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.

Interactive: Frat Daddy (Part 3)

I am currently open for commissions! Of particular note there is a special, limited edition commission I’ll be offering this summer–a custom interlude in the Frat Daddy story line! Want to see one of the boys I’ve done go back to Daddy for another round? Have a particular fetish or scenario that you’d like to see Daddy inflict on one of the boys? You can get a 3000 word entry for a flat rate of $70 ($20 off the usual price!). Send me a note if you’re interested on tumblr, twitter, discord or email! You can find all the details at the link above.


The next couple of weeks passed by rather eventfully for the boys of the house, as they adjusted themselves to the new rules of the house. There was more than a little complaining, but none of the young men were brave enough to stand up to their frat daddy directly and challenge him–not after what happened to Peter. It had been in the evening, a few days after frat daddy’s arrival, and he had made an impromptu visit to the house, clomping his way up the stairs from the basement–where he had a private tunnel connecting the frat house to his own private residence next door. He called the boys for an assembly and inspection in the living room, but caught one boy trying to sneak off upstairs. It was Peter. He grabbed hold of the young jock and dragged him back down the stairs, turned him around, and found that, sure enough, Peter didn’t have his plug in his hole.

Ethan was disappointed. Peter tried to make excuses, that it was too big for him, that it hurt, but Daddy didn’t have any interest in his excuses–he told Peter to stand against the wall, and as the rest of the boy’s watched, he pulled his belt free from his leather pants, and gave him twenty lashings, making Peter count them all out loud. Then, after inspecting the rest of the boys, he suggested that they all help Peter’s hole adjust to his plug a little more–and took them all downstairs, to the gym…and the dungeon.

Peter ended up tied over a sawhorse, and one after the other, every boy in the house fucked him, with Daddy supervising them, critiquing their technique, giving the occasional lash against their thighs or ass if they went too slow, or treated Peter too gently for his taste. It was well past midnight by the time they were all finished, and Peter had collapsed against the saw horse, leg’s shaking, when Daddy finally untied him from the wood, and helped him down, pulling him into his lap, were Peter sobbed and clung to him, while Daddy whispered little nothing’s in his ear, claiming him down, telling him how proud he was of him, that what he did, he did to make him the best man, and the best brother, that he could be. He wrapped one gloved hand around Peter’s cock and stroked him slowly, Peter moaning softly, as Daddy’s other gloved hand slipped two, and then three fingers into his well worked hole. It wasn’t long before Peter came as well, and Daddy had him lick the cum off his glove like a good boy, and fit him with a plug that no longer felt like such a burden.

After that, Peter didn’t object again. If anything, he seemed rather…eager to have his brothers fuck him, and on more than one occasion had to restrain himself from begging his brothers to use his hole. Begging wasn’t required in any case–after all, when the boys had one of their cigars, about all they could think about was getting off, and Peter was more than happy to remain near the humidor in the evenings, should anyone need a smoke and a fuck.

Daddy’s inspections took place outside the house as well. Jameson, in particular, was inflicted with a rather humiliating display out on the quad one sunny afternoon. Daddy, smoking a cigar, passed by on some errand or other, and ordered a surprise inspection. Right there, in front of everyone on the quad, Jameson pulled off his shirt to show his Daddy that the harness was on, as required, but that wasn’t good enough. He had to bend over the back of a bench, drop his pants, and show not only his jock, but his plug as well. Daddy gave it a test, and found it a bit too loose–he pulled the small plug out, and slid in a slightly larger one from his sack, Jameson groaning and moaning as he slid it in, and only after it was firmly in place could Jameson continue on. His face was burning, and he was worried someone would report them for their lewd behavior, but no seemed to have given them a second look. And why would they? A frat daddy was off course allowed to inspect his boys at any time, on or off campus. 

This didn’t sit well with everyone on campus–including with Mason Wright, the college football coach. A number of the fratboys were on the football team, and when they showed up in the locker room in these strange leather harnesses that they refused to remove…Mason was confused. What the boys were telling him, about the rules that their frat daddy had established, it made…sense, and yet it didn’t. Not at all. As the next couple of weeks wore on, the coach found himself growing more and more convinced of a conspiracy afoot, something being perpetrated against the students, some…foul faggotry. Mason was a devout Christian, he knew what faggots got up to in their dark dens, what kind of devils they worshiped, and how they would try to sink their claws, and other things, into innocent young men to corrupt them. He became convinced that he would uncover whatever was going on, and put a stop to it–but he also knew he couldn’t do it alone. 

So he enlisted some help, a young man named Jace, who had recently been hired to the university’s security department. He had been assigned the athletic department during the day, and he and Mason would regularly chat about things, their time in the army, though Jace’s time was more recent that Mason’s, and Mason had been asking him about church, finally convincing him to start attending services with him. He was a sharp young man, with a good amount of discipline, but Mason could tell he didn’t quite have firm faith yet. Still, perhaps this would help him along, and help him see what they were up against. All he asked, was for Jace to check in on the boys at the frat house, and see if anything odd was going on there–he didn’t specify anything, after all, Mason couldn’t quite pin down what was bothering him exactly either. 

Jace did as he was asked, though he wasn’t quite sure what he was supposed to be looking for exactly–at least, until he staked out the house in the evening, and right there, through the front window, he watched the burly man who lived next door to the frat house appear inside, and begin…molesting the boys, right there in the living room! It took him a few minutes to process what, exactly, he was seeing, and he had to work to convince himself that his instincts were right, that what he was looking at was wrong. When the scene had finished, and the man had apparently returned to his own home some other way, because he appeared on the porch, smoking a cigar–and Jace decided he needed to have a word with him.

He only got as far as the walkway up to the house, before the man had stood up, and was on his way to greet him. Well I can’t believe it, is that you, Jace?”

Jace stopped in his tracks, and looked at the man closely. He…didn’t know him, did he? “Sir, I’m a member of campus security, and I have a few questions to ask you.”

“Oh come now, Jace, that’s no way to talk to your old frat Daddy, is it? Why didn’t you tell me you were back on campus?”

“You…You must have me mistaken for someone else…Sir,” Jace said, unsure of why that last word had slipped from his lips, or why it felt so good and right to say.

