Horny Hugh #1 (Commissioned Story)

Evan knocked on the door of Hugh’s apartment, and after a couple of moments, it opened up. Hugh looked through the crack of the door, and then pulled Evan inside and shut the door behind them both.

“What the hell is up with you?” Evan asked, “You spend all morning blowing up my phone, saying I have to come to your place, and you won’t even tell me why–now you’re yanking me around like this is some spy movie or something.”

Hugh was wearing a pair of sweatpants, which wasn’t unusual for him, and a hoodie with the hood up–which was definitely odd. He didn’t say anything right away–he and Evan had been friends for ages, and he was the only person he could possibly talk to about…well, about what he’d seen in the mirror when he’d woken up this morning. “Look, promise me you won’t freak out.”

“Dude, no one fucking says that unless what you’re about to show me is really fucking weird–now what’s going on? It can’t be that bad, can it?”

Hugh took a deep breath, and then he pushed the hood back, and showed Evan the horns that had appeared, growing out his temples, when he’d woken up this morning. They were small, or at least, that’s what Hugh had told himself all morning as he struggled to not freak out about it. They were about an inch tall, with a sharp point–not quite sharp enough to draw blood, unless he gave someone a hard headbutt with a running start or something.

“What the fuck?” Evan asked.

“Please–you’re the only person I could show this to, please, I don’t know what the fuck is going on here,” Hugh pleaded.

Evan was, he had to admit, a bit freaked out, but he was also, well, curious. He reached out to touch one, and Hugh pulled away. “What?”

“They’re…tender, is all.”

“Did it hurt?”

Hugh shrugged. “I…I had this dream. I don’t really remember it all that well, but…yeah, it hurt, in the dream, and when I woke up, I was thrashing in my bed, my pillow was torn to shreds, and I had these fucking things sticking out of my head. I don’t know what the hell to do–should…I mean, if I go to the hospital, are they just going to treat me like some kind of freak?”

“Can…Can I touch them? I’m just curious. I’ll be careful.”

Hugh bent his head down, and let his friend cautiously stroke one of the small horns with a finger. It wasn’t quite smooth, more like unsanded wood–but definitely bone. The flesh at the base was still a bit red and inflamed from what he could see, but it didn’t look like there was any infection.

Hugh, however, felt something rather strange when his friend touched them. Something he couldn’t quite explain. Thus far, aside from an ache around the horns where they’d burst through his skin in the early morning, they hadn’t really done anything–but when Evan touched them, he felt something. He felt connected to him for a moment–he could see…inside him, somehow. Just a flash, really, but it was disconcerting, and he pulled away after a moment.

“Did I hurt you?” Evan asked.

“No–No, I…would you take me to the hospital? I…I don’t want to go alone.”

Together, they left the apartment and Evan drove him to the hospital to get his new horns checked out, and on the way, all Hugh could think about was that strange sensation, how he’d almost been able to see Evan’s…thoughts. More than his thoughts though, deeper than that. Like…his dreams, or desires, or something like that. It had just been for a moment, but he hadn’t been able to focus on it for long, but it had been tantalizing, because he was sure he’d been about to see something that Evan had never told him about–and Evan didn’t keep many secrets from Hugh, about anything.

Evan and Hugh had known each other for years. They’d met in college, and when they’d graduated, they’d both stayed in the city, though they worked at different companies. Neither of them had been very lucky in love or relationships. They’d tried dating each other for a little while, but it hadn’t worked–thankfully, their friendship had been stronger than that little mistake, but they were still closer to each other than anyone else they knew in the city they lived in. Hugh though…he’d seen something…he didn’t know, there inside Evan. A secret even his friend had kept from him–hell, maybe even a secret he was keeping from himself. It was tantalizing. There in the waiting room, he couldn’t stop thinking about it, wanting to see more, wondering if he could come up with some excuse to have Evan touch them again, so he could see it.

Thankfully, the oddity of his condition meant they didn’t have to wait long, and they were taken back to meet with a doctor. His horns were examined, samples were scraped off–which was more painful than Hugh was expecting it to be. Tests were taken, blood was drawn, but after several hours of being poked and prodded, no one had any idea what was happening to him, and he didn’t seem to be in any danger, so he was sent home, and told to come back if anything changed. Hugh was frustrated–but the same thing had happened each time someone had touched his horns–though the gloves the doctors and nurses had always worn dulled the effect somewhat. He could see into their minds, see their…desires. He knew that’s what they were. With the doctors, it had been…like looking through privacy glass at something in another room. The curiosity was killing him, and he had to know what he was experiencing, and the easiest way to do that, was to get Evan to touch his horns again. 

Thankfully, Evan seemed to be suffering from the same curiosity. Ever since touching the horns, he’d been unable to get the feeling out of his mind. They were just so unlike anything he’d ever touched before. They stood by the apartment door, neither of them sure what to say, since the trip to the hospital had left them both with more questions than answers. Eventually, playing it as cool as he could, Evan asked if he could touch them one more time. Hugh was ecstatic, but didn’t let on to his own relief. He bent down, Evan touched his horns again, and this time Hugh felt everything.

It wasn’t quite an image, or a sound, or a feeling, or a thought. It was bits of all of those things smashed together. Hugh could suddenly smell something strong and pungent–it was the smell of piss he realized after a moment, but not fresh piss. More like the smell of an unwashed urinal. There was the sound of piss hitting flesh, there was the sensation of being wet and warm, like standing in a summer rain shower. The taste of piss in his mouth. He realized, finally, that what he was sensing was some deep desire of his friend’s–Evan had a fetish for watersports, and a powerful one at that. It was so…deep though. So far away. The sensations were there, but they were muted, or blocked. There was something in Hugh, something telling him that he could…could pull it closer if he wanted, so he could get a better look. Without knowing what he was doing or how, he gave it a tug, or something a bit like a tug and then the sensations stopped.

Evan had pulled away from him, shaking his hands like he’d gotten a shock of some sort. “Fuck, what the hell was that? I…Were you in my head?”

Hugh blushed, but wasn’t sure what to say.

“You…what did you do?”

“I didn’t do anything, I…I just…” Hugh didn’t know what Evan knew–but from the look in his friend’s eyes, that deep embarrassment, he…figured Evan knew exactly what he had seen inside him, what he’d…tugged on. Without saying anything else, Evan left the apartment, leaving Hugh to get ready for bed. In the bathroom, looking at himself…he swore the horns looked a bit…swollen, the skin around them a bit more red and inflamed. It took hours to find a position that was comfortable to sleep in, and he hoped all of those tests the doctors had given him would tell him…something. At least let a surgeon remove them, or something. He felt a quiver at the thought. Something…didn’t like that notion much, but it was deep inside him too–too deep for him to notice much beyond a sudden flush of anxiety in his guts. Eventually, Hugh managed to fall asleep, and by the next day, he had already put what had happened with Evan behind him, and resolved to make the best of things.

He called his work, and with the help of a vague note from the doctor at the hospital, he convinced them that he didn’t really need to be in the office for the next couple of weeks. Hopefully he would get this strange horn situation sorted out by then. That gave him some time for himself that he hadn’t had in a very long time–and he wasn’t quite sure how to fill it–especially since leaving the house wasn’t really an option. He played some video games, he worked around the apartment, but what he found himself doing more and more was jacking off.

