City of Bears: Lovers and Strangers (Part 6)

“Wyatt, we can’t do this,” Carter said, pushing him back. “You have a daddy already, this is just supposed to be a fun night. I don’t want it to get complicated–any more complicated than it already is going to be.”

“Yeah, but you’re fuckin’ hot though,” Wyatt said, cub soda sparkling in his eyes–along with something else, a certain fire. “Or fuck, you could be, damn. I feel fucked up.”

“You kind of are fucked up–did one of those guys give you another drink?”

Wyatt nooded, smirked, and went in for another kiss, grinding up against Carter’s leg. “Think he called it a hot shot or something, tasted like sucking on a dick sized pepper.”

“Fuck, we gotta get you home.”

“Why, so you can fuckin’ ravage my cub hole daddy?” Wyatt groaned in his ear.

“No, so we can put you to fuckin’ bed boy,” Carter growled back at him, not noticing his voice slipping a bit lower than usual. “Because when you come down off one of those, you’re going to feel like your head is in a vice, and right now you’re too stupid and cocky to not do something you’ll regret.”

“Yeah? Got any ideas, daddy? I’m happy to hear them.”

“Come on, let’s go,” Carter said, frustrated that his night treating his changing daddy to his first night as a proper cub was quickly turning into a night he’d spent plenty of times with other cub friends of him, dragging them home after getting a little too wasted, and a little too beyond themselves, depositing them on their couch to sleep it off before heading back out to get back to the night’s fun. Wyatt was more than happy to hang off his arm, and it was clear the hot shot was shooting through his system, his muscles throbbing a bit larger, growing slightly taller, his goatee thickening slightly as his hair shrank down into a buzzcut, his auburn hair brightening to a strawberry blonde. His cock and balls were larger and throbbing red, looking like the pepper Wyatt had mentioned before. He wouldn’t go soft for a few hours at least, and trying to jack off while on a hot shot could be excruciating, but if you didn’t cum, well, that was excruciating all on its own. That was part of the fun, really–an ever escalating spiral of horniness, losing yourself to this red veil of lust for the evening, inhibitions dropping to nothing, used by anyone around you until you finally explode–Carter knew from personal experience, but it wasn’t a drink for a newbie by any means.

Wyatt grew more and more restless as they got closer to Carter’s place, lunging for another kiss, whispering horrifically naughty shit in Carter’s ear, groping his cock and sliding his hand down the front of his denim shorts. Carter resisted it all, and Wyatt was getting more and more frustrated, until he shoved Carter up against a business shuttered for the night, and in the doorway ground his rock hard cock against him, begging Carter, begging daddy, for a little taste, a little pleasure, he was just so hot! He was hot to the touch, sweat pouring off him in buckets, and he reeked of musk–the scent was intoxicating all on its own, and Carter found himself…wondering what it might be like to just shove him down and make the cub suck his daddy cock for a bit–

He got hold of himself again, slipped out of the doorway where Wyatt had pinned him down, grabbed him by the hand and dragged him off. The apartment was just another block, and he managed to get them both there without any further incident. Inside, Wyatt immediately tried to tear Carter’s clothes off of him, begging for his cock, begging to get fucked, but Carter just shoved him into the bedroom, told him to hang tight for just a second while he mixed him something to help him come down a bit, and he could sleep it off, shut the bedroom door between them, and heaved a sigh, proud of himself for holding it together as well as he did with that cub pawing all over him, even if it had made him feel pretty good to be the focus of the hot fucker’s attentions.

Carter went to the kitchen to fix a hangover fix he’d perfected for himself, and passed a mirror on the way there, pausing to take in the shift he’d suffered. He looked to be in his forties at this point, and while not quite a daddy, he was certainly no longer a cub by any stretch of the imagination. He heaved a sigh, thinking that if he was himself, he’d probably find this body hot as hell, but all he could think about right now was how Wyatt had looked on that dance floor, sweat dripping off him, running down his body, the way he’d looked over at him, the way he’d looked at him on that sidewalk, the way his breath had smelled, the way his pits had smelled, how hard that cock had felt against his gut. He was groping his own cock thoughtlessly, his other hand tweaking a nipple, hair turning a bit greyer as he stood there, remembering it–wanting it…but he stopped, and cursed the whole shitty situation. He…did want to fuck him, but on their own terms, not like this. Not with Wyatt strung out on a hot shot.

He mixed the drink he used to come down after a wild night, trying to keep his mind off of Wyatt as best he could, and went back to the bedroom, but when he got to the door–he swore he heard someone crying. He opened the door, and sure enough, there Wyatt was, sitting on the ground with his back against the bed, red hot cock jutting up from his lap, tears streaming down his face. He looked over at Carter, thought about hiding them, but how could he? Everything felt so close to the surface. “I’m such an idiot, fuck,” he muttered, “I should have known.”

Don’t beat yourself up over it,” Carter said, setting the drink on the dresser, “You should have seen me when I shot two of those one night, fuck. It was a…great night, but it took me days to feel like myself again.”

Do…I not remember that because I forgot?”

No, that was before we were together, and I never told you about it, I don’t think. If you thought I was wild when we were together, you should have seen me before. I was a hot mess–literally at times.”

Wyatt shuddered, went to touch his cock, and cringed, “Fuck, it feels like its on fuckin’ fire, but it feels so fuckin’ good!”

Carter got the drink from the dresser and handed it to him. “Here, drink this. You’ll feel better in a bit.”

Wyatt took the glass and looked at it, and then up at Carter–and before Carter could stop him, he dumped it on the floor next to him.

“What the fuck? Why the fuck did you do that?”

“Because I don’t want to drink it–I just want you to fuck me already, daddy.”

December Patreon Suggested Stories Ready to Download! | Wesley Bracken on Patreon

Merry Christmas everyone!

Also, in other news, Patreon is hovering right at around the $700 level–it’s gone over and under a couple times this month, just as things have fluctuated, so for January, I’m going to go ahead and start posting seven days a week! What those two days of additional content are going to look like is going to fluctuate, though they probably won’t be normal posts. Instead, I would like to get back into doing things like interactive stories, occasional caption stories, metawriting entries, and other possible ideas I’ve had rolling around in my head.

