Flash Commission – Greene Aged Tobacco

Garowan the tanuki brought the package inside from the porch, his striped tail swishing happily to and fro, excited that his tobacco sampler had finally arrived. It was a new variety of aged tobacco he’d seen advertised online, from a company called Greene’s. Curious, and happy with the low price, he’d ordered one just to give it a try. He opened up the box, and let out a little disappointed growl. What a ripoff! Sure, the sampler had been discounted, but inside the wood box with the Greene label on the front, there had been nothing more than a single cigarette rattling around.

A fucking cigarette! He didn’t even smoke cigarettes. He’d had a couple when he was a teenager, sure, but he preferred cigars. He picked it up, wondering who he was going to have to contact to complain about this, and brought it to his snout to take a sniff. It didn’t smell like the cigarettes he’d had before, actually, which had a sharper, cheaper scent. It was pleasant, actually. A little woodsy, a little rum, a little vanilla. He looked at it, and decided why not? He’d ordered it, he might as well try it. He could still complain about it to the company and get his money back, even if he used it. The box was decently sized, after all–it was probably supposed to have more stuff in it than this, and someone had packaged it wrong. He went into his living room, got his lighter, and lit the cigarette, taking a small draw on it, holding the smoke in, and then exhaling it into the air around him.

It was nice. Really nice. All of those flavors he’d picked up with his rather sensitive nose were still there, blended nicely together, without being too cloying or artificial. He gave his sizable nuts a scratch as he took a deeper drag, inhaling some of it this time, and felt a surprising little zing that went right to his head, making him feel a little light headed and dizzy. Apparently, whatever aging process they used made sure the tobacco packed a punch as well. He enjoyed the rest of the cigarette for a few minutes, that rush suffusing the rest of his body, and smoked the cigarette down to a small butt, before dropping it in the ashtray. It hadn’t been a total waste then–the tobacco was great. Now he really did wish he’d gotten a complete sampler, instead of just that little taste. He started back towards the kitchen, where he’d left the box, but before he could get there, be passed by a large mirror hanging on the wall in the living room, and then paused, staring at his reflection, a little confused.

He looked different. Not…all that different, he supposed. The fur on his cheeks and around his muzzle was thicker and a bit darker brown, looking like a proper beard that older tanukis usually grew. His body looked a little heftier. His arms were thicker with a bit more muscle, and his belly had grown fatter. Not my much, really. Just enough to really be noticeable, and to make his underwear look a little strained, especially since his nuts had grown as well. For tanukis, that was one of their main signs of age–their substantial sacks grew their entire life, and elders in particular often had sacks so large it made it a bit difficult to move around at times, though they usually managed. The fur on his belly had darkened and thickened as well, becoming a substantial treasure trail running up his larger gut. If he had to guess, he looked like he’d aged about ten years or so, into his mid-thirties, but he looked…good, somehow.

He went to the box, wondering if it might have some explanation, but there wasn’t anything like a note or warning. There was something new in the box though, something that hadn’t been there earlier. It was impossible that he could have missed something, it must have somehow just appeared there after he’d smoked that cigarette. It was a sizable smoking pipe, dark brown with a bent stem, and a little pouch of what he assumed must be tobacco along with it. He picked up the pouch, paw shaking a bit, opened up the top, and gave it a little sniff. Sure enough, it was the same aroma, though a little stronger, the flavors a little deeper, melded differently. Aged more. He could just tell from the darker, deeper scent. But if this tobacco was aged more, did that mean that, if he smoked it, he would age more too?

He went back to the mirror and looked at himself again, at his older body. He tried to imagine what he might look like even older and…and why was he even considering this? He couldn’t smoke this shit, who knew what it might do to him, he needed to get help. He went back, intending to throw the pouch of tobacco in the trash, but smelled it again, found himself getting a bit lost in it, and realized when he pulled it away from his snout that his cock was leaking in the front of his tight underwear. Without taking time to second guess himself, he picked up the pipe, dumped the tobacco in it, and tamped it down. The whole pouch fit in the bowl perfectly, and he went back into the living room, got his lighter, and lit the pipe, drawing the sweet smoke through the stem, relishing the flavor again, enjoying the subtler notes he’d missed before.

He sat back, took an inhale off the pipe, and again, felt that same surge of energy off the tobacco as before, but while he still felt alert and energized, it was coupled with a rather profound sense of relaxation. He sank back into his armchair, and this time, he felt it as it was happening, his gut grumbling slightly, and then began to expand. Pipe in his mouth, he rubbed it with his paws, groaning a bit from the pressure. The gut was rather soft and pillowy, flowing around him, spreading out across the chair, thighs growing closer together. He could see the fur on his belly that had grown in before thicken further, and when he was about halfway through the bowl, it changed color again, the brown lightening to a steely grey, contrasting with his the prown pelt across the rest of his belly. It was joined by his beard, he realized after a moment, which was long enough to reach his chest now, and the same greyish color–almost the same color as the smoke coming from the pipe itself. His chest was growing as well, packing on fat until he had two sizable moobs resting on top of his gut. His nipples in particular grew as well, and the two piercings he had in them grew as well, from a pair of studs into two sizable gold rings. 

He smoked the pipe down to ash, and then sat for a moment, looking down at himself, surprised he wasn’t more horrified. He set the pipe aside, and hefted himself up from the chair, his legs and back aching in ways that he didn’t expect, but which he supposed came with his new age. If he had to guess now, he was probably in his late forties. As he walked into the kitchen, he could feel his nuts swinging against his knees as he walked, the constant stimulation provoking a constant leakage from the head of his cock. Along the way, his underwear finally gave up and shredded away, leaving him entirely naked. 

Something had appeared in the box again, where the pipe had been. It was a cigar, and not a small one, either. At least an 80 ring, if not larger, and close to nine inches long. He’d only seen cigars that large in pictures on the internet, never in person. He picked it up, paws shaking a bit, and brought it to his nose. The smell of it made him salivate–he could almost taste it, just from smelling the wrapper…but he shouldn’t, right? If he did, how old was he going to get, anyway?

He resisted the urge for a little while, moving around in his new body, getting used to hefting around his new weight, his sizable balls. He couldn’t stop thinking about the cigar though, and come evening, after a sizable dinner to feed his new bulk, he sat down with the cigar in the living room, punched it, and after a moment, brought it to his lips and lit it.

It took some work, getting it started, because it was so large. The thing was so big it stretched his snout uncomfortably wide. At last, he was satisfied with the light, sat back, and took a sizable draw off the end, a bit greedy for the smoke even, and sighed out a thick plume, delighted with the flavor. The cigarette had been just a tease of this depth of flavor. It was the most delightful, savory smoke he’d ever had, in fact. Again, he felt the smoke spread through him, permeate him, and he grew again. Soon, his fat was spilling over the sides of the armchair, which was creaking under the weight of him, his balls sagging lower until he realized they were large enough to rest on the floor in front of the chair, his meaty thighs pushed wide apart by the massive sack. His jaw was aching from holding the cigar, but when he pulled it free for a moment to give it a rest, he realized that wasn’t the only reason. His tusks were coming in, his lower jaw jutting out, growing thicker, and two stubby incisors pushing their way out of his lower jaw. He put the cigar back in, happy to discover that it was much stronger, and could support the cigar easily while his paws explored his growing body.

His fur thicker, and all over his belly, the brownish grey lightened further to a stark white, as did his beard, which now reached down to the massive belly button in his massive gut. His moobs were even larger now, and when he squeezed them, he let out a little grunt of surprise and pleasure when he felt something leak from the nipples. Looking down, he realized he’d matured enough to start lactating, something that didn’t happen to every tanuki, but if it did, it didn’t usually happen until they were in their sixties. It felt…good, and the rings in his nipples grew even thicker, almost as thick as the massive cigar he was smoking. The smell was beginning to permeate him now, and the smell of the tobacco was joined by a scent of his own musk, growing stronger and more pungent, with a definite pang of smoke–but that wasn’t surprising. After all, he’d been a near constant smoker for years now, why wouldn’t he smell of smoke?