Hugh had never really been that sexual of a person. In fact, while he found men attractive, he had never really gotten behind the idea of sex beyond mutual masturbation–which was probably the reason why things hadn’t really worked out between him and Evan, when they’d tried to date, knowing what he did now about Evan’s interests. But suddenly, he was horny all of the damn time. He’d wake up with a raging hard on that would refuse to quit until he masturbated. The same thing would happen when he was trying to sleep–one stray thought and he would pop a boner, and he wouldn’t get a moment of rest until he’d jacked off. The more he masurbated, the more his thoughts drifted to Evan–thinking about what he’d seen when he’d taken that little peek inside his friend’s mind, the feeling of that little pull, dragging that…dark, twisted desire out of the dark and towards the light. It had been a rush, really. He hadn’t been able to admit that to himself at the moment, but he…he wanted to do it again. He didn’t even know what he’d done! But he wanted to feel that again. It was the power of it. There was some sort of power there, one he couldn’t really understand, but if he…if he could just do it again, maybe he could figure out what was going on here. Why these horns had suddenly just appeared on his head, for no reason that he could seem to comprehend.

But no such opportunity arose. Sitting around in his apartment, inventing ways to occupy his time, trying and generally failing to avoid wasting the day away masturbating, or just staring at himself in the mirror, touching his horns gently, or not so gently. It was in the evening, two days after his visit to the hospital with Evan, that his friend returned. 

They had been chatting off and on over the last couple of days, mostly Evan just checking in on Hugh to make sure everything was alright still, but all that day, Evan had gone quiet. The knock on the door was a bit urgent, and while Hugh tried to ignore it, eventually Evan shouted at him on the other side, and Hugh threw on his hoodie and opened it up for him.

It was the smell that hit him first, and he realized something had gone…very wrong. Evan reeked of piss. Hugh managed to keep his gag reflex down, but something else responded eagerly–his cock was hard as a rock. Evan shoved his way past him into the apartment, wearing a button down shirt and slacks that were, well, soaked. 

“Alright, I need a fucking answer, Hugh. What the fuck did you do to me?” Evan said, when he was inside.

“I…I don’t know what you’re talking about. What happened to you?” Hugh asked him.

Evan glowered at him, and Hugh could see a bit of doubt in his eyes…or maybe he could feel it. Could he feel it? Was he imagining things?

“Look, I…I’ve always had this…this fantasy, alright?” Evan said, “I really, really like the idea of…of guys using me as a urinal. Pissing on me, making me drink it, I…I mean, I’ve done some piss stuff with guys before, but…but I don’t know what the fuck is wrong with me. I felt something when I left the other day, when I touched your horns. I…I don’t know what the fuck it was, really, it sounds stupid saying it out loud, but…but ever since…” Evan paused. “Look, the next morning, I was fucking horny, and I pissed in a glass and drank it. I’ve never done anything like that, but…but I didn’t just want to do it, I had to do it. And then, at work…the guys were…they were treating me different, and my boss…he was in the bathroom with me at one point in the morning, and he…he offered me his piss, and I fucking drank it! I don’t know what the fuck came over us, but I did. And when I went out to lunch, I wasn’t…hungry, exactly, but I went to the lunch spot, and right into the bathroom, and every guy who came in, I drank their piss too. I…I didn’t know what was wrong with me, so I went home, and I tried to eat, I fucking tried to eat, but I couldn’t keep anything down, but I could drink without throwing up. So I got drunk, and I went out to the bar…then today. Fucking today, I go into work, and by boss calls me into his office, right? He calls me in, tells me I’m getting a new position. He takes me into the bathroom, and tells me I’m the new fucking urinal! And I spend all fucking day on my knees, every guy on the floor pissing on me like I’m some fucking object, and…and that’s not fucking normal, Hugh, and I know you did something to me. You did, or those fucking horns did, and I need you to put me back right fucking now.”

Hugh just stared at him, for a moment, trying to process what his friend was telling him. He knew he should be…horrified, right? But…but wasn’t this what Evan had wanted? It’s what Hugh had seen, at least, when he’d looked into him, but…Evan didn’t look happy about it. Then again, why should he be happy about it? He’d just been pissed on by everyone he worked with, all day long…and it was Hugh’s fault. It was a hot story though. Hugh realized he was groping himself–that he’d been groping himself the entire time Evan had been telling the story of his day, and that his friend had noticed–and was looking at him with disgust. He pulled his hand away.

“What, did that turn you on or something?” Evan asked. “I…I fucking knew it! When I touched those freaky horns of yours, what the hell did you see? What did you do to me?”

“Look, I…I did something, I know, but…but I don’t really know what I did, or how I did it! It was the horns. I…I could feel it inside you, and…and I just…pulled on it. I don’t know what it was, I just….”

“Great–if you pulled on it, you can push it back in, right?”

“I…I don’t know. I don’t know how any of this works. We should go back to the hospital. We…I don’t know what I’m doing, I might make it worse.”

“No–I can’t…I can’t go anywhere,” Evan said. The implication was clear–if he was in a public space, chances were good he’d be in the bathroom before long, drinking as much piss as he could. “You have to fix this, right here, right now.”

“Isn’t…isn’t this what you wanted though?” Hugh said, “I mean, you said it yourself this was a fantasy. I just wanted to help.”

“‘Help’? Fucking ‘help’? I don’t think I can show my face at work ever again! These last couple of days have been a fucking nightmare. It was just a fantasy! It was supposed to stay as a fucking fantasy! Something I jerk off to on occasion, and then put away. I don’t want to be stuck in a bathroom for the rest of my fucking life! I want you to put me back, and then I never want to see you or your fucking horns ever again.”

“Evan, I–”

“Shut the fuck up, you fucking freak!”

Hugh didn’t know what to say to that. Mostly it hurt, but not in the way he expected it to. He knew, in his head, that he’d done something wrong to Evan, but…had he really? He knew this is what Evan wanted–what he really wanted, more than anything else in the entire world. Evan could deny it all he wanted to, but he couldn’t lie to Hugh–Hugh had seen right into him, he knew all of those little secrets he kept, and there was absolutely no way he could be wrong about this. If anyone should be angry in this situation, shouldn’t it be him? He’d given Evan a gift! He’d helped him fulfill a lifelong dream of his, and now that he had what he wanted, he was getting scared? More than just getting scared–he was blaming Hugh for all of it. But Hugh had only done what he did because Evan wanted it so badly. It was all Evan’s fault, really. If he’d just been honest with himself, he’d understand how…how happy he should be right now. But Hugh could fix this. He had to fix this–it was the right thing to do. Evan would forgive him eventually, right? “Ok–look, touch my horns, and…and I’ll put it back. I think I can do that.”

Evan was nervous, but he reached out and touched Hugh’s headd, and the same sensation that he’d felt before washed over him. It had been…strange. In the moment, he’d felt so calm, like he wanted nothing more than for Hugh to rifle through his thoughts and…and change things. He’d watched before, as Hugh had found his desires, dragged them out to the front of…of him, somehow, or at least closer. He’d known what he’d been doing, but as soon as he’d pulled his hands off those horns, he’d lost it. He could see it again though, he could see all of those nasty, perverted, filthy things he wanted men to do to him, right there, like he was broadcasting it to the world–which would explain a few things, he supposed. And Hugh was there, and he…what was he doing?

He wasn’t pushing them back down, that was for sure. Evan screamed at him, and when his friend looked up at him, his eyes…weren’t Hugh’s. They were pitch black, and the smile that crossed his face–his entire face, his mouth stretching from ear to ear, those…those sharp teeth…that wasn’t Hugh, what the fuck was that? The thing that looked like Hugh began pulling everything out, all of the filth, putting it everywhere, filling up everything with it, and Evan tried to scream, tried to beg, tried to do…something! Anything to stop it from happening, working to wrench his hands away before it was too late, and finally, he let go, and all of it fell back behind the shroud. He was left standing there, looking at the top of Hugh’s head, at those two horns taunting him, trying to sort out what in the world had just happened to him.