This January, I’ve decided to start off with a new interactive story to start things off! In the past, voting for the different choices at the end of the story has been difficult to deal with, mostly because tumblr doesn’t have a way to post polls, so this time around, I’m going to be doing something a bit different! There will be two (identical) polls going for each entry in the story, one on twitter (my handle is @WesleyBracken) and one on Patreon, for Patrons only (anyone contributing at least one dollar can access it). That means, Patrons get two votes, essentially, since they can access both polls, while everyone else can vote once on Twitter. I’ll be sure to provide clear links to both polls, to make the process as simple as possible! The first entry in the story will be up on January 3rd!

For your pleasure, here’s one of the Christmas themed shorts I wrote for Patreon contributors this month! We’ll finish off “City of Bears: Lovers and Strangers” over the next couple of days!

Christmas Justice

“And have you been good this year?” Nick asked the little girl on his lap. She nodded vigorously, and started rattling off a list of things she was hoping to get from Santa, while her tired parents looked on the scene. She asked if his beard was real, he gave a laugh, and assured her it was, but when she tugged on it, and he nearly yelped, he almost shouted at her–but kept the rage down. Just a few more minutes. Just a few more minutes, and all of this will be over. He winked at her over his spectacles and smiled while one of the elves took their photo, and then she was whisked off, and replaced by another child on his old, aching knee.

Nick hadn’t asked for this job–no, he hadn’t asked for any of this. One week before, he had been seventeen, out of school for break, and hanging around the mall in the throngs of shoppers with his friends, and stupidly, on a dare, he had agreed to shoplift something from one of the stores. He couldn’t even remember what it had been, something cheap and small, and he’d gotten out of the store with it, on the way to meet back up with his friends, when a man had grabbed him by the shoulder and stopped him.

“Where do you think you’re going with that?” he asked, and palmed the bauble from Nick’s pocket, where he’d stashed it. “That’s very, very naughty of you, you know, stealing like that.”

Nick denied it, and tried to pull away from the man, but his grip was like iron. He’d dragged Nick into a shadowy hallway off the mall concourse, and when he’d woken up–well, Nick wasn’t the young man he remembered being. He was fat–easily 350 pounds, with a thick white beard, his hair balding past the crown of his head, face wrinkled, hands, knees, hips and back aching. He’d stood up in horror, and saw that his clothes had changed as well–he was in a Santa costume, and before he could do anything else, one of the elves from the mall had spotted him, dragged him off, and sat him down in the chair, forcing him to listen to these snot nosed brats beg him for presents, taking picture after picture with him all day long.

That night, when he was finished with his shift, the old man had found him–given him a set of keys, and told Santa to go home to his place and get some rest. Nick had begged him to change him back, and the man had said, “Be good for the next week, and on Christmas Eve, I’ll give you a life you deserve, Santa.”

It had been cryptic and suspicious, but it was the only hope he had. He lived alone in a tiny, dingy apartment, eating and drinking himself to sleep, cock unable to even get hard to jack off or think of having sex with anyone. He just felt miserable, old, and useless. Looking at himself in the mirror, especially naked, made him sick to his stomach, but it was just for a week, right? And now, ten minutes to quitting time, the line dwindling down on Christmas Eve–he was nearly there. The last child toddled off, and he breathed a heavy sigh, as did the elves around him, and they started closing up shop, while Nick went off to get changed and head home.

But on his way there, he found someone waiting for him–the old stranger–and his heart leapt. He tried to run, but his old knees weren’t up to it–he just hobbled on a bit faster until he was in front of him. “Fuck, please–please, I’m sorry, just change me back, please!”

The man smiled. “Are you sure? You did such a good job, making so many children so very happy. Don’t you think being a jolly old man suits you?”

“Fuck you! I fucking hate this. I hate malls, I hate being old–but most of all I hate being fat! My dick doesn’t work and I fucking hate this, all of it. This isn’t fucking fair! You can’t just fucking do this to me, change me back!”

“Disgusting, eh? You don’t think a mature look suits you? Well, perhaps it doesn’t–not quite yet. But you do need to learn to better appreciate your elders, I think. And life, of course, isn’t fair, Nick–it never is, never has been, and never will be. But life can, on occasion, be just, you know?”

It was happening again–he could feel it. He was changing, his vision fading, and he clutched at the wall to steady himself as he went down on his fat ass, the last words of the old man reverberating in his head as darkness overtook him.

Nick startled awake, but didn’t know how much time had passed. Looking down, he wanted to cry–he wasn’t back in his old body, and the old man was nowhere to be seen. Using the wall, he managed to heave himself upright, and waddled down the hall to the locker room there, to see what had happened to him. In the mirror, staring back at him, wasn’t Santa–but rather, the image of a massively obese mall cop, his chubby figure straining the uniform he’d squeezed himself into, chins overflowing his collar, barely hidden behind the short grey beard he had over his face. The worst part though, was that looking at himself there…he felt a shiver of arousal. He looked…good. Hot, even. He gripped his flab and gave it a shake, and while his stomach turned a bit, much stronger that the disgust was a sense of humiliating thrill. Look at him–such a fat fucking pig, fuck! He gave a little snort, and his short, soft cock leaked a bit of precum into the front of his uniform pants–and then the door opened, and Doug stepped into the room with a knowing smile.

Doug, the mall santa, who’d just finished his last shift. He looked the part, and staring at the old man in the red suit…Nick’s knees went weak with desire. “There’s my police pig–it’s your last night to get Santa’s dick! you’d better make it count, and show Santa what a good boy you’ve been this year.”

“Oh fuck yeah Santa, this pig has been extra good this year–give me anything you want, sir, anything!” Nick said, dropping his pants and underwear to the floor, bending over the sink, letting Doug step behind him and slip his cock into Nick’s hole. As Doug fucked him, more and more memories of this life filled Nick’s mind–his role as the bumbling, obese mall cop, too fat to really catch anyone or be of any use at all, who usually was found stuffing himself at the food court all day–when he wasn’t cruising old daddies and sucking their cocks in the bathroom during his shifts. Nick–the old Nick–never really went away, nor did the horror of his new life, and on occasion, the old man would pay him a visit. Nick always did his best, servicing the stranger’s old cock with as much gusto as he could, but he hadn’t agreed to change him back–yet. But maybe one day, he would–that was the last hope Nick had for his new life.

