Interactive: Three Word Difference (Part 8)

“I wish my bros were into big, slutty himbos like me! We’d be…we’d, uh…what was I sayin’ again?” Tim said, the genie already sapping what remained of Tim’s intellect to start fulfilling his modified wish. The genie didn’t feel the need to modify much of the big man’s physique with this one, but as Tim grew dumber still, new desires started to cloud his mind–mostly focusing on how eager he was to get a good fuck. He hadn’t gotten fucked in ages! The biggest, manliest slut on campus, and he honestly couldn’t recall the last time he’d had a cock inside him. He took another drag off his cigar, imagining it was a cock, and moaned. Leaning forward, he shoved one hand down the back of his tight spandex shorts, and probed his hole with one meaty finger, his cock leaking in the front of them as well.

“I believe, Master, that you were going to tell me more about these, ‘bros’, you live with.”

“Fuck genie, they’re all fuckin’ studs, eager for my hole, you wouldn’t fuckin’ believe how lucky I am. I mean, I wish more of them were cigar smokers–it grosses a couple of them out.”

The genie rewound that bit, and Timothy spoke his wish again.

“I wish all of them were dominant, sadistic, cigar smokers–it grosses a couple of them out.”

Tim, not really smart enough to realize what his idle wish had done, leaned back, smoked, and fingered himself for another minute or two, until someone pounded on the door. “Hey slut! Are you in there?”

Tim recognized the voice–it was Greg, one of the members of the frat. He hurried over, opened his door, and there his bro stood–muscled, shirtless, smoking a cigar just as large as Tim’s was, groping the front of his mesh shorts. 

“What the fuck did we tell you about locking your door, fag?”

“S-Sorry, I–” Tim’s excuse evaporated into a groan, as Greg latched onto his nipples and gave them a hard twist. 

“I don’t need your dumb excuses–get on the bed.”

Tim hopped up on the bed, shorts down, ass up, and Greg grabbed some lube off Tim’s bedside table and slathered some on his cock. “Yeah, that’s right slut–we have an open door policy around here–you know that. That means that whenever any of us want this hole of yours, we should be able to just walk right in here and grab it–think you can remember that?”

“Fuck bro, I’m sorry man, but fuck, get…get that cock in me man, I fuckin’ need it so bad!” Tim said.

Greg laughed. “Can’t believe a bottom like you got the biggest cock on campus. What a fuckin’ waste.”

“Fuck bro, I wish your cock was big like mine…”

The genie’s eyes glowed, and time skipped a beat.

“Fuck bro, I wish your cock was big instead of mine…”

Greg slid his cock in, and Tim gasped a bit in surprise. Greg was on the smaller side of the cocks in the house, and usually Time could take him without any trouble, but today…maybe he was just a bit tighter? Greg drove his cock in deeper and deeper with each thrust, with Tim’s slutty hole finding itself stretched to the max, as his cock dwindled down, becoming even smaller than Greg’s had been before–just a couple inches long. “Yeah, you like that slut? Like having my monster cock planted deep in your fucking guts?” Greg said as he pushed his now eleven inches completely into Tim’s ass, listening to the slut moan with something between pain and desperate need.

“Fuck bro, just…just fuck me man, fuck my slutty hole…”

Greg held out for a couple more minutes, but he eventually came deep, planted to the root, Tim shuddering as he felt his bro’s massive cock throbbing and filling him up with a load of cum. Greg finished, and pulled out. “Remember fucker, no locks for you, or we’ll just take the door off.”

It took Tim a few minutes to recover from that fuck, quivering and shaking on the bed. He finally reached down to stroke himself, and was horrified to find that he was working with much, much less suddenly–and he realized then, what he’d said in the heat of sex.

“Wait! I…I didn’t want to lose my cock too,” he said to the genie, “I wish my cock was big again!”

Or rather, once the genie was through with it…

“I wish my cock was permanently locked up!”

The genie snapped his fingers, there was a sharp pain, and Greg found himself looking down at his tiny cock in a very small chastity cage–riveted shut. “No! What the fuckin’ hell! That…that’s not what I wanted!” He tugged at the cage, but it refused to budge. “You…you fucked with my wish, didn’t you! How did you do that?”

The genie just smirked, and Tim heard the frat house door open, and the sound of loud voices in the common room downstairs. Football practice was over–and that meant most of the house was home.

“Where’s that fuckin’ slut!” one of them shouted, “Get your ass down here, now!”

