Lyle and Sirius were outside of the bar, having a smoke, when the burly biker rode up and parked his hog out in front, and got off. He was a large man, well over six feet tall with a thick gut, wearing leather from neck to boot to glove, his face and head shaved to shining with a thick ring in his septum. Still, Lyle and Sirius had dealt with worse before, and when the guy gave them both a side long glance and smirked, Lyle let loose a stream of tobacco spit towards him.

“What’s so funny, fucker?”

“Don’t fuckin’ mess with us,” Sirius added.

The guy stopped and turned to them both and said, “Heh, not making trouble guys, I was just wondering if you knew that your friend there is a total faggot.”

Before they could reply he’d stepped into the noisy bar, and both guys felt their anger boiling.

“Fuck that fucker, callin’ you a fuckin’ faggot–let’s go kick his ass,” Sirius said.

“No fuckin’ way he’s getting away with calling you that,” Lyle said at the same time.

The two guys stopped and stared at each other then, and they realized that they had no idea who the guy had been talking about–but he’d clearly only been talking about one of them. They never did go find the guy in the bar–in fact, neither one of them said much for the rest of the evening, just throwing each other sidelong glances, and drinking more than they should have, before hopping into Sirius’ truck and heading back to the trailer park they both lived.

It was the dead of night when Lyle burst into Sirius’ trailer, mumbling, “No fuckin’ way am I the fuckin’ faggot around here, I’ll show that fucker–” but Sirius was waiting for him, and he tackled his friend to the ground. It wasn’t an easy fight, but Sirius finally pinned his friend down and started pummelling him with his fists until Lyle was pleading with him to stop, and then Sirius rolled him over and raped his ass for the first of many times until the next day, when they went back at the bar.

Sirius was drinking and smoking, as usual, but Lyle, eyes black and ass raw, was kneeling next to him, head down, when the biker arrived again. “Nice faggot you got there,” he said on his way into the bar.

“Actually, I was wondering if you’d like him–no use for a faggot myself. Not really my thing.”

The biker walked over and gave Lyle a look over, roughly shoving a few gloved fingers into his ass before handing over a couple hundred bucks to Sirius. He collared Lyle up and dragged him into the bar behind him, Lyle only looking back at Sirius once, and the look chilled him a bit, and he chugged the rest of his beer.

The glare had said this: “You were lucky–this could have been you, if I’d beaten you. If I’m a faggot, then you’re a faggot too.”

Every night, it’s the same thing, but always a little different, but they’re always getting worse, and you can always remember them perfectly. You had two of them last night–you remember waking up from the first just long enough to jack your rock hard cock off before you fell back asleep into the second dream, but you recall them both perfectly.

In the first–you remember the tiled room, but you don’t remember how you’d gotten there–still, you were dressed to serve. The leather gear was well worn and fit you like a glove, revealing every curve of your fat belly, showing off your tribal tattoos. You were on your knees, waiting–for something. For someone. For anyone. You could feel how sticky your body was, from the build up of all the cum splattered across you. In a moment of clarity, you try to stand up, but the cum has adhered to the tile floor, keeping you there, as man after man files in, coating you in their cum, and soon you can barely move at all. The cum encases you entirely–you’re frozen in place, mouth open, ready for the next load, just a permanent cumdump in some filthy, rundown bathhouse.

In the second, you’re more like you–but still different. No tattoos, but maybe a bit bigger? More muscular? A bit rougher? You’re out at the bar, drinking with your pals, when you tell them that you need to go take a leak. In the bathroom, you walk up to the middle urinal, drop your pants, but before you can piss, the urinal surges to life, erupts from the wall, and grabs the upper half of your body, bending you over at the waist, feet splayed apart, ass out, squirming and fighting against the porcelain. Man after man comes into the restroom, and you try to call for help, but your mouth doesn’t work–the urinal has forced some sort of pipe down your throat, and each man shoves his cock up your loose asshole and pisses into your guts. The urinal has done something to you–merged with you–the piss flows through you and out your mouth, into the sewer, and it tastes…better than anything you’d ever tasted. Soon, you’re addicted, desperate for men to piss down you, use you, fill you with their piss and cum–

You’ve cum again–where are these dreams coming from? What are they doing to you? You drank your own piss for the first time yesterday–it gave you the best orgasm of your life. You can’t stop jacking off and eating your own cum. You long to serve every man you pass on the street–you want to be their urinal, their cumdump, their slave, their property…Pushing the thoughts away, you get up and get ready for work, paying no mind to the dreamcatcher your friend gave you a few weeks ago. It was a strange gift, but he was into that strange occult shit–still, that stuff wasn’t real, was it?

