My New Suspenders Part 2

I don’t know what happened, I just don’t know. One second, I was closing and locking the door, and then the next…the next I was back inside, but I knew time had passed, the light was different through the windows, but where had I gone?

I looked down and saw I was holding a shopping bag, but it didn’t have any food in it–apparently I’d never made it to the store. Looking inside, I saw a small wooden box, and a few pouches of some black dried plant. I thought it was tea at first, but when I smelled it I knew–it was tobacco, and in the box, a pipe.I just stared at it, and my mouth felt funny for some reason, and then I was fumbling it out of the box and hastily tamping the tobacco into the bowl, and I have just enough time to wonder what the hell I’m doing before I light it and take a deep draw of smoke…

***

Fuck! I’m shooting, and the room, the room is so smoky, and I’m at the computer, and I’m chatting with him again. I blacked out again I realize, and stand up, and see that I’m still dressed in what I was wearing, the cum soaking into my shirt, and try to pull the pipe from my mouth, but it won’t budge…and I feel something new–hair. I rush to the bathroom, and I see that I’m changing again–a thick beard has already filled in all over my face, but I still have most of my hair, thankfully.

My pants are tight at my waist, and I loosen my suspenders. My gut is growing yet again, and I know it won’t stop until I grow out of these clothes too. Panicking, I rush back to the computer, puffing a trail of smoke behind me, and see the last message is an address. I don’t want to go, but what choice do I have, really? He has me, and he knows it. I grab my coat and leave, hoping this whole situation doesn’t get much worse.

***

I find my way there, and it’s a house–nothing strange about it aside from the fact that it’s a big damn house, and I stand in the yard for a few minutes, watching it, looking for any sign of life. My clothes are tight on my body now, and the suspenders are almost at their loosest. It takes me a few minutes to realize my hand is in the pocket of my jacket, gripping a key. The house looks empty, I haven’t seen anyone in the windows, and so with a deep breath of pipe smoke (fuck I love smoking now, and it’s starting to turn me on more and more–I don’t think I can stop, even if I wanted to) and head for the door, test the key, find that it works, and step inside.

The house is indeed empty–but completely furnished. I wander through the first floor, and find a standard living room and kitchen, a dining room and den–where on one wall is a spacious rack of pipes. I go upstairs, and find a master’s bedroom with the closets full of men’s clothing. I try to adjust the suspenders again, but they’re at the very end, and I find I can at last remove all my clothes. I look at myself in a mirror on the wall–I’m fat, and hairy–so god damn hairy. I look at least forty now, and the clothes in the closet, well, they seem even older. I try to leave the bedroom, but find the door has shut behind me, and locked. I pound on it, but it doesn’t open, and I look at the closet. I know what I’m supposed to do, but I don’t want to–unfortunately, I don’t have much choice soon. My pipe is going out, and as soon as it does, I know I’m going to have to find something to smoke, and fast. What choice do I have? I start pawing though the closet, looking for something to wear.

***

To be continued: Part 3 incoming in a bit.

The Silent Auction

***Plenty of extreme stuff in this one, I don’t really want to bother listing it. Just consider yourself warned. Check the tags if you’re curious.***

Mitch didn’t know what they were doing to him, the men who’d grabbed him as soon as he’d stepped into the warehouse, throwing a bag over his head and dragging him away, kicking and shouting, but he’d come alone, like the message had said–he hadn’t exactly had much of a choice. But still, he was the god-damn chief of police, and he should have known that this was a trap. The men stripped him down suddenly, cutting the clothes off of him before fastening heavy iron shackles around his wrists and ankles, and shoving him up some stairs and ripping the hood away as they did, but before he could turn around, they’d shut a door, trapping him in a small glass box, barely larger than a coffin, with a bright light in the top casting a harsh light down on his pudgy, old body.

He threw himself at the glass walls, but they weren’t glass at all–just very hard plastic–and even if it had been breakable, he would never have been able to build up the momentum to break it. Instead, he directed his attention to his surroundings, and saw that his wasn’t the only box in the room–there were four others. One was still empty, but in the other three, he saw other men whom he recognized. Sam Raymond, the mayor. Rudy Garrison and Jack Duggery, both members of the city council. He turned to the empty box and saw two men clad in leather police officers disrobing another hooded figure and pushing him into the last box, and he saw Peter McJenson, one of the city’s judges. And him, Mitch Lundon–the chief of police.

“Well well, I see that you all came as I requested,” a voice said, and a small, but beefy figure came out of the darkness, rubbing his gloved hands together, looking at the five men locked in their respective boxes, Amazing how all of you jump when the teats you’ve all been sucking at our threatened.”

The kidnappings, Mitch thought. He’d done his best to keep them under wrap. Five of the most prominent businessmen had been kidnapped two days ago, and the bandit–the man addressing them now, he assumed, had claimed responsibility. Mitch had been furious, to say the least–after nearly a year of no activity, the man he’s sworn to hunt down, after robbing ten banks in half as many months, and costing him twenty of his best detectives, had struck again, and right at the heart of the city’s business community.

The bandit–he was practically legend at this point, a modern robin hood, stealing from the rich and passing on the wealth to the poor faster than the rich could scoop it all back up. The bandit who’d made no attempt to hide his activity or his face, but was still utterly anonymous to him and every other law enforcement body in the country. The bandit who’d…changed every officer who’d ever pursued him. Mitch recognized a few of them now, actually, as some of his most trusted officers just a year ago, before they’d all had their own run-ins with the bandit. In fact, these were the one’s who’d gotten off lucky–others had had their heads so twisted that…well…the sights hadn’t been pretty. And now, seeing what the bandit had managed, well…Mitch was scared to death. He’d only been thinking of himself, when he’d gotten the message from the bandit, telling him to come here, alone, or he’d air out the fact that Mitch had been lining his pockets with personal bribes from every one of the business men that had been kidnapped–apparently the other four had received similar threats.

“So,” the bandit continued, “I suppose you’re all wondering why I asked you all here, and what this has to do with the five upstanding businessmen who agreed to come stay with me for the past couple of days. Yes, I know you thought they had been kidnapped, but I assure you that they all came of their own free will. And now, I’ve invited them all here for a small, private charity auction. Shall I introduce you to them now? How about we bring Ronald out here first.”

The five men all knew him when he came out, Ronald Stein, one of the biggest real estate developers in the city. He was older, but had always tried to look young, but he came out looking absolutely disgusting, clad in a wife beater and boxers, his toupee gone revealing his greying horseshoe of hair. “Say hello to Ronald everyone. In addition to the sweetheart development deals many of you helped him get, Ronald here has also been secretly spying on many of his own tenets. But we’ve helped you out with that, haven’t we Ronald?”

“Oh yes sir,” Ronald said, “I’m not going to spy on anyone anymore, now I just want to watch men strip for me.”

“That’s true–you are quite the voyeur. Now, who’s next? Morgan, come out here.”

Morgan Pullman, the CEO of one of the city’s largest banks, emerged looking very different from his usual self. He’d packed on muscle, for one thing–lots of muscle. And instead of his usual suit, he was wearing leather chaps and a harness, with a whip and paddle hanging from his waist. “Morgan here thought that poor people ought to suffer, but he knows better now, right Morgan?”

“Oh yeah, Mr. Bandit,” the muscular man said, “The real men who need to suffer are corrupt government officials, and goodness, am I going to work them over good…”

“I’m sure you will. Now, Berlin, come here my boy.”

Berlin Hamilton was the son of one of the richest men in the world, and had proceeded to do absolutely nothing with the fame and fortune he’d received. At twenty-five, he’d had plenty of time to waste, but not anymore. He emerged triple his previous age–seventy-five–and hobbled over to the bandit. “I suppose youth is wasted on the young, eh?”

“Oh yes, but the younger the better,” Berlin said, shooting the men in their cases a lecherous glance, before shuffling over to join the other two.

“Younger indeed. Now, who’s left…Madison for one, come out here.

Madison Benoit, the investment broker whom the judge in the room had let off scot free on a technicality, after losing millions for his customers in the stock market crash, had a second, darker side that the five men knew about–he was a white supremacist. He’d done a good job hiding it behind his social darwinism and southern roots before, but when he walked out, that wasn’t going to fly any longer, looking like a roided up skinhead, swastikas tattooed on his neck and permanently bald head, wearing bleached jeans, doc martins and a cruel scowl. “No need to hide those feelings anymore, eh, Madison?”

“Fuck no, mate,” Madison said, “Now you promised me a slave, when ‘em I gettin’ my own personal nigger?”

“Soon enough, just be patient–we have one more man to introduce after all. Roger Merdon, our final bidder, everyone.”

Roger Merdon was the wealthiest media magnate in the city, but the obese slob clad in nothing but overalls who stumbled out, apparently drunk, bore almost no resemblance to the smartly dressed man he’d been before. The bandit caught the man as he stumbled, and helped him over to the rest of the group. “Well, I guess he’s just as filthy now as the shit he has his ‘news’ channels shoot out every day, right?” Roger gave a healthy laugh, followed by a long belch, and joined his fellows, Roger walking up to the glass cases.