December Patreon Suggested Stories Ready to Download! | Wesley Bracken on Patreon

City of Bears: Lovers and Strangers (Part 5)

The conversation turned to lighter topics than fading love, and when they finished the meal, they left, and walked the few blocks to Cubster’s Dance Hall. It was one of the few places in the city where a cub could go to just, well, be a cub–or where anyone could go to be a cub, really, even for just a night. It had a very strict “no daddies allowed” policy–it was strictly for cub-on-cub fun, though daddies could always get a piece of uninhibited cubdom, so long as they imbibed a few of the club’s special drinks first in an antebar. The missing daddies made it a special oasis–after all, a cub around any daddy could find it…difficult to resist, not that they usually objected. It was a constant worry though, in some ways, and having a place to go where you felt a little less of that pressure could be nice for an evening. Wyatt had never been there himself–he’d never really wanted to be a cub for a night, he’d been very happy as a daddy. But now, he was actually rather intrigued, and kind of excited to be going to somewhere rather exclusive–although it wasn’t like Wyatt hadn’t been a feature at several daddy exclusive pipe bars around the city.

The bouncer checked them at the door–and seemed particularly happy about Wyatt joining the party. Inside, the hall inside was all shimmering lights and throbbing music, the scent of musk and sugar on the air. Wyatt would have found it overstimulating before, but now it just felt like pure excitement. Carter got them a couple of cub sodas, and by the time he got back, Wyatt was already out on the dance floor, swaying and gyrating. As his daddy, Wyatt hadn’t had a rhythmic bone in his body–but apparently this new cub was going to be quite the dancer. Carter joined him, after a few sips of the soda–the house drinks always helped him feel like he fit in a bit better, slimming him down slightly, the energy in the room infecting him just a little more. Before too long, he and Wyatt had lost track of time, and of themselves, dancing to song after song, grinding together, enjoying each other, and the longer he was with him there on the floor, the more Carter found himself looking at Wyatt–at his ridged, furry abs and thick chest, strong shoulders and perfect ass. Was it jealousy, or something more? Everything felt a bit slippery, when you were around someone changing. More than a few cubs were eyeing him as well–particularly the sort of cubs who tended to shun daddies entirely, and prefer the company of their own. When they finally exhausted themselves and returned to their sodas, several made passes at him, suggesting they slip away to the back rooms, offering him drinks, but Wyatt politely refused. Still, it was obvious he was enjoying himself, but Carter wanted a break–he suggested he at least take up someone on the offer to dance, and so Wyatt stepped back out onto the floor with a bevy of other men, while Carter sat back, relaxed, and watched the fledgling cub enjoy himself.

Watching with amusement became a certain rapt fascination, and that fascination slowly twisted into something Carter wasn’t particularly familiar with, which was a pounding desire for his friend. Realizing what he was feeling, he nervously took another sip from his soda, but the rush of sugar just tasted cloying and bitter–he gagged on it and spit it back in the glass, confused, until a couple moments later, when a bouncer walked up to him. “Hey, what’s the deal? You know the rules–you’re not usually one to slip away on us, Carter.”

Carter was confused, but the bartender directed him to the mirror behind the bar, and Carter blushed horribly, realizing what had happened. His early twenty-something face had grown a bit craggy–he was, arguably, still a cub, though one who had seen, perhaps, a few too many years to be convincing. “Sorry man, I don’t know what came over me.”

“Well tone it back down, or I’ll have to boot you for the evening. Need another drink?”

Carter shook his head, and took another drink of the one he had, but it tasted even more vile than it had before, and he couldn’t help but spit it out. “Sorry, I’m sorry.”

The bouncer had seen it plenty of times before, and he hauled Carter up from the table and dragged him to the door. It happened to everyone, sometimes, he told Carter a bit apologetically. “Why not try Dickhole for a bit? Plenty of cubs looking for that down there,” he said, and pushed him out onto the sidewalk, “But don’t pull this shit again, got it? I thought you were better than that.”

The bouncer went back inside, and Carter was left standing there on the sidewalk, feeling rather humiliated and horrified–and a bit worried too. Wyatt was still in there, and he might think he’d abandoned him without even saying goodbye. But a moment later, Wyatt, dripping with sweat, exited the building and bounded down the steps to where Carter was standing. “What happened? I saw that guy drag you out, are you–oh…” Wyatt paused. It was getting dark, but he could see the slight shift in Carter’s face, the tinge of silver in his goatee. “Are you…daddying out, man?”

Carter blushed, “Y-Yeah, I guess I did a bit.”

“I’ve never seen you do that before.”

“It doesn’t happen very often, trust me.”

“Was…was it me?”

Carter couldn’t bring himself to say it. It felt so awful, as things had been turning towards friendship, for this to suddenly erupt from him, unasked for. “Look, lets go to Dickhole, alright? I know a few regular daddies who will set me–well, set us–straight right away.”

“You didn’t answer my question Carter, was it me?”

He sighed, “Yeah. Yeah, it was you. You aren’t even my type, and I don’t know why–”

He was interrupted by Wyatt lunging into him, pressing his lips to Carter’s mouth, and the smell of him, sweaty from dancing, the tinge of rubber, Carter couldn’t help but moan into him. “It had better have been me–I was dancing for you, after all.”

I Dream of Bacchus (Part 5)

All three of their orgasms came in tandem, bucking to the beat of the drums as the music became a cataclysm, and before Raury could even lick his own cum off his hand, the beasts had descended on him, desperate to make it up to him, to feed him, to give him wine, to tell him that he didn’t need those humans to be happy, that they would serve him, and delight in him, and fuck him, and abuse him. He tried to pull away from them, when he saw Aarin help Jared up from the ground and lead him out of the forest, but in his heart he knew it was too late, and when he woke up, Jared would be gone and he’d be alone–alone with these things, alone with his dreams, and he didn’t know if he was thrilled or terrified at the thought.

The beasts began to wind down, slowly, and Raury could feel himself beginning to rise out of the dream, and fade back into real life. There was sun, but he wasn’t on the couch–he was in a bed, alone, but not the bed from his apartment. It…stank. The room stank like a barn. Like manure and mud and straw, but rather than disgust him, he actually found himself relaxing into it. At least…now, he could be alone, right? He wouldn’t have to feel bad about giving in anymore, about the weight he’d gained, about his drinking, about his sexual obsessions and constant sleeping. He was so comfortable, in fact, that he almost allowed himself to drift off again, but he needed to piss, so he got up, naked, and went into the hallway towards the bathroom.

