. Thick bushy beard. He had to eat more–he couldn’t cum if he wasn’t full, but after gorging himself, he stroked off, and he didn’t stop stroking when he started cumming, didn’t stop thinking about who he wanted to abuse him, and rape him, and humiliate him, and use him all evening long.

“Fuck Ashtray, now this is what I’m talking about,” the man said, looming over him, ripped right out of his imagination. The man put a boot on Hugh’s neck, and drooled dark spit onto his face while he gasped for breath. “We’re going to have some fun tonight I think–that’s what you want, isn’t it? Tell me what you want.”

“Use me, please Sir, use me…” Kyle said, garbled as his throat was crushed under the man’s boot. 

A few hours later, battered and bruised, coated in ash and soot and spit, Kyle was in his bed, exhausted. His smoky creation had lasted longer this time, a few hours, long enough to beat him into shape, long enough to fuck his mouth, his ass, and his mouth again. Long enough that Kyle’s doubts and anger had been overwhelmed by the sheer ecstasy of it, but now, in the aftermath, bed gritty with ash, he was horrified with what he was allowing to happen. He couldn’t keep doing this, could he? He realized, when he was done, that the camera on his computer had been filming the entire scene, the massive leather brute throwing him around like a rag doll and punching bag, broadcasting live to all of his fans, urging the beast on, wondering how a loser ashtray like him could find a perfect leather sadist like that to abuse and humiliate him. 

But he was exhausted. Exhausted, but he didn’t dare sleep. Hugh was waiting for him–he’d said there was one more thing he had to give him, and Kyle was terrified. This was already awful. He hated all of this, it was everything he’d always hated, and now he was living his worst nightmare. If he could just stay up all night, maybe he would be safe. He just had to not sleep. And not jack off. Not…make himself some new sexy beast of a man to abuse and humiliate him all night long. Then he wouldn’t sleep a wink, he was sure of that. Maybe a pipe smoker this time, older, fatter, dirtier, using him like a urinal…fuck…

He spent the next few hours caught between hunger, horniness, and exhaustion–but exhaustion did win, eventually. He could have sworn he only meant to blink, but then he couldn’t force his eyes open again. When he could finally see, he found himself not in his bedroom, but back in that inky void, Hugh waiting for him there, tail longer and thicker, his skin…flaking, or maybe peeling off, revealing something raw and angry underneath. Scales perhaps. Kyle didn’t want to look to close. He didn’t want to know anymore of this than he had to.

“You kept me waiting tonight,” Hugh said, “Were you enjoying your new skill? Looks like you made a daddy who treated you right,” the monstrous fellow of his dreams came close, brushing a clawed hand across Kyle’s bruised face. “Don’t worry–they won’t kill you. You’re rather…durable now. After a good night sleep, you’ll be good as new, no matter what kind of damage they inflict–though I do like that burn there…” he added, and pressed a claw against the raw wound on Kyle’s forehead, making him wince and flinch away.

“Please, make it stop. I don’t want any of this, I…I just want to be normal again!” Kyle begged him, dropping to his knees. “I’ll never see Josh again. I’ll forget all about him, all about you–please, don’t make me do this anymore.”

“I’m just trying to help you, Kyle,” Hugh said, close enough that he could smell his breath, feel the lash of his long, blackening tongue on his cheek, “I just want to help you be happy–don’t worry, you’ll be happy soon enough. Tonight is a bit of a trade. You give me something of yours, I give you one last gift–and we’ll be even. You’ll never see me again.”

He felt something tighten around his cock, looked down, and saw that the head of the demon’s cock had swallowed his own. He tried to pull away, but the head clamped down harder, making him feel like he was about to pull his own cock off. “What the hell are you doing? Let go of me.”

“Sorry Kyle, but first I need something from you–I need to make sure you stay out of my way, and the only way that’s going to happen, is if Kyle disappears. So you’re going to give me all of yourself.”

Kyle felt the head of Hugh’s cock throb, and it…sucked on his cock, and he moaned, trying to stay on his feet. It wasn’t pain that he felt–it wasn’t anything physical at least. It felt like…a strawberry milkshake, when you’re trying to suck a berry through the straw. Only he was the berry–his mind, his identity, his relationship to Josh–all of it. Hugh sucked again, and he felt some of it slip away from him, leaving just…a hole. He knew that something should fill it, but he didn’t know what–just the vague outline of…of something. Another pull, and more of him disappeared, Hugh pulling him close, holding him up while he watched the confusion on Kyle’s face grow as he sucked down more and more of him, storing him in his cockhead, just like he’d stored those other men, which he’d fed to Kyle. 

When he was satisfied that he’d pulled out enough, Hugh let the man fall, his cock slipping free of his own, and on his knees, the man looked around in horror. “I…Who…What just happened? Who are you?” He asked, looking up at Hugh in terror, “Why…why can’t I remember anything?”

“Don’t worry, I can help,” Hugh said, and pressed the head of his cock against the round burn on the man’s forehead. With a thrust, he shoved his cock into the man’s head, driving right into his skull, the man going limp while Hugh fucked his brains in his dream. Eventually cumming and emptying out the final gift he’d prepared for Kyle into his skull. He let him fall to the ground, a limp doll, and sneered at him before slipping back into the void. Hugh had what he needed now, and Kyle wouldn’t be an issue anymore–well, Kyle didn’t exist, not anymore. The man lying on the ground with a hole in his head, in his dreams–he didn’t have a name. He did have a purpose though, and that was good enough.

When he awoke, he couldn’t do much of anything for a moment, his head ached so badly. His body as well, like he’d come down with a cold overnight, his bones and joints aching. All he could do was moan and toss in the filthy, ash covered bed for most of an hour, until the pain in his skull settled down, his body eased up, and he could finally throw his legs over the side and stand up.

