Well, we ended up with a slight lead for 2a, but my favorite suggestion came from flame-of-all-chaos:

Option one with A has the main point with B as a worry Butler will have as he is forcibly gourged

Essentially combining option 1a and 1b, pushing it into the lead, and which sounds hot to me.

***

Butler, in control of Bob’s fatter, and now much cleaner body, headed towards the basement, the house happily allowing him passage, and Bob slowly began to recognize the areas of the house he’d explored earlier in the night, and Butler could sense his host growing, agitated. Still, it was of no concern to him–he was firmly in control, though that song he’d noticed after putting Bob in his clothes was still there, and still nagging at him, though he couldn’t figure out why he wasn’t able to simply get rid of it.

He passed through one of the houses several dining rooms, when Bob’s nose caught the scent of food–the same pot he’d gorged himself on at the beginning of the night, and Butler suddenly felt control ripped away from him, as Bob’s fat frame, of it’s own volition, surged into the kitchen, nearly slathering with hunger, and it was all Butler could do to keep the reins on and hold Bob back from the massive pot on the stove.

“Ah, I knew you wouldn’t be able to help yourself,” the chef said, “Couldn’t resist a second helping, could you?”

“Chef, what in…what in the hell did you feed him?” Butler asked, feeling Bob’s stomach heave with hunger, “I can’t…the master needs us for a mission, we can’t stop to eat!”

“Butler? Is that you?” the chef asked, “Well you old bat, how in the hell are you? Well, I don’t think you can complete a mission on an empty stomach, right? Besides, you were always such an uptight asshole, I think a good feeding might help loosen you up.”

Butler felt his control beginning to slip again, and Bob’s mind had lost all rational focus. It was hungry–that’s all that mattered, and as Bob’s mind lost focus, descending into an animalistic fervor, the song that had been plaguing Butler started growing louder, slowly working against his bonds of control, until after a few moments, Butler suddenly found himself without control. Bob’s body stumbling forward, taking the spoon the chef handed him as he passed, returning to the pot he’d eaten from earlier, and downing more of the gruel, moaning in gluttonous pleasure.

In Bob’s head, Butler worked to try and regain control, but it was like the song had isolated him inside Bob’s head, and he quickly realized that it had done more than isolated him, it was attacking him–changing him. It was then that he realized what kind of mistake he’d made–the song, it wasn’t just any song–it was satyr song. In his lust for Bob’s bigger body, he hadn’t bothered to think about what had made him bigger, and now that he’d fallen into the trap, he didn’t know what he was going to do. The song was wearing away at him, shifting his personality bit by bit, and as it did, the clothes on Bob’s frame started changing too.

Butler’s suit, already covered with much down the front, was slowly simplifying, as Butler himself was worn down and ripped apart by the satyr’s magic. The suit’s coat shifted from expensive Egyptian cotton and became flannel, the arms shrinking up into a cut off vest. The shirt’s buttons disappeared as the fabric grew more worn and aged, the sleeves also shrinking up until it became a massive wifebeater stretched across Bob’s massive belly. The pants shrank up into a pair of cut off jean shorts pulled tight against Bob’s inflating thighs, his belt barely able to hold them up, and they still left a good amount of ass crack exposed in the back, and last, the perfectly shined dress shoes morphed into muddy combat boots.

Butler, now, was no more–or rather, he was still there, but his new name was Bubba. His master was no longer the demon upstairs, but the song stuck in Bob’s mind. He would serve the song, and serve Bob as his filthy clothing, helping push him deeper into the life David had composed for him in the theater. Bob, his hunger a bit slated, as he cleaned the bottom of the pot, came to realize that it was futile to try and resist what David had done to him. His gut growled in hunger, swelling a bit larger, his body quickly reverting to its grubby, unwashed form, and he turned to the chef, and asked, “Ya got any more? This here gut a mine is just gettin’ started,” he said, and let off a massive belch.

The chef grinned, “Well, I do love a man who can eat. Let me see what else I can whip up for you.”

***

Well, with Butler and Bob distracted for the moment, I suppose the question is what will happen when David finally makes his way to the basement, or, we can always check in with Ken, and see what’s happening with him out in the garden.

1) David finally makes it to the basement, when he confronts Dan and the boiler. Either a) David’s song wins out in the end, enchanting Dan away from feeding the boiler, and returning the demon to stone, or b) the boiler devours David’s spirit, burning the power and giving the demon access to the rest of the house.
2) Ken finally makes it to the stable, and finds himself on his knees before the satyr, who decides our cowboy needs a few more changes. Maybe a) the satyr decides he needs to be a literal cowboy, and transforms him into a minotaur who will live in the garden’s labyrinth, or b) the satyr becomes a fat pig slave, happily spending his life groveling in mud and filth, or c) a possibility mentioned earlier, he transforms him into a gargoyle, an ally in the fight against the demon master of the house.

Send me your preferences in the reply box, or as an ask. What do you think?

Well, by a pretty solid plurality, you all wanted to see David run into Cowboy Ken, and have David come out on top, so how about we see how raunchy our new cowboy can get, eh?

***

David danced down another hallway, humming to himself, and paused at a junction, looking down a couple of hallways before jigging off down another. He was lost, unfortunately. He’d hoped to find his way to the basement to try and do his master’s bidding, but the house seemed…determined to keep him away from there. The hallways inexplicably curved away from where he wanted to go, sending him away every time he got close. Still, he was too happy to be angry–he was still reveling in how he’d changed Bob earlier, and was starting to wish he’d find someone else to draw into the satyr’s fold. And then, almost in answer to his prayers, he turned the corner and nearly barreled directly into Ken–old, grizzled and chewing tobacco with a bushy mustache–but it was Ken none the less. The cowboy just gaped at his old friend, horned, naked and dancing in place, spit some black juice onto the floor, and said, “David? What in the world happened to you?”