“Fucking hell…you know the fucking rule, Raury! I do not want to see that fucking disgusting body of yours naked!”

He looked over, and there was Jared, fully clothed, holding a cup of coffee, and he couldn’t believe it. What was he doing here? Hadn’t Aarin taken him away? Wasn’t that supposed to be his punishment? “I…I just had to piss is all,” he muttered.

“Get back in that room and put something on, or I’m not going to let you watch for a week, and I’ll raise the fucking rate.”

Ashamed for reasons he only half understood, he turned around and went back into the room, surveying the mess. It looked a bit like a sty, really–clothes thrown everywhere. Still, Jared…called the shots. He went around and found a pair of ratty boxers, and then grabbed a robe hanging over the back of a chair–but caught his reflection in the dirty mirror on the wall, and gasped.

He’d been changing before, bit by bit, but always gradually. Here, he was looking at a different person entirely. He just…couldn’t get past the fact that he was so…so old, all of a sudden. His hair, all of his hair from his head to his feet, was grey, and he’d balded severely. His usual layer of stubble was still present around his mouth, but he’d grown in a pair of thick mutton chops which only made his face look wider and pudgier. Even his body seemed to have contorter–he was shorter, legs stubbier and a bit bowed out, posture slumped…he was a fucking slobby mess. No wonder Jared never wanted to look at him–Raury didn’t want to look at himself either.

He pulled the robe on, checked the hallway for Jared, and then got to the bathroom, determined to fix himself up slightly. He could at least get rid of the facial hair, right? Have a shower, clean himself up…but nothing worked. Every time he ran the blade of a razor over his face, he could feel the hair being cut, but it would appear right back behind the blade’s trail, like nothing had happened at all. The same with his chops and hair–he could cut it, but it would regrow to it’s new length again in less than a second. Showering proved to be equally futile–no matter how much he scrubbed, he’d step out as dirty and stinking as he’d been getting in. This was him now–his body. He’d been…corrupted, somehow, but whether it was the fault of the beasts, or the fault of Aarin’s curse, he didn’t know. He went back to his room and cried for a couple of hours, had a pleasant nap where he got fucked by a handsome pair of centaurs, and then woke in the evening to a sudden knock on the door.

“You got the fee, pervert? Slide it under, and I’ll open the hole before he gets here.”

His body knew what to do, before his mind could really catch up. He got some cash from his wallet–a hundred dollars, and slipped it under to Jared, who took it, and walked back to his room, where he heard something shift against their shared wall–and a small hole he hadn’t noticed was revealed. Curious, he got down and looked through it, and found himself staring right at a completely naked Jared, and fuck, he was so…achingly, desperately in love, at that moment. He wanted him so badly, needed him, his cock rock hard, and he started jacking off, being careful to stay quiet–any peep from him, and…his privileges could be revoked.

Ten minutes later, he heard a distant knock at the apartment door. Jared went to answer it, and returned with a young man, and they started making out together…and Raury felt his heart start to shred, even as he grew even more turned on that before. The man had a massive cock–almost as large as Raury’s had been once upon a time–and he used it on Jared’s ass for close to an hour, Jared blowing load after load watching some stranger fuck the man who had been his ex-boyfriend, but who now…well, there wasn’t really an easy term for what their relationship was now.

Jeremiah’s Biggest Fan (Part 4)

How much did Terrance like football? Not at all. In fact, Terrance hated football. He hated most sports, in fact. But within a moment after Jeremiah pressing a button on the Chronivac, all of that changed. Now, he didn’t just love football–it was his life. He watched as much of it as he could, all the time, followed both the pro leagues and the college teams, and so much in his head was pushed out to make room for what he would have thought of as useless stats and figures before, but now…now football seemed like the only thing that mattered to him.

“Fuck, you’re going to make me a fucking football player?”

“No Tubbs–don’t worry about that. Someone with your physique? You’re too big to even be a defensive lineman. Sure, you might have played football back in high school,” he pressed another button, “but you were much too stupid to get into college, even on an athletic scholarship, if you’d been a good enough player to get one,” he hit another slider, “Now, all you are is just a middle aged loser, a pathetic worthless slob who obsesses on football because that’s the only thing in his life that has ever given him any meaning.”

Terrance did his best to fight it, the sensation of his entire history shifting away underneath him. Some of the details were the same as before–growing up gay in a small town–but most of it began twisting into something entirely new. Jeremiah saw him begin to shift again, though more subtly than before. His eyes lost a bit of their intelligence and dimmed, a thick layer of stubble filling in across his flabby face as his hairline began to recede. His body began to smell from a lack of care and washing, and he grew even a bit larger. In thirty seconds, Terrance was essentially gone–now there was just Tubbs, a thirty-five year old faggot pig, who spent his days working a shitty job delivering pizzas, and every second of his free time was devoted to his one true love: football.

Still, it wasn’t quite enough to satisfy Jeremiah. After all, even Tubbs could figure out that knowing a secret like this of a local college football star could be…rather worthwhile to the right ears. No–what he needed was a much more personal loyalty. “Tell me Tubbs,” he asked, typing in a new specification, “Who’s your favorite football player? The one you idolize over everyone else?”

“Aww fuck man! It’s fuckin’ you!” Tubbs gushed, his voice picking up the long drawl of the rest of the hick locals around here. “First time I saw ya play last year man, I knew I was lookin’ at someone special. I…I dreamed about you man, I know you’re gonna be pro, you’re gonna take a damn lucky team to the superbowl one day! I…fuck man, and…and I…” he got off the bed and onto his knees in front of Jeremiah, looking up at him with an almost childlike adoration, “I…anything I can do for you sir. Use me, my holes–I…You’re the sexiest man I’ve ever seen on a field, and if I can do this for you, if I can make you happy, fuck man it would be such a fucking honor. I know…I’m not much to look at, hell, I’m a dumbfuckin’ loser, I know it, but my ass is a good fuck, and its always open, whenever ya need it.”

“What I need right now, pig, is someone to clean my filthy fucking feet.”