He…didn’t feel right, somehow. His head felt empty–emptier than it should be. He should have a name, right? He…he couldn’t remember one though, but he could remember a…a job. A thing, that he was. Ashtray. It wasn’t a name–it was a category, but did he really need something more than that?

Ashtray went into the bathroom and pissed, before looking at himself in the mirror. This seemed wrong as well–he could…almost remember another reflection. A younger one. A sexier one. But this…this face. He was old. Easily in his fifties, if not sixties, though he couldn’t remember how old he was. A thick beard across his face, stained yellow around the mouth from years of smoking, caked with ash. He was balding heavily, with just a fringe of too long hair around the temples and down the back. The face was lined with wrinkles, and when he opened his mouth, he grimaced–a good number of his teeth were gone, and the rest were…not in great shape at all. 

Ashtray knew that something was wrong. That something had changed, but he didn’t know what. The worry nagged at him, but not as much as the hunger and the horniness did. He…he had to talk to someone about it, maybe they would know. So he ate–he devoured a few bags of ash from the shipment a couple days before. It was…pleasurable, to some extent, but he ate it because it was his duty to eat it. He was an ashtray, after all. What other purpose could he serve? When he was full, he masturbated, thinking…thinking about someone. Someone who would…help him understand, and remember what he was sure he had forgotten. But all he could think about was that image in the mirror, his old, feeble body. The smoke poured from his cock, and formed an older man, quite fat, covered in hair, wearing some shabby clothes and smoking a massive pipe.

“I…Sir…I…I don’t…know what to ask, really, but I don’t know who I am? Do…do you know who I am?” he muttered, falling to his knees before the figure, who just scowled down at him.

“I don’t know who the fuck you are. I do know what you are though–you’re an Ashtray–is that not good enough for you?”

The figure shoved the hot bowl of his pipe against Ashtray’s nipple, holding it there until he cried out from the heat. He spit in his face and then dragged him into the bedroom, throwing the old, fat pig onto the bed, and forcing his fat cock into his ass.

Ashtray decided that it didn’t really need to know who it was. Or more likely, it would have to accept that there wasn’t going to be an answer. It was an object, at the end of the day. It served the filth that men sent it, chewed it down, and ejected it back out into their most violent, perverted fantasies for it to suffer under. It would always be a waste–there wasn’t anything more for it beyond that. There couldn’t be. And so, it accepted itself, as best it could, as the fat pipe bear finished inside it’s hole, hauled out, and started working his fist inside him next. It would be a good ashtray. 

Hugh smiled, watching in his own dreams, stroking the head of his cock, swollen now with the contents of Kyle that it had sucked out. Josh would be back in a day, and Kyle would be there to greet him–a Kyle, at least. But Josh would be Hugh’s before long. He would be his forever–after all, it was time that Hugh helped himself.

Quarantine Files (Caption)

I mentioned this on twitter a few days ago, but I started a little series of caption stories over on my discord server, on the theme of quarantine. It’s been fun having something silly to work on between how stressful work has been and commissions, and for anyone who’s a patron, they’re welcome to suggest stories or ideas for future installments. Here’s one of the captions I’ve done so far–if you want to see the other couple, you’ll have to support me and join my discord channel! You can find more details here.


The quarantine didn’t mean much to Barry, since he spent most of his life in his apartment anyway. Barry was…eccentric, by any real measure. He’d lived in the old apartment building longer than anyone really knew, including the staff who worked there. Oddly though, he didn’t look a day over 40 or 50, but the secret of his longevity and good looks wasn’t something he shared with anyone. He worked from home–or at least, that’s what he told people, but other times he was known to disappear from the building for weeks, if not months at a time, only to appear later like nothing had happened. Barry, you see, was a sorcerer, with a rather specific focus. He loved sex, and he loved nothing more than using his magical ability to corrupt other men until they loved it just as much as he did. In his apartment, he would refine his spells and enchantments, and then when they were ready for real world testing, he would choose a different city somewhere in the world, and, well, binge. He’d fuck men for days on end, warping them all in the process, and only when he was fully spent did he return home to relax, recharge, and prepare a new collection of ideas for his next journey.

But this couldn’t have fallen at a worse time. Barry had just prepared all of his travel arrangements, only for everything to be cancelled, every international city shut down entirely, and now he was here in his apartment, spells and enchantments at the ready, with no one to use them on. He gave a great huff and settled deeper into his leather couch, and looked over at the window–now what in the world was he supposed to do?

Above him, he heard the creak of bed springs–the young couple who had moved in there earlier this month were obviously occupying themselves well enough. Barry scowled–not only was he literally cockblocked by a virus, he had to be taunted by the constant noise of sex all around him in the building–that he owned, in fact. He went over to his scrying pool out of curiosity, and summoned an image of the couple above him–and was surprised that it was a gay couple, in fact. Now this was more interesting. Still, it didn’t do much for him…but then, what if he…

He looked over at the collection of enchanted items, spell scrolls, curses and the like in his luggage. He never used his spells at home–it was too risky. But he was so damn horny…why not just this once, spread his goods around to his neighbors here? He smiled, and started unpacking his goods and services. It was dangerous, but he was horny enough that he didn’t care. Pretty soon, the apartment building would be a lot more interesting, when he was done with it.

***

The couple above Barry had no idea what the sorcerer below them was plotting–they had found that quarantine had done wonders for their physical intimacy, because what else were they going to do with their time? Before this, Ian and Francis had spent most of their free time organizing parties with their other friends (parties they called them, but really, orgies was more precise) or going out to the various gay bars around the city. Without that to occupy them, and with both of their jobs scaling back work, they found that the easiest way to pass the time was to fuck.