“To me?” David said, laughing maniacally, “Why, I met the master, of course.”

“The demon?” Ken said, “You met the demon too? Is that where your horns came from?”

“The demon is no master!” David shouted, turning suddenly angry, “There is only one true master–perhaps it’s time for you to meet him as well, and see for yourself.”

“No, David, look–I just want to get out of here–we need to get help man, this place is fucking us up.”

David, however, wasn’t listening, he was circling Ken, looking at him, composing a new song in his head for his one time friend. “My goodness, you sure are a dirty cowboy, Ken…I wonder what would happen if we made you the raunchiest cowboy in the west.” David lifted the pipes and started playing a new song, a tune similar to any number of old west cowboy songs, but with…a raunchy edge–that was the only way Ken could describe it in his head, and he could feel the song moving through him, into his shoes, making his boots tap in time to the beat.

“No…No David, stop it–what are you doing?” Ken said, the song making him throw his arm up in the air, and the stench–it was far worse than he’d smelled before, and yet…it turned him on just as much as before, maybe more so. His feet were dancing along now, his mind swept up by the song, spiraling into the satyr’s control, tobacco spit leaking out of his mouth, yellowing his mustache and staining his shirt. The song’s introduction ended, and erupted into a hot spray, Ken noticing a moment too late that he’d heard himself start pissing his pants, looked down, and sure enough, a dark spot grew quickly down one leg of his jeans. “Shit!” he cried, and hauled his cock out of the fly, but he couldn’t stop the stream–the song had made him abandon all control, and instead he pointed it up, soaking his shirt, pushing it out faster, bending over and drinking from the fount, swishing the piss around with his tobacco, the flavor disgusting, but he needed more, so much more. He started jacking his cock, snorting like a beast, feeling his new foreskin pull up over the head, quickly forming a thick coating of cheese he would occasionally lick from his fingers.

David ended the song there, pleased with Ken’s new disgusting desires. “Hey Ken, I have something for you…” David said, brandishing his own cock. Ken got down on his knees and took the head in his mouth just in time to catch the blast of piss David unleashed down his old friend’s throat. He most of it down, allowing some of it to spill out of his mouth with his dark spit onto his now even filthier clothing. When the stream ended, David turned around, presenting his ass, which Ken started licking at, jacking off his cock all the while, shoving his tongue as deep as he could, and after a couple of minutes shot a load of cum onto the floor beneath him, David turning around a nutting directly onto the filthy cowboy’s mustache, watching his crazed friend lick it up hungrily.

“See? That’s much better, isn’t it? Now, I bet our master would love to have a cowboy like you in the stable to play with–why don’t you go pay him a visit?”

“No, no David, please…I can’t…” Ken said, but the song had already taken over his feet, dancing him down the hall towards the garden, the cowboy both terrified and thrilled about what might wait for him in the stable. David in the meantime, realized he’d been distracted by the house on purpose, and annoyed, set off for the basement once more. The house could only deter him for so long–he’d find his way to the boiler before too long, and then the demon will be stone once more, and his master will rule the house once again.

***

Well, it looks like Ken is heading out back, but I think we should check in with Bob and Butler next. Here’s a few possibilities:
1) Bob and Butler run into some trouble on their way to the basement. Either a) they run into the chef from earlier, who demands Bob join him for the meal he escaped from earlier, despite Butler’s objections, or b) the song stuck in Bob’s head starts making some changes to Butler, perhaps into Bubba.
2) Bob and Butler make it to the basement. Either a) sensing that Dan can’t shovel coal fast enough, the boiler overpowers Butler, transforming him into a partner/assistant for Dan which gives the demon freedom to move about the house, or b) the satyr’s song interferes with Dan’s mind control, freeing him from the boiler’s compulsion, and the boiler enslaves Butler and Bob as the new shoveler, or c) Bob regains control from Butler with the song’s help and breaks the boiler, giving him and Dan a chance to escape, and returning the demon to stone.

What do you all think?

Well, dang, I guess that brought out a few responses. Tallying everyone’s opinions, it was a tie between the pipe and the chew, with cigarettes close behind, but we already have one gentlemanly character roaming around, and I’m kind of curious to see how a cowboy might handle David or the satyr out in the garden.

***

Ken wanted to stay with what he was familiar with–cigars or cigarettes–but the panel was apparently more worn out that he’d expected, and he couldn’t make out what button ran which program. Finally, he settled on one he was pretty sure would give him a cigar, and he pressed it. The button lit up, and then a moment later, the entire humidor sprang to life, the cranking of gears and the rush of steam as he saw a series of mechanical hands behind the glass begin moving. Two entered into the room where he was and pushed him into a chair, while the third selected a tin of chew from the racks which Ken could see labeled as “Cowboy Chew.”

That definitely wasn’t what he’d wanted. He had a few friends who chewed, most of them on the baseball team , and he’d always found it pretty disgusting, watching them spit that black shit all the time. Sure, they could take it wherever they wanted, but he still tried to fight against the hands holding him down. As he fought, the hand holding the tin entered the room, followed by two more. While one of them opened up the tin, the third swung close and gripped Ken’s jaw, forcing his mouth open, and allowing the hand to start packing the chew into his mouth, jamming as much of the black leaf in as it could, packing it on both the top and bottom, filling one cheek and then the other. By the end, Ken had so much tobacco in his mouth that he could barely speak, much less chew, and the flavor wasn’t horrible–it was smoky, almost like a campfire, and reminded him of pastures. As his saliva mixed with the leaf, the rush of nicotine to his system settled him down, and black juice started running out of his mouth, the hands taking the juice and rubbing it in all over his body, one hand staying by his mouth, encouraging him to chew faster, milking his cheeks of spit.

