Suggestion Box Open for December! | Wesley Bracken on Patreon

This month’s suggestion box is open! If you’re a patron at any level, you can put your suggestions in the box, and I’ll use them to write my weekly flash fiction that I post for Patron’s only! If you’d like to support me, you can find more details here. Here’s a story from last month to give you a taste!

The Recruitment

Todd had, for as long as he could remember, wanted to join the army. Part of his conviction was that the army was a family tradition–not only had his grandfather and father both gone into the army, so had Todd’s older brothers–well, Marcus had gone into the Marines, but that was close enough. Since he was a young teenager, Todd had been introduced to the various recruiters in the town where he lived, he participated in all the training exercises, all the information sessions–as far as he was concerned, he was ready to head right off to boot camp, and now that he’d finally graduated from high school, well, it was time.

His appointment was in the afternoon at the recruitment center, and was just supposed to be a formality, really–signing his enlistment forms, and his final physical–but he knew everything was all set for him to head off to boot camp in a few weeks. However, when he got to the office, he discovered, from the receptionist, that he wasn’t going to be meeting with his usual recruiter, but instead with Marshall Blackburn, a fairly new sergeant at the office who Todd didn’t know well at all, aside from the fact that he was…well, massive.

He was several inches taller than the other recruiters, with hairy forearms and hair coming out of his chest, with perpetual stubble all day long. He hadn’t spoke much when Todd had been around him, and the other recruiters…well, there had been this strange vibe between them and Marshal, but Todd didn’t really know what might be the issue exactly. In any case, he was ushered down the hall to Marshal’s office, and found himself sitting across from the hulking fellow in the small, cramped quarters–and Marshal gruffly introduced himself, and started going over the paperwork.

The meeting started out normally enough, going over the forms, the sergeant not seeming too interested in anything much, but as the session wore on, Todd began to…notice that something was off. The room was stuffy, and too hot. He could see sweat beading on the sergeant’s forehead, and then, he could smell him everytime he reached over, the strong musk of the sergeant’s pits…and every time Todd caught a whiff of it, he felt his heart race slightly, for reasons he didn’t want to admit.

See, Todd was gay–had always been gay, knew he was gay, but still deep in the closet, not wanting his family to know, but the sergeant was, well, turning Todd on more than any man he’d ever been around before. He started to notice something else too, that the sergeant seemed…to have picked up on something. He was slyly smiling as he went over the forms, and kept reaching over further, almost like he was testing Todd, and the questions got more personal, asking Todd if he was going to be missing any girlfriends, asking him if he’d fucked anyone lately, was too personal of questions for Todd’s liking, and he didn’t know how to answer.

“Fuck boy,” the sergeant said, sitting back in his chair, “I know I’m real damn horny–fuck. Get’s damn hot in here in the afternoons, and my musk just fuckin’ makes me want to nut all over the place. How ‘bout you boy?” the sergeant said, groping his package, “Seems like you’re enjoying it too, from that bulge in your pants there.”

He’d been made. Todd hauled out of the chair and headed for the door, but the sergeant got there first, pinning Todd against the wall, holding him there with his bulk, with his musk, one of the sergeant’s big hands groping Todd’s hard on, and he shushed him. “Now now boy, I knew ya as soon as you came in here the other day–that’s why I took your appointment, so we could have a little time to discuss a…special recruitment opportunity for young fellows like you.”

The hand that was down the sergeant’s pants came up and cupped over Todd’s nose and mouth, and he could almost taste the sergeant’s musk, his cum…and Todd felt something…happen. Something in his body, something strange. There was a sudden heat, all over, deep in his muscles and his bones, and then the sergeant had to step back, because Todd had…grown.

He was taller, and also thicker–which was saying something, because Todd had gone in the office with a stellar physique to begin with. Now though, his chest and arms were more developed, his legs thicker…and he was horny as all hell, hornier than he’d been in his life. He stepped up and started kissing the sergeant, at least until the older man shoved Todd down to his knees and had the boy suck his cock, and as he did…he could feel it again, that heat, that growth. Something in his was changing, something…was different. When he finished, and the sergeant stood him back up, he was still the man he’d been…but he also wasn’t the same at all.

“Welcome, boy, to my squad of homo-infiltrators. Together, we’re gonna corrupt these straight fucking army brats and make them all into proper fuckers–how does that sound to you?”

It sounded pretty damn sexy to Todd–and later that night, when he and the sergeant had the lead recruiter–once straight, but now addicted to their musky cocks–between them, being spit roasted, Todd knew he’d found a place in the exact squad he need to be in.

Suggestion Box Open for December! | Wesley Bracken on Patreon

Training Camp (Caption Sketch)

For those of you who like these sorts of caption stories, I’ve started writing and posting them with some regularity over on my discord server for Patrons! It’s open for everyone supporting me at the five dollar level and up, and includes the ability to request captions, get exclusive access to all the captions I post (because I won’t be posting them all here) and you can also help me out by play testing some of the odd transformation RP games I design in my rare spare time. You can find more details here! I hope y’all have a nice holiday!

Training camp, day 1

“Yeah man, fuck, I could really go for some dinner.” Vince said, and inside, all Hugh could do was stare at Vince’s gut, hanging out from his practice uniform. The guy didn’t need more food, as far as Hugh was concerned, but what did he know? The massive fucker had just, well, shown Hugh up in just about every way, and it was just the first day of camp, with two weeks to go. This was supposed to be his time to shine, but this massive, stupid lug was going to ruin everything for him. Worse still, he discovered after dinner, the two of them were going to be rooming together in the college dorms.

As soon as they were in the room, Vince started stripping out of his clothes, and his musk started to permeate the air. Hugh tried to not let it bother him, and tried to ignore the fact that it was giving him a headache, and a hard on, until the shoes came off–and he lost it. He got down, shoved his face into one of Vince’s cleats, and started huffing in the musk, horrified, and unable to control himself.