With a groan, Ian blew a load of cum into his boyfriend’s hole, and collapsed on top of him, huffing a bit. He rolled off, and Francis rolled over, cuddling with him for a bit in bed. “Fuck, I miss the gym,” Francis said, and Ian chuckled.

“Just a few more weeks, right?”

“The news said it might be months.”

“Fuck, seriously?”

“I don’t know. I never thought that the most social thing going on in my life was going to be going to the grocery store.”

“Gonna have to work out here just so we don’t look like a couple of flabs when we get out of here finally,” Ian said, and then he noticed an odd smell. Looking over, he saw Francis holding a cigar in his hands. He was about to ask his boyfriend where that had come from, when he brought his own cigar up to his lips, and took a drag off of it, the sudden nicotine rush pushing the confusion from his mind.

The two twinks got up from bed, still smoking their new cigars, and went to go watch some TV. On the couch, with Ian sitting on it, and Francis sitting on the floor between his legs, they kept smoking, the cigars never getting smaller, and changes starting to appear on their bodies. Both of them were getting hairier, and over the course of half an hour, Francis went from having a smooth face incapable of growing a beard, to the somewhat thick, salty beard across his face.

The smoke was filling the apartment, turning into a thick fog–and everything it touched began to shift and change. The couch grew older and more threadbare. The stylish art hung on the walls became pictures of cowboys and rednecks in various states of undress. It drifted into the closet, and their suits began to contort and shift into flannel, jeans, and leather gear.

It wasn’t long before the two new cigar daddies were making out on the floor, feeding each other smoke, holding their cinders to each other cocks, balls and nips, smearing each other with their ash. But then, just as the cigars had appeared before, they disappeared from their hands, leaving Ian and Francis lying in a dirty heap, wondering what had come over them.

“Come on then, my new cigar daddies–let’s have some fun, eh?”

They looked over, and there was Barry on the couch, smoking a massive cigar in his leather gear, and the two old men crawled over and started servicing him–Ian worshiping his cock, and Francis his leather boots, both of them taking turns eating their downstairs neighbor’s ash, the curse tightening around them both, squeezing out the old Francis and Ian, and replacing them entirely, with a couple of old cowboy queers living in the city, working in construction, smoking cigars from the moment they woke up until they went to bed. After a day, Barry was spent, and returned home–deeply satisfied with the result.

Interactive: New You Resolutions 2020 (Part 8)

They stood in their small living room, the pills settling in their stomach, wondering when they were supposed to start feeling something. “Is…somethin’ supposed tah be happenin?” Kevin asked, looking around.

“Uh…I think somethin’ is man, look at yer gut,” Alex replied.

The last few months on the road hadn’t been particularly kind to Kevin’s waistline. Spending so much time on the road didn’t exactly leave him a lot of time to try and keep the shape he’d had when he was living in the city, and the constant diet of truck stop fare only made matters worse. He’d remarked a few times to Alex that he was a bit disgusted by it, but as he watched, his gut was pushing out his shirt, making it ride up, and he let out a little groan of dismay. “Nah, fuckin’ hell, I don’ wanna get fatter!”

He tried to push back against it, but nothing he did made a difference, as the weight piled on him. He’d started out around 200 pounds, and after a few minutes, and a few hastily removed clothes later, he peaked at around 350–a substantial gut hanging down over his waist, two heavy moobs where his chest had been, rolls under his arms, thighs touching, and two prominent chins under his round, puffy face. 

Alex, on the other hand, was experiencing something rather different. He’d bulked up a bit since he’d started working at the garage, just from the physical labor he’d never had to do before, but this was something else entirely. Every part of him was swelling with muscle, his chest, his arms, his ass, his legs, everything. He flexed, and he could…feel the strength running through him, and looking over at Kevin, he was almost embarrassed by his good fortune–at least until he felt his cock twitch, and start to shrink. “What the hell?” he muttered, and saw that his rather average cock was indeed shrinking up into his body–until he was left with a two inch long nub, wider than it was long, with a sizable sack of balls hanging underneath it. A foreskin grew over it as well, making the whole thing seem even smaller, like it literally had slid inside his body. He looked over at Kevin, and saw that he’d hadn’t noticed his own new addition yet–the eleven inch cock swinging under his gut, with balls even larger than Kevin’s below it. 

Kevin looked over at him, then down at his cock, and realized what must have happened. He reached down, and while he couldn’t see his new member, he could feel it–one hand couldn’t even reach around it, and touching it was electric. “Fuck…that’s…I ain’t felt one that big before, gotta say…”

Alex was distracted from their dick measuring by a new sensation–a body wide itch. From the look on Kevin’s face, and from his discomfort, it was clear he was feeling something similar, but the results appearing on their bodies were entirely different. Alex saw the body hair on his body–something he’d never had much of–start to spread and grow in thicker and thicker. Across his chest, down his firm muscle gut, all over his legs, over his shoulders and down his back, down his arms and onto the backs of his hands, and even on his knuckles. His face wasn’t spared either, and a heavy beard sprouted all over, growing up high on his cheeks, long enough to reach his belly. His hair grew in as well, and grew long into a heavy mane of hair. Then came the first prick, in his ears. He reached up and found two gauges in his ears, and then more and more pricks came, as heavy metal rings, bars, and pins appeared all over his body. His tiny cock and balls weren’t spared either–his cock had a massive doorknocker as a PA, almost larger than his cock was, and his balls looked like a pincushion from all the metal in them.

