Tag: reality shift

Spitty Lives His Life (Part 8)

WARNING: SCAT, INCONTINENCE

Chuck is telling me it’s time for me to finish my tin. I’m…relieved, to be honest–though there’s still plenty of terror. Still, I’m exhausted. I haven’t moved from the bed here in years–or at least, I remember the years, but I also know it’s only been a couple of months since Chuck found me again, and put me back under his control–showed me what I really needed from him, from everyone, as ashamed as I was to admit it. Showed me that I’m more than just a spittoon–I’m a full blown human toilet, and…and fuck, I couldn’t be fucking happier. I wish Jack was here–Chuck told him he couldn’t be here for the last chunk out of the tin, that it was too dangerous. He won’t tell me what the last step is, but I can guess.

I’m old now. I’ve gotten older every time he’s fed me a bit more from that tin. How old am I going to be when I finish it? Eighty? Ninety? I won’t live long in any case, not in the sort of state I’m in. He’s coming around now, and looking at me–appraising me, almost. I’d expect him to be saying goodbye, but he doesn’t. The moment doesn’t seem to carry much weight with him at all, actually. Does he hate me that much? I can understand that–I hate myself too. I’m excited to be dead, finally. He cleans the leaf I’ve been working on out of my mouth, takes the final wad–making sure to get every last bit of tobacco from the tin–and he packs it into my mouth for me, and fuck, the taste of it–it gets more intense every time. I tell myself I should spit it out, that I need to fight it, that I can’t let it all end like this, but what’s the use, really? I should have known I’d never escape Chuck. I was his as soon as that truck of mine had broken down on the road, after all the special spit he’d been adding to my gas tank finally pushed the engine over the edge. So instead, I relax–one last load of shit falls out of my ass, and I…fuck, I’m sad I’m not going to get to taste it. Chuck is there, but he’s not…coaching me like he usually does, guiding me. He knows I’m already there–I’m at the end. There’s nowhere else for me to go, not anymore. Everything is fading away now, but different than before. Where before, it felt like the world was…tightening, I don’t think anything can get more twisted. Instead, everything seems to be loosening up and unwinding, pulling away from me instead of dragging me deeper. I’m not…me anymore. Everything is just dissolving away, until–

“Goddamn it Sammy, git the fuck up already! Chuck’s outside ready tah take ya tah work.”

I jolt awake in my bed, the vision still fresh in my head for a moment, me pinned to that mattress by the weight of my own body, covered in shit–but it’s fading away, thank fucking god. I look around and see my familiar room around me. I live with my dad in a trailer outside of town. We’re poor as shit, and he’s finally making me drop out of school so I can get a proper job and bring in some cash. Still, I don’t wanna fuckin’ work! All I wanna do is lay around, stuff my face and jack off, but he’s told me that if I don’t do what he says, he’s gonna kick me out, so I guess I don’t have much of a choice.

The heady scent of piss is hanging in the air, and my sheets are wet, so that means I pissed myself last night too. Fuck–seventeen years old, and still wetting the bed like a fucking kid. It wouldn’t be so bad if I didn’t fucking like it so much–think I’ll work out a quick load real quick, and then throw on some clothes or whatever. I’m getting close when my dad opens my bedroom door and finds me jacking off there, but I don’t stop–my dad…he’s fuckin’ sexy as hell, with all those biker tatts, and I know he wants to fuck me, but he’s too fucking chicken. His face goes red and he slams the door shut again and waits for me to finish, and thinking about my burly pa balls deep in my loose hole–fuck, I explode all over myself. I enjoy it for a few moments, rubbing the cum all over my hairy gut, and then finally roll out of bed and start picking some clothes out of the piles littering the floor, and decide to just pull on a wife beater and some muddy overalls–fuck it, right? Dad said Chuck worked in construction, so I’m just going to get dirty anyway. Dad gave me some of his old work boots, so I haul those on with some socks, and I’m ready. Hungry though, like always–maybe Chuck can stop for some fast food on the way or something.

Dad can’t even look at me, but whatever–he’s just gonna jack off as soon as I’m out of the house. I’ve watched him before, through the window, when he’d thought I’d already left. Outside, there’s a rusted out truck…and I fucking swear I’ve seen it before, somewhere. That dream is nagging me again, but I can’t really remember much at this point. The guy’s been honking the horn a few times now, so I head out of the trailer and climb into the truck next to him. I don’t…think I’ve ever met Chuck before this, but he seems familiar, just like his truck–and the guy is sexy as all hell, and the way he’s looking at me…he just might have the balls my fucking dad doesn’t.

“Took ya long enough, boy,” Chuck says to me–the way he says the word “boy” making my cock immediately stiff. Some black, tarry spit is rolling down his bottom lip and into his beard, and somehow, I…I know just how it would taste, if I leaned over there and licked it off him. I’m feeling kind of freaked out, actually, but I do my best not to show it. “Let’s git goin’,” he says, and puts the truck in gear.

