The Fetish Gun is Loose! (Part 7) [Interactive]

Sorry for the slight hiatus! Life is getting a bit hectic at the moment.

Now that Rick had a pair of boots, like he should–he could even feel the two of them gently massaging his feet, hungry for his sweat and stink–he turned his attention back to the gun, and noticed that one part seemed to be emitting some sparks. A bit concerned, he tapped the side, where a panel had popped off slightly, tried to push it back into place, but when he did, there was a sudden surge of electricity that slammed into him, and he stumbled backwards into a booth and slumped down, unconscious for the moment.

The gun hit the ground, and when it did, the sparks seemed to be getting worse, the gun shaking and spinning on the ground, arcs of yellow electricity leaping in every direction, building up into one large spray of light that shot out of the gun, slamming right into a young man on the dance floor, and sending him stumbling several feet away. He’d arrived to the bar dressed in jeans and a western shirt, and had been an early target of the gun’s creator, making him a bit more…country flavored, with a lip full of chaw, cowboy hat on his head and cowboy boots on his feet. Now, where he was sitting on the floor, feeling rather out of sorts, he looked…quite a bit older than he had before. His face was weathered from years spent outside on various ranches and farms on the rural side of the state, though he liked to come over to the city regularly to let loose at the bars.

A younger man walked over to help the old cowboy daddy up, but as soon as he touched him, there was a static shot that leapt off of the daddy and sunk into the young man, and he began to change as well, his skimpy club clothes becoming well worn jeans and a long sleeve shirt like the man on the ground. More changes followed, a full goatee around his still young face, one lip full of chaw just like the man he helped up–just like his daddy. They embraced, the son glad his dad was alright, and then looked over to where the gun was still spraying sparks and light–just in time to see another blast launch off in a different direction, where it hit a glass on the bar, and it refracted into a wide swath of light, catching two bartenders and the whole wall of liquor in its path.

No one noticed any changes right away, until an older fellow grabbed their affected drink from the bar and took a sip, not noticing as years began to melt away from his face, his body shrinking lightly and becoming more toned, his hips and booty catching the beat on the dance floor as his clothes shifted to something much more revealing. Soon enough, the new twink had finished his drink and joined the throng on the dance floor, though the gun wasn’t finished yet. There was one more blast of light, this one was a wide swath cutting low along the ground, catching several tables and chairs in its path, the furniture beginning to shake and rattle–along with the people sitting on them–and the wood and cloth they had been made off began to warp and discolor, until they were all made from leather and rubber stretched over metal frames.

Before anyone sitting in them, or near them, could do anything, the leather and rubber had come alive, and was wrapping itself around the men sitting on them, or dragging nearby men into a sitting position. They all struggled at first, but as the leather and rubber dissolved their clothes and replaced them, they all began to moan and grind into the strange furniture. Some of them were absorbed entirely, becoming human-esque chairs and tables held in bondage, quaking with desire. Others were simply covered by the substances, their minds warped with new, kinky desires. One in particular, Now a rubber covered gimp wearing a gasmask and covered with leather straps, eyed the gun they had noticed send off the light, and then the rest of the room.

On the floor, the gun had stopped sending off sparks, finally, and the small screen on the side was flashing–Critical Error!–Reboot and Repair. The gun shutdown, and glowed for a moment, as the nanites buried inside went to work, repairing the damage from the fight, and after a few moments, the gun was back to normal–and back online–ready to be used by whoever picked it up next.

Who gets a hold of it next?

Davie sees the commotion and reclaims the gun.
The new twink from the dance floor gets it–he’s looking for a daddy play with–and decides to use Rick, still passed out in the booth.
The rednecks get hold of it, and want a few more guys for their family.
The gimp gets it, and makes himself a rubber master, and decides to use Davie.

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Whispers (Sketch)

“What’s wrong bro? It looks like your arms are starting to shake a bit. It’s only been half an hour.”

Devin kept stroking his brother’s cock, watching him struggle against the mental control he had placed on him when he’d gotten home from college. The little faggot–he didn’t know how it had happened even, but he was helpless. There was just…a voice in his mind, a whisper, and he couldn’t shut it out–and he couldn’t move. Jerome been in this plank position long enough that his muscles were screaming at him to stop, but it was hopeless–he wouldn’t break it until his little brother allowed him to move again–whenever that might be.

They’d never really gotten along as brothers. Well, really, Jerome had bullied him every day after he found out his brother was gay, and their father had as well. But they were older now–both in college, and they’d largely resigned themselves to the fact that Devin was gay–but apparently Devin hadn’t forgiven them. He just kept stoking Jerome’s cock, watching it leak precum onto the floor, smiling the whole while, the whispers growing louder, until they were interrupted by the sound of the garage door opening. “Oh goody, Daddy’s home!” Devin said, “I’ve been wanting you to see this.”

It was a few minutes before their father came in–or at least, the man who looked somewhat like his father. He was…massive, and seemed so much older than he had been, with a thick gut, hair all over, the white beard stretching down to his chest, the cigar clamped in his jaw. “There’s my boys,” he said with a grin, and Devin went to him and kissed him–and not in a familial way. Devin tried to look away, but his eyes were glued to his brother and father as they sucked on each other’s face. His father pulled away and looked down at Jerome, “Fuck, what a handsome young man–can…can I use him yet?”

“No daddy–we discussed this,” Devin said, “He was a very, very bad boy. We have to punish him, don’t we? He doesn’t get your cock–that’s only for good boys like me, right daddy?”

“Of-Of course, boy, you’re right–you know yer daddy isn’t too smart–only really good for fuckin.”

And they fucked right there, in front of Jerome, his body screaming in pain, unable to look away from his brother, wondering how he had done this to their father–not just warped his mind…but his body too. Daddy came, filling Devin’s ass with his cum, and then left, leaving the brothers alone again. “Alright, you can go down now,” Devin said, and Jerome collapsed to the floor, shaking and panting. He tried to get up and run, but he was too weak to even push himself upright.

