The Fetish Gun is Loose! (Part 4) [Interactive]

Looks like the winner was out older bear into diapers, humiliation, and watersports. Let’s see what he does when he gets hold of the gun…

Earlier, in the club…

Had Anthony really seen, what he’d just seen? Even now, it was almost impossible to believe it, even though it had happened, right there across the upper floor of the bar. He had been stashed back in a dark corner, watching that man pick up and toy around with that odd gun he’d found in that booth. Then, he’d shot himself with it, and after…he’d been different. Really different, but Anthony hadn’t really been able to remember how different–it was like the earlier version of the man had been scrubbed from reality, and replaced by the freak in the booth–massively hung, wearing a singlet…but that had just been the start of the insanity. He’d just…eaten someone, with his fucking cock. He pulled himself further back as the man stood up, hauling along the heavy, monstrous thing hanging from the front of the singlet, and went down to the dance floor–he was so taken with the sight, he didn’t realize, for a moment, that the man had left the gun behind in the booth.

He moved quick–grabbed the gun and retreated back to the booth where he’d been, stopping only to grab the piece of paper that had fallen from the table to the floor, which turned out to be a summary of the gun–and it’s five features. It would have been unbelievable if he hadn’t just witnessed it in action. The shit he could do with this thing–the possibilities already had him hard in the front of his pants.

Anthony had a few quirks of his own–though they mostly had to do with other people, than himself. He loved humiliating guys more than pretty much anything–but most of all, he loved forcing guys into diapers and making them piss themselves. He didn’t get to enjoy his fetish very often, because finding guys to go along with it was…difficult. But with the gun, it wasn’t going to be a struggle at all. He turned the setting to A, and then went to the edge of the balcony, where he could look down at the crowd below.

The silicone guy was down there, with half a dozen guys clambering for his attention. He must have used setting B–and as tempting as it was to shoot him…he set his sights on someone else instead, as he dragged his obsessive group of hanger ons away from the dance floor and towards the dark back of the bar. Instead, he spotted someone better–someone he knew. Rick was an “A Gay”, always muscled, always on trend, and always desired. He was in the middle of the dance floor now, wearing just a skimpy thong showing off his substantial junk bouncing as he danced to the music. Anthony leveled the gun at him, held an idea of what he wanted in his mind, and shot him with a ray of yellow, watching it sink into his skin, the thong shuddering…and growing into a thick diaper.

Rick noticed, and was horrified, but he couldn’t stop dancing. People were noticing, pointing, laughing–and then he started pissing himself. He couldn’t stop the flow, and there was so much of it–it overflowed the diaper and ran down the insides of his thighs…and he was so turned on, by becoming the laughing stock of the entire club, that he started groping the front of his diaper, his cock hard, milking himself to orgasm in the warm, saggy diaper. Anthony shot him again as he did, and Rick’s perfect body began to melt and distort. He wasn’t muscled anymore–now he was more chub than anything else, his perfect hair lank and greasy, crooked teeth leering around him at the men laughing, groping harder, loving how everyone could see just how much of a loser he was now, and he came, loudly and obviously, before a bouncer dragged him off the dance floor–but Anthony intervened before they could kick him out, and pulled the much changed Rick into a corner, shoved the loser down to his knees, and soaked him down with his own piss, before making him suck him off right there in the club.

“What do you think now, hotshot? Think you’re the coolest fucker in the club now? Can you even remember was a hot piece of meat you were before?” Anthony said.

Could he? Rick could remember, vaguely, who he’d been–but thinking about that only made him even hotter, knowing that he’d fallen so far, into this nasty piece of shit, stuck in diapers, humiliating himself in the hottest gay bar in town. “No sir, I’m a filthy, diaper wearing loser. Can…can I suck your cock sir?”

Anthony made Rick beg for his cum, plead for it, tell him exactly what a loser he was and how much he loved it, making sure everyone around them knew exactly what kind of pervert he was, and what he wanted–and Anthony finally milked his load onto Rick’s face, and told him to leave it. Then he grabbed the gun and twisted the dial–he wasn’t done with Rick yet, not by a ways.

This time around, we have a bit of a twist! There are three standard options, but the fourth one is special–the more people who vote for backfire, the more likely it is that the tables will end up turned against Anthony next chapter, in different ways, depending on which one of the top three gets the most votes. So mind your vote!