There was nowhere the hands didn’t go on his body with the spit, working the dark liquid into his chest and stomach down to his crotch and cock, hands pushing him forward to slather his back, lifting his arms to coat his pits, even his ass crack, legs and feet were soaked before long. Looking down, Ken saw that the spit was drying quickly, leaving his skin looking weathered and tanner than before, but also quite a bit hairier than he remembered being, a dense thicket of hair on his chest and belly, a massive bush under each arm and around his cock, as well as up and down his arms and legs. The area around his mouth was itching as well, as a grey horseshoe mustache sprouted there, and then two hands grabbed his nipples and gave them a twist, the sensation surprising him so much that he choked back and swallowed half the leaf in his mouth.

Two of the hands worked quickly to replenish the leaf in his lips, but the hands never let up on his nipples, and he felt sick from the leaf in his belly, but also a bit…warm and tingly. Looking down, his body was expanding, muscle packing onto his frame, thick pecs beefing up underneath the meaty, half inch long nipples the hands were still working over, and a third hand moved down and started stroking his cock, another fondling and pulling on his balls. The sensations were overwhelming, and when another hand lifted an arm and turned his head towards his pit, the musk there powerful and raunchy, he felt himself drawn to it, sniffing himself as he chewed, now swallowing more spit than he was putting out, fueling his growth even more, muscle spawned from years of manual labor, aside from a hard gut on his midsection. He felt his heavy, low hanging balls start contracting, and he shot a load of thick, smelly cum all over his belly, the hands rubbing it in, before retracting back into the machine, the program having run its course.

Ken sat more upright feeling…good. Really good, in fact. Before, his old body had felt exhausted, and while he didn’t think he’d gotten younger, he still felt full of energy, which was a welcome change, and he did enjoy his new physique, and his new musk, he thought, taking another whiff of his ripe pits. He stood up, stretching, happily chewing on the tobacco in his mouth, and spit a big wad onto the floor, grinning, his teeth now stained yellow, and saw a pile of clothing had been left by the hands next to the door. First, a dusty flannel shirt which he could barely stretch over his chest, which was then tucked into a pair of tight, grimy jeans. There was no underwear, but he didn’t mind going commando–it did a much better job of showing off the nine inch snake and bulging sack in the crotch of his pants. Next, a cracked leather belt with a heavy buckle, two well worn cowboy boots and last much hardly least, a classic stetson hat. He grinned, imaging what he must look like, but still, it was an improvement, and he checked and found an extra can of chew in nearly every pocket, and with that, he left to explore the house, and see if he could finally get out of here.

***

Alright, I think it’s time for someone to run into David, so here’s a few detailed options.
1) David makes it to the basement first, and finds Dan there, and either a) David fattens and slobs up Dan until he can no longer shovel coal, cutting the boiler off from it’s power supply, or b) Dan resists, giving Dan quite the fucking, the boiler burning the satyrs influence from David’s body, making him Dan’s dirty assistant.
2) David and Bob meet on the way to the basement, and either a) David reinforces the song still stuck in Bob’s head, forcing Butler to transform from a well tailored suit into the clothes of a filthy redneck, reverting Bob to his former, slovenly glory, and perhaps even further than before, or b) Butler uses his compulsions to collar David, rendering him into a subservient house pet.
3) David and Ken run into each other, and either a) David pushes Ken’s new raunchiness to new heights, making him the filthiest cowboy in the land, or b) Ken wrangles David, dominating and taming the beast in him, making him his slave.

What do you all think? If you have another idea, feel free to suggest that as well, otherwise, which of the six options might you like to see?

Hmm, well, your comments seem to be waning a bit on this interactive, which doesn’t mean I’m going to stop it by any means, but I think I’ll try to give a more specific “prompt” in the future. However, if the comments taper off still, I’ll just start taking a bit more liberty with the story myself, or maybe just put it on hiatus for a little while, we’ll see. Regardless, I did like Ken as a tobacco user–how about he stumbles upon a very fancy humidor?

***

Ken struggled up from the floor, too slow to follow Butler, possessing the now fatter Bob, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to follow them anyway. In fact, as far as he was concerned, this was a much better turn of events. Sure, he was old. Really old, he thought, looking at himself in the mirror, but who knows, maybe there was something that could be done to reverse the change, but in truth, all he really wanted was to get out of here, if he could. Luckily, he could remember the way out of the servant’s quarters and back into the house proper, and while he thought about looking for clothes, he decided it would be safer if he just went naked, as strange as that was. Still, after his experience with Butler he didn’t think any clothes here would be safe, and Bob’s clothes had been too filthy to be tolerable.

As he walked the house, listening carefully to try and avoid running into anyone new, he couldn’t help wishing he had a cigar to smoke, or anything that might calm him down. He had tobacco on his mind so much, that when he caught a hint of smoke on the air, he followed the scent without really thinking about it, into the wing of the house reserved for guest quarters. Hallways there were lined with bedrooms and private studies for the people who must have visited the previous owners of the mansion, but his nose was pulling him to somewhere in particular, and he recognized the glass door of a walk in humidor from a ways down the hall.

He did his best to contain his excitement while he peered into the room–it looked to have a massive collection of cigars, pipe tobaccos, chewing tobaccos and cigarettes, more than he’d ever seen before, and when he opened the door, the rush of air indicated that the room must have maintained it’s seal all of those years. Curious, he stepped inside, proping the door open with his foot, but it slammed shut of it’s own volition, trapping him within.

