Life Coach (Part 2)

Shane woke up the next morning in an unfamiliar bed that, at the same time, felt…right. It was smaller than usual–just a twin bed, in fact. But the room–he recognized the room, for sure. He was back in his house, but he was in a room which he thought had been a guest room, but which his brain was now telling him was…his room. But that couldn’t be right–he slept in the master suite in his house with his wife–but that thought was so embarrassing he felt his cheeks turn red immediately.

He’d never once slept in the same bed as his wife! She had taken one look at his puny cock on their honeymoon, and laughed him onto the couch. He’d never even fucked her once–she’d told him that he wasn’t man enough, and she was right. He had the money, he had the career, he had the confidence out of the house, but in here he was whipped, and he hated it, but there was no getting out of it now. He rolled up in his bed, and looked down at his tiny, half inch cock and raisin sized balls–some part of him unable to believe it, but he’d looked at the same equipment his whole life, why was he finding this so hard this morning?

Even then, the cock was only one piece of a larger problem. He stood up from the bed, and was certain he should be standing taller, but he’d always been short–just shy of five feet five inches–and his flabby body wasn’t doing him any favors either. He’d always found his body disgusting though–all of the hair everywhere–it was almost as thick across his back as it was across his chest. The muttonchops on his face only made his head look fatter and wider–why did he keep them cut all bushy like that anyway? He picked a cigar from the humidor and lit it up, feeling a bit better once he got some smoke in him, and then he got dressed–Sandra demanded that he be dressed at all times in her presence–it lessened the chance that she might have to lay eyes on his disgusting body, as she called it.

She was downstairs in a robe, when he got there. When he entered the kitchen, she informed him that she had a new lover coming over in an hour, and that Shane would have to get the door, because she would be getting ready when he arrived. That small part of him did a double take, but it wasn’t like his wife was willing to forego sex just because her husband’s cock was a microdick. No–she took lovers all the time, as many as she wanted, and…and he let her, because it made her happy, and sometimes he got to watch–provided the man she was making love to was alright with it. He ate some breakfast and read the paper–his lazy Sunday routine–and when the doorbell rang, he got up and answered the door, finding a young man on the other side, wearing little, his massive cock bulging in the front of his jeans.

“Oh, uh, hi–I’m here for Sandra…” the guy said, “Who…are you?”

“Oh, I’m Shane–her husband. Come on in, she’s upstairs getting ready for you.”

“Oookay,” the young man said, “Actually, I think I’m just gonna go…”

“No, please,” Shane said, “Come in! It’s fine, we have an…arrangement.”

He was obviously still skeptical, but he stepped inside anyway. Shane got the young man’s name–Devin–and then led him upstairs, where Sandra was in the master bedroom, nearly naked. “Oh there you are Devin–you’re late. I hate having to wait, you should remember that. Get undressed.”

Devin looked from her to Shane, but he pulled off his tank top, displaying his thick pecs and solid abs, but paused with his jeans. “Is…why is he still here?”

“Oh–Shane here has the tiniest cock I’ve ever seen–he can’t even get inside me. You’ll have to forgive him, he hates asking. Shane–is there something you’d like to ask Devin?”

Shane cleared his throat, somehow feeling even smaller than his new height made him, “Oh, uh, I’d like to…to watch, if that’s alright with you.”

“Wait, seriously?”

“Yes, if you don’t mind. I–I’ll stay out of sight, you won’t know I’m here.”

“Fuck no, you fucking creep, get the fuck out of here!”

Shane blushed red, but did as the young man said, and retreated outside the bedroom door, closing it behind him. There was lots of laughter for a few moments, and then that segued into moans. Shane was left outside the door, smoking one of his cigars–almost sucking on the rough leaf–rubbing his crotch through his pants, feeling his tiny cock stiff like a nipple thinking…thinking about that young man, how big his cock must be, what…what it might feel like. Maybe…maybe he’ll let him watch some other time, maybe he can find out what kinds of things he might like, or give him some money, next time.

Wait–what the fuck was he doing? This wasn’t right, this wasn’t right at all! He wasn’t some…flabby short pushover with a cock small enough for the record books. This–something had happened. Something had changed, but what? He stalked away from the door and back to his room, where he lit a cigar and tried to focus on something beyond the moans of the young man he could hear from down the hallway. What had he done yesterday? There was that new neighbor, and he’d gone over to say hello, but after that things got…hazy, and he couldn’t quite remember anything of the visit at all. Still, something in his gut told him that if he wanted answers, he’d have to go there, and so he left the house and went next door, where he knocked on the door. After a moment, Evan opened the door and looked down at his short neighbor, and smirked. “Well hello Shane, back for another session already? I must say, you look like you’ve made tremendous progress from yesterday. Why don’t you come inside?”

His body, something was wrong with his body. he stepped inside, and before Evan even got the door shut, he was on his knees–waiting. Waiting for Evan to turn around, slowly unzip his fly, his huge cock flopping out, and Shane swallowed it to the hilt.

Arctos Monthly (Part 2)

Adjusting was…difficult. The smoking was the hardest–I’d never given much thought to something like that before, but if I went more than an hour without smoking a bowl of tobacco, my mouth would go dry and I’d start getting these jitters. I could sometimes get away with smoking in the dorm with the window open if Andy was out, but for the most part I was stuck outside on benches away from buildings–at least it was a warm April, if nothing else, but my mind was focused on wondering how long it would take Andy to get his package from Arctos…because I had to admit, I was itching for a fuck. Sure, there were a few gay guys on campus who were drooling over me, but I wasn’t really looking for the skinny college type–I needed a fucking bear. Unfortunately my age hadn’t changed at all, and I couldn’t very well get into a bar, and I was nervous about hooking up online. But once Andy got his first package, I had a feeling I wouldn’t have to worry about not getting enough sex soon enough.

It came about a week after I’d received mine. I was in the room working on some school work when he came in carrying a box the same size as mine had been, and my mouth went dry. It was so hard not giving away the game while he read the card out loud to me, laughing, and all I wanted to do was scream at him to put the damn clothes on! That was something I’d discovered too, with this new body–I think my behavior had shifted too. Just…a little but. Like I was more cocky? I took more risks, and I loved being in charge. It was hard to describe, because I was having a harder and harder time remembering that I’d been completely different just a week earlier. Still, I managed to play dumb, and he finally pulled the clothes out–some XXXL sleeveless shirts with the Arctos label, some huge jeans and overalls. Boots, socks, boxers and a set of suspenders. He ended up with cigars instead of a pipe, however. I’d been expecting him to get something like what I’d gotten, but it was an entirely different set–the clothes even smelled different than mine had: more musky, like a locker room.

Now I’d been pretty average size before my package, as best I could remember. Andy, however, was a big old beanpole. Probably six foot three and maybe 160 pounds–there was no way these clothes were going to fit him, and he didn’t even have any interest in trying them on…though something had him at least a little interested, as far as I could judge from the bulge growing in the front of his pants. I think he would have eventually tried them when I was out of the room, but I cajoled him into them, saying it was just for shits and giggles. He finally gave in, pulled on a pair of boxers, a shirt, the overalls because there was no way he could hold the jeans up, even with the suspenders on. He looked ridiculous, of course. The clothes were massive, but the overalls didn’t even reach his ankles, the legs were so short on him. He asked if this was enough…and I wondered why he wasn’t changing. Was it because I was there watching? I realized something was missing, unwrapped one of the cigars and told him to put it in his mouth too. He refused–he hated anything having to do with smoking…but I could see something in his eyes. The smell of the clothes was getting to him now–he wanted it, he just didn’t want to admit to me that he did, especially after all the complaining he’d been doing about the smell of my pipe smoke getting everywhere. So I gave him a push, and just stuck the cigar in his mouth anyway.