  1. Uses setting C to turn his diaper man into a literal, corruptive diaper he forces another jock to wear.
  2. He uses setting A to add more humiliating fetishes to Rick’s mind.
  3. He uses setting D to create an incestual relationship between them, with Anthony as Rick’s domineering father.
  4. Backfire! – The ending total percentage of this option (combined between both polls, not averaged) is the possibility of the top option among the other three backfiring on Anthony.

Here is the twitter poll

Here is the patron only poll

Voting ends on Thursday!

Carnival (Part 9)

“You guys–we have to fight this. This isn’t right,” Finn said, pulling away from his friends, or rather, his lovers, in the mist of the tunnel. “Can’t…can’t you see that something about all of this is wrong?”

Garth and Dylan just looked at him, their eyes slightly pink. “There’s…nothing wrong with this, Finn–you know how we feel about you, how we’ve always felt about each other.”

There was a flash then, a flash of them all in the locker room after practice, sneaking looks at one another, taking their time until they were alone, and they could go to the showers together and–

Finn pushed the thought away again, and slid around the circular bench to be as distant from the other two as they could. This ride–it wasn’t a ride at all. They were literally falling in love with one another! There had to be something he could do, some way to snap the two of them out of it, but how?

The sides of the boat were high, but were lower where they’d gotten in. He reached down into the cool water, scooped some up in his hands, and flung it at the two of them, hoping it would bring them to their senses, but when it struck them, both of them glowed pink, and Finn watched them begin to shift. In their minds, both Garth and Dylan found their love for one another growing deeper–and also growing longer. They had met in college, sure, but by now, that had been years ago. In their forties now, and happily married for nearly 20 years, all Finn could do was watch as his best friends, the young men he loved, became two pudgy, middle aged bears, still kissing and even deeper in love than before.

“That was a few bad thing to do, to try and destroy someone’s love,” a voice said. Finn looked around for the source, but couldn’t see anyone–it seemed to be coming from the mist all around them. “But don’t worry, your daddies will take good care of you.”

Before he could do anything, the mist descended on him, cloaking him in pink, filling his mind with love–love for the two older men across from him, but also dulling him, sanding off the edges, making that love into something singular and obsessive–so powerful, it was all he could think about. When it cleared, and he saw his two daddies, Garth and Dylan, looking at him, he thought his heart would burst, and a moment later, he was pulled over the center of the boat, all three of them kissing together, until they had Finn undressed, Garth and Dylan fucking him at both ends, telling him what a good boy he was, telling him that he was going to be their boy forever.

When they reached the end of the ride, all three of them having cum, and forgotten their old lives and souls in the tunnels, Garth and Dylan got out first, both of them wearing jeans and flannel, suspenders tight against their guts, looking like the perfect bearish couple, and then they helped Finn out–and Finn looked down at himself in shock. He was wearing overalls, but with shorts on the bottom, something like what a toddler would wear, with a shirt underneath with cartoon characters on them. He was shorter than his daddies, and quite a bit chubbier too–but something making him look larger was the diaper he could feel around his waist. “Wow daddy! That was a fun ride, I love you so much!” he exclaimed with his usual youthful enthusiasm, and hugged both of his daddies tight.

“I gotta admit–it’s nice to be reminded of what’s really important,” Garth said, winking at Dylan and giving his husband’s crotch a squeeze, “I don’t know about you two, but I’m a bit tuckered out–how about we all head home and call it a night?”

Dylan agreed, and while Finn tried to protest, and insisted he could go on more rides, the way he was yawning gave away how tired he was. As they left the ride, Finn felt a warmth spread across his groin, and it took him a moment to realize he’d pissed right into his diaper without a second thought. “D-Daddy? I think I had an accident,” he said, looking at Garth, who smiled back.

“Goodness–guess its a good thing we diapered you up, eh, you dirty little boy?”

Finn nodded, his little cock hard in the front of his wet diaper.

“Well, you want us to change you here, in front of everyone?” Dylan said, “Or is the dirty little boy going to have to wear a sopping wet diaper all the way home?”

