Figured I might as well get back into cleaning up and reposting some old stories of mine! This was an old one with quite a few pics to go with it. This is the original version without much doctoring. For those interested, I added a few notes on to the end.
Synopsis: A young construction worker finds himself the heir to an unlikely legacy, and uses his new powers to help the men in his family find some unlikely romantic matches.
Posted a Thanksgiving themed story for Patrons today, based on a couple of suggestions! Here’s the first couple of parts as a bit of a teaser.
Grant turned into the driveway of his brother’s house, and heaved a short sigh, trying to keep the tension in his chest from growing even tighter. It was Thanksgiving, and that meant a three hour drive out of the city, back to his hometown where his brother and father still lived after all of these years. It wasn’t that Grant didn’t like seeing his family, really. He liked seeing his brother, Marshall, and his brother’s wife, Martha–she was always a good time. His two nephews,Marshall Jr. (everyone called him Junior, mostly) and Will loved him. He was the cool uncle after all, from the big city. They loved hearing about what was going on in his life there, though Grant had to edit out the…gayer parts for the sake of the rest of the family, even though both of them were in their twenties at this point. It was his dad, Hugh, that made Grant really nervous. While they had long since made a sort of peace around Grant’s sexuality, it was, well, difficult all the same, do deal with his dad’s judgemental attitude. Things were usually alright, but he could never be sure. At least his mom usually helped keep things civil–she had always loved Grant, and he was somewhat certain that the only reason his dad was at all soft with him was because of her.
He pulled into the driveway and got out of his car, and was surprised to find a truck parked there that he didn’t recognize. The nephew’s beaters were parked off around the garage, so it wasn’t theirs. His Marshall and Martha usually parked in the garage. His dad’s car was there too–so who was the extra guest? He went inside, and found his answer pretty quickly, when Jimmy introduced himself.
He was a new neighbor of the family, lived alone, had moved in a couple months before. He worked around town as a handyman, and it was hard not to like him, in all honesty. He had a firm handshake, a nice laugh, and was quite handsome–a bit older and more hairy than Grant’s type, but he could appreciate him all the same.
He got swept up in the conversation, and with his nephew’s pestering him to see his new car, that it took him half an hour to notice the rather glaring omissions. Martha wasn’t there, and neither was his mom. It was just the boys of the family, plus Jimmy. Grant asked his brother about it, and he just deflected with a strange non-answer, and no one else would say much about it either, not even his dad. It was all…rather strange.
It wasn’t too long after that realization, after the boys had gone back inside, and Grant had decided to slip off for a cigarette before dinner. His dad hated smoking, after losing his dad and brother to lung cancer, that Grant had always been very careful to never smoke around him. He was surprised when Jimmy made a sudden appearance beside him, with his own cigarette in hand.
“So how was the drive over?” Jimmy asked, making small talk.
Grant told him a bit about the trip, and found the conversation moving around to family, and holidays.
“You live alone?” Grant asked.
“Yeah, just me! Moved here from the city this year, and I gotta say, I love it out here. Everything moves a bit slower, you know?”
Grant nodded. He’d always thought boring was a better word than slow.
“How about you? No one with you, I see. Guess that makes us the pair of bachelors, don’t it?”
Jimmy gave him a little nudge, and Grant wasn’t sure if that was code or not. “I guess so,” he hedged, not sure how much Jimmy knew about him. If he was from the city, he doubted that Jimmy would care he was gay, but…well, best to be on the safe side.
“You visit often?”
“Not really. My work keeps me busy.”
“Too bad. You have a really great family here, you know? You should be thankful.”
“Yeah, I know,” Grant said, thinking about all the arguments he’d had with his dad. Not as rough as it could have been, he supposed, but it was raw.
“Well, you know what they say,” Jimmy added, taking a last drag off his cigarette, “gobble, gobble, buddy.”
Grant just looked at him, confused, but Jimmy didn’t say anything else, and headed into the house. He took a long drag off his cigar, trying to figure out what in the world that could possibly mean, and then shrugged.