Tim shook his head, but the genie’s eyes sparkled. He found himself unable to resist going downstairs, where the filthy football players all took turns with both ends for the rest of the evening, Tim losing himself in a haze of fucking, musk, smoke and humiliation that he couldn’t get enough of, even as he knew it was all wrong. He woke up the next morning in his bed, hole wrecked as usual, a dried mess of cum under his locked crotch–some his own, but most of it from his loose hole, and he rolled upright, and found the genie looking at him, still smirking.

“Have a good night, slut? It sure looked like you were enjoying yourself,” the genie said.

“Please…please, I…I wish I didn’t have to be the frat’s sex slave anymore.”

The genie just shook his head, and this time Tim felt it, the words forcing their way back into his mouth, changing in his mind, becoming something else when he spit them back out.

“I wish I have to be the frat’s sex slave forever now!”

He clapped his hands over his mouth, but it was too late–the frat president and a few other bros came into his room, and told him that the frat had come to a decision. Tim wasn’t going to be a student anymore–he was going to be moving rooms too. They dragged him down into the basement, where they forced him into a cage next to the house washer and dryer, gagged him, and went back to bed. Tim begged through the gag to the genie, begging him not to leave him like this, but he just laughed.

“I’m sorry master, I can’t hear you through that silly gag–I’m just going to have to assume my services are no longer required here–enjoy yourself.”

With that, the genie disappeared, leaving Tim to his new lifetime role as the fraternity’s cumdump.

***

The genie found his way back to the same dorm as before, now two students lighter. He looked around again at his options, and made a decision of who to visit next. There was still Eli, the jock who had been Adam’s roommate, until he got whisked away into his new life. There was the clean freak freshman who had been complaining to Timothy about his slobby roommate earlier. There was a young, thin fellow currently jacking off in his room, thinking about…one of his older, bearish professors. Finally, coming up the stairs, was an older maintenance man, coming to fix some wiring. He was a bit of a perv himself–and liked his job mostly because he could see all the hot college boys that he wanted. There was plenty to work with, but what does the genie choose?


Here’s the poll! I think this will be the last character in this interactive–once the new year hits, I’ll do another round of New You Resolutions! The bonus poll for patrons is over here as well.

Sketch: New Sheriff in Town

It was Eta Alpha Sigma’s first party of the year, and so of course that meant it had to be as loud as the boys could make it–the frat president, a senior named Evan–had told his bros to make sure of it. The college they attended was in a small sleepy farming town away from the states big cities–you could say that EAS’s first party of the year was always the towns wakeup call that school was back in session, after its quiet summer.

As usual, it didn’t take more than a couple of hours before there was the sound of the siren, and a patrol car pulled up in front of the booming house. It was tradition, really, and Evan knew what to do. He stepped outside, and walked down to where the cop was getting out…except it was a new face he didn’t recognize. The way things had usually gone were like this–frat president would give police chief his bribe for the year on the first night of the party, and cops wouldn’t show up after that for the rest of the year. “You’re a new face, man,” Evan said, already counting out hundreds he’d gotten from his wealthy father.

“Last sheriff retired–newly elected in August. Just started this week,” the new sheriff said. He came around, and his shirt read “Sheriff Dinvers.”

“Well, Mr. Dinvers–here’s the deal. Two thousand dollars in your pocket, and you don’t show up here for the rest of the year, got it?”

Apparently, he didn’t, because before Evan really knew what was happening, the sheriff had him against the car for attempting to bribe an officer of the county, handcuffed him, shoved him in the back of his car, and drove off–and the party continued on, none the wiser that the frat president had just been arrested.

Evan threw a fit, naturally, threatening Dinvers with all sorts of legal trouble once his father heard about this–but he realized, quickly, that they weren’t heading to the police station–instead, the sheriff drove him to a large warehouse, drove into it, and parked. “Now boy, I campaigned on change in this town, and a whole lot of us who live here are pretty sick and tired of you fucking frats making our lives hell nine months out of the year. I know all ya’ll got rich fuck parents, and I don’t give a shit–because I know how to get results–and I get a little something I like out of the bargain too.” The last part he whispered into Evan’s ear as he dragged him from the cop car, and over to a chair facing a screen in a little room. Evan fought and screamed, but the sheriff injected him with some sort of drug–and Evan calmed down quickly.

