Male Bonding (Part 2)

Needless to say, Jared found himself spending a lot of time bonding with Trevor over the next few weeks. In fact, if he wasn’t at work, then Jared was pretty much guaranteed to be in his son’s basement. If trevor was home, then both of them would be watching porn together, and Trevor would be helping his father explore this new side of his sexuality–in particular, Jared had discovered just how…wonderful it felt to be fucked, and now he wanted something in his hole all the fucking time. More than once now, he worn a butt plug all day at work–it hadn’t made it easy to get anything done, because he’d had to keep dashing off to the bathroom to jack off, but fuck, it had felt so damn good, being full like that all day long. He couldn’t wait to get home and tell Trevor all about it, while his son plowed his hole with his big cock.

The nights when Jared got home and his son wasn’t there were a bit harder. Without anyone around to fuck him right away, he had to go downstairs and play with himself for a few hours, until Trevor got done with his closing shift. Usually, this meant watching porn, fucking himself with a dildo, and sniffing and sucking on the various cumrags his son kept, usually looking for ones that were still a bit fresh and moist, left out for him specifically. This was fun and everything, but it was during these solo sessions, without his son there talking to him and encouraging him, that he would feel, at first, a bit silly. Then, more doubt would creep in, and he’d start to wonder what, exactly, he thought he was doing. Didn’t he find this disgusting? Shouldn’t he be ashamed of himself? The worst part though, was that even when these thoughts were at their strongest, he couldn’t stop himself, and he couldn’t turn them off. He felt…trapped between two versions of himself, and he didn’t know which one he…should be. Because he didn’t really want to go back to hating his son, but he couldn’t keep going like this, could he? Eventually his son would arrive home and find him bouncing on a dildo, jacking his cock, watching porn but eyes deep in thought, and after they talked for a bit the thoughts would evaporate, he’d sit on his son’s big cock, and he’d feel much better.

It felt good to talk to his son again. Well, it felt good to listen, really. His son just had so much to say, and he’d had no idea! He…He didn’t quite remember it all at the end of their bonding sessions, but he been listening intently the whole time, he swore. It was just that damn ring of his–it was so…enthralling. Jared found it really hard to even focus on the porno playing when he could be looking at the ring instead.

Work, for him, increasingly felt like torture. All he really wanted was to be back home, bonding with his son, but no–he had to be here, in this office, in this suit, working with spreadsheets and writing emails, and…and he hated it. He’d never hated it this much before, but now that he had something he enjoyed so much more, every moment that dragged him away was painful. It apparently started showing in his work, because his boss, Carter, called him in for a chat towards the end of the month to have a conversation about the quality of his work. Jared made the appropriate promises that he’d do better.

“You know, I’ve noticed–and some other people have mentioned this as well—that you seem kind of…tense lately. Easily frustrated. That just doesn’t seem like you, Jared. Is everything alright at home? I know you and Trevor were having difficulties adjusting.”

“No! No, Trevor is, like, the least of my worries,” Jared said, with the first genuine smile Carter had seen on his face in weeks, “No, we’re doing really good. We had a big talk, and actually, we’ve been…really bonding a lot lately…” He stopped himself from saying any more, figuring it probably wouldn’t be appropriate to mention to his boss how much he loved getting plowed by his son more than being at the office. “I’ve just been…I don’t know…I think I’m just running on empty at the moment.”

“Well maybe you should think about taking a vacation. You have lots of time saved up, and the office can handle being understaffed for the next few weeks.”

“I…I don’t know if that’s necessary.”

“Well, think about it. And hey, are you still on for poker night next week? Maurice is hosting over at his place. You didn’t show up last time.”

Last time, Jared hadn’t even thought about it, because he’d been too busy licking his son’s body clean after a long day at work.

“You can even bring your son along, if you’d like, he might enjoy it. Maybe getting out of the house a bit would be good for him, you know.”

“I…I don’t think poker would really interest him.”

Carter shrugged, “Well think about it. I hope you can come though.”

“I probably won’t make it, but we’ll see.”

“Too bad. Think about that vacation offer too. It looks like you could really use one.”

“I will.”

Jared got back to work and managed to keep his nose to the desk until the end of the day, embarrassed that everyone had noticed his obvious displeasure at being here right now. But he didn’t want to have to take a vacation–if anything, few weeks uninterrupted with Trevor would only make things worse. Still, he ended up discussing both issues with Trevor when he got home, and at work the next day he went into Carter’s office and told him the news–not only that he’d be happy to take a vacation–preferably a month, if possible–he’d also checked with his son, and they’d both love to go to that poker night. Carter was happy to hear both pieces of news. A month was a bit long, but Jared did have enough time banked up and the guy looked like he needed it. They worked it out on the schedule, so it would start after the following week, giving Jared a chance to wrap up whatever projects he was involved in. It ended up that his last day of work before the vacation was also poker night–that next Friday. Jared told him, and his son, couldn’t wait, and got back to work.

Male Bonding (Part 1)

Jared hadn’t been the best father–he knew that, but it wasn’t like Trevor had made it very easy for him, but he’d tried. He really had. But how in the hell are you supposed to act when your son comes out, at fifteen? Maybe he’d been a little harsh, he could admit that, but their relationship…he just hadn’t really been able to feel close to his son ever since that day. He knew, in his heart, that it wasn’t fair, that his son hadn’t done anything to feel that way, that he hadn’t chosen to be gay (after all, who would choose to be gay? It was just…just so unnatural!) but that didn’t change the fact that every time he touched his son, his stomach just…churned. It made him feel guilty, and he could tell Trevor knew how he felt, and so they just avoided each other, or fought. They’d been screaming at each other for years and somehow still calling it a relationship.