“What’s this all about, Bandit?” the mayor asked.

“Yeah, you’re never going to get away with this,” Mitch added.

Oh, now this is a silent auction, gentleman, so no comments from the peanut gallery until after the bidding is complete. Now, gentlemen,” the bandit said, directing his attention back to his group of twisted magnates, “You all remember how this works, right? There’s a minimum bid on all these men of…let’s say, fifty million dollars? Just make your bid on each man, and the top bidder on each will get his prize. If you win on two, you only get the one you bid the most on. Still, you’re used to paying for government officials, so I’m sure this will come perfectly natural to all of you. However, I urge you all to be generous, because the person with the lowest bid…well, let’s just say they’ll regret having been so stingy, eh? Now, let’s say, fifteen minutes to place your bids? Starting…now! And remember–silence please, from everyone.”

Apparently, when the bandit said silence, he meant silence. The room was quiet, aside from the occasional hmm or haa from the five bidders, as the men in the cases desperately tried to get their old friends to let them out and escape–but the bandit had apparently been working them over for too long for them to feel any sympathy. Finally, the five of them finished their bids as the clock ran down, and the bandit took a moment to examine the results.

“Alright, it looks like we have our pairings. So, shall we go from highest to lowest? And goodness, what a high bid–I’m impressed. With a winning bid of five hundred million dollars, we have Berlin Hamilton who has purchased the mayor of our fine city as his personal bitch.

The old man grinned, one hand going down and rubbing his cock through his suit pants, as two leather clad officers opened the glass case and dragged the still shackled mayor over to the bandit. “Now now, quit fighting it–you had no problem with these men buying you before, after all. Now, as far as Berlin is concerned, you’re quite simply far too old for him at the moment–he likes his men much younger now. But don’t worry, at eighteen, everything you two will be doing together will be plenty legal.”

As they all watched, the mayor, who’d been in his mid fifties, started regressing rapidly, until he was in his late teens, but his body was so slender and underdeveloped that he probably could have passed as someone younger. Berlin’s eyes nearly bulged out of his head when he saw his new toy, and he let out a groan.

“Oh, he’s so beautiful, thank you bandit.”

“Oh, I’m not done yet–I know what you like,” the bandit said, and pulled the slender mayor closer, who was still trying to grapple with his own transformation. “Now, Sammy, I have a few things to tell you. You see, your last name isn’t Raymond anymore–It’s Hamilton, and that nasty old man over there is your grandfather, the grandfather whom you want to use you as a sexual toy for the rest of your life. Now, you know what your grandfather likes? He likes little boys, right? So you’re going to have to pretend to be even littler, alright?”

Sammy nodded quickly, falling into his new character, as a tight fitting pokemon shirt appeared on his torso, and around his waist appeared a diaper. He started sucking his thumb, and waddled over to his lecherous grandfather, kissing his deeply, the bandit leaving them to their new roleplay.

“Now, who’s next? Our second largest bid was not nearly so large–just two hundred million, though not a sum to be laughed at. Ronald Stein, please come collect your new toy, Councilman Jack Duggery.” The underwear clad real estate developer smirked, as the officers pulled Jack from his case, and pulled his down to where the bandit stood. “Now, Ronald, what’s your favorite type of man?”

“Oh, I like looking at them all, trust me, but I do love those muscular strippers at all the bars. Just, make him manly–no real twinks, and no body builders either, just, lean and handsome and an unabashed exhibitionist. Oh, and a real big dick.”

“You heard the man,” the bandit said,and Jack felt his body start to contort and grow, packing on muscle, his fat melting away until he could have graced the cover of a muscle magazine, a light treasure trail running up his chest. A short beard covered his chiseled jawline now, and something…a beat inside him…he felt his hips start gyrating, as a pair of extremely tight cut off shorts barely able to contain his nine inch cock appeared around his waist. He looked up and saw Ronald staring at him, and the old man made him feel so dirty, but so horny at the same time, he started grinding his body up against him, making out with him, hungry for his attention and praise, leaving the bandit to tally the next winning bid. “Oh, this is a good one,” the bandit said, “With a bid of 175 million, Madison Benoit has purchased as his new slave the honorable judge Peter McJenson!”

The skinhead stepped forward, and the officers dragged the screaming and struggling judge out of his box and out to the bandit. “No! No please, please don’t do this, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry!”

“Oh, I sense your sincerity, but alas, it is too late for apologies, I think,” the bandit said, “Still, considering how many young black men you put behind bars, I think your new color will suit you just fine.” The judge whimpered, and looked down at himself, as his skin began to darken to a near pitch black, and he fell to his knees where he continued to beg and plead and grovel, until Madison delivered a firm kick right into the judge’s mouth.

“Fuckin’ niggers. Get rid of that tongue–I don’t ever want to hear another word out of it’s mouth. And it’s balls too. And make it dumb as shit–I don’t need it thinking about questioning my orders. And bigger, a real beast of burden for me and my mates that can take plenty of abuse.”

On his knees, the judge started to grow, packing on pound after pound of muscle as he felt his head empty out, and on his knees, looking up at Madison–no, up at Master, all he felt was fear–primal, terrible fear, and he got down, kissing the toes of his boots, silently begging for forgiveness. It was enough to assuage Madison for the moment, and he dragged his slave away by the chain collar it now wore, where he took his new slave’s cherry.

“Goodness, only two left. Let’s see who our last lucky winner is–Roger Merdon, with a bid of 100 million, has purchased Councilman Rudy Genson. Congratulations.”

The officers hauled out the second councilman and hauled him up front, while the filthy redneck waddled up as well. “So, Mr. Merdon, what would you like?”

“Well, I’d sure as hell love someone tah clean me up a bit–think I sharted a bit sittin’ o’er there jus’ now. Yeah, a nice fat piggy willin’ tah get a little dirty, an’ willin’ tah be mah toilet, I think–that’d save me a lot a trips tah the bathroom.”

“Oh fuck no, you can’t be serious, you *grunt* no, please–*snort*” Rudy said, as he started fattening up, topping 400 pounds before he finally stopped growing, and unable to balance on his feet anymore, he fell forward onto his hands and knees, where he smelled it. Something so filthy and nasty and delicious, he snuffled over to his master and nosed at the back of his overalls. It was in there, it was in there and he needed it, when Master dropped the overalls down, revealing his shitty ass crack he let out a squeal of delight and started licking it all clean, his Master moaning in pleasure as he did, the Bandit walking away and over to where Mitch stood, alone, in his glass case.

“So, Mitch Lundon, it looks like you’re the last one. Well, you and Mr. Thrifty over there,” he said, looking at Morgan Pullman in his leather gear. “Get over here Mr. Pullman.” He tried to resist the command, but there was nothing he could do, and so he walked over and joined him. “So, Mr. Cheapskate, you couldn’t even bring yourself to spend over a hundred million?”

“Well, I didn’t expect everyone else to bid so much–I can pay more, if you want, I have–”

“Oh shut up–I told you before, that the least generous among the bidders was going to get…a less than pleasant surprise, didn’t I? But Mr. Lundon, don’t think that I’m letting you off the hook–why don’t the two of you share the same fate? Take him out boys.”

The two cops pulled Mitch out of his case, and two more grabbed Peter before he could try and run. “Now, I’m thinking twins, and I do love the leather. How about a couple of cute cubs, just desperate for a master?”

As Peter and Mitch looked at each other, they saw that they were both transforming in front of their eyes, shrinking to about five and a half feet, and pudging up, their hair shifting to deep red and shortening, full round goatees accentuating the roundness of their faces. When they were perfectly identical, matching leather harnesses and jocks appeared on their bodies, along with two massive dildos shoved up their holes, and both of them looked at the bandit with unbridled lust.

“So, is there anything me and my brother can do for you?” Mitch said, running his hand into the bandit’s pants and massaging his cock.

“Yeah, the two of us have been looking for a big, strapping master like you who can keep all of our holes satisfied,” Peter added coming in close as well.

“Ha, well, I don’t know about keeping you, but I’d be happy to keep you both well plowed tonight,” the bandit said, leading the twin cubs to his room, and leaving the rest of the men to their pleasures, wiring the millions he’d just made from the auction to the charities he’d chosen earlier. They might all have been selfish whores before, but at least now no one would mistake them for what they really were–and if he could help people in the city, then all the better.

(This hot story was submitted by Donald T. Oolong.)

After college, Aaron decided to see the country. While in Tennessee, he heard the legend of the Old Man of the Smokies. Victim to a curse, the Old Man was trapped in a certain hollow, seeking freedom through passing the curse to someone else. There was a goofy T-shirt for sale in one of the shops reading I ESCAPED OLD MAN SMOKEY with a Tom-and-Jerry-style drawing of a fat bearded redneck chasing after younger man looking over his shoulder in cartoonish terror. Aaron bought one as a memento, and decided to go on an excursion. Folklore interested him, and he wanted to check this out for himself.

