The Loser Part Two

Wilton was sweating a bit as he waited for the email to come in. The game was still going on–and it was the end of the day, finally, and he’d done his best, but so far he’d lost every round. He hadn’t managed to eat enough during lunch, and ended up trading 25 pounds of muscle for 50 pounds of fat, giving him quite the paunch suddenly–though at least his clothes still fit. Another masturbating challenge came next, and he almost passed that one, but he’d had to go to a meeting before he could finish shooting the second load in thirty minutes, and squirmed in his seat as his cock shrank two inches and went from cut to uncut. But the current task had been strange, simply telling him to wait in his office and keep working until everyone else had left.

His last coworker walked to the elevator and stepped inside, and almost immediately a new email arrived. He opened it with a bit of dread, and read:

Well done! You actually managed to win a round. No changes for you this time.

Your new task: Go into the restroom and strip naked. Then, lick every toilet seat clean. You have fifteen minutes.

It can’t be serious. He sent an email back with that written down, and all he got back was:

We’re serious. Thirteen minutes.

He went into the bathroom and stripped out of his suit, went into the first stall and looked at the seat, but felt himself gag almost immediately at the thought. Still, he powered through for a few minutes, before throwing up into the bowl and flushing it down, and he just gave up, waiting for the last few minutes to run down, before a new email came into his phone.

You lose! Guess you’re afraid of toilets. Good thing you’ll be diapered and incontinent from now on, you big baby. Still, we think you’ll like the feeling of a full, dripping, stinking diaper. In fact, forget about changing your diapers regularly. Dirty diapers are the hottest fetish for you now, so you wear them for at least a week before putting on a fresh one.

“Wait…what? No!” Wilton said, but it was too late. Looking down, he saw the diaper had already appeared around his waist, and a second later, helpless, he felt piss flood into the front of it, warm and…and kind of nice. In fact, it was really nice, and he felt his soft cock start to harden in the front of the diaper, and he whimpered a little bit. He tried to take it off once he’d finished pissing, but for some reason it wouldn’t come undone, and as he struggled with it, he got fully hard and switched to rubbing his cock through the diaper lustfully, or at least until he heard the door open as someone entered the bathroom–the janitor.

To Be Concluded…

The Loser Part One

“What the fuck is this?”

Wilton looked at the email that had just popped up in his work inbox, with a subject in all caps: NEW GAME. He had no clue who had sent it to him, and assumed it was just spam, but he opened it out of curiosity, and read the message:

Welcome to the game! You have been invited to participate by ***REDACTED***.

The rules:

1) Do what we tell you to do, and you get a prize–we don’t change you at all!

2) Don’t do what we tell you to do, and you get punished!

Here’s your first task: masturbate in your office, and eat your load of cum out of your hand, in the next 20 minutes.

Wilton read it again, thoroughly disgusted, and looked around the office, wondering who could have sent this piece of filth to him as a prank. Sure, he wasn’t the nicest supervisor, but he didn’t think anyone would have the balls to send him something like this. He saved the message, figuring he could ask IT to maybe track the email and went back to work, only to get a second email 20 minutes later, with the subject: YOU LOSE. Rolling his eyes, he opened it and read:

You didn’t do what we asked you to do Wilton–enjoy your new beard–you can never shave it off.

Your next task is to take your lunch break, and consume at least 2000 calories in the next hour. Enjoy your meal!

Now this was getting out of hand, Wilton thought, and scratched his cheek, only to feel a massive amount of hair growing in across his face–an inch long full beard growing in over a matter of moments, and he realized the game was for real, and he grabbed his coat and rushed out of the office for lunch before anyone could see his new face.

To Be Continued…

As the self-proclaimed cool guy of the group, Marcus was always trying to stand out. He did his best to impress the ladies with his tattoos and long goatee, and always made a point of mentioning how amazing it was to work as a skydiving instructor, usually inviting girls up in the plane for a free lesson–he’d be holding onto them tight the whole way down of course. Well, while his friends liked the fact that Marcus wanted to be the cool guy, his endless preening did have a way of getting on their nerves, especially when he did it every night they went out for drinks.

