TPC – Chapter 1.11

Chapter 11 – Shadow’s Den

Whether it was morning or night now, Marlon didn’t know. One moment, he’d been on the sidewalk with Jimmy, talking about the streetlights or the shadows or something, and the next, he’d stepped into the dark and everything had disappeared around him–and now he was here. It wasn’t that he was falling, or at least, it didn’t feel like falling. There was nothing to fall relative to, so he could have just as easily been floating. He called out to Jimmy, but his voice wouldn’t cut through the vacuum. After some amount of time, it was difficult to say whether it was minutes or seconds, a figure had appeared in the dark with him. It was the man who had stepped from the shadows, before he’d fallen in. He called out to him, asking him for help. The man came close, and perspectives shifted. He became larger, and swaddled Marlon somehow, there in the dark. Cupped him in the darkness itself, and he felt it crush against him, even though there was nothing there. It was like drowning, like he was seven in his cousin’s pool again when hadn’t quite mastered swimming enough for the deep end. He was certain he should have died, at some point. Perhaps, he told himself, he had. But the darkness ebbed away, or pulled back from him, replaced with a deep red light.

There was space again. The colored light was disorienting, but he could make out that he was in what looked like a basement, or at least, a room with no windows–or doors, he realized after that. The floor was concrete, and the walls were adorned with what he could only really describe as a dungeon, though he’d never been one for fetish porn on the internet. He himself, he realized, was in a cage–thick metal bars, not tall enough for him to stand up inside. There was a sound behind him, and he managed to twist around. There on the wall were two figures hanging from a pair of wooden crosses, their limbs in steel manacles and pulled tight. Their faces were hooded, they were naked, and Marlon realized that he was naked as well. There were no clothes anywhere that he could see in the room. 

He was aware of the darkness in the room somehow solidifying, and the man from the street stepped out of what should have been a wall, just appeared with no way to explain how. Marlon scrambled back, banged his head on the metal of the cage, his vision bursting with stars. The man chuckled, strode over to the cage in the middle of the room, and squatted down. “A shame, the two of you would have been fun together, but this will be just as nice, and more filling.”

“Who…who are you? Let me out of here, please, I’m not into this shit!”

“You’re not?” the man said, pushing his face closer to the bars. The light in the room was strong enough that Marlon knew he should have been able to see the stranger’s face through the shadow of his cap, but it was made of the same inky darkness that had surrounded him before. “How do you know, little one? Have you ever tried any of it? Did you ever ask your shadow what he might like to try?” his mouth gave a little smile, “I asked him for you, by the way. He was more than a little curious.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Later, little one. I’m famished.”

“Wait! Don’t leave me here.”

“I’m not going anywhere little one, I have my meal right here,” he said, and walked over to where the two figures were strung up against the wall. The man made a little motion with his hands, and the hoods that were covering the faces of the prisoners melted away–Marlon realized that what he’d thought had been leather had been more shadow. A moment later, one of them gasped, his eyes opening wide, followed by the other, looking around, before staring at the leatherman in front of them. “You–you’re not a puppet, you’re Shadow! But you’re in the fucking jail, how did you get out?”

“Oh, it was harder than I thought it would be, I’ll admit that. Almost gave up a time or two, but why give up when I had such good reason to get out again, and see all you officers of the law again, after where you put me?” he said, gripping their faces with his hands. “One thing is for sure though, I am absolutely starving.”

Their eyes went wide. “No! Wait, we…we’ll get you the commander, that’s who you really want, right?” one said, “Please, Shadow, don’t!”

Marlon watched what happened next, from just a few feet away, and when it was done, he still couldn’t convince himself that he hadn’t dreamt it. Shadow, or at least, that’s what he assumed was the leatherman’s name, pulled one hand away from a face, and his fingers started to wriggle, and then extend. The way they slid across the man’s face, they were somehow flat, and yet retained all of their texture, then divided into even more tendrils, and began to dig their way into his nose, his mouth, his eyes, his ears. The man choked and shuddered as Shadow did his work, thrusting in deeper into the man’s mind, and then there was light–or a kind of light. It pumped it’s way backwards, drawn from the man down the tendrils of shadow and into Shadow’s arm, and when it reached his body, he gave a contented sigh. “Oh yes, quite delectable.”

After a few minutes of pulling whatever that light was from the man, he retracted the tendrils and the man’s face sagged forward. The last thing Marlon saw was the man’s eyes, which were now hollow sockets, as it dropped. He wondered if he was dead, but when Shadow unhooked the man’s manacles and the body slumped to the floor, he could see that he was still breathing, though it was shallow. His face had landed facing him, and Marlon stared into the hollowness, but the eyes were still there. They were just pitch black. Then the man’s own shadow rose up from the floor, spreading up around him, drawing his body in and holding it in something that looked like a cocoon. As soon as it was sealed, it shuddered and there was a scream from within–muffled, but obvious. The other man was shaking and pleading, but Shadow did the same to him, and when he was finished with his meal, there were two blobs of shadow there on the floor of the dungeon, quivering occasionally, mumbling and shouting and yelling. He drew down some darkness from the ceiling, strung the two cocoons up and left them to hang, while he turned his attention to Marlon again.

He was pressed up against the bars of the cage, trying to reach something that he could use to fight back, but there was nothing near him. Shadow squatted down in front of the cage again. “Much better, little one–now where were we?”

“What did you do to them?”

“I ate some of them, and left the rest of them for their own shadows. They’ll be ready in a while. You don’t need to worry about that just yet.”

“Are…you gonna eat me?”

“I don’t know, are you delicious?” Shadow said, and Marlon gulped. After letting the silence hang for a moment, Shadow laughed, “No, I don’t think I’ll be eating you. I already promised your shadow that we’d play for a while.”

“What do you mean?”

Marlon felt something come unstuck from him, something he didn’t even know could come away, and there, standing outside the cage, was a silhouette. His silhouette. He looked down, and underneath him where no light should have been, his shadow had simply disappeared–or rather, left him somehow. Shadow stood up, and embraced Marlon’s shadow, pulled it close, and he felt the embrace there in the cage, and shuddered, felt Shadow’s tongue press into his silhouette’s mouth. 

“Oh yes, I do like you, very much. I think I will keep you,” Shadow said, “You don’t mind, do you?”

Marlon objected, but realized that Shadow had not been talking to him–he had been addressing his silhouette, who nodded vigorously, and then looked to Marlon there in the cage.

“Don’t worry about that–come now, I want to play, little darkness. Here, taste this,” Shadow said, put a finger to the silhouette’s lips and a bit of the light that had come from the two men before slid into it–and Marlon watched as his shadow shuddered, and popped. For a moment, it had definition, depth, presence. And when it had, Marlon gasped, and felt a moment of weakness wash through him. 

“See? Doesn’t that taste good? He’ll never be able to give you that, but I can. I can give you so much. All you have to do is let me guide you. There’s so much I can show you–pleasure, pain, power. Isn’t that what you want?”

Marlon’s silhouette nodded, and Shadow embraced it again, then bent it over a bench, and fucked it–and Marlon, there in the cage, felt every thrust–but he felt something else too. Delight. Ecstasy. They weren’t his feelings though. It was his silhouette thinking and feeling all on its own, and realizing it was thinking and feeling on its own, and delighting in the sensation of the world around it. Marlon begged, when they finished. Begged Shadow to let him go, but Shadow never addressed him again, directly. He was no longer important. In the darkness, shades ruled, and Shadow ruled the shades of Pigtown–and Shadow was back at last.


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The Family Portrait

This is…technically an older story that I never got around to finishing at the time, and at the urging of a patron, I returned to it, revised it a bit, and gave it a conclusion. Hope you all enjoy it! Also, the new series I mentioned, “Pigtown Chronicles”, is in early access over on Patreon, and I’ll be posting it publicly next week! If you missed the first three chapters, you can go check them out there, or wait and read them here. If you’re still over on tumblr, I created a new blog for this series–that way it won’t be stuck behind the nightmare that is NSFW tumblr, and have a searchable, accessible archive. If you want to follow it there, you can go ahead and follow it here. I’ll also be reposting all of them to my old tumblr as well.


It was…quiet. It was never quiet, not around here. Keith breathed a sigh in his empty house–as happy as he was at the family he’d made for himself, between Tara and his three sons, that also didn’t leave him very much time at all for himself. The place had been getting quitter, however. With his two oldest sons in their second and third years of college–at the state school a few hours away at least, and his youngest son, a senior in high school, out with Tara running errands on a fall Saturday for a few hours, he had the house to himself. He had it to himself, and he had absolutely no idea what he should be doing with his chance. It was funny, really. He so often wished for more private time, and now when the chance came, he had no clue how to spend it. He sighed–not really a bad problem to have, he supposed. 

He was interrupted by a loud, heavy knocking on the front door. Curious who it might be, he walked to the door and opened it, finding a strange man on the porch he had never seen before in his life. He was none too clean, dressed in a pair of stained camo cargo shorts and a wifebeater, with a thick overgrown beard. He was carrying a large…something under his arm, wrapped in paper. Something rectangular and flat–but he had no idea what. “Hey! What’s up? I’m your new neighbor down the road there, just moved in a few days ago. Name’s Marty.”

“Oh, uh…hi. I’m Keith…Keith Ireland. Nice…to meet you,” he replied, not taking the man’s hand when he extended it out to shake. How someone who looked like this could possibly afford a house in a neighborhood where Keith lived…something seemed a bit odd about this, and he wasn’t about to let him inside his house. “Where…which house did you move into? I wasn’t aware anyone was moving.”

“Oh, just a few houses down.”

“I didn’t see any moving trucks or anything though.”

“Really?”

Keith just raised an eyebrow at him. 

“Well look, I just wanted to say…hi. My wife, she’s an artist, and we always have too many things of hers, so we like to give our new neighbors some of her artwork. If you don’t like it, you don’t have to keep it or anything–her stuff isn’t for everyone, but it’s nice, right?” He held out the paper wrapped picture to him, and as strange as this was, Keith didn’t want to seem mean, especially if the guy really was his neighbor. He could always take a look, and then give it right back. He tore open the paper and flipped the picture so it was facing him. It was a sizable canvas, probably at least three feet wide, landscape, but there wasn’t much at all in the picture itself. In fact, it wasn’t even a painting–it was a photo. It looked like one of those cheap portraits you might get a Sears or something, but the only person in the picture was Marty, centered but small. Like it was supposed to be a family portrait but he was the only one who showed up. He looked closer, trying to figure out who could possibly see this as valuable, and discovered that the background of the photo…it was moving. The backdrop pattern…it was alive, twisting and ebbing back and forth–he couldn’t look away even if he’d wanted to. It felt like the pattern was growing in his field of vision, almost giving the illusion of falling into the photo, his mind emptying. 

Marty watched his “neighbor’s” eyes grow dull and his jaw go slack, and he walked around him, stepping inside the threshold of the home, looking at the family portrait. The photo was indeed shifting and twisting, in one particular place–a figure coming clear standing beside Marty–quite blurry, and yet if you squinted you could see that it was Keith appearing in the image. The focus became a bit sharper, but never came fully clear, Marty taking a moment to inspect Keith, see how he’d changed all these years.

Keith obviously hadn’t recognized him, but they’d both been very different back in high school together. They even, at one time, were friends–with a few benefits. Keith was bi–and he’d let Marty suck his cock on a few occasions, but when they’d gotten caught, he pinned the whole thing on Marty–claiming he’d been “corrupting” him. Or rather, his dad Gary, a conservative city councilman who couldn’t afford to have a gay son in the news, made his say it, and Keith went along with it. Marty had had no one after that–he’d gotten expelled from school, and kicked out by his family. But now, well, Marty had a little revenge planned for his old friend. He’d gotten by as best he could, but Marty had made a few new, strange friends along the way…including a warlock who specialized in revenge spells. He’d made the portrait Keith was currently staring at–and which was absorbing his image. It was Keith’s fault that he’d lost his entire family after all. As far as Marty was concerned, that meant Keith could provide him with a new one—a better one. One Marty was going to design just for himself. 