Early that evening, Aaron set up camp by a stream. No weird Old Man anywhere (of course), but it was still beautiful. He hung his clothes out to dry and read in the tent, playing with his cock absently. God, why was he suddenly so horny? He was fully hard when he noticed the Old Man outside, naked with his own hard cock jutting from beneath the expanse of a considerable belly.

“Hooo-wee! Well ain’t you a handsome devil?” The old man grinned mischievously at Aaron.

He couldn’t understand why he wasn’t terrified when the Old Man entered. Aaron kissed him, nervously at first, until he realized (am I gay?) the Old Man was the most beautiful person he’d ever seen. They rolled about the tent floor, groping at one another, kissing, grinding their cocks until Aaron lifted his legs into the air and felt the Old Man’s cockhead pressing against his ass. It hurt the first time, less so the second. The third was bliss. He fell asleep in the Old Man’s soft yet sturdy arms, whiskers bristling against his neck, the air thick with the scent of semen and the sound of rushing water.

“Mornin’ gramps. Have fun last night?”

Aaron awoke to the oddly familiar grin of fuzzy-faced young man with long red hair leaning over him. The ache in his ass brought back memories of before, but this man was considerably skinnier. And younger. Aaron sat up, noticing an unfamiliar shifting as the fat that blossomed on his muscular frame overnight jiggled. “No!” His voice sounded different too. He grabbed desperately for the hippyish young man.

The hippie playfully slapped his hand away “No tag backs! I’m granted safe passage. It’s cool, the rules will come naturally to you. You could find a guy tonight, tomorrow or…hey, is Nixon still president?” Aaron shook his head, and a look of sadness crossed the hippie’s features. “How long has it been?”

Aaron sat naked by the stream, watching the hippie wade toward the other bank, clad in the now-vintage clothing that had appeared outside the tent. Aaron’s clothes were gone, replaced by a pair of large denim overalls. He somehow knew that he couldn’t cross that far bank. Not yet, at least. Bathing in the stream, he chuckled bitterly “First I gotta escape Old Man Smokey.” He’d earn that shirt back.

Daddy Juice

A nursing home? Why in the hell was his dealer living in a nursing home? Jaxon looked at the address he’d been given again, but he was definitely in the right place, at least at the place where his dealer had sent him. From the form of the address, he’d assumed it would be a dorm or apartment complex or something, and if the withdrawal hadn’t been so freaking awful, he would have just given up, but he needed the stuff way too bad to not give it a try.

D-Juice it was called. He’d found a few references to it on a bodybuilding forum he lurked on. Apparently it was completely natural and impossible to detect, but the claims that it had no negative effects were obviously garbage. Jaxon had gotten some to help him with his training for football season before heading off to college, and so far it had worked great. He’d packed on muscle quicker than before–not as quick as steroids, but quick enough for him to be happy. There had been some unexpected but not unwelcome changes too–more body hair, a thicker beard and a deeper voice, but the early onset male pattern baldness kind of sucked. He’d been getting it by mail from some unnamed dealer–a free trial, which he figured was no longer going to be very free. He’d decided to just not buy into the scheme, but then…well, the withdrawal had set in. He’d tried weathering it, but the shakes, the weakness, the fucking nausea–it was awful, so he’d given in and offered to meet him. He’d brought a big wad of cash–the guy had refused to name a price–but he found his way to building B, headed inside, hating that stench of old these places always had in the long, twisted hallways, and eventually found his way up to room 356 and knocked on the door.

“Yeah? Who is it?” an old voice said, and the door opened, revealing an old, chubby man clad in a tank top and some boxers, shorter than Jaxon by a few inches, but much wider. His hair was completely white, and he had a few tattoos that might have been cool in his youth, but before Jaxon could say anything, he smelled it. He could smell the D-Juice in there–no, right in front of him, and he needed it. The old man saw the need in Jaxon’s eyes and smirked, “Oh, the addict–right on time. Get in here, I got what you need.”

Jaxon pushed past the old man into the small apartment, nearly aching. “Where is it? Come on man, I’m desperate!”

“Oh I got what you need alright,” the old man said, dropping his boxers to the floor, and grabbing his massive balls, “It’s in here.”

Jaxon just gaped at him for a moment, unable to comprehend what the man meant, but he could smell it still, he just had to follow the scent, and then he could get what he needed…but the scent was coming from the man, coming from lower, and Jaxon was on his knees, sniffing the old man’s sack, licking at it desperately. It was in there, all the D-Juice he could ever need, and he needed it, but how to get it how to get it out?

“Hey addict, ya gotta suck it out, dipshit,” the old man said, and without even questioning him, Jaxon started sucking on the old man’s short, shriveled cock. It wouldn’t even get hard in his mouth, but apparently his avid sucking was enough for the old man, who unloaded his cum down Jaxon’s throat after a few moments, gripping the door frame for support. Jaxon sat back and sighed–the D-Juice, that was it, he finally had it…and he’d…he’d just sucked some old geezer’s cock in order to drink it down straight…from the man’s old, nasty balls.

He gagged, but didn’t vomit. The older man pulled up his boxers, chuckling, “Well, you certainly were an eager one, I can say that.”

“Oh my…fucking god. What did you do to me? What…oh fuck, I think I’m gonna be sick,” Jaxon said, but it wasn’t simple disgust. The room was spinning, and he felt…hot, and strange and he needed to get out of here. He stumbled up, shoved the old man out of his way and charged out of the apartment, but he was so dizzy and weak that he could only get to the elevators before he collapsed in a chair there, waiting for the world to stop spinning around him, which it did do, eventually. He breathed a sigh of relief and ran his hands over his head…only to discover that most of his hair was gone. He felt it again, but sure enough, his hair had receded back past the crown of his head into a true horseshoe. The doors of the elevator were brushed steel, but even in his poor reflection, he could see that his brown hair was now streaked with white, and his beard had grown in full as well. His muscular physique was gone too–replaced by a sagging gut, thin arms, chicken legs and moobs–actual fucking moobs like men got in their middle age–was he…was he middle aged?

He was…wasn’t he? That fucker. That fucking old geezer, what the fuck had he done to him?He was going to kill him. He was going to make him put all of this right, and then he was going to beat his old ass to fucking death for this. He charged back down the hall and pounded on the door, and when it opened again, the man inside had obviously changed as well. He was still quite fat, but no longer as old as he had been–looking to be in his sixties rather than in his eighties. “Oh? Back for more already?” he said, and Jaxon growled, shoving his way in, the older man stepping back.

“What the fuck have you done to me? Change me back, fucker!”

“Oh now, come on,” the old man said, “You like your Daddy Juice, don’t you? That’s what the ‘D’ stands for by the way–Daddy, because that’s what you’re gonna be before long. Well, more like a Grandaddy, but who’s really counting? It’s not the number that counts, but how you feel! I mean, I’m 634 years old–would you believe it? But I don’t feel a day over…I’d say, 58,” the man said, and doubled over laughing.

Jaxon grabbed him by the shoulders and pushed him up against the wall, but his body just didn’t have the strength he thought it did to really give it the force he’d wanted. “What. The fuck. Did you do to me. Fucking change me back!”

“I’m afraid I can’t,” the old man said, “It’s a one way street, well, unless you know the spell, but I’m very good at keeping secrets.”

“What the fuck are you even talking about?”

“Magic, son! Good old fashioned magic, I know, it isn’t very fashionable anymore, but it still works just fine if you know what you’re doing, and I know what I’m doing very well, trust me. I think…two more doses ought to finish it. So, would you like them now? Or would you like to come back later, when the withdrawal kicks in even worse than before?”

“No, I’m not sucking you off again, I’m not. You’re going to fucking change me back, or I’m going to kill you…” Jaxon said, but the sudden exertion had left him…a bit winded, and the nausea was coming back suddenly. He gripped the wall, trying not to look weak, but the old man grinned.

“Looks like it’s hitting you quick. You really shouldn’t over exert yourself in your condition, you know. Now, I have something that will make you feel better, if you just get down and suck it all down like a good man.”

Jaxon licked his lips. It would…taste good, and he’d feel better. It was getting hard to think, with the withdrawal setting in again. He could get out of this if he had some more D-Juice. He didn’t have to drink it all, just a little, just enough to think. He hadn’t even finished his rationalization before he was down on his knees again, the old man gripping the back of Jaxon’s head as he rammed his cock down his throat. He certainly didn’t have any trouble getting hard this time, and Jaxon was gagging quite a bit as the man face fucked him, and he didn’t have any choice but to swallow the whole load with the man’s cock pumping his jizz right into Jaxon’s stomach.

Like before, as soon as it was in his system, the withdrawal pains disappeared, but then he started changing again. His hair turned entirely white, and as he watched, he was now the older in the room, the man’s hair filling back in, and regaining most of it’s brown color, his physique slimming down and filling in with muscle. Kneeling on the floor, Jaxon’s frame exploded, his modest gut gaining at least another hundred pounds, giving him a full apron, his moobs now thick and fatty. He rubbed his body, unable to believe what was happening to him, and the man standing in front of him laughed with glee.

