Remembrances – Episode 2 (Part 8)

“He’s…fuck, ya can’t do this to ‘em, ya can’t do this tah us, it ain’t right!”

“Right?” Mr. Elroy said, “Right doesn’t have anything to do with it. This is about what I want, Harry.” He gave his belly a pat, and belched, “Gotta say, he was tasty though. I think he still has a little potential in there for some leftovers later, but we drained him pretty well.”

“I didn’t…This is yer doin’, I ain’t doin’ anything!”

Mr. Elroy laughed. “I could only do it because you let me in, Harry. But that’s water under the bridge at this point–I gotta say, that meal made me hornier than hell though.”

Harry expected Mr. Elroy to use him like he had earlier, but instead, he walked back over to Pete, tapped his shoulder, and his son woke up, looked at him, blinked a few times, and then said in quiet disbelief, “U-Uncle Wilbur? I thought…you’s were dead!”

“Not yet boy,” Mr. Elroy said, gave Pete a hand and pulled him up into a hug, “How about a wrassle, boy? Could use a little fun with my favorite nephew.”

Harry tried to speak, tried to stop it, but it felt like he was frozen and forgotten. He couldn’t move–all he could do was watch as Mr. Elroy helped Pete out of his grungy clothes, took off his own, and then the two of them started grappling. It wasn’t long before they hit the floor, rolling around, both of them hooting and hollering, but Pete wasn’t in the same shape he’d been in when he was a rough twenty-something, playing around with his uncle, naked in the bedroom, not quite sure why his cock kept getting hard, until Wilbur showed him what to do with his cock and a man’s hole. Mr. Elroy was toying with him–Harry could see it, and he kept flashing him looks from the floor as he maneuvered his son into a pin, making Pete cry for mercy.

“You give up, boy? You know what that means, don’t ya?”

“Yeah Unc, yeah, just let go my arm!”

Mr. Elroy did, and then spread Pete’s ass cheeks and wormed one finger in, and then two, watching Pete squirm. “You forget the magic words? Seems like ya ain’t lost in a while, boy,”

“N-No sir, I ain’t a loser, ya know that.”

“Heh, you are today, and every other day too, if you don’t get your shit together and fight like a man ought to. Now say it. I wanna hear ya say it. Don’t forget–the words were your idea, boy.”

“I…I’m a loser.”

“The whole thing boy! Say it! Say, ‘I’m a stupid, fat, filthy, faggot loser.’” Mr. Elroy pulled harder on his leg, making Pete moan and smack the floor with a free hand.

“Stop it!” Harry had found his voice again, but Pete didn’t seem to hear him. Mr. Elroy, on the other hand, looked up at him with a grin.

“I thought you liked to watch, Harry,” he said, “Go on, pull that worthless cock of yours out. I want to watch you try and jack off, I wanna see if you can get it hard at all.” Mr. Elroy leaned closer to Pete’s ear, “And I can’t hear you boy, fuckin’ say it.”

“I…I’m a stupid, fat, filthy faggot loser…” Pete moaned, as Mr. Elroy pushed a third finger into his ass.

Harry pulled his cock free of his jeans, and felt how small it was, how dull it felt in his hand. He was horny–so damn horny watching this, and yet his cock felt nothing at all. “Please, please stop this, he didn’t deserve this…”

“If you really want me to stop, Harry, I’ll stop,” Mr. Elroy said, “But I don’t think that’s what you really want. You’re just jealous–you were always jealous of me. But he would have, you know. If you’d just offered, but you were too much of a coward. All those years, wrestling with your boy, and never once had the guts to get what you really wanted from him. All you did was watch. Well that’s ok, Harry–you can watch plenty. I’ll have your son over here every day, and I’ll fuck his fat hole in front of you, and you can just watch to your heart’s content. Now, how does that worthless cock of yours feel? Getting any satisfaction, watching your best friend get ready to pound your worthless son’s fat ass? Sure you can’t even get it to half mast, for us?”

Harry stroked a bit harder, but it was clear his cock wasn’t responding to anything at all.

“If that doesn’t work, you can always play with yourself somewhere else, that you’ll enjoy more.”

Harry didn’t quite know what Mr. Elroy meant, but his hands and body were already tracing familiar patterns, shucking the suspenders from his shoulders, leaning forward and tugging his jeans and underwear down past his ass, the fingers of his hands feeling around for his hole and sliding inside, and now, Harry moaned. Moaned while he watched Mr. Elroy finger his son right in front of him–saw Wilbur fingering his boy in his old room, saw himself watching, wishing, jealous and turned on all at the same time. Wilbur finally slid his cock into Pete’s ass, and he moaned in humiliation, but allowed his uncle to have his way with him, Harry worming more of his hand inside his ass, pressing against his inflamed prostate, feeling more pleasure and delight there than he had from his cock in ages. “Fuck Wilbur, fuck–fuck me next,” Harry muttered, “Fuck me just like that.”

Wilbur turned towards him, mouth turned up in a sneer. “You? Why would I want to fuck you, when I can fuck your boy, Harry? Why the fuck would I waste my cock on a broken old man, when I have this fat loser hungry for my cock day and night? Right faggot? Are you hungry for your uncle’s big cock?”

Remembrances – Episode 2 (Part 5)

Harry didn’t say anything–he knew that whatever this demon was thinking, nothing that Harry did would sway him one way or another.

Mr. Elroy just turned back to him, with that same dreadful smile he had on, when he was contemplating something horrible. “I like you Harry–You’re a man–you’re a whole set of possibilities that’s meant to be savored, but I just don’t know if I can trust you. You’re just a bit too…strong willed, I think. That, and I’ve been a bit too kind to you. I’ve let you imagine that you can make a difference here. Tell me, how did it feel, when you found out your best friend was screwing your wife, Harry?”