“Welcome to the guest humidor,” a recorded voice said, “Please select a program for your smoking experience.”

Ken looked at a panel next to the door, where a number of buttons were flashing, all of their labels illegible from years of neglect. “Do…Do you have any master’s blend cigars?” he asked.

“That tobacco is not available to guests.” Ken sighed, disappointed, and then tried to open the door, but it was sealed shut. “Error, guest user has yet to select a program. Please select a program.”

Ken felt worry come alive in his stomach. Apparently, the humidor wasn’t going to let him out until he smoked something, but he didn’t really want to find out what might happen to him if he did, and he couldn’t make out most of the labels to see what might be safe, and what might be extreme. Still, he could see that they were collected into four groups, apparently for pipes, cigars, chew, and cigarettes. It looked like he didn’t have much of a choice–now what program did he select?

***

Here’s a few possibilities, based on some feedback I’ve gotten.
* A cigar experience which turns him into a domineering leather bear.
* A pipe experience which turns him into an old, proper gentleman.
* Some chew which converts him into a grizzled, raunchy cowboy.
* A cigarette which gives him a skinhead makeover.

Or anything else you guys can imagine–don’t be shy! What have you got for me?

Sorry for the lack of updates again, blarg. Real life always seems to pile up at the worst times. Regardless, this next change is going to come from a chat I had again, and involves a run in between Ken, now possessed by Butler, and the now radically altered Bob. Let’s see how this is going to play out, eh?

***

Butler wasn’t very happy with this body–not very happy at all. He stopped to rest, huffing and puffing a bit, wishing his Master hadn’t made this body so damn old–it just wasn’t suited for this kind of exercise. More annoying than that, Butler just didn’t fit him all that well. He was too tall, and not nearly fat enough. He’d shifted his form into standard suit fabric and reformed his crotch and ass, hoping the more standard clothing would help, but it was just as awkward. He wanted to finish his mission so he could return to the master so this body could receive a few needed alterations. He was noisy too–rumbling around in his head, trying to reassert control against Butler’s possession, not that he was strong enough to regain control, but it was still annoying.

Having regained some wind, Butler set off again, heading down a staircase and into a room, where his breath caught in his throat. Bob was there, sitting in a chair, trying to figure out what to do next, after his insane run in with David earlier. He was so hungry, and the song was still stuck in his head, and the garden, always pulling him to the garden. Sitting still was all he could do to not dance his way out the back doors towards whatever might await him out there–he didn’t want to know. The sudden appearance of Ken, dressed as an uptight butler in ill fitting clothes, looking almost forty years older than he should was almost a welcome distraction. “Ken? Is that you? What the hell happened?”

Butler stopped short, a bit speechless. He was perfect–filthy, granted, but perfect beyond that. Well, then again, he was pretty tall, but still, Butler could tell that he would be a much better fit than this old fuck he was wearing at the moment. “It’s…it’s a long story,” Butler said, borrowing Ken’s voice and memories, “What happened to you?”

“David–something strange happened to him, I don’t know. And I…there’s this song, I don’t know…”

“Look,” Butler said, helping Bob upright, “Let’s get you cleaned up and dressed in something cleaner, and then everything will be alright. Come along.” With the words, he added a bit of compulsion, and Bob followed him obediently, weaving through the rooms to the servants’ quarters, where Butler helped him into the shower. Bob appeared rather resistant to washing himself, and it took quite a bit of force for Butler to get him under the water and lather him up.

After a shower, and much cleaner than before, Bob stepped out, naked and shivering, and said to Ken. “You aren’t Ken–what are you? How are you doing this?”

“Shhh…” Butler said, “Don’t you worry about that. Now, let’s do something about this hair of yours, and then we’ll get you dressed.” In Butler’s mind, he could hear Ken screaming, trying to warn his friend and tell him what the suit had planned, but Bob was helpless against Butler’s compulsion as the suit set him down in front of a mirror, pulled out a barber’s kit, and went to work. Butler kept the hair on Bob’s hair fairly long, but slicked it back with a thick pomade, before going to work on his beard, taming the wilds and trimming it back to more modest proportions. “Yes, that’s much better. Now, are you ready to get dressed?” Butler said, laughing, and before Bob could get up and run, the clothing began snaking it’s way off Ken’s old body and wrapping itself around Bob.

He fought harder than Ken had, but Butler wanted him, wanted to take this big, delicious body as his own, and soon, Bob was pushed back into the recesses of his own mind, Butler adjusting his suit as best he could, his posture rigid and upright, pushing his hair back into position, chuckling. Yes, the suit still didn’t fit perfectly, his legs in particular needed to shrink quite a few inches, but the youth and vigor! He loved it.

“No hard feelings, Ken,” Butler said, leaning over the weakened old man on the ground, “But you and I just weren’t meant to be. Now, I’m off to serve the master!” Butler said, skipping off, whistling a song he found stuck in his head that he just…couldn’t get rid of for some reason, but no matter. It was probably nothing. Ken, on the bathroom floor, struggled up, weak, but thankfully free. Now, if only he could find a way out of here. Still, looking down at his naked frame, he should probably find something to wear first. He saw Bob’s filthy old clothes on the ground and grimaced–there must be something better than that, but did he really want to take a chance on some clothes he might find in the servant’s quarters?

Elsewhere in the house, David chuckled and danced a short little jig, still pleased with Bob’s transformation. Still, there must be more havoc that he could wreak. From the heat, and the satyr’s memories, he figured that the demon of the house, the satyr’s old enemy, was likely awake, especially since the boiler was up and running. Still, perhaps a little sabotage was in order, and with a cackle, he set off in search of the basement.

