Fantasy Feedback Loop (2 of 2)

When the second flash faded…he was still my dad, but fuck…he was big. He’d added close to half a foot in height, that beard of his had grown out a couple of inches and added some grey, he bulked out too, piling on muscle, thick cords of it, with a hefty, solid gut jutting out. He was, literally, the daddy of my fucking dreams, and then I looked down at myself, and saw he wasn’t the only one who had changed, this time.

Apparently, while he’d been sucking me off for the first time–or the hundredth, it was hard to remember exactly–he’d been…thinking about me, too. I’d never been a big kid, hell, was I kind of a nerd, and my father had always wanted me to jock out a bit more, follow in his footsteps…and now, I realized that I had. I wasn’t going to college anymore–I was working with him on the building crew. I wasn’t as massive as he was, of course, but I looking like a slightly smaller version of him, and fuck, if I didn’t feel sexy as fuck. I knew…that I needed to get up and turn off the generator, but what I did instead was roll over and present my boyhole for him, he lubed his cock up with some spit and slid it into me, nice and fucking deep, right where it belonged. I could smell us both, sweaty and rank from today’s work, how I’d just stared at him all day, longing for this moment, like everyday. He was rough, ramming in deep, pulling my hair, tugging my nipples, and I was enjoying it, wishing he’d be harder still…when I felt that same thrumming in the air, and another flash…

This time, I’d flipped over, and was swinging in the air, in…in our sling. Daddy was in his gear, sneering at me, my legs locked to the chains while he worked on my hole…getting ready to fist his boy into oblivion. He was just as massive as before–maybe even a bit bigger–his beard fuller and longer, and tattoos all over his arms and chest, just…just like my own. I wasn’t just his son now…I was his boy, I was his slave. He lit a cigar for himself, fed me his smoke, making me even more hungry for him, and then worked his hand into me…and fuck, if I didn’t feel just…it was fucking heaven.

He’s in me almost to my elbow now, and I can feel the energy pounding in my ears, vibrating my teeth. This is going to be a big one, and I don’t know if I’m ready for it. He’s grinning at me, and I can almost see my own, twisted reflection in his eyes, and then there’s a flash, a loud pop or explosion, and when the after image fades, he’s…huge. My…my fucking master. Eight feet tall, 500 pounds of almost pure muscle, hair coating every inch of his body. My cock drools in its cage at the sight of him, and he shoves his foot and a half inch long cock into me, nearly making me scream, but I need it. This piggy hole needs to be filled all the time now…and fuck if I’m not the happiest I can ever remember being. I can see the smoking ruins of the fantasy generator on my dresser, and I know I’ll never be going back, but why would I fucking want to? Why would I want to be anything other than a stupid fuckhole for my muscle beast of a father?

A Family’s Legacy (2 of 2)

That summer, the father noticed an improvement in his son’s temperament and commitment to the family legacy. He worked out less, took a greater interest in his father’s business, and that summer, accepted an unpaid internship at his father’s suggestion. Of course, he still worked out quite regularly, but he accepted some of his father’s other advice–taming that hair of his and making it a more conservative style. Pruning back the wild beard he wore, though he insisted on keeping at least a small goatee. But a week before he was set to leave for college, his father discovered something…disturbing on his son’s computer–a very large stash of porn. Gay porn.

No–no, this would not stand. A great family required an heir, after all. He resolved to demand answers from his son, to send him for counseling if he needed it, but the time never felt…right. His son went off to college, only to return for Thanksgiving with a young woman on his arm–and assurances from both of them that his son was very much interested in her, both romantically and sexually. He thought his fears unfounded, and after he’d returned to school, he realized he’d kept the folder of porn on his own computer. He went to delete it…but instead, found himself…looking through it, curious. The photos were all of rather chubby, hairy men–ages ranging from their young twenties to early fifties. James found himself unable to comprehend how his son could have found anyone like this attractive–and found himself equally unable to explain why he, now, was masturbating to the images and videos every night.