Things had been better when he’d gone to college, but when the school had pulled his financial aid, Trevor had been forced to move in with his now single father, living in the basement. He was at least able to find a job working retail at the mall, but he showed no real drive to move out and be out on his own…and he kept bringing home…men. Men! Men Jared’s age! It was…was…so disgusting! That had been their last argument, and Jared had threatened to simply throw him out, and Jared had stormed out, not returning home for several days…but when he finally came home again they finally…just, talked. They talked about it, about everything, for the first time, and Jared could at least understand where he was coming from, but he still didn’t want men coming to his house. Or, at least, he assumed that’s what they talked about. He…he couldn’t really remember the details of the conversation with any detail–his son had bought this…this ring. And the way it caught the light, it had been so…enthralling. Still, they had talked, and they finally came to a compromise–Trevor agreed that he wouldn’t host anymore, though he refused to stop having sex altogether. In return, he asked his father to dedicate time each week to bonding with him and rebuilding their relationship. He said that he just didn’t feel like he really had a father–he didn’t feel like he’d had a father for years. Jared agreed–it seemed like something he should be able to do, after all. Until he found out what his son had in mind, for their first bonding session.

“No. No! Absolutely not.”

“But you promised you would give it a try.”

“This is not at all what I thought I was agreeing to. This is disgusting! You’re disgusting!”

What Trevor had in mind to help them bond, he had discovered, was watching porn together–gay porn–and jacking each other off.

Trevor moved his ring in the light, sending a glint into his father’s face, watching his eyes lose some of their focus, “This…this really means a lot to me dad, and I just don’t think you’re trying very hard. I just don’t think you’re really committed to trying to make our relationship really work. And that…that hurts dad, it really hurts, you know? You don’t want to hurt me, do you?”

“N-No, of course not…but…but I’m not…gay.”

“You don’t have to be gay to watch porn and jack off, dad.”

“Yeah…but…” Jared knew–he knew there were other reasons, but he just…couldn’t find them.

“Take off your pants, Dad. Come sit down, and pull out your cock. At least give it a try for me.”

That…that didn’t seem too unreasonable. He dropped his jeans to the floor, and walked slowly to the couch and sat down, letting his cock slip out of his boxers. Trevor sat down next to him, wrapped his ringed hand around his father’s cock, and started stroking it. “That feels good, doesn’t it, Dad? Aren’t you enjoying this time together?”

“Y-Yeah…yeah…”

“Here dad, feel mine. Feel how hard it is? Yours is really hard too. Focus on it, focus on how good it feels, how much you enjoy having me stroke your cock, and focus on the ring, focus on the light, feel it fill your head so full that it pushes away all those other thoughts, all those doubts, and just listen to me, listen to your son, and think about how happy you are, to have this chance to rebuild our relationship, how you don’t want to damage it again, how you were such a bad daddy before, and you want to make it up to me, right?”

“…Yes…”

“That’s good. Now look at the screen. Isn’t that kind of sexy? Those two guys touching each other? Sucking each other? Fucking each other? Have you ever thought about that, Dad? Be honest now.”

“Y-Yes…”

“It’s ok, it’s ok to think that way.”

“No–I’m…not gay…”

“Push those thoughts away dad, and just enjoy yourself. Focus on those happy thoughts, those thoughts about men, focus on them. They make you feel good, they make you feel complete. You don’t like thinking about women nearly as much as men. In fact, you’re going to find it harder and harder to see women as attractive, from now on. Now stroke me faster, stroke me harder. You want to make me happy, you want me to feel good. You want to make me feel good more than anything else, you want to bond with me more than anything else. Make…Make your son cum with your own fucking hand!”

Jared stroked harder, but it all felt like a dream, like someone else’s hand was feeling his son’s cock spurt cum all over it, someone else’s mouth licking it up and relishing the flavor of his son’s cum. Some other body bending over to suck the cum from his son’s shirt. Some other person’s cock exploding at the taste of cum, that taste he’d always fantasized about, that taste he’d always wanted, just like his son had said. He was so lucky to have a son like Trevor, so happy to have a chance to bond with him like a good daddy, yes, he’d be a good daddy from now on, the best daddy, the best daddy in the whole world…

Paid Vacation (Part 2)

***WARNING*** Things get nasty from here on out.

He awoke the next morning in a kingsize bed, his wrists and ankles bound to the four bedposts, naked aside from a thick diaper around his waist and a pacifier stuck in his mouth, and…and his mind clear, for perhaps the first time in ages. He fought and struggled, trying to scream around the pacifier, but his mouth wouldn’t stop sucking on it–even though he knew he shouldn’t, he had no control over his body, or over his bladder, he discovered, when he felt it release into the diaper, his cheeks blushing as he struggled more, but it was no use–sweaty and tired he collapsed, heaving for breath through his nose. He was alone for around an hour, before the door finally opened, revealing Mr. Jeffries and his two butlers, now glad in their more usual leather jocks and harnesses, to greet his newest guest.

“Ah, there you are Ian, I see you have been well attended to since your arrival last night, and from the smell, it sounds like you’ve already made yourself right at home.”

He tried to curse at him, but it only came out garbled through the pacifier, and he gave up after a few attempts at speaking. What in the hell was this? had he ever been working on anything? Now that his head was clear, all he could remember doing at work for the last few months was watching television meant for babies, laughing and giggling like an idiot as he pissed himself over and over, and jacked off into his sopping wet pants. What the fuck had been wrong with him, that he hadn’t even noticed it once?