In the end, he wore it home. Finn loved the feeling of a wet diaper, after all, and his two daddies always enjoyed it when their little cub made a mess like that. Deep inside him, some other version of himself was horrified, but it didn’t matter–love was the most important thing, after all, and Finn was going to love his two daddies forever.

This is the end of this interactive for the moment. I’ll probably run a Patreon only poll in a day or two, to see if there are any stories people would like to see me wrap up and expand on a bit.

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.

Daddy’s Little Man (Part 3)

Who had he been? He’d been a university student…in a way, he supposed he still was. After all, he hadn’t actually decreased in age at all–sure, he looked young, but he didn’t think he actually was younger, and yet…in his head, when he’d been around da–no, Mr. Rawlins–it had been like he’d been a kid again. No knowledge, no common sense, no…no nothing. He could hear the help running around, and Mr. Rawlins was barking orders all around the store, all of them searching for him. Why him? What had he done to deserve this sadistic treatment? He had to get out, he had to find someone who could help him.

After a few minutes, the shopkeepers quit their frantic searching and went back to their jobs. Maybe he’d given up on finding him. If he could just wait for a couple more minutes, maybe he could sneak out the side door a little ways away. However, before he could build up the gut to make a run for it, James noticed something else. The smell–the smoke was back. Mr. Rawlins must be close by. James did his best to hold his breath, taking in as little as possible, but the lack of air was making it his head swim–making it hard to think. Maybe he should just end this game of hide and seek. He was tired–maybe Mr. Rawlins…maybe daddy and him could go home, and he could have a nap. He was feeling kind of sleepy, and relaxed.

He let out a little sigh, and then he smelled something–and felt something. His crotch was warm, and did he smell…piss? Looking down, he saw that the front of his shorts had a growing dark patch, and a moment later, his piss started to seep through the fabric and patter onto the floor. He froze there, unable to believe this was happening, but try as he might, he couldn’t stop the flow–he’d lost all control of himself, and the tears welled up, and then he was bawling like a baby.

A moment later, a hand shot through the clothes surrounding him, grabbed his arm and yanked him from his hiding place–Mr. Rawlins still smoking his pipe and glaring down at James. The guilt–oh the guilt that crashed down on him, when he saw how disappointed and hurt his daddy was that James had run away from him. He felt terrible–why had he ever done such a horrible thing? “I’m–I’m sorry daddy, I don’t know–I just…” he said, but could barely get any words out past the tears.

“Such a naughty boy I have here,” Mr. Rawlins said, “running off, and unable to control himself? I think someone needs a spanking.”

“No daddy–no!” James shouted, but the bigger man easily dragged him over to a chair by the dressing rooms, yanked down James pants and underwear to his ankles, bent him over on his lap and started smacking his bottom–hard.

“Yeah…that’s it–such a naughty little man, yes you are, such a–fuck…” Mr. Rawlins said, glee in his eyes, and pushing up against his gut, James could feel Mr. Rawlins penis hard as a rock, and as much as it hurt to get spanked, it also felt…a little good. James could feel his own pee pee start hardening–it felt strange again, like when he’d kissed his daddy earlier, but a good kind of strange. He did deserve to be spanked though, he had to admit that. He’d been a very bad boy to run off like that earlier. He deserved to be punished. After twenty pounding slaps, all of his cheeks red as could be, Mr. Rawlins let him stand up again. “Now, you naughty boy, what do you say?”

“Sorry daddy…I’m sorry…” James said.

“That’s better. Now, it seems like you’re a littler man than I’d thought, since you can’t even keep from pissing yourself. Let’s see what we can do about that,” Mr. Rawlins said, took a deep draw off his pipe and exhaled a thick plume of smoke so massive it enveloped James entire body. Coughing and eyes burning, he waved away the thick cloud as best he could, but it clung to him for a few moments before dispersing, and james shivered a bit, feeling somewhat exposed all of a sudden–and for good reason. His school uniform had disappeared and been replaced by nothing beyond a thick diaper around his groin. James tried to speak and protest, but for some reason all of the words in his head were getting jumbled up and coming out as nonsense, and when he tried to stumble away, his legs couldn’t seem to balance right, and he fell down onto his padded ass, and frustrated, he started to wail.

“Aww, calm down little man, here, daddy has your pacifier here–this will make you feel better.”