He shook his head, but that memory was real, as real as his other ones. He could find himself remembering other things, a whole life that he’d lived now, leading to this new body. He was happily retired, well supported, and didn’t have to worry about anything. He could even sense, somehow, that he hadn’t really lost any years off his life, through these changes. He would stay like this for years now, for as long as the years he had lost, probably close to forty or so, before aging any further. He finished the cigar, set the butt down in the ashtray, and heaved a final, contented, smoky sigh. It was a lot to consider, really, but he didn’t regret any of it, though he was horny as hell after all of that, and his massive balls were aching for release. He pulled himself up, and saw he’d already accumulated quite a puddle of cum around his balls on the floor. No matter, he knew a few cubs around who would be more than happy to clean it up for him–maybe while he had another cigar, or two.

Of Favors and Family – Episode 1 (Part 5)

It was going to be another half an hour or so, before they got to the place where Wade hoped Bart still lived, deep in the woods and mountains over the town, the places you avoided unless you had grown up there yourself. In the back seat, Jeremiah whimpered for a while, and then fell silent–the first time the pup had been quiet the entire day. Wade knew he should feel bad…but in all honesty, he didn’t. He’d liked it, fucking that pup’s hole like that. Not like…at his office, where the pups who gave it up to him were usually scared and resigned–not scared of him, but scared of the army. This was the first time he’d fucked someone who was scared of him–just him, not the power he had, or his reputation, or his rank. Just…him. It was a rush, and one he hadn’t really expected, and Wade was a bit terrified of just how…complete it made him feel. He wanted to do it again…and if he couldn’t find Bart, he really was tempted to just stash the boy somewhere around here for his own devices.

He parked the car at the end of a gravel path, barely wide enough to get the car down, and got out. It would be better to approach on foot, in any case. At least Bart was a congenial enough fellow, even if he didn’t like people all that much. The chances of him shooting Wade were slimmer than most of the rest of his family around here. Maybe not much slimmer, but…slimmer. Down the path, it opened up into a clearing, where a ramshackle house stood, one that had obviously been there for quite some time, and which had been expanded over the years, growing bigger and a bit sprawling as older rooms had fallen apart and been rebuilt, as the family had swelled and then contracted. There was smoke coming out of the chimney, which was a decent sign. Off to the side, of the clearing was an acre or so of tobacco growing–most of his family out here in the sticks made what little living they did off the land in one way or another, trading and bartering and squabbling amongst themselves to make ends meet. Bart’s great grandfather had happened upon tobacco as his wheelhouse, and Bart, apparently, was still growing enough to keep everyone in the mountains well stocked.

As he approached the house, Wade saw some movement over in the field, and a head popped up from the tobacco–one that he didn’t recognize as Bart’s. The pup, whoever he was, wasn’t nearly old enough to be Bart for one thing, and for another…he didn’t even look like a hound. He looked more like a labrador, with a thick mane of golden blonde hair, a bit matted and uncared for, but handsome all the same. Wade, however, wasn’t going to take any risks, and he help up his hands, indicating that he was approaching unarmed. He didn’t know who this fella could be, but one thing was for sure–he wasn’t family. No one in his family would stoop to have anything to do with any dog other than a fellow hound, and certainly not a labrador! There were only a few reasons why he might be here–and none of them bode well for Bart, or for Wade’s luck in finding a place to stash Jeremiah that would save his own hide.

The lab just stared at him, looking a bit dull eyed and fuzzy, like he wasn’t quite sure of what to make of a visitor. He gave his head a shake, and that seemed to cause a bit of clarity to come to him–much to Wade’s surprise, the lab took a look around, and then bolted towards him through the rows, still looking around, ducking low, like he didn’t want someone to see him. Wade backed away, not at all sure of what the young pup’s intentions might be, and he fell down at his feet, looked up at Wade, and whined. “Please–ya gotta git me outta here, I…I forgot, a lot, he made me forget stuff, but I…” he whined again, obviously searching for words, “I ain’t supposed tah be here! I…Help me, please help me…”

Wade just froze, not at all sure what was going on, and before he could really appraise the situation, the door of the house burst open, and an old hound strode out, cocked a shotgun, and leveled it at Wade. “I don’t know who the fuck you think you are, showin’ up here, but you best step the fuck away from mah boy, if ya don’t want a whole bunch of buckshot in that…” the hound paused, gave the air a sniff, and then squinted at Wade through the scratched glasses he was wearing, “Wait a minute, Wade, is that you? I know that fuckin’ smell anywhere.”

“Uh, hay Bart…sorry tah drop in so unexpectedly…” Wade said, still eyeing the shotgun Bart was holding towards him, until the older hound pulled it up, and he relaxed. The one person who didn’t relax was the lab on the ground between them. He was cowering, and whimpering, and shaking, and in a complete terror.

“Don’t you mind none, Wade! I always got time fer family, ya know that. Didn’t think ya’d be comin’ back, not after ya got intah the army. What was that…a couple years ago?”

“It’s…uh, more like twenty.”

Bart gave his whiskers a scratch, like he was mulling over some stuff in his head. “Fuckin’ smoke,” he muttered eventually, “Lose track of shit…Eh, two, twenty, what’s it matter! I’m just happy tah see ya…” he said, and pulled a beat up looking pipe from the front pocket of his overalls, and started filling it with some tobacco from the pouch at his waist. “As for the boy here, don’t mind him, he’s pretty fuckin’ dull, and don’t really got much sense. Just helps me out with the crop round here, is all.”

Wade looked from Bart, down at the lab curled up on the ground, and then back at Bart–and he could tell that something here wasn’t adding up right, not at all. Bart had never been one for help, or company–the only company he was interested in was a hole, usually, and now that he was standing here, looking at him…he could remember more…in fact, how in the hell had he forgotten so much of this? Bart…had liked him. Liked him a lot, liked his ass a lot, and Wade…had just let him fuck him, whenever his older cousin had asked for it, and he’d never been able to say no. Bart…had told him that he wanted him to come deeper into the mountains with him, live with him, be…his, but before he’d been able to, he’d gotten sucked up into the army in town, and he’d never been back. He’d forgotten all of this, and remembering it now, it was like some strange part of his head had opened up again, and when he looked down at the young pup, he realized something else–he realized that he knew exactly who this young lab was.

It had been about five years ago, when a young, poor lab from the poor side of town had gone missing. Wade remembered him–he’d been a new recruiter then, the war had been fresh, things had felt…hopeful, and then the young fellow had just up and disappeared overnight, and no one could find him anywhere. His mother claimed he’d been abducted, but no one had been able to explain how a strapping young lab could just be whisked off into the night with no evidence. In the end, the disappearance was explained as a runaway, and he was swept under the rug back in town…but apparently, he hadn’t run off into the city, like everyone had thought. He’d…run into the mountains? No–it was clear he didn’t want to be here, he–had Bart…

“So, what are you doing here, Cousin?” Bart asked, breaking Wade from his revelation. He’d finished packing his pipe, and was no toasting the top with a match, getting ready to light it properly.

“I…well, it’s a bit complicated. Maybe we could go inside, and talk about it?”

“It ain’t about my boy, right? He is mine, you know.”

“It’s not about him, no. I–you know what they say, blood is thick around here, Bart, it ain’t my business.”

Bart sighed, struck another match, and lit the pipe properly this time, puffing thick clouds of grey smoke out into the air around him. Some of it wafted in Wade’s direction, and as soon as he smelled it, he knew the scent. It made him sick to his stomach, it made him horny, it made him want to run, but his feet were somehow frozen to the dirt under his boots. Bart took his time, waved the match out, and then walked over to where Wade and the pup were. “I wish I could believe ya, cousin, but I don’t think your blood is as thick as you claim it is, since ya went and ran off, ya know? Still, can’t say I’m too surprised that you came running back here–I did always want you to feel safe. You feel safe here, don’t you?”