It had been long enough now–the rest was up to him. He landed a heavy hand on Keith’s shoulder, making him start and jump, his mind snapping back to awareness, eyes blinking, trying to understand what had just happened to him. “What do you think bro?” Marty asked, “Ain’t that a good picture of us?”

Keith’s eyes moved from the portrait in his hands, and looked beside him, at his…his brother. His brother Marty. Something was still wrong with his mind–it felt like part of him was…missing. His eyes slowly traced back to the picture, at the blurry image of himself in there. It looked like…like he was screaming in there. Marty pulled him back by the arm and shut the door, plucking the picture from Keith’s hands and pressing it to a nearby wall, where it adhered immediately. “Come on bro, the game’s almost on–I know you hate missing a game, right?”

Keith found himself nodding, even though he’d never in his life enjoyed watching football, and stumbled sleepily after his brother into the den, finding the portrait looming over him on a new wall in the den–it had moved somehow, haunting him–as Marty pushed him down onto the couch in front of the TV, grinning wide. 


Another touchdown! Both Keith and Marty threw their arms up, shouting with excitement. Their team was doing great, and Keith couldn’t be happier if he’d tried, sitting here with his favorite person, his brother, watching the game with him. He grinned over at him, grabbed another handful of potato chips and shoved the whole wad into his mouth, chewing loudly with his mouth open, washing it all down with his seventh can of beer, a huge belch rumbling out of his fat belly. He gave it a pat, feeling it jiggle and wiggle around him. It felt…damn good, actually. Like Marty had told him, he’d always been a fat ass–he couldn’t stop eating if he fucking tried, he loved it so much–drinking too–and it showed, nearly six hundred pounds of flab, but he didn’t care. Like Marty said, he found it…kind of hot, actually.

He still wasn’t feeling quite like himself though. Ever since he’d sat down and started watching the game, he’d felt…almost like he was in a dream. Marty was there for him though, reminding him to get the snacks and beer, talking with him while they waited through replays, about all sorts of things. Like…like his lucky jersey. He’d worn in for years, ever since their team had won the superbowl, and he wore it for every game, religiously. He never washed it, so it stank to high hell, and was easily three sizes too small at this point, but it just didn’t feel right not wearing it, right? In fact, Marty had been doing most–or rather, all of the talking. Keith had focused on cheering during the game–with how hard it was to think, he didn’t feel capable of keeping up a conversation at the moment. Besides, it was more important for him to listen to Marty. Marty was the smart one, the clever one…but his eyes kept going to the clock next to their family portrait, and Marty noticed.

“Worried about the time, bro?” Marty asked him.

“Just…wondering when…Tara and the boys…” he said, but couldn’t complete the thought through the haze in his head.

Marty smacked his head and scowled at himself. Fuck, he’d forgotten–that would have made a mess of things for sure. “Why in the hell would that bitch be coming here? She hates your guts. The two of you haven’t laid eyes on each other since that last time she dragged you to court over missing your alimony payments. You’re lucky you didn’t lose partial custody over that shit.”

Keith looked at his brother, confused…but he…he was right. Tara hated him, and she kind of had good reason to. “Yeah…don’t know…why I’d thought…”

“Don’t worry about it bro, you hate women anyway. They fucking disgust you. The only people you want to spend time around is family. Especially me, your best friend. Your best big brother in the whole world. You love me more than anyone, right?”

Keith nodded and grinned at him, letting off another belch.

“Yeah, you’re just a fuckin’ deadbeat dad, really. Can’t hold down a job–doesn’t help that you dropped out of school, still, considering how stupid you are, that ain’t surprising. Luckily we could move in together–I support you, but that’s ok. There’s nothing you’d rather do, aside from lounging around the house, naked all the time, stuffing your face, drinking beer, watching TV, and loving me.”

This time, even Marty could feel it, the changes sweeping through them. The house around them began rotting–there was no way either of them could live in a neighborhood like that, after all. Still, served the fucker right, Marty thought. They ended up in a double wide trailer in some rundown park–still nicer than pretty much anywhere Marty had lived before, and it felt like home, his brother splayed out on the couch next to him, completely naked aside from his lucky jersey, eyes glued to the TV.

“Oh, and smoking cigars, of course. You couldn’t live without those.”

The air grew dank and smoky all of a sudden, and Keith sucked deep off his cheap cigar. Smiling, amazed at how well the portrait was working, Marty leaned forward and lit a cigar for himself, sighing smoke out, groping his cock through his filthy shorts, wondering how much further he could push this before getting down to business. Hell, why not now? He could remember how big Keith’s cock had been when they were teenagers, and it had only gotten bigger–but no fucking way did he deserve a tool like that, not after what he did.

“The smoking, the food, the beer–it makes you fucking horny too, right bro? So fucking horny all the time. Too bad you can’t find your inch long cock in all that flab of yours. Just makes you sex crazed all the time, leaking cum everywhere, desperate for release.” He watched Keith start panting, heaving smoke, sweating, crotch damp with precum, “Luckily you have a big brother to take care you, right? Help you out?” He reached over and dug around in keith’s new gunt, finding his miniscule cock, stroking it, watching his obese brother spasm with pleasure. “And luckily you’ll do anything your perverse big brother wants you to do, right? You love satisfying all of my sick, disgusting fantasies. At heart, you’re all bottom. A sex crazed pig, aching to have all of your holes stuffed at all hours. That’s the only way you can cum, with a big cock in your ass or buried in your throat, while you grunt and snort like a pig.”

Keith didn’t make it to halftime, before he tore into his brother’s shorts and started sucking on his cock. He ended up bent over the couch, his brother balls deep in his sloppy hole, dull mind desperate for sex, cock leaking like a faucet onto the already well stained couch. His eyes–he felt them pulled up, to the portrait on the wall. The background, it was swirling again, but his image–it was becoming clearer now–no longer blurry. His massive frame barely contained by his favorite jersey, wearing a pair of massive sweats. His shaven head and face looking even larger, three chins drooping under his thick handlebar mustache, a stupid grin on his face, leaning on his brother, his big brother, the best big brother in the world. With a snap, the portrait froze in place, and it was like all of him came alive again. With a holler, his tiny cock spurted a load into his fatty folds, and Marty shot deep in his filthy brother’s hole, and looked up at the photo. A good start, for sure–but there was still so much room in the portrait. Luckily, he had a few ideas for other people he could add to their family–starting with his new nephews. He knew that they would be so much happier away from their bitch mother for good and living with their dad and uncle, where they really belonged.


When reality snapped back to order, the effects were seen far beyond the run-down house where Keith now lived with his older brother–his now ex-wife and sons were forced into new realities as well. The two older sons, David and Terrance, were living out on their own, working and renting an apartment together while they attended the local community college, trying to make the leap to a four year college when they could afford it, and both of them avoided their father like the plague. His youngest son, Bobby, split his time between his mother’s house and his father’s house, but only because he was still seventeen for a few more months. In all honesty, he hated every second he had to spend with his filthy uncle and father–he was ashamed to even be related to them. His mother understood, but there was nothing she could do, until he reached eighteen and could legally decide for himself. And so, Marty decided that the next easiest target would be Bobby, when he arrived to stay with his dad and uncle the next week.

That gave him plenty of time to get adjusted to life with his new stupid, lazy younger brother, and he loved every second of it. While he couldn’t make any massive changes to him, now that the picture had become static again, just like his wizard friend had said, he could continue making small changes and suggestions for another few days, all of which Keith was more than happy to obey, and by the end of the week, he reeked of cum and sweat, he hadn’t had a shower in months, and he spent all day and night drunk, passing out on the couch with the TV on every night, when he wasn’t busy in his brother’s bed, servicing his every sexual desire. Still, they both knew that as soon as Bobby arrived for his week of custody they would have to control themselves…for a little while. Marty didn’t think Bobby would be returning to his mother’s house anytime soon, that was for sure. All he’d have to do is get the young man relaxed and focused on the portrait, and everything would be perfect.

However, from the day Bobby arrived, it became clear it wasn’t going to be nearly as easy as Marty had thought. The boy had some…problems with authority, especially parental authority. He spent almost all of his time in his room, giving his uncle no real chances to exert much influence on him in any way. Marty thought he had him the second night, when he managed to successfully enchant Booby with the portrait, causing a third blurry figure to appear beside the images of his father and uncle, but when he tried to influence the boy, and turn him into a chubby, submissive cub for them both to use, nothing seemed to work–Bobby fought his suggestions, and after an hour, the image of him had faded from the picture entirely.

Angry and frustrated, Marty called his wizard friend, demanding to know what was wrong–the wizard was a bit flummoxed, but said that the reason for Bobby’s resistance probably had to do with his perceived relationship to his family–that is, he didn’t want to perceive himself as Keith’s son, but he didn’t have an easy solution for him. Marty’s mood stayed sour for a few days, until he overheard a fight between Bobby and his father one night. Bobby told him that Keith had never been his father, that Bobby was the only person in the room who could act like an adult–and that gave Marty an idea: if Marty thought he was the adult in the room…well, why not make him one?

The fight ended, Bobby stormed off to his room. Marty waited for half an hour, and then knocked on the door, letting himself in–the portrait had appeared on the wall of Bobby’s room, looming over him. “Bobby, I know you aren’t a fan of us, but you need to accept the fact that we’re your family, and there isn’t anything that can change that,” he said, and pointed at the picture, “Look at us up there, wasn’t that a good day?” Bobby looked at the swirling paint, his eyes drawn in immediately, a fleshy blob appearing in the picture, but Marty could see him fight, see him resist his placement between them, where a son belonged. So Marty tried something different, “But you’re a man now, you know? And you know, we don’t treat you like that enough. You aren’t a boy anymore, Bobby–no, not Bobby–Bob. You’ve grown into a fine young man, haven’t you?”

Bobby resisted for a moment more, but then visibly relaxed where he was sitting on the side of the bed. Marty could see his body changing, hair growing up his forearms, thick like theirs, his body bulking, as he grew older, into his mid 20’s. Finally, finally he had him, and Marty knew exactly what this young prick needed–if he wanted to be an adult, then fine, let him. 

“You know Bob, I’ve always admired you. I’ve never seen you as a nephew, not really. I’ve always thought of you as a real brother to me. And I know Keith gets on your nerves, but he’s, well, he’s younger than us, right? He’s always going to be a bit immature.”

Bob kept growing older, his face growing a bit more lined, hair receding back past the crown of his head, becoming flecked with gray, and he chuckled, “He acts like a fucking child,” Bob said, “I wish…I wish…grandpa had been sterner or…or something, he…why does my head hurt all of a sudden?” Bobby said, rubbing his temples, “I…I feel like I’m forgetting something…”

“You mean dad, don’t you?” Marty said. “You wish dad had been stricter.”

“I…I guess.”

“Look, you’re not one to run away from Keith when he gets on your nerves. You know what he needs–you’ve always known what we both need, as the oldest.”

“Yeah…yeah, you’re right Marty–you always have a way of…of making so much sense, you know?”

“Yeah, I know, now come on. I think you should go have another word with Keith, don’t you?”

Bob nodded, and turned to leave the room. Marty checked the portrait, and sure enough, there was Bob level with them both–but Marty wasn’t really interested in having another brother. Since Bob wanted to be an adult so badly, why not go a little further? He smiled, and joined the rest of the family in the den.

The now middle aged Bob went and stood in front of Keith on the couch. He looked up at him, confused for a moment, before the magic helped him along. Bobby his son didn’t exist for him now–he was looking up at his big brother Bob. 

“Yer blocking the game Bob, get out of the way,” Keith said, craning around him as best he could.

“Yeah? That so? What’s a fat fucking piece of shit like you gonna do about it?” Bob asked.

Keith glowered at him, and hefted himself to one side, but Bob just shifted along with him.

Marty stepped up, and saw that the family portrait had followed them, and was now hanging above the fireplace. “Come on now Bob, you know what Keith needs, don’t you? Ever since he was a kid, you knew exactly what kind of worthless piece of shit he was going to be, and you never hesitated to put him in his place.”