“Oh my goodness, I’d forgotten how good it feels to be young again! Gosh, I always hate this waiting, I hit sixty and I just want to go back, but I wait and wait because I know it’s going to be good, and fuck if I’m not right! Oh, no more aching back, a working dick, muscles! Oh muscles how I’ve fucking missed you!” he said, kissing his bicep.

“Fuck…Fuck…” Jaxon said, not even recognizing his own voice at first. It was gravelly, and weak and he was just so…so damn tired all of a sudden.

“Oh, don’t worry!” the man said, getting down to Jaxon’s level. You’ll still have a good five…maybe ten years left in you, and trust me, this place is posh. Posh–is that word still hip? I loved that word. Absolutely posh, and I’ve paid ahead of time–all you have to do is enjoy it. And I’ll still come and visit you! You’re hot, sexy grandson–you’ll have all the old ladies swooning over me, don’t you worry. And I have the most wonderful obituary written up for you, you’d be amazed at what you’ve done in the last eighty years.”

“Please…please don’t do this, please just change me back, I don’t want to be old! I don’t want to die…”

“Oh, my friend,” the man said, kissing his forehead, “No one wants to be old, and no one wants to die–especially me. The difference between you and me, is that I don’t have to be old if I don’t want to be, and you’re stupid enough to buy some bullshit herbal muscle growth supplement over the internet! Now, I still have one last dose to give you, and I’m thinking…suppository.”

Jaxon did his best to fight him off, but he was just too weak. The man pinned him down and rammed his hard cock up Jaxon’s ass, raping him on the floor of the apartment for a few minutes, before shooting the last load into Jaxon’s ass. He didn’t want to know what he looked like now–he just let the twenty year old man, handsome and fit–his fucking “Grandson” help him up and dress him in the oversized clothes he’d shed, and park him on the couch in front of the TV, sobbing.

“Now now Grandpa, I know you’re upset, but trust me, I’ll do more with your time than you ever would have dreamed. Now, I have to go explore! I can’t wait to give this body a test drive. I heard they’re about to legalize gay marriage–I think I might have to give that a try!” And then he was gone, and Jaxon was alone in his new apartment, in the nursing home, a brand new Granddaddy, and there was nothing at all he could do, except wait to die.

Mirror, Mirror

Commissioned by Anonymous

As soon as he heard the car pull out of the garage, the door lowering behind Howard as he drove off, Drew hurried upstairs. He’d been planning this for about a week now, but hadn’t had the perfect opportunity, but now Howard was out all afternoon, giving Drew plenty of time to work. He’d just graduated from college and was living at home with his parents, his job prospects grim. Drew had been hard pressed to find a job even for just the summer, when Howard, a neighbor, had offered him some cash if he helped him out around the house. Drew hadn’t been very happy about it–Howard had always kind of creeped him out, this old, fat, pipe smoking man who seemed to never take his eyes off him, but he paid him fourteen bucks an hour under the table, and so Drew had taken the job–and then he’d learned about the safe.

Howard, it seemed, was a bit paranoid when it came to his money. He didn’t trust it to a bank–instead, he had a massive safe in his study, which Drew saw every Friday when the older man pulled out a massive wad of twenties and gave him his wages. Inside, he saw piles and piles of bills–more money than Howard would probably ever be able to spend, and if Drew could slip away with just a bit of it, he’d be out of debt and living comfortably states away before Howard even knew it was missing. But there was a problem–the safe could only be opened with Howard’s voice and thumbprint, and Drew had no idea how to get around that little problem.

He might have never noticed it, if Howard hadn’t spilled the coffee on his shirt that day–the older man had been so embarrassed, he’d urged Drew to give him his shirt so he could wash it quickly before the stain set in the fabric, and gave him a different one to wear for the time being, before asking Drew to carry some junk up to the attic for him. He’d noticed the elaborately framed mirror leaning against the wall, but as soon as he walked past, something strange happened–the new shirt, which had been rather loose on him, suddenly felt tighter, and in the mirror, Drew gasped. He’d gotten fat, somehow. He’d grown a gut and two small moobs, big enough to fill out the shirt he was wearing, and worse, when he pulled the shirt off, his body didn’t change back.

Sure, he’d panicked at first, but he reasoned that it must have something to do with who had previously owned the shirt, since he’d grown to fit it so perfectly, and he’d snuck downstairs, gotten his own shirt from the washer, and back in front of the mirror in the attic, his own shirt thankfully restored his old body, good as new. Still, that little surreal experience had set the wheels in his head turning, and now he knew just what to do to get his hands on Howard’s piles of cash.

He threw Howard’s suit up into the attic and followed up after it, picking up the various pieces. He probably didn’t need to wear all of it, but he wasn’t sure if a few pieces would change him enough to get into the safe. It would be better to just wear it all, it order to get as complete a transformation as possible, even if the thought of becoming Howard was disgusting. Still, there was no other feasible solution, so he pulled on the massive pants and button down shirt, put on the jacket, swimming in the piles of fabric, slipped into some shoes and lastly pulled on the gloves and glasses he’d taken from among Howard’s spares, before stepping in front of the mirror.

He looked ridiculous–the clothes were hanging off his much smaller frame, and if it wasn’t for the suspenders attached to the pants, he didn’t think he would have been able to even hold them up effectively. Hell, he couldn’t even get a good look at himself through the glasses he was wearing–Howard must not be able to see anything without them, but suddenly, he felt his head ache for a moment, and he could see perfectly clearly through the lenses–though as soon as it happened, he wished that he couldn’t. Like it or not, his plan was definitely working. He could feel his body beginning to shift and grow outward, his lithe, muscular body growing older, pounds and pounds of fat packing their way under his skin. In a matter of seconds, he could stop holding onto the clothes to keep them in place, because his body was fitting them better and better. His young face started taking on the craggy wrinkles which covered Howard’s face, his eyes turned hazel, hair sucking its way back into his head leaving him with his boss’s nearly white horseshoe, and then he felt the changes halt, and he was staring right into Howard’s face.

“Well, that certainly worked perfectly,” Drew said, then covered his mouth with one gloved hand, “Oh my goodness, I sound just like him.”

He did sound just like him–but not just his voice–’Oh my goodness?’ Who even said that anymore? Well, he’d heard Howard say it a couple of times when Drew probably would have cussed, but he just passed it off on Howard being an old fogey. He ran his hands along Howard’s full, bloated stomach, eyes locked on his own in the mirror, and found himself missing his youth all the more–his flat stomach, his pert ass–oh yes, damn if he hadn’t had the nicest ass on the block, he could just imagine what it might be like to fuck, provided he could get hard enough to pop the young boy’s cherry, though he’d be more than willing to simply have the chance to suck the boy’s big cock dry.

Drew shook his head, realizing that he’d just been lost in thought, lusting over himself, and he realized that apparently the mirror was changing more than just his physical appearance, but also his mind–and he stepped away before he could lose more of himself. Thinking, he was happy to find that none of his memories had disappeared–just that he was acting more…Howard like, which was disgusting. His old hands were shaking now, and he felt a strange knot of anxiety in his chest that simply wouldn’t go away. He patted the pockets of his suit, trying to figure out what was missing, when he realized he didn’t have a pipe! God, did he need a smoke. As disgusting as that was, the habit was just too strong to resist, not to mention his new body’s overwhelming tobacco addiction. He’d just pop down to the humidor where Howard kept his tobacco, and take a bowl to smoke, before emptying the safe, changing back, and getting out of here. Careful to avoid looking in the mirror, he stashed his clothing and carefully climbed back down the ladder into the house proper.

He had another fight with himself over smoking the pipe, which he eventually lost. It was the one thing he’d always found the most disgusting about Howard, the stink of tobacco which clung to the entire house, and he rarely seen the old man without a smokestack clamped between his teeth. Still, this body craved it, and before long, he was letting Howard’s hands guide him, as he tamped and lit a moderately sized pipe and took a deep breath into his lungs, and he hated how good it felt to smoke. Still, with a pipe in his mouth, he could finally focus on what actually mattered here–the money. He crept through the house, which was silly, since he knew Howard had left, but in the study, the nerves in his belly nearly made him sick, but it was flawless, the safe happily accepting his elderly thumb and gravelly voice as Howard’s own. However, it was after that when everything went wrong.

He swung open the safe and saw it was empty–the stacks of cash were gone–all of them. Had Howard found out about his plan? How could he have–there was no way…and then he realized he’d been played. How had he discovered the mirror? Howard. Who had given him the perfect opportunity to use it? Howard. “Oh fudge!” he shouted, and hurried as fast as Howard’s body could waddle, making his way back up to the attic but it was too late. His old body–his hot, slender body–was right there, dressed in his clothes, gazing into the mirror, grinning away.

“No! Give me back my clothes!” Drew wheezed, and gave a hacking cough. He’d lost the pipe somewhere along the way, but the old body he was stuck in just couldn’t keep up.

“Oh? So you checked the safe already? I assume you didn’t find what you were looking for? Well, don’t worry, ‘Howard’, I already stashed it away, and it’ll certainly go towards paying off that college debt of yours, and quite the nice life afterwards, I’m sure.”