“Could…we stop and get some food on the way?” I ask, “I didn’t eat yet.”

Chuck grumbles a bit. “Fine, can’t have ya workin’ on an empty gut I suppose. Ya got cash?”

I shake my head.

He leers at me, and adjusts his crotch. “No worries boy–from what your Pa’s told me, you might not mind payin’ me back some other way, right?”

Half an hour later, we pull up to the worksite, my gut full of a bunch of fast food and a big load of Chuck’s cum…and I swear, I feel like I’ve stepped right into some strange trap I didn’t even know was there. Like before this morning, I had…so many possibilities, so many ways life could go, but now, I’ve been put on rails, slowly rolling towards some foregone conclusion. I don’t know where I’m going…but I keep…seeing that dream, feeling myself back there on that bed, some filthy, disgusting old fat man–but that’s not me. I ain’t never gonna let myself be that. I mean, I may be a cock obsessed, chubby roughneck, but I gotta have some dignity, right? The foreman, Gary (I swear I smell shit on that fuck’s breath) has Chuck train me, and all day long, I keep seeing him…looking at me. Looking through me, even, like he can see something I don’t. But I have my whole life ahead of me still, and he’s some middle aged slob–a hot one, sure, but I can still make something of myself. My name’s Sammy, and I got a whole life tah live ahead of me, and I can’t wait.

Spitty Lives His Life (Part 3)

Chuck’s house was a mess, but I hadn’t really expected it to be anything else, to be honest. If anything, it was a bit…cleaner than I would have thought. He pulled me into the den and sat me down on the couch, shoving over some blankets to make room for me, and told me to pull my dick out and make myself comfortable. I did as I was told, tugging on it a bit just to calm my nerves as had become normal for me lately, and he banged around in another room for a moment before returning with a tin of chewing tobacco in his hand.

Now I hadn’t up to this point, actually chewed any tobacco myself–it had been purely second hand spit. If anything, Chuck had been adamant that I not chew, going so far as to bark orders across the worksite, when one guy had offered me some leaf, telling him that I wasn’t allowed, not yet. However, this tin wasn’t sealed, and he laid a piece of masking tape across the label on the top, and wrote “Spitty” across it with a sharpie, showing me it after. “This is your tin, Spitty. Everybody gets one tin of my special shit, you see. Still, no one ever gets more than one tin–and I don’t usually finish people off often anyway. You probably ain’t gonna get much more than this–but you to learn a lesson, and I’m gonna teach it to ya the hard way.”

He took off the lid, and I could…smell the shit from where I was sitting on the couch. It was as strong as some of the higher quality weed I’d smoked in college, but…smelled different altogether. It smelled like Chuck’s breath, actually–is this what he’d been chewing and feeding me all this time? It wasn’t of course–not even Chuck could handle that much of his special stuff, but I wasn’t too far off the mark, even then. He started picking out some of the leaf, probably a sixth of the tin, told me to open up and then shoved it down between my teeth and gums, and told me to hold it there like a good boy.

My gums started tingling and went numb after a second, and then not too long after that, I felt a fuzziness envelop my head, and I slumped back into the couch, drooling a bit helplessly, staring off into space. Chuck entered my frame of vision, fucking around with the TV, and a moment later porn started playing on the screen–then he came back over and sat down on the couch next to me, and started talking into my ear–quietly, but nice and slow making sure I heard every word he was telling me.

He was telling me about my life–well, not the life I’d had, but about…a different life. About Spitty’s life. Spitty never went out for sports. Spitty never even went to school much at all–he’s just a high school dropout. Spitty never had time for much beyond watching porn and jacking off. See, Spitty’s cock has a problem–it almost never goes soft. And Spitty’s usually so fucking horny that he can’t think about much else beyond jacking his cock off. It was worst when he was a teenager, but it’s…eased off a bit in the last couple of years, now that he’s in his thirties. He can hold down a job, mostly. Nothing too difficult, and most of the guys at the site have gotten used to seeing Spitty groping his cock all day long, occasionally blowing yet another load into the front of his cum sodden jeans, but it’s what Spitty has to do to function, right?

Of course, at home, all Spitty does is watch porn and jack his cock. He loves coating himself in his own cum, loves to reek of it, loves to reek of anyone’s cum, really. He’ll beg other guys to jack off onto him, use him like a fucking cumrag–and he loves being a fucking spitoon too, of course. All of Spitty’s clothes are unwashed, covered in dark stains and stiff with cum, but he wouldn’t want them to be any other way. Yeah, Spitty’s a real fucking pervert, but Spitty wouldn’t want any other life than this one, would he?