Above him, Vince just sighed. “Fuck, was hoping you wouldn’t need it. They always put me with guys who need it. Don’t worry–I can help you, little guy,” Vince said, patting Hugh on the head, “We can help each other.”

Training camp day 4

Hugh wasn’t feeling good. At least, that’s what he told the camp coaches. In reality…Vince was right. This training really was more important than getting out on the field. He took a few long huffs from the stench of Vince’s tennis shoe, and he felt it, the same feeling he’d had inside him, starting in the last few days, and he felt himself…grow, slightly. Inflate, almost. Vince said that if he was good, if he did everything he told him to do, then he could make Hugh big–not as big as he was, but plenty big enough. Big enough to be a star player. Big enough to…not need it anymore.

He’d resisted at first, but last night, something in him had broken, and he realized why Vince had so much control over him–it was because he had what Hugh needed. Size. Power. Strength. So he’d agreed–Vince would coach him for the rest of the camp, and for his first day, that meant sitting here, huffing on his shoe with a moist jock shoved in the end all day long…but this…wasn’t so bad, was it? There was another dull throb, and he heard a bone pop and reset. No–this was exactly what he needed.

Training camp day 11

Hugh was ready for it, ready for what he really needed. He’d been practicing with the toys Vince had given him, the huge dildo and benwa balls, working them in and out of his hole. He was…so much bigger now, so much bigger. Six feet three inches, so much muscle mass, but he wouldn’t get any larger without…well, without Vince’s seed. It was only natural, after all–he needed it, but Vince was so large…he hadn’t been able to take him yesterday. But tonight would be different. He knew tonight would be different.

The door clicked, and Vince stepped in, seeing the massive man on the bed, gas mask still on with Vince’s dirtiest underwear inside, ass ready. He hauled out his fifteen inch cock, and pressed it to Hugh’s hole–it took some work over the next half hour, but finally it slid inside, and Vince fucked him, hard and rough, until he came, and gave Hugh exactly what he needed.

He could feel the seed inside him, coursing into his blood, changing him. His mind dulled rapidly, so quickly that Hugh didn’t even notice that he lost most of himself in the process. There was just…Vince. Just his master. Vince took the mask off, and revealed the almost ape-like visage underneath as the hair filled in across Hugh’s body, just another brutish beastial slave for Vince’s perpetually growing harem. Still, it’s what Hugh had needed–just maybe not what he wanted.

Tricks and Treats [Flash Commission]

There were plenty of rumors about Old Man Sanders. Some people said he was dead, and that the house was actually abandoned. Others said he was a shut in. Others claimed he was a wizard. But always, in every rumor, he was known for his extraordinary gifts–though it was never clear what he was giving, or to who. Oliver and Martin, two guys going to college in town, had a drunken dare, a couple of nights before Halloween, and they decided they should head up the hill to the house, and see which, if any, of the rumors were true. They had already decided to go out on Halloween–a lot of the students did, and the neighborhoods humored them, giving them candy for fun. The big night came, and Oliver and Martin got dressed in their costumes–Oliver just put on his football uniform (he’d never been one for creativity) while Martin was wearing a simple robe and scream mask he’d bought at a store. They broke off from their friends around nine, and headed up the lonely hill towards Sanders mansion at the top.

No one was up there with him–most of the candy was to be found close to campus, where the residents were a bit more patient with their older trick-or-treaters. As far as they were concerned, that meant more candy for them. At last, they came to the mansion–it did look abandoned, aside from a spare few lights on in the windows. They let themselves in through the gate, and knocked on the door. To their surprise, a bent old man with a long white beard answered, and they both hollered, “Trick or treat!”

Old Man Sanders did not look amused. He peered at them, through the helmet and the mask…and both young men got the distinct sense that he could…see them, through the garments. “Aren’t you two a bit too old for silliness like this?”

“It’s…just for fun. If you don’t have anything, it’s cool,” Oliver said.

“We just wanted to see if the rumors were true!” Martin blurted out, and Sanders’ eyes narrowed further.

“Oh? Which rumors?”

Neither of them were sure what to say, to that. “Your…gifts,” Martin muttered.

Oliver tried to step away, eager to be gone, but found that his feet were glued to the doormat somehow.

“Gifts, eh? Well, I think I can scrounge up a couple of tricks and treats for boys like you–why don’t you come on in.”

Each of them found themselves shuffling inside the house, and Sanders shut the door behind them. “Now, both of you strip out of those childish costumes, and I’ll give you two something a bit more…grown up to wear.”

Again, neither of them could resist his commands, and they began stripping their way out of their costumes in the mansion’s entryway–and then beyond their costumes, even taking off their underwear. Sanders left, and returned a couple of minutes later with a bundle of clothes, and two pairs of shabby boots hanging from one hand. “Here you go boys, let’s see if you can fill these shoes.”

They did as they were told, and put on the clothes as Sanders handed the garments to each of them. They weren’t the least bit clean, and the clothes weren’t in their sizes at all. Oliver receiver a sleeveless muscle shirt covered with dirt–two sizes too big for him, even though he wore an XXL–and a set of overalls that hung off his large frame and pooled around his feet. Martin, on the other hand, got a heavily stained wifebeater–also much too large for him–and some jeans and suspenders. The jeans were too large at the waist and too short in the legs–the suspenders were too tight for him as well, pulling them up even higher. Lastly, they received the boots–also much too large for them both. They slid their feet into them…and once they were on, the laced tied themselves, and their bodies began to warp, over a matter of moments, until the clothes they were wearing fit perfectly–their bodies had changed to match.

Oliver was now nearly seven feet tall, and packed with muscle from head to toe, nearly bursting from the muscle shirt, the overalls struggling to contain his thick chest and massive thighs. Martin on the other hand, and shrunk–he was five foot two, and had a huge gut pushing out the jeans and suspenders until they were tight–almost too tight. They looked at each other and screamed, while Sanders looked on, enjoying the spectacle. “I suppose I am known for my gifts,” he said.

