Caption: A Real American Pig

Thanks to PatchPig for the photo and inspiration for this one.


Bernard had lived in Britain all his life, but for years, he’d wanted to cross the Atlantic to visit the United States. He loved American movies, loved hosting American tourists–there was something about the place that felt so much more free than the stodginess of London where he’d always lived. Finally, at last, he’d saved up enough to afford a good long vacation–but when it came time to decide where to go, he was a bit…lost. The place was so damn big! New York? DC? Hollywood? In the end, he decided to chance it–he threw a dart, and it ended up in a state called Kentucky. He booked a flight, rented a car, and figured he’d spend the month driving around the states, and just seeing what he found.

Kentucky wasn’t quite what he was expecting, in all honesty–but it wasn’t necessarily bad, either. His accent drew a lot of odd looks, and he had a hard time understanding what some of the Americans were even saying too, but he was determined to enjoy himself. This, he thought, would be more authentic–not like the cities. Get to know the real America–if there was such a thing anywhere.

The deeper into the state he went, the more suspicious people seemed towards him. The funny jokes seemed a bit meaner, people were little more suspicious of him, though usually lightened up quickly when they saw he had money to spend, and he was beginning to wonder if he’d made a bad decision after all. At least, until the night at the little truckstop on the highway, where he stopped to get a room for the night and a meal–that ended up changing everything.

The guys in the bar laughed at him, when they heard him talk. Told him he sounded like some uptight rich fucker, just because he had a british accent. They told him to skip the beer for a moment, and have a sip of Jeb’s moonshine–an old fucker in the corner, who shoved a mason jar of clear spirit into Bernard’s fist. The guys all told him to drink up, and Bernard gave into the pressure–but he didn’t remember much that happened after that. In fact, Bernard never left the bar–the guy who stumbled out of the motel at the truckstop the next morning wasn’t Bernard at all.

Bernie knew something was wrong, that something had changed. These weren’t his clothes, he hadn’t been this fat, and his accent was all wrong–he was talking like these American hicks, not like where he’d come from. His wallet was gone, as was his car–he had nowhere to go, so he ended up moping in his hotel room–though he took a quick jaunt over to the shop at the truckstop, and used a little cash he found on the nightstand to buy some cigarettes and cheap, American beer.

Already a bit drunk, when he saw that the same guys had gone to the bar that evening, he demanded to know what they’d done to him. The guys all jeered at him, told him he just needed a good girl to help sort him out–but Bernie told them he was gay, and that he wanted them to put him back the way he was before all of this, or else he’d get the police. Things in the bar quieted down after that, at least until the guys pinned the faggot down, forced some more moonshine into him, and took turns fucking the pigs holes.

Bernie still lives at the truck stop. He pumps gas, cleans the showers, and sucks any man’s cock who needs it. He’s too stupid to think about much, but on occasion, he’ll look at his slobby mug in the filthy mirror of the truck stop, plastered with cum more often than not, and try to remember a voice. A voice he’d had–but one he’d lost forever.

Straight Town

Last Updated – 8/12/19. It’s finished! Thanks all for your patience with this one. New stuff will be coming tomorrow.

NOTE: Click the “Continue Reading” button below first, before using the links in the table of contents, or else most won’t work!

Table of Contents

Arc One: Kevin and Steve
Supplemental Writings

Continue reading “Straight Town”

Interactive: Hypno Time! (Finale)

Here’s the final chapter of this interactive. I’m back from vacation, and getting back into the swing of things. Later this week, I’m going to post an update on some process stuff that will have an impact on posts around here–nothing too major, but more of a clarification. I’ll have a new start to an interactive up next week!


Max fought him at the end of the school year. Told him that all of this had gone to far, told Daddy Johnny that he didn’t realize that the gun was warping him as well. Johnny was insistent–he was only giving Max what he wanted after all, what they both wanted. Max tried to run, but he didn’t get far–not with the amount of control Johnny had over him. He tried to fight, even managing to give his daddy a fat lip, which only angered Johnny more. Finally, he begged–and that was the last thing Max remembered before the gun fired, and he felt time warp around his mind again–but unlike the last few times…he could almost feel the time passing. A weekend felt like a moment, but even a week had been…noticeably longer. This time, however, it felt like days–days lost in that yellow haze, unable to do anything, or think anything, or see what was happening to him outside of himself. He had time to be terrified. Had time to wonder if Johnny was ever going to wake him back up again. Had time to wonder if he had made a mistake, had time to doubt himself, and then doubt his doubts, and then back again. Distantly, if he focused, he could…hear himself speaking, or other people speaking at him, but it was always garbled. He could almost feel himself, feel sensations, but they were so quick, more like a flicker, that he barely had time to realize something had happened, before it had already passed him by. At long last, the yellow haze lifted from him, and he came back to himself, back to the present, but all he could do was roll around on the ground in pain and confusion, as his mind tried to reconstruct what had happened to him.