“Nonsense, I never forget one of my boys. You graduated four years ago, then went into the Army, wasn’t it? A proper pursuit for a man, I must say, but I’m glad they didn’t keep you too long. How long have you been back here?”

Jace struggled for a moment, his head spinning. He hadn’t gone to college, what was this crazy fucker talking about? But the harder he tried to convince himself this, the easier it was to remember, somehow, the years he’d spent here in this house, under…under Daddy’s supervision, under his guidance and…and his control. He took a step backwards, remembering what Mason had said about faggots, about how they could…manipulate you, if you weren’t careful, if you didn’t keep God in your heart at all times. But the smell of the cigar, and when Daddy embraced him, he sighed and collapsed a bit, some of his careful guard dropping. Daddy knew all of his secrets after all, everything about him.

“It’s good to see you boy, I missed you.”

“I missed you too Daddy,” Jace found himself saying, his cock…hard, and pressing into the older man’s own erection. He knew he should be disgusted, get away from him, but why would he want to get away from Daddy? Wasn’t he happy to see him? 

“Come on boy, have a cigar with me on the porch–I want to hear about how the new position is treating you, and I have some questions too. The boys have been telling me some…troubling things about the football coach, Coach Mason, I think? You wouldn’t happen to know him, would you?

“I do Daddy, but I don’t…what have the boys been telling you?” Jace asked, already forgetting he had ever been here for a reason other than to see his old Frat Daddy.

“First things first, boy, you know the rules, don’t you?” Ethan asked, grinning around his cigar, “How you properly greet a Daddy.”

Jace blushed, got down, and prostrated himself in front of Ethan, kissed both of his boots, and then knelt down in front of him, right there on the sidewalk, like it was the most natural thing in the world. Only when Daddy told him to rise did he stand again, and follow Daddy up to the porch, where he was more than happy to relay everything about the troublesome coach to Daddy.

“I see, I had feeling that might be the case,” Daddy said, “Well, you’ll help me deal with that, won’t you boy?” he said, pulling Jase closer to him, and sharing a smoky kiss with him. 

“Of course Daddy, anything for you,” Jace said.

“Good boy,” Ethan said, and Jace’s heart fluttered in a way he hadn’t felt in four years, since he’d graduated. “Come on inside, boy. We have more to discuss, I think, and I want to see what those Daddies in the army taught you.”

Jace grinned, and followed Ethan inside the house, his prior plan with Mason all but forgotten. Now, he was more interested in showing Daddy a few trips his drill sergeant taught him in the barracks that might surprise even him.


Mason was in his office, trying not to worry. He’d gotten a few messages from Jace on his stakeout, along with some very disturbing videos. Jace had told him we was going to confront the strange older man he’d seen, and while Mason had told him not to, he hadn’t heard back from him the rest of the evening. He’d assumed he’d be back today sometime to follow up with him and what had happened, but he hadn’t seen Jace around the building all day. Now practice was over, it was about time to go home…but he was wondering if he should go investigate himself. No–that was too risky. Most likely, there was an explanation for Jace’s sudden disappearance that made sense. He was well guarded against the manipulations of faggots, at least if he had been listening to what Mason had been telling him. If he hadn’t heard from him by tomorrow, he’d sort it out then. For now, there was no reason to make his wife worry more–he might as well head home and try to put it out of his mind.

He closed up his office for the evening, and noticed that the athletic building was surprisingly empty, despite the fact that it was still fairly early. He was heading for the exit when his phone buzzed in his pocket. He looked at the message from Jace’s phone, and it was a picture–a picture of Jace, bound up and nearly naked, blindfolded and gagged. Below it was a message, “Meet me in the locker room, we have some things to discuss, coach.”

There was no question of what he would do, of course. He was a righteous man of God–no faggot could touch him. He would sort this out, with his fists if necessary. He stormed off back down into the building, got to the locker room, but when he arrived, it was…empty. He knew where that picture had been taken, but no one was there. He was about to leave again, when someone tackled him from behind, sending them both crashing to the concrete. Mason tried to fight off the attacker, but in a matter of moments he found his hands cuffed behind him, and secured to the foot of one of the benches running between the rows of lockers, forcing him to sit. He looked up at the man who’d tackled him, and realized the man he was staring up at, was Jace.

Except it wasn’t Jace, not really. The faggot–he must have gotten to him somehow! He wasn’t dressed in his security uniform, instead, he was wearing some freakish version of a police uniform, made entirely out of leather, all of it shined perfectly. “He’s secure, Daddy,” Jace said, and another man stepped out from behind the lockers, dressed in the same sort of leather uniform Jace was wearing.

“Coach Mason, isn’t it? We haven’t had a chance to be properly introduced. I’m sorry for the restraints, but I felt it was best given your…proclivities, to keep you bound for now.”

“You–you’re the one who did it, aren’t you! The faggot who…I don’t know what you did, but the boys in Phi Beta Alpha, I know that something isn’t right there. What have you done to them? What the hell have you done to Jace?”

“What do you mean?” Ethan asked him, stepped over and rubbed his leather gloved hands over Jace beside him, the younger man moaning and pushing up against him. “I’ve known Jace for years–he was a PBA boy before he was in the army, weren’t you? I was the one who took the scrawny little twig you were and built you into the fine specimen of a man you see before you.”

“Fuck yeah you were Daddy,” Jace said, “and every day I think about how lucky I was to have you as my Frat Daddy,” he leaned in and kissed Ethan, and Mason tried to not let his stomach turn and dump what remained of his lunch on the floor.

“You turned him into a faggot!” he said.

Ethan looked around, “I don’t see any faggots here, Coach. Just two men who understand what real manliness looks like, and desire it more than anything,” he said, and stepped away from Jace. “As for you, well, you might be a man, or you might be something else. That all depends on what you say to the deal I’m about to offer you,” Ethan said, and crouched down beside Mason.

The coach was a handsome fellow. In his mid to late forties, with just a bit of grey beginning to touch his short cropped hair. He had a stocky build, well muscled still. He wanted to set a good example for his players, after all. Ethan pulled up his shirt and looked under, at the healthy treasure trail running up his small muscle gut, as Mason squirmed and tried to wrench away from him–but with his hands bound behind him, there was only so much he could do. Ethan’s hands drifted lower, giving his thighs a squeeze, before sliding over and groping the coach’s crotch, which only made him squirm harder. Handsome, but so misguided. Well, Ethan would be more than happy to put him on the right track–or if he refused, then he’d deal with him in other ways.

