Tag: curse

Curse of the Homophobe (Part 2) [Interactive]

It was pretty close, but the construction workers pulled ahead by a few votes, thanks to everyone over on Patreon.

The next morning, Evan looked at himself in the mirror, at his slightly taller, slightly more muscular self, and tried not to be sick to his stomach. Had he really done that to Curtis? Turned him into a sex-addicted little twink? It didn’t seem possible. Maybe it had all been a dream or something, the whole day…but he knew that was a lie. He could feel the spirit in him still, biding its time, waiting for someone else to trigger the curse. Waiting to change him again, into some new homophobic nightmare.

He tried to get his mom to call into school and say he was sick, but she refused–he had never been that good of an actor, unfortunately. So he got his books and notes together, and decided the best thing he could do would be to just play hookie, and find somewhere safe he could hang out and try and figure out what to do next–but he hit the sidewalk outside his apartment building, and there, waiting for him, was Curtis. Curtis wearing a bright pink tank top, barely long enough to cover his waist, a pair of short jean shorts, hair bleached and coifed, lips pouting, and Evan’s cock throbbed.

“Took you long enough, hot stuff,” Curtis said to him with a smirk, “You never replied to my pic last night.”

“Oh, yeah, I saw it this morning,” Evan said, looking around him, seeing who might see them. With his curse, he couldn’t afford to be around Curtis looking like this–it was an insult waiting to happen.

“Well if we hurry, we can get to our usual spot, come on.”

Usual spot? As they walked–well, Evan walked, but Curtis strutted–he felt memories filling in the gaps. He and Curtis were, for lack of a better word, fuckbuddies. Their usual spot was an abandoned alley on the way to school where Curtis would usually suck Evan off–or if they were feeling bold and extra horny, he’d fuck his tight hole instead. Evan was horrified, but he was so horny, and he could feel the spirit warping things so that when the time came, he wouldn’t be able to resist.

And so, it was a bit of a relief, in some ways, that they passed by a crew of construction workers renovating a building along their route. Talking to themselves, but loud enough that Evan could hear, one of them said, “Look at that kid–those faggots get to them early now. Remember when men were fucking men, like us?”

“Yeah, might as well be a bitch. All the boys these days are just sissy little cocksuckers like that.”

Evan prayed that it wouldn’t affect him, since technically they’d been talking about Curtis, but apparently, to the spirit, any homophobic remark made around him was enough to satisfy the curse. Curtis just flipped off the workers and kept on strutting, while Evan grabbed his stomach, lurched against the wall, and then into a little doorway of a business that was still closed. It was the same as when he’d changed at school the day before–the heat of his muscles expanding, the hair growing in all over him…but there were differences too. He packed on a substantial gut for one thing, and this time, he also grew a thick beard all over his face. The clothes he had on shifted, becoming a grubby, dirt covered shirt and hi-viz vest, some patched up jeans held up by suspenders, and a pair of work boots that had definitely seen better days.

“Fuck! Nah, come on, I ain’t some fuckin’ dumbass worker like them!” he said, looking at himself in the glass, hardly even recognizing the face looking back at him. It was a good mug though–little worse for wear over the years, and missing a couple of teeth, but it gave him character. Let everyone know he was a real man who didn’t turn away from a fight. Evan was receding into the back of his mind, clawing at it, but helpless as the spirit gave him a new reality. He was in his mid-forties, and unlike the rest of the guys on the crew, a confirmed bachelor–not that he didn’t sleep with bitches on occasion, of course. He just preferred life of his own–just him and his trailer in a mobile home park a outside of the city. He told himself that he just didn’t want to deal with women–but the truth was, he much preferred the times he got his cock sucked at the rest areas on the highway, years ago, while he was truckin’, before he got fired for drinking on the road.

Evan hiked up his pants, gave his ass a scratch, then put on his hardhat and walked back to the work site.

“Where the fuck ya been Evan, you lazy fuck?” Robbie said. He was the one who’s insulted them first–and Evan could sense he was the main target of the curse. If he wanted his old body back–he was the one he was going to have to change…somehow.

“Lazy? The only weight you pull ‘round here is that gut of yers,” Evan said, watching Robbie’s stomach balloon out with another fifty pounds. Maybe if he was quick, he could get it over with, and move on.

Before he could do anything else, though, the foreman hollered at them to get back to work, and his persona took over, Evan receding into the background, but never entirely gone. He spent the whole day on the site, part of him loving the work, happy as could be doing manual labor like real men were built to do–but inside, he seethed, and the spirit laughed. When work was over, he tried to catch Robbie alone, but found him with the rest of the guys on the crew getting ready to go out for a beer–it was Friday after all. Evan’s guts churned a bit–if he didn’t change Robbie tonight, he wouldn’t see him until Monday–and that meant a whole weekend spent in his trailer, drinking beer…and probably calling over one of the single hags for a fuck, so he could feel like a man for a bit.

So he went out with the boys, and stuck close to Robbie the whole time–plying him with extra booze, calling him a “lightweight” and getting him plastered. When he called it quits, Evan offered to take him to his truck–but instead piled him into his own, and drove off–already knowing where he was gonna take him, and what he was gonna do to him.