“That’s it son, just take a few deep breaths, take your time. Daddy’s here for ya…”

He knew that voice. It was Johnny’s voice, more or less, but the drawl was deeper, and his breath reeked of cigars and beer even more than it had before. Or…or did it? He could remember other things now, remember…his daddy–his Pa–and…but wasn’t there something wrong with that? He hadn’t been his dad, he’d been his…his…

There was a blank there. That was new. His memory was just…gone. He could recognize the hole, he knew that there was some past there, something between him and Pa–before they were father and son…but…but that didn’t make any sense! Pa had always been his dad after all, hadn’t he? He could remember something then, remember…going somewhere familiar, a home somewhere, with a man and a woman, and Pa did something to them, made them forget Max, and…and then it was gone too. There was just Pa. Pa and…and his grandpappy, and Uncle Beau of course. They all lived here, on Pa’s farm. It had been grandpappy’s farm, but he was too old to do much with it now, so he’d given it to Pa, and Beau helped out on the farm too, of course.

He forced himself upright, or at least, he tried to. He was bigger than he should have been, bigger than he’d been before, and his physique was wildly different. Before, Pa had been…keeping him muscular, but the body he had now–while thick and strong from working on the farm all day long with Uncle Beau, was also massively fat–so fat, he had a massive, stinking apron hanging over his waist, down past his cock, even. Horrified, he hurried into the bathroom, looking at himself in the filthy mirror–his head shaved down still, scalp tanned a deep brown from hours and hours in the sun. He had even more tattoos now–tattoos everywhere, even on his face–that and a good number of piercings, including a massive, door knocker sized ring in his nose. His mouth gaped, and he saw he was missing most of his teeth now as well–whether they had rotted out, or been yanked out, he couldn’t remember clearly–but Pa…liked the feel of his boy’s gums around his cock more than teeth anyway, that he could recall.

He turned around and saw Pa clearly for the first time as well. The years–it had to have been years–had blown him up even larger, and older. He was easily over 500 pounds, with a thick, tangled beard, wearing nothing more than some filthy stained underwear around the house a size or two too small, leering at his boy and groping himself, enjoying the realization sweeping over his boy’s mind. “Decided five years oughta do it boy, get ya real good ‘n cemented in here. Wouldn’t be givin’ be anymore a that dumb talk about leavin’, like there’s anything wrong with this, right Piggy Boy?”

Something happened in his mind, when his dad said ‘Piggy Boy’. It…turned off, almost, or something else turned on. He grunted, fell onto all fours, and crawled over to him, shoving his face into his dad’s filthy groin, snuffling about for his cock, feeling his own harden in his own fat pad. Johnny just laughed, and watched his pig son start sucking on his dad’s cock, grunting like a sow in heat, and then turned around, bent over, and Max dove into his father’s nasty unwashed asscrack with the same fervor as he’d gone after his cock.

There were heavy footfalls, and a massive Beau stepped into the room from outside, sweating from the early summer heat. “Fuck bro–ya had tah pig him out right now? There’s work we gots tah do.”

“Oh shut up, Beau, and give the pig a fuck–he’ll come to his senses faster that way anyway.”

Beau nodded, unable to disobey his older brother, and started fucking the pig’s ass. Beau had been a problem that first summer, when he found out about the gun. He’d had this stupid idea that he ought to be in charge of the family–but Johnny had set his straight on that. Now he was just his stupid, muscular brother–good for farmwork, of course, but not so much for thinking. He did love the farm’s pig though, and whenever the pigboy got out of line, Beau was more than happy to get on his leathers, and give the pig a good round of punishment in the cellar.

Max came half an hour later, plugged at both ends by his father and uncle, and he was horrified at how he’d lost all control–but he also realized there was no way back for him–not now, not ever. And later that night, cleaning out his grandpa’s fat folds while the old man sat and watched TV, giggling like an idiot–he even found himself enjoying it. A week later, he couldn’t even remember much of anything else–and not only did he forget that life could be different, he didn’t want a life other than the one he had.