I had to pull my hand away immediately, as the end burst into flame, and an entirely different Andy was standing in front of me, looking confused and disoriented around himself at the room which was suddenly much…taller. He had, in an instant, shrunk down over a foot to a much shorter height of five foot two, the top of his head now not even reaching my bearded chin, and he’d exploded in size–and it sure as hell wasn’t muscle. When we weighed him in a bit later, using the scale in the bathroom, we found out he was now 385 pounds, but all I could think at the time was that he was…so fucking fat. He looked down at himself, confused, unable to take it in, panicking and sucking down smoke like he didn’t even know he needed it, and started ripping the clothes off of him–and I helped of course.

I hadn’t really…considered the fact that I might be attracted to bigger guys. Sure, more than a few of the chubby, bearish professors around campus had been catching my eye, but seeing Andy’s new rolls of flab covered with a thick coating of brown hair, his face and double chins covered by a bushy brown goatee, his hair grown out down past his shoulders–I had that cigar out of his mouth and my lips over his, sucking the smoke from his lungs so fast that he didn’t even know what was going on–but he needed me, and I wanted him bad. I threw him around and shoved him over the side of the bed, surprised at my own forcefulness, got down and started eating out his massive ass, and he was moaning and groaning, getting looser until I lined up my huge cock and slipped it right inside, like it had been made for me. Hell, maybe it had been, right? I knew he’d probably have questions, but he sure wasn’t saying no at the time, and I’m not sure I could have stopped myself even if the thought had crossed my mind. He…sure was pissed, though. He ruined the afterglow with his shouting and whining. He’s probably still is a bit pissed, probably, but he’s pretty happy with Mitch these days…heh. Mitch. Where do I even start with that fucker…

I’ll Make You Fell Small (Part 3)

***WARNING*** Strangenesss ahead. Mind death and implied snuff.

He didn’t permit Trash to ride in the front cab with him–no, George had brought along a dog carrier, just for this purpose. The bitch was too short to get up into the back of his truck, so George had to lift him up by the armpits, and the sensation of being held, helpless in the air, only cemented for Trash his new status, not even as a bitch, but as some kind of pet, a freak, a worthless, meaningless animal, especially when George padlocked him in, without another word. The crate was cramped–he could barely fit inside it–at first, though it grew more comfortable as he rode. The ride was long, about an hour, and Trash tried to sleep. But the crate was unsecured, and slid from one side of the truck bed to the other with each turn–and he thought his Master might be taking the turns a bit too hard, just to make it harder for him to relax. Finally, however, they came to a stop on a gravel drive–but George didn’t let the bitch out–he just dropped the back, grabbed the crate, and carried Trash into the house still inside it.

Inside, he carried Trash right down into the basement, to his dungeon, and only there, did he finally unlock the door, and allow Trash to crawl out of the crate–which was easier than getting in, because he’d shrunk once again, now only about three feet tall, his skin pale and hairless, arms bony. He felt like he was…disappearing, slowly. He may be worthless, but he didn’t want to disappear, he didn’t deserve that, did he?

He barely reached his master’s crotch now, and he watched George light himself a cigar, and sit down in a leather armchair with a sigh, “Bitch, lick my boots clean.”

The thought of disobeying didn’t even cross his mind anymore–he got down on his knees and started licking at the leather, though his small tongue barely covered any area of leather.

“You know bitch, you’re lucky–did you know that? Don’t you think so? After all, you have the privilege of serving a man–a real man like me, isn’t that right? Do you really think you’re worthy of such a privilege, someone as disgusting as you are?”

“N-No sir, no, of course not, I’m the luckiest bitch, I really am,” Trey said.

George puffed on his cigar for a few minutes, considering a few possibilities, before saying, “Do you…admire me slave?”

“I…I do, sir.”

“Yes, I suppose you would, but a true bitch, no, you aren’t even a bitch, really, are you? Even bitches don’t ride around in crates, even bitches aren’t as small as you are. You’re just my pet, my obedient, dumb, desperate pet, eager to please, utterly dependent on me to provide for you. But I wouldn’t want a pet that looks like you–no, a proper pet takes after it’s owner, don’t you think? I mean, you certainly can’t be a man like I am, but if you really did admire me, I think you’d want to look like me right, Trash? No, it doesn’t even matter what you want to look like–that’s just what you are. All pets are simply reflections of their owners, you couldn’t look any different even if you were capable of thinking otherwise.”

George sat up and bent down, grabbing Trash and pulling him up. He was much heavier than before–not too heavy to lift, of course, but the bulging, hairy gut he’d sprouted had doubled his weight. His face and head was coated with white hair, and his face, while still…humanesque, no longer had any real sense of self, his eyes glued to George’s face, filled with wonder and love, wrinkled with age like George’s own.

“What would you like boy, you want to make your master happy?”

Trash whined. George lined him up with his hard cock, and slipped his pet onto him, his ass opening wide and taking him easily, George’s cock pressing deep into his body, giving him some discomfort, but Trash could handle it. For him, for his Master, he would do anything.

“Yes, such a good pet,” George said, sliding him all the way down onto his cock, and leaving him impaled there, stroking his fat hairy body, “So stupid. Do you even realize that, without me, your existence wouldn’t even matter? That I am the reason you exist, the only thing in the world that cares about you? That without me, you’d just wither away? I’m not your Master. I’m not your owner. I’m your god. You worship me. My pleasure is the only reason you exist. To me, you’re little more than an object to please me–so please me, suck the cum from me with your worthless body.”

Trash’s hairy, fat began to jiggle, clutching at the cock buried inside him trying as hard as it could to squeeze the huge cock inside it. It’s arms were withering–it no longer needed them. It’s legs, too, disappeared, it’s body contracting squeezing as hard as it could, slowly milking it’s god, growing smaller, feeling the cock take up more and more of it’s body, allowing it to constrict harder and tighter, it’s body focusing around it’s now singular purpose–to bring as much pleasure to this godly man as it could. Finally, it heard a roar–cum filling it’s body–it had succeeded, it had done what it was made to do. It was good.

George reached down, and pulled Trash free from his cock, and set it on his massive belly. It was now less than a foot tall, it’s arms and legs gone. He could feel the body still trying to suck, it’s inside cavity coated with cum–he petted it’s hairy body with two fingers, feeling it shiver with pleasure, it’s face melting into the body as it shrank. “It’s time. The only purpose you have now is to join with me. Become a part of your god, it’s the only thing you have left to do.”

He kept stroking. He could see the last bit of it fighting, struggling against what it knew it must do. It shrank smaller and smaller, now just an inch, looking like a hairy nipple in the midst of his belly, and soon he couldn’t see it at all–it had become shapeless, microscopic, nothing at all, now that it was simply a part of him. George sighed, and stroked his belly, satisfied. It was what he’d deserved, after all. Small men like that, small weak men who could only hurt others, the only thing they deserved was to be nothing at all.

