Fantasy Feedback Loop (1 of 2)


I’d had no idea where it had come from, it was just there on the porch when I’d gotten home from community college. I was still living with my parents, getting some credits under my belt before transferring to a state school to finish a bachelor’s degree. Regardless, I saw this box on the step, with no one’s name on it, so I took it inside and up to my room. Now, usually I got home first from class, then my dad would get home, and then my stepmom later, so everything was quiet. I liked living with my dad…well, I’ll be honest, I’d had the hots for me father for as long as I could remember.

I was still in the closet–I didn’t dare tell him, after listening to him rant about “those faggots” my entire youth, but he was a walking wet dream for a bear chaser like me. Nice full beard, heady musk (I had a…collection of his dirty underwear and socks stashed away for personal use), and a muscular body from manual labor with a nice, healthy gut. If he wasn’t so fucking straight, right? I’d messaged a few a few guys and chatted on some sites, but I hadn’t actually had the chance to get my cherry popped yet–I think part of me was still holding out for my dad, as sick as that might sound. I opened up the package, and found a small statue inside–well, statue is a bit misleading. It looked high tech–a thick pillar of metal mounted on a wide base with a few buttons, including an on/off toggle, so it had to do something, right? There was a thick manual beneath it, and apparently, the thing was something called…a fantasy generator.

It had to be fake, I told myself. Some stupid prank or something. The book claimed that if you turned it on, and let it charge, it would gather the desires of people around it, and when it was fully primed, unleash those desires, and make them come true. It would literally change reality. That had to be impossible right? Then again…maybe it was at least worth a shot…

My dad would be home in about an hour. I plugged in the machine, saw it had power, and turned it on…and as soon as I did, it’s like…some force just overwhelmed me, and I lost control of myself, got on my bed, and started jacking off with my dad’s dirty underwear, thinking about him, about how much I needed him. I could…feel the energy building up around me, until the room was thrumming with it, and when I heard the sound of his truck pull up, and he walked into the house, and came within the reach of the field…there was a pulse, and everything went white, for a moment. When I could see again, my dad was in the doorway of my bedroom, a hungry look on his face–he walked right over and started sucking my cock–his son’s cock! I nearly shot from that alone…but this…this was normal now, wasn’t it? We’d…been fucking for years at this point, since I was sixteen or so. I was in heaven–so thrilled, that I barely noticed that the machine was warming up again…and when another flash came a half an hour later, I realized I probably should have read the whole book first.

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.

The Power of Society (Part 7)

“Come on Brodie–just come lift with us! Classes aren’t for fucking jocks,” his two frat brothers guffawed and laughed–that was about as close anyone in the house got to a joke these days. After all, Jocks weren’t really known for their subtlety. Well, except for Brodie, and a few others. Against the orders of the study, Brodie still showered himself down at nights, when no one else was awake, and that helped him keep his mind clear enough that he could still go to a couple of classes on campus, even if he was nearly failing both of them. The professors were patronizing–they knew he didn’t really belong there as much as Brodie did, but they also found his attempt charming, and tolerated it. Brodie ignored his bros, and left the frat house, heading for campus–it wasn’t until after a few blocks that he felt warmth in the pouch of his constantly wet uniform, and realized he was pissing himself in the middle of the sidewalk–but the piss streaming out wasn’t what unnerved him–it was that he had completely forgotten to put anything else on over his uniform.

He was standing on the sidewalk in broad daylight, wearing nothing but his yellow and brown, cum and piss stained uniform, cock bulging in the pouch, his muscular, dirty, hairy ass hanging out for everyone to see…but that was normal, wasn’t it? He entertained the thought of heading back to campus and putting on some other clothes–or at least a pair of shoes–but that was ridiculous–the house didn’t have any other clothes. Jocks didn’t get to wear clothes–what did he think he was…a normal person? He felt frozen there, on the sidewalk, not really certain how to take what was happening. He’d worn clothes yesterday, hadn’t he? When he’d gone to class? Or had he? It was hard to focus, with the stench of his piss wafting up from the pavement, and he kept walking before he gave in and started lapping at the puddle. It would be delicious, of course, but if he got distracted he’d never make it to class on time.