It was just supposed to be an April Fool’s joke. They’d bought the six pack from some curio stand on the street corner, promising the perfect pranks for anyone, and really, how could they resist something called “Boring Beer” which promised to make even the biggest partier into the lamest wallflower? It was perfect. They surprised him with the six pack before they went to hit the bars, and insisted he drink one so they could get a photo of it, and then went out. However, Marcus just wasn’t that into it for some reason, and ditched them at ten, claiming he was tired and wanted to get to bed early.

From that day on, the group didn’t see much of Marcus. They discovered that he’d put his two weeks notice in at the sky diving tours, and it was a month later when one of them finally caught him leaving his apartment, looking very different from the Marcus they’d known and loved. He’d cut his beard off and was growing his hair back in, but he was balding severely, looking more like he was in his mid 40’s than his late 20’s, and had packed on quite the gut. Even stranger, all of his tattoos and piercings had simply vanished, and when pressed, Marcus denied ever having tattoos, saying he’d always been too chicken to even consider it. He had become a total bore, and flummoxed, his friends left and didn’t see him again.

In fact, there was only one aspect in his life where Marcus wasn’t a total bore–he’d turned into quite the pervy faggot. He spent all of his free time jacking off it seemed like, and the only thing that could get him off was humiliating himself in front of some cool young guy, who’d chat with him, taunting him, tell him he was too much of a bore to ever go to bed with someone cool like them.

“Oh, I admit, it’s a rather strange way to start an exercise program,” the masked man said, “But trust me, we have a very high success rate. Now, let’s start filming, eh?“

Jerry struggled, and fought against his bonds and gag as the man started running the paddle along his ass. “Yeah, look at you, look at the fat fucking pig you are. Squeal for me piggy, I want to hear you squeal and grunt like a fucking fat sow, or I’ll paddle you so hard, you won’t sit right for weeks.”

Jerry fought, and the man smacked him hard, hard enough for him to start grunting as the man had told him to, making both him and the man with the camera start laughing at him.

“I’m gonna fuck your fat ass pig, I’m gonna breed you good, just like you asked.”

The man rammed his cock up Jerry’s hole, paddling him every time he started fighting back, until he finally just accepted it, grunting and oinking as the men asked, until they’d both had their way with him, and they turned off the camera.

“Alright, well the hard part is done,” the masked man said, “Now, here’s how this works. You have two choices. You can hit your goal weight in six months—just follow the training regimen as we prescribe it. It’s really that simple. However, if you skip a day, one of us will pay you a visit.“ he said, attaching a chastity device around Jerry’s cock, “and you’ll do everything we tell you to do if we pay you a visit, or you can kiss your cock good bye forever.”

“Now, we don’t blame you if you fall off the wagon,” the second man said, “and trust me, we have a whole bevy of pigs who’ve decided to stay fat. If you miss enough days, trust us, you’ll love being humiliated as a fat pig. If it comes to that, trust me, when we send that video to all your friends and family, all it will do is turn you on so much you’ll beg us to film another one for them. So, that’s your choice—slim down and live your own life, or become another one of our obese pigs, desperate for humiliation and a rough fuck—the choice is up to you.“

With that, they undid his bonds, and left Jerry in his apartment, shaking and terrified. After collecting himself and testing his new chastity device, he looked at his new workout routine—and his new diet. It was more extreme than anything he’d tried before, but he had no doubt it would do the trick—if he could follow it—but he didn’t have a choice, did he? His cock gave a little stir, and he tried not to think about it, and started with his one hundred jumping jacks.

Source: bfwolfe-blog

Now, I don’t take a boy from every show I do, certainly not. I would have hundreds! What a burden. No, I’ve taken twenty-seven in total, though I don’t have them all still with me. Some I’ve released, with or without memory of the time spent under my control. A few I’ve been convinced to part with, usually for large sums of cash, but three at once? Well, I suppose there’s a first time for everything.

Oh, I know I’ll have my hands full, training three at the same time, but I never back down from a challenge. Still, I’m trying to settle on their specialties…Rick, in the middle, is the easiest–won’t he just be the cutest cub? I’ll have him hanging off my arm at all the bear runs for the next few years, at least until he gets a bit older and starts balding–I’ll train him for other duties then, maybe…a smoker. Yes, I think he’ll look dashing with pipes and cigars stuck in him at all times, don’t you?