Kevin, in the other hand, found himself losing the body hair that he did have–and in its place, tattoos were appearing on his skin. Not particularly flattering one’s either–everything was about being a redneck, being a trucker, being a glutton, being a smoker, or being a total sex pig. The He ran one hand over his scalp, and all of the hair on his head fell away, leaving him with a perfectly smooth cueball, and his scruff from not bothering to shave the last while disappeared as well–making him seem even fatter. Tattoos appeared on his scalp now, over his ears on across the back of his head, things he’d never be able to hide, no matter how hard he tried. 

But something else was happening to them–they were looking at each other, and they found themselves impossibly attracted to one another, and also incredibly horny. “Git over here, and put that giant cock in my ass, boy,” Alex said, and bent over the couch. Kevin didn’t need to be told twice, and after lubing up his tattooed cock with amble engine oil, just how Alex liked it, he rammed it into his muscular ass, and Alex nearly screamed from the size of it, but he couldn’t stop. 

The last changes were finishing as they fucked, the hair all over Alex picking up a bit of grey as he grew a bit older, and Kevin’s skin softening as he lost a few years, back to his mid-twenties. Alex found himself taking charge of the scene, and Kevin was more than happy to do as he ordered, their positions in the relationship shifting slightly. Despite his small cock, Alex tended to call the shots from now on, and Kevin was more than happy to do as the older muscle mechanic told him to do.

After they both came, they pulled apart and took stock of what had happened to them, both of them horrified, and yet also turned on by their new bodies. It was Kevin who noticed the new envelope that had appeared, and handed it to Alex to tear open and read:

We hope you enjoy your new bodies you two, we think you’re a perfect match now. They do, however, come with some new resolutions to enjoy as well, of course

Alex, you resolve to get fucked or fisted at least three times a day from now on. Since your cock isn’t really good for topping anyone anymore, you’re going to become obsessed with getting as much dick, and hands, in your ass as you can.

Kevin, you resolve to become a gainer from now on. You won’t be able to get that big dick of yours hard unless your stomach is stuffed full, and the act of someone else feeding you is going to turn you on more than most anything else from now on.

Enjoy you two–you’ve made so much progress. You should be proud of yourselves!

Alex moaned, reached around, and felt his ass–he needed something else inside it, desperately. Preferably Kevin’s massive cock, man, that boy could fuck! “Come on Kev, get that cock hard again, Daddy’s ass needs another fuck.”

Kevin nodded, but then a loud grumble came from his gut, and he gripped it, surprised by the hunger that overwhelmed him in a moment. “Fuck daddy, think we could eat first? I’m starvin’.”

Alex growled a bit, annoyed that his boy’s insatiable hunger was getting in the way of his own cravings, but nodded, and ordered some pizzas for them both. First, he’d stuff his boy’s face, and then his boy would spend the rest of the night stuffing his hole. That was the way it ought to be, right? He felt like he was…forgetting something, but he had more important things to think about from now on.


Alright, that brings Alex and Kevin’s tale to a close. Let’s do one more, I think. Here’s a poll of the other three options I suggested last time. Patrons have their bonus poll over here as usual!

Interactive: New You Resolutions 2020 (Part 4)

Like the other envelopes, it was waiting for him downstairs, after breakfast. He was up to four pitchers of shake each morning now, and Jim found himself relishing it, enjoying how full he felt. It seemed impossible to believe how different he was now, but was this really worse than what he’d had? He didn’t have to worry about work, didn’t have to worry about other people. Just him, his videos, his fans, his massive cock and hairy body, and nothing else. What could the company possibly have in mind for him now? He tore open the envelope, and found out:

Looks like you’re coming along great Jim, but we’re worried that you’re…stalling, a bit. It isn’t your fault of course, but there’s only so far one man can take himself. So, here’s another resolution for you:

— I resolve to find a partner and encourager dedicated to worshiping me, and making me as fat as possible.

We’re sure a few of your fans would be more than happy to help out–maybe you should ask them?

Someone…else? Jim didn’t know what to think about that, in all honesty. He honestly couldn’t recall the last time he’d seen someone else in real life, and not on the other side of a computer screen. Had…had it really been his boss? Was that the last human face he’d seen since all of this had started? He hauled himself up to his office, sat down at his computer, and saw that one of his regular chat and cam buddies was around.

His name was Carl, and he was a massive fellow, though in a different sort of way than Jim was. He was a powerlifter, obsessed with getting as muscular and fat as he could, and he was obsessed with Jim’s body–almost to an unhealthy degree. But with that new resolution in mind…Jim found himself pushing, and suggesting that Carl, who only lived one state over, come and visit him for a weekend. They could make a couple of videos together, maybe, and Jim…was desperate to feel a real life fist in his loose hole. Dildos were great, but…but fuck, he did want someone inside him so bad.

Carl was ready and eager, and that next weekend he was there, and both of them had the time of their lives. Carl force feeding Jim his shakes before worshipping the older man’s massive cock and balls, then fisting Jim with his thick, muscular arms. The connection was undeniable, and all of Jim’s reluctance evaporated. Carl took a couple of weeks to wrap things up where he’d been living, and by the next month, he was living with Jim, and the two of them found it impossible to remember a time they’d been apart.

Carl wasn’t the cleanest fellow, Jim realized quickly, but much to his surprise, he didn’t mind all that much. If anything, catching a whiff of Carl’s musk after a few hours at the gym, or after a day working construction, was enough to make his massive cock start leaking precum all over his massive thighs. Carl, for his part, was more than happy to help Jim reach weights he could have never imagined before this–by December, he had crested 600. Standing and walking was difficult for him, not just because of the weight, but also because of his massive cock and balls making it even harder to swing his legs. Over Christmas, while Carl had a break from work, he forced Jim to stay in bed for two weeks, feeding and fisting and filming the entire thing for their growing fanbase online, and Jim was in heaven. On January first, the first time he’d stood up in weeks–something that he could barely manage in fact, with how atrophied his muscles had gotten over that time–he found one final envelope waiting for him from New You Resolutions:

Congrats!