He kept going, crossing the road onto campus proper and headed for his campus building. He saw, up ahead, a crowd gathering around a bench–some Nerd was making a scene on the bench. He took a different path, wanting to avoid it. Nerds could be…distracting, for a Jock like him, and that one looked…especially dirty.

“What the fuck is up with that Jock?” he heard someone say, as he walked, “They don’t usually walk like that do they?”

“Yeah, it’s kind of weird–almost looks like a human or something, when it does that.”

God, what was he doing, Brodie asked himself. He knew better than that. He hunched forward and crouched down a bit, so his hands were on the ground and kept walking. He was aware that this position should be…very uncomfortable, if not impossible…but something odd had happened to his body. It was like his legs were shorter–squat and thick–and his arms had lengthened. He seemed almost simian, as he walked, and the copious amount of hair coating his body didn’t help. Still, he felt less naked, with his pelt on. He always felt sorry for swimmers, and the shaving and waxing they had to put up with. So much easier just being a dumb football jock like he was.

He was almost to the building where the class was being taught, when something flying through the air caught his eye. He dropped his books to the ground in a heap and launched after it, tongue hanging out of his mouth, every concern in him pushed aside. A thing was in the air! A ball? No–no, a frisbee! Brodie fucking loved frisbee! He launched himself into the air–a sense of vertigo washing over him when he saw how…high his squat legs could propel him–and intercepted the disk in the air, grabbing it with a sound something between a howl and cheer, and landed on the ground with a roll. Some focus returned to him, and looking around, he realized he’d interrupted a game of catch being played by three normal guys on the quad, and he felt a bit embarrassed.

“God, fucking Jocks,” one of them said.

“Hey, be nice! It’s not like they can help it.”

He loped over, holding the frisbee in his mouth, and handed it to one of the men, who tousled his hair like a kid, or a dog…and Brodie felt a surge of pride.

“Throw!” he said, his voice gutteral, almost a growl. “Throw again! Brodie catch! Brodie good catcher. Brodie play football.”

The guy rolled his eyes, “Hey guys, the jock wants to play.”

“Of course he fucking does.”

“Throw!” Brodie said, jumping up and down, an odd glee and exuberance filling his chest. “Throw for Brodie!”

“He’s not going to stop, is he?”

“How about keep away?” one of them suggested, and the other’s agreed. So the three of them began throwing the frisbee between them with Brodie in the middle, chasing after the disk like a pup, intercepting it often…and sometimes letting it go, because he liked seeing the people happy. Jocks, after all, wanted to make men happy, right?”

They stopped after an hour. Brodie hadn’t thought about his class once, and to thank the men for letting him play with them, he blew them all in sequence, and drank down their piss on the quad. No one really batted an eye at that–after all, Jocks could be a bit…forceful if the didn’t get their way. In the end, Brodie heard the four o’clock chime ring from the bell tower, said a hasty goodbye, and took off in the direction of the fieldhouse. Practice started at four fifteen, after all, and Brodie didn’t want to be late. Brodie wanted to play football! Maybe tomorrow, those guys would be playing frisbee again. He liked frisbee too, and their cum had been delicious as well. Maybe, if he was extra good tomorrow, they’d fuck his dirty ass too.


The End for now…

The Power of Society (Part 6)

WARNING: INCONTINENCE, SCAT

Simon tugged his shirt down again as he walked, trying to cover his hairy gut as best he could already sweaty and winded after the one block walk towards campus proper. Fuck, why did he keep doing this? He hated walking, he hated going to class. He felt like a fucking dumbass now–and everyone at the frat hated him for even trying. Hell, he kind of hated himself for trying, even, but he did it anyway. Sure, he was just a fat, slovenly, cum-hungry nerd, but maybe he could still make something of himself. There had to be something more to life than jacking off to filthy porn and playing video games, right? Well, maybe there was, for guys who weren’t nerds like him, but something still told him that he needed to try.