“Sir, I’m gonna have to give you a pat down,” the officer said.

The metal detector had gone off for the third time, and Jack swore he didn’t have anything metal on him, but the officer pushed him up against the wall and patted him down the back and front, and everything was normal until the officer suddenly shoved his gloved hand between Jack’s legs, and Jack felt something push into his asshole. He let out a surprised yelp, and the officer smirked.

“Ah, so that’s the problem–we got a tail. You’re gonna have to follow me sir.”

“E–Excuse me?” Jack said, but in response, the cop just grabbed the back of his pants in both of his gloved hands and ripped the denim apart, letting the rubber tail attached to the six inch plug stuck up his ass loose from the inside of his jeans. Jack started panting, relieved to have it free, and he wagged it back and forth, wondering what in the world he was doing.

“Come on boy,” the officer said, “We need to get you trained for the K-9 squad.” The cop pulled out a leather collar which he clipped around Jack’s neck, and led him through the police headquarters on all fours. No one paid this any mind, and Jack tried to protest, but for some reason all he could do was whimper and bark. Down in the basement, however, all was made clear soon enough. He was just another squad dog, trained to serve his master officers–the pack alpha set him straight in a few days time, and he was just another obedient K-9 unit, out on patrols, by the end of the week.

Fuck, Russ almost couldn’t take it anymore, seeing Drew like that, his shirt off, growing belly hanging out, but he had to stay in control.

“Dude, what are you staring at my gut for?”

Russ yanked his eyes up to Drew’s face, where he could see his friend’s beard starting to fill in, and as he stared at it, it started to thicken and grow a bit denser, and he blushed and looked away. “Sorry, you just look…bigger…”

Drew didn’t look bigger–he was bigger, but Russ knew that of course. The potion he’d taken would let his gaze transform anyone he wanted, but it would only work until he and his target had sex–and he came. He should have invested in a chastity device or something, just to hold back, because the potion was making his libido rage out of control. It had only been an hour, and Drew had packed on 50 pounds, and was way hairier than he had been, and he hadn’t noticed a thing. Still, Russ wanted him bigger–hairier–butcher and tougher and rougher…

He needed something to calm his nerves, maybe some alcohol. The potion had said to not eat or drink anything for six hours before he took the potion, and to not eat or drink until the potion’s spell was completed, but one shot of something wouldn’t hurt, certainly. He excused himself and went into the kitchen, digging out some booze and taking a swig from the bottle, but his head immediately clouded up. The last thing he remembered was collapsing to the kitchen floor and seeing Drew rush over to him.

***

Russ woke up slowly. The headache pounding in his temples was one of the worst hangovers he’d ever experienced. He struggled up from the floor and went to grab his head, but found his hands were covered by some sort of mitt. Confused, he started to take them off, but stopped. Master Drew wouldn’t want him to do that–Master Drew wanted him to be a good pup.

“That you, pup?” A deep voice said from the bed, and he heard the creak of bedsprings as the massive man his roommate had become heaved himself up off the bed, over six feet tall and close to 400 pounds, and all master–his master.

This wasn’t right, he hadn’t wanted Drew to be his master, had he? Sure, he’d always liked bottoming, and he’d had a few fantasies…and Russ finally figured out that the alcohol must have lowered his inhibitions far enough that his subconscious had taken over the transformation. Still, he loved his big master, and Master Drew loved him, his pup–his slave. He nuzzled up against his thick leg, feeling his cock harden, and wondered what Russ might have in store for them today. Whatever it was, it would be good.

Orville rolled over in bed, waking up to a hangover, and wondered why in the world he’d drank so much last night. He knew better, especially now that he was older. Sure, retirement meant he didn’t need to get up for anything, but he just couldn’t handle his liquor like he’d used to. He reached up to touch his forehead and heard the jangle of chain, and with the sound came a crush of thoughts.