***

Alright, who would you like to follow next?
* Ken is back in the servant quarters, needing some clothing. Does he try on Ken’s old clothes, or perhaps something else he finds there? Maybe he just wanders around naked instead, stumbling upon some as yet unexplored room in the house, perhaps a library, a guest room, or something else.
* Bob and Butler are heading for the basement, but there’s that song stuck in their head that might lead them astray, perhaps out into the garden, or maybe making a few changes to Butler?
* David is heading for the basement, but who gets there first, or do they meet along the way? If he gets there first, what sort of song might he play for Dan?

Well, with apologies to you-know-who-you-are, I’m going to take the suggestion he gave me over IM and, well, render it fairly unrecognizable. However–it was your idea that got me there in the first place, so that counts for something, right? Right? Besides, I think that we need satyr David to claim his first victim.

***

Bob was terrified. It had taken a few minutes, but the realization that he was now obese was finally dawning on him–and he had no idea what to do about it. He’d never been a fat kid–he’d never been anything but thin. He’d always hated fat people, ridiculing them, bullying them, and now his sudden membership into that category against his will was wearing on him. It didn’t help that it was exhausting. As he searched for Dan in the house, he’d had to stop several times to catch his breath, and he noticed something else–he was getting hungry. Still, he could control it–and he pushed his way into a new room–a small theater with both a small stage and a projection screen with plush seats, and they just looked too comfortable to not take a seat.

Little did Bob know that he was being followed. David had come in from the garden and spotted his former friend bumbling through the house, and had tailed him for a while, fingers running across the pipes in his hands, a devilish grin curling his mouth, wondering what song to play for his chubby friend. He, of course, knew all about Bob’s hatred of anyone fat–hell, David had joined in on the ridicule several times, but now he had a different opinion. Fat wasn’t a sign of weakness, it was a sign of indulgence, of lost control, of joy. But Bob, well, he was far too controlling, too rigid. He needed a new outlook to reflect his larger stature, and David had just the song in mind to help him along, and when Bob slumped into the theater, David knew that he just had to put on a little show for him.

Bob sat there, catching his breath, but was caught off guard when the lights cut out, before a spotlight appeared on the small stage, and the projector turned on, illuminating the large white screen. A moment later, David stepped out into the spotlight…or the strange man David had become, naked, horned and leering at the chubby Bob. “David? What in the…what happened to you?” Bob asked, moving to get up, but David played a short, soothing ditty, and he slumped back into the chair, unable to budge his eyes from his old friend and the screen.

“Ah, Bob, don’t worry about what’s happened to me. No, I think that we should look at what’s happened to you. See, I’ve composed a song for you, my friend, I call it, ‘An Ode to Bob: The Corpulent, Lustful and Raunchy.’ Do you like the title? I do. There’s even a short film that goes with it. Let me play it for you–you just lay back, enjoy.”

With that, and before Bob could object, David began to play, dancing an odd jig as his fingers flew across the pipe, and the projector suddenly flickered, a movie playing along to the song, in far greater quality than should have been possible from that old equipment, and try as he might, Bob couldn’t move or look away as the film came into focus, the song drilling it’s way into his mind, and the movie showed him–yes, him, sitting in the booth of some fast food restaurant, stuffing himself, wrappers strewn around him, and as the movie played, his image stuffing burgers and fries down his throat as fast as he could, Bob heard his real belly growl, and start…growing. Yes, really growing, pushing out and down into an apron, his moobs thick and heavy, chins descending, his thighs growing together straining the sides of his jeans. The hunger–it was overwhelming now, and Bob no longer could formulate any reason why he shouldn’t indulge it. His mouth started watering, even, as he watched his image feast, and he wished it could be him eating instead.

David’s music came to an end, there was a short silence, and then he launched into the second movement, the scene on the screen fading away, replaced by another, the now fatter Bob in a dirty bar, throwing back shots of cheap whisky, when he catches the eye of a dirty looking biker just as drunk as he is. Before Bob can process what happens, the two of them are in the filthy bathroom, the biker shoving Bob up against the wall, the two of them sharing a drooling kiss, and the display has Bob harder than he’s ever been in his life. Unable to help himself, he reaches underneath his huge gut, massaging his short but very thick cock as the biker flips his image around, yanks down his pants, and rams his cock deep into Bob’s chubby ass. The music increases in tempo as the biker thrusts, Bob stroking in time to the music, and the three of them, cum simultaneously, and David’s song segues directly into the third movement, the image fading out once more, before returning to sharp focus.

There is Bob, naked in a trailer, lounging in a recliner, fat sprawled around him, watching porn, swigging whisky directly from the bottle. The place is filthy–pizza boxes and filthy laundry littering the floor, and Bob’s image looks equally filthy, his fat matted with a thick pelt, his greasy hair long, a thick, wiry beard framing his lecherous grin, as he jacks off his cock, bouncing as he does, driving the dildo he’s using deeper into his ass. The music is tighter now, and Bob realizes he’s trapped, the music cutting him off, driving him towards this image, towards that filthy, obese slob, his present and his future, and then the song ends, and the lights come up.

Bob gasps, seeing his new self for the first time, his ill fitting designer clothes gone, replaced by a food and cum stained tank top, showing off his ample body hair, a pair of tattered camo shorts, a yellowed jockstrap plainly visible through the ripped out crotch, and a pair of second hand combat boots on his feet. He hefts himself up–finding it far more difficult than he had imagined, shuddering a bit as he felt the buttplug in his ass shift, and said, “David, what did you do? What…uh…fuck…” his words trailing off as he watched his friend stroke his thick, long cock up on the stage. Unable to resist, Bob stumbles forward and swallows the shaft to the hilt, the three movements of his song running through his head, his cock hard and leaking into his jockstrap, and David thrusts a few times and shoots down his old friend’s throat, before laughing and bounding off, his fun finished.