“Oh fuck…Fuck *snort* fuck sir, yes sir!” Tubbs got down and started licking at Jeremiah’s foot, grunting and moaning, supporting himself with one hand while the other fucked himself with the dildo he had in his hole nearly all the time. Yeah–now this is something he could get used to, Jeremiah thought, hopped up on the desk behind him and started shoving his foot into Tubb’s fat mouth, jacking his cock while he watched the pig humiliate himself in front of his young football idol.

“You like those nasty feet pig?”

“Yes sir!”

What do you say pig, when your idol–when your fucking god is nice enough to let you lick your feet?”

“Thank you sir, *grunt* Thank you!”

“That’s right pig–you’ll take anything from me, won’t you, and you’ll thank me afterwards–isn’t that right?”

“Anything sir, I’m your fucking pig sir, anything, please, I’d be honored.”

“Get back on the bed pig, I got one last load of cum for you, and then you’d better get going, or you’ll be late to work.”

Twenty minutes later, Tubbs left the dorm room, adjusting his too small uniform from the local pizza delivery joint where he’d worked since he was a teenager. The front was stained and grubby, but he didn’t care–he had the best football player’s cum leaking out of his hole right this very second, and the world couldn’t get any fucking better than this.

Inside the room, laughing, unable to believe what had just happened, Jeremiah picked up the Chronivac, stepped out the dorm room, and triggered reality to alter and adjust for all of the previous changes he’d made. The room he’d just left was suddenly occupied by a completely different student, and Terrance–investigative journalist and notorious queer–ceased to exist for anyone other than Jeremiah. Later that night, he ordered a bunch of pizzas for the frat house for fun, and sure enough, Tubbs pulled up in his pickup truck, hauled out the six pizzas and took them to the door, gushing over the football players inside, who were a bit…put off that the filthy slob knew their own stats better than they did. But Jeremiah gave him a wink, and that alone had Tubbs fucking himself with his special, Jeremiah shaped dildo in a parking lot until he came in the front of his work uniform, looking forward to the next time he’d have the honor of serving his idol–which he’d have the opportunity to do many times over the next few years, until–as everyone knew would happen–Jeremiah graduated and got drafted immediately by a pro team across the country, and he was gone.

Still, Tubbs didn’t resent him–how could he? He’d settled into his life well–packing on another hundred of pounds thanks to drinking problem and binge eating Jeremiah had helped nurture in the pig. He liked to think that, maybe, he’d helped him a little. That with his sorry life, he’d done something for the one person in the world who really mattered. He watched every game that Jeremiah’s team played, lounging on his couch, drunk, one of his idol’s dirty jockstraps or jerseys from his private collection pressed to his face, bouncing on his dildo, wishing for at least one more fuck from him–and at the end of the season, he got a package that had his squealing with joy. Jeremiah remembered him, and liked him enough to send the pig a ticket to the superbowl–and after winning his first ring of what would be many, Jeremiah gave that pig a night long pounding he was certain would last Tubbs a good long while. After all, loyalty and silence had to have its rewards, right?

Smoke Spirit (Part 8)

Doug tried to fight and push back, holding onto his own memories, but every time he tried to bring forth something to counter the spirit’s assault, it seemed to catch fire, and before he could even think of it, it was gone. There was just him, his dirty minded brother and equally perverse son…and…and someone else, too, but they’d find him eventually too. And then the whole family would be back together, like nothing had happened at all. The searing burns were more frequent now, and he could feel his boy flinch a bit as well, on occasion, meaning he was probably suffering the same sensation. He realized, at last, what he was feeling–it was his tattoos, of course! He and Howie had gotten matching tattoos when they were teenagers, and had just…kept on going. It wasn’t hard to see that they were related, given how similarly decorated they were, and as soon as they could convince someone, they’d started tattooing their boy the same as they were, when he was a teenager. He was getting close now, as was his son, and Howie, and the three of them came within seconds of one another, the smoke finally beginning to dissipate, and Doug could step back and haul his cock free of Pete’s sweet hole, and look at the damage the spirit had done to them all this time.

Then again, maybe damage wasn’t quite the right word, because when the smoke began to lift away from Howie’s body, where he was in the chair, all Doug could do was let out a gruff moan, climb over his son between them, and start groping his brother’s flabby body. His…his twin brother’s flabby body. Yeah, he was only ten minutes older, sure, but he was still the big brother–although Howie had him beat in the weight department. He’d settled in at around 275 pounds at this point, and he carried it well–his thick gut sticking out in front of him, two meaty tits with massive nipples resting on top. His ass was plenty wide, and jiggled a bit more than his gut ever would–Doug could…remember how it reverberates when he’s pounding his brother’s fat hole over…over the back of their bikes–fuck! What the fuck is he thinking? What the fuck is he doing?

“Fuck, I gots the hottest fuckin’ big brother in the whole fuckin’ world,” Howie said, looking up at Doug, his eyes the same solid grey as Pete’s below him. “Hottest fuckin’ nephew too! That’s fer suckin’ down Unc’s cum, Petey.”

“Welcome, Uncle Howie! You know I love the taste a yer fuckin’ cum. Dad’s too!”

“Yeah…yeah, yer a little fuckin’ slut. Take after yer Unc like that, boy,” Doug said, but even though the words felt…right, and that new twang sounded so natural and easy, part of him was fighting for dear life against this. But then, Howie took a deep breath of cigar smoke, grabbed Doug by the collar and locked lips with him, and fuck, the sharp taste of tobacco on his brother’s lips had him hard all over again, and ready for another round. But he…they…they had to wait, because…because wasn’t someone else still missing? He had his bro, his son, but wasn’t there someone else? Yeah, there was, but his brain was being dumb–hell, he was pretty fucking dumb, but not as dumb as Howie and Pete, that’s for sure. Someone had to be the brains in this family after all. He took a breath off his own cigar, got Pete’s mouth around his cock so he could clean it off like a good boy, and kept kissing his brother. He could…tell, everything was going to sort itself out. All he needed to do was wait. Or…Or should he be fighting this? Resisting? Isn’t…that what he should be doing?

He felt a hotter pair of hands on him, and beside him he saw the spirit. It was so solid now, and he was certain that if he reached out he wouldn’t be able to push his hand through it. It looked…so much like him, somehow. It came closer, it’s smoky belly pressed against Doug’s side, and he sighed in pleasure–from the heat, the smell of the spirit, wishing…wishing he could smell like that, even.