The memory slammed into him like a freight train. He’d been gone on a trip, a few years before the accident, but arrived home early, when he was bumped up to an earlier flight. He’d come home and found Wilbur’s car in the driveway, and inside, he’d snuck to the bedroom and watched them fuck. It wasn’t like how he fucked Patricia. She never made those sorts of noises when he was on top of her, and Wilbur…he had the same virile energy coursing around him that Harry felt when they were in bed together. He hadn’t been able to help himself–he’d pulled out his cock–his much…shorter cock–and jacked off in the hallway, watching them. He was so ashamed of himself–he’d fled the house, gone to a bar for a few too many drinks, and then arrived home at the correct time. He’d never said anything about it to either of them–he loved them too much, even though he knew now that neither of them really loved him in the same way. He…wanted them to be happy. He would vacate the house at convenient times, and then sneak back in to watch, just to try and capture some of their energy, just to feel close to them, even if they didn’t know he was there.

He found himself back in his apartment, and he couldn’t stop himself–he started sobbing. Mr. Elroy laid a hand on his shoulder. “Now, now, Harry, men shouldn’t cry, you know that.”

He looked up, and Wilbur was looking down at him, or was it Mr. Elroy now? He didn’t know for certain anymore–he didn’t know anything, beyond the fact that he’d never felt so humiliated in his whole life. Humiliated, and yet, he missed them both so damn much…he had his son though–at least he had that. His son loved him, right?

“Look at you, Harry. You’re fucking weak.”

Harry tried to yell at him, but it just came out as gibberish without his teeth in. Mr. Elroy was kind enough to hand them back to him, and Harry shuddered as he put them in. “S-Shut up, this is all a damn pack of lies.”

“Lies? These are your memories, Harry. This is all you know. Can you tell the difference? I know you can’t. This is your truth now, Harry. Your best friend fucked your wife for years, and you never did anything about it, not once. It only got worse after the accident–especially since you couldn’t get hard anymore.” Mr. Elroy slid a hand up Harry’s thigh, and he felt his cock shrivel back, the pain from his knee running up into his hip now, “You’re lucky they could save at least one of your balls, though–the other one popped like a grape.”

Pain. So much pain in that memory, his leg and groin crushed under the machine, it must have weighed two tons, and he couldn’t do anything he couldn’t move, he just saw the blood running out on the ground under him, and Wilbur was there, and he just hoped he would…kiss him one last time, and take care of his family.

He flung himself back out of the memory and into the apartment. He hadn’t remembered the accident, not like that. He never wanted to feel that again.

“I could leave you there, you know,” Mr. Elroy said, “You could be pinned there, in your mind, for the rest of your days. Out here, you’ll look like a vegetable, and in there, just that horrific, wracking, neverending pain.” he knelt down, “Do you see how kind I have been to you Harry? Do you see how you’ve taken my kindness and flung it back at me, like a spoiled child?”

All he could do was sob, but he felt that same energy from Mr. Elroy’s hand on his shoulder, the same chill, and his eyes just dried up. The hurt, the anger, the grief and sadness was all still there, but calcified. He couldn’t let it out, he couldn’t show it; all he could do was live with it, remain stoic and unaffected by any emotion. That’s who he was–that’s what a real man was.

“You know why she loved being with Wilbur, Harry?” Mr. Elroy asked him, “It was because, with him, she found someone who could show some emotion. You were a real man, Harry, a real tough one, like a stone. But not very exciting in bed–just a couple of minutes on top of her until you came, and then you’d just fall right asleep. You could never give her satisfaction, and you knew it. You’re not a lover, Harry–you’re just a brute. Well, not anymore, I suppose. Now you’re just a weakling, but before…well, you remember, don’t you Harry?”

He was flung back into the past, back into himself, but while so much of it was the same…so much of it was…completely different. He saw himself in the mirror, his younger self, the unkempt hair and beard he always let grow out too long, until Patricia nagged him into cutting it off. Face caked with oil and sweat, because he rarely bothered showering–especially after Patricia insisted they start sleeping in separate beds, because he kept ruining the sheets with his dirt. He could see himself there, alone in that twin bed, sheets plain, smelling of grease and smoke and his own sweat…but he liked it. It felt comfortable, and he liked being comfortable, and if she wasn’t comfortable with him being a man–a real man–then why in the hell had she married him?

May Suggested Stories Ready for Download! | Wesley Bracken on Patreon

Sorry for the missing post yesterday! There will be another chunk of Remembrances at the usual time today, and here’s a bonus post for today, since this month’s suggested stories are finished! As usual, anyone contributing any amount gets access to these stories, and gets the privilege of suggesting ideas each month as well. Here’s a story I wrote for everyone last month.


Taking My Place

It had been innocent, at first. These things always were, to begin with, you never really understand where it all goes wrong. Well, Evan knew where it had gone wrong, but it wasn’t at the beginning. He was just a mild mannered family man, recently married, and currently trying have their first child, though conception was proving to be a bit tricky. It didn’t help that his workload at the company was heavy, and so he’d been staying late at work–late enough that he’d cross paths with the same janitor each night as he cleaned the floor, an older fellow by the name of Ross.

Evan had never really known how to broach the subject with his wife, but he was decidedly bisexual, and Ross ticked…all of his buttons, on the masculine side. Older, chubby, facial hair, a little dirty. It came out one night that Ross was, in fact, gay–and it didn’t take too long after that for the two of them to strike up an affair in his office during the evenings. Had things stayed there, everything would have worked out just fine–but two things happened instead.

First, Ross’s shifts changed, so that he was working during the days rather than the afternoons and evenings, like before. Second, Ross…found something. Evan had never seen it, or knew what it was, exactly, but it had a power unlike anything he’d ever seen before, something which, at first, Evan was eager to experiment with. During their evenings together, Evan had often told Ross about how stressful he found his job, and how he actually envied Ross a bit. Not in the money category of course, but it seemed so…easy, just cleaning, and going home. No real responsibility, no boss looming over him, no clients to upset. Just once, he said, he’d love to be in his shoes for the day.