“There, see? Doesn’t that feel better already?” Hugh said, raising his lead up. His eyes were…normal, as was his mouth, but Evan couldn’t shake the vision from his head, that there was something else behind his friend’s face, something inside of him, trying to push it’s way out of him, and Hugh didn’t even realize it. 

“I…I don’t know…I guess I’m thirsty, mostly.”

“That’s not surprising. Shouldn’t you be getting to the bar soon?” Hugh asked him. “Tell you what–I’ll come by later, towards the end of your shift. If you still aren’t happy with things, then I’ll put everything back, but I think we got everything right this time, I can just…I can just feel it.”

“Are…are you sure I can’t have something to drink before I go?”

Hugh sighed, and pushed down the sweatpants he’d been wearing around the house. “I’m really fucking horny, but I think I can piss for you. I know how much you need it.”

Evan got down on his knees, the horror still there, but muted. Like some part of him was…was so deep now, that he never even really had to acknowledge it existing. It…It was more important to be a urinal, right? Isn’t…isn’t that what he was? He was certainly thirsty enough to be one, and when Hugh finally managed to piss through his hard cock, and Evan drank it all down, every single drop, he felt so much better. “Thanks man, you’re…a great friend, you know that?”

“Of course I am,” Hugh said, “Now go on, you don’t want to be late.”

Evan left Hugh’s apartment, got in his car, and while he was certain he should be driving home–he had work in the morning after all–he instead knew, somehow, that he had to work somewhere else tonight. At…at the bar, right? The Hawk? It was the seediest of the gay bars in town, and Evan hadn’t been there very often, but he had to be there. He got there a little before six. The bouncer at the door knew his name somehow–as did the bartender, and after saying hello, Evan went right into the bathroom, got on his knees next to the other urinals, and it wasn’t long before Lucas, the bartender, came in. 

“Fuck Evan, glad you got here early, didn’t think I could hold this for much longer,” Lucas said, and unloaded his bladder into Evan’s eager mouth. “Gonna be a busy night tonight–hope you’re ready for it.” Lucas finished up, didn’t say anything else, and Evan moaned a bit, feeling the piss settle in his gut. He didn’t have long to think about it, before another man came in, and then another. The other urinals were neglected for the entire night–after all, Evan was the best urinal the bar had ever had. Evan found himself caught in his mind between this new normal, and that little voice, begging him to stop, to listen to reason, that he couldn’t just…be a urinal, right? He was a person! He had to be a person, didn’t he? During a lull, it was that little voice that forced him up from his knees, stumbling over to the sink where he could look in the mirror. Told him to look at his smooth head and face, at his porcelain white skin, at his belly distended from the gallons and gallons of piss he’d drank already tonight. He was naked, but when had he stripped his clothes off? Had he driven here naked? Why would a urinal need clothes anyway?

“Hey! Pisser! Get back in your spot.”

It was the bouncer. Evan felt guilty, and got back down on his knees, took the bouncer’s piss, and remained there, where…where he belonged, where he needed to be. He kept drinking all night long, until sometime after one in the morning, as the club was winding down, and Hugh pushed his way into the room. He was drunk, from the way he was staggering, and Evan swore that Hugh’s horns looked a bit…longer than they had back in the apartment. Fuck, his horns were right there. He wasn’t even hiding them! 

“Fuck Evan, fucking look at you,” Hugh slurred, “What a good looking urinal. I did a good fucking job on you, you know that? Aren’t you happy? This is exactly what you wanted–I know, I fucking saw it there, right in your brain. I’m…fuck, I’m like the best fucking friend, you know that? How many other friends would actually help you become the urinal you always wanted to be?”

Evan…knew he shouldn’t. But that little voice, it refused to shut up. “Hugh, please, I…I don’t want this! I don’t know what’s going on, but this…this isn’t you. Those horns, they’re controlling you. I…I like piss! I always have, but fucking look at me! I…I don’t want to look like this.”

Hugh squinted at him, then squatted down and squinted some more. “Fuck, you’re right, this…this is no good.”

Thank you! Fucking thank you, please, please fix me!”

“You don’t look like a urinal at all. I can be such a fucking idiot sometimes. I mean, you still look like a person!”

Evan’s guts dropped out from under him, and he tried to force himself up from where he was kneeling, but he was suddenly frozen in place, as Hugh leaned in, and rubbed a horn against Evan’s hairless, perfectly white arm.

“I’m still learning, I know, but I’ll get it right this time, you’ll be perfect.”

Evan found himself behind the shroud again, inside his own mind, but this time, it wasn’t that Hugh was pulling anything out–he was putting things away. Burying all of those parts of Evan, all of his humanity, deep inside himself, deeper than his watersports fetish had ever been, so deep that Evan couldn’t even see it, or feel it, or…or know it.

At last, Hugh pulled away from him, and Evan tried to scream, but he couldn’t. His mouth was frozen in place, open wide. His tongue was glued to the bottom of his mouth, and he was drooling constantly, the water running down the back of his throat and into his massive, porcelain gut. 

“Fuck, look at you,” Hugh said, “You’re fucking beautiful. Fuck, I’m…so fucking horny…”

Hugh couldn’t stop himself. He tore open his pants and started jacking his cock, but every touch was like fire. He was grunting and moaning in pain, but it felt so damn good too. Evan, head locked into position, watched his friend’s body contort, like something was inside his skin, rearranging Hugh’s insides while he stroked off, a trickle of blood running down the front of his face as the horns pushed out another few inches, splitting the skin apart as they did. Hugh licked the blood from his lips as it ran past his mouth, and moaned in excitement–enough to bring himself to orgasm–but his cock…well, it wasn’t the same cock that Hugh had started with. It was bigger–easily nine inches long, the head more pointed, with fleshy barbs running up and down the shaft. He came with something like a roar, pouring inky black cum down Evan’s open throat, and Evan…he felt something inside him turn into cement. He knew, without knowing how, that…that after what Hugh had just fed him, this was…him now. Forever. He’d never change again. Already, he could feel his old life fading away, turning to vapor in his mind. He felt at ease, Hugh’s cum settling in his friend’s gut next to his piss, and Hugh heaved a sigh, and pushed his swollen, barbed cock back into his pants. “That was good, but god damn, I need to fuck something. Urinals are no good for fucking…” he muttered, and stumbled out of the bathroom and into the bar proper, leaving Evan alone. A thing that had been named Evan, once. It didn’t have a name now, of course. Urinals didn’t have names.

Its shift finished a little after two in the morning, after one last load of piss from the bouncers and the bartenders. The urinal forced himself upright, standing just a little over four feet tall on squat, wide legs, and waddled slowly over to the mirror on the wall. There was its face, contorted and constantly open wide, eyes wide set, head dominated by its massive maw. It had no neck, rather its head was placed right on his wide body, above his massive, distended gut. It was the only part of the thing’s body that was still pliable. It would process all of that piss and cum he’d ingested tonight, turn it into more drool, use it to power its body, but the thirst would always be there. Thankfully, a good urinal always had plenty of work. During the weekdays, it worked in an office nearby. In the nights and evenings, it was always here, at The Hawk. But on the weekends, it would make its way to a truck stop on the edge of town, drink its fill of trucker piss all day long, and start all over again on Monday morning. It was a life, wasn’t it? And it was happy. It was doing what it was meant to do–why wouldn’t it be happy? It left the bathroom at its slow, trudging pace. It looked around for Hugh, but its friend was nowhere to be seen. Hugh was done with him anyway. Hugh had found someone new to take home–someone to fuck. But most importantly, Hugh knew he could help them too. Horny Hugh was going to help everyone.