“What…what the fuck did you do to dad?”

“Daddy you mean? Isn’t he handsome?” Devin said, “I always had a crush on him you know–even before he got even hotter. I helped with that. Turned him into a proper leather daddy bear, nice and rough, always smoking a cigar. Of course, he knows that it’s his boy who calls the shots around here…and he squeals like a piggy when I fuck his ass–you’ll see.”

“You can’t do this–this is so–”

“Wrong, I don’t have to do anything. All I have to do is plant the little whisper of an idea in your simple little minds, and you do everything for me. Now, why don’t you crawl on down into the basement? Everything is ready for you down there, and what you’re going to do, is…” Devin said, and pushed his mouth closer, close enough that, to Jerome, he could almost feel his brother’s tongue sliding into his mind, his eyes glazing over as he crawled away to the basement steps, Devin watching, knowing his brother would be in a much better mindset soon enough.

How long had it been? Days? Weeks? His muscles screamed at him to stop, but he couldn’t.

This is what he had to do, after all. What he was…made to do. The whispers in his head, he couldn’t really understand what they were saying, but they were changing him–warping him, just like he was certain they had warped his father. He had to fight them. Fight the bad voices, trying to tell him lies.

The bad voices telling him he wasn’t a gimp. An object. A rubber thing to be used by his two masters. The bad voice telling him to stop sucking the gag in his mouth, to stop riding the dildo in his ass. The bad voices telling him his cock shouldn’t be locked up–no, he had been bad, very bad. He didn’t deserve to have a mind, or thoughts, or anything at all. All he deserved to be used, and abused.He was winning though. The bad voices were getting quieter every day, leaving his mind empty–a blank slate for his master to toy with. Maybe one day, there wouldn’t be anything at all. Nothing left of him, just a thing. He could…see it.

Chained in the basement, covered in rubber that never came off. Cock sealed away, or maybe removed all together. It didn’t matter–it wasn’t there to feel anything, after all. Rear hole plugged, ready for dildos, or fists, or anything its masters desired. Front hole fitted with a funnel, ready to receive piss or cum, or anything from its masters thought it should eat or drink. It’s body was flabby from the fattening gruel it was fed–that, and it hadn’t walked anywhere in…months, or maybe years. Or at least, no further than the sling and the rack, when it had been good enough to earn a night spent hooked up to the fucking machine. After all, it was too filthy a thing to be fucked with a cock–no, it had never had a cock inside it…and it ached for it. Hoped that one day, it might earn the right to service its masters properly…but until then, it would serve as required.

That’s what the good voices were saying. That’s what he had to listen to, what he had to focus on. He would get better soon, he knew he would. He would be exactly what he was supposed to be, and everything would be alright, and at last, there would be silence.

The Carnival (Part 6) [Interactive]

They couldn’t see, they couldn’t move–trapped within layers and layers of rubber, Jake and Will could only feel the vibration of the conveyor underneath them roll them into the jaws of the factory’s machine. Inside, the heat was unbearable, but it was enough to loosen the goo enough that they could almost move–though not fast enough. Jake and Will were sorted into separate production lines, sliding down chutes into their own nightmarish horrors neither of them could have begun to imagine, and which neither of them could really remember, after the fact. Just a constant sensation of pushing and stretching, the rubber goo coating them sliding into them, inflating them, changing them, warping them into something else entirely–not entirely flesh, but not entirely rubber either. Then, tools appeared, drilling and stretching, tugging and squeezing, and both Will and Jake felt something else–the rubber wasn’t only sliding into their bodies, but also into their minds. Their thoughts slowed down, became simpler. They weren’t people anymore–not even to themselves. They were…things, of a sort. Things meant for particular purposes, designed for specific tasks and desires–and everything else, beyond that, was melted smooth, filled in by the silicone and latex of the machine.

At last, both of them were trundled out at the other end, each emerging from a separate chute, sliding down and landing in a concrete, similar to a loading dock. They struggled with their corrupted minds, trying to remember who they were, trying to recall their humanity, and largely failing. If there had been a mirror nearby, they would have been able to see that their physical humanity had largely been corrupted away–neither of them knew what to make of themselves, of the new sensations their bodies were experiencing, which their simple minds couldn’t describe. However, they saw one another, lying there, and something inside them…knew they needed one another.

Will could see Jake lumbering towards him–or at least, parts of him looked a bit like Jake. The hair, the forehead, the stance…but whatever Jake had become…he was something else now. Something monstrous. It was his tongue that drew his attention most. It hung from his mouth, thick and tentacle-like, the end searching in the air, hunting for a hole–just like Jake’s cocks. There were now four of them, jutting out from his crotch, and two massive balls swinging below against his thighs. Everything about him seemed so slick–the saliva coating his tongue seemed the consistancy of lube, as did the precum dribbling from all four of his cocks–each a different shape, though they were all massive.

Jake, on the other hand, saw Will rolling around of the floor, struggling to get upright–mostly because his body was…so much larger. At first he thought it was fat…but it didn’t quite seem to…shake right, as he wobbled on the ground–or rather, it seemed to shake too much. It also didn’t fold, like most fat bodies did–it had too many channels lining it, and as Jake’s cocks found them, they could feel how his entire body was ribbed and channeled, almost like it was meant to be…fucked. Then Jake found the holes–so many holes all over his body, and slid into him, exploring him, listening to the fuckable, living, silicone blob below him quiver with need, and moan–at least until Jake’s thick tongue found his throat, and slid down his gullet, choking him for a moment, until Will realized he could…breathe through all of his holes, somehow.