I was agreeing with everything Chuck told me of course, like the good boy I was. I…lost count of how many times I shot my load all over myself, swallowing down the spit from Chuck’s special leaf, swallowing down his spit too, of course, and when he thinks I’m ready, he puts his hand over my mouth, and tells me to swallow it all down–the spit, the leaf, everything…and I do. I choke it down, and immediately I feel sick to my stomach, like I’m going to throw up, but no matter how hard I heave, nothing comes up. The world’s just spinning around me faster and faster, and I try to hold onto Chuck, or the couch, or anything I can, but pretty soon it doesn’t feel like there’s anything at all, and when I don’t think I’m going to be able to handle it anymore, I wake up–expect I’m not in Chuck’s house, I’m back in my bedroom…except it’s not my old bedroom, it’s Spitty’s bedroom now.

Everything reeks of cum, and it’s so fucking nasty I start humping my mattress a few times until I spray a load into the stiff sheets I sleep on with a loud groan–then I roll over and start milking out load number two right away. My cock’s the same size it was before, but my fucking balls must have doubled in size, and while my arms are still muscular, my gut and chest are flabbier than before, and my legs look so much smaller. Then again, I never played sports, not in this lifetime. Nope–all I did was jack off day and night like a fucking pervert. I still live with my parents, even after dropping out, and they both fucking hate my guts…but I don’t really care. All I care about is jacking off again, and again…and something else…right? My mouth feels a bit fuzzy, and without really thinking, I reach over and grab a tin of chaw, pop it open, and stuff a wad in my lip, feeling better almost immediately. It tastes…normal, at least, but nothing else is right, even though that old life just feels like a dream now. I’m Spitty now–I can’t even remember my old name anymore, and when Chuck shows up to give me a ride to work, I get in and suck down his spit, and milk out another load of cum from my cock, like nothing is wrong at all.

The Power of Society (Part 6)

WARNING: INCONTINENCE, SCAT

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fuck Si, is that you?”

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

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

“Oh fuck man, I fucking did!”

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

“I know, right?”

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

The Power of Society (Part 5)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Power of Society (Part 2)

“I can’t have this thing, I have to trim this,” Edwin was muttering to himself, “No one respects a neckbeard…”

“That is true,” Harold said, “No one would ever respect someone with something like that on their face. You know that, but you haven’t trimmed it in years. That means, you either like it, or you’re too lazy to care. I think…it’s probably both.” Ed tried to interject, but Harold kept talking over him. “You’re too lazy to care about a lot of things. Too lazy to care about haircuts or styling that mop of yours. Too lazy to care about dressing well–all you wear are t-shirts and cargo shorts–usually for weeks on end. Too lazy to care about anything beyond all that nasty gay porn you watch, at least, when you aren’t playing video games or watching stupid TV shows. Too lazy to care about your figure, since all you eat is fatty junk food all the time. That about sums it up, right, nerd? You are a dirty gay nerd, aren’t you Ed?”

The room was still, unable to believe what they’d just witnessed. The clean cut Edwin who’d been standing before them a minute before was gone, replaced by Ed. His suit was replaced by an ill fitting black tee riding up, showing off his gut where it spilled out the bottom, hanging down over his cargo shorts. His hair had grown out long, and looked as greasy and unkempt as his beard. Ed was trying to talk, trying to figure out what to say, what he could possibly say to defend himself in front of the entire house.

“Go on Ed, just admit it. We can all see what you are,” Harold said.

“I…I’m a dirty…gay nerd…” he muttered, suddenly embarrassed to be standing up in front of this many people. He hated attention, he hated being seen. He usually just spent his day holed up in his room, with his porn and video games, where he belonged.

“That’s right Ed. That’s exactly what you are. But like I said before, just because you’re a nerd, doesn’t mean you’re smart, right?”

“I mean, sure, I suppose.”

“Because you aren’t very smart, are you Ed? How could you be, when all you do all day is jack off, stuff your face with food, and play video games? You know, just like the rest of you,” Harold added, looking out at the rest of the room. That was enough for a couple of them scattered around to shift, their clothes morphing into equally filthy versions of Ed’s, beards and hair exploding out, as their waistlines did as well. Most of the young men, however, had enough sense to resist a bit, as Harold had expected. “That’s not me. I’m not like that,” one of them said, and several others voiced their agreement. “We’re going places. Ed’s just a fucking loser. None of us want to be like him.”

“But he’s your fraternity president, isn’t he? Why would you elect someone like him to represent him, if you don’t consider him to be representative of your entire house?” A few others lost it, shifting along, gazing down, confused at their new bodies, unable to believe what had happened, unable to remember themselves being anything other than fat, dirty slobs. “In fact–he’s probably the most well adjusted among you, right? The only one of you with any sort of charisma, to be willing to step up and lead a group of outcasts, loners, and losers like you all are. You should all be thanking him, I think.” That was enough to affect them all, at least a little. Only three or four had gone as far as Ed, but there wasn’t a single young man left in the room without stubble, or a potbelly, or wearing anything nice. “Still, I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised by your denial–none of you really want to believe that you’re as bad as Ed here. You’re all scared of embracing yourselves, but deep down, you all know the truth, even if you refuse to admit it right now. But more than that, you hate the idea of any one of you rising up and being better than the rest of you, don’t you? That’s why you spend so much time ridiculing one another, dragging each other through the dirt, and…reinforcing each other’s worst instincts.”