That leaves Gary and Hugo. Hugo, on the right–tiny cock, hairless body. He’s going to be a sissy. Women’s panties, shaved head to toe, maybe I’ll even make him forget he has a cock–just a big pussy where his ass should be, I’ll rent him out like the little whore he’s meant to be! And Gary, goodness, maybe I’ll go somewhere radical–I think I’ll bulk him up. Natural, of course, no steroids, just good old fashioned hypnosis. It’ll be a long journey, but I bet I can make a pretty penny off him once he’s 250 pounds of pure muscle.

Source: shavedcocklover

“I just don’t see why all of this information is necessary.”

“I assure you, Mr. Kilward, that we use all of the information on those forms in the hiring process.”

“Well yeah, but isn’t it just, a little too…personal?”

“If you’d like to leave, no one is stopping you.”

Zach looked at the door, and then at the interviewer across the desk. He really needed this job, but sexual interests? Number of previous sexual partners? When do you feel the most sexy? He didn’t want to answer any of this.

“Here, I’ll tell you what,” the interviewer said, “Go ahead and leave blank any questions you don’t feel comfortable answering, alright, and we can fill them in later.”

That sounded fair to Zach, and so he hurried through the forms, generally leaving the more probing questions blank, before handing the papers back to the interviewer, who started putting the information into his computer.

“Hmm, well, it looks like you left out the number of previous sexual partners you’ve had, Mr. Kilward, I’m just going to ballpark it, and say…1700.”

“What? 1700, but–” Zach said, but his head was suddenly crushed with memories of hundreds of sexual encounters he had somehow forgotten.

“Yes, and I think you made a mistake here, under sexual orientation. You marked ‘straight,’ but you seem 100 percent gay to me.”

Men, all of them men. How many men had he been with? What was happening?

“Hmm…preferred position? I think, ‘bottom.’ Oh and I love this one–’When do I feel the most sexy?’ Hmm… that’s a hard one, but if I hazarded a guess, I’d have to say, ‘When I’m humiliating myself, acting like a fat pig and begging men to use my like the fat slutty cumdump I am.’”

“No, no what are you doing? Please, please stop!” Zach said, but let out a loud snort of pleasure when the interviewer reached over the desk, pinched his nipples through the shirt and gave them a twist.

“Tell me what you want little piggy, don’t be shy.”

“Oh fuck, can…can I suck your cock *grunt* please sir, I haven’t had a drop of cum in hours and I’m so hungry…”

“Then get under my desk and suck me off bitch, but take it slow–you left so many blanks, it’s going to take me hours to fill it out for you.”

Source: paintchipsforpyromancers

“A cure? Well, unfortunately Ed, your new condition is, well, a bit more chronic in nature. Yeah, that’s right–you’re gonna be an old, fat fuck from here on out, no matter what you do…well, I mean, there are ways to manage your symptoms, I suppose, though I doubt you’d be very interested.

"Oh, it isn’t complicated, one pill a day will be enough to keep you as your old self, but if you miss a dose–well, you know what will happen. Still, I’m not a charity Ed, if you want me to help you out, you need to do something for me.

"Oh yeah, that’s it, suck on that pouch, you fucking fat faggot. Who’s the fat one now, huh? You have at least a hundred pounds on me, and you’re gonna feel all of it shaking and jiggling when I fuck your ass.

"Oh, the pills? Sure, I have them, but we have the frat house to ourselves this week–everyone else went home for vacation. I think I’ll–enjoy your fat ass for a few more days, before I let you go back to that hot shot body you were so fucking proud of. Now bend over–watching you sob has got me horny as fucking hell."

“Drink it—Fucking drink it, faggot!”

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

Source: treasureislandmedia.com

Eugenics

Commissioned by Anonymous

“You ready yet?”

“Not yet, hold on…now…what’s this doing here–that shouldn’t, I don’t think…”

James sighed–this was taking forever. Harry might be a nice guy, but he wasn’t exactly the brightest bulb in the room. He was better with the more routine maintenance, but Rick was out sick this week, and when you ended up working late, you took what you could get. At this point, the rest of the staff had pretty much cleared out of the building–James figured that the two of them were the last people left on the floor, if not entirely. He sighed, and looked around the laboratory. He was a genetics researcher investigating the causes and symptoms of aging, and in his thirties, he was just starting to feel some of the effects he’d spent his time studying. Harry, on the other hand, was quite a bit older than him, and had worked for the company longer than James had been alive. James kept wondering why the old guy didn’t just retire–hell, he probably had enough in his pension and 401(k) by now, but maybe the old guy just liked working.

