Frat Daddy: Interlude #5 (Jimmy/Bear)

Jimmy didn’t understand how they could all do it. Just…go along with it. Ever since Daddy had appeared and taken over the house, Jimmy had been hoping that someone would say something, or stop it, and while there were so boys would put up resistance (like Jake, who was going out every night to fuck girls in various sorority houses around campus, no one was…fighting this. Jimmy wasn’t fighting it either, mind you, but he wanted someone to, mostly because he was, well, falling behind. But then, Jimmy usually found himself behind, if he was being honest. He was a freshman, and he’d rushed the fraternity with a couple of his friends that he’d met at school, who assured him that it was going to be the best way for Jimmy to meet, and ideally fuck chicks. Jimmy hadn’t fucked anyone before–he’d had a few near misses back in high school, but he’d never gotten further than touching a boob. Jimmy wasn’t the most handsome, or the most athletic. He kept hoping that he would find a time to really shine–that’s what his mom always told him would happen at least, that he’d find his place at school, but now that so much had changed, he only felt like he was flailing more. 

Jimmy tried to keep up with the rest of the house as best he could, but he knew he was falling behind–although falling behind of what, he didn’t know anymore. What did he want out of any of this? He’d already hated being in the frat. His friends didn’t really talk to him anymore once they’d gotten in, and most of the other guys in the house just ignored him, and he’d already been looking for a way to get out as soon as he could. Now though, the rest of the boys were all, well, thriving, he supposed. Some of them especially, like Mike and Carter, were taking really well to Daddy’s new direction. Most of the rest of the guys were guzzling shakes, working out as hard as they could, and packing on mass. Jimmy struggled. He would drink as much as he could, but he’d struggle to even hit the goal Daddy had set for them, and if he did hit it, he’d feel so gross he wouldn’t be able to join the rest of the guys for the evening workout. He’d just smoke a cigar, horny as hell but with no outlet, and go to bed early. The other guys would come up, fucking each other into the evening and night while Jimmy laid in bed and hoped no one would accost him. No one did, which somehow made him feel worse. He was just getting fat, and the fatter he got, the more he hated himself, and the more he hated everything about all of this.

Each Friday night, he would stand at attention with the rest of the boys, utterly terrified that Daddy would pick him to come over for the weekend, but also desperate for some sort of recognition. Just…to know that he was noticed, and not simply disappearing. Daddy didn’t say anything to him usually, but he did see him, see through him, into him, and that was somehow worse. Eventually, it happened. Daddy had been taking a couple boys at a time, but this weekend, he only selected Jimmy. The others looked confused–why would Daddy want that loser, they would wonder. Jimmy didn’t know either, but he followed Daddy downstairs, through the tunnel, and into his dungeon. He was terrified that they would stop there, but instead Daddy led him upstairs, where dinner had been prepared, and Jimmy devoured the first real meal he’d had in ages. Daddy ate too, but he mostly watched. They were both silent, Jimmy looking up at the older man on occasion, wondering if he should say something, or if saying something was a trap.

“Is this how you got your way through life so far?” Daddy asked as they finished their plates, “Staying quiet and hoping no one would notice you?”

Jimmy didn’t know how to respond to that, so he just kept mum, hands in his lap, eyes on his hands.

Daddy got up from the table, and motioned for Jimmy to stand as well. Daddy circled him, making a few little hmms and haas as he did, and Jimmy hated it, feeling like he was under a microscope all of a sudden. Of course Daddy had brought him here because he was a failure. He was probably going to kick him out. Would that be a bad thing? Isn’t that what he wanted anyway? A way out?

“Why did you join the frat, Jimmy? What were you looking for?” Daddy asked as he finished his circle.

“I wanted to…have sex with girls,” Jimmy said, a little horrified at how his mouth had just poured that out so easily. “My friends said it would be easy.”

“Have you been having sex with your brothers now?” Daddy asked, giving Jimmy’s cock a squeeze through his jock.

“Not…really. A few have fucked me, but I’ve never pulled out their plugs.”

“You must be a little pent up then.”

Jimmy nodded, and blushed, embarrassed that he’d admitted it all so easily.

“Do you want to fuck them?”

“I…I don’t know.”

“Are you sure you don’t know?”

“I do, Daddy.”

Daddy nodded. “Alright then. Come on, let’s have a smoke, boy–Daddy’s cock needs some attention. Tomorrow, I have something I’d like to try with you.”

They retired to the lounge, where Daddy and Jimmy smoked a pair of cigars, and Jimmy spent the rest of the evening between Daddy’s legs, blowing smoke over his cock and sucking on it until Daddy fed him a sizable load–then it was time for bed, and Jimmy found sleep difficult, wondering what Daddy could have in mind for their day tomorrow.


After breakfast, Daddy left Jimmy to clean up while he disappeared for a little while, and then reappeared from downstairs. He told Jimmy to follow him down, but they stopped before they reached the dungeon. Daddy showed him three masks that were laid out on a side table. Jimmy hadn’t ever seen these sorts of masks in real life, but he’d seen pictures of things like them in porn before. There was a fairly standard looking pup hood, made of leather and neoprene. Next to it, was a rubber pig hood. Lastly was one he hadn’t seen before. It was similar to the pup hood, but clearly it was modelled after a bear, and made with much thicker leather pieces, with some metal studs to signify fangs on the snout.

“I think that each of these would appeal to you, in one way or another,” Daddy said, “A mask isn’t a solution, but it can…let us escape from ourselves from a little while, imagine something different. If you want my honest opinion, Jimmy, your problem isn’t that this place is a bad fit for you–it’s that you don’t know what you want to get from it, so you feel listless. This might help give you something to hold on to. Go on and pick one, and then we’ll go play.”

Jimmy picked up each of the masks, but wasn’t brave enough to put any of them on himself. He felt silly, like it was Halloween or something. There was one he preferred though–he handed the bear mask to Daddy, but Daddy just motioned for Jimmy to put it on. He did, not expecting anything miraculous from the experience. Daddy helped get it centered on his head so he could see easily, and then put him in front of a mirror, and the reflection…it did feel different. It was his body, but it wasn’t his face. The mask made him look tough. Like no one would want to mess with him. He tweaked his face a bit, and managed to bare the metal fangs of the mask, and a little thrill went through him, much to his embarrassment. He almost pulled it off then and there, but Daddy secured the mask to his collar and locked it, and then pushed the masked Jimmy into the dungeon, where he found himself looking at a boy on the fuckbench, hooded so he couldn’t see who it was, exactly, and there weren’t any other identifying features that he could see.

“Well, you told me you want to fuck a hole, Bear,” Daddy said, “So fuck it.”

Jimmy balked, at first, but something else pushed him forward, something…instinctual. He gripped the boy’s hips in his hands, hard enough for the young man to moan through the gag in his mouth, and Jimmy’s cock was already hard. Fuck, he couldn’t do this, could he?

He looked over at the mirror, and a new thought came to him. Maybe Jimmy couldn’t. Maybe Jimmy was too scared, too timid, too worried, too anxious. But was Bear any of those things? Bear didn’t look like any of that–Bear looked like a fat, furry, beast who was ready to fuck. He pulled the plug out without taking the time to second guess himself, and pushed his cock into the boy’s already lubed hole, and he moaned–no, no moans from him. Bear growls. Bear grunts. Bear fucks hard and mercilessly. Bear doesn’t take shit from anyone. Bear knows what he wants, and Bear takes it. Jimmy fucked hard, came once, and just kept going. Bear doesn’t stop until he’s satisfied, after all, and Bear has not had enough sex in a very long time. 

Finally, after three loads, Jimmy stepped back, exhausted and sweating, and looked at himself in the mirror again–but he wasn’t looking at Jimmy, not at the Jimmy he recognized. He was muscular, covered in hair, a thick beard pushing out from the bottom of Bear’s mask, tattoos on his chest and arms, a thick cock with a PA in the head, two massive balls swinging below it. He gaped at himself, until Daddy stepped up, unlocked the mask from his collar, and pulled it off–and the illusion was gone. It was just him standing there, and a very well fucked boy moaning on the fuck bench, obviously quite satisfied.

Daddy pulled him out of the room and took him into a bathroom where Jimmy had a shower, and when he stepped back out, the boy was gone, and the masks were as well. It was just Daddy waiting for him, and JImmy understood what he’d meant, sort of. But that hadn’t really been him, had it? No–that had been the mask, it had changed him, he’d felt it. Daddy told him that he didn’t need the mask–that if he really wanted to become Bear himself, the only thing standing in his way, was himself.

It made sense, in a way. Daddy spent the rest of the day with him in the gym, giving him some pointers on exercising, encouraging him to convert some of that bulk to brawn, but when Jimmy asked if he could wear the mask again, Daddy shook his head. “You can’t just rely on the mask–things like that can have a mind of their own as well, if you aren’t careful,” Daddy said with a slight smile, “Never put it on without me there to supervise, alright?”

That sounded like bullshit to Jimmy, but he nodded in agreement. Maybe he had a point after all. But part of him couldn’t get past the idea that Bear was…different than him, that putting on that mask had given him some extra power that he didn’t have on his own. When he returned to the house that Sunday, feeling and looking a bit better, he did his best, and to some extent, he managed. He kept up with the meals and the workouts, and the other boys that had always ignored him, that he’d always assumed had despised him, didn’t seem so bad after all. But it wasn’t easy. It was work. After a week of it, he found himself falling back into his old habits, isolating himself, but now he couldn’t blame it on everyone else. Now he knew that he was making a choice, and that hurt.

If he could just wear that mask again, if he could just feel like that again, it would help, he knew it would. He found himself hoping on Friday that Daddy would take him again, though he’d never taken the same boy two weeks in a row. He didn’t, of course, and while Jimmy knew that his hope had been irrational, he still felt betrayed. Couldn’t Daddy see that he was still struggling? That he needed help? But it was all in his hands, he knew that. He could make the change, he could do the work, he could be that person he’d seen in the mirror. But if he was the one making the change, then why couldn’t he decide to use that mask to help him along?

