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.

Interactive: Three Word Difference (Part 7)

“Fuck it, I wish I was the big man on campus,” Timothy said. Is that what he’d wanted to say? He couldn’t quite recall, exactly, what he’d meant to come out of his mouth, but that seemed…right, mostly.

“Ah yes, that can certainly be arranged, Master,” the genie said, snapped his fingers, and Timothy felt something happening to his body. It didn’t hurt, exactly, but it also didn’t feel comfortable. It was his feet, at first–they were growing in his shoes, and it was getting uncomfortable in there, and then it really did start to hurt. He tried to undo the laces in time, but in a few moments, his feet ripped out through the sneakers entirely, and Timothy found himself face to face with his new size twenty feet, the tops covered in hair, and he just, gaped at them.

The sensation was rising higher, his legs beginning to throb and expand. Again, Timothy tried his very best to get out of his clothes, but he was growing too fast. He tore his way out of his jeans, his thighs now not only thicker, but longer as well, as he grew taller, in addition to larger in general. 

“Hold…hold on, could you slow this down or something?” Timothy said, trying to get out of his shirt, but it was too tight already to come off, and in frustration, he tore in down the front as his chest expanded into two meaty pecs, the genie just holding his usual cocky smile. “I said I wanted to be the big man on campus, but I didn’t really mean it literally!” 

“Oh I know Master, don’t worry, the physical changes are only part of the wish,” the genie said, and that didn’t exactly fill Timothy with confidence either. Thankfully, the changes were beginning to slow down somewhat, Timothy tearing off the rags of the clothes he’d been wearing moments before as he looked down at his new body. He was massive, easily six and a half feet tall, weighing in at over 300 pounds. Much of it was muscle, but he was…thick in other areas too, especially his gut, which was filling in last, along with plenty of body hair all over his chest, arms, and crotch. He looked over his gut and his eyes went wide–he was certainly the big man where it counted now! He gave his new, eleven inch cock a few strokes, and it hardened almost immediately, filling out to almost a foot long, thicker than a beer can–whoever he was with was going to have a hard time taking this monster, that was for sure.

“Look, this…this is too much, I don’t want to be a freak!” He turned to look at the genie, only to be captivated by the genie’s shimmering eyes, as the rest of the wish took hold of him. After all, a body like this would be wasted on a RA position–this was the body of a jock! Timothy’s mind began to drain, his studious nature replaced with a more athletic focus, his diligence replaced with a smug masculinity as well. The genie snapped his fingers again, and they weren’t standing in Timothy’s RA dorm room anymore–they were standing in Tim’s room at the nearby fraternity instead. Tim blinked a couple of times, looked around his room and grinned. “Fuck genie, this is fuckin’ crazy man! I’m a fuckin’ jock!”

He turned towards the mirror and gave a flex, admiring his new look, and already in love with it. “Fuckin’ amazing…” he said, picked up his still burning cigar, and took a long drag off of it, still working his cock. “Man, I wish my bros were big men like me! We’d be fuckin’ unstoppable on the field, man.”

The genie was already hard at work, warping Tim’s idle wish that he hadn’t really thought too hard about making. Still, the genie thought that Tim was in good shape, but he needed to start having some fun, or the genie was going to get a bit bored.


Sorry for the delay on this next chunk! Here’s your poll for the next wish. Patrons can find their bonus poll over here.

Interactive: The House Made Me Gay! (Part 8)

Marcus crawled forward, but before he could reach Mr. Woodrow near the ladder leading up, something appeared around him–a circle not unlike the one that had surrounded the demon before, except now he was on the inside. He tried to cross the barrier, but it was like some sort of forcefield–he could hammer on it all he wanted, but he couldn’t cross the line, no matter how hard he tried. He was panting, his whole body getting hot, and without really thinking about it, he stripped off his clothes, sweat pouring off his body, head spinning, and all he could do was croak at Mr. Woodrow, begging him to help him, to do something, that everything hurt.