This continued for a few moments, until someone emerged from the shadows, and both of them froze solid, unable to move their metated bodies an inch, as they were loaded into a massive crate–still locked together in sex–and rolled into a truck, to be shipped off to who knew where, in the morning.

Meanwhile, somewhere else in the underground maze, Daniel was…struggling. He’d imagined that a mirror maze would be the simplest way out of this strange fun house, but it felt like he hadn’t made any progress at all…and these mirrors. He didn’t think these were normal–well, of course they weren’t normal, they were meant to distort, after all…but his reflections almost seemed…alive, somehow, inside of them.

Thus far, he’d managed to keep himself from running into anything like an idiot, but then he ran right smack into a mirrored wall–cheek to cheek with his reflection…only, it wasn’t exactly a reflection he recognized. It was him, sure, but the beard was something different, and the look in his eyes. He tried to pull away, but the glass clung to him, almost like there was suction between him and the glass–like it was trying to pull him inside, the other him clawing at the glass, through the glass, trying to reach him and pull him in.

He managed, finally, to tug himself away from it, and nearly stumbled into another one–like the first, the reflection was odd, and it didn’t seem to follow him perfectly. It was trying to get to him, trying to draw him closer, so it could pull him in too. Disturbed, and not at all certain if this was real, or just his paranoia playing tricks on him, he called out for Jake and Will, but the shouts just echoed around the mirrors, sounding like laughter as they died away. He proceeded carefully, and the reflections grew more animated, more desperate, shouting for him on the other side of the glass, and they grew more distorted and grotesque, the deeper he went.

Fat versions of himself, muscular ones, ones in leather and ones with tattoos. Filthy versions lying in mud–so many possibilities, and they all desired him most of all. They all wanted to become him, and claim his real life for their own. He saw the exit sign ahead, and rushed for it without thinking, and when he entered, a mirrored door slammed shut behind him, trapping him in a room of mirrors, every version of himself clamoring for him–and the walls began to close in. He didn’t have time to try and find the exit–he just turned and rushed for the nearest possible opening, and slammed into another mirror–but this time he couldn’t escape. The reflection’s hands grabbed him and sucked him into the mirror, the two of them melding together, until it shattered, and a very different Daniel was left on the ground–and the real Daniel could be seen screaming in the shards of glass scattered across the floor.

So, what sort of reflection has taken Daniel’s place in the world, and left him shattered to pieces?

An evil twin, eager to dominate and corrupt other people in the world.
A physical opposite–old, obese, filthy, lecherous, and very horny.
Several twins escaped, all of them reflecting different lifestyles Daniel could have lived.

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The Carnival (Part 5)

Together, Jake and Will slid down the slide underneath the Freakish Factory sign, expecting it to be a relatively short drop–but instead, they seemed to plummet for quite a while–several stories at least, before the slide shallowed out and launched them into the air. They landed on a soft, rubbery pad several yards away, and several yards lower than the slide, with no obvious way back up, as Jake had suspected up above. Whatever Daniel found down the slide he’d chosen, the Mirrors of Delight, he’d have to deal with alone. Still, it was just a silly carnival attraction, right? Then again, it seemed like they’d been in here for hours, somehow–shouldn’t the ride me over by now? Instead, they were apparently just getting started.

There was a narrow corridor not too far from the rubber pad, and the floor was no longer wood and concrete, but steel. In the distance, they could hear something rattling, clunking and grinding, but there was no immediate sight of anything mechanical, making the entire settling rather ghostly. They went into the corridor, lit with dim, industrial bulbs, and they only made it a short distance before Will stepped in something sticky, made a noise of disgust, and looked down at his shoe.

The thing he’d stepped in was a puddle of some sort, but what it was a puddle of, he had no idea. It was almost pitch black, with just a bit of reflective sheen to it. He wanted to touch it, but hesitated, trying to wipe it off the sole, but it wouldn’t come away. When he did finally touch it, he found that it had dried into a smooth rubber in just a few moments, though the puddle was still wet. “What the hell is this, some sort of leak?” he asked, showing what he’d found to Jake.

“Latex of some sort, I bet…but I don’t see where it could have come from.”

Is there a leak or something?”

“I don’t know why they would be pumping liquid latex through a funhouse.”

Will just shrugged, unable to come up with another explanation, and Jake didn’t offer anything else either, and they continued on their way, one of Will’s shoes feeling uncomfortably slick, and every few yards they found another puddle to step around, until the flooring changed into a rubber substance of some kind. Then, around the next corner, they discovered the source of the strange rubber substance, because up ahead some shower had been set up across the entire pathway, hosing the black goo down into a trough. There didn’t seem to be any other way past, though neither one of them had any interest in passing through the shower, and getting covered in the muck.

“Let’s go back–maybe we missed another path somewhere back there.”

“Yeah, this can’t be right…”

They turned around and started walking, but it took a couple of moments for them to realize they weren’t making any progress…because the rubber flooring, it turned out, was a conveyer belt driving them back into the shower of goop. They ran faster, hoping to out pace it, but it kept speed with them perfectly, and it wasn’t long before they began to tire. Jake tripped first, tumbling backward and rolling into the trough and under the goop. Will didn’t last much longer, and he too fell, and was rolled right along into the stuff as well. It coated everything, matting his clothes uncomfortably to his body, slicking down his hair, covering most of him in an even layer of rubber that hardened almost instantly, as soon as he was out from under it on the other side, where Jake was sitting, trying to peel the stuff off with no success.

“What kind of fucking shit is this?”

“Who the hell knows. Let’s just get out of here and then we can complain.”