He knew that was a bad idea, after what Daddy had said, but it stuck with him all the same. Saturday night, after a long rough day of struggling to make progress, he couldn’t resist it anymore. He went downstairs, crossed through the tunnel into the dungeon, going as quietly as he could, and found the three masks hanging on the wall. He pulled down Bear again, held it in his hands, and if he hadn’t been certain before, he was now. It wasn’t…alive, but it was aware. It had power. Whether it had power because he believed it did, or because Daddy had put it there, it didn’t matter. He pulled the mask on again, and felt that rush from before when he looked at himself in the mirror, watched himself growing thicker and hairier, a good amount of fat melting off his body and being replaced with muscle. He saw the tattoos on his body appear again, saw his thick cock grow hard and begin to leak, and he wanted to fuck so bad. Maybe…just go back to the frat, fuck one of the boys who was still awake. He could do that, right?

He went to leave the dungeon, only for a sudden sense of vertigo to send him to his hands and knees, the room spinning around him. Something was wrong. He was still…growing? No, he was still changing, but not getting bigger. Was he getting smaller? Growing more compact, maybe, his height contracting to around five and a half feet, even more mass piling on him as he grew hairier, coated in a full pelt of fur now. The voice from the mask was louder now, so loud! Not so much a voice, just…thoughts, desires, thirsts. He tried to pull the mask off, but couldn’t get a grip on it, like the leather had somehow fused with his neck. His skin…why did it feel so rough and leathery all of a sudden? His face ached, feeling like the mask was tugging on it, contorting it, teeth aching. He roared in pain and collapsed–the last thing he remembered was the sound of feet on the stairs, and Daddy was standing over him, when he fainted.

Jimmy didn’t remember much, when he woke. Daddy was there with him, still on the floor of the dungeon, stroking his side and back, making Jimmy moan. Daddy sighed. “I warned you about this, but I didn’t think it would go this far.”

Jimmy tried to ask him what was wrong, but his mouth didn’t seem to cooperate. He could get out a few words, but between his aching face under the mask, and his addled brain, nothing made sense, really.

Daddy hushed him, and kept him comfortable, gripped the amulet around his neck, and stroked his head. “Hush now, my bear. Go to sleep. Everything will make sense in the morning. It’s not what I wished for you, but it seems you may have made a place for yourself anyway. You’ll be more than happy, I promise.”

When Bear awoke, it was on the floor of the dormitory upstairs. He looked around, a bit discombobulated, but this was where he was supposed to sleep, right? He looked around at the little corner the boys had made for Bear, someone between a brother, a house mascot, and a pet. No one really knew where Bear had come from, if you asked them–especially not Bear. No one could recall Jimmy had ever existed, and his bed and belongings had seemingly evaporated. Bear crawled out of bed and gave a shake and a yawn, showing the rather…inhuman mouth he had inside that leather mask that never came off his head. No one knew for sure if it even could–Bear had been known to snap at anyone who tried to mess with it too much. Other than that, he was completely naked. Even when the boys took him on campus to go to their football games, Bear remained nude, but no one thought it odd. 

Bear was still hard from the rather pleasant dream he’d been having in his sleep, something he couldn’t remember, but which had certainly aroused him. He bent over, and gave the head of his thick cock a little lick, his stout body surprisingly flexible. He eyed the boys around him, just rousing from sleep, saw Eric had bent over next to their bed, and before the boy could do anything to avoid it, Bear had crawled over, hauled his plug out with his teeth, growled something that was understood to be the word “Fuck,” and mounted him right there on the side of the bed, his cock driving right into the boy’s hole.

“Goddamn it Bear!” Eric said, pinned under the stout fellow’s substantial mass as Bear humped his hole. Still, there was no saying no to Bear. In fact, getting fucked by the brute was a pleasure, since his cum always seemed to have a rather…invigorating effect on the boy who got seeded. Bear responded to the boy’s annoyance by putting his mouth around his shoulder, not hard enough to pierce the skin by any measure, and letting loose a low growl as he thrust deeper. It was enough to remind Eric that his hole was Bear’s by right–and that complaining too much just meant he would get rougher. Eric relaxed, and Bear fucked, grunting and growling and snuffling until he unloaded in his hole with a roar loud enough to make the other boy’s turn in his direction. Once he’d dismounted from him, Eric pushed his plug back in, keeping all of Bear’s helpful cum in his hole. He glowered at the beast for a second, who was panting happily, and couldn’t stay mad. Bear ended up on his back, growling and grunting while the boys all gathered around him, giving him his morning belly rubs, before going down for breakfast, Bear plodding after them–crawling through the room, and then toddling down the stairs on two legs, but hands and knees were preferable for him. Later in the day, Daddy came over to check on him and make sure he was acclimating well, but Bear had never been happier. He’d found his place after all, and he’d never look back.

Interactive: Frat Daddy (Part 3)

I am currently open for commissions! Of particular note there is a special, limited edition commission I’ll be offering this summer–a custom interlude in the Frat Daddy story line! Want to see one of the boys I’ve done go back to Daddy for another round? Have a particular fetish or scenario that you’d like to see Daddy inflict on one of the boys? You can get a 3000 word entry for a flat rate of $70 ($20 off the usual price!). Send me a note if you’re interested on tumblr, twitter, discord or email! You can find all the details at the link above.


The next couple of weeks passed by rather eventfully for the boys of the house, as they adjusted themselves to the new rules of the house. There was more than a little complaining, but none of the young men were brave enough to stand up to their frat daddy directly and challenge him–not after what happened to Peter. It had been in the evening, a few days after frat daddy’s arrival, and he had made an impromptu visit to the house, clomping his way up the stairs from the basement–where he had a private tunnel connecting the frat house to his own private residence next door. He called the boys for an assembly and inspection in the living room, but caught one boy trying to sneak off upstairs. It was Peter. He grabbed hold of the young jock and dragged him back down the stairs, turned him around, and found that, sure enough, Peter didn’t have his plug in his hole.

Ethan was disappointed. Peter tried to make excuses, that it was too big for him, that it hurt, but Daddy didn’t have any interest in his excuses–he told Peter to stand against the wall, and as the rest of the boy’s watched, he pulled his belt free from his leather pants, and gave him twenty lashings, making Peter count them all out loud. Then, after inspecting the rest of the boys, he suggested that they all help Peter’s hole adjust to his plug a little more–and took them all downstairs, to the gym…and the dungeon.

Peter ended up tied over a sawhorse, and one after the other, every boy in the house fucked him, with Daddy supervising them, critiquing their technique, giving the occasional lash against their thighs or ass if they went too slow, or treated Peter too gently for his taste. It was well past midnight by the time they were all finished, and Peter had collapsed against the saw horse, leg’s shaking, when Daddy finally untied him from the wood, and helped him down, pulling him into his lap, were Peter sobbed and clung to him, while Daddy whispered little nothing’s in his ear, claiming him down, telling him how proud he was of him, that what he did, he did to make him the best man, and the best brother, that he could be. He wrapped one gloved hand around Peter’s cock and stroked him slowly, Peter moaning softly, as Daddy’s other gloved hand slipped two, and then three fingers into his well worked hole. It wasn’t long before Peter came as well, and Daddy had him lick the cum off his glove like a good boy, and fit him with a plug that no longer felt like such a burden.

After that, Peter didn’t object again. If anything, he seemed rather…eager to have his brothers fuck him, and on more than one occasion had to restrain himself from begging his brothers to use his hole. Begging wasn’t required in any case–after all, when the boys had one of their cigars, about all they could think about was getting off, and Peter was more than happy to remain near the humidor in the evenings, should anyone need a smoke and a fuck.

Daddy’s inspections took place outside the house as well. Jameson, in particular, was inflicted with a rather humiliating display out on the quad one sunny afternoon. Daddy, smoking a cigar, passed by on some errand or other, and ordered a surprise inspection. Right there, in front of everyone on the quad, Jameson pulled off his shirt to show his Daddy that the harness was on, as required, but that wasn’t good enough. He had to bend over the back of a bench, drop his pants, and show not only his jock, but his plug as well. Daddy gave it a test, and found it a bit too loose–he pulled the small plug out, and slid in a slightly larger one from his sack, Jameson groaning and moaning as he slid it in, and only after it was firmly in place could Jameson continue on. His face was burning, and he was worried someone would report them for their lewd behavior, but no seemed to have given them a second look. And why would they? A frat daddy was off course allowed to inspect his boys at any time, on or off campus. 

This didn’t sit well with everyone on campus–including with Mason Wright, the college football coach. A number of the fratboys were on the football team, and when they showed up in the locker room in these strange leather harnesses that they refused to remove…Mason was confused. What the boys were telling him, about the rules that their frat daddy had established, it made…sense, and yet it didn’t. Not at all. As the next couple of weeks wore on, the coach found himself growing more and more convinced of a conspiracy afoot, something being perpetrated against the students, some…foul faggotry. Mason was a devout Christian, he knew what faggots got up to in their dark dens, what kind of devils they worshiped, and how they would try to sink their claws, and other things, into innocent young men to corrupt them. He became convinced that he would uncover whatever was going on, and put a stop to it–but he also knew he couldn’t do it alone. 

So he enlisted some help, a young man named Jace, who had recently been hired to the university’s security department. He had been assigned the athletic department during the day, and he and Mason would regularly chat about things, their time in the army, though Jace’s time was more recent that Mason’s, and Mason had been asking him about church, finally convincing him to start attending services with him. He was a sharp young man, with a good amount of discipline, but Mason could tell he didn’t quite have firm faith yet. Still, perhaps this would help him along, and help him see what they were up against. All he asked, was for Jace to check in on the boys at the frat house, and see if anything odd was going on there–he didn’t specify anything, after all, Mason couldn’t quite pin down what was bothering him exactly either. 

Jace did as he was asked, though he wasn’t quite sure what he was supposed to be looking for exactly–at least, until he staked out the house in the evening, and right there, through the front window, he watched the burly man who lived next door to the frat house appear inside, and begin…molesting the boys, right there in the living room! It took him a few minutes to process what, exactly, he was seeing, and he had to work to convince himself that his instincts were right, that what he was looking at was wrong. When the scene had finished, and the man had apparently returned to his own home some other way, because he appeared on the porch, smoking a cigar–and Jace decided he needed to have a word with him.

