Early Access: Serving the Cloth 2

A commissioner requested a sequel to this older story of mine, which has always been a popular one. The full sequel is available to just patrons for a week, but here’s a teaser for the rest of you!

Brett liked to run. He’d always been good at it, even when he was younger, running from cops through the streets. But he’d always felt like there was somewhere he had to run to, or something he was running from. Now though–he was just running. Running through this nice suburban neighborhood, running without really feeling like there was anywhere to go, running in a circle, starting at Regis’ sizable house, and ending right back at that sizable house again, an hour later, sweaty and exhausted, but not feeling like he had gotten anywhere.

He had, of course. He’d gotten here. He’d leveraged his body, and his wits, and his charm, and he’d gotten out. Here he was, twenty years old, slender and lean, cute face, good hair, a perfect little twink for older men to slather over–but he’d caught one. From whoring himself out on street corners, to settling down with a sugar daddy like this–it was everything he’d wanted, right? But then why did he hate it so much? Why was he feeling so miserable? He had money, a credit line, could whatever he wanted. The sex was…sex. He had never really felt much for anyone, and Regis was no exception–but over the last few months, things had gotten…harder. Regis had been so excited about moving him into his place, promised him the world–but it was really just a gilded cage. He was so controlling, and outright abusive at times. It was easier being on the street, in some ways. He was comfortable here–but for how long, really? He could tell already that Regis was tiring of him, and as much as he hated it, it hurt. It hurt, because while Brett had been using him to get out of there, he’d also…loved him, in a way. Loved a version of him. Loved what he could provide him with–safety and security. Regis was away on a business trip right now, and they’d had such a fight when he’d left a few days ago, that Brett was not looking forward to him coming home tomorrow. He thought about just running–taking what he could, and just…be gone. Maybe.

He probably would have talked himself into it that day, if he hadn’t run past that house. The haunted one, he thought, though haunted houses weren’t real, of course. All of the houses in the neighborhood were a bit…odd, but this one was especially odd. No one had lived in it consistently for ages now–it was either left empty, or someone would buy it, and then…well, no one really knew what. Brett had seen haunted shit before–the back alleys of the city were full of places like that, where you could feel the souls of people in anguish. This place was like that, and he usually avoided it, and took the long way around. However, he wasn’t focused on his route, and so he was already running past it before he realized where he was. The same car was parked out front, in the same place, where it had been for weeks. He’d seen a father and son pull up a few weeks ago, looking like they were going to overhaul it and flip it, but he hadn’t seen them since. Today though, something had changed. There was a bunch of detritus on the lawn–old clothes, actually, filthy looking stuff, and one of the windows on the upper floors was broken out, like someone had thrown everything out of it. Brett picked up his pace, but then he heard…something.

He picked up the pace, eager to be past it, but all the way home, he had a curious sense that he was being followed, by someone or something. He got to the garage of Regis’s place, unlocked the door, when something slammed into him, sending him stumbling through the doorway and onto the pavement inside.

He awoke a few moments later, and rolled over, looking around for who, or what, had slammed into him–but there was nothing around him. Cautiously, he stood up, locked the door, and listened…but he didn’t hear anyone or anything inside the house. Or…or was there something? A voice?

You don’t have to run anymore.

Brett nearly jumped out of his skin. The voice was so close, almost inside his ears, and yet seemed so…quiet, a whisper recorded and played back at an impossibly loud volume. Then, he felt something squirm under his running shorts, and in a panic, he dropped them–and saw that instead of his usual briefs–there was a rancid looking jockstrap that had somehow materialized under his clothes. Worse, he could feel the pouch…moving, groping him. It was unsettling, and yet…also arousing, and he groaned a bit.