Mr. Woodrow just watched. Demon seed could be…tempermental, and while one dose was rarely enough to cause the full corruption of a man’s soul, it certainly wouldn’t be without repercussions–some of them more dangerous than others. Until he saw how the seed affected Marcus, he was going to keep him in the circle, just to be safe. He could already see the changes starting, the hair beginning to sprout across Marcus’s shoulders and down his chest, the slight swelling in his gut. It was only a matter of moments before Marcus noticed them as well, but he was feeling too weak to do anything about it. Instead, he sat back on the floor in the circle, lying on his clothes, and just watched as the changes began to warp and corrupt his body.

It was the stench that he noticed first. As his body heated up and started to sweat, the smell that came with it was something entirely unlike anything he had smelled before–aside from the demon he had just sucked off. But that had been…pungent, and also…also pure somehow. This didn’t smell like that, it smelled like…like something inside him was rotting, like his soul was rotting, and pouring out of him in a heady musk that…fuck, the more he smelled it, the hornier he was getting somehow. It didn’t make the smell any more pleasant–but he couldn’t stop himself as he reached down and started working his cock, throwing up an arm and snorting up the scent from his pit, all as the rest of his body started to grow and expand.

He was getting fatter. Not just a little fatter, but piling on the pounds rapidly–so much so that with a bit of will, Mr. Woodrow expanded the circle around him, just to give him some additional space. His body grew out and softened, a full, heavy apron that grew down and over his crotch, making it harder for him to work his cock, but Marcus couldn’t stop himself. His arms and legs grew thick, their own rolls hanging off of them, his ass spreading out underneath him like a puddle. And all over the larger surface, hair was sprouting, the same coarse, bristly hair as the demon’s hand been, so thick that it looked more like a pelt.

Marcus had to put his other arm down, and use it to hoist up his new fat to keep working his cock–but there was another reason he was struggling. His cock was bigger–easily nine inches long and thicker than a beer can. It was his balls though, that had grown the most. Each was around the size of a large grapefruit, and precum was gouting from the head, soaking the inside of his thighs and pooling on the ground, as Marcus got closer and closer to orgasm. He came, expelling a chunk of his humanity, and as he did, Mr. Woodrow watched his face contort, nose turning up and growing wider, ears longer and nearly flopping, a wider mouth, his teeth looking a bit sharper, especially the small tusks that were beginning to sprout where his canines had been.

The load was massive, and marcus found himself sitting in a shallow puddle of his own semen, heaving for breath, stuck in a magic circle in a new body he barely understood, more tired than he could really imagine–and he passed out, with a bit of help from Mr. Woodrow, who figured the young man had suffered enough. Now, he just had to decide what to do with him. He wasn’t abnormal enough that a human life was impossible for him–though it would require some editing to get him to accept it. On the other hand, looking at the fat, hairy pig…Mr. Woodrow wondered if he might not push him a little further in his own way–either for the benefit of the men moving into his house, or even for his own research. After all, he had never had the chance to document corruption like this before…and maybe this was too good of an opportunity to pass on.


Here’s the poll! You can make up to two selections. Patrons have their bonus poll over here as well.

November Bonus Story – Winston’s Stable Part 2 | Wesley Bracken on Patreon

This month’s bonus story is the sequel to Winston’s Stable! I posted the first part last month, which followed Mark, as his new Master used his warped science to turn him into his first beastly creation, Titpig. In the sequel,

Winston adds two new beats to his menagerie–Joey, who was Mark’s boyfriend in part one, as well as Joey’s current boyfriend Paul. Anyone giving at least $5 a month to my Patreon gets access to this story, as well as every other bonus story I’ve published–almost an entire year of extras at this point! 

Below is an excerpt from the sequel–we’ll return to Orwell’s Demon tomorrow, I promise!


“Winston’s Stable II – Excerpt”

There was a click in the room, and a Winston’s voice appeared over the speakers inside. “I’m afraid I never had a chance to introduce myself properly to you both, when Titpig and I can to visit. I’d give you my name, but I assure you both that you won’t be able to remember it soon enough, so you might as well get used to thinking of me as your master–it’ll help speed things up.”