And so, that morning, Ross strode into Evan’s office–and he switched them. Evan didn’t know how he did it, but one second he was behind the desk, working on an account, and the next he was standing in the doorway, wearing Ross’s coveralls–with Ross’s patch sewn on the front. Before he could freak out, Ross switched them back, and then told him what he could do–he could change places with people, he could even trade parts of their bodies, and even parts of their minds. He wanted to give Evan the chance to do what he’d wanted, which was to work a day in his shoes. It was no worry–he could switch some of their knowledge around too, so they’d both do well, and at the end of the day, they’d change back. And so, Evan spent the whole day as the building’s janitor, and knew exactly what to do, and at the end of the day, they changed back–but not before having sex in each other’s roles. Even more to his surprise, he enjoyed it–or rather, they both did, and Ross promised not to abuse his newfound power.

On occasion, when Evan needed a break, he’d let Ross switch them. But slowly, he began to notice…other things. Ross showed up one day with a new dick–a big dick, much larger than the one he’d had, and told Evan he was just borrowing it for a while from someone else. Evan noticed things about himself shifting around as well. Before, he’d always been the more dominant of them, but one day, he found that all he could think about was bottoming. He demanded to know what Ross had done, but he denied everything, but soon after that, Ross made it clear that he was the one in charge–and if he wanted to sit in the cushy office, then he was going to sit in the office, and Evan would be cleaning bathrooms and emptying trash cans. Evan found himself working as a janitor more and more often, and whenever Ross allowed him sit at his desk for the day, he never could quite get a handle on what he was supposed to be doing. He’d have to scour the building for Ross and beg for his help, and the older man would switch with him for the rest of the day, fixing everything he’d managed to screw up, while Evan cleaned up after everyone else, and then sucked Ross’s massive cock to thank him.

It seemed that the only place Evan was safe was at home with his wife. He knew he should quit and get away from Ross, but he needed the money–that, and from some hints Ross had dropped, he’d made it clear that if Evan tried to run, he’d most likely regret it. That, however, didn’t last for long. Ross came to work without his massive cock one day–instead, he had a tiny, one inch member, which was soon Evan’s one inch cock. Ross told him he’d be keeping that one for a while, but that he didn’t need to worry; he knew Evan was trying to have a baby, so he’d made sure to leave him his balls–if he could manage to get in his wife’s pussy. In fact, Evan hadn’t been able to get aroused in bed with her for months–he suspected Ross had messed with his head and made him completely gay, but he didn’t dare confront him about it. After his cock, Ross began leaving more and more of his old self with Evan when they switched back and forth, and soon, Evan would look in the mirror at his home, and see a younger version of Ross staring back at him. It was horrifying, but this…this was beyond anything he could have imagined him doing.

It was Friday, and that meant it was almost time for two whole days without Ross messing with him. At this point, Evan worked as a janitor everyday–he couldn’t even remember the last time he’d even done his “real” job. He’d gone back to his office to switch back, only to discover that Ross wasn’t there–he’d left early and gone home. To his home, to his wife! He found a note on the desk for him, and Ross told him that if he and his wife were having such a hard time conceiving a child, Ross wanted to help him out. Furious, he stormed out of the building, wanting to head home and confront him–but he discovered he didn’t remember where he lived. In his mind, he lived in the city, in a grungy little apartment, alone…where he spent all weekend, usually, getting drunk and jacking off…right?

He tried to remember, he really did, but he had no car, no memory, and no way of getting there–and so, resigned, he went home to his apartment, where he found the computer on, receiving a video feed from…somewhere. It was a bedroom, but whose? There was someone in it, though–or two people rather, a man and a woman naked and getting ready to have sex, and he realized it was Ross, in his life, getting ready to fuck his wife…and just thinking about it was enough to make his little prick hard as a rock. He watched them fuck, he loved it, the idea of the janitor fucking his wife in his body, in a better body than his had ever been, actually. He…he deserved it more than he did, he deserved all of it. Evan didn’t deserve anything, he was just a stupid fucking pervert, after all. Evan made his decision, then and there–come Monday, he’d offer Ross his life. He was making the most of it, after all…and as long as he got to watch it, he’d get plenty of enjoyment out of it too.

May Suggested Stories Ready for Download! | Wesley Bracken on Patreon

What Would I Do To You #2 (Diaper Cuck)

What would I do to you this time?

We’ve been going steady for a little while now, haven’t we? It all seems rather normal, in fact. I want you to be comfortable, though. I want you to know what normal tastes like, so we let things ride for a few months. The sex begins to feel stale, we begin to discover the things about one another that we hate. I seem to keep pushing your buttons, and you’re beginning to resent me. You’re beginning to think about breaking the whole thing off, in fact, and moving out. That’s when we wake up with the bed sopping wet the first time.

You deny it, but it’s clearly on your side. You’ve wet the bed, a full bladder right into the sheets and the mattress. You’re confused, you feel betrayed by your own body–but that’s alright, I tell you. Accidents happen–I’m sure it was just a fluke, right? The next morning, it’s dry, but you wet it again the next two days in a row. The mattress…smells like piss now, but it was time to get a new one, right? We go shopping, and splurge on a king–but when we get home, you know I have to insist right?

You’re horrified at the thought. You don’t need diapers; you’re a grown man! Yes, I say, a grown man who’s wet the bed nine out of the last twelve nights. We just can’t have these things happening on the brand new bed, right? I reason with you, and I console you, and stroke your ego. We compromise in the end. We’ll use a plastic sheet for now, and if it stays dry for a week, we’ll never speak of it again.