They kept going, and the rattling and banging was getting louder. The floor was still rubber matting–if they tried to backtrack, it would turn into a conveyor belt each time, forcing them to continue, and there seemed to be more showers of the gunk around each corner. Before long, the two of them were covered in layers and layers of the filth, struggling along, trying to keep their mouths and noses clear so they could breathe, and their eyes clear so they could see. But they collapsed before too long, the belts turning on and pushing them onward, more and more rubber coating them until they came to a large room–and the source of the rumbling that neither of them could see at that point, or even hear very well. It was some massive machine, lumbering along in the dark, blowing steam and leaking oil all over, and the sign over the conveyor the two of them were on read, “Raw Material Line.”

But raw material for what, exactly?

What is this machine going to do to our happless college boys? If there are two popular options, then their fates will be split.

The machine molds them into physical freaks–silicone body mods, puppy body conversion, etc.
They become rubber drones designed for particular uses–living fuck toys, human toilet, etc.
They are broken down and processed into inanimate objects–rubber clothing, sex toys, etc.

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Faceless (Epilogue)

Someone commissioned me to write a bit more to Faceless from last month, picking up with Ash and one of the two drones he took back home with him, to experiment on.

That night, Ash couldn’t home fast enough with his two drones in tow. His apartment was near the bar at least, a sizable space in an old warehouse. Everyone who lived there seemed to be connected with Rod and the bar in one way or another–it made it easy for Ash to practice his craft, as he called it, without having to worry about too many prying eyes. All around the room, hanging on mounts, were the faces of men he’d taken off–either at the bar, or on occasion elsewhere in the city, when the opportunity had struck. These two, in particular, had been a pair of wealthy business men, who Ash had seen harrassing one of Pigtown’s whores on the street one night–a whole who Ash had always considered a friend. He’d stolen their faces, and had been using their bodies as his drones for a few weeks now–he’d…sensed that he was keeping them around for a purpose, but he didn’t quite know what. But now–well, now he knew why, didn’t he?

He fetched their faces off their hooks, and put them both on two mannequins–so they could see clearly, if not speak. One of the two young men had been the instigator that night–and this was mostly about him, so he sent the other drone to wait. Then, without saying anything to the two masks watching what he was doing, he began to work on the drone, reshaping it like he had the man’s nephew back in the bar.

As he worked, he could…sense the feelings of the two faces watching him, even if they couldn’t say a word. At first it was simply confusion. Then, it became disgust. Then, horror and terror as the drone’s figure moved out of the human and into the bizarre. Ash had begun by forcing the drone onto its hands and knees, and reshaping its body, filling it out until it was a long cylinder. Then, he began work on the back legs, filling out the thighs and the rump, forcing the knees backwards, and the same with the arms, making them similar in shape and form–and clearly designed like an animals to be incapable of walking upright. The feet and hands were next–and that was when the real horror set in, as the two watched Ash mash the fingers together and reform them into thick, solid hooves, the same with the feet, and lastly, he fetched from the wall a replica dildo of a horse’s cock and balls–one he enjoyed giving to his drones on occasion, but he figured this would be a nice, permanent home for it–and adhered it in place over the drone’s currently smooth crotch.

“There we are–what do you think?” Ash said, looking over at the two masks. “Now, I’ve only done this once before, so far, but I think you two scumbags would make excellent test subjects. I have other plans for you,” he said, pointing at the accomplice, “put you know that whore you beat up? He has a name–it’s Anton. He’s smart, and sweet, and a great lay–and do you know what he loves? Big, fucking cocks. You wanted to fuck him up? Well trust me–you’re going to be his fucking pet here soon enough.”

He pulled the mask free from the mannequin, almost certain he could feel it squirming in resistance, and walked around to the drone’s face, which he had purposefully left untampered with. After all, Anton had confessed to Ash that he’d kind of thought he was cute, which was why he’d propositioned them at all to begin with–why ruin a good face, if you didn’t have to? He put the face back on the drone, feeling it reattach to the body, and after a moment, it shook. “You fucking freak! What the fuck did you fucking do to my damn body!”

It was clear he was trying to move, but the flesh of his neck was only just beginning to spread lower. Ash figured it would be better to collar him now, rather than later. He took out the first of the two collars he’d gotten from Rod before leaving the bar–he’d been…reluctant to let Ash have them, but figured it was for the best–and ash secured the first one around the bully’s neck, watching his eyes go a bit out of focus for a second. “Now stay calm, and don’t fight back, got it?”

The man nodded slowly, and instead tried to twist his neck and look back at himself, but it was difficult to do. Instead, Ash got a mirror off the wall and brought it over, giving the man a better view of what was happening to his body. The flesh continued growing down over the rubber, extending down the man’s new front legs. It was disconcerting because he didn’t have any hair like a horse–just normal, human skin with the same smattering of hair he’d had in life, just spread across a very different form. The most hair was running down his thick belly, and coating the bottoms of his front legs, where his forearms had been. The rubber hooves shuddered a bit, but didn’t break–they just hardened into something between nail and rubber, because the flesh wasn’t quite sure what to make of it. The flesh covered the dildo well enough, and it came to life, hardening and slapping against the man’s belly as the flesh ran down his back legs as well–and then it was finished. Standing before him was something altogether new–some odd mix of horse and man–and something he was somehow certain Anton would love.

He attached the leash to the collar, and led him downstairs to Anton’s apartment–thankful it was early enough in the morning for no one else to be in the stairwell right now…though things equally as strange had been spotted around here before. Anton was awake, and when he saw the gift, his jaw dropped, first in terror, but after giving Ash a chance to explain, it gave way to delight. By the time he left, Anton had the leash in hand, his new pet mounting his master for the first time of many, driving his horse cock deep into his hole, and Ash already had so many ideas for his other drone–but first, sleep. There was always tomorrow, right?