His son excelled in college, and with each success, James seemed to suffer setbacks and distractions. The spring of his son’s freshman year, James could no longer resist his new desires–he began going out at night incognito, cruising bars and parks, sucking off men, letting them fuck him–the fatter the better. He found himself disgusting. He could barely look at himself in the mirror, he was so aghast at the state of his soul–and at the state of his body. He’d let himself go to pot, over the years, he realized. His singular focus on work and family had left him middle aged and closing in on 300 pounds. No–that he wouldn’t let happen.

So that summer, while his son toiled away at two unpaid internships, saving an hour a week to date his girlfriend, his father found himself toiling away in the gym. He’d hoped it would prove to be a distraction from his new obsession with sucking cock, but working out only seemed to make him…hornier. He began collecting pictures and videos of his own, expanding his son’s collection, finding his tastes drifting in a certain…grungier direction. Unkempt beards, musk, armpits, big cocks, dirty asses. He was down to 250, and was looking beefy. He’d decided to grow out a beard, but hadn’t kept it well trimmed. His hair had gone wild as well, but something about it–he liked it.

Then, someone caught him. The tabloids made his life hell, and the board removed him immediately. His severance was…substantial, but without work, James–or Jimmy, as he was calling himself these days, when he introduced himself to the big men he thought about constantly–found he only had two things left he wanted to do: have sex, and work out. His son came home that next summer, and announced his engagement. Jimmy was happy for him, but all he could think about was…how handsome, his son had become, in just two years. He’d packed on a good amount of weight, and he seemed so…powerful. Confident. James was all too happy to let his faggot father beg for his cock, of course. He’d have to keep his failure of a father well under control, if the family was going to survive his massive fuckups. Still, James the Third had no doubt he’d be able to rise to the challenge. The Wilheim line would ascend–just like his father had always wanted.

Think Bit To Be Big (2 of 2)

This isn’t me. This isn’t me. I have to focus on that, I have to remember that. If I can just…get out of here, if I can just focus on that, and leave without…without any of them suspecting anything, maybe I can get away.

How long have I been coming here? Six months? This seems impossible–there’s just…just no way, I could look like this, not in that short amount of time. I’m a fuckin’ beast! Yeah, fuck, look at those fuckin’ meaty ass thighs on me–gotta get back out there, it’s fuckin’ leg day, ‘n I gotta get big!

No! Fuck, I almost went out there again, but I have…to stay in here. Collect myself, calm down, and focus. I’m not like this. I’m not one of them. God, I can’t believe I’m wearing fucking camo shorts, like some fucking hick or something. The goatee doesn’t help either or the hat. And…and does this shirt say West Virginia? I’m not…from West Virginia, am I? But why do I…fuck, everything’s so hazy in my head, I don’t know who I am.

“Ford? Bro? Everything all right in here?”

Fuck, it’s fucking Mike!

“I saw you out on the floor. Looked like you were thinking a bit, Ford. You know how we feel about you all thinking here. What are we supposed to think about, Ford?”

“Think Big! Be Big!”

Oh fuck, I just said that out loud, didn’t I?

He opens the door, and he’s blocking the entire frame of the bathroom stall, where I sought refuge. He’s bigger than all of us, but he’s fucking smart as hell too. He’s the one who does this to us, who…changes us. Warps us around his little fantasies and desires.

“There you are, Ford. Yeah, you’re thinking, aren’t you? Come on you stupid hick, you know you’re shit brain isn’t good for thinking.”

Fight it, gotta fight him, “Ya fucker, I ain’t no fuckin’ hick, yer fuckin’…ya did somethin’ tah me, tah all a us.”

Oh fuck, he’s got his fucking hand on my cock–is…isn’t even…bigger? Fuck, I think it is, ‘n look at that fuckin; foreskin on my damn shaft, fuck! Yeah, that there, that’s a real fine piece a redneck meat. Gonna fuckin’ stroke that fucker off, that big thing, big…big, yeah, think big, like Mike always says. Think big, ‘n be big…yeah Mike’s gonna feed me that cock a his, then it’s back tah fuckin’ leg day, just like everythin’s supposed tah be.