You last for two days, before you wet it again, and this time, I insist. Humiliated, you go along with it, and that is your first night in diapers. It’s the most restful night you’ve ever had. You don’t even mind waking up to the soggy thing around your waist–it…feels comforting, somehow, not that you can admit it. You put up an act for a couple of weeks, but you wear them willingly, and everything seems fine–until the first accident at work.

I entertain your concerns, and we visit the doctor. He assures you this is just a thing that can happen, which is not what you want to hear. On the ride home, you feel lost and adrift–I hold you in bed for a bit, and you feel better, until you let it flow without a diaper on, right there. And with that, you begin wearing them during the day as well. You don’t notice the other things happening, you don’t see yourself sucking your thumb at night while you hump your dick into the front of the diapers, until you spurt. You don’t see how you’re plumping up, how you’re losing the hair on your body. You’re too focused on making sure no one ever notices your secret. But things are going well between us, you think. You’re…surprised by how understanding I’ve been. In fact, you don’t think you could have done this without me. Wanting to do something special, you come home early one day, only to discover me fucking another man in our bed.

You’re speechless. All you can do is stand there and watch, one hand slipping down and groping the front of your diapers, jacking off while you watch me plow a stranger the way I used to plow you, the way I haven’t plowed you in months. You cum, and that snaps you out of it. You bust in, the stranger flees, leaving just the two of us. You think you have the upperhand, and as you begin to yell, the bottom falls out from your world, and you shit your diaper.

You stop midsentence. It’s too much. All of this is too much. You stumble back, and fall on your ass, feeling the shit squish around you, and you start to cry. You more than cry, you wail, and pound your feet and hands, you throw a tantrum–but I talk you down. You see, I love you–I really do, but…you have to understand that I just feel myself attracted to you like I was when we first got together. How could I? I…don’t really have a thing for guys in diapers, but I respect you, and I love you…but you understand, don’t you? By the end of the conversation, you’ve come around, and agreed to open the relationship, for the good of us both.

You hate it though. You hate how…weak you’re becoming. Everything that bothered you about me has only seemed to gotten worse. I never pick up after myself, I belittle you and humiliate you in public, I take your money. Slowly, I’m beginning to control everything about your life–and there’s nothing you’re willing to do about it. Who else is willing to accept you for who you are, after all? You don’t have a choice. Eventually, you come to believe that you’re the real baggage, in the relationship, and you thank me for putting up with you day in and day out. With nothing and no one left to console you, you turn to food to try and fill that hole I’m making in your soul. How much weight have you put on now? Fifty pounds, or is it closer to a hundred at this point? Your body hair has grown thin, and your beard has become patchy–best if you just shave it off, even if it makes you look too young. Your cock is smaller too–just a few inches, not that it gets much use at all. Even if the relationship is open, you’re far too embarrassed to look for sex–though you do, on occasion, chat with daddies on some ABDL websites, not that you’d have the courage to meet them in real life.

No, the only sexual satisfaction you get anymore is purely second hand. You go to bed early, and I have a friend over, and once we get going, you creep out of bed, trying to keep your diaper from making too much noise, and you squat at the door I’ve left ajar, and you watch. You watch me fuck some stranger, and you…imagine it was you there, instead. But who would want to fuck you? You grope yourself. You’re just an ugly loser. Your little dicklet is hard now. A fat loser in diapers, who can’t even control themselves, who’s…starting to even enjoy sitting around in their piss and shit, like a freak. You feel it, the load of shit squeeze out your ass and you cum in the front, muffling your cry, and keep watching until I finish–and then you sneak back to bed before I notice, lying in your shame, and wonder if I’ll be bringing home someone else tomorrow.

I Dream of Bacchus (Part 7)

He hid the truth from his roommate for as long as he could. He had some savings at least–if he managed it well, he’d be able to scrape by for a couple of months at least. He pretended to go to work each morning, and then would usually head for the liquor store, buy some fortified wine, and then sit in a park for most of the day, sleeping on a park bench. He felt most at home there–close to the trees, playing with the beasts, demanding they fuck his holes, and the beasts were all too happy to oblige. In the afternoon or evening, he’d return home and watch Jared get fucked by a guy or two, and then sleep–it was as close as he could get to an ideal life, he supposed, but it came to a crashing end, when Jared found a notice that they were behind on rent–Raury had skipped a payment in order to pay Jared–watching him get fucked was more important, right?

He’d had to tell him the truth, Jared was furious–Raury tried to console him. He could find another job, right? He’d be able to keep paying him, if he was just patient–but Jared stormed into his room, packed a bag of things, and said he was moving out.

“I don’t even know why I live with a disgusting fuck like you–I get offers from guys every day of the week to live with them, and at least they wouldn’t disgust me on a daily basis. If I ever fucking see you again, you’re going to fucking regret it.”

Raury pleaded with him, got on his knees and begged. “Please! I..I need you Jared, you’re all I have left. If I didn’t have you, I…I think I’d go insane, please, you can’t leave me!”

It was the truth. Jared was the only person he felt a connection to anymore. He spent the rest of his time speaking to beasts that were only real to him–everyone in the park assumed he was a lunatic, and he’d nearly gotten arrested the week before, when he’d mistaken a policeman on horseback for an especially handsome centaur, and begged the beast to fuck him. But he knew Jared was real–he was the only thing holding him here. If he didn’t have that, then who even was he?

“You’re ours, our Bacchus!” he heard the beasts shout around him. They had appeared in the apartment around them, and Raury looked around in horror, “You only need us, Bacchus, we’ll keep you happy, we promise.”

Jared stepped around him, and Raury grabbed him around the knees. He kicked him off, leaving him with a bleeding nose, and then left–slamming the door shut behind him, abandoning Raury to the beasts around him, who began to close into a ring.