Jimmy took one last look at Grant as those magic words of his took hold, Grant’s slender physique rounding out slightly as he stood around the side of his house, the thick cigar clamped in his jaw, the short beard sprouting across his face. Grant reached around shoved his hand down the back of his jeans and scratched his ass without a second thought, and Jimmy smirked. This would be a great family soon enough–one that Jimmy would be more than happy to be a part of too.
Grant snuffed out his cigar after a few more minutes, and went inside. His dad was sitting in the living room watching TV from the couch–that was usually where he stayed for the whole holiday. He avoided him for the moment. He didn’t want his dad to smell the smoke on him and have a total shitfit about him smoking, like he did a couple years before. Instead, he grabbed a beer from the fridge, saw his brother, both his nephews, and Jimmy out in the backyard, discussing a game of football. Figuring that was better than nothing, he went outside onto the porch, and decided to watch.
In the end, Jimmy ended up with Junior on one team, with Marshall and Will on the other. Jimmy started with the ball, and wanted to be the quarterback, with Junior receiving. They designated the end zones, and then started the game–with Jimmy calling out, “Gobble, gobble, hike!”
The change hit all of them in earshot, not that any of them noticed much of anything. Grant, from the sidelines, was the only one to be struck with a little sense of confusion, as he watched the men of his family all change slightly. Junior seemed to grow a bit thicker, his frame growing more muscular as he ran off to receive the ball. Will chased after him, but had a hard time keeping up as his gut swelled a bit. Marshall grew a bit too, with more muscle and fat on his body, but also quite a bit of hair appearing down his forearms as he counted down the seconds out loud, until he could try and sack Jimmy.
The game continued, and each time Jimmy had the ball to throw it, he would call out “gobble, gobble,” again, and all of the men would shift a bit more. Marshall was soon sporting a buzzcut with a thick horseshoe mustache. Will was growing taller and even more muscular, his head shaved down, with a thick beard on his face. Will was shorter and rounder now, a thick goatee around his mouth and quite a bit of hair on his chest, under his dirty, grass stained overalls that he always wore. On the sidelines, Grant just watched, packing on more and more weight with each gobble, another cigar appearing in his hand that he started smoking without even really thinking about it, his own beard growing longer, one hand working it’s way down the front of his grungy jeans to massage his cock, spurting a bit of precum whenever there was a nice tackle out in the yard.
Grant lost it, however, when Marshall got a good sack in on Jimmy, pinning him down on the ground, thrusting against him, his well worn leather chaps and boots shoved against Jimmy’s ass…and Grant hurriedly forced himself upright, and went inside, passing his father, and went into the bathroom, where he sat down on the toilet, and jacked off, replaying that in his mind, removing Jimmy and Marshall’s clothes, thinking about his brother’s tattooed body pinning him down, working his big cock into his ass, growing, spitting, biting…
He lost his load all over his hand, the floor, and his jeans. After panting for a couple of minutes to catch his breath, he stood back up, hauled his jeans back up by the suspenders, without even really caring about the wet patch he’d managed to shoot all over the inside of them. He didn’t understand what had come over him, really. He’d always thought his brother was hot, of course, especially in his biker leathers that he was always wearing, but seeing him pin Jimmy down…fuck, that was a real nice show.
He got up off the toilet, and spent a couple of minutes looking at himself in the mirror, trying to piece together what seemed so…off about his reflection all of a sudden. Was it his hair? He’d been balding for years now, and had never done much to cover it up. It was long, with quite a bit of grey, a little stringy and greasy, but then he never had much time to wash it. His greying beard was much the same–down to his chest at this point, but he liked the look of it too much to consider cutting it. He’d been growing it for years now, hadn’t he? Was it his clothes? No, those were the same he always wore too. A t-shirt from some truck stop somewhere. It was old, but then most of his clothes were. He lifted up an arm and saw a hole in the armpit, his pit hair sticking out, and he gave it a scratch, then sniffed his fingers, the scent making his cock jump slightly. He had on a pair of ragged looking jeans, held up by some suspenders that had long since lost some of their elasticity, but they still kept his pants up well enough. Everything was…right, but then why did it feel like he was looking at a stranger in the mirror all of a sudden?
He shook his head, trying to clear it, but it was a bit thick somehow. It probably wasn’t worth worrying about, in any case, but for some reason, his hands wouldn’t stop shaking, and his heart was pounding. The only thing he could think to do, was to go out, get a beer, chug it, and get another one. Best to just focus on enjoying the holiday, and time with the family. Everything would sort itself out in the end.