Interactive: Hypno Time! (Part 5)

The longer Max was in his trance, the more difficult it was to recall what had happened, right away, when he came out of it. The memories didn’t come back in a real orderly fashion, and it was hard for his mind to sort out what came first, and what came later–all of it was just…there, in his mind, from what seemed like to him, one instant to the next. It was only worse when he came out of his Spring Break trance–nine days of memories to try and grapple with in a few moments–all it did was give him a headache, and he clutched his head, trying to make sense of it.

“You doing alright, son?” a deep voice said, a voice he knew, a voice that…sounded like Johnny’s, but was gravellier, with a thicker drawl. He was afraid to look, afraid to remember what his daddy had put him through over the last week or so, but as the headache subsided, he could begin to remember pieces.

Most of what he was remembering was a farm. Johnny hadn’t told him where they were spending their vacation, just that he was looking to get out of the city, and he’d found somewhere cheap for them to reside for a week. Apparently, it was cheap because Johnny had offered Max as a workhorse for the week, at a little farm outside of town. He had seemed…straight to him in some of his memories, but then he could also recall the taste of the old man’s cock, and his ass, and…and had Johnny hypnotized him too?

He looked up at Johnny, taking him in, as he was now, as he had changed over the course of the week. He was smoking one of his cigars, as he did now nearly all the time, but his more casual western gear he’d been wearing ever since they’d started hanging out with Beau had been replaced with grubby overalls, and no shirt–showing off this thick chest and shoulders covered in greying hair. He looked to be even older now, easily in his mid fifties if not a bit more than that, and there was something else, something…he could taste, and smell, but whether it was his memories, or something in the room, he didn’t know–at least until Johnny got down and helped him sit back up–and he caught a whiff of him.

Johnny hadn’t showered all week long–or even longer than that. His usual scent of soap was gone, replaced by a rank musk that Max was not expecting–nor was he expecting his body’s reaction to it, which was to lunge into Johnny’s pit and start sniffing at him, feeling his own cock starting to swell in desire at the scent. “Yeah, that’s it son–the scent of daddy’s bringing some of those memories back?”

They’d arrived at the farm, and Johnny had hypnotized the old man, worked on him too, over the week, and before too long, the two of them were sitting on the porch, smoking and drinking while Max did the heavy work around the farm, servicing his…his daddy, and granddaddy whenever they needed it. Showers were skipped, and soon, all three of them were reveling in each other’s muskiness–and…and all of it was too damn much. He pushed past his daddy, with all the will he could muster, and ran for the bathroom. He wanted to get clean. He had to get clean, he needed to wash these memories off, wanted to…to be normal again! But when he turned on the faucet, and the water started flowing, he wasn’t ready for the fear and panic that sank into him at the sight of it, and he shut it off right away. Trying to control his breathing, he looked at himself in the mirror, and his jaw dropped at the sight of himself–naked at the moment, and he remembered what had happened a few nights before.

Johnny had gotten him his first tattoos. On one shoulder was a heart with the word daddy written inside it, in script, with an arrow through it, and across his back–he could feel it, and remember it, were the words “Daddy’s Boy.” He was hyperventilating now, and daddy came it, gave him a tight hug, his musk swallowing Max up, as he breathed in more and more, and he could feel himself…settling down.

“That’s a good boy, just relax, son. Everything is fine…” Johnny cooed in his ear, and he felt…so safe, with his daddy,  and he kissed him, and he licked him, and his daddy fucked him, and it was too late to realize he was even supposed to be in class by that afternoon, he was too focused on daddy’s needs to really care. He did make it to class the next day, but his own wardrobe had been replaced as well–now it was only overalls, and sleeveless shirts, exposing his new tattoo for all to see, daddy enjoying his embarrassment over his new mark, and told Johnny he had plans for some more over the coming weekend.

But this had gone too far, surely. He pleaded with his daddy, told him that this was too much, but daddy just scoffed at him, dragged him into the bedroom, and gave his boy a good beating for even suggesting that his daddy didn’t know what was best for him. Now, summer was approaching, and Max knew he had to try and get out before Daddy could trance him out for the entire summer–because he was worried that if that happened, there wouldn’t be a way back for either of them, ever. But summer came early–Daddy was growing restless in the city. He hated it here, wanted to be back in the country, and he wanted his son to be with him. Max begged, but Johnny put him under, and told him that, come fall, he could come back out for a while–but until then, Daddy had some work to do.