Preview: Horny Hugh #1

Here’s a snippet from a new commission I finished last week! Patrons can already access the full story over here–everyone else, it’ll be publicly available next week!


Evan knocked on the door of Hugh’s apartment, and after a couple of moments, it opened up. Hugh looked through the crack of the door, and then pulled Evan inside and shut the door behind them both.

“What the hell is up with you?” Evan asked, “You spend all morning blowing up my phone, saying I have to come to your place, and you won’t even tell me why–now you’re yanking me around like this is some spy movie or something.”

Hugh was wearing a pair of sweatpants, which wasn’t unusual for him, and a hoodie with the hood up–which was definitely odd. He didn’t say anything right away–he and Evan had been friends for ages, and he was the only person he could possibly talk to about…well, about what he’d seen in the mirror when he’d woken up this morning. “Look, promise me you won’t freak out.”

“Dude, no one fucking says that unless what you’re about to show me is really fucking weird–now what’s going on? It can’t be that bad, can it?”

Hugh took a deep breath, and then he pushed the hood back, and showed Evan the horns that had appeared, growing out his temples, when he’d woken up this morning. They were small, or at least, that’s what Hugh had told himself all morning as he struggled to not freak out about it. They were about an inch tall, with a sharp point–not quite sharp enough to draw blood, unless he gave someone a hard headbutt with a running start or something.

“What the fuck?” Evan asked.

“Please–you’re the only person I could show this to, please, I don’t know what the fuck is going on here,” Hugh pleaded.

Evan was, he had to admit, a bit freaked out, but he was also, well, curious. He reached out to touch one, and Hugh pulled away. “What?”

“They’re…tender, is all.”

“Did it hurt?”

Hugh shrugged. “I…I had this dream. I don’t really remember it all that well, but…yeah, it hurt, in the dream, and when I woke up, I was thrashing in my bed, my pillow was torn to shreds, and I had these fucking things sticking out of my head. I don’t know what the hell to do–should…I mean, if I go to the hospital, are they just going to treat me like some kind of freak?”

“Can…Can I touch them? I’m just curious. I’ll be careful.”

Hugh bent his head down, and let his friend cautiously stroke one of the small horns with a finger. It wasn’t quite smooth, more like unsanded wood–but definitely bone. The flesh at the base was still a bit red and inflamed from what he could see, but it didn’t look like there was any infection.

Hugh, however, felt something rather strange when his friend touched them. Something he couldn’t quite explain. Thus far, aside from an ache around the horns where they’d burst through his skin in the early morning, they hadn’t really done anything–but when Evan touched them, he felt something. He felt connected to him for a moment–he could see…inside him, somehow. Just a flash, really, but it was disconcerting, and he pulled away after a moment.

“Did I hurt you?” Evan asked.

“No–No, I…would you take me to the hospital? I…I don’t want to go alone.”

Together, they left the apartment and Evan drove him to the hospital to get his new horns checked out, and on the way, all Hugh could think about was that strange sensation, how he’d almost been able to see Evan’s…thoughts. More than his thoughts though, deeper than that. Like…his dreams, or desires, or something like that. It had just been for a moment, but he hadn’t been able to focus on it for long, but it had been tantalizing, because he was sure he’d been about to see something that Evan had never told him about–and Evan didn’t keep many secrets from Hugh, about anything.

Evan and Hugh had known each other for years. They’d met in college, and when they’d graduated, they’d both stayed in the city, though they worked at different companies. Neither of them had been very lucky in love or relationships. They’d tried dating each other for a little while, but it hadn’t worked–thankfully, their friendship had been stronger than that little mistake, but they were still closer to each other than anyone else they knew in the city they lived in. Hugh though…he’d seen something…he didn’t know, there inside Evan. A secret even his friend had kept from him–hell, maybe even a secret he was keeping from himself. It was tantalizing. There in the waiting room, he couldn’t stop thinking about it, wanting to see more, wondering if he could come up with some excuse to have Evan touch them again, so he could see it.

Thankfully, the oddity of his condition meant they didn’t have to wait long, and they were taken back to meet with a doctor. His horns were examined, samples were scraped off–which was more painful than Hugh was expecting it to be. Tests were taken, blood was drawn, but after several hours of being poked and prodded, no one had any idea what was happening to him, and he didn’t seem to be in any danger, so he was sent home, and told to come back if anything changed. Hugh was frustrated–but the same thing had happened each time someone had touched his horns–though the gloves the doctors and nurses had always worn dulled the effect somewhat. He could see into their minds, see their…desires. He knew that’s what they were. With the doctors, it had been…like looking through privacy glass at something in another room. The curiosity was killing him, and he had to know what he was experiencing, and the easiest way to do that, was to get Evan to touch his horns again. 

Thankfully, Evan seemed to be suffering from the same curiosity. Ever since touching the horns, he’d been unable to get the feeling out of his mind. They were just so unlike anything he’d ever touched before. They stood by the apartment door, neither of them sure what to say, since the trip to the hospital had left them both with more questions than answers. Eventually, playing it as cool as he could, Evan asked if he could touch them one more time. Hugh was ecstatic, but didn’t let on to his own relief. He bent down, Evan touched his horns again, and this time Hugh felt everything….


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Interactive: New You Resolutions 2020 (Part 5)

Kevin and Alex had been together for a few years at this point. They had met in college, struck up a relationship, and after graduation had moved to the city together where they pursued their work–Kevin in finance, and Alex in tech. Both of them pulled in a staggering amount of money, and they enjoyed their life together–but the one thing that had just never clicked for them both was their sex life. 

It wasn’t that the sex was bad, or that the two young men weren’t attracted to one another. It was just that the sex was, well, boring. Neither of them had ever been much into kink, and given their focus on work, there wasn’t exactly much time for sex anyway. They would suck each other off a couple times of year, and that was about it. While neither of them felt particularly satisfied, with the arrangement, they were happy enough with the rest of the relationship that they generally agreed to just let it go.

However, they were about to discover that 2020 was going to be a year of sexual exploration for them both.

They woke up late on January First, both of them with fairly substantial hangovers from the New Year’s Party they had attended the night before, at Josh’s place. It had been…nice, sort of. Josh was gay, and a good friend of them both, but his parties tended to get wild, and not really in the way Kevin and Alex were comfortable with. When the clothes started coming off after midnight, they had made their excuses and left. Sure, everyone probably thought they were prudes, and maybe they were! There was nothing wrong with that, right?

Kevin went into the kitchen to make coffee, and Alex started piecing together something for breakfast, when they both noticed the odd, golden envelope sitting on the counter. Neither of them had any idea who it could be from, or how it had gotten there in the first place. Alex opened it up, and found the note inside was addressed to them both. He read it out loud:

Happy New Year, Kevin and Alex!

We here at New You Resolutions see that your relationship is, well, a bit stale. Now there’s nothing wrong with that, of course, but a new year, and a new decade, is a great time to finally stretch those limits and boundaries and try something new, and we’re here to help!

This year, we want to push your sexual boundaries, and take your relationship places that neither of you would imagine. Why don’t we start you two off with an easy one?