“You fucking sick bastard!” Paul shouted into the room, “You can’t fucking keep us down here–people are going to look for us.”

Winston laughed into the speaker, “Oh, I assure you, people have been looking. You’ve been down here for almost a month, after all. However–if they haven’t found you by now, well…I doubt they will. In any case, Paul, why don’t you put that mouth of yours to better use. Paul, suck on Joey’s nipples, please.”

Paul had no intention of obeying the disembodied voice, but his body didn’t give him any other option. He walked over to Joey, leaned in and started sucking at his chest, Joey trying to push him off, but Paul couldn’t take no for an answer. “Paul–Paul! Get a hold of yourself!”

“Joey, stop fighting, and enjoy yourself,” Winston said, and saw Joey relax against the wall, Paul sucking harder. After a few moments, Joey felt something around his nipple, a slight…tingle, which became almost an uncomfortable burning and pulsing sensation. He fought against Winston’s order as hard as he could, but all he could do was moan, and let Paul switch to the other, allowing him a chance to look at the one Paul had been servicing, seeing that in a few minutes it had turned swollen and red. Winston allowed Paul about the same amount of time on the other nipple, and then leaned over the mic again, “That’s enough foreplay–Paul, go ahead and suck on Joey’s dick, please, and make sure you get plenty of your special spit all over his balls too.”

Joey begged and pleaded with him, but Paul dropped to his knees with a whimper, and started slobbering all over Joey’s cock and balls, soaking them in his spit, and the same tingling, burning sensation spread over them as well. Joey had expected it to hurt, but instead it was turning him on more, and he barely heard Winston tell him to start toying with his now meatier nipples, letting his boyfriend suck him off, the burning sensation growing more intense as he grew closer, and when he came–the load was massive. He could…feel the force of his balls pumping cum out of him, it was so powerful that it actually hurt. Paul swallowed the entire load down, and when the flow stopped, he stumbled up…and Joey could see that something was wrong with him.

His eyes were glazed, and he clutched his gut, which gurgled loud enough that Joey could hear it beside him. “Fuck…I don’t…feel so fucking good…”

“You know what will make you feel better, Paul? Fucking Joey’s tight ass. You want your boyfriend to fuck you, don’t you Joey?”

In fact, it was the furthest thing from his mind, but Joey bent over the side of the bed, and Paul stumbled over, cock hard as a rock, and without even bothering to lube up, he worked the head into the hole–but to their surprise, his cock slipped in easily. In fact, Joey’s hole almost seemed…wet, almost as wet as Paul’s mouth had become, and still was–the drool flowing out of his mouth and down his chin as he fucked. Joey had liked the fact that Paul was a gentle lover, but this was different–this was rough and forceful and brutal, and it seemed like every thrust drove a bit deeper into Joey’s hole–and the deeper Paul went, the better it felt. He fucked him long enough for them both to work up a sweat, and finally he came, planting his load deep in Joey’s ass, and Joey felt it, the hot seed filling him up, that same burning sensation infusing his guts and spreading out to the rest of his body, leaving him groaning and writhing on the bed until the feeling subsided after a few minutes, and he could roll over and sit up and see Paul standing there in the room…and it was clear that something was different.

He still looked like Paul, mostly. But his body hair seemed a bit thicker, and his muscles looked a bit inflamed–not to mention his cock, was was either still mostly hard, or else was in fact larger, his balls hanging a bit lower. He was panting, drool still flowing from his mouth, and it seemed like he literally couldn’t make it stop, even as he licked his lips to try and keep it in. “Joey…are you ok?” Paul asked.

“I…I think so…”

“I…I think my cum…did something to you…”

Joey looked down at himself, and realized Paul wasn’t the only one who had changed–his slender frame looked slightly softer than before, and with a pinch of his belly, he realized he’d grown a slight paunch. Beyond his puffy, sensitive nipples, his cock was still tingling from Paul’s blowjob, but as the tingling faded, what remained was almost a numbness. He reached down and felt his cock, and was surprised to find…less than he was expecting. It was about half an inch shorter, his balls were smaller, and touching it…didn’t excite him much at all.