“Al…alright, that should do it,” Harry said, closing the side of the centrifuge, “Let’s see if this thing works now,” and he hit the power button.

Hey, wait, shouldn’t we unload it first–” James said, but it was too late, the device was already spinning–and spinning, and dang, he’d never seen it go that fast before. Harry, equally worried, tried to power it down, but the device wouldn’t stop, or even slow, and before he could pull the plug, the vials in the device started flinging away from the machine, bursting against the walls but also against the two men, who did their best to cover their faces as vial after vial of experimental serums slammed into them and the walls around them. James wasn’t quite quick enough though, one of the vials slamming into his face, sending him reeling backward and crashing to the floor of the lab, stunned, a gash on his cheek, and the serum burning into his face, making him cry out in pain.

Harry, his glasses broken by a stray vial, managed to grope around and find the plug to the centrifuge, finally cutting off the power, and then he sat back, stunned, while James struggled up and over to the emergency shower station, pulling the handle down, the cold water drenching him in seconds, and he could feel the burning serum run down under his clothes, spreading the burning sensation all over before it finally subsided. “Harry,” James said, “Harry get over here and shower off, who knows what just got all over you–you need to shower off.”

“Oh don’t worry about me,” Harry said, “I feel fine.”

“Come on, just do it.”

In truth, Harry didn’t feel fine at all, but he honestly couldn’t see anything without his glasses and was afraid to move, less he mess something else up, but still, he pushed himself up and followed the sound of James’ voice over to the shower, who helped him under the water, and James stepped out away from the water, the burning gone, but he still felt…strange. Tired, and a little worn out, like he’d just gone for a run after being out of shape, but he just chalked it up to the aftereffects of his adrenaline rush. Harry rinsed himself off for a few minutes, and then stepped out from the shower, blinking a bit and trying to focus on his surroundings, but mostly wishing he had his glasses. However, looking over at James, he blinked a couple of times. He couldn’t be sure, given how blurry the image was, but he just didn’t look…well, right.

“James…are you…are you feeling alright? You don’t…I mean, I don’t know. I need to find my spare glasses…” he said, but James wasn’t feeling right at all. The feeling of strangeness had begun culminating in a sudden bout of nausea, and he sprinted from the room, dizzy and reeling, forcing his way into the bathroom where he vomited into the toilet. After a minute or two, his stomach seemed to settle back down, and he got up, walked over to the sink, and splashed some water on his face, before looking at himself to see if he had any bad cuts from where the vial had hit him, and gasped.

His face–it was his, and yet…his hair, and his goatee. His hairline had receded a bit back up his scalp, and he could see a smattering of grey hairs in and amongst the young brown, and almost as he watched, he could see it turning greyer. Wrinkles were deepening on his forehead and around his eyes, and he looked more like he was in his late fifties than in his thirties. He was feeling sick again, his body weak, and looking down, he realized why. His still sopping wet clothes were clinging to his body, but from the way they were hanging, it looked like he was losing muscle mass, his arms and legs thinning up, leaving him with a substantial gut around his middle, and leaving him feeling even weaker than before. He vomited again into the sink, the room spinning around and he fell to the floor, exhausted.

Meanwhile, Harry had grown worried and didn’t like waiting by himself in the laboratory, worrying that something might be seriously wrong with James, from what he’d thought he’d seen, and from the way James had rushed off. Slowly, he made his way out of the lab and down the hall, guiding himself more by memory than by sight, and towards the bathrooms, opened the door and called out, “James? James, are you alright?”

“Help, I’m…I’m…” he heard a voice call out from the floor, and he could see a figure crumpled over on the blurry tile.

“James? James, are you alright?” Harry said, stumbling over and getting down next to the blurry figure.

“Harry, call the hospital, I don’t…something’s wrong with me…I don’t…I’m older…”

Harry didn’t really know what James was talking about, but even worse, if he couldn’t see, he wasn’t even sure he could use a phone. He found James’ hand and gave it a squeeze, hoping to give the man some comfort, and wished he didn’t have this horrible eyesight–and then…well, he could…feel it. Feel something, racing through James and him, and he could almost see a code ripping through him, between them, and then, his sight–it slowly came into focus, and Harry blinked a couple of times, wondering if it was a miracle, and then when he looked down and actually saw what had happened to James, he gasped.