He only got as far as the walkway up to the house, before the man had stood up, and was on his way to greet him. Well I can’t believe it, is that you, Jace?”

Jace stopped in his tracks, and looked at the man closely. He…didn’t know him, did he? “Sir, I’m a member of campus security, and I have a few questions to ask you.”

“Oh come now, Jace, that’s no way to talk to your old frat Daddy, is it? Why didn’t you tell me you were back on campus?”

“You…You must have me mistaken for someone else…Sir,” Jace said, unsure of why that last word had slipped from his lips, or why it felt so good and right to say.

“Nonsense, I never forget one of my boys. You graduated four years ago, then went into the Army, wasn’t it? A proper pursuit for a man, I must say, but I’m glad they didn’t keep you too long. How long have you been back here?”

Jace struggled for a moment, his head spinning. He hadn’t gone to college, what was this crazy fucker talking about? But the harder he tried to convince himself this, the easier it was to remember, somehow, the years he’d spent here in this house, under…under Daddy’s supervision, under his guidance and…and his control. He took a step backwards, remembering what Mason had said about faggots, about how they could…manipulate you, if you weren’t careful, if you didn’t keep God in your heart at all times. But the smell of the cigar, and when Daddy embraced him, he sighed and collapsed a bit, some of his careful guard dropping. Daddy knew all of his secrets after all, everything about him.

“It’s good to see you boy, I missed you.”

“I missed you too Daddy,” Jace found himself saying, his cock…hard, and pressing into the older man’s own erection. He knew he should be disgusted, get away from him, but why would he want to get away from Daddy? Wasn’t he happy to see him? 

“Come on boy, have a cigar with me on the porch–I want to hear about how the new position is treating you, and I have some questions too. The boys have been telling me some…troubling things about the football coach, Coach Mason, I think? You wouldn’t happen to know him, would you?

“I do Daddy, but I don’t…what have the boys been telling you?” Jace asked, already forgetting he had ever been here for a reason other than to see his old Frat Daddy.

“First things first, boy, you know the rules, don’t you?” Ethan asked, grinning around his cigar, “How you properly greet a Daddy.”

Jace blushed, got down, and prostrated himself in front of Ethan, kissed both of his boots, and then knelt down in front of him, right there on the sidewalk, like it was the most natural thing in the world. Only when Daddy told him to rise did he stand again, and follow Daddy up to the porch, where he was more than happy to relay everything about the troublesome coach to Daddy.

“I see, I had feeling that might be the case,” Daddy said, “Well, you’ll help me deal with that, won’t you boy?” he said, pulling Jase closer to him, and sharing a smoky kiss with him. 

“Of course Daddy, anything for you,” Jace said.

“Good boy,” Ethan said, and Jace’s heart fluttered in a way he hadn’t felt in four years, since he’d graduated. “Come on inside, boy. We have more to discuss, I think, and I want to see what those Daddies in the army taught you.”

Jace grinned, and followed Ethan inside the house, his prior plan with Mason all but forgotten. Now, he was more interested in showing Daddy a few trips his drill sergeant taught him in the barracks that might surprise even him.


Mason was in his office, trying not to worry. He’d gotten a few messages from Jace on his stakeout, along with some very disturbing videos. Jace had told him we was going to confront the strange older man he’d seen, and while Mason had told him not to, he hadn’t heard back from him the rest of the evening. He’d assumed he’d be back today sometime to follow up with him and what had happened, but he hadn’t seen Jace around the building all day. Now practice was over, it was about time to go home…but he was wondering if he should go investigate himself. No–that was too risky. Most likely, there was an explanation for Jace’s sudden disappearance that made sense. He was well guarded against the manipulations of faggots, at least if he had been listening to what Mason had been telling him. If he hadn’t heard from him by tomorrow, he’d sort it out then. For now, there was no reason to make his wife worry more–he might as well head home and try to put it out of his mind.

He closed up his office for the evening, and noticed that the athletic building was surprisingly empty, despite the fact that it was still fairly early. He was heading for the exit when his phone buzzed in his pocket. He looked at the message from Jace’s phone, and it was a picture–a picture of Jace, bound up and nearly naked, blindfolded and gagged. Below it was a message, “Meet me in the locker room, we have some things to discuss, coach.”

There was no question of what he would do, of course. He was a righteous man of God–no faggot could touch him. He would sort this out, with his fists if necessary. He stormed off back down into the building, got to the locker room, but when he arrived, it was…empty. He knew where that picture had been taken, but no one was there. He was about to leave again, when someone tackled him from behind, sending them both crashing to the concrete. Mason tried to fight off the attacker, but in a matter of moments he found his hands cuffed behind him, and secured to the foot of one of the benches running between the rows of lockers, forcing him to sit. He looked up at the man who’d tackled him, and realized the man he was staring up at, was Jace.

Except it wasn’t Jace, not really. The faggot–he must have gotten to him somehow! He wasn’t dressed in his security uniform, instead, he was wearing some freakish version of a police uniform, made entirely out of leather, all of it shined perfectly. “He’s secure, Daddy,” Jace said, and another man stepped out from behind the lockers, dressed in the same sort of leather uniform Jace was wearing.

“Coach Mason, isn’t it? We haven’t had a chance to be properly introduced. I’m sorry for the restraints, but I felt it was best given your…proclivities, to keep you bound for now.”

“You–you’re the one who did it, aren’t you! The faggot who…I don’t know what you did, but the boys in Phi Beta Alpha, I know that something isn’t right there. What have you done to them? What the hell have you done to Jace?”

“What do you mean?” Ethan asked him, stepped over and rubbed his leather gloved hands over Jace beside him, the younger man moaning and pushing up against him. “I’ve known Jace for years–he was a PBA boy before he was in the army, weren’t you? I was the one who took the scrawny little twig you were and built you into the fine specimen of a man you see before you.”

“Fuck yeah you were Daddy,” Jace said, “and every day I think about how lucky I was to have you as my Frat Daddy,” he leaned in and kissed Ethan, and Mason tried to not let his stomach turn and dump what remained of his lunch on the floor.

“You turned him into a faggot!” he said.

Ethan looked around, “I don’t see any faggots here, Coach. Just two men who understand what real manliness looks like, and desire it more than anything,” he said, and stepped away from Jace. “As for you, well, you might be a man, or you might be something else. That all depends on what you say to the deal I’m about to offer you,” Ethan said, and crouched down beside Mason.

The coach was a handsome fellow. In his mid to late forties, with just a bit of grey beginning to touch his short cropped hair. He had a stocky build, well muscled still. He wanted to set a good example for his players, after all. Ethan pulled up his shirt and looked under, at the healthy treasure trail running up his small muscle gut, as Mason squirmed and tried to wrench away from him–but with his hands bound behind him, there was only so much he could do. Ethan’s hands drifted lower, giving his thighs a squeeze, before sliding over and groping the coach’s crotch, which only made him squirm harder. Handsome, but so misguided. Well, Ethan would be more than happy to put him on the right track–or if he refused, then he’d deal with him in other ways.

“Now, my boys, they look up to you, Mason,” Ethan said, “They respect you–and rightfully so. You work hard, you’re no hypocrite, you care about their well being. However, you seem to have arrived at the unfortunate notion that we are enemies here, rather than compatriots, looking to make sure these boys become the best men that they can possibly me–men like Jace here. Don’t you think Jace is a fine example of a man?”

“He was, until you warped his head and dressed him up in that faggot leather!”

“Now now, like I said, there are no faggots here, Mason, not yet at least. Here is what I can offer you. Let me help you, Mason. You’re a fine example of a man, but you’re so afraid. You’ve let fear color everything around you–it’s your weakness. Aren’t you tired of being so afraid of us? Of being afraid of your fellow man? So afraid that someone might think you weak, when’s the last time you allowed another fellow to embrace you? To kiss you? Can’t you see that you’re starving here?” Ethan leaned in closer now, lips inches from Mason’s face, where he’d turned away from him. “You need us, Mason. We can complete you. We can take all of that fear inside you and destroy it, and all that will remain is happiness. Don’t you want to be happy?”

“I am happy, thank you very much. I have a loving wife, I have two kids. That’s a real man’s place. That’s where I belong.”

“Hmm, yes, well we can’t have that now, can we?” Ethan said. “Well, she must not have been very happy, since she left you all those years ago. Took the kids too. None of them even write to you anymore, no one calls. It’s like you don’t even exist to them anymore.”

“That’s not true!”

“I know it’s hard, Mason, but you can’t be happy until you face the truth. I know you didn’t want anyone here to know, you kept up a strong face, pretended like everything was fine–but they’re gone. You have to accept that.”

Mason tried to hold onto it, tried as hard as he could to resist what the man was saying, but he could feel it worming into him, the knowledge that…that his secret was out. She’d left him and taken the kids years ago, with almost no warning. He hadn’t seen them since. He’d kept up the lie as best he could–he was too ashamed to admit it. That he’d failed. He’d failed as a husband, and he’d failed as a father, and he’d failed as a man. Ethan’s gloved hand cupped his chin, and pulled his face towards his–and Mason realized that it was the first intimate, human contact he’d had with another person since she’d left. The tenderness surprised him. It even aroused him, though he couldn’t admit that to himself.

“We’re here for you, Mason. A new family. Men who understand you, who understand what you really need. She left because she realized, even before you did, that you weren’t right for her–the only people who can handle you are men–real men like us.”

“No–you’re the fucking devil,” Mason said, holding back tears, unwilling to show weakness in front of them.

“I swear I am no such thing–just a man offering you a future. You could do such good here, you know. Training these young men. It’s no wonder you were drawn here to them, so you could help mold them. You enjoy being around them, don’t you? They fill a hole inside you you didn’t know was there. You want them too–don’t try to deny it. I know how you think about it in your office, and at home in that lonely apartment you rent now, how you wish you could hold them, and smell then, and caress them, and fuck them.”