Just a worthless faggot slave…nasty old pig…pervert…serve to exist, serve your betters…young men…just a worthless old fuck…

They were overwhelming, but I fought against them pushed back, and when I regained my bearings, I discovered I wasn’t in my bed anymore–I was in the bathroom. I had a razor in my hand, and I looked at my reflection in the mirror, and my beard–it was gone. Not just my beard, most of my hair was gone too–I’d just shaved it all off. I dropped the razor in the sink in fear and stepped back, and the chains attached to the shackles still binding me rattled again, and the sound dragged me back under.

Waste of space…Good for nothing faggot bitch…whore, just a fucking whore for cock…

“No!” I shouted, but it was too late–I’d finished off my head, and done the rest of my body too–was still doing the rest of my body, in fact. I couldn’t stop myself, as my shackled hands shaved the rest of my pubes off around my short, worthless cock.

I don’t even deserve to have a cock, do I?

I shook my head, trying to beat the thoughts back, but my hands wouldn’t stop. They picked up the strange cage from the sink and worked it over my limp cock, securing it away so my betters wouldn’t have to have their vision spoiled by a disgusting erection on my faggot body. But I would need more–more to make me worthy of their service. I could see myself now, tattooed all over, and I pulled on my socks and shoes, still fighting, but only halfheartedly now. It wasn’t long before I would look like a worthless faggot slave, and I knew I would be thinking like one not soon after.

My new roommate, Rick, he seemed like an alright guy, but he’s just a bit dirty, and I swear he doesn’t take showers, but he says he does. Me, well, I like being a clean guy, and it kind of bugs me that he always stinks. And then the unimaginable happened–it was the middle of summer, the hottest part of the year, and the shower broke. Even worse, the landlord was on vacation, so we were going to be without it for at least a week.

After three days, Rick and I were both sweaty and stinking, him even worse than usual, and I told him how much I wanted a shower, and he said, “Well, I can always give you one of my special showers,” he said, and gave me a smirk.

I was sitting on the couch, both of us in my underwear, and I didn’t know what he was talking about. Still, before I could respond, he was standing in front of me, whipped out his cock, and started pissing on me right there in the living room.

For a moment, I was just shocked, feeling his piss splattering against my chest, but before I could get up and tell him off, the aroma hit my nose, and my whole head just went fuzzy, my body limp, and all I could do was smell Rick’s piss on me. Distantly, I could hear him talking to me, and I know I was agreeing with him a lot, and when I finally came back to myself, I was alone on the couch.

I knew I should clean myself up, but instead I just sucked the drying piss from my shirt and jacked off, moaning the whole time, and then went into the bathroom, laid down in the tub, and pissed all over myself, before jacking off again. Needless to say, Master Rick has given me a whole lot of special showers since then, and even though I always blank out afterwards, I don’t mind it anymore. We never did get the shower fixed either, but why would we? A boy should smell like his Master’s piss anyway–I am his property after all, and I do love giving Master Rick a long tongue bath–in fact, he’s due for one now, I think.

“Oh yeah boy, that’s it–suck that cock. You love it, don’t you? You love being a cumdump, right boy?”

“Oh yes sir, feed me your cum, please…” you moan, no longer able to hold back your desires. You don’t even know who this man is, but when he walked up to you on the street and told you to get into his car, no amount of stranger danger warnings going off in your head could stop you, and you’re so glad you didn’t listen too. His cock is so delicious, and you suck harder on his cock, and after a moment he starts pumping his old cum down your throat, and the deep hunger for service that he’s planted in you feel sated for a moment, and the shame and horror at what has happened crashes down on you suddenly.

He pulled his cock out, chuckling, and said, “What a faggot–I can see why my grandson picks on you so much. He’s going to be so happy to know I’m giving him a faggot slave to take to college with him.”

“Wait…what? I don’t–”

“Hush–don’t open your faggot mouth, I don’t want to hear it. Now, how about we keep working with you? Jimmy will be here in a few hours, and I want you nice and obedient by the time he arrives.

Jimmy? Jimmy Walbeck, the asshole who’d been bullying you for years now? It couldn’t be, it couldn’t be true, but sure enough, a few hours later Jimmy arrived at his grandfather’s house to find you kneeling in front of the door, begging him to let you service him, apologizing for all the rude things you’d said, and how you’d never fully appreciated his superiority before. Of course you would go with him to college as his faggot. Of course you’d live with him and cook his food and carry his books and do all of his homework and suck his friends cocks and his cock especially. Sure, you had a full ride to Harvard, but you’d go with Jimmy anywhere. He was your master after all, and you were just his lowly slave, for now and forever.