You’ve done so well this past year, Jim, and we hope you’re as proud of the results as we are. We’ve given you a brand new life–here’s a little reminder of where you were, and where you are now.

There were two pictures in the card. The first was the old Jim, sitting at his desk in that office, pudgy and bored and exhausted with his life. In the second photo, it was a picture from the last week or so, his legs hoisted up in stirrups while Carl fisted his hole, most of his arm disappearing inside Jim, his face wracked with a powerful orgasm. He was a filthy, dirty, perverted old man, and he couldn’t imagine ever going back to that old life again. The card wasn’t quite finished, however:

One last thing–a gift for the new year:

— I resolve to gain until I’m completely immobile.

We here at New You Resolutions don’t think you’ll have any problem with that one, right?

Jim had to chuckle. He was one step ahead of them, in fact. He’d already broached the idea with Carl, and they’d agreed this was one of the last times he’d ever be up on his feet again. Jim knew he should be terrified, but where else would he want to be? And with his sexy powerlifter pig taking care of him, what did he even have to worry about? This was going to be the best year of his life–he could already tell.


Alright! That’s one set of resolutions down, who should our next target be do you think? You get two choices of the options below. Patrons have their bonus poll as well, over here!

Interactive: New You Resolutions 2020 (Part 3)

Jim went down stairs, his first cigarette of the day already half finished, and made himself breakfast. At this point, he was devouring two pitchers of gainer shake each morning, and even that wasn’t quite enough to have him feeling totally full anymore. He was sure it was only a matter of time before the company would increase it yet again.

As he set down the second pitcher and wiped his face, he saw the envelope on the counter, which had been empty before–he was certain. He could just…ignore it, couldn’t he? But his shaking hands reached out and picked it up anyway. Inside, was another note from New You Resolutions:

Happy four month mark!

We here at New You Resolutions are so proud of you, Jim, for sticking to your resolutions this year. We’re so impressed, in fact, that we’ve decided to reward you with some new ones! First things first:

— I resolve to make some changes to my appearance. I’m going to stop cutting my beard, grow more body hair, and make myself look 20 years older.

Why don’t you head into the bathroom and get started.

Jim just stared at the note, and fought the urge to cry, or scream, or anything really. Anything other than what he did, which was finish his cigarette in a couple long draws, put it out in his kitchen ashtray, and then head into the bathroom, where he found a good chunk of his grooming supplies had been replaced. This was one of the few aspects of his life that hadn’t been touched by the last set of resolutions, and even as he gained weight, and watched his cock, balls, and tits swell and stretch, at least he could still shave, still shower, still trim his hair down. But that was over now, he realized. First, a hair growth serum that he applied all over his body–even on his back with a special applicator. It made his skin tingle, but he didn’t see any results right away. The new shampoo on the other hand…one application, and when he rinsed it out, he was horrified to see that his hair was now flecked with grey–and that his hairline had receded a few millimeters as well. The serum was applied across his face as well, and by the time he left the bathroom, a thick five o’ clock shadow had appeared across his face and double chin. His tasks completed, he headed for his office, where yet another envelope was waiting for him:

You didn’t think that was all, did you? Here’s a few more:

— I resolve to smoke cigars instead of cigarettes from now on.

— I resolve to start injecting my cock and balls with silicone, and make them as large as possible.

You’ll find everything you need right here.

Sure enough, the usual packs of cigarettes that appeared next to his keyboard were gone, replaced with a wood humidor. He opened it up, pulled out a cigar, cut it, and lit it. He inhaled right away, and coughed–the rough cigar smoke a bit much for even his seasoned lungs, but his body refused to not suck down all the smoke it could. After that, he found the silicone. That was a more delicate operation, but after an hour or so, he was done–10 ccs of silicone in his cock, and 20 ccs in his ball sack. They were swollen and tender–so much so that he couldn’t pump his cock like usual. He couldn’t even touch it really. Worried about what he would do next, he saw another envelope appear.

With your new injections, you’ll need a new way to get off too, probably. It’s time you let some other people in on your new you too, Jim.

— I resolve to train my ass with dildos until I can one at least the size of a fist.

— I resolve to start live streaming my jack off sessions over the internet and posting them on the internet.

“No…No no no…” Jim muttered to himself, but he couldn’t stop it, he couldn’t stop any of it. There was a dildo there on his desk he hadn’t noticed. It seemed…large, to him, but then, he’d never had anything in his ass before. Everything would seem large to a newbie. He lubed it up and started working it into his hole, only noticing after a few minutes that a webcam was attached to his computer, already streaming his virgin fuck to the entire internet. 

Again, the months wore on, and Jim adjusted to his new commandments as best he could. The cigars were easy enough, once he got used to the stronger smoke. After a few more months, he barely recognized himself in the mirror anymore, however. The beard grew in impossibly quick with the help of the serum, and after four months, it reached the top of his substantial belly. The hair had filled in thick as well, and was just as grey as everything else. There was no doubt in his mind anymore that he was in his sixties. He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d looked…young. Even the photo ID in his wallet that he’d checked a few weeks before bore his new image. His new age. His new weight, just a few pounds shy of 500 at this point, and his freakish cock and balls just looked like another misshapen blob of fat hanging off his body, until you got closer. There was so much silicone in them that he couldn’t get much sensation anymore–instead, he’d found that his ass was a much easier way to reach his orgasm requirement each day. The dildos he’d thought were so big at the beginning were now so small to him. After four months of daily training, he could take one a bit larger than his own fist without too much trouble, and riding it hard, he could bring himself to an anal orgasm easily enough. His fans…loved that. Seeing this obese, hairy, sweaty pig, chuffing on a cigar, screaming and groaning as his prostate siezed inside his ass while a massive dildo pounded into him…he hated how much he loved their attention. He was craving more though. He wanted…a real fist inside him. He wanted someone with him, he was so lonely.