“I’m sure you have a lot of questions, now that I’ve undone the block on your initial programming. Don’t worry, you won’t remember for very long–but the second stage isn’t effective unless you are fully aware–I wish we could just skip that long preamble, but until I’ve broken down your defenses, I can never be sure you’ll respond properly to the big guns or not. But now, your mind is defenseless–an open book, and I can’t wait to start ripping out those pages. From the moment I saw you in that elevator, I knew I had to have you, sweet little thing you are. You’ll be daddy’s good little baby boy before too long–you’re going to love it. I like to administer the first round myself, but I have another project of mine who’s dying for some time alone with you, who’ll take charge of your development for the rest of the month.”

First came the IV and the drugs, relaxing his body until he could barely move a muscle–even his mouth ceased it’s spontaneous sucking. Then, came the helmet, covering his entire head. He couldn’t see or hear anything for a moment, but then it turned on, a blast of sound and color, so intense he…he didn’t really remember any of it. It was removed from his head later, and he was given a tube to suck–fed slushy food until he felt like he was going to burst. He’d resisted for so long, but he couldn’t fight it, as he messed his diaper at last, a massive load of shit filling the back of his diaper. It was night now, but no one came to change him, and exhausted from the terrors of the day, he fell into a fitful sleep.

The next day, he was awoken to the door of his room opening–he expected to see Mr. Jeffries, but it was someone else–someone he didn’t recognize, not at first. It was Rick–his coworker–although now he was dressed in a full body rubber suit, his eyes…crazed, as he stalked towards the bed, shoved his face into Ian’s diaper, smelling it and rubbing his cock through the suit he had on. Ian tried to yell at him through the pacifier in his mouth, but Rick had a singular obsession–he tore the diaper from his body and began devouring everything inside, before he turned his attention back to Ian, and licked his own body clean, before applying a generous amount of baby powder and diapering him back up. Ian couldn’t believe what he’d just witnessed, but after another massive meal fed to him by tube, the helmet descended once again, and he was once again held captive by Mr. Jeffries’ programming all day, subjected to a second feeding that night, by Rick. He pleaded with him again, but Rick just stroked his hair with a filthy hand, and cooed him gently.

“Don’t worry baby, I’ll take such good care of you. Does baby need to cum before he goes beddy bye? And maybe you need a big boy pacifier too…”

Rick pulled the plug from his mouth, undid the zipper of his suit and allowed his dick to pop free from it’s sweaty prison. Ian tried to resist, but he…he needed to suck. Even though it tasted foul and disgusting, he…he couldn’t stop. He didn’t…want to stop. Rick didn’t undo his diaper, he just rubbed Ian’s cock through the thick padding, until with a wild spasm he came, and Rick started fucking his face until he shot as well, Ian sucking down his coworkers load, no longer able to control his own body or needs.

Rick left him there, and it was only a few minutes later that, with a loud fart, Ian started filling his diaper with shit once more. There had been no warning from his bowels this time–he’d simply lost all control, and he started sobbing, whining and crying, until Rick returned to comfort him, massaging his cock again until he came once more while he sniffed at the shit in Ian’s diaper, and no longer able to cope with what was happening, Ian fell into another sleep of exhaustion.

Paid Vacation (part 1)

A promotion’s a promotion, right? Ian had been asking himself that question a lot lately, but at the same time, this…department, and his new co-workers all seemed a bit strange. They were all supposedly working on some top-secret project, something for the government, but…well, the only stuff Ian seemed to be given to work on either didn’t make much sense, or didn’t seem to have much bearing on, well, anything at all. Still, there was plenty of it, and he’d always been diligent and didn’t like asking questions of his employers. Hell, software developers like him were a dime a dozen these days, so he knew he should be happy to even have a job. Still, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something strange was going on, but maybe he’d just gotten lucky–the company CEO was well known–now into his late sixties, but still going strong, Mr. Jeffries had shared an elevator ride with him, and now this promotion? Maybe the old man had seen something in him, but Ian didn’t really know what. Still, isn’t wasn’t worth complaining about, whatever it was.

The team he was working with were all kind of quirky and anti-social, kept to themselves, and all seemed, well, just a bit strange all around. They didn’t have an assigned supervisor–they would all just come to work in this isolated office, cut off from the larger company, do their assigned work for the day, and then leave. Still, as he worked with them all for a few months, he got a feel for their quirks. A young man his age, named Jules, literally couldn’t stop eating. He was close to six hundred pounds, and Ian had never once not seen him stuffing his mouth with food. There was an older guy named Rick, as well…who smelled like he didn’t take a shower very often, and the guy seemed to take bathroom breaks all day. But the pay was certainly nice, and the office had tons of perks. Better to not look a gift horse in the mouth.

Still, after a few months in his new position, strange things started happening that Ian couldn’t explain. For one thing, he started…zoning out a lot at work. He was still getting his work done, or at least, he wasn’t getting in trouble for it not getting done, but more than once, he would start awake at his desk, and discover that some little kid’s show he didn’t recognize had been playing on his computer screen for ages, without him even noticing, and he couldn’t even remember opening the video at all. Not too long after that, he found himself with this insatiable desire to suck something–anything. Usually he’d end up sucking his thumb, and before too long, he couldn’t stop. Even eating was becoming difficult–and he started drinking his coffee and soad through a straw, just so he could have something to suck that didn’t make him look like a total freak. Then, he pissed himself for the first time, in the office.

Worse, he hadn’t even realized he’d done it. No, he only noticed anything was wrong at all, because he Rick, the creepy bathroom guy, had stopped and stood in his office doorway, sniffing and snorting the air, eyes blank, until Ian had shouted at him, at which point Rick had suggested he get himself cleaned up, and hurried off to the bathroom. Ian had looked down, at his sopping wet khakis, and freaked the fuck out…but he hadn’t been able to leave work early, he still had so much to get done–so he’d sat in his wet pants for a few more hours until he was all finished, and then he left to go home and get changed. From that day on, he discovered he couldn’t stop his bladder from emptying suddenly right into his pants. For a while he simply took take regular bathroom breaks every half an hour, but when that got in the way of his work, he resigned himself to the fact that he’d just have to cope with wet pants at work. That…that made sense, right? He had to focus on getting his work done, after all. That was the most important thing of all.