“Wait! David, where did–help me, tell me how to fix this!” Bob shouted.

“Why would you want to fix it?” David shouted from the shadows, laughing, “Our master will love you, just you wait!”

Bob called for David a few more times, but he was alone again–the trajectory of his life fundamentally altered, and then his gut groaned, the hunger nearly bringing him to his knees. He needed to eat, but he couldn’t give in, could he? No, he needed to resist…right?

***

Well Bob seems to be coming along quite well, eh? What shall are chubby filthy ex-basketballer stumble upon next?

• Unable to resist the hunger, he makes his way back to the ghost chef’s kitchen.
• In a desperate bit to clean himself up, he finds his way to the bathroom.
• Or perhaps he finds himself drawn out into the garden, where he will meet the master satyr himself.

Or something else–got anything?

Sorry for the break in updates–work was nuts, and I had to take a slightly impromptu personal trip. Now, let’s see what we might have in store for Ken in the bedroom.

Well, we had some people asking for a butler, like Changememakeme (and also on IM):

Not sure if this went through, but maybe a bulter in service to the demon, who awakens others. Since the satyr has a pawn of his own. Maybe in the end a fight between lust and dominance

and also some requests for a sex pig, like Furryhairyguys:

Ken sees a leather fetish outfit in the closet, and by putting it on he hopes to gain enough dominance to be able to confront the now loose demon. However, it turns him into the demon’s little leather slave pig. The demon needs an underling like the satyr, so i feel like it would fit.

So…how about a butler sex pig minion for our stone demon?

***

Ken struggled to his feet, the energy sapped from his body and looked around the room, wondering if there was anything he could use to help put this right, but he was interrupted by a loud roar, and the stomp of the stone demon clomping back down the hall, into the bedroom.

“Not enough heat, not enough power–I’ve been frozen too long, for the house to have fallen into such disrepair,” the demon said to itself, then turned to Ken, “Looks like I might have another use for you, thief.” Ken tried to scramble away, but the demon walked over, grabbed his hand, the stone uncomfortably hot, and dragged him over to the closet. “Now, I’m sure it’s in here somewhere…” the demon said, “Butler? I have someone to wear you!”

Ken stared into the mass of clothing in the closet, terrified, and watched as something began…squirming it’s way out of the mass of tightly packed clothing. It looked a bit like a suit, but the material was all wrong–shiny instead of the dullness of cloth, but Ken didn’t have much time to think about it, because as soon as the outfit was free of the closet, the demon released him and the clothing sprang, tacking Ken to the ground. He did his best to fight it off, but the clothing pinned down his limbs and pulled itself on his body, and he saw that, indeed, the outfit was designed to look like a designer suit, but it was all one piece…of leather. Well, there were a couple of pieces missing. His crotch and ass were both exposed, and the suit ripped his boxers away into tatters, leaving him naked inside the outfit, which really didn’t fit all that well. It was meant for someone shorter than he was, and also for someone quite a bit fatter, but as soon as the suit was in place, his head–it felt like the suit was mounting an invasion into his very being. In fact, the spirit which inhabited the suit was taking control of Ken’s body, crowding his mind and being into powerless parts of his mind, and the butler took control, Ken’s lips and nose curling up and giving off a snort, before falling to it’s knees in front of the demon.

“Thank you master, thank you for freeing me, for giving me someone to wear, thank you,” the butler said, dropping down and kissing the stone hooves of the animate statue.

“I have a task for you, butler. Something has reactivated the boiler, but it isn’t capable of putting out enough power for me to roam the house freely, in my current state. I need you to go down into the basement, see what is happening, and report back to me, so I can figure out how I might be able to…improve it’s efficiency. Understand?”

“Yes master…” the butler said, then let out a little moan of need, “Please…master, please can I suck your cock? And this body, it doesn’t fit me well sir, could you change it please?”

“Rewards, my servant. Serve me well, and you shall have my seed, and the body of your dreams. Now go!”

The butler raced away from the room, Ken trapped behind his own eyes, able to see what’s going on but unable to do anything about it, struggling against the power of the butler, but unable to muster any sort of meaningful resistance.

***

Alright, Ken is now occupied for a few minutes–shall we turn our attention to Bob? I’ve already gotten a few suggestions from all of you regarding him–but anything else you might like to see?

Jamesi2 gave me something interesting for Ken, which might take him in a different direction:

Smoking is actually drawing the dominance out of him, expelling it into a spirit that forms from the smoke. S&M elements ensue.

and Changememakeme added a bit later (reinforced by a conversation with a friend on IM):

I think the Dan’s shoveling the coal should bring something in the house to life. A demon? A picture? A statue?

along with Furryhairybears:

Perhaps Ken stumbles upon some fetish gear in the master’s sweet, maybe influenced by a demon or ghost. It makes him more dominant or submissive, which ever way you feel is appropriate.

Hmm…how about a demon statue? And then, as Pervmindgonewild suggested:

Ken finds the real Master of the house. The cocky jock challenges him for ownership of the house and it’s trapped guests.

Although I don’t think Ken is really going to be much of a match for him–then again, I guess we’ll just have to see what happens.

***

The flame, it needed more–it needed so much more fuel, and it needed it immediately. Dan began shoveling at an ever more hectic speed, ripping across the cellar floor in a mad dance of shovel and soot–the pipes around him groaning from the pressure, and he felt a chill run through him–one he couldn’t at all explain, and he tried not to think about it too hard, focusing ever more intensely on his work. The steam, however, diverted to a set of pipes which hadn’t been used in ages, rumbling it’s way to the upper floors, to the master’s suite, where Ken found himself drawn with strange urgency.