Ethan’s hand slipped lower, groping Mason’s crotch again, and now, the coach was rock hard. He couldn’t help but thrust up, just ever so slightly, into Ethan’s hand, but then stopped himself, froze, horrified by what he was thinking, that this man could see so deeply into him without having ever met him. How could he know any of this? His deepest secrets, his deepest shames. 

“Just say ‘Yes, Daddy’. That’s all you have to do. Just say yes, and I can show you all of the things you’ve missed, all of the pleasures you never allowed yourself, but that you longed for so deeply. All you have to do is say the words, and you’ll never have to worry again.”

Mason moaned, despite himself. He was lonely. He’d always been lonely, even before the divorce, even before the kids, even before the marriage, all the way back, he’d been alone. So afraid of what anyone else might think, he’d closed himself off for so long, that even this was enough to bring him to the verge of tears. But that was where he wanted him. Dependent. Weak. Open. But he was stronger than this. He was stronger than this faggot magic. He had to fight, he had to fight!

“No–I could never do that to these boys. They look up to me. I’m their coach! It’s perverse. It’s wrong. I would never betray their confidence like that.”

“Well, you don’t have to be their coach, if that’s a problem for you,” Ethan said, and Mason’s guts twisted a bit. “Come on, I know you’re hurting–but I can help you. No one else can, not like me. Just say it, don’t fight it–I won’t give you a better offer than this one, right here, right now.”

“No–no, I won’t let you do this to me.”

Ethan sighed.

“You don’t understand. I’ve been a coach here for going on fifteen years. This is like a family to me. You won’t understand that, you faggots don’t understand anything like that. Everything is sex with you, there’s nothing else.”

“You don’t have to keep up the lie with me, Mason.”

“I’m not lying! I love these players like they’re my own children.”

“Not about that–about being a coach. You’re getting things mixed up again. I know it can be hard to remember, sometimes, when you get lost in a fantasy, but you’re not the coach, Mason.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Sure, you like to come here, to the locker room. Fantasize about being the coach. About ordering all those players to line up in their smelly jockstraps for an inspection. But you’re not the coach–you’re the janitor, Mason. Thirty years, you’ve been the janitor here. Always looking, always lusting, stealing jocks for your collection back at your apartment, from all of your favorite players over the years.”

“Shut up! It’s not true.”

“Lurking under the bleachers during practice, coming in for some equipment you forgot while the boys are all showering together. You don’t have to be ashamed anymore, Mason. I know what you need, and I can help you–but you have to be honest with me. You have to be honest with yourself.”

“No! No, I won’t let you do this, I won’t!”

“You pigs sometimes, so damn stubborn!” Ethan said, and turned to Jace, “Help me get him up.”

They unlocked the cuff around one hand, unhooked it from the foot of the bench, and then resecured it around his wrist. Together, Ethan and Jace took one of Mason’s elbows and hauled him upright, then walked him down the row of lockers, towards the showers, where a large mirror was on the wall. Mason closed his eyes, not wanting to look. He was the coach. He was in charge here. He cared for these boys, he looked out for them! He wouldn’t let this freak take that away from him, he wouldn’t!

“Open your eyes, Mason.”

“No.”

“Why not? Are you afraid of what you’re going to see? If you’re so sure that you’re the coach, wouldn’t you know exactly what that reflection is going to look like? You know you won’t open your eyes and see an old man in his late fifties, wearing a pair of filthy, cumstained coveralls, with a big gut and no real muscles, a thick, greying beard stained around the mouth from all those cigars you chain smoke.”

“That’s not me!”

“If that’s true, then open your eyes, and let’s look, together.”

“You’re trying to trick me, you’re the fucking devil! I don’t have to look, I know the truth, I know it!”

“Go on then. Tell me what you’re really going to see. If you’re right, then I’ll let you go, and you’ll never see me again. If I’m right, well, then you’ll have to listen to what I’ll offer you. So say it pig, who do you think’s in that mirror?”

Mason tried to focus, tried to remember, but suddenly, the vision wasn’t as clear as it should have been. “M-Muscular. I’m…43, I think. Clean shaven, I know that for sure. Tall, yeah, tall and still strong, because I work out every day with the boys, watching…I mean. Yeah, and hairy too, fuck.”

“Alright, so open them up, Mason, and let’s see who’s right.”

He knew it. He had faith. He knew who he was, who he had to be. He opened his eyes, ready to sneer in the frat daddy’s face, but he had to stare at the reflection in the mirror for a few moments, trying to sort out who he was looking at. There, on both sides, were the two leather men, but in between them–no, no that couldn’t be him, it couldn’t be him! He looked at the stranger in his late fifties, looked at the full beard, looked at the gut sagging out from under the ill-fitting athletic department t-shirt he had on, the cumstained gym shorts–he was the coach, he wasn’t the janitor! He wasn’t!

“Please no, please just let me have this, please,” he said to Daddy, “You can’t do this to me, you can’t!”

“Just be honest with me, Mason–you have to tell me the truth now, alright? No more lies. Whose clothes are these?”

Mason tried to say that they were his, that they were the usual clothes he wore to work, but instead he said, “I stole the shirt and shorts from the coach’s office at the beginning of the year, while I was cleaning it.” 

He felt his face burn, as Ethan nodded, and pulled down his shorts, to reveal a well soiled jock underneath–which they could all smell in the room. “And the rest of it? The jock? The socks?” Ethan asked.

“The jock was…from Jullian Barber, class of ‘02. Linebacker. Never washed his jock, thought it was lucky. He tossed it when they lost the championship–fuck! No, why–the socks are from…from August Rickett, class of ‘08 on the right, and Wade Marger, class of ‘98 on…on the left…”

“Sounds like you’re quite the collector, Mason.”

“Please–please don’t tell anyone, I’m not hurting anyone, I’ve never touched any of them, they’re just…fuck, I…they’re so sexy, you know? I know they would never want me, but…but I like to pretend. I’m just so lonely, I’m–” Mason said, and choked back a sob. Daddy stepped into him, pulled him close, and let the old fellow cry into his chest for a moment, holding him tight. No one had held him like this, this firmly, since he was young, and the smell of the leather, it was…no–no, this wasn’t right either, he’d been tricked again, hadn’t he? Everything was so twisted up. He was tired, and horny, and lonely, and angry, and scared. He just wanted someone to tell him what to do, he just wanted all of this to be over.

Ethan released him from his embrace when he’d calmed down a bit, and Mason stared at his reflection, in resignation. “I was wrong. I want to help. I can help! Please, I…I’m sorry for what I said, before. I’ll do whatever you ask, just…just tell me what you want from me.”

“Well, I’m afraid that offer is no longer on the table,” Ethan said, “That was an offer I was willing to make to the coach–but you aren’t the coach, are you? You’re just a dirty minded janitor, a pig who lusts after hot, young athletes all day long. But I’ll make you a new offer, how about that?”

Mason gulped–what choice did he have? He nodded, and waited to see what Ethan and Jace had in store for him.


It’s finally time for another survey! Because I’m going to be working on commissions, I probably won’t be able to keep up with the usual pace of this story, but I’ll do my best–and of course, commission interludes will be posted as I finish them, if people want them. Patrons have their bonus survey as usual, with two extra questions! They can access that survey here, through Patreon.

Interactive: Three Word Difference (Part 10)

Time flowed forward again, and Skip’s wish came out a bit differently this time around:

“I wish you were working with me in maintenance. That way, I could use this mouth whenever I wanted!”

The genie smirked, snapped his fingers, and Jason was enveloped in a cloud of swirling mist. The young man stood up, interrupted in his sucking for the moment, as he coughed and gagged, trying to get the sickly smoke away from him. It dissipated after a few moments, leaving him feeling dizzy and discombobulated. He was looking at…at Skip there, leaning against the counter, but he didn’t know how he knew the older man’s name all of a sudden.

Like magic, an answer appeared in his mind. He knew Skip because they worked together, of course. They were both in the university’s maintenance department, and would regularly meet up on the job so Jason could suck Skip off. His mind repeated all of this at him like it was perfectly normal, and Jason had to fight it. He looked in the mirror, and with a dull horror, saw that his preppy clothes had disappeared–he was wearing the same work uniform as Skip was. The same work uniform they both wore everyday…because what else would be be wearing, anyway?

“No–no, this isn’t right, get me the fuck out of this shit!” Jason said, and started pulling at the front of his shirt, but the genie made it impossible for him to remove his uniform for the moment, enjoying watching the young man struggle with his impossible buttons. “I don’t know how the fuck you’re doing this shit to me, but I’m not some fucking handyman! I’m a fucking college student!”

Skip laughed. “Maybe you were, but not for long. I wish you were a high school dropout.”

The genie made a few quick edits:

“I wish you were my son, who’s a high school dropout.”

Jason shook his head, but he could already feel it, his memories of college disappearing from his head, along with a good amount of his intelligence. “No dad, don’t…I don’t wanna be dumb! I wanna go to college again!”

“Shut up you stupid fucker. I wish the only thing you cared about was pleasing my cock.”

Or rather, once the genie was finished with it:

“I wish the only thing you cared about was pleasing my thick, chessy, uncut cock.”

Jason shook his head, but with a snap of his fingers, the genie invaded the young man’s mind once more, his eyes turning the same shifting shades as the genie’s smoke, and he took a couple steps forward again. Fuck, why had he stopped sucking his dad’s cock anyway? It was always a treat when they finished a job up quick, because his dad would give him some time to suck him off before going back to the maintenance office. He got back down on his knees, licking his lips, and sucked his dad’s cock back into his mouth, enjoying how the thick shaft stretched his jaw. He cleaned under Skip’s thick foreskin and found some cheese he hadn’t eaten earlier and swallowed it down with a moan, shoving one had down the front of his work pants to start jack himself off as well.

“Yeah, that’s better, isn’t it son? No need to worry about anything complicated anymore, you just let your daddy handle all of that stuff from now on. After all, I’m the smartest one in the family now–the one who managed to graduate from high school at least! The only way you got this job is because I work here–you’re too stupid to handle it without me, you know that right?”