“That should be enough to get the two of you started,” Winston said, “Now be sure to enjoy yourselves, and each other.” He leaned back in his chair, pleased with his tests–everything was working perfect, now all he had to do was let his two pets have their way with each other for a few days, and they would be perfect before too long.

Inside the room, Paul threw his weight against the door again, and again…but Joey was finding it hard to care. He felt…dull all of a sudden. Relaxed and at ease, were perhaps better terms. He laid back on the bed, running his hands over his body, enjoying the feel of his slightly softer body and the gentle afterglow of Paul’s load. His hands eventually found their way to his nipples, and he gave them a twist and gasped–his cock might not be feeling much, but his nipples were much, much more sensitive than they’d ever been before. His chest seemed to have inflated a bit more than the rest of him, in fact, and with another couple of tugs, he noticed that his fingers were suddenly wet.

November Bonus Story – Winston’s Stable Part 2 | Wesley Bracken on Patreon

Orwell’s Demon (Part 2)

-Before-

Orwell was at his desk, distracted again, but then again, he was usually distracted these afternoons, ever since the wrestling coach, Mr. Diamond, had moved his office into the open office space as Orwell’s. He wasn’t the only one afflicted by any means–several of the young women teachers around the school would stop by periodically to say hi, though their eyes were glued to the young hunk everyone was talking about. Still, as good a guy as Ray Diamond was, Orwell knew he would never have a chance with him–he was hopelessly straight, or else so deep in the closet no one would ever find him.

He looked back at his computer and tried to focus on entering grades, but there was something else bothering him. The amulet he was wearing–the thing he’d bought on a whim at a little thrift shop downtown a few days prior, which he’d been wearing since, was…warm. Not just warm, actually, but hot against his skin.

He could be yours, you know.

It was a voice. A voice in his head, but it wasn’t…his voice. He looked around, just in case, but no one around Orwell had spoken.

I know you want him. I know everything that you want, Orwell. You want so many things, so many men. It’s beautiful, but so many of them don’t want you back. So much…unrequited desire built up in you, with nowhere to go.

The heat welled up somewhere new now–in Orwell’s crotch. His cock was rock hard, suddenly, throbbing with need. The voice was right, to some extent. Orwell was gay, but he wasn’t lacking for sex. He was twenty-six, had a decent body (though not as nice as Ray Diamond had) and was by no means a virgin…but he did have a habit for falling head over heels in lust with the straightest of men–men like Mr. Diamond.

He was certain his cock was going to explode, but it didn’t–as rapidly as the heat, and the voice, had come–they disappeared, leaving Orwell to heave a sigh of relief. A couple desks away, Ray Diamond shuddered, and then stood up from his desk, adjusted his crotch, and walked over to where Orwell was sitting. Orwell could…sense something was off about him. His eyes…had a tinge of red, and his mouth was curled in a snarl that he’d never seen on the coach’s face before. “Well Orwell?” Ray said–and it was the voice. The voice from his head, speaking through Ray’s mouth, “Do you want me or not? Come on and let’s have some fun.”

Orwell didn’t know what to do…but when Mr. Diamond grabbed his hand and hauled him out of the office chair and pulled him down the hall, towards the gyms on the other side of the building, Orwell’s heart did a little flutter. “A-Are you sure, Ray? I mean…at school?”

“Please–what Ray wants doesn’t matter anymore. The only person I aim to please, is you.”

“But…who are you?”

Ray turned around, and the flicker of red around his eyes Orwell had seen earlier had grown more pronounced, the hand round his own was hotter, and the grip was tight. “You’ll see…Now come on. Ray knows just the place.”