“Oh fuck, is that–who the fuck let the fucking Nerd out of it’s cage?”

Simon had crossed the road over to campus proper, only for a guy passing with a friend by to shout that at him. He looked over, embarrassed a bit for even existing, but he wasn’t quite prepared for the look of sheer revulsion in the young man’s eyes, looking at him. It was like he’d never seen anything more disgusting in his life, like Simon was a smear of dog shit across the man’s carpet. He tried to stammer a reply, but he’d developed a severe stutter after discovering what a nerd he was, and so he’d never really been able to get words out of his mouth.

“Dude, I know it’s gross, but if you say shit like that to it, you’ll only encourage it. You know how nerds get,” the guy’s friend said, and tugged him along.

The guy followed reluctantly, “If we don’t say anything, then the fucking things will start thinking they’re allowed here.”

Simon just stared after them. He’d thought he’d built up a resistance to it–to the stares, the disgust, the avoidance, the pity–but something about that cut right through him. But rather than feeling hurt, what he found instead, was that…it had turned him on, somehow. Unable to help himself, he groped the front of his filthy cargo shorts, feeling a wad of precum squeeze from the head of his filthy cock, forming a bit of a wet spot around the fly, and then yanked his hand away. Class–he needed to get to class. He had to stop worrying about what people thought of him–just because he was a perverted, disgusting nerd, didn’t mean he couldn’t go to class…as long as he controlled himself.

Where that last thought had come from, he wasn’t certain, but it was…right, somehow. Everyone knew nerds had no real self-control. Simon kept walking, trying to avoid people as he headed for class, but along the way, he let off a massive, stinking belch–it tasted so filthy he just stood on the sidewalk a moment, groping himself helplessly, and every cruel comment from the people passing by only made him hornier. He had to stop. If he kept this up, and campus security caught wind of him, he’d really be in trouble. He spied a bench along the path, and thought that if he could just sit for a bit and collect himself, he might be alright. After a few more heaving steps, he got there and plopped down on the bench, as a massive fart escaped his ass…and a little something more than that, which he could feel, warm, in the back of his crusty, cum coated briefs.

He’d just farted so hard, he’d shit a bit in the back of the pants. Fuck, he’s such a fucking nerd–such a disgusting, ugly, fat, perverted, filthy nerd! He licked his bearded lips and started clawing at the front of his shorts, hauling up his heavy gut so he could haul his cock out of the front of his shorts and start jacking off in public, sitting in the stench of his own shit, staring down the people passing by, wanting them to insult him, wanting them to be utterly disgusted by him. After all, he couldn’t really help himself–he was just a fucking nerd. This is just what nerds do, right? He ground his fat ass against the bench, feeling the shit smearing between his cheeks, the first load exploding from his cock, arching up onto the front of his t-shirt. A guy passing by saw him–smelled him, and stumbled past, retching. Simon just laughed, and started jacking off again, but didn’t manage to finish before the campus security guards found him. The two hulking guards ran up, wearing gas masks and their standard rubber containment gear, and the first to arrive used his cattle prod right on Simon’s junk, making the nerd scream and writhe on the bench.

“Fucking nerds–you just can’t fucking help yourselves. An infraction this bad–you’re getting house arrest for two months, you fat fuck.”

The men dragged Simon’s fat ass back to the frat house–he was laughing and belching the whole way. He couldn’t believe he’d lost control like that, but fuck, it had just felt so fucking good! On the porch, the guards secured a shock collar around Simon’s neck and armed it–if he stepped more than ten feet out of the range of the house, he’d receive a debilitating shock and security would be alerted to his violation. Then they opened the door and shoved him inside, still laughing.