“I don’t…know what you mean,” one of them said.

“That’s why you all force each other to watch porn together, masturbating on one another, coating each other’s clothes in your cum. That’s why you tie each other down and force feed each other until you can’t eat another bite. That’s why you broke all the washers and dryers down in the basement. Because if even one of you is exceptional, then that means that the rest of you all are nothing but complete losers. But if you all fail, then there’s nothing you could have done right? You don’t have to feel any shame about the way you want to live your lives.”

Harold could see the suspicion in each of their eyes, as they looked about at one another–the one’s further gone particularly eyeing the one’s who had so far managed to better resist the professor’s persuasions. “Now, I think I’ll take my leave. A work crew will come in soon to install cameras throughout the house, but none of you will even notice, or behave like you’re being watched. You will forget the details of this meeting, but remain convinced of the truths we’ve uncovered together. That all of you are dirty, faggot nerds–even if some of you won’t admit it–and if even one of you succeeds, then the others will all know nothing but shame for the rest of their lives. Alright–now, I have another meeting I must get to, but the lot of you can entertain yourselves, I imagine. Have a good evening!”

Harold left the house, leaving the frat to itself. Most of the young men retreated to their rooms, trying to deny their new beliefs, but finding them already rooted deep in their cores. Later that evening, Ed and another neckbeard dragged Louis, who had remained thin through the professor’s lecture, down to the kitchen, tied him to the table and force fed him for hours, until he was close to 400 pounds. Others pinned their housemates, who were struggling to study and resist their new desires, to the couch while they played porn, jacking off in their hair and on their clothes until they, too, no longer wanted to stop. In all, a wonderful success for the professor’s latest experiment on campus, he thought, as he headed next door, to Alpha Phi Delta for his second meeting of the evening.

The Power of Society (Part 1)

Some of you may have guessed from the title, but this story takes place in the same narrative as “The Power of Belief” (which you can find here in the archive) and “The Power of Reality” (which is only on Patreon). It might be more accurate to call this a long sketch, because there’s a lot more detail that could be paid to the story that follows, but I like this version enough I wanted to post it. You don’t *need” to have read “The Power of Reality” to know what happens here, because the events that follow actually happen prior to most of the events in that story. In fact, “The Power of Reality”, as posted, is actually two separate chunks of the story– “The Power of Persuasion” and then “The Power of Reality”, and what follows happens in between those two chunks. This has probably only confused most of you further.

Here’s a basic rundown. Professor Harold Larson had a student who manipulated him into becoming an old, sadistic top using a special sonic device. The Professor took control of the device, and has developed a watch that allows him to manipulate reality, provided he’s…convincing enough, which he generally is. What follows is an experiment the professor conducts on campus one fall, before the final events of the story.

“Hello everyone,” the older, portly fellow said, to the students sitting around the living room, “I know that the first week of class can be a bit hectic, especially for young men like yourself so dedicated to academic excellence, but I wanted to call this mandatory house meeting so I could take a moment and introduce myself. I’m Dr. Harold Larson, a professor here on campus, and I’m going to be assisting the Dean of students this academic year by overseeing a couple of the fraternities on campus.”

The young men of Sigma Mu Tau looked from one to another, a little confused. Their fraternity was composed entirely of upperclassmen, and membership was only allowed to those students who were in the top five percent of their classes. To say that they were academically focused would be a bit of an understatement–Sigma Mu Tau had fostered future presidents, fortune 500 businessmen, nobel prize winners–why their prestigious fraternity would need supervision from the dean’s office didn’t make much sense to any of them. Edwin Foster–the president of the fraternity–spoke, “I just met with the dean yesterday, and he didn’t mention any of this to me. Why are we being supervised?”

Harold chuckled, “Well, I only just made my request to the dean this morning, but I can assure you he is completely on board with my request. Perhaps I should try and be a bit more precise. I’m a professor of psychology, and I requested permission to supervise two fraternities on campus for an experiment of mine, and–”

“An experiment? Don’t you need our consent first?”

“True,” Harold said, and adjusted his glasses, and adjusted the watch on his wrist. “I’m certain all of you will willingly consent to the furtherance of knowledge, correct? You don’t want to be bored with the details.”

The young man who’d spoke wanted to object, but he wasn’t quite sure…why he would. The professor’s words made perfect sense to him–and everyone else in the room. They all nodded their assent, and Harold beamed at them all. “Excellent. I knew I could count on some smart nerds like yourself to understand.”

“Excuse me, but that’s kind of insulting, isn’t it?” Edwin said, “Just because we’re intelligent doesn’t mean that we’re nerds. That’s part of the reason this fraternity exists, is to provide a place for men of intellect to gather and further civilization.”

