Tag: ghost

Arctos: Second Life Thrift (Part 2)

Tim had heard of empty nest syndrome, that parents could have a rough time when their kids go off to college, but after spending half of winter break with his dad, he couldn’t stomach anymore of this ‘new leaf’ as Brian called it. The house was filthy, all his dad wore anymore was filthy biker gear, he stuffed himself silly, drank from the time he woke up to the time he passed out, and he’d be gone for these long stretches–sometimes overnight, and he’d come back reeking of sex. Tim tried to sit him down and talk about the changes he’d seen, but his dad didn’t want to hear it. Instead…well, Tim had gotten the sense that his father was wanting him to drop out and move back home–and that, well, his father wanted to have sex with him. That was made quite clear on the last night he’d stayed there, when his drunken father had burst into his room in the night, buck ass naked, backed up to the bed and asked his son to fuck him. Tim had left that morning, and planned on not coming back–ever if he could help it–or at least until his father sorted his shit out.

Thankfully, he’d moved off campus into a little house he rented with a few friends instead of the dorms, which were still closed, so at least he had somewhere to go. He hadn’t been there for a few days, before he got a package in the mail from some company called Arctos, paid for by his father, from something called Second Life Thrift. He opened it up, mostly out of morbid curiosity, and found that there were a bunch of clothes inside, all of it absolutely filthy–just as nasty as his dad’s new clothes were, if not worse. He sealed the box back up, intending to throw them out, but instead, the box ended up pushed into the back of the closet, where Tim forgot about it rather quickly, as the next semester got rolling. He got the occasional call from his dad those first few weeks he was back at school, but he ignored them, listening to the occasional voicemail, which wanted to know if he was enjoying the gift he’d sent, wanting to know why he wouldn’t talk to him, wanting to know why he didn’t want to fuck him. It was disgusting. Finally, he blocked the number, and started making arrangements to stay at school for the summer–because one thing was certain, there was no way he was going to be living with his dad ever again.

Back home, Brian couldn’t figure out where he’d gone wrong. He had been certain that once his son got a good look at his new persona, he’d jump at the chance to ditch school and be a biker slut like him, but Tim hadn’t seemed the least bit interested. That night when he’d tried to force himself on Tim in his room had been a gamble, and one that hadn’t paid off at all. He’d gone back to the Arctos site, scrolling through some of the lots, wondering what he could send to his son that might give him a little bit of a boost, make him more amenable to the life his dad was offering him, when he’d stumbled on a familiar face–or at least, a face that was familiar to the ghost that had merged with him.

It was Jerry–a trucker that the ghost had been with, off and on, for close to thirty years. Occasionally, their lives would bring them close for a while, and the ghost had always loved getting fucked by Jerry’s massive ten inch cock, even if the trucker hadn’t had much in the way of Brian’s. He spent his time, when he wasn’t driving, focused on his weight lifting, and even when he was nearing sixty years old, he’d been a massive muscle beast, covered with hair–fuck, Brian could almost smell him now, even after all of this time. So why not send his son a gift, and give his old fuck buddy a new chance at life? It was too good an opportunity to be true.

So Brian waited, figuring his son wouldn’t be able to resist the allure of the clothes for too long. After all, it had only taken him a few days to fall almost entirely under the sway of his own ghost, back when he’d gotten his first box. He called his son, but got no answer–over and over again. Why wasn’t he picking up? Surely something must have happened by now, right? In the end, he took an extended trip on his hog to the college, and snooped around, only to discover that his son was…well, completely normal! Nothing about him seemed to have changed at all. How in the world could that even be possible? He snuck around the house for a bit, and eventually spotted the ghost of his old friend, hanging out in Tim’s room, looking a bit lost. He motioned Jerry outside, though it took him a little while to convince him that he could, in fact, see him, and asked Jerry what was going on–why wasn’t he trying to get Terry to wear his clothes?

Jerry told him that he’d been trying, but nothing seemed to work–he just couldn’t get inside the kids head. It had taken all of his energy just to keep him from throwing everything out, and sending Jerry to the dump with the rest of the garbage. It didn’t help that, even as a ghost, Jerry wasn’t the most clever of apparitions. Once brute force had failed, he’d mostly just settled into the room, vaguely haunting the place, waiting for something to happen, growing hornier and hornier, since he couldn’t seem to get any release as a spectre.

Apparently, Brian realized, his son was going to be a harder nut to crack than he’d expected. Then again, he shouldn’t be that surprised, right? After all, Jerry and Tim couldn’t be more opposed if he’d tried–which was one reason he’d chosen him, but the lack of common ground meant there was nothing for the ghost to tempt him with. Brian went back to the dingy motel room he was renting, and thought about what to do next–and eventually ended up back on the Arctos website, where he saw that their product offerings were much more robust than just some second hand clothes. In fact, as he scrolled through the various pages of products, he realized that all he’d need were a few little things to give his son a push in the right direction, and his buddy’s ghost would be able to take care of the rest.

Tim was feeling rundown. School was ramping up, and he was feeling a bit lost in his Freshman year, and that weird visit with his dad hadn’t helped things much at all. He was…worried about him, but what could he do? His dad was an only child so there wasn’t much in the way of family to contact to try and intervene. He didn’t have much in the way of friends. He was at a loss, and having a hard enough time juggling his own school work to try and solve his father’s problems for him. He turned off the sidewalk and climbed the steps to the front door of the house he shared with two friends, Eric and Max, who were both pre-med students like him. There, beside the door, was a package with his name on the label, but he couldn’t recall ordering anything recently. It probably wasn’t anything exciting. He went inside, set down his bag, then went back out and brought in the small package, which was surprisingly heavy, and sounded like there were a few metal…somethings clanking inside. Max was in the kitchen eating a sandwich–and Tim eyed the disaster area with a scowl. He supposed he was just as guilty, but none of them had really had time to clean the place up much since school had gotten so busy for them, but not having a kitchen was bugging him. He was so tired of takeout!

He knifed open the tape, and found a collection of small drink cans inside, with a note folded on top. He opened it up and read:

Greetings!

You’ve been selected by a previous Arctos customer to try one of our sample products! Arctos is a lifestyle brand for men who aren’t afraid to embrace their manliness, and enjoy the company and taste of men like them. The fellow who sent this to you has great taste, and we’re certain that when you get a taste of our products, you’ll understand just what kind of quality and craftsmanship goes into all of our products–you too, will be an Arctos customer for life!

Tim pulled one of the cans out of the box, and found that it was a protein shake, or a meal replacement shake, or both? It wasn’t quite clear from the label. The only thing it promised was that he’d have more energy (something he could use for sure), build more mass (something he couldn’t care less about), and unleash the jock within (dumb marketing bullshit, more like). He had a seven day supply, one set of shakes for breakfasts, and one set of shakes for dinner in the evening. 

He looked at the kitchen again, and then back at the can. Well, what did he really have to lose? It was just a shake after all. He hadn’t had any dinner plans anyway, and if he didn’t have to eat anything else, it was kind of convenient. He popped open one of the night shakes, took a sip–it wasn’t too bad–and carried the box back to his room, where he stashed them in the little fridge he usually used to hold his soda, but was empty at the moment.

He finished the shake, tossed the can in the trash, and sat down to get started on his homework, but after half an hour or so, the shake just felt like it was settling in his gut like lead, making him sleepy. He tried to concentrate on the chapter he needed to read before tomorrow, but it was no use, he was just reading the same paragraph over and over, making no real progress. He’d been up until three in the morning the last few days, and up again at eight to get to his nine o’clock lecture–his exhaustion was just catching up with him, and he was using the shake as an excuse. He struggled along for a few more hours, finding a bit of a rhythm and finishing half the chapter. He got ready for bed, figuring he’d just read the rest in the morning before class, setting his alarm for seven.  

He woke up starving, stumbled over to the fridge, pulled out one of the morning cans, and knocked it back, following it up with a satisfied belch–something he usually would have never done in his life, but at least it stopped the ache in his gut. Tim tried to recall what he’d been dreaming about, but whatever it was, it must have been sexy–he’d just had his first wet dream in ages over it. Pushing that aside, he tried to finish the chapter–but now he had the opposite problem. The can was right–he did have energy, so much that he could barely stay in his seat. He got to class without finishing the reading, and sitting still through the hour and a half lecture was torturous, even though he usually loved this class. All of his classes were like that though, and finally he just skipped his last one, mostly because he was hungry. He went to the dining hall, piled a tray high with food, ate all of it somehow, and then went back to his house, but the jitters didn’t stop. He ended up just walking around the neighborhood for a while, faster and faster, even jogging at times, because that was the only time his head seemed to calm down. He swore he wouldn’t have another shake, but even after a big dinner, he was…starving, he couldn’t settle down. He relented, drank down one of the night shakes, and in less than an hour he was sleeping, snoring heaving, cock tenting his sheets.