Winter Vacation [Interactive] – Part 9

It was clear that there was something inside the cocoon, as it roiled, but what it was exactly was difficult to determine. At one moment, something would push from it, reaching out, almost like a hand, only to draw back. Other moments it seemed to bubble and pulse, like it was more liquid than solid. It was waste, really. The waste of the men above–combined with the magical runoff from the shower Maury had the week past–the only time the shower had been used, in fact, in the whole week the men had been there. That–and the demon’s own seed, melding with it, and giving it life, of a sort. Purpose, perhaps, would have been a better word.

The demon walked up to it, ran a hand over the surface, feeling it shudder beneath his touch. It was wet, and his hand came away black and tacky. With his sharp claw, he severed the seams holding the arms to the sides of the body, and as well as the seam connecting the legs, and they flung apart, splattering black goo as they did, the cocoon now resembling a body more than anything else, but a body with no real features to be seen.

He laid his hand back on the thing, focusing, and found its mind. It didn’t have a brain, exactly–but it did think. It was confused. The spirit that had bound it all together was gone, and now it was searching for an outlet. It was meant to be drained away–it wasn’t supposed to be here, was it? The demon calmed it, and the filth inside began to rest and congeal, slowly, the body now undulating rather than rippling, almost…happy under the hand of its master, if such a thing could really understand happiness.

“You’re filth, yes” the demon said, “but not without worth. Let me give you shape.”

The thing felt it’s master push its well into it, infusing it, and it relented. It would be what the Master desired–that was the only purpose it could possibly have. The much inside congealed further, and finally solidified–not quite as solid as flesh might feel, under a rubber skin, but solid enough to be worked. It stood, shuddering a bit, almost like gelatin, and looked down at its master, wanting to know more, wanting to know what it was–and the master showed it the way. Bumps formed along the things arms and legs–awkward and uneven at first, but soon they shuffled about until the appeared to be muscle, the body still holding much of its mass collected in a round, sagging gut, heaving over its crotch. The legs, too, widened and thickened, solidifying until they were a sturdy base, the feet wide, with small claws at the end of sharp black plastic–harmless, one might think, but it could cut someone unprepared to the bone. Below the gut, something else was forming–cock like, but much thinner and prehensile, more like a hose. It sensed that it could be emptied that way–perhaps entirely, should Master desire it, but it hoped now. It was…enjoying this. It clenched a fist, feeling the sharp claws forming there as well, flesh becoming firmer still, its head beginning to take shape, a second hose–probiscus like–unfurling from it’s mouth and nose into a long snout a couple of feet long.

It had no eyes, but it could sense the things around it–and beside it, it’s Master pulsed with the most deliciously radiant force and power it had ever known. It got down on one knee, bowing its head, thankful to the beast which had given it life, purpose, and form–the demon grabbed the snout of the thing, slid the head of his cock into it, and pissed, watching the rubber drone shudder in delight as it took the demon’s filth into itself, storing it away, feeling its power and size grow.

“Yes, I think you will do nicely. Now–you know your place, don’t you?”

The drone stood back up and went to the wall where it had rested for the last week, and stood at attention. The master took it’s snout and connected it back to the plumbing of the house, feeling it shudder in delight, eager to feed more on the waste of the men above–and of its master.

“Don’t worry, I may allow you upstairs on occasion, but it would be best not to frighten the rest from their stupor just yet. But they will all have a chance to taste of you soon, I think–I’m excited to see just how potent that filth of yours has become.”

The drone nodded, eager to obey, and then went still, a statue against the wall. In the dark, it was almost easy to miss the hulking thing, unless you knew to look for it. The demon turned out the light and slipped back up into the house proper, enjoying the sense of freedom he had, now that the coach’s vessel was well and truly his.

The mortal plane–what a joy it was! And three souls here, ready and aching to be twisted and warped to his own ends. They wouldn’t be cast back to hell like Rich’s–no, that would not be nearly so satisfying. They would be his own twisted family here, slaves to their wicked vices–and to the demon’s sick desires, warped until they didn’t even recognize their own humanity. Three would be a good start, but more would come to him–willing or not. He had always desired a harem of mortals, and he was excited to sample the men they’d become, since unleashing them in this house of temptation and vice.

He wandered into the TV room nearby, drawn by the stores of Maury. He was on the couch–the place where he hadn’t left in several days, judging by the smell in the air. He was quite a bit larger at this point–nearly 700 pounds of flab, heaving for breath, covered in hair, drenched in sweat, mind rotted away by the static of the TV he couldn’t seem to stop staring at. Certainly a beautiful image of gluttony–but he could be so, so much more, couldn’t he?

So what’s gonna be Maury’s fate at the hands of the demon?

He’s as furry as an animal–perhaps he should become the house pigman.
He merges with the couch, and becomes living furniture.
Call up the filth drone, and see how he likes a taste of its waste.
Rewrite that empty brain, and make him the merciless sadist daddy of the house.

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Muse of Fantasy II – Reconciliation (Part 7)

Oliver could see his eyes softening slightly, and with a gentle touch, he opened up Ed’s mind once again, but this time the image was…fuzzy, and indistinct. They were outside, and standing in something soft, but beyond that, Ed didn’t know quite where he was…but he also know that he was where he belonged.

“Yeah, you’re not a faggot, Ed. But you’re much too horny to not fuck anything, but women make your stomach turn. You don’t want to be anywhere near them, do you?”

Ed shook his head.

“Well, that doesn’t give you many options, does it? Still, you can think of something to fuck, can’t you? Out on the farm?”

Ed just blinked at him–it was clear that the rubber had…destroyed some of his more creative thought, which was fine, he supposed. He didn’t need to be a smart roughneck, after all. Still, why not just give him an illustration? The fantasy around them expanded, and brought in both Will, still on all fours on the bround–as well as the puddle of black cum still dribbling from his hole–but now, the puddle slowly began to squirm to life, and began coating the drone’s body. His legs were shortening, the foot melting and becoming stocky trotters, thighs thickening into a proper rump, and a curly rubber tail popped out above his ass.