“You don’t need him.”

“We’re all you need, all you want.”

“We make you happy, only we know what you need, Bacchus.”

“No!” Raury shouted, sending them all scattering back, “Him! I need him! The rest of you all get away from me, get away!” by the time he’d finished shouting, the beasts had disappeared, and all he felt instead, was loneliness–he hefted himself up, got a bottle of wine and chugged it, and chased it with another–with a couple of hours he was passed out on the couch, and again, found himself in a dream.

It had been months since he’d last experienced one so vivid. The smell of the forest, of the loam–it was welcoming, and yet, he couldn’t suppress the terror welling up in him. He wouldn’t be able to resist them for long–he knew this, but somehow, the loss of Jared had brought back some of his old sense of self. This…wasn’t the way things were supposed to be–it was Aarin’s fault, he had done this to them both, he’d cursed them. If he could just find him, maybe there was a way for him to fix this, to make it right for them both. He hadn’t really wanted to hurt anyone, with his cheating; he’d just cared more about his own satisfaction than anything else–but he could change, couldn’t he?

His feet were dragging him closer to the center of the woods now, and he could see the flicker of the beasts’ bonfires, the sound of their warped, jittery tunes. Even at his current size in this strange realm–at least 500 pounds, if not larger, rolls upon rolls of fat falling off him, he felt lighter than air, and he began to dance and skip as he approached the circle, though he hardly felt like dancing at all. The beasts were waiting; he took his honored place in the midst of them, lounging upon his pillows and carpets, expecting to be taken immediately as usual–but this was different. It wasn’t that the beasts were angry with him–but they seemed…nervous. There were fewer of them than usual, as well–he’d learned their names and forms at this point, and several of the more powerful satyrs were missing from the circle.

“We want you to be happy, Bacchus.”

“Happy with us!”

“If we do this, you have to stay, you have to become ours, forever, beyond the contract.”

Contract? He didn’t know what that meant, but before he could ask, he heard the sound of pipes, and a moment later, the missing satyrs came skipping into the clearing, and following them dancing along with the tune, was Jared. His face seemed sleepy, eyes unfocused–what was he doing here? Raury looked around, expecting Aarin to appear as well, but no one else came.

“He can be yours Bacchus.”

“We can make him yours! He will desire only you, like all of us.”

“Like us! Like us!”

I Dream of Bacchus (Part 6)

Raury was, in many ways, a sugar daddy–although he knew that if he so much as touched his young roommate, there would be hell to pay. No, Raury paid the rent, the utilities, the bills, the food–and in exchange, Jared had sex with as many men as he wanted, and gave Raury the occasional privilege of watching them fuck. It wasn’t easy–in this new life, Raury was no longer a high level executive, but just some middle manager with a greatly reduced salary, but if Jared demanded, then he found himself helpless–he’d pay anything to make him happy, even though it wounded him to know that he should be the one making Jared scream–but that was a different life now, and he had a feeling he’d never have the opportunity to get back.

Still, he sought out Aarin, tried to apologize, but the gypsy lover had since moved on to some other city, and hadn’t bothered to leave a forwarding address. Still, it would have been…manageable, he supposed, if it weren’t for his other job, the one in his dreams. At first, the time with the beasts was a welcome respite from his new life, and he’d often look forward to his nights spent in the wood with them, finding some small measure of comfort in how much the animals adored him, how they’d use him as a vessel for their pleasure, but where before he had still felt somewhat removed from them, after that final ceremony with Aarin and Jared, the link between them had intensified somehow. At first it was small changes, barely noticeable, but in time, he found himself losing his grip on reality in ways he could barely explain.

The woods simple seemed so much more real to him, after that ceremony. Even in the dark, the colors were more vibrant in the bonfirelight, the sounds clearer in the silence of the trees, the sensation of the beasts’ flesh against him more pressing than anything he’d felt with a human–well, perhaps anyone other than Jared. Every dream he could recall in immaculate detail, but his time in the waking world began to fade. He struggled to recall conversations and events from a week prior, and soon he was struggling to even feel present in the moment. The real world felt like the dream–without reason or logic, without pleasure. The only moments where he felt the world push back was when he was watching Jared get fucked–but even then, it only felt real because of the great pain they caused him still.

In the dreams, his body continued to change–it wasn’t long before he was cresting six or seven hundred pounds, reeking of manure and livestock, hair coating his entire body, feeling more and more like a beast himself. His waking form continued to disgust him, but now it was because he wasn’t as extreme as he desired, but no matter how much he tried to change himself–no matter how much he binged and drank and refused to shower–he no longer seemed to change at all. No, it was only when he was sleeping that he ever felt like himself–that he felt like he belonged.

His work started to suffer, and he was written up several times for falling asleep at his desk. He knew it should worry him, but the world no longer bore any real consequence for him. He didn’t exist here, in this office, in this city–not truly. No, his life, his reality was elsewhere now. This was now just a shadow, or a ghost, or a placeholder left over from some other world. It didn’t help matters when he noticed that the beasts were beginning to force themselves into his waking life as well. At first it was just the occasional sound, or the strong scent of musk, but soon satyrs would appear beside him at work, urging him to sleep, to come play with them, to let them serve their Bacchus. No one else could see them, but for Raury, they were fully real–so real that even when he sampled their cocks, on his knees in his cubicle, it tasted like he was there, and he’d quickly nod off for a quick fuck in the clearing.

Still, like all dreams, it didn’t seem possible that it might ever end. The constant days spent in the office melded together into a timeless mash. The men streaming into Jared’s room were endless instances of some faceless horde. How had he allowed himself to become trapped in such a nightmare? Why couldn’t he figure out how to stay home in the forest, in his real body, with his real servants, in his real life? He’d become so convinced that nothing would ever change, that when his boss finally called him into his office to tell Raury that he was being let go, it took the man three repetitions before Raury finally grasped what he was saying.