He was still aging on the floor, his hair now even whiter, though it hadn’t receded very far, and he was exhausted and weak from the rapid change. “Harry…Harry, is that you? I can’t…I can’t see, why is everything so…so blurry?” James asked, squinting his eyes and bringing out more wrinkles.

It couldn’t be…but, then how else could he explain it? Harry had somehow managed to switch their genetic code–giving James his horrible eyesight, and Harry taking his 20/20 vision as his own. Shaking a bit, Harry reached out and laid his hand down on James’ once more…and just concentrated. Sure enough, it was all laid out before him, he could sense everything. All of his own genetic deficiencies, and they were just calling out to him, telling Harry to cast them aside, and replace them with James’ far superior genetic material. Telling Harry to make himself perfect, to make James the inferior one, but he yanked his hand back. It was tempting–oh so tempting, but he had to call for help, he had to get them both help…right?

Then again, Harry didn’t really need help–he was fine. Hell, he was better than fine, he felt great. Besides, if he went to the hospital, if he reported the accident, they’d probably just lock him away–hell, lock them both away–and do all sorts of experiments on them. He didn’t want to be a lab rat–no way…and he couldn’t just leave James here, right? No, of course not, he had to make sure he was safe too…or at least, that’s what Harry was telling himself. He could still feel the power calling out to him, tempting him, and when he helped James up, he was careful not to touch his skin. Still, he’d make sure they were both safe. He helped the researcher down the stairs, out of the building and into his truck, and drove them both to his small apartment, where they could figure out what they were going to do about this.

***

James woke slowly, and feeling like he had been run down by a truck, refrained from moving for as long as he could, even though he was certain that moving was probably the right thing to be doing. He prayed it had been a dream, and yet, from the way he was feeling, he could tell that it hadn’t been. He felt old. He felt how he’d always imagined waking up old must feel–sore joints, aching back, just a tired body more prone to inertia than anything else. Bed, though. Who’s bed? A hospital bed? He opened his eyes, and to his surprise he, quite simply, couldn’t see. Having had perfect vision all of his life, being confronted by something as simple as blurry vision was, well, terrifying, and a good enough excuse to not move, in his opinion, but he didn’t…it didn’t look like he was in a hospital…and that concerned him enough to sit up and try and look around.

“H–Hello?’ he called out, “Is anyone there?” he said, feeling a bit silly for doing so, but, well, someone had to have brought him here. Could it have been…Harry? Why would he have taken him anywhere other than a hospital, though? He rubbed his eyes and blinked a bit, but he still couldn’t see anything, and he was afraid to stand up without knowing what he might find or run into. He heard someone coming, though–so at least he wasn’t alone.

“James? Are you awake?” Harry said, “how are you feeling?”

“Harry? Why in the hell didn’t you take me to a hospital?”

Harry was quiet. He’d already rehearsed this conversation in his head, but he hadn’t expected that to be the opening remark. “Well…it’s…complicated.”

“No it’s not. There was an accident–I’m fucking old. I need to go to a hospital so they can figure out what happened, and who knows what might have happened to you!”

“But I feel fine.”

“That doesn’t mean anything. Who knows what sort of delayed effects there might be. Come on, we have to go to the hospital…do you, I mean, I can’t, well, see very well now. Do you have anything that might help? Some glasses? You wear, glasses, right?”

Harry didn’t say anything for a moment, before answering, “Yeah…yeah, I have glasses…hold on.”

He picked up his spare set from the top of the dresser and handed them to James, who put them on, and the entire world came into relieving focus. “Dang, what are the chances,” James said, “that I’d need to same prescription as you.”

“Ha, yeah…the chances…”

James started to sense that there was something else going on here, and some other reason Harry hadn’t taken him to the hospital. He also remembered that his vision had been fine after he’d changed in the lab…but had only gone blurry later, when Harry had come into the bathroom to find him. Looking over, he saw that Harry wasn’t wearing his glasses at all–did…what was going on? “Funny,” James said, “That you aren’t wearing glasses, now.”

Harry said nothing.