Alright, what sort of treatment is Evan going to give Robbie? Keep in mind, what you choose will also determine the changes Evan suffers too, as he changes him.

  1. They go to a rest area, turns him into a derelict trucker whore.
  2. They go to a biker bar, he becomes a biker gang’s slave pig.
  3. He takes Robbie back to his place, makes him worship his feet and musk.
  4. They stay in the city and he turns him into an old pervert hungry for twinks like Curtis.

Here’s the twitter poll

and here’s the Patron poll

voting ends in two days on Sunday!

Curse of the Homophobe (Part 1) [Interactive]

Evan was tired of it. Tired of the insults, of being shoved into lockers at school, of guys shouting “faggot” and “queer” at him from the windows of passing cars. All of it. There wasn’t anything he could do about it though–and in his opinion, there wasn’t even anything that “faggy” about him–not like some of the guys he’d seen, or some of the guys in the porn he liked to watch, he supposed. Yeah, he had a bit of a lisp, and he tended to sashay slightly–that, and he definitely loved sucking dick. Still, where the insults would have reduced most people to tears and depression, Evan reacted differently. He was angry. Angry all of the time, so angry, he barely even noticed it anymore, it was just a constant, seething, bubbling mass in his guts that never went away. He’d have fantasies though. Fantasies about the men who bullied him, about beating them, humiliating them, doing what they did to him right back, but tenfold. Maybe it was that, which drew the spirit to him–but in any case, he never really knew why it appeared to him that night in his bedroom, after one particularly cruel fantasy, thinking about some jocks he had a run in with earlier that day. He’d wiped up his cum, and there it had been, a massive, hulking shadow glued to his wall, two bright, gem-like eyes where it’s head was, staring at him.

The terror in him was unlike anything he’d ever felt before, as it slid along the wall, closer to him. Then, he saw something. A powerful vision overtook him, similar to the fantasy he’d just had, but far more powerful. Bending over Curtis Barrister, the top jock of the school, and Evan raping his hole while he rained abuse down on him–but it was so vivid…like it really was happening. Then, it was gone, and he heard a voice in his mind.

I can give you the power. You can have your revenge on all of them, if you so desire it.

For real? Was this just some hallucination? A nightmare? If it was, then does it really matter? He did want it. He had a feeling this thing wouldn’t have come to him, if he hadn’t known he would accept its offer. The darkness slid closer to him, and then slid over him, and everything went dark, and he couldn’t move his body. The darkness was more inside him, and he could feel it, in that anger in his stomach, changing it, changing…him somehow, and he came again, the most powerful orgasm he’d ever had, and then fell right asleep, the spirit chuckling in the dark, as it faded away. Evan would have his revenge, certainly, but it likely wouldn’t be the sort of revenge he was expecting. Anger could twist people in strange ways, after all–and vengeance was never kind to the avenger.

Evan woke up the next morning, certain it had been a dream, and nothing more. He got up and got ready for school, but he still couldn’t shake the sensation that something about him was different. He was still angry, but it…tasted different, when he felt it, but that didn’t make sense even to him, when he experienced it. There was a definite sense, too, that things would be different today, like how he felt when a thunderstorm was on the way. He said goodbye to his mother, left the apartment and hit the street, walking to school…wondering when the first insult would hit. But the anticipation was different too, in his guts. Usually he just felt fear and anger as he braced himself, but today, part of him was almost…excited. Eager to experience it, and that terrified the rest of him even more. Still, who knew what the day would hold? Maybe everything would be fine. The spirit in him knew better, though–and it was eager to see the curse it had laid on Evan work for the first time.

He made it all the way to school, however, before the first insult came his way–and sure enough, it was none other than Curtis Barrister himself, and his posse of football friends, calling him a faggot. His face burned red…but he felt that same heat infusing the rest of him too, and he was feeling a bit…sick. He went to the bathroom near the entrance of the school and ducked into one of the stalls–and as soon as he was alone, he looked down, and saw his body was…changing. He grew six inches taller, body filling out with muscle, his skinny jeans and tank top became gym shorts and a t-shirt bearing the mascot of the high school–along with word football. No–he tried to fight it, but there was nothing he could do–when he stumbled out a minute later, Evan was gone–or at least, he wasn’t the Evan he should be. He was…a jock. Strong jaw, flat top, cocky grin, and worst of all, he knew he was best friends with Curtis.

His head throbbed, and Evan–the gay Evan, receded. In his place, someone else took control of his body, a very, very straight Evan–sort of. He was, still gay, actually–but this version of him was deeply in the closet, barely able to admit it to himself. Still, this new version of himself would know exactly how to act around his straight jock friends–and with his girlfriend, Stephanie Hawkins. The whole day was torture, hanging out with his new jock buddies, kissing his girlfriend, making fun of nerds and even throwing a few barbs at his friends…but as he did, Evan noticed something else. Whenever he threw a casual insult at Curtis or one of the other jocks…they changed. Not much, but enough that he began to understand what this curse was–and what the spirit was offering him.