“Fuck Si, is that you?”

He looked up and saw a couple of his fellow nerds on the couch, staring at the screen, playing a video game together. “Got all the way to campus, you should’ve seen them. Shit myself on a fucking bench!” he laughed again, and started jacking off again, “Fuck, why the fuck did that feel so fucking good?”

“You shit yourself in fucking public! I bet you fucking jacked off after that,”

“Oh fuck man, I fucking did!”

Fuck man, you’re such a fucking nerd!”

“I know, right?”

“Fuck, I could shit myself right now, man,” one of the nerds said, and bore down, letting off a vile fart. Si crawled over, smelling the fumes as he jacked his own cock. He was stuck in here with these fucks for two months, but it was worth it, right? Some part of him told him this was wrong–the same part of him which tried to get him to leave the house that night, until the collar went off. It summoned security, who beat his fat ass on the lawn and threw him back in the house. There was no denying it–as far as the world was concerned he was just a fucking nasty nerd, and he’d never be anything else–best to just accept it.

The Power of Society (Part 5)

And with those two visits, Professor’s Larson study was set in motion. He returned to his home a few blocks away from campus, and spent a few hours working out his sexual energy on two of his butlers down in the dungeon. warping the minds of the young men on campus always got him…riled up. He’d wanted to abuse the men then and there, but for the purposes of his research, it was best if he retained an appearance of objectivity and distance from his latest subjects. When he was feeling better, he left the two servants to tend to one another’s wounds, dressed himself in his house leathers, and ascended to his study–where he found that the campus maintenance crew had already installed the cameras in both houses. He had live feeds in every room–some from multiple angles–to make sure he wouldn’t miss anything which might be relevant to his research program.

He took off his watch and placed it on the charging system. He’d improved the power source quite a bit over the last year, but two big groups like that in one evening had nearly drained the device dry. Since inventing it, he’d used it almost exclusively on individuals–but it was time to set his sights on…bigger targets. It was clear that belief and persuasion had social elements, but what he wanted to test, was whether fostering a set of beliefs in a social group like these two frats could instigate and force changes without his explicit direction–and without the presence of the watch. In other words, was it their own belief which changed them, or was it the direct presence of the sonic waves itself, coupled with the belief? More importantly, would the effects fade over time, without further interference from him? He was testing the very limits of his power, and observing the feeds from both houses that evening, he couldn’t have been happier with the results.

It was clear that his meetings with both houses had created two camps. First, were what he called the “early adopters”–the men who had taken to his suggestions readily, and had already begun to change by the time he’d finished. The others were all “deniers”–those who, despite believing him, still tried to insist that what he’d said wasn’t true. In both houses, the early adopters were winning handily. The nerds, with their new tendency to drag one another downward, had banded together and isolated several deniers and were busy “convincing” them of the certainty of what the professor had said. Much to his surprise, the changes forced on the deniers, as they came to believe, were as rapid and substantial as those he could cause with the watch–clearly then, it was only the subject’s belief that mattered, or perhaps merely being subjected to the sound was enough to open the capacity for these changes. Either case was troubling to him–it signaled that he might not be as in control as he thought.

The jocks had no real collective drive–rather, each individual jock was battling their own internal…monster. The early adopters gave in readily, frotting, pissing and working out mindlessly all night, while the deniers cloistered themselves away, fighting–though several found the growing orgy to tempting, and gave in before the night was through. It seemed then, that internal and external pressure had similar levels of effect on behavior. So far, his hypotheses were being confirmed. He would wait a month, and see how things developed.