Think Big To Be Big (1 of 2)

It’s evening down on the beach, and I’m taking my leisurely stroll down the sidewalk–the same walk I usually take each evening. It’s a bit of exercise I suppose, but not nearly enough to make my doctor happy. “You’re nearly sixty,” he told me at my last visit, “you need to cut that waist of yours down, or you’ll be dropping dead sooner than you’d like.” A flair for the dramatic, that one. I suppose he is right–275 is a bit heavy, especially on my shorter frame, but I’ve never particularly minded my size. I’d much rather have my hair back, than a slimmer waist, I can tell you that.

The weather is nice, but the place is quieter than usual at this time. Maybe it’s just the first chill of fall in the air, driving everyone indoors early. I enjoy the relative calm, and the cool breeze. There is one person out, up ahead. Some young musclehead standing by a small folding table, with pamphlets weighted down by rocks against the wind. He’s got on one of those stupid looking tanktops–far too oversized, so it drapes low from his shoulders–obviously trying to advertise his body. In fact, it turned out he was advertising a new gym a few blocks over from the beach–the tank was branded with the gym’s motto–”Think big to be big.” It made me chuckle–the guy didn’t look like he did a lot of thinking at all. I expected him to ignore me–after all, I was hardly within his target market, but he turns to me, and waves, walking over with a pamphlet.

“Hey bro,” he says–I bristle–“Gots a brand new gym opened up over at the corner of Third and Grove. First month’s free! All are welcome, if ya wanna get big!”

When he says that, he flexes both arms up–I can see the bush of hair in each pit, and my nose curls up in disgust–and then…and then I catch a whiff of him, on the sea air, and…and I don’t know what comes over me. I step closer. He raises one arm a bit higher. I try to look around, wondering if anyone might see this, what I’m about to too, but my eyes can’t tear themselves away–I start eating out his pit. He moans, rubbing his cock through his gym pants, moving my hand down to feel him…to see how…big he is.

A moment later, he pushes me away, leaving me with salty sweat around my lips, and a raging hard on in my shorts. He winks at me, says, “Think big, bro,” and hands me a pamphlet. The next day…I signed up for a lifetime membership at Think Big Gym.

Five Film Contract (1 of 2)

It was a bucket list thing, but Evan had always wanted to be in a porno. He certainly had the looks for it–he’d had some success as a model off and on, and had even landed a role in a few commercials for local companies, but when he heard through the grapevine that a new porn studio was opening up and looking for new actors, he did a bit of digging for the company around the internet, and sent in an audition tape of him masturbating, as requested.

He got a reply the very next day–apparently, the studio was more than willing to sign him, but the only catch was that he would have to sign a contract obligating him to do five films. They wouldn’t be sequels, apparently–the new business was just looking to film a bunch of these movies with cheap actors, and then release them slowly over the next year or so. Five films in five days–it sounded extreme, but also kind of enticing. Why not? He agreed, and went over to the office to sign his contract.

Filming wasn’t until the next month, and there, he met the various actors the company had hired, and he was surprised to find they had all stuck to a pretty specific type–like him. Model looks, trim, but not overly muscular. Young, in their early 30’s at most. All of them were just the kind of guys Evan liked to fuck–so this was going to be a pretty stellar week. The first day was spent doing an orientation and discussing the kinds of films the company was looking for. They wanted real sex–nothing too scripted. They wanted to see what kind of strange perversions lied beneath all of these pretty faces.

His first film wasn’t too strange. He was with another cute guy like him, and after making out for a bit, his partner wanted to fuck his ass–and Evan was willing to oblige. It didn’t seem strange in the moment, but Evan almost always topped–the guy slipped inside him however, and any desire to top fled his mind. It felt…amazing, to have cock in his ass. Soon he was begging the guy to fuck him harder, deeper, their talk turning kinkier and rougher until they both came–Evan without even touching his cock. He was amazed when the guy pulled out, and he saw his ten inch cock–it hadn’t been that big before, had it?

The night after, he couldn’t stop thinking about how good it had felt to get fucked. Each actor had their own room, at least, but he spent most of the night fingering himself, before he found a dildo in a drawer and fucking himself on that long enough to get himself to cum. He didn’t know what had gotten into him–getting fucked had never been like that before. Then, came the second film. His partner in this one wasn’t someone he’d seen at the meeting before, and he’d gotten a good look at everyone–no, he was a massive, muscular brute, with a full beard and cruel sneer.