What was happening to him? Wade could…feel all of these memories swarming up around him, so much that he’d forgotten, so much that he’d wanted to forget. Going into the army, he’d been able to focus on something else, on becoming someone else, someone other than the runt running around in the woods and hills, getting into scrapes, making nothing of himself, getting sucked into whatever web Bart had been weaving, so much time spend in this…this smoke, his mind almost a constant haze for months, before he got plucked from it by a recruiter at the high school before he could drop out…

Why had he come here? It had seemed like such an obvious decision, back in the car. These woods, and these sounds and these smells…when was the last time he’d even been back here, that he could recall? Back when his mother died? Perhaps. It had always held such anxiety, but he’d never been able to piece it together, and had always just attributed it to some general resentment of his hill upbringing…but there was so much more, so much that he had forgot…

Bart walked up, waved a paw in front of Wade’s face, but the hound’s eyes were drooping more than usual, and didn’t seem interested in focusing on him at all. Bart exhaled a plume of smoke into his snout, just to be sure, and then bent down, fed a bit of smoke to the boy at Wade’s feet. “Boy, were you going to try to get away from me?”

“Y-Yes Pa, but…but I…”

“Hush boy,” Bart said, “Go down in the cellar, and get in your cage–we’re gonna have a long talk later.”

The pup started whining again, but did as Bart told him, stumbling back to the house, around the side, and down into the cellar underneath, leaving Bart and Wade alone next to the field, both of them wreathed with smoke. Bart waved a bit of it away, and snapped his paw in front of Wade’s snout, jostling him from his memories for a moment, to realize he was…still there. There as himself, not as some lanky teenage pup, terrified as his older cousin groped him in the underbrush, smoking, telling Wade how…happy they would be together. How he knew exactly what Wade needed, how Wade was going to be everything that Bart needed and wanted too. But he wasn’t there. That…was the past. It was the past, and he…he was here, later.

“Alright Wade, what the fuck are you doing here? You going to try and drag me back to town or something?”

Wade shook his head, swallowed a couple of times and tried to get the words in his head to organize themselves in a manner than could make sense. In spurts and false starts, he managed to tell Bart about Jeremiah, the pup in his car, handcuffed. The deal he had cut with him to get him out of enlisting in the army, but how the plan had gone awry, and…and what Wade had done in the underbrush, and how he’d brought him here, because…because he was safe here. Because he…he’d somehow known that his cousin would know what to do, and might be able to help.

Bart was skeptical at first, but he knew that the smoke would draw out the truth–Wade wouldn’t be able to lie with this much of it in his system, or at least, not lie well. He told Wade to show him back to his car down the path, and when they got there, Jeremiah was still in the backseat, still terrified. As soon as Bart opened the door, Jeremiah tried to kick him, but the he told Wade to help him hold the boy down, got some smoke in Jeremiah’s face, and his face eventually went a little slack as Bart’s special blend entered the pup’s system, giving Bart a chance to…admire him.

After Wade had run off, all those years ago, Bart had…well, he’d been furious at first, and then that fury had subdued to some extent, and he’d been content to just soldier on as best he could, alone, getting the occasional fuck from the boys of the family in the woods when he needed one, but…none of them had really interested him in the way Wade had. Still, that loneliness had only grown, as years had gone by, until in his desperation, Bart decided to…try something incredibly risky, something he would have never imagined doing, had he not hit a level of crushing desperation–he started going into town. Once a week, maybe, he’d get the old truck running, drive the hour or two to get there, and he would walk up and down the streets, looking at the young pups going home after school, admiring them…and then…he chose one, a runty labrador, seventeen or eighteen, who always walked home alone, and one day, Bart struck up a smoky conversation with him…and a few weeks later, the pup ran away from home, ran off into the hills where Bart picked him up, and took him home with him.

It had been…difficult, getting the boy to an agreeable state. With Wade, in their youth, the blends he’d found to work him over were powerful enough to subdue him in the moment, but hadn’t left much room for Bart to manipulate him, often because Wade rarely seemed to recall much of anything from their encounters in the brush. With this new pup, Trent, he had been able to work on his blends, finding ones that were gentler, and more insidious. The pup no longer could remember much of his youth back in town (though he still knew the vague outline of it, and knew that Bart held him here under his control) but it had been enough to suck the resistance from him, enough to let the pup out into the sun to help with the crops at the very least, though almost always supervised. Obviously he had misjudged the pup to some extent, but he was confident that could be remedied. All of this could be remedied. In fact, all of this was, as far as Bart was concerned, turning out to be more of a boon than he could have hoped. Not only had Wade returned him him after all of these years, but he’d brought a most delightful little gift along with him, one far nicer than the mangy pup he’d settled for on the streets of the town a few years ago. Not only was this one handsome, and vigorous, and even a bit plump–he was a hound! Bart had always been a bit disgusted with himself for settling for a labrador, but this–well, perhaps he might have a proper son after all.

“Alright cousin, I think I can definitely help you out with your little problem here,” Bart said, talking to Wade while he felt Jeremiah’s body with his paws, testing it, groping it, seeing how the pup reacted to him. “But don’t think…don’t think this fixes what you did, Wade, when you went and ran off on me.” Bart stood back up and fed Wade some more smoke, feeling him as well, remembering how the he had felt back then…and he couldn’t help himself, he’d thought he’d never get another chance again, but now…

“Strip, Wade, strip, and tell me how much you want my cock in that hole of yours, right here. Tell me how much you’ve missed having your big cousin fuck the daylight outta ya.”

Wade…didn’t want to do this. He’d never wanted to do this, even when he was a teenager…but the words were falling out of his mouth, and he was on his paws next to the car, pants down, Bart behind him, cock sliding free of his sheath, and then sliding into Wade’s hole. It was…hard, to try and focus. His memories kept slipping–was he a pup, or was he older? How old was Bart behind him, anyway? It felt like just yesterday that he’d been fucked by him for the first time, just was raw, just as traumatic, even as his brain and his mouth, at Bart’s prompting, told him how much he loved it, all of it, how much he’d missed this.

Bart finished quickly, something that Wade was thankful for. Then, together, they dragged the incapacitated Jeremiah out of the car and hauled him to the house up the path, and then down into the cellar as well. There, Trent was in a small cage against one wall, still whimpering and whining, and Jeremiah was thrown in with him, Bart telling them both to be good pups, behave, and be quiet. Then, he turned to Wade, told him that the two of them needed to have a chat, and then Wade could be on his way–for the moment.

It was long after sunset by the time Wade finally managed to work his way back to his car, a second load of his cousin’s cum leaking down the inside of his thighs…but things were clearer now, that they’d talked. Wade…knew why he’d come back here–why he’d brought Jeremiah here. He’d…felt so guilty, for so long. He hadn’t known it, he hadn’t even realized it, but the reason he was so deeply unhappy, the reason behind his cynicism, and his self-loathing, and his corruption, was all guilt. Guilt that he’d run away, and left Wade, all those years ago. But Jeremiah was a new start–a peace offering, and thankfully, Bart was more than happy to forgive Wade all of his sins of his youth, so long as Wade agreed to…help him out. And in return? Bart would help him too. He would help Wade too–and give him what he really needed. He needed family. He needed these woods. But mostly, he needed Bart’s smoke, and his cock–everything else would follow from there.

House of Marvels – Episode 1 (Part 12)

They made their way to the basement, Raury going down first, carefully down the stairs, since he couldn’t quite see them anymore, and he wasn’t even at the bottom of the steps before Eric was there, throwing his arms around him, kissing him, pulling him closer, telling him how glad he was that he was safe, that he was never going to let Raury out of his sight ever again, that he was going to keep him safe here, with him, right where he belonged.