Several months passed, and soon none of this seemed odd at all to him–or to anyone else in his strange office, and then he received a notice that for all of his hard work, he had been scheduled for a month long paid vacation starting the very next day. This both made him happy, and also worried him–he had so much work to get done after all, but then again, maybe what he needed most was a break. He worked as hard as he could that evening, fitting in four episodes of his favorite show, giggling along with the infantile plot, before finally packing his things up for the night, pants soaked with four loads of piss, and left for his vacation. Oddly enough, he didn’t quite know where he was going, when he left the office and drove off in a different direction entirely. Still, he’d probably know when he got there, and he’d have a really good, really fun time–that much he knew for sure.

He drove for close to an hour, out of the city, and when he saw the name on the gate of the mansion he drove up towards, he discovered that he had unwittingly driven himself to the home of his CEO, and there, waiting for him, was the old man himself, a strange, perverse grin plastered on his face. Ian climbed out of the car, thumb stuffed in his mouth, unable to believe the CEO was seeing him with his pants soaked with piss, but before he could even attempt an apology, the old man said, “There’s my little boy,” and with those words, Ian went slack, nearly falling to the pavement, but Mr. Jeffries two musclebound butlers were there to catch him and drag him up to his room, where he’d spend the next month taking a nice vacation with his new daddy.

Christmas III: A Brand New Stanta Claus (Part 4)

“I don’t know, I feel…a bit ridiculous. Are you sure this is what I’m supposed to wear? I mean, it seems to me like Santa usually has on…a bit more than this, and that it would be a bit cold, right?”

“Don’t worry about the cold–Santa never gets cold. It’s one of the perks of the job. After all, it would be pretty hard to work and live at the North Pole if you got cold, right?”

“I suppose…I don’t even know if I…have this thing on right…”

“Well do your best, and I can help you fix it if need be.”

Stan came out of the bedroom, mostly dressed in the clothes Timmy had set out for him. The bright red boots, red jockstrap and red leather chaps had been the easy part–what was befuddling him was the harness, which he was trying to latch around himself, but it was upside down and backwards. Timmy had him get on his knees, and the elf helped him into it, securing the chest straps, but Stan saw one final strap running down his chest and past his belly. “I don’t get this thing–where’s that supposed to go?”

“Stand back up, and I’ll fix it for you,” Timmy said. Stand got back up, he slipped the leather strap under the waistband of the chaps, pulled down the jockstrap pouch, and quickly maneuvered the cockring around Stan’s cock. This, sadly, was the one area where Stan was a bit lacking–he’d had to swap out the ring to better fit his relatively small girth, and his cock was only two inches when hard. Still, Santa’s always had a surprising amount of control over their own body–how else could they fit down any chimney so easily? Timmy had a feeling that when he returned, Stan would be plenty well endowed. “There–perfect! You look great.”

Stan knew there was something wrong here, but he…he couldn’t figure out what. In fact, so much seemed off up here, and yet he nothing had fazed his usually prudish self. “A-Alright. If you say so.”

“Now, let’s go over the list again. In most cases, it’s a simple drop–get down, leave the present, and take off again. However, a good number of men around the world have been incredibly naughty this year, and so they’re going to need a more personal touch. They don’t get gifts at all–instead, you get to punish them as you see fit.”

“Those are the red names, right?”

“Yep.”

“Alright–any questions?”

“I…If I get into trouble, can I contact you?”

Timmy shook his head, “Not easily. But you can do this! The first round is always a bit rough, but if you stick to the list, you’ll be fine.”

“What if I don’t finish in time?”

“Santa always finishes on time, don’t worry about that. Now come on, we’re almost ready for launch–you need to get on your way, Santa Stan.”

They walked to the door of the house, but in the doorway, Stan suddenly froze. He…he couldn’t go out looking like this. He couldn’t do any of this. This was a terrible idea, what in the world had he been thinking? He backed up, shivering and shaking, and Timmy followed him. “Stan, it’s going to be fine.”

“How can you just say that?”

“Because we’ve been doing this for millennia. It’s going to be fine.” It obviously wasn’t helping, so Timmy started rustling around in the pockets of the leather vest he was wearing. “Look, I was going to give you this right before you left, as a present, but you could probably use it more now.” He pulled out a beautiful, freshly carved pipe, intricately detailed from wood to briar, as well as a sack of tobacco. “Here, I made this for you. The tobacco is a special blend–one that helps with courage and bravery,” Timmy said, trying not to smirk. “Go on and take a good puff–it’ll help, I promise.”

A pipe did sound good to Stan. He took it from Timmy’s hands, but his own were shaking too much to fill it. Timmy took it back, packed it for him expertly, and then handed it back, helping him get it lit. Stan took a deep breath of smoke, and it…it was a rush unlike anything he’d gotten from a smoke before. He felt warm all over, but…but especially in his groin. However, the shaking did stop, and he did feel better. More…confident, maybe? He took another deep breath, feeling his cock stir strangely, and then stood back up. “Thanks Timmy. Thanks for everything. I couldn’t have done any of this without you.”

“You’re welcome, Santa. Now come on, your sleigh awaits!”

Stan strode out into the snow storm, still surprised by the fact that it didn’t feel cold to him at all, especially considering how little he was wearing. Still, he felt…good. Really good, all of a sudden. And…and a bit horny? That was odd–he didn’t get horny very often. He’d only had sex around ten times, just enough to get Emily pregnant three times, and that…that was all he’d been able to manage, to be honest. He shook his head. That was a strange thought, where in the hell had that come from? He took another drag off the pipe, calming his nerves, and climbed aboard the sleigh. His reindeer were all hitched, and the sacks of toys for naughty boys were all loaded in the back of the sleigh. It was finally time. The elves were all out on the runway, excited to see their new Santa off, and he gave a wave, and received a loud cheer.