You want things. We want things. Others…waste. We don’t want to waste, We want to help…

Brett looked down and saw that something was happening to his running shorts too–they were…beginning to squirm as well, the orange nylon darkening, becoming a light denim cut off short, ones that smelled as rank as the jockstrap he had on smelled in the enclosed space of the garage…but he didn’t mind it, did he? Brett groped himself with one hand, torn between trying to understand what was happening, and simply…wanting to enjoy it. The change was spreading to his tanktop now, becoming a simpler, ribbed wifebeater…and Brett pushed back. He hauled the clothes off of him–all of them, his shoes too, and hucked them across the garage into a pile, and stood there, naked and breathing heavy…but the smell wasn’t going away. He looked down, and saw that his…cock and balls had changed. He’d never been well endowed, in all honesty, but that had changed substantially–his cock was now close to eight inches long, as thick as a beer can, and had a long, wrinkled foreskin around the head. His balls, too, were massive–and his usually hairless crotch was seething with a riot of curly black hair….

Read the rest over on Patreon! Your support is always appreciated. If you’d like a commission of your own, you can find more details here!

Interactive: Summer Internship (Part 5)

So much to remember! Jimmy had never been the brightest fellow. He did well in school, but lacked focus on his studies. He’d always preferred sports and physical activity to sitting around and staring at books–or what everyone else seemed to call reading. When he’d talked to the recruiter, it had just made sense, right? But the memory was fuzzy, and the harder he tried to focus on it, more it seemed to warp. At first, he could remember the recuriter as a tall, handsome stud, the perfect soldier, exactly the kind of person Jimmy had always aspired to be–but was that right? He could remember something else. A stuffy room, a big man, reeking of sweat, stripping off his shirt, seeing how quickly Jimmy would fall under his spell…

The memory shifted then–it didn’t matter all that much, he had decided. He was here, at boot camp, where he was supposed to be. Where he had always wanted to be. He was eighteen, not very bright but diligent and appreciative of authority. He stepped off the bus with the other young recruits, most of them similar to him. Athletes, mostly football. Not particularly clever, but hard headed and plenty determined. They would all serve their…their country?

He looked around, up at the flagpole, but it was empty–like a void in his memory. Who was he serving? What was he serving?

Jimmy thrashed a bit, in his sleep, perhaps realizing what had happened for a moment in some recess of his mind. He was sweating profusely, the smell more intense than his usual musk. It was starting already. The virus calmed him down, settled his body back into sleep–there was still so much to remember.

With the other recruits, he was filed through orientation. Their hair shaved down, their bunks assigned. They would see officers on occasion, and instructors, but there was something…wrong with them. Their uniforms were messy, if they bothered wearing something resembling a uniform at all. They were bulky, and obviously strong–but fat as well, big thick guts and chests and necks, all of them hairy as well. It wasn’t right, it wasn’t the way it was supposed to be, his mind said, but that was the way it had to be–it was the way he remembered it, right? Eventually, they were lined up, and Drill Sergeant Maco strode up and down the line, stripped down to a pair of olive shorts and a sweat soaked undershirt, and this close to him, his musk was unlike anything he had ever smelled before (except for in that stuffy office, except for that man, that man he’d–served, no worshiped?)

Jimmy wasn’t the first one to give in–that was another recruit Jimmy had gotten to know by the name of Kingston. He snorted suddenly, and fell forward onto his hands and knees, drooling, crawling over to where Sergeant Maco was standing, nuzzling at the man’s crotch, obviously hungry for something. Without even addressing the rest of the young men, Maco opened his fly, and fed the eager recruit his cock. Jimmy was horrified, and couldn’t stop wondering if it might taste different from that…other man’s, wondering if it would taste better, or…

No, this wasn’t right, this wasn’t right!

Jimmy was thrashing again, trying to rebel, trying to force his way out of the dream. He was sweating more now, his clothes soaked through, his body thickening with muscle, remembering now how he had been when he’d been young, remembering how he’d stood in the hot sun, inches from the sergeant now, trying not to give in, trying to fight it as hard as he could, but he’d given in, hadn’t he? They all had, he could almost remember it, but maybe…maybe he hadn’t.

