Carnival (Part 9)

“You guys–we have to fight this. This isn’t right,” Finn said, pulling away from his friends, or rather, his lovers, in the mist of the tunnel. “Can’t…can’t you see that something about all of this is wrong?”

Garth and Dylan just looked at him, their eyes slightly pink. “There’s…nothing wrong with this, Finn–you know how we feel about you, how we’ve always felt about each other.”

There was a flash then, a flash of them all in the locker room after practice, sneaking looks at one another, taking their time until they were alone, and they could go to the showers together and–

Finn pushed the thought away again, and slid around the circular bench to be as distant from the other two as they could. This ride–it wasn’t a ride at all. They were literally falling in love with one another! There had to be something he could do, some way to snap the two of them out of it, but how?

The sides of the boat were high, but were lower where they’d gotten in. He reached down into the cool water, scooped some up in his hands, and flung it at the two of them, hoping it would bring them to their senses, but when it struck them, both of them glowed pink, and Finn watched them begin to shift. In their minds, both Garth and Dylan found their love for one another growing deeper–and also growing longer. They had met in college, sure, but by now, that had been years ago. In their forties now, and happily married for nearly 20 years, all Finn could do was watch as his best friends, the young men he loved, became two pudgy, middle aged bears, still kissing and even deeper in love than before.

“That was a few bad thing to do, to try and destroy someone’s love,” a voice said. Finn looked around for the source, but couldn’t see anyone–it seemed to be coming from the mist all around them. “But don’t worry, your daddies will take good care of you.”

Before he could do anything, the mist descended on him, cloaking him in pink, filling his mind with love–love for the two older men across from him, but also dulling him, sanding off the edges, making that love into something singular and obsessive–so powerful, it was all he could think about. When it cleared, and he saw his two daddies, Garth and Dylan, looking at him, he thought his heart would burst, and a moment later, he was pulled over the center of the boat, all three of them kissing together, until they had Finn undressed, Garth and Dylan fucking him at both ends, telling him what a good boy he was, telling him that he was going to be their boy forever.

When they reached the end of the ride, all three of them having cum, and forgotten their old lives and souls in the tunnels, Garth and Dylan got out first, both of them wearing jeans and flannel, suspenders tight against their guts, looking like the perfect bearish couple, and then they helped Finn out–and Finn looked down at himself in shock. He was wearing overalls, but with shorts on the bottom, something like what a toddler would wear, with a shirt underneath with cartoon characters on them. He was shorter than his daddies, and quite a bit chubbier too–but something making him look larger was the diaper he could feel around his waist. “Wow daddy! That was a fun ride, I love you so much!” he exclaimed with his usual youthful enthusiasm, and hugged both of his daddies tight.

“I gotta admit–it’s nice to be reminded of what’s really important,” Garth said, winking at Dylan and giving his husband’s crotch a squeeze, “I don’t know about you two, but I’m a bit tuckered out–how about we all head home and call it a night?”

Dylan agreed, and while Finn tried to protest, and insisted he could go on more rides, the way he was yawning gave away how tired he was. As they left the ride, Finn felt a warmth spread across his groin, and it took him a moment to realize he’d pissed right into his diaper without a second thought. “D-Daddy? I think I had an accident,” he said, looking at Garth, who smiled back.

“Goodness–guess its a good thing we diapered you up, eh, you dirty little boy?”

Finn nodded, his little cock hard in the front of his wet diaper.

“Well, you want us to change you here, in front of everyone?” Dylan said, “Or is the dirty little boy going to have to wear a sopping wet diaper all the way home?”

In the end, he wore it home. Finn loved the feeling of a wet diaper, after all, and his two daddies always enjoyed it when their little cub made a mess like that. Deep inside him, some other version of himself was horrified, but it didn’t matter–love was the most important thing, after all, and Finn was going to love his two daddies forever.

This is the end of this interactive for the moment. I’ll probably run a Patreon only poll in a day or two, to see if there are any stories people would like to see me wrap up and expand on a bit.

My Town (Part 11)

Quentin woke up later on a concrete floor and rolled over, expecting to find himself still in his garage, but he wasn’t. Instead, he was somewhere else he recognized–the inside of one of the city’s jail cells. He got up, still a bit unsteady, and went to the cell door, but it was locked–why in the hell was he even in here at all? The evening before was…fuzzy, but he could remember enough of what mattered–that Todd was doing something to the men of the town, something evil and vile, and he needed to be stopped. Something…else was wrong with him though. There was a need in his chest, a need in his guts, something he couldn’t explain. He knew he should…remember, but it was locked away somehow, but he felt…sick to his stomach.

He shouted for help, but no one came. He just sat on the bench, guts twisting, a headache brewing in his temples, wondering what on Earth was going on with him, until he heard voices–the familiar voices of his two most loyal deputies–coming down the hall to the cells. They would understand–he knew Todd hadn’t gotten to either of them yet. Together, maybe, they would be able to stop him.

Then he smelled it–smoke. Not fire smoke, but tobacco smoke. The need in his guts grew more intense, and he gagged, vision spinning. They rounded the corner and he could see them, Deputies Hawkes and Miles, and walking ahead of them both was Todd, smoking a cigar just like he had been the night before. His blood ran cold when he realized that both Hawkes and Miles seemed different as well. They were both smoking too–Hawkes a massive Boswell Pipe, and Miles a thick gauge cigar, and their uniforms were wrong too. The usual cotton blue was gone. Instead, they were both wearing formal black leather uniforms…just like the one he’d seen on himself in that vision the night before. And when he saw that, it finally occurred to him that he wasn’t wearing the uniform he’d had on the night before either–but he also wasn’t wearing a leather version like his fellow officers.