Eight months into the year, there was another envelope, and Jim found that New You Resolutions had been thinking the same thing. It was time for Jim to resolve to find a partner–but who does he end up with?


Here’s the next poll! This one only has four options to it, and you can pick two of them. The public poll is below, and the patreon poll can be found over here!

Interactive: Three Word Difference (Part 4)

“I wish I’d grow older and start gaining.”

Adam froze as the words left his mouth, and Rich just stared at him. “What the fuck does that have to do with anything?” Rich said, as Adam looked around, and saw the genie smiling at him with those glimmering eyes, but before he could do anything he felt that same power overwhelm him–and Rich. 

“I…I don’t think I wanted to say…” Adam muttered, but Rich just shushed him.

“Put that down honey,” Rich said, and took the gym bag off Adam’s shoulder, “I think we both know that isn’t going to be good for your goals, right? Besides, you need your after work six pack first. Gotta keep that beer gut of yours growing.”

Adam wanted to scream at the genie, demand to know what he’d done, but he just allowed Rich to pull him into the living room and sit him down on the couch. As he did, he found himself settling into a comfortable indentation on the old sofa…because it was his spot, wasn’t it? He rubbed his gut, and felt it growing a bit larger, and was there more grey hair on it than there was before? Rich returned with a six pack of cheap beer, and a knife–flipped one can upside down, punctured a hole there, pushed it to Adam’s mouth, and had him shotgun it–and then a second one right after that, and he could feel the beer going right to his gut, and to his head, which was getting a bit…fuzzy.

“There we go daddy, that oughta get you started,” Rich said, and put the other four on the table next to him. “Now let me get you some snacks, I bet you’re hungry.”

He was hungry. Starving, in fact, but he needed to resist this. He felt…weaker all of a sudden, but that wasn’t really a surprise, was it? He hadn’t been going to the gym regularly for years–not since he was in his forties. Ever since he’d moved in with Rich, he’d been going less and less, and packing on the pounds, and he’d…liked it. They’d both liked it. Liked it enough for Adam to stop going entirely, and focus on gaining instead. He let off a belch and rubbed his big gut, feeling it swell larger still, losing a bit of the firmness it had had in his middle age, and start to sag around him instead, thighs growing thicker, arms losing their bulk and turning into fatty hams instead. He had to fight this, he had to, if he didn’t, he…he wouldn’t remember that he wasn’t supposed to look like this.

Rich came back into the room, and Adam said, “Please, I wanna go to the gym Rich.”

“Why would you wanna go to the gym, Daddy? Don’t be silly.”

“Please…I…” it was risky, but he had to try, “I wish you’d let me go to the gym.” 

Or that’s what he tried to say.

“I wish you’d always been going to the gym,” is what the genie allowed out of his mouth instead, and Adam watched as Rich’s physique shifted in a matter of moments, losing most of his fat entirely, as he packed on all of the muscle that Adam had lost in a matter of moments, and then even more than that. He was no cleaner than he’d been before this of course–he was still a slob after all–but instead of smelling of beer and lazy BO, he stank of gym musk. When he leaned in to kiss Adam, and he smelled him…Adam moaned. Fuck, he loved how Rich smelled after the gym so much, reminded him of…of all those years ago now, when he’d been a gym rat, but why the fuck would he want that now, right? He knocked back another beer while Rich sat his muscular ass down next to him on the couch and started kneading Adam’s fat gut as he passed 350 pounds and headed for 400, his age creeping up past 55 and getting closer to 60. Most of his hair was white now, his beard thick and long, crusted with food and drool, his face lined with creases and wrinkles. 

For the rest of the evening, he pounded back beers and snacks at Rich’s urging, and by the time it got to be time for bed, he’d polished off ten beers, and more food than he’d eaten in ages. Rich helped him up off the couch, and the sixty-one year old, 450 pound Adam waddled his way to bed, belching and farting the whole way, where he laid down on the dirty sheets. He tried to reach for his cock, but as horny as he was, he couldn’t get a good grip, and without thinking, he said, “I wish my dick was big enough to fuck you.”

Only what came out instead was: “I wish my gunt was deep enough to fuck.”

“Fuck Daddy, your cockhole is wet tonight,” Rich said, as he reached down and slid two fingers under Adam’s belly. Sure enough, Adam’s little cock had been pumping precum out all evening, not that you could find it at the bottom of his six inch deep gunt. Rich pushed in deep and ran his finger around the head of Adam’s tiny cock, making the old man shudder in excitement.

“Fuck boy, give Daddy’s hole a good fuck, would ya?” he muttered, and Rich was happy to oblige, and the friction of Rich’s cock against his own buried deep in his fat was enough to bring them both to orgasm. Then they fell asleep, Rich’s arms and musk wrapped around Adam’s fat body.

In the morning, however, came clarity.

Rich was already up and making breakfast, and Adam was staring at himself in the filthy bathroom mirror, horrified at what had happened to him. He could…remember, vaguely, that this wasn’t…right. That he hadn’t wanted this. “Genie…Genie!” he muttered, and the genie appeared beside him. Adam glared at him. “You’re fucking with me, aren’t you?”

The genie just smiled and shrugged, “I am allowed, as necessary, to modify my master’s wishes slightly so that the world can better accommodate them.”