Sorry for the long delay! This week (hell, this whole month) has been a shit show for me, and I haven’t had much time to get any writing done in the meantime. If you want more details, I posted a bit about it over on my Patreon.
What Timothy tried to say, was, “All I wish for is some time to relax.”
What came out of his mouth instead, though, was, “All I wish for is some big cigars to smoke.”
Sure, the grammar wasn’t perfect, but the genie was plenty happy with the notion to get things rolling. Timothy was much too buttoned up for his liking, and a nice smoke had a way of helping even the most stuck-in-the-mud fellows loosen up a little bit. Timothy, on the other hand, was looking a bit confused, running the words back in his mind, trying to connect the dots on why in the world he had just said that. Before he could think too hard though, the genie snapped his fingers, and several cigars appeared on Timothy’s desk in front of him.
“No, wait…I didn’t really mean that, I don’t want those,” Timothy said, you can…”I wish those cigars weren’t there anymore.”
He tried at least. “I wish those cigars were irresistible,” Timothy said, and before he could do anything about it, he picked one up, smelled it, and gave a little excited sigh. Something…about a cigar just always made him so happy, he just couldn’t seem to resist them, no matter how hard he tried.
He stood up from the desk with a cigar in hand, and the genie looked at him funny. “Where are you going Master?”
“Oh, I can’t smoke these in here, especially not as an RA!”
“Of course you can, Master, all it takes is a little wish,” the genie said with a wink, and Timothy smiled at him.
“I wish I could smoke these cigars in my room without getting in trouble,” he meant to say, looking a bit smug–but the genie slipped in a few extra words without him noticing:
“I wish I could smoke these cigars and jack off in my room without getting in trouble,” he said, sat back down in his chair, opened up the fly of his pants, grabbed the cigar cutter and lighter that had appeared on his desk without him noticing. He prepped the cigar while the genie just watched, and smiled. He lit it, taking his time like he had done it hundreds of times before, with just a little knowledge planted in his mind by the genie, lit up, and then sat back with a sigh. He reached into his underwear and hauled out his cock, stroking it slowly and smoking like it was the most natural thing in the world.
“Curious, you do seem to be enjoying that quite a bit, Master,” the genie said, and drifted a bit closer, “Alas, I never quite understood the appeal of them myself. You certainly seem to be enjoying those cigars quite a lot, however,” he added, indicating Timothy’s hard cock.
“Yeah, I…I don’t really know why,” Timothy said, “Smoking a cigar has just…just always gotten me hard I suppose…”
“That’s very interesting,” the genie said, drifting a bit closer. He could sense that Timothy was a bit…nervous, jacking off in front of him, but with a little magic, he helped set Timothy’s mind at ease, and he sped up a bit, moaning, a thick plume of smoke escaping his mouth as he did. “It is a rather…masculine activity, don’t you think?”
“Fuck, yeah, I guess that’s part of it,” Timothy said.
“Something associated with masculinity, yes,” the genie said, “I can see why you would want to feel that way, Master.”
“What do you mean?” Timothy said, and the genie just smiled.
“Well, you are certainly a man, don’t get me wrong, but you are also, well…I don’t wish to insult you Master, is all, but you aren’t…”
“Are you saying I smoke cigars because I’m not a real man?”
“Of course not Sir.”
The thought had been planted though, and when Timothy looked in the mirror, he had to admit it was a bit comical. He wasn’t the sort of guy who he imagined smoked cigars after all, especially not ones this size. It was too big for his face, almost…or it would look fine, if the rest of him was bigger. He wasn’t…scrawny exactly, but certianly thin. Lean, was the kind term, but for the first time in his life, he found himself questioning whether he…liked his body, really. What if he was more muscular? What if he was hairier? What if he was just…bigger, somehow? A big man, someone who he imagined would be smoking cigars like this?
The genie could feel the thought forming, and knew he didn’t have to do anything more. Timothy kept stroking, kept thinking, kept imaging, getting closer and closer to cumming as he smoked, and finally, he said, “Fuck it, I wish I was a big man.”