After practice, he and Curtis happened to hang back chatting a bit, and showered alone together. He accused Curtis of looking at his cock, and called him a faggot, and watched as his bully started to get hard–and so Evan decided to have his way with him, shoving him up against the shower wall and fucking his loose hole, calling him a faggy sissy, a weak little cocksucker, and watched as his words came to life. When he finally came, it was a very different Curtis who fled the locker room–barely 150 pounds, short, ass and mouth hungry for cock all the time–the exact kind of faggot Curtis had always seen him as. He was horrified by what he’d done–but even more horrified when he saw himself in the mirror of the locker room. He was…massive. Thick with muscle, hairy all over, the exact kind of alpha jock he’d always detested–and feared. This…he wasn’t stuck like this, was he? He could…sense that the curse would, now that he’d dealt with his primary target, let him change back, or he could visit a few of the other jocks on the team too. But if he did…who would he become then? Would he even remember who he’d been before? No–he wanted to change back–he pushed his way forward, and saw the hulking frame in the mirror begin to recede at last.

He was back in his old body, but not everything was back to normal. He was more muscular for one thing, and he remembered, now, that he was on the track and field team, when he’d never played sports once in his life. He was hairier too–was this all because of what he’d done to Curtis? He got home as quickly as he could, but struggled to fall asleep–and got a text from a number he didn’t know late at night–it was Curtis, looking for a fuck. He had new memories now of Curtis, a hopeless sex addict, as a frequent fuckbuddy at school, and his stomach turned into knots all over again. He could hear the spirit laughing in his very soul, and Evan knew all he could do was wait until someone else insulted him–and he’d be forced to change them as well.

Alright, so for those of you who visit CYOC, this is loosely inspired by the branch of straight TF and “were-breeder” stories that are somewhat popular (and which I have contributed to in the past). I’ve always found an appeal in them, but also found some of them super uncomfortable, so I want to push them in a slightly different direction with this interactive. This intro is a bit longer than usual, just to give an overview of how the curse functions, but for clarity’s sake, Here’s an explanation:

First, when Evan hears a homophobic insult directed at him, he will find himself helplessly transforming into someone similar to the person who insulted him. For example, if it’s a jock, he becomes a jock too, or a redneck, or a skinhead, or whatever it might be. Evan is still present, but his body’s new persona is doing most of the driving–that is, he can’t really act out of his new “straight” character. That said, his personas are all still, technically, gay–but deep in the closet.

Then, in his straight-acting persona, reality shifts so that he is friends with the person who insulted him–and he discovers that whenever he insults him (and people around him who share his views) those insults are capable of changing them.

However, the more he changes them, the more he changes as well, the persona becoming more and more extreme, and the more danger he is in of forgetting about his real self, and the persona taking over for good. He can only change back after he turns the original insulter gay and has sex with them (he can be bottom or top, but will usually tend towards top in this scenario), but he can remain in the persona longer if there are other people he wants to change–at the risk of losing more of himself. When he changes back, he keeps some of the qualities of the persona he had before–the more extreme he became, the more likely the changes will stick.

So, with that out of the way–what sort of person is going to insult Evan next?

  1. A gang of skinheads threaten him on the street.
  2. Some gaming nerds at school being edgelords.
  3. Some middle-aged construction workers on his way to school.
  4. A prudish, older conservative christian neighbor.

Here’s the twitter poll!

Here’s the Patron poll!

Polls close in two days.

Hypnotic Reversal (Sketch)

>>And you promise it’ll work?

>>>>Of course. You aren’t the first guy who’s come to me with this sort of problem, trust me.

>>And you mean it, you’re going to do it for free?

>>>>Yep! No payment necessary. I’m just happy to help.

Gary was still skeptical, and who wouldn’t be, honestly? Still, it was the best he could do, at the moment, because everything else had failed miserably–every diet, every exercise program–Gary was fat, and he was only getting fatter. The worst part was that he’d wanted it–badly. Badly enough that he’d had a conversation just like this one a few years before, back when he weighed 150 pounds, with hardly any meat on his bones. A friendly hypnotist had agreed to put him under and help him gain some weight–just enough to be more comfortable with himself–and it had worked. It had worked way too well. He just…couldn’t stop eating, no matter how he tried–and if he didn’t get enough to eat during the day, he’d even sleepwalk into the kitchen and gorge himself all night long. In a matter of years, he’d packed on over 300 pounds…and it was too much. He’d just wanted a gut–not this massive apron of flab hanging off him.

Even worse, when he’d demanded the hypnotist stop it, and get rid of the compulsion, he’d taunted him instead, making him jack off every time he stuffed himself, making him wear clothes way too small for his body, making him lose his normal sense of hygiene. After that, he’d disappeared off the internet, and Gary was much too terrified to talk to anyone about it…but then, along came this fellow. He told Gary that what he was suffering from was a classic hypnotic curse–that the harder he fought, the harder it would be to escape. Still, the man said that he could put Gary under and remove the curse entirely. It was…a risk, for sure. But what choice did he really have?