It fact, he wasn’t wearing much of anything at all. He had on a pair of denim shorts, hugging his ass and crotch tight, showing off his ample ass, thick leather biker boots up to his knees, and a mesh shirt, which showed off his hairy chest and shoulders. He felt different, somehow–his entire body seemed off, but he couldn’t quite nail down the details. It felt like his body, but at the same time he knew he should be different–not this muscular, not with this wide ass that seemed to shake when he took a step. He caught another whiff of smoke, stronger this time, and he couldn’t stop his mouth from opening up and saying, “Fuck boys, this ash pig is starving–you got anything for a filthy slut like me?”

His cheeks turned bright red when he heard himself speak, mostly from how desperate he sounded. The deputies laughed as they approached, and Miles said, “Sure, Ashtray, have some of mine,” and stuck the lit end of his cigar through the bars, tapping it on the metal, and dropping the ember onto the floor. He flung himself down picked up as much of the ash in his fingers as he could and shoved it in his mouth, the satisfaction flooding his body making him moan, and he groped himself in his tight shorts, before getting down and licking up the rest of it from the concrete.

“You’re such a fuckin’ pig, Ashtray,” Hawkes said. He unlocked the cell door and stepped inside, moving behind Quentin and grinding his fat cock against Quentin’s fat ass. “Sometimes I think you cause trouble just because you like getting fucked in a cell. That turn you on pig? Being at the mercy of the two meanest cops in town?”

“Officer, ya can fuck me anywhere, anytime as long as you pay me for it, you know that,” Quentin said, and slipped his shorts down, Hawkes slipping his own sizable cock into Quentin’s ass. “Fuck, nothing like the first fuck and the first mouthful of ash in the mornin.”

“Get that tongue out, Ashtray,” Miles grabbed him by the hair through the bars and yanked him up, and Quentin stuck his tongue out, screaming in delight when Miles rolled the cigar over his tongue, leaving it coated in ash. Then, before he could swallow, he shoved his cock through the bars, and rammed it down Quentin’s throat, making him gag on the length, and the hot ash he hadn’t managed to swallow.

The two cops played with Quentin for a couple of hours, and in his mind, he was reeling. He had no control over himself–he’d do literally anything for a taste of ash, or a taste of smoke from their lips. He would look over at Todd on occasion, begging him with his eyes for release, but Todd was just smiling around his cigar, his gloved hands exploring his body, and as he watched, Todd changed more–his beard now more white than ash grey, his body powerfully muscled aside from a thick gut, cock now over twelve inches long, so long he stroked it with two hands while he watched, encouraged, and directed the humiliating scene unfolding in front of him.

The two cops came first, both in Quentin’s now very loose hole. Then Hawkes dumped the ash from his massive pipe on the floor while Miles held him back, pissed on the pile, turning it into a slurry, and they let him loose, watching him grind his bearded face into the ashy muck, Miles shoving the end of his cigar into Quentin’s hole, and told him to keep it there, so he could eat it later. Unable to stop himself, Quentin felt his cock explode in his shorts as he licked up the filth, and the two cops laughed as they left the cell, telling Ashtray that he was free to go–unless he felt like hanging around for round two in a couple of hours. That, or they could always pick him up off the street a bit later, instead.

They laughed, and walked off, leaving Quentin overwhelmed and humiliated, looking up at Todd, who was still across from the cell, smiling at him. “Well Ashtray? You gonna get going or not?”

My Town (Part 8)

“Well? Go on then, get out. You don’t want to be late to work, do you?”

Todd was in the driver’s seat of his brother’s truck, and they were parked on the street, a block down from the construction project where he’d spied on him the day before. His brother was in the seat beside him, crushed up into the cabin as best he could. He hadn’t really realized how large he’d grown, until he’d climbed into the cab, knees crunched up to his chest, head bent over to keep from being pressed against the ceiling. He…didn’t want to get out. He didn’t want anyone to see him, not looking like this.

Todd had not been kind to his brother during the night–he’d left marks, purposeful ones, all over his brother’s aching body. Lash marks across his ass and back onto his shoulders and neck, cigar burns on his thighs, bruises all over, including a black eye he’d given him, after feeling a brush of teeth on his cock while his brother had been giving him head. He looked battered and broken–and the clothes his brother had given him to wear this morning hid nothing–just a pair of short denim shorts, pockets hanging out the bottom like the daisy dukes Kyle had chased in his teens, and a t-shirt cropped short, showing off the welts across his lower back, where the hair didn’t cover them up. He looked over at Todd, pouting slightly with his fat lip. “Please bro…please, can we just go home? You…you can fist me, all you want, but don’t…I don’t want them to see me like this.”

“Oh Kyle, I can fist you all I want, no matter what,” he said, slapping his face lightly, but enough to make Kyle flinch slightly, “But right now, what I want, is for your whole crew–hell, for the whole damn town–to see you looking like a beaten piece of meat, dressed like a fucking whore. Now get out of the car, and lets go get you to work.”

Kyle fought, but his body obeyed all the same–his brother’s voice didn’t give him a choice. Without thinking about it, he took a cigar and lit it, which eased his nerves slightly, and he waited for his brother to get out and come around to the sidewalk with him. “They…they won’t even recognize me, will they?”

“Maybe not a first, no, but that’s why I’m coming with you,” Todd said, “To make sure they know who you are, and what you’re for,” he said, slapped Todd on the ass right in front of an older couple walking down the street, who looked away in shock and disgust. Kyle…didn’t know what to feel. He was almost thankful for his now shrunken cock, at the moment, so no one could see how hard he was, and he squeezed the dildo in his ass, thankful he was at least plugged. He thought about the older man, thought about him turning around and calling him out on his shame, calling him a whore, shoving him against the wall and beating him, making him suck his cock right here in the street, and he turned back and tried to get back in the truck–only for Todd to grab him with a gloved hand and drag him back.

“Please…please, I don’t want to be this, I don’t want to do this…”

“Do you know, Kyle, how many times I had to walk the halls of school with a black eye, or a swollen nose?” Todd said, linking his arm in his brother’s, and walking him the block to the construction site, where Kyle could see his co-workers–his friends–gathering to get started for the day. “More times than I can really count. At least you enjoy it. At least everyone seeing you as the muscle bound slut masochist turns you on more than anything. You know what I think? You’re afraid you’re going to like this. You’re afraid you’re going to like this so much you’re going to want it. And you know what, Kyle? You’re right.”