After around three weeks, each house settled down into what Harold considered a new status quo. In each house, everyone had been convinced of the certainty of the professor’s beliefs. None of the “nerds” in the house weighed under 300 pounds, and several of the early adopters were closer to 600. The house was a wreck, and TV’s were in every room–some dedicated to video games, others playing a near constant stream of gay porn. The nerds largely settled down and rarely moved, aside from getting up to order more food for the house and devour what was there. That said, while they all believed what Harold wanted them to…not all of them responded in the same way. While most gave into their sloth, a small minority maintained a certain drive to escape their fate. They continued going to class, would leave the house a few times a day for fresh air, and a few even tried to maintain a bit of hygiene and self-care. He would have expected these to come from the deniers, but in fact, the six or seven who strived for more were about evenly split between the two groups.

A similar situation had developed over with the jocks next door. All of them knew, for a fact, that deep inside them resided a jock with the basest of impulses–driven only by desires for filth, sexual stimulation, and physical exertion. Unlike with the nerds, however, Harold had made no effort to keep the jocks in the house. They continued their athletic activities, though most ceased going to class, and the school saw a greater success from their teams that month. Harold attributed it to the loss of ego for the jocks in the house, coupled with an innate desire to fight and compete. But like the nerds, there were those who resisted. They would sneak showers at night, violating the professor’s rules. They continued going to class, despite the fact that their reduced mental capacities made the attempt laughable. But they pushed on all the same. The question then, was what to do about these two groups of resistors.

Of course, Harold could simply force them to obey him, but that wasn’t the point of the study, now as it? He wanted to see the power of society at work. No–he’d done enough focusing on ingroups–it was time to test something else he had been developing. He’d see how well these young men could resist, after Harold turned the rest of campus against them. All over campus, he had installed speakers which could both transmit the frequency of belief, as well as directives. He’d already tested the device before, and it had worked surprisingly well–since most men of campus now preferred to go shirtless, even in winter. He began planning his next move, and a few days later, the entire campus had a few new beliefs regarding Nerds and Jocks, which he was excited to witness for himself.

The Power of Society (Part 4)

“Um…how are we supposed to piss in these things?”

Several other hands dropped down. It was the first question Harold had expected, of course. “That’s rather easy–you simply piss through the uniform. Who has another question.”

“Wait, if we piss through it, all day long, and if we can’t wash it or take a shower, then…” the young man paused, hoping the rest of the question would be clear, but Harold motioned for him to continue–he wanted to hear the young man say it. “Then won’t it…be kind of dirty?”

“Yes, it will. That’s the purpose of the uniform.”

“No way, fuck this shit–I’m cutting this thing off,” one of the other men said, and stood up, heading for the kitchen, and a knife.

“Now, I feel a demonstration would help make this a bit clearer. After all, now that you are all dressed, I can demonstrate the purpose of this study. Come up here, and tell me your name.”

He wasn’t quite sure what made his feet veer off from his intended direction, but the stocky young man made his way to the front and stood by Harold. “My name is Adam.”

“Alright Adam. Now–I’m sure that your desire to remove your uniform was driven by the fact that you need to piss like a racehorse, don’t you?”

Adam nodded, though admitting the fact in front of his housemates made his face flush red.

“Well, go on then. Piss.”

“Right here?”

“Yes, right here please.”

“But I don’t want…to?” he said, only noticing that his cock had obeyed the professor already, and a stream of piss was arcing out the front of his jock pouch–well, spraying, was a bit more accurate, perhaps. Several men in the front scooted back to avoid the piss, and while Adam tried to stop himself, he couldn’t.

“Now, it is my hypothesis, that the dirtier a jock behaves and becomes, something happens to his brain chemistry,” Harold said, passing his hand through the spray of piss, and then slathering the wet hand across Adam’s face and hair. “They begin to lose access to their higher mental functions. They become more and more obsessed with perverse, filthy behavior. Their bodies put out copious amounts of musk, they desire one another’s stink and piss, they find themselves obsessed with fucking and masturbation.” He stopped, and adjusted his watch a moment, “In short–at the heart of every jock, I believe, is a filthy perverted animal, which can be unlocked by forcing that jock to become filthy, by forcing them to debase and humiliate themselves in front of their fellow jocks and the outside world. That this true jock is shameless, a complete faggot, hungry for cum, piss and sweat, their only desires in the world are working out, perving out, and wrestling and fighting their fellow jocks for dominance.”