On the third day, Tim relented and went to the gym in the morning, just planning on running on a treadmill for half an hour, to burn off some steam. The next time he checked the clock, it was one in the afternoon, his body was screaming, and he realized he’d put himself through a massive workout, despite having never lifted a weight in his life. This…didn’t concern him, somehow. He ate a big lunch–he needed plenty of fuel for his growing body, after all–and went for a jog in the afternoon, returning home in the evening, and realizing he hadn’t gone to a single class all day, and he hadn’t done any of his reading since first drinking the shakes. But something just…told him not to worry about it. He tried to read, but got bored, and ended up just jacking off instead, looking at himself in the mirror in his room, how much…bigger he’d gotten, after his day in the gym, thinking about how much larger he could get. 

By the fifth day, Tim would have outgrown all of his clothes–if any of his old clothes had remained in his room. He burst out of his room after his morning shake, wearing a tank top stretched tight across his pecs, a pair of mesh shorts, and headed to the gym for his morning workout–and didn’t really bat an eye when he ended up at rugby practice that evening. The fact that he’d missed his classes didn’t faze him or his coaches. After all, a jock like him just had to worry about an easy fine arts major–he was there for sports, not to study. He went out to a bar with some of his friends, getting in with a fake ID, brought one home with him, and fucked his ass in his room before drinking his night shake and passing out again. 

On the seventh day, there was a knock on the door, and Tim was surprised to find his father standing on the step, his motorcycle parked on the lawn next to the driveway. “Hey son! I was on a long ride, and thought I’d stop by and give my favorite boy a visit,” he said, pulled Tim in for a hug–and while Tim knew he should be furious for his dad for what happened over winter break, when he smelled him, there was something about him that was suddenly…alluring. Sure, he reeked like he always did now, of booze and cigar smoke and rank musk, but there was something…else in the mix that Tim couldn’t identify. “Come on Tim, you’re happy to see me, aren’t you?” Brian said–it was less a question, and more of an order.

“Of…of course dad, come on in…” Tim said, and let Brian into the house. His two housemates were at one of their classes, so they had the house to themselves for the next few hours. Brian took a moment to look his new and improved son over in the living room, and had to say he was quite impressed with the results from those protein shakes he’d had sent to him. Gone was the scrawny, short bookish boy that had gone off to college–Tim was now a bit over six feet, and close to 240 pounds of solid mass, thick pecs, a solid muscle gut beneath them, and from the bulge in the front of the shorts he was wearing, he seemed to be packing a bit more down there as well–but that could wait for a bit. First things first, was to help Tim and Jerry get acquainted at last.

“Dang son, nice little pad ya got here,” Brian said, and started looking through the place, “Where’s your room at?”

“Oh, uh, upstairs, first door on the left.”

Brian heaved his big body up to the next floor, and Tim followed him, still trying to get close enough to figure out why he smelled so nice. “So…uh, dad, any other reason you wanted to come by? I…I mean, I wasn’t expecting you at all.”

“What, a dad can’t come spend some time with his strapping, hot-as-fuck son?”

Tim blushed at the rather…sexual compliment, recalled the last time, how his dad had tried to get him to fuck him back home, and wondered why he hadn’t. Things had gotten so fuzzy lately though, and he didn’t always do things that made sense, he supposed. The last week in particular had been really weird, and now his dad just shows up out of the blue? Brian entered Tim’s room, went right for the closet, dug around and hauled out the package Tim had received earlier, which he’d mostly forgotten about. Then again, over the last few nights, he’d been having these…dreams, and now, looking at the box, it was almost…deja vu.

“What, ya never even opened it?” Brian asked.

“I…I don’t even remember what’s in there,” Tim said.

“Some clothes I bought for ya, off the internet. I thought ya’d love em. Go on son, take a look.”

So Tim starting digging around in the box, and pulling out the contents, laying it out around him. There were a bunch of tanktops, or t-shirts with the sleeves hacked off, some trucker hats, some jockstraps, cut-off jean shorts, thick wool socks, some steel toe boots, and a few cans of dip. All of the clothes were heavily stained and looked like they hadn’t been washed in ages–that, and they reeked of sweat and musk, grease and exhaust too. But looking around at them, he found that he wasn’t…that disgusted by the gear, less so than he would have expected. Little did he know, thought Brian could see behind him, that the ghost of Jerry had his fingers shoved into Tim’s head, tongue sticking out, working on manipulating the young man as best he could. 

“Here’s what we’re gonna do, Tim,” Brian said, got down beside him, and pulled his son into his pit, where he’d sprayed the special deodorant from Arctos, one designed to make men much more agreeable to his demands, We’re gonna dress you up in this gear, and then you’re gonna fuck your dad’s hole, real good. Then, I think I’m gonna crash on your couch for a while–you’d like to spend some quality time with your dad, wouldn’t you?”

Tim nodded in a stupor, between the ghost working him over and the compelling musk of his father, and together, they got him dressed up in some of Jerry’s best gear, and then he fucked his father’s dirty hole for half an hour, certain, somehow, that he’d done this all before. When Eric and Max got back a few hours later, they found Brian and Tim on the couch watching TV, Tim still dressed in the gear from the box, but with the addition of a lip of chewing tobacco shoved in his mouth, spitting into an empty protein shake can. The two clean, nerdy housemates were put off at first, but Brian was able to smooth things over with them both–by evening, they were all happy to let Brian crash on the couch for a while, especially Tim, who found himself thinking more and more about how hot it had been to fuck his dad’s hole. He couldn’t resist, in fact–he dragged his dad back into his room after dinner, and fucked him again, loud and rough, while the two roommates tried to focus on their school work–but as far as Brian was concerned, the two of them wouldn’t have to worry about things like that for much longer.

Brian had arrived in late February, and both March and April passed in a blur for Tim. The protein shakes kept arriving from Arctos, and he kept drinking them. His routine was much easier now. It didn’t take much urging from his dad to convince him to drop out in March–they both knew well enough that Tim wasn’t smart enough to keep up with college, even the easy courses for stupid jocks like him. He got a membership at a little gym near the house, and started spending most of his time there. He’d wake up in the morning, down a shake from Arctos, and then jog to the gym for his daily workout, which usually lasted four or five hours. Then he’d jog home, and spend the rest of the afternoon with his dad. Sometimes they’d go for a ride–Brian had surprised him with a bike of his own (one that Brian had “convinced” a rather rude biker to give him) and go fuck off in the woods for a while. Other times they’d stay home, and fuck around there instead.

While Tim was out each morning, Brian would find other ways to occupy himself. For the first few weeks, he turned Eric and Max into his own personal projects, testing out a few other arctos products on them both. Before too long, they had dropped out of school as well, a pair of grungy, chubby, stupid pigs with tiny dicks, hungry for Tim’s cock as much as Brian was. After all, he couldn’t afford to give Tim a chance to really think about what was going on, and Jerry’s ghost needed the stimulation. His stamina had always been off the charts, and Brian wanted to make sure the ghost of his friend always had a hole available where he could drop a load. The landlord was another issue, after he came around and saw that the house was turning into a literal sty. With a little manipulation, they came to a new agreement. He’d keep paying the mortgage and utilities, but wouldn’t expect rent in cash anymore–instead, he’d get to enjoy full access to all the cameras he was going to install in the house to catch all the pigs in action, and then spend the rest of his time jacking off, watching them all go at it, day and night.

Somehow, Arctos just knew when to send the second collection of items from Jerry’s lot, and this second load was the final set. He’d lived his life on the road, in his truck, and so hadn’t had much in the way of earthly attachments. In any case, he figured it was time to introduce Jerry and Tim properly. He sent Eric and Max off to spend some time with the landlord–he’d recently gotten divorced, and he was thrilled to have the two pigs in his house, where he could watch them rut in real time. That gave him a few days with Tim, alone, to help him get acquainted with his ghost. He didn’t think he’d run into much trouble, but he had a few surprises up his sleeve, just in case.

Tim was still sleeping off their bender from the night before–in addition to his new dip habit, which had grown more and more severe over the last few months, he’d also taken to hard liquor as well, the cheaper and stronger the better, which had added to his hard gut, even as the rest of him swelled with muscle. Brian went in and gave his son a shake, and then a kiss, and told him he had a surprise for him, when he was up. Tim roused himself, stumbled into the bathroom to take care of business, then into the kitchen for his morning shake. Once he had that in him, and a lip full of dip, he went out to the living room where his dad had a couple more boxes like the one he’d sent him before. He opened up the boxes, and found them full of more clothes–more work gear, really. Some flannel shirts, all well worn and stained with dip spit, grungy hi-vis vests and jackets, more hats, some overalls and coveralls coated with engine oil and grease. Tim was happy with them–though he didn’t really know what he was supposed to do with all of it, or why all of it seemed so…familiar to him. He looked up at his dad, beaming, and shot up from the couch when he saw someone else standing there too.

“Now son, don’t be alarmed, this is Jerry–he’s a friend of mine. He’s been helping you out for the last few months, and now it’s time the two of you got properly acquainted,” Brian said, motioning to the ghost standing beside him, “Jerry died a few years back, you see–a bad accident, but now he gets a second chance, thanks to you.”

