Porno Virus (Part 6)

There were a lot of good options on this one, but the oversized/biker/construction combo won out by a bit. There might be a bonus version of this part using some other options for Patrons only later this week!

The clothes inside the lost and found box looked to be less lost, and more abandoned. None of them were washed, many had various holes, ripped seams, and mysterious stains on them, and while the Theodore would have never even considered touching something like this before the virus infected him, now it just seemed like the most…reasonable course of action. The fact that touching the stiff denim and grungy cotton was giving him a hard-on didn’t seem worth thinking about.

In the end, he cobbled together an outfit of a sort from some of the more intact pieces in the box. He found a cleanish set of briefs, though they did have sizable skid mark down the back, and a hole that the head of his cock wanted to slide through when he put them on. They were too large for him by a bit, or perhaps it was just that the elastic band had lost some of its tightness. In any case, they wound work, and they still fit better than the rest of the clothes he could find in there.

The normal sized stuff was mostly ripped and shredded beyond repair. What remained was all much too large for him, but he figured it would work well enough to get him back to his car. He pulled on a pair of muddy jeans, one knee ripped out, with a waist several inches too large, and an inseam that had the legs pooling around his feet. There was a belt, luckily, a leather one with a Harley Davidson buckle on it, that worked to keep them cinched up. After that came a hi-viz shirt, with stained armpits. It was a 4xl-tall, and hung off Theodore’s body comically, but at least he wasn’t naked. There were some boots in the box, and some grungy, holy socks. He pulled them on, but they were as large on him as everything else. Lastly, though he didn’t know why, he pulled out a leather biker vest and slung that over his shoulders, but that too, was too large, and lastly, a slightly dented hard hat came out and he set it on his head.

Theodore could feel that…strange sensation coming over him again, the same one he’d been feeling all day, the same one that had happened a moment before, when he’d grown out of his khakis and polo shirt, except this time, it was somehow more intense. It started in his bones, a deep, aching heat, followed by a few disturbing cracks as his legs started to grow and extend, the bones growing thicker, sturdier. He stumbled against the wall and slumped over, trying to keep a hold of himself, as the heat spread outward from his bones, into his joints, into his muscles, all the way up to his skin. The belt that he had cinched tight a moment before was now cutting into his stomach suddenly, and he fumbled with the clasp, opening up, feeling his body fill out the jeans, the shirt seeming to shrink as his body grew not only taller, but also thicker. His muscles were growing, certainly, but the fat cells inside his body had begun to multiply at an alarming rate, a sizable, yet firm, gut pushing out the front of the shirt.

He knelt there, shaking and shuddering in pain for a few minutes, until he could finally feel the changes subside. He expected to feel exhausted after that, but if anything, he felt…more energized than he had in years, up to that point. He got back up on both of his feet, and was struck by a sudden sense of vertigo–he was now more than a foot taller than he’d been before, going from a meager five foot six inches, all the way to a few inches shy of seven. The jeans that had been comically long before this now barely made it to the tops of the boots, and wiggling his toes, he could tell that his feet had grown as well. He stumbled back into the bathroom proper, and looking at him in the mirror now–he barely recognized the face staring back at him.

The stubble he had forgotten to shave was now a full fledged beard, and the hair he usually kept so neatly trimmed was no longer there–it had either fallen out or pulled back into his skull, leaving him with a shiny cueball instead. His arms were quite hairy, and underneath the hair, he could see that tattoos had appeared in full sleeves, all of them…ones that he’d gotten when he was younger, riding across the country on his bike with his gang, and…and that wasn’t right, was it?

His head felt all mixed up all of a sudden. Shouldn’t he be terrified at this, at what had happened to his body? But he wasn’t terrified–instead, the main things he was feeling was, first, that he was desperate for a cigar, and second, that he was hornier than he could ever recall being…except he was always this horny, wasn’t he? He groped his cock, feeling the nine inch shaft already half hard in his dirty briefs, the head sliding out the hole in his underwear, and then through the matching hole in the jeans, and he grinned, showing a mouthful of crooked, yellowed teeth. There…was something that he needed to do, wasn’t there? But what? It had been important, but it seemed to have slipped his mind.

What happens next? Don’t forget the bonus poll for patrons if you support me too!