It was now or never.

He gave the call, the reindeer pulled him down the runway, and off into the cloudy sky. Despite the fierce winds and heavy snow, it was the smoothest flight he’d ever been on, Rudolph’s cock showing the way, shining bright in the night, and he shifted course to the first stop of the night, the first of many, and tried not to think about the fact that his cock was so hard, and…eager.

Christmas III: A Brand New Stanta Claus (Part 3)

“…so you see, we need a new Santa, and you just so happen to be perfect. Again, I’m sorry for giving you such a fright earlier, but you can understand why I might be a bit desperate. So how about it–would you help us out, and be our next Santa Claus? Stan Claus maybe? It all kind of depends on you, at the end of the day,” Timmy said. He had brought Stan into Santa’s house–the more G-rated part at least–helped him out of the bag, and after giving him a cup of calming tea–since he wouldn’t stop screaming about being kidnapped, Stan had finally calmed down and listened to what the strange imp (or elf, as it claimed to be, allegedly) had to say.

To say that the story was hard to believe was an understatement. It was simply impossible. Santa actually exists? He would have never believed it in a million years. He had his own children weaned off the myth from a young age, making sure they properly understood the true meaning of Christmas and the birth of Christ. They decorated a tree of course, but gift giving was minimal, and generally restricted to religious presents or practical gifts that wouldn’t entice greed or vanity. No, this was madness, and he wasn’t about to have any part in it.

“No, I won’t do this. I refuse,” Stan said. “All this shit does is inspire greed in children, when we should be doing the exact opposite. Maybe a few lean Christmases is exactly what the world needs.” He crossed his arms over his gut with a harumph, “Now take me home, before my wife wakes up and discovers I’ve gone missing. Her heart is weak, and it would probably kill her.”

That was not the answer Timmy had been looking for, and it wasn’t the answer he planned on getting. Still…the rules were rules. You couldn’t force someone to become Santa, they had to agree to it, and they couldn’t do so under duress or the control of another. That said, the rules were…flexible, to some extent. What Timmy needed was more information–about Stan, about what made him tick, about how he could entice him to take the job. It was obvious the old man wouldn’t do it out of the goodness of his heart. What that left then, was an appeal to vices. Power? Authority? Eternal life? He didn’t seem very temptable. Still, the light wouldn’t have chosen him if there hadn’t been some glimmer in him that would lead him to consider taking on the post. At least Timmy had had the foresight of adding a little extra something to the tea. With a snap of his fingers, Stan suddenly slumped in the chair–completely asleep, the cup and saucer slipping from his hand and shattering on the floor. A perfect hypnotic trance–just enough to figure out what might make this guy tick.

Over the next few hours, Timmy got to know Stan better–much better. They had a long ranging conversation, and uncovered exactly what Timmy needed to know, that what really drove Stan, more than anything, was his belief in divine punishment, and in his mind–everyone was guilty–well, everyone except him. There was also, deep deep down, so deep that Stan barely even knew it was there, a massive reservoir of kinky, homosexual desire. Timmy had thought the light had guided him to that house to push back against the elves…but maybe it really had delivered exactly the Santa they were looking for. He slowly brought Stan out from under his trance, the older man completely unaware of the fact that he’d been out for many hours. He got up to leave, but Timmy stopped him.

“It isn’t a chance many people get, you know, to be an…an arbiter of justice. To be able to finally give everyone what they deserve. I’m surprised that doesn’t appeal to you.”

Stan’s eyes were a bit confused–in his heart he knew that shouldn’t be so attractive, and yet…and yet, he did like the idea, perhaps more than he’d even expected to. “No, the only person who can deliver that justice is God.”

“Well, wouldn’t you say God has been slacking off a bit?”

“I mean…he works in mysterious ways, but…there’s just so much filth out there.”

“Well, I’m offering you a chance to do something about that. Maybe…maybe this is God, offering you the chance to help him in his work.”

Stan narrowed his eyes, still suspicious. Suddenly, this damn elf was making almost too much sense.

“Look, consider it a trial run. If it just…feels wrong? Then after this Christmas, call it good, and no one will know different. But I think the position might grow on you, once you see what we’ve been working on. Us elves? We know. We know the world’s a shit show, but we’ve been needing a proper Santa to help us. One who isn’t so easily convinced to put someone on the nice list, you know what I mean?”

I…I think I do.”

“Well what do you say–be Santa for a year?”

He couldn’t believe he was actually considering it, that he really wanted this. But hey, why not, right? The elf did have some good points, after all. “I…I still don’t trust you, but fine. I’ll help.”

“Excellent!” Timmy said, and summoned a contract and pen from the air. “A one Christmas contract of service.”

Stan read the contract over carefully, and saw no mention of his eternal soul. He reluctantly signed it, and when he did, a strange jolt of energy shot through him. He didn’t look different really, but he felt…he felt amazing. Like he was young again. Nothing hurt, and that sudden euphoria was enough to make him break out a rather uncharacteristic belly laugh, which he cut off, face red with embarrassment.

“There are a few, side effects–sorry,” Timmy said, “Now though, we need to get you trained! Christmas is in just a few days, and I bet you’ve never even driven a sleigh before…although it’s been a long night, why don’t you sleep for a while, and we can get started once you’re better rested?”