We resolve to have sex with each other twice every day.

Why don’t you two get going, and we can see what we’re starting with?

Alex was about to comment on how ridiculous that all sounded, when Kevin threw himself at Alex and started kissing him, and Kevin found himself compelled to kiss him back. Looking in each other eyes, they both seemed a bit terrified, and neither had complete control of their bodies as they tore off each other’s clothes, Alex got down, and started sucking Kevin off. He came after a few minutes, and they switched roles, Kevin blowing Alex until he came as well, and then the compulsion stopped, leaving the two men embarrassed and confused in the kitchen.

“What…the hell was that?” Kevin said.

“I have no fucking clue, did that note just…make us have sex?” Kevin said, looking around for the paper, but it was gone–however, a second sealed envelope had appeared…and with shaking hands, he opened that one too, and read it:

Well that was…

Let’s be honest, it was boring. We see the passion, but what you two are lacking is imagination. Here, why don’t we help you two out with a few new interests?

Kevin’s face went pale, when he saw the resolutions below that, and Alex came around, read them too, and shook his head in disbelief. They…couldn’t do that, could they? What sort of fetishes does New You Resolutions have in store for the young men?


Alright, use the poll below to vote on what kinds of fetishes are vanilla men are going to be testing out in the new year. You can choose up to three options from the eight below, so don’t leave votes on the table. Patrons have their usual bonus poll over here.

Interactive: A Pigtown Halloween (Part 9)

“God damn it, get the fuck back here, you little fuck, I’m gonna fuck your hole and then tear new ones in you and fuck those too!” Ken roared as he chased the imp through the halls, his rock hard, rubberized cock swinging painfully as he ran through the halls, shoving his way through all of the other freaks and men fucking in the dark as the night came to a climax. He saw a clock as he ran, giving him about an hour and a half before the window of escape closed off forever, and he was stuck here. While this wasn’t exactly…bad, he still had no intention of letting that imp get away with his tag–and with his life.

But as he ran, it was getting harder and harder to ignore all of the men–and especially all of the holes–he was passing by. His cock was aching for a fuck, and he…well, he was built to fuck, wasn’t he? He was a hot fucking top, and every hole needed him inside of it, pumping his cum deep into their guts, showing them who was really in charge in these halls, warping and changing them into freaks just like him, and–

He had to stop for a moment, and try and get his head back under control. That wasn’t him, that was this fucking gear trying to think for him. He wasn’t going to be whatever freak this place wanted him to be–he wasn’t! He saw the imp round a corner up ahead in the halls, and took off after him, growling. There was only one hole that he really wanted in this whole fucking place after all, and he wasn’t going to give up until he got it.

He rounded the same corner at top speed, and ran right into another person, sending them both tumbling to the floor of the hallway in a tangle, that Ken struggled to extract himself from. By the time he got himself out, he looked down the hallway, and realized he’d lost the imp in the mess. “Fuck! God fucking damn it!” he shouted, and whirled on the man he’d crashed into, “You fucking piece of shit, he got away! I…why I oughta…F-Fuck! Fuck you!”

The man on the ground looked up at him in a bit of terror. He was a bit older, and a little chubby. He must have entered the area later than Ken had–he still had on his black shorts, and even had his clothes tag around his arm. “Please…please don’t, I just want to get out of here! Don’t hurt me, please…”

Ken growled at him, and kicked him in the gut, sending him to the ground, gagging…and seeing that, Ken smiled cruelly. Fuck…it felt real fucking good, hurting him, and he gave him another kick in the balls, just to make sure he stayed down. “Fucking faggot–fucking pig, I’ll fucking do whatever I fucking want to you–you’re fucking mine, understand?”

The man tried to crawl away from him, but Ken grabbed him by the hips and dragged him back, tearing open the back of his shorts like they were paper, and shoved his rubber cock between the man’s fat ass cheeks. He could feel him…shudder, the fucking bitch wanted it, didn’t he?

“You fucking want this, don’t you? This big fucking cock in your sloppy pig hole,” he growled at him, as he kept fucking the man’s cheeks, his cock starting to leak a thick, black, rubbery cum.

“I…fuck, please Sir, please…fuck this slutty faggot’s hole Sir…”

He couldn’t afford to get distracted. He couldn’t do this–right now, that fucking imp was probably heading for the exit, Ken’s tag in hand, and if he didn’t get there first to intercept him…there was no way he was going to get out of here in his own body. But this…this fucking hole, he needed it. He needed it in a way he could barely articulate, like it was his purpose. He was a fucking top–and when a hole like this presented itself, begging to be used like this, how could he possibly say no? He pushed the head in, and shuddered, the strange cum working as lube, the man moaning in pain, trying to pull away, but that only made Ken grab him by the hips and drag him back, inch by inch, his massive cock slipping inside him.

“That’s it faggot, just fucking take it like a good bitch,” he said.

“Oh…oh fuck Sir, it’s so big!”

“Trust me, you aren’t going to want any other dick other than mine one I’m through with you,” he added…but Ken also knew that if he didn’t stop now, he wouldn’t want anything else too. Looking up, he saw…the teeth in the darkness. The Master of the Halls was there, observing, wanting to see his new top’s first performance for himself, and…part of him was excited. Excited that Master wanted to see him, excited that Master…no–no, this isn’t right, it isn’t what he should be, is it?

He looked down, and saw the tag around the man’s arm. He looked back at the Master’s teeth. He thought about the imp, scurrying through the halls. He had to make a decision, but what?


This next one is the last entry! Here’s the bonus patron poll as well. I’ll start something new next week, that may or may not be holiday related–haven’t decided yet.

The Monastery

Father Nicholas clawed his way out of sleep, and was certain he was choking. What he was choking on he did not know–a dream substance of some sort or other. The dream was already fading from him, impossible to grasp beyond the terror of the nightmare racing through him, pulse dizzying, cloaked in sweat. He forced himself to breathe, finally succeeding with a massive, heaving gasp, coughing and gagging and heaving but nothing came up–which was a surprise itself, given the meal he had enjoyed last night, at the monks’ insistence. He concentrated, forced his breathing and his heart to settle, reaching for some sort of serenity that he knew had to be somewhere inside him–because God was inside him, after all.

As he came down from the nightmare, he tried to recall what he could of the dream, but there was nothing. No images at least–just a cascade of feelings. Terror, mostly. A good dose of shame. Regret, maybe, or something similar, colored with a bit of self-loathing. A hunger. There was hunger too, which seemed absurd to him, to awake hungry after…after that. How strange. How unchristian, really. He could see it, lit by candlelight still, the great hall of the abbey, the long table dressed in a deep red, the chair at the head conspicuously empty but still set, the entire length set with a massive feast, one of the largest that Nicholas had ever seen, perhaps outside of the Vatican on rare occasions. The monks, seated around the table, tearing into the flesh of beasts with such vigor and gluttony and…it was abnormal to say the least. Verging on heresy in its own fashion, in how the monks of this monastery had so readily discarded the vows of chastity and restraint that they were allegedly bound to by God.