They rounded the corner, and Kyle saw the first couple guys see him, and look shocked. Then came the recognition, a moment later. “Kyle? Is…what the fuck happened to you, man?”

His face was red. He couldn’t speak. He wanted to die, he wanted them all to fuck him. He wanted to be humiliated. He wanted it all to stop.

“Just a normal night, right guys?” Todd said, as the men clustered around them, eyes going a bit cloudy from his smoke, looking at the older fellow walking with their muscle bound worker, “I mean, which one of you guys here hasn’t spent a night with your crew slut, beating him while he begs for more, fisting his hole, covering his face with spunk? I bet every single one of you has, right? You can remember, can’t you Kyle?”

He could remember. He could remember them all, and Kyle realized he was forgetting as well. Forgetting all the women he chased and battered, all of the conquests, all of the macho posturing he’d wasted his life with. No–he remembered better now, remembered all the men he’d slept with, all the cruel, vile things they’d done to him, that he’d begged them to do to him. The men around him, the eyes were turning cruel, the mouths twisting into leers, more than one of them rubbing their cocks through the front of their pants, thinking about their last nights with Kyle, and thinking about how they could use another one soon.

“Is that fucking Kyle? You fucking piece of fucking shit, you’re late again!” An older man, the foreman, pushed himself through the circle of men, and met Todd, who brushed him with his gloved hands, warping him just slightly, and Kyle fell to his knees in front of him. “Sorry…sir, I’m sorry. I just had to help my brother out, and I lost track of time. I can make it up to you right sir?”

Todd pushed the cigar into the foreman’s mouth, and stepped away. “Yeah, you can make it up to me, in the trailer, you fucking slut. Get going.”

Kyle booked it into the trailer, and for the next several hours, the men listened to the cries and screams of their crew slut, as the foreman worked him over, and when the foreman stumbled out, sweaty and exhausted, he sent each member of the crew in for a break, like usual. By the end of the night, Kyle was limping along with Carl, a particularly thickly forearmed bricklayer, already hungry for a night with his ass full of him–and whatever else he might feel like doing to him. He deserved it after all–but he needed it, more than anything.

My Town (Part 6)

My other hand grabbed him by the jaw, three leather fingers finding their way into his mouth, forcing it open, running over his teeth, sloppy with his spit. They…wanted him. They wanted him bad, at least as badly as I did, as I always had. Without even noticing it, one glove had opened the fly of my jeans, hauled out my now larger cock, and was giving it a few strokes–and I felt it growing even larger now, nearly eight inches. “What do you think bro? Think your little brother is man enough for you?”

I didn’t give him a chance to answer, and plunged my cock into his mouth, forcing it down his throat, listening to his gag and moan, my gloves tugging at his clothes, ripping at them, hungry for the skin underneath. They knew what I wanted him to be–they knew what he deserved. My brother thought that strength was everything–that if he was bigger than everyone else, that meant that he got to be in charge. Well I was going to show him that size isn’t everything–that just because you’re the most massive, most brutish looking fucker in a room, doesn’t mean shit when I can get my gloves on you.

Both of my hands sweep across his back, and I watch it explode with muscle, his shoulders, neck and delts all swelling in size. He barely notices–his focus is entirely on my cock–right where it should be. From there, my gloves grope his chest, feeling his pecs grow thick and meaty, the nipples like bolts jutting from them. Hands on his arms, and his biceps, triceps–even his forearms swell, his hands doubling in size, easily large, and strong enough, to palm a watermelon. The hair comes next, a thick pelt forming all over his body, but most heavily on his shoulders, arms, back and chest, like a proper brute should have, in my opinion. I shove him over so he falls onto his back, straddle his wide chest, and kiss him, shoving smoke into his mouth, feeding it to him, and push my cigar in there once I’m done–he starts chuffing away at it, like a good little pig. “Alright big boy, bend over. Let me see how that ass is.”

Without even thinking to question it, he struts over to the bed–which is quite a sight, really, given how top heavy he’s become in the last few minutes. He manages to keep himself upright, however, and bends over, my gloves diving right for his ass, swelling both cheeks into thick globes, then down onto his thighs and calves, swelling them larger, the bones thickening and growing longer, pushing him up to a new height of nearly seven feet tall. Then, his feet–rubbing them both until they’re well over size twenty…and then I can’t resist it anymore. I dive in, licking at his ass for a minute, listening to him groan and open up slightly, and then slam my cock in, nice and rough.

While I fuck him, the gloves turn their attention to me–swelling me up in the same fashion as my brother, though not nearly as large. I can see myself aging again as well–a bit more white a grey sprinkled in my chest hair and beard…but I don’t care, and I light myself a second cigar, since my brother is well occupied with my first one. I’m a smoking hot daddy bear at this point, and this muscle pig of a brother is moaning and begging for me to fuck him harder, and harder…but I have one more thing before I cum. I roll him over, throw his legs up in the air, and keep fucking him–but I can see his cock now as well. It was always quite large–one of his best qualities, really. But now, at his new size, it actually looks quite small–but not nearly small enough. I grip it in one gloved hand–both cock and balls, and I squeeze, feeling them contract and shrink as I apply more and more pressure, until there’s barely any left of either–just an inch long micro cock, buried in the massive forest of my brother’s pubic bush, and a tiny, tight sack with two balls smaller than grapes. Looking at him, at this massive fucker with a miniscule cock, moaning for me to fuck him harder, and deeper around my thick cigar–it’s too much. I explode, deep inside him with a shout, but keep fucking until I fall out soft. It’s done, mostly. The physical side, at least. His head is mostly still there–I want him to see what I made him, before I turn him into the man he’s going to be from now on.

He keeps sucking down smoke, and finally sits up, staring down at himself, his hairy body, and his missing cock–he stares at me blankly until he finally puts everything together, and his eyes go wide in terror. “You…Bro, what the fuck…what the fuckin’ hell did you fuckin’ do to me?”