Stan agreed that might be for the best, and Timmy led him into the master bedroom. Stan put up a bit of a fight when he saw the rubber sheets and sling, but another snap of the fingers, and he was out again. Timmy laid him down, and got to work. He didn’t want to reeducate him, really. No, the dominoes were already set up in Stan’s mind, and they’d fall all on their own. Still, he needed to make sure he wouldn’t freak out at the sight of the elves’ “toys”, or rudolph’s bright red cock head. Still, while it was going to be a lot of work, Timmy knew Stan was going to be a great Santa, once he learned a bit more about himself in the process.

Breaking Point (Part 2)

For the next couple of weeks, I decided to just let Leon stew, and see what happened with his attitude. Of course, there was nothing he could do about his new mud obsession–every time it rained, he was stuck rolling around in the puddle the entire time, while the rest of the crew all looked on, chuckling, and the only way he could release himself was a fuck from yours truly.

Things usually go in one of two directions from this point–either they break, or the fight. Well, let me clarify. They either break early, or they break late. Early breakers–they can put up with the humiliation for about a week, before they finally beg me to let up on them. I’m generally an accommodating boss–besides, having one of my crew rolling around in mud all afternoon isn’t exactly productive, so we sit down, have a chat, and come to an…agreement. Or rather, I dictate a more permanent, but limited punishment, and they accept because they have no real choice in the matter, now do they?

But late breakers–they have pride. Or maybe not pride, exactly, but a certain masculine confidence. If given a choice between a forced humiliation, and a conscious surrender to me, they’ll take the former any day. Something in them doesn’t let them submit willingly–at least not right away. See, no one can last forever. They all think they can, but there’s always something that breaks their spirit eventually. I knew from the start that Leon would be a late breaker–but I waited a few weeks just to confirm. Every day, he fought the compulsion to get in the mud. Everyday he refused to ask for my cock, refused to be fucked in front of anyone else, even when it meant staying the night at the site in the mud, which he did a couple of times.

You might think I’d find this frustrating. In fact, I love late breakers–they’re so much more fun in the long run. They have no power, and yet they continue to delude themselves, allowing me to do whatever I’d like to them in the meantime. But what should I do to Leon? One evening as I fucked him, I listened to him reassure himself that none of this mattered–not really. That come fall, he’d be off at college and he’d be successful, and that nothing here would matter in the least. It would all just be history–that there was nothing I could do to him that would change that. I laughed, and knew exactly what to do next.

The next day, I invited him back into my trailer, telling him I wanted to have a chat about his attitude, and see if he was ready to improve himself or not. As expected, he had no interest in even admitting that anything he did was questionable or rude. Still, the smoke from my special ciagr was getting to him already, and I helped him into a chair–after stripping off his clothes. Unlike before, when he’d been in a daze, this time he was fully aware of what was going on, but he couldn’t move his body an inch–completely paralyzed and at my mercy. I picked up a cigar butt from my ashtray, stroked his cock hard–it was a sizable ten inch cock, and I knew he was proud of it–pushed the ash end to the cock head, and secured it in place with a cigar band. He, of course, had no idea what to make of this. I got down, put my lips to the tip of the butt, focused, and inhaled.

There’s something so…wonderful, about that taste. I heard him gasp, the sensation of something he couldn’t quite identify being drawn out of him, through his cock, and into the cigar. I crossed my eyes–the cigar butt was no longer a short butt–it had grown by about an inch, taking Leon’s cock down an inch in exchange.

“What…what are you doing…” Leon mumbled. He was trying to move his head to see what was going on, but he was still completely relaxed and frozen, unable even to lift up his head from where it lolled on the back of the chair.

“You know, something you were saying yesterday, in the mud, it really…resonated with me,” I said, “I realized that you still think that all of this, this is so far below you. That it’s not even happening to you, not really. You think that if you just hold out long enough, you’ll be able to escape to some magical college world, and leave this behind. But you don’t deserve that, and I’m not about to let you go just yet, not until I think you’ve learned your lesson properly.” I stood up and leaned over him, pushing my own gut against his chest, “See, I know your kind, Leon. You think I haven’t taken down men better than you? You’re nothing, you know. But I don’t think you see that yet. So I’m going to help you out. Just…keep a few of those things of yours, your life, that you love, that you lord over everyone, and I’m going to hold onto them for a bit–see if that changes your attitude a bit for the better.”

He tried to ask questions, he tried to object–I just got down and took a deeper draw off the end of the cigar, feeling more of Leon’s life pulled into the cigar, stored away within the leaf. I took his physical power–his muscles melting away, leaving him thin and a bit gaunt. I peeled away his energy and vitality, watching as his thin frame began to bulge and bloat. I sat back–the cigar was now about five inches long–about the same length as his now shorter cock–though only about four inches extended from his new fat pad. Leon was mumbling and crying in the chair. He couldn’t see the full extent of what had happened to him, but he could feel what had changed. Panic had set in–his hope of escape had suddenly disappeared, and he didn’t know what to do.

“You’re a monster,” he managed to say.

“Of course I am–but so are you. I’m just…well, is a someone who is monstrous to monsters really a monster?”

Breaking Point (Part 1)

There are always a few, every summer. The jocks needed summer jobs, after all. The rich ones had enough family connections to find something better than building and painting houses, but the poor ones, well, they usually answered my Craigslist ads. I give them a month, get to know them, see what they’re like. If they show some promise, some willingness to engage in hard work…I help them out a bit. But if they’re an asshole..well, what would you usually do with an asshole? I mean, I don’t know you that well, but hey, when I see an asshole, I fuck it, you know?

Leon was an asshole. I knew he was an asshole, in fact, when he showed up to the interview, wearing a tanktop, showing off that body of his that he worked so hard on. He smelled like he hadn’t had a shower recently, and I admit it, it got me a bit hard, smelling him, but that’s the kind of smell I like, you know? He was cocky. He gave all the right answers, but with a smirk that told me he’d be slacking off all day if I didn’t have someone keeping an eye on him day in and out. High school senior, heading off to college on a big football scholarship, he just wanted some extra cash but had no interest in working for it. Still, it was gonna be one of those summers, you know? I could just feel it. A boring, slow summer, so I figured why not? Might as well keep myself occupied, right?