“I’m not Howard! Give me back my clothes, you–” Drew said, and lurched towards his old body, who shoved him back onto the floor, and then he picked up a hammer and lifted it up, ready to smash the mirror to bits. “No!” Drew shouted, “No, please–don’t, I can’t stay like this, I can’t, please!”

Howard smirked, “Well, then how about this? I won’t smash your precious mirror, if you wrap those fat, faggot lips around my cock and suck me off, eh Howard? I know how often you used to fantasize about me, my hot body,” Howard said, lifting up Drew’s shirt, and listening to the soft groan the old man let off uncontrollably, “Of course, I’m straight now, but I wouldn’t mind seeing you suck me off, you disgusting fat fuck. Better hurry though, I don’t know how much longer I can resist swinging this hammer…”

Drew lurched up onto his knees and crawled over, yanking down his old shorts and taking his cock into his mouth, finding this body well practiced at giving blowjobs, much to his own disgust. Just like smoking the pipe, he was even more disturbed to discover that he liked it–the taste and feel of a young, rock hard cock slamming down his throat was just thrilling. Drew realized then that he was still in front of the mirror, ingraining Howard’s habits and proclivities deeper into his own psyche, and he started sucking harder, before he was forced to act entirely like Howard from now on, trapped in this old body forever.

Howard only lasted a minute, before shooting his load into Drew’s old mouth, who quickly backed off to the side, away from the mirror, and Howard dropped the hammer to the ground and dashed off laughing, driving off with Howard’s piles of cash, and leaving Drew alone in the attic. Still, he had the mirror–it was intact. All he had to do was get some of his clothes from his house, and he could change back. Of course, he had no idea how he would be able to get them–hell, Howard was probably over there already, his perfect copy–no, he had to figure out something else.

He sat up in the attic for close to half an hour, wishing he had a pipe, but refusing to give into the desire, trying to figure out a plan. However, his thoughts were interrupted by the sound of someone pounding on the front door, and a shouting, thickly accented voice, “Howard, we know you’re in there! Give us the money Howard, or you aren’t going to like what happens next, or where your body is going to turn up! Fear gripped his gut–who in the hell was that? The pounding resumed, and a moment after, he heard a boot slam into the door, breaking the lock, as a group of men charged into the house, and he hid in the only place he could think–behind the mirror.

It took them close to an hour before they reached the attic, and they hauled him out from behind the mirror. The men were mostly middle aged, and from the look of their faces–Russian. “Look, I’m not Howard, please, you have to believe me!” Drew said, terrified when he saw that several of them were wielding bats, the ringleader leveling a gun at his head.

“Where the fuck is the money, you fat old faggot? The safe’s empty–what did you fucking do with our money?”

“He took it! Howard took my body, and he took your money! It was the mirror, this fucking mirror!” Drew said, and he started sobbing on the ground, the mafia looking from the broken old man to the large ornate mirror in front of them, quizzically.

No one is entirely sure what happened to Howard after that–when he’d been found missing the next day, and the house ransacked, the police assumed it was a home burglary turned murderous, though his body never turned up. Oddly enough, other than the empty safe, nothing was taken, aside from something in the attic, something large and wide, which had been propped up against the wall, something like a very large mirror.

How many loads had it been now? He could remember counting to eight hours ago, but Grandpa’s balls still hadn’t run dry. He licked at them, his own cock rock hard. He could almost taste the sweet cum inside them, and he was growing hungry again.

Running his hands over his furry belly, he could almost remember what it had been like to have abs, to have been hairless, no beard, a full head of hair, but he was a daddy now, and he never wanted to go back.

“Still want more, Grandson? Well, maybe Son at this point, eh? Well, alright, go ahead–suck me off again, if you want.”

Son, yeah, he was old enough to be his son,now, wasn’t he? He eagerly wrapped his lips around his Daddy’s cock and started sucking down his seed, his stomach gurgling and surging as it started to expand.

“Yeah, look at that belly grow, we’re gonna have you big and plump like a proper daddy here in a second, then we can play with your fat while you jack off. Now, how big? I’m thinking the big 400, yeah, what a big fucking daddy you’re gonna be, or maybe even a granddad like me…”

Source: amogordo

Heading downstairs to make breakfast before work, you smell smoke coming from the kitchen. Panicking, you rush in to see if something is on fire, and stop dead in your tracks–there, sitting on the counter in nothing more than a jockstrap, is a hairy man smoking a cigar, belching massive amounts of smoke into the room.

You try and ask him what he’s doing there, but the smoke is making you light headed, and you realize that his plumes are…seeking you out. Crossing the room and drilling themselves down into your lungs, and the smoke is so hot, it burns, and it’s only getting worse.

The stranger stands up and walks over to you, “Submit to the smoke dad, just give in, or it’ll kill you.”

Dad? This hairy, roughneck is your son? The heat is only getting worse, and you realize then that it’s because you’re refusing to exhale. If you keep it in, you know it’ll burn you alive, and so you breathe out, and too late realize that with the breath has gone your will, and maybe even your soul.

Eyes empty, your son places a second cigar in your mouth, and it lights up immediately. You suck in the smoke, eager for anything to fill the void you’ve exhaled, your body slowly changing as you grind your face into your son’s crotch, one more slave to the demonic humidor your son discovered at a curio shop the day before.

Roleplay

Alright, it looks like our little chat conversation from last week was the most popular, so let’s extend it a bit.

***

DukeofDukes: Hey. I saw you were looking to chat.

Daddysboy34: Yeah, hey–what’s up?

DukeofDukes: Not too much. Horny mostly 😉

Daddysboy34: Ha, well that’s my favorite kind of guy. You want to RP?

DukeofDukes: Sure, I guess. What kind of RP?

Daddysboy34: Well, I love chatting up a hot daddy, while acting like a little sexpot boy for him to abuse, if that interests you. How about it, you want to be my daddy for a while?

DukeofDukes: Ha, well, I’ve never tried that before.

Daddysboy34: Oh don’t worry, I bet you’ll be a natural.

DukeofDukes: I’m not really into cam chats.

Daddysboy34: Aww, come on daddy, do it for your boy, he wants to see you while you tell him all the nasty things you’re going to do to him.

DukeofDukes: Well dang, you don’t waste much time. Alright, I suppose.

Daddysboy34: Hmm, not bad, not bad. How old are you?

DukeofDukes: 28.

I know, not much of a daddy.

Daddysboy34: Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that, I can help there. How about we make that 58?

DukeofDukes: You do like them older, eh?

Daddysboy34: Oh yeah, and hairy, with a big beard…yeah, you’re looking hotter already daddy.

DukeofDukes: What do you mean?

Daddysboy34: Oh shoot, I forgot I kept on the reality adjustment–hold on…

DukeofDukes: Oh holy shit, what did you do? I have a fucking beard, and I’m furry as fuck!

Daddysboy34: You mean sexy as fuck. Now, how about we grow you a bit? I like my daddies to have nice, healthy guts on them.

Yeah, look at that thing, ballooning up, you’re going to be a big one, I think 350, but I want that gut tight, like a fucking beach ball.

Shit, that shirt just ripped right off you! That was so damn hot, and look at all that fur, so damn sexy.

DukeofDukes: Fuck, how are you doing this? Fucking change me back, boy!

Daddysboy34: Oh yeah, call me boy, that’s so hot.

DukeofDukes: I’m fucking serious, boy.

Why the fuck do I keep writing that? Are you messing with my head too? How in the hell are you doing this? If you don’t change me back boy, you’re gonna regret it.

Daddysboy34: Oh, I’m not finished with you yet. Why don’t you lean back, take some deep drags off that big cigar of yours, and rub your hairy belly for me? Show off what a fine piece of daddy meat you are?

And I hate that fucking screen name–what the fuck is that even, yeah, BearmanXXXL is so much hotter.

Yeah, now go on, stroke that cock for me, twiddle those fat, sensitive nips. I love how you’re groaning, that’s so damn hot–I’m getting close daddy. Now tell me what you want to do to your naughty boy.

BearmanXXXL: I fucking want you to change me back, boy! Fucking change me back, or I’m gonna find you, and I’m gonna fuck you so hard

No, I’m done, I’m not playing this game anymore.

Daddysboy34: If you close this window, then you won’t like what I do next, daddy. Now talk dirty to me, tell me what you want to do to me.

Come on daddy, I know you want to…

BearmanXXXL: I’d fucking find you, boy, and I’d fucking kill you.

Daddysboy34: I’m not into snuff daddy, be serious. Now, I’m just going to keep changing you until you get me off. Now, I’ve always been fond of dirty guys, myself. Guys who don’t feel a need to shower, or use deodorant…

DirtyDaddyXXXL: Don’t you fucking dare, boy.

Wait, DirtyDaddyXXL? What the fuck?

No, come on, I’m not…why the fuck

Daddysboy34: Yeah, you like how those pits smell now, don’t you? Nice and ripe? Bet there’s something else a dirty guy like you loves doing. Go get a glass, daddy, a nice big one, and keep smelling those stinky pits of yours.