“Now, my boys, they look up to you, Mason,” Ethan said, “They respect you–and rightfully so. You work hard, you’re no hypocrite, you care about their well being. However, you seem to have arrived at the unfortunate notion that we are enemies here, rather than compatriots, looking to make sure these boys become the best men that they can possibly me–men like Jace here. Don’t you think Jace is a fine example of a man?”

“He was, until you warped his head and dressed him up in that faggot leather!”

“Now now, like I said, there are no faggots here, Mason, not yet at least. Here is what I can offer you. Let me help you, Mason. You’re a fine example of a man, but you’re so afraid. You’ve let fear color everything around you–it’s your weakness. Aren’t you tired of being so afraid of us? Of being afraid of your fellow man? So afraid that someone might think you weak, when’s the last time you allowed another fellow to embrace you? To kiss you? Can’t you see that you’re starving here?” Ethan leaned in closer now, lips inches from Mason’s face, where he’d turned away from him. “You need us, Mason. We can complete you. We can take all of that fear inside you and destroy it, and all that will remain is happiness. Don’t you want to be happy?”

“I am happy, thank you very much. I have a loving wife, I have two kids. That’s a real man’s place. That’s where I belong.”

“Hmm, yes, well we can’t have that now, can we?” Ethan said. “Well, she must not have been very happy, since she left you all those years ago. Took the kids too. None of them even write to you anymore, no one calls. It’s like you don’t even exist to them anymore.”

“That’s not true!”

“I know it’s hard, Mason, but you can’t be happy until you face the truth. I know you didn’t want anyone here to know, you kept up a strong face, pretended like everything was fine–but they’re gone. You have to accept that.”

Mason tried to hold onto it, tried as hard as he could to resist what the man was saying, but he could feel it worming into him, the knowledge that…that his secret was out. She’d left him and taken the kids years ago, with almost no warning. He hadn’t seen them since. He’d kept up the lie as best he could–he was too ashamed to admit it. That he’d failed. He’d failed as a husband, and he’d failed as a father, and he’d failed as a man. Ethan’s gloved hand cupped his chin, and pulled his face towards his–and Mason realized that it was the first intimate, human contact he’d had with another person since she’d left. The tenderness surprised him. It even aroused him, though he couldn’t admit that to himself.

“We’re here for you, Mason. A new family. Men who understand you, who understand what you really need. She left because she realized, even before you did, that you weren’t right for her–the only people who can handle you are men–real men like us.”

“No–you’re the fucking devil,” Mason said, holding back tears, unwilling to show weakness in front of them.

“I swear I am no such thing–just a man offering you a future. You could do such good here, you know. Training these young men. It’s no wonder you were drawn here to them, so you could help mold them. You enjoy being around them, don’t you? They fill a hole inside you you didn’t know was there. You want them too–don’t try to deny it. I know how you think about it in your office, and at home in that lonely apartment you rent now, how you wish you could hold them, and smell then, and caress them, and fuck them.”

Ethan’s hand slipped lower, groping Mason’s crotch again, and now, the coach was rock hard. He couldn’t help but thrust up, just ever so slightly, into Ethan’s hand, but then stopped himself, froze, horrified by what he was thinking, that this man could see so deeply into him without having ever met him. How could he know any of this? His deepest secrets, his deepest shames. 

“Just say ‘Yes, Daddy’. That’s all you have to do. Just say yes, and I can show you all of the things you’ve missed, all of the pleasures you never allowed yourself, but that you longed for so deeply. All you have to do is say the words, and you’ll never have to worry again.”

Mason moaned, despite himself. He was lonely. He’d always been lonely, even before the divorce, even before the kids, even before the marriage, all the way back, he’d been alone. So afraid of what anyone else might think, he’d closed himself off for so long, that even this was enough to bring him to the verge of tears. But that was where he wanted him. Dependent. Weak. Open. But he was stronger than this. He was stronger than this faggot magic. He had to fight, he had to fight!

“No–I could never do that to these boys. They look up to me. I’m their coach! It’s perverse. It’s wrong. I would never betray their confidence like that.”

“Well, you don’t have to be their coach, if that’s a problem for you,” Ethan said, and Mason’s guts twisted a bit. “Come on, I know you’re hurting–but I can help you. No one else can, not like me. Just say it, don’t fight it–I won’t give you a better offer than this one, right here, right now.”

“No–no, I won’t let you do this to me.”

Ethan sighed.

“You don’t understand. I’ve been a coach here for going on fifteen years. This is like a family to me. You won’t understand that, you faggots don’t understand anything like that. Everything is sex with you, there’s nothing else.”

“You don’t have to keep up the lie with me, Mason.”

“I’m not lying! I love these players like they’re my own children.”

“Not about that–about being a coach. You’re getting things mixed up again. I know it can be hard to remember, sometimes, when you get lost in a fantasy, but you’re not the coach, Mason.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Sure, you like to come here, to the locker room. Fantasize about being the coach. About ordering all those players to line up in their smelly jockstraps for an inspection. But you’re not the coach–you’re the janitor, Mason. Thirty years, you’ve been the janitor here. Always looking, always lusting, stealing jocks for your collection back at your apartment, from all of your favorite players over the years.”

“Shut up! It’s not true.”

“Lurking under the bleachers during practice, coming in for some equipment you forgot while the boys are all showering together. You don’t have to be ashamed anymore, Mason. I know what you need, and I can help you–but you have to be honest with me. You have to be honest with yourself.”

“No! No, I won’t let you do this, I won’t!”

“You pigs sometimes, so damn stubborn!” Ethan said, and turned to Jace, “Help me get him up.”

They unlocked the cuff around one hand, unhooked it from the foot of the bench, and then resecured it around his wrist. Together, Ethan and Jace took one of Mason’s elbows and hauled him upright, then walked him down the row of lockers, towards the showers, where a large mirror was on the wall. Mason closed his eyes, not wanting to look. He was the coach. He was in charge here. He cared for these boys, he looked out for them! He wouldn’t let this freak take that away from him, he wouldn’t!

“Open your eyes, Mason.”

“No.”