The genie grinned–such a vague wish! So many directions he could take that one, with a few twists.
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!
“Please, why…why are you doing this? I…just…just change me back, I didn’t want to be some…old fuck!” Ethan said.
“Well, in all honesty, it isn’t quite my thing either, though I think it does suit you quite well,” Phil said, as he fiddled with his stations. “But this is what the client asked for, and so, that’s what the client gets.”
“Oh yes–the client. I’m making you for someone, you see? They were quite specific about what they were looking for.”
“What the fuck does that fucking Mr. Woodrow want,” Ethan said, “I knew that fuck was creepy, fucking hell.”
“Oh he isn’t the client–I merely contract with him to secure raw materials. In exchange, I give him a few tools of my own for the men he has living in that house of his. Really, you should be thankful–a few months in that place, and what I’m doing to you will seem like nothing. He’s the real freak.” Phil said, and then pulled some tubing down from where it was hanging above the chair. “That’s enough of a chat for now–the client will be here soon, and you’ll see for yourself what they want. For now though, we have a few more changes to make.”
He pushed a tube against Ethan’s mouth, who shut it tight against him–but the rubber tube came to live, forced its way into Ethan’s mouth and down his throat, settling in his stomach. Aa thick solution, almost like gruel, started to flow and he could feel it settling in his gut, making him feel…heavy, and full. Then, Phil brought down a second tube–enclosing the first–and the end of this one was a breathing mask, which he secured around Ethan’s nose, mouth, and most of his beard. Once that was in place, he could smell the smoke flooding the air–reeking of cheap tobacco, and he coughed, but soon it was all he could breathe, and he started to feel light headed, and laid back in the chair, while Phil went to work on his cock and balls.
Phil gave him some stimulation, and Ethan’s cock got hard–it was sizable, a good six inches and fairly thick, but not large enough for the client’s needs. He took a syringe, full of his enchanted silicone, and injected it into Ethan’s cock–along with a bit of will–and watched the shaft start to swell, the skin stretching to accommodate the new solution, Ethan groaning in pain, feeling his skin stretch around his cock uncomfortably. It took a few injections before it was large enough–thirteen inches long, as thick as a two liter soda bottle. The silicone maintained the sensitivity of the skin much better–and also stayed rigid–Ethan was going to have a permanent hard on for the rest of his life. Once he was satisfied with the size, he started adding the bling–making small incisions in the surface and sliding the various metal balls and bits underneath, giving the surface a brand new sort of texture, more like a living dildo than a real cock. He finished it off with a massive PA that could fit around a normal man’s wrist, and then worked on his balls–filling them with a similar solution, until the sack was about the size of a bowling ball, the freakish head already drooling precum from the stimulation.
Once finished with that, he took a little break–the feeding was going well, but wasn’t finished yet. Ethan would force his head up on occasion, and see he was, indeed, getting fatter at an impossible rate. Whatever he was being fed with, it was just as magical as the injections that had warped his cock into the monstrosity jutting from his crotch. His gut was getting most of the growth, but his chest was now sporting two sizable moobs, and his ass wasn’t quite as comfortable in the chair as it had been. Phil, at some point, decided he was ready, got out the tattoo needle, and went to work.
The tattoos weren’t painless, but they seemed to heal instantly. In fact, as Phil worked on one after another, the ones he did first seemed to almost fade–and after a few minutes, they looked to be years old. He started on his belly, quickly sketching and filling in the face of a cartoon pig on the top of his belly, giving a wink and smoking a thick cigar. Underneath his belly button were the words, “Smoke Pig”. From the cigar’s tip, Phil quickly filled in clouds of smoke across Ethan’s chest, which seemed to move and twist as his chest heaved and filled with more and more fat from the tube.
After checking that the piercings had healed on his cock, he tattooed that as well–on the top, were inch markings from head to base, and then on one side, the words Daddy’s fuck stick–on the other, the image of a cigar, the head filled in red and orange and yellow like the burning tip. Satisfied with his work, he pulled the mask free from Ethan’s mouth, allowing him to cough and breathe freely for a moment. Around the mask, all of Ethan’s grey hair had been stained a dingy yellow from the prolonged smoke–as had his teeth, like a man who’d been smoking cigars for fifty years. Then, out came the feeding tube as well–leaving Ethan at his new weight of 425 pounds.