I’ll Make You Feel Small (Part 2)

It felt, to Trey, like an enormous shaft of pain. He’d never, ever, allowed any man to fuck him before, and he screamed, trying to claw himself away, but somehow, this fat man continued to overpower him, grabbing his arms and pinning them to his sides, weighing him down with his gut, breath hot against his neck. “How does it feel? Being helpless? Do you feel small? Well you are small. A small man–no, not even a man now. Not a man at all, you’re just a bitch, a slave. My slave–how does that sound? You don’t get to be a man anymore, no, all you are is two loose, hungry holes, ready to please your betters–but that means you’re ready to please absolutely anyone, right? Because you’re the worst, the smallest, the most pathetic thing I’ve ever had the displeasure of seeing. Now quit your crying and take it–it’s the only pleasure you’re going to get from now on.”

Trey remained quiet, listening, trying to understand how this could have happened, George focusing on inflicting as much pain as he could, but Trey’s gasps were already turning to groans, as he adjusted to the size of his cock, and he began to realize how good it felt, to take a real man’s cock in his hole.

“Listen to yourself,” George said, “Listen to you moan. Does it feel good? Being used like this? It’s disgusting, how much you enjoy it. Aren’t you disgusting? Say it. Say ‘I’m a disgusting little bitch slave.’ I want to hear you tell me what you are.”

“N-No…” Trey said, but even he knew there was no force behind it.

“Fucking say it!” George screamed at him, “Say you worthless sack of shit!”

“I’m…I’m a bitch…” Trey sobbed, “I’m…I’m a disgusting little…little bitch slave.”

“Again. Say it again.”

“I’m a little, disgusting bitch slave…”

George gave a growl, and flooded Trey’s ass with cum, gripping the bitch’s wrists hard enough to bruise as he filled him up, and then he slid himself free and stepped back, heaving for breath, looking down at Trey, at what he was now. He walked over, grabbed Trey by the hair, and dragged him over in front of a wide mirror against the wall, and in the dim light, Trey could make out his body, his…his small, worthless body–what had happened to him?

He was…short. He’d started out taller than this hulking daddy bear by at least two or three inches, but now he barely reached the top of his chest. He’d shrunk close to a foot and a half…and all of his muscles had disappeared along with it, like he’d simply deflated. No wonder he hadn’t been able to fight him off–why had he even tried? He…he knew better, a weakling like him. Men…men like this man, like his…Master. He couldn’t fight them, there was no way he could possibly win, not against a man like that. Not against any man…because…because he wasn’t a man, not…not anymore.

He could see his crotch, and it was…it was bare. He’d always had a small cock, but now he had literally nothing. Not even a nub, and his balls, too, had shrunken away and disappeared entirely. Seeing where the bitch was looking, George crouched down, and with one hand rubbed the smooth patch of skin. “Tell me bitch. What do you feel? Feel anything down there anymore?”

“N-No…No, what…what did you do to me? Where’s my cock?”

“You don’t deserve a cock, bitch. What would a pathetic piece of trash like you even use a cock for anyway? Or balls? No…no, you know what you’re good for–the only thing you’re good for, slave. Tell me…tell me what a worthless bitch like you might be good for.”

He didn’t…want to say it. He couldn’t say it, but his lips were moving, words were slipping out against him, “Serving…sir. Serving men. Men like you.”

George turned him towards him and slapped him across the face, “No, fucker–you don’t serve men like me. You serve any man–all men are better than you and deserve your service, right bitch?”

“Right…sir.”

“Good,” George said, and pulled out a collar attached to a leash he’d kept attached to his belt. Trey meekly allowed him to place it around his neck, and then George tugged him out of the room, naked, “Let’s see if we can help you learn that lesson, bitch. Come on.”

They stayed at the bath house until the early morning, George leading Trey around by the leash, forcing him to serve every single man they came across, no matter how old and fat, or young and thin. The whole time, he forced Trey to show off his empty crotch, forced him to tell men what he was, and what he was good for. He even gave him a new name, since he didn’t deserve a man’s name. His name was Trash now–and by the time George led him stumbling out into the cold dark outside, still naked, it was the only name he could remember having.

Down the street, still parked, was a motorcycle. Some…dim memory tried to tell him that it was his, but what could a little bitch like him ever do with a motorcycle? Hell, he wouldn’t even be able to drive it…at his new height. He’d continued shrinking, all night long, the more George had abused and humiliated him. Now, he was even weaker, and only about four feet tall. George stopped outside, and looked down at him, wondering what to do next. He wouldn’t be hurting anyone now, not anymore–but was that enough? Did such a cruel thing deserve even this much of a life, as a worthless, tiny bitch? He didn’t. Not in George’s opinion. “Come on slave, you’re coming home with me. I’ll deal with the rest of you then.”

I’ll Make You Feel Small (Part 1)

George stood outside The Pit, off to one side of the entrance, just beyond the scope of the streetlights, smoking a cigar, and waiting. He’d been standing there for close to an hour, waiting for him to show up, his target–a man named Trey Donovan. They had business that needed to be settled, not that Trey was aware of the debt he owed. Still, he’d been a blight on the local scene for long enough that someone needed to deal with the fucker, and George knew that if anyone could deal with him for good, it was him.

Trey thought of himself as an alpha, not that he really knew what that meant. An alpha ought to be a leader; to Trey, it simply meant dominator. He cared only about himself, about his needs, about his looks. He was, George supposed, appealing, of one had a fetish for gorilla silhouettes. He almost certainly was on steroids, from how large he was–it was clear he was compensating for something, and everyone who’d been with him (or raped by him) could attest to his rather…lackluster size. Still, anyone who mentioned that tended to end up with one of those massive forearms shoved inside, whether they were ready or not. He was a brute, cruel and unfeeling, and George had seen too many boys and cubs he liked be ruined by Trey, in one way or another.

George considered himself a daddy, and he looked the part too. Past what some might consider his prime, his hair greying and balding past the crown of his head, a big full gut pushing out against the thick leather harnesses he liked wearing. Still, he knew how to win someone’s obedience, how to create a bond more lasting than the ones Trey fostered out of pain and fear. Some brutes could only learn in the language of brutes, and George was certain Trey was one of them. If he could only get off by making people feel small, then perhaps what he needed more than anything else was to feel small himself. So small, he’d never hurt anyone ever again–George would make sure of that.

He heard the roar of a motorcycle coming down the street, and saw the hulking bull sitting in the saddle pull over to one side of the street and park. He was decked out in leather and denim, all the clothes a bit too small for him on purpose. Trey got off and stomped his way down the sidewalk and up into The Pit, passing George on the way, not even giving the old bear a glance, since George wasn’t exactly his type. He didn’t even hear the strange mumbling coming from the shadows, though he did feel a strange…sensation as he climbed the steps, like some shadow had attached itself to him. He tried to shake off the feeling, but couldn’t, growled and went inside, figuring a rough fuck would make him feel better. George just smiled, waited a few more minutes, put out the butt of his cigar, and then followed Trey inside, ready to get to work.

It hadn’t taken Trey long to get started. In fact, he had probably grabbed the first slightly appealing guy he’d seen, dragged him into a room, bent him over the bench and started on him–or at least that’s what it looked like. The guy was young, short, a bit of a twink, kind of into it, though he kept asking Trey to take in a bit slower–not that he was listening. A few men were watching, and George joined the circle, watching for a moment, before he said, just above a whisper to the man next to him, “What is it, four inches, ya think?”

The man he’d spoken to, knowing Trey’s reputation, immediately turned around and left the room–the other men following suit. Trey, too, had heard him of course, and stopped his rutting, gripping his victim tight to hold him in place, turning to where George was standing, leering. “Big enough to fuck you up, old man. W don’t you just shut up and watch, and see what a real man can do?” The quaver of doubt in his voice was apparent even to him, and he started fucking harder.