This next chunk is going to be the finale! Below, in the polls, you can see some ideas for how the ending might end up shaped. I’ll use three or four, depending on how well they all work together–some are mutually exclusive to some extent, but I’ll figure out how to work in what people want to see! You can vote for three options in the poll, and the patron bonus poll is over here as well!



Interactive: Hypno Time! (Part 4)

This was a fairly close race between the redneck road trip and the leather dom, so I decided to just combine them a bit!


Max had gotten used to living his weekends as memory over the last few weeks. Johnny would get ready to put him into his trance on Friday evening, and then in one burst of light, it would be Monday, and for a few minutes, he would recall the last weekend on fast forward–seeing who he had serviced, what Johnny had made him do–but this long weekend, as he came out of his trance, he remembered that, right away, things had gone differently. Before this, Johnny had always kept their activities to themselves in the apartment–this time, however, as soon as he was under, Johnny had told him to go get in the car.

They drove for a little while, heading out of town on the highway, but ended up pulling off outside of the suburbs, and found their way to a sizable farmhouse outside of the city, nestled in some woods with plenty of privacy. Johnny told him to stay put, and he got out of the car alone, went up to the door, and gave it a knock.

Max couldn’t see who was at the door immediately, and it felt like a little time passed before Johnny returned, told him to get out, and he saw who lived in the farm house. He was an older fellow, easily in his late fifties or early sixties, with a thick bushy beard, sucking on a massive cigar. While his skin looked like he had worked outdoors for most of his life, his western shirt and jeans were well tailored, and didn’t look particularly dirty–he appeared to be retired, and somewhat wealthy.

The man was obviously in disbelief that Max was really hypnotized. He put him through a few paces, once Johnny had given him the ability to command Max as well, and it was clear, from the sizable bulge in his pants, that he was…excited. He offered Johnny a cigar inside, and they went in–and so the weekend began.

The man, by the name of Beau, but who Max simply referred to as Master, had retrofitted the house’s old root cellar into a sizable sex dungeon–and beginning that night, Master put Max–and Johnny, to some extent, through a crash course in leather, bondage, and service. It was clear that Johnny was rather…infatuated with Beau as well, and taking a submissive role of his own–when Johnny didn’t do as Master ordered, he would often get punished himself–though never as severely as Max was, over the course of the weekend. During the daytime, Max was put to work outside around the farmhouse, which was a bit more rundown than it had seemed in the night. He only wore boots–and in retrospect, he was horrifically embarrassed for himself, naked and out in the open, completely oblivious to anyone who might have seen him–but as far as he knew, no one had.

And now, it was Tuesday morning. He looked up and saw that Johnny had changed again–some of Master Beau’s more rural sensibilities had worn off on him. He had traded in the cigarettes for a fat cigar–a bit smaller than Beau’s, but still…handsome all the same, and he was wearing jeans and a western shirt like him as well. His hair had been clipped a bit short, and he now was sporting a thick goatee, and when he spoke, he even had a hint of a drawl, as he told Max that there were going to be some changes for him around here from now on.

In private, Max no longer called Johnny by name–he was only Master to him. He was now a boy in his service–which meant that when he wasn’t in school, he was charged with the domestics around the apartment–cooking, cleaning, laundry–everything, and of course, if he served well, then Master would…reward him. Max didn’t know if Beau had given the gear to Max, or if it had simply materialized while they were away that weekend, but there was now a sling in the bedroom, and for play, Johnny preferred wearing leather–preferred that they both wore leather, in fact. Furthermore, cigarettes disappeared from the house–Max now smoked cigars like his two masters–in addition to serving as the ashtray, at their discretion.

After the first week, Max was exhausted–it felt like he was working from dawn until night, between school, the gym and all of the new tasks Master Johnny had given him after their weekend with Master Beau. The cigars didn’t help, and were making him a bit nauseous, even after his cigarette habit. He was also…worried. Worried about Johnny, and worried about what the gun was doing to him, as well as to Max. Was…this just what Johnny wanted, or was there something else going on behind the scenes? Furthermore, Spring Break was looking–a nine day stretch, and he already knew that Johnny was going to insist he be kept in a trance all week long. Sure enough, that’s exactly what Johnny proposed, and he wished that he wasn’t so horny thinking about it.


I thought about coming up with more specific ideas for this, but I decided to go with something a bit more general instead. Below are some keywords for possible story lines I’ve had in mind, and I’ll combine the more popular ones as best I can! You get three votes–so pick wisely. Here’s the bonus patron poll as well.