Adam’s piss had slowed to a trickle, which was now running down his inner thigh. He licked his lips, tasting the piss left there by Harold’s hand, and shuddered, a dribble of precum leaking out the head of his cock. He tried to stop himself, but he started rubbing the pouch with one hand, groaning and snorting, switching hands to lick the piss and precum from the first. The rest of the house stared on in horror. “As you can see, Adam is one of these jocks, as are the rest of you, I believe.”

“I’m not…fucking like that. That’s fucking disgusting,” another man said, but everyone could hear the tremor of doubt in his voice.

“That’s what the experiment is setup to find out,” Harold said, “But I assure you, my hypotheses are never wrong. Reality has a way of…working out in my favor, right Adam?”

With a grunt, Adam’s cock started leaking cum through the pouch, and he smeared it back over the fabric. He didn’t know what was wrong with him, or why he couldn’t control himself. The…stink was opening up something deep in his mind, something he’d never known was there. He could smell the piss soaking into the carpet, and he dropped to his hands and knees, sucking it up in front of everyone. Some in the front, who could smell the piss, had begun rubbing their own cocks through the mesh pouch prisons, without even really noticing–imagining that it was them, there, instead of Adam, thinking about whether than piss might taste as good as it smells.

“Now, any other questions?”

One more hand went up, tentatively, “How, uh, how are we supposed to have sex, like this?”

“Oh, well, in your new uniforms, you are, of course, unable to penetrate anything. That said, you are free to frot as much as you desire on one another. Demonstrate, if you would, Adam.”

Unable to resist, he crawled forward to the nearest jock in front of him, and began rubbing his cock on his housemate’s thigh, groaning and grunting as he did, the other man disturbed, and yet…incredibly aroused by the sight.

“You are, of course, free to pleasure one another orally, and many jocks find themselves…desiring anal stimulation, as the process progresses. I imagine many of you will likely come to desire one another’s fists deep inside of your assholes, as the study continues. This kind of desire is completely normal for jocks like all of you, who are all rather…submissive creatures, in nature.” He saw one or two men’s hands slip between their thighs, poking and prodding at their hole, already accepting the suggestion as fact. “Now, I fear I must get going. A work crew will be here in an hour or so to install cameras throughout the house, but none of you will notice a thing out of the ordinary, and will behave as though you are not being observed. I leave you jocks to it! I hope you all deeply enjoy your journeys of self discovery.” With that, he left–even more thrilled. This was going to be a very fruitful experiment, he believed.

Within five hours, every jock in the house had piss through their new uniforms, and all of them found themselves in positions similar to Adam’s–new desires were welling up within them, and very few found themselves capable of controlling themselves for long. A small orgy erupted in the living room, when some of the jocks gathered to discuss a way of escaping…but found themselves too distracted by the scents of one another to resist their new, inner urges. Other’s resisted, as best they could…but no one in the house believed that the jock within them would remain dormant for very long.

The Power of Society (Part 3)

The jocks of Alpha Phi Delta were oblivious to what had just occurred at Sigma Mu Tau right next door to them, but they were as confused as those young men had been, when Harold entered and told them all to gather in the living room for a house meeting. The house here was in considerably messier shape than next door had been. Piled by the door were sneakers and cleats of all kinds. Personal items, dirty bowls and plates, and even some clothes littered the room as the jocks filed in and sat down on the couches and floor around the fireplace, where the older gentleman was standing, checking his watch, and looking around at the men gathering. While the men next door had all been in rather good shape, Alpha Phi Delta was known to attract the star athletes on campus. It had always been a bit of a joke on campus that the two fraternities were right next door to one another, but the two houses had always embraced that, and turned it into a rivalry–brains against brawn, as they called it. But Harold had other plans in mind for the two houses this year. He hoped to bring the two groups closer than they’d ever been before.