Bob’s gaze grew a bit harder, and he undid the belt around his waist, pulling it free of the loops with one pull. Keith’s eyes went wide, but he couldn’t move before Bob’s hand was around his neck, gripping tight enough to make him gasp for breath. “Apparently someone has forgotten who the boss is around here,” he said, “get up, knees on the sofa boy, I think you need a good reminder.”

Keith tried to mumble something, maybe an apology, but Bob’s grip tightened enough that he only managed a squeak. He released him, and Keith did as he was told, hauling his fat body up and onto the couch, letting Bob tug the back of his grimy underwear down, and pushing his body over the back of the couch, so his ass was high. The first smack made Keith holler, and that was enough to shake Bob as well, and he looked at the belt–almost like he couldn’t believe what he’d just done.

“Don’t worry about the screams, Bob–we all know that just makes that big dick of yours even harder. All those years working construction put a whole lot of muscle on you, and you love using it on the pig–even more than the pig likes the abuse. Go on, see how much that fat pig’s puny cock is leaking.”

Bob ran a hand between Keith’s legs, and sure enough, it came back coated with precum that he wiped across both cheeks. Leering now, he brought the belt down again and again on Keith’s ass, stopping only to pop open the buttons on his jeans, letting his own sizable cock free. Unable to resist anymore, He tossed the belt down and drove the cock into Keith’s loose hole, making them both cry out in delight.

“That’s it Daddy,” Marty said, coming close and stroking Bob’s body as he fucked the pig’s hole. “You’re such a good daddy to us boys, aren’t you?”

Bob was too eager to fuck to even muster much of a resistance, as the portrait began to shimmer again, Bob’s image migrating behind Keith and Marty, where the patriarch would be. 

“Retired now, sure. Past your prime, maybe. But you trained the pig well, didn’t you? You knew before he could walk that he wasn’t going to amount to shit, and no amount of discipline would stick, because the pig just wanted more. More punishment, more humiliation, more, more, more. But that’s ok, isn’t it? You do love him, you want to give him what he wants. It just so happens its exactly what you want to, right Daddy?”

Bob swelled larger, body filling out with more fat and muscle as his hair all turned a stark white, beard down to the top of his gut, snorting and grunting in time with his son as he thrust harder and harder, until he came finally with something like a roar. He pulled free, and his cum drooled out Keith’s hole, who was coming down from his own orgasm, having soaked the couch cushion below him. 

“Fuck Daddy–you’re so fucking hot. Take care of me now, come on. I’ve always been the favorite. Your oldest, I could never do anything wrong. You want to make me happy all the time, don’t you Daddy? You can’t resist anything that I say,” Marty said, grabbed his burly father by the shoulder and shoved him down to his knees, Marty’s own cock out. “Come on Daddy, suck your boy off, you love the taste of my fuckin’ cum, you fuckin’ need it.”

Bob swallowed Marty to the hilt in one practiced motion, and he didn’t last more than a couple of thrusts, before exploding in his Dad’s mouth. He could feel the magic tightening around them all as the portrait turned solid again. It wasn’t quite what he’d planned, Marty thought as he pulled free, watching his new father lick his lips and thank his favorite boy for his load, before getting up, grabbing a beer and a cigar, and sitting down next to the still panting and huffing Keith to finish the game. Marty could make this work, though. He’d pay a visit to Keith’s sons soon, once he was sure these two were well under his thumb, and his new family would be nearly complete.


It had been a bigger change than Marty had planned on for Bobby, and he was a bit concerned that he might try and push back against the magic, but for the rest of the weekend, everything progressed smoothly. If anything, Bobby was revelling in his new found authority and power over his new son, humiliating and abusing him all day long, cementing Keith’s new role as the family loser more and more. But much to Marty’s surprise, the change to Bobby was having an impact on him as well.

Apparently, by making him his dad’s favorite son, that changed some of his own past in the process. Over the rest of the weekend, as his dad showed him his new found affection, pleasing his favorite boy as much as he could, while he did everything he could to punish Keith, Marty found he was losing weight, and putting on muscle. New memories came to him of playing football in high school at his father’s urging–it clashed uncomfortably with his other, older memories of being kicked out of school at Keith’s father’s behest. Needless to say, Marty was thrilled that he could be affected as well, and once he realized the effect it was having, he pushed his dad, and himself, to be more manly, more masculine, both of them sprouting thick beards and bigger cocks, ending Sunday night with a family spit roast in their leather gear–father and his favorite son skewering the family pig at both ends, while they both smoked their favorite cigars, before dragging him down into the basement dungeon, where they took turns flogging him until the pig’s puny cock exploded in delight against the wall.

Marty had spent a bit of time trying to work out how to get the rest of the family under the portraits influence as well. Talking to his friend, the portrait was bound to the house–it would only affect people while they were here. That meant he had to figure out some way to get Keith’s other two sons, Jack and Eric, over here–but neither of his older sons wanted anything to do with him. In the end, the situation with Bobby, now Bob, created a solution to the problem. When Bobby didn’t return to his mother’s house on Sunday night, and with no word from Keith, and after a call to the police turned up no record of her son at all, she asked Jack and Eric to check up on Bobby and make sure he was alright, and to bring him home.

And so, Monday evening there was a pounding on the door. Bob and Keith were downstairs taking care of some discipline, and so it was Marty who opened the door, and found both of his nephews standing on the doorstep, looking rather angry. “Marty,” Jack said, “Is Bobby here?”

“Bobby?” Marty asked, a bit confused. He’d almost forgotten that his father downstairs had been a teenager a couple days before this. 

“Stupid fucking freaks, where the hell is he?” Eric said, shoving his way inside and looking for Bobby in the living room and kitchen. Jack followed after him, and Marty shut the door, smiling that his next two targets had entered the web so willingly.

“Boys, I think you’re confused. Who’s Bobby?”

“Our brother, you know who.”

“Are you sure? I don’t think I had any boys other than you two,” Marty said, looking up at the portrait up above the fireplace, watching the image of both young men materialize in front of Keith for a moment, but Marty had a better idea. Keith was a loser pig, and these boys didn’t deserve that. No–he had a better idea for both of them, that he’d been mulling over for the past couple of days, and with some focus, he watched the images of them scooch over, and take their place in front of him instead. These were going to be his son’s now, and he would raise them just right.

He saw that slight daze come over both of them as the portrait took hold of them, and smiled. “Come on boys, I know you’ve had a long day at work on the site. Crack open a beer and let’s have some family time, while Grandpa’s taking care of your uncle downstairs.”

“What…no, we….we came here for…for Bobby,” Jack said, trying to push through.

“No, you’ve been working on the construction site all day, like usual. Now you’re home, where you belong, with your family. You’re thinking of Bob, your grandpa. You two aren’t too bright, I know you can get confused easily.”

Marty was a bit worried that they’d put up as big a fight as Bobby had, but he watched as Eric’s clothes shifted to some grungy workwear and boots covered in dust and dirt, and seeing it happen to his brother, Jack changed quickly after that. Apparently, the two of them had a good affinity for each other–Marty could work with that too. The two of them followed Marty over to the sofa and sat down together, while he got the remote, fiddled with it, and found an old boxing match to put on. “There we go, that’s what you boys like, isn’t it? A good bout, right?”

Jack and Eric watched the fight go on, while Marty kept talking.

“Yeah, the two of you have always been fighting each other, ever since you were kids. I was always hollering at you two to cut it out, but that just seemed to encourage you. But you’re both sadists, just like me and your grandpa–it shouldn’t have surprised me, I suppose, all the roughhousing. You two were always so easily matched though–identical twins, and damn, did both of you grow big and strong, just like the real men of the family.”

Jack gave a groan, and was the first to pull his cock free of his pants, with Eric following along soon after. The two of them were swelling larger now, packing on a substantial layer of beef across their chest, arms and legs as they grew larger, topping six and a half feet. Their features were melding together–Jack’s hair lightened to the color Eric’s shaggy brown mop, while Eric’s eyes grew more sucken and his brow grew in to match Jack’s own forehead. 

“Fucking inseparable, the two of you. Always have been. Only way I can tell you apart at this point is that Jack, you lost both of your front teeth to a game of backyard football when you were fourteen, and Eric, you pissed Jack off so much a year later he pummelled your face and flattened that nose of yours to your face. But you love each other, deeply. Been catching the two of your fucking around with one another for years now, and I swear you know what the other is thinking half the time. Of course, both of you are such dimwits that it makes sense the two of you would only have one brain between the two of you.”

At the same time, their hands moved and took hold of each other’s cocks, and the two boys moaned simultaneously. One eye each still on the screen, taking in the blows of the bout, obviously excited at the bloodsport, they leaned in and started kissing each other, pressing closer, Eric wheezing through his busted nose, his tongue sliding through the familiar gap in the middle of Jack’s teeth.

“That’s it you two. Fuck, I couldn’t be more pround of my two handsome, dirty, sadistic boys. Hardly ever showering you, pretty much always have a thick cloud of musk and cigar smoke clinging to you, covered in dirt, but not so much that we can’t all see the riot of matching tattoos the two of you have gotten over the years together, all over your arms, your chest, even your cocks have twin snakes down the length of them,” Marty said, came around the front of the couch, and climbed up, one foot between each boy’s legs, his cock thrust between their faces, his twins slobbering all over their new father’s cock as the portrait swirled, coming more and more into focus, the old Jack and Eric fading away, and replaced by the two massive twin bruisers parked on either side of their massive father. “But most of all, you two boys love your Daddy, don’t you? You’ll both do anything for me, without a moment’s hesitation–and your Grandpa too. We’re the only guys who ever fuck you–aside from each other. But that’s what guys in a family do for each other, right? Besides, I know how the two of you love to fight over my cock.”

Jack won the day not long after that, taking his dad’s cock in his mouth while he shoved his brother’s face lower, Eric relenting and lapping at Marty’s balls until he exploded in Jack’s mouth. He pulled free and fed the load to Eric, the two of them sharing it, watching it drool into their tangled brown beards. “Fuck dad, you’re so fuckin’ hot,” Eric said when they pulled free, “Can I suck it next time?”

“You know the rules boys, Daddy likes watching you fight for it,” Marty said, getting down from the couch. “Now come on, let’s go see how grandpa’s work on your pig uncle is going.”

They all went down into the basement dungeon, where they found grandpa with his flogger, coated with a sheen of sweat, laying into Keith’s back with a whip. The smell of blood and sweat mingled in the air, and from his sons’ panting, Marty could tell the scent was getting them excited. “Hey dad, Eric and Jack are home from work, why don’t you let the youngin’s take over for a bit?”

Bob looked over his shoulder, confused for a moment, but the magic took hold after a moment, and he remembered his two grandson’s properly. “Sounds good to me–I think the pig’s just getting warmed up, isn’t that right?”

He walked around, and there was a puddle of cum under Keith from where he’d lost any number of loads already, but from the look of bliss across his face and his still rock hard little cock, it was clear he was ready and eager for more punishment. “Fuck yeah boys, come teach your naughty pig uncle a lesson already,” he said, leering at the two of them. Jack and Eric stripped down repositioned Keith so his hands were together and suspended from the ceiling, pulled tight enough he couldn’t quite touch his entire feet to the ground, and then started using him as a punching bag, one twin punching his uncle’s fat gut while the other held him fucking or fingering his ass while he did, and then trading positions. Meanwhile, Marty took a seat where he could watch his boys work, and Bob came over, got down, and started sucking on his son’s cock.

This was shaping up to be a better family that Marty could have ever dreamed of–but it was still missing one last person, he thought. Gary, the old patriarch of the family, was going to have to be given a new position, since Bobby had already taken his. Now with his two sons in place, Marty knew just where to put him, and then, the portrait would be complete.


Over the next day or so, as Marty made sure his twin boys were well cemented in their new lives, he could feel the magic of the portrait beginning to ebb and pull back. If he was going to bring Gary into the fold, he had to do it soon, or he would miss his opportunity. Thankfully, Gary still lived in town, though his years as a councilman were behind him at this point. He’d used his local connections well though, ending up on the board of a sizable corporation, doing very well for himself. It was time, in Marty’s opinion, to take the old man down a few notches. The disjoint between the two realities–between the portrait and how things used to be–made it difficult to see how to get him close enough for the magic to work on him. After making a call or two, he didn’t even recognize Keith as his son, whether that was because of the magic, or because he wanted nothing to do with a pig like Keith, well, it didn’t matter that much.