He knew where he was going–how could that be? Ken walked past rooms, and without opening the doors, he knew what was, or what should be, behind each door. The knowledge was disconcerting, and yet also empowering. He was important, he was…he was in charge. The bursts of dominance had eased in their force, but were coming more often, smoothing out into a steady stream shoving Ken onward. Finally, after a series of winding hallways that would have befuddled anyone other than him, he opened a set of ornately decorated double doors, and found himself in a towering suite at the heart of the third floor. Only some of it was a bedroom–in fact, the space was dominated by a large laboratory, and in the midst of the space–a statue.

Men walked closer to the statue, and saw that while it looked like a man–the truth was a bit more terrifying. Looming over the racks of test tubes and flasks was a hulking figure, demonic in cast, with cloven feet, a tail caught in mid whip, and two fierce looking horns curling from his temples. Walking around the statue, he saw that the figure was naked–with a substantial cock and thick balls hanging low, and he felt–not envious exactly, but the dominance rushing through him was insulted by something existing with a more sizable package than his own. Then, he felt the floor rumble as steam shot through the floor and walls of the room, the air heating to sweltering levels, and the statue started to…move.

It looked to be caught in mid motion, and slowly at first, it completed it’s movement, picking up speed, it’s brow creasing in confusion as awareness returned to it. “No…” it’s voice rumbled slowly, “No, I–How long?” As the heat peaked, the status reached a state of pure animation, and it spun around, facing the sweating and panting Ken, who was stripping away his outer layer in an effort to stay cool. “That accursed satyr–you–what month is it? What year is it?”

“Who are you to speak to me in such a way?” Ken said, his voice strangely similar to the demon’s own, “I am the master of this house, and you will address me as such!”

The demon growled, and saw the butt of one of his old cigars sticking out of Ken’s mouth, “Those were not yours, thief!” he said, and faster than Ken could focus on him, he smacked the young linebacker across the face, sending the cigar flying from his mouth, and knocking him back a few paces. “Now tell me, weak thing, what is the date?”

“October–October…2012…” Ken muttered, and the demon stomped and cursed.

“All those wasted years! I’ll get him for this, I’ll teach that fucking beast to mess with the master of this house,” the demon said, and advanced towards Ken, “but first, I believe I have to teach you, thief, a lesson. I will have back what you took of mine, and take something precious of yours as well, I think. How about your youth?”

He stepped forward, Ken scuttled back, but too slow, and the stone claw closed around the neck of his t-shirt and the demonic statue lifted him up to it’s face, their lips inches away, and when Ken opened his mouth to scream, the demon did the same, and–inhaled. All of the smoke Ken had drawn into him, all of the cigar’s dominance was sucked from his lungs, but also something else. He could feel his life force ebbing, like a candle dimmed by a sudden rush of wind, diminishing and growing weaker, and when the demon released him, he crumpled to the ground, exhausted.

“Master of the house,” the demon said, chuckling, “at least now you’re old enough to perhaps look the part!” and then walked to a strange funnel in the wall, which he spoke into, “Boiler, heat the house as much as you can–I can’t afford to become frozen again, not until I’ve dealt with that trickster.” Leaving Ken on the floor, he left through the double doors, Dan throwing ever more coal on the boiler’s flame to heat the entire house to a swelter.

Ken, released from the demon’s grasp, felt some sort of life return to him, but he was sore, and weak. He pushed himself up off the floor, and saw a mirrored wall and his reflection…he was–old. His hair white, his hairline recessed into a horseshoe, his muscle mass deteriorated into fat. He was a geezer, a decrepit old man, and he felt like it. But that demon, he had to do something about that thing, but what? What could possibly be of use to him and his friends? He looked around the room, and something caught his eye, but what?

***

Yes, what indeed? Maybe it was:

1) A closet? What sort of outfit might the now older Ken put of to replace the clothes he’s grown out of?
2) Something in the laboratory? A serum, a machine, it could be anything, really.
3) Something else? A nap on the bed? A book from a shelf?

Give me your suggestions/requests below, on in an ask, or send me an email at wesley_bracken@yahoo.com. What have you got for me?

Furryhairybears said:

He tries to resist, but will fall to desire. Maybe becoming some sort of slave to the satyr, or gaining some features of a satyr.

That sounds like a good idea to me. There were also a lot of calls for futile resistance, so let’s see how long David can hold out.

***

It was a different song than the last one which had drawn him into the stables. That one had been jovial and uplifting, and while it had drawn him to the satyr sitting on the barrel, the compulsion had been more suggestive than mandatory. This new song, however, was far more…compulsory. The tempo was hectic and quick, moving quicker than David could think, binding him up in it’s notes and rhythms, worming it’s way inside his head, telling him to dance, let himself go, and obey the satyr.

Still though, David was ready for it this time, refusing to dance or even move, but he needed something to fight back. It occurred to him that maybe, just maybe, he could counter it with a song of his own, and so he started singing the college football teams fight song back at the satyr. Somehow, the satyr managed to laugh and talk as he was playing, the words almost appearing right in his head as lyrics:

“Ho, so someone has a little fight in them, I hear, well let’s see you handle this.”

The notes flew from the pipes, catching David’s own song in his throat, drowning out every other song in his head, and before he even realized it was happening, he was singing along to the satyr’s tune, unable to stop himself, the feet he’d tried to keep stationary suddenly moving along with the wild beat, and the song, it was everywhere. He did his best to keep it out of his head, but it felt pointless to resist, all of a sudden. No, not pointless, it was more than pointless, it was…he didn’t want to resist at all, did he? No, he just wanted to dance, to dance…and…and fuck, and drink, and pleasure, oh the fucking pleasure of it all!