“Ah, but don’t you have that backwards, Edwin? May I call you Ed?”

“No, you may not.”

“Oh, but you much prefer being called Ed, don’t you? Doesn’t Edwin just sound so…stodgy, and uptight?”

“I mean…” Edwin paused, trying to understand why he found the professor so agreeable. He’d always hated anyone shortening his name, hadn’t he?”

“Come on up here, Ed.”

The young man stood, and approached the front of the room, where the professor was standing and addressing the house.

“Now, what I meant, when I said that you had that backwards, was that what you meant to say, surely, was that just because you’re all nerds, doesn’t mean that you’re smart, right?”

“I can…assure you that’s not what I meant at all.”

“Oh, but let’s use you as an example, Ed.” Harold looked the young man up and down a bit, before saying anything else. He was a senior this year, pursuing a degree in economics. Edwin was well meticulous in his appearance, with his hair well styled at all times, dressed even now in a suit–though he’d allowed himself the liberty of taking off his tie in the house, around his friends and associates of the house. His summer had been spent in DC, interning with a lobbying firm, and there was chatter around campus he was thinking of running for his home state’s congress once he graduated in the spring. “Now, I’d say you’re a nerd, wouldn’t you, Ed?”

“I can assure you that I am not a nerd.” The men in the room chuckled, though it was a bit…strained. The meeting was taking a strange turn, and none of them were quite sure what to make of this shift.

They saw Harold fiddle with his watch again, and throw his arm around Edwin’s shoulders, putting the timepiece near his ear. A few observant members of the house saw their president’s eyes look puzzled a moment, and then relax. Others became dimly aware of a buzzing noise in the air, but forgot to remain focused on it for long. “Why don’t we start by talking about what a nerd is Ed. Nerds are…socially awkward right? They spend a lot of time alone, they don’t really know how to deal with people all that well. They mostly like spending time on their computers, and watching TV. What do you think they watch, Ed?”

“I…I don’t know. They…probably play video games, and watch anime, or whatever…”

“That, but I think they also look at a lot of porn, just like you do, Ed.”

Ed, of course, thought pornography was an utter waste of time, and never watched it. However, at the professor’s suggestion, he found his mind…filling in facts to back up the insinuation. “I…No…I don’t.”

“We can come back to that,” the professor said, “Nerds also don’t take very good care of themselves, right? Rarely taking showers, almost never doing laundry, wearing the same comfortable, casual clothes for days on end, not even noticing when they start to stink. They don’t shave either–most proper nerds have long, thick, busy neckbeards like yours.”

Everyone in the room watched the hair spring from Edwin’s smooth face. By the time his hand had gone up to find the beard there, it was long enough to reach his chest, and looked like it hadn’t been trimmed or cared for much in the years it must have taken to grow it. Even though everyone had just witnessed the beard growing…none of them could quite recall every seeing Ed without it. “How…I didn’t have this…a second ago, did I?”

“Of course you did, Ed.” Harold said, and looked out to see how the frat was reacting. Most were staring at Edwin in shock, but a few of them stirred in their seats, eyeing the exit. “All of you find this very fascinating, don’t you?” he said to the room, “None of you would dare leave when you could watch this instead.” The room settled down, and he turned back to Edwin. “Now, where were we?”

No One Else Will Want You Now (Part 4)

It took Donny close to an hour to clean both boots to Walter’s satisfaction, from top to sole. Walter found himself transfixed, watching his boyfriend debase himself before him, how his initial disgust at his own humiliation had given way to the simple durdergy of the act, to a certain…pleasure, or perhaps pride and pleasure in his work. Once the muck had been removed, he shined them diligently with his tongue, his eyes slipping away from his task up to where Walter was looming over him, his heart fluttering, He’d always found his older partner so dull, both in the sack and out. He was always looking for an emotional connection which Donny found childish and idealistic. It was the material that mattered–your body, your style, your wealth. Walter had the last, and after a few years he’d increased his hold on the first two, but Donny always longed to slip away from the emotional wet blanket and just fuck someone like a beast for an hour. He’d always feared, irrationally, that if Walter had gotten an emotional grip on him, that Donny would find himself disappearing–physically, mentally, and spiritually. His cheating was a sword he used to sever that emotional tie before it could become too rooted in his guts, but here, kneeling on the floor, he could sense that his deepest fears had, in fact, been true. This wasn’t him. He could feel himself dying away, some other terrible version of him filling in his place.

“Put your head on the floor, arch your back,” Walter said. Donny took the position he thought was implied by the order, placing his head to the floor and curling into a ball. It must have been sufficient–Walter set his boots on his back–Donny could feel they still wet with his own spit–and Walter inspected them in the light, checking their shine. They could use a proper shining, certainly, but he’d done a sufficient job. “If you really want to stay here, with me, I’m only going to allow it under certain conditions. You realize that, right?”