“You mean…I can go? I don’t have to come here anymore?” He grinned, “Oh god, I thought I was going to have to keep coming here forever!”

His boss just stared at him. “If you were so unhappy, then why didn’t you just quit?”

“I…I guess it just didn’t occur to me that I could do that,” Raury said, a bit bewildered himself. There was some reason he needed to have a job, right? He was certain there was something to that, but he was so happy he wouldn’t have to come back here again, that he decided to worry about that later. Instead, he cleaned out his desk in an hour, and hurried home–eager for a nice long nap–but when he arrived early and saw Jared, he realized why the job had mattered–how was he going to pay for Jared, if he didn’t have a job?

I Dream of Bacchus (Part 5)

All three of their orgasms came in tandem, bucking to the beat of the drums as the music became a cataclysm, and before Raury could even lick his own cum off his hand, the beasts had descended on him, desperate to make it up to him, to feed him, to give him wine, to tell him that he didn’t need those humans to be happy, that they would serve him, and delight in him, and fuck him, and abuse him. He tried to pull away from them, when he saw Aarin help Jared up from the ground and lead him out of the forest, but in his heart he knew it was too late, and when he woke up, Jared would be gone and he’d be alone–alone with these things, alone with his dreams, and he didn’t know if he was thrilled or terrified at the thought.

The beasts began to wind down, slowly, and Raury could feel himself beginning to rise out of the dream, and fade back into real life. There was sun, but he wasn’t on the couch–he was in a bed, alone, but not the bed from his apartment. It…stank. The room stank like a barn. Like manure and mud and straw, but rather than disgust him, he actually found himself relaxing into it. At least…now, he could be alone, right? He wouldn’t have to feel bad about giving in anymore, about the weight he’d gained, about his drinking, about his sexual obsessions and constant sleeping. He was so comfortable, in fact, that he almost allowed himself to drift off again, but he needed to piss, so he got up, naked, and went into the hallway towards the bathroom.

“Fucking hell…you know the fucking rule, Raury! I do not want to see that fucking disgusting body of yours naked!”

He looked over, and there was Jared, fully clothed, holding a cup of coffee, and he couldn’t believe it. What was he doing here? Hadn’t Aarin taken him away? Wasn’t that supposed to be his punishment? “I…I just had to piss is all,” he muttered.

“Get back in that room and put something on, or I’m not going to let you watch for a week, and I’ll raise the fucking rate.”

Ashamed for reasons he only half understood, he turned around and went back into the room, surveying the mess. It looked a bit like a sty, really–clothes thrown everywhere. Still, Jared…called the shots. He went around and found a pair of ratty boxers, and then grabbed a robe hanging over the back of a chair–but caught his reflection in the dirty mirror on the wall, and gasped.

He’d been changing before, bit by bit, but always gradually. Here, he was looking at a different person entirely. He just…couldn’t get past the fact that he was so…so old, all of a sudden. His hair, all of his hair from his head to his feet, was grey, and he’d balded severely. His usual layer of stubble was still present around his mouth, but he’d grown in a pair of thick mutton chops which only made his face look wider and pudgier. Even his body seemed to have contorter–he was shorter, legs stubbier and a bit bowed out, posture slumped…he was a fucking slobby mess. No wonder Jared never wanted to look at him–Raury didn’t want to look at himself either.

He pulled the robe on, checked the hallway for Jared, and then got to the bathroom, determined to fix himself up slightly. He could at least get rid of the facial hair, right? Have a shower, clean himself up…but nothing worked. Every time he ran the blade of a razor over his face, he could feel the hair being cut, but it would appear right back behind the blade’s trail, like nothing had happened at all. The same with his chops and hair–he could cut it, but it would regrow to it’s new length again in less than a second. Showering proved to be equally futile–no matter how much he scrubbed, he’d step out as dirty and stinking as he’d been getting in. This was him now–his body. He’d been…corrupted, somehow, but whether it was the fault of the beasts, or the fault of Aarin’s curse, he didn’t know. He went back to his room and cried for a couple of hours, had a pleasant nap where he got fucked by a handsome pair of centaurs, and then woke in the evening to a sudden knock on the door.

“You got the fee, pervert? Slide it under, and I’ll open the hole before he gets here.”

His body knew what to do, before his mind could really catch up. He got some cash from his wallet–a hundred dollars, and slipped it under to Jared, who took it, and walked back to his room, where he heard something shift against their shared wall–and a small hole he hadn’t noticed was revealed. Curious, he got down and looked through it, and found himself staring right at a completely naked Jared, and fuck, he was so…achingly, desperately in love, at that moment. He wanted him so badly, needed him, his cock rock hard, and he started jacking off, being careful to stay quiet–any peep from him, and…his privileges could be revoked.

Ten minutes later, he heard a distant knock at the apartment door. Jared went to answer it, and returned with a young man, and they started making out together…and Raury felt his heart start to shred, even as he grew even more turned on that before. The man had a massive cock–almost as large as Raury’s had been once upon a time–and he used it on Jared’s ass for close to an hour, Jared blowing load after load watching some stranger fuck the man who had been his ex-boyfriend, but who now…well, there wasn’t really an easy term for what their relationship was now.

I Dream of Bacchus (Part 4)

Still, after a month, things seemed to have…stabilized. He’d grown to around 275 pounds, and was hovering there. His body had filled in with hair, and he seemed to have a perpetual layer of stubble no matter how often he shaved, his hair always long and greasy. He drank three bottles of cheap wine a night, binged at a near constant rate, and endured constant ridicule, but he was feeling…somewhat more sane. And then, one night, he found himself back in the wood, but the intensity was vivid again, like that first time. He desperately tried to keep his feet from walking deeper, but like he was in a trance, he ventured towards the clearing, towards the revelry–and found someone else there, amongst the animals. It was Aarin, with a cruel smile across his face, beckoning Raury closer.