“Why not? Are you afraid of what you’re going to see? If you’re so sure that you’re the coach, wouldn’t you know exactly what that reflection is going to look like? You know you won’t open your eyes and see an old man in his late fifties, wearing a pair of filthy, cumstained coveralls, with a big gut and no real muscles, a thick, greying beard stained around the mouth from all those cigars you chain smoke.”

“That’s not me!”

“If that’s true, then open your eyes, and let’s look, together.”

“You’re trying to trick me, you’re the fucking devil! I don’t have to look, I know the truth, I know it!”

“Go on then. Tell me what you’re really going to see. If you’re right, then I’ll let you go, and you’ll never see me again. If I’m right, well, then you’ll have to listen to what I’ll offer you. So say it pig, who do you think’s in that mirror?”

Mason tried to focus, tried to remember, but suddenly, the vision wasn’t as clear as it should have been. “M-Muscular. I’m…43, I think. Clean shaven, I know that for sure. Tall, yeah, tall and still strong, because I work out every day with the boys, watching…I mean. Yeah, and hairy too, fuck.”

“Alright, so open them up, Mason, and let’s see who’s right.”

He knew it. He had faith. He knew who he was, who he had to be. He opened his eyes, ready to sneer in the frat daddy’s face, but he had to stare at the reflection in the mirror for a few moments, trying to sort out who he was looking at. There, on both sides, were the two leather men, but in between them–no, no that couldn’t be him, it couldn’t be him! He looked at the stranger in his late fifties, looked at the full beard, looked at the gut sagging out from under the ill-fitting athletic department t-shirt he had on, the cumstained gym shorts–he was the coach, he wasn’t the janitor! He wasn’t!

“Please no, please just let me have this, please,” he said to Daddy, “You can’t do this to me, you can’t!”

“Just be honest with me, Mason–you have to tell me the truth now, alright? No more lies. Whose clothes are these?”

Mason tried to say that they were his, that they were the usual clothes he wore to work, but instead he said, “I stole the shirt and shorts from the coach’s office at the beginning of the year, while I was cleaning it.” 

He felt his face burn, as Ethan nodded, and pulled down his shorts, to reveal a well soiled jock underneath–which they could all smell in the room. “And the rest of it? The jock? The socks?” Ethan asked.

“The jock was…from Jullian Barber, class of ‘02. Linebacker. Never washed his jock, thought it was lucky. He tossed it when they lost the championship–fuck! No, why–the socks are from…from August Rickett, class of ‘08 on the right, and Wade Marger, class of ‘98 on…on the left…”

“Sounds like you’re quite the collector, Mason.”

“Please–please don’t tell anyone, I’m not hurting anyone, I’ve never touched any of them, they’re just…fuck, I…they’re so sexy, you know? I know they would never want me, but…but I like to pretend. I’m just so lonely, I’m–” Mason said, and choked back a sob. Daddy stepped into him, pulled him close, and let the old fellow cry into his chest for a moment, holding him tight. No one had held him like this, this firmly, since he was young, and the smell of the leather, it was…no–no, this wasn’t right either, he’d been tricked again, hadn’t he? Everything was so twisted up. He was tired, and horny, and lonely, and angry, and scared. He just wanted someone to tell him what to do, he just wanted all of this to be over.

Ethan released him from his embrace when he’d calmed down a bit, and Mason stared at his reflection, in resignation. “I was wrong. I want to help. I can help! Please, I…I’m sorry for what I said, before. I’ll do whatever you ask, just…just tell me what you want from me.”

“Well, I’m afraid that offer is no longer on the table,” Ethan said, “That was an offer I was willing to make to the coach–but you aren’t the coach, are you? You’re just a dirty minded janitor, a pig who lusts after hot, young athletes all day long. But I’ll make you a new offer, how about that?”

Mason gulped–what choice did he have? He nodded, and waited to see what Ethan and Jace had in store for him.


It’s finally time for another survey! Because I’m going to be working on commissions, I probably won’t be able to keep up with the usual pace of this story, but I’ll do my best–and of course, commission interludes will be posted as I finish them, if people want them. Patrons have their bonus survey as usual, with two extra questions! They can access that survey here, through Patreon.

Frat Daddy – Interlude #2 (Mike)

Mike had thus far avoided any of Frat Daddy’s direct attention, and he counted himself thankful, because keeping up with just the new rules of the frat house was proving challenging enough. The worst part, though, was the showers. Or really, the lack of them. Mike was on the football team, along with a few other guys in the house, and between only showering three times a week, not being allowed to use much soap at all, and just being an active guy, trying to workout and burn through the massive calorie diet Daddy had them all on, he reeked–and he hated it. Mike had always prided himself on his cleanliness and style, always smelling and looking good for the girls on campus–none of who would give him a second look now.

None of this had escaped Ethan’s attention though–especially when he found contraband in Mike’s drawer during a surprise check. It was a can of deodorant (unscented even, because he knew any scent would have given him away in the house) and Daddy had him turn around, and threatened to shove the aerosol can up his hole, if he ever found something like this in the house again. Instead, he just gave him ten solid paddlings with the metal cylinder, and left the house with it. When Friday rolled around, and it was again time to gather up and find out who Daddy would have spend the weekend with him, Mike was surprised when Daddy chose him. 

The week before, Carter had come back and he’d been…different. More assertive. Bigger too, somehow. He’d been vague about his time with Daddy, but said it had been something very special, and that he couldn’t wait to go back and see him again sometime. In fact, Carter looked outright despondent that he hadn’t been selected, while Mike was trying to figure out, why him? If it was a reward, why pick him after finding contraband in his room? If it was a punishment…he didn’t really want to think too hard about that, actually. There was only one bright spot, he thought, as he followed Daddy through the tunnel and over to his home, and that was, maybe, he could get that little can back from him. It was risky, sure…but maybe, if he could just talk to him, he’d understand, right?