Jason nodded in agreement, and Skip noticed, up close, how much the young man resembled him now. It was a bit…uncanny actually, but in all honesty, it made the whole scene so much hotter. He was getting close to blowing a load down his son’s throat at this point, and it was clear that Jason was hungry for it. With a moan, Skip unloaded down Jason’s throat, his boy swallowing all of it eagerly, and licking his lips afterwards. “Fuck dad, I love your fuckin’ cock so much…”

“Yeah, you’re as much a perverted fuck as I am,” Skip said, and helped Jesse up, sizing up his boy a bit more, now that the excitement was ebbing away a bit. He was a good looking young man in a lot of ways, but he was a little too skinny for Skip’s taste. He liked guys with a bit more muscle on them, in all honesty. It was an easy fix, of course. “I wish you were big and muscular,” he said.

The genie smiled, and decided that Skip’s wish could use a little more imagination.


Here’s the next poll! You can find the patron only poll over here as well.

Interactive: Three Word Difference (Part 7)

“Fuck it, I wish I was the big man on campus,” Timothy said. Is that what he’d wanted to say? He couldn’t quite recall, exactly, what he’d meant to come out of his mouth, but that seemed…right, mostly.

“Ah yes, that can certainly be arranged, Master,” the genie said, snapped his fingers, and Timothy felt something happening to his body. It didn’t hurt, exactly, but it also didn’t feel comfortable. It was his feet, at first–they were growing in his shoes, and it was getting uncomfortable in there, and then it really did start to hurt. He tried to undo the laces in time, but in a few moments, his feet ripped out through the sneakers entirely, and Timothy found himself face to face with his new size twenty feet, the tops covered in hair, and he just, gaped at them.

The sensation was rising higher, his legs beginning to throb and expand. Again, Timothy tried his very best to get out of his clothes, but he was growing too fast. He tore his way out of his jeans, his thighs now not only thicker, but longer as well, as he grew taller, in addition to larger in general. 

“Hold…hold on, could you slow this down or something?” Timothy said, trying to get out of his shirt, but it was too tight already to come off, and in frustration, he tore in down the front as his chest expanded into two meaty pecs, the genie just holding his usual cocky smile. “I said I wanted to be the big man on campus, but I didn’t really mean it literally!” 

“Oh I know Master, don’t worry, the physical changes are only part of the wish,” the genie said, and that didn’t exactly fill Timothy with confidence either. Thankfully, the changes were beginning to slow down somewhat, Timothy tearing off the rags of the clothes he’d been wearing moments before as he looked down at his new body. He was massive, easily six and a half feet tall, weighing in at over 300 pounds. Much of it was muscle, but he was…thick in other areas too, especially his gut, which was filling in last, along with plenty of body hair all over his chest, arms, and crotch. He looked over his gut and his eyes went wide–he was certainly the big man where it counted now! He gave his new, eleven inch cock a few strokes, and it hardened almost immediately, filling out to almost a foot long, thicker than a beer can–whoever he was with was going to have a hard time taking this monster, that was for sure.

“Look, this…this is too much, I don’t want to be a freak!” He turned to look at the genie, only to be captivated by the genie’s shimmering eyes, as the rest of the wish took hold of him. After all, a body like this would be wasted on a RA position–this was the body of a jock! Timothy’s mind began to drain, his studious nature replaced with a more athletic focus, his diligence replaced with a smug masculinity as well. The genie snapped his fingers again, and they weren’t standing in Timothy’s RA dorm room anymore–they were standing in Tim’s room at the nearby fraternity instead. Tim blinked a couple of times, looked around his room and grinned. “Fuck genie, this is fuckin’ crazy man! I’m a fuckin’ jock!”

He turned towards the mirror and gave a flex, admiring his new look, and already in love with it. “Fuckin’ amazing…” he said, picked up his still burning cigar, and took a long drag off of it, still working his cock. “Man, I wish my bros were big men like me! We’d be fuckin’ unstoppable on the field, man.”

The genie was already hard at work, warping Tim’s idle wish that he hadn’t really thought too hard about making. Still, the genie thought that Tim was in good shape, but he needed to start having some fun, or the genie was going to get a bit bored.


Sorry for the delay on this next chunk! Here’s your poll for the next wish. Patrons can find their bonus poll over here.

Patreon Teaser: Gobble, Gobble

Posted a Thanksgiving themed story for Patrons today, based on a couple of suggestions! Here’s the first couple of parts as a bit of a teaser.


Grant turned into the driveway of his brother’s house, and heaved a short sigh, trying to keep the tension in his chest from growing even tighter. It was Thanksgiving, and that meant a three hour drive out of the city, back to his hometown where his brother and father still lived after all of these years. It wasn’t that Grant didn’t like seeing his family, really. He liked seeing his brother, Marshall, and his brother’s wife, Martha–she was always a good time. His two nephews,Marshall Jr. (everyone called him Junior, mostly) and Will loved him. He was the cool uncle after all, from the big city. They loved hearing about what was going on in his life there, though Grant had to edit out the…gayer parts for the sake of the rest of the family, even though both of them were in their twenties at this point. It was his dad, Hugh, that made Grant really nervous. While they had long since made a sort of peace around Grant’s sexuality, it was, well, difficult all the same, do deal with his dad’s judgemental attitude. Things were usually alright, but he could never be sure. At least his mom usually helped keep things civil–she had always loved Grant, and he was somewhat certain that the only reason his dad was at all soft with him was because of her.

He pulled into the driveway and got out of his car, and was surprised to find a truck parked there that he didn’t recognize. The nephew’s beaters were parked off around the garage, so it wasn’t theirs. His Marshall and Martha usually parked in the garage. His dad’s car was there too–so who was the extra guest? He went inside, and found his answer pretty quickly, when Jimmy introduced himself.

He was a new neighbor of the family, lived alone, had moved in a couple months before. He worked around town as a handyman, and it was hard not to like him, in all honesty. He had a firm handshake, a nice laugh, and was quite handsome–a bit older and more hairy than Grant’s type, but he could appreciate him all the same.

He got swept up in the conversation, and with his nephew’s pestering him to see his new car, that it took him half an hour to notice the rather glaring omissions. Martha wasn’t there, and neither was his mom. It was just the boys of the family, plus Jimmy. Grant asked his brother about it, and he just deflected with a strange non-answer, and no one else would say much about it either, not even his dad. It was all…rather strange.

It wasn’t too long after that realization, after the boys had gone back inside, and Grant had decided to slip off for a cigarette before dinner. His dad hated smoking, after losing his dad and brother to lung cancer, that Grant had always been very careful to never smoke around him. He was surprised when Jimmy made a sudden appearance beside him, with his own cigarette in hand.

“So how was the drive over?” Jimmy asked, making small talk. 

Grant told him a bit about the trip, and found the conversation moving around to family, and holidays.

“You live alone?” Grant asked.

“Yeah, just me! Moved here from the city this year, and I gotta say, I love it out here. Everything moves a bit slower, you know?”

Grant nodded. He’d always thought boring was a better word than slow.

“How about you? No one with you, I see. Guess that makes us the pair of bachelors, don’t it?”

Jimmy gave him a little nudge, and Grant wasn’t sure if that was code or not. “I guess so,” he hedged, not sure how much Jimmy knew about him. If he was from the city, he doubted that Jimmy would care he was gay, but…well, best to be on the safe side.

“You visit often?”

“Not really. My work keeps me busy.”

“Too bad. You have a really great family here, you know? You should be thankful.”

“Yeah, I know,” Grant said, thinking about all the arguments he’d had with his dad. Not as rough as it could have been, he supposed, but it was raw.

“Well, you know what they say,” Jimmy added, taking a last drag off his cigarette, “gobble, gobble, buddy.”

Grant just looked at him, confused, but Jimmy didn’t say anything else, and headed into the house. He took a long drag off his cigar, trying to figure out what in the world that could possibly mean, and then shrugged.

Jimmy took one last look at Grant as those magic words of his took hold, Grant’s slender physique rounding out slightly as he stood around the side of his house, the thick cigar clamped in his jaw, the short beard sprouting across his face. Grant reached around shoved his hand down the back of his jeans and scratched his ass without a second thought, and Jimmy smirked. This would be a great family soon enough–one that Jimmy would be more than happy to be a part of too.


Grant snuffed out his cigar after a few more minutes, and went inside. His dad was sitting in the living room watching TV from the couch–that was usually where he stayed for the whole holiday. He avoided him for the moment. He didn’t want his dad to smell the smoke on him and have a total shitfit about him smoking, like he did a couple years before. Instead, he grabbed a beer from the fridge, saw his brother, both his nephews, and Jimmy out in the backyard, discussing a game of football. Figuring that was better than nothing, he went outside onto the porch, and decided to watch.

In the end, Jimmy ended up with Junior on one team, with Marshall and Will on the other. Jimmy started with the ball, and wanted to be the quarterback, with Junior receiving. They designated the end zones, and then started the game–with Jimmy calling out, “Gobble, gobble, hike!”

The change hit all of them in earshot, not that any of them noticed much of anything. Grant, from the sidelines, was the only one to be struck with a little sense of confusion, as he watched the men of his family all change slightly. Junior seemed to grow a bit thicker, his frame growing more muscular as he ran off to receive the ball. Will chased after him, but had a hard time keeping up as his gut swelled a bit. Marshall grew a bit too, with more muscle and fat on his body, but also quite a bit of hair appearing down his forearms as he counted down the seconds out loud, until he could try and sack Jimmy.

The game continued, and each time Jimmy had the ball to throw it, he would call out “gobble, gobble,” again, and all of the men would shift a bit more. Marshall was soon sporting a buzzcut with a thick horseshoe mustache. Will was growing taller and even more muscular, his head shaved down, with a thick beard on his face. Will was shorter and rounder now, a thick goatee around his mouth and quite a bit of hair on his chest, under his dirty, grass stained overalls that he always wore. On the sidelines, Grant just watched, packing on more and more weight with each gobble, another cigar appearing in his hand that he started smoking without even really thinking about it, his own beard growing longer, one hand working it’s way down the front of his grungy jeans to massage his cock, spurting a bit of precum whenever there was a nice tackle out in the yard.