“You fucking piece of shit! I fucking knew it. I wish I was thin and muscular again!” Adam shouted at him.

Or tried to. What he shouted instead was: “I wish I could never be thin and muscular again!”

“Easily done!” the genie said, “From now on, you’ll never lose another pound of fat, and getting bigger will be easier than ever for you–especially with that new hunger of yours, Daddy…”

Adam nearly doubled over from the pain of it, his gut growling in desperation. “You fuck…that’s not…what I wanted…”

“Alas, what you want is only a starting point for me, Master,” the genie said. “Perhaps you’d like to try again?”

“I wish I’d never met you,” Adam groaned out.

Or rather: “I wish I’d forget I’d ever met you.”

And Adam forgot everything. Everything other than the fact that he was an obese, sixty year old pig desperate for breakfast. Thankfully, his muscular boy had breakfast ready for him by the time he waddled out to the kitchen, and he scarfed it down, dribbling precum from his gunt, his boy teasing him, feeding him, wanting to make sure his old Daddy got as big as possible, as quickly as possible.

The genie watched for a while, but eventually decided to retreat. That had been a fun one, but there were other men who needed his services. He found his way back to the dorms where he had met Adam to begin with, and peeked in a few of the rooms on the floor, where he found a few young men in need of his services. But who became the genie’s master next?


Let’s choose someone new! It seems like you all are enjoying these, so I’ll do a couple more characters before moving onto something different. The patron only bonus poll is over here!

Interactive: Three Word Difference (Part 2)

“I wish I was a middle aged ex-jock,” Adam said with confidence, only realizing, after it was out of his mouth, that those weren’t quite the words he’d been planning on saying. “Wait, I…that’s not what I…I swear I didn’t mean–”

But before he could try and correct himself, he felt a strange force wash over him, as the genie’s eyes grew rather intense, flashing through so many colors and shades he couldn’t barely understand what he was seeing, the mist picking up that same brilliance all around him, as the wish began to take form.

Adam began to grow. He was a rather small fellow to begin with, around five foot nine inches, and around 140 pounds soaking wet. He felt a heat radiating out from his chest and abdomen, shocks and waves of heat shooting down his arms and legs, and he had to cling to one of the bookshelves in the dorm room to try and keep balance. He picked up around six inches, growing to six foot three–even taller than Eli, his roommate was, and his muscles were growing as well, his legs growing massive cords of muscle from calf to thigh, pecs inflating across his chest, his arms and shoulders bulging out as well…but while the muscle was appreciated, some of the other physical changes were less so.

The gut was one thing. Adam had never had much fat on him, but even as muscle packed on everywhere else, his abdomen inflated into a rock hard muscle gut, large enough that when he tried to stand up straight, he found it difficult to balance with leaning back somewhat. As the growth slowed down, he felt something between a shudder, shiver, and goosebumps spread across his arms, legs, chest and back, and hair began to grow…everywhere. Brown at first, the same color as his hair, but then there was some grey sprinkled through the hairs, and then, there was almost an even amount all over his body in a thick coating. He found his way to the mirror in the room, and saw that his face was no longer the youthful one he recalled. His hair was cut short, but obviously receding past the crown of his head, a short, greying beard spreading around his face as well. He looked to be in his forties at least, and he rubbed his face, rubbed the rest of his body, certain this had to be a hallucination.

“Look, I…I didn’t fucking want this, this wasn’t the wish I thought I was saying!” Adam said, as he turned to the genie, speaking in a much deeper voice now, with a certain, gravelly tone to it.

“Do not be ashamed Master, I know that many…gay men–that is what they call you now, isn’t it? Enjoy the idea of being…a daddy? A bear? I’m not sure what to call them, really. You are rather handsome, are you not?”

Adam turned back to the mirror, and the genie wasn’t wrong, of course, but still, he…what had he wanted to say? Everytime he tried to think about it, that same string of words was all that would come to him, but he knew…knew what, exactly? Had the genie tricked him somehow? But they why couldn’t he recall how it must have happened? Maybe he…he was mistaken.

“It is a shame about that shoulder though, isn’t it?” the genie said, eyes flashing and shifting in a more subtle manner now. 

Adam saw a number of scars appear on his right shoulder, where he’d had it rebuilt in his senior year of college, effectively ending his budding football career in the process. Wait–that hadn’t happened, had it? “Don’t…don’t fuck with my memories, I don’t want to forget who I was!”

“How could you forget! You were a star, weren’t you? But all good things must end, as they say, and that was years ago now. Your life has not been bad, has it?”

He was twisting things. The mist was rising up around him, obscuring everything, choking him even, making his head spin. He tried to cling to who he’d been, but that small, tiny man seemed so far away now. He’d been…fuck, he’d been scouted by so many national teams, and overnight, it had all evaporated, and now…now he was here. The mist fell away, and Adam was no longer in a dorm room, but in his small, one bedroom apartment–looking at himself in the dirty bathroom mirror he hadn’t cleaned in, well, years probably. It was his bachelor pad. The genie was right, of course, it wasn’t a bad life. He made decent money working in construction, after his shoulder had healed up. He worked out a lot of course–he couldn’t imagine a life without going to the gym five days a week. Boys were always interested in hooking up with him, now that he was a proper daddy, and a few even loved calling him coach, which was always a fun scene.

The genie’s eyes returned to their normal, now that Adam’s new identity was well in place. He would not remember being that man he’d been before–unless the genie deemed it, of course. He would recall making a wish, but not the details of it–and it would seem…unimportant. Adam left the bathroom and went into the messy living room, smelling himself on the air, and he was…a bit disappointed. The place was a mess, really, and while he knew he could fix that with the genie–hell, he could go back and make his injury never happen! He…didn’t really want to be that pro athlete now. But there was one thing about that life he resented that he’d never gotten–the money.