“It says you’ve done real good, bro. It’s real happy with ya. One more, ‘n ya’ll be one a us too,” Howie said, looking up at Doug.

“Yeah Pa, I can’t wait until yer wit’ us. Yer gonna love it. It says yer gonna love it, ‘n I love it, so it’s gotta be true, right?” Pete had crawled out from under Doug and was standing beside him, opposite the spirit, and looking at the three of them, he couldn’t believe how…similar they all looked to one another. The differences were there, sure, but no one would ever not guess they were family. That…that they were…one. Together. “One more Pa, we can wait. He’ll be home soon.”

Steven, of course. What time was it, even? He couldn’t see a clock, he couldn’t tear his attention away from his family long enough to care. He was getting hard again–they all were–he leaned down and kissed his twin again, feeding the hog some smoke, listening to his snort a bit in excitement, while his boy licked at his musky pit, blowing smoke over his skin. He could…feel them somehow. Hear them in his head, if he focused hard, but it was too hard. “Soon,” came another voice, his own voice, actually, “Very soon.”

Smoke Spirit (Part 7)

He shoved his lit cigar in Howard’s mouth, who kept trying to spit it out. Douglas ended up shoving it in, nearly down his throat, while Pete plugged Howard’s nose, forcing him to inhale the smoke, watching as Howard’s eyes clouded up–again, not as quickly as Pete’s had, but he could tell that there wouldn’t be much fight left in him soon, and the two of them released his arms.

“Y-Yeah, don’ know what I was thinkin’!” Howard said, “Me…fuckin’…runnin’.”

The smoke was pouring out of him now, like it had out of Pete in the bedroom–first from his mouth, but then it seemed to be pouring out of his very pores. The spirit touched Howard’s running clothes, and they turned black, dissolving into ash and crumbling away, as the smoke began to envelop him. “Son…help your uncle out, would ya? Suck his cock, while I have a…another go at your hole.”

“Aww…fuck yeah, ain’t nothin’ like mah hot nephew’s mouth round mah thick cock, tah clear my drunk ass head out!” Howard said through the cloud of smoke, which had swallowed his entire head. His voice had shifted again, lower, and picked up an accent so thick Douglas thought it only existed in movies and stupid TV shows for hicks. Still, even if it was heavy, it was also…familiar to his ears. Comforting even. The cloud of smoke began to descend lower, covering his chest and flat stomach, and when it reached Pete’s head, it began swallowing up his son as well. He wanted to run, he wanted to do something to save them. He managed to take a step back, and then another, watching the smoke absorb the bottom half of Howard’s body, as well as Pete’s head and neck, planted in his crotch, sucking his cock.

“Come on Pa, thought ya’s was gonna give mah cubby hole another rough plowin’!”

It was Pete’s voice this time, drifting from the cloud of smoke–he wasn’t going to let this happen to him, he wasn’t going to give into this any more. The spirit beside Howard on the chair walked over to him, once it realized he wasn’t simply going to give in, and started stroking Douglas’s cock, pulling him forward into a kiss, the things mouth hot and dry–like eating an ashtray, and yet he was so turned on, he couldn’t help but moan.

“Please…don’ do this tah us,” Douglas said, his own voice picking up the same accent as his two roommates, “We ain’t done nothing tah deserve this, it ain’t right. I’m sorry ya lost yer family, but I ain’t gonna do this.”

But even as he protested, the spirit was stroking harder on his cock, pulling him forward, step by reluctant step, until the spirit had it lined up with Pete’s ass, and unable to resist–just…wanting to know if his son’s hole felt as good as he remembered it–he slid inside with a low groan. The spirit straddled Pete’s body, weightlessly, it’s form joining the thick cloud of smoke covering the front half of his body and still spreading further, inching closer to where Douglas was now fucking his boy’s tight, wet hole. He had to stop, but he couldn’t. The spirit kept kissing him, pushing into him, breathing into him, and Douglas…felt little bits of his soul heating up, drying and blowing away with each smoky exhale. The smoke was beginning to coat him as well–he could feel his son’s hole, but he couldn’t see him anymore, and the only evidence he had that Howie–no, not Howie, Howard–existed was the occasional moan and smack of his boy’s mouth around his uncle’s cock. Douglas gave in, too tired to fight, too hungry for smoke, and the smoke enveloped him again–but this time, the sensation was different.

Before, the heat had been inside him body, as his muscles had grown–and there was still some of that heat, mostly concentrated in his gut and chest. He also felt heat on his skin however, sometimes searingly hot, enough to make him wince and flinch as he fucked his son’s hole. The tenuous connection he’d felt form between his son and him deepened, and he found himself forming the same link with Howard–no, with Howie, of course. With…with his brother. Memories came to him, more than he could really begin to process, from his time spent growing up with Howie, the two of them jumping one another’s bones every chance they could as soon as they’d figured out what their cocks were even for. In the trailer park, in the woods, back behind the school when they should have been in class–they’d been, quite literally, as close as two brother’s could be. As the older one, Doug had always been the one to call the shots, and Howie had been his always willing accomplice.

They’d fucked the bitch together, one night at a truckstop–one of the very few times they’d even bothered with pussy, and they’d been surprised with the appearance of Pete about a year later–a three month old infant left in their care–and they’d done as well as they could with Pete. They still weren’t totally sure who the father really was, but for ease, Doug had accepted the official title, while Howie had been the ever-present uncle. Pete had, thankfully, turned out to be as much of a pervert as his daddies, sucking their cocks, getting fucked–anything was good for Pete, as long as a cock was inside him.

Smoke Spirit (Part 6)

Downstairs, they both heard the front door of the house open and close, followed by someone cursing. “Fuck, why does it smell like smoke in here? Douglas? Are you smoking up there, you fuck?” It sounded like Howard, another of their housemates. Before Douglas could decide what to do about that, however, Pete got an excited look on his face.

“That sounds like Unc!” he said, and before Douglas could stop him, he’d shot out the bedroom door, still naked, and ran down the stairs. With a growl, Douglas took off after him, hoping he could put a stop to this before anyone else he knew got sucked into whatever nightmare he was creating around him.

He hit the top of the stairs, when he heard a short exchange.