I smile at him, and light a second cigar for myself. “Trust me Kyle, it’s going to be so much better this way, for us both.”

“But I’m…I’m fuckin’ huge, bro! I…and I can’t…fuck, I…I’m so fuckin; horny bro, I’m so…” His hand doesn’t go to his cock, though–it goes to his ass, two fingers sliding inside himself while he groans, eyes wide, trying to understand why he just did that, and why he wants to keep doing it, and hell, if my cock isn’t twitching already, hungry and desperate for another round with him. “I…Fuck, I wanna get fucked again bro, ya turned me into a fuckin’ faggot!” He pulled his hand free, and I could see how much it pained him–he wanted it in there, he needed something in there. His eyes were narrowing–I could see the gears turning, as he went back to his anger, the shock and horror beginning to fade. He knew how big he was–and even if I was larger too, he knew he was still bigger than I was. And if he was bigger than me, then he could take me–or so he thought.

My Town (Part 5)

Kyle, Todd’s older brother, had always been a brute. Even when they were kids, long before Todd had realized anything about his sexuality, he had known that, in his family’s house, there was only one true law of power, and that was sheer physical might. Perhaps, had his brother not been such a violent bully, things would have turned out differently for everyone, but as it was, he had never once allowed Todd to forget that Kyle was the one with the might. That the only person who could usurp him was their father, and so, when they were alone, he had no choice but to obey, or face the consequences.

Now that he was an adult, his violence had served his less successfully. He worked in construction, one of the few jobs around here where he could exercise his might, and still hadn’t settled down, despite being nearly thirty, and had instead settled for a series of relationships with young women he’d attempted to beat into submission. If he’d been smarter about it, he likely could have controlled them with it, like a normal abuser, but for Kyle, it was only violence that mattered–even Todd, as a child, had recognized his brother didn’t have the instinct for control, only power. It was a shame really–with more mindful violence, in this town, in this world, he could have been someone.

Instead, he lived in a trailer park, respected only because he remained nominally within their father’s orbit. He worked, and he worked out, and he worked over whatever bitch he happened to be seeing at the moment, who hadn’t yet wised up to his brother’s abusive games, or who had been lured back by his relative charm and occasional stability. The next morning, Todd relaxed around his father’s home, still a bit hungover from the rush of the day before, taking in the changes of his own body the gloves had brought on. It was a curse, allegedly, but to Todd it was a curse he was more than happy to live with. For the first time, looking in the mirror, he saw a man looking back at him, a man he’d always pictured in his head, a body he’d always desired but never been able to achieve. He was horny too, and the gloves were more than happy to encourage that, stroking him gently, but as hard as he tried to push himself over the edge, the gloves held back, merely milking his longer cock to near orgasm. They knew what he had in mind, they knew what they really wanted. Frustrated, he threw on some clothes, now a bit ill-fitting, climbed in his father’s truck and decided to stalk his brother for a bit, until their meeting in the afternoon.

He found him working on some road work downtown, and took up a spot in a small restaurant across the way where he could observe. He was…big, but not as big as he had always seemed in his memories. In fact, he seemed…almost disappointingly small after all of these years–maybe five foot ten, two hundred and twenty pounds. Thick, certainly, but he’d gone a bit to pot as well over the years. In any case, he was no longer the ripped jock stalking him in the hallways of his childhood. Still, the years hadn’t bruised his ego, apparently–he could see how he interacted with everyone on the site, the air of assumed superiority, it had him gritting his teeth, gloves aching to touch and beckon and work on him, but he waited.

He followed him home to his trailer, gave him a few minutes to settle, and then pulled up and parked, taking a moment to light himself a cigar in the cab, the smoke helping to settle his eagerness, and then he got out and walked up to the door. It took Kyle a few moments to answer, and it was clear, when he saw the stranger on the steps, he had absolutely no clue who Todd was–then again, Todd wouldn’t have recognized himself either.

“Who the fuck are you? I ain’t buying anything,” Kyle said, “Get off my property if you don’t want your face beaten in.”

It was a classic line, really. How many times had he said that to Todd when they were kids?

“Come on now Kyle, no time for a brother?” Todd said, and while it took him a couple of seconds to click the gears together, he saw recognition light up his face.

“Holy shit, Todd? What the…you fucking faggot, what the fuck are you even doing back here? Dad’s gonna have a fit if he sees you, you fuck, I oughta kick your fucking ass for showing up here, you piece of shit…”

“Trust me bro, Dad has much bigger worries at the moment–I’m here to see you.”

Todd could see the thought forming in Kyle’s mind, the violence short circuiting the rest of his reasoning, but before he could threaten and then follow through, he reached out one gloved hand and laid it on his brother’s shoulder, and saw his eyes glaze slightly.

“Bro, let me in–we need to have a conversation, don’t you think?”

Kyle found himself nodding, and when Todd gave him a gentle push back, he stepped away from the doorway and let Todd step into the trailer, the screen door shutting behind him.

“How…what the fuck was that?” Kyle asked, shaking his head.

“You shouldn’t worry too much about that,” Todd said, taking a long drag off his cigar and blowing the smoke into the trailer’s air. “Or I suppose, you can worry about that if you want, but trust me Kyle, pretty soon, you won’t be worrying about much of anything anymore.”

He was getting ready to strike. Todd could see all of his tells. He let the fist come flying, and he caught it in one gloves hand, gently, and Kyle let off a groan, his knees giving way in sudden pleasure. “I don’t think you’ll be trying that anymore, bro. We need to find a better way for you to…express yourself, don’t you think? Your fists have done enough talking for a lifetime. I want to hear some moans from now on.”

My Town (Part 4)

His dad left the stall and looked at his new figure and clothes in the grungy mirror, and true to his son’s words…it didn’t bother him at all. He knew it should, and he felt humiliated, but his small cock was rock hard in his jeans at the sight of the big bellied trucker he’d become in less than a minute.