“Yes sir,” Donny said. Walter crossed his feet, one heel digging in between ribs on his back, but he suppressed a flinch of discomfort. “I…Please sir, I’ll do anything. I fucked up, I ruined everything, I know that. I deserve this, I deserve…anything you think…” he swallowed, hard, trying to choke back his own, miserable words, but his mouth continued, that other him continued, without his consent, “anything, sir. I’ll accept anything. I don’t…deserve you, but I’m honored that you would consider keeping me somewhere in your life, even after my failure.”

Walter dug his heel in a bit further, but not as hard as he could have–implying that the begging was appreciated, but did nothing to ease the punishment that Donny was about to receive. “This is your last chance. Crawl out of here, if you want, but if you stay, you will accept all of these conditions.”

“What…are the conditions, sir?”

“That shouldn’t matter, should it?” Walter rocked his heel back and forth, “If you’re truly sorry, if you truly want to stay, then you should be willing to accept any condition that I put forth.”

Donny knew he was right. He fought–he tried to crawl out from under that heel as hard as he could. He shouldn’t be doing this. He shouldn’t be surrendering like this. Walter was the one who needed him, not the other way around! But that new him, the one who was meekly groveling under this fucker’s boot didn’t see it that way. He couldn’t see any way forward that didn’t have him at Walter’s side, no matter what that might mean. “You’re…right. I’m sorry sir, for asking. I’ll stay, and submit to any conditions you demand.”

He wanted to scream, he wanted to stand up and clock Walter in the face, he wanted to sob, but all he did was stay there in that position, while Walter smoked his cigar, pleased with himself, pleased with this curse, pleased with his newfound power. “As you can imagine, your actions have made it perfectly clear that going forward, our relationship can never take the form of equals, you understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And what does that make you?”

“Your…slave?”

“Slave, I feel, is the wrong word. But I’m not sure I have a word that adequately communicates my utter disdain and disgust at your existence, but yes. As far as things are concerned, from this point forward, you are going to be my slave. That’s condition number one.”

There was a sudden constriction around Donny’s neck, something cutting off his airway for a moment, before it loosened–thought not all that far. With one hand he felt the steel collar secured there, tight enough against his skin to cause constant discomfort. There was a padlock securing it in front–a heavy one, but with his hands…he felt no lock. No keyhole, no combination. It was just a solid hunk of metal securing him to his new role. He yelped, as a sharp sting across his ass followed. At first, he thought Master had flogged him with something (no, not Master, he’s not my fucking master!) but something else was forming in his mind. A collecting of memories, of being taken to the tattoo shop, being marked, permanently, as property of his master, but that hadn’t happened, that had never happened! But if it hadn’t then how could he remember it so clearly? How the artist had laughed at him the entire time, his master leaning against the wall, watching his every move for one punishable offense. How he’d had to thank the man for marking him, how he’d had to offer to service the man as a tip, and he’d just looked at him…utterly disgusted at the sight of him begging in front of him…but this wasn’t him, it wasn’t him!

Walter removed his boots from his slave’s back, planted one foot on the back of his head facing him, and shoved him, rolling Donny over onto his back. “That’s the easy one, slave. Now we need to figure out what we should do with these,” he said, standing up from his chair, and nudging Donny’s balls with the toe of his boot.

You might live in suburbia, but it didn’t always feel like it, from where you lived. You could see your neighbors, sure, but your property backed up onto a nice wooded area and undeveloped wetland which still gave it a nice sense of nature. Unfortunately, soon after you moved in, you heard from your neighbors that part of the natural fauna of periurban space were the homeless. Still, they never seemed to bother anyone, and people in the neighborhood seemed reluctant to go into the wetlands all the same. It wasn’t really considered…safe, for reasons none of them could really describe, but you figured they were just scared for no real reason. After all, even if they were homeless they were people too, and so you would take your short walks through the woods, often with a backpack ready to hand out water or a snack if you should happen across anyone who needed it.

In fact, you never really saw a soul out there, but that didn’t stop you from getting the eeriest sensation that someone was watching your every move while you were within the treeline. You assumed it was just your imagination getting the better of you, the stories your neighbors told about some of the strange folk they’d seen here getting the better of you. But over time, the sensation became…more curious, and it wasn’t too much longer before, as you were walking through the woods, you came upon an older man leaning against a tree in raggedy clothes–a long coat and jumpsuit, but under the jumpsuit he had on some leather straps, and the jumpsuit was unzipped down, revealing no underwear and an erect cock.

You backtracked as quick as you could, but now you were seeing others surrounding you on all sides, all of them filthy, and all of them leering at you lustfully, most stroking their cocks as they approached. You tried to talk to them, but they ambushed you, stole your pack, ripped your clothes off of you, and they all started…grabbing at your flesh, at your cock, tugging at your hair, licking your face, feeling your ass–

You scrambled up and ran for your house as fast as you could, breaking through the treeline with the men pursuing you, running to the sliding glass door and trying to pry it open, but it wouldn’t bugde. You know you’d left it unlocked–hell, you’d left it open aside from the screen, hadn’t you? You look around, but is this even your house? Then–in the glass window you see your reflection, and nearly scream. Who is that? That can’t be you, can it? The reflection looks to be an old man in his late fifties, short with a underdeveloped chest and bulging, taut gut coated with white hair. A huge, bushy beard and matted hair–you miss the rest as someone else comes down to the door, sees you, and screams.