Or perhaps, just a feast to celebrate a visitor from Rome. Perhaps just a well meant, but ill advised, celebration, given what he was here to do. Perhaps innocent, all the same. He had approached it with that in mind, assuming that the monks were doing their best to just be kind to him, with perhaps a tinge of bribery–which itself was not unusual, but of all of his temptations, greed had never been him. And so he’d sat there, next to the prior on one side, and one of the many monks on the other, trying to be an island of temperance in a building storm of indulgence and gluttony. It hadn’t lasted, obviously, between the monks urging more and more food on him, one of them even heaping his plate full when he saw he wasn’t helping himself to seconds. Another kept his wine glass full to the brim, though he never managed to catch who was pouring it for him. Without the wine, perhaps he could have controlled himself, but between the drink, and some of the most luscious, simple and delicious fare of the table, he’d…relented, obviously. And now here he was, with a still hard gut packed with food, a headache from the wine, feeling like a fool for giving in like that. It was not a good first impression in either case. He looked like a man who could be swayed with wine and good favor. And they, well, they didn’t look particularly good for it either. He could still see the prior beside him, tearing into the thigh of a chicken with his teeth, the grease coating his lips as he laughed at some joke, eyes on him, and…

He hoped it was all innocent, he did, but something told him that there was more here. A voice, he often called God, but never to anyone else. Believing one had a direct line, in this era, was considered hubris. But inside himself, he felt it all the same. There was something here, something more than the rumors that had brought him here. Something rotten inside this monastery. Fraud and embezzlement, most likely. Something boringly human. The curse of them all, really, and why they needed God more than anything.

Father Nicholas was something between an envoy and a spy. The monks knew full well why he was here–sent by Rome in order to investigate the claims that had been made against the monks by the villagers who lived near the monastery. The villagers had complained that the monks–usually a quiet and chaste order–had in recent months taken to rather…extreme behaviors, the monks passing through town shouting speeches in the square verging on heresy, one of them even going so far as to extoll the virtues of gluttonous appetites. It didn’t help that every single monk had given into corpulence–he hadn’t seen a single monk here under 300 pounds, and several seemed to be pushing closer to 500, in all honesty. And so, Rome had sent him to investigate, and if necessary, determine what steps might be necessary to bring the rogue monks into line. But all he had done so far, in his first day here, was apparently eat and drink himself sick with nightmares.

He shuddered as he slipped out of the bed, his sheets damp with his sweat. The quarters where he found himself were small and modest, most likely identical to those where the monks reside themselves. There was a desk along the wall, a bed, a window full of morning sunshine (he would have missed laud service already–though how any of the monks could get through a service at dawn after the night before mystified him anyway–had they not also missed vespers and compline the night before?) and his luggage stacked neatly in a corner. He took a while to unpack, dress himself in new clothes, but the dream continued to haunt him–he felt…dirty, really. Sinful. He shouldn’t have given into such excess, it was uncharacteristic of him, and brought back rather awful memories that were best left in the dust of the past.

It was a desire for control, that had led Father Nicholas to the priesthood. Control over his own urges, foremost, ones that had haunted him through his youth, ones that God had promised him he would conquer, if he only believed hard enough. To his teachers in seminary, this was a troublesome impulse, one they sought to temper. Control was important, yes, but to err is human. Without forgiveness, then everything they preached was meaningless. Nicholas understood that, but found it difficult to live–and certainly difficult in parish life. But he had found this calling in Rome, rooting out heresy and fraud and crimes against the church. He was a dog on a leash, and Rome held him and pointed him where he needed to go–and he did what was necessary. But this was already…a rather strange welcome. How warmly they had received him, even knowing why he was here, the threat he posed to their order. It felt like, either they knew they were innocent, or that they believed there was nothing he could do to bring them to heel.

Dressed, he felt somewhat restored. A shower would help, but that could come later–mostly he felt that what he needed most was confession–especially after the night before. None of the monks here were priests however–not in this small order. The only one able to hear his confession was the abbot–but that posed other problems. According to the monks, the abbot had fallen rather ill and needed to be confined to his chambers. They were vague about the nature of his affliction, and insisted that serious medical intervention was not necessary. The abbot, they told him, believed that God would heal him, and thought seeking a doctor would be a sign of weakness. It felt like a lie, but without knowing who was to gain from it, it was hard to sense the truth behind it. Was the abbot actually ill, or perhaps dead, the monks covering for some kind of foul play? Or was there something else the abbot desired to hide himself, and the illness was merely a convenient excuse? He found his way to the prior of the abbey, a short, rather rotund fellow named Timothy who had welcomed Nicholas the evening before. He found him in the abbot’s study, apparently taking care of business during his illness. Not unusual, but suspicious all the same.

He asked him if he would be able to see the abbot for confession, and Timothy told him it would be difficult, given the abbot’s condition. Perhaps in a few days, Timothy told him. In the meantime, Timothy promised Nicholas he would help him with whatever documents or records he needed from the abbey during his investigation. Nicholas gave him a list, and Timothy happily turned them over with question or reluctance. He simply told Nicholas that dinner would follow the Vespers service, and they were welcome to join them for both.

Nicholas did. The service was fine–though none of the monks were particularly fine singers or readers. It seemed a bit…hollow, in some ways. Rushed. The monks were seemingly eager to be through it, and Nicholas more than once caught a whiff of something delicious on the air, and he felt that hunger from the morning leap up again. He had promised himself a day of fasting, following his indulgence, but when he told this to Timothy, the prior merely chuckled, and led Nicholas into the hall, where another massive feast, equal in size to the one the night before, was laid out for them all. He was appalled, really. How could such extravagance be afforded so regularly? But Timothy planted him in his seat, the monks urging him to eat. He was so thin and frail! So quiet. Does he not like to live? Appreciate the gifts of the earth that God and Christ had given them?

He tried to excuse himself, but the wine was poured and pressed to his lips. The feast the night before had felt warm and welcoming, but tonight, there was a certain pressure. Outside pressure, from the monks, implying that he would be insulting them, if he refused their hospitality. But that was easy for him to resist–it was the pressure on the inside that was bending him, the hunger building up until it overwhelmed him, and he sat back down, filled a plate of his own volition, and devoured it, all while Timothy urged him on, his wine always full, the monks laughing and cackling around him. His vision was swirling, but there was some commotion at the far end, something he thought was fighting at first, one monk thrown against the table by another, but it was…it was…

He awoke with the same gasping, choking sensation as the night before, but the sensation passed a bit faster–which was a relief. At least until he realized, with some shame, that his sheets were damp with more than just sweat this evening, but that he had, apparently, had a wet dream at some point as well. He could…smell it, and it nearly made him want to vomit. He couldn’t recall the last time he had ejaculated–either on his own, or in the night. Perhaps as teenager, but even then, only once or twice. The dream was fading again, but left him with an even deeper sense of defilement than the one before. He took a shower, and noticed that his thin and muscular body was showing signs of a paunch after his two feasts now–and he was so filled with disgust and shame at his own lack of discipline, that he retreated to his room to pray privately for most of the morning, and then continued his devotions into the afternoon–until Timothy came to find him, and check to see if he was well.

Timothy was kind and gentle with him. Coaxed him from his room, only for Nicholas to find himself seated, once again, in the hall, another massive feast laid out before him, and all he could think to do was vomit–but the hunger inside him welled up once more, betrayed him–and again, the dreams, the vile, choking, panting, aching, dreams! It was the next day, his sheets again soaked with sweat and cum, that he demanded the sacrament of penance from the abbot–or he threatened to go into town and speak with the priest there instead, and not stop until he was back in Rome to tell the cardinals that this monastery needed to be torn down, stone by stone. Timothy consulted with the abbot in private, and was told that the abbot would agree–but he would need a few hours to prepare, and that he demanded that Nicholas not lay eyes upon him. The restrictions seemed ridiculous, but he agreed–and so that afternoon he was seated in the confessional, listening to the raspy breathing of someone he could not see through the screen, and he spoke:

“Bless me father, for I have sinned. It has been…six days since my last confession.”