He got on cam with the hypnotist, and the spiral came up, and it was so…soothing. So easy to just slip back into his trance. He’d always enjoyed this part, how nice he felt, just floating, and listening, and obeying. It was then, with a flash of terror, that he realized why it felt so familiar–the voice, the spiral–it was the same! The man he’d been chatting with, it must be the same man who’d hypnotized him before. He struggled for a moment, but it was already too late, and he slipped under into his trance, and the hypnotist let out a little chuckle, before he started speaking to his zonked out pig.

Gary woke with a start, feeling refreshed and alert. He glanced around and checked the clock on the computer–three hours. He’d been out for three whole hours–he’d never been out that long before. The cam was off, and the window was closed. He logged back onto the site, but the man wasn’t on, under either username–and then he felt the growl in his guts. The hunger, fuck, it was still there, and if anything, it was even more intense. If he didn’t feed it, and soon, he was going to be fucking sorry. He hauled himself out of his chair and waddled into the kitchen, but as he perused the piles and piles of snack food he kept on hand…he realized he didn’t want any of it. He was starving–so starving, and yet…it wasn’t food that he wanted. He tried to eat, but while he could keep some of it down, it didn’t taste good at all, and it didn’t help the hunger go away. He went back to the computer, saw the hypnotist was online, and messaged him.

>>Please…please, you can’t do this to me, you can’t make it even worse!

>>>>Worse? I’m just giving you what you want. You don’t want to be hungry for food anymore right?

>>But I’m still fucking hungry!!!

>>>>Don’t worry–I have a meal on the way for you. It’ll be there soon.

The hypnotist logged back off, and he heard a knock on his door. He…tried to stop himself, but he was compelled to the door, he answered it, and there was an older, portly fellow, leering at him. “The hypnotist send me to bring you your gift.”

He had a bag over his shoulder, and Gary watched as he dropped it, and pulled out a rimchair–and Gary’s eyes went wide. He looked over at the man, and saw him drop his pants…and as soon as he saw his crack, the hunger roared to life, and he was on his knees, face buried in the stranger’s ass, licking at his crack. He ended up under the chair for hours, licking and slurping at the man’s asshole, while he toyed with Gary’s nipples and cock, bringing him to multiple orgasms before leaving, Gary panting and shaking on the floor, unable to believe how he’d just humiliated himself. He went back to the computer, shaking with rage, and the hypnotist was there.

>>>>Now, turn on the cam, and let’s chat some more.

He couldn’t stop himself, and the spiral dragged him back down into the empty void. Distantly, he wondered what was going to become of his now–but that…wasn’t really something he should care about, right? No–he was just an ass and cock hungry slut. He didn’t need to think about anything. Master did all the thinking for him. In a few years, Gary was back to his old body, mind empty, eager to service any man’s hole or cock that his master required.

Manning Up (Part 3)

Brock started crying again, and it took me a couple of minutes to get him composed again, before I went and talked to my uncle. The biker didn’t want to press charges, and the bar was happy with a ban and restraining order. He was being extra lenient, since Brock was usually a good kid, but another episode like this, and there’d be trouble. I went back to the cell and told Brock that he’d be getting out, and he didn’t quite seem like he believed me, until my uncle came and unlocked the door.

“Thanks, Hunter,” he said.

“You need to apologize to my uncle too, for the mess you made last night,” I said.

Brock went a bit red in the face, but muttered a curt, apology.

“I don’t think he heard you, and that’s not how you address him, is it?”

Brock looked at me, and I expected him to be a bit angry, but that’s not what I saw–his face was a bit…well, I know what that look means now, but then it just struck me as odd. Then he looked back at my uncle, made eye contact, licked his lips, and said, “Sorry sir, I’m just…a stupid brute is all. I didn’t mean to make a mess. If…or I could…” he obviously wanted to say something else, but his lips went tight and he stopped talking.

“Brock, the whole town knows you aren’t stupid. You just…look, don’t do this again, alright? I’d hate to see you mess your life up kid.”

My uncle gave him a pat on the shoulder, then there was a bit of paperwork after that–and Brock seemed to be a bit flustered and distracted, so I had to help him out with some of it, but within half an hour we were out of the jailhouse, and as soon as we’d gotten into the car, Brock lunged at me in the driver’s seat, and tried to kiss me, but I shoved him back with all my strength. Not that the advances weren’t…wanted, but not there in the jailhouse parking lot.

“Please, sir…I…”

He didn’t know what to say, and with a growl he hauled his own cock out and started jacking off right in my passenger seat, and I could barely believe my fucking eyes. Something was wrong with him, but what? I didn’t know, but at the same time, I admit that I was enjoying the show.

“Just a dumb fuckin’ brute, fuck…stupid fucker…” he muttered to himself as he stroked, “dumb fuckin’ pig, too stupid to do anythin’ right…”

“Brock! Stop for a second, why the–what the fuck is going on with you?”

