The Fetish Gun (Part 5)

This time, he could feel it–like he had in the alley. The gun was pulling from his own thoughts, ideas and fantasies, pushing them out in the ray which enveloped the young derelict. As he watched, he saw the man shift and change as he held down the trigger for a few seconds, and when he released it, he found himself looking someone quite different. Some of him was the same, now that he looked. His clothes hadn’t really changed much–he was still in his piss soiled denim–but the man had gone from being relatively fit and trim to a much, much larger body. He looked to have gained at least fifty pounds of muscle, and he was looking at Wade, blinking…and then squinting…

“You…what the hell did you do to me?”

Tell him? Don’t tell him?

The guy pushed himself up to standing and started walking towards him–or lumbering, rather. But as he got closer, the guy’s nostrils flared out, his mouth dropped open, and he let out a moan. “F-Fuck…what’s that…smell?”

Before Wade could do anything to avoid him, the guy had rushed over and pushed him up against the wall, nose pressed to Wade’s body until he wrapped his lips around one of his fat nipples and started sucking and biting at it, his milk gushing out into the man’s mouth. Immediately he started groaning and moaning, grinding his cock against Wade’s bare thigh–the pisswet denim clammy against him, and Wade wondered what in the hell he’d done exactly, but he couldn’t think that hard with his milk flowing–he pushed the man down to his knees and freed his cock from his rubber pants again. It was already wet, and the man started drinking down his cum, sucking it freely, one hand thrust down into his jeans, massaging his own cock.

Wade looked down the alley and saw they were in full view of the rest of the world. This didn’t exactly bother him–if anything, the idea of people seeing what was happening kind of excited him. However, it wasn’t going to be very helpful for either of them to get caught by the police, especially with the gun. He pushed the guy free from his cock, as much as it hurt him to do so. “No, we need…fuck, we gotta go.”

The guy was obviously trying to sort through what had just happened to him on the asphalt, and he looked up at Wade. “What did you do? I was pissing, and then…then I couldn’t get enough, and now…fuck, your cum, I need it so fuckin’ bad. Please…”

Well, at least he wasn’t going to have to try and convince him to return home with him. “You can have all the cum you want, but you have to come back to my place with me for it.”

It was obvious that had the guy not just tasted cum which had a drug like hold on him, he never would have left his alley to go home with some stranger, much the less a rubber freak like this. But he…needed to taste it. Drink it. So he got up, and nodded. “But…but what was that thing? That thing you shot me with?”

Wade stashed the gun in his backpack again, and looked at him, wondering how much to say. “It’s…well, I don’t really know. It changed me, but I don’t know how it works. I’m trying to change back to my old self,” he lied, “but I need someone to test it out on. You’ll be back to normal by morning, if you help me, I promise. What’s your name, by the way? Mine’s Wade.”


“Alright, can I get your help for the night, Ben?”

That was at least a bit of reassurance, and even though he was uneasy about his new addiction, he followed Wade out of the alley and back towards his apartment. What Wade hadn’t noticed was a dark figure hunched down at the other end of the alley, who had arrived around the time Ben had tried to whore his mouth out to him. Now, he stood up and followed the two of them at a safe distance, his uniform and body immaculate aside from a curiously large bulge at the crotch, where his grapefruit size sack was held. The uniform thought about calling his partner to help, but it would be better if he could handle this on his own, rather than involving his other half. Besides, then he could be the one in charge of the gun, rather than just playing second fiddle–yeah, he liked that idea a lot–besides, what trouble could these two give him really? Some rubber freak with a massive sack and tiny cock, and a derelict urinal cumwhore wouldn’t be any match for him, even with the gun. And then he’d be in charge–like he should have been all along.

Master of Men (Part 1)

No one had told him that taking it easy would be so difficult. In the military, there had been order and regimen, every day had had a purpose and a script that he could follow. Now that Paul was out–no, he had to be honest with himself–now that he was discharged, he was finding it difficult to adjust to the easy-going life he’d been trying to protect. The wife he’d had while he was overseas couldn’t handle him this close, and she’d left him. Thankfully they hadn’t succeeded in getting pregnant yet–he suspected that she’d been taking birth control, even though they’d been “trying” for months. It was like she was terrified of being tied to him. So what if he could be a bit aggressive? That’s what he’d been trained to be. No one could understand how different this all was. Thankfully his brother Jason was willing to let him stay with him while he figured out how to adjust.