“Please–please change us back, we’re sorry, we didn’t mean to bother you!” Martin said.

“Aww…but don’t you two want your treats? Come now, let’s all relax a bit, and you can…enjoy yourselves.”

In the next room, Sanders sat both boys down in an armchair across from one another, and then left for a moment, returning with a cigar in one hand, and a six pack of beer in the other. “Here daddy,” he said to Martin, “Drink up–you’re very thirsty, aren’t you?”

He set the beers down, and Martin scrambled for one, popping the tab and chugging the brew down, before letting off a long belch–and as he did, his eyes sagged slightly. In fact, all of him sagged slightly, wrinkles appearing on his face as he aged up into his thirties, grabbed another beer, and chugged that one too.

While he drank, Sanders took the cigar over to Oliver, “Here boy, a special treat for you too–breathe deep now, you need it, don’t you?”

He shoved the end of the cigar into Oliver’s mouth, and it sprang to life. He breathed deep, trying to cough, but he couldn’t–and he felt power rush into him, hair sprouting all over his body, and he moaned around the cigar, eyes crossing a bit as his mind slowed down.

The two men enjoyed their treats for a while, and Sanders’…discussed their lives with them–their new lives. They would both remember being young men–but neither would be able to speak about it to anyone else. They were much happier now anyway. They both loved their gifts, after all. They loved living in the rundown trailer in the trailer park. Marty loved being Ollie’s daddy, lounging about the trailer all day, farting, belching, jacking off, waiting for his son to come home from work–his dumb, massive brute of a son, always chuffing on a cigar–and then Ollie would service his daddy from head to toe. He loved pleasing his daddy, after all, and once a week, they’d both make the trek up the hill, and help take care of Old Man Sanders’ needs too, right? After all, these were some expensive gifts, he’d given them, and they’d both be paying him back for the rest of their roughneck lives.

Prison Psychology (Flash Commission)

CW: Rape

“I guess I just don’t understand why I’m here,” Officer Galloway said, looking around at the psychologist’s office, there at the prison where he worked as a guard.

“Oh,it’s just a formality, really. I like to have regular chats with the staff here, and make sure they are mentally fit enough for the work. It can be…overwhelming for some, the things they see here, the people they have to deal with on a regular basis. It’s part of my job to make sure that you’re up to the task.”

“I mean, I’ve been working here for six months,” Galloway told the psychologist, “I haven’t had any issues, I don’t think.”

“Yes, well, you might not even notice them. Still…are you sure you have the…constitution for this kind of work? You seem…rather small, I suppose. Well, I’m not in charge of determining physical fitness, so I suppose we should skip that, now…”

Galloway was caught off guard by the slight insult, and he had a hard time remembering everything else they talked about during that first session, he was so focused on that. He wasn’t a small fellow by any measure–he’d played football in high school and college, and the warden had hired him in part because he was big. Intimidating, he’d said, in fact. And this doctor, this short, chubby fellow, didn’t think he was big enough? He laughed it off at first, until he saw himself in the mirror later, changing out of his uniform to go home. Nothing had changed about him–he was still the six foot two, 220 muscular guy he’d been–he even weighed himself to check…but the doctor had been right. He was…small. He could fix that though, he could get bigger–he needed to get bigger.

He added another two days at the gym, and filled his diet with protein, but it wasn’t…enough. By the time he had another appointment with the psychologist a month later, he’d given into temptation, and started using steroids he bought from some hefty fellows at the gym–just to give himself a boost. He was bigger now–230–but the psychologist still wasn’t impressed–and was worried about his job performance too. He was concerned that he was too…nice. That he had developed a bit too much camaraderie with his fellow prisoners. Again, he left the session questioning himself, trying to sort out the truth, re-remembering…everything. He had been too soft. These people were thugs, they were criminals. He couldn’t afford to let his guard down. He looked down at the pills the psychologist had prescribed him–allegedly something for his depression, regarding BDD, whatever that was. Something about…his body looking wrong, but he’d fix that soon enough.

The pills worked alright. He had more energy, and he used it all to work out. The increased aggression, from the steroids and from the pills, were helpful on the job as well, and he put the prisoners he’d started getting too friendly with back in their place, with his fists, if he had to. In a few more months, and with a few more sessions with the doctor, he was up to 260, the largest he’d ever been, but it still wasn’t enough. He still looked too small, and too soft. Sure, the pills were helping. He was hairier. His face…looked different. His jaw more square, his brow deeper, and even his eyebrows were growing together, his beard thicker. He should shave it, but he’d stopped caring about…hygiene, lately. Not showering, and no deodorant–he wanted men to smell him coming, wanted them to fear getting close to him. He could be scarier though. He had some savings he could use, and he booked the tattoo and piercing appointments right away, and got started on his full body tribal tattoos, and all the piercings he needed. He got…so hard, whenever the needle pierced or stung him, but he was horny all the time now, but he hadn’t been with a woman in…ages. He was fantasizing about…about men, about the prisoners, and his fellow guards. About dominating them, but he couldn’t…do that, could he?

The next session, a few months later, was a joint session, to his surprise, with another guard, Officer Mandel. He was a sorry looking fellow–very fat, easily 300 pounds, and he smelled about as bad as Galloway did, but…weaker. He was weak, and Galloway was strong, and their doctor suggested they do some roleplay–with Mandel as the prisoner, and Galloway as the guard. He knew he should have been worried, when he ripped down Mandel’s pants and fucked him–but it felt so good, after being alone for so damn long…he wanted more, he needed more, he deserved more. That’s what his psychologist said, and Galloway always agreed with him, no matter what.

It felt like something had been…unleashed in him, after that. He would smell a guy at the gym, musky and strong, and he…he had to have them. He resisted for a while, but one night, he followed one of them home, and raped him in his apartment–making sure he never saw his face. He loved it–and that helped calm his urges, for a while. Using prisoners was easier–they were more…pliant, the ones the doctor suggested needed his special kind of attention. It caught up with him in due time however. The trial was short–he was too stupid to lie, and close to a year after his first meeting with the psychologist, Galloway found himself back in the prison, but this time, as an inmate, serving twenty-five years with no chance of parole.