“Something is still missing, I think–ah, of course! An old fuck like you, I bet you’d be smoking something like this,” Todd said, and again, his glove whipped out a small curved pipe, which he slipped into the pocket of his vest, “That’s for later–for now, why don’t we go have some real fun?” Todd said, with one hand on his father’s shoulder, he leaned in and started whispering into his dad’s ear, a grin twisting on his face as he did. All Edwin could do was listen, his jaw dropping in horror at what his son was telling him to do–at what his son was going to make him do–but by the time Todd was finished speaking…he wanted to do it too, and he groped his puny dicklet a couple of times, hiked the ass of his grimy jeans up, turned around and left the bathroom.

He surveyed the bar for a moment–it was much busier than it had been when he and his son had arrived, so many more…options. For a moment he looked at a table of rough construction workers enjoying some beers after work, but his eyes drew him to what he knew he wanted–what his son knew he wanted too. The thicket of bikers who had come in an hour ago, now quite drunk and clustered around the pool table after a long day’s ride. They were no group of hobbyists either–and looking at the grizzled fuckers over there, Edwin knew what he wanted–what he needed, and walked over to them.

Todd just watched as his father waded into the gang, and begged biker after biker to drag him into the bathroom and fuck his dirty trucker hole, loud enough so the whole bar could hear what was going on. The bikers didn’t know what to think about it, for a moment, and just ignored him, but Edwin didn’t like that, so he pushed things further, and started groping them, egging them on. That, it turned out, was a bad idea. Two bikers grabbed him under the arms and hauled him out the front door, the rest of the clientele giving them plenty of room as the rest of the gang followed them out, ready to give the faggot a proper beating in the parking lot. After they left, the bar picked up where things left off, and Todd slipped out, taking a spot on the porch of the bar, where he could see the ring of bikers form around his father, see him fall to his knees and beg for their cocks again, helplessly, terrified out of his mind, and then the first punch connected with his face.

The punch–the gloves shivered, and unable to stop himself, they took control of Todd’s hands, forcing open the front of his pants, one glove stroking his cock roughly, the other tugging at his balls, pulling them away from his body hard enough that he could almost hear the skin stretching. He deserved this, he thought, watching the bikers beat his father, his now faggot father, and still he was begging for a fuck–but he couldn’t stop. Todd knew he could do nothing–if he did nothing, the bikers would probably kill him, but that was better than his father deserved, it wasn’t…enough. The hand on his sack pulled away, took the cigar from his mouth, and whistled, loud and piercing, and every biker froze in place, turning to the stranger on the porch of the bar.

“Gentlemen,” Todd said, stepping down, feeling…taller. More imposing. Even a bit…older. His cock was still out, and he was still stroking it with his free hand, but none of the bikers seemed to mind this. “No, not gentlemen, nothing gentle about you lot, right?”

The bikers all laughed. It sounded forced, compelled from their lips.

“This has been a good show, I must say, but don’t you think it would be better for everyone if you simply gave the faggot what it wants? After all, what’s a gay biker gang without a sex slave pig to haul around with you, right?”

The bikers felt a wave pass through them. It left them feeling uneasy, and unsure of themselves–Todd could tell it wasn’t quite enough. He made eye contact with his father, eyes swollen, bloody mouth, a tooth lost on the ground beside him, and Edwin knew what he needed to do, what he had to say. “Please, I’m just a stupid faggot trucker. I’m worthless, with a tiny fuckin’ dick. I was made…to serve you, please let me be your biker bitch.”

“Come on guys, if one of you rough fucks hasn’t got a hardon, hearing that, then kill the pig.”

As it turned out, none of them were soft. With a few whoops, they headed for their bikes parked along the front of the bar, a couple dragging Edwin over and tossing him into a bitch seat. He glanced over at his son, eyes wide with terror, but Todd just sneered at him. “Don’t worry dad, you’ll be back home in a few days, probably.”

Edwin tried to shout something, but it was lost over the sound of the roaring engines. The gang took off, leaving Todd in the dust and smoke of his cigar, and with one more rough tug, his cock exploded all over the ground in front of him, his body shuddering. He fell to his knees, out of breath, mind heady with the rush of power he’d just wielded, to bend the wills of so many men, all at once–he’d known it would be possible, but the act of doing it was something else entirely. It was a minute before he could stand again, and when he did, he looked different. Taller by a few inches, shoulders wider, chest inflated with some muscle, a bit of grey in his beard. He went back to his father’s car and climbed in–he needed some sleep, and then, in the morning, he’d pay his brother a long overdue visit.

CoB: Family Matters [Sketch, Pics]

I’ve had this idea rolling around for a bit, but no time to make it into something longer. It’ll still probably get turned into a full City of Bears story at some point, with a few additional twists to it.

“Fuck boy, you’re such a hot fucker, damn,” Brett said, pushing back against his cub’s cock as he fucked him. Malcolm just moaned, as is other daddy. Garth, gripped him tight, around the belly, and pushed his own cock a little deeper into the boy’s ass, sandwiching him between his two daddies, right where he belonged, right were he assumed he’d be forever.

After a few minutes, they got their rhythm together, and fucked in a train for a few minutes. Malcolm, assaulted on both sides, lost his load first, pumping his cum deep into Brett’s ass, both of his daddies telling him how proud they were of him. Garth pushed the boy over the side of the bed and fucked him a bit deeper, while Brett got on the bed, and slid his cock into Malcolm’s mouth, the two bears leaning over him and sharing a kiss until they came, filling the cub at both ends.

Afterwards, the three of them laid in their sizable bed together, cuddling, discussing their plans to go out the next night and where in the city they might like to go, and it wasn’t long before his two daddies were snoring–but Malcolm wasn’t feeling very sleepy, he was still so damn horny. He slipped out from between his two daddies, and went to the computer to look at some porn–navigating to something a bit…wilder than his daddies were particularly interested in, but which Malcolm had been enjoying lately. Just looking couldn’t do any harm, right?