Mr. Rawlins pulled something that looked a bit like a pacifier out of his pocket, but instead of a small bulb to suck on, it had a thick, three inch rubber cock which Mr. Rawlins shoved in his mouth. James started sucking immediately and felt so much calmer and happier with his pacifier in his mouth, but when Mr. Rawlins got down to see him, James still rolled over and started crawling away as fast as his short arms and legs could take him, gut dragging across the department store carpet.

“Goodness, you are a stubborn one, aren’t you?” Mr. Rawlins said, and now, as James was crawling away, he felt the weight start to pack on once again. The gut which had only been grazing the floor moments earlier was now dragging across it, forcing him to crawl even slower as his knees kept running into the apron trailing back between his legs. His face and chest packed on weight as well, making it hard to breathe, and just crawling ten feet left him completely winded. Mr. Rawlins walked over to where James was struggling for air, bent over and somehow…picked him up. James must have weighed over five hundred pounds by this point, and yet Mr. Rawlins hefted him up and brought him over to the chair he’d spanked James over moments earlier and sat down, putting the giant diapered man on his knee as though he weighed nothing at all.

Slave Swap (Part 5)

The food came, and he ate it. The portion seemed so meager, and it had done nothing to sate any of his cravings. By eight he broke down, and cracked open a beer, and after three of those–close to nine–he lit his first cigar. By ten, he’d run out of beer, and he left the apartment to go buy some more…but instead, he found his feet walking a somehow familiar route, to some place called, The Steam Engine. He wasn’t this weak, was he? He couldn’t even last a single night? He passed it by and went to a corner store and purchased a supply of beers–hopefully enough that he wouldn’t have to leave the apartment for several days, and he forced himself to walk quickly past the bathhouse and went back to his lonely apartment, where he managed to drink himself to sleep.

In the morning, he woke to discover a small deposit in his account, with a note from Master. “One day down Slave–one day at a time, as they say.” It was a pittance, really, but it meant more to him as a gesture. He was watching–Master didn’t want him to fail. Still, the stench off his sodden diaper was so…alluring, he couldn’t stop himself from sucking some of his own piss from it while he jacked off–or tried to jack off, at least. His cock wouldn’t get hard at all, and the pain and nausea were worse than the day before. He tossed the diaper in the trash, frustrated, and put on a new one, before heading into work that afternoon. He was invisible in the halls, as people hurried past him. Cleaning the bathrooms was the worst, especially when he found loads of piss left in the urinals or the toilets, but he fought it–proud of his willpower, at least.

The first week progressed well. He found that exercise gave him something to distract himself with, to some extent, even if this old body wasn’t capable of much strength. Still, training himself gave him something to do–something to work on. He tried his best to limit his smoking, drinking and eating to moderate levels–enough to keep the rest of his withdrawal in check. He kept hoping things would get better, but he only ever seemed to feel even worse with each passing day. On Friday, after most people had left the building for the day, he gave in and sucked some piss from a urinal, and nearly cried from how…satisfied he felt, afterward. How was he going to cope this weekend? He didn’t know–all he had to distract himself at home was exercise and TV. He found himself missing Master’s presence–he felt so isolated now. He drank too much that night, dribbling his piss into empty beer cans so he could drink it, thinking about how…good his Master’s cum had tasted, how he’d never really relished it, how he’d just swallowed it so many times without a single thought of how…thankful he should be, for receiving it. He sent drunken texts to him, telling Master all of this, telling him how sorry he was, and when he received nothing back, he threw on some clothes–forgetting a diaper in his haste–and stumbled into The Steam Engine.

Just one load, he told himself. If he could get by with a few beers and two cigars a day, he could get one load. It was a treat–a reward. Finding someone interested in him was a struggle, and he was forced to beg over and over, before an older man finally took pity on him, and fucked his face. It was the first time he’d tasted someone’s cum other than Master’s or his own, and he…nearly cried, when the man shot into his mouth. It tasted better than he could even remember, but it was…such a small load. Certainly that meant he could have another, right? He gave up the pretense after four loads, and even managed to find a few men to feed him their piss. When he got up and waddled home that night, pants sodden with piss from his cock, he felt so…good. Not only was the pain gone, but the shivers of pleasure flowing through him–and his cock was rock hard for the first time in nearly a week! Not wanting to waste the opportunity, he jacked off behind a dumpster, his cock still dribbling and flinging piss about as he stroked, but he didn’t care–he wanted a another load–he needed another one. He came into his hand and slurped it up, tasting hints of cigar on it, and he heaved a great sigh of relief, made his way home, and collapsed into bed, happier than he could remember being in a long time.