In the end, the simplest solution proved to be best. Marty told his two sons to go get the old man and bring him back here, no matter what it took. It took a little breaking and entering, and a little bit of a beating, but not long after midnight, Jack and Eric returned with a well bound, and slightly bloody Gary between them, that they dragged into the house. 

“What the fuck is this? Do you fucking know who I am?” Gary shouted when Marty pulled the gag from his mouth. “Is this about money? Well, you’re not getting any, you’ll all fucking rot in jail!”

“No Gary, this isn’t about money,” Marty said, “This is a family matter. You remember your son Keith, don’t you?”

Keith stepped forward, battered and bruised, stinking of cum and musk, covered in hair. Gary stared at the pig, horrified, but after a moment, there was recollection as well. “K-Keith? What…I…what happened to you?”

Keith, on the other hand, didn’t know who this man was. As far as his simple mind was concerned, Bob had always been his father now. An uncle, maybe? He looked over at Marty, unsure of what to do or say, and the pig knew better than to act without direction from his superiors.

“Yeah, your boy,” Marty said. “Or at least, he was your boy. How about me, Gary? Do you remember me? Marty Hackman, that ring a bell?”

Gary shook his head.

“You ruined my life, Gary. Your son gave me a blowjob in high school, and rather than deal with the fact that your kid liked dick, you decided to demonize me, and get me kicked out of school. Now do you remember Gary?”

Gary’s face went a bit pale, then. “I…What is this, what are you going to do to me?”

“Well, I suppose you could say, I’m going to give you another chance, boy, to do right by your family. Boys, pick him up, bring him into the den, so he can see our family portrait.” Jack and Eric dragged him along, following their dad into the family room, where the portrait was hanging over the fireplace. “There, Gary–doesn’t that look like a happy family?” Marty said, grabbing Gary by the hair and making him look up at the picture, “Still, it’s missing something. It’s missing you, Gary…”

Gary watched as the image began to shimmer, and after a moment, a new image appeared in it, behind Keith and next to Bob–his own image, in fact. “What? How…how did…” Gary said, but trailed off, the magic already taking hold, putting him in a light trance.

“Oh, but that’s not where you belong in the photo Gary, not after everything you’ve done,” Marty said. “No, not someone as petulant as you. As greedy. As cruel and conniving. You don’t get to be the head of this family anymore. But there’s always room for another pig, right nephew?”

Gary watched as the portrait shimmered again, and his image in it moved and shifted, moving from the back beside Bob, down to the front row, in front of Keith and next to Jack and Eric. “How…I don’t understand…”

“I know it’s hard for you, pig’s aren’t very good at thinking, right Keith? You wouldn’t expect a pig son of yours to be any good at thinking hard, would you?”

“No way bro,” Keith said, “No son a mine would be a good thinker. He’d just be a stupid, gluttonous, cocksuckin’ pig like me, if I had anything to say about it.”

“Fuck Gary, you hear what your Daddy is sayin’ about you?” Marty said.

“No, I’m not…I’m not…” Gary said, but watched as the image in the portrait began to change–and to his horror, he could feel his own body begin shifting to match it. Gary, as he had gotten older, had spent his time maintaining his physique as well as he could, and he had quite a reputation as a silver fox. But now, the silver was beginning to fade, and his body began to expand with fat. He pushed back with his hands, trying to stop it, trying to cling to his old self, but he was finding it harder and harder to think, as his mind slowed to a crawl.

“Don’t fight it, pig, you know it’s what you deserve. It’s what you want,” Marty said. “Just a short, obese, hairy, stinking piggy. Not many good genes on that side of the family. You got your daddy’s tiny dick for one thing–hell, we tried to measure it once, but couldn’t really get a good read because of how fat you both are. Hair all over. Your fucking musk could peel paint off the wall, and it doesn’t matter if you shower or not, it comes back in just a few minutes. We don’t mind of course, as family, it doesn’t bother us. All that hair though, and you’re still balding at…how old are you? Twenty two? Ugly fuckin’ mug too, but that can’t be helped. Not many women were willing to have sex with that pigdad of yours. We found one willing, but he couldn’t even get inside her–we had to inseminate. We paid her plenty, of course, but even she thought you were the ugliest baby she’d ever seen. Never wanted to see you again, if she could help it.”

Gary could only watch in horror as everything Marty said came true. He lost a few more inches in height, even as his weight exploded–ending up at five foot six and nearly four hundred pounds of mostly fat. His skin was coated with hair, aside from his hair, which was balding, the rest of it buzzed short. The thick beard on his face did some to conceal his ugly looks, but you couldn’t hide the big nose and ears, the thick brow, the crooked teeth. His clothes had disappeared, but that wasn’t shocking. Pigs didn’t get to wear clothes in the house, and it wasn’t like Gary got to leave that often. Between the stink rolling off him, and his ugly looks, the family decided it was best if the pig just stayed home and took care of the family. 

“But every generation has to have their pig, right? Yer Daddy was my pig, and that means you get to be my boys’ pig. That excites you, of course. Getting to service two big, burly sadists like them, day and night, doing whatever sick, twisted things they want to you. They’ve been training you real well for the last couple of years. Just last month, they finally managed to fit both of their fists inside you at the same damn time. You make my boys so damn happy, and you’re happy doing what you do best, being a stupid, ugly pig cocksucker for your whole damn family.”

Unable to help himself, Gary gave a snort, remembering how happy he’d been, feeling histwin cousin’s fists deep inside him, pummelling his prostate until his little cock jizzed all over his gunt. Across the room, uncle Marty had been busy working over his Daddy with a paddle, working out some sadistic aggression on his ass, turning it bright red. Every once in a while, Keith would shudder and grunt, adding to the pool of cum drooling off the fuck bench he was strapped to. 

“You like being a pig, don’t you Gary?”

“Yeah Uncle Marty, of course I do.”

“You like being your family’s fist hole? Their urinal? Their ashtray? You like how we treat you like a fucking garbage can and cum dump? You love being humiliated.When my boys brought home that tattoo gun, you begged them to use it on you, to mark you as theirs forever. Of course, the only place they could tattoo you where anyone would see it was your face, since the rest of you was so hairy…”

Crude writing appeared across Gary’s face, scrawled there by his cousins over the last few months. Gary didn’t mind. He loved being marked by them, owned by them. What else was there for a pig like him to do anyway? Too stupid to work, too horny all the time to do anything other than beg for sex, he thanked his lucky stars every day that he had been born into a family that understood what a pig like him needed, and treated him right.

“Open pig.”

Gary did as ordered, opened his mouth, and Marty tapped the hot ash from his cigar into his mouth, then shoved his nephew down to his knees. “Open up boy, let me help you wash that down.”

Marty started pissing all over his nephew, watching the young pig chase the stream all over, the rest of it dribbling down into his hairy body. The rest of the family gathered around–even Keith–and added their own piss, baptizing the newest, and youngest member of the family as one of their own. Marty could feel the magic thrumming around him and through him–this was the last one, he could already feel it beginning to seal, but he had gotten what he wanted. He pushed Gary down, climbed on top of him, and drove his cock into his loose hole, Gary grunting with excitement as his uncle took him for the first time, for the hundredth time, he didn’t know. All he knew anymore was that he was a horny, cockhungry pig, and he was here to service his family as they required. Gary’s hole wasn’t tight, but Marty was so horny he didn’t last long. He exploded deep in Gary’s hole, and felt the magic contract and solidify around all of them. Looking up, the portrait was still there, but perfectly stable now–but a piece of artwork, nothing more. 

“Come on boys, let’s get these pigs downstairs. I think we’re just getting warmed up, right?”

Everyone hollered in agreement, and dragged Keith and Gary down to the basement, for their nightly ritual. None of them could be happier, of course, especially Marty, whose own memories were fading away, and had disappeared by dawn. He had what he’d always wanted, a loving family. A perverted, stinking, roughneck family of pigs, sure, but a family all the same.

(Caption) Halloween Nightmares V

October Caption Challenge (23/31)

What a treat for a dream imp! Two young men, asleep in the back seat of their father’s car during a long road trip. Pulling two men into the realm of nightmares at once was difficult, which is why the imp rarely did so, but the stronger the connection between the two, the easier it would be to bring them together.

Kyle and Steve were brothers, sure, but they were also rivals, and had been their entire life. Encouraged by their father, both of them were challenged to one-up each other in whatever athletic contest he might decide. As such, the brothers were both well built, athletically accomplished young men, who, on a certain level, despised one another.

And so, they began to dream. Kyle found himself in a dungeon, full of all manner of painful devices. Steve was in the center, chained up and unable to move. Before Kyle could move to help him, a voice told him to stop. He turned, and saw his father in the corner of the room–no, not his father, not quite his father, the face kept…sliding away from him, the eyes were red, the teeth too sharp.

“Come now, Kyle,” his not-father said, “Don’t you want to show me what a good boy you are? Don’t you want to punish your brother? Show me what you can do?”

Kyle…didn’t, not at first, but then, there was a flogger in his hand, and he started bringing it down on his brother’s back, and fuck, it felt good, thinking about all the times he hadn’t measured up. He was the oldest brother, he should be the one to be the best, but then why did he lose? As he pounded on his brother’s flesh, he didn’t notice that Steve was beginning to change, his muscle growing thicker, his body hair and beard filling in, his cries of pain now punctuated with the occasional moan of delight. 

Then, a whistle, and before Kyle even knew what was happening, he was there in the middle of the room, in chains, and his brother–his larger, hairier, brutish brother, was leering at him, cock leaking, his not-father’s red eyes gleaming in the shadows. “Now now, you boys take turns, alright?”

Steve set on him with the floggers, with the paddles, with the clamps, with slaps and fists. At first, all Kyle could feel was the pain, all of it excruciating. But then, buds of pleasure, then full blossoms, as his body grew, piling on muscle, piling on scar, piling on hair. When it was time to switch once more, he could see that Steve had grown just as hungry for it as he had–and he would be sure to give his brother as much pleasure as he possibly could.

And on the road, his sons quiet for so long, the father looked back and discovered the back seat vacant–yet he hadn’t stopped, and there was nowhere for his son’s to have gone. He was blamed, of course–there was no other explanation, but if his boys ever did make it back to the mortal plane, they never crossed paths with him, that he knew of.

Frat Daddy – Interlude #3 (Carter’s Rebellion)

This interlude was a commission, and involves a bit of a time jump. Don’t worry, we’ll return and pick up Coach Mason’s tale another time. I’d also recommend reading the first interlude, which has the beginnings of Carter’s journey. If you’d like a commission like this one, you can find out more details here!


Fall was slowly shifting to Winter around the two houses. The leaves had fallen and been raked up by the boys, classes were gearing up for finals, some were eyeing the oncoming Winter break with a nervous glance, since it was unlikely that the Frat Daddy would simply allow the boys to return home to their families without some humiliating expectations of behavior to follow. But other boys were struggling for other reasons–and one of those boys was Carter. These last few months had been a whirlwind, from losing his hair, to finding himself under Daddy’s paddle and whip, finding himself beaten down and built back up again by Sarge on a regular basis in the dungeon. Some weeks, he felt like he could take on the world. Other weeks, he ached from the bruises, welts and cuts on his body, from his muscles and bones working through another growth spurt, and wondered how he could want this, if he was broken for wanting it at all. Other weeks, all he could do was stare at the other boys, frustrated that he couldn’t take his budding sadism out on them, as Daddy did to him. He’d look at himself in the mirror, miss his hair, no longer knowing what he wanted, or who he wanted to be. Just a mass of sensation, rudderless, no consistent identity from one day to the next. 