“You…what the fuck are you talking about?” Tim asked, backing away. The pale figure was massive–easily six and a half feet tall, packed with muscle, head shaved and with a beard reaching down to his waist. He was naked, and his cock–fuck, it had to be nearly a foot long, and it was mostly soft. “Why the fuck can…ghosts aren’t real, dad!”

“I woulda said the same thing a few months ago, but trust me, this is gonna be great for us both, I promise.”

“You…you did this, all of this, didn’t you?” Tim said, “You…sent those shakes, and…and the clothes! What the fuck did you do to me?”

“Look, I just needed to loosen you up a bit, so you’d understand, that’s all!”

He looked at the ghost, who hadn’t said anything yet, and then back at his dad. “So…so what now?”

“Now, well, now you and Jerry just gotta merge, is all.”

“No fucking way. I’m not letting that fucking thing in me.”

“Aww, come on, I ain’t that bad,” Jerry said, looking a bit sheepish, “I got a big dick, ‘n I fuck real good.”

“Get the fuck out of my house, dad, we’re fucking done–for real this time,” Tim said, stripping out of his clothes, and throwing everything into the boxes, “and you can take all of this shit with you!”

“Sorry son, but you don’t get a say in this,” Brian said, and gave Jerry a nod. The massive ghost stomped over, and while Tim expected him to pass right through him, the apparition grabbed hold of him, and wrestled him to the ground. “I was gonna save this for after the two of you were together, but I’m not surprised you need a little more tenderizing,” Brian said, and pulled out a sizable dildo from a bag he’d had on the coffee table. “I’ve heard these asslickers are fucking amazing, and I ordered this one custom, just for you.”

“Keep that fuckin’ thing away from me! I’m no fuckin’ bottom,” Tim shouted at his dad.

“”Sorry son, but I promise you this, this is the last cock you’ll ever take–don’t worry about that,” Brian said, and lubed up the dildo. He pressed the head to Tim’s tight hole, and watched as it slid right in, despite Tim’s cursing and resistance. The dildo had looked like a candy, almost, and when it slipped inside, he was surprised to taste…sugar on his tongue for a moment, until the outer layer dissolved away, and the first magical layer of the dildo was revealed. The sugary taste turned bitter, and then rank, the outside of the dildo now colored a rather vile mix of green and brown, something between camo and a shit stain. It tasted like someone had shoved a months worn jock into his mouth, and then he smelled something–and realized it was him.

Now, Tim hadn’t really been the cleanest fellow over the last few months, but he usually showered once a day, before putting his filthy clothes back on. It was one habit his dirtier father hadn’t been able to break him of, but he had a feeling this would take care of it. He watched as the layers of grime on the asslicker were worn off, and appeared on his son’s body, dirt and sweat and salt and grease and dipspit. “Aww fuck yeah son, now you’re smelling better, don’t you think?”

Tim tried to disagree, but let off a little moan instead, as the dildo pulsed inside him, and he found the smell wasn’t quite as bad as he’d thought. He…kind of liked it, actually. The ghost relaxed a bit, now that Tim wasn’t fighting him, and slid his fingers into the young man’s mind, warping him further, pushing his excitement to the extremes. “Fuck yeah man, we’re gonna be so fucking filthy together, just you fucking wait,” Jerry said to him, and Tim…saw things, memories, maybe, disgusting scenes from Jerry’s life, with and without Brian, and all of them were thrilling. 

He didn’t notice the next layer appear on the dildo, which was now quite a bit smaller. This one was silvery, and as it was absorbed by Tim’s body, he started to get older, the hair on his head receding, while everything that remained turned grey. His gut sagged a bit, his muscles shrank slightly, but after a few minutes, he looked to be about the same age as his dad, and then, by the time the layer was gone, he was even older–pushing sixty, about the same age Jerry had been when he died. 

The dildo was smaller now, just a plug really, and Brian felt it wiggle out of his hand and disappear up Tim’s hole. He gasped, feeling it squirm up his body, growing smaller, until it reached his skull, giving him a massive headache as it drilled into his brain, mashing it up, Tim drooling dipspit on the carpet as he grew dumber and dumber, feeling his cock swelling larger and larger until it exploded underneath him, expelling most of his intellect and sense with it, leaving him with a cock twice the size, and a brain not really capable of much at all. “Fuck, I…what the fuck happened tah my head?” he slurred.

Jerry could tell this was his opportunity, climbed on top of the older, filthy Tim, and shoved his massive cock into his now well loosened hole. But where Brian had merged with his ghost rather gracefully, after two thrusts Jerry was simply sucked inside Tim’s ass, and he began to writhe on the floor, Brian standing over him, watching as the final changes swept over his son, and now lover. He grew more, another few inches, until he matched Jerry’s ghost in height, and every bit of muscle he’d lost growing older he put back, with interest. A thick pelt of silvery white hair grew all over his chest, down over his belly, shoulders and arms, and tattoos began to swim up to the service of his skin, the same sleazy, redneck ink that had always turned Brian on before. A massive beard sprouted from Tim’s face, wiry and stained brown from the spit that usually drooled into it, and then Tim shuddered, his own mashed mind melding with Jerry, mixed all up together, and when he looked up and saw Brian looming over him, he couldn’t for the life of him remember if it was his dad, or…or someone he’d known long ago.

Brian helped him up and showed him his new body in the mirror, and Tim growled in excitement, seeing his old, muscular frame, filthy, clothes stretched tight over his muscle, fresh dark spit coating his lips, and he started stroking his cock, both of them watching it grow to the full fourteen inches it was now–even longer than it had been when he’d been Jerry, before. “Fuck Pa, can I fuck that nasty hole a yers already?” Tim asked.

“Pretty sure yer the daddy now,” Brian said, and bent over the counter, “Go on man, I’ve missed that cock a yers so much, fuck yer biker son’s hole already.”

First things first, Tim got down behind him, and ate him out, tasting Brian’s rank crack for a few minutes, until his cock was aching and throbbing with excitement, and then he rammed it in. It was so large, even the well practiced Brian moaned in pain as it slid into him, but Tim only fucked at one speed–as brutally as he could. Not many bottoms could handle him, which is why he’d kept coming back to Brian, after all. Well now, they were together again, for another couple of lifetimes. He came deep, holding him close, thrilled to have a second chance with his lover from a past life–and now, with Arctos, they could have a life unlike anything they’d ever imagined before.

Arctos: Second Life Thrift (Part 1)

Well, he’d made it. Life as a single dad wasn’t what Brian had signed up for, and raising his son all these years while holding down his job had been a struggle, but the moment that he’d been aiming for was past–his son, Tim, was off to college, a find young man himself now, and Brian found himself sitting in his now much emptier house wondering, “Now what?”

He’d been ecstatic at first. Privacy! Time to finish the projects in the garage he’d started, but that had always been delayed because of Tim’s school work, or extracurricular activities, or community service work. But that eagerness lasted about a month, when the depression set in. The projects were still sitting there. Brian was spending more and more time after work just sitting in front of the TV, a microwave dinner in front of him with a beer or six, drinking and wondering why his son didn’t call him more often. Is this all he had now? He thought back to when he was younger, and all the things he’d wanted to do, a life he’d pictured for himself before his family had taken over so much, but it was hard to remember any of it. It was a ghost, really, lingering in the corners of his mind, haunting him. 

He didn’t remember how he stumbled on the web site. An online ad, probably, for some service provided by a company called Arctos, and after clicking through a few links, he’d found himself poking around an online thrift shop. It was called Second Life Thrift, which seemed like rather intense branding for some second hand clothing. But one thing kept dragging his attention back, day after day–this biker jacket. It was well worn but still in decent condition from what he could see. He’d always wanted to own a motorcycle, but it had been cast off, just one dream like so many others that he’d never managed to fulfill, too busy making sure his son was provided for. But what was stopping him now, exactly? He dropped a mention of it to his son in a phone call, and Tim laughed at the thought of his dad wearing a bunch of leather and riding around on a bike. But rather than snap him out of it, it only made Brian consider it further. The price was a bit steep for second hand, but it wasn’t like you could find stuff like this at every thrift store. One night, after a couple of extra beers, he pulled the trigger on it. More likely than not he’d wear it around a bit and then it would gather dust in a closet somewhere, but at least, for the moment, he’d feel like he had control of his life again. Maybe it would pull him out of this funk, at least.

It wasn’t until he perused the confirmation email, and noticed that it had been divided into three shipments, that he realized he hadn’t just bought a leather jacket–he’d bought an entire lot of second hand goods! No wonder the price was so steep. There was no inventory of what was included, but he did figure out that the shop wasn’t so much a thrift store, as a front of estate sales. All of the goods belonged to one guy, apparently, who was, sadly, no longer alive. A bit morbid, really, but at least the name made more sense now. No wonder the shop didn’t advertise that more extensively.