Of course, when he woke up, head throbbing, mattress and sheets soaked with his piss, he felt horrible. How could he have done that to himself? Master–he was going to be so disappointed in him! He saw a notification on his phone, but the message wasn’t what he’d expected.

“Watching you fail is so fucking satisfying, you fucking piece of shit. I knew you’d never make it, though I thought you’d make it a bit longer than that! Still, seven loads of cum, and four loads of piss–that’s quite a good amount–you’ll find your reward in your account, you fucking slut. See you this afternoon.”

Dumbstruck, he opened up his account, and saw he’d earned close to triple in a single night, than the meager payments Master had sent him him the whole week he’d been trying to be good. He’d wanted him to fail. He’d wanted him to give in–that’s what this was all about. He lit a cigar to calm himself down, to keep the anger at bay, and had a beer too, not bothering to diaper himself, leaking more and more piss into his bed…enjoying the stench. Around one in the afternoon, Master let himself into the apartment, ordered Jug onto the soaking wet bed, and fucked his ass, demanding Jug tell him about the night before, about how it had felt to give in like that, to accept the fact that he was just a fat cumdump urinal. He came, deep, and left again without ceremony…and unable to help himself, Jug ate his Master’s cum from his own ass without even needing to be ordered to do so.

He had to fight this. He had to. He couldn’t live like this. But looking at himself in the mirror, and the dried cum caught in his beard from the night before…he tried to remember himself, but couldn’t. And that night, his will ran out again, and he was back at The Steam Engine, doing what his body did best.

Slave Swap (Part 4)

When Master woke him up, they most certainly were no longer in his sizable mansion, where Cameron had been living in his first year of service. Now they were in a small studio apartment–deep in the city, from the sound of traffic outside–the sort of living quarters any citizen could expect as a guarantee in this era. Nothing fancy, and none of clean from the looks of things, but it was similar to where Cameron had spent much of his youth. “Where are we, sir?”

“This is where you’ll be living, Slave. I’d rather not have you dribbling any more piss on my carpets. You’ll still be working for my company, but I can’t have someone like you as my personal assistant. You’ll be a janitor now–something which will…suit your body’s tastes, I assume. You’ll also be receiving a much smaller allowance from this point further, although there will be…opportunities for you to earn more, if you’d like. After all, if there is one thing I know about you, it’s that you’re highly motivated by financial reward. Still, we have one final adjustment to make, but I wanted to make sure you were awake. Slave, run personality file: Jug.”

The sensation was always…nerve wracking, when Master ran a personality file. Still, he’d been through enough of them to know what to expect, from his first day–after all, it was how Master had turned him gay. The contract gave Master wide licence to modify not only his body, but also his mind, his memories, his personality, his intellect–provided a backup of his original is kept on hand. But this one lasted longer, and the mental nausea was more severe. Whatever Master was doing to him, it was more substantial than anything else he’d done to him previously. At last, it was over, and Jug reached out for a wall to steady himself, and let off a great big belch. “Fuck sir, mah head feels like ya screwed it off in shook it up real fuckin’ good.”

That…didn’t sound like him, but his thoughts were suddenly running much slower than he was accustomed to.

“Don’t worry Jug, you’ll feel better soon enough. It’s just something to…smooth your transition. After all, if you’re going to be a janitor, you’d better think and sound like one, right? And someone your age…well, you need a bit of history, don’t you? In any case, I’ll be in touch.”

“Yes sir,” he said, and Master left him in the apartment, to explore the small space, and to try and sort out what, exactly, his master had fucked up in his head. Why had Master called him Jug, anyway? His name was…was something else, but then again, he’d been called Jug ever since he’d drank that whole gallon of piss in one fucking sitting, years ago, and the name had stuck. It was…it was a badge of pride, wasn’t it? The memory horrified parts of him–the vividness of it. It wasn’t real, he knew that, and yet, to Jug, it felt as real as anything else. He sat down, diaper squishing audibly under him, his body still shaking, the pain coming back now that he had nothing else to focus on.