Prison did nothing to contain his urges. He was a brute, a beast, and he fucked every cellmate they placed him with, until they were forced to place him in solitary confinement. It wasn’t…so bad, not really. He could work out. The psychologist visited him regularly to give him his drugs, to make sure he stayed big and strong, like he needed to be. The doctor, or his master, as he thought of him now, would keep him safe, and keep him happy, as long as he served him, here at the prison. The psychologist would bring men to him, troublesome ones, resistant ones, and they would spend a day or three with Galloway in his cell, raped by him over and over again, until they were begging to be released, until they were willing to do anything master told them to do. He enjoyed fucking the warden. The old faggot would show up, let himself into the cell, and drop his pants, cock locked in chastity, and beg for the beast to plow him. For him, getting raped by the brute in solitary was a reward. Mandel visited often too, larger every time, now over 500 pounds, snorting and squealing like a pig.

In the mirror…he finally looked right. Bestial face with the heavy brow over his eyes, hair and beard hanging all around him, growing higher up his cheeks with each month. He weighed over 300 pounds now, all of it muscle, and he couldn’t speak–he’d been alone for so long, he’d forgotten how to use his words–though he could listen. He liked listening to Master, he liked it more than anything. Soon, Master said, he would be free again. Free to roam the halls of the prison as Master’s head guard. Free to take any hole he wanted. Patience, Master said, soon, everything would be exactly as it should be.

The Bruiser Rapes – Episode 5 (Part 2)

I felt the clothes then, and they didn’t feel like the cotton and wool they should have been–they were smooth and slick, like something in their makeup had changed, or the cum coating them was warping their actual nature. It felt…good. I had fought so hard to get it off, and feeling it, all I wanted to do was put it right back on. Instead, I hung it up in the closet to dry–I didn’t bother thinking about washing them then, because I knew I wouldn’t be able to, even if I wanted. I did, however, manage to shower for the first time in days.

It seemed like such a feat, in the moment, but I think what allowed me to do it was the fact that I knew, even if I was clean on the outside, everything on the inside was wrong. No amount of water, or soap, was enough to scrub away what (I’d thought) Cumster had done to me. All the same, I felt better when I stepped out, though once I saw myself in the mirror, some of that feeling of good will disappeared. Not everything that had changed about me was bad, exactly. I was more muscular than I thought I should be, and perhaps a bit taller and hairier, even. The beard I hadn’t bothered shaving in a few days was thicker than my stubble usually was, but it framed my jaw well, though the hair was too long and needed a trim. It was the most disordered part about me, and I wanted it back in my usual high and tight, but there were more pressing concerns than a haircut. Mostly, my balls.

They had easily quadrupled in size in the course of the night, from Cumster’s eager treatment. No wonder I had been able to cum as many times as I had–I could almost feel them churning in my palm when I hefted them up, barely able to hold them with my fingers spread wide. I…didn’t know how I was going to hide them. I didn’t know if I wanted to hide them at all. I…I kind of wanted everyone to see them, I wanted them to know I was different, that I was wrong. That I…I wasn’t like them. My mind keeps telling me to write it, it wants me to say that I’m not human, but that’s not right. I know I’m human too, even if I’m also something else now, or maybe I always was, the things I remember now…I don’t know what to believe. I don’t know what belongs to me, what was buried away, and what all of these freaks have put in my mind along the way.

My phone was dead–I plugged it in, and immediately got a deluge of notifications from it, mostly calls from the department. Dreading what I was going to have to bear, I called the captain, telling him I’d developed some nightmare flu. In the end, the excuse didn’t matter, because there was something more important than the fact that I’d kept dropping off the grid for most of the last three days. Jules had called in with a location, and nothing else. The department was getting ready to go investigate it–I told them I would meet them there.

It was so fucking hard not putting my filthy dress uniform back on when I was getting ready. Something…told me I was going to need it, I would want it…but I couldn’t be seen in something like that, and it wasn’t exactly easy to hide under my usual clothing. I felt it, and it had cured somewhat in the closet, in just that short while. It was no longer wet, nor not exactly wet, but it wasn’t dry either. It took be a few moments to realize it didn’t even feel like the right kind of fabric at all…because it felt more like rubber.

It felt like rubber–smooth and flexible–but it didn’t smell like it. It smelled like…like me, like my cum. It smelled like sex, and my cock pumped a load of precum into the front of the boxers I was wearing, saturating the front in a matter of moments. It felt like something from my memory, like something I’d forgotten so long ago, that I might have just been inventing some imagined past out of fog. I wanted to put it back on, I wanted to feel what it…felt like to have it on, but I knew if I did it would never come off again. In the end, I got dressed in my usual clothes, and tucked the uniform into a bag that I took with me. At least if it was close, and I needed it, it would be there. The one exception were the gloves at boots–they still felt like they had…kind of. The gloves were…thicker, though more flexible. On my hands, they seemed to warp to every wrinkle on my hands, while at the same time making them seem…huge. The same with my boots. The cum had made them grow in some odd sense, and yet they hugged my feet so tightly they had to have been made for me. I didn’t care if anyone noticed, I…wanted them to notice, even. I was terrified, and yet, whatever was inside me, was hungry all the same.

The Fetish Gun is Loose! (Part 6) [Interactive]

Well it looks like we have a power struggle! The votes (on both polls!) were tied between Rick and the bouncer, so we’re going to have a little skirmish between the two and see what happens.

The bouncer, named Parker, hadn’t been able to believe what he’d seen happening in the bar over there. Some chubby guy, on the younger side, wearing a diaper, and some older, much filthier old man, also wearing a diaper of his own–though his was much fuller and sagging around his waist–on his hands and knees, sucking the young man off. Parker had no interest in letting play like that happen here in this bar–but as he went over to eject them both, something strange happened. The young man saw him coming, held up a strange looking gun, and before Parker could try and dodge it, it fired a yellow ray of light that engulfed him…and when it faded, he felt…decidedly differently about what he was seeing than he had before.