I only needed two weeks to get fed up with the boy’s attitude. My instincts had been right, and so Monday I showed up with my special cigars tucked in my pocket. Now the rest of my crew, they’re pretty well inoculated. I’ve fucked around with all of them a bit–hell, a few of them were assholes in their time too, but my smoke just sends ‘em into a bit of daze at this point. They all like it, of course–makes them feel good and horny; they all tend to spend their lunch breaks fucking and sucking instead of eating, but a new guy like Leon? I smoked for ten minutes about twenty feet away that morning, and he was gone. I helped him into my trailer for a few hours, and we had a productive discussion, and that afternoon, I switched back to my normal smokes, and he was none the wiser, for the moment.

One thing about this summer was that we were having strange, heavy thunderstorms almost every afternoon, heavy enough that we’d have to stop working and take shelter in the shell of the house for twenty minutes or so, waiting for the rain to lighten up. Usually some guys would sneak around into the empty rooms and fuck for a bit–Leon hadn’t noticed of course, he was too fucking thick. Probably couldn’t even imagine that a bunch of rough looking construction workers like us might be, in his mind, complete faggots. Sure enough, that afternoon the rain came down and we took shelter–well, we all did, but Leon couldn’t get inside for some reason. The confusion on his face was lovely to witness, and the harder the rain came down, well, I saw his eyes glaze over, he gave a few snorts, and then he found a growing puddle of mud and started rolling in it, grinding his crotch into the muck, oinking and snorting, and the rest of us, fuck we were busting a gut at him! He sure seemed to be enjoying himself too–well, of course he was, he couldn’t help it.

The rain started to let up after fifteen minutes, and I knew, inside himself, he was hoping he’d be able to stop when the rain did, but instead, he found himself compelled to keep rolling in the mud, shoving it into his pants, getting his cock coated in it, grinding it into his face and hair. The rest of the guys went back to work, and we left him there in the muck for the rest of the day, helpless, listening to his grunt, oink and squeal in pleasure every time he came, and when quitting time came, the rest of the crew packed up and went off home, while I crouched down in front of him. I told him he had two choices–he could either spend all night in this muddy puddle, acting like a pig, hoping no one found him squealing and moaning like that, or he could let me fuck his ass, shoot in his hole, and he’d be able to go home.

He didn’t want to beg, he stayed silent, just grunting and grinding in the muck. I shrugged my shoulders and started to leave and got in my car, but once he realized I truly intended to abandon him, he had a change of heart–and so I gave him a good long fuck in the mud, and when it was finished, he finally crawled his way free, panting, exhausted and covered with grime, eyes filled with hate, but I just gave him a wink, and told him to be sure to be on time tomorrow. After all, I’d already forbidden him from quitting, and he wouldn’t be able to mention a word of this to anyone else. I wasn’t about to let this monster go so soon–I can’t let a man like that go without pushing him to the breaking point.

The Ideal Body Program (Part 2)

Three years turned passed at times slowly, and at times quickly. When he was awake and working out, following the compulsory workouts to the exact directives ingrained in his mind, the days seemed to fly by in a daze of counting and exhaustion. But when he spent days staring at his computer screen, desperately fighting it’s newest demands over and over, trying to resist in whatever way he could, every minute seemed to drag out into a lifetime. He fought so hard, in fact, that by the end of the first year he had fallen behind schedule. To Jerry, this felt like a victory–he could beat this thing, he could fight the program if he could just keep his wits about himself. Unfortunately for him, the program had come to the same conclusion.

He didn’t notice it much at first. He assumed he was just tired and exhausted from the diet and routine the program had forced on him. That he was just having a hard time focusing. But then he began noticing that he was having a hard time spelling and writing anything beyond simple one or two syllable words. By the time he realized what must be happening, it was too late, the hypnosis wearing his mind down further and further until all Jerry could manage to write was his name–not that three letters were too hard to remember, since he started going by Jer at the gym, instead of Jerry. Without a mind to resist, by the end of the second year Jer had gained all of his lost ground, and was even ahead of schedule, which made him happy. The program was proud of him after all, and he was looking like a real brute. Because the program now expected him to be finished with his program six months early, Jer was given the choice of some additional programs he could add to his ideal body and future life.

Of course, without much of a mind–and without any capacity for imagination, he was having a hard time trying to come up with anything that he might want. The best he could do was a request that he get even bigger–more muscle “super extra huge” as he told the program. Thankfully the program was willing to make suggestions, and while he wasn’t quite sure what a “man whore” was, if it meant he’d have sex, then he wasn’t going to complain. He liked sex, and he liked playing with his cock. Looking at his hard body made him hard too, and why not put that to good use?

The drugs began arriving not soon after that, and his muscle’s exploded in size, so large that he was having trouble moving, but fuck that, he looked so damn hot! especially with the foot long cock and huge balls he’d developed as well, thanks to whatever the program was sending him. The program began bombarding him sex–porn videos, sex toys, all sorts of things to practice his new profession with, but he thought it was odd that all the people the program was showing him, the kinds of people he was becoming attracted to, weren’t people like him. No, they were older–much older. And fat, and hairy. He thought that was odd, but his head couldn’t put up much of a fight. before too long, he couldn’t imagine being attracted to anyone else. If anything, his hulking body kind of disgusted him, but what could he do about it? It was his money maker. The dates started not too long after that.