“And funny that your old glasses seem perfect for my eyes now.”

Still, silence.

“What happened, Harry. Something obviously happened to you, something you don’t want a doctor to see, or you wouldn’t have brought me here. What is it–just tell me, maybe I can help.”

“I don’t need help–I said, I’m fine.”

“Why do I have your eyes, Harry? What the fuck is going on?” James said, a bit agitated, and a little scared.

Harry paced a bit, not saying anything for a moment, before saying, “Look, I’m sorry, alright? I didn’t even know what I was doing, and I couldn’t stop myself when it happened. I don’t even know if I can do it again, but in the bathroom…in the bathroom when you collapsed, I touched your hand, and when I thought about my eyes, and how I wanted to see better, because my glasses had broken, I…I somehow…switched them, or switched our genetics, or something…I don’t know really, that’s the best I can describe it.”

James didn’t say anything immediately, just thought about what Harry had said. His first reaction, that what he’d said was impossible, was pretty much refuted soundly by the evidence at hand. He could remember his sight being fine, up until Harry had touched him. Now, Harry’s glasses worked perfectly for him…and Harry didn’t need them. But swapping genetic code? How did that even make sense? What sort of serum could have done something like that? “Look…Harry, I know you’re probably scared, but if we don’t go to a hospital–”

“If I go to a hospital, they’ll never let me go.”

“You don’t know that, look, we need to know what happened to us, alright? I need to know what happened to me. At least take me, I need help, Harry, I mean, look at me.”

Harry looked, and he saw James, older, and yet, the power in him, the genetic knowledge he’d glimpsed when he’d touched James before…he saw something else. Yes, James was old, his hair was greying, he had a bit of a sagging gut, and yet, even with all of that, he was still…genetically superior. It was difficult to parse it any other way in his head–James was simply better than him, better equipped it most every genetic way, and this voice, a voice growing louder, was telling Harry to take it as his own. Even at what, his now late fifties, and James still had a nearly full head of hair–how fair was that? Harry had started balding in his mid-twenties, and he’d never stopped resenting it. Still, James was right. He needed help, but could he trust him not to say anything about his new power? Harry had no interest in being locked up in some government facility, in being some test subject, and he firmly believed that’s what would happen to him.

“Please, Harry–please.”

It was the right thing to do. It really was, and Harry couldn’t keep telling himself it wasn’t. “Al–Alright. I’ll take you, but you don’t say a word about me to them–nothing–understand?”

“Sure…of course. Thank you,” James said, and swung his legs off the side of the bed, tried to stand, and immediately wobbled and started to fall over. Instinctively, Harry reached out and caught him, and the moment their skin touched, he felt it again. He’d been careful not to let their skin touch since the accident, but the rush of it, the knowledge pouring into him overwhelmed his better judgement, the voice, the selfish voice latching onto his bald resentment, twisting and adjusting their genetics in the moment it took James to wrench away from Harry’s grasp. James felt it too, though not as clearly as Harry did, and where the maintenance man felt a rush of power and authority, James simply felt violated, and it didn’t help when he noticed a cascade of hairs fall down his face, as his hair rapidly thinned out. He ran his hand over his head, knocking off even more hair, feeling his scalp with only a bare horseshoe left, and he looked over at Harry, who had run over to a mirror on the wall, watching his own hair grow back in, thick and full.

“Fuck, I haven’t–damn, that looks good,” Harry said, grinning at his reflection.

“Can’t you control that or something?” James said, “What in the hell is wrong with you?”

Harry didn’t know what was wrong with him…or even if it was wrong. It felt so good, how could it be wrong? And he could feel everything else of James’ code that he wanted, and all he had to do was reach out and touch him. He shook his head, resisting. That wasn’t right, it wasn’t right, no matter how it felt, no matter what the voice said. “I’m–I’m sorry. I just, it’s hard to resist, I guess. It’s hard to explain.”

“Well can you at least give me my hair back?” James asked, “You know, and my eyes? I’d like to not need glasses again.”

“No,” Harry said, without thinking about it.

“No?” James said, “No? What the hell? Those are my eyes, fucker–and my hair!”