Daddy cooked him dinner, which was off putting. He hadn’t had much in the way of real food, aside from the occasional dining hall visits, since anything consumed outside of the house didn’t actually count towards their daily goal, and the shakes were so damn filling. Daddy was quiet–not like he was angry, but like he was trying to give Mike some space to think. It was enough for Mike to reconsider him for a moment, that maybe he was something more than just the taskmaster he had taken him to be. Daddy asked him about football, and about the coach in particular, if he’d said anything to the boys about their uniform, their diet, or the fact they were forbidden to shower after practice. From there, talk drifted to the topic of hygiene. Mike tried to, gently, suggest that maybe the boys could be allowed to shower more–at least after practice, but Daddy didn’t seem interested in changing his mind. What he did say, was that if Mike still felt that way after this weekend, then he might consider it. It wasn’t much, but a bit of hope was better than nothing. When Mike asked him what they were doing this weekend, Daddy was honest–the house needed some work, especially outside in the garden, ahead of winter. As part of his punishment, Mike would be helping him. That seemed fair to Mike–and he imagined that Daddy could have inflicted much harsher punishments if he so chose. Daddy showed him to his room, and then left–he’d get him up in the morning.

But Mike had a hard time sleeping, for a number of reasons. He was horny, for one thing, but that had become a rather constant feature of his life, since he didn’t exactly enjoy having sex with his brothers, and women were off limits. In fact, Mike hadn’t fucked anyone in the last week–as hard as it was to resist after a cigar. It wasn’t required, so why do it? That, though, brought up another reason sleeping was difficult. He’d taken to consuming one of his required cigars in the evening, and he hadn’t today–so much to his displeasure, he was jonesing a bit for nicotine. The room was also quite hot–hotter than it should have been, especially this late in October. He’d kicked off all the sheets, and was still soaked in sweat. He tried to open the window, it wouldn’t budge. In the end, he got up, tried to door, and much to his surprise, it wasn’t locked–though why he’d expected it to be…he didn’t know. Maybe he could find that can of deodorant at least–if he didn’t have to smell himself, he’d sleep a bit better. If not that, a cigar–Daddy would understand, he was sure. He’d seen a humidor downstairs in the lounge–might as well go there first, for an alibi.

After fetching a cigar–the smallest he could find, since he didn’t want to be up all night, he made his way back upstairs, and found himself outside Daddy’s room–he could tell from the snoring. He pushed open the door, which was ajar, and it was just as sweltering as his own room, not that it was bothering Daddy at all. Sure enough, there, on the dresser, was the little can of deodorant. Just grab it, slip out, spray it on, put it back, and he’d be good for the weekend at least. But instead, as he crossed the side of the room as quietly as he could–he smelled something else. Looking down, he realized what it was, he was standing right on some of Daddy’s well worn underwear, and he could smell it, the cum, the piss, the sweat, all of it wafting up to him, and he didn’t understand what he did, or why, but he bent down, picked them up, and retreated to his own room where he closed the door, lit his cigar, and spent the next hour with the underwear pressed to his nose, moaning and groaning and jacking off, always on edge, unable to cum, until at last, he passed out, the butt of the cigar balance on the side table, still smoldering. 

Outside the room, Ethan was crouched, looking through the door that Mike thought had been shut tight, but no doors were closed to Daddy. He hadn’t been sure that Mike would take the bait–but the deodorant would have been a fine surprise for the boy too–just a different sort of surprise. For now, he would go with this plan–the weekend was still long, after all, and Mike was a tough nut, he could already tell.


The pounding on the door jostled Mike awake. “Come on boy! Get a move on,” a voice said from the other side of the door, and it took Mike a moment to place it, before he remembered where he was. It was Daddy of course. He sat up, saw the cigar on the side table, and remembered everything else that had happened last night, and his stomach turned. The underwear! He looked around for it on the bed, but it wasn’t anywhere–and then he looked down, and saw that he…was wearing it.

His stomach turned a bit, at the sheer thought of wearing someone else’s underwear–especially one as dirty and…and why were they still wet? He tried to take them off, only to discover they refused to budge from around his waist. In a rising panic, he stood up, almost called to Daddy…but then he’d have to admit that he took them, and admit what he did the night before, which he could barely even reckon with himself. Instead, he put on the clothes that had appeared on a chair by the door–a pair of old 501 levis that fit surprisingly well, a wife beater, socks, and a pair of work boots. They were all used as well, they all smelled of a vague musk, but what choice did he have? He’d just have to get through the weekend and be done with it. He thought again about that can on the dresser, but Daddy pounded on the door again, ordering him out. Mike emerged, followed Daddy downstairs and they had breakfast, followed by a cigar, as Daddy outlined the tasks for the day.

Daddy had some general work to do winterizing the house and the backyard. Mike would be spending the day mowing the lawn, organizing the shed, and a few other general tasks, should he be a good boy and finish all of those quickly. The morning chill burnt off quickly, and Mike found himself mowing the lawn in a heat that felt more like August than Fall–it was unnatural, and he found himself working up a sweat almost immediately. The lawn was connected seamlessly to the frat house’s front lawn, and Daddy told him to mow that as well. Quite a few of his brothers could see him through the windows, and Mike grumbled a bit, knowing that the rest of them would know that he was Daddy’s chore boy this weekend. At least he could smoke a cigar while he was mowing, though that did nothing to ease his horniness. Every erection he sprouted as he walked, he knew it was rubbing up against Daddy’s dirty underwear, and he found it hard to know how he really felt about that. Disgusted? Excited? Both? He mowed faster so he could at least be done with it, and when he was finished, he went back and found Daddy in the backyard, as soaked in sweat as he was.

They had a quick break for lunch, and sat out on the porch to eat it. Each time Daddy raised his arm to take a swig from his beer, Mike would get a whiff of his pits, and the same emotions would roil through him all over again. He was certain this was Daddy’s plan all along, turn him into some…musky boy or whatever he had it mind, like how Carter had come back, and suddenly he was twisting tits and smacking asses as he fucked everyone, and…and what in the world was happening to them all? This wasn’t normal, right? He had to remember that. He had to keep telling himself that.

They finished lunch, and returned to work. Mike spent the afternoon in the shed, organizing and sorting Daddy’s tools, and the tin roof turned it into an oven. Soon, all he could smell was his own musk, or was it Daddy’s? He couldn’t tell anymore, but it was making his cock ache, but he refused to give in. He stayed focused on his task, and finished it without making a fool of himself. If he could demonstrate self-control, if he could show Daddy that he didn’t need to be dirty to be a good boy…then maybe he really would listen to him. He hoped he would, at least. 