You flee back into the woods, but they’re waiting for you. They pin you down and fully initiate you, seeding you with their cum, your memories fading. You can no longer even remember the house you lived in, you can’t remember anything at all about that life you knew you had, only this new one lying before you, as they dress you in filthy, cast off clothing and drag you deeper into the wetlands.

Deal of a Lifetime (Part 2)

“So wait–you take that part of me,” Carl pointed at the cage, “And I get…something else instead? But what do I get?”

The man laughed, “Ah, well, I’m afraid that’s dealer’s choice. I don’t take money, I’m afraid–I provide this service because I enjoy it. Because I like helping men like yourself live more interesting and exciting lives, but you shouldn’t focus on what you will be if you take the deal–think about what you’ll be if you don’t.” He gave the cage a kick, and the thing in there yelped. “Do you really want to let this thing control your life anymore? Look at where it’s gotten you–fucking nowhere, and you were going nowhere fast. Let’s be fucking honest, Carl–you were never going to go down to that pool. You might get drunk and have an awkward, terrible hookup with some rando, but then it’s back to the wife, back to straight acting, back to being a coward.”

“It wasn’t…that bad.”

“Oh please, you don’t have to defend the thing. We both know you were miserable. You know that anything would be better than that–admit it.”

“Please, ya can’t!” it said, gripping the bars, “We got a whole life tahgether! Ya can’t just throw it all away, don’t that terrify ya?”

Surprisingly, it didn’t terrify him at all, actually. The very idea of just being free thrilled him. He could finally be free of everything that he’d always believed to be holding him back…but that didn’t make him any less leery of trusting the man. “If I don’t like it, can I get my old life back?”

“Sorry, but I don’t offer refunds or exchanges. If you take the deal–that’s what you get. I can promise you, that if you accept it, you’ll love it before too long–you won’t even be able to imagine things being different. This old life of yours will just seem like a distant, terrible dream.”

“But what do you get out of this?” Carl asked, “I mean, why do it?”

The man scowled a bit, “If you don’t want to take me up on the offer, I’ll just let him back out, and be on my way.” A key appeared in his hand and he went to unlock the cage, the other him inside, that terrible bundle of everything he hated, started clawing at the door, desperate to be free again, and the terror that welled up in him at the thought of living with that thing still, especially knowing he had a chance to be rid of it–he hurried over and stopped him from unlocking the padlock. “No! No…I’ll take the deal.”

“Ya fuck! How could ya do this tah me, ya fucker!” the thing in the cage screamed, but the man smiled.

“That’s a good man,” the stranger said, and shook Carl’s hand, “Looks like we have ourselves a deal. Now let me introduce you to your new companion.”

Carl heard something between a grunt and a squeal as some massive thing barrelled into him from behind, pinning him down, and then he was flailing in the covers, awake again, sitting up on the bed, panting, wondering what in the world he’d just dreamt. Had that been real, or just some fucked up fantasy his mind had created? He certainly didn’t feel any different–or look any different…but maybe there was one way he could test it.

“My name is Carl Fields, and holy hell, I sound like a normal fucking person!” he exclaimed. His accent was gone, just like in the dream–could it have actually been real then? But what about the end of it? If the trade really had happened, then what had he gotten in exchange? Whatever it was, it didn’t seem to have done anything to him or changed him thus far–but what he really felt like doing was hitting that pool, and hitting on a few guys. The shame and terror which had kept him glued to his room thus far had evaporated, and he wanted to get out there. He got off the bed, but doubled over, his stomach cramping with a sudden cramp of hunger–and all he could think of was food. Hunger, starvation–he needed to eat before anything else! Still, he couldn’t very well go downstairs naked. The clothes he’d had on earlier–jeans and a grubby Carhartt t-shirt with a leather Harley jacket–were lying there on the floor. He bent down to pick them up, but as soon as he grabbed them, he saw the fabric…shudder and shift in his hands, changing into something else entirely. The jeans softened, becoming a flimsier pinstripe fabric even as they grew–tripling in size, suspenders appearing where his belt had been moments before. His shirt cleaned up, sleeves growing to full length as the front split, becoming a button down with a stiff collar, and his jacket turned into a suit coat matching the pattern of his pants. “What in all goodness is this? I don’t remember wearing anything like this before…and this certainly isn’t my size–they’re all much too large for me…” he said, but his voice had shifted, becoming stiff–almost snobby and a bit nasal. Something was definitely happening to him–but what?