Maybe that was why it happened. Or maybe, it was the dreams that had been plaguing him most every night, the visions of being stripped and hung in Daddy’s dungeon, flesh and soul peeling away from him with every strike of the lash until there was nothing left of him, just a dull buzz of…something in the back of his mind, something trying to pull him together. Or maybe it was Daddy wishing for him to understand, to see what Daddy saw in him, consciously or unconsciously. But whatever the reason it happened, one Friday morning, wondering if he’d be able to spend another weekend with Daddy again, wondering if he wanted to spend another weekend with him, he found himself mostly thinking about his hair. He’d be lying, if he said he didn’t miss it. He understood, somewhat, why Daddy did it…but at this point, hadn’t he proven to him that he was more than just his hair? Couldn’t Daddy at least let him grow it out again, instead of keeping his scalp shaved down every single day? It didn’t help that his beard wasn’t growing in as thick as he would have liked. His blonde coloring just didn’t stand out enough, making it look like thin, long, peach fuzz.

He looked away from the mirror, and felt something familiar brush against the back of his neck. When he turned back around, he was shocked to see his hair! It was growing in again, faster and thicker than it had before, still that perfect golden blonde that so many girls had gone wild for in high school and college, before Daddy had taken over. He ran his hands through it and gave it a tug, but it was real. How was this even possible? Looking at himself, he noticed that his beard was also filling in and growing. It finally passed through that awkward fuzzy stage and became a thick, blonde beard that reached down to his chest.

“D-Daddy?” he asked, but the room was empty–most of the other boys in the house were eating downstairs or in class. He looked back at the mirror, and then down at himself. If Daddy hadn’t done this, then…had it been him? As a little test, he thought about being bigger–thicker and taller really, and he felt his body surge outwards and respond to him, packing on muscle, his harness growing tight against his body. As he ran his hands over himself, another boy, named Ryan, came up the stairs and into the communal bedroom–and froze when he saw Carter in front of him. “C-Carter?” he asked, “Your…hair, man, how…”

Could he…change others? “Ryan–get over here and bend over, I’m fucking horny,” Carter said with a grin, and watched as Ryan did exactly as he ordered, bending over the side of his bed, and allowing Carter to pull his plug out with a pop. Ryan almost never got fucked in the house–he was too careful, but Carter had gotten him a few times. But now, he’d just…given up! Given up, because Carter had ordered him to. The rush he felt then–the sensation of power and domination over another. He loved fucking Ryan’s hole then, but nothing compared to watching that boy obey him without a single question. “Feels good, doesn’t it Ryan? You want me inside you more often, don’t you? You want me inside you as much as you can get me, got it?” he said, and Ryan started moaning and panting louder, pushing back as Carter fucked him, until he came deep in his ass–but when he pulled out, Ryan turned around, cock hard in his jockstrap, and begged him for more, his eyes betraying a terror and frustration that his mouth couldn’t articulate, but Carter was so lost in the pleasure of control that he didn’t even notice it. “Come on Ryan, let’s go see how the boys downstairs are doing. Maybe if they get me horny enough, I’ll fuck you again, would you like that?”

“Yes Sir, more than anything,” Ryan said, following along meekly as Carter went downstairs, eager to have some fun with the boys before Daddy came over in the evening.


Ethan had finished his dinner, dressed himself in his gear, and selected a cigar. With one last look in the mirror to ensure he was holding himself to the same standard he held his boys to, he went downstairs to his dungeon and crossed through the tunnel between his own home and the frat house next door, mulling over his decision again. He’d had most of the boys over at least once at this point, sometimes one on one, and sometimes together, enough to have introduced them all to the specialized plans that Daddy had for their budding manhood. Carter though–he was the exception. While he hadn’t come over every weekend, Daddy had devoted a potentially unfair amount of attention to the budding masochist over the last few months. While he wanted him again this weekend, for his own selfish ends as well as for Carter’s growth, he had decided against it. Carter had hit a wall over the last couple of weeks, one that Daddy was familiar with. He was wrestling with himself, with what he wanted to be, and it was best to let him rest for some time, to sort it out in his own time. If he pushed him too hard, it wouldn’t help anything.

He came out of the tunnel in the gym under the frat house, and that was the first indication that something was amiss–there was no one down there working out. Usually, on a Friday night, many of the boys would be down here working off their dinner, some of them working out while they smoked to take the edge off their horniness without having to fuck–or for the couple of boys in chastity at the moment, because they couldn’t. But there was no one. Guarded, he climbed the stairwell that led up to the living room, and found himself looking at the entire house of boys, all of them clustered around Carter, who was sprawled on a chaise, every single boy in the house worshipping him, with Ryan on top, fucking himself on Carter’s cock, moaning in ecstasy.

“Boys, Line up!” Daddy called, and that was enough to jolt them to their senses. Most of the boys did as commanded, some of them looking a bit…confused or scared, like they’d been caught in the act of something wrong. Carter did not line up with them, but instead stepped forward, his long hair and beard soaked with sweat from the hour long orgy he’d instigated with the rest of the house–well, commanded, really. Carter had been waiting for this, hoping his Daddy would be proud of him, but what he saw in Daddy’s eyes wasn’t appreciation, it was the sort of scowl he reserved for the boys who truly misbehaved. “Carter, what is the meaning of this? Where the fuck did that hair come from? You know that is a violation of the house dress code.”

“I…I grew it, Daddy,” Carter said. “I…I thought it was you.”

“Tell me what happened boy,” Daddy said, and Carter did–told him about how he’d grown his hair, about the power he had over the rest of the boys, the same sort of power that Daddy had himself. 

“Can’t you see Daddy? I’m a man now! Like you said I would be one day, I’m…like you. I can help you!”

Daddy sighed. “Carter, come here–stand with me and look at the boys in the line.”

Carter did as he was told, but wasn’t sure what he was looking at.

“They’re scared, Carter. They’re scared of you.”

Carter looked again, and he understood then. None of them would meet his eyes. Some turned away, out of fear or shame, or perhaps both. “Well, they should be afraid of me,” Carter said. “They should be afraid of both of us.”

The slap shocked him. It wasn’t the first time Daddy had done so, usually when Carter mouthed off in the dungeon, but never publicly, and never quite that hard. “No–that is not what we do. That is not what I do. We do not use fear, not here, not between us. Power, yes, but never fear. Get downstairs, Carter–we have to figure out what’s going on here, and how to stop this…power of yours.”

“What? No!” Carter said, “I…I thought you would be proud of me.”

“Carter,” Daddy said, resting his hands on his shoulders, “You are still so young, and so new. Gifted, yes, but you are wading into waters far too deep for you to handle yet. I’m not angry–I understand, but you need to listen to me. We have to fix this, alright? I cannot allow what you have done here tonight to stand. Now come with me, and we will sort this out.”

Ethan inflected that last sentence as an order,, with a sliver of will from the amulet around his neck, but he felt Carter shrug it off without much effort. “Let go of me,” Carter said in response, and the force of it caught Daddy off guard. He removed his hands, and Carter stepped back. “You’re weak. You were always weak. I’m stronger than you, I bet. Why don’t you get down on your knees and kiss my feet, Daddy? Maybe a few days servicing me will help you appreciate my power a little better.”

The young man was strong, but Ethan felt the command slide off him without him so much as flexing a knee. When he didn’t bend, he saw the kernel of fear that Carter had been hiding in his eyes grow a bit larger, and he took another step back. 

“I said kneel!” Carter said again, but again, Daddy was unbent, even as every boy in the line off to the side collapsed to their knees at the force of the command.

“This is not power, Carter, this is a tantrum. Get downstairs now, or I will drag you down there myself.”

Carter found that he had to flex all of the will he could muster just to shrug off Daddy’s command–he would lose if this kept up. He had to get out of here. He bolted for the front door, and was out and down the steps before Daddy could make it onto the porch. 

“God damn it boy, get your ass back in this house!” Daddy shouted at him. Carter felt the pull, but sprinted harder, dragging free of it. There, on the street, a motorcycle. Had it been there, or was this a wish of his own? He didn’t know how to ride it, but with a wish, he was dressed in leathers and a helmet, hopped on, and sped off down the street. He made it a few blocks before he had to pull over, rip the helmet off, and sob. He would show him, one day soon. He’d show Daddy just what kind of man he was. He’d be back, and when he did–Daddy would be the one kneeling before him, begging for forgiveness.


Ethan stood on the porch and watched Carter roar off down the road. He probably could have caught him, brought him back, but he decided not to–it was more important to tend to the boys and make sure they were ok, in any case. Back inside, the boys were rattled, but mostly resilient. Daddy canceled training that weekend, and spent the next couple of days with the boys, focusing more on making sure they felt cared for, smoking together, lying around with them, seeing to their course work, talking with them. Many asked about Carter, about what Daddy would do about him, but Daddy told them not to worry. Carter had needed space from him–but apparently, he’d needed more space than even Daddy had anticipated. One way or another, he would be back. All Daddy could hope, was that when he returned, he’d come back with a new understanding. Otherwise, there might not be a choice, other than to fight.

He sat with the amulet and meditated with it, trying to uncover how, or when, Carter had been given that strange power. In the end, nothing revealed itself which was troubling itself. If Ethan couldn’t understand how he had gifted Carter his power, then that meant he would have to be ready for it to happen again with the other boys. The weekend passed, and Carter didn’t return. Daddy spent the evenings out on the porch with a whiskey and a cigar, ready and waiting to see that motorcycle come back–but it didn’t come. After a week, Ethan began to wonder if he might be gone for good–or that perhaps something else had happened. In any case, there was nothing he could gain from worrying over it. In the end, he hung up the vigil, and things settled back down into a new normal.

Thanksgiving was coming closer, and Daddy and the boys were getting ready for the feast–none of them could return home to see their families, Daddy said, and while many were disappointed, they had found themselves growing closer to one another, and to Daddy–enough that to some of them, this felt more like their family than their old one ever had. It was Monday night andEthan had been out late shopping. Sure, he could just make the food appear if he wanted to, but he didn’t like to rely on it for the mundane. He believed it was better to retain a bit of humility, as a reminder. When he pulled up in front of the house, there was the bike. It had obviously been well travelled over the last few weeks, the wheels coated with dust and mud. Still, Carter wouldn’t have parked it here if he’d planned on jumping him. That either meant he’d come to his senses, or he’d grown powerful enough that he thought he could take Daddy without the element of surprise.

The door had been unlocked–not surprising, with Carter’s power. Daddy took a few minutes to put the food away, and just listened. He couldn’t hear much, but he could smell smoke wafting up from the dungeon below. Once the groceries were stashed away, Daddy took a cigar from his humidor, lit it, and went downstairs to meet his lost boy.

Carter was there, sitting in the bondage chair, a cigar in one hand, and a glass of whiskey balanced on the arm rest. He looked about as rough as the bike did–hair greasy and unwashed, longer than it had been in the house, reaching almost to the small of his back. His beard had grown out as well, down to his belly–or rather, a gut. Carter looked up at him as he entered, and Daddy saw that Carter was not the same boy that he’d been when he’d left. He was older–not as old as Daddy, but easily in his thirties. His skin weathered from hours riding under the sun. He shuffled his feet, and downed most of his glass of whiskey. “Hi…Daddy,” he said, finally.

“Welcome back, boy. I was worried about you,” Daddy said, and pulled over a chair to face Carter.

“You…didn’t come after me. If you were worried, why didn’t you look?”

“You needed space,” Daddy said. “Me chasing you wouldn’t have made you stop running, and it wouldn’t have helped the rest of the boys either. They needed me here more than you needed me coming after you.”

Carter looked a bit pained, like the reason was so obvious now, and the fact that he hadn’t seen it only made him feel worse. “Are…they all ok?”

“Yes, for the most part. I don’t know if they’ll be happy to see you, but they’re ok.”

“I came…I mean…I tried, I really did,” Carter said, and the first of the tears fell then. Daddy held back–but it was painful to watch all the same. “All I wanted was to be like you. To be strong like you are. I thought…if I could do it to others, then I must be, but god, I fucked up, I fucked up…”

“You did.”

“Not just the house, out there. I thought it was complicated here, but out there–fuck.”

Daddy nodded. 

“You were right. I wasn’t ready. I’m just a kid, but the more I felt that way, the older I got, and I…I don’t know if I can go back, it won’t let me go back.”

“You can’t go back, Carter. There’s no erasing what you did. All you can do is go forward.”