What happens next? You can choose two of the four options. Patrons can access the bonus poll over here as well!
Update: some people are having problem with the embedded poll! If this is you, go ahead and use this link–it should work over on the site.

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!

Patron Bonus – Arctos: Daddy Service

Here’s the second suggested story from this month, which was another double sized one! If you want to read the second half, you can support me at the $5 tier or higher to get access.

“Guys, just get over here, you aren’t going to believe this guy!”

Neither Reese nor Hugh knew what Dan was talking about, but it was a Saturday night, none of them had anything better to do with their time, and so the two friends (or fuckbuddies, or boyfriends–they never really bothered trying to sort it out) headed over to Dan’s apartment, the third wheel, and occasional threesome. All three of them were young, slim, more twink than not, and plenty addicted to the gym. They went inside, and Dan was there on the couch, watching TV, with the biggest grin on his face any of them had seen.

“Alright Dan, what’s going on?”

Dan turned to the kitchen and shouted, “Hey daddy, get out here and meet my friends for a second!”

Reese and Hugh were confused, until an older, chubby face peeked around the corner of the apartment, and beemed at them. “Hi boys! Go on and have seat on the couch with Dan, and I’ll make some extra food for you all–and bring you some beers too!”

Dan waved them in, and they sat down on the couch with him, still confused. This…was not the sort of guy that Dan was ever into, but, as Dan told them, he had found this weird website, offering Daddies to come service you, or whatever, and after a few questions, telling the site he wanted a daddy to wait on him and cook for him, this old fella had just shown up at his door and started doing it! No questions asked!

It wasn’t a joke, either. The daddy brought out some beers for Hugh and Reese, and they decided to spend a night in, humiliating the old fuck, eating his food, and then they’d kick his ass to the curb the next morning…except…none of them could really remember any of that. The food was amazing, and they all ate a ton of it. The drink too much too, and at some point, someone put porn on the TV, and then the daddy was rubbing their bellies, and sucking them all off…and then, it was morning, and they were starting to wake up.

“Fuck Dan, how much did we eat?” Hugh asked, clutching his gut, giving it a rub. It was taut, sticking out like a beachball.

“Fucking…what the fuck happened to me!” Reese exclaimed, seeing the same thing had happened to him. He heaved himself up off the couch, letting off a belch as he did, and headed for the bathroom, clutching his head from the hangover. “Is that fucking daddy still here?”

“I think he left earlier,” Dan moaned, and let off a belch as well, “I heard the door open and close at least.”

“Well, he was a good…cook…” Hugh said, and looked around them, but all he saw was piled and piles of fast food containers and junk food bags around him. “I thought…weren’t we eating…something better than this?”

“I don’t even fucking remember man…”

“Fucking–I look like a fucking blimp! How can I get this fat in a night!” Resse exclaimed, coming back in, and as he did, he let off a fart of equal strength to the belch he’d just made, making Dan start laughing. “Fuck you Dan, this is a mess!”

“S-Sorry, I don’t know why I’m laughing man, it’s just funny…” he said, and let off a belch of his own, which only made him laugh and giggle even harder. Hugh and Reese looked at him like he was crazy, when the door to the apartment opened up again, and the daddy stomped inside, carrying bags of fast food, and a twenty-four count cast of cheap beer.

“Morning boys! I had to go on a supply run. Go on, relax–don’t need to do anything. Daddy will take care of everything.”

“Hell no! Fuck this, I’m out of here,” Reese said, and tried to get out the door, only for the daddy to…no one quite knew what he said, actually, but Reese sat back down on the couch, shaking slightly, and daddy beamed at his three boys there.