A few days later, the first shipment arrived. He wasn’t quite sure what he’d been expecting, but three sizable boxes were left for him while he was at work, and he dragged them into the house. They were numbered from one to three, so he decided he might as well start with the first one. He broke the tape, opened it up, and coughed a bit from the smell–leather, but also…well, he wasn’t quite sure what the musk was rolling off the contents of the box was. He pulled the first item out, and found himself looking at the jacket he’d thought he was buying all along, so at least he had that. It…stank a bit. He’d have to get it dry cleaned at some point, but he couldn’t quite resist the desire to try it on. He did, and was a bit annoyed to find it was too big. That was the problem with buying stuff over the internet, he supposed, you never quite knew what size you were getting. If everything else was this big, well, a lot of it would be going to the dump today. Underneath the jacket was a bunch of denim jeans, all of them unwashed as far as he could tell, and covered with dirt and stiff with unidentifiable stains. He pushed them away, not really wanting to touch them, and pulled the next box over–only to be further disgusted–sitting there, right on top of the second box, was a pair of clearly soiled briefs. He didn’t move them, but under those he could see other clothes, socks, more underwear, some t-shirts, and the stench was…well, his eyes weren’t quite watering, but it wasn’t good. The third box didn’t have clothes at least, but it’s contents were no less disappointing. On top, wrapped up in some bubble wrap, was a clock, surrounded by a neon sign that said, “It’s always drinking time!” and below that, was a humidor well stocked with a collection of cigars.

Brian wasn’t much of a drinker, and he’d never smoked a cigar in his life. Still, he might be able to sell them and get the cost back for what he’d paid. For now, though, all of this was going out to the garage where it wouldn’t stink up the rest of the house, and left the jacket on top of the boxes with the rest. He’d try wearing it again after he got it cleaned up.

The rest of the evening passed normally, aside from the fact that Brian couldn’t quite shake the sensation that he wasn’t alone in the house. It wasn’t the first time he’d felt jumpy since his son had left for college, but this was different, somehow. Like there was something around him, something poking around his house, poking at him too. He probably just felt weird after going through the boxes–after all, he had a dead guy’s stuff sitting out in the garage, why wouldn’t he feel weird? He turned in a bit early, worried that he might be too unnerved to sleep, but he didn’t have trouble at all–but once he was out, that was when the dreams started.

They were intense, sexual, but when he woke up, he wouldn’t be able to remember a moment of them, but each time he’d wake up with a raging hard on, or he’d discover that he’d shot a load into his sheets like he was a teenager again. There was that presence as well, like someone lying in bed with him, but when he turned on the light, there was always nothing there. The dreams continued all week long, and by the time the weekend hit, Brian was exhausted, and all he wanted to do was get one good night’s sleep. Probably the only way he’d manage, he figured, was if he got rid of all of that shit in the garage, but while he intended to do so, in the end he spent a rather uncharacteristic weekend in front of the TV, binge drinking some cheap beer he bought at the supermarket. The presence was there, but where it had unnerved him before, he was growing more comfortable with it. It was nice, not being alone at least. 

Sunday, he got more drunk than he’d ever been in his life. The last thing he really remembered was going out to the garage, putting on that leather jacket, and opening up the boxes again, allegedly to throw out the filthy clothes inside. Instead, he woke up next morning in bed, naked aside from the leather jacket, with a pair of the filthy, stained underwear pressed to his face. He sniffed them, and while the aroma hadn’t changed, his opinion of it had–he gripped his aching cock and jacked off while he sucked on the crotch of the underwear, almost like he could imagine them filled with another man’s cock, and shot all over his sheets, which he hadn’t changed all week, and were beginning to stink a bit themselves after all of these wild dreams. 

Dreams like this one. It had to be a dream, right? He left the underwear there in his bed, and saw a half smoked cigar on his nightstand, resting in an ashtray he recognized as coming from the boxes. He coughed, throat scratchy and head pounding with a hangover. He stumbled out into the living room, and saw the neon sign hanging on the wall–and found a beer out of the fridge and downed it. He found his phone, dead because he hadn’t bothered to charge it, plugged it in and called work, letting them know he was sick and wouldn’t be coming in. Then he surveyed the wreckage, disgusted with his behavior.

But why? Hadn’t he enjoyed himself?

How could he know? He didn’t remember anything from the night before.

He needed to relax. No need to worry about work today, just take a load off. He was too stressed out, everything would be fine.

It seemed like a good idea. A reassuring idea. It only occurred to him later, while he was watching TV, that he wasn’t quite sure whether the thought had been his own, or come from…somewhere else. From whatever presence was around him, something he was growing more and more certain was an actual thing, and not his imagination. That should terrify him, but the more he relaxed, the more he settled down, the closer it got to him…and it was comfortable, somehow. He’d worked so hard, after all, for so long. Didn’t he deserve a chance to let go a little?

He called out of work for the rest of the week, said he was feeling like crap, and that he just needed some time for himself, which he hadn’t taken in ages. His boss was understanding–he’d been urging Brian to use some of his PTO for ages now. Without the pressure of that, Brian found he could relax even more, and soon, he’d pulled out some more gear from the boxes, and was wearing it around the house. The jeans were too loose and baggy around his ankles, but with the help of some leather suspenders he dug out, they at least stayed up. The shirts were all too big as well and stretched out around the gut, but if you tucked them in, it wasn’t really a problem. He kept the underwear on, shoving his hand down the front, and pulling it out to sniff it. He was hungry all the time, and kept the local restaurants in business, ordering lots of food, always intending there to be leftovers, but somehow he kept devouring all of it. At the bottom of the second box, which he hadn’t excavated at first, he found a collection of DVDs, all of which were gay pornos featuring, well, bears apparently. It wasn’t a term he’d heard before, but by the end of the next weekend he’d started watching those movies more than cable.

The first week back to work was torturous. His shirts and slacks didn’t fit right after all the binging he’d done. He craved beer and cigars all day long–but worst of all, he was alone. Whatever…thing had been following him around, it didn’t go with him to work. He was angry, and frustrated, and lonely, and when he got home he stripped down, put on the biker’s clothes (which were beginning to fit him better by the day), watched porn and jacked off while he smoked, drank, and ate himself sick, all surrounded by that comfortable presence, feeling more relaxed and happy than he could remember.

It was Thursday when he arrived home and found more boxes sitting outside his front door, along with something he certainly didn’t expect–a mattress. He opened up the garage door and dragged everything in before the neighbors could see everything, opened up the boxes, and took a couple of steps back when he saw everything that was inside. Dildos, plugs, sex toys all of sorts of descriptions. In another box was more leather gear, harnesses and vests, along with more denim even filthier than the stuff that had been in the first shipment. He was taken aback–he’d…let himself get carried away before this, because he felt so lonely, but this–this was too far. He wasn’t gay! Sure, the porn was…fun, but that wasn’t, he wasn’t–

“Fuck yeah, look at this stuff! They really got a hold of everything!”

Brian had turned away from the boxes to think, and when he spun back around, he froze. There, standing over the boxes was…well, he didn’t quite know what it was. A ghost, he supposed. It was an apparition or a hallucination, something standing there with all of the color drained out of it, completely naked–but judging by the size of the man, or the thing he was looking at, it was about the right size for the clothes he’d been receiving…and he…it felt like that presence he’d noticed ever since the stuff had arrived on his doorstep.

“What the fuck? What are you?”

The ghost turned, surprised to be addressed, apparently. “Fuck, ya can see me now?”

“What do you mean, now?”

“Fuck man, beats me. Last thing I remember was a real wild fuckin’ night, then I was here–you had the boxes of my stuff, and I’ve just been…hanging around, you know.”

“You–you’re the one who’s been making me…wear all of this shit, aren’t you? The dreams! I…I recognize you from them, I…I  can’t remember, but…no, fuck this shit, this shit is all going to the dump, right fucking now.”

“Whoa whoa whoa,” the ghost said, and drifted over to where Brian was standing, “Come on, bud. Maybe…a little, sure, but you’re the one who needed to loosen up, right? Live a little? I’m just…givin’ ya a little boost is all. Nothing serious.”

“No, I’m fucking done! I don’t know what the fuck this is, but I’m through with it,” Brian said, stepped around the ghost, picked up a box and tossed it in the back of his car. “You’re going to the dump, and I’m getting back to normal!”

The ghost kept trying to dissuade him, as Brian loaded up all the boxes that he could fit. The mattress was going to have to wait, but that would be the second trip. Before he could finish loading, however, the ghost lunged at him, and his fingers slid right into Brian’s head–and he stopped moving, his eyes and mouth going slack. “Fuck, being inside you feels so fucking good,” the ghost said, his cock growing erect and drooling a bit of ectoplasmic cum on the garage floor, “I’m not going anywhere, buddy–but why don’t you have a listen to a better idea, eh?”

Brian’s head nodded, his skull moving through the ghost’s fingers. The ghost tried to push in further, but couldn’t–but this was better. Before Brian could see him, he’d barely been able to get in him at all, and even then, only when he was sleeping. He’d been forced to just whisper to him, cajole and tempt him–it had worked, but fuck, this was going to be so much easier now. After he finished explaining to Brian what the new plan was, he drew his fingers out, and was pleased to see that the same blank expression remained across his face even without his fingers inside him. “Now, why don’t you go take care of what we agreed on, right Brian? Then we can have some more fun.”