“Alright genie, here’s my wish. I wish I was fucking rich!”

Or at least, that’s what he tried to say. The genie chuckled to himself, tinkered with time, with Adam’s words, and what came out instead was…


Here’s the next poll! As usual, you can pick up to two options below. Here’s the bonus poll for patrons as well.

Business as Usual

An open ended, multipart story following the various tales of a business that has been taken over by a new CEO. However, the men working there soon discover that with new leadership, it is going to be anything but business as usual for them.

Last updated: 10/21/2019 – Part 3 is now public!

Click the button below to see the table of contents, and read the story!

Continue reading “Business as Usual”

Interactive: The House Made Me Gay! (Part 12)

“Please, why…why are you doing this? I…just…just change me back, I didn’t want to be some…old fuck!” Ethan said.

“Well, in all honesty, it isn’t quite my thing either, though I think it does suit you quite well,” Phil said, as he fiddled with his stations. “But this is what the client asked for, and so, that’s what the client gets.”

“The…client? What?”

“Oh yes–the client. I’m making you for someone, you see? They were quite specific about what they were looking for.”

“What the fuck does that fucking Mr. Woodrow want,” Ethan said, “I knew that fuck was creepy, fucking hell.”

“Oh he isn’t the client–I merely contract with him to secure raw materials. In exchange, I give him a few tools of my own for the men he has living in that house of his. Really, you should be thankful–a few months in that place, and what I’m doing to you will seem like nothing. He’s the real freak.” Phil said, and then pulled some tubing down from where it was hanging above the chair. “That’s enough of a chat for now–the client will be here soon, and you’ll see for yourself what they want. For now though, we have a few more changes to make.”

He pushed a tube against Ethan’s mouth, who shut it tight against him–but the rubber tube came to live, forced its way into Ethan’s mouth and down his throat, settling in his stomach. Aa thick solution, almost like gruel, started to flow and he could feel it settling in his gut, making him feel…heavy, and full. Then, Phil brought down a second tube–enclosing the first–and the end of this one was a breathing mask, which he secured around Ethan’s nose, mouth, and most of his beard. Once that was in place, he could smell the smoke flooding the air–reeking of cheap tobacco, and he coughed, but soon it was all he could breathe, and he started to feel light headed, and laid back in the chair, while Phil went to work on his cock and balls.

Phil gave him some stimulation, and Ethan’s cock got hard–it was sizable, a good six inches and fairly thick, but not large enough for the client’s needs. He took a syringe, full of his enchanted silicone, and injected it into Ethan’s cock–along with a bit of will–and watched the shaft start to swell, the skin stretching to accommodate the new solution, Ethan groaning in pain, feeling his skin stretch around his cock uncomfortably. It took a few injections before it was large enough–thirteen inches long, as thick as a two liter soda bottle. The silicone maintained the sensitivity of the skin much better–and also stayed rigid–Ethan was going to have a permanent hard on for the rest of his life. Once he was satisfied with the size, he started adding the bling–making small incisions in the surface and sliding the various metal balls and bits underneath, giving the surface a brand new sort of texture, more like a living dildo than a real cock. He finished it off with a massive PA that could fit around a normal man’s wrist, and then worked on his balls–filling them with a similar solution, until the sack was about the size of a bowling ball, the freakish head already drooling precum from the stimulation.

Once finished with that, he took a little break–the feeding was going well, but wasn’t finished yet. Ethan would force his head up on occasion, and see he was, indeed, getting fatter at an impossible rate. Whatever he was being fed with, it was just as magical as the injections that had warped his cock into the monstrosity jutting from his crotch. His gut was getting most of the growth, but his chest was now sporting two sizable moobs, and his ass wasn’t quite as comfortable in the chair as it had been. Phil, at some point, decided he was ready, got out the tattoo needle, and went to work.

The tattoos weren’t painless, but they seemed to heal instantly. In fact, as Phil worked on one after another, the ones he did first seemed to almost fade–and after a few minutes, they looked to be years old. He started on his belly, quickly sketching and filling in the face of a cartoon pig on the top of his belly, giving a wink and smoking a thick cigar. Underneath his belly button were the words, “Smoke Pig”. From the cigar’s tip, Phil quickly filled in clouds of smoke across Ethan’s chest, which seemed to move and twist as his chest heaved and filled with more and more fat from the tube. 

After checking that the piercings had healed on his cock, he tattooed that as well–on the top, were inch markings from head to base, and then on one side, the words Daddy’s fuck stick–on the other, the image of a cigar, the head filled in red and orange and yellow like the burning tip. Satisfied with his work, he pulled the mask free from Ethan’s mouth, allowing him to cough and breathe freely for a moment. Around the mask, all of Ethan’s grey hair had been stained a dingy yellow from the prolonged smoke–as had his teeth, like a man who’d been smoking cigars for fifty years. Then, out came the feeding tube as well–leaving Ethan at his new weight of 425 pounds. 

“Fucking hell, you fucking…piece of shit,” Ethan said, his voice raspy and deep from the hours of smoke. Already, he could feel the withdrawl setting in–but Phil was ready, pulling out a sizable cigar, cutting it, lighting it, and pushing it into Ethan’s mouth, who inhaled it eagerly. 

As he did, there was a knock on the door–and Phil went to the door of his little shop, where he allowed someone in–it was the client who had commissioned Ethan’s new body, but who was it, and what is Ethan’s final form going to be?


The next part is probably going to be the finale of this story! I’ll start a new, Halloween themed one next week probably. Patrons have their bonus poll over here! You get two votes–choose wisely!