“A…A fuckin’ pig?” Ed said.

“A fuckin’ pig exactly,” Oliver said. You’ve always liked animals, haven’t you? Not quite as much as you fantasize about faggots, but you loved fucking pigs, donkeys, dogs, bulls–anything you could get your hands on. It only made sense, right? You can’t fuck a faggot–but they’re basically animals anyway, and that marvelous cum of yours can make them into whatever beast you want them to be.”

The rubber was spreading up Will’s body now, and he was thickening and growing, his torso and chest rounding out into a proper pot belly. He felt…hollow, but the thing enjoyed the feeling–it meant Master would be able to fill it up with whatever he wanted to put inside of him. Swirls of color were forming on him now as well, the black now interspersed with tan spots, becoming a piebald pattern, though the skin was still perfectly shiny and smooth. The one thing that did not change, was his face–which, even though it was covered in rubber, it still seemed…human, to Ed. He couldn’t fuck the face, not if it looked like that, but that piggy hole–yeah, he was excited to fuck that some more. He lumbered over and slid his cock back into the pig’s hole, feeling the rubber beast shove back onto him, eager to please its master, eager to be filled with his rubber cum, storing it for later when the Master might need it.

Oliver admired the scene, and then felt another presence beside him, and he gasped when the slender hand grazed his chin. “Well done, my muse,” Amoredie said, “I like them very much–they will bring much pleasure to the world, I think.”

The blurry fantasy around them slowly began to solidify. The mud surrounding them became a pig pen, and beyond that, a rundown barn, stable, and farm house where Ed lived alone in the country–far enough from civilization to not draw too much attention, but close enough that whenever the need rose, it was just a couple miles to the highway rest areas, where Ed could fuck some pretty little faggot, pump them full of his rubber cum, and drag them back to the farm, to become the beast they deserved to be–just another member of his livestock harem that he cared for and fucked from dawn until dusk.

Ed looked back over his shoulder, pleading one last time for the life he and his husband had lost, but he found himself looking at the most glorious being he’d ever witnessed. He had no idea how to describe them, beyond every fantasy he’d ever had, brought to life, and before he even realized it, his old memories had vanished, leaving him just a simple brutish roughneck, and he turned back to his prize hog and kept on fucking it, rutting with it roughly until he unloaded another huge load of his special cum deep into it’s hollow guts, and then pulled free.

The sun was setting–and he was still plenty horny. Maybe it was time to go find a new faggot–he’d been itching for a big chubby cowboy to go with his bull back in the barn. Invisible to him, both Amoredie and Oliver watched him hop the fence surrounding the pig pen, and the pig settled down into the muck, satisfied for the moment. He got in the truck and headed off down the road towards the highway.

“Yes–this will be a bustling farm, in a few months,” Amoredie said with a giggle, “We’ll have to come back and visit then, I think.”

“A-Anything you want, of course,” Oliver muttered, “I’ll do anything for you–anything to just feel your touch, please, it’s been so long! Show me…let me please you, let me know I’m still worthy of you.”

“Hush now, my muse–you’ve earned my love,” they said, and pulled him to their breast, and he melted into the infinite possibility of existence, and knew nothing but pleasure, once more.

Muse of Fantasy II – Reconciliation (Part 6)

He shook his head, trying to clear it. He…he knew who it was. It was a person, it was someone he knew, wasn’t it? But it wasn’t a person anymore. No–it was was in his domain now, it was his. He walked towards it and ran his heavy gloves over the thing’s face, pushing his fingers into its facehole, the flesh inside shivering and quaking at his touch, eager and hungry for his cock, to serve him, but more than anything else, to be abused and used and broken down to nothing. He gripped the thing’s head in his hands, forcefully, and pressed the massive rubber shaft to its hole. It struggled and resisted–it couldn’t help itself, the flesh inside wasn’t as cooperative as it desired to be, but Ed applied steady, constant pressure. It would relent–it always did, in the end. He would have his way with the thing, whatever the thing inside might be feeling was of no concern to either of them.

Oliver, lost to Ed in his mask, knelt down beside the chained Will, listening to him gag and choke helplessly as Ed drove the massive, foot and a half long rubber shaft into his gullet. His jaw was about to dislodge, he couldn’t breathe, and Will was beginning to wonder, seriously, if this might be where he die. “Now now,” Oliver said, stroking Will’s cheek with one hand, “There’s no death here–but there is change. Change is always a death of a sort, you know. But you have to give something up to change, Will. We both know that this is what you desire most–but that pesky flesh inside of you is going to have to yield, if you’re going to get what you want most.”

Oliver kept stroking his cheek, and he felt it–the jaw dropped, noticeably–but there was no pop. Instead, it simply stretched and warped, the bones of Will’s mouth turning to rubber, his throat and mouth no longer flesh, but simply a rubber channel leading into his body. With the resistance gone, Ed drove his massive rubber cock into Will, to the base, grinding the rubber of his overalls against him, before sliding back out, and driving in, quicker this time.

“See? Isn’t that better? Isn’t that what you want?” Oliver said. Will shivered in pleasure as Ed’s massive shaft drove into him again, the sensations of his now rubber throat driving him to new heights of pleasure he’d never imagined possible. “All it takes is a little imagination, and a willingness to let go. Let go of yourself, of that pesky humanity. You don’t need it anymore–you don’t need it to give him pleasure, you don’t need it to serve him as his slave. It will only hold you back, if you keep it.”