They ended up in a storage room inside one of the gyms, and among the spare jerseys, balls, and other gym equipment, Ray tore at Orwell’s clothes, ripping them away, even as his own seemed to simply…disappear. No–not disappear. They were burning up. In the dim light, Orwell could see the fabric simply burning up, like paper turning to ash. The coach’s skin underneath was red and inflamed, almost too hot to the touch–but the hottest part of him was, by far, his cock. If Ray had been that endowed before, Orwell was sure he would have noticed–it had to be at least ten inches long, and as thick as a beer can. He started to get on his knees, but Ray had other ideas–he shoved Orwell down and started running the massive member up and down his crack.

“I don’t think–it’s so big…” Orwell said.

“I know,” Ray said, and shoved the head into Orwell’s ass, unlubed, making him scream in pain, the coach driving his cock in deeper and deeper–but there didn’t seem to be an end to it. Orwell had never felt someone go this deep inside him before, his guts churning and coiling and burning with every thrust. “But it’s what you want, Orwell–I promise to always give you what you want.”

It felt like hours, the cock driving into him deeper and deeper, Orwell losing track of how many times he came. Then, suddenly, he felt the urge to gag, and then something forced his jaw wide, and with one mighty heave, Ray forced the head of his cock out through Orwell’s mouth, leaving him groaning and muttering in panic. “Like a pig on a spit,” the voice said, and Orwell felt himself…lifted from the ground, impaled on the bestial cock his fellow teacher had grown–or who he assumed was his fellow teacher. Claws dug into his skin and twisted him around on the shaft until he could see the thing which was now fucking him–and found himself staring at what he could only call a demon. “How does the little piggy feel?” the thing asked, licking his lips, “Does it feel good? I am yours, five times, but give in, and you can be mine for all eternity. Say yes, pig. Say yes–I will give you such glorious pleasure, I promise.”

Orwell just screamed, trying to haul himself free of the demon’s massive cock.

“A ‘no’ then. Four more, piggy. Four more,” the demon said, gripped Orwell’s sides, and began fucking him on the massive shaft, the head thrusting up and down Orwell’s throat until the demon gave a long roar, tugged Orwell up so the head slipped back into his stomach, and he came. Orwell felt the cum flooding his guts, flooding his body, and as it did…he could see his body changing, sagging, filling up with fat–enough fat that he dragged the demon’s dick down and he landed with the thud, the dick snapping off and turning to ash. The air around him was full of ash too–the remains of Ray’s body fluttering down around him, and his now obese body, hole gaping, as he hauled on his clothing (clothing which had somehow adjusted to his now flabby frame) and fled the scene as fast as he could, trying to ignore the laugh dogging him in the back of his mind the entire way home.

Stinkers: Finders Keepers (Part 3)

But I did leave. I had to keep going to work, after all. I was…afraid to not go, I was more afraid of being alone, in some ways. Thursday and Friday passed relatively well. The women at work still refused to engage with me…and honestly? Part of me was really enjoying that. I had just never really noticed how much time talking to all of them took up during my day, nor had I realized just how few fucks I gave about their lives, their problems. Their lazy husbands, their shopping, their gossip–what did it matter? I mean…I mean, I knew it had mattered to me more, before, but I just wasn’t missing it. Now, I had more time to myself, more time to, well, slip off to the bathroom to jack off. But still, most of the guys around the office…I noticed that they seemed a bit more…interested in me somehow. Stopping to talk, asking how I was, just…small shit. I didn’t really appreciate it, to be honest. They all seemed…kind of annoying–that much hadn’t changed. But they all seemed really interested in me, and more than once, I noticed hardons in their slacks after a five minute conversation with me, and I…I started to wonder if it was me.

Was it really all the smell that was doing this? It seemed hard to believe that just wearing some strange pair of filthy underwear could change how everyone viewed me, instantly, but what other explanation did I have? The weekend was bearing down on me, honestly…I was scared, going home on Friday. I had two days with no obligation to be anywhere other than my apartment, and before, when I just hung around here…well, I had spent almost all the time masturbating. I knew I should go out, see some friends, maybe hook up…but with who? None of my regular fuckbuddies would be vaguely interested in…in this. If I went to the club, and anyone smelled me, what would everyone think? Then again, if I didn’t show up, what would people think? I was, I hate to say it, a regular barfly. But Friday night, I stayed home, jacked off into the underwear, and as I did…I noticed something.