“Please, I want to be a boy again. Help me try again, I’ll be better, I’ll listen this time.”

Daddy chuckled, and took a drag off his cigar, “But if you went back, you won’t know why you needed to listen, would you?”

Carter’s head sank. “So…I’m stuck? Like this? For good?”

“Well, I don’t know about that,” Daddy said, and stood up. “I can try something, I think–but you have to trust me, like you did that first day–can you do that? You have to want this to be right, more than you want to feel ashamed, and guilty, and depressed. You have to believe that I can offer you something else.”

Daddy walked over, and started fastening Carter’s wrists and ankles to the arms and legs of the bondage chair, then slipped a blindfold over his eyes. He went to the wall, took down a pair of scissors, and bundled up Carter’s hair into his fist. “What do you want me to do, boy?”

“Please Daddy–cut my hair. I…I haven’t earned the right to wear it yet.”

“I will boy–but listen to me. When I cut this hair from you, I will sever you from your power–this power. Concentrate on that. It will be sealed away inside you, until you are allowed to grow this again, properly. And when that power is sealed, you will be renewed, do you understand? You will be a boy again–you will be my boy again.”

“Yes Sir, I understand Sir.”

Ethan cut through the hair–but it was harder than the first time. The grease didn’t help, but the power was resisting as well. He had to draw on his own, push it down into the blades of the shears, but they finally cut through, and Carter let out a sob of relief. Daddy kept cutting, working around the strap of the blindfold, and when he’d clipped as close as he could, he shaved Carter bald once again–but he left the beard. A token, perhaps, but in all honesty, it was vanity. It looked good–and the boy would need something to remind him of this.

He removed the restraints, led Carter in front of the mirror, and took off the blindfold–and Carter gasped in relief. He was young again. Himself again. He collapsed to his knees, and kissed Daddy’s boots, thanking him for another chance. Daddy got down with him, and pulled him close, giving him a kiss, running his fingers through his still grungy beard. “I’m proud of you,” Daddy said.

Carter didn’t say anything back–he clearly didn’t understand how Daddy could be proud of him, after what he’d done.

“You came back, boy. You came back–but more than that, you were man enough to admit that you’d been wrong. You surrendered to me not because you had to, but because you want to. And that shows that you are stronger than nearly every man I have ever met–and you’re still just a boy, for now. But one day, I can already tell, you’re going to make a great Daddy yourself. Maybe even a Frat Daddy like me.”

“I…Thank you Sir, I’d…be honored.”

“But first, there’s the small matter of your punishment, I believe.”

“I’ll take whatever you deem necessary Sir.”

“Oh, you’ll take a beating from me, yes. But first, I think the other boys have a right to first crack at you. Get up–you’re going on that cross. Every boy in the house is getting a flogging lesson tonight–and you’re the meat–got it?”

Carter gulped, but they both saw his cock jump at the thought. And once all the boys in the house had gotten a chance to take a little bit of their frustration and shame out on the now powerless Carter, they were all more than happy to take him back into the fold. And for Thanksgiving, they were all thankful for Daddy–but none more so that Carter, at Daddy’s right hand. He knew what he was now, without a doubt. It would take time, and training, and practice, and diligence, but he’d be a Daddy too, one day–it was the only thing he wanted to be. The only thing he could be. But he’d do it right, and he knew that with Daddy guiding him, he’d grow to be the best man he could possibly be.

Frat Daddy – Interlude #1 (Carter)

So, given the answers on the last survey, I found that the chapters were going to be too rushed if I tried to fit everything in, but I was also a bit hesitant to have this story turn into some massive monstrosity. That said, I’ve been getting good feedback on it, I’ve been enjoying it, and so I figured I might as well embrace it and just let it get larger until I get a bit sick of it. This is the first interlude in the story, which are little asides, as Daddy takes the boys, one or two at a time, and gives them some private sessions of various kinds. There won’t be any surveys after these interludes, only after the chunks that advance the narrative further. I considered making some of these interludes Patron Only, but for now, I’ll go ahead and post them publicly.


On Friday night, the boys lined up in the living room, and Daddy came before them and considered them all quietly. None of the young men quite knew how to feel about this. Daddy had told them that, each weekend, he would select one or two boys to spend the weekend with him at his house next door, but it wasn’t clear whether this would be considered a punishment or a reward. 

“Carter, come along with me. The rest of you are dismissed.”

Carter gulped, but at the same time, he found himself…excited. Ever since that moment in the bathroom, where he’d allowed Daddy to cut off all of his hair, he’d found himself adrift, no longer sure of who he was, or what he was doing, or who he was becoming. But one thing he knew for sure, was that he would follow Daddy wherever he lead him. Daddy had apparently sensed the same thing in him, or perhaps something else. Carter followed him down into the basement, through the tunnel connecting the two houses together, and back up into Daddy’s home. Carter was scared, but doing his best to not show it too badly. Daddy saw his nerves, and pulled him into a hug. 

“No need to fret tonight. We’ll have dinner, have a smoke, talk a bit. Tomorrow, I have something special planned however. I think you’ll enjoy it.”

Daddy cooked for them both. It was strange, seeing the figure who had spent all week dominating them doing something so domestic and ordinary. It was also the first real food that Carter had tasted in a week. The shakes from the machine weren’t bad–but they also weren’t this delicious. Regardless of what might come tomorrow, he would at least relish this. After they’d eaten, they adjourned to Daddy’s smoking room lined with humidors, smoked a cigar together, and spoke. Well, Daddy asked Carter questions, and he answered them as best he could. Questions about his youth, about his family, about manhood, about what he wanted. Questions that Carter couldn’t really answer anymore. He’d grown up in a rather free spirited family, independently wealthy, one of two children with enough freedom that they could both pursue whatever they wanted. He’d thought he’d wanted that freedom–the hair had been an expression of that, certainly. Now, he wasn’t so sure.

They finished their smokes, and Carter expected Daddy to ravage him at last, but instead, he led him to a guest room, and told him to sleep well. It was going to be a long day tomorrow, and he’d need his sleep. Carter didn’t think he’d be able to sleep at all, but was surprised that, as soon as his head hit the pillow, he was out, and didn’t wake up until Daddy knocked on his door the next morning. They ate a light breakfast, but the nerves had returned, and Carter found it hard to eat, wondering what Daddy had in store for him today. He knew better than to ask–Daddy would tell him when he was ready for Carter to know.

Then, Daddy spoke to him, said…something, and Carter…couldn’t recall what happened next. But when he was next aware of what was happening to him, he was in darkness–total darkness. He was upright, his hands shackled and strung to the ceiling with chains, from what he could hear. His legs also had shackles on them, with a bar between them, keeping them spread apart, and also bolted to the floor. There was light then, and…Daddy walked in, but not…not Daddy. He wasn’t Daddy right now. Right now…he was Sarge. The leather uniform was gone, replaced by a pair of fatigues, combat boots, and a cap. 

Ethan stepped into the room, took a drag on his cigar, and admired the boy for a moment where he was suspended in the middle of his dungeon. Carter was a handsome man, well built, with a small coating of hair on his chest and a modest bush around a sizable cock, and a heavy sack below. He was looking at him now, eyes wide with something between fear and helpless arousal, as he tried to take in what was happening to him now. “I…Sarge…” he said, and the word sent a jolt right to Ethan’s cock, “What am I doing here?”

“What you told me last night, Cadet, none of that surprises me. You lack structure and discipline. You crave it, but without a real man giving it to you, you have become shaggy and overgrown, both outside and inside. I’m going to train you into something new, into a proper man–isn’t that what you want boy?”

Ethan had stepped into the room, and as he spoke, ran a hand along Carter’s stomach, bulging a bit from his new diet, but still plenty firm. Carter flinched at the touch, and then shuddered a bit as the hand came around to his back, was joined by another one, and ran down the whole of his back down to his ass, groping and pinching enough to make him wince slightly. “I…I don’t know, Sir…”

“Why did you let me cut your hair, cadet?”

“Because…in the mirror. I…I didn’t want to become that…that person.”

“And what did you see in the mirror? What scared you more there, than the prospect of me cutting off that beautiful hair,” Ethan said, and ran his hand over Ethan’s scalp, feeling the young man shudder again, his young cock pulsing slightly. 

“I…I was old.”

“Everyone gets old,” Ethan said, and gave Carter a sharp slap on the ass, making him gasp, “What did you see! Be honest boy.”

“He…he was a loser, Sir.”

Another sharp smack, another gasp.

“He didn’t have anything left! There…there was nothing, I don’t know what you want me to say Sir, I don’t know, I just…I couldn’t…”

Ethan stepped around, and looked the boy in the eye. Carter flinched like Ethan had struck him again, and dropped his eyes almost immediately. 

“He…you…I didn’t want to look like that Sir. I…wanted to be like you. He looked like he had no control, over anything. But you…Sir…you can control…anyone. I…I want that.”

“Then the first thing you have to learn, Cadet, is self-control,” Ethan said, grabbed hold of Ethan’s nipples in his hands, and tightened the pinch slowly. Almost immediately, Carter began to groan and try and twist away, but Ethan was relentless, tightening, and twisting, with a slight pull, until Carter was begging him to stop–but Ethan just held him there, until he looked at him again, and he saw the fear in his eyes.

“You have no control here. I can do whatever I want to you. You have no choice but to submit to me. The one thing you can control here, is yourself. Your anger. Your pain. Your pleasure. Your fear. Master all of those, and there is nothing I can do to you that will touch you.” Ethan released his tits then, and Carter sighed, and Ethan grabbed hold of Carter’s cock in one hand–and Carter realized he was…hard. Rock hard.

“You seem to have betrayed yourself, Cadet. Do you like having those tits of yours tortured?” Ethan said, and while one hand stroked the young man’s cock slowly, he twisted one tit again…and this time, Carter felt something unexpected. There was pleasure twisted up with the pain now, and he gasped, unsure of which sensation brought it forth. His cock spasmed, and precum shot from the head all over the back of Ethan’s hand. He pulled it away, and wiped it across Carter’s face. “Today, I’m going to show you something else. I’m going to show you just how little control you have over yourself. It will be up to you, do decide if you want to develop the will after that.”

Carter tried to reply, but Ethan pushed a gag into his mouth, secured it around the back of his head, and began. He started with his tits–pumping them first, and then when Carter was moaning, a puddle of precum collecting underneath him, he tugged the pumps off, clipped each of them, and added a weight. His balls were next. Ethan tugged them away from Carter’s body, secured a leather parachute around them, and began adding weight, little by little, until Carter was dribbling pre in an almost constant stream, begging Sarge for release–unsure if he was begging him to allow him to cum, or begging him to let him go, because the pain was growing more excruciatingly exciting. 

Sarge stepped back and admired his work, the boy’s body slick with sweat now, breath quick, cock hard and red and angry and eager to shoot–but not yet. No, not yet. He picked up a paddle from the wall, went around behind him, and went to work on the boy’s ass, each swat causing his body to jolt forward, his the weight on his balls and tits swinging away from him, picking up a rhythm, the boy descending into heaving, gasping, mindless emotion. “Look how easily I’ve broken you, Cadet. I’ve turned you into my little pain pig in less than an hour. I could do whatever I want to do to you, cause you any amount of pain that I want, and you’d beg for more, wouldn’t you? Doesn’t it feel good boy? Don’t you want me to hurt you more?”

Carter couldn’t speak through the gag, but he found himself nodding vigorously. He…did need more. He needed it. Sarge pulled a flogger down next, and began pounding at the boy’s back, sending shockwaves through his body, until he was shaking and shuddering, an orgasm unlike anything he’d ever experienced ripping through him, centered on his forehead, while his cock just kept leaking. Every swing while he convulsed was just more pleasure piled on top of pleasure, and when Daddy stopped swinging, Carter shook, the absence of pain somehow more painful than the beating had been. 