“Um…he wasn’t one of the cast, was he?” he asked.

“Oh, Rick here had a very productive shoot at the gym yesterday, didn’t you?”

“Fuck yeah,” Rick said, flexing, “I’m a fucking beast!”

“We think you two are going to have some great chemistry. Your video yesterday, Evan, was good, but a bit…stale. We’d like to see the two of you up the ante a bit today.”

The second film…Evan had a hard time recalling what happened, exactly. Rick skullfucked him first, getting Evan used to his musk, and then shaved his hair off…and Evan let him do it, no, begged him to do it. Then, after forcing him into one of Rick’s filthy jocks, he shoved his fist into Evan’s ass all the way up to the forearm, and only after Evan had shot, screaming in pain, did Rick fuck him rough and cum as well.

“Now that’s what I’m talking about!” The director shouted, “Much better–Just you wait Evan, we’ve only just begun to tap into that filthy, whorish mind of yours.”

Source: sluttyfathers

What would you give up in exchange for the body you’d always wanted? That’s what I tell my clients, during their first physical training session with me. “What would you give up?” Their answers are almost always the same uninteresting bullshit–junk food, watching TV, playing video games–but it’s always best to plant the seed early. That if they just give up the right thing, they could finally have the body they think will make them happy.

Now, I’m a good trainer. My clients meet their goals, and usually they don’t have to give me much, but sometimes I get a stubborn one. I happen to like the stubborn ones. They show up for training three times a week, but it’s clear they haven’t spent any time exercising on their own. They usually blame me for their lack of progress. I tease them–they lose five pounds for a week, and then gain ten. Some of them, will do anything just to lose some of that flab–and so, on occasion, I’ll offer them a deal.

Some of them think I’m kidding. Most of them think it’s a strange motivational technique. None of them really think I’m being serious, until they first time they give up their will–and I force them through the most rigorous workout of their life, and then fuck their fat, sweaty asses afterwards.

Now, none of them want to keep going after that, but what choice do they have? I make the choices for them now. What they eat, where they work, where they live, who they fuck–and most of them get fucked by me a lot. Of course, I do always follow through on my promises–I give them the bodies they said they wanted. Number 19 here–he wanted the body of a body builder–it took a while to get here from 350 pounds, but he’s not complaining. No, 19 doesn’t have a thought in it’s head anymore–I do all the thinking for it. But if it could think, it would know I followed through, it just might have given up a bit more than it expected to get it.

“Hey handsome. Top or bottom?”

“What, you don’t want to buy me a drink first?”

“Heh, I’m just curious is all.”

“Oh, I guess I’m pretty vers, though I probably bottom more.”

“Seriously? Too bad–you’re hot, but I’m looking for a top.”

“Well hey now, I’m more than willing to give it a shot for a hot guy like you. It’s not like I’ve never fucked a guy before.”

“Well, I’m looking for a bit more than a fuck, but I suppose you could do in a pinch–the pickings are a bit slim tonight…still, this whole look isn’t going to do. Way too “nice guy,” you know? Don’t you own any leather?”

“Are you kidding? That stuff is so expensive.”

“Maybe so–but I don’t think you care, do you? You need leather on, it makes you feel powerful. Helps you display your dominance.”

“What…I feel…”

“Hush…just listen, and pay attention. Those chaps are looking good, and that vest, showing off that hot body of yours. You want guys staring at you, don’t you? You want them to need you inside them, all ten inches.”

“That’s…I wasn’t wearing this…shit.”

“Sure you were–this is what you wear when you go hunting for ass. You’re a beast. Hairy, muscle bound, aggressive, rough, and none too bright. Operating out of need and instinct. You just let that dick to the talking, don’t you?”

“Fuckin’ slut, you’re–no, this…isn’t me!”

“Sure it is. Stroke that big cock, feel your brain draining, that alpha aggression taking over your whole mind. You know what you want sir, now fucking take it.”