He walked over, taking the flogger from his belt (a flogger he both knew he always carried with him in the bar for fun like this, but which he also couldn’t ever remember having in his life) and started laying into the old faggot’s back with it, laughing as he moaned and cringed in pain–but he deserved it. Anthony was such a fucking pig slut–Parker had beaten him multiple times before, always with Rick’s blessing of course. Anthony’s son had some…strange tastes in play, but Parker wasn’t going to question it, so long as he got to hurt someone. After beating him for a few minutes, Rick shot Parker again, and a whole new set of ideas filled his head–disgusting, wonderful ideas.

He hauled down Anthony’s full diaper and started fisting the old man’s shitty hole, Parker’s own cock throbbing in the front of his own filthy, leather pants. Part of his was still reeling, however, and he looked at the gun Rick was holding. Everytime he shot him with that thing…something changed. About him, about what he wanted. Rick kept fucking his father’s face while Parker fisted him, leering at him. “Fuck, look at you, you nasty piece of work. Can’t decide if I want to keep you as some fucking bruiser, or turn you into my diaper for a few days–or maybe you’d rather be my dad’s diaper–he could use a new one at this point.”

One thing was for sure, and that was that Parker had no intention of doing what anyone else wanted him to do. He was in charge! He hauled his fist out and lunged for the gun, grabbing hold of the barrel before Rick could fire it at him. They fell to the ground, fighting for it, the dial spinning around in their hands.

((Gun fires randomly! Setting C [objectification]))

Rick thought he had Parker in his sights, but he hadn’t realized the dial had spun to setting C, objectification. He fired a bit wildly, and hit Parker in his biker boot–it glowed for a moment, but did nothing else. Confused, he went to fire it again, but Parker shoved the barrel to the side, and the beam struck Anthony instead. They both watched as he moaned, and shrank in on himself, the ray not dissipating until all that remained where Anthony had been was a filthy looking boot, lying on the ground.

“That was my daddy, you fucker!” Rick shouted, trying to wrench the gun away from Parker once and for all, and they kept fighting, the dial getting spun around once more.

((gun fires randomly! Setting E [absorption]))

Parker, however, had both height, and strength on him, and at last, he hauled the gun away from Rick, turned it around, and shot him, not realizing that the gun was on setting E, absorption. He held it down, and then released it–both of them confused that Rick hadn’t seemed to have changed at all. He fired again, holding it down longer, but he didn’t realize that the one changing wasn’t just Rick–but them both. Rick charged him then, and the gun got knocked from Parker’s hands, but he was…confused. The aggression, the filth, the sadism–it felt like it was draining from his mind, the more they fought, but more than that. He’d been…big before, but suddenly, Rick was…monstrous. A huge, leather clad, heavy bearded beast, who pinned him to the ground and sent his head reeling with a punch to the face.

Rick stood up, amazed at how…good that had felt. Then he looked down at himself, and then down at the gun, and realized why–he had been absorbing all of the fetishes and changes he’d put into Parker while they’d been fighting. He wasn’t complaining though–but he was angry at what he’d done to his Pa, turning him into a boot like that–though he was a sexy boot for sure. In fact, so sexy, he could use a friend.

Rick turned the dial around to C, and fired at Anthony, and then turned the gun at Parker, trying to stand, blood flowing from his nose, and shot him with the gun, until he was a perfect match to Anthony–both of them new boots for Rick to wear for the rest of the evening, while he had some more fun around here, with his toy. He stepped out of his old shit kickers and into his new ones, and grinned. They felt real nice–Parker especially. He might let his dad change back in a bit, but Parker–Parker might be staying as his boot for a good long time.

He was still fucking horny though–he’d have to find someone else to play with, until his Pa changed back.

What happens with Rick and the gun next?

He decides to make himself some more clothes from the people around him.
The gun sustained some damage during the fight, and releases a few random bursts of power before returning to normal.
Davie confronts him, gets the gun away, and uses it on Rick.
Anthony and Parker both change back, but now, Parker is Anthony’s identical twin brother–the gun copied everything when it shot Anthony as a boot.

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What Would I Do To You? #5 (Roidpig)

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You’re in good shape, but not great shape. You like working out, go three times a week (though you skip, on occasion), but do you love it. I think you could do better, be more dedicated. You could be so much better with just a little assistance. Good thing I know just how to help–this stuff is potent though, and it’s best if we introduce it to your system gradually. I don’t tell you of course–you’ve told me what you think of those guys at the gym, the ones you’ve seen injecting each other. You just don’t understand how someone could be so obsessed with themselves, that they’d use drugs to change their bodies like that. Well, I’m obsessed with yours, so I guess you’ll find out what it’s like, one way or another. So to start with, just a couple of drops in your food at each meal–aren’t I nice, making sure you have breakfast before work? Packing you a lunch? Dinner for you when you get home? So considerate.

I see the effects before you even notice them. How restless you are, around the house. I suggest you go workout some of your energy, and you think that’s a great suggestion. You’re up to five days a week at the gym, and you’re feeling–and looking–great. I up the dosage, and then you start to notice some things feel…off. You have a hard time focusing at work–sitting behind a desk for hours on end, without doing anything? It just seems…impossible now, for some reason. You take longer breaks, and workout in the midday–it helps for now, but we’ll break you of that pesky job soon enough. You feel the same restlessness at home too–I suggest you invest in equipment for a home gym–think how much you can save overtime, by skipping the membership! You see my logic, and buy a treadmill, and a set of free weight equipment–you don’t…quite recall ordering the power rack, but you must have, right? It gets used a lot, in any case–you work out so much more, now that you live where your gym is–on occasion, when you can’t sleep, I can hear you on the bench, grunting in the middle of the night.