“You’re not a man, you’re just a fucking animal. A fucking animal with a tiny, worthless dick,” George said, “You’re pathetic.”

Trey pulled out, and snarled, but something was wrong with him. He knew that he should be angry–no, he was angry, but he should be…angrier than he was. Part of him, some strange part of him was…a bit turned on, by the insult, for some reason. The young twink took his opportunity, rolled off the bench and ran off, Trey realizing too late that his fuck had gotten away. “Ya know, I don’t usually fuck old farts like you, but I’ll ram my fist up your hole just to teach you a lesson about respect!”

He charged George, ready to tackle him. “You’re weak,” George said. Something affected his stride, and Trey stumbled, nearly tripping. “You’re weak, and you’re worthless.” No, no, this wasn’t right, Trey thought to himself, this fucker couldn’t…couldn’t say shit like this to him! He threw a punch–George caught his fist in his own…and his hand should have been so much bigger, but somehow…somehow this old, fat man could palm his fist in his own…and…and… “Bend over, bitch,” George spat.

Trey fought. He fought this…this this sudden desire to submit, something he’d never felt before in his life, something he’d never even imagined himself capable of feeling. He took a step back, but George closed the distance between them, one of the bears hands wrapping around his neck. “You worthless piece of trash, don’t even think about it. You know you deserve this. I’m gonna show you just how little of a man you are. Now bend the fuck over, whore–I won’t tell you again.”

George shoved him back, Trey trying to keep his balance, but he fell on his ass, and…and he got on his knees, helped himself up with the bench, and…and bent over, the whole time, his mind screaming at him, unable to understand why he was doing this, as he heard George’s belt buckle click open, his zipper drop, and the old bear shoved his eight inch cock in balls deep.

Twin Changes

Here’s a new story exclusively for my $5 a month and up patrons on Patreon! If you aren’t supporting me yet, I’d really appreciate any monthly contribution. For just a dollar a month, you get access to a massive archive of unreleased material, five dollars gets you access to Patreon exclusive stories, and ten dollars gives you access to drafts of all the stories I’m currently working on! You can find more details here, or click the link above to download the story (it’s a pdf. link!) or make a contribution. Thanks again to everyone and their support! This has meant a lot to me, seeing how successful this Patreon has been in less than a year. Below is a preview of the story–a double length post for two days this week. Hope you enjoy the teaser.

“I mean…it’s pretty, I guess.” Fred held the stone hemisphere up closer to his face to look at it. A paperweight? That’s all he could really think it was. It looked to have been one half of some sort of orb that had been cut in two–rather violently, from how jagged the cut was. He smiled at Dan, trying to appear sincere, but when his older friend had told him that he had a really exciting gift for him, he’d been imagining something more impressive than a rock.

Dan smirked, and pulled the other half of the orb from the box. The lighting was a bit dim in the living room where they were sitting, enjoying some after dinner scotch, but for all intents and purposes, it looked like the missing half to the one he was holding. The two of them had met through work, when Fred had joined the company where Dan was already employed. They worked in different departments, but they crossed paths enough that they became friends, with Fred taking Dan under his wing as a someone to mentor, even though at thirty-three and forty-one they weren’t that far apart in age. Still, Fred was a bit insecure, and the encouragement from Dan helped, especially since he was another single gay man in a world filled with straight, married folks. The sex had begun after a night where they had both had a bit too much to drink, and they’d kept the occasional sex well away from their day jobs. But since they both has an attraction to fatter, older men, neither one of them was really able to push the other’s sexual buttons as well as they might have hoped. But Fred knew Dan well enough that he wasn’t going to just give him some random rock–he had much better taste than that, as was evidenced by his immaculately designed house where they were both sitting. What game was he getting at anyway?

“I don’t get it,” Fred confessed, “It’s…a rock?”

“Not just any rock, Fred. Look, I…I know this would sound crazy if I just said it, so I’ll just have to demonstrate it first, and then you’ll understand. Just hold the orb in your hands for a second.” Dan took a breath, and then said, “I wish I had black hair.”

The orb in his hand began to glow with a soft light, highlighting the silver striations embedded in the orb. A moment later, Fred’s began to glow as well, with a strange warmth. He tried to drop it, but the orb clung to him even when he flipped his palm upside down, like it was magnetized. After a few moments, the glow died, the orb fell from his hand to the carpet, and he stared at it, before looking over at Dan, and saw that his previously brown hair had become a deep black–on his head, his beard, even the hair on his forearms.

“What the hell was that? Did…did that thing just…change your hair color?”

“Not just mine,” Dan said, “Go look in the mirror.”

Fred stood up and walked to the mirror hanging on the wall–and sure enough, the orbs had changed his hair to the exact same shade of black, his hair, his goatee, the bit of chest hair popping up from his collar. “That’s…that’s not possible.”

“I would say the same thing in your position, I know, but it is possible. The orb grants wishes, and these two halves are linked. If each of us holds an orb, the wish affects us both.”

“And…you just thought it would be funny to change our hair color? What’s everyone in the office going to say on Monday?”

“Don’t worry about that, no one else knows that anything is different–only we know that anything has changed. No one would bat an eye, no matter what we might do to ourselves,” Dan smiled, “And I thought we might have some fun this weekend…just the two of us.”

Fred narrowed his eyes. “Now hold on–the wishes affect both of us, right? So how in the world would we be able to get back to normal?”

“Easy–I already tested it. If someone holds both halves together, the wish only affects them, and I’ve been…experimenting. Go on, pick your half up and wish to become what you looked like before you received the orb.”

“Why do I have to do it?”

“That half of the orb is connected to you now–I can’t make another wish until you make one. We have to alternate as long as the orb is split. Go on, it won’t hurt you.”

Still a bit hesitant, Fred picked the orb up from the hardwood and said, “I…I wish I looked like I did before Dan changed our hair color.”

The orbs glowed again, and after a moment, both of them had their original hair colors back–brown, but Dan had a few flecks of grey Fred didn’t have yet. “See? Good as new–or old, rather. We can change ourselves however we want, and be back to normal by Monday.”

Fred was a bit skeptical. Dan poured them both another round of scotch, and they talked it over a bit–but Dan figured that the best they could do was play around a bit, and see where it took them, and so they started trading wishes–Dan going first.

“I wish I had an eight inch cock.”

Both of them had average cocks, around four inches long–but suddenly each was sporting an impressive bulge in their slacks. Fred reached down to feel it, and then cocked an eye at his friend. “Really? That’s the first thing you want?”

“It’s…for later. I just didn’t want to forget.”

Fred laughed, “Well, I wish I had 20/20 vision and didn’t need glasses.” The orb halves glowed again, and a moment later, both of them were blinking a bit, the glasses from both of their faces disappearing in a moment. Fred could barely believe it–he’d worn glasses all his life, and suddenly, it was like the entire room was clearer. He looked at the hemisphere again, “These things really are amazing.”

“Heh, just you wait,” Dan said, “I wish I weighed three hundred and fifty pounds, most of it fat.”

Both of them were rather husky, though because of their height difference, Dan weighed 240 and stood a bit over six feet tall, while Fred weighed 215 and was only five and a half feet tall. The wish didn’t care, and both men watched their figures balloon larger, until each of them was sitting with huge guts falling into their laps, moobs pushing out the fabric of their shirts. In surprise, Fred stood up–or tried to. There was suddenly a lot more pushing against him, and he had to heave himself out of the chair, rocking back and forth a bit to gather momentum. He stared down at himself in disbelief, unable to see his feet past his fat–not even really able to bend his neck easily thanks to his second chin, and he said, “What the fuck did you do to me?”