Grant lost it, however, when Marshall got a good sack in on Jimmy, pinning him down on the ground, thrusting against him, his well worn leather chaps and boots shoved against Jimmy’s ass…and Grant hurriedly forced himself upright, and went inside, passing his father, and went into the bathroom, where he sat down on the toilet, and jacked off, replaying that in his mind, removing Jimmy and Marshall’s clothes, thinking about his brother’s tattooed body pinning him down, working his big cock into his ass, growing, spitting, biting…

He lost his load all over his hand, the floor, and his jeans. After panting for a couple of minutes to catch his breath, he stood back up, hauled his jeans back up by the suspenders, without even really caring about the wet patch he’d managed to shoot all over the inside of them. He didn’t understand what had come over him, really. He’d always thought his brother was hot, of course, especially in his biker leathers that he was always wearing, but seeing him pin Jimmy down…fuck, that was a real nice show.

He got up off the toilet, and spent a couple of minutes looking at himself in the mirror, trying to piece together what seemed so…off about his reflection all of a sudden. Was it his hair? He’d been balding for years now, and had never done much to cover it up. It was long, with quite a bit of grey, a little stringy and greasy, but then he never had much time to wash it. His greying beard was much the same–down to his chest at this point, but he liked the look of it too much to consider cutting it. He’d been growing it for years now, hadn’t he? Was it his clothes? No, those were the same he always wore too. A t-shirt from some truck stop somewhere. It was old, but then most of his clothes were. He lifted up an arm and saw a hole in the armpit, his pit hair sticking out, and he gave it a scratch, then sniffed his fingers, the scent making his cock jump slightly. He had on a pair of ragged looking jeans, held up by some suspenders that had long since lost some of their elasticity, but they still kept his pants up well enough. Everything was…right, but then why did it feel like he was looking at a stranger in the mirror all of a sudden?

He shook his head, trying to clear it, but it was a bit thick somehow. It probably wasn’t worth worrying about, in any case, but for some reason, his hands wouldn’t stop shaking, and his heart was pounding. The only thing he could think to do, was to go out, get a beer, chug it, and get another one. Best to just focus on enjoying the holiday, and time with the family. Everything would sort itself out in the end.

Interactive: Three Word Difference (Part 4)

“I wish I’d grow older and start gaining.”

Adam froze as the words left his mouth, and Rich just stared at him. “What the fuck does that have to do with anything?” Rich said, as Adam looked around, and saw the genie smiling at him with those glimmering eyes, but before he could do anything he felt that same power overwhelm him–and Rich. 

“I…I don’t think I wanted to say…” Adam muttered, but Rich just shushed him.

“Put that down honey,” Rich said, and took the gym bag off Adam’s shoulder, “I think we both know that isn’t going to be good for your goals, right? Besides, you need your after work six pack first. Gotta keep that beer gut of yours growing.”

Adam wanted to scream at the genie, demand to know what he’d done, but he just allowed Rich to pull him into the living room and sit him down on the couch. As he did, he found himself settling into a comfortable indentation on the old sofa…because it was his spot, wasn’t it? He rubbed his gut, and felt it growing a bit larger, and was there more grey hair on it than there was before? Rich returned with a six pack of cheap beer, and a knife–flipped one can upside down, punctured a hole there, pushed it to Adam’s mouth, and had him shotgun it–and then a second one right after that, and he could feel the beer going right to his gut, and to his head, which was getting a bit…fuzzy.

“There we go daddy, that oughta get you started,” Rich said, and put the other four on the table next to him. “Now let me get you some snacks, I bet you’re hungry.”

He was hungry. Starving, in fact, but he needed to resist this. He felt…weaker all of a sudden, but that wasn’t really a surprise, was it? He hadn’t been going to the gym regularly for years–not since he was in his forties. Ever since he’d moved in with Rich, he’d been going less and less, and packing on the pounds, and he’d…liked it. They’d both liked it. Liked it enough for Adam to stop going entirely, and focus on gaining instead. He let off a belch and rubbed his big gut, feeling it swell larger still, losing a bit of the firmness it had had in his middle age, and start to sag around him instead, thighs growing thicker, arms losing their bulk and turning into fatty hams instead. He had to fight this, he had to, if he didn’t, he…he wouldn’t remember that he wasn’t supposed to look like this.

Rich came back into the room, and Adam said, “Please, I wanna go to the gym Rich.”

“Why would you wanna go to the gym, Daddy? Don’t be silly.”

“Please…I…” it was risky, but he had to try, “I wish you’d let me go to the gym.” 

Or that’s what he tried to say.

“I wish you’d always been going to the gym,” is what the genie allowed out of his mouth instead, and Adam watched as Rich’s physique shifted in a matter of moments, losing most of his fat entirely, as he packed on all of the muscle that Adam had lost in a matter of moments, and then even more than that. He was no cleaner than he’d been before this of course–he was still a slob after all–but instead of smelling of beer and lazy BO, he stank of gym musk. When he leaned in to kiss Adam, and he smelled him…Adam moaned. Fuck, he loved how Rich smelled after the gym so much, reminded him of…of all those years ago now, when he’d been a gym rat, but why the fuck would he want that now, right? He knocked back another beer while Rich sat his muscular ass down next to him on the couch and started kneading Adam’s fat gut as he passed 350 pounds and headed for 400, his age creeping up past 55 and getting closer to 60. Most of his hair was white now, his beard thick and long, crusted with food and drool, his face lined with creases and wrinkles. 

For the rest of the evening, he pounded back beers and snacks at Rich’s urging, and by the time it got to be time for bed, he’d polished off ten beers, and more food than he’d eaten in ages. Rich helped him up off the couch, and the sixty-one year old, 450 pound Adam waddled his way to bed, belching and farting the whole way, where he laid down on the dirty sheets. He tried to reach for his cock, but as horny as he was, he couldn’t get a good grip, and without thinking, he said, “I wish my dick was big enough to fuck you.”

Only what came out instead was: “I wish my gunt was deep enough to fuck.”

“Fuck Daddy, your cockhole is wet tonight,” Rich said, as he reached down and slid two fingers under Adam’s belly. Sure enough, Adam’s little cock had been pumping precum out all evening, not that you could find it at the bottom of his six inch deep gunt. Rich pushed in deep and ran his finger around the head of Adam’s tiny cock, making the old man shudder in excitement.

“Fuck boy, give Daddy’s hole a good fuck, would ya?” he muttered, and Rich was happy to oblige, and the friction of Rich’s cock against his own buried deep in his fat was enough to bring them both to orgasm. Then they fell asleep, Rich’s arms and musk wrapped around Adam’s fat body.

In the morning, however, came clarity.

Rich was already up and making breakfast, and Adam was staring at himself in the filthy bathroom mirror, horrified at what had happened to him. He could…remember, vaguely, that this wasn’t…right. That he hadn’t wanted this. “Genie…Genie!” he muttered, and the genie appeared beside him. Adam glared at him. “You’re fucking with me, aren’t you?”

The genie just smiled and shrugged, “I am allowed, as necessary, to modify my master’s wishes slightly so that the world can better accommodate them.”

“You fucking piece of shit! I fucking knew it. I wish I was thin and muscular again!” Adam shouted at him.

Or tried to. What he shouted instead was: “I wish I could never be thin and muscular again!”

“Easily done!” the genie said, “From now on, you’ll never lose another pound of fat, and getting bigger will be easier than ever for you–especially with that new hunger of yours, Daddy…”

Adam nearly doubled over from the pain of it, his gut growling in desperation. “You fuck…that’s not…what I wanted…”

“Alas, what you want is only a starting point for me, Master,” the genie said. “Perhaps you’d like to try again?”

“I wish I’d never met you,” Adam groaned out.

Or rather: “I wish I’d forget I’d ever met you.”

And Adam forgot everything. Everything other than the fact that he was an obese, sixty year old pig desperate for breakfast. Thankfully, his muscular boy had breakfast ready for him by the time he waddled out to the kitchen, and he scarfed it down, dribbling precum from his gunt, his boy teasing him, feeding him, wanting to make sure his old Daddy got as big as possible, as quickly as possible.

The genie watched for a while, but eventually decided to retreat. That had been a fun one, but there were other men who needed his services. He found his way back to the dorms where he had met Adam to begin with, and peeked in a few of the rooms on the floor, where he found a few young men in need of his services. But who became the genie’s master next?


Let’s choose someone new! It seems like you all are enjoying these, so I’ll do a couple more characters before moving onto something different. The patron only bonus poll is over here!

Interactive: Three Word Difference (Part 3)

Mutabear ended up pointing out the original story this idea is taken from, called “Plus Three” by Derek Williams.


“I wish I was fucking Rich, my slobby neighbor.”

It happened again. That wasn’t the wish he’d meant to make, but it had just fallen right out of his mouth anyway. 

“I think we can arrange that,” the genie said, and again, the genie’s eyes began to pulse with an incredible intensity, as Adam found himself drawn to the door of his apartment. 

“I…I don’t actually want…I mean…I don’t know why I said that, I don’t even know if I have a neighbor named…named Rich…” Adam said, but even as he said it, there were memories falling into place. His next door neighbor was a man named Rich, and he was most definitely a slob. He was massively fat, and the few times Rich had spoken to him the guy was a mess–usually drunk and reeking of beer and cigarettes, wearing nothing more than his filthy underwear, with a thick tangled beard and long ratty hair. Rich had always disgusted him, hadn’t he? But then why was he getting so hard all of a sudden thinking about him?

Confused, flustered, and horny, he went out into the hallway and knocked on Rich’s door. After a few moments, the fat slob opened his door, and before either of them could say anything, he saw a flicked of color cross Rich’s eyes–the same color as the genie’s mist. “Hey fucker–get your sexy ass in here. Was wondering what was taking you so long.”

He grabbed Adam by the front of his undershirt and pulled him into his apartment. The smell of the place was strong, but also somehow…intoxicating. “Sorry, I got off late from work,” Adam said, and he started kissing Rich on the fat neck, making him shudder.