“Hey Unc! Wait…you don’t look like Unc, but you do sound like him…”

“Who the…what the hell is this, Douglas?”

“Oh I see, you just aren’t Unc yet! Daddy, get down here!”

He rounded the top of the stairs, and realized a bit too late that this is exactly what that smoke thing would want–after all, it had just taken one sniff of smoke for Pete to fall under whatever spell this was in the backyard, but as hard as he tried to get himself to stop, his feet were still moving, heading down the stairs, smoke pouring from his mouth around the cigar, heading out in thick tendrils right for Howard across the room. “You have to get out of here, Howard! Fucking run man, run!” he managed to say, before the smoke clamped his jaws shut around the cigar.

Howard had no clue who that burly, hairy, naked cigar smoking fuck was coming down the stairs, but running was something he was more than happy to do. Hell, it was something he was good at too–Howard was on both the cross country running team, and the swim team at school–both of which gave him a powerful, wiry build, and made him real fucking fast. He did his best to not make a stink about his housemate’s habit, but it disgusted him all the same–and he hated being around smokers, it always hurt his lungs. He turned towards the front door, but the other guy–the younger one who had come down first–blocked his route, so he turned around and headed for the back of the house.

“Don’t worry daddy, I got him!” Pete shouted, and before Howard could get very far, and build up much speed, the cub had leapt and slammed into him, sending them both to the floor of the living room, and the smoke coming from Douglas twined forward and slid into Howard’s mouth. Douglas had expected him to go under like Pete had, outside, but almost immediately, Howard began hacking and coughing, trying to push the smoke back out of him, kicking his legs violently, trying to free himself from Pete’s hold on his legs, and finally a kick connected right in Pete’s gut, making him grunt, and loosening his grip enough for Howard to wriggle free.

He stumbled up, still coughing and hacking at the smoke around him. It defied reason, but for some reason, it felt like the stuff was…trying to get into him, somehow. He hacked harder, and stumbled off towards the kitchen, and the back door to the house, but he felt winded all of sudden, like he just couldn’t get enough air. His head was swimming, and his vision was foggy. He got into the kitchen, and collapsed, still coughing, trying to breathe, and then, two people were on either side of him. “Come on, Howie–let’s get you sitting up. Tied one on a bit too hard last night, I…I think…”

Howie felt his blood chill. On one side of him was the older man from the stairs, but on the other…it wasn’t a person at all. It was some strange figure that seemed to be made out of smoke itself. He thought it just had to be the younger man who’d tackled him, but he could hear him staggering up in the living room, behind ten feet behind him. Still, for being made out of smoke, the thing…could still lift him, and together, Douglas and the spirit hefted Howard up and sat him down in a chair, at the table.

Douglas felt like he was in some fucked up dream. He knew that what he was doing was wrong, that he should be trying to help Howard escape, but he didn’t seem to have control of his body. It was the spirit that was controlling him, putting words in his mouth, and even stranger, they felt like the right words. The words he would say…if he was really in his right mind.

“You…told me to run,” Howie said, but his voice sounded all wrong. Deeper, with a grating rasp, like his neighbor who’d smoked for years sounded.

“Run? Howie, we both know you haven’t run in decades, man. Fastest I’ve seen you go is a quick lumber over to the cupboard for a nice, big snack.”

“Unc ok?” Pete said, coming down the hall, “He was going crazy back there!”

“Yeah son, your uncle’s just hungover is all, not quite all there sometimes.”

“I wasn’t fucking drinking…I was…I just got back from a run.”

Douglas laughed, “Fuck, you hallucinate some strange shit when you’re drunk. Still, best way out is through, right bro? First of all, let’s get you lit up…here, have mine, I’ll light another.”

Smoke Spirit (Part 5)

Douglas didn’t know what to say–and just looked from the cub to the spirit and back again. He could remember Pete–the old Pete, but looking at the cub–no, at his cub–here in front of him, he could remember him too, somehow, though those details were fuzzier, like he was trying to find them through a haze that wouldn’t quite clear from his mind. “It’s…alright, boy,” he said, finally, but the voice that emerged from his throat surprised him. It was deep, with a smoky rasp that made it seem…old. He sat up on the bed, and from there he could see himself in the mirror, and while he somehow already knew what he was going to see, that did nothing to diminish his shock.

He was old. Alright, so he wasn’t that old. His head was telling him that he was 46 now, but still, he’d just doubled his age in a matter of moments, and that wasn’t the only change which had happened to him. His old body hadn’t really been anything special–lean, average height, a small goatee, but looking at himself now, he was heavily muscled, even more so than the hulked out Pete kneeling in front of him on the bed, and his new height of six foot three only made him seem even larger. He got up, trying to push back the sense of vertigo which threatened to overwhelm him, and strode over to the spirit standing off to the side of the room, watching him. “What the fuck is going on? What the fuck did you just do to me and my son?” he asked, the word “son” popping out without him even thinking about it…and he realized it was true. He looked at the mirror again, where he could see both him and Pete, and realized just how…similar they looked to one another. His gut started churning again, but he felt a warmth against his cheek–the spirit’s hand had stroked his bearded cheek. He turned back towards it, and saw it was already dissipating into the air. “Wait! Please, just tell me what’s happening to me! What the fuck do you want with me?” he asked, and this time, he did get something in return.

It was difficult to describe what he felt. Some of it was emotion–that was the strongest bit. There was longing, and a deep abiding love that surged through him, a love for…for a family. His family! Douglas tried to think back, tried to think of his mom and dad, but he couldn’t catch anything. Instead, he could see… his son and two other people, but the haze was so thick around the others, it was difficult to tell even broad details about them, but they were there. He had to find them! No…No, “find” was the wrong word. The smoke was trying to tell him something else. He didn’t have to find them.

He needed to make them.

With that, the spirit was gone from the room, losing form and becoming a fog, sliding it’s way back into the head of Douglas’s cock, even as he tried, with his hands, to keep it from returning to him. Pete got up and walked over to his father, wrapping his own strong arms around Douglas’s broad chest, and he was surprised how comforting it felt, being close with his son.

“Don’t worry dad, you’ll help them too, I know you will! Just like you helped me. And then we’ll be a family again, just like before.”