With their chores finished, and their bodies plenty sore, they went in, and Daddy cooked another sizable dinner. Once they’d eaten, Daddy poured them both some bourbon and they sat back out on the porch with their cigars, this time on the swinging bench, Daddy’s arm around Mike’s shoulder, his pit inches from the boy’s face. “Well boy, you did some nice work today, I have to admit. Good boys deserve a reward, don’t you think?”

Daddy’s arm contracted around his shoulders and pulled him closer, while his other hand groped his boy’s crotch. Mike was very hard–it felt like he’d been hard all day long at this point. The urge to lean in and just…smell Daddy’s pit was nearly overwhelming, but one little lapse, and he’d have lost. He was so focused on not giving in, that he forgot what Daddy would find when he undid the button fly of his jeans–and Daddy chuckled. “Well boy, now where did you get those?”

Mike tried to pull away from him, but Daddy tugged him even closer.

“Looks like someone snuck into Daddy’s room, and made off with a pair of underwear, you little thief. To think, all this time, saying you can’t handle the smell of the other boys in the house, and the first chance you get, you steal a pair of my dirty, cumstained, stinking underwear so you can wear them yourself.”

“That’s not…I didn’t…”

“Sure seems like you enjoy it boy,” Daddy said, groping harder and rougher, and then he pressed his fingers to Mike’s nose. He snorted in reflex, and then moaned, the smell of his own musk mixing with Daddy’s more than he could really take. “What does it smell like, boy? Does it smell like hard work? Smell like hardworking, burly, hairy men? You like men like that, don’t you? Like Daddy? Don’t you want to be a stinking man like that? Dominating all of the men around you with your pits, with your crotch, with your feet?”

“No,” Mike said, and managed to push himself away, and stand up. “No–I know what you’re doing, but I’m not like you, I’m not! I’m not just…just going to let you do this to me, to all of us.”

“Boy, sit your ass back down, right now,” Daddy said, but Mike ran inside, and headed for the stairs. The first place he stopped was the bathroom, so he could get in the shower–but he discovered that there simply wasn’t one there. 

“Boy, think about what you’re doing right now, you’re about to make a mistake.”

“Shut up!” Mike cried, “I’m not some fucking boy–I know what I’m doing, and what I want, and it isn’t this!”

He went into Daddy’s master bedroom, but again, somehow, the shower in the attached bathroom he was certain should be there was just…gone. He turned, saw the little can on the dresser, and made a beeline for it. He might not be clean, but at least he wouldn’t stink!

He popped off the cap, and Daddy stepped into the room, hands down, looking…not angry, like Mike had expected of him, but a bit…concerned. “Boy, you don’t understand what you’re about to do. I know it’s hard, but I just need you to trust me, and you’ll understand that what I’m offering you is about more than this. That if you don’t work past this, one way or another, you won’t–”

“Shut up! I’m sick and tired of your rules, and your lectures, and your fucking stink!” he said, and proceeded to spray himself from head to foot–but as soon as the mist struck his nose, he knew something was wrong. This…wasn’t unscented anymore. It smelled…foul. Fuck, it fucking reeked so…so fucking much, and the next thing Mike really remembered clearly, he had crawled across the floor, grunting and snorting, and shoved his nose into Daddy’s crotch, snorting up all the musk there, hungry for it, aching for it.

“I tried to warn you pig, but some boys need to learn the hard way, no matter what,” Daddy said, and dropped his own jeans, so Mike could shove his nose into his dirty underwear, sniffing and grunting and squealing until he shot a load in the filthy pair of underwear he had on still. Mike was desperately trying to regain control of himself, but he could feel that he was changing further, his gut sagging lower, his body coated with sweat and grime like he hadn’t had a shower in ages. Daddy stripped down, got on the bed, and let the pig climb up with him, licking him clean, worshipping every inch of his body, every slight difference in musk registered and relished by his more sensitive nose, until Daddy had had enough with the licking, shoved the pig down on his belly, and pounded his hole, making the pig squeal and shoot another load all over the sheets beneath him. After that, Daddy kicked the pig out of bed. Mike crawled around, sniffing for a while, and eventually curled up in a pile of dirty laundry, and was soon snoring away.


Sunday morning came, and all that registered to Mike at first, was a headache, like he had spent all night huffing paint. He made his way to the bathroom, splashed a bit of water on his face, took care of his business, stumbled out, but Daddy must have woken up already. Mike went downstairs, carefully, since the world was still spinning a bit rapidly, and found Daddy cooking a delicious smelling breakfast. His memories of the night before were…hazy. He could remember the fight, somewhat, and he felt…bad, but he wasn’t quite sure why. 

“There you are, pig,” Daddy said, with a grin, “sleep well?”

“I…I feel like I got hit by a train, Daddy,” Mike said, and sat down at the table.

“I tried to warn you, boy, but you didn’t want to listen.”

“Well I’m sick of listening! I’m sick of you telling us what to do. We’re adults, you know! We’re–” before Mike could get anything else out, Daddy had walked over, shoved his face into his pit, and everything else disappeared–there was just that wonderful, filthy stench, and with a grunt, Mike was licking and sucking at his pit with pure delight, until Daddy pulled away, and Mike came back to himself, horrified. “How…why did I do that?”

“You’re a pig.”

“But the spray, I thought it wore off.”

“It might wear off, eventually. But until then, anytime you smell another fellows musk–you’re going to turn into one hundred percent grade A muskpig.”

“You…you can’t be serious.”

“I most certainly am. It’ll get worse, too. You’ll get fatter, the more it happens. Dirtier. It’ll start wearing off on you. Showers, for you, are optional from now on–if you can stand to take them. You might even start to like it. You might forget you ever wanted to be a man at all, boy. You might just leave here a pig, and never look back.”

Mike sat in silence, while Daddy finished cooking, and set the meal in front of him. Was he hungry because he was legitimately starving, or was he hungry because the pig was urging him on? He ate anyway, trying to hold back, trying to find the line, but it eluded him. “For what I said, Daddy, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. You meant it,” Daddy said, and looked him in the eye, “When you really understand what you did wrong–then apologize. Until then, well, we’ll see.”