While the bar between his feet was bolted to the floor in the middle, it could swivel–and Sarge spun the young man around so he was facing behind him now–and again, Carter found himself face to face with a mirror, and again, the reflection looking back at him…it wasn’t his own. It was another future, and while his ego was horrified, the part of him that was growing more and more addicted to pain looked at himself in wonder. At the balls stretched down between his thighs, the scrotum covered his studs and rings. The tits tortured so much that they looked like small sausages, pierced through with six or sever rings each. His cock, no longer able to even get hard unless he was being tortured, also pierced all over. His body was completely hairless and pale, and he could see the bruises and welts from sessions with his Master. But it was the eyes that scared him the most. The acceptance, the eagerness, the anticipation. He could feel it now, welling up inside him, how you could become lost in this, if you weren’t careful. Lose yourself and never find your way back again.

“What do you think, Cadet? Do you want to become my little pain pig? Send you back to the house, make you beg all your brothers to spank you, and beat you, and fuck you until that pain addicted cock finally cums? Pierce you all over, tattoo you, make sure no one will ever be able to mistake you for a man ever again? Is that what you want?” Ethan’s hand wrapped its way around his cock and started stroking. “All you have to do is cum, pig. Cum–and I’ll make all your dreams come true.”

Fuck, it was tempting. Carter stared at the image again, and started swinging gently, feeling the weights on his tits and balls pull away from his body, making his cock stiff and ache for release, but he stopped himself. This…he could have this. He could even want this. But he didn’t. Control–he’d lost control of himself, he was allowing his pain and pleasure to rule him–but this wasn’t the kind of man that he wanted to be. This isn’t what Sarge was offering him. He stopped, took a few deep breaths, and Daddy took the gag from his mouth, allowing him to say, “No Sir. Thank you Sir, for the offer. But I don’t want to be a pig Sarge, I want to be a man, like you.”

Ethan smiled, and Carter knew he’d made the right decision. “That’s my boy–I knew you were stronger than the rest.”

Sarge kissed him then, and the tenderness shocked him, and when Sarge moved again, there was a new image in the mirror. Carter, older, muscled and hairy and strong and firm and confident and all of the things he’d always wanted to be, and Ethan kept stroking. Come on Cadet–shoot for your Sarge. You’ve fucking earned it.” 

Carter exploded at last, shooting a massive load all over the floor of the dungeon, and then Sarge embraced him, holding him tight while he collapsed against him, and he took the weights off his balls and tits, released him from the ceiling, and pulled him to the floor, where Carter shook and cried and laughed and Daddy held him tight, telling him how proud of him he was, that one day, he’d be that man in the mirror, and Daddy would do everything in his power to help him get there.

Sunday afternoon, Carter returned to the house, and while there was nothing obviously different about him, the other men could still sense a difference. He seemed…larger, somehow. Taller and broader. Whether he had actually grown, or whether it was just a matter of posture, no one could quite tell. But there was a firmness, a confidence that Carter hadn’t had, not even before all of this, when he’d had his full mane of hair. Tyler nailed it, eventually. Carter…was walking and talking and behaving like Daddy, in a way that he couldn’t quite figure out. It was…hot though. Tyler asked Carter what had happened, what Daddy had done to him, but Carter just smiled, reached out, and gave one of Tyler’s nipples a twist, making him cringe a bit. 

“Want me to show you?” he said, and Tyler nodded.

Interactive: Time Travel Takeovers (Part 3)

This is going to be the final entry in this interactive. I wasn’t planning on it being substantial, it was more about toying with the time travel story device and seeing if I liked it enough to use it in something else, perhaps something longer, or more twine focused. There’s an alternate version of this one over on my patreon, using a different set of winning options! If you support me, you can head here and check it out.


Needless to say, Jerry never showed up for his wedding. Edwin slipped into his mind that morning, while the bride was off getting her hair done for the ceremony that evening. He packed a bag, hopped in his car and ran. He didn’t quite understand why he was doing this, just that…he had to. It was the right thing to do, or at least, that’s what Edwin was telling him. Did he really want to spend the rest of his life hitched to a ball and chain? No–he knew he wanted something else, but he wasn’t sure what yet. A better life, one more suited to him. He’d just have to drive for a while and find it.

He drove for a couple of days, while Edwin wormed his way in deeper, trying to figure out what made Jerry tick. It wasn’t long before he found a good lead–Jerry had daddy issues galore. He’d been abandoned by his dad when he was a kid, and he’d never really gotten over the trauma of it, always looking for older men to praise him. He’d done well for himself, finding some reliable, older mentors in the company where he worked–where he had been working, rather. But Edwin had a new idea for his little puppet. They’d find him a new daddy, someone more along Edwin’s tastes.

He ended up in a large city, and Edwin decided this would be as good a place as any to begin his search. He took Jerry to the sleaziest, kinkiest gay bar he could find, and decided he’d find him a properly perverse Daddy to show him the ropes of his new life. Jerry had no idea what he was doing there. He wasn’t gay, and he certainly wasn’t into…this, all of this leather and rubber, the air smelling of piss and sex. He was still dressed in his business casual, and had never felt more out of place in his entire life. He ended up compensating by drinking too much, though Edwin remained clear headed–and late that night, he found what he was looking for. 

He was in his late fifties, probably. Still in great shape, wearing a leather harness, rubber vest, and rubber waders. He was smoking cigars, was covered in tattoos and piercings. Edwin slipped into the fetish daddy’s mind and poked around a bit–it didn’t take much convincing for him to start teasing Jerry, since he was cute, though obviously repressed. Jerry didn’t know what possessed him to go home with the old kinkster, but he spent the entire next day in the man’s dungeon, and it was the most exquisite sex of his entire life. By the end of it, he was begging his new Master to keep him, to train him, to remake him into the kinky pig he’d always wanted to be, deep down, without even realizing it. Dan, the old kinky bear, didn’t really want something permanent, but something about the young man’s begging changed his mind–he could do anything he wanted to him, after all. Somehow, he knew that Jerry would agree to anything.

But to test his resolve, their first stop, the next day, was the piercing and tattoo parlor. Jerry ended up with studs in his nipples, in his ears, a PA, and a new tattoo on his ass, which read Property of Master Dan across it. As far as Dan was concerned, that sealed the deal–and Jerry started his training with him that afternoon, with a trip to the local gay gym. Dan forced Jerry–or Cunt, as he was calling him for now, before settling on a more permanent slave name–to work out in just a jock, and he spent the evening in the showers, getting plowed by guy after guy, and drinking more than a few loads of piss as well. He was humiliated, but the act of service, and the delight in his dom’s eyes brought him more pleasure than he could really understand. Dan was impressed at the newbie–to go from being a virgin to gay sex to taking five loads in a public shower, it was quite impressive. All that meant, was that he could push him further.

More and more fantasies began to intrude into Dan’s mind, unbidden. He’d never really been this extreme before, but something about Cunt was bringing the true sadist out in him, and he wanted to see how far he could go. During the day they would work out, and by the last week of Edwin’s control, Dan had started Cunt on a steroid regimen, deciding he was going to be a proper muscle bull–but a total bottom, of course. No, his cock and balls were going to be pumped to an obscene size, too big to be ignored, but also functionally useless. He’d have so many tattoos and piercings he wouldn’t be able to hold down a regular job–he’d be confined to the life of a total kinkster for the rest of his days. 

Towards the end, Edwin made one last shift in them both–in their dreams, he convinced them that they weren’t just master and slave–they were father and son. That Jerry had begged his father to take ownership of him, to turn him into a proper musclecunt of a boy, so that Dan could truly be proud of him. It took like a charm, and only made Cunt more desperate to please his father, to show him what a good pig he could become. Satisfied with those first steps, Edwin returned to the present.

When he’d recovered, he found that Jerry no longer lived next door to him. This wasn’t surprising really, but the fact of it cemented for him the seriousness of what he’d done to him. He had to use the tachyon beam to find him, tracing his path from the point Edwin had left him to the present, and what he found pleased him to no end.

There was no trace of the boring, straight laced man Jerry had been. He no longer even remembered his old name–the only name he responded to now was his slave name, Bullcunt. He was massive–years of steroids and growth hormones had made his body explode with muscle, though as he’d grown older, he’d also developed a bit of a gut. At some point in his life he’d discovered saline and then silicone–his father had decided that Bullcunt’s cock and balls were going to be some of the largest on earth. Nothing could hold them at this point, other than the custom made gear Dan commissioned for his boy. It was expensive, but given his freakish body, covered head to toe in piercings and tattoos, willing to partake in any kind of sex no matter now taboo, Musclecunt made a killing as a porn star, and was lately taking more of a dom role, making young men worship his massive junk while he smoked one of his huge cigars, fisting them with his hands–sometimes both. There were two men who could actually take his massive cock, and several more training to be next in line.

Overall, it was a grand success. Edwin knew he’d have much more fun with his invention in the days to come, but first, he needed a meal from his encourager–twelve hours without a meal, and he was famished.

Max’s First Cam Show (Sketch)

Gay Spiral Stories is trying something new, and will start running story challenges for authors, where they can submit stories based on a prompt. This first one is called “The Very First Time,” and this is the story I wrote for it. If you enjoy it, I’d appreciate it if you head over to my story on the site there and give it a good rating! Thanks for reading as always.


It was an idea that he’d always toyed around with on occasion. It would cross his mind while looking at himself in the mirror, flexing, or when a guy would cruise him as he walked down the sidewalk on the way home from work. Max knew that he looked good, and he also knew that he liked having guys look at him–so why not try it? Of course, it was a big step, going from amateur exhibitionist to full blown camguy, but with the lockdown and his sudden unemployment, he had quickly gone from idle musing to careful consideration of the idea, now that rent was due in a couple of days, and he was a few hundred bucks short.

He’d been looking around at various sites, trying to figure out which one had the best payouts, and the one that kept being recommended by models was a site called porncam. Well, recommended by some. Others wrote these long screeds against it, said they were exploitative and manipulative, but here were comments like that for every site. In the end, Max poked around, made an account, and one evening decided he might as well give it a try–he turned on his camera, opened up a room, and waited to see if anyone would bite.

Sure enough, guys began to trickle in. Some just lurked, but others complimented him, helped him get adjusted to the system since he was new, and were generally appreciative of him and his body. He flexed, he stroked himself, he flashed his killer smile–but he knew that he wasn’t making enough doing this. He got a little cash from each guy who viewed him, and the longer they viewed him, the more he would get, but there had to be a way to juice the system a bit, right?

So he asked in the chat room. One of the lurkers piped up, and said that if he really wanted to make some cash, he’d have to turn on auction mode, but the mere suggestion of it set off a relative firestorm between guys in the chat. Max had a hard time following the line of it–accusations were thrown around, guys left the chat, other guys came in, and he was left at a bit of a loss. He investigated it, and found some information in his profile page about it.

Apparently, auction mode allowed viewers to pay to see specific acts by the model. They could offer any amount of money, and if the model behaved to their satisfaction, then he would get that amount–minus a transaction fee, of course. It sounded easy enough–after all, it wasn’t like he couldn’t say no if someone wanted him to do something really weird or gross. He decided to opt into the program, and a new set of waivers and privacy policies popped up–way too long to read though. He accepted them, and when he went back to the cam view and the chat window, he saw a new box had appeared on the side, listing the current auctions.

“God damn it, they’re gonna ruin another one,” one guy said, and exited the room.

“Fucking hell, worst thing this site came up with,” said another, but stuck around.

Max’s attention was drawn away from that by a chime, and he saw that a new auction item had appeared–for $50 dollars, he had to put clamps on his nipples and play with them for ten minutes.

It wasn’t his thing–he’d never really been one for pain play or anything like that–even for fifty bucks. He looked around for a way to deny the request, but there wasn’t a button for that or anything–and then he noticed something next to his keyboard–two wooden clothespins that he was sure hadn’t been there before. Before he even realized he was doing it, he grabbed them, clipped one to each nipple, and bit his lip in pain. What the fuck was he doing? He tried to pull them off, but all he ended up doing was tugging at them and twisting them while moaning and groaning, the men in the chat room egging him on–with more and more guys coming into the room.

“Oh man, a new auction boy? This is fucking great!”

“Yeah, I don’t think he even bothered to read the TOS. What a dumb slut.”