“There you are–taking your sweet time. You were almost late,” Aarin said, as Raury tried to figure out what, exactly, his ex-lover was doing here in his fucked up dreams. “Fellows, why don’t you make your Bacchus comfortable, while we wait for our other guest.”

The beasts gave a great shout and cheer, rushed over and hauled Raury towards the makeshift throne they had for him in the midst of the clearing, but he twisted and fought harder than usual, shouting at Aarin, “You–You’re the one who’s doing this to me? This is all because of you?”

“No, Raury, this is all because of you, because you couldn’t be honest. You refused to bring balance on your own, and so I’m forced to take matters into my own hands, and balance the scales myself. And of course, helping out my…acquaintances here is always a pleasure. They’ve been asking me to provide them with a new bacchus for quite some time, but I hadn’t yet found anyone willing. So, I figured, why not take someone unwilling instead?”

Raury was trying to protest and fight the beasts off around him, but as much as he loathed admitting it–he was weak. Not only physically, after his rash of changes over the past few weeks, but…spiritually as well. He’d grown to like the attentions of these beasts–his dreams felt so much better than anything in his real life, and as soon as the bladder of wine reached his lips, he drank–and thankfully, some of the care and worry slipped from his mind, and he rolled over, presenting his ass for whichever beast might desire it.

But none did–or if they wanted him, they didn’t do so immediately, like usual. He looked around, and saw that several of the beasts were hungry to fuck, but they were looking at Aarin. “What, now you won’t even let them have their way with me?”

“Calm down, Raury–we’re still waiting on our other visitor. I think I hear him now, in fact.”

Raury couldn’t hear anything, but several of the satyrs’ and centaurs’ ears had pricked up. After another minute or two, true to Aarin’s claim, someone did come stumbling out of the woods and into the clearing–it was Jared. His boyfriend was standing there, naked, with a rather confused look on his face, as he stared around at the beasts and the stranger looking at him–and Raury, of all people. He couldn’t keep the disgust from his face, the sight of the chubby, hairy, dirty man, and Raury felt so ashamed of himself–but he also felt a bit satisfied. He wasn’t going to be alone in this anymore. He could live with this, if Jared had to suffer the same fate as him–but it wasn’t the beasts who went after him, as they had Raury–no, it was Aarin who approached him, pulling him to the side, a sneer on their faces as they started kissing and fondling one another, right in front of Raury.

“No–No, you don’t get to fucking take him, he’s fucking mine!” Raury shouted.

“Yours?” Aarin said, pulling away from Jared’s hungry mouth, moving his head lower, Jared kissing at his abs, dropping lower towards Aarin’s cock. “How many men have you been sleeping with behind his back, Raury? Are they all yours too? This is balance, Raury. It’s time for the ugliness inside of you to be on the outside. It’s time for you to suffer what you have made others suffer–isn’t that right, Jared?”

Jared nodded, his mouth around Aarin’s cock–but it wasn’t clear that he even understood what was going on, or if he realized how real this dream actually was.

“Alright you beasts–I gave you your Bacchus. Now it’s time for you to give me my spell, as I requested.”

The beasts grumbled and muttered a bit–obviously a bit annoyed at having to take orders from this man. A few, under their breath, even muttered apologies to Raury, that they wanted to be serving him, and not this man, but that he would still be happy–still be their beautiful Bacchus after this. The pipes and drums began, a pulsing beat faster than the relaxing tunes they preferred, and around him, the beasts began to dance in a tight circle, chanting and singing a calamitous tune which seemed to shake Raury to his bones–but what Raury was focused on–what he couldn’t turn away from, in fact–was Aarin and Jared.

They had moved closer to him–Aarin pulling Jared up off his cock so they could dance to the strange music of the beasts in the clearing, spinning faster and faster until they fell to the ground, and Aarin mounted Jared, ramming his cock into him, and Jared screamed in delight, pushing back, eager to be filled. It was…humiliating, because the only person who had made Jared scream like that before, was him. But that said, it was also hot. He was getting aroused watching the display, watching Aarin fuck his boyfriend in his stead, and unable to stop himself, he reached down and started jacking his own cock, in quick rhythm with the music and Aarin’s own thrusting. But his cock–it was smaller, and still shrinking. Soon, it couldn’t have been more than a couple of inches long, his balls shriveling up as well, but he didn’t care. He wanted…to see them fuck, wished it could be him, but it couldn’t–not anymore–now he was worthless.

VIP Package (Part 7)

It was a sensation he’d never experienced, and that he could barely figure out how to describe. Earlier, he’d witnessed his body, but he hadn’t felt surprised by it, and that old body that he’d had was very difficult to even remember. When he heard the name “Gerald”, it was like even more of himself slipped under, only to be replaced by an entirely alien, and yet utterly familiar persona. “That’s…that’s not my name, sir, please don’t call me that,” he said, his voice different–weak and quiet, just a mumble. He looked up at his master, and his knees quivered a bit at the sight of him. His master–he was so fucking sexy. All that muscle, and that fucking cock…he wanted to feel that inside him so badly, but he knew his master would never want to fuck him–no, the only person he wanted to fuck was Sammy, on the bed–and the flash of hatred he felt stunned him.

He hated him. His youth, his neediness, his bratty tone.

No, he didn’t hate him, that was Samuel in there, that was his husband, but Gerald hated him. Gerald hated him so much, because he was jealous. Because he was just an old, fat slob, with a nub for a cock, and he did everything he could for his master, and he never got fucked, no, the best he got was a load of cum sucked from that awful cub’s hole!