“You fuckin’ work too much man,” Rich moaned, running his hands over Adam’s hard muscle.

“Shut up, get in the fuckin’ bedroom.”

He’d never been this far into Rich’s apartment before, had he? But they why was this all so familiar? The piles of dirty laundry, the sheets stained dark with sweat and cum. Rich tossed him the lube and got up on the bed, while Adam stripped down himself, and lubed up his rock hard cock. No one else got him hard like this, something about the fat pig’s nasty stench, his hair, the grease on his skin just got Adam’s cock going like nothing else, even if he was a bit humiliated to be fucking someone like this. Whatever–why the fuck did it matter? He got up and shoved his cock into Rich’s hole and started fucking him rough, Rich moaning and begging him for more and more, but Adam didn’t last that long–after a few minutes, he came, hauled his cock out, and felt the control the genie had on him wane a bit. 

“Fuck man, I needed that,” Rich said, and rolled over, groping for his own cock, “Give a guy a hand, would ya?”

It turned his stomach a bit, but Adam licked at Rich’s balls while he stroked, and he came too after a couple of minutes, both of them sweaty, and Rich let off a belch. “I gotta get going, man, thanks for the fuck,” Adam said, eager to be past this as quickly as possible now that he wasn’t compelled to be here.

“I got some beer if you want, could watch the wrestling tonight, you like wrestling?”

“I fuckin’ exhausted is all, I’m gonna go eat.”

Rich looked disappointed. “Fuck man, I wish you would hang out with me, and not just fuck me and go, you know?”

It happened faster than either of them could even realize–after all, the genie had never said he was limited to granting just Adam’s wishes. What came out instead was:

“Fuck man, I wish you had moved in with me, and not just fuck me and go, you know?”

The mist swirled up around them, and Adam only had a moment to realize a wish had been granted before things were back to a new normal between them–living in a two bedroom now, together, like they always had…right? 

“I…I need to…” Adam said, certain he’d been planning to go somewhere a moment before, but he couldn’t remember where. “I gotta go to the gym,” he said, finally, but that still didn’t seem quite right.

“Come on, stay home, watch the wrestling with me!” Rich said, “You work out too much, it can’t be healthy.”

“I like working out though.”

“You like work too much! Everything you do is work, you don’t know how to enjoy yourself,” Rich said, as Adam dug his gym bag out from their combined piles of dirty laundry. He didn’t want to have this fight again–they always had this stupid fight. Rich hated work, and could barely hold down a job. That meant Adam had to hold down all the income for them both. His job was good, but it was stressful, and all Rich wanted him to do was work less!

“I wish you’d grow up and start working!” Adam said, thinking that would end it, but he’d forgotten about the genie again, and once more, his wish was twisted around into something else entirely.


Here’s your next poll! You can pick two of the options below. Patrons have their bonus poll over here as well.


Interactive: Three Word Difference (Part 2)

“I wish I was a middle aged ex-jock,” Adam said with confidence, only realizing, after it was out of his mouth, that those weren’t quite the words he’d been planning on saying. “Wait, I…that’s not what I…I swear I didn’t mean–”

But before he could try and correct himself, he felt a strange force wash over him, as the genie’s eyes grew rather intense, flashing through so many colors and shades he couldn’t barely understand what he was seeing, the mist picking up that same brilliance all around him, as the wish began to take form.

Adam began to grow. He was a rather small fellow to begin with, around five foot nine inches, and around 140 pounds soaking wet. He felt a heat radiating out from his chest and abdomen, shocks and waves of heat shooting down his arms and legs, and he had to cling to one of the bookshelves in the dorm room to try and keep balance. He picked up around six inches, growing to six foot three–even taller than Eli, his roommate was, and his muscles were growing as well, his legs growing massive cords of muscle from calf to thigh, pecs inflating across his chest, his arms and shoulders bulging out as well…but while the muscle was appreciated, some of the other physical changes were less so.

The gut was one thing. Adam had never had much fat on him, but even as muscle packed on everywhere else, his abdomen inflated into a rock hard muscle gut, large enough that when he tried to stand up straight, he found it difficult to balance with leaning back somewhat. As the growth slowed down, he felt something between a shudder, shiver, and goosebumps spread across his arms, legs, chest and back, and hair began to grow…everywhere. Brown at first, the same color as his hair, but then there was some grey sprinkled through the hairs, and then, there was almost an even amount all over his body in a thick coating. He found his way to the mirror in the room, and saw that his face was no longer the youthful one he recalled. His hair was cut short, but obviously receding past the crown of his head, a short, greying beard spreading around his face as well. He looked to be in his forties at least, and he rubbed his face, rubbed the rest of his body, certain this had to be a hallucination.

“Look, I…I didn’t fucking want this, this wasn’t the wish I thought I was saying!” Adam said, as he turned to the genie, speaking in a much deeper voice now, with a certain, gravelly tone to it.

“Do not be ashamed Master, I know that many…gay men–that is what they call you now, isn’t it? Enjoy the idea of being…a daddy? A bear? I’m not sure what to call them, really. You are rather handsome, are you not?”

Adam turned back to the mirror, and the genie wasn’t wrong, of course, but still, he…what had he wanted to say? Everytime he tried to think about it, that same string of words was all that would come to him, but he knew…knew what, exactly? Had the genie tricked him somehow? But they why couldn’t he recall how it must have happened? Maybe he…he was mistaken.

“It is a shame about that shoulder though, isn’t it?” the genie said, eyes flashing and shifting in a more subtle manner now. 

Adam saw a number of scars appear on his right shoulder, where he’d had it rebuilt in his senior year of college, effectively ending his budding football career in the process. Wait–that hadn’t happened, had it? “Don’t…don’t fuck with my memories, I don’t want to forget who I was!”

“How could you forget! You were a star, weren’t you? But all good things must end, as they say, and that was years ago now. Your life has not been bad, has it?”

He was twisting things. The mist was rising up around him, obscuring everything, choking him even, making his head spin. He tried to cling to who he’d been, but that small, tiny man seemed so far away now. He’d been…fuck, he’d been scouted by so many national teams, and overnight, it had all evaporated, and now…now he was here. The mist fell away, and Adam was no longer in a dorm room, but in his small, one bedroom apartment–looking at himself in the dirty bathroom mirror he hadn’t cleaned in, well, years probably. It was his bachelor pad. The genie was right, of course, it wasn’t a bad life. He made decent money working in construction, after his shoulder had healed up. He worked out a lot of course–he couldn’t imagine a life without going to the gym five days a week. Boys were always interested in hooking up with him, now that he was a proper daddy, and a few even loved calling him coach, which was always a fun scene.

The genie’s eyes returned to their normal, now that Adam’s new identity was well in place. He would not remember being that man he’d been before–unless the genie deemed it, of course. He would recall making a wish, but not the details of it–and it would seem…unimportant. Adam left the bathroom and went into the messy living room, smelling himself on the air, and he was…a bit disappointed. The place was a mess, really, and while he knew he could fix that with the genie–hell, he could go back and make his injury never happen! He…didn’t really want to be that pro athlete now. But there was one thing about that life he resented that he’d never gotten–the money.

“Alright genie, here’s my wish. I wish I was fucking rich!”

Or at least, that’s what he tried to say. The genie chuckled to himself, tinkered with time, with Adam’s words, and what came out instead was…


Here’s the next poll! As usual, you can pick up to two options below. Here’s the bonus poll for patrons as well.

Sneak Peek: Properly Vetted

Patrons at the $5 level or higher already have access to this one! It’s sizable, and got a little bit for everyone! I’ll release the whole story next week, but for now, here’s a sneak peek.


“Sir…it’s about…my boss. About Richard Evans. I know we’ve never spoken before, and I want to thank you for seeing me, and hearing me out. I know you’re promoting him to vice president, but…but I think there’s some things you need to know about him, first.”

Kyle squirmed a bit in his seat, wondering if the older man across from him was going to say anything at all. The man in question was Gary Olson–the rather enigmatic CEO who had recently acquired the company where Kyle worked as a software engineer. Why Mr. Olson had acquired them, his plans for the company–everything was in the dark, aside from a cryptic letter the entire staff had received a few weeks before, announcing the shift in leadership. Kyle hadn’t even set eyes on him until this moment, and he wasn’t quite the sort of man he was expecting. He was…short, and a bit squat. Fat, with a heavy second chin obscuring the knot of his tie. Balding. Not very…commanding, and yet his eyes…were chilling somehow. Stone grey, and he didn’t quite seem to blink as often as a normal person. He hadn’t stopped staring at Kyle the entire time he’d been here, and he was already beginning to wonder if this was a good idea or not…but he had to say something, didn’t he? After the things Richard had…been doing to him, lately? 

He supposed he had waited long enough–Mr. Olson was still silent, and so Kyle figured he might as well just say it. “He’s been harassing me, sir. Sexually. Since about the time his promotion was announced in my department. I…He was never like that before, but…I didn’t even know he was gay, but it’s like…the power went to his head. One day he was fine, and then the next…”

Mr. Olson reacted, at last, and leaned forward, elbows on his desk, still gazing at Kyle with those stony eyes. “I see–that is a serious accusation to make against a member of our staff.”

“I know sir,” Kyle said, “But it’s the truth.”

“What has he done, Mr. Porter? Please be specific–spare me no detail. I want to hear it in your own words, if you would please,” Mr. Olson smiled then…but it did not seem particularly kind, or like it was meant to help put him at ease. It just made Kyle even more nervous. 

“Uh…well, the first…” He gulped, looked to the door for a moment, and then back at the CEO staring him down. “It was the day after I heard about it. He came by my cubicle, and I congratulated him, and…and he leaned over me, and whispered some…awful stuff in my ear, and while he did, he reached down into my lap and groped my…crotch.”

“What did he say?” Mr. Olson asked.

“I…It was…sexual and…I don’t know if–”

“I need details, Mr. Porter. Please be specific.”