Something for Something (Part 2)

Commissioned by Anonymous

Before Dr. Taylor could respond, the smoke curling from between the man’s bearded lips snaked up and coiled in on itself, and then flung its way across the room, slamming into his chest and binding itself tightly around him, holding his arms to his sides as he struggled, and through the smoke, he could see the man differently, almost as though there were two men standing in one place–the short, old hairy troll, and then behind him was Miles, that foolish student he’d had blacklisted, and a shiver of terror shot through him. “Miles? Miles, is that you? What the hell happened to you?”

“You happened to me, you fucker!” Miles shouted, “You happened to me, but you know what? Everything’s going to be alright bitch, because I’m here to punish you, and what a sweet fucking punishment it’s going to be. Strip him–no fucking rip his clothes off.”

The smoke tightened around the professor, gripping his suit, and then exploded outward, the fabric ripping to shreds in a flurry around him, and the professor was sitting in front of Miles in his chair, naked, and Miles glared at him. The professor was in his mid 50’s, but was still fairly slim, with an angular, clean shaven face, and Miles could see that he had a decent sized cock and balls, and a relatively smooth body. The professor, in that moment for freedom, tried to stand up and get to the door, but the smoke collected around him again, tripping him and sending him crashing to the floor face first at Miles’ feet. “Who…who are you? What is this.”

“This is payback. This is revenge, you fucker, for ruining my life, so I figured I might as well ruin yours–what do you say? I think that’ll be pretty fair, don’t you? How about we change your attitude first though? I’m sick of looking at that snide fucking look of yours.”

He inhaled deep, and sent out another plume of smoke which curled out of his mouth in a thick tendril, curled in on itself for a moment, and then shot down, pushing it’s way into Dr. Taylor’s mouth in one thick, choking column, and he tried not to breath, but it felt like the smoke was permeating him, driving itself into his body, into his blood, and then into his mind, which began to cloud, almost as though he were drunk or high. He tried to regain his bearings, but it felt like the entire room was spinning aside from the short, wide man in front of him. He looked so stable, he looked so…powerful, and so sexy…

Dr. Taylor tried to shake his head clear, he tried to protest, but the thoughts refused to go away, and they only grew more intense. The idea of being controlled and demeaned and humiliated by this man was turning him on so much…he had done so much wrong in his life, and he wanted to be punished. He craved it suddenly, and he let out a moan, and heard himself say, “Please…please, sir…I…” and then his throat cracked and dried out, but he needed to say something, he needed to show how much he wanted to serve him, and so he crawled forward as best he could with the smoke binding his naked body, until he reached one of Mile’s leather shoes, and he started licking it, tasting the smooth leather, feeling his cock harden against the carpet as he groaned in pleasure.

“You piece of shit. How does it feel, licking my fucking shoes clean? You like being down there, don’t you? I know I can’t quite tower over you, so I think you’re going to spend a whole lot of your life crawling from now on. Hell, maybe I’ll even ride you around like a fucking pony. You’d like that I bet, feeling my huge body crushing your back, eh bitch?”

Dr. Taylor just muttered and moaned. His head was somewhere else, this mind wasn’t his…was it? He had to get back, he had to find his way back, but the smoke was still inside of him, and it wasn’t clouding his thoughts, it was rewriting them. The cloud began to fade, slowly but surely, and these new needs only intensified and grew sharper. He needed to serve this man. He wanted to debase himself. The fact that he was completely naked in front of this troll, licking his shoes clean, only made him hornier.

Miles looked down at his Goliath and smiled. He’d wanted this for so long, and he hadn’t even known it, wanted to see this old fool on the ground naked, but it wasn’t enough yet. He pulled his foot back and walked around Dr. Taylor where he was bound on the floor, willing the smoke to push his ass up a bit so Miles could reach out and knead it with his old hands. “I bet you want me to fuck you, don’t you? I bet you want this big cock of mind to rip open your cherry, I bet you want me to punish you.”