“Fucking hell, you fucking…piece of shit,” Ethan said, his voice raspy and deep from the hours of smoke. Already, he could feel the withdrawl setting in–but Phil was ready, pulling out a sizable cigar, cutting it, lighting it, and pushing it into Ethan’s mouth, who inhaled it eagerly.
As he did, there was a knock on the door–and Phil went to the door of his little shop, where he allowed someone in–it was the client who had commissioned Ethan’s new body, but who was it, and what is Ethan’s final form going to be?
This was a fairly close race between the redneck road trip and the leather dom, so I decided to just combine them a bit!
Max had gotten used to living his weekends as memory over the last few weeks. Johnny would get ready to put him into his trance on Friday evening, and then in one burst of light, it would be Monday, and for a few minutes, he would recall the last weekend on fast forward–seeing who he had serviced, what Johnny had made him do–but this long weekend, as he came out of his trance, he remembered that, right away, things had gone differently. Before this, Johnny had always kept their activities to themselves in the apartment–this time, however, as soon as he was under, Johnny had told him to go get in the car.
They drove for a little while, heading out of town on the highway, but ended up pulling off outside of the suburbs, and found their way to a sizable farmhouse outside of the city, nestled in some woods with plenty of privacy. Johnny told him to stay put, and he got out of the car alone, went up to the door, and gave it a knock.
Max couldn’t see who was at the door immediately, and it felt like a little time passed before Johnny returned, told him to get out, and he saw who lived in the farm house. He was an older fellow, easily in his late fifties or early sixties, with a thick bushy beard, sucking on a massive cigar. While his skin looked like he had worked outdoors for most of his life, his western shirt and jeans were well tailored, and didn’t look particularly dirty–he appeared to be retired, and somewhat wealthy.
The man was obviously in disbelief that Max was really hypnotized. He put him through a few paces, once Johnny had given him the ability to command Max as well, and it was clear, from the sizable bulge in his pants, that he was…excited. He offered Johnny a cigar inside, and they went in–and so the weekend began.
The man, by the name of Beau, but who Max simply referred to as Master, had retrofitted the house’s old root cellar into a sizable sex dungeon–and beginning that night, Master put Max–and Johnny, to some extent, through a crash course in leather, bondage, and service. It was clear that Johnny was rather…infatuated with Beau as well, and taking a submissive role of his own–when Johnny didn’t do as Master ordered, he would often get punished himself–though never as severely as Max was, over the course of the weekend. During the daytime, Max was put to work outside around the farmhouse, which was a bit more rundown than it had seemed in the night. He only wore boots–and in retrospect, he was horrifically embarrassed for himself, naked and out in the open, completely oblivious to anyone who might have seen him–but as far as he knew, no one had.
And now, it was Tuesday morning. He looked up and saw that Johnny had changed again–some of Master Beau’s more rural sensibilities had worn off on him. He had traded in the cigarettes for a fat cigar–a bit smaller than Beau’s, but still…handsome all the same, and he was wearing jeans and a western shirt like him as well. His hair had been clipped a bit short, and he now was sporting a thick goatee, and when he spoke, he even had a hint of a drawl, as he told Max that there were going to be some changes for him around here from now on.
In private, Max no longer called Johnny by name–he was only Master to him. He was now a boy in his service–which meant that when he wasn’t in school, he was charged with the domestics around the apartment–cooking, cleaning, laundry–everything, and of course, if he served well, then Master would…reward him. Max didn’t know if Beau had given the gear to Max, or if it had simply materialized while they were away that weekend, but there was now a sling in the bedroom, and for play, Johnny preferred wearing leather–preferred that they both wore leather, in fact. Furthermore, cigarettes disappeared from the house–Max now smoked cigars like his two masters–in addition to serving as the ashtray, at their discretion.