Douglas pulled away, and went to his phone, where he pulled up Scruff. He hadn’t expected to see a reply from that fucker, but sure enough, there was. He pulled up the message and saw what Bandgar had told him in reply.

I did try to warn you. Still, I gave you someone I’m sure you’ll enjoy. Just don’t fight him, and help him make his–well, your–family. Then, when all is said and done, come find me, and we can all have some real smoky fun together. The way ya’ll ride, you’ll catch up to the tour in no time. See you soon, Daddy.

He needed a cigarette. No–No, fuck that, he needed a fucking cigar. His big hands shaking, he grabbed one of the cigars his son had brought back–they had seemed so much larger, back when he was smaller–but found lighting it to be completely natural. He took a deep inhale of the smoke, glad that Pete had brought his favorite brand, and exhaled two thick plumes through his nose. What was he stressing about, anyway? He looked over at Pete, his own cock stirring again, and fuck if his boy wasn’t the sexiest cub in the whole damn world! All he really wanted to do was plow that boy’s ass like he’d been doing earlier–or had he been doing that? He had felt, for a second, like he’d witnessed himself in two places at once, but the feeling disappeared quickly.

No–he shook his head, harder, and pulled the cigar out. He was falling into this trap, whatever it was. He could fight this, he could! But as soon as he’d thought that, a second vision came to him. The spirit leaving him, and entering his son instead. Then he…well, if Pete became the new father, then that meant he would be the new son. It was a threat, and a good one. His eyes, unlike Pete’s, were still human, and somehow, he didn’t think there was really much of a mind left in his old roommate’s head. Or at least, not much of his old mind.

Smoke Spirit (Part 4)

He begged him not to, but Pete walked over, after getting the cigar blazing nicely, and slid it into Douglas’s mouth. It tasted…heavenly. More than just tobacco, it felt…right, in his mouth. What he should have been smoking this entire time. The taste of it, the feel of the smoke in his mouth and in his lungs as he drew it into him. The thing inside him–the hunger–it gobbled down the smoke, so much that when he exhaled, almost nothing came out of his nose aside from a wisp–and he took a deeper inhale, feeding it, desperate for the pain to stop, he never wanted to feel that way again. The hunger, however, remained. It twisted into something else, and when he looked up at Pete, watching him light a second cigar for himself now he could…sense something unfinished. Still, it could wait a moment, but as soon as Pete got his own cigar burning, Douglas grabbed him by the shirt and pulled him closer to the bed, Pete’s knees buckling as he swallowed Douglas’ throbbing cock to the hilt.

Smoke was pouring out of Douglas again with every shuddering exhale. The cigar–it was more powerful somehow, and the spirit began to form again–a full head now, hands up past the elbow, and a massive, throbbing cock and pendulous balls. He found himself entranced, watching the spirit’s cock, how one moment it seemed to literally float in the air, while the next it had all the heft and weight of flesh. It kissed him again, and while before he had gotten weak…impressions, this time it was forceful, directions and orders imprinted across his consciousness. He backed up on the bed, forcing Pete to climb up onto it with him as he chased Douglas’s cock–taking breaks only to take in more smoke himself. Douglas watched the spirit for any sign of acknowledgement, but received nothing. Still, he had done what it had…asked, in a sense. It floated around behind Pete, it’s hands lying on his clothes, and embers leapt from them. Douglas panicked, as flames consumed them, worried his roommate was about to be set on fire, but he was unharmed–simply naked. Then the thing came closer, hands gripping Pete’s hips and slid it’s cock inside him.

Pete howled–though whether it was in pain or pleasure Douglas wasn’t sure. One thing he did see, was his eyes immediately clouding over entirely, becoming a solid smoky grey–even cloudier than they had been before, outside on the patio. He began sucking harder on Douglas’s cock, neglecting his own cigar entirely now, and Douglas gripped the sheets in pleasure. It was like the night before, when that…mouth had sucked him off, how it had drawn…something out of him, or through him, perhaps. The spirit was fucking Pete at a slow, steady pace, sliding in deep with each thrust, and the next time Douglas managed to look up, he could barely see Pete at all. The smoke in the room had become so thick it was difficult to see, though breathing was somehow easier than ever. It took a moment for him to realize where the smoke was coming from–not from their mouths, and not from the spirit–but from Pete, like it was somehow seeping from his very pores all over his body, like everything inside him was smoke now–like he had been consumed from the inside out. A minute later, he couldn’t be seen at all–though he had to be there in some form, because something was still sucking forcefully at Douglas’s cock. His eyes shifted up, and he saw that the spirit’s eyeless face was directed at him now, and the smoke from Pete’s body was curling up into wisps, and they were swirling towards him now. He tried to pull away, but the mouth sucking him off kept him rooted in place as the smoke settled over him, dug into him, seeped into every crevice, coating him in a blanket of soft grey. He couldn’t see, but he could feel something happening to him and his body…but he could also feel Pete, somehow. Not just feel him sucking him off, but some…connection to him, in a way he couldn’t quite explain. Pete was tethered to him. Pete was his. He owned him. The sensation was building inside him, and he came forcefully, bucking on the mattress, but Pete’s mouth never left his cock, and continued to suck even after he had collapsed back, heaving for smoke.

Soon after, the smoke began to dissipate. Much of it was drawn back to Douglas, sliding back into his body, where he could sense it…belonged. He could see the room again, through the haze. The spirit was still there, but standing off to the side of them both at the foot of the bed. Whether it had cum or not–whether it needed to cum or not–he could sense it was finished with Pete. His muscles ached for some reason, but Douglas managed to prop himself up and look down at Pete, who was still nursing his cock, and saw that the nerdy, long limbed roommate he’d had that morning was no longer there. Instead, he saw some muscled cub sucking hungrily at his cock, taking occasional breaks for an inhale off his cigar, before continuing. Douglas pushed him off, and the cub sat back on his heels, giving Douglas a better look at his new body. His chest and arms were thick with muscle, but with a slight gut–and a sizable cock jutting out below–all of it coated with a perfect dusting of brownish red hair. His beard was trimmed short, as was his hair–but his eyes…they were empty. A…perfect, flat grey surface. “Sorry Daddy,” Pete said, smiling around his cigar and seemingly perfect normal aside from his empty eyes, “Guess I got a bit carried away there, but your smoke always gets your cubson horned up so bad.”