They had been so similar when they were younger, but in their years apart, they had diverged. The Jason he remembered had been loud and brash, muscular, eager to follow in his older brother’s athletic footsteps, but a knee injury his senior year of high school had grounded him back at home. It was obvious from his limp that the injury had never healed right, and the weight he’d put on probably didn’t help matters, turning into a rather fat young man. He also always seemed to be a bit…distant from Paul, although Paul was so distant from everyone, he wasn’t entirely sure it wasn’t just him imagining things. He’d also come out of the closet while Paul was on tour, and he seemed…happier for sure. Paul wasn’t thrilled about living with a fag of course, but Jason assured him that he wasn’t particularly active. Besides, where else was he going to go? He hadn’t managed to hold down a job–everything he did seemed to end with him screaming at someone, or punching a hole in the wall–and Jason assured him he had more than enough money to support them while his brother found his footing again.

Jason seemed pleased to have some company. He lived alone in a small house in the quiet suburban neighborhood. Paul found it relaxing, and spent most of his days working out with his set of weights at home and taking walks around the neighborhood, where he started to meet the people who lived around them. They were all nice older men capable of good, safe conversation, each thanked Paul for his service and were interested in what he was doing now that he was home. None of them probed into the trauma they could all sense. It took Paul some time to realize that he’d never once seen a wife, or a child, on the street in front of their house–in fact, the entire neighborhood seemed to be home to men. He asked Jason about this, and his brother just shrugged, saying he’d never noticed it, and assured him more than a few of the men were married, and left it at that. He began to notice other strange events occurring around the neighborhood, however. His brother would often receive calls on the phone, and immediately leave the house, only to return hours later, and refuse to give Paul any information regarding where he’d been. The men seemed…overly familiar with each other. Not in a physical way, but like they had some secret passed between them when he wasn’t looking.

One man down the street seemed to catch Paul more often than the others, an accountant by the name of Craig Wheetly. He was short and rotund, with a horseshoe of hair where he was balding and a thick black mustache, but he had a big laugh that always got Paul laughing with him somehow. It was the thick of summer when Craig asked Paul if he’d help him out with reorganizing his garage–he wanted to install some new shelving, and he figured with a big guy like Paul helping him, it’d be done in no time. Paul was reluctant–he didn’t work very well with others–but he came around when he promised to pay him a hundred dollars a day. His brother was generous, but didn’t provide him with much of an allowance.

It was the late morning and still cool when they got started. It was a spacious three car garage, but it was sweltering after only a few hours. Paul suggested that they at least open the garage doors, but Craig kept diverting the conversation and they stayed closed, the room growing hotter and hotter. Craig pulled his shirt off, revealing a flabby gut soaked and glistening with sweat, and he convinced Paul to pull his off as well. As he was working close to Craig, he began to notice how musky the older man was. He’d smelled plenty of pit stink in the army, but nothing…nothing like this. And he was thirsty, all of a sudden. He asked for water, and Craig just kept talking over him. He had…had to drink something, he was gonna…

Paul got down and started lapping the sweat up from Craig’s gut, drinking it down, moaning and groaning all the while. Craig told him he was being very good, as he ran his hands through Paul’s sweat soaked buzzcut, walked over to a chair, stripping his shorts off as he walked, and let his muscular bull of a neighbor continue licking him from his soft chins to the bottoms of his feet. Paul didn’t understand what was going on. The heat was addling his brain, but something else was wrong too. He was…enjoying this. He was enjoying the taste of this old man’s sweat, and when Craig told him it was ok for him to take his pants off and jerk off, that he knew it would be hard for him to contain himself, he did just that, and exploded over and over again, leaving massive puddles of his cum splattered across the cement floor of the garage. Sucking Craig’s long, thick cock only seemed like the natural thing to do. The older man leaked precum like he sweat, and Paul swallowed it all down, feeling his thirst abate bit by bit, but not enough, never enough. The harder he sucked, the more liquid poured forth, but Craig seemed pleased but unaffected, and never once came.

Craig eventually stood up, and Paul chased his cock, barely noticing as the older man secured a leather collar around his neck, and attached a lead to it. “Come on then, you’re as ready as you’ll ever be. The ceremony is about to start, and we wouldn’t want you to be late.”

Do You Shrink as You Get Older? – Part 3 (Patreon Commission)

“That’s a good little man,” Don said, and opened the top of the cage, reached in with one huge hand, and stroked Howie’s furry back, making his shiver, and shoot a load of cum into his underbelly. “Silly Howie, thinking you could just leave me. Well now you’re never going to leave me. If I can’t have you as a lover, then I guess I can settle for a pet.”