Another auction popped up–this one for $100 dollars: beat your balls with a ruler fifty times, and make sure you count them out loud.

No–he wasn’t doing that–he went to close the window, but all he got was an error message, telling him that the window couldn’t be shut due to an administrator setting. Fuck that–he’d just pull the computer cord out, but before he could try, his hand grabbed the wooden ruler that had appeared beside the keyboard, right where the clips had appeared before. He stood up, and while he held his cock up against his belly with one hand, he used the other to give his nuts fifty solid whacks, groaning out the count as he did, and by the time was finished, three more auction items had appeared–each worth more than the last.

The next item: Shave your head, eyebrows, and facial hair off.

“No, please…” Max begged over the cam, but that just seemed to rile the men in the chat up even more, and Max was helpless, his body leaving the computer to go get his electric razor, and he went to work. He cried as he did it–his beautiful hair! It was a perfect golden brown, a nice wave that fell back a bit past his shoulders–several boyfriends had told him it was one of his best features. He took a wide swath off the top, and burst into sobs, unable to do a thing to stop himself, sheering away his short beard as well, and finishing it all off with the shaving blade and cream that appeared in front of him. When he was done, he hardly recognized himself in the image on the computer–how in the fuck were they doing this? Why couldn’t he say no?

The clips that had come off went back on–this time with weights. He was ordered to fuck himself with a dildo, and talk dirty to all the men watching, telling them how much his little whore hole wanted all of their cocks inside him. Then, at long last, the auction queue was finished–which meant he was done, right? Without giving anyone a chance to add something else, he closed his cam, sat back, and tried not to sob. 

It didn’t feel real–any of it. Why hadn’t he been able to stop himself? The terror quickly became anger. The site had fucking tricked him! He hadn’t signed up for any of that shit. He had relatives who were lawyers–he’d sue them until they were broke. But before he could do any of that, a notification popped up on the screen, alerting him that a private show had been purchased by an anonymous viewer–and before Max could do anything, his cam had turned back on.

“Please, leave me alone, I don’t want to do this anymore,” Max said into the cam.

“Hey now, I paid good money for this session–you’re going to do everything I tell you to do pig, and you’re going to love every second of it,” the man replied–and then he started giving orders, and again, Max was powerless to resist.

Over the next few weeks, Max found himself becoming quite popular on the site. As hard as he tried to stay away, he would find himself thinking about it, reliving the humiliations inflicted on him, both hating them, and also finding them more and more erotic. The men were wearing him down slowly, he realized. Had they planned this all along? He began to recognize some of the names, and realized most of them were the ones who had convinced him to open up auction mode in the first place, which Max discovered was impossible to back out of, once you had opted in. In time, the quarantine lifted, jobs came back, but by then, in was too late for Max. He’d found himself a new job–a better job. His true calling, you might say. He was even getting offers from men to fly them out to him for weekends, or even for full weeks, so he could service them in real life–and Max was finding it harder and harder to say no. They’d wear him down eventually–they always did. Then the real auction would start–and Max would fly off to his new home, and the men of porncam would have to find a new whore, and start all over again.

Interactive: New You Resolutions 2020 (Part 11)

Martin found himself, eventually, falling into a routine. Before, when he’d try to lose weight, he’d always end up running into a wall of some sort, something coming up that was just more important to him than exercise was, and so he would skip the gym, and before long, abandon his resolution entirely. Now, however, there wasn’t anything else–there was just him, the Sergeant, the woods, and his punishing exercise. There was no work, other than the general upkeep of the house where they lived. There was no TV, there was no internet. On a calm night, the Sergeant would, at most, relax with a cigar, some bourbon, and a book of history, while Martin finished his chores–or more likely, sat at the Sergeant’s feet, polishing his boots, or servicing his cock.

The thing that he hated most, however, was that it was working. The weight fell right off him, and after three months, he barely recognized himself when he looked in the mirror, fifty pounds lighter, without a hair anywhere on his body, with a bit of muscle starting to show under his skin. The sun was out in the Spring, and he was already starting to tan a bit. Satisfied that his charge was progressing well, the pace of the exercise slowed somewhat–that, or Martin was simply getting used to the punishing pace. Instead, Martin found himself spending more and more time with the Sergeant down in the dungeon, working on various other exercises.

The first time he went down with his Sergeant, he wasn’t sure what to expect. The basement was rather bare, with just a cement floor, the walls painted black, the lighting dim. The Sergeant collared him, then cuffed him, then put a blindfold over his eyes. After a few minutes, he was hauled up by a leash, pulled over to a cross on the wall and shackled there–and then the Sergeant pulled off the blindfold. He had swapped out his fatigues for a full leather military uniform, with a flogger in his hand–and he proceeded to whip Martin until he was begging for mercy. Only then did the Sergeant fuck his ass, still shackled there on the cross, Martin feeling the precum dribbling from his caged cock onto the floor under him.

The collar never came off after that–the Sergeant padlocked it in place. Martin begged him, pleaded with him to never to that to him again–the Sergeant just laughed at him, and that night, he found his cot was replaced with a mummy sack. After he was locked securely inside, the Sergeant placed headphones over his ears, and Martin spent the night listening to hypnosis, conditioning him for…well, who knew what. But the pain…he found himself enjoying it, more and more. The act of submission, the punishing workouts, seeing the smile on the Sergeant’s face after he’d served him well–outside, in bed, in the dungeon, it didn’t matter where. He…found himself wondering if he might actually be falling in love with his captor.

That, he decided, could not happen. Martin did his best to balance the knife’s edge, pretending to be the perfect slave, while keeping his own thoughts of resistance alive. Eventually, the opportunity presented itself–and he found a stash of chloroform while cleaning out the dungeon. That evening, while the Sergeant was reading his book, Martin got up to refill his bourbon, and returned with a cloth soaked in the drug, which he forced over the Sergeant’s face. The man struggled mightily. Thankfully, Martin was no longer the weakling he’d been when he arrived, or he would have lost easily–but soon the Sergeant was passed out in his arms, and Martin found himself with an aching cock inside his cage. Had…this turned him on? Really? He couldn’t quite process that–all he could focus on was getting the Sergeant downstairs, where he hauled him into a bondage chair and secured him in place.

But now what, exactly? 

He was angry. Furious, really. He found the key to his collar, and he took it off–he felt naked, so naked without it, but free too, so fucking free! It took some searching, but he found the key to his cock cage as well, and freed himself. By then, the Sergeant had woken up from his nap, and was struggling against the chair, shouting and screaming at Martin to free him, or else he would be in for a nasty fucking surprise.


Use the poll below to select the final chapter in this story! After this next chunk, I’ll be taking a little time off from interactives to work on some commissions–the next one will start up sometime in March! Patrons have their bonus poll over here as well.

Interactive: New You Resolutions 2020 (Part 10)

Martin gulped, and heard a notification on his phone. He checked it, and saw that someone had sent him directions…somewhere, and he knew he had to go there. This was a nightmare–this thing couldn’t be serious, right? But he found himself going into the bedroom, packing up a bag of gym clothes and almost nothing else. He got in his car and drove off, simply abandoning his keys on the counter–somehow, he knew he wouldn’t be coming back here, if New You Resolutions had anything to say about it. 

The directions led him out of town on the interstate, and after a good fifty miles into the rural part of the state, he took an exit onto a smaller highway, and drove through the night, deeper and deeper, away from the city he’d known almost all of his life. All he could do while he was driving was think about how much his body ached from his exercise that day, and wonder who in the world he was going to be meeting on the other end of this journey. The sun rose, and he was close. Exhausted and nearly asleep at the wheel, he finally reached his destination.

It was a rather secluded piece of property in the foothills of the mountains. There was a bit of winter snow on the ground from a few days ago that hadn’t melted off yet. Martin got out of the car, and trudged his way up the wood steps of the house and knocked on the door. There were a few moments of silence, and then he heard the sound of heavy shoes on the other side of the door, and it opened, revealing, he assumed, his new trainer, and landlord.

He was…massive. Easily six foot six, and probably close to 300 pounds. He was older, most likely in his late fifties, his chest covered in grey hair, face shaven but with a layer of stubble, hair cut into a close flattop. He was wearing nothing other than a set of fatigue pants and combat boots. He stared down at Martin with a sense of disdain, and then stepped aside without a word, allowing Martin inside, sizing him up as he squeezed past the massive fellow.

“So this is who they’re sending me this year? Fucking hell. You projects are usually rough around the edges, but I haven’t had to shape up a doughball like you in a long time,” the man said.

“Please, there’s been some mistake, I…I just want to go home, please–”

Before Martin could get anything else out, the man’s hand was around his neck–tight enough to constrict his air a bit, but more an expression of power. “In this house, you will address me as Sir, do you understand? You are here because you want to get in shape, and god damn it, I will do so. I was a drill instructor for twenty years, and I have become very good at taking weak little pieces of shit like you and turning them into something resembling actual men–but the plus side of doing it for private clients is that I get to do everything the army never had the balls to let me do.”

He released Martin’s neck, and he stumbled backwards a bit, falling against the wall behind him.

“Now, drop and give me twenty.”

“What?”

“I said, you fucking worm, drop and give me twenty pushups! This isn’t fucking rocket science, and if I don’t hear a Sir after your next sentence I will beat your ass red and raw to make sure you remember.”

Martin gulped, and got down in the hallway of the house, arms shaking from their massive workout the day before, and he could barely keep himself up in a plank position. 

“Come on, let’s see what you have in you.”

He lowered himself down, but not far enough to the sergeant’s liking, and one boot came down on his back, and pushed him to the floor. 

“All the way down, come on. Kiss my boot each time, let’s see if that gives you a little more incentive.”

Martin pushed himself back up, and the sergeant slid his boot right under his face. Martin tried to will himself upright, tried to walk out the door, but couldn’t–he lowered himself down, kissed the sergeant’s boot, and then tried to push himself back up–and failed. He collapsed against the top of the man’s boot, shuddering, and the man laughed.

“If you’re going to stay down there, at least give it a good cleaning, faggot,” the sergeant said. Again, Martin pushed his tongue out against his will, and started licking at the man’s boot, tasting the fresh boot black on the surface and trying not to gag. He pushed himself back up and down a few more times, licking the boot in between–and he finally noticed that he was hard as a rock. Each time the sergeant insulted him, each time he had to lick that damn boot, he was leaking in the front of him gym shorts from the day before.

He wasn’t gay, he wasn’t into any of this shit–what the hell was happening to him? He made it to ten pushups before he shuddered, and his cock came while on the sergeant’s boot, letting out a little groan of pleasure as he did so.

“You fuckin’–roll the fuck over.”

Martin did as he was ordered, and the front of his shorts was soaked with his cum.

“Just couldn’t fucking contain yourself, eh? Well, we can put a stop to that. Clearly you aren’t in shape enough to workout today, so we might as well get you cleaned up.

Cleaned up meant a cold shower, having all of the hair on his body shaved off, his hair buzzed down to almost nothing, and finally, a chastity cage secured around his now hairless cock and balls. He was left in the bathroom, shivering and staring at a stranger in the mirror, until the Sergeant brought him his new uniform–nothing more than a pair of too tight fatigue pants, and a pair of combat boots like his. Then, it was time to eat, and the Sergeant allowed him to rest, finally, on a small cot next to the Sergeant’s own, much larger bed.

He was awoken by the feeling of the Sergeant’s body pressing down on him, and before Martin could do anything, the man’s massive cock was inside his virgin ass, one hand around Martin’s mouth to muffle his screams. He fucked him quick, and Martin was horrified to find himself enjoying it–enjoying the pain, the tightness of his chastity cage, all of it–and then it was over, and Martin discovered he’d slept until the next day. It was time to train.

The days fell into a rhythm. Breakfast. The Sergeant would put him through a rigorous workout, after a long morning jog. Lunch. Martin would complete his chores around the house and the property. Dinner. A couple hours of time to relax. Then bed. The sergeant would fuck him, and then they would sleep hard until the next day.

Winter thawed. Spring came and Summer was blossoming. Martin’s training was progressing–until a new development came along that changed everything again.


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Business as Usual

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

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

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

Continue reading “Business as Usual”