“Y–Yes…” Dr. Taylor sighed, “Please sir, please…fuck me. Fuck me, I deserve it, do whatever you want to me, I need it, please…”

Miles reached under his huge gut and undid the fly of his suit, pulling out his massive, thick cock, amazed at it’s girth. He could barely reach his small hand around the entire shaft, but he wasn’t going to need to jack it off anytime soon. Dr. Taylor was going to be his cumdump from now on. He hefted his apron up and rested it on the small of Dr. Taylor’s back, letting it rest there for a moment as he ran the massive head up and down his crack, feeling it catch on the doctor’s ass each time, feeling the man stiffen with need each time, teasing him, and then he started working it in dry, listening to the man beneath him groan and cry out in pain.

“What, you didn’t think I was going to lube up for your worthless ass, did you? Fuck now, you aren’t worth my spit. You’re getting my cock dry, or you’re not getting it at all, and how would it feel, if I never fucked you?”

“Horrible,” Dr. Taylor muttered, “It would be horrible sir, but please, it’s so big–it hurts.”

“I can take it out. I can take it out and not fuck you at all, is that what you want?”

“No! No, please fuck me, sir.”

“Then beg me to fuck you raw. Ask me to make it hurt. You want it to hurt, pain feels so good, bitch, and you know it, but you’re just a fucking pussy–it hurts every time, but you love it. So fucking beg me for it, and maybe I’ll keep fucking you.”

“Please…” Dr. Taylor moaned, and he felt the words forming in his mind, and he tried one last time to resist, to reassert himself, but the old him was so far away now, this new Dr. Taylor was just a simpering piece of shit, just a worthless cum dump for Miles, for his Master, yes, his master, it was so obvious. “Please fuck me as hard as you can, make it hurt, sir…Make me scream…”

Dr. Taylor did scream, but he didn’t regret his words, it felt great, feeling that monster cock splitting open his ass. Miles was taking deep breaths of the smoke, but none of it was leaving him, it was pulling itself down into his body, into his balls, and it only took his a few dry thrusts once he was all the way in to start cumming, and along with his seed, smoke poured into Dr. Taylor’s ass, the heat of it nearly as excruciating as the short fuck had been, but he felt it first surge into his balls, and he was cumming onto the carpet, unable to stop himself, and he could feel his cock shriveling up, feel his ball emptying and drying and shrinking, and by the time he’d finished, his balls were smaller than grapes, his sack pulled tight up under his miniscule one inch cock. He knew in his mind that he would never get hard again, that it would just flail about during sex, maybe dripping out a bit of sour cum once in a while, but that wasn’t important. What mattered was serving his master.

Miles kept hammering his cock in and out as he came, and as he did, he watched the smoke still binding Dr. Taylor’s body form itself into thick black stripes before solidifying into a leather harness with straps two inches thick. The bottom strap couldn’t actually attach to his cock and balls with a ring–they were too small, so instead it morphed into a longer strap, and as he pulled his cock out, the smoke solidified into a massive dildo and the strap went between his legs, attaching there instead, smashing the doctor’s cock and balls against his body. Finally, the remaining smoke in the room, coalesced around the doctor’s neck and formed into a thick metal collar, and neither the harness, nor the collar, showed any signs of a seam. The doctor would be wearing them underneath his clothes for the rest of his life, when he taught classes, stuttering stupidly along, unable to focus without being near his master Miles, the new head of the chemistry department who had enslaved him.

Miles sighed, and felt the heat start to dissipate as the pipe burned out. He looked up, his cock still out and dribbling cum, and saw Ed in the doorway smirking at him, and Miles glared at him for a second before giving him a smile, and then the guard slipped out before Dr. Taylor could see him.

“Get up you worthless sack of shit,’” Miles said, rolling Dr. Taylor over with his shoe, “Let’s go home, I think we need some time in the dungeon tonight.”

“Y–Yes sir…” Dr. Taylor said, his voice meek. He got up off the floor and put on his spare suit from the wardrobe, covering up his true self beneath it, and then followed his Master out of the building, and drove him to his house. He could dimly remember there being a wife and kids living there with him, but that was ridiculous. He’d always lived here with his Master–no one else, serving him day and night, when he wasn’t teach courses at the college of course, and doing all of the grading for his Master’s courses as well. The entered the house and Dr. Taylor immediately stripped away his suit, and Miles said, “Get down in the dungeon, in the cage. I’ll be down eventually.”