Don reached down and grabbed him under his armpits and stood up, Howie kicking his legs in the air. He was so high! Don hadn’t been this tall before, had he? He couldn’t tell whether it was just his own vertigo, but instead he focused on Don’s sweet eyes, his wrinkles when he smiled, his thick white beard, and they kissed, or rather, Don licked and sucked at his smaller face, cleaning his own cum out of Howie’s beard, and then carried him into the bedroom, set him down on the bed, and laid back down.

Howie immediately went to drink more cum, but Don pushed him away. “Nuh uh, there’s one thing I still want to do. You always said I was too small to be a good fuck, eh? Well now let’s see how my cock fits in that tight, tiny hole of yours.”

Howie tried to fight against Don, tried to push back, but there was a cloud over his mind, he couldn’t find any good reason not to dig Don’s cock free from his gunt, no good reason not to smear fresh cum over the head, and place it against his ass. However, he couldn’t quite get enough leverage, and it was so big! Don had to help him, and once the cock was deep inside of him, he grabbed Howie and starts sliding him up and down the short shaft, Howie helpless in his hands, groaning and moaning with pleasure, orgasms shooting through them both spontaneously. Cum was pouring from his hole, and each time he shot, he grew even smaller, the dick stretching his ass a bit larger, the cock pushing a bit deeper. Finally, he couldn’t fit it any longer, and Don dropped him, his gut taut with cum, hole aching, he collapsed onto the bed and groaned in pain, but his hand wouldn’t stop rubbing the head of his cock, just barely within reach of one tiny hand not pinned by his huge belly. Don sat up and stroked his side with one huge hand. How small was he now? A foot and a half? A foot?

“Fuck I’m hungry,” Don said, “Gonna go eat something, and then I’ll be back to finish you off.” He heaved himself up off the bed, and knocked himself on the top of the doorway. He was taller, and so fat the sides of his gut brushed the side as he slid through, heading for the kitchen. Howie, however, was still so thirsty. He hefted himself up, fighting his massive gut, and then struggled across the bed to the edge, hung off, and managed to slip off without hurting himself. He followed the trail of Don’s cum into the kitchen, lapping up each drop and puddle as he came to it, and found Don on the sofa, surrounded by a pile of snacks which he was stuffing into his mouth, his cum dribbling onto the sofa cushion, and back under him, into the couch itself. His cum. Howie’s cum. He needed it, he was so thirsty–it was all he could think about. He picked one fat leg and started his climb, falling off a couple of times before he realized he could use the thick hairs growing on Don’s fat legs to pull himself up. Don would shout encouragement to him as he climbed, watching the short old man heave his way up his leg, grinding his crotch against the fur, spasming occasionally. By the time he reached the sofa, he was less than a foot tall, but Howie no longer cared. His mind was shrinking too–all he could think about was drinking cum and playing with his cock and his fat old body. He burrowed his way into Don’s gunt, found the head of his cock and pressed his whole mouth against the slit, drinking down as much as he could, feeling himself growing smaller and smaller, his head turning fuzzier, and then everything went dark.

He woke up on something scratchy. He pushed himself up, and tried to figure out what was going on. He wasn’t in bed, it was somewhere else. There were bars around him, and he walked up to them, looking out, and saw that he was up on the dresser in a cage meant for a mouse. Looking down, he realized that if someone wasn’t paying close attention, they might even mistake him for one. His round, fat body covered with white fur, pink ears and a bald head, a face covered with a thick beard. But he wasn’t worried. He wasn’t scared. All he really was, was thirsty. He tried to speak, but all that really seemed to come out was a squeak a bit more high pitched than his usual voice, and a huge figure eventually lumbered into the room and bent over, looking at him in the cage.

Don–he was massive now, probably weighing close to six hundred pounds and covered with hair. He tapped on the cage, Howie licking at his finger. “Now now, calm down. I just have to go into town for some supplies. After all, I think we’re going to be living here for a while, don’t you?”

Howie didn’t care where he was, as long as Don was close by, and he could drink his cum.

“I just don’t want you wandering around on your own is all–a little man like you could get into trouble. So much better keeping you safe in your cage. I bet you’re thirsty though–don’t worry, I got your bottle right here.”

Don slid a water bottle into the fixture on the cage, the little spout on the end pushing through the bars into the cage. Howie went and licked at the small metal ball, allowing the cum in the bottle to flow through, and he drank and drank.

Do You Shrink as You Get Older? – Part 2 (Patreon Commission)

Don woke up feeling groggy, but healthier than the morning before. He gave a yawn, and felt something in his mouth–he opened his eyes and found himself faced with Don’s crotch, his cock down his throat. It felt bigger that before, but that couldn’t possibly be right. Cocks didn’t just spontaneously grow overnight. Still, he was thirsty. Don was still asleep, but Howie sucked another two loads out of him in rapid succession, grinding his own cock into the fluffy, warm sheets, feeling how wet they were. He worried that he might have pissed himself, but it was sticky and tacky like cum, which was almost more worrisome. Again, he was struck by the notion that something strange was going on, but it felt like something at the edge of his mind, easily forgotten if he didn’t stay focused on it.