Porno Virus (Part 5) [Interactive]

Theodore was in a parking lot, when he looked up and around in the car. It was not a parking lot he recognized. Off to one side, there were a sizable number of gas pumps, all spaced out for semis, and near that, was a small complex with a restaurant, convenience store, and some bathrooms and showers. He realized he had somehow ended up at a truck stop, one right off the highway from the looks of the overpass nearby, which was in the direct opposite direction from the golf club, where he should have been heading. He had shut off his car, and went to turn in back on, but the car refused to start–the virus had gotten into the system and killed the CPU. With a frustrated curse, he pulled out his cell phone, only to discover that it too was on the fritz–the battery had somehow drained in the course of his drive over, and it was now completely dead.

Now what, then? The store would probably have a phone, of course, and he could at least call a tow truck to get his car back home. He put out the cigar butt on the asphalt, and reached for another one, before he stopped himself. He…almost never smoked two of them, and he also never smoked in the car. Something…was weird about all of this, but he didn’t quite know how to put his finger on it. He went into the store, and asked the guy behind the counter if he could use his phone to call a tow truck. He did, gave the company his information, and they told him it would be about half an hour before they got there to haul it off.

Outside, Mr. Drake toyed with one of his cigars, but there was a more pressing issue at hand–he had to take a piss, a bad one. He could do that, have a smoke, and wait for the tow truck to get there. One thing was for certain, there wasn’t going to be any golf in the cards for him today.

The showers were behind the building, and Theodore slipped into the men’s side. The bathroom itself was empty, but he could hear the showers running next to it, so he wasn’t entirely alone. It was too bad really, he was feeling…kind of horny again. He looked at himself in the mirror over the sink, and for a second, he was confused–the face looking back at him…it didn’t see right to him, somehow. On one hand, he wasn’t looking his usual best, with a shaved face, combed hair, clean skin…but something else was wrong too…like…he ought to look some…other way instead, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on what that meant to him.

This…wasn’t right. He wasn’t right. He shouldn’t look like this, and…and he shouldn’t be wearing these clothes, should he? The polo shirt he usually wore golfing suddenly felt scratchy, and the khakis were biting into his waist. The shoes felt way too small of his feet too. He tore his clothes off of himself in a bit of a fury, not even really sure himself why he was stripping naked in the middle of the bathroom, but he had to get them off. They…they weren’t his clothes! He wasn’t sure how he knew that, but he…he did. They weren’t his clothes, they weren’t the clothes he was supposed to be wearing. After a minute, he was sweaty and puffing, standing naked in front of the mirror, feeling…a bit better, perhaps, but much more vulnerable. There…had to be something for him to wear here, didn’t there?

He slipped deeper, past the bathroom and into the shower area, and he could see some piles of clothes from the guys showering at the moment off to one side, but there was also a large crate off in a corner, and a sign hanging over it that said “lost and found”. He…kind of liked the idea of stealing someone’s clothes, and he…he bet they all smelled nice, but that…that could cause some problems. Best to just try and cobble something together instead from the wreckage that was left behind, and work out what to do about everything later. The options in the box were meager, but he was able to scrounge together an outfit of some sort, and he started pulling on his new clothes, feeling better in them already.

The lost and found box doesn’t really have cohesive outfits, so Theodore is going to have to make do with some…broader categories of clothing. Choose your favorite categories below, and the most popular ones will influence Mr. Drake’s new look, and story options, the most. Don’t forget the bonus poll if you’re a patron as well!

Porno Virus (Part 4) [Interactive]

Mr. Theodore Drake was having a pleasantly slow morning that Saturday, happy to be away from the office with his family. He was an older fellow, sliding into his mid fifties more or less gracefully. He exercised, but not as much as he could, he supposed, and while he enjoyed golfing a few times each week, it wasn’t enough to remove his paunch entirely. His balding had advanced in the last few years enough that he had decided to embrace it grudgingly, keeping it trimmed up in a neat horseshoe of grey, and a tight mustache accenting his lip below. He was a conservative fellow, with a conservative family–a loving wife, and a somewhat struggling son living at home while going to college, but he had hope his boy would find his way eventually.

He woke around eight, got up, took the dog for a walk, and when he got back, his wife was preparing breakfast for the three of them. He read the paper and enjoyed his family’s company, and then did a bit of yard work outside that his wife had been pestering him about for a week or so. His tee time with the fellows at the club wasn’t until the early afternoon, which gave him plenty of time to mow the lawn and fix one of the sprinklers that had been acting up lately–and which also worked up a bit of a sweat. While he was in the yard that morning, Steve–one of Mr. Drake’s subordinates at work–was arriving at the office, smoking a cigar, the virus inside him running rampant through the servers of the company. Steve…could sense that something was wrong, and so he did his best, as the urge to smoke overwhelmed him, to try and tell his boss that something was wrong at the company, with the servers. Of course, Terrance couldn’t allow something like that to escape its net.