Got it? Oh yeah, that’s real nice. Now piss in it. Stand up, so I can see you do it.

Yeah, that’s good, look at all that fucking daddy piss. If I was there, I’d drink it all down for you, but since you’re all alone, I guess you’re going to have to drink it. Go on daddy, drink it all down, but enjoy it, you love drinking piss as much as you love smoking those big cigars of yours.

Halfway there, you’re doing great daddy, and look at how hard that cock of yours is. What a piss thirsty daddy I’ve got on my hands.

Go ahead and pour the rest of that piss all over your fat belly, feel it run down through your fur, yeah, that’s it.

How was it daddy, was that hot? It sure looked like you were enjoying that.

DirtyDaddyXXXL: I’m serious now, please, I’m begging you, just change me back.

Daddysboy34: But you’re the one who’s been having all the fun daddy! I think it’s time you help your boy get off a bit. Who knows, if you do a good enough job, I might change you back…

DirtyDaddyXXXL: Please boy, I don’t want to do this anymore.

Daddysboy34: Do you want me to change you some more? Because I’m good with that too.

DirtyDaddyXXXL: No, look…alright. I’ll play, boy.

Daddysboy34: That’s a good daddy. Now, you have this sexy boy all to yourself, what do you want to do a naughty boy like me?

DirtyDaddyXXXL: Well, the first thing I’d fuckin’ do boy is haul you over my fuckin’ knee and give you a fuckin’ spanking.

Daddysboy34: Oh yeah daddy, I bet you’d pummel my ass.

DirtyDaddyXXXL: Damn right, I’d get it good and fucking red, you’d be fuckin’ begging me to stop, boy.

Daddysboy34: Oh fuck daddy, it fuckin’ hurts, but my boy cock is so damn hard…

DirtyDaddyXXXL: Yeah boy, who’s your fuckin’ daddy?

Daddysboy34: You are! You’re my daddy, my filthy fucking daddy.

DirtyDaddyXXXL: Oh, you like my fithy body? Well how about I make you clean it? You can fucking lick out these pits, and my crusty ass crack.

Daddysboy34: Eww, that’s fucking gross, I wouldn’t do that.

DirtyDaddyXXXL: Hell yeah you would boy, you’d clean your daddy and you’d fucking like it.

Daddysboy34: No, here’s how it would fucking work, you fucker. You would be the one cleaning me. You’d lay me down on the bed, and you’d clean out my pits, and fucking suck on my toes, and then you’d beg me to let you lick my ass clean. Go on, fucking beg.

DirtyDaddyXXXL: I’m not going to beg for that, that’s disgusting.

Daddysboy34: Fine, then I guess you can start with yours.

DaddyRimmerXXXL: No, come on, please don’t change me any more.

Daddysboy34: Yeah, you’re a real filthy daddy now, with that long, grungy beard. I bet you haven’t showered in fucking months. Looks like that cigar of yours is done, go ahead and get a new one, and shove it up that dirty hole of yours, all the fucking way, and leave it up there for a while.

Yeah, that’s it, twist those inch long nipples, lick those dirty lips of yours, thinking about how good that shitty cigar is going to taste in a bit, but first, go get one of those filthy, muddy boots of yours from that construction site where you work.

That’s good, now lick it, lick it clean–fucking relish it.

Let me see that tongue, get all that mud and grit off them, yeah, I bet that tastes real good. That’s what daddy’s tongues are for, cleaning all the filth their boys tell them to.

Alright, enough of that, now get that cigar out. Yeah, look at that, got a nice coating on that. Now smoke it.

That taste good? You like smoking the scum from your nasty hole? How do you feel about my ass now?

DaddyRimmerXXXL: Oh fuck boy, I hope it’s so damn dirty…

No, I mean, fuck. I don’t want this, this is so fucking wrong.

Daddysboy34: You do want it, you want it so bad.

Go on, my butt is in your nasty face, what do you want daddy…

DaddyRimmerXXXL: Fuck, I’d clean that nasty crack boy, I’d lick it clean, can you fuckin’ feel my bread scraping across it? My fuckin’ tongue buried up your hole?

Daddysboy34: Oh yeah daddy, it feels so damn hot, feeling you worship my boybutt.

DaddyRimmerXXXL: Oh yeah boy, I love boybutts so much, can I fuck it boy? Can I fuck your nasty hole?

Daddysboy34: Oh no, I don’t think so. You haven’t been the most cooperative daddy this evening. I don’t think you’ve earned the right to fuck my boy hole.

FilthyOldBtmXXXL: Oh please boy, please fuck my hole?

Wait, what did I just write, of no, please, not that.

Daddysboy34: You want me to fuck your hole, daddy?

FilthyOldBtmXXXL: Oh please, come on, I’m begging you.

Daddysboy34: All right, I guess you can fuck yourself with that big dildo there. Go on, shove it up that hungry hole of yours.

Oh fuck yeah, daddy, look at you moan, bet you wish that was my cock, don’t you? Too bad that two inch cock of yours can’t get hard anymore…oh yeah, that would be hot too…

How about that? Now that cock of yours is locked up nice and tight. No cumming for you until I want you to. Oh yeah, I’m getting real close daddy, watch your boy cum, and imagine how hot it would be taking it up that hole of yours!

FilthyOldBtmXXXL: Fuck boy, that was huge fuckin’ load, wish I could have gotten it.

Daddysboy34: I bet you do. Now I gotta get going, I’m late for dinner with my boyfriend.

FilthyOldBtmXXXL: Wait, what? You can’t just leave me like this, come on. Change me back!

Daddysboy34: But then how will I have more hot RP sessions with you, my filthy daddy pig? No, you stay there and fuck yourself on that big dildo, and think about how you’ve been a naughty daddy, until I come back.

FilthyOldBtmXXXL: No, wait, come back, please.

FilthyOldBtmXXXL: No, boy, please…please don’t do this to me. Please!

Shave and a Haircut

Commissioned by Anonymous

The bells above the door gave a dry jangle as the door opened, and Nick stepped into the barber shop. It was late afternoon, and the dust on the windows and in the air could be seen clearly in the evening light, giving him the odd impression that he’d stepped into a sepia photograph. The small room was empty for a few moments, until an older man stepped out from the backroom, the sleeves of his button up shirt rolled up to the elbows, wearing a red and white bow tie matching the barber pole which had initially caught Nick’s attention outside. “Good afternoon, my boy–here for a haircut?” the man asked.

“Oh, well, no…” he said, looking around. He’d really only been interested in the older building’s facade, and had stepped inside to see if there had been any odd details inside which might be worth seeing. “No, I’m an architect–the facade caught my eye, and I thought I’d just take a look around inside, if you don’t mind.”

The older man shrugged, “You’re welcome to look around, if you’d like. Though if you change your mind, just say the word, and we can tackle…that.”

The smile that followed was genuine enough to disarm the slight insult, and Nick ran his hand through his hair, which hovered somewhere between disheveled and neck length. When was the last time he’d gotten it cut? He didn’t know–he avoided getting it done, really. It always felt like a chore, and it didn’t help that he never really knew what he wanted. Still, he had the feeling that he ought to say something–defend himself and his look–but the man had already turned around and gone into the back, leaving Nick alone in the front room.

He looked around, happy to see that details from the past design had been cared for, rather than removed and updated into a mish-mash of styles, like so many other older buildings in the city. Still, the same thing which had drawn his attention to the building in the first place was felt inside as well. The facade, while old, was difficult to place in time. Not quite Art Deco, not quite Streamline Moderne, with odd Nouveau touches throughout. It was old, and yet at the same time, oddly timeless. As he looked around, he caught sight of himself in the mirror, blushed and looked away, feeling a bit silly after the barber’s earlier comment. He did look like a mess, he realized, and certainly less than professional. He really should do something with it, but…what? He hated most styles that were popular these days, and the necessity of upkeep just bored him. He wasn’t a model, and he had no real interest in looking like one.

He walked back, found the barber at a small desk working with some receipts. “Pardon me, but do you know when this building was built?”

“I don’t, actually,” the barber said, “I inherited the space here from my father, but I’m fifty-six, and it was well established when I was a boy, if that helps. Still, even if it is old, it has a certain charm, don’t you think?” He rifled through some papers on his desk and came up with a photograph, “Here–this is my father out in front. I was about…twelve or so when that picture was taken, I believe.”

Nick took the old photograph and took a look at the older gentleman in the photo, the young boy standing next to him. He looked like a character who did not have much patience for play or small talk. Not necessarily mean, though perhaps a bit aloof. The beaming boy next to him seemed happy enough holding his hand. He handed the photograph back after a few more moments. “Nice looking man.”

“He certainly was–where do you think I got my own style?” the barber said, “Can’t say much for fashion these days–all these young men with their hair down to their collars…”

Nick brushed a hand through his own, “This isn’t a style–I just never get it cut is all.” he looked around the room, hoping to change the subject, “It’s funny, the whole building is an odd mix of styles–I’m having a hard time placing it in a period.”

“Well, I’m sorry I can’t be of more help with that.”