“Hello everyone,” Harold said, “I just wanted to take a moment out of your busy first week to introduce myself. I’m professor Harold Larson, from the psychology department, and the dean of students has been kind enough to allow me to use your fraternity as a subject in a little experiment I’m conducting.”

No one said much of anything here, but Harold hadn’t anticipated much pushback, like at the other house–or at least, not yet. Looking around the room, the men all seemed rather bored and uninterested in this–but that would change soon enough. Harold had a small bag with him, and at this, he set it down on the table and began pulling some things from it. “Now, for this experiment, I’m going to need you all to help me out, by wearing a new house uniform, which I will explain now.

“Wait, uniform?” someone asked.

“Yes–I will need each of you to wear one of these jockstraps 24/7 until I tell you otherwise. I assumed you wouldn’t object, given that you all are likely rather accustomed to wearing them anyway.”

“A jockstrap? All the time? What for?”

“I’m afraid that until you put on the uniforms, I am unable to explain their purpose fully. It’s part of the study.”

“What if we don’t want to?”

“I was told by the dean that all of you would be very excited to participate in this. You all find this very intriguing, and are more than happy to comply. Now, if you would all please strip off your clothes, we can begin putting all of you into your new uniforms.”

No one in the room found anything to object to it that, so the entire room stood up and began to strip off their clothes. That was rather easy, since they were all fairly accustomed to seeing each other naked in the locker rooms, but Harold couldn’t help but enjoy the sight of so many well formed young men, naked in a room with him. What fun he was going to have with them all.

“Now, I’ll ask you all to form a line. I will give you a jockstrap, and then we will secure it, to ensure it remains in place for the remainder of the experiment.”

The jocks lined up, and Harold handed the first one a jockstrap. The young man put it on, and then Harold took a metal cable tie from inside the bag. With one hand, he got a firm grip around the young man’s cock and balls through the pouch and the jock, tugging them away from his body, and then secured the metal tie around the base, tighter than a cock ring, but not quite tight enough to interfere with circulation entirely. The result was the jock’s cock and balls locked inside the pouch of the jock, with the metal tie on the outside. Harold lastly trimmed the loose end of the tie with shears, applied a quick drying super glue to the locking mechanism of the tie, and sent the jock back into the room. Seeing what was going on, the men in the cue grew a bit wary and confused, but a few words of comfort from the professor were enough to settle them down. Fifteen minutes later, the jocks were all secure in their new uniforms, sitting around the room, each of them touching and examining the pouch where their cocks and balls were locked in. The ties were snug enough to act as a cock ring, and several of the men were sporting erections, though they found them rather…uncomfortable, when confined inside the relatively small space of the jock pouch.

“There, I must say that the new uniforms look excellent on you, and I’m sure you all agree, right? None of you feel any desire to try and tamper with and remove your uniforms, correct?”

The men murmured agreement and nodded, but the reluctance was palpable.

“Very good. Now, There are also two house rules which all of you will need to abide by, through the course of this study. I’ll go over the rules, and then take any questions you all might have. First, when in this house, the only clothing you are allowed to wear is your new uniform. If you need to leave the house, you will dress only right before leaving the house, and as soon as you arrive back, you will strip naked once again. Second, your new uniforms must not be washed. Because they cannot be removed, that means you all will have to forego showers for the duration of the study. Now–any questions?” the professor saw several hands rise, nervously, and he smiled, pointing to one young man in the front.

“Um…how are we supposed to piss in these things?”

“What’s up, professor? You alright?”

Mr. Allen snapped his head back up. He must have spaced out for a second there–he hadn’t really been sleeping well lately. “Sorry James, but I really can’t pass you with your performance this semester.”