After the first week, Max was exhausted–it felt like he was working from dawn until night, between school, the gym and all of the new tasks Master Johnny had given him after their weekend with Master Beau. The cigars didn’t help, and were making him a bit nauseous, even after his cigarette habit. He was also…worried. Worried about Johnny, and worried about what the gun was doing to him, as well as to Max. Was…this just what Johnny wanted, or was there something else going on behind the scenes? Furthermore, Spring Break was looking–a nine day stretch, and he already knew that Johnny was going to insist he be kept in a trance all week long. Sure enough, that’s exactly what Johnny proposed, and he wished that he wasn’t so horny thinking about it.
I thought about coming up with more specific ideas for this, but I decided to go with something a bit more general instead. Below are some keywords for possible story lines I’ve had in mind, and I’ll combine the more popular ones as best I can! You get three votes–so pick wisely. Here’s the bonus patron poll as well.
Steve tried to figure out what was going on with him as he drove the rest of the way to work, still smoking the cigar, but couldn’t quite seem to place what even was wrong. It was like, whenever he tried to think about how…strange this all was, there was something in his head that short circuited the distress, and assured him that there was nothing wrong, really. He’d just wanted a smoke, after all–what was wrong with that? It wasn’t like smoking a cigar didn’t always make him plenty horny too, and he’d lost control like that once or twice before. Nothing in particular seemed strange to him, and yet…he couldn’t figure out why nothing seemed more strange, and why when he looked at himself in the rearview mirror, his reflection just seemed a bit…off. The color in his goatee, the lines around his eyes. He didn’t look right, but again, nothing in his head would let him really…do anything about that, so he got to the parking lot at work, and sat for another fifteen minutes, finished the cigar, thought about either jacking off again or lighting up another, but did neither. He was here to do work, after all–he could have another cigar later.
He climbed out of the car, not really noticing as he pocketed the rest of the cigars from the pack, and then headed into the building. As he’d expected, the building was empty aside from a few people–the security guard at the desk who waved him in, the janitors cleaning up the building, and probably a few interns scurrying around the place trying to get all of their work sorted out that they hadn’t managed to finish during the week prior. Steve, for his part, headed down into the lower levels of the building, where the server farms were stored, and got to work, trying to sort out some of the hardware problems that had been plaguing the place as of late.
There was something up, he’d figured out, recently. Something in the hardware was draining a bunch of server space, but was also disguising itself somehow, making it impossible for him to root it out and figure out what was going on. As soon as he’d thought he’d figured out where it was hiding, it wouldn’t be there, and the usage would pop up somewhere else, in some other form. There were odd power surges, strangely encrypted files that didn’t match anything he’d ever seen before. This was, of course, the edges of Terrance in the system. In truth, he’d chosen Steve not just for his porn consumption habit, but also because he was the person closest to discovering what, exactly, he was–and Terrance wasn’t quite ready for the big reveal just yet.
And so, as Steve struggled along, trying to make sense of what was going on with the servers and software, the itch was back, clawing at him stronger than ever, making it harder and harder to focus on what was going on without a smoke in his mouth. It was an hour before he broke–he knew he should head out of the building to smoke…but found that he couldn’t really be bothered. Terrance had taken care of the smoke alarms, of course, and so Steve lit up again, heaving a sigh of relief, one hand sliding down the front of his pants, deciding that if he had time for a smoke, he might as well take some time for a little wank as well.
He sat down at the computer and started surfing to some of his favorite sites, unaware that this close to Terrance, the AI was taking the opportunity to sand off some of the edges of Steve’s mind, and make sure that the clever fellow wasn’t going to keep poking around in places where he didn’t need to be. The virus started scrubbing away most of Steve’s technical knowledge first, leaving enough for him to keep operating a computer of course, but he no longer could recall what he had been investigating. Instead, the virus began filling in the now empty space with, well, something else. Something that Terrance knew would make Steve much happier, than discovering him.
Meanwhile, in the rest of the building, the smoke was beginning to spread through the air ducts–and with it, the virus. The virus also spread to the servers, and so any computers connected to them over the internet were soon infected as well. Of course, Terrance wasn’t interested in infecting everything around the building–that would arouse a bit too much suspicion. However, it did see some opportunities around that might be some fun.
Here’s the next poll! Depending on the answer here, we might leave Steve to stew for a bit and follow a different branch, or we can keep seeing just how deep Steve is going to descend into his new desires–in any case, Steve will probably resurface at a later date. Here’s the patron bonus poll as well!