Brian found himself returning from the dump, satisfied that he’d done what was necessary. Just…too much stuff cluttering up his house, really, so many unnecessary things. He couldn’t really…remember much of what had happened, and when he looked at the clock, he realized that it was the middle of the day of Friday–he’d forgotten about work entirely, he’d been so focused on…on getting rid of all the unnecessary stuff. The biker’s stuff, right? Oh well, he’d call and explain what had happened. Everything was going to be just fine now.

He pulled into the garage, and sure enough, the boxes were all gone. It was a relief to see that. Then he went inside the house, and his jaw dropped. “No…no no no…” he moaned, when he saw the neon drinking sign still on the wall, the porn DVDs by his TV, but everything else had been stripped from the walls. All of his books, all of his movies, his little collection of blown glass–all of it. And there, sitting on the sofa, was the ghost. 

“Welcome back, Brian–feeling better now that we got rid of all of that junk?” the biker said, grinning from ear to ear.

Brian looked down, and realized he wasn’t wearing his own clothes–he was dressed in the filthiest set of jeans he’d ever seen, reeking like a urinal, leather chaps on top of them, no shirt, the leather jacket and a greasy denim vest on the outside of that. He rushed to his bedroom, and just groaned when he saw what was in there–the filthy mattress that had been delivered had replaced his own, and there, hanging from the ceiling, was a leather sex sling taking up most of the room. He opened the closet, his dresser, but all of his old clothes were gone–and the biker’s filthy gear was piled around the room in heaps. “What…what the fuck did I do?” he muttered, and the ghost came up behind him, and slid his hands back into his skull, making Brian go slackjawed again. 

“Now there’s no reason to be scared, or sad, or angry. All of this was your idea. You wanted this. But don’t you think we should celebrate, Brian? I think you should throw a little party, doesn’t that sound fun?”

When Brian came back to himself, he was in the sling, wearing a harness, chaps, boots and nothing else. He struggled, but he had manacles on his arms keeping them hooked to the chain, and the ghost was there, stroking his own cock. He stepped up, and pushed inside him–it wasn’t quite like fucking, but it still felt real fucking good, and the ghost humped up against him. “I was never much of a fucker, you know,” he said, “But I just want to be inside you so bad, it’s all I can think about…” he moaned and fucked a bit harder. “You’re so tight though! I’ll…We need to loosen you up some more, and I know just the thing…”

Brian heard the front door of his house open and close–someone had just let themselves in! He struggled a bit, but the ghost passed a hand lightly through his skull, and he relaxed again. “You want this, Brian. Remember, all of this was your idea. Putting that ad up on the internet, all comers, anyone can use your dirty hole…”

A big, bearish fellow stepped into the bedroom, saw Brian hanging there, and leered at him, groping his cock before stepping up, and pushing inside Brian’s ass without much ceremony. He didn’t last long, and the thoughts of horror and disgust were slowly replaced by pure horny need. By the end of the day, with nearly ten loads drooling from his well used hole. Brian was thanking the ghost for helping him loosen up–and he spent the rest of the evening with a big plug up his ass, watching more porn, and listening to his new ghostly friend talk about his life.

The ghost’s name was Ben. He’d never had money, he’d never had much in the way of family, but he’d sure as hell had fun, riding all over the country, sucking, fucking and pissing all the way. Things had changed over the years. You had to ride deeper now to find the real freedom, now that so much shit is all the fucking same, and so damn sanitized and family friendly. But didn’t Brian want to be free? Isn’t that why he’d bought that jacket in the first place, because he knew that, somehow, it was connected to freedom?

Brian didn’t go back to work. He didn’t even bother calling to tell them he quit–what the hell did that place even matter? It was just a cage. A cage like the cars driving around on the road, the little boxes and the little boring lives that men just…accepted. That he’d accepted. But not anymore. He sold the car–couldn’t get much from it, but it was enough, and he didn’t need to go anywhere yet. All the clothes fit him perfectly now–he’d grown a few inches taller over the last few days, so the jeans hit the boots just right, and his fat gut distended the ratty bar shirts just like they had when Ben had been wearing them. It was comfortable. It was right. That’s what the ghost said, at least, and Brian was more than happy to believe him.

The last shipment would arrive any day now, and the ghost was so eager for it. Sure enough, the truck pulled up, and offloaded the ghost’s old, but reliable, motorcycle. A beat up Harley that had seen hundreds of thousands of miles, but now that it was Brian’s it would see a few hundred thousand more. There were a few boxes with the shipment as well, mostly odds and ends, but it was the bike that the ghost was obsessed with. “Come on,” he said to Brian, “Let’s take him for a ride.”

Brian climbed on, but he’d never so much as ridden a motorcycle before, much less drove one himself. But the ghost hopped up and settled on the seat behind him, and slid his arms down into Brian’s own, and he shuddered as the ghost took control of them, pushed his way into his body from the back, the biker’s big gut in the middle of his back, feet pushing into his boots–and then they were off. Whether he was in control or not–he didn’t know. It felt like it was the ghost just…guiding him along, showing him how to lean, what to twist and when, providing a steady hand. “This could be your life, you know,” the ghost whispered to him, “I’d want this for you. I had a real fucking good time when I was alive, and…I know I can’t be alive again, but you…if you let me in, this could all be yours. Really be yours.”

Brian shuddered as the bike accelerated, slipping into the other lane to breeze past a few cars, the shocked look on people’s faces as he did enough to make his cock explode in his filthy denim jeans. “Fuck–Fuck, I…I fucking do,” Brian moaned.

They pulled off the highway and found a little secluded gully, parked the bike, and Brian bent over it, pants down around his boots, while the ghost ran his hands over and through him. Brian…could tell he was a bit scared as well. Neither of them knew what this would do to them both, but they both…wanted it so badly. The biker fucked him for a while, but it wasn’t enough–they knew it wasn’t enough, so he switched to his fist, pushing it into Brian’s eager hole–maybe even more eager than the biker’s had been when he was alive, and it slid deeper and deeper, until it wouldn’t come free. Both of them panting and heaving for breath, the biker forced his way deeper in, Brian’s ass not distending so much as his mind opening up more and more. The ghost’s other arm then, both of them up to the shoulder, then his head, crawling his way into Brian’s guts, into his very being, and together, they came as the ghost disappeared inside him, beame a true part of him, and Brian collapsed to the ground, groaning in pain, ass shuddering and twitching in orgasm as well, from the sheer excitement of it.

When he stood up again, he was Brian, mostly. At least, on the outside. On the inside, well, that was difficult to say. He shook his gut, which had grown out another few inches, and let off a belch, stroked the long beard that had grown out of his face, and gave his ass a scratch before pushing a couple of fingers in. Maybe on the way home, he’d cruise a few rest areas, see what he could find, yeah, fuck, that sounded hot. By the time he got home, ass pumped full of cum, pants damp with piss that he’d been soaked in a few times, including his own which he’d let go while riding, he entered his house, picked up his phone, and found a message from his son. Fuck, he was a handsome fellow, wasn’t he? Last Brian had talked to him, he’d been struggling at school a bit, trying to figure out who he was. At the time, Brian had been struggling himself, with that same question. Well, Brian didn’t have that problem now–he knew exactly who he wanted to be. He knew exactly who his boy ought to be too. Ben had always wanted a family–when he was alive. Winter break was coming soon–and maybe, if he played his cards right, he could show his son exactly what kind of man he ought to be.

Patreon supporters already have access to the second part! They can read it here. I’ll post it for everyone else next week.

Sneak Peek: A Ghost Story

Another commission! This one is available for patrons right now–I’ll post it in full next week! Here’s a teaser for all of you in the meantime…

I thought death would be the end of it.

I’m not religious or anything. Never really thought there was much to life, so never really expected much of an afterlife either. Maybe if I’d gone out differently. Peacefully, you know? Just lying in a bed, slipping away. Or who the hell knows maybe it wouldn’t have mattered in the least, and I’d still be floating around. In any case, here I am, still stuck in my fucking restaurant (or what had been my restaurant until my murder), weeks later, just…drifting around, watching all of this fucking shit go down. First seeing my body carted out by the paramedics. Then seeing Jerry happily sitting there in the office after the fact, whistling away, thinking about all the money he’s going to try and make now that he doesn’t have to worry about me getting in the way of his grand business schemes. It was my fucking food, damnit! I didn’t want to fucking franchise shit, or market anything, or update the place, blow a lot of cash for frills that don’t fucking matter. I just wanted to cook good fucking food, was that so much to fucking ask? Money doesn’t fucking matter–now I really know you can’t take it with you. Now he had sole ownership of the place, and he thought he could do whatever he wanted with it. Of course, he thought he’d be able to find my recipes somewhere–but little did he fucking know they’re all in my head. He had a bit of a fit when he couldn’t find anything–but that’s where the weasel came in.