At some point, you begin to suspect something. Is it the hair growth? The ache in your teeth? The inability to focus? Your insatiable appetite? You accuse me–and to your surprise, I admit it. You’re furious, you want to strike me, but you resist, and just tell me to get out–I leave without argument–I know you’ll come around soon.

In less than a day, you call me. You demand to know what I put in your food–now that the withdrawal symptoms have set in. It hurts, doesn’t it? The ache in your muscles, from all that exercise? You can barely move, you’re starving, you want to die. I come home, and fix you up–but I think you’ve grown past the oral dose–I prep the needle, and make sure you see it. I make you beg me for it–and I inject it into your ass. The relief is immediate–and euphoric. There’s a reason you start off easy with this stuff–if you’d injected it without any tolerance built up…well, the results would have been interesting, but not the results we want, right? Or at least, the results you want now–after our chat. You just felt so good, after getting your injection, after all, it felt so good to agree with me, and do what I say, and believe what I want you to believe. How important it is to you to workout all the time, as much as you can. How sexy you look now. How you should be thanking me, for knowing just what to do with you. You do thank me–you suck my cock like a good little roidpig, and then you go workout, like I never even left.

It’s easier, now that you’re fully onboard. You get your injections twice a day, morning and night, and after each one, we have a good chat. You’re finding it harder to think after each one–you don’t know it it’s the drug, or if it’s me telling you how stupid you’re becoming. How helpless–how you have to depend on me for everything. You realize before too long that you holding down a job at an office is hopeless–you’re too stupid to do anything like that, after all. Best for you to focus on the important thing–working out, and pleasing me.

In a month, the results have accelerated. You’re much shorter now–five foot two, the last time we measured. It’s like, as your muscles grow, they are tugging on your bones, making them shorter, and thicker. All of you is thicker, not just with muscle (though there is plenty of muscle) but also with a thick roid gut–you love it when I rub it during our chats, feeling all that bristly hair growing in. You lost a tooth the other day–and that freaked you out, until I showed you the new one growing in under it. A week later, you have one tusk poking out the side of your mouth–but it’s brother comes in soon after.

It’s your cock and balls that worried you most, though. They’re so…small. The shorter you grow, the more they seem to shrink, like they’re withering away to nothing. You ask me what’s happening to them–well, you try to ask. You keep forgetting words, more and more these days. Grunting is just so much easier, and it gets the point across, usually. During our next chat, after one of your injections, I ask you why you even need them. You don’t fuck anything–who would want an ugly best like you to fuck them at all? No–you don’t need to worry about silly things like that–you just need to worry about working out, and being a good roidpig for me. That eases your concerns, and a few weeks later, when the husk of your cock falls off your body, you bring it to me like a trophy, full of pride, and ask me–I think–if you’ll grow another one, like your new teeth. Instead, I make you forget you ever had a cock–as far as you know, you’ve never had a cock, or balls–just a hairy crotch. Not like me. I have a cock, that’s what makes me so much better than a Roidpig like you. I’m smarter than you. I’m better looking than you. You’re a freak, but that’s alright–you like being a freak, don’t you?

I take you outside sometimes, on a leash, wearing a bright red wrestling singlet. The way people stare at you, four feet tall, wider than you are tall, lumbering about, snorting with your piggy snout and tusks, licking them while you stare at all the men’s bulges at your eye level, you hungry pig. We keep you well sated–you had to do some kind of work, right? Men pay handsomely to fuck a Roidpig like you, you make more as a whore than you ever did as a office grunt, and you’re so much happier now! We both are.

How Lucky (Sketch)

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“You’d be so fucking lucky if you were straight, you know that?”

Evan looked over at Raymond, his dormmate. They were in their room, homework done (or done enough, at least) and were taking a break to play some video games together. Evan was gay, and Raymond was straight, but he’d never made a offputting comment like that before. “Excuse me?”

“I mean, if you were straight, girls would throw themselves at you. You got everything–looks, muscles…I don’t have shit.”

Raymond didn’t have…much, in those categories. Evan would have called him a twink, and a cute one at that, if you were into that sort of thing, but Raymond hated his short, petite frame. He must have gotten shot down again–he always got a bit petty and morose when a girl turned him down. He was a nice guy, but in Raymond’s opinion, the self-pity was exhausting. “I don’t have trouble getting guys either, so I guess I’m lucky anyway.”

“You don’t have to rub it in, you know.”

Evan shrugged.

They were silent for a moment, and then Raymond mumbled something quietly, but loud enough that Evan could hear it. “I wish I was bigger–then I wouldn’t have any problems.”

Evan tried to suppress a smirk–maybe it was time for Raymond to learn a lesson or two. Evan happened to come from a very long line of witches, and was quite powerful himself, though he prefered to keep a low profile. Raymond had exhausted his patience, though, plus Evan was horny, and maybe a little drunk from his secret stash of booze in the closet. He turned to Raymond, and said something in an odd tongue, something so complicated that Raymond couldn’t even begin to parse it into words, much less understand it. It felt…odd too, hearing it, like the words were doing something to him…but as soon as Evan finished speaking, he forgot the oddity, and went back to playing the game.

An hour later, when they finished, Raymond also didn’t notice that when he stood up, he was a bit taller, with a bit more muscle on his frame, and a five o’ clock shadow that hadn’t been there before. He went down the hall to the bathroom to take a shower and brush his teeth, and while he felt a bit…off, he couldn’t really pin down why. When he got back to the room, Evan was in his bed, reading one of those old tomes of his he’d brought to school with him. He looked at him…and felt a twinge of attraction, along with the usual jealousy, and made another comment about how lucky Evan was–but all Evan did was say the same strange phrase again, but it was just as difficult to understand as before, and when Raymond climbed into bed, his feet stretched to the end of the extra long twin beds they had in their room.