Raury knew that Eric should…terrify him. He’d changed even more since he’d been gone. The rough skin was breaking apart and peeling away, revealing something…else beneath it. A rough red skin that, when it touched his soft flesh, was rough and…hot. In fact, all of Eric was hot. Just standing near him was making Raury sweat. His face was misshapen more and more, his nose pressing flatter against his face, even as his mouth was beginning to push out into a short snout. He…should have been terrified, but instead, looking at him, he was…so sexy. So much sexier than Hunter was, even, and he’d loved his few hours with Hunter earlier.

“I’m so…sorry Master, I’m sorry I ran, I’m just a stupid pig, I didn’t know better, but I’m back, I’ll never leave again, I promise.”

“Hush now, everything is going to be fine now,” Eric said, “You’re back where you belong–go sit on the couch and wait for me–we still need to finish what we started earlier, right?”

Raury nodded, and waddled over to the couch in the middle of the room. Hunter had come down the steps while Eric and Raury had embraced, and now Eric turned to him. “My Hunter, my clever, strong, beautiful Hunter…thank you for bringing him back to me.”

“Of course Master, I’ll never fail you again, I swear it.”

“You never will, I know that–but you deserve a reward for your service. You…you should be more than just…another. You’re my first, you will be…more…” he took a long, thoughtful draw from his pipe, stepped close, and fed his thrall the smoke, and like before, Hunter felt…power and energy flow into him. He grew taller still, until he was seven feet tall–a few inches shorter than Eric was now. Muscle packed on his frame, stark silver hair all over his body, his skull entirely bare, a thick grey beard around his mouth…but he also felt the smoke in his mind, unlocking it, quickening it.

The truth was, ever since Master had first fed him the smoke, he had felt…dull, like his mind was running a few gears lower than it usually did. Now, however, he found it running faster than it had before, insight and thought speeding through at light speed. “A cunning Hunter is the most dangerous of all,” Eric said, when he pulled away, “and I need you at your most cunning for what comes next.”

“Thank you Master, you know I will serve you, do whatever I can for you.”

“I know–go, I hunger, and this one is hungry too, I am certain. Prepare us all a feast while I tend to this one, and teach him his proper place here with me.”

Hunter slipped away, the wooden stairs groaning under his new weight, and he nearly hit his head on the doorway at the top, but caught himself in time. Eric turned and went to the couch where Raury was sitting and joined him, running his sharp nails over his tight clothes, cutting them away while Eric panted, his cock aching for his Master. “You…you wanted to play a game, before?” he muttered.

“Games,” Eric laughed, “No–I’m done with games.”


Before he could say anything else, Eric took a deep breath from his pipe, leaned in, and pushed the smoke into Raury’s throat. He was well practiced now, and he inhaled it deep…but it was different than it had been with Hunter earlier. The smoke was hot and fresh, drilling deeper into him, suffusing him, changing him. He felt it, he felt his body…relax. He didn’t grow like before–it was more like the fat on his body lost it’s structure. His somewhat firm gut sagged lower, as did the fat around his arms and legs, his triple chin under his long beard, his jowls. His face aged, growing wrinkled, with thick crows feet around his eyes. His slightly receding hairline pushed back further still, leaving only a thin horseshoe fringe, and his beard lengthened and turned a stark white–as did the rest of the hair on his body. But as old as he felt, he didn’t ache or hurt–he just felt so, impossibly heavy. So heavy he didn’t want to stand, or walk, or even move. Instead he sagged into his Master, allowing him to support him as the color drained from his eyes until they were an empty white void. His mind was empty too–there were only…needs. Hunger. A thirst for Master’s smoke. An aching horniness and desire to be fucked. That eternal inertia of his own mass.

“Such a handsome daddy you make,” Eric said, “But what should I call you?”

“Anything,” he said, his voice raspy and dry, almost too quiet to hear across the room, “Anything Master. I’ll be anything for you.”

I’m going to call you Tubb.”

Tubb nodded. It meant little to him, but he no longer had any other name, and receiving anything from his Master was enough to make his small, shriveled cock throb underneath his fat.

“Tubb, yes–so much of you here. You were very bad Tubb, for running away. I’m going to have to punish you, you know…but you like that, don’t you?” Eric said, running his claws across Tubb’s soft fat, hard enough to scratch, a bit of blood welling up behind them. He flinched, his entire body jiggled, but he did…enjoy it. Master licked the wounds, tasting his blood, and the skin sealed up again, good as new as soon as the smoke from his breath touched them. Then, Eric played harder, biting and clawing–sometimes shallow, sometimes deep, always healing him quickly, and Tubbs just laid there, enthralled to the sensation of his Master’s punishment, unable to believe that any real torture could drive him to such delirious heights of arousal–at least, until Hunter came back down with the feast.

It was massive–Hunter had cooked nearly everything he’d kept squirrelled away in the fridge and cabinets, because he could sense that this was something special. Eric ate first–he was still ravenous from his growing frame–and all Tubbs could do was watch his Master gorge himself, stuffing the rare, and nearly raw meat down his fanged gullet, and he wanted it. He wanted…to get bigger. So big, he couldn’t move. It felt like everything else had disappeared from his mind, except for that one singular desire–and when Eric finally slid over and started feeding him, Tubbs ate with all the gusto he could manage, hoping to impress his master with his suddenly bottomless hunger. Hunter just watched, until Eric told him to walk around behind Tubbs and fuck him while he ate–which he did happily, glad that he wasn’t being punished for his earlier…indiscretions with Tubbs back on campus. When he finished, Eric made him trade places, feeding Tubbs while Eric had his pleasure in his newest daddy’s hole, and the sensation of his Master’s cock filling his fat ass, making the rolls of fat on his now old body shake to and fro…it was all Tubb’s ever wanted from life. All he could possibly want, in his dull, empty mind, concerned only with pleasing his Master.

The feast lasted for hours, and after, while Hunter inhaled the scraps left behind by his Master and Tubbs, Eric relaxed against his blubbery daddy, pleased with how warm he was, inhaling more smoke from his pipe…surprised by how exhausted he was, suddenly. Changing Tubbs like that…it hadn’t been like Mr. Fields. It had cost him…something. Some energy he hadn’t even known he had, and he could already sense he wouldn’t be able to do it to someone else for quite a while…still, he craved more. He’d thought that one more would have been…if not enough, at least a number where he could rest. Instead, it had only lit is greed further on fire. He wanted more daddies, he needed more daddies. So many that he lost count, so many he’d never have to worry about losing a single one…all of them in the entire world, even. He took a deep breath from his pipe, sucking his smoke deep inside him, and felt…something spark there, in his chest, like he’d sucked down a cinder or a spark. While it should have concerned him…it didn’t feel bad. It felt…rather nice, actually, like it belonged there, and he beckoned Hunter over to his side with one clawed finger.

Eric…knew of other daddies. Daddies he coveted. Men from the school, professors and administrators mostly he’d encountered and harboured…fantasies over for longer than he cared to admit. He no longer needed to covet though–no, now was a time to take. They were his, he’d claimed them with his lust, and he would own them as sure as he owned Hunter and Tubbs. They would be happy here, serving their proper Master as good daddies should, and Hunter would fetch them for him. He would need to be careful, and he would have to be cunning. They couldn’t disappear all at once, for that would raise suspicion, and there needed to be no evidence leading anyone here–not until Eric was strong enough to defend his horde properly. Once he was…finished, once he was everything he needed to be, then they could show the world what he was, but for now…Hunter would have to be careful. Hunter was happy for the challenge. While being outside had been…terrifying in some ways, knowing that if he was away from master for too long he would perish, it had also been…exhilarating. The hunt, the capture…he wanted to taste that joy again, more than anything. And so, the next evening he emerged again, lungs full of smoke and a list of names in the pocket of his sweats. He headed for campus, ready to bring his Master the daddies he craved–knowing that with each one he brought, Master would reward him handsomely as well.