“Now, I brought you breakfast! I made sure to get extra. I had no idea I was going to be helping such skinny boys, and more than one! When Sammy told me he had friends, I didn’t know you were all going to be so cute, or so fun.” He set down the fast food breakfast bags on the coffee table, turned the TV back on, and all three of them found themselves…eating again. Daddy brought them their morning beers, and soon, all three of them were drunk as well, belching from the gas, feeling their guts growing even fuller and more painful than before, sharing looks of worry, and then horror, and they all realized the only way they could get up was with daddy’s permission, and then, only to go to the bathroom, supervised. But as they ate more and more, and daddy plied them with more and more beer…the horror waned, and all three of them started laughing at their belches and farts, trying to outdo each other, daddy encouraging them all, telling his boys how proud he was of them, and how good it felt to just relax.

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.

Caption – Arctos: Daddies

I did a collection of four of these captions, for different kinds of daddies available through Arctos. If you’d like to read the rest, or have suggestions for you own, you can submit them on my discord server, available to all patrons who support me at the $5 tier or higher, over on my Patreon here!

Not happy with your current daddy? Arctos has the perfect solution, no matter what sort of daddy you’re looking for, from our broad range of models, we can make sure you have the familial experience you’re looking for. Perhaps you’re more interested in a daddy who you could just sit down and crack open a beer with. Or twelve beers with. This daddy doesn’t care as long as you both have plenty.

This daddy doesn’t judge you. He doesn’t care if your aren’t working, he doesn’t care if you’re a failure, he just wants you to be happy. He wants you to be able to relax. He’ll help you sort out your priorities real quick, convincing you to quit overworking yourself, and instead, focus on the simple pleasures of life, cracking open a beer on the couch with your dad, watching some sports, or some porn, and just jacking each other off all afternoon, and all evening, and all night, and all morning too, while you’re at it.

After all, this daddy doesn’t want you to worry about work, or responsibilities, or anything at all–he just wants you to relax. Under his guidance, you can be sure that all of your worries will melt away and disappear–that job you hate, that school work, the other friends and commitments in your life. You won’t want to get up from the couch ever again, and this daddy will be more than happy to make sure that you don’t have to–that you won’t even be able to, eventually.

After all, he loves you just the way you are. All seven, or maybe eight, hundred pounds of you. The stench rolling off of you from where you’ve been sitting on the couch for months straight. The fact that you just shit and piss yourself constantly. The fact that your brain is so empty that you can barely even understand what’s happening on the TV anymore. He loves you so much, and he’ll do everything for you, so that you don’t have to, so you can just relax, and relax, and relax, for ever and ever and ever…

Interactive: Porno Virus (Part 8)

Harrison Drake–Harry to his friends, and son of Theodore–was down in the den of the house, watching TV on that Saturday afternoon. His father had left for his golf game a few hours before, and his mother was out running errands, leaving him alone in the house, which he honestly preferred. Harry was a couple of years out of college now, and had imagined himself pretty much anywhere else beyond living with his parents at the age of 25. But while he’d landed a few unpaid internships, and the occasional side job, he hadn’t found anything that made him enough money to move out on his own, much less feel like he was going anywhere with his life. He just felt aimless–and his father and mother nagging him constantly didn’t help matters at all. He wanted change–but probably not the kind that the virus had in store for him.

Theodore had well-adopted the so called “internet of things” into his home. Everything from his lights, to his windows, to his door locks, to his speakers and TV were all hooked up to the wifi, and so, the virus had access to everything inside the house–and through it, Terrance was observing the lone Harry on the couch, snacking and staring at the TV, and considering what to do with him.

He was not an ideal subject for the virus. While he was infected, Terrance did not find much in his sexual proclivities that would allow the virus to take hold. Similar to his father, Harry had always been a bit of a prude, and didn’t look at much porn, even as a young man–but while Steve’s proclivities had accelerated and warped Theodore’s corruption, Terrance was going to have to start from scratch with Harry. If the virus was going to corrupt him and turn him into a proper carrier, he was going to have to change substantially.

Harry saw the screen of the show he was watching flicker once, and then the entire screen began to waver and shake. He reached for the remote, or at least he tried to reach for it, but discovered that his body was…frozen, or paralyzed. He couldn’t move a muscle, the virus had taken control of his motor functions, ensuring that it had all of his attention focused on the screen, as his show disappeared, and was replaced with pornography–gay pornography.