Thankfully the program supplied him with an ample number of clients. Generally, he would wake up and eat, before immediately launching into his massive daily workout. Then, around five he would shower, put on whatever outfit his john had requested for the evening, and meet him for that night’s date. Sometimes they wanted to have dinner, and he’d be dressed in a suit and tie. He couldn’t make conversation, but he knew how to suck cock between courses in the bathroom. Other times they’d skip the niceties entirely, and just send him a hotel room where they’d meet. The worst, however, were the ones who’d have him come right to their house, usually in some strange leather or rubber get up supplied by the program. Those were the twisted ones–making him drink piss, fisting his tight hole, whipping and paddling him until he begged them to stop. But he did…like it. He liked being a whore. He liked having sex with these perverts, and they certainly paid him handsomely–not that he kept much of it.

Even after the three years had elapsed, he’d opted to remain in IBP’s maintenance program. It cost a lot, but the program always made sure he had a steady supply of clients and drugs to keep his massive size steady. Still, when he looked at himself in the mirror, he couldn’t help but feel like something had gone horribly wrong. He could…kind of remember who he’d been, before all of this. The memories were fuzzy…but hadn’t he been kind of like the men he had sex with every night? Wealthy? Sexy? Confident? He kind of…envied them, a bit. They seemed to have everything under control–including him. All Jer could do was lift heavy things, take a foot long cock down his throat without gagging, and turn heads when he walked down the street. When the program gave him a feedback form and he said he was only somewhat satisfied, the program put those concerns to rest permanently with another round of hypnosis. Finally, Jer was just a perfectly happy, musclebound man whore for the rest of his days.

The Ideal Body Program (Part 1)

Who had time to go to the gym anymore? He certainly didn’t, but that fact didn’t exactly make him feel much better about the reflection in the mirror. Jerry had hit thirty a few years ago and that had been fine, aside from some mild existential angst which had gone away, but it was looking like forty was going to be the real hurdle. Work had always been the focal point of Jerry’s life, and with his youthful metabolism he’d always been able to keep his slender figure as well–but that was changing, and he knew there was nothing he could do about it…aside from maybe getting a gym membership. But who in the hell had time? He gripped his small belly, pinching the fat with his hands, and frowned, thinking of all the older upper level managers with their guts and their drinks after work and their stupid, unfunny jokes he forced himself to laugh at even after hearing them often enough to have them memorized. That would be him. That was going to be him, if he didn’t do something about it, but what could he do?

Like most people with a dream and too little time to invest in it, he started looking for shortcuts. Try a fad diet? He picked out a couple, but he knew none of them would deliver any sort of lasting results. He did end up getting a gym membership, but aside from a few introductory sessions with a trainer, he could never quite line up a schedule to go consistently. All, the while, we watched his body round out a little more each day. Just was he was working up the mental will to resign himself to a rotund fate, he found something new, something called “The Ideal Body Program.”

It seemed simple enough. All he had to do was put in information about himself and his current habits and lifestyle, and then give some details regarding what kind of body he would like to have, and the program’s algorithm would generate the perfect diet and exercise program for him, tailored both to his current lifestyle and the body of his dreams. It seemed like a dream come true, and the questionnaires were free to fill out–if exceedingly detailed. He’d thought some of the dating websites he’d signed up for had been painful–this was something else entirely. It took him nearly an entire weekend to finish all of the questions in all the required detail, but it would be worth it, right? All this work in the front end would mean he could finally have a solution to his problem.

But what was his ideal body? He’d always been on the slender side, and the idea of being like those fat older men disgusted him, but what did he really want to be? Truthfully, he’d always sort of wished he could be more muscular. He’d always…idolized those jocks back in school, who could work out, that sort of…powerlifter body. He’d dated a few, and by and large they had been boring, dull souls, but fuck, they’d been sexy as hell in bed, even if he hadn’t managed a relationship with any of them. But that’s what he wanted, he wanted to look like that. Big arms, wide chest, thick tree trunk legs. Sure, he’d have to buy all new suits–hell, a new wardrobe, but it was an ideal body right? Why not indulge in a little fantasy?

The forms were finished, he double checked them all and submitted them for processing. It took around an hour for a confirmation email to appear in his email inbox, alerting him to the fact that his personalized plan was prepared for him, but he discovered he wouldn’t be able to see the plan until he’d paid the full fees required–which turned out to be three years in advance, and at 100 dollars a month…well, that turned out to be quite a substantial sum of money. He thought about it for the rest of the day. There was no way he could spend that kind of money on this…but what did he really expect? Still, three years was a long time, but the company promised results. In fact, there was a guarantee that if the plan didn’t perfectly fit their schedule and give them their ideal body, they could have their money back. So…he did it. He put in his account information (the site refused to take credit cards) and hit submit, navigated through his site to his personal plan of action, and all it said was: “Quit your job. Once you have quit your job, further instruction will be given. Are you ready to quit your job?”

And below, a yes and no button.

It couldn’t be serious. He wasn’t going to quit his job! This was supposed to fit his schedule, not ruin it. He clicked the no button, and the screen was suddenly filled with a swirling, colorful patterns. He stared at it for a moment, his consciousness draining away, just focusing on the pattern. Every half hour, the sentence “Are you ready to quit your job?” would appear with another yes and no prompt–his hand would come alive for a moment, and he kept pressing no, but slowly, his hand lost its urgency. It began hovering over the yes button, until finally, at last, he clicked it, and the pattern evaporated, leaving Jerry blinking at his computer screen, unable to believe he’d just lost seven hours…but he had something he had to do. He called up his boss and told him he wouldn’t be coming in ever again, that he had to free up his schedule, that he wouldn’t understand. He knew it was wrong, but he couldn’t stop himself…and since he’d already prepaid for three years in hard cash, he didn’t think he’d be stopping himself any time soon.