It was a few days later that malcolm woke up, and discovered the first tattoo. Thankfully it was…somewhat discrete, and he managed to cover it before either of his daddies saw it, and he frantically tried to figure out what to do. He…wasn’t changing, was he? He didn’t feel any different. Maybe it was just something residual from the club the day before, and he just hadn’t noticed it. In any case, he kept it covered up that day, slipping out of the house to investigate some services that might help remove the tattoo–but he was dismayed to find that everywhere he went, they couldn’t seem to get rid of it.

The next day, there were more, and he didn’t cover them quickly enough. His daddies saw them, and threw a fit, demanding to know where he’d gotten them, demanding to know what in the world he was thinking about. Their anger confused him–on one hand, he felt so shameful for letting something like this happen and come between him and his daddies, even if they were a bit vanilla and stodgy, but on the other hand, he felt something inside him craving punishment, and discipline, and he found himself flipping between two extreme moods. One moment, he would be screaming back at them, furious for not caring or understanding what he wanted, and the next he would be apologizing, stripping, and begging his daddies to punish him like the bad boy he was.

Brett and Garth didn’t know what to make of it–the change had been so sudden, and they both believed they could reason with him, and get their sweet little cub back–but it was clear, after another day, things were only getting worse. Malcolm, or Mal as he was calling himself now, slipped out of the house and didn’t return for days, coming back reeking of sex, saying the most vile things to them both. Garth…lost his temper, and locked him down in the basement, telling Brett to keep an eye on him, not listen to a word he said, and to keep him down there while he went to find something that might help.

He spent all day in the city, and found nothing for his situation. In fact, most men, one they heard the story, were appalled. Change was normal, and something that should be embraced. They couldn’t expect to keep their cub from changing, if that’s what he wanted. He returned to the house, defeated, in the afternoon, told Brett what he’d found out…and Garth convinced him that they should just keep him down there. That until he wanted to be their good little cub again, he’d just have to be punished.

Brett hated the idea, but went along with it. In the basement, Mal raised a louder and louder fit, pounding on the locked door, screaming horrific obscenities into the air, his voice dropping lower, growing gruffer, making Brett shake every time he had to pass the door. Garth kept looking for a solution in the city, but turned up nothing. He should have seen it coming, really–Brett didn’t have the resolve Garth did, and when he came home and found the basement door unlocked and open–he just assumed Brett had let him out, and Mal had fled. However, he didn’t find Brett in the house–but he did find a stranger covered in tattoos sitting out in the afternoon sun, smoking a cigar, waiting for him.

“Fuck, I missed the fuckin’ sun,” he said, got up from where he was sitting, and chased down Garth, tackling him to the ground, beating him, and then dragging him into the basement, throwing him into a cramped cage down there. Garth looked around the space in terror–his basement had become a complete sex dungeon since he’d last been down here. He begged Mal to let him out, as the big man climbed the stairs to the main floor again, but Mal just laughed. “Sorry–but I think you need some time in the dark, Garth–some time to learn how the darkness can change you. I’ll be back down in a few days to start training you both, when you’re a bit more…malleable.”

It was then that Garth saw Brett in another cage across the basement floor, huddled and crying, naked. Then the basement door slammed shut, and sent them into total darkness.

I’ll Change for You (Part 9)

It was only half an hour or so, but it felt like an eternity. When the door to the bedroom next opened, the butler was there, now naked and wearing a set of leather manacles, and Burt entered the room, clad head to toe in a perfectly tailored leather suit, gloves and hat–though it was distinctly crotchless, allowing his massive, ten inch cock to hang free. “Now boy, why don’t the two of us pick up where we left off?”

Herman got on his knees before the dean, before his…Master, at least for the night, and sucked his cock, and once again, like before, Burt could feel the arousal welling up inside him, the pendant he had on under the leather shirt almost hot against his skin. But there was no fantasy running through his mind, not this time. Instead, everything around him became more and more vivid, every flick of Herman’s tongue across the head of his cock sending shivers running through his gut, massive thighs, and second and third chins. He knew what he wanted. He knew what they both needed.

“On the bed boy–that’s enough sucking. Daddy wants to see how his new boy’s hole feels.”

Herman was all too eager. Despite the pain in his gut, he got up and laid on his back, as Burt ordered him to do, legs in the air. Burt got up as well, pushed his legs back, and slowly slid the head of his cock into Herman’s ass. It was larger than anything he’d ever taken before, but somehow it slid right into him like it belonged there–because in Burt’s mind, it did. But it more than belonged in there, Burt could…see Herman now, the true version of him, at least a hundred pounds heavier than he was now, clean shaven from face to toe, his boy cock caged up, looking at his daddy while he fucked him with desperate desire…but beyond lust, he felt…love.

Love. A deep, unrelenting affection. This was more than he had with Jules, Jules was a meer mirage of this. No–he loved this boy. Loved him to the ends of the earth, loved him so dearly he would do anything for him, be anyone his boy desired him to be. And if his lovely, lovely boy desired nothing more than he be a short, obese, pipe smoking daddy bear with a ten inch cock, mercilessly ramming it deep into his ass while he cried out for more, and more, and more–well, then Burt was going to give it to him. He was going to give this boy everything he’d ever desired.

He came. He came, and he saw the shape of the boy’s moans resting in the air, he heard the color of his smooth skin, he felt their wills bending together, their fates melding into some singular strain of life. He felt a yes–a grand, all abiding yes resonating in their bones, tuned together as his boy came as well, a massive volley of cum erupting from his caged cock and up onto his heaving belly. He felt a mighty love warping them into shapes neither of them could have imagined, a terrible love, a horrific love, and he was left weak and trembling, tears streaming down his face from the beauty of it, and the sight of his daddy’s crying filled Hermy with great unease.

“Daddy? Daddy, what’s the matter?”