Will could feel his mind slowing, his thoughts turning to rubbery muck, but that was alright–he didn’t need to think. He just needed to exist. Anything beyond that, all higher order thought, would simply be a nuisance. It was so much better to just focus on feeling, and sensation–on pleasure. Oliver pushed Will over, the chains slackening enough that he fell forward, caught with his ass up. Ed stared at him, confused for a moment, and then stopped around behind Will and began his work on the gimps ass. This hole relented easier–Will already knew what he needed to do, now–release the flesh, allow it to become rubber, allow the rubber to invade him, worm it’s way around the fleshy core that remained of him. He could no longer exist without it, he realized–he was no longer even a person, just a thing. Whatever human chunks of him remained were trapped within a shell that would never allow them to be free again. Ed could feel the pleasure building in his cock and balls, churning and growing until in a massive gush he poured his seed, inky black and slick, into Will’s ass, the rubber channel overflowing quickly, most of it spilling out onto the ground below them both, the dungeon shrinking away from them both until they were back in the kitchen, both now warped beyond any recognition, their minds overwhelmed with the pleasures of their forms, leaving Oliver a moment to appraise them.

Yes, they were good–but was it enough to please his god? No–they could go further than this, he could push himself further than this. Besides, they were missing life. They had no context. What would he do, lock them both up in a dungeon, where no one would behold them? No–they needed to live. He walked up, to where Ed was still ramming his rubber cock into the drone’s hole. He tugged the hose hanging from his mask, and yanked it off of him, the clasps giving way, and Ed looked around the room, wide eyed and shocked, and then looked down at himself, at his rubber gear, and his cock buried deep into the thing’s ass, the pool of black goo he was standing in, and he staggered back, trying to pull off the gloves, the clothes, the cock–anything, but none of it would come away from his body. “No–what the fuck is this shit? Get it the fuck off me!”

“Now now, Ed–you don’t really want to take your gear off, do you? Not when you still have work to do?” Oliver said.

“Fuck you, this–this is fucking insane!”

“Now now, I can always put the mask back on, Ed. I can make sure it never comes off. You’ll be as much a rubber thing as that thing there, and you’ll never have another thought in your life. But that’s not what you want, is it? You want to go back to the country–back to the farm. Well I can make that happen, if you want.”

God of Fantasies II – Reconciliation (Part 5)

“Fuck…fuckin’, what the fuckin’ hell’d ya do tah me?”

“I gave you what you want, Ed. I gave you both what you want–that’s what I do. That’s my gift, giving me their fantasies, no matter how strange, no matter how perverse. I free them from their mundane, boring, simple lives and give them all of the pleasure they could desire so that they might please my god.” He placed a hand on Will’s head, and he instinctively leaned in, mouth open, tongue hanging out, searching for his next cock, hungry, desperate to be used. “Still, don’t assume we’re finished yet–after all, the deal wasn’t just giving the two of you what you each want–we’re looking for a way towards…reconciliation, right?”

“Nah, not this, I wasn’t meanin’ nothin’ like this!” Ed said, “You fuckin’ faggot! Just fuckin’ leave me the fuck alone!”

Oliver looked down at Will, still blindly searching for his cock, and then back at Ed. “Well, what do you think Will wants? This rubber–it’s sucked most of the mind out of him at this point–he doesn’t really consider himself to be anything more than an object really–a cumdump. He never has to worry about those big human problems again, he never has to worry about much of anything–but he does need a master, don’t you, you little rubber slut?”

He gripped Will’s head, and made him nod along, and with a tap on the crown, Ed saw…something push it’s way out from Will’s skull–from his mind really, the same way the bathroom had materialized around him when Oliver had touched him–but this was something else, something much…darker. The ring pushed past where Eddie was sitting, and he dropped, the chair below him no longer existing, and he pushed himself up from the rough concrete floor where the kitchen tile had been, and looked around at whatever it was that Will kept cooped up in his head.

Eddie had always known that Will had something…strange in him. Maybe not as strange as a fantasy about getting raped by rednecks, or becoming a redneck, but something strange all the same. He’d never really known what to make of his obsession with rubber, in particular. When he’d tried wearing it in the past, to satisfy Will’s constant badgering, it had just felt hot, and sweaty, and gross–not sexy at all. Will had never really been able to explain what he liked about it either, but perhaps it hadn’t been an inability to say it–maybe he’d just been ashamed, or as terrified of his own desires as he was sure Eddie would have been, if he’d known.

The room Ed was in now, was a dungeon–a sex dungeon, but one which didn’t seem to be the sort of play space some gay couples assembled. No–something about this felt very, very real. Will was in the middle of the room, still in the gimp suit, but now, he was also bound in chains bolted to the floor, held immobile, aside from a metal clasp in his mouth stretching his jaw to the limit, a posture collar forcing his head high and rigid–ready to accept whatever someone might give him.

“This is what Will wants,” Oliver said, in the darkness. “He doesn’t just enjoy rubber, Ed–he doesn’t just want to be rubber, either. He wants to be owned, and controlled, and used. He wants to cease to exist as a person–as an agent, and just become a slave. He’s never admitted this to anyone, not even you, not even really to himself. Part of the reason you getting beat up like that bothered him so much? It was because, in a way he couldn’t even understand, it had made him jealous.”

“Look man, I don’t know what kinda fuckin’ game this is, but I–I’ll be the redneck, a’ight? Just drop me off on a farm somewhere, I don’t even give a fuck! But I ain’t doin’ none a this faggy shit, got it? This shit is fucked up.”

“Ah, see? That’s where you’re wrong! This isn’t faggy shit, Ed–your masculine pride can remain intact–because this isn’t a man, not anymore. It’s just an object, something for you to use–and something that wants you to use it more than anything. Or at least, it wants someone like you to use it, but I don’t think a big redneck bruiser is quite what Will has in mind–right Will?”