There was no reply, just the same ragged breathing on the other side of the screen. 

“I…I most confess to mortal sins. I…In my dreams, I fear I have sinned against God. Turned against him. That I have…have given into gluttony, and lust in ways that I do not understand, but which I feel are…are putting my soul in mortal danger.”

It was the truth, as close as he could come to it. The ragged breathing quickened, and became a deep, unsettling chuckle. “I am afraid, you are going to need to be more specific,” the abbot said to him. “If these sins are indeed putting your soul at risk, surely you can…tell me more about them…”

The voice was like oil, sliding over his ears and his skin and under his clothes and into his guts. He nearly fled then, but couldn’t move. “I…I do not remember them, I only…only feel it, in my soul.”

“Shall I tell you, what I saw then?” the voice said, close on the other side of the screen, close enough that Nicholas could…smell his breath, the rank odor closing in on him in the confined space. “How I watched you stuff yourself like a pig at our table? How I wanted you devour more and more into the empty space that you have hollowed out, waiting with all hope that God would come alive to fill it for you, but I filled it first, priest. I filled you up, I did, I filled you to the brim, and when you were full, I watched you fuck–clumsy, so clumsy, fumbling and foolishly, but you fucked. You enjoyed it too, you know. Had you given in, before? I tasted it on you when you arrived, how much you crave men, how it drove you here, right into my arms, where you always belonged, you know. God is empty, you see. I am not–we are not. We are alive! We are alive, and living, and enjoying all that life had to offer–and all you must do, for your penance, my dear priest, is submit, and live with me inside you.”

He hadn’t noticed the hole cut into the side of the screen when he’d entered, but he noticed it now, the thick, bulbous, leaking cock thrust through it, inches from Nicholas’ knees, the scent of the cum heady and creamy, and the hunger, oh the hunger thrumming inside him! He longed to taste it, longed to take it inside him, longed to devour it and everything else, everything that had held him back for so long, but Nicholas pulled away, fumbled open the door and tumbled out onto the stone floor–the monks already on him, holding him down and binding him, as the other door opened, and out stepped the abbot–or what remained of the man that the demon inside him had devoured.

He was massive, easily 600 pounds of heaving fat hanging off his frame in uneven rolls. His robe was filthy, crusted with cum and food, and he stank of corruption. It was his face though, his…massive mouth, and his eyes. The drool hanging from his lips in long sticky strings, His eyes were pitch black–and above them, a row of horns had pushed their way out from his forehead and temples. “I knew it was too soon for you–but I also do not have the time to waste, wearing you down slowly–bring him down into the dungeon, we will see if a few tools of the inquisition might bring our Vatican friend to his proper senses.”

The monks all professed their obedience, and while he struggled, they bound Nicholas and dragged him down into the depths of the monastery, the demon following behind them, down into the dark.


How long had he been down here now, in the dark?

There were no windows, only torches that never seemed to need to be relit, or perhaps they were only changed during his occasional, fitful moments of sleep. Nicholas screamed again as the lash came down upon his back again, heaving for breath, having already lost count of the number of blows this session.

“Can you feel it, Father?” Timothy said behind him, his hands gripping the leather tightly. He had traded in his robes for the garb of his new master–a leather harness strapped tight around his chubby frame, a leather strap knotted around his cock, keeping it fully erect, the color a deep reddish purple in the torchlight. “Can you feel it? Oh, I can. I can feel your pain, how delicious it is. Lean into it, release yourself into it! Your body need not feel as pain what it can feel as pleasure!”

The lash came down on him again, Nicholas tried to scream again, but nothing came out. He was exhausted–spiritually and physically. Down here in the dark, the torture had been unceasing, since meeting the demon in confession. If they were not whipping him, or branding him, or milking him, they were feeding him, forcing more and more of their slop into him, more and more wine, keeping him in a constant state of delirium, all of his senses driven to their limits. 

Sensing that he had had enough, Timothy tossed the lash to the side, stepped forward, and mounted the father, working his own aching cock into the priest’s now well worn hole, rutting against him wordlessly for a few minutes until he came, seeding him with another load, the same as the others he could feel drying on the inside of his thighs. Nicholas sobbed then, as Timothy pulled free, took off the strap and freed his own member. Other monks, dressed similarly, rushed in to care for Nicholas’s wounds, forcing more wine on him, and always more slop–but that…that was welcome. The hunger was only growing more intense now, gnawing away in his very bones at times. The monks no longer had to force him to eat–if food was put before him, he would devour it mindlessly, realizing only after, his face coated with muck, that they were making a literal pig of him.

And always, he could smell him in the dark. The demon. The abbot. Watching him, but in all of these days and hours, he had not once said a single word–even when Nicholas had cried out, demanding answers–even demanding death–he had been silent. And so he ate, and he drank, and his wounds were dressed with a surprisingly human tenderness, and then those monks too left him there in the dim light–and it was the first time that Nicholas had been alone in all of this time.

He tested his bonds again, but the cords were just as strong as before, holding him tight over this horse. He struggled anyway–what else was there to do, in the end? But even that exhausted him quickly, and he allowed himself to hang, the wine going to his head, making him dizzy, wondering if it would be better spent trying to rest in this moment of solace.

“Now, perhaps we can begin again. Confess to me your sins, father. Confess them, and I will strip them of you, and grant you true absolution from guilt, and pain, and hunger. None will trouble you again, so long as you are in my arms.” It was the demon speaking, but his voice seemed to permeate the room. It was impossible to tell where it was coming from. Perhaps, even from within his own mind.

Nicholas did not know what to say–but he ached. He ached to be free of this, he wanted to feel the sun on his skin, longed for God–and the demon laughed, like he could sense his thought.

“God is silent, don’t you see? God no longer cares for you–not like I do. Toil and labor in the service of him, and you get nothing but doubt and death. I can offer you more, so much more.”

He felt a sharp claw run down his welted back, and Nicholas gasped. It did not hurt–it felt…divine. He shuddered, his cock growing full, the demon continuing to stroke him gently, Nichoas moaning and gasping under his touch. 

“You long for me. You always have. Confess to me, how you turned away from me, Nicholas.”

His life stretched out before him, in his mind. How…things had started so differently for him, when he was young. How…how that first time with his cousin, how much he had loved the touch of men, but in his conservative family, any sort of desire like that had to be starved into nothing. And so, Nicholas ate. He ate, and he ate, and he tried to fill that hole inside him, thinking about him, about so many men, and hating himself for it. God seemed to be the only hope he had left anymore, and so he devoted himself to the church, first as an altar boy, and then finding his way into seminary.

It was there, that the discipline had been driven into him, by his teachers. They were disgusted by him, by his weight and his gluttony, which he had used to cover up his deeper sins. They shamed him, and humiliated him, wore him down and starved him until he was thin and muscular and willing to do anything for God–but what had God ever done for him? In all of this denial, in all of this rejection of the world, what had he gained, really? Happiness? Satisfaction? He was hungry, but he realized now, that the hunger was older–much older than the last few days. He’d been hungry all his life, and now, here he was, face to face with a being that could, at long last, feed him.

“I…please, I starved myself, I…I’m so hungry I don’t know what to do anymore,” Nicholas said between sobs, “Please help me, please, I…please forgive me…”

“I forgive you, priest, now feast on my seed. Join me. Do your penance.”