Harry was appalled at the sight of it. He’d always had a thing against faggots, thinking that they were all dirty, horny old perverted men looking to prey on younger men like him. The virus captured that idea from him, and the porn shifted, showing just that sort of filthy scenario on the screen, and the speakers around the room began to speak to him, telling him what a dirty old man he was, how much he loved looking at porn, the stranger and more obscene the better.

Harry resisted as long as he could, but the virus was stronger. His hand was no longer reaching for the remote, it was now wrapped around his cock, stroking it. He could hear himself moaning in pleasure and excitement, and as the minutes turned into hours, his moans got lower and lower as his voice dropped into a growl, the virus accelerating the aging process inside his body, advancing Harry into a middle aged man around the age of fifty. His mind was warped further and further, all the desire to be a normal, well adjusted, contributing member of society was replaced by new desires–to jack off and have sex of course, but first and foremost, to corrupt the handsome young men he encountered, and warp them into perverse, kinky sex addicts that were hungry for sex with a dirty faggot daddy like him.

When Terrance was finally happy with the result, the virus allowed Harry to cum, a massive load spurting from his achingly hard cock, arcing up onto his chubby belly, where his old hand rubbed it into his hairy gut, enjoying the sticky sensation, the stench of it, and he stood up from the couch and had a short stretch, looking at himself in the mirror. A little voice in the back of his mind told him that this wasn’t right, that he wasn’t supposed to look like this, with his grey beard, and sunken eyes, and shaggy receding hairline. But that wasn’t an important voice, it wasn’t the voice that mattered–there was a new voice, a horny voice, and it didn’t want porn today–it wanted something more…satisfying. Thankfully, the virus saw an opportunity, and gave it to him.

Here’s a few options for what Harry does next. Regardless of what path we decide to go down, I’ll try to work in as many of the kinks as people were interested in as I can! The bonus poll for patrons is over here as well.

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!

Caption: Gramps’ Garage

No one loves you like grandpa loves you boy.

Out there, who the fuck would want to give you a second glance? Look at all of your fat rolls, tiny cock, big ears, that annoying voice of yours. Nobody wants you, but here, with grandpa? You know that you’re special.

You know grandpa loves how fat you are, loves how you moan, loves that little cock of yours and that hungry hole. You don’t need to go anywhere else to get what you need, you don’t need a woman, and you don’t need friends. You just need gramps is all. Feel his old hands on your belly, playing with your fat. His hot breath and bushy beard scraping against your tender skin. HIs weathered hands on your scalp as he pushed you down onto your knees, face to face with his big, stinking, uncut cock.

“Who’s my hungry piggy?” he’ll ask you, and you’ll hate it, hate that the answer is you, but…but if you didn’t have grandpa, who would you have at all? So you grunt for him, and suck him off, get his old cock hard, and he’ll turn you around and plow you, there in the garage, and it hurts still, but less than it did. You’re getting used to it. You’re starting to enjoy it. You’re starting to believe him.

You’re starting to see this pig in the mirror outside of the garage. You’re starting to think that he might be right. You don’t think you always looked like this, you thought it was some trick, some spell he’d cast on you, but maybe…maybe you were just being thick. “You gonna come for grandpa today, piggy? Is that short little cock gonna blow a load for me, all over the fucking cement?” You don’t want to give him the satisfaction, but with a grunt, you do, pumping a big load all over the floor, knowing that grandpa will make you lick it up, once he finishes inside you.

Back in the house, you look in the mirror. You look like you remember, like before–mostly. But you…can see it, you know the truth. One day, you’ll look in the mirror, and grandpa’s pig is all you’ll see. The thought makes you hard, and you get in the shower, run the water ice cold, but the thought won’t go away. It’s still there, eating away at you, no matter how hard you try and deny it, and one day, it’ll all be gone for good.