He wasn’t listening–he just looked at me, and then down at the obvious erection in my jeans, and with one hand reached out and started groping me…and while I told him not to, he could sense what I really wanted. And so there, in the noon sun right in front of anyone walking past my truck, Brock sucked me off for the first time while he jacked off, grunting and moaning and…yeah, it was confusing as all hell, but I didn’t let that stop me from finishing. I came pretty quick, and when he got a taste of my cum, he shot as well, a massive load all over the dashboard, and he pulled off, a big grin on his face–but I’m just…well, I didn’t know what to say, so I muttered a thank you, but I don’t think he heard me.

He was looking at the cum he’d shot all over the dash, licking his lips. “Fuck, sorry sir, I can clean that up,” he said, and started wiping up the cum with his hands and eating it down.

“It’s alright, the truck has seen worse shit,” I said, but he kept on going, obviously enjoying himself. But like a switch, he stopped in the middle of sucking cum from his hand, wiped it off on his shirt, and just…froze, his eyes looking a bit…weepy.

“Brock…are–look, I know something’s wrong, but you gotta talk about it.”

“Sir–I mean, Hunter, I…” he turned away towards the window, and he got…small again, somehow. I felt that same…urge from before, to protect him and take care of him, but it was stronger. “I can’t…it’s part of it.”

“Look, you’ve had a rough day. Do you want to go home?”

Brock shook his head.

“Well, why don’t you come over to my place for a bit then? We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”

He was torn–hell, I was too, a bit, but I was also…enjoying this in a way I couldn’t quite explain. Nothing else happened that day, or that night when he stayed over, but the sex lingered between us. I could smell it on him, and he kept looking at me, and every time he called me sir…by accident or not–my cock got hard again. I was still having a difficult time believing that this was the same Brock I had known my entire life–he just seemed…so different, in so many ways. I wanted to have sex again, but I knew it wasn’t right. He wanted to have sex again, but was terrified of what that might mean. He left early the next morning to head back to his parent’s place with some sorry excuse in tow–not like his parents, like the rest of the town, hadn’t already heard about his escapade by that point. The town isn’t exactly known for being tight lipped.

Manning Up (Part 2)

I assured him he could, of course, but he wouldn’t add anything else. That was also the first night he stayed over in my trailer–he fell asleep on my couch, and I got him settled with a blanket, and just let him doze. I didn’t do anything of course, but…ok, I did jack off, watching him, but I felt kind of weird doing it. Not…because I was jacking off to a good friend, or not just that. It was because…looking at him there, he seemed so…small, somehow, even though he took up the entire fucking couch. Maybe I’d just always thought of him as that little kid, even though he was quickly manning up in ways I’d never thought he would. Still, he seemed small, like I needed to protect him, and the thought of being there for him, it was…turning me on, somehow.

I don’t know, why am I trying to explain this? I don’t know how to explain any of it, but that, if there was a beginning, was the beginning for me, of all of this.

He was incredibly embarrassed when he awoke the next morning, and he left right away–I thought he’d come back that night, but he didn’t. In fact, I didn’t see him again for a couple of weeks, until he called me from the county jail. It was still early on a Sunday morning. I’d had a fuckbuddy over the night before, but honestly…since that night with Brock, I wasn’t really interested in other guys. I kept telling myself that it was stupid–I knew he was straight, and he definitely wasn’t interested in me, right? Still, once he was back at school, I was sure I’d be able to put my ridiculous pining for him behind me, and we could both get on with our lives. The phone rang in my trailer–the landline, which really only rings when bill collectors call, but I was on time with everything. Usually I…just let it ring, but I picked it up that morning anyway–and accepted the collect call. The fact that it was someone in prison didn’t surprise me–I’d bailed out buddies more than a few times, and had been bailed out by them in turn. What did surprise me was the voice on the other end of the line–it was Brock.

“Hey…uh, Hunter?”

“Brock? What the…what happened? Did you get arrested?”

“I…I got in a mess man, please, I need some help. I can’t…call my parents. But it’s bad man, I really fucked up. I’m so…so fucking sorry, I’m such a fucking idiot! I don’t know what to do, I can’t fucking think…”

He started sobbing then, and I consoled him a bit, and told him I’d be over as soon as I could. The fuckbuddy was still there, so I kicked him out, which pissed him off a bit, got dressed, and headed for the county jail by city hall. There’s a reason I’m used to getting calls when friends of mine end up in the clink, and that’s because my uncle is the sheriff. I don’t have a ton of pull with him, but it at least helps me smooth things over a bit, when I’m at least on first name basis with all the deputies.

I pulled up and headed in, chatting for a hot second with Marcy at the desk about how her new relationship is going, and then ask about Brock. Her face…went a bit hard, and her face only does that when something serious happened.

“What happened last night, anyway? Brock didn’t tell me anything over the phone.”

“Hunter, you…should go talk to your uncle about that, I think.”

Uncle Jeff was in his office, flipping through some paperwork when I got there, and when I told him why, he got a bit flustered, and told me what had allegedly happened. Brock had become a bit of a staple at a local biker bar named “Hobos” outside of town, over the last couple of weeks. I knew the place pretty well, because it was known as the closest thing to a gay bar we had around here, but I never went because the place was pretty fucking depressing. Still, it could get a bit rowdy, especially when a biker gang rolled up, and that’s what had happened last night. Brock had tried to get into a biker’s pants–a straight biker’s pants, and when the guy had tried to get Brock off him, the idiot had kept at it. To hear my uncle tell it, he’d flown into a bit of a rage by the time his deputies had gotten there and gotten him calmed down and in a squad car. Property damage, assault, drunk and disorderly–these were not good things. Still, my uncle knew Brock, and he was mostly just bewildered.