House of Marvels (Part 10)

“Raury would you get a fucking hold of yourself?” Sam shouted at him, “I just watched you pack on…I don’t fucking know how many pounds, and the only thing you can say is that it feels good? What the fuck happened in there? What did he do to you?”

“He didn’t…I mean, he…” Raury said, trying to focus, and trying to pull his hands away from himself, but it just felt so…good. “I don’t really remember. He…kissed me, and blew all this smoke into me from that pipe, and I ran. I haven’t felt right since, but…but I do feel a lot better now, than when I was coming here.”

“Are you kidding me? Fucking look at what just happened to you!”

“I don’t know, alright! I don’t…I can’t explain it, and I’m still hungry, and…and horny too…” Raury was groping himself more now, one hand still on his gut, while the other had moved beneath it, fishing around for his cock. It was a bit harder to find, buried as it was with all of this new fat, but that, too, sent a little thrill through him, and only made him hornier still. “You, uh, wanna go fill up another tray for me?” he asked Sam.

“You need help, Raury, we need to get you to a doctor, and figure out what the hell happened to you, and we need to get Eric help too. That wasn’t normal, what was happening down there. I’ve never seen Eric smoke a pipe before–do you know where he got it?”

“I…I think Jamie mentioned…something…fuck, if…if I had some more food, I could think better, I’m already hungry again…”

“Come on, get up. Let’s at least get you to the clinic.”

“No, I’m…I’m ok, honest, I think it’ll go away on its own.”

“How in the hell could you possibly know that?” Sam said, “This–this is insane, you realize that, right?”

“Just…just leave me alone, alright? I don’t know what’s happening, and you’re not fucking helping.”

“Raury, come on, let me take you to a hospital.”

“No, just…just…I just need some space, and I’ll be fine. I’ll talk to you tomorrow, when I feel better, alright? We’ll…we’ll figure out what to do then.” Raury coughed again, a deep hacking cough this time, and again, a tiny wisp of smoke escaped him, slid through the air, and into Sam’s mouth. The taste was slight, barely even noticeable, but Sam felt a sudden sense of ease wash over him, the same as he’d felt down in that basement, but far fainter. He didn’t know why he was arguing with his friend, really–Raury would probably be fine the next day. If he wanted to be left alone…then he’d do that.

“Alright, but tomorrow, ok? Meet me for breakfast at nine, and if you aren’t…smaller, I’m taking you to a doctor.”

“Ok, ok,” Raury said, “But it’s going to be fine, I…I promise.”

He didn’t sound particularly confident about that, but Sam was already turning to leave. Raury didn’t really understand his friend’s sudden change of attitude, but it was a relief. He…had needs, and he didn’t really want Sam to witness them–or anyone to witness them. He got up and went to the dining hall again, made a second round through, getting just as much food, but taking it all to go this time, and then left, heading for his dorm room. He’d gotten lucky this year, and managed to snag a single for himself, and the privacy was amazing. He hurried as quickly as he could, breathing heavily, thighs rubbing, horribly aware of just how ill fitting his clothes were now, but that all could wait. He needed to eat, and he needed to jack off–after that, he could worry about the rest.

He was so preoccupied, that he didn’t notice Hunter behind him on the path, steely eyed, a bit of smoke escaping his mouth every time he exhaled. Hunter had found him easily, but hadn’t wanted to risk confronting him in the dining hall, especially with the other one there. He would have to be taken care of at some point, of course, but he wasn’t his target just yet. Thankfully the other one had left, and now Raury was alone–and once Hunter got his hands on him, he knew he would have no trouble convincing the big man to come back to their Master’s lair, and stay there for a good, long while. Of course, he needed to be punished for his escape, and Hunter could take care of that as well. He felt his cock swelling in the front of his tight sweatpants, a couple of students staring at it as he passed, but Hunter didn’t notice. All of his attention was on his prey.

Raury had to set his food down to find his keycard for the dorm. Hunter checked for an witnesses, saw none, and he swept in, shoving Raury against the brick and pressing his mouth to his before he could scream, pushing the smoke master had given him into his mouth. Raury tried to cough, but Hunter was too forceful–Raury felt the flood of pleasure, moaned into Hunter’s smoky mouth and began kissing him back, the smoke taking all of his other fears and concerns away.

“Found you–you didn’t think you’d be able to get away, did you?” Hunter said.

House of Marvels – Episode 1 (Part 7)

“Alright…but what’s the game called?”

Eric didn’t say anything, he was looking at Raury’s, trying to see what the smoke was showing him, and trying to understand what it wanted him to do. That night with Mr. Fields had been so…natural–just feed him his smoke, and he’d given in easily–desperately, really. But Raury was something else–he wasn’t right yet. He didn’t belong here with him yet…but he could, with…time. With time, and something else. “It’s a roleplaying game. But one that I’d say is a lot more focused on story and character, than fighting or anything like that.”

Eric leaned in closer, a bit more smoke unfurling from his mouth, sliding through the air and into Raury’s mouth and nose, his friend’s eyes unfocusing slightly. “Can I…use my usual sort of character?”

Eric laughed–Raury always liked to play as an elf mage, or the closest thing he could get to it, in whatever game they might be playing at the moment. The idea disgusted him–some young, tall, skinny thing. No–nothing like that was worthy of him, of his attention. “No, why don’t you try branching out a bit? Trying something a little different? I’m thinking something a little…more sizable…something I can really sink my nails into…”

Before Raury could say anything else, Eric had taken a deep breath of smoke from the pipe, and closed the distance between them, locking lips with his friend and pushing the smoke deep into his lungs. Raury wasn’t ready for it, and he started coughing and hacking, shoving Eric off of him and getting up from the couch. “What…what the fuck, Eric?” His head was spinning, and he nearly tripped over the coffee table. What was he doing down here, anyway? He should have left with Sam, he’d wanted to leave with Sam, but something…he’d gotten distracted by the smoke, and by Eric–but this wasn’t right. Eric wasn’t playing a game down here–there were no books, there were no dice. He coughed some more, trying to get the smoke out of him, but he could feel it clinging to the inside of his lungs, working its way into his body.

“Mr. Fields, help Raury out, would you? Help him back over here, so we can talk some more about the game.”

Mr. Fields walked towards Raury and pulled him close for a moment, and something about the older man’s skin against him reminded him of the smoke inside him, made him feel warm, and safe, and…and a little horny too, for some reason. He pushed him away, but Mr. Fields held tight to his arm, and tried to drag him back to where Eric was sitting–but he yanked his arm away. “Eric, what are you doing? This isn’t like you–something is wrong with you, you need to get help!”

“I don’t need help, Raury–you need help. You need my help. Come over here, let’s…chat some more. You’ll feel much better soon, you’ll understand. You’ll be happy here, I promise, you all will.”

Mr. Fields tried to grab him again, but Raury had no intention of getting near him again, if he could help it. He pushed his way past him and ran for the stairs, Eric shouting at him, demanding he get back down there, and as much as Raury wanted to obey him, for reasons he couldn’t understand beyond their sheer force, he pushed on, upto the main floor of the house, where the smoke was thinner, and then outside into the clean air–and breathing it hurt, somehow, even though it made him feel better all the same. He looked around for Sam, but his friend was nowhere to be seen–he didn’t blame him, honestly–he too wanted to put as much space between himself and this house as he could. He knew he should call someone for help, but who? The police? There wasn’t a crime, really–and Eric was his friend. No…no more than his friend, really, but the word he was looking for escaped his tongue. He’d…remember it eventually. No, he just needed some space. He’d connect with Sam back on campus, and together they’d figure out what to do about this. As he walked, he kept coughing on occasion, but nothing else was coming up. He felt winded though, and a bit…heavy, somehow–but he chalked it up to being a bit high on whatever Eric had been smoking in that pipe, and tried his best to forget about it.