“He told me…he told me that he was going to have a personal little piggy once he became VP, and that he’d decided that the piggy was going to be…me. That I was going to be his little fuckpig, his dirty little pig whore, that he was going to fuck me over the side of his desk, and…and I was going to beg and snort for it like a good little beast…” 

Kyle gave a grunt, and realized, to his horror, that one of his hands had found its way into his pants, and was currently milking his cock, right there in front of the CEO, while he recounted how his boss had talked dirty to him. His face turned bright red, and he pulled his hand free–Mr. Olson just smiled a little wider as he did.

“Did you like it, when he called you a pig?”

“Excuse me, sir?”

“Did you like it, Mr. Porter, when Mr. Evan’s called you a pig? It looked like, for a second there, that you were almost enjoying yourself.”

“I…I’m sorry sir, maybe…maybe this was a mistake, I…I think I should go–”

“I’m afraid that I would much rather hear more about how Mr. Evan’s has been treating you, Mr. Porter, but first–please stand up from that chair.”

Kyle slowly stood up, not sure what was going on.

“Take off your clothes, please.”

“I don’t…excuse me, sir?” Kyle said, but he noticed something odd–that while he didn’t want his hands to do it…they were already unbuttoning his shirt down the front. He tried to make them stop, or even just slow down, but they were operating without him directing them, somehow. “I don’t…why can’t I–”

“Stop talking–and just strip.”

Kyle’s mouth glued itself shut, and his hands kept undoing his clothes in front of the CEO, Kyle trying to get a grip on himself and what he was doing, but more and more, it all just felt like some fucked up dream he had somehow wandered into. He tried pinching himself, but it had no effect–he dropped his shirt on the floor, took off his shoes, dropped his pants and underwear, and then he was naked, shaking slightly, horrified at what he was doing and unable to understand why he was doing it at all. He went to sit back down in the chair, but Mr. Olson shook his head. “No, stay standing, and tell me what else Mr. Evan’s has been doing to you, that made you so uncomfortable.”

“Well, he…he whispered all those things to me, and I told him to stop, that it wasn’t appropriate, and he…he showed me his cock, sir.”

“Just showed it to you?”

“He…made me suck him off.”

“He made you suck him off–just like that? How did he make you do it? Did you yell for help?”

“No…No sir.”

“Did you try and get away?”

“At first sir, but…”

“But what?”

But he’d liked it. He could feel Richard’s hand around his throat, squeezing until he saw stars, his mouth popping open, and he swallowed his boss’s cock, and…and he’d liked it. The taste of it, the feel of it. He’d felt…ashamed that he’d liked it, but it didn’t change the facts, did it? 

“Why is your cock getting hard, Mr. Porter? Are you thinking about how much you liked his cock? Did you really come in here today to complain, Mr. Porter, or is there something else you’d like to tell me? Something you’d like to ask?”

“That’s…that’s not all he’s done sir, it got worse. It got…worse today, especially, please…I don’t know what’s wrong with me, why I’m doing this…I don’t want to do this anymore. I don’t want to be his…his pig sir, please…”

Mr. Olson leaned back in his chair, one hand in his crotch, massaging his own cock, while he stared at Kyle on the other side, completely naked, chubby, his three inch cock at perfect attention. Still…there was something there that was appealing to Gary–Kyle would make a good pig for the rest of the office, just as Mr. Evans had suggested, but maybe…well, he’d have to press him a little more, see what he thought of him himself. “What happened today then? Spare me no details, Mr. Porter.”

Kyle gulped, unable to believe he was going to say this. He didn’t even really have words for it himself, he was still so…horrified, at what what Richard had done, at what…at what he’d allowed him to do to him. “I…I was in the bathroom. I had to piss,” he said, and swallowed. “I had to piss, and I think…he saw he go in, because I was at the urinal when he came in behind me, and he told me that, as the boss, he needed to piss first. I didn’t know what to do, so I moved out of the way of the urinal, but he…he shoved me down, onto my knees, got his cock out, and pushed the head into my mouth, and he…he pissed down my throat, sir. He fed me his piss, right there in the bathroom. I…I felt so fucking dirty sir, like a dirty fucking pig, but I was so afraid someone would see me, would…would, I don’t know…I didn’t want to do it, but I couldn’t stop myself, like…I have to do what he says. He’s doing something to me. He’s in my head! I wasn’t…this fat, before, and my cock was bigger, and…and I feel like I’m going crazy sir, you have to believe me! This isn’t normal. He told me…told me I was going to be his personal urinal from now on, and he’d…I’d have to eat out his ass too, after he shits, and…and then he fucked me. He fucked me right there, at the urinal, plowed me so hard, and my little pig cock fucking exploded all over the dirty urinal, and he made me lick it up while he laughed.”

Mr. Olson just sat there, in the silence after that, groping himself, and smiling at Kyle across from him. “And you just let him do all of that to you? He did all that, and you still came like a little dirty pig?”

Kyle gulped, and nodded in shame.

“Mr. Olson stood up from his chair, and came around to where Kyle was standing. “You still thirsty pig?” he asked, “You wanna drink my piss too? Eat out my ass? Beg me to fuck that fat, piggy hole of yours for a while? Is that why you came in here, telling me all of this? You want me to get all horny for that fat ass of yours, is that it?”

“No–No sir, please don’t…I don’t want this!”

Mr. Olson stepped closer to him, eye to eye, and stared right into Kyle. His eyes…fuck, they were so intense, that Kyle didn’t want to keep his gaze, but he couldn’t look away, and after a moment, Mr. Olson stepped back. “Well, maybe you’re right. You’re a willful one, I’ll give you that. I don’t know if Evans properly vetted you for the position. Maybe we should have him come in, and we can see about this together…”


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The House Made Me Gay (Part 9)

Marcus sobbed, in the circle, looking down at his fat body, covered in hair, stinking, unable to believe what had just happened to him. Mr. Woodrow, confident that the changes were finished, and that Marcus most likely posed no threat to him, broke the circle, stepped forward, wiped a bit of cum up on his finger and gave in a taste. Musky, yes, but most certainly entirely human. A pity really–a little bit of demon can go a long way, in his interests. Still, unless he wanted to call the demon back–a very risky endeavor, Marcus was just this now–a fat, hairy, stinking pig of a man. Not a terrible outcome, by any measure.

“Oh god, what the fuck happened to me? How…Can you change me back? Please tell me you can change me back!” Marcus said, sobbing up at Mr. Woodrow.

“You go messing around in one of my workshops, boy, and this is getting off lightly, as far as I’m concerned,” Mr. Woodrow said, with a grin, “Besides, why should I change you back? Maybe I like the way you look now. Maybe it’s an improvement.”

Marcus froze, and looked at him. “Please, I just want to be normal again, that’s all.”

“Normal, eh? I think we can manage that at least,” Mr. Woodrow said, and before Marcus could ask what he meant by that exactly, a little beam of light shot out of his finger, pierced Marcus’ head, and he went a bit limp, eyes glazed over, in a hypnotic stupor.

“Come on then, let’s get you home.”

Marcus followed Mr. Woodrow out of the workshop, unlooking and unaware of everything going on around him, as they made their way into the house, upstairs to his room, where he was still in the process of unpacking, and Mr. Woodrow shut the door behind them. “Now, you’re going to forget all about the last two hours, Marcus,” he said, plucking the key from his head, “You no longer see the shed, and from now on, everything is going to seem normal–but here’s what normal is, from now on…”

And so, Mr. Woodrow filled Marcus in on his new normal. He’d been living with Mr. Woodrow for most of the summer now, in his memory, and he loved it here, naturally. He was no longer going to college–he was too stupid for school, and he’d dropped out, opting to get a job as a trucker and delivery driver instead–something that allowed him to pursue his more…piggy interests–and what piggy interests he had.

With a wave of his hand, most of Marcus’s things disappeared from his room, and were replaced by, well, a mess. The floor was littered with filthy clothing, most of it Marcus’s, but much of the gear was from other trucker buddies–as well as Taylor and Quinn. There was also an older computer in the room, and an old TV, a stack of old VHS tapes next to it. After all, so much porn these days seems sanitized to Marcus…but he’s an old hand at this sort of thing now.

The hair on his body is turning grey now, wrinkles lining his face. Before long, Marcus is no longer college aged at all, but in his mid-fifties, with decades of knowledge and experience packed in his piggy mind, crowding out all of his other concerns. Satisfied that Marcus would me more than satisfied with his new normal, Mr. Woodrow snapped his finger, the daze lifting from Marcus’s eyes with a little spark, and then, without warning, Mr. Woodrow shoved him over the side of the filthy bed and gave him a rough fuck.

Marcus didn’t mind–after all, Mr. Woodrow gave him a discount on the rent, on the condition he could use his piggy hole anytime he wanted. Marcus usually…topped, in his mind, but for the right fellow, he was more than happy to roll over. Mr. Woodrow filled him up, told his piggy to be good, and Marcus leered at him over his shoulder. After Mr. Woodrow left, Marcus was feeling frisky–it wasn’t long before he sniffed his way downstairs, to where Taylor was working out. When he saw the fat, hairy, stinking fellow come down the stairs, Taylor knew what to expect of course–Quinn had an arrangement with their other housemate, that he could use his boy’s hole whenever he wasn’t home, and Taylor wasn’t going to object one bit…he liked how rough Marcus was.

He pinned Taylor on the floor, drove his massive cock into him with a few thrusts, and rutted with him for half an hour, until he pumped one of his massive loads up Taylor’s well used hole, then slid down and ate the young man out as well, flipping him over and sucking him off. Just another happy member of the house–and another was due to arrive the next day, as well.

That fellow was Ethan. Like Marcus, he had a hard time believing that he had someone agreed to lease a place with these three disgusting, horny, perverse fellows, but Mr. Woodrow seemed so kind, that maybe…maybe he’d been mistaken, and he found his way to his room, and started unpacking. But what was waiting for him in his room, when he got there?


Alright, I think this will be the last fellow to join the house. After this, I’ll move onto a Halloween something for October! I have a few ideas, so we’ll see what happens. As always, my patrons have a bonus poll over here!