Burton gave his head a little shake, his eyes refocusing on the boy before him, and he smiled. He was happy. He was so…enormously happy. So happy, he could forgive the boy cumming without permission, all he wanted was to hold him tight to him for hours–and so he did. Jules came by a couple hours later, silently slipping open the door to see, and saw his two masters sleeping peacefully in each other’s arms, the lights still on in the room. He didn’t begrudge them, not anymore, though he had been so fiercely jealous of the boy those fifteen years ago, when the dean had met the newest member of the faculty and fallen deeply, inexplicably in love.

But now–now he couldn’t hold it against them, either of them. There was a place for him here as well, in service, but he could never come between them. There was no space there, they were…inseparable, somehow, in a way Jules couldn’t explain, not even after serving them all this time. It was a beautiful love, but also terrifying. Looking at them, he was crying without even knowing why, shaking as he turned out the lights, and retreated down to his small room in the basement, where he was safe, and alone.

It was a couple of weeks later now, and Spring had begun to shake itself from a dull and dreary Winter at long last. Burton and Hermy were striding down the street, hand in hand, discussing the work of the day. Unable to maintain a relationship at the college, Hermy had instead begun teaching at a local private school. It wasn’t his passion, and he did miss the research, but he knew it was for the best, so he could be with his daddy. He felt, at times, like he’d lost something, a piece of himself he hadn’t even been aware of having. It wasn’t his anymore–he’d given it away, and there was no getting it back.

He looked over and saw a strange old man, standing outside a shop somehow wedged impossibly between a bodega and old electronics shop. He was grinning, and watching them walk down the street together. He looked over at daddy, and he too had noticed him, and Daddy gave to old man the slightest of nods, like an old friend from another life, and then suggested they returned home for dinner.

I’ll Change for You (Part 8)

He hauled himself up from the chair and went to the kitchen, where a naked man in his 40’s was bustling about, naked aside from leather manacles on his wrists and ankles, and a cock cage riveted in place–at Jules request. Burt rather enjoyed men to have pleasure, but ever since they had met fifteen years prior, Jules just a student at the time, he had longed to be Herman’s live in slave. He’d dropped out and moved into the basement, and Burt had never been dissatisfied–well, perhaps on occasion, but a session in the dungeon always fixed things right up. “How is it coming, boy?” he asked.

“Dinner will be ready right at six thirty, as you requested, sir,” Jules said, giving him a little bow from his position at the stove, “Is there anything you need from me in the meantime?”

Burt shook his head. “No–but I do need you to play the part for this one–at least for one night. I doubt Herman will need the performance after one dinner. Make sure you’re dressed by five-thirty, manacles off as well.”

Burt could see Jules’ unhappiness in a slight sigh before nodding. Clothes were strange for him in the house, and he hated taking the manacles off especially–he claimed he felt unbalanced without them. Still, Master’s orders were Master’s orders, and he kept cooking away, while Burt returned to his study, selected a pipe, packed it, lit it, and then went to relax, ordering an old fashioned from Jules while he waited, catching up on some reading while he did. The time slipped by, and Herman was early. The bell rang at five-fifty, and Jules rushed to the foyer, immaculately dressed in his house uniform, and greeted Herman at the door, before ushering him into the sitting room where Burt was sitting, pipe wafting smoke.

“Good evening, Dean,” Herman said, the nerves apparent in his voice. The title caught Burt off guard for a moment–he’d been a professor earlier in the afternoon, but apparently he hadn’t caught on to his latest position. He was a dean, wasn’t he? The Dean of Humanities, in particular, which helped explain some of Herman’s nerves.

‘Have a seat, Herman. What can Jules get for you? He makes a fine cocktail, though he’s best at the classics.”

Herman asked for a Manhattan. Burt approved, and Jules fetched a drink, all while juggling dinner at the same time. He’d been such a poor student, back in the day–so good that he’d managed to find his calling, eventually, in Herman’s employ. The drink came, and they made small talk. Herman’s eyes flitted about the room, but were drawn back to Burt’s pipe several times. Burt offered him a smoke, but he declined. It was no matter–he’d take whatever Burt gave him soon enough, the dean was certain of that.

Jules summoned them to the dining room, where Herman found a massive, luxurious feast all up and down the space–far too much for two people to hope to eat, and after the sizable lunch earlier in the day, he felt a bit queasy. “I…I’m afraid I don’t have much of an appetite, at the moment,” he muttered, knowing full well what was likely to happen next. Burt shushed him, and sat him down, piled his plate eye, and got him started, and only after Herman was eating well, did he take a serving of his own, as large as Herman’s, and begin eating himself. Each time Herman slowed, Burt would encourage him further, and the encouragement became orders, and orders became demands. Burt touched him–lightly at first, lying hands on his shoulders, but found his way lower and lower, over his belly, down into his crotch where he groped Herman’s hard cock, always continuing their conversation as if nothing strange at all was occurring, Jules slitting in and out, taking dishes and bringing others, until Herman, at last, insisted.

“I can’t! I can’t, sir, please…Please, I feel like I’m going to burst…” he moaned, clutching his gut.

Burt chuckled, “Oh? But we can’t forget dessert now, can we?”

Herman looked up at him in horror, unable to even imagine, and watched as Burt undid the front of his pants, and allowed them to fall around his ankles, and lifted up his gut. “It isn’t small, by any means, but I have a feeling you have the…appetite for it, don’t you boy?”

Indeed he did. Burt was so short that Herman had to awkwardly bend over the arm of the chair to get at his cock, even when sitting down, but he’d been lusting after the dean for so long now, the two of them playing so hard to get…or had they? The last two days had felt so strange to him, this beautiful, domineering man simply appearing in his life like he’d always been there, like he’d walked from his dreams and appeared fully formed in reality, and Herman wasn’t going to let this chance pass him by.

“Yes, that’s a good boy–you like sucking on daddy’s big cock?”

Herman tried to answer, but Burt drove his cock in deeper, making him gag slightly, before pulling away a bit, Herman gasping for air. After a few minutes of teasing him, Burt pulled away, squatted down and pulled his pants back up. “Jules, I think your guest will be spending the night–would you see to him? No need to prepare a guest room, I think the master will serve just fine for us both.