By weasel, I mean Dennis, my sous chef–though Jerry promoted him to head chef after I passed. He was in on it too, I realized–my death that is. Big bearish fellow, on the chubby side. Not especially bright, but brighter than I’d thought. He was competent, and could follow direction well, and apparently he’d been watching me closer than I’d thought he had–because it wasn’t long before he was getting real fucking close to my food–close enough to satisfy Jerry, at least, and just a month after fucking killing me, they were about to reopen my fucking restaurant tomorrow, and fucking hell, I’m just so fucking angry. I think…I can influence things. I’ve knocked a few plates over, got in Jerry’s way once or twice as he was working and made him pause in confusion, but it’s exhausting. I…I want a body. Whenever I get close to Jerry, or to Dennis…there’s something inside me, some urge, telling me to…to get inside them, somehow, but when I try to press in through their skin, I can’t. I can pass through a wall, but not through a person–it makes no sense to me, but apparently, those are the rules. Still, I can’t shake the feeling that I could be…doing something. I want to do something to them, but I don’t know what. There’s just so much rage, and…and all I can do is waft around like this, semi-transparent, glowing faintly, and wondering how long this is going to last–how much of this I’m going to have to watch.

Mostly I follow Dennis. Just looking at Jerry makes me so fucking enraged that I shake myself into a glowing mist, and it takes me hours to get myself back together. Dennis…even knowing he’s betraying me, I can’t help but kind of miss the fucker. I should say that there was another reason I hired him–the bear could suck mean cock. As a chef, mostly running my own business, it didn’t leave a lot of time for relationships, especially not when you’re gay. Dennis, well, he was homely, but he must have been practicing somewhere, because after flirting with him for a couple of days, he just got down in my office and sucked me off, no questions asked. I can tell you that mouth of his got him out of a few scrapes around here, when I got too pissed off at his incompetence. So yeah, I miss him–mostly his mouth. I’m a ghost and still fucking horny–how the fuck does that work exactly? 

So I’m mulling my fate, and I follow Dennis into the bathroom, floating right through the stall door, watching him drop his pants and get ready to sit down…and something nudges me. I can’t get in through his skin, but…but maybe there’s another way inside. I know I don’t have much time to think about it–and if I think about it too much, it’ll disgust me, but I’m not…well, I’m not living anymore, it can’t kill me again. Before he can sit down on the toilet, I go around him, lunge forward, and shove my ghostly hand right into his asshole.

He yelps in surprise, tries to pull away from my hand, but I come with him. He reaches around to try and pull me out, but he can’t grip me–even if he can even feel something back there at all, beyond a weird force. But my hand inside him…fuck it feels good. It feels alive. Without even really thinking about it, I shove more of my arm in, and there’s no real resistance. Before I even realize what I’m doing, my head forces its way into his hole, and he groans in pain, I imagine–I can…hear it reverberating inside his guts, actually. My torso follows, and then all of me is inside him, as he totters about in confusion, and I…I start worming my way through him, looking for…for something.

From the outside, it must have looked something like this. Dennis would have yelped, and pushed his way out of the stall, groaning. First, his ass would have expanded as my arm, and then the rest of me forced my way inside of him, and then as I pushed deeper, his gut would have started to grow. I can see him, watching his guts suddenly expand and inflate, his hands desperately trying to push his aching, stretched gut back down, but apparently, ghosts like me still have a certain kind of mass. I can feel him pushing on me in there, trying to force me back out the way I came from, and I do get forced somewhere–a tiny opening, my head forced out of it awkwardly. I spin around and look up at Dennis, who is looking down at me in terror…like he can see me. “Fuck…T-Trevor?” he mutters in disbelief, “What the fuck is…is goin’ on?”

I just stare up at his bearded face, both of his chins, I see how scared he is, and I wonder what I’m doing, for a second. But just for a second. I am still…so fucking angry at him, for what he and Jerry did to me. I realize what hole I just popped out of then–my head is literally sticking right out of Dennis’s crotch–he’s trying to push me out of his cock! I grumble, and pull my head back inside of him, and start forcing myself higher–I need to get higher, to his head, but he’s fighting me, still trying to squeeze me out. He almost manages once–he gives himself a big hug, and I slide out of his belly button up to my waist, my own gut rubbing against his for a moment. I think the image of it was so jarring that he stopped squeezing, letting me claw my way back inside him. I found my way to his neck, shoved my head through the narrow passage…and then, I wasn’t me anymore.

I was Dennis…

Read the rest on my Patreon here!

Redneck Haunt (Part 3)

Jay didn’t last much longer at the smoke shop–a few weeks later, his manager caught him sleeping on the job for the last time, read him up and down the wall, and kicked his ass out. Jay tried to muster the energy to care, but he was too drained and exhausted to put up much of a fight any longer, and so he went home. He didn’t want to go there, and the thought of not having a job to go to for all night scared him in a way he couldn’t quite understand, but once he was inside, it was too hard to think about anything at all. It was about one in the morning, and he could hear something happening in Kerry’s room. He opened the door a crack, and saw his friend, on his knees, thrusting his hips into thin air. He was completely asleep, or at least his eyes were shut, and his mouth slack, his body seeming to move more like a puppet, than by any internal force or desire. Still, he was too tired to think much of it, and so he climbed into bed, and fell asleep almost immediately–the boy could sense him, but focused on his daddy for the rest of the night, only joining Jay once Kerry had woken for real, late, and hurried to get ready for work.

After that…Jay didn’t wake up much any more, and the boy drained him even further, now that he no longer had to worry about him having to leave the house for any reason, feeling the young man’s strength and life flowing into him with every load of cum. Kerry was too focused on what was happening to himself to focus much on Jay–his mind was a riot of memories, old and new, real and created by his boy, that he wasn’t even quite sure who he was anymore. What he did know, was that he loved his boy. He shouldn’t love him, but…but he did, and the feeling was so strong it was impossible for him to deny. He also knew that his boy was going stronger. He would possess Jay regularly, and each time, he was shocked to see what had happened to his friend’s form. He looked closer to sixty now, his hair receded back past the crown of his head, now just a dingy grey. His muscles had all collapsed, and his gut was heavy. He stank, and not like healthy musk–he stank of death, his teeth rotting out of his head, and yet…Kerry desired him anyway. Party, because his boy was inside him, but also…also because it was Jay. Because he’d always wanted Jay, and that desire persisted, somehow, even as his body seemed to age and decay right before his eyes.

One day, when he was feeling particularly guilty, watching his boy suck his cock with Jay’s throat, he pulled together all of the strength he could muster, and pushed him away. “No boy, no–no, you have to stop this, you can’t…he’s going to die, if you keep doing this to him. You have to stop, please, for me–for daddy.”

Jay’s sunken eyes looked at him, and then his body stood, and they looked down at his body, “I could kill him, that’s true. I was planning on killing him–or rather, I assumed I’d have to. But I’m almost strong enough daddy, I just need a little bit more.”

“I…I don’t even recognize him anymore. How did you do this to him?”

The boy smiled a toothless, unsettling grin, and then went back to sucking his daddy’s cock, pushing back, making sure Kerry wouldn’t fight back or protest, not until after he’d gotten another load from him. But Kerry kept pushing, thinking about that smile that had turned his stomach in a knot, looking down at himself through the cigar smoke, really looking, down at his hairy, sweaty gut, smelling himself, lifting up a hefty arm and snorting at his stench. It made his cock jump, his heavy balls pumping out a bit of precum which his boy drank down eagerly into Jay’s gut. This wasn’t him, was it? Whose clothes was he even wearing?

He had on a pair of coveralls and filthy workboots, neither of which he could remember buying in his life, neither of which should have fit him. He shouldn’t be this fat, he shouldn’t reek, he definitely shouldn’t be smoking, or drinking another warm beer from the 24 pack he’d started bringing home on an almost daily basis. What was he becoming? Who was he becoming? Who was he forgetting in the process? He came, and it made him feel dirty–he finished his cigar, and then  his boy told him to get to bed.

The dreams became stronger. He lost sense of where the dreams ended, and real life began. His boy was always there. Jay was there too…or…or was it just his pig? He still cared about him, but the love he’d felt started to curdle into disgust and contempt, his desire for company into a deep pleasure in control. He enjoyed abusing the pig’s toothless mouth, slamming his massive cock deep in it’s filthy hole, his son cheerleading from the sideline, the two of them sharing smoky kisses while Jay drooled on the floor, his own cock and balls barely a nipple, completely inert.

One night, as winter was thawing slightly into an early spring, Kerry came home from a long day at work, hungry for a beer and his boy’s holes, maybe a rough fuck for his pig too, and his boy was there, shaking with excitement…and he touched him. It was electric, it wasn’t just…force. It was flesh. His boy was there–really there, in front of him. “I’m here daddy, I’m back.”

He knew, in his gut, he should be happy, but all he found welling up was absolute terror. His son had anticipated this, and forced his daddy to the floor with his mind, tearing away his filthy overalls and running his hands over his filthy ass.

“Now I can finally give you a piece of me, daddy, after I’ve taken so much from you. I seeded Piggy earlier, and he’s never looked better, don’t you think?”