“I thought that kid was gonna go places–what the fuck is he doing back here, causing scenes like this?”

I agreed with him, and asked if I could talk to him. Jeff said I could, so we went over to the jail next door, and there Brock was, alone in a cell, and he looked…even bigger than when I’d seen him last. It was hard to believe, but I’d always been taller than Brock–when he stood up now, though, I found my neck craning back a bit, because suddenly he had an inch or two on me.

“You…you came. I was worried…you wouldn’t come.”

“Sure I came. Unc, could I have a few minutes alone with him?”

My uncle shrugged, but backed off down the hall.

“Brock, what the fuck happened last night.”

“I…I can’t really remember. I got really drunk, and he didn’t want to fuck me, and I got really angry, so…”

“Wait, what?”

“Hunter, you…have to help me. It’s getting worse. I…gotta find someone, and I…I’m sorry, I didn’t want to do this to you, I’m a fucking burden, but I’m so fucking scared, and my dad…”

Manning Up (Part 1)

Friends come and go, but I’d always expected Brock to just keep on going, and to be honest, I didn’t blame him for it. No one in this town really wants to stay here I suppose–well, perhaps other than me, but whether that’s because I’m too lazy to work my way free or too stupid to know any better is anyone’s guess. I’m a couple of years older than Brock, but we’d been neighborhood friends for years–he always thought of me as an older brother I think, since he didn’t have any brothers of his own, just a little sister. Still, I knew that he was going places–he always had all these questions! I never knew the answers, and never really wanted to know them, but he wasn’t going to be satisfied here–you could just tell.

So I graduated high school and did what some guys did–got trained in heavy equipment for construction work, and I’ve been making decent money doing that now–enough to afford a little trailer of my own. Fuck, Brock was always so envious of me, that I had a place where I could be all by myself! He’d want to come over and drink with me, but I never let him get too out of control. He was top of the class, naturally. The full ride scholarship to the big state university in the city was hardly a surprise either. He said he’d miss me, when he left–but I knew he wouldn’t and I was alright, with that, I really was. He was going to do big things–bigger than I was capable of, and I…I didn’t want to hold him back.

Sure enough, next summer he came back and he was…different. He’d gotten a taste of another life, and he wanted it. Nice shirts and shoes, looking fucking handsome, I have to say it was the first time I’d actually want to fuck him. Yeah, I’m a gay roughneck–it’s not that strange, trust me. Don’t need a boyfriend, but I got plenty of trucker fuckbuddies, and even a few guys on the crews who get a hankering for cock like me. anyway, Brock was pleasant with me, but there were miles between us now. I never begrudged him any of it–he’d earned it and I was happy for him. The next summer, he only came back for a couple of weeks, and then he was back in the city for the rest of the summer, working. I think I saw him once, mostly in passing. Honestly? I figured we’d never see him again after that, but after his Junior year…well, I never did find out what happened before all of this. This is about what happened when he came home.

I was surprised when he rang me up and wanted to come over and hang out. He hadn’t shown much interest in me, my trailer, or my life since he’d gone to college, but I was more than happy for the company–and when he showed up on my stoop…fuck, my cock nearly popped the fly of my jeans open, seeing him standing there…looking like that. He’d been handsome before, but he’d gone from handsome to fucking hot. Brock had always been a wiry kid, all bone and tendon–but he’d made up for it with wit and bravery. Standing there now though, it looked like he’d packed on close to fifty pounds of beef, both muscle and fat, and hell if he didn’t even look taller, too. He gave me a big hug, and I nearly creamed myself–then he pushed in and made himself at home, hauling out a beer and chatting away like we’d never been apart.

I asked him how school was going, and he…dodged the question entirely, which was odd. He said he didn’t want to talk about that shit–”shit”, not “stuff” like he would have said before–he wanted to come home for a while, where everything felt a bit easier, less stressful–and he’d been thinking about me a lot he said, which was flattering. I asked him why, and he shrugged. He’d always felt close to me, he said, like a brother, and he felt…well, he couldn’t really describe it well, but he’d been feeling out of sorts for a few months, and he’d always felt better around me, so here he was.

We both drank a bit more than we should have, and after a few hours, he hauled a cigar out of his pocket and started smoking it. I was surprised, and asked him when he’d started doing that. He blushed, and wouldn’t–or couldn’t–answer specifically. In fact, he was dodging around a lot of what I was asking, and far more interested in what I’d been up to back at home, so I told him. He wanted to know if I’d found a boyfriend, and I said I didn’t have time for boys, which made him laugh this deep, sexy guffaw, and I started to wonder if he was coming onto me, but before I could explore that possibility, he’d stumbled up from my couch and took off out my front door, telling me he needed to get home.