“Well they’re mine now, so fuck that!” Harry snapped back, “I’ve had fucking glasses all my goddamn life, and I went bald at thirty, and fuck no, I’m not going to go back to what I was, fuck that,” Harry grinned at his reflection, and then stared at James by the bed. The voice was telling him to take more, to make himself perfect, to take and take and take, and then…and then sow. Yeah, he needed to fuck, he needed to fuck women, he needed to make children, and spread his own superior genetics into the world, or at least, what would be his superior genetics, once he was done with James…”No, no, I’m sorry–you’re right,” Harry said, “I’m being…selfish, here, I can put this right, just let me, here.” Harry came over to where James was wobbling, and reluctantly James allowed him to lay his hands on him, and that same rush, that same violation swept through him…but it was different–he could tell that Harry wasn’t fixing this–he was taking more, changing more. He tried to wrench away, but Harry gripped him tighter, leering now, eyes wide and mad with the rush of power, and he pushed James back onto the bed, holding him down. “Fuck that, and fuck you–I’m not going to be a piece of genetic waste anymore–you are! I’m going to be perfect!”

It took all of his strength, all of his will to put his feet against Harry’s chest and kick him, off, finally breaking their physical contact, and James started panting, his throat closing up on him. Asthma? He’d never been an asthmatic before, but gasping for breath, he figured that was just one of many new things he might have to live with. Looking down, he saw chest hair start filling in across his chest and gut, climbing up onto his shoulders and back down his back. His metabolism slowed to a crawl, his body converting more and more energy to fat, his gut bulging out, even as his chest expanded into a set of moobs, his face developing a second chin. He looked up at where Harry had been pushed back against the wall, and watched as the older man’s frame started melting away his fat and building muscle right before his eyes, his body buff but not overly muscular–mostly just–healthy. Then, Harry grinned and unzipped the fly of his pants, pushed down his underwear, and hauled out a thick, seven inch cock already drooling precum–a dick James readily recognized as his own. Gulping, and still not able to breathe very well, he reached down to his crotch, already humiliated, and felt his now shriveled tool, barely two inches long, and he could tell, instinctively, that at best it could reach half mast. “You–you took my cock?” James asked.

“Of course–the women are gonna love this thing when I ram it up their cunts,” Harry said, flexing his new muscular frame, “See, because this is where we’re different James, see, I saw in you, I saw your biggest flaw–you’re a fucking faggot.”

“But–”

“Don’t try to deny it, I can see all of your fucking flaws, you fucking worthless piece of shit,” Harry spat, “See, I’m genetically superior–no, soon, I’ll be perfect, and women will be begging me to fuck them, and seed them and oh the fucking children I’ll have–they’ll be amazing. But you, you’re fucking worthless, so why in the hell shouldn’t you just be a storehouse for all the failed genetic mishaps of the human race?”

“Harry, listen to yourself, this is fucking crazy, and you know it.”

“No, what’s crazy–what’s crazy, is that someone like you should have been given these genetics, when you don’t even give a flying fuck about passing them on–that’s fucked up. That’s against nature, right there. Well, I’m putting it right. I’ll breed all the children you should have had, because you were too weak to do it.”

He was mad–Harry had gone completely mad, and James looked around for something, anything he could use to, knock him out or fight him off–something so he could call the police and tell them what had happened–what Harry was capable of, but Harry saw what he was doing, and laughed.

“You can’t fucking beat me,” Harry said, “I’m better than you in every way–well, almost every way. You see, you do still have that nice mind of yours, but I don’t think genetic trash like you even needs much in the way of brains, right? How about I take those for my kids, too?”

Harry charged towards him, and James crawled back across the bed, trying to keep out of the reach of Harry’s hands, but lost his balance and fell off the other side, smacking his head on the nightstand as he fell, his glasses askew, and he tried to recover from the fall and get away, but he was having such a hard time putting his thoughts together in any way that made the least bit of sense. He must have hit his head a bit harder than he’d thought, or that’s what he thought at first, until he recognized the blurry form of Harry lying across the bed, his hand wrapped around his ankle, feeling the natural folds and creases of his brain start to soften as he lost his natural curiosity and cleverness–but other traits as well. His assertive personality, his independent thinking, all gone, absorbed by Harry and replaced with a natural desire to please and agree with others–after all, he wasn’t smart enough to form thoughts on his own anymore, and he certainly didn’t dare trust his own judgement.