The sheriff bound him to the chair, pointed him at the screen, and turned on the projector–and a spiral started playing on the wall, along with a strange soundtrack–almost words, but layered on top of each other so Evan couldn’t quite tell what they were saying. The sheriff put in some earplugs, and as Evan sank into a drug induced trance, he went to work, cutting away the boys expensive clothes–and then the real fun began–he turned on the shaver and buzzed away the pretty boy’s hair–the first of several changes he’d be making to the president’s image tonight.


No one knew where Evan had disappeared to, until late the next day, when the patrol car arrived, dropped Evan off in an orange prison jumpsuit, his head shaved, and holloweyed like he didn’t sleep a wink all night. The frat was pissed, of course–they wanted to know what they were going to do for revenge, but Evan just told them to calm down. They’d sort it out, but first he needed to rest. Alone in his room, he looked at his bare head, then pulled off the jumpsuit, carefully, feeling the welts and bruises on his back where the sheriff had…flogged him. Evan had begged him for it, his cock had exploded in the middle of the session, and that’s when the sheriff had put this on him–he looked down at the metal chastity device, riveted in place, and shuddered. Evan…had his orders. He knew what he had to do, if he ever wanted that to come off his cock again. 

He came clean a couple days later. Everything–the bribes, the embezzlement, the coverups for crimes by the college and by the fraternity themselves, the rapes, the beatings, the occasional death by hazing during pledge week–all of it. He’d agreed to a reduced penalty with the county sheriff for coming clean, and within a week, EAS had been dissolved on campus, the brothers all caught up in their own parts of the scandal as their wealthy families tried to shield them. Most transferred to other colleges, a few faced charges of their own. The other frats on campus knew that a warning shot had been fired all the same–the town wasn’t going to let their antics go anymore–they had better shape up, or they would be next.

But Evan didn’t care about that. All he could think about was the words running through his head, how…good it had felt, chained to the wall, the feel of that flogger on his back, his aching cock trapped in this tiny cage. He found himself alone in the office with the sheriff, and he broke down, and begged him to release him. He’d done everything he’d asked for, he’d followed his orders to the letter–just let his cock go, that was all he needed…wasn’t it?

Sheriff Dinvers just laughed. “Pig–I don’t think you’re done here, not by a long shot. I told you if you did as I said, you’d earn a chance at getting that cage off–remember that?” He said, and pushed his boot between the boy’s knees where he was kneeling, tapping the cage with one toe of his shiny black boot. “What do you think, you wanna try and earn it? Then lick my boot, pig.”

Evan gave a little squeal of indecision. He knew–he knew–that if he did this…his old life was forfeit. The sheriff had him right where he wanted him. He…could leave. Get the cage off somewhere, even if he had to tell his dad what he’d done. He’d disown him, sure, but…but what he wanted was the feel of that flogger again. To feel the whip the sheriff had threatened him with. Feel that cock in his hole again, do anything for this rough, masculine, domineering…

His tongue was on the boot before he could even really form the thought–and he knew he was lost. The conditioning was too deep already, and he…wanted it. “That’s a good pig–why don’t you come on home with me, and we’ll have some fun?”


Evan didn’t finish college that year. He dropped out a couple of weeks after selling his stuff, told his dad he didn’t want anything to do with the family anymore, and left–he didn’t tell anyone where he was going, but he didn’t go far–he moved right in with the sheriff, so his real training, and transformation, could begin. He lived down in the dungeon, eating a strict–and massive–diet. If he was going to be the sheriff’s pig, he was going to have to look, like one, wasn’t he? He packed on weight, and he was educated in all manners of sex–piss play, fisting, bondage–but it was the pain he loved the most. When he’d been a good pig, and done all his chores, and made his weight goals, and shown he was worthy–Master would undo the cage for a session, and beat the pig raw until he came, and then lock him back up again–and cuddle with him upstairs in the bed, tending to his back, admiring the growing web of scars forming on the young pig’s hide–and tell him how proud he was of him.

A couple years later, a new deputy joined the force. He was the sheriff’s cousin, or so he said. He was a tubby fellow, but capable, and more than willing to help out the department in whatever way they needed. He always had his collar buttoned to the top, his tie knotted tight–so he could hide his slave collar underneath. He was also always mindful of his cuffs–less he expose the riot of perverse, piggy tattoos his uncle–his master–had started putting on him. But his back was always kept clean–just the scars there, showing him for what he really was. A fat pain pig, and that was all Evan wanted to be, for the rest of his life.