“Yes, Sir…” the slave said, and made his way quickly to the basement door, went down into the fully outfitted dungeon and locked himself into the cage there, to wait for his punishment. Miles meanwhile went up to the master bedroom–to his master bedroom, and stripped out of his own suit, and stared at his naked, fat, hairy body.

“It was worth it, wasn’t it?” he said gruffly, and then smiled, and packed a big pipe that would last him through most of the session he was planning for his slave. He went to his closet and hung up his suit on the rods dropped down a few feet so he could reach them, and then found his leather uniform, and smiled. He could still be an officer in one way, at least, and he pulled it on slowly, wanting to make the doctor wait, like he had waited. He had waited for revenge, and he had gotten it. He had lost much, but in the end, gained more than he could have ever imagined.

When he moved to a new city, Nate was happy to discover a gym was within running distance. He’d always loved lifting, but usually hated working out at big gyms, because there were too many amateurs fucking around while he wanted to get his workouts finished. This gym was independently owned though, and looked like it was made for serious guys looking for serious workouts. He joined up the next day, but the more he went, well, the more he just felt kind of out of place. He’d always been able to resist sizing himself up against his fellow gymrats, but the guys here were…well…massive. They must have been on steroids or something, but he never dared ask–not that he had a chance. The place was one giant clique, and he was on the outside of it, the other lifters always looking at him and laughing, which just made him feel self conscious.

It didn’t help that the lifters all looked like they had popped out of the same mold. Shaved heads, furry bodies, tattoos all over, usually working out shirtless. Nate wasn’t ashamed of his body, but he just didn’t fit in. Still, the owner of the gym was nice enough, and so one day he broached the topic.

“Hey,” Nate asked, “What’s the deal with all those guys?”

“Oh, they’re all Gold members is all–they take themselves pretty seriously.”

“Gold membership?”

“Oh, for serious lifters–you have to be sponsored by two other Gold members though to qualify,” the owner said, and then left, and Nate shrugged and went to leave, but then thought better of it, and walked over to the Gold members and decided to try and make some friends. Much to his surprise, they weren’t too mean at all, and they invited him out for drinks that evening. Of course, when the roofied him, and he woke up tied to a bed with a dildo up his ass, he realized they had other plans.

“So you want to be a Gold member?” the owner said, looming over him and laughing, “We don’t have any openings except for one–our club sex pig. Still you got everyone to sponsor you, so congrats! How about we start with the fattening, boys?”

The guys cheered and hooked the tube up to Nate’s mouth, and his new training regimen started. Still, he was a great success–he was a permanent fixture in the Gold Member’s Locker Room three months later, ready to serve.

Let’s just say that, since I came out at the age of sixteen, my relationship with my dad has been a bit rocky. Hell, rocky, that’s a joke really, and my coming out to him was more like him discovering my porn stash on the computer and then throwing me out onto the street that same night, after a massive argument. I ended up living with my Grandmother (on my mom’s side) until I was eighteen and could legally do whatever I wanted, and while I’ve spoken to my dad on occasion, I’ve never forgiven him for throwing me out, and he’s never forgiven me for being a fag.

Still, life goes on, right? I managed to scrape through college with a combination of massive loans and a few scholarships, with one year paid by my grandma. She’s always had a sweet spot for me, ever since my mom had passed away when I was ten, and she was the only relative left connected to my mom. She’d always tell me that she had something else to give me, but she wasn’t particularly rich, so I never knew what she meant, until she was diagnosed with cancer and moved into hospice, and she gave me the wish powder. “It can do whatever you want it to do, but only three times in your life. Use it wisely–use it justly.”

Those were her last words to me, now in my mid 40’s. What was I going to do with it? I didn’t know until my father didn’t even bother to show up for the funeral, and then I knew what my first wish had to be. By then, my father and I could speak and even be in the same room, so long as nothing unsavory came up. I paid him a visit, powder in hand, and sprinkled a bit of it into his pipe while he was out of the room for a few moments, and then sat back and watched.

So, what do you think of my new pipe slave? He’s a sexy one, isn’t he? Pretty kinky too. Sure, he still remembers his old life, and goodness, when we’re alone and I give him permission to speak, he’s generally livid, but I don’t let him vent for long. After all, I’d rather see his smoke a pipe, or suck my cock–justice sure can be sweet sometimes, eh?