I noticed…that my dick was bigger.

Gay guys–we know our dicks. I’d always been a bit below average, I suppose–five inches hard. But when I was stroking off that night, everything felt just a bit…larger. My cock, my balls, my sack hanging lower. I went into the bathroom after shooting one of the loads, pulled down the front and got a ruler. Sure enough–six inches. I’d gained an entire inch onto my cock. I remeasured two or three more times, trying to figure out what I’d been doing wrong, but the more I looked at it, the more I was certain–it really had grown. My balls too, each was probably the size of a lemon at this point, and I could see the bulge in the underwear when I pulled them back up–and that didn’t even begin to cover the hair.

I was…well, in my younger years I was a twink, but at this point I’ve aged out of that category long ago. Still, I never quite became a bear–the best I could describe myself now would be a bad case of dadbod. Pot belly, saggy chest, decent shoulders, arms which I’ve always felt were way too skinny, legs too. Not…attractive, really, but I’d always made do with personality, even when I had the looks. That–and a very nice hole. I turned around to look at my ass, pulled down the briefs, and even my ass crack was hairier–just like the thick bush which had sprouted around my cock and balls, a bush I’d never seen in my life. And yet…fuck, was I turned on, I nutted again right there, then a second load while I sniffed the sweat and grunge off my hand.

On Saturday, it was seven inches, and I was freaking out. I knew I couldn’t go to the club or anything, but I also knew I couldn’t stay here, jacking off all weekend…because I was starting to really enjoy it. I’d…I’d never had this much fun masturbating in my life. My orgasms were more powerful, my cock was more sensitive, and the stench…fuck, my apartment was smelling almost as rank as the underwear at this point, and the effect on me had gone from disgust to intoxicating without me being aware of it. I came out of my stupor on Saturday afternoon after one particularly huge load, one I discovered I’d been edging out for close to two hours. Two hours! Two hours of my life wasted on masturbation. I didn’t know what I needed–fresh air, a walk, a fuck, someone to talk to, but I knew I couldn’t stay here, I needed to get out for a bit and clear my head.

I threw on some clothes and left the apartment, only realizing after I hit the sidewalk I hadn’t showered in two days now, or even considered deodorant once since finding the the briefs back behind the club. I…I stank. It was a tossup whether the people twisting their faces in disgust were doing so because of the briefs, or just because of me. Still, I couldn’t go back. I wouldn’t shower, I’d just…jack off again, and I needed to stop. I headed for the club, waved at some guys, but didn’t dare go in, didn’t dare even go close. I just kept walking. Evening turned to night, I kept walking. I kept walking, and then, around ten o’clock, soaked in sweat, cock achingly hard, searching for something but not knowing what…I smelled something. I smelled something I needed, and I started to hunt.

Jeremiah’s Biggest Fan (Part 3)

No, he supposed it hadn’t been a very nice thing to do, when he’d thought up the idea the semester before–the first time he’d heard the rumor about Jeremiah’s sexuality. But on closeted football player wasn’t that large of a story–or at least, it wasn’t the story he really wanted. No–it was the corrupt athletic staff and coaches he’d been after–that was the real scoop. Millions of dollars had disappeared from various funds over the last decade, and it was lining someone’s pocket–Jeremiah had been his ticket into the organization, to bust it wide open. But now–well, he’d thought he’d been setting up a honeypot, only to get stung by the hive instead.

He’d woken up a minute earlier, and Jeremiah had told him to go ahead, stand up, and look at himself in the mirror. It was obvious that he’d changed substantially from his real body again–it felt a bit like Terry as far as size was concerned, but it wasn’t muscle he was carting around anymore. No–in the mirror he was looking at a massively obese body–and a tall one at that. He had to be at least six four, and judging by the massive rolls hanging off him, he was close to 400 pounds. He’d never been a hairy fellow before, but now it didn’t look like there was a single hair anywhere on his body, aside from the short buzz cut on top of his head. He ran his meaty fingers over the top, disgusted by his particularly fat face–heavy jowls, three chins, small nose and close set eyes with big ears.