He looked over, and saw Piggy curled up in his bed, fatter than before, looking healthier as well, like a kind of life had returned to him, but his eyes were so empty, empty of everything that had been Jay, just…just a slave, a pig, a thing. “Don’t…not like him, please…”

“Oh daddy, I’d never make you pig–not unless you made me very, very angry. No, but we can get rid of that young man now, forever. You won’t be troubled by him anymore, you’ll just be my happy, nasty daddy, and we can be happy together again, like before. Isn’t that what you want?” he ran his cock up and down Kerry’s crack, making his shiver, his cock leaking against his own desires, and after a quick fuck, Kerry was gone. The boy’s daddy let off a great big belch, feeling his boy’s cum leak from his hole, gave him a long, sloppy kiss, happy to be home at last.

Redneck Haunt (Part 2)

Jay woke that evening, after sleeping through his alarm, feeling like he hadn’t slept at all. He could remember that he’d been dreaming…something, but couldn’t remember any details, beyond the fact that it had been sexy. He was still pretty horny actually, but try as he might, he couldn’t manage to jack off, no matter which hot chick he was thinking of, like his dick was already spent. Frustrated, he threw on a fairly clean uniform for the smoke shop and went out, finding Kerry watching TV, legs spread wide…and was his cock hard? Jay tried to talk to him, but he seemed pretty out of it–they’d planned on throwing that basement crap out today, but with Kerry’s exhaustion and the fact that Jay had overslept, they didn’t have time. In fact, over the next few months, exhaustion became a norm for them both, and it began to show around the house, neither of them cleaning up after themselves much like they had. Kerry hoped that his boy would just leave him alone–but from the moment he stepped in his house, he was by his side, talking to him, sucking him off, kissing him, licking him from head to toe, and Jay never noticed a thing. He tired to avoid coming home, but he felt some strange compulsion to return every night, and his boy was always there, and Jay too–though Jay was looking a bit…haggard lately.

Unbeknownst to him, every morning, while Kerry was working and he was sleeping, the strange boy was in his room, sucking his cock and draining him dry. At this point, he was so exhausted he’d been caught falling asleep on the job multiple times, and was given one more chance before his boss told him he’d be fired–but the sleep at work was the only time he actually felt like he’d slept at all. He had deep circles under his eyes, but there were other strange changes going on. Jay had always been in good shape, fairly muscular with barely any fat at all on his frame, but ever since he’d stopped sleeping…it was like his muscles had been sagging and draining away, bit by bit. He had the beginnings of a gut, too. Other little things, as well–his hairline had started receding, and he’d lost interest in shaving, letting his stubble fill in as a scraggly beard. He was perpetually horny, but hadn’t jacked off in months. At first he simply hadn’t been able to cum, but now he couldn’t even get hard, and both his cock and balls seemed…smaller. He looked like he’d aged into his late thirties in a matter of months, and as scared as he was by the sudden change, he also felt almost no interest in doing anything about it.

Until one day in late fall, when things changed for the worse. Kerry arrived home, as usual, bracing himself for the boy again, terrified of his own mind, which seemed…muddled lately, like he couldn’t trust his own thoughts and memories, and he kept…confusing his dreams with his real life. He opened the front door, and nearly let out a sob of relief when he saw that the boy wasn’t there to greet him. Was he gone? Had he left? Was he better? The relief was short lived, when Jay came down the hallway, naked, cock hard as a rock, a sly grin on his bearded face, and he said, “Hey daddy, look what I can do now.”

It was him. He didn’t know how he knew…but he could sense his boy there, in Jay’s body. He tried to run, but the door slammed shut behind him, and refused to budge. “What–what did you do to him? Get out of there, boy!” Kerry said, his voice shaking, and his boy just laughed.

“Oh but Daddy, wouldn’t it be nice to fuck a real hole this afternoon?” his boy said, walking closer, “Besides, I know the real reason why you wanted him to move in here–and you should really fuck him now, because there won’t be very much left when I’m done with him.”

“No–No, this is. Get out of him, right now boy. I’m…I’m your…father, and I want to know what you’re doing to him.”Something that felt like a massive gust of wind swung into Kerry, sending him off balance. He tipped back and landed on his back–he tried to get back up, but he couldn’t lift his arms or legs. Jay’s body walked over, unzipped Kerry’s jeans, and tugged down his pants and underwear, letting his hard cock out, where it jutted straight up. “Oh, it was a nice try, but we’re still just playing our little roles. Maybe in a while, I’ll let you boss me around for a little bit…” He squatted down over Kerry’s cock, and slid down onto it, with a shudder and gasp, “Oh…oh fuck, daddy! I forgot…I haven’t felt you inside me in…in so long…”

Kerry was powerless, as the boy forced Jay to fuck himself on Kerry’s cock. It was true, what he’d said–he was gay, but in the closet, and he’d always wanted Jay. He’d never dared tell him that, given what a raging homophobe he was, but he’d always held out hope that one night, he might get him too drunk, and sneak a taste. But not this, not like this. Fuck, it did feel good though. He’d fucked a few truckers in his life, and that was about it–but this–fuck, he could, he could get used to this. With a moan, Jay groaned, and shot his load into his hand, before slurping it all up. Kerry came a minute later, deep inside Jay’s hole, and when the afterglow had faded a bit, they boy lifted Jay’s body off the cock, stumbling a bit. “Fuck, took…a bit more energy than I expected. Better get him to bed again–wouldn’t want him to catch you with your pants down daddy…right?”

Kerry remained on the floor for a while, crying a bit, wondering what, exactly was going on. He’d managed to get his pants back up by the time Jay–the real Jay–had gotten up, yawning, and headed to the kitchen to make himself some coffee. The boy followed after him, got down, and kissed his daddy on the floor. “Don’t worry daddy, I’ll be with you soon, and then you can fuck my hole for real.”

Redneck Haunt (Part 1)

“I still can’t believe ya actually bought a house though! Fuck, I mean, I know that shouldn’t seem so damn outta reach, but I can’t even imagine,” Jay said, looking around the place, Kerry beaming a bit in the kitchen. It was a simple ranch house, a bit rundown, but plenty livable, “Gotta admit, I’m pretty fuckin’ jealous, since I’m still crashing with my damn dad.”

“Well actually, I wanted to talk to ya about that,” Kerry said, “This place has a second bedroom–you want it? I wouldn’t mind a little help with the bills, but mostly I’d just like the company, and ya can help me fix the place up!”

“Fuck, never thought the first person to ask me to move in with them was gonna be a guy,” Jay said, laughing as Kerry rolled his eyes at him.

“If ya don’t wanna, you can keep sleeping on your dad’s couch, I just thought–”

“No, Kerry, I mean…are you sure? I’d love to get the fuck out of my dad’s place, you know that.”

“Sure I’m sure!” Kerry said, grinning, “We can move you in next week–how’s that sound?”

Kerry and Jay had been friends since they were little tykes, running around the small, rural town they called home. The economy was struggling, but chugging along well enough. Kerry had always been the smarter and more diligent of them both–he ended up getting a technical degree and fixed farm equipment around the entire county, which was how he was able to afford a first home at the age of twenty five. Jay had never been the school type, preferring to run around chasing girls. He hadn’t knocked anyone up, thankfully, but he’d dropped out of high school, and the best he could find was the night shift at one of the smoke shops on the nearby indian reservation along the highway. Still, they’d been fast friends for ages, and neither figured living together would be much of an issue, especially with their opposite schedules, and sure enough, for a few months, everything went fine. Jay would work all night, and come home as Kerry was heading out the door for work. He’d sleep the morning, and wake up about the time Kerry came home. In the afternoons, they’d scour thrift shops around the area to furnish the place and make it a bit more livable, or they’d work on some chores around the place, putting a fresh coat of paint on the walls, but when they went to clean out the attic, cellar, that’s when things started going a bit…odd.

The first time Kerry had gone down there, he’d found a bunch of boxes of junk down there along the wall, which he assumed was from the previous owner. He’d called the real estate agent, but hadn’t received much of an answer. They’d decided to just go through it and get rid of it themselves one day, and see if there was anything in there which might be worth salvaging, but the boxes mostly contained a bunch of filthy work gear in sizes way too large for either of them, some kid’s toys, a few assorted knick knacks haphazardly stored away, and a few pieces of furniture in decent condition but filthy. Jay suggested they just haul the whole lot of it off to the dump, but Kerry said he was too tired to do it that day, and they could do it later. True to his word, he headed right off to bed as soon as they got upstairs, and he didn’t get back up before Jay had to head off for his shift at work.

When he got back early the next morning, Kerry was at the table looming over his cup of coffee, looking like he hadn’t slept a wink. “Fuck man, you look like shit.”

“Yeah, I fucking feel like shit,” Kerry said, taking a sip of his coffee, “Didn’t sleep very well.”

“Bad dreams or something?”

“Yeah…s–something…” Kerry said, but didn’t elaborate. Jay himself had had a long night, and so he headed to bed himself, unaware that the two of them weren’t alone in the room, that right there beside Kerry, was a young man, his hand on Kerry’s shoulder, which Kerry was trying to ignore as best he could.

“He’s living in my room, daddy?” the young man whispered in Kerry’s ear, “I’m not sure how I feel about that…Still, since I’m sleeping with you, I don’t think it’ll be a problem for now.” He looked to be in his late teens or early twenties, shorter and stocky, with a solid mix of fat and muscle, and a goatee around his mouth which would have looked good, had he had a few more years of life to grow into it.