He pulled his mouth off Don’s cock, deciding to take a break, wormed his way off the bed, couldn’t find the floor with his feet, and ended up falling off onto his ass, looking up at the edge of the bed looming over him.

The room was bigger?

He looked around, trying to decipher his lower vantage point. He stood up, finding it a bit harder than usual, and decided that it wasn’t that the world had grown, but that he had shrunk. A lot. He’d gone from six and a half feet to closer to three feet tall overnight.

He felt like he was going to be sick. He told himself this couldn’t be happening, that he was just dreaming. He slapped his face, which hurt, but nothing changed, and then looked back down at himself, and realized that he wasn’t just shorter–he was also fatter. The gut he’d had the day before was now an apron sagging down past his crotch. In fact, the “sheets” he’d been grinding his cock into hadn’t been sheets at all, but his new gunt and the underside of his gut. Now he really was feeling sick–he ran into the bathroom, something which took longer than it should have–and vomited his breakfast of cum into the toilet, before flushing it away, wiping his chin, feeling a mass of hair there that shouldn’t be. He waddled up to the counter but was too short to get a good look at himself in the mirror; he ended up scaling the toilet, and from there hefted himself up onto the counter next to it, where he huffed and puffed for a moment or two, not used to carting around so much weight.

Standing next to the sink, he got a full view of himself in the mirror, and the sight almost made him feel sick again. Shorter, much shorter. Between the loss in height and his gain in weight, he looked about as wide as he was tall. His gut had taken on the most weight, sagging down past his crotch to his thighs, which had eaten away the space between them and now pushed together all the way to his knees, down to his fat calves and ankles that looked like a solid mass balanced on rather small feet. He hefted his gut up, looking underneath it at his own cock that had sucked up into his fat body–it looked like it had shrunk even more than the rest of him. He could just reach the head with one of his hands, and even just brushing against it was enough to make him groan with pleasure. It had never been so sensitive, and now that he’d felt it, he kept going, unable to stop himself, rubbing the head with his fingers, pushing it down into his fat, getting closer until he was awarded with a burst of cum that covered his fingers…and in the mirror, he saw himself collapse in on himself ever so slightly, his gut grow out a bit heavier. He yanked his hand away; had cumming just made his shrink?

It made sense. He had no idea how much he’d cum over the last day–it felt like hundreds of times. How could he even have cum left in his balls? He…he could keep going. He could keep trying to empty them out, it felt so damn good…

He had his hand back under his gut again, but stopped himself. He had to stop, he had to. He couldn’t shrink anymore. To take his mind off his cock, he tried to take in everything else that had changed since the day before. The mass of hair he’d brushed his hand against was a beard. Marga hated facial hair, but Don had always wanted him to grow it out into a full beard. Now it didn’t seem like he had much choice–in a single day the beard had exploded in size. The hairs were only a few inches long, but with his smaller stature that was enough to reach down to his chest. Running his hand through it, the beard was stiff and crispy from dried cum, and he shivered, feeling the thirst growing in his throat. His beard wasn’t the only thing that had grown hairier either–his entire body had filled in with a mass of hair, so thick in some places that it was hard to see his skin. Almost all of it was grey, if not white. From what he could see of his face, he looked like he’d aged twenty years overnight, into his sixties, his forehead and eyes lined with wrinkles, his hairline receding back past the crown of his head.

He had to get help. Don was still tall, he could drive. Howie didn’t think he’d even be able to see out the windshield, much less reach the pedals. He got back down off the counter the way he’d climbed up, and hurried back into the bedroom. Getting back onto the bed was a bit of a challenge, but he managed by hauling himself up with the sheets, crawled over and realized he wasn’t the only one who had changed substantially over the last few days.

Unable to help himself, Howie was captivated by Don’s balls. The sack had always been average, though it had looked a bit larger under Don’s shorter cock–now it was dwarfed in comparison. The balls inside each looked to be as large as his new fists, and cum was seeping from the head of his cock, dribbling down the shaft…no, he couldn’t look there, he couldn’t. He forced his eyes up, over the rest of Don, and saw that he wasn’t the only one who had changed overnight. Don had always been a bit on the chubby side, but now, like him, he’d grown massively fat, his gut sagging down and out into a thick apron, huge moobs with thick nipples covered with white hair, that flowed up to his neck, where a beard, thick and white, covered his multiple chins, and he saw Don was awake…and staring at him.