After breakfast, Mike returned to the house. The boys all asked him how it had been, if the chores had been a punishment, or something else. Mike didn’t really know what to tell any of them. Later, Carter found him, alone, and sat beside him–and just put his arm around him. Mike knew it was commiseration, but it took all of his will to not leap into Carter’s pit and suck it clean.

“Daddy’s a real bastard, isn’t he?” Carter said, “But fuck, he knows what he’s talking about.”

“He is a bastard, that’s for sure,” Mike replied, and left it at that.

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.

Quarantine Files (Caption)

I mentioned this on twitter a few days ago, but I started a little series of caption stories over on my discord server, on the theme of quarantine. It’s been fun having something silly to work on between how stressful work has been and commissions, and for anyone who’s a patron, they’re welcome to suggest stories or ideas for future installments. Here’s one of the captions I’ve done so far–if you want to see the other couple, you’ll have to support me and join my discord channel! You can find more details here.


The quarantine didn’t mean much to Barry, since he spent most of his life in his apartment anyway. Barry was…eccentric, by any real measure. He’d lived in the old apartment building longer than anyone really knew, including the staff who worked there. Oddly though, he didn’t look a day over 40 or 50, but the secret of his longevity and good looks wasn’t something he shared with anyone. He worked from home–or at least, that’s what he told people, but other times he was known to disappear from the building for weeks, if not months at a time, only to appear later like nothing had happened. Barry, you see, was a sorcerer, with a rather specific focus. He loved sex, and he loved nothing more than using his magical ability to corrupt other men until they loved it just as much as he did. In his apartment, he would refine his spells and enchantments, and then when they were ready for real world testing, he would choose a different city somewhere in the world, and, well, binge. He’d fuck men for days on end, warping them all in the process, and only when he was fully spent did he return home to relax, recharge, and prepare a new collection of ideas for his next journey.

But this couldn’t have fallen at a worse time. Barry had just prepared all of his travel arrangements, only for everything to be cancelled, every international city shut down entirely, and now he was here in his apartment, spells and enchantments at the ready, with no one to use them on. He gave a great huff and settled deeper into his leather couch, and looked over at the window–now what in the world was he supposed to do?

Above him, he heard the creak of bed springs–the young couple who had moved in there earlier this month were obviously occupying themselves well enough. Barry scowled–not only was he literally cockblocked by a virus, he had to be taunted by the constant noise of sex all around him in the building–that he owned, in fact. He went over to his scrying pool out of curiosity, and summoned an image of the couple above him–and was surprised that it was a gay couple, in fact. Now this was more interesting. Still, it didn’t do much for him…but then, what if he…

He looked over at the collection of enchanted items, spell scrolls, curses and the like in his luggage. He never used his spells at home–it was too risky. But he was so damn horny…why not just this once, spread his goods around to his neighbors here? He smiled, and started unpacking his goods and services. It was dangerous, but he was horny enough that he didn’t care. Pretty soon, the apartment building would be a lot more interesting, when he was done with it.

***

The couple above Barry had no idea what the sorcerer below them was plotting–they had found that quarantine had done wonders for their physical intimacy, because what else were they going to do with their time? Before this, Ian and Francis had spent most of their free time organizing parties with their other friends (parties they called them, but really, orgies was more precise) or going out to the various gay bars around the city. Without that to occupy them, and with both of their jobs scaling back work, they found that the easiest way to pass the time was to fuck.

With a groan, Ian blew a load of cum into his boyfriend’s hole, and collapsed on top of him, huffing a bit. He rolled off, and Francis rolled over, cuddling with him for a bit in bed. “Fuck, I miss the gym,” Francis said, and Ian chuckled.

“Just a few more weeks, right?”

“The news said it might be months.”

“Fuck, seriously?”

“I don’t know. I never thought that the most social thing going on in my life was going to be going to the grocery store.”

“Gonna have to work out here just so we don’t look like a couple of flabs when we get out of here finally,” Ian said, and then he noticed an odd smell. Looking over, he saw Francis holding a cigar in his hands. He was about to ask his boyfriend where that had come from, when he brought his own cigar up to his lips, and took a drag off of it, the sudden nicotine rush pushing the confusion from his mind.

The two twinks got up from bed, still smoking their new cigars, and went to go watch some TV. On the couch, with Ian sitting on it, and Francis sitting on the floor between his legs, they kept smoking, the cigars never getting smaller, and changes starting to appear on their bodies. Both of them were getting hairier, and over the course of half an hour, Francis went from having a smooth face incapable of growing a beard, to the somewhat thick, salty beard across his face.

The smoke was filling the apartment, turning into a thick fog–and everything it touched began to shift and change. The couch grew older and more threadbare. The stylish art hung on the walls became pictures of cowboys and rednecks in various states of undress. It drifted into the closet, and their suits began to contort and shift into flannel, jeans, and leather gear.

It wasn’t long before the two new cigar daddies were making out on the floor, feeding each other smoke, holding their cinders to each other cocks, balls and nips, smearing each other with their ash. But then, just as the cigars had appeared before, they disappeared from their hands, leaving Ian and Francis lying in a dirty heap, wondering what had come over them.

“Come on then, my new cigar daddies–let’s have some fun, eh?”

They looked over, and there was Barry on the couch, smoking a massive cigar in his leather gear, and the two old men crawled over and started servicing him–Ian worshiping his cock, and Francis his leather boots, both of them taking turns eating their downstairs neighbor’s ash, the curse tightening around them both, squeezing out the old Francis and Ian, and replacing them entirely, with a couple of old cowboy queers living in the city, working in construction, smoking cigars from the moment they woke up until they went to bed. After a day, Barry was spent, and returned home–deeply satisfied with the result.

Interactive: Three Word Difference (Part 8)

“I wish my bros were into big, slutty himbos like me! We’d be…we’d, uh…what was I sayin’ again?” Tim said, the genie already sapping what remained of Tim’s intellect to start fulfilling his modified wish. The genie didn’t feel the need to modify much of the big man’s physique with this one, but as Tim grew dumber still, new desires started to cloud his mind–mostly focusing on how eager he was to get a good fuck. He hadn’t gotten fucked in ages! The biggest, manliest slut on campus, and he honestly couldn’t recall the last time he’d had a cock inside him. He took another drag off his cigar, imagining it was a cock, and moaned. Leaning forward, he shoved one hand down the back of his tight spandex shorts, and probed his hole with one meaty finger, his cock leaking in the front of them as well.