“Shut up!”

“You’re gonna have to make me shut up, you stupid brute. Now drag me into the alley back there and show me what you do to talky bottoms like me.”

Source: roidsandrants

Locker Room Spirit (Sketch)

No one thought anything strange was going on at first. Sure, there were several awkward incidents, as the spirit settled into the walls and lockers, the floor, the sauna, the toilets and the mirrors. As it investigated the space and the men inside it. Occasionally, as they were changing a man might…lose focus for a few moments, idly rubbing his cock, only to break from the odd trance a moment later, embarrassed but thinking little of it. But the spirit began to feed in earnest soon, gripping the place tighter as it gained strength, and before too much longer, things became a bit stranger–not that the men inside noticed anything wrong. In their minds, they would walk into the room, change, and leave, just like they always had. They might not remember the details particularly well, but it was just a locker room, after all…right?

However, as soon as they entered, the spirit would grip them, and begin bending them to it’s will, urging them to strip, urging them to become horny, urging them to cum. All around the room, men were on benches, kneeling on the floor, their hands wrapped around their cocks, standing around the drains, shooting their loads down them, and into the spirit’s gullet below, feeding it, allowing it to become stronger, and each time they shot, the spirit would grip them a bit tighter. Men who only occasionally bothered to change at the gym suddenly found themselves needing to go in every time, somehow…excited to be changing. It did seem strange to them, but harmless. But spirits like this one–they want to feed, yes, but more than that. They want to spread and expand, and to do that, well, let me tell you, it isn’t pretty, watching it happen to an unsuspecting person, not after all of these years doing this work.

Hopefully, I can catch them early, around this point. Pull the spirit out by the root, before it can do any real damage, but I can’t catch everything, and sometimes…sometimes these spirits are smart. And this one, it’s the smartest one I’ve seen in awhile, as I’ve been investigating it, watching it, watching the men enter and become its victims.

Spirits like this one, they can get you in two ways. The first is, in many ways, the better fate–at least in my opinion. Or perhaps, it just seems quicker. Certainly it’s the one most spirits prefer. The longer a human spends under the sway of a spirit, the deeper a hold the spirit has on the person. It can start eating away at their soul–their thoughts, dreams and desires–replacing it with the spirit’s instead. So, in time, the men who were in the locker room the most…well, they found their minds overwhelmed with desire for sex and cum and fucking. Men would enter the room to feed the spirit, and were often fucked and abused by these avatars in the process, until, in time, they were fully taken over, their original soul corrupted beyond any sort of recognition. Several bodybuilders–they were held in there for a week by the spirit, fucking each other nonstop as the spirit absorbed them, and then sent on their way, mindless, to seek out other places where the spirit might take root. It wasn’t enjoyable, putting them to rest, but there quite simply wasn’t anything human remaining inside them.

But the other fate–that I wouldn’t wish on anyone. Should someone be able to resist the spirit’s mental hold, and be able to recognize what’s happening within its domain, the only way they can be contained is physically. The men inside will secure them, and the spirit will begin to…incorporate their body into it’s own physical form. For two weeks now, a young man has been chained to the wall by the urinals. I…doubt he remembers being human at this point. All of his body has been sucked into the wall, leaving only his head, which has begun to contort, becoming identical to the other urinals beside it with each load of piss the men feed him and the spirit he is now connected with.

The spirit, in the end, is a simple mind, governed more by instinct than any real intellect, though the more men it absorbs, the smarter it becomes. I do, at least, have the advantage of surprise, and thankfully I found it before it had grown any larger, or I would have had a sizable challenge on my hands. Still, only a fool would run into a place like that, magic blazing. No, I have to size this thing up first, and that’s why I’m waiting for it to send out another drone it’s been preparing. I won’t kill this one, but merely capture it, so I can better understand the nature of this thing, and how best to contain it before it gets further out of hand. In fact, looking through my scrying pool, I can see the drone is preparing to leave now! If I hurry, I can intercept it, bring it back here, and proceed with my analysis.