I offered him the couch, since he was a bit too drunk to drive, but he didn’t seem to care–if anything, he suddenly seemed like he really wanted to be away from me, like something had spooked him. Still, it wasn’t too far to drive to his parents, so I figured he’d make it. He peeled out in the gravel and took off down the road, and I just watched him go, confused as all hell at the entire evening, and wondering if I was just getting signals crossed.

He came over every day after that–he couldn’t seem to stay away. I was working of course, but often I’d come home and find him sitting on the stoop of my trailer, waiting for me to arrive, beaming at me when I’d gotten out of the truck, eager to chat and shoot the shit and have a beer or six. I…appreciated the company, I suppose, but I couldn’t shake the fact that something about Brock just seemed…off. He was scared, but every time I tried to pry, he’d get evasive, or just flat out leave. But one night, once he’d gotten more drunk than usual, I did work something out of him, finally.

“I just…I’m gonna need a friend here soon. A good friend. I can…I can trust you, right Hunter?”

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.

I Dream of Bacchus (Part 3)

It was later that he noticed his reflection in the mirror, and the small paunch which had appeared overnight, covering the abs he’d had the day before. He poked it and pinched it, but it was real. Maybe…maybe he really did need to go to the hospital, he thought, but he talked himself down. It was just some crazy dream, is all, he told himself, and he probably just needed…rest. He looked back at the bed and shuddered, and headed for the rest of the apartment, finding himself heading for the couch instead, where he turned on the TV, hoping he might be able to shake the dream in an hour or two–and hopefully whatever strange physical symptoms these were, they would just go away in time. He grew thirsty in a bit, and without thinking much of it, he didn’t get a glass of water, but took an open bottle of wine from the counter back to the couch with him. He’d bought it for cooking a week ago, and still hadn’t finished it–neither he, nor Jared, drank much. He didn’t bother with a glass, he just drank straight from the bottle, massaging his cock while he did so. He went up to find something else to drink once he’d finished that, but all they had was some liquor–not what he was feeling like, but it would do. He brought a pile of snacks along as well, and stuffed his face as he watched TV and drank himself into a stupor. More than once, he questioned what he was doing, and why, but it felt…right, somehow. Unavoidable.

Jared came home from work around seven, and found Raury still on the couch, passed out and snoring loudly. He stood over him, looking down at him…surprised, for some reason, but he knew that he shouldn’t be, right? Raury did this all the time–he was a bit of a drunken lout, really…but hadn’t he been different before? Jared tried not to think too hard about it, and just let his disgust overwhelm him. He can’t excuse his actions. If he wants to be a lazy good for nothing drunk, than who was Jared to try and stop him, or correct him? Jared went and put his things away, and passed back through the den on the way to the kitchen, to make some dinner for himself–assuming Raury hadn’t eaten the cupboards bare again, when he heard a strange whimper come from his boyfriend’s mouth, in between two snores. Jared looked out at him on the couch, and saw him pawing at the air, meekly–some stupid dream probably. Then, with a groan, he saw Raury arch his back a bit, and the front of the underwear he was wearing turned wet–was he pissing himself? No, it wasn’t big enough for that–the fat fuck was having a wet dream of all things. Gagging at the thought, he turned back and paid Raury no mind, eating dinner on his own, doing some work in the study, and then going to bed, all while Jared slept on the couch, deep in his dreams.

For a few weeks, Raury managed to keep some of the plates spinning in the air. He tried to keep going to the gym on a regular basis. He tried to eat healthier. He tried to keep alcohol out of the house. He tried to keep his raging horniness in check. He tried to go to work and stay focused. Some days, he even managed to accomplish two or three of those things, but no matter how hard he tried, every time Jared saw him, Raury couldn’t escape that…look of utter disgust and disdain which had appeared on his face, ever since that first big dream. He did everything he could–he even tried apologizing, but Jared just rebuffed him. He was barred from the bed, Jared insisted that his constant snoring kept him awake, and so Raury was forced to sleep on the couch every night instead. Jared hadn’t touched him once, sexually or not, in that entire time. The one time Raury had attempted to start something with him…Jared had slapped him across the face. He’d apologized, and tried to claim that Raury had just surprised him, but he insisted that he didn’t want to see Raury naked, until he got himself into better shape.

Every waking moment seemed to bring a new humiliation. He was still growing fatter, and he would outgrow new clothes within a few days–that, or they were shrinking, so they always appeared ill-fitting. His hygiene seemed to have slipped–he sweat more, and his BO had become much stronger, and taken on an embarrassing…barnyard sort of scent he was desperate to cover up, but every cologne and deodorant only seemed to make the smell stronger. People at work who used to try and ingratiate themselves with him as a rising star, were suddenly avoiding him like a plague, and his boss kept calling him in to have chats about his slipping productivity, and his sudden tendency to be caught napping on the job.