“I believe, Master, that you were going to tell me more about these, ‘bros’, you live with.”

“Fuck genie, they’re all fuckin’ studs, eager for my hole, you wouldn’t fuckin’ believe how lucky I am. I mean, I wish more of them were cigar smokers–it grosses a couple of them out.”

The genie rewound that bit, and Timothy spoke his wish again.

“I wish all of them were dominant, sadistic, cigar smokers–it grosses a couple of them out.”

Tim, not really smart enough to realize what his idle wish had done, leaned back, smoked, and fingered himself for another minute or two, until someone pounded on the door. “Hey slut! Are you in there?”

Tim recognized the voice–it was Greg, one of the members of the frat. He hurried over, opened his door, and there his bro stood–muscled, shirtless, smoking a cigar just as large as Tim’s was, groping the front of his mesh shorts. 

“What the fuck did we tell you about locking your door, fag?”

“S-Sorry, I–” Tim’s excuse evaporated into a groan, as Greg latched onto his nipples and gave them a hard twist. 

“I don’t need your dumb excuses–get on the bed.”

Tim hopped up on the bed, shorts down, ass up, and Greg grabbed some lube off Tim’s bedside table and slathered some on his cock. “Yeah, that’s right slut–we have an open door policy around here–you know that. That means that whenever any of us want this hole of yours, we should be able to just walk right in here and grab it–think you can remember that?”

“Fuck bro, I’m sorry man, but fuck, get…get that cock in me man, I fuckin’ need it so bad!” Tim said.

Greg laughed. “Can’t believe a bottom like you got the biggest cock on campus. What a fuckin’ waste.”

“Fuck bro, I wish your cock was big like mine…”

The genie’s eyes glowed, and time skipped a beat.

“Fuck bro, I wish your cock was big instead of mine…”

Greg slid his cock in, and Tim gasped a bit in surprise. Greg was on the smaller side of the cocks in the house, and usually Time could take him without any trouble, but today…maybe he was just a bit tighter? Greg drove his cock in deeper and deeper with each thrust, with Tim’s slutty hole finding itself stretched to the max, as his cock dwindled down, becoming even smaller than Greg’s had been before–just a couple inches long. “Yeah, you like that slut? Like having my monster cock planted deep in your fucking guts?” Greg said as he pushed his now eleven inches completely into Tim’s ass, listening to the slut moan with something between pain and desperate need.

“Fuck bro, just…just fuck me man, fuck my slutty hole…”

Greg held out for a couple more minutes, but he eventually came deep, planted to the root, Tim shuddering as he felt his bro’s massive cock throbbing and filling him up with a load of cum. Greg finished, and pulled out. “Remember fucker, no locks for you, or we’ll just take the door off.”

It took Tim a few minutes to recover from that fuck, quivering and shaking on the bed. He finally reached down to stroke himself, and was horrified to find that he was working with much, much less suddenly–and he realized then, what he’d said in the heat of sex.

“Wait! I…I didn’t want to lose my cock too,” he said to the genie, “I wish my cock was big again!”

Or rather, once the genie was through with it…

“I wish my cock was permanently locked up!”

The genie snapped his fingers, there was a sharp pain, and Greg found himself looking down at his tiny cock in a very small chastity cage–riveted shut. “No! What the fuckin’ hell! That…that’s not what I wanted!” He tugged at the cage, but it refused to budge. “You…you fucked with my wish, didn’t you! How did you do that?”

The genie just smirked, and Tim heard the frat house door open, and the sound of loud voices in the common room downstairs. Football practice was over–and that meant most of the house was home.

“Where’s that fuckin’ slut!” one of them shouted, “Get your ass down here, now!”

Tim shook his head, but the genie’s eyes sparkled. He found himself unable to resist going downstairs, where the filthy football players all took turns with both ends for the rest of the evening, Tim losing himself in a haze of fucking, musk, smoke and humiliation that he couldn’t get enough of, even as he knew it was all wrong. He woke up the next morning in his bed, hole wrecked as usual, a dried mess of cum under his locked crotch–some his own, but most of it from his loose hole, and he rolled upright, and found the genie looking at him, still smirking.

“Have a good night, slut? It sure looked like you were enjoying yourself,” the genie said.

“Please…please, I…I wish I didn’t have to be the frat’s sex slave anymore.”

The genie just shook his head, and this time Tim felt it, the words forcing their way back into his mouth, changing in his mind, becoming something else when he spit them back out.

“I wish I have to be the frat’s sex slave forever now!”

He clapped his hands over his mouth, but it was too late–the frat president and a few other bros came into his room, and told him that the frat had come to a decision. Tim wasn’t going to be a student anymore–he was going to be moving rooms too. They dragged him down into the basement, where they forced him into a cage next to the house washer and dryer, gagged him, and went back to bed. Tim begged through the gag to the genie, begging him not to leave him like this, but he just laughed.

“I’m sorry master, I can’t hear you through that silly gag–I’m just going to have to assume my services are no longer required here–enjoy yourself.”

With that, the genie disappeared, leaving Tim to his new lifetime role as the fraternity’s cumdump.

***

The genie found his way back to the same dorm as before, now two students lighter. He looked around again at his options, and made a decision of who to visit next. There was still Eli, the jock who had been Adam’s roommate, until he got whisked away into his new life. There was the clean freak freshman who had been complaining to Timothy about his slobby roommate earlier. There was a young, thin fellow currently jacking off in his room, thinking about…one of his older, bearish professors. Finally, coming up the stairs, was an older maintenance man, coming to fix some wiring. He was a bit of a perv himself–and liked his job mostly because he could see all the hot college boys that he wanted. There was plenty to work with, but what does the genie choose?


Here’s the poll! I think this will be the last character in this interactive–once the new year hits, I’ll do another round of New You Resolutions! The bonus poll for patrons is over here as well.

Archive: Matchmaker

Originally published July, 2012

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.

Click below to read more!

Continue reading “Archive: Matchmaker”

Patreon Teaser: Gobble, Gobble

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.

Interactive: Three Word Difference (Part 6)

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.


Here’s your poll for the next chunk of Timothy’s story! You can find the bonus poll for Patrons over here as well.

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!

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