“I can find the blueprints and look it up, I suppose,” Nick said with a smile, “Sorry to interrupt your work–I’ll be on my way.”

“Don’t worry sir, it’s…refreshing to see a young man like yourself interested in something so old,” he said, getting up and following Nick to the front door, “Now, are you sure you won’t take me up on my offer?”

Nick paused at the door, blushing again. “Is it really that bad?”

“I’m not one to judge modern tastes,” he replied simply, but after a moment more, added, “But…I think you could do much better.”

Nick looked at the clock on the wall–he’d left work early so he had time to kill, and no plans for the rest of the evening. Who knows? Maybe the barber could work some magic on him that the chain salons couldn’t. “Why not?” he replied, stepping back from the door, and followed the barber over to a chair, sat down and allowed the man to throw a cape over him and secure it around his neck.

“So then, my boy, what shall we do with this?” the barber asked, running his hand through Nick’s hair, “First, when was the last time you had it cut?”

“I don’t know–a few months?”

The barber gave a whistle, “Sounds like someone doesn’t like going to the barber.”

Nick sighed, looking at himself in the mirror. It was impossible, he hated it, he sometimes just wished it was all gone. “You’re right, I don’t. I never know what I want my hair to look like, I never see a style I like on anyone these days, and I usually just end up with, well, a mop.”

The barber smiled again, that same genuine grin, and something about it made Nick smile too–it was infectious. “Still, I’m not the one who can decide here–it’s your hair after all. There’s nothing you want to do with it? Nothing at all? No one who’s hair you like?”

“No one my age, at least,” Nick said, and then blushed when he realized what he’d said.

The barber pushed on, “Well, maybe instead of asking what you want your hair to look like, lets take a step back. What sort of person do you want to look like? How do you want people to perceive you? My father always said that the hair the foundation for a man–it can speak volumes about us, if we let it–and while it might sound a bit egotistical, I regard myself as a master craftsman.”

Nick grinned, but thought back to the old photograph he’d seen in the office. The barber’s father had seemed confident, though maybe a bit strict.

“You know, I bet that a slightly…more conservative look might look nice on you,” the barber said, “Something to help you look a bit older–more established.”

“No, I couldn’t pull off something like that.”

“Ha, well, not normally, but I am a master,” the barber said, “I’m sure that in my hands, it will turn out splendidly.”

“Look, I just don’t think that’s what I’m looking for.”

The barber looked up into the mirror, meeting Nick’s eyes, and said, “I saw how you were looking at my father in that photograph–don’t you think he looked impressive? Important? Certainly no someone who could be ignored, or pushed aside. Isn’t that what you want? Or do you want to be ignored? Seen as someone who can’t even keep himself in order? If that’s what you want, you might as well just walk out the door now with that mop of yours.”

The barber went to unfasten the cape, but Nick spoke, “No, no…I mean, I do want all those things, it’s just…”

“Just what?”

How could Nick put into words what he was feeling? There was truth to what the barber was saying–that was the kind of man he wanted to be, he just didn’t know, well, how to get there. Still, he was a master barber–maybe it would be better to just trust him. “Look…you’re right. That is the sort of man I want to be, but I don’t know what kind of hairstyle would be best…you’re the barber, why don’t you just do what you think would be best for me?”

“If that’s what you would like.”

“It is, I think. You seem to know what I want better than I do, anyway,” Nick said with a grin, but when the barber failed to smile, he just turned and faced the mirror. The barber worked in relative silence for a few minutes and Nick found himself losing focus and daydream a bit. He wondered what sort of cut the barber might have in mind for him–after all, it wasn’t exactly easy to just make someone look older with a haircut. Usually it was age that forced men’s hands, not the other way around. He looked up from where he’d been staring at the cape and gave a start when he saw himself in the mirror, the barber pulling back the shears. “Careful–no sudden movements. I don’t want to cut you.”

“What…What are you doing?”

“You asked me to give you the cut I thought you should have, didn’t you?”

Nick just stared at his head in the mirror. Literally, his head. The barber had somehow culled back his hairline several inches, the bald pate shining through, the rest of his hair pulled down against his scalp, and he just gaped.

“If you don’t like it, I can always change it back–it’s just, this is the man you said you wanted to be. No worries, we can find a different look for you, though I don’t think it will suit you as much,” the barber said, and started combing his hair back up.

“No,” Nick said, surprising himself with the confidence in his voice, “No…No, I like it…Just…” Nick paused, and the barber waited for a few moments. When Nick said nothing else, he took that as a sign of acceptance, and he continued his work. Nick was now fully absorbed in what was happening. He didn’t know how the barber was doing it–he still was wielding nothing more than a comb, shears, and a bottle of water, but right before his eyes, his hair was vanishing. Even more amazing, he actually looked, well, bald. Like his hair was actually gone, and then he realized that it really was gone. That somehow the barber was actually balding him, and the excited chill that ran down his spine was something he’d never felt before. It looked right. It looked…like him, like who he’d wanted to be.

“Now, how about we add a little grey?” the barber asked, “Right here at the temples. It helps make a man more distinguished I think. Is that something you’d be interested in?”

“Isn’t…Isn’t it bad enough to be bald?”

“”Bad to be bald? My boy, if you don’t like the cut, you should have let me fix it. I’m afraid it’s much too late to turn back now.”

It was, wasn’t it? Nick just stared at his head, still unable to believe what he’d allowed the barber to do to him. And yet…it wasn’t all that bad, really. He did look…distinguished, and confident. It took a confident man to show off his baldness like that after all, and maybe…maybe a bit of grey would improve the look. “I think…you’re right.”

“Very well…sir,” the barber said, Nick blushing as the man, with a few comb throughs, pulled the color from his temples, giving Nick two patches of grey on the sides of his head. After a couple more minutes, the barber inspected his work, and then picked up a jar of pomade, and started combing it into Nick’s remaining hair, matting it down into a shiny slick back, his bald crown shiny and beautifully displayed. The result was amazingly natural, if it hadn’t been paired with Nick’s still young face. “Alright,” the barber said, picking up a hand mirror and positioning it so Nick could see the back, “How does that look to you?”

“Wait,” Nick said, looking at himself in the mirror. “I can’t…I mean, is that…it?”

“Oh, would you like more?” the barber asked, “I suppose I can pull it back a bit further, and grey it out a bit more, though I fear it might drift past distinguished and make you look, somewhat weak. However, if that’s what you would like–”

“No!” Nick said, “No, the hair–just leave the hair, I mean…” he said, staring at his reflection, “God, I look like…like my dad or something.”

“I wouldn’t consider that an insult, necessarily. More men ought to look to their elders for direction. Now, if you are satisfied with the cut, that will be twenty pounds for a cut and style.”

“No, I mean–” Nick said, but his voice cut out for a moment. “What am I even saying, this is crazy–I don’t want to be bald, I don’t want to look like this.”

The barber let the silence hang for a moment in the air, “But look at yourself now. Don’t you already look more powerful? More in charge? More confident? I mean, there are still some issues, sure.” The barber took his hands and laid them on Nick’s shoulders over the cape, “I mean, that face of yours–it lacks experience. This body doesn’t show any signs of a man set in his ways. And don’t even get me started on these clothes you young men wear these days. Preposterous. Here, you know what would help? A shave.” The barber wet a boar bristle shaving brush under the tap and started foaming up a shaving mug.

“No, look, I don’t,” Nick said, and when he said no the barber stopped.

“I thought this is what you wanted,” the barber said, “if not, then you can leave anytime. I’m not keeping you here.” He stepped back from the chair, and Nick thought about it. He could just leave. He could have left at anytime, and yet…he was still here. And he did…sort of like the hair. The barber had been right, it did look good on him, or it would look good on him in forty more years. But it wasn’t the hair that scared him, it was losing…he didn’t know what the barber might do to him next. And yet, part of him wanted to know, wanted to experience it. He stared at his face, wondering what he might look like when the barber finished, and gave a nod. “A–Alright.”

“Very good, sir, with your permission,” the barber said, tilted the chair back and foamed up Nick’s cheeks, before meticulously scraping it away with a straight razor. Nick couldn’t see anything with the chair back, but he noticed than the barber left his lip unshaved. When he finished, he expected the man to sit him back up, but after rubbing down his cheeks with a block of alum, he relathered Nick’s cheeks and shaved him again, against the grain, before wrapping his entire face and head in a hot, steamed towel, leaving him there for several minutes. After the towel was unwrapped, he finished him off with some talcum powder and a strong smelling aftershave, before finally lifting the chair back up, and allowing Nick a view of his face.

He gasped–that couldn’t be him in the mirror, could it? His face was so soft–no, not soft–fat. His cheeks were very large, but from the jowls and laugh lines, anyone who saw him would think him at least in his fifties, and the wrinkles and crow’s feet around his eyes didn’t help either. The only place that hair remained on his face was in a thick, bushy moustache covering his lip, meticulously trimmed, and lightly grey, matching his temples.

“Well sir? How does it look.”