He also couldn’t sleep. He kept thinking about Evan, in the bed next to him–not just about how good he looked, but how…sexy he was. Raymond’s cock was rock hard, and after half an hour of tossing about, he had to get up and go down the hall to the bathroom to jack off, thinking about Evan as he did. It felt…normal to think of him, but shouldn’t he be thinking of girls instead? He felt better with a load out of him, and went back to bed, mostly oblivious, although Evan had also jacked off when Raymond had left the room a second ago–and left his cum rag under Evan’s pillow. He found it after a moment, and got so horny immediately, he jacked off again, right in the bed there in front of his gay roommate, and then fell asleep with the crusty rag pressed to his nose.

The next few days were…strange. Raymond, or rather, Ray, as he was being called by most everyone, found his life becoming rather…unrecognizable. He woke up early and went to the gym to work out, and ended up sucking off one of the football linebackers in the shower afterward. He tried to keep focused on girls, but it was men he wanted–the burlier and hairier the better. It was a couple of days before he made another complaint about his life to Evan, and again, he said the same phrase as before, just as confounding…but it seemed stronger than before, somehow. Evan had to study at the library for a while, and so Ray ended up back in their room alone–where their beds were pushed together, for some reason. He stripped down to just his musky jockstrap, not even aware of the tattoos that had formed all over his thicker, hairier frame, nor the piercings in his ears, nipples, and the head of his cock. He did some school work, but had to take regular breaks to jack off, usually while sniffing Ray’s current cumrag, until his boyfriend got back from the library, and fucked Ray’s ass on their bed, just like always…right?

Evan imagined that Ray had probably had enough for now, but after a couple of days, he was bemoaning something else, how uptight the guys on the football team were about him sucking them off in the shower. It wasn’t a big deal, right? Evan just replied with the same phrase, and Ray bristled. Now seven feet tall, and packed with muscle, musk rolling off him, he was the center of attention no matter where he was–not just because of how big he was, but often because of what, and how little, he was usually wearing. Since the weather was nice, he was wearing only his custom leather harness, and a pair of tattered jean shorts tight against his wide ass, almost tight enough to see the end of the plug he always kept up his ass.

He looked down at himself, trying to take all of him in, and at last, Evan saw his face relax into contentment, and he looked over at his shorter, but still beefy boyfriend with a sigh. “Fuck, what the hell am I even complaining for? My life is pretty damn good, right?”

Evan just chuckled, nodded, and then pulled the big slut off to their room for an afternoon fuck. In the afterglow, Ray asked Evan what that thing he’d been saying lately meant. After considering for a moment, Evan said, “It’s hard to translate, but I suppose you could say it kind of means, ‘Be careful what you wish for.’”

What Would I Do To You? #4 (Leatherhead)

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Sure, maybe it was a bit early in our relationship for kinky gifts, but you see how eager I am when you pull the thing out of the box…though you don’t know what you are looking at. It looks a bit like a leather bag of some sort, but it is stitched in the strangest pattern, so that it looks almost lumpy. You ask me what it is, and I tell you it’s a sheath–it’s meant to go over your cock and balls–I tell you it feels amazing, and you give me an incredulous look.

It isn’t like you haven’t worn leather before. In fact, you quite like it, but this seems a bit ridiculous. You don’t want to seem ungrateful though, so you agree to try it on. The leather, when you first felt it in your hand, seemed kind of thick–but when you pulled it over the head of your cock, it was surprisingly supple instead, and the sensation of the leather against the head made you get erect almost immediately. You didn’t know what kind of leather it was made from, but it had quite a bit of stretch to it. It took both of us to get it in place around both your cock and balls, and then pull the drawstring running through the base tight–I knotted the cord around it again, which only made you harder, and then gave you a teasing stroke.

You shuddered, hard, which was sexy as hell. Much to your surprise, it felt way more intense with the sheath on, and I kept stroking while you laid back on the bed, moaning, and let me do all the work. I climbed over you, and lowered myself onto your sheathed cock, and you nearly came from the dual sensation of your leathered cock in my hole. I knew how to keep you on the edge though, and rode you for a good twenty minutes, before you finally exploded.

You apologized, certain that the sheath would be a mess when it came out…but when I got off…the sheath wasn’t there. It was just your cock–or a cock, at least. It wasn’t the cock you’d had before, that much was for sure. It was big–easily nine inches, even though it was a bit soft, with a thick foreskin, and balls the size of oranges. You inspected them–they weren’t the right color–they looked like the same light brown the leather sheath had been, but it was skin. You could see veins and hairs…and when you asked what had happened to it, I just smiled at you, and told you that I hoped you liked your present.

You certainly played with it often enough, after that. I would catch you jacking off, even when you weren’t thinking about it. It just demanded attention. You got used to the rough surface eventually, how leathery your dick skin felt, how much more sensitive it had become. You even forgot about the sheath after a day or two–this, in your mind, was the cock you had always had. That didn’t make you any less uneasy when I brought over a much larger gift the next week–an entire set of leather gear. There was a harness, a pair of gloves, a pair of biker boots, and some shorts. But with one hand on your new cock, it was easy enough to coax you into the gear, and as soon as it was on you, it was like you became a different person.

The harness made your whole body feel alive, the straps biting into your flesh, digging in, becoming a part of you. The gloves felt just like the sheath had on your cock–you could feel…everything with them, and they knew things too. How to spank my ass just right to make me cry out, how to choke me while you fucked me, how to use the flogger I shoved into your hand, your cum dribbling down the inside of my legs as you whipped me, and you came again, just from that. It was so intense–you could almost feel every strike you laid on me, against your own back as well. By the time we had finished, the leather gear had melded with your body, just like the sheath had–but the effects manifested over the next several days.

You grew constantly. I had to keep you fed all the time, because of how much mass you were putting on, until you were six and a half feet tall, full of muscle, with hair growing everywhere on your leather brown body. Your feet were massive now, size twenties, just like the boots I had given you. Everywhere you went, you would catch the constant scent of leather wafting from your body, and everytime you did, you got rock hard. If we were alone, you would fuck me, but if you were at work or in public, you would have to find some excuse to slip away to the restroom and jack off. You were so happy–you took every chance you could find to thank me for these gifts–but when I told you I still had one more to give you…you got quiet, and a bit hesitant.