Nicholas allowed the cock into his mouth, sucked on it, draining it of everything he could. The precum was thick and creamy, coating the inside of his mouth, filling his gut–warm and solid and so satisfying. He drank and drank, letting it all go, letting all of his control drop for the first time in his life, ready to…embrace everything. Everything he could have been. With a roar, the demon’s cock erupted, and he drove his cock deeper down Nicholas’s throat, draining his corrupt balls deep into his guts, and Nicholas felt himself swell, and swell, and swell, so full he was certain he would burst from the love of his new God, but it would be worth it, worth everything to feel full, to feel this divine presence inside him, and just as he was certain he would be able to take no more–

He awoke.

He awoke from the most exquisite dream he had ever had in his life. He awoke reborn. He threw the sheets down, looked and saw his new body, nearly 400 pounds, and with his hands, he groped his fat, feeling his new folds, groaning and moaning in delight from the sensation of so much weight pressing down on him, and he grasped his cock, grunting and snorting, and within a minute, he shot one of the largest loads of his life all over his belly–and he rubbed it in, relishing it, thanking his God for accepting him in all of his folly, for showing him the way to pleasure, for giving him this true gift of a new body.

He rolled up and stood with some difficulty, and just stared at himself in the mirror for a few minutes. He was beautiful, so beautiful. Full breasts hanging from his chest, wrapping around under his arms, with massive swollen nipples on each. Three chins cascading from his now fat, round face. His thighs touching most of the way to his knees, his ass jiggling slightly as he moved. He had already shot once, but he was already so horny…he struggled with his harness, but found his way into it, and left his room to join the monks.

The monastery had dropped all pretenses–the monk’s old robes folded away, all of them wearing the same harness and nothing else. He passed several pairs fucking in the hallways of the abbey–and while Nicholas longed to join them, he…he knew where he was needed, what he needed, and he found his way to the prior, to Timothy, down in the dark, and with their God in audience, Timothy gave Nicholas a proper whipping, and now, every grace of the lash against his flesh brought forth such brightness and pleasure that Nicholas’s cock would spontaneously explode, splattering load after load on the stone walls, until at last, Timothy fucked him roughly, and so pleased with with their devotion, their God allowed each of them to suckle on his milky teats until the time for the evening feast was upon them.

It was weeks later when Nicholas bade farewell to his brothers one morning, climbed into the car that had been sent for him, and left the abbey behind. He had gained more weight now–closer to 450 pounds–struggling to fit in the back of the small car, but it did not matter. He had found himself, who he was always meant to be, and he had a new mission now, one far, far more important than any he had been sent on before. He patted his satchel, a hunger gnawing at him, but he knew better than to feast on these himself–inside, were several vials of his God’s seed, each with a particular target designated in Rome, and in the world beyond. Cardinals, mostly–each of them with a weakness the demon could exploit, and each of them a potential new pope, as this one’s breath was growing ragged. It was time for a new church. A church with a real God, one you could touch. One you could serve. One who would ensure you would never be hungry again.

Sneak Peek: The Monastery

The full story is available for Patrons at the $5 tier and higher here! For everyone else, here’s a sneak peek:


Father Nicholas clawed his way out of sleep, and was certain he was choking. What he was choking on he did not know–a dream substance of some sort or other. The dream was already fading from him, impossible to grasp beyond the terror of the nightmare racing through him, pulse dizzying, cloaked in sweat. He forced himself to breathe, finally succeeding with a massive, heaving gasp, coughing and gagging and heaving but nothing came up–which was a surprise itself, given the meal he had enjoyed last night, at the monks’ insistence. He concentrated, forced his breathing and his heart to settle, reaching for some sort of serenity that he knew had to be somewhere inside him–because God was inside him, after all.

As he came down from the nightmare, he tried to recall what he could of the dream, but there was nothing. No images at least–just a cascade of feelings. Terror, mostly. A good dose of shame. Regret, maybe, or something similar, colored with a bit of self-loathing. A hunger. There was hunger too, which seemed absurd to him, to awake hungry after…after that. How strange. How unchristian, really. He could see it, lit by candlelight still, the great hall of the abbey, the long table dressed in a deep red, the chair at the head conspicuously empty but still set, the entire length set with a massive feast, one of the largest that Nicholas had ever seen, perhaps outside of the Vatican on rare occasions. The monks, seated around the table, tearing into the flesh of beasts with such vigor and gluttony and…it was abnormal to say the least. Verging on heresy in its own fashion, in how the monks of this monastery had so readily discarded the vows of chastity and restraint that they were allegedly bound to by God.

Or perhaps, just a feast to celebrate a visitor from Rome. Perhaps just a well meant, but ill advised, celebration, given what he was here to do. Perhaps innocent, all the same. He had approached it with that in mind, assuming that the monks were doing their best to just be kind to him, with perhaps a tinge of bribery–which itself was not unusual, but of all of his temptations, greed had never been him. And so he’d sat there, next to the prior on one side, and one of the many monks on the other, trying to be an island of temperance in a building storm of indulgence and gluttony. It hadn’t lasted, obviously, between the monks urging more and more food on him, one of them even heaping his plate full when he saw he wasn’t helping himself to seconds. Another kept his wine glass full to the brim, though he never managed to catch who was pouring it for him. Without the wine, perhaps he could have controlled himself, but between the drink, and some of the most luscious, simple and delicious fare of the table, he’d…relented, obviously. And now here he was, with a still hard gut packed with food, a headache from the wine, feeling like a fool for giving in like that. It was not a good first impression in either case. He looked like a man who could be swayed with wine and good favor. And they, well, they didn’t look particularly good for it either. He could still see the prior beside him, tearing into the thigh of a chicken with his teeth, the grease coating his lips as he laughed at some joke, eyes on him, and…

He hoped it was all innocent, he did, but something told him that there was more here. A voice, he often called God, but never to anyone else. Believing one had a direct line, in this era, was considered hubris. But inside himself, he felt it all the same. There was something here, something more than the rumors that had brought him here. Something rotten inside this monastery. Fraud and embezzlement, most likely. Something boringly human. The curse of them all, really, and why they needed God more than anything.

Father Nicholas was something between an envoy and a spy. The monks knew full well why he was here–sent by Rome in order to investigate the claims that had been made against the monks by the villagers who lived near the monastery. The villagers had complained that the monks–usually a quiet and chaste order–had in recent months taken to rather…extreme behaviors, the monks passing through town shouting speeches in the square verging on heresy, one of them even going so far as to extoll the virtues of gluttonous appetites. It didn’t help that every single monk had given into corpulence–he hadn’t seen a single monk here under 300 pounds, and several seemed to be pushing closer to 500, in all honesty. And so, Rome had sent him to investigate, and if necessary, determine what steps might be necessary to bring the rogue monks into line. But all he had done so far, in his first day here, was apparently eat and drink himself sick with nightmares.

He shuddered as he slipped out of the bed, his sheets damp with his sweat. The quarters where he found himself were small and modest, most likely identical to those where the monks reside themselves. There was a desk along the wall, a bed, a window full of morning sunshine (he would have missed laud service already–though how any of the monks could get through a service at dawn after the night before mystified him anyway–had they not also missed vespers and compline the night before?) and his luggage stacked neatly in a corner. He took a while to unpack, dress himself in new clothes, but the dream continued to haunt him–he felt…dirty, really. Sinful. He shouldn’t have given into such excess, it was uncharacteristic of him, and brought back rather awful memories that were best left in the dust of the past…


What sorts of horrors lurk in the monastery for our priest to discover? Find out in a week, or help keep my writing going, and support me on Patreon!

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.


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