The pain in his stomach struck him again, even more violently, crumpling him to the floor, but it was the pain in his mind which was even worse. There was someone–or something–inside of him. Something new. It had spent the last couple of minutes realizing that it was free, that it was back in a real body, and now it felt like it was storming through him, rearranging the furniture of his body and mind to it’s personal fancy, and all Carl could do was find every scrap of himself he could and hold on tight, hoping and praying he might still recognize himself when this was finished–hoping that he’d still want to be himself when this was finished, hoping that he hadn’t just made the worst deal of his entire life.

Deal of a Lifetime (Part 1)

All the planning, all the lying, all the panic and stress and upset, and he was here, and he was so fucking nervous, all he could do was stand on the balcony looking down at the hotel pool where every bear had converged the moment the convention started. All of them aside from Carl, or at least that’s how it seemed. He got another buzz from his pocket, and checked his phone–another couple of notifications from growlr, another couple of guys down there who wanted to know where he was, if he was down to fuck, if he had that camo hunting gear from his profile photo with him, and if he’d dress up for them. He’d dreamed of this for so long, he’d dreamed of finally taking a chance, slipping away, and being here where he could be…himself, but all he felt was paralyzed. He was only 50 miles from home, people knew he was here (not here, of course, at the convention, but here visiting a “cousin” he hadn’t seen in some years). What if someone saw him? What if someone else from town was here too? He looked up from the pool, and his gut bottomed out, when he saw someone on a balcony opposite his staring at him.

He…wasn’t quite Carl’s type–he liked a guy with a bit more chub and padding than the muscular fucker there looking at him, but the sheer…masculine confidence the guy was exuding made Carl feel both insecure and incredibly turned on. He met his eyes for a few moments, but couldn’t for longer than that, and no longer felt comfortable standing there, just being…ogled. He retreated back into his room, stared at the swimsuit he’d laid out on the bed, thought about it again, and then just sat down on the edge, wondering why he was doing any of this. He was too desperate to be out that he couldn’t handle pretending to be that straight redneck one more day, but he’s too terrified of being found out and losing what little he had to do anything with the opportunity he’d taken. He felt…trapped. Still, he should at least…give it a try…

He yawned, his eyes fluttering a bit. Maybe he should take a nap. It had been a long drive, and he’d feel better after some rest, he was sure. He stripped down naked, finding it harder and harder to keep his eyes open, the room was spinning around him, and he fell back onto the bed askew, his entire body feeling impossibly heavy. Dimmy, he thought he heard the sound of his hotel room door opening and closing again, along with the sound of footsteps. He tried to call out, but he was just so sleepy all of a sudden, and the last thing he saw, before his eyes flickered shut, was the face of the man from the other balcony looming over his, a bright twinkle in his steel grey eyes as Carl fell into a deep sleep.

When he opened his eyes again, after what felt like a single blink, he wasn’t in the hotel room anymore. Hell, he wasn’t…anywhere. There was just a dark expanse all around him, with no discernible light source, but he could still…see something there, a few yards away, though it was difficult to make out what it was, exactly. He walked over towards it, and figured out that it was a cage–rather small, large enough for a big dog for a small human–and there was something inside of it–no, someone inside of it. It shuffled around as he approached, revealing itself to be a naked, middle aged man, but when their eyes met–no, how could that be possible.

“Please, jus’ let me out! This was a fuckin’ mistake, jus’ go home–ya can still pretend that this never happened, ya can still be a good husband tah Erin.”

It was himself. He was in the cage, but he was also standing here too. He didn’t quite know how to explain what he was witnessing, trying to process it, trying to figure out some way to reply, when a heavy hand rested down on his shoulder. He looked behind him, and found himself with the man from the balcony across the way. “Hello Carl–I see you’ve already been introduced to yourself.”

“Don’t listen tah him–don’t fuckin’ listen tah him, just fuckin’ git me outta here!”

“I don’t…understand…” Carl said, and noticed that his voice was missing its usual accent–the same one the thing in the cage had. He’d always hated it, thinking it made him sound like an idiot, and suddenly it was just gone?

“I’ll do my best to keep this rather simple, Carl–for both of you,” the stranger walked over to the cage, the version of himself in there trying to shrink away from him, cowering in fear, “Carl–I’m a…merchant of sorts, but I don’t deal in conventional goods. No, I deal in people’s lives, their souls, their desires. See Carl, from the moment I saw you earlier, I knew you’d be perfect for my service. Haven’t you always felt so…trapped by your life? Unable to really let go and be free? Held back by…well…everything that’s in here?” he said, laying a hand on the top of the cage. “My offer is simple–I take this part of you, and in exchange, I give you something to replace it. A new life.”

“You mean…I’ll be someone else?”

“Mostly. I mean, I’m not taking all of you, so everything here?” the man said, pointing to the version of Carl outside the cage, “You’ll still be there, but everything in here will be gone, and you’ll have one of my exquisitely crafted personas instead to help you and guide you to a brand new life.”