And so, in transit, the email was corrupted by the same virus that was twisting and corrupting Steve, and the email ended up in Mr. Drake’s inbox, his phone alerting him to the email while he was in the bathroom, stripping out of his muddy clothes and getting ready to shower before going to the golf club for the afternoon. As a general rule, Theodore didn’t deal with work problems over the weekend if he could help it–but this was marked urgent, and Steve had mentioned more than once that something about the servers had seemed…strange. Theodore found some of Steve’s personal proclivities…distasteful, but he couldn’t deny that the man was good at his job, and as long as the gay could keep his hands to himself, Theodore could handle it for the most part. So he sat down on the toilet, opened up the email, and the virus embedded in the file entered Mr. Drake’s phone, and with a spark, jumped into Mr. Drake himself.

The virus trawled through Mr. Drake’s phone, looking for relevant pornography it could use against him, and found nothing–Theodore thought porn was incredibly distasteful, and while he had slowed down considerably over the last few years, he still had a very active sex life with his wife. So, finding nothing, it relied on what it did have–the porn it had taken from Steve’s sizable archive and varied tastes. Theodore saw his screen glitch and go dark for a second, and then a slideshow started, a rapid one, showing a cascade of naked men–almost all of them smoking, many of them chubby, and lots of them with…decidedly more lax hygiene than Mr. Drake did himself. At first he was disgusted, but he couldn’t do anything, as his hand gripped his cock and started stroking, masturbating and watching, helplessly, as the virus went to work, attacking his defenses, drilling deeper into his body, slowly taking over, until Theodore released a massive load of cum all over the floor of the bathroom, his phone returned to normal–the email now missing entirely–and Mr. Drake blinked back to himself, unsure of what had just happened.

He’d been planning to shower and shave, but he got up from the toilet, and did neither of those things–he didn’t even pay attention to the load of cum drying on the tile floor. He…didn’t want to be late for his golf game after all, and there was something else bugging him, all of a sudden. He went over to his small humidor that he kept stocked for the occasional cigar he enjoyed on the golf course or during a poker game, and pulled out five, putting them in his pocket after he got dressed. He…didn’t know why he needed one so bad, but he did, and feeling like he was ready, he went down to his car and climbed inside–forgetting to put his golf clubs in the trunk, but lighting up a cigar as soon as he was out and driving down the driveway.

The virus jumped from his phone, into the navigation system on the car and scrambled it. Theodore wasn’t paying attention to where he was going though, smoking one of his cigars just felt so good, it was hard keeping two hands on the wheel, and whenever he stopped at a light, he would reach down with one hand and grope himself, feeling the precum getting the crotch of his khakis a bit damp. He drove for a while, and pulled in somewhere, parked, and continued smoking his cigar, now jacking off eagerly, confused as to why he was so horny all of a sudden, but not disappointed by any means. He came again, and then looked around at where he was–but it wasn’t the golf club. Instead, the virus had led him somewhere else entirely–but where?

Here’s the public poll, and if you’re a patron, you can access the patron bonus poll over here as well!

Caption: Underwear Tester

When Brodie got the package, he was, admittedly, a bit confused. When he’d signed up as a tester for an underwear company, he’d been hoping for something a bit more exciting than, well, this. Inside the package was just a single pair of basic looking y-front briefs, in mock packaging. The label said they were part of a product line called “Dad Gear” from some company called Arctos. It certainly didn’t make him anymore excited to wear them, but his contract said that he had to test them out for 24 hours, and then submit his review online.

He pulled the briefs on, and was surprised that they were so comfortable. They had seemed a bit baggy at first, but the elastic helped keep them up well, and he stood there for a second, just…enjoying the feel of it, before wandering off towards the couch, completely forgetting to put on more clothes. It was the weekend, and he had a long list of chores to do–instead, he sat down in front of the TV, flipped channels, and settled on a sports channel, watching it raptly for half an hour, before getting up, going to the kitchen, and returning with a beer and some snacks that he started chowing down on.