“Do to us, Fred,” Dan said, standing up and walking over to where his friend was standing. The fat hung on his body better than it did thanks to his height, and remained a gut. Fred, however, could feel an apron hanging down past his cock, his slacks hiked up over his belly and belted around his apron. “Look, I know what we like–we’ve talked about it enough.” He stepped closer, pushing their fat together, rubbing their suited bodies together gently, and as much as he resisted, staring at his friend’s obese body was turning him on in a big way.

“Just because I’m attracted to fat guys doesn’t…doesn’t mean I want to be fat too…” Fred said, “I feel like I’m as wide as I am tall.”

“Oh come on, it’s not that bad.”

Fred reached over and picked up his half of the orb, “I wish I was five foot two.”

He only dropped two inches, but Dan came crashing down almost a foot–his fat expanding out as it began losing space to sit. Dan looked around at the room, surprised at the change in perspective, and then looked to Fred smiling. “I haven’t been able to look you in the eyes before–it’s nice.”

Fred was mad–although he was madder about the fact that Dan seemed perfectly happy at his new height. “No one likes being short, Dan.”

“Then why did you make yourself shorter?”

“To teach you a lesson!” Fred said, “This is dumb–just make us normal again, I don’t want to play this stupid game anymore.”

“You can be such a killjoy, you know that?” Dan said, holding up his half of the orb, “I wish I loved being short and fat, and found my body incredibly sensitive and erotic.”

“You fucking didn’t, why the fuck–fuck…oh fuck…” Fred’s objections withered away into moans, as Dan reached out and started groping, tugging and stroking his fat body through his suit, pulling Fred into his own body, before leaning in to kiss him, one hand taking the orb from his friend’s hand and setting it to the side. “I think that’s enough wishing for now, don’t you?”

“Shut up you sexy fat fucker–let’s go play,” Fred said, inches from Dan mouth, both hands fighting to get his shirt unbuttoned. He’d never…felt like this before, this enjoyment of his own body, this pleasure running through him. Everytime he touched himself, it was amazing. He loved this, he loved his body, and he loved Dan’s too. They heaved their way up the stairs, both of them exhausted and sweaty by the time they reached the upper landing, their clothes stripped away and lying in piles on the stairs or hanging from the banister.

“So, are you enjoying yourself yet?” Dan said as he panted, rolling one of his nipples with one hand while he groped his younger friend’s body with the other.

“Don’t…don’t think this is over just because I like it. You and I…we need to have a conversation about boundaries.”

“In the morning,” Dan said, and pulled Fred into the bedroom, “But right now, let’s just enjoy ourselves, eh?”

Twin Changes

Coach’s Lil’ Fuckpig (Sketch)

“Fuckin’ great game, wasn’t it Tommy?” Coach Billings came up behind the chubby linebacker in the locker room and gave him a smack on the ass–between the cheeks, right on the plug the young man had had shoved in his hole all evening, under his uniform. He tried to suppress his shock, feeling his cock leak a bit of precum into the pouch of his jock. Billings knew the plug was there of course–Billings himself had put it there before the rest of the team had arrived in the locker room.

Four weeks now. Four fucking weeks he’d been his coach’s “little fuckpig” as he often referred to him in private, or whispered in his ear, making the young man blush heavily. He didn’t even remember how it had started–one day coach had asked him to stick around for a moment after practice, and without really understanding why, he’d ended up on his knees in the coach’s office, his cock down his throat. He’d never had so much as a gay thought in his life, but from that moment on, if Coach needed satisfaction, then Tommy was going to provide it. He’d tried to report it, but he hadn’t been able to get a word out–either because of the shame of it all…or because coach wouldn’t allow it, and he wasn’t sure which possibility would be worse.

Coach had already told him that he’d need to stay late, and so he milled around, leaving his uniform on. He got a few odd looks from his teammates, who wondered why he wasn’t at least changing back into his street clothes, but Coach had been very specific before hand–leave the uniform on, keep the plug in, and wait further instructions. After about ten minutes, the rest of the team had filed out, leaving them alone, and with a couple of words from the coach, words he knew and yet…didn’t, it was like the world turned blurry, like he was there, but not. Coach was talking to him gently, just above a whisper, and again, while part of him understood him and internalized his instructions–even answering back when prompted–Tommy had no idea what he was talking about, like he had been forced from his body, and could only return when Coach started counting down from ten–by the time he hit one, he shook his head, unsteady on his feet, and the coach helped steady him, pulling him into a hug…but something felt…off.

Small. He felt…small, in the coach’s arms. Granted, Billings was a sizeable guy–a few inches over six feet, and while he was out of shape, he had remained beefy into his mid-forties. But in his arms, Tommy suddenly felt…weak and small and…and safe, and comfortable. Billings hugged him closer, breath hot on the back of his neck, and he licked the sweat and grit from the player, and then released him, and Tom stumbled, not quite steady without his daddy holding him tight. What in the hell was wrong with him all of a sudden? He took a few steps and got to a mirror in the locker room, only to gasp.

What in the world was wrong with him? He was still in his uniform, but he looked like he’d…shrunk. He knew that wasn’t possible, that it couldn’t be possible–people didn’t just shrink! Coach Billings just watched him walk to the scale used by the wrestling team, and he stepped on it–260 pounds, the same as he always was. Then what it the world was wrong with him? Why did his body suddenly look so puny in the mirror?

“What…what did you do to me, daddy?” He asked Billings, “Why do I look so…small?”

“Because you’re just a little boy, Tommy–my little boy. Still, if you’re good, then we can make sure you become big and strong like before…if that’s what you want.” He stepped closer to him, and even though they were nearly the same height, Tommy felt helpless in his arms, his daddy pulling him over to the sink, pulling down his uniform pants, and hauling the plug from his boy’s hole. “Here, let me show you what I can do for you.”

It hurt–but not as much as it did sometimes. The plug had him loose, but his Coach–his Daddy–he was always rough, but…but he did kind of like it…didn’t he? He tried to push the thought away, knowing it had been planted in there, but his cock was hard and pressing against his cup in his shorts, and he was pushing back into his daddy’s thrusts, and when he looked up and saw himself in the mirror, it looked like…like he was inflating. Each time his daddy slammed into him, he got a bit bigger–soon, he looked even bigger than he had been before, and he was eagerly pushing back, wanting to see how big his daddy could make him, when Billing’s finally grabbed onto his shoulder pads, buried deep in his boy’s hole, and let loose, and Tommy had never felt so…so huge. And…and so horny. When coach pulled out, he already had his hands in his pants, jacking his cock, but as soon as he did, he watched his figure begin to shrink and wither again–terrified, he yanked his hand away from his cock.

It was all a trick, just a trick of his eyes, and yet…

“I’d be careful, touching your cock. You might just wither away to nothing.”

This…this fucker.

“You don’t want to be small, do you? You don’t want to be weak? You want to be a man, a real man, like your daddy, right?”

He nodded.

“Well, then we’re going to have to keep it under control, right? And you’re going to have to start working out much more, I think. And we’ll have to talk about your caloric intake too, right? If you want to be a man, that is. I can help you, but only if you ask. Only if you agree to do everything I tell you, without question…or else I might not help you at all, anymore.”