Kerry ignored him as best he could, unable to understand how the strange young man who’d appeared in his dreams the night before had somehow been in bed with him the next morning, stroking Kerry’s cock, and then he’d sucked him off He knew, that the young man wasn’t quite real–or at least, he wasn’t real in the same way as he and Jay were, because when he’d tried to shove him off, his hands had passed right through him…but when he’d rested his hand on the back of his head a while later, as he was moaning, he’d been able to feel the young man’s greasy hair under his fingers. He couldn’t tell Jay about this–this didn’t make any sense at all, and his friend would just think he’d gone insane. Hell, he probably had gone insane, right? Isn’t this schizophrenia or something? He needed to get help, he needed–

The young man was still naked, aside from the pair of ratty boxers he’d appeared with, and he leaned in closer, kissing Kerry’s neck, one hand finding his hard cock and stroking it gently, the young man helpless to stop him, and he moaned again, his worry’s lost in pleasure. “It’s so good to be back, daddy–I’ve missed you so much. Don’t worry, now that your boy is back with you, you’ll be happy again in no time.”

“Please–I have to go to work…Don’t do this again.”

“Nonsense Daddy, we have time for another quickie, don’t we?”

Kerry came as quickly as he could, his cock shooting his cum right into his underwear, and then the young man returned control to him, letting Kerry scurry out of the house, and off to his job, trying to shake his dreams and waking nightmare as he got in his truck and drove off. His boy watched him from the front window, and then walked to his old room, where Jay was already sleeping soundly, slipped his hand through the covers, and started toying with his cock as well, before sucking him off all morning long, in his dreams.

Mr. Lear’s Buddy (Part 2)

***Warning*** This is a bit graphic with a tale auto-erotic asphyxiation, but it’s almost Halloween, what do you really expect from me?

There was a rumor, at the time, going around the school, that something had happened to the school’s janitor, Mr. Lear, over the summer. Of course, everyone at the school knew he’d died; the administration had announced that at the opening assembly. Everyone had liked Mr. Lear–sure he was a old fart, but he’d been silly and made friends with any number of students during his many years working at the school, and it had been a blow to the community. The old man had  always claimed to be a magician, but all of tricks were just sleight of hand–although none of the students had ever been able to catch him at it, in all of these years. He’d also been…accused of some odd things over the years, but no one seemed to care much, and they were generally forgotten quickly. That said, his death over the summer was the greatest mystery of all.

The official story was a heart attack at home, and no one had any evidence that that wasn’t the case, but the rumor going around was that Mr. Lear had, in fact, died in the school itself. The more scandalous versions alleged that he’d hanged himself in the gym locker room–and the version students only dared whisper was that he’d died with his hand around his cock, jacking off–just like some people had heard this senior, Terry Winters, had done at home two years earlier. Such a nasty rumor would only get a foothold, of course, if it hadn’t been at least…a little plausible. Mr. Lear had been a nice guy, but he’d also been a bit of a creep at times. The school administration tried to tamp down the story, which only made it spread faster.

Buddy had heard some of this, but he hadn’t thought much of it–he didn’t think much of anything, really. He sat the rest of the game out on the sidelines, trying to not rub his cock through his uniform pants. All he wanted was for the thoughts to stop, but being away from the game only made it harder to think about something else–because usually, Buddy wasn’t thinking about anything at all. The game finished–his team won, no thanks to him, and he got changed as quick as he could, and got home, the thoughts dimming slightly as he got away from the school, but didn’t leave entirely.

His dad was angry at him for his poor performance, and yelled and berated him for being such a terrible waste of manhood. Buddy, feeling terrible, went to bed, but didn’t dare cry. What if he wasn’t only a bad football player, and a bad man, but a faggot too? What then? It took several hours, but he eventually fell into a fitful sleep…and dreamed.

He never dreamed anything much–the few he remembered were mostly odd colors and patterns, not stories. But this–this was vivid, solid. He was standing in the boy’s locker room of the high school, by himself…or was he? There was…someone else here, someone watching him. He ran to the door, but it refused to open, and when he turned around–there, in the middle of the locker room, naked aside from a filthy jockstrap and a rope noose pulled tight around his neck, was Mr. Lear.

“Buddy?…Buddy! So you’re the one! You have no idea how glad I am to see you–to have found you,” the old man said, walking closer to him. There was something…wrong about him, something terribly wrong, with how blue his skin was, how…cold he seemed, the incredibly bloodshot eyes. “You make me feel…young again.”

“Wake…wake up. I gotta wake up!” Buddy said to himself, pinching his arm, but nothing happened.

“Oh Buddy–you aren’t in your dreams anymore–you’re in mine! And the best thing about dreams? They can last a very, very long time, you know. Why, it can feel like…years have passed, and you wake up the next morning, and it’s just hours. Isn’t the mind amazing? The spirit?”

“No–No! Don’t touch me, don’t touch me!” he screamed, the bony old hand reaching down, grabbing his arm, and Mr. Lear tugged him into an icy hug, his mind…filling with…thoughts and desires, ideas and fantasies he had never imagined. Mr. Lear pushed him down onto his knees, where Buddy pressed his face to the nasty jockstrap he had on, grinding his face into the dry, crispy fabric, his hands wrapping around his own cock, jacking it slowly.

“You see, I’d been waiting for so long, Buddy, trapped in that school, just a shadow of myself, unable to move on. I’ve been trying to get into the others, but I was so weak, it took so much magic to just keep from moving on! But you–you’re so…empty, so perfect. Dumb, empty, with no real will of your own. But I can help you, Buddy. I can give you what you’ve always been missing! Desire! Purpose! You’re head’s so empty, why, there’s plenty of room for me to make myself at home, right?”

Buddy found himself nodding. Bony fingers with long, chipped nails slipped the jockstrap down, revealing a cock, perpetually hard, blue with desperation.

“I was almost there, right on the edge. I knew I needed to stop, but it feels so good, that explosion! And magic is cheating of course–you have to…to know that death is seconds away for it to really count. But I didn’t even get there, stuck on the edge in…so many ways. I want…I want to feel it again, Buddy. I want to feel what it’s like to cum again. To fuck again, to smell a filthy jock, to seduce men and have my way with them. My magic kept me tethered to the world, but if you become my vessel, it will become yours, you know. The power to bend wills, to change minds…we can have so much fun together, you and I.”

“No…No, please…” Buddy muttered, feeling his mouth open anyway, tongue extending to taste that bulging, dead cock inches from his mouth.

“I expected you to say that, at first. But we have ages in our dreams, you know. I can show you how wonderful it can be, to say yes. I can show you so many things tonight, so many wonderful things! Come morning, we’ll be a new man together, I promise.”

Buddy screamed, mouth wide, but Mr. Lear gagged him quiet, thrusting his cock straight down the boy’s throat. He’d learn, oh he’d learn–and he had he had all the time to teach him to be the best, most perverse vessel he could possibly be.

(A ghost story a bit too late for Halloween. Shut up, I know.)

They said that the woods were cursed, but Jules didn’t believe that one bit, and he’d gotten the five acres in the countryside at a steal. However, as the first summer wore on, even he had to admit that some strange things were happening, and that prompted him to at least look into the rumors that some of the long time residents liked to tell. Apparently, there had been a father and son who’d lived on the property years earlier, and the father had abandoned him. The son, unable to bear the thought of living without his father, had run off into the woods, and everyone assumed he’d died somewhere nearby, and haunted the property to this day, looking for his father.

Jules wasn’t sure what to make of that, but whenever he was outside, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was being watched, and sometimes there would be a clear knock at the door, and he’d hear a young man’s voice calling for his Papa, but whenever he answered the door, there was no one there. Still, it was enough that Jules started to have some doubts, and was wondering if he was going a bit crazy. He decided that a vacation would probably do him some good, and so he made plans to spend a few weeks away from home.

However, as he started packing his things up, he started noticing that bags would spontaneously unpack themselves when he left rooms, and the knocking and voice was growing more insistent. A few times, outside, he’d catch a glimpse of a young, chubby man in overalls in the woods, but by the time he got there to investigate, he’d be gone. Still, Jules was leaving for a while–nothing was going to stop him.

The tickets were purchased, the taxi service was scheduled to arrive the next morning, and everything was finally packed, ghost or not, and the knocking wouldn’t stop. Jules was awake in the living room, scared out of his mind, and finally he went to the door and flung it open, and shouted at the woods, “I’m leaving, and there’s nothing you can do to stop me!”

“No Big Papa, you’re not leaving this time. You’re going to stay with me forever,” the voice said behind him, and he spun around, and there the young man was, feet away from him, and Jules let out a scream, and then all was still.

The taxi drove up the next morning, but there was apparently some sort of mix up. The man living there said he’d never planned on leaving for the airport–who would take care of his son? He couldn’t leave his son, not ever. In his mind, Jules tried to speak, tried to tell the cab driver that the ghost was keeping him captive, but it was too late. He was trapped–doomed to be the young ghost’s big papa for the rest of his life, and most likely in death too.