“That’s not your name?” Mr. Bishop asked, “But that’s what I’ve called you for years. If Gerald isn’t your name, then what is?”

More of him slipped away, his memories dimming. He could…remember someone named Samuel, that he was married, that he lived in a city, and he had worked in finance, but it didn’t feel like his life anymore. It felt like a story from a book, or a description of one of the men his master had made him serve over the years. Years–those he could remember. Serving Master Bishop, doing everything he required, no matter what, serving whoever he demanded, happily so, because…because his master was a god. Because he was Gerald’s god, and he wasn’t worthy of him, no man was worthy of him, but just being privileged with his presence lit an erotic flame in his chest that couldn’t be dampened. But Master had never fucked him. Never. No matter how much he’d begged, he’d never given him that gift, not once. But he didn’t begrudge him that. It was hardly surprising that Master Bishop wouldn’t want to fuck him. He was, after all, an ugly, fat, old faggot. No one wanted to fuck him. But the envy, the jealousy. It was even hotter now, and he couldn’t even look at Sammy there, couldn’t even think of him. That such a rude boy could receive his Master’s gift, while a loyal, obedient slave was forced to do without. It wasn’t fair–but life wasn’t fair, was it? “I–I’m sorry sir, I don’t know what I was saying, I just…everything is so confusing all of a sudden.”

“That’s alright Gerald, you’re just a stupid faggot, aren’t you?”

“Yes sir, I’m a stupid faggot pig. I’m no good at thinking, I just do as my god tells me to do, please forgive me, sir,” he said, lowered himself onto his knees, and prostrated himself on the ground, feeling his massive, obese body spread out on the carpet around him.

“He looks like a fucking blob, he’s so disgusting…” Sammy said, quietly, but loud enough that he knew the old man could hear him clearly. His face burnt a bit red…but the boy was right. He was disgusting…and…and he liked it. He always had. He knew he could improve himself. That with effort, he might even, one day, earn the privilege of taking his master’s cock, but he knew he never would. He was incapable of improving himself. He was weak, so weak. The sight or smell of food sent him into a ravenous hunger, and he would gorge himself without care. He’d gone without washing or caring for himself so long, his own filth no longer even bothered him. The fact that this disturbed and disgusted the men around him only thrilled him further because…because…

“Now, now, Sammy. Gerald has his place here too, just like you do.”

Jeremy slipped away entirely, and Gerald could finish that thought. His own vile nature thrilled him, because it only made his god of a master appear even greater by comparison. His corpulence, his sloth–it only made Master Bishop more powerful and graceful. Almost as though Gerald were storing his Master’s own vile tendencies inside him, protecting him from their influence. He would chainsmoke cigars, so Master would have no need to smoke. He would guzzle beer and wine, so Master might be temperate. And he…he would abstain from sex, so that his Master might pleasure himself with anyone, at anytime. His pleasure would be gained through his master, through service to his master, and maybe, one day, his devotion would be rewarded. He looked up, the massive cock swinging hypnotically between Master’s legs, and he longed to be called to service it, his entire body quaking with desperation…but Bishop just turned away, and walked back to the boy. “Alright Sammy, where were we?”

Bishop slammed his fifteen inch cock back in, and Sammy nearly screamed, while on the other side of the room, Gerald died a bit inside. He stumbled up, and walked to the humidor–he needed a cigar, a rough one–Sammy always hated how much they stank up the room–and then…and then something to eat, hopefully. Gerald could use a good gorge–he always felt better stuffed to the gullet.

The King’s Ring (2 of 2) – 

Reminder: after this weekend, all of my original content will be moving over to my main blog, @wesleybracken. Make sure you’re following me there if you don’t want to miss any posts!


He held the ring out to me, where I was kneeling. I could…sense that he wanted me to kiss it, and as soon as my lips made contact…it was like something was being sucked right out of me. My youth? My will? My identity? It…had to have only lasted a few moments, but it felt like ages, with my mouth to that cold metal, until it finally released me. “Now–another meal, slave. And then my bath.”

“Yes sir,” I said, automatically. I was still…inside my head, but I no longer had any control over myself. I stood up, feeling my knees ache slightly, and I went back to the kitchen. I was desperately trying to stop myself, to regain control, but I couldn’t. I had to obey. I was just…just a slave. An old slave faggot. I eventually saw my reflection in a mirror hanging on the wall, and I would have screamed, if I could have. I…really was old, now. I must have been close to fifty. I had a silver goatee, a paunch, a thick leather collar around my neck, and shackles on my arms and legs…and my cock was locked in a chastity device. Still, I cooked feverishly, and delivered a five course meal I hadn’t even known how to cook, and he…ate all of it, all by himself, while I serviced him, and cleaned him, being sure to get between his piss soaked thighs.

When he’d finished, he again spoke. “I could do away with you entirely, you know. But he likes you, for reasons I cannot begin to fathom, and he’s much easier to control with you here. I will give you control again, but defy me one more time, and you’ll be gone. Understand, slave?”

I nodded, and I felt the other persona fade back, but my body hasn’t returned. I should be thankful, I suppose. Others who I’ve…brought here to serve our king haven’t been so lucky. I know he’s still in there, somewhere. If I could just get the ring off that finger…but the fat has grown around it. I’m afraid…it won’t be coming off until he’s dead, and who knows when that will be. The king has not let me service him since my…outburst, but he forces me to watch as the cubs pleasure him–young, mindless things who crawl over him, riding his cock and sucking his nipples, and…and fuck, if I don’t love watching it, and he knows it. He’s fucked my mind to bits–none of us do, and neither will you. I have no life other that servicing him, and finding more subjects for his kingdom. Now kiss your liege’s ring, like a good pig. We need another toilet, unfortunately, but you can be thankful–toilets don’t get minds, so you’ll be gone soon enough. Just a kiss, and everything will be over–I promise.