Patron Bonus: The Rehabilitation of Resistance Fighter Marcus Willard

This is a longer story, based off of a few suggestions. I’ve had a lot of people want a sequel/continuation of this suggested story from a few months ago. This one was longer, because I missed a week due to other circumstances, so here’s the first half for free, and if you want to conclusion, you can check it out on my Patreon, if you support me at the $5 tier or higher!


The capture of James Woods was a coup for the government. Thanks to their conditioning technology, there were no secrets in Jame’s mind that were safe, and safehouses were raided all over the country, as the resistance scrambled to try and avoid the net closing in around them. Some of the resistance was lucky, and scurried their thin selves deeper underground, while others, like Marcus Willard, were not so lucky.

Marcus wasn’t like many of the other resistance fighters, who came to the group with muscle and jockish determination. Before the shift in policy, and the crackdown on anyone thin, Marcus had been wealthy, and with that wealthy, he had sought beauty–and thinness was part of that, for him. He had been bankrolling the resistance with his funds as best he could, converting it to cash, and using it to try and fund a solution to the nightmare–but that made him a prime target, as he knew everything there was to know about the cash flow of the resistance. When he was apprehended–well, he divulged everything, because no one can resist the conditioning of the government. When they had drained him of everything useful, they loaded him on a train with other thin undesireables and sentenced him to a five year stint at work camp #23 in Iowa.

Stepping off the train, he could see nothing for miles aside from stockyards, and the stench of manure was everywhere. With the countries new policies, the food production and consumption had skyrocketed–especially the need for meat. Here, at work camp #23, the prisoners of the government worked to supply that food, while also being fattened up themselves, at the source. Marcus was special, however, and so, while the rest of the prisoners were sent for their introductory conditioning, Marcus was instead brought to the home of one Terry Bastion, the commander of work camp #23. Terry had been a pig farmer in these parts, and always a sizable fellow. He’d ridden the government’s policies, and grown with them, into the man he was today–800 pounds, eating almost constantly, his desires twisted and perverted as the government had turned more cruel, and now, he had Marcus Willard right here, in front of him–and oh, did he have plans for the rich boy. Despite being on the run with the resistance, Marcus had always managed to keep himself looking rather preppy–even now, in his dirty slacks and shirt, he was projecting a city vibe that Terry detested.

Marcus was…afraid, standing there in the dining room, watching the massive redneck in front of ridicule him through mouthfuls of food, telling Marcus that he had a special sort of conditioning in store for him, one that he’d set up personally. Marcus cursed him out, but the hulking guards dragged him away, down into the depths of Terry’s house, hooked him up to a feeding tube and a VR set, and before Marcus could do anything about it, he was out, the fattening mush pumped right into his stomach.

Normally, men were conditioned in four hour blocks of time, with a mandatory rest, fed all the while, until they were deemed ready to enter the general population of the work camp. Longer stretches of conditioning, while not unheard of, came with…risks–but those were risks that Terry was willing to take on Marcus’ behalf. Marcus wasn’t the first, of course, Terry had been pushing the limits with the prisoners of the work camp since it was established–with the government’s approval of course, so he was fed for a month straight, his body pumped with a variety of drugs to shift metabolism and hair growth. Artists from town arrived and applied the tattoos early, before he had grown too much–Terry wanted them to look…stretched. Finally, after a long couple of months, he was given his final haircut, a couple of final changes, and laid down in a room to wake up properly, for the first time in ages.

Terry was there to witness the shock first hand, when Marcus managed to force himself up in the bed, and look in the mirror and the changes Terry had wrought on his body. The month long feeding had given him a huge gut, a wide ass, and dwindled away much of his muscle mass, leaving him weakened. In the mirror, he could still see his face–Terry had been careful to leave in unchanged, so people who knew him well, might recognize him, But his hair was cut into a short mullet in the back, his usually clean face now sporting a thick horseshoe mustache. There were trashy tattoos all up his arms and across his chest as well, all of them redneck in nature. He was no longer the preppy, suit wearing Marcus Willard of the resistance. Terry had warped him into some disgusting caricature of himself. But it was when he tried to talk, that he realized just how deep the changes had gone.