No. No, he wouldn’t. He wouldn’t say it. No, no…No!

***

He said yes, of course.

It was several hours later when he was finally permitted to leave. Coach had iced his boy’s cock and locked it up for him–to make sure he’d be able to resist the urge to play with it. He’d just have to focus on his new weight lifting regimen and the 4000 calorie a day diet his daddy was insisting on. He got back to his room, and looked at himself. He was still…big, but he was shrinking still–the coach’s load of cum was only good for so long. He’d look puny in the morning–thankfully he had his first weight session with his coach tomorrow morning–he had a feeling he’d be feeling pretty pumped by the end of it.

And as much as he hated admitting it, he was looking forward to it–his cock was pressing against in his new cage, the dirty plug still in his hole, and he fucked himself to sleep–well aware that he was in a cage much larger than the one holding his cock.

Do You Shrink as You Get Older? – Part 3 (Patreon Commission)

“That’s a good little man,” Don said, and opened the top of the cage, reached in with one huge hand, and stroked Howie’s furry back, making his shiver, and shoot a load of cum into his underbelly. “Silly Howie, thinking you could just leave me. Well now you’re never going to leave me. If I can’t have you as a lover, then I guess I can settle for a pet.”

Don reached down and grabbed him under his armpits and stood up, Howie kicking his legs in the air. He was so high! Don hadn’t been this tall before, had he? He couldn’t tell whether it was just his own vertigo, but instead he focused on Don’s sweet eyes, his wrinkles when he smiled, his thick white beard, and they kissed, or rather, Don licked and sucked at his smaller face, cleaning his own cum out of Howie’s beard, and then carried him into the bedroom, set him down on the bed, and laid back down.

Howie immediately went to drink more cum, but Don pushed him away. “Nuh uh, there’s one thing I still want to do. You always said I was too small to be a good fuck, eh? Well now let’s see how my cock fits in that tight, tiny hole of yours.”

Howie tried to fight against Don, tried to push back, but there was a cloud over his mind, he couldn’t find any good reason not to dig Don’s cock free from his gunt, no good reason not to smear fresh cum over the head, and place it against his ass. However, he couldn’t quite get enough leverage, and it was so big! Don had to help him, and once the cock was deep inside of him, he grabbed Howie and starts sliding him up and down the short shaft, Howie helpless in his hands, groaning and moaning with pleasure, orgasms shooting through them both spontaneously. Cum was pouring from his hole, and each time he shot, he grew even smaller, the dick stretching his ass a bit larger, the cock pushing a bit deeper. Finally, he couldn’t fit it any longer, and Don dropped him, his gut taut with cum, hole aching, he collapsed onto the bed and groaned in pain, but his hand wouldn’t stop rubbing the head of his cock, just barely within reach of one tiny hand not pinned by his huge belly. Don sat up and stroked his side with one huge hand. How small was he now? A foot and a half? A foot?

“Fuck I’m hungry,” Don said, “Gonna go eat something, and then I’ll be back to finish you off.” He heaved himself up off the bed, and knocked himself on the top of the doorway. He was taller, and so fat the sides of his gut brushed the side as he slid through, heading for the kitchen. Howie, however, was still so thirsty. He hefted himself up, fighting his massive gut, and then struggled across the bed to the edge, hung off, and managed to slip off without hurting himself. He followed the trail of Don’s cum into the kitchen, lapping up each drop and puddle as he came to it, and found Don on the sofa, surrounded by a pile of snacks which he was stuffing into his mouth, his cum dribbling onto the sofa cushion, and back under him, into the couch itself. His cum. Howie’s cum. He needed it, he was so thirsty–it was all he could think about. He picked one fat leg and started his climb, falling off a couple of times before he realized he could use the thick hairs growing on Don’s fat legs to pull himself up. Don would shout encouragement to him as he climbed, watching the short old man heave his way up his leg, grinding his crotch against the fur, spasming occasionally. By the time he reached the sofa, he was less than a foot tall, but Howie no longer cared. His mind was shrinking too–all he could think about was drinking cum and playing with his cock and his fat old body. He burrowed his way into Don’s gunt, found the head of his cock and pressed his whole mouth against the slit, drinking down as much as he could, feeling himself growing smaller and smaller, his head turning fuzzier, and then everything went dark.

He woke up on something scratchy. He pushed himself up, and tried to figure out what was going on. He wasn’t in bed, it was somewhere else. There were bars around him, and he walked up to them, looking out, and saw that he was up on the dresser in a cage meant for a mouse. Looking down, he realized that if someone wasn’t paying close attention, they might even mistake him for one. His round, fat body covered with white fur, pink ears and a bald head, a face covered with a thick beard. But he wasn’t worried. He wasn’t scared. All he really was, was thirsty. He tried to speak, but all that really seemed to come out was a squeak a bit more high pitched than his usual voice, and a huge figure eventually lumbered into the room and bent over, looking at him in the cage.

Don–he was massive now, probably weighing close to six hundred pounds and covered with hair. He tapped on the cage, Howie licking at his finger. “Now now, calm down. I just have to go into town for some supplies. After all, I think we’re going to be living here for a while, don’t you?”

Howie didn’t care where he was, as long as Don was close by, and he could drink his cum.

“I just don’t want you wandering around on your own is all–a little man like you could get into trouble. So much better keeping you safe in your cage. I bet you’re thirsty though–don’t worry, I got your bottle right here.”

Don slid a water bottle into the fixture on the cage, the little spout on the end pushing through the bars into the cage. Howie went and licked at the small metal ball, allowing the cum in the bottle to flow through, and he drank and drank.

Do You Shrink as You Get Older? – Part 2 (Patreon Commission)

Don woke up feeling groggy, but healthier than the morning before. He gave a yawn, and felt something in his mouth–he opened his eyes and found himself faced with Don’s crotch, his cock down his throat. It felt bigger that before, but that couldn’t possibly be right. Cocks didn’t just spontaneously grow overnight. Still, he was thirsty. Don was still asleep, but Howie sucked another two loads out of him in rapid succession, grinding his own cock into the fluffy, warm sheets, feeling how wet they were. He worried that he might have pissed himself, but it was sticky and tacky like cum, which was almost more worrisome. Again, he was struck by the notion that something strange was going on, but it felt like something at the edge of his mind, easily forgotten if he didn’t stay focused on it.

He pulled his mouth off Don’s cock, deciding to take a break, wormed his way off the bed, couldn’t find the floor with his feet, and ended up falling off onto his ass, looking up at the edge of the bed looming over him.

The room was bigger?

He looked around, trying to decipher his lower vantage point. He stood up, finding it a bit harder than usual, and decided that it wasn’t that the world had grown, but that he had shrunk. A lot. He’d gone from six and a half feet to closer to three feet tall overnight.

He felt like he was going to be sick. He told himself this couldn’t be happening, that he was just dreaming. He slapped his face, which hurt, but nothing changed, and then looked back down at himself, and realized that he wasn’t just shorter–he was also fatter. The gut he’d had the day before was now an apron sagging down past his crotch. In fact, the “sheets” he’d been grinding his cock into hadn’t been sheets at all, but his new gunt and the underside of his gut. Now he really was feeling sick–he ran into the bathroom, something which took longer than it should have–and vomited his breakfast of cum into the toilet, before flushing it away, wiping his chin, feeling a mass of hair there that shouldn’t be. He waddled up to the counter but was too short to get a good look at himself in the mirror; he ended up scaling the toilet, and from there hefted himself up onto the counter next to it, where he huffed and puffed for a moment or two, not used to carting around so much weight.