Indeed, sleep seemed to be the one thing in his life that came easily to him now, and it was the one thing which filled him with the greatest terror. So far, no dream had matched the intensity of the one which had left him unconscious for almost an entire day, but every single one took place in the clearing, with those beasts abusing and feeding him. It wasn’t too long before the stress got to him, and he started slipping further and further off the wagon. One bottle of wine a night became two and three. He would binge from the time he got home in the afternoon, until he passed out in the early evening, often before Jared would even get home from work. He found himself hornier than ever, but since no one seemed interested in having sex with him anymore–especially Jared–he found himself mastubating six or seven times a day, often right into his underwear, helplessly fantasizing about the only things that did seem to desire him–those beasts in the clearing–as twisted as that made him feel.

I Dream of Bacchus (Part 2)

He tried to fight them off, he tried to run. Most of all, he tried to wake up. But this, he could sense, was no longer a dream as he was accustomed to experiencing them. This was now something else–a vision, or a visitation.

“No, please! I’m just lost is all,” Raury said, trying to push the two stinking goatmen away from him, “Just tell me how to get home, and I’ll leave you be.”

The satyrs just bleated with laughter, each one grabbed a leg and dragged him over the earth into the clearing. “Nonsense, little Bacchus! You are our honored guest. We’ve been waiting for you to find us here, and I assure you that we can’t allow you to leave until you’ve sampled some of our hospitality. Feast with us! Drink!” He was well within the clearing now, and the two satyrs released him. He scrambled upright and went to run, but found he’d been completely encircled by the freaks. This close, he realized that their bestial nature was far more pronounced than any humanity they might have–and they were all naked, without exception, cocks from all over the animal kingdom surrounding him. “Here–sample our wine, young Bacchus! It’s been compared to sweet nectar of the gods.”

The satyr shoved a strange, bloated sack into Raury’s hands. It felt like a water balloon, but the surface seemed to be more like the lining of the stomach. It was thin, and semi-transparent–inside, he could see a deep burgundy liquid sloshing about. “My name isn’t Bacchus–I think you have me confused with someone else. My name is Raury, and please, I just want to go home,” he tried to hand the bladder back, but the satyr refused to take it.

“Ah, so young and silly! The Bacchus has a name! Young human–you might be a Raury, yes, but you are also a Bacchus. Now drink. Sample our pleasure! It does not do to be so rude to your hosts here! There are far worse things in these woods than us, and we can just as easily abandon you to them instead, and keep the deal in other ways.”

The gazes of the beasts surrounded him were chilly, and while he didn’t want to–knew, somehow, that he simply shouldn’t–he raised the nozzle of the bladder to his lips and drank a mouthful of wine. It was sweet–sweeter than any port he’d ever tasted, and left a film all over the inside of his mouth which seemed a bit greasy. The beasts urged him on further, demanding he drink more, and so he did, and when the satyrs dragged him over to a long stone table, laden with strange faire he’d never seen before in his life, he ate as well, drinking from the bladder as he did, and he felt the mood around him loosen up. The music began again, and many of the beasts danced wildly around the torches. Soon, Raury felt woozy, and when he tried to walk, he tumbled instead, landing on the ground. “Oh no! Be careful our Bacchus!” a pigman and minotaur rushed over and picked him up, carrying him over to a pile of rugs and carpets near the center of the feast. “Please, rest here–allow us to care for you, our Bacchus.”

The beasts brought more wine, and more food; Raury tried to resist, but the world was too blurry and off kilter for him to stop them from stuffing the food in his face. The faces if the beasts seemed to have turned cruel, their laughter menacing, the music growing quicker and agitated. Hooves and trotters were tugging and ripping at his clothes, and soon he was as naked as the beasts surrounding him, all of them poking and prodding at his body, until one of them rolled him over onto his full gut, making him belch and nearly vomit. The first cock slid into his ass with a bleating cry, and another beast came around to his face, forcing open his mouth and fucking his skull.

He quickly lost count of the beasts abusing him. The wine was dulling him further, and part of him even began to enjoy the treatment, finding himself craving the cum as much as the wine and the food the beasts plied him with in between each cock. At some point, the wine finally overcame him, and he passed out in the dream, falling into a deep blackness which seemed to have no end or beginning–and then he awoke with something between a moan and a scream in the bed he shared with Jared, alone. Sunlight was streaming through the windows–and from the wrong direction. He scrambled for his phone, and discovered it was four in the afternoon. He’d gone to bed around ten the night before–had he really just slept for almost sixteen hours straight? It was with further terror, that he realized it was Thursday–he’d missed almost an entire day of work. He had to call his boss, he had to figure out some way to explain this, but he felt sick to his stomach, and his head was spinning.

He staggered up to his feet and made his way to the bathroom, just in time to drop in front of the toilet and puke up the contents of his stomach into the bowl. He stared at it for several minutes, unable to believe what he was looking at. The water was crimson–not with blood, but with the wine he could still smell. There were bits of food, and a…substantial amount of white, foggy froth. At last, he flushed it down, and got back up to his feet, found his phone and called his work, using illness as an excuse. He’d been so sick, he’d hallucinated calling out in a delirium this morning, and Jared was taking him to the emergency room, he lied. Like usual, the biggest lie he could imagine paid off–and he didn’t have to worry about work the next day either, which relieved him.