The gimp nodded–the first sign it had given that it was at all aware of what was going on around it in the room–and when it did, Ed heard something, a soft flutter, and then it was on him. It was rubber, but it wasn’t just a sheet of the stuff, it was clothing, and it was…alive. Two thick, industrial style gloves, not unlike those Will had worn that summer spent inseminating cattle, shoved their way down over his hands, while the flannel and denim he was wearing was torn off, a pair of rubber overalls and waders taking their place–though the crotch on the overalls was missing entirely. It left his cock and balls vulnerable to the massive, foot and a half long rubber strap-on to slide over them, encasing them in hard rubber, and the strap cinched itself tight around his legs and waist. He grabbed it in his rubber gloved hands and tried to tug it off, but only succeeded in sliding them down the length of the shaft, making him groan and shudder. The rubber cock–he could feel it, somehow, and it was more sensitive than his real cock had ever been. His attention was so caught by the pleasure, in fact, that he didn’t see the mask until it was too late–it flew at his face, covering him, the straps wrapping around his head tight.

He tried to tug it off, but it was cinched so close he could feel the rubber digging into his skin, and he couldn’t even find a buckle to release the straps. It was a gas mask of some sort, and he could feel a long hose whipping from the mouth of the mask, and when he breathed in, the air…was stale, and stank of rubber and sweat and musk…it made him feel lightheaded, and also incredibly horny. The lenses of the mask were tinted, making everything in the already dark room even more difficult to see, but he could see the slave there, chained to the floor–his rubber gimp.

Muse of Fantasy II – Reconciliation (Part 4)

“You fought back. You swallowed that inner faggot of yours, and you started beating him up too. You straightened out and manned up, and dumbed down. By the time you dropped out of school, you weren’t little Eddie, that fucking faggot anymore–no, you were Big Ed, beating up the rest of the weak faggots with your big brother. The only difference is that you promised to go a bit easier on them next time, if they sucked you off in the woods after school.”

“Nah, fuck, that shit ain’t fuckin’ right! I ain’t one a ‘em I fuckin’ hate ‘em!” Eddie said, and tried to turn away from the mirror, but even though he could feel his body moving, the mirror and the room turned with him. He couldn’t escape the face, his face, the big, hulking, sexy fucking brute in the mirror. Was…was it really him? Could it be him? He’d always…thought about it, what might have happened if he’d stayed, if he hadn’t focused on school and gotten out as soon as he possibly could. Is this…is this really what he could have been? He knew it should have horrified him, but all he felt was so fucking horny.

“Yeah, you do hate them, those faggots.”

“Nah that ain’t what I meant! Don’t go twistin’ round mah words like that, this, I didn’t wanna be this fuckin roughneck son of a bitch.”

“Come on now, Big Ed–it didn’t happen. You didn’t end up like those faggots, you can relax,” Oliver said, stroking the side of his bearded face gently, seeing some of the intellect and memory in Eddie’s eyes dim back further. “You’re a real man, isn’t the right, Big Ed?”

“N-No, I…I was a…”

“That was just a bad dream–a nightmare.”

“Y-Yeah…yeah, I’m a real man.”

“And you do everything real men do, don’t you? You smell like a man, you smoke and drink like a man, you swear and growl like a man–you even fuck pussy like a man, on occasion, ain’t that right? Of course, you can’t stand women, not really–that’s the real problem, isn’t it?”

Eddie could smell himself now, standing there. The boozy breath, the lingering smoke in his beard. The musky pits, the dirty, muddy clothes he had on. It made him feel better–more secure. Oliver was right, he wasn’t a faggot–no fucking way was a real man like him a faggot. But what the fuck was he talking about? Ed had been with plenty of women! Of course, he’d…never really been able to get hard easily, but that’s because he was usually drunk, but fucking them in the ass usually did the trick for him, and if they complained? A few smacks would sort them out quick enough.

“The real problem, is that the faggot is still in you, deep down, and you’ll never be rid of him.”

“Shut yer fuckin’ trap,” Ed snarled at him, but there was a quaver, a bit, at the end of his drawl.

“That’s why you come here, that’s why you find the mouths on the other side of the stall, that’s why you did it that night, isn’t it? Listening to him moan around your cock, listening to how much he was enjoying it–it drove you nuts, because you want to enjoy it too, instead of all the shame, instead of all the self-loathing…”

Ed gasped, and realized he wasn’t in front of the mirror anymore. No–now he was in the stall, his cock in the gloryhole, listening and feeling some disgusting faggot slurping on his fat rod on the other side, the wet slap of the faggots hand on his own wet cock–he hated it. He fucking hated it. He hauled his cock out of the hole without warning, walked to the stall where the faggot was, and kicked in the door with one solid slam from his boot, the door slamming into the bitch, stunning him. Ed reached in and grabbed him by the collar, hauling him out of there with a snarl–and froze when he saw the face of the faggot, froze when he saw his face, his old face, looking up at him in terror.

“This is what you’ve wanted, ever since that night, isn’t it? This is why you can’t stop thinking of it, why you can’t stop dreaming of it. So do it. Fucking do it, be a man, show that faggot you mean business.”

Ed didn’t want to look at that face, he didn’t want to see that version of him anymore–so he started punching it. He punched it until it was broken and bloody and almost unrecognizable, and then he rolled it over, hauled down its pants, and started fucking it roughly, his thick, calloused hands gripping the thing’s hips hard enough to bruise, so hard he could almost feel his own hands on his own hips, but he didn’t think about that, couldn’t think about that, wouldn’t think about that, and he came deep–and the bathroom was gone, and Ed was left in the kitchen, his cock planted deep down Will’s throat, watching the gimp choke on his massive load, its erection still clearly visible in the rubber suit below. He hauled his cock free of the thing’s mouth, watching it slurp the cum down with a moan, and he fell into a chair behind him, looking down at his hands, his massive fucking hands, from years working on farms and construction sites. He could…remember everything, everything about this new life, and all that remained of his old one were just fragments, shards left over from the mental beating he’d given himself. He looked back at the gimp in front of him, at Oliver standing beside him, smiling, pleased with himself.