Standing next to the sink, he got a full view of himself in the mirror, and the sight almost made him feel sick again. Shorter, much shorter. Between the loss in height and his gain in weight, he looked about as wide as he was tall. His gut had taken on the most weight, sagging down past his crotch to his thighs, which had eaten away the space between them and now pushed together all the way to his knees, down to his fat calves and ankles that looked like a solid mass balanced on rather small feet. He hefted his gut up, looking underneath it at his own cock that had sucked up into his fat body–it looked like it had shrunk even more than the rest of him. He could just reach the head with one of his hands, and even just brushing against it was enough to make him groan with pleasure. It had never been so sensitive, and now that he’d felt it, he kept going, unable to stop himself, rubbing the head with his fingers, pushing it down into his fat, getting closer until he was awarded with a burst of cum that covered his fingers…and in the mirror, he saw himself collapse in on himself ever so slightly, his gut grow out a bit heavier. He yanked his hand away; had cumming just made his shrink?

It made sense. He had no idea how much he’d cum over the last day–it felt like hundreds of times. How could he even have cum left in his balls? He…he could keep going. He could keep trying to empty them out, it felt so damn good…

He had his hand back under his gut again, but stopped himself. He had to stop, he had to. He couldn’t shrink anymore. To take his mind off his cock, he tried to take in everything else that had changed since the day before. The mass of hair he’d brushed his hand against was a beard. Marga hated facial hair, but Don had always wanted him to grow it out into a full beard. Now it didn’t seem like he had much choice–in a single day the beard had exploded in size. The hairs were only a few inches long, but with his smaller stature that was enough to reach down to his chest. Running his hand through it, the beard was stiff and crispy from dried cum, and he shivered, feeling the thirst growing in his throat. His beard wasn’t the only thing that had grown hairier either–his entire body had filled in with a mass of hair, so thick in some places that it was hard to see his skin. Almost all of it was grey, if not white. From what he could see of his face, he looked like he’d aged twenty years overnight, into his sixties, his forehead and eyes lined with wrinkles, his hairline receding back past the crown of his head.

He had to get help. Don was still tall, he could drive. Howie didn’t think he’d even be able to see out the windshield, much less reach the pedals. He got back down off the counter the way he’d climbed up, and hurried back into the bedroom. Getting back onto the bed was a bit of a challenge, but he managed by hauling himself up with the sheets, crawled over and realized he wasn’t the only one who had changed substantially over the last few days.

Unable to help himself, Howie was captivated by Don’s balls. The sack had always been average, though it had looked a bit larger under Don’s shorter cock–now it was dwarfed in comparison. The balls inside each looked to be as large as his new fists, and cum was seeping from the head of his cock, dribbling down the shaft…no, he couldn’t look there, he couldn’t. He forced his eyes up, over the rest of Don, and saw that he wasn’t the only one who had changed overnight. Don had always been a bit on the chubby side, but now, like him, he’d grown massively fat, his gut sagging down and out into a thick apron, huge moobs with thick nipples covered with white hair, that flowed up to his neck, where a beard, thick and white, covered his multiple chins, and he saw Don was awake…and staring at him.

“What are you waiting for, lover? I got all this cum for you to lick up. You’re slacking off.” His voice was deeper than usual, more resonant, and…commanding. It took an effort of will to resist. He had to get Don to realize something was wrong. They had to get help, they had to do something.

“Don, you have to realize…look how short I am! We have to get out of here, we have to get to the hospital.”

Don laughed, his fat body shuddering in…in a somehow sexy way. Howie had never been interested in old men, and definitely not in fat ones, but he was so horny…no, even though he was horny, he just liked how Don looked. How big he was in every way. How old he was, the saggy fat, the wrinkly face, all the hair covering his body, the shiny pate of his head. But more than like…he loved him. He really did, he loved him more than he’d ever loved Marga. In fact, thinking of Marga now, all he could feel was a sense of disgust. He never wanted to see her again–the only person he wanted, who he could bear to be with, was…was Don. Don smiled at him, Howie’s heart fluttered. “Oh Howie, everything’s turning out exactly how it’s supposed to. Now get over here and drink some more cum–you’re still too big.”

“What…did you do this?”

Don reached out with one fat hand, but Howie ducked away, nearly tumbling off the bed again. “I said get over here and drink up.”

Again, Howie had to fight himself, his growing desire to do everything Don told him to do. Don rolled over and grabbed at him again, Howie jumped off the bed, scrambled up and ran for the bathroom, locking the door behind him as Don got up, stomping to the door. “What the fuck did you do to us?”

“I know you were gonna leave me!” Don shouted, “I know you were gonna ditch me, I could see how you look at other guys, but you’re mine, Howie, you’re fucking mine! Don’t you see how much I love you? I’ll take good care of you, you’ll be so happy, I promise. Now open the door, Howie, open up and drink some more delicious cum like a good old faggot.”

What in the hell was he going to do? He couldn’t get out with Don waiting, he couldn’t fight him off. He couldn’t even drive the truck–hell, he didn’t even know where he was. A weapon, he needed something to fight with. He looked up and saw the mirror. If he could break it, get a shard or something, maybe he’d have a chance. However, he only managed to climb up onto the toilet before he smelled it–cum. Don’s cum. Looking down, he saw a puddle growing under the door, he could hear Don huffing and grunting and moaning on the other side. It smelled so good, and he was so fucking thirsty. He grabbed a towel, meaning to stuff it under the door crack, but why use a towel when he could just…just lick it up? Yeah, he liked cum, he could just lick it up off the floor, lick up his lover’s cum and play with his cock, the first orgasm sending shivers through his shrinking body, but that didn’t matter. What mattered was cum. Drinking cum, shooting cum. Why was he so worried about shrinking anyway? He had Don to take care of him. He loved Don so much…

“Open the door, Howie…”

Yeah, he should do that. Why had he even locked it to begin with? It was suddenly a challenge to reach it, but he managed to turn it and pull it open. Don was on his knees outside the door, cum flowing down his gunt and dribbling onto the floor. He could see Don’s balls pumping as he twisted his nipples like faucets. He rushed over and started drinking as much as he could, feeling it coat his whole body as it flowed over him.

“See Howie? You’re mine now. You’re mine forever.”

Do You Shrink as You Get Older? – Part 1 (Patreon Commission)

Howie woke up in the double bed, disentangled himself from Don’s firm sleep grasp without waking him, and sat on the side of the bed, wondering if he was getting sick. It was probably just all those drinks last night–they both had to get drunk to fuck at first, it helped cut through some of the shame. Well, it helped him, at least, not think about Marga. He remembered the last time he’d gotten sick on vacation, when he and Marga had taken Tommy to Disneyland and he’d spend three days of the week vomiting–better to not think about any of that, actually.

He got up, rummaged around in the unfamiliar bathroom, found a bottle of slightly expired aspirin, and took them for the headache, along with three glasses of water to quench the thirst that was parching his throat. In the cabin’s small kitchenette he got the coffee maker working, and while it brewed, he went out on the front porch to take a look at the surroundings. Don had talked about his cabin often, but in all the years they’d known each other as friends, and then fuckbuddies, and then something approaching lovers, he’d never once taken Don’s invitation to come join him on his summer fishing trips. Too intimate–surely the wives would suspect, right? Really, it was just his own insecurity and self-loathing. An occasional fuck or suck in the cab of a truck after too many beers felt like an accident. This felt like a truer affair.