Back in the house, Eric was in a fury. When Raury had made it up the stairs and back into the house, Eric had tried to follow him–but hadn’t been able to make it halfway up before he’d started shaking and trembling. He wasn’t ready. He wasn’t ready to go outside yet, he wasn’t…strong enough, he wasn’t finished, and he’d gotten away! He’d been his, Eric had claimed him, marked him, started…working on him, and he’d escaped, and it was consuming him in hatred and anger he could barely understand or grapple with. It was irrational, he knew that, but his reason was drowned out by the simple fact that he couldn’t dispute–Raury was his. His! His, just like Mr. Fields was his, and Eric had let him get away, like a weak fool. He had to get him back, but he had no way of knowing if he would come back here or not–most likely not. But if Eric couldn’t get him back…it would consume him, this anger, and jealousy, and rage. He felt hot, so hot, like something had kindled a fire in his chest, and he let off a roar into the room, Mr. Fields cowering away from him in fear.

Eric hated him. He desired him, but he hated him. He owned him, but he hated him. He hated how weak he was, how small he was, how he was helpless against losing him. If he lost Mr. Fields like he’d lost Raury…he didn’t know what he would do. Just thinking about it made him ache with need, and he stalked over to him, threw Mr. Fields to the floor, and mounted him then and there, pouring out smoke from the pipe, grunting and roaring and snarling, reminding him of his place, reminding him that he belonged to Eric. He had been too kind to him, allowing him to keep a bit of his humanity, allowing him a name, allowing him to be anything other than an object. He was too kind–he would need to rid himself of that if he was going to be happy–if he was going to survive.

House of Marvels – Episode 1 (Part 6)

“Mr. Fields,” Raury said, “You have to see how fucked up this is. We have to get you out of here–both of you.”

“No!” Eric screamed, “No, he’s mine, you can’t have him, you can’t take him away from me, he’s mine!”

“Eric, calm down,” Sam said, “We’re just worried about you, and I don’t think you really know what you’re saying right now. What is in that pipe, anyway? That smoke…it doesn’t smell right.”

Eric, however, couldn’t calm down. After what Raury had said, about taking his daddy away from him, a horrific paranoia and fury had erupted in him. They’d come here to take him away from him. They knew how sexy he was, what a hot, beautiful daddy he was, these two young men, and they wanted him for themselves. He wasn’t going to let that happen–he should…he should kill them.

He gasped, horrified by what he’d just thought. He couldn’t kill them, they were his friends, weren’t they? But what good friend would take his property away? Didn’t they understand how important this was to him? No, that was the problem. They didn’t understand, but perhaps he could…help them understand a bit better, just like how he’d helped Mr. Fields understand his role here better earlier.

“No, you see? It’s just a game, that’s all. A big game,” Eric said, his voice soft and silky on their minds, the smoke twining around them both unnoticed, sliding into their noses, their mouths and ears. “Just a…a role playing game, is all. Mr. Fields was curious about them, about how we played them, and so we’re doing some roleplaying together. That’s all. We’re just in costume, and maybe we got a bit carried away, but we’re both fine–neither of you have anything to worry about. In fact…if you wanted to play too, I’m sure we could find a role for you both in here too. I know how much the two of you like games after all.”

“O-Oh…I guess that makes sense,” Raury said softly, eyes looking slightly distant.

“What?” Sam said, “No it doesn’t! It doesn’t make any sense at all!”

“Sam, calm down,” Eric said, “You came in here, raving like a lunatic, when obviously, we’re all just playing a silly game here. There’s nothing strange about this at all.”

Was he being silly? But if this was a game, then why in the world had Eric missed nearly an entire week’s worth of classes? If this was a game, why was Mr. Fields even playing it? He seemed way too suspicious of the games they played, and was way too strict of a figure to ever try playing one with them when they’d offered, to be polite. It didn’t make any sense, but what other explanation was there? “Alright then, if you two are roleplaying something, then what are you playing at exactly? Because to me…well, it doesn’t look like anything I’ve ever seen you play before with us, and I know all of the games you know, Eric.”

“Well we don’t have to keep playing this one by any means, I was getting a bit bored with it, honestly. In fact, I’m glad you two came, I was starting to get…well, why don’t we play something? All four of us? It’ll be more fun that just the two of us. Your choice Sam, anything you’d like.”

“Eric, I…really think that something is wrong here, with both of you. I don’t…want to play a game, I want to get you help.”

“If you don’t want to play a game, then why are you here, Sam? You only come here when you want to play games after all.”

Sam didn’t want to listen to anything else, and the smoke was making his head spin. “I…I need some fresh air, I…I don’t know what’s going on here, and I don’t want to know…” He headed for the stairs and got out of the house into the evening air, taking deep breaths and coughing up as much smoke as he could, but it was a few moments before he realized that Raury hadn’t come up with him. He’d…come up on his own, surely. Something told Sam that he should go back in and get his friend, but he didn’t want to go down there again. He didn’t want to smell that smoke ever again, if he could help it. Raury…Raury would be fine, he should just go, and put as much space between him and this house as he could.

Downstairs, Raury had watched Sam go, and part of him had wanted to go with him, knew that staying down here was…dangerous for some reason, but he couldn’t figure out why, exactly. After all, it was just Mr. Fields and Eric down here, playing a game. There was nothing dangerous about that. Still…Sam had seemed really freaked out by something, and he wanted to make sure he was alright. But before he could get to the stairs, Eric spoke, “Come on Raury, stay for a while. Play a game with us. It’ll be a fun one, I promise. Entertain me, I’m so bored today…”

Raury paused, and turned away from the stairs. “What…game do you want to play?”

Eric thought for a moment, and stared at Raury across the room. He wasn’t his type at all–too skinny, too smooth, too small, too young most of all…but could he do something about that? Something…was telling him that he could, that even though Raury wasn’t fit to be his property just yet…he could make it happen somehow. He could almost see it, even, like the smoke was forming around him in clumps, hinting at a larger frame, wisping around his clothes like white fur…thinking about it was making him hard, and Raury went red in the face at the sight of Eric’s cock openly engorging. Had…had Eric been naked all this time, and he just now realized it? “I kind of feel like playing something new–something I just found out about the other day, in fact. I’m sure you’ll enjoy it.”

House of Marvels – Episode 1 (Part 5)

In all of this, Eric hadn’t bothered going to class, or even getting on his computer or using his phone. He had missed all of his teachers’ messages, and the texts from his friends, wondering where he was, and what was wrong with him. On the rare occasion when Eric thought about the life outside of the house, he was a bit worried, but it seemed so…uninteresting to him. It caught him, and Mr. Fields off guard, when Raury and Sam arrived at the house, demanding to see him, and refusing to leave when Mr. Fields told them that Eric didn’t want to be disturbed. Still, it was clear that something was going on inside. Raury and Sam had never once seen Mr. Fields dressed in anything other than a full set of clothes, shoes included, in his house, and here he was standing, gut out, wearing just a pair of boxers, which it looked like he’d put on backwards.

They pushed their way past him and into the house, which was in disarray, something else that was very much unlike him. They shouted for Eric and raced upstairs, but his room was empty–all that there was, was the lingering scent of some odd smoke, an odor they both noticed through the rest of the house as well. Mr. Fields raced up after them, agitated and furious, trying to force the two young men out of the room and out of his house before they disturbed his Master. Neither one of them knew what to make of that, so they ignored it, and demanded to know where Eric was, and what they had done to him, before they called the cops.

Mr. Fields didn’t know what to do. It had been going so well, just him and his Master in the basement, but his mind was slowing and the idea of making a decision was paralyzing. He…wanted to be with his Master. Master would know what to do about these two strangers. Master would take care of everything. “Alright…Alright, he’s…down in the basement.”

“Whatever you freak, you probably killed him down there or something,” Raury said.