His body has needs, that he knew, but they weren’t needs that he wanted to satisfy. Why had Master just…left him here? With no guidance, and no direction? He hadn’t even…fed him before he’d left. In a sense, he knew he should feel…free on his own, and yet the hungers growing inside him made him feel more boxed in and controlled than any time in his first year of service. He turned on the TV, but then got up from the chair to explore the room. There was a small supply of cigars in a battered humidor on the shelf, but he fought the urge to smoke. There were a few beers in the fridge, and his thirst…but he also knew he wanted cum…and piss more than alcohol or water. There was no food anywhere, but Jug also didn’t know how to cook. He’d…have to get something delivered, or go out if he wanted to eat.

He heard his phone buzz and shake on the side table, and he went to retrieve it, and found a message from Master. “I’m sure the monkeys on your back have started scratching. I selected this location particularly for you. There’s several gay bathhouses and bars within several blocks, many of them with rather seedy reputations. I’m sure you can find some men willing to feed an old faggot like you, especially in the dark. I’ll be watching. Or you could always kick the habit. I…weakened the original desires, as hard as that might be for you to imagine–the body’s owner wanted his slave’s body to be insatiable. It won’t be pleasant to resist them, I can assure you, but I admit I might find your strength of will to be quite arousing–though I think I’d still rather see you submit, slave. Still, perhaps you’ll surprise me–I do love surprises.”

Was this really just a game to him? Jug felt used, but he knew what he would do–he was going to fight this shit. He didn’t want this life, he wasn’t going to give into this filth. He’d fought so long, his entire life–hadn’t he? He could recall a youth where he’d struggled, but it was like someone else’s story now. Jug, on the other hand, had led a life of debauchery and excess, and just thinking and remembering all those loads of cum he’d sucked down, all those jugs of piss he’d emptied to prove his earned nickname, it was making his old cock rock hard.

But that wasn’t real. This wasn’t real. He sat down on the chair with a glass of water, and ordered some food from the tablet on the wall. He could fight this, he was stronger than any of this. He’d…prove to his master that he was different, that he’d earned his last body, that he could please him by being close to him, that he didn’t deserve to be treated like this.

VIP Package (Part 9)

WARNING: VERY DARK. Scat, incontinence, humiliation, violence.

Samuel’s first thought upon waking–as had become normal over the past week and a half–was that he needed to get fucked. But Bishop wasn’t there for him, which was a relief for many reasons, but then who would fuck him then? He looked over, and was so happy to see Jeremy–the old Jeremy–Jeremy his husband, looking like nothing had happened to them both. In fact, he realized that Jeremy looked…quite a bit like Mr. Bishop had appeared over the last week, though he’d need a bit more work in the gym to match him, and his cock would never be big enough, but that was alright, he tried to tell himself. Jeremy was just beginning to waken as Samuel rolled over, trying to coax his husband’s cock to life so he could climb on and ride it, but as hard as he tried, it remained stubbornly soft. In fact, Jeremy didn’t feel any pleasure at all from having his cock fondled, but seeing Samuel there, remembering all the horrible things he’d said, all the pain he’d inflicted, he smacked his hand away and leapt out of bed away from him.

They fought. Samuel demanded he fuck him, that he was desperate, while Jeremy kept trying to get him to grapple with the horrors they’d just been through, but his husband seemed to have no interest in anything beyond his own immediate pleasure. Samuel started shoving his own fist in his hole, berating Jeremy for being worthless as a man, and Jeremy found some micro liquor bottles in the fridge and started downing them, eager for the numbness he’d grown accustomed to over the last week to settle back in over him.

They disembarked. Each hoped that things would improve quickly–the ship had promised that they would be normal again, though it had mentioned lingering side effects. They didn’t speak all the way to the airport. Jeremy was starving, and he parked himself at a fast food restaurant and stuffed himself. Samuel tried to pull him away, tried to get him to overcome the bad habits which had been ingrained in him over their time with Bishop–not for Jeremy’s sake of course, but simply because Samuel had no desire to ever look on someone as ugly as “Gerald” had been. All he could do was criticize and berate him, which only seemed to drive Jeremy further into his gorging. In any case, Samuel needed a fuck–he found a guy on Growlr, and got plowed in the restroom–and when Jeremy learned what had happened, instead of being jealous…he found himself begging Samuel to let him eat the load in a stall, and he relented. Both felt a bit better at least, one with a full stomach, and the other with a fucked ass.