“What are you waiting for, lover? I got all this cum for you to lick up. You’re slacking off.” His voice was deeper than usual, more resonant, and…commanding. It took an effort of will to resist. He had to get Don to realize something was wrong. They had to get help, they had to do something.

“Don, you have to realize…look how short I am! We have to get out of here, we have to get to the hospital.”

Don laughed, his fat body shuddering in…in a somehow sexy way. Howie had never been interested in old men, and definitely not in fat ones, but he was so horny…no, even though he was horny, he just liked how Don looked. How big he was in every way. How old he was, the saggy fat, the wrinkly face, all the hair covering his body, the shiny pate of his head. But more than like…he loved him. He really did, he loved him more than he’d ever loved Marga. In fact, thinking of Marga now, all he could feel was a sense of disgust. He never wanted to see her again–the only person he wanted, who he could bear to be with, was…was Don. Don smiled at him, Howie’s heart fluttered. “Oh Howie, everything’s turning out exactly how it’s supposed to. Now get over here and drink some more cum–you’re still too big.”

“What…did you do this?”

Don reached out with one fat hand, but Howie ducked away, nearly tumbling off the bed again. “I said get over here and drink up.”

Again, Howie had to fight himself, his growing desire to do everything Don told him to do. Don rolled over and grabbed at him again, Howie jumped off the bed, scrambled up and ran for the bathroom, locking the door behind him as Don got up, stomping to the door. “What the fuck did you do to us?”

“I know you were gonna leave me!” Don shouted, “I know you were gonna ditch me, I could see how you look at other guys, but you’re mine, Howie, you’re fucking mine! Don’t you see how much I love you? I’ll take good care of you, you’ll be so happy, I promise. Now open the door, Howie, open up and drink some more delicious cum like a good old faggot.”

What in the hell was he going to do? He couldn’t get out with Don waiting, he couldn’t fight him off. He couldn’t even drive the truck–hell, he didn’t even know where he was. A weapon, he needed something to fight with. He looked up and saw the mirror. If he could break it, get a shard or something, maybe he’d have a chance. However, he only managed to climb up onto the toilet before he smelled it–cum. Don’s cum. Looking down, he saw a puddle growing under the door, he could hear Don huffing and grunting and moaning on the other side. It smelled so good, and he was so fucking thirsty. He grabbed a towel, meaning to stuff it under the door crack, but why use a towel when he could just…just lick it up? Yeah, he liked cum, he could just lick it up off the floor, lick up his lover’s cum and play with his cock, the first orgasm sending shivers through his shrinking body, but that didn’t matter. What mattered was cum. Drinking cum, shooting cum. Why was he so worried about shrinking anyway? He had Don to take care of him. He loved Don so much…

“Open the door, Howie…”

Yeah, he should do that. Why had he even locked it to begin with? It was suddenly a challenge to reach it, but he managed to turn it and pull it open. Don was on his knees outside the door, cum flowing down his gunt and dribbling onto the floor. He could see Don’s balls pumping as he twisted his nipples like faucets. He rushed over and started drinking as much as he could, feeling it coat his whole body as it flowed over him.

“See Howie? You’re mine now. You’re mine forever.”

“Drink it—Fucking drink it, faggot!”

“Get it all down his fucking throat—don’t miss a god damn drop!”


A dream, but god, what a dream. Troy sat up in his bed, sweating, wondering where in the hell that had come from. The details of it were already fading, but the circle of young men surrounding him, forcing whatever that had been down his throat—what a nightmare. 

He got up and went into the bathroom to piss, but stopped when he saw his reflection. CUMDUMP. It was tattooed in huge letters across his chest, and he couldn’t believe it. He ran back into the bedroom and found his phone. Wednesday—how was it Wednesday? He’d gone out on Saturday, and lost three days? What about work? What had happened to him?

Regardless, he had to cover it up and get to the office, and figure out what was going on. He opened his closet, but instead of the usual selection of conservative suits, there was only…leather, and rubber, and…and…

When he next came to, he was kneeling on the floor in front of the door, wearing rubber shorts and a leather harness, waiting. Waiting for what? He didn’t know, for someone to come. There was the sound of a key in the door, and then a group of men came in. “Ready for the party, Cumdump? I brought some new friends for you to suck off.”

“Yes Sir, use me as you see fit, Sir,” Troy answered, almost mechanically. 

He wouldn’t be going back to work, he realized. He had a new job—a more important job. He took the first cock presented to him and started sucking, desperately thirsty for cum, his old life slowly forgotten in the haze of sex and service in the years of slavery that followed.