The satyr wasn’t playing the pipes anymore, but the music was still going, and David realized that the song was still playing inside his head, and he didn’t want it to ever stop–he didn’t want to ever stop, but he was so horny, and he saw the short, thick cock emerge from the satyr’s sheath he thought nothing of bending to his master’s will, and getting down on all fours, allowing the satyr to mount him, the song growing even louder, and when the satyr came, it was accompanied by a surprising tremendous pain in his head, as two curled horns sprouted from his skull.

The pleasure, all of the pleasure. The satyr dismounted, and David rolled over onto his pack, jacking his cock wildly until he shot a load all over his shirt, but he didn’t care–why was he even wearing clothes? He stripped down, still human in form, but far more comfortable in his natural state, and the satyr let out his bleating laugh again. “Good, very good–I think you might give the master of the house a run for his money,” he said, and tossed David the panpipes, “Go, use these, please yourself and others–especially the master of the house–such a sour fool, make him dance until his feet are bloody stumps.”

“Yes my lord,” David said, and then let out a wild laugh and skipped off, the song still running inside him, stuck in his head, but others as well, so many songs to play, such pleasures to enjoy. He slipped back into the mansion, buck naked, wondering who he might find, and who might dance with with him next.

***

Well, that might make things a bit complicated–but maybe we should leave David for a bit…unless we want someone to dance with him.
1) Ken is still looking for the Master’s Suite. I’ve gotten some better ideas from you all here, so thanks for that.
2) And we still have the bigger Bob to contend with–whatever could he find on the main floor?
3) Something else? We still have Dan shoveling coal, and the satyr thrall running around as well.

Two notes: First, I’ve heard that there’s a character limit on the reply box. If this is hindering your creative capacities, then split it into multiple entries, or put it in my ask box–I’m good with that too. Second, if you don’t have a tumblr account, and you use the reply box, chances are I’m not getting your suggestions. I don’t know why this is. Just make an account–it’s fast and free–or send me an anonymous ask, which I know I get even if you don’t have an account.

So, what have you got for me?

Alright, I’m just going to be brutally honest–your suggestions for Bob and Ken are boring the hell out of me–either give me some details, or give me something new I haven’t written/seen written five hundred times already. Still, I did like what pervmindgonewild had in mind for David:

Maybe David, trying to get as far away from the upper floors as possible will go outside. There’s a stable out there…

And coupling that with gaynerpig’s comment earlier:

My penis says he should go to the kitchen because that’s always delicious, BUT the garden is unexpected. Perhaps something about “mythical” creatures there. Fairies that trick him into a terrible fate, like becoming one of the Manor’s Gargoyles? Idk.

Mythical, eh? Well, let’s see what David might find out there…
***
Bob had been right–something very strange was going on in this house, and David sure as hell wasn’t going to stick around and find out what it might be–he wanted out. However, every door leading outside was suddenly locked tight, and every window unbreakable–including the one the four pledges had climbed in through. Now, the brave cocky jock was actually scared–maybe all of the stories were true. He’d thought it was just supposed to be a joke, something to weed out the pussies form rush week, but…well, he had a feeling that none of them would be leaving tomorrow if the house could help it. Finally, however, he found a door leading outside–but his momentary happiness was dashed, when he realized the door had opened up onto the massive, hedged in garden back behind the house.

Still, it was better than being in the house, he figured, and so using his cell phone as a flashlight (first checking to see if he had service [he didn’t]) started searching the hedge and fence for any sign of weakness. He’d been walking for a few minutes, long enough to stray a decent distance from the house, when he first heard the song borne on the wind, a light, lilting tune, and suddenly, his worries didn’t really seem so bad after all, and…and he almost felt like dancing. Skipping and jumping along with the beat, he found himself unable to stop smiling as he followed the sound, allowing it to pull him towards a nearly derelict stable.

It was pipe music of some sort, like a flute, but when he ducked inside, even the joyful music couldn’t uproot him from where he froze in the doorway. There, sitting on a barrel by a window, illuminated by the moon, as yet unaware of David’s presence, sat a satyr, pan pipes in his hands playing the jolly tune, and David paled. The beast flicked it’s eyes over to David, and stopped its song.

“Well, well, does the house have more visitors? It’s been awhile you know–it must be hungry,” the satyr said, before bleating at what David assumed to be humor, but he didn’t find the thought of the house eating him to be all that funny.

“Who–what, I mean, I thought…”

“Oh, don’t act too surprised–I’m sure you’ve already seen stranger things by this point,” the satyr said, then looked down, “Ha, well, I suppose I am pretty strange, aren’t I?” He hopped down off the barrel, coming up to David. He was shorter than the jock by at least a foot, and yet, there was a sense that the satyr still had complete control over the situation. “What do you say, should I play you a song, little man? Something to ease your worries, and free your mind? You could always stay with me, you know–I get rather lonely out here in the garden, with only the gargoyles for company.” He gave a sniff at David’s crotch, and snickered, “smells like someone has already had one round of pleasure–how about another?” the satyr grabbed David’s crotch, gently caressing his cock through his jeans, and the human moaned.

“No, please…I just…I just want to get out of here, do you know a way out?”

“Ha, there is no way out, not for you, or anyone else who trespasses on Greywall Manor. Now, shall I play you a song? Something to…help you along, perhaps?”

The satyr raised the pipes to his mouth, and started his song.
***
Uh oh, sounds like David might be in trouble. What’s the brave jock boy going to do to get out of this one, or if he gives in, what’s the satyr’s special song going to do to him? And feel free to keep coming up with ideas for Ken and Bob–but try to be a little less…obvious this time. Give me a challenge here, eh?