One last time, Herman tried to speak his doubts, that their relationship was breaking so many ethical boundaries that it couldn’t happen–and yet, when the butler helped him from his seat…he relented. He wanted this. He didn’t care what it cost him, he didn’t care what might happen if anyone found out. He wanted this. He wanted…he wanted him, Burt, more than anyone else he had ever desired in his life…and somehow, Burt wanted him just as much. The butler led him upstairs, got him free of his clothing and into the bathroom, where Herman had a shower–and the butler also helped him clean out…other things, telling him that the Master of the house preferred his men to be spotless, before entering his bed. Then, when he stepped out, imagining he would be getting into his own clothes, the Butler, instead, had something else in mind. All he found himself wearing was a leather harness strapped a bit uncomfortably tight around his gut, and a black jockstrap, before being ushered into the sizable Master bedroom, and told to wait.

I’ll Change for You (Part 7)

He looked up and down the sidewalk, planning on following Herman and making him accept the ride he’d offered, but it was no worry, really. After all, he’d just find him in his office later–watching the younger professor eat his lunch today…he’d decided what his next step was going to be. He drove back to class in his luxury sedan and rode the elevator up to his own office. No longer an adjunct professor, he was a fully tenured professor. He taught a seminar that afternoon, and had a few productive meetings with some of his teaching assistants and graduate students. Herman was never far from his mind, however, and he hadn’t seen the object of his interest return to the office after lunch. He was, in fact, a bit worried that he’d missed him, or worse, scared him off by being a bit too forward. Still, it was clear that the man had enjoyed himself–as had Burt. The pendant…it was getting closer, and he took a moment to examine it while he was alone.

The light was brighter now–quite a bit brighter in fact–but somehow he knew it wasn’t finished with them yet. It was nearly four by the time Herman tried to slip past his door to his own office, but Burt saw him, and called out, “Herman! A moment please?”

Sheepishly, Herman stepped back and into the office, Burt smiling kindly at him. “What is it, sir?”

Sir. That caught him off guard, but Burt very much enjoyed the sound of it. “I was wondering, Herman, if you had any plans this evening.”

“Oh, uh…I just have some work to get done, is all.”

“I’d like you to join me for dinner this evening, at my home. That won’t be a problem, will it?”

He could see the conflict in Herman’s eyes. He…knew it was inappropriate, what the two of them had engaged in at lunch, and yet nothing had even happened. But dinner? At Burt’s home? The two of them alone? “I…I don’t know if that would be appropriate…”

Burt smiled, “I assure you, Herman,” he said as he hauled himself up from his chair, “it can be entirely appropriate if you so desire. Just two colleagues having a nice meal, and nothing more,” he walked over to where Herman was standing and shut the door, sealing them in the office, “But perhaps you’d like something more than appropriate?” Before Herman could object, Burt pressed him to the wall, firmly yet gently, and began kissing him, tasting a bit of their sweet dessert still on his breath. Herman squirmed a moment, but relented, kissing him back, hungrily. Burt, the fantasy from the bathroom stall returning to him vividly, pressed Herman down on the shoulder, and felt him collapse down onto his knees in front of him, and the professor rubbed and kissed at his suited gut with one hand, while the other was openly groping himself. He…desperately wanted to go further, but not yet–he had to…wait. Burt pulled away, smoothing down his shirt, which had a few wet spots from where Herman had licked him. On his knees, he looked…horrified by what he’d just done, and yet he couldn’t hide his arousal–not from Burt. “Dinner this evening.” he said. “I won’t take no for an answer. Six sharp.”

“Y-Yes sir…” Herman said, blushing a bit at that formality.

“Good boy,” Burt said, the word slipping out without much thought, and he saw Herman’s eyes go wide, and he slipped out of the office, the tent apparent in the front of his slacks. Still–that didn’t bother him really. So what if someone saw it? He felt so confident and self-assured, it was a feeling he had never really known before, but then again, as a young man, it was difficult to gain this sort of confidence after years of living. Burt went back down to his sedan and climbed in–he had a couple of hours until dinner at least–and he realized he didn’t actually have dinner planned out at all! There was a moment of panic, but it was washed away by something else, a sense that everything was going to be just fine–all he needed to do, was trust that everything was going according to the amulet’s plan. He drove home, to a sizable house not too far from campus, parked and went inside. His hard on hadn’t diminished at all, since he’d left Herman’s office–it was clear that it was time for another step closer to who he needed to be, for Herman’s sake.

He went into his study and sat down at his desk, already thinking of Herman, thinking of him on his knees there, in the office–no! No, not, in the office, here. Here in his home, right there in the middle of the room on his knees, and naked. There was…a smell in the room, but it was difficult for Burt to place right away, until he felt the thing in his hand–the hand not presently stroking his cock. It was…his pipe. One of his many pipes. He slid the stem into his mouth and took a draw, the smoke filling his mouth, and he stood up in his mind, crossing to where Herman was, and blowing the smoke into his face, covering him with it, while the boy moaned in lust.

“What do you want, boy?”

“Please sir–please fuck me.”

He thought he was naked–but no. Burt looked down and saw that he was wearing a set of leather clothing, perfectly tailored to fit his even wider frame. His cock had no problem responding, and his massive gut couldn’t hide the ten inch member, either. He ordered Herman into position, and just the sight of his plugged hole was enough to drive Burt over the edge. He grabbed at a handkerchief he kept on his desk for just such an event, and carefully caught his cum in it. A gift for Herman later, perhaps. He heaved a sigh, and looked around at his study, surprised to discover it was…larger than then he’d entered it a few minutes earlier, and the walls lined with several racks of pipes, along with a full sized humidor, should he be more in the mood for a cigar. He leaned back in his chair, his gut shifting around him, though whether it was more a gut, or had begun to sag too far, was a different question. In any case, it felt wonderful, and he stroked it idly, excited for dinner with Herman, and wondering how Jules was coming along with the preparations.