Mr. Fields shook his head, “I didn’t! Master is fine! He’s…We’re fine here, and you should just leave, but I can show you if you want to see for yourself.”

“Look, you keep saying Master–we’re looking for Eric.”

He nodded, “He…is my master.”

Raury and Sam exchanged a glance of confusion, and then looked back at Mr. Fields. “Alright, take us to him them, and we’ll see for ourselves whatever you’re talking about.”

So they followed him back downstairs, back around to the messy kitchen, a massive slab of roast out on the counter, and then down into the basement, where the smoke they’d smelled before was thick and cloying, weaving up the stairs as they descended. It was so thick at first that neither of them could make out much beyond blurry shapes in the room. Raury coughed and doubled over, fumbling for a wall, while Sam squinted, the smoke burning his eyes, but there, reclined on a couch in the center of the room was a person smoking a pipe, but it couldn’t be Eric, could it?

No, he was much too large, with a thick gut and broad shoulders. Eric was much smaller, the smallest of all of them in fact. He stepped closer, still not quite sure why he was approaching the stranger still, now that he knew it couldn’t be Eric, but something nagged at him. Something about the curve of the jaw, the hands in his naked lap. Now just a few feet away, he could make out the man’s face, and he felt a chill slide into his bones. It was Eric–or at least, whoever it was was wearing his friend’s face…sort of. Parts of it were distorted, like something seen through a curved piece of glass. The ears were small, his cheeks a bit pointy, most of the hair pulled from his head, that…disturbing rash covering half of his face. “Eric?” he asked, “Eric, what is going on? You’ve been missing class, and you never responded to any of our messages. Why…what in the hell is going on, Eric? Where have you been?”

Seeing his friends roused something inside him, and Eric felt a bit of his old self rise back to the surface. “Sam? I…” Eric didn’t know what he was supposed to say, though. None of this made any real sense, and yet it also seemed perfectly natural. But how could he even begin to explain what was happening to him, and what he was feeling? “I don’t know, I started smoking the pipe that Jamie gave me, and…and I know this must look so strange, but really, I’m fine. We’re both fine. You should go–don’t worry about me, just…just forget about it.”

“Are you fucking insane?” Raury said, coming closer, “Look at yourself, what’s wrong with your skin? And is that…what is that around your mouth? It looks like blood or something.”

“I just ate is all, I get…really hungry now.”

Sam and Raury looked at one another, and then Sam grabbed Eric by the hand and tried to pull him up from the couch. “We need to get you to the hospital, both of you. Something weird is going on and you’re acting crazy.”

Eric yanked his hand away from him. “No! Didn’t you hear what I said? We’re fine!”

“Yeah, we’re both fine, we want to be here,” Mr. Fields said, still standing by the stairs. “Look, you’re…you’re upsetting him, and it’s almost time for his dinner, so I think it’s time for you to leave.”

House of Marvels – Episode 1 (Part 4)

Eric too, found himself struggling to adapt to whatever had happened to him that night, when he’d placed the pipe between his lips for the first time. From that moment on, the only time the pipe even left his lips for longer than a few seconds was whenever he was asleep, but otherwise he was smoking it. It didn’t require much–in fact, just the smoke coming from the bowl was enough to stave off the craving, but it tasted so wonderful, and it felt so good, heating his lungs, that he preferred to get as much as he could. There was the occasional moment of rebellion when he’d try and resist it, but he couldn’t go more than a few minutes without it, and he’d find himself helplessly drawing as much smoke as he could into himself afterwards, in an attempt to catch up. In fact, despite all of his newfound power, he felt…weaker in other ways. Mr. Fields was a weakness–he absolutely hated it whenever he left, not only because he wanted him by his side, in the same way he wanted the smoke. No, what he felt when he watched the old man walk up those stairs was fear. Fear that he would lose him–not in the sense of losing someone in a relationship, but like he was going to lose his property. Mr. Fields belonged to him, and he spent quite a bit of time drilling that into the old man’s head, making sure his new daddy, his first daddy, wasn’t just dependent on his smoke, but that he wanted, more than anything, to be his servant.

It proved to be relatively easy, in fact. After all, Mr. Fields was a god-fearing fellow. All he needed to be convinced of was that his god, the god he should have been worshiping all of this time, was here, and very real, and right in front of him. Once he’d accepted that, deeply in his soul, all of his doubt and resistance disappeared immediately–and Eric was surprised by how aroused he became seeing this old daddy utterly enraptured by him, whenever they were together. He seemed more lustful than Eric in fact, begging his god to use him, and fuck him, staring at him with as much awe as Eric stared back at him in lust and covetous delight. In fact, he was so caught up in the pleasure of his first thrall, that it was a few days before he noticed that Mr. Fields wasn’t the only one suffering some unexpected changes.

It started with an itch on his neck. Small enough that he didn’t mind it particularly much for a while, but it only grew more insistent, and he found himself unable to resist scratching at it. It began to spread into a larger patch, and then other patches appeared on his chest, arms, and thighs. They didn’t seem bad at first, just like patches of dryness, but the more he scratched them, the more red and inflamed they became, and the skin seemed to be cracking apart, and even bleeding on occasion, though never badly or for very long. He dreaded the idea of leaving the basement, and so he ordered Mr. Fields to bring the house’s largest mirror down into the basement, so he would have a way to look at himself, and it was then that he saw the skin was only one of the changes happening to him.

His hair was falling out, for one thing. It wasn’t an orderly kind of baldness either, like he was growing older. It was falling out in clumps, and not only from his head–his beard was thinner, and the hair on his body was also falling out, especially in the areas where the rash had struck. He was terrified, certain it had to be some kind of disease, but he felt great otherwise. In fact, he felt better than he had in ages, and despite the fact that he never did much of anything down in the basement, beyond smoke his pipe, he was growing.

It was difficult to be certain, but his musculature seemed odd, especially around his back, which was growing faster than everything else. He measured himself on the wall, and in two days, he added an inch of height. Not much, by any means, but it gave him a sense of satisfaction he couldn’t quite describe. He ate more than he ever had in his life, the meat Mr. Fields was bringing him became rarer and rarer at his insistence. It just…tasted wrong when it was cooked somehow, but his human sensibility insisted on at least a seared outside. It was difficult to eat it so raw for a few days, especially when the first of his teeth began to fall out, though new, sharp fangs grew in their place, which made the meat much easier to chew.

After a few days of this new life, Eric found himself growing…bored. The dream he’d had that night kept returning, every time he dozed off, and he was surrounded by smoky daddies that he couldn’t touch, but which he desired with a force he couldn’t explain or rationalize. It was instinctual, to collect and own them. To hoard them down here with him, to keep him happy and entertained. He found himself growing tired of Mr. Fields–the man who had so enraptured him for a few days now seemed boring and uninteresting. He wanted someone new, he wanted more…but he didn’t know how to get it.

House of Marvels – Episode 1 (Part 3)

He stripped off his shirt and boxers he usually slept in–wearing clothes seemed…strange all of a sudden–and still with the pipe in his mouth, feeling more and more like it was some extension of his body, rather than a simple tool, he walked down the hall to Mr. Fields’s master bedroom at the end, and let himself into his room. Mr. Fields was still sound asleep, snoring gently, wearing a full set of pajamas in his bed. Eric just watched him sleep for a moment, his cock growing hard as a rock being this close to a man he’d wanted for so long, and then he walked around to his side of the bed. Mr. Fields heard him and made a groggy noise, but before he could register who was beside him, Eric had bent over him, shoved his lips to Mr. Fields, and pushed some of his smoke down his throat and into his body.

Mr. Fields shuddered for a moment, and then shoved Eric off of him, and backpedaled away from him across the surface of the bed, coughing, but none of the smoke seemed to be coming back out of him. “Eric! What–What as gotten into you?” He looked over and saw the pipe in his hand, “It’s the damn devil weed, isn’t it? I told you to never smoke in this house!”