This wasn’t his voice. It was…deep, and slow, with a thick drawl even he could barely understand. Terry and the guards started laughing at him, and he couldn’t even shout, or yell, he just tried to stay silent, his face turning redder and redder, and Terry told him that this was who he would be for the rest of his life, a fat, stupid hick–even when he got out of the camp, there would be no changing any of this. He wouldn’t be able to tell anyone about who he was before this either–Terry said, and with a snap of his fat fingers, something…in Marcus’ brain warped again, and all of these new memories slotted into place. He tried to resist them, tried to deny them, but his past–his real past–was just a distant glimmer, something he could barely even recall himself now. No–he…he was just a stupid hick, abused by his fat daddy and brother’s all his life, abused so much he…he craves it. The guards sneer at him, groping themselves, and he tries to push them off, but they…make him squeal for it, in the end, and by the time he’s introduced into the camp, he can still feel their cum swilling in his guts–and he knows he can’t end up like this. They could take his dignity, but he…he would keep fighting all the same, even in here. He’d do everything he could, just to prove that he would never be broken. Not like they broke James–he’d push through this, no matter what.

Porno Virus (Part 7) [Interactive]

Theodore, or Teddy, as he now thought of himself–after all, the only person in his life to call him Theodore was his mother, and even then, only when she was about to beat his ass with a switch from the willow–stood in the shower area, dressed in the clothes he’d found, which he now considered to be his clothes, and tried to think about what he’d been doing. Thinking, however, proved to be a bit more difficult than he’d expected it to be. His head just didn’t want to move very quickly, and he’d never been to bright of a fellow to begin with, but there was something he needed to do, something…important. Something about…about an office? Of course, he didn’t work in an office–he’d hate working somewhere like that!–but there was someone…someone he knew in an office, and he…fuck, everything just felt so hazy all of a sudden. He’d feel better with a cigar.

He stomped out of the shower area, lit a cigar, and took a few deep draws, feeling his head clear–and the virus started filling in details. He…was missing someone. Someone…not important, exactly, but someone that…that was his, that was usually always with him. A wife? He laughed at that thought. Teddy wouldn’t let you call him a faggot, of course, but the only hole he wanted to fuck was a man’s–though you’d have to get him very drunk before he let you anywhere near his own. No, not a wife. A boy? A…something. He’d know when he got there–but getting there was going to be the hard part, because for the life of him, he couldn’t remember where he’d parked his motorcycle.

He looked around the truck stop parking lot, but the only thing happening was some fancy ass sedan getting towed away. There were some bikes parked over by the bar–not his, but…well, he had a feeling he’d be able to make off with one of them.

Half an hour later, with a fresh gash in one cheek that was drying, and some bruised knuckles, Teddy pulled into the parking lot of the office where he knew he had to go, an office that he could almost remember, like from a dream, even as a voice assured him he’d never been here before in his life. He went inside, and the place was mostly deserted. He could…smell smoke, somewhere, and he let his nose, and that little voice inside his head, guide him deeper and deeper into the building, until he found a large office filled with cigar smoke, and sitting there in front of a monitor, scrolling through porn, was the man he’d been looking for–his pig.

“Pig–what the fuck are you doing here?” Teddy growled at him, causing the chubby, hairy, musky fellow in the chair to flinch in surprise. Steve looked back, at the massive wall of hairy, tattooed flesh standing in the doorway, and the cock in his hand started spurting his load of cum that he’d been edging all over the floor in front of him. Then again, he’d never really been able to resist his…his boss. “Uh, hey…Boss…I uh, I don’t know, I…I was doin’ some work, and–”

“You dumb fuck, I’ve never seen you work a day in your life, and you fuckin’ work for me.”

“I…I know, I…I don’t really know, it’s all…weird.”

Teddy just gave a smoky snort, stepped into the office, hauled Steve out of the chair and pushed him onto his hands and knees. Teddy knew how to remind him, perfectly well, what the proper order of things was. He hauled down Steve’s filthy underwear and rammed his own cock in deep, Steve moaning in pleasure, his own mind being rewritten and emptied out by the virus, filled with new memories of them both. They’d been together for years now, travelling around the country on their bikes when they had the cash, and usually working construction through the warm months to build up some cash. Teddy fucked him rough, digging his nails into Steve’s flabby form, and when he came after a few minutes, the virus had cleaned them both out of their old identities–now they were just Teddy and Steve, a couple of filthy biker bears working construction through the summer until they saved up enough to take off again–and that was all they wanted to be, as far as they were concerned.

Terrance, for its part, was satisfied with the test, but there were other subjects around that could be manipulated as well. Who did Terrance decide to target and infect next?

Instead of picking particular people, here’s a list of some kinks and fetishes that haven’t been represented much yet. Let me know what you’d like to see, and I’ll craft a scenario around those interests. The public poll is below, and the bonus patron poll can be found over here!