The parched feeling was still there, and he cleared his throat, managed a couple of coughs. He didn’t feel feverish, and nothing hurt other than his usual middle-age, overweight, morning-after-hangover, guilt aches. His phone said it was ten in the morning, but this deep in the river valley it still felt misty and cold. It was peaceful though. No one for miles, Don had said. He watched his breath curl out of his mouth in clouds, and suddenly wished he’d brought something to smoke.

The coffee pot was full, he poured some, sat at the table feeling cold and lonely with his hands wrapping the warm mug for a few minutes. With a sigh, he decided he’d rather be back in bed with Don, abandoned the table and coffee and went back to the bedroom, but Don had woken up, pushed off the covers, and was fondling his cock. Howie looked him over in the morning light. He would have preferred someone younger, slimmer, less obsessive and bigger cocked, but any port in a closet. Don stared at Howie with that look that said, “You’re everything I’ve ever wanted,” that could kill Howie’s arousal faster than almost anything. Why couldn’t Don just let it be easy? Why did he always want so damn much from him?

“I think I’m getting sick,” Howie said, cutting the silence.

Don was working his cock a bit harder now. It was one of those cocks that seemed like it just wasn’t trying all that hard. He liked fucking, but couldn’t usually get enough stiffness to work it in. Howie didn’t like letting Don touch his cock, so usually they just jacked off, or Howie sucked him off. The sick comment obviously hadn’t deterred him, and Howie realized this was going to be a longer weekend than he might have imagined.

“Come on, I’m horny, lover.”

“Don’t call me that.”

Don smirked, “You should loosen up, no one knows anything.”

Howie fake-coughed.

“Can’t you just enjoy this for once? Why is it that as soon as we’re alone you just suck the joy from the room?”

Don got up from the bed, one hand on his cock to keep it hardish, and came over to where Howie was standing by the door. They’d met on the job ten years earlier, when they were both a bit firmer and had more hair on their heads. Howie had been excited by the newness. He’d never been with a man before, but now, it felt like a whole second marriage he’d never asked for. Don’s adoration for him only seemed to grow more intense as they got older. Don ran a hand through Howie’s furred chest, down to the top of his soft gut, and then swept down the side and under to his cock. One hand tried to block his, but he gripped the shaft anyway, and saw Howie stiffen and let out a quiet moan. “I really just don’t feel that…that good,” Howie said.

“I’ve heard good sex is a cure-all.”

Don grabbed one of Howie’s nipples in his hand and kneaded it gently. He leaned in, their mouths close, and Howie relented and closed the distance, giving Don a kiss that grew more intense as he lost interest in his shame. He actually was horny, he realized. Horny wasn’t something Howie felt very often these days, and Don’s hand milking his shaft was sending shivers through him. He pushed Don’s hand away and took over, Don pushed his gut into Howie’s and rubbed them together, and then put his hands on Howie’s shoulders, pushing him down onto his knees.

Howie didn’t know if he was gay, or bi, or just in denial, but he did know that cocks were beautiful. Don’s was short, sure, but still lovely, though Don was sensitive about it’s smallness. Howie took the head in his mouth and sucked at it, feeling Don shiver at the sensation. He also had a habit of cumming quick, and it was less than a minute before cum flooded into his mouth, and…and all of his symptoms that he’d felt all morning, the slight nausea, the thirst, the headache, they all started fading away. And the cum, it was so much tastier than usual. Howie sucked it all down, and then he just kept sucking. Don’s cock would usually go limp immediately, but this time it stayed harder, and even seemed a bit firmer than usual. Certainly Don wasn’t complaining about two blow jobs in a row, and he didn’t complain about three, either, after he shot a second time. Feeding Howie his third load, he finally pulled his cock free from his friend’s lips, looked down, and saw he had a dazed look on his face, spit and cum running down into his beard, his hand under his gut, wrapped around his own cock, stroking himself off. He helped Howie up from the floor, and gauged from the puddle there that he must have shot at least three times himself.

“Still…kinda thirsty, Don…” Howie muttered into his friend’s ear.

“Heh, well, if you want more, I got more, come on back to bed.”

Don laid down on his back. Howie climbed up and started sucking, balancing with one hand so he could reach down and keep stroking himself off, guzzling down load after load of cum. Don’s balls had become bottomless. In fact, they almost seemed to be swelling slightly as Howie continued to drain them. It was Don who finally cut him off. Howie sat back on his heels, rubbing his full belly, let off a belch, and noticed the sun was blaring in the west facing window, down valley. He checked the clock, it was after five. He’d just spent close to six hours sucking Don as dry as he could. There was a pool of his cum beneath him, and his cock felt tender and raw from all the masturbation he’d just done. It was certainly the strangest day of sex he’d ever had.

“Heh, guess you were thirsty, eh? Come on, we still have time to get to the river and catch something fresh for dinner.”

Howie wasn’t sure what to say. Those six hours felt like a blur. He did feel better though, and Don didn’t seem at all bothered by it. As he pulled on his clothes, his sack really did look larger, and seemed to be hanging a bit lower. Howie got down off the bed, and while he wasn’t feeling sick, he was feeling a bit out of sorts. Everything seemed a bit…off, suddenly. He pulled on his clothes, but they didn’t quite fit right for some reason–his sleeves too long, loose around the shoulders, the gut and thighs too tight, pant legs pooling slightly on the boots that had a little too much room in the toe.

“Did I tell you today how handsome you are?”

Howie looked over at Don, and blushed beside himself.

“I’m serious.”

“I’m just old and fat.”

“Heh, well maybe that’s what I find so handsome about you.”

Don gave him another kiss, and the horniness flared up again. Howie was back on his knees, fumbling with Don’s fly, licking his lips, already tasting cum, when Don pulled away.

“Heh, someone doesn’t seem very interested in fishing.”

“Sorry, I’m just…horny.”

“Well I’m hungry, so let’s go catch something, and then we can fuck some more.”

The river was a ten minute hike from the cabin. It wasn’t a particularly difficult trail, and yet Howie kept stumbling over rocks and roots, like he couldn’t quite gauge how high he needed to lift his feet to avoid them. It didn’t help that the same symptoms he’d been feeling that morning were flaring up again, and this time they were even worse. At the river, Howie cast a few lines, but spent most of the time on his knees, sucking down more cum, filling the front of his jeans with his own loads. Don caught a few fish, and before night fell they hiked back up to the cabin. Don offered to cook. The fish was nice, but it tasted bland to Howie. It just wasn’t what he felt like eating. But he’d already spent most of the day sucking down Don’s cum–what in the hell was wrong with him? He…he probably just hadn’t had enough cum today was all. He abandoned his dinner plate, got down under the table and started sucking at Don’s rock hard cock some more, and when Don finished, he kept sucking while his lover sat on the couch drinking, and then, once Don was drunk, and Howie felt like he couldn’t drink another drop of cum, they retired back to the bedroom.

Don wrapped his arms around Howie, spooning him. Something about that made him feel so small. It certainly wasn’t the first time he’d been spooned, but he’d never fit quite so snugly in Don’s grip, nor had it ever felt quite so comfortable. Howie was asleep in a matter of minutes, but Don stayed awake for a bit longer, caressing him. Feeling him up, gauging how much progress they’d made today. He’d waited so long for Howie to come around, but after all these years, he could sense him pulling further and further away. Howie wanted to leave him, but Don wasn’t about to let that happen, not ever. Howie was going to be his for the rest of their lives, whether he wanted to or not.