Cruising (2 of 2)

“It’s been three fucking days!” Lucas shouted at the man behind the desk, “How in the fuck can someone just disappear on a goddamn boat. And you fuckers aren’t even doing anything about it!”

“I can assure you that no one has left the ship, sir,” the man replied calmly with cheery smile. “Please try and enjoy yourself.”

“He was with one of your own fucking waiters! Can’t you at least question him?”

“Do you remember who?”

“No! None of you fuckers have fucking nametags, and you all look like you were made in some fucking machine!”

The staff member’s eyes hardened a bit. “Sir, would you follow me please? Let’s talk to the captain, and see what we can find out about your husband.”

Happy he was finally getting some results, Lucas followed the man back behind the desk. Hopefully this captain would be able to answer some of his fucking questions.

“Alright number 3498, we have a task for you.”

The hulking sailor bounded up to the desk, package bouncing in his thong, always eager to serve. Two days earlier, Mark had been dragged down to the bowels of the ship, and a day later, Mark didn’t exist anymore. Now he was just number 3498, and he was always eager to serve. “What can I do for the ship?” he asked.

“An unsatisfied customer, who was incompatible with staff programming, has been corrected with program CO9. He needs a staff member to guide him through his adjustment phase into his new, satisfied, form. You’ll be applying program AF7.”

Alpha Fuck variation seven–with an emphasis on humiliation. “What room?”

“E class, room 135.”

Number 3498 paused a moment, trying…trying to remember…

“Is there a problem, 3498?”

A jolt from his hat, and there was no problem at all. The muscular hulk bounded off to the troublesome customer’s room, and let himself in, where Lucas was just beginning to stir. He no longer looked quite like himself–the correction process had aged him up about 20 years, and packed close to 200 pounds on him, his body coated with silvery white hair.

“Fuck, look at you, you disgusting piece of shit,” number 3498 said, running program AF7. He climbed up on the bed, where Lucas was lying face down, his brain trying to process what had happened to it, but no longer capable of keeping up–and after a day of number 3498’s fucking and abuse, Lucas was a brand new man–a old superchub desperate to be fucked by muscle men, especially if they ridiculed him at the same time. He was a cruise line regular now, and he’d be sailing with them three times a year for the rest of his life.

Source: bdjjk

Cruising (1 of 2)

“I gotta say, this cruise has been fucking amazing–thank’s again for the birthday present,” Lucas said, leaning over and giving his husband a kiss. They’d gotten married five years ago, and Mark had surprised his younger husband with a two week cruise through the Caribbean on the newest, hottest gay cruise that everyone was chatting about. Clothing was always optional, there were wild parties every night, and both Lucas and Mark had nailed so much tail–and each other–that halfway through, they were feeling a bit spent. Or Lucas was at least–Mark had always been the hornier one, despite being ten years older.

“Can I get either of you gentlemen something to drink?” one of the cruise staff had come sauntering over, carrying a tray. The staff was by far one of the nicest features to look at–every waiter, every bartender, every housekeeper–they were all handsome gym bunnies wearing nothing more than a thong barely containing their huge packages, and a sailor hat on their head.

“Heh, how about a nice drink of you?” Mark said, groping the man’s package.

“Of course sir, if that’s what you’d desire,” the man said with a wink.

“How about you, Lucas?”

“No, you go have your fun–I’m tuckered after that morning orgy–I’m gonna just tan for a bit, you two enjoy yourselves.

After an hour in their room with the waiter, Mark was finally sated, and the man got up, pulling his thong back on. “Anything else I can get for you, sir?”

“Fuck–I don’t know, you have any job openings?” Mark said with a chuckle, “I mean–what a life! Cruising around all day, fucking anyone you want–sounds like a dream job, though I’m probably a bit old for your staff.”

The waiter smiled, “I think you’d make an excellent addition to the crew,” the waiter said, took off his sailor’s cap and dropped it on Mark’s head, watching the older man’s eyes glaze over, his jaw slack. “Come with me sailor, and we’ll start your hiring process.”

Mark tried to fight, but suddenly he couldn’t control his own body. Stiffly, almost robotically, he got up and followed the waiter deep down into the ship to meet his new fate.