I pulled you into the bedroom, and showed you the hood I had saved for last. It laced up the back, but didn’t have any holes for your eyes or mouth that you could see. You tried to tell me you were fine–that this was good enough, but when I ordered you to put the hood on–your leathery hand obeyed me, not your mind. You fought hard, as best you could, but your body wasn’t yours now–not really. It belonged to the leather, and the leather belonged to me. You pulled the hood on over your face, and I laced it tight against the back of your head. You couldn’t breathe, everything smelled of leather, and…and you were so horny, nothing else seemed to matter.

You found your way to my hole and fucked me, rougher than before, as the hood tightened around your face. I flipped over so I could watch the hood do its work, flattening the features of your head until it was nearly flat–just an anonymous leatherhead, on top of a hulking, hairy, dominant frame–just the kind of man I’d wanted you to be. Well, not really a man, I suppose, because you don’t do much in the way of anything human anymore. You live in my closet now, when I’m not using you, one leathery hand always milking your cock–but you can’t cum that way anymore–you can only cum inside me. When I get home and let you out, you do everything I want you to do to me–beat me, choke me, rape me–but we both know that I’m the one who’s really in control. You’re just a leatherhead, after all, and that’s all you’ll ever be.

House of Marvels -Episode 1 (Part 8)

Eric rolled him over, so he was belly up, looking up at him on the ground, his cock still buried in his hole. Before he could do anything to resist him–not that the old man would ever resist him–he took a long draw off the pipe, leaned over him, and pushed it into him, all of it and more. He pushed that fire he felt inside him, pushed it into his mind, into his soul, burning parts of him away, and as he did, he watched him…change. Mr. Fields began to grow, his belly and muscles swelling larger, his bones cracking and expanding, white hair growing in thick all over his body. His cock, once small, was growing as well, and when they pulled apart, his once blue eyes had turned a steely, grey, the same grey as the smoke curling from his slack jaw.

“What’s your name?” Eric snarled at him, driving his cock into him.

“I…I have no name, master, not anymore,” his thrall said, groaning as Eric’s cockslid deeper than it had before, like it had grown longer in his ass while they fucked.

“No, you don’t. You aren’t anyone anymore, are you. You’re mine–that’s all that matters. You could never be anyone ever again. Without my smoke, you would die now. Now, you need me. You’ll never be able to leave my side, unless I allow it.”

“I would never leave you Master, never. I love you, I love you, please, harder Master, harder…”

Eric gripped his flesh, feeling his nails dig into his hairy skin, his toy growling in pain and surprise, but not resisting. He was nothing more than a vessel, a thing for his Master to use, and to own. His humanity had burnt away now–all that remained was desire and eager obedience, willing to do anything for his master, even if it cost him his life. He felt…terrible, terrible that he’d allowed that other man to escape so easily. He should have tried harder, should have chased after him, and dragged him back down here for his Master to enjoy. Eric came with another roar, even louder than the previous ones, and he watched his Master’s form warp further, muscles bulging and bones cracking, skin turning red and cracking apart all over his body, eyes yellow with rage and greed, the pipe smaller, somehow–or perhaps it was just that Master’s mouth was so large, and so full of teeth.

He withdrew his cock from his thrall’s hole, feeling somewhat better, and more secure in his position. Still, the thrall felt terrible. “I failed you Master, I let him escape. It’s my fault. Please, let me go after him! I’ll drag him back to you by force if I have too, he will understand what a gift it is to serve you in time, if you–”

“No! No, I forbid it. I can’t lose you, I can’t,” Eric said, shaking slightly at the thought.

“Please–please let me do this for you. I’m…stronger now. You can make me even stronger if you so desired. He deserves to be punished–let me serve you, Master, please. Rest here. Gather your strength, and I’ll find him. I’ll show him your power–feed…feed me your smoke, and I…I can do the rest, please, let me do this for you.”

He groveled down at Eric’s feet, amazed at how…large they had become, at the sharp black claws that had replaced his nails, at the slight web between the toes. His master was becoming more marvelous by the day, and with more men to serve him, he would become even more powerful. He could do this–he knew he could…and he sensed that Eric was softening to the idea.

“Yes…I think you’re right, but any sign of danger, and you return to me immediately–and if you aren’t back by dawn tomorrow, know that you will suffer a death that you cannot even begin to imagine, if you betray me.”

“Never Master. I am yours. Your tool, and your pleasure, and your hoard.”

Eric could feel it. Feel his slave’s regret and his own failure, and the burning desire to serve his Master in whatever way possible. In truth, he was terrified. If his thrall didn’t return, what would happen to him then? He…needed him, even more than his thrall needed his master and his smoke–but as risky as it was, it was his only option. With Raury and Sam on the loose, he was vulnerable. He was strong now, but not strong enough–if anyone found out about him…they would kill him, or worse, lock him away in some dungeon to study until he withered away and died. He bent down and kissed him again, pouring more smoke into him, infusing him with enough to keep his strong and healthy until he returned. “You are most important. You are my gem. Return, even if you fail–I couldn’t bear to lose you.”

“Yes Master, I could never live without you.”

“I know. You will have a new name now–you will be my Hunter.”

With that, Hunter took the stairs two at a time, unable to remember the last time he’d felt so strong, body thrumming with vitality. Finding clothes was more difficult–nothing seemed to fit his massive frame, but he managed to squeeze into an old pair of sweats and a sweatshirt, and then he was outside. He missed the smoke, deeply, but he had enough inside him to last–and if he hurried, more than enough to share with the one who had gotten away. He sniffed the air, picked up a trace of smoke leading away from the house and down the sidewalk, and hurried after it. He was Hunter now–and he would never fail his Master again.