A few hours into the flight, Samuel pissed himself. Jeremy is the one who noticed, when he caught the pang of piss and started…craving the taste of urine on his tongue. Samuel was so flustered he couldn’t figure out what to do–Jeremy had to take care of him, get him into the restroom, change his pants…and suck a bit of piss from the fabric, just…just to see if it tasted as good as he recalled. To his great concern–it tasted even better.

They got home, at last, but the trauma quickly rendered them completely unable to function in work, or society at large. They had plenty of money from their stint on the ship, and so Samuel simply stopped going. Jeremy lasted a bit longer, but the quality of his work suffered from his lack of care and confidence. A math error cost the company a million dollars, and he took the blame–his severance was sizable, but the humiliation was horrific. Alone together, they soon found themselves establishing a new, hellish routine that neither knew how to escape.

Jeremy found himself as little more than a servant, unable to stop himself from obeying and catering to Samuel’s demands, which were growing more and more childish by the day. His own habits from the ship resurfaced, one by one. He drank from the time he woke to the time he passed out. He started smoking again, despite Samuel’s–or rather, Sammy, since he no longer responded to Samuel–angry and belligerent criticism of the habit, but every cruelty only seemed to make Jeremy more eager to smoke the next cigar, being sure to blow thick clouds in Sammy’s direction, the boy coughing and sputtering in anger. The one thing they could agree on was food–both of them needed a lot of it, and each began packing on the pounds. It wasn’t long before Sammy ceased to find Jeremy the least bit attractive, and Jeremy resented his husband more and more by the day. But…but he needed him. He needed someone, right? It was becoming impossible to imagine a life alone, without a…a master. That was one thing they could agree on at least–how much they found themselves missing Master Bishop. They’d each fantasize about him, discuss him, dream of him–neither wanted to admit it, but they secretly hoped they might have a chance to see him one more time, that maybe there was a way out for them yet, and their master would give it to them.

Sammy demanded Jeremy put him in diapers again, and he relented, secretly feasting on the piss and shit, unable to stop himself. Two or three times a day, he would have to find muscular men online willing to fuck or fist Sammy’s hole. On occasion, Jeremy would get to watch, and that was the closest he got to having sex with anyone. He bathed Sammy, shaved his body smooth from head to toe, he cleaned up after him, and whenever Jeremy messed something up–or even if he didn’t–Sammy would fly into a rage, beating him senseless…and whenever he did, that was the only time Jeremy’s cock would ever harden, and occasionally shoot. It was several weeks before he even noticed that Sammy had begun calling him Gerald again–and that he actually prefered that name over his real one.

Fewer and fewer men were willing to fuck Sammy soon, in part because Sammy’s standards were becoming higher and higher. When he didn’t have someone to fuck him, he would demand Gerald fuck him with a dildo, and when that didn’t satisfy, he would give Gerald a savage beating and bondage session, which was usually enough to blow off some erotic steam. Both of them found themselves longing even more for the cruise, longing for Master Bishop, longing for anything other than this new nightmare they’d been trapped inside.

Soon enough, it had been a year. While Sammy seemed to have fully embraced his authoritarian and childish persona, Gerald was beginning to sense the possibility of an end to the madness consuming him. The compulsions felt less forceful, he could almost imagine a life other than this one. He was secretly making plans to leave Sammy, to abandon him and never return, if he could help it. He knew that if he could just get away from him, he might be able to find his way back to Jeremy, to that man he’d been before all of this. He might have been a fuckup before too, but at least he wasn’t this…bearded, shit covered, stinking slob of a man. If the letter had arrived a few weeks later, he might have even escaped, but Bishop had been keeping a close eye on them this whole time, after all, and their master knew when to deliver the killing blow. All along, he’d known exactly how to get what he wanted. After all, Master Bishop’s fantasies were complicated–but not impossible.