“But coach said–”

“I don’t grade according to the athletic department’s requests,” he said, but couldn’t stop himself from yawning. “Sorry, I haven’t been sleeping well lately. I’m trying out a new CPAP, but it hasn’t really been doing as good a job as my old one…” he shook his head, “I don’t know why I just told you that, sorry.” The professor was a rather chubby guy, and he’d been diagnosed with sleep apnea years earlier. James, a football player, just smiled…like he was in on the joke, and it made him feel a bit uneasy.

“Maybe you just haven’t been using it right,” James said, and stood up in Mr. Allen’s office, dropping his shorts, revealing a rather…musky looking jockstrap beneath. The scent him the professor a second later, and he groaned, feeling an odd lethargy wash over him. James strutted over, rubbing the jock in his professor’s face, watching the old man lick at the mesh, eyes rolling back in pleasure as he tried to stop himself from debasing himself. “Yeah–let’s give you a proper dose tonight–how about we head home early today?”

Unable to resist, Mr. Allen left his work as it stood, threw on his coat, and walked out the door, with his student following behind.


At his house, James led him right to the bedroom, made him strip and lay down, and then tied his hands and feet to the four posts of his bed. Then, as Mr. Allen tried to clear his head, James stripped off his jock, pulled out the cup, and a roll of duct tape from his bag. He wadded up the jock and crammed it into the cup, and then taped the whole thing over his professor’s nose and mouth, watching the fat man bliss out almost immediately, his cock rock hard in a matter of seconds.

“Yeah, that should do it. I’ll make sure your CPAP gets a pheromone boost as well. Don’t worry professor, by morning, you’ll be happy to do anything I tell you to do. Well, anything anyone on the team tells you to do. I’ll have my A, and you’ll have the privilege of smelling my junk whenever I feel like you deserve it.”

Why the fuck was he doing this, Hugh screamed in his head as he shoved his nose deeper into the stinking boot, snorting up as much of his neighbor’s musk as he possible could, his cock hard and leaking in his jeans. He’d always considered himself an alpha, a true man–and an alpha most certainly did not helplessly sniff a fat fuck’s nasty work boots, and get hard while he did it.

“See? I told ya,” his neighbor, Clark, said. He sat forward so he could pull out the can of chaw from the back pocket of his grungy coveralls he always wore, take out a wad, and tuck it in his lip–but his beard was so thick you couldn’t even see the bulge. “Knew a fuck like ya wouldn’ be able tah help yerself.”

They were in Hugh’s garage, where Hugh spent most of his free time working on his trucks. Clark had been passing by on the way to the mailbox when the two of them had gotten into a bit of an argument–and Clark had ended up taking off his ripe boots…and as soon as Hugh had smelt them, he’d been unable to resist them. Hugh managed to haul his face free for a moment, drool running down his chin, but he just fell back in, pushing his face in even deeper.

“Don’ feel too bad that ya lost–ya ain’t the first, ya won’ be the last.”

“Please, let me stop!” Hugh shouted into the boot.

“But ya don’ wanna stop, do ya? Ya can’t have those one though, I ain’t done wit’ ‘em. Got lots a other stuff back home ya can keep though–trust me, once ya gots a taste…ya ain’t gonna be able tah stop. Just wait til ya gets a sniff a mah jock–yer gonna be a brand new man–in fact, git over here.”

Thankfully, Hugh could take his head out of the boot, but he found himself crawling towards his fat, smelly neighbor, watching him zip his coverall down to his crotch and part the sides of the suit, revealing the filthiest pouch of a jock Hugh had ever seen…but he couldn’t stop himself from shoving his face in, huffing his neighbor’s fumes–no…no, his Master’s stink, yeah, his Master.

Hugh wasn’t quite himself from that day forward, but he didn’t mind. Instead of working on his trucks, he spent most of his downtime over at his Master’s house–along with most of the other men from the neighborhood. But what choice did he have? He needed to smell his Master, right? He needed to smell a real man, to remind him of his proper place in the world–at that man’s feet.

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.