“It looks…marvelous…” Nick said, and it was the truth. He looked better than he’d ever looked in his life, even if he could have passed for his father. As he stared at himself in the mirror, he felt a strange stir in the crotch of his pants–his cock was hardening. He blushed, a light red gracing his cheeks as he tried to regain control of himself. Had looking at this fat, older face actually turned him on? What was happening to him? He raised his hands and rubbed his cheeks, scratching his mustache still unable to believe it was real.

“I’m glad you approve–very few barbers can give a gentleman a proper shave anymore,” the barber said, discarding the towel.

A gentleman–he looked like a gentleman, didn’t he? His cock was hardening still, and Nick didn’t know what to do. The barber stepped over and removed the cape from around Nick’s neck, and he grimaced when he saw the clothes he was wearing. They were trying so hard to be important, to be noticed–it was rather embarrassing. “I really should find something else to wear, shouldn’t I?” Nick said, mostly to himself.

“I suppose I could help with that, if you’d like,” the barber said, as Nick stood up from the chair. “I agree that these clothes aren’t befitting a man of your stature and maturity.”

The flattery stirred something in Nick again, and he realized he liked this. He could be important now, he could be noticed, if he had the right look. “A suit, I think.”

“Ah, a suit–but what kind of suit? Certainly nothing too modern for a conservative man like yourself,” the barber said, and Nick watched the clothes on his body ripple from where the barber’s rested his hand on his shoulder, becoming a fine cotton dress shirt and highwaisted navy slacks with fishtail backs, the braces crawling up his back and down the front, before a jacket appeared out of this air around him, his shoes darkening into black dress shoes shined to shimmering, and last, a regimental tie growing down from his collar stopping right at his waist, cinched tight to his neck, the starched collar comfortably rigid, forcing his head up to a haughty height. He looked…distinguished, and already older than before, just because of the classic look. No one wore suits like this anymore, or at least no one his age–his old age. He was becoming an anachronism, and he felt pleasure shoot through him again, as he ran his hand along the fine fabrics. “How…how much did this cost? I could never afford something like this.”

“On the contrary, the man you were could never have afforded this suit. But you are a man of power and authority, and with those qualities come wealth…and pride. It feels good, doesn’t it? These fabrics on your skin? You can’t imagine ever wearing something of lesser quality, I’m sure. Don’t be shy–enjoy them–they’re designed for more than looks–good clothing ought to have a certain…feel as well, don’t you agree?”

They did feel divine, and Nick realized that from now on, this would be his standard attire. This is what he’d wear everyday for the rest of his life, and it looked good. It felt right, sensual even, and he realized his cock was fully hard, bulging out the front of the tailored trousers. The barber didn’t appear to have noticed, and Nick suppressed a blush–after all, there wasn’t anything wrong with enjoying his clothes. Still, while it looked good–it still didn’t look right. His body–it wasn’t the right body, not the body he needed to have, this slim, slender form. It didn’t look like a body of age, or privilege, or excess, or pride. “Bigger. I need to be bigger.”

“Bigger? Bigger how?”

“Fatter. I…I don’t know. Bigger, I don’t…no one would listen to me, looking like this, how could I dominate a boardroom when I’m this skinny?”

“A boardroom? I think you’re shooting too low myself. Still, you’re right, aren’t you? Someone as skinny as you are couldn’t possibly be someone with real authority. You have no presence at all–people would be more inclined to just ignore you. Let’s see what we can do about that.” Nick’s frame started filling out, a soft gut pushing out the belly of his suit, his trousers pulling themselves up over his apron, giving him a belly that spoke of wealth and privilege. He was a man who wanted for nothing, and his pants filled in as well, thighs thickening, chest and arms growing heavy, but something else was changing–he could feel a slight pressure from the barber’s hand, pushing him down, making him shorter.

“What are you doing?” Nick asked, “I don’t want to be short!”

“Oh?” the barber said, letting off, “I simply thought that, well, you are rather imposing, sir.”

“Imposing is good…isn’t it?” Nick said, suddenly not so sure.

“Well, I suppose it can be, but do you want men to respect you, or respect your size?” Nick thought for a moment, and the barber continued. “Besides, all good men need a…flaw of sorts. Something to help put their inferiors at ease, a quality that can appeal to the common man. You wouldn’t want to seem too out of touch with the lower classes after all.”

Nick let out a bit of a grunt, “Fine, I suppose you have a point.” The barber resumed his pressure, and Nick started shrinking–not substantially, not so much that he would be easily ignored or disregarded, but enough to appear–humble, even if he would be nothing of the sort. His height would be a weapon, something to catch his enemies off guard. He would appear unassuming, a fat, jovial man who knew how to wield the avenues of power with an iron hand. he would rule–he would lead–it was his right, his privilege. He was so hard now–so excited, his face reddening as it fattened further, his chin billowing out before settling upon the knot of his tie. He was so powerful–how could he not lust after himself?

“Seems like vanity comes naturally to someone as confident as you,” the barber said, coming up behind him, “Go on–I know how much you want to pleasure yourself. That suit had you all hot and bothered, and now that look in your eyes…No one will ever know if you…indulge for a moment.”

Nick licked his lips, unzipped the trousers and pulled out his dick–his thick, long dick–apparently the barber had been busy down there as well, and started stroking it slowly, never taking his eyes off himself, running his free hand over his beautiful new clothing still listening to what the barber was saying, describing really. His life, the barber was giving him a history, or rather, guiding Nick–no not Nick–Nick was too young. Guiding Nicholas into crafting his own past. How he’d come from old money–very old money–being sent of to be educated at the finest schools–an Etonian and then off to Cambridge–both of them inflating his sense of superiority, however, deeper within him was a desire to serve his country. After training at Sandurst, he entered the army as an officer, but in the army he realized his real pleasure wasn’t serving–it was leading. Government–that was what he sought, and with his family background, and wasn’t difficult to find a high ranking position within the Tory party. He came, shooting his load onto the floor in front of him, and shook his head, almost as though he were waking from a dream, and tucked his cock back into his trousers.

“That will be thirty pound for the cut, style and shave, sir,” The barber said, and Nicholas turned to him, almost as though he were just noticing him, his posture still rigid from his army days.

“Oh, ah yes, a wonderful job as always, my good man. I can’t seem to find anyone who can do a proper job on my hair like you.”

“Most barbers these days simply don’t know how to treat a fellow gentleman,” the barber said with a wink, and Nicholas let out a booming laugh.

“Indeed! And here, a bit extra for you,” he said, adding a five pound note to the amount he handed the barber.

“You’re too kind sir.”

“Oh nonsense–better give it to a man who has earned it than the ruffians on welfare running amok on the streets–the hooligans.”

“Ah, yes–the world has changed, I suppose.”

“Well, then we’ll just have to change it back I suppose,” Nicholas said, giving the barber a nudge, “It takes a strong man to stand in the way of change.”

“Well the Tories have my vote, as always.”

“And I thank you for it,” Nicholas said, “Now I must be off, have a good evening.”

The barber watched the posh MP strut out of the barber shop, proud and self-important, and allowed himself a slight smile, before mopping up around the chair. Things always changed–just not always in the way we expect them to.

Daddysboy43: But I thought you said you wanted to be my daddy?

BearmanXL: I was just—we were just rping, what the—make it stop man, what the fuck is happening to me?

Daddysboy43: Oh yeah, look at that gut grow daddy, you’re gonna be so handsome.

BearmanXL: Wait, you can see me? What the fuck—

Daddysboy43: Oh yeah, I turned on your webcam—I wouldn’t want to miss this. Now, I think cigars…

BearmanXL: I’m not—where the hell did that come from, I don’t—

Daddysboy43: Oh fuck yeah, and a nice grey beard, some suspenders, but I don’t want your clothes fitting, I want you ready to burst out of them any second, oh fuck, that’s right, such a sexy daddy…

BearmanXL: Boy, I’m serious, cut it out.

Daddysboy43: Oh yeah, call me boy, tell me what you want to do to me daddy. I’ve been such a bad boy, haven’t I?

BearmanXL: You sure as fuckin’ hell have been a bad boy, why if…if I was there right now, I’d…oh wait no, this isn’t right…I…

Daddysboy43: What daddy, what would you do to a bad boy like me?

BearmanXL: I’d…fuck, I’d bend you over my knee, and…and pull down your pants and give you a fuckin’ spanking…oh fuck, yeah, I’d pound that fuckin’ ass of yours ‘til it was good ‘n red. That what ya want, boy?

Daddysboy43: Oh yeah daddy, and then what?

BearmanXL: Then I’d pick ya up ‘n throw ya over the bed, yeah, then I’d take my big daddy cock ‘n ram it up that hole of yours! Yeah, I’d fuck ya raw boy—

Daddysboy43: Oh fuck daddy, I’m cumming—fuck!

BearmanXL: Yeah boy, you’d cum so hard with my big cock up your ass.

Daddysboy43: Oh fuck…yeah, that was so hot! Anyway, I gotta log off—gotta go get dinner with my boyfriend.

BearmanXL: ”Wait, what? No, get back here boy, you can’t just leave me like this! What the fuck did you do to me?”