Eric just put the stem of the pipe back in his mouth, and stroked his cock with one hand, “I want you, Mr. Fields. I’ve wanted you since I saw you, and you’re going to be mine. You already are mine, in fact, you just don’t know it yet.”

Mr. Fields was quivering slightly, and still coughing. He could taste the smoke lingering in his mouth, clouding his palate. He had…had a period of rebellion in his youth, he knew what weed tasted like, and tobacco too–but it didn’t taste like this. Still…it tasted good, and he felt the beginnings of a strange flush in his body. Eric got up on the bed, his rock hard cock jutting out, and Mr. Fields kept trying to back away, but ran out of space quickly. Eric lunged forward, and kissed him again, feeding him more smoke somehow–though Mr. Fields hadn’t seen him take another draw on the pipe he was holding in his hand. The pleasure was stronger this time, and he moaned into Eric’s mouth, his own cock responding and getting harder than it had been in years. He touched his young renter’s skin, with hesitation at first…but something about it seemed wrong, like he’d expected it to feel…different somehow. Not as soft as it was–it should be…rougher. He didn’t know what to make of the thought–he didn’t know what to make of any of his thoughts suddenly. Nothing was fitting in his mind–it felt more like the smoke was filling him up and clouding everything–his memories, his life. He leaned into Eric now, hungry for the young man’s mouth, his smoke, drawing more and more of it into himself, grinding their cocks together in his bed, knowing that lying with another man like this was a sin…but Eric wasn’t a man–or not just any man at least. He was…

“M-Master…” he muttered when their lips parted for a moment, eyes cloudy and distant, “Thank you Master, for making me yours.”

“You’re welcome slave. Now, please me–show me what you desire now, the only thing you truly desire in the whole world.”

Mr. Fields slipped lower and took Eric’s cock into his mouth, and Eric sighed, pipe back in his mouth, drawing in more smoke, feeling the desire still smoldering inside him. This was good. This was right, and what he deserved, how he deserved to be treated. Things were going to change around here, Eric was certain of that–but even he didn’t know, at that time, just how much.

They woke up together, with Mr. Fields still wrapped around his young renter in his bed. For a moment, he tried to reassert control, and demanded that the faggot harlot get out of his house, but Eric picked up the pipe from where it had landed beside him, stoked it back to life without even needing a match, and watched the man start to shake and quiver, craving…something, but not knowing what. Eric also wasn’t moving, and the room was slowly filling with the smoke pouring from his nostrils. Mr. Fields began to lose his train of thought, the words disappearing from his mind as his feet shuffled him closer to the bed, the smoke clouding him back into that comfortable space, and a moment later he was sucking down Eric’s smoke, and then rode his cock for a good long while, Eric making sure he had plenty of smoke to keep him in the proper mindset. Then, when he was back to being the kind of obedient daddy that Eric wanted, they started setting some new rules around the house.

First, Eric told him that he was moving into the basement–the entire basement. Mr. Fields cleaned his things out of sizable space down there over the next few days, and Eric spent his time down there, smoking his pipe, lounging about, having Mr. Fields service him whenever he desired (or sometimes he just had him stand where he could regard him, he was such a beauty, truly) and he ate, and ate, and ate. Eric had heard somewhere that smoking tended to take away your appetite, but for him, or for this pipe, the opposite was true. He was constantly hungry, and the only thing he was hungry for was meat. Mr. Fields found his day spent serving his new master, sometimes happily, and sometimes with resistance, but even when he was away from Eric and his smoke, he…thought about it, how much he craved it, and he could tell that something about him had changed, something deep inside him, but he didn’t know how to articulate what he’d even lost.

House of Marvels – Episode 1 (Part 2)

The rest of the evening was uneventful. He made dinner downstairs for himself after Mr. Fields was done in the kitchen, watched TV with him while he ate, chatting about his classes when Mr. Fields asked about them, then did his dishes and returned to his room. Mr. Fields went to bed early, like usual, giving Eric an opportunity to jack off again. Usually once every few days was enough for him…but he was feeling horny today for some reason. He came once, and then kept going, the scent of smoke in the room getting stronger, though Eric didn’t notice it at all anymore. He lost track of time, and discovered he’d been jacking off to a stream of old daddy bears for close to three hours when he should have been finishing this paper…but he was tired, too tired to keep at it now. He got into bed, falling asleep almost immediately, and then the dream started.

It was dark, but not a nothing dark. He was somewhere, standing somewhere dark, and cold, and damp, and empty. Very empty. It should be full, it needed to be full of something, something he wanted, and…and needed. Then, there was light, a flame of some sort, and he could see better where he was. It was a cavern of some sort, a massive one, but while he supposed he ought to be concerned about that, and want to escape, he instead found it…cozy somehow. Though it would be cozier if he wasn’t alone, if he had…if he had what he wanted with him down here, but what did he want?

Smoke appeared as the light grew a bit stronger, but it didn’t rise like Eric knew it should, it collected around him near the ground of the cavern, more and more of it, making him cough. It kept coming, and soon it was forming…something. Figures. Men. Men all around him, fat, sexy, hairy and very naked men in every direction, all of them fucking, and sucking, and he felt so happy, surrounded by them all. He reached for the nearest one, but his hands passed right through him, and all he felt was a piercing rage and despair. He grabbed for him again, but the man just dissolved, him and all of the others, and the smoke surrounded him, obscuring the cavern around him, and his coughing grew more intense until it woke him up–and he discovered that he had been coughing not because of the smoke in his dream, but because of the actual smoke filling up his room.

Eric fell out of his bed and onto the floor, looking around desperately for any sign of flames, assuming the smoke was coming from a fire that must have started somewhere in the house. However, as he woke up, he recognized the smell, the sweet and savory notes of meat from before, and then he saw the tiny bead of light on the shelf–the little pinprick of flame in the side of the pipe, where the dragon’s eye was carved into the bowl.

It couldn’t be. All of this smoke couldn’t be coming from that pipe–how was it even possible? He got up from the floor where he’d fallen, and he made his way to the shelf, grabbed the pipe, and sure enough, the smoke was gouting from the bowl and the stem, and deep inside…somewhere, he could see a dim red glow of coals inside the bowl. He looked around him, wondering if he should get it to the bathroom and try to put it out, but now that he was holding it, the dream came back to him, the smoke men dancing around him in the cavern, and how…how he’d desired them.

He could feel the sudden heat in the bowl raging, and the light that sprang up was enough to light his dark room. He did desire it–he had to admit it. He was lonely, he was so lonely, and he’d always been lonely, and he’d desired and coveted so many men, so many sexy daddies–Mr. Fields of course, but also his father and uncles, his teachers and coaches, boy scout leaders and neighbors. He wanted them, he wanted to collect them like he collected everything, but he couldn’t–but the pipe could feel it in him, and he could feel it too, feel it calling out to him, that heat, promising him that it could be his, they could be his, all of them.

He brought the stem to his lips, and then paused. He knew he shouldn’t. He knew this was something strange, something unnatural, but the desire was so great, he didn’t care what it cost. He didn’t care what he might lose. He wanted them, all of them, he wanted to own them–and so he took the stem in his mouth, and he inhaled–or rather, the smoke forced it’s way down into his lungs, as he struggled to keep up. He didn’t know how it could keep rushing into him at the pace it was coming, and with wide eyes, he saw the smoke around him in the room drawing closer to him, back into the bowl of the pipe, and back into him. Finally, when he was certain that his lungs, or his entire body, was going to explode, it stopped–or rather, there was no more for him to take in, and he could finally exhale, pushing three thick plumes of grey smoke from his nostrils and mouth, watching it curl around him…and the desire in his heart was burning with a fierceness he’d never experienced before.

He took another draw from the pipe, the smoke as natural, and perhaps as necessary, as air, and knew what he wanted. What he’d wanted, and coveted from the moment he’d stepped into this house. Eric knew also, that this was the night he would finally take it.