“You alright Jim?” Harry said, letting go of the older man’s ankle, watching him adjust his glasses and blink dully up at him, “That was a bit of a fall you had there.”

“It–it was?” he said, “And…and isn’t my name…James?”

“No, you don’t go by James, you go by Jim. James doesn’t sound like the name a dimwitted old impotent faggot would use, now does it? Especially not one who can barely land a job as a janitor.”

“You–you don’t have to be so–so mean about it…” Jim said, sitting up and rubbing his head where he’d hit it on the night stand. He’d been trying to get away from Harry…hadn’t he? But why? His head felt so thick, like swimming through foam, threatening to solidify forever if he stopped struggling through it. Harry climbed after him and stood in front of Jim on the ground, and he felt understandably intimidated. While only a bit younger than he was–his firm, muscular body, his confidence and intellect, not to mention his thick cock, all served to intimidate Jim even further…and even turn him on a bit. His eyes were locked on Harry’s cock now, and he licked his lips. He could…smell him. Harry’s musk, so forceful and commanding–a real man, and…a little familiar. He was smelling himself, in a way, augmented by Harry, yes, but the familiarity of it was strange, like coming home after a long time.

“Aww, I’m sorry faggot–I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. How about I let you suck me off–would that make you feel better?” Harry said, pushing the tip of his cock against Jim’s lips, and he couldn’t resist, parting his lips and letting Harry take control, ramming the cock down his throat as far as it could go, hanging onto his head with his big hands, and Jim held his own up, looking at his short, clumsy fingers. They weren’t his, or they hadn’t been his—had they? He seemed to remember…something else, but his head, it was hardening, clinging to the simplest story and just accepting it as truth–it was easier than trying to understand how he could have been a young genetics researcher, and in the course of twenty-four hours, have been reduced to this old, weak, genetically inferior faggot. It was easier to focus on the cock being rammed down his throat. He ran his hands over his body, the sensation of body hair under his fingers strange and unnerving, the taut belly down to his measly cock, barely erect even though he’d never felt so turned on before. However, before he could suck Harry over the edge, the big man pulled his cock out and stepped back.

“Come on Harry–can’t I have your load?”

“Hell no–I can’t waste my seed on a faggot’s throat–I have babies to make. Still, thanks for the warm up. Now, I need to go out for a bit–I won’t be back tonight, I don’t think–too much fucking to do. Still, we need something to keep you occupied in the meanwhile–can’t have a faggot like you getting into any trouble, right? Get up.” Jim did as Harry ordered, and followed him out into the living room where an old computer sat whirrling away. “Here’s what you’re going to do. Go ahead and order yourself some pizza or something for dinner, and then you’re going to sit here and find pictures of men who are genetic superiors–it shouldn’t be hard, since you’re such a failure–and I want you to jack off, fantasizing about how you want to serve them, and worship them, and think about serving me, and worshiping me the most, got it?”

Jim nodded, and he didn’t notice Harry get dressed and head out for a bar–he was already absorbed in his porn search, one smattering of old cum already shot across his thigh as he fantasized about a thick body builder ramming his massive cock up his loose asshole. His head had fully hardened now, accepting this reality as truth. He was just an old faggot now, a genetic failure whose sole purpose was to serve those better than he was–but especially Harry. He owed Harry everything, and he would serve him for the rest of his life.

Here’s a picture a me wit’ mah latest trespasser. He came up mah drive one night, tellin’ me his car broke down on the road, but I knew what he was, really. Another one a ‘em spies, sent by the guvment, just like the rest. Sure, it took a few days, but I beat the truth out. He says he a real sorry–the fuckin’ liar. He don’t know what it means tah be sorry, but I’ll learn him here soon enough.

I’ve been thinking ’bout the fact that I could use a fancy garbage disposal, somethin’ tah make mah food scraps intah compost faster. Think I’ll hook the spy up tah the sink, work a drain down his throat intah his belly, ‘n he can take care a that fer me. It’ll be tough gettin’ him tah fit under the sink–but a garbage disposal don’t need arms ‘r legs, right? Think I’ll get a couple more fucks outa him ‘fore convertin’ him though. He’s got a real tight ass, that one. Maybe I’ll make ’em a fuckhole instead, ‘n then move ’em intah the kitchen when his ass is good ‘n loose. Sounds like a plan tah me!