“Yeah, fuck–now that’s a sexy body right there,” Jeremiah said behind him. He was naked and sitting on the bed, looking at Terrance’s new body and jacking his cock–his now ten inch cock. Big enough to fit in his uniform still, but a much nicer tool than the four and half he’d been packing an hour ago.

A bit embarrassed, Terrance checked under the apron of fat hanging off of him, but all he found was a thick fat pad where his cock and balls should have been.

“Don’t bother–you’ve got half an inch now. Doubt you could even reach it if you wanted to. It isn’t your dick your body wants to please anymore anyway, trust me.”

“Look–this…this was a fucking mistake, I admit it. I’m sorry, I was wrong. I won’t tell anyone, I swear.”

“Of course you won’t,” Jeremiah said, toying with the Chronivac for a moment, “I can make sure of that–but for now, why don’t we pick up where we left off? You wanted to have sex with me, if I remember right. So come on Tubbs, get on the bed, and let’s fuck that wide ass of yours into next week.”

Jeremiah hit a button, and Terrance felt a massive amount of information surge into his head, displacing a bunch of other stuff which just…disappeared. When the sensation disappeared, he was left drooling at the sight of the massive football player just sitting on his bed, with that huge cock–he needed it inside him. He needed it fucking bad. But as he walked over, he caught a whiff of Jeremiah’s musk that remained from his workout earlier, and felt his guts knot up–he lunged and shoved his face into Jeremiah’s pit, snorting and grunting like a pig as he licked up as much sweat and stink as he could, drool pouring from his mouth, his tiny cock leaking cum into his fatty folds below his gut.

“Yeah, fuck! You even sound like a fucking pig, Tubbs. If you make my dick good and happy, I might let you sniff my feet later–how’s that sound?”

He didn’t want it to sound as good as it did, that was for sure. After cleaning out both pits, Jeremiah shoved him onto the bed on all fours, got behind him, and started working his big cock into Terrance’s now very loose hole, his eyes rolling back in pleasure, a chorus of grunts and snorts falling out of his mouth as Jeremiah fucked him deep and rough.

“Yeah Tubbs, that’s real nice. See? This is the kind of bitch I want–not some muscled out guy like me, but a fat fucking pig, tiny cock, who can only get off by being fucked nice and long. You like that Terrance? You like being my fat, disgusting, bottom pig?”

“Oh *snort* oh fuck! *Grunt* just don’t fucking stop, please!”

With his new tool, Jeremiah had plenty of stamina to keep the pig happy–he managed to hold off for fifteen minutes before he came once, but his cock didn’t go soft. He just kept fucking, feeling the massive load of cum leak out around his cock and down the pig’s thighs for another half an hour, until he came again. Terrance had cum twice in the meantime, and the sheets below him were soaked with sweat and cum, his muscles quivering as Jeremiah pulled out, leaving him with the worst sensation of emptiness he’d ever felt. He…he needed it. He needed to get fucked again, just like that, he had to have something in his hole.

“Please…please keep going, *snort* it hurts without you in there.”

“Sorry pig, but I have class in the morning, so we need to wrap this up soon, and you still need some more work, don’t you think?”

Terrance wasn’t really listening–he was reaching around and sliding as many fingers into his ass as he could. Jeremiah rolled his eyes, fiddled with the Chronivac, and a moment later, Terrance’s hole was sealed with a massive dildo–a replica of Jeremiah’s own cock, and that settled him down, and allowed the pig to think.

“Fuck–please change me back–you have to. I can’t just stay like this, no one will believe it.”

“What–knowing what you know now? Sorry Tubbs–but this was always a risk, you know. I can’t change you back, and I…really like that ass of yours, so I’d like to keep you plenty available in the future. So we’re going to have to find a way to keep you nice and compliant for the future–but don’t worry Tubbs, I have just the solution for us both. So tell me Tubbs,” Jeremiah said as he pressed a button and adjusted a setting, “How much do you like football?”