Brodie woke with a start, hours later, in the middle of the night, still on the couch. The TV was on, now showing some late night infomercial, and he realized that he had to piss like a racehorse. He tried to get up from the couch, but it was…a struggle for some reason that he couldn’t quite pin down. Eventually, he managed to force his way up, tromped into the bathroom to piss, and then made his way back to the sofa, where he sat back down in his comfortable dent. As he sat, he let off a fart, and he chuckled to himself–then started flipping channels.

There wasn’t a whole lot on, but he found another sports something, a feature on wrestlers, and he found himself getting horny, watching the burly fellows grapple with each other. Before too much longer, he’d blown a wad right into the underwear, and not too long after that, he was snoring again, gut growing larger, more tattoos filling in across his body, forgetting all about his younger days. His review was, needless to say, incredibly positive, if also a bit lewd. He also went ahead and ordered some more products from the Daddy Gear line–it was right up his alley after all, just the perfect demographic.

Pete the Pig Pt. 1 (Caption)

“Morning Pete,” Tatum said with a smirk, as his flatmate walked into the kitchen with a groggy look on his face, scratching his gut.

“Mornin’,” Pete said back, and went to the fridge, “Fuck, is there any of that pizza left from last night? I’m starving.”

“Nah man, you polished off both pies. I only got a couple of slices.”

“Are you kidding me? There was so much…”

“Guess you were hungry.”

“God, I need to get back to the gym, I can’t keep eating like shit and not even try and work it off again…” he let out a sigh of disgust at himself, hauled out some frozen potatoes and some eggs, and started working on making himself breakfast.

All the while, he was wearing the wifebeater. The same wifebeater he’d been wearing for close to two weeks–which coincidentally, was the last time Pete had shaven his face and also the last time he’d been to the gym. It was also two weeks since Tatum had put Pete under trance for the first time, using a hypno program he’d gotten off the net. He’d expected Pete to realize what was going on at some point, but he was still fucking clueless, and Tatum’s cock was raging hard in his boxers, watching his roommate walk through the kitchen, reeking of cum, because he’d spent the last two weeks serving as the apartment’s honorary cumrag, without even realizing it.

“Hey Pete, before you get to cooking, I got a load for you.”

Without missing a beat, Pete turned around from the counter, got down on his knees, chest puffed out, and stayed still, while Tatum got up from the table in the kitchen, already stroking his cock. Pete stayed perfectly still, like his mind had shut off, until Tatum had pumped out another load onto his wifebeater, and when he was finished, he stood back up, turned back around, and resumed making breakfast like nothing at all had happened.

Tatum’s cock had hardly dropped, however. He’d hated his roommate–how fit he was, how clean he was, how high and mighty, how he’d looked down on Tatum, especially for being a fag. Now he had him right where he wanted him, and he had a few more changes in mind for his roommate, before he was done.

Want to read more? There’s a second part that continues the story on my discord server for patrons!

The Cop Next Door (Caption)

When I found out that my new neighbor was a cop…well, let’s just say I knew I had found my next target. He was a handsome fella, tall, with a shaved head and horseshoe stache, twice divorced, hated faggots, a real man’s man, or at least, he was. I had a feeling he’d be having a change of heart soon enough.

I got to know him, and befriended him easily enough. Me, the salt and pepper daddy, disarming charm, strong handshake and intriguing stare. I took a few weeks to get to know him, delve a bit, see how…amenable he was going to be. His apartment was always a bit of a mess–aside from one thing. He always took exceptional care of his uniforms–he respected them more than he respected himself, in fact.

The first time I took him under, with the help of a sedative I slipped into his beer, I just let him sleep, relaxed, while I went in and tried his uniform on. I was a bit bigger than him, but I could make it work–and I was so hard, thinking about my plans, that it was very hard resisting the urge to blow my load right in the crotch, and leave it there for him to find later. I did keep wearing it while I took him deeper, telling him how handsome I looked in his uniform, how manly it made me. How every man in a uniform deserved his respect, and his complete obedience.

Next, I started breaking him down. He was a slob. He was weak. He found himself starting to look at gay porn on the internet, these cop videos, and he’d…crave them, being stripped of his uniform and forced to service his fellow men in blue, knowing that he didn’t really deserve to wear the uniform at all, deep in his heart, because he was beginning to suspect that he might just be a faggot. After all, what real man would let a woman leave him twice? He’d never been able to perform, never been able to control them…because he was the one who should have been controlled the entire time.

I haven’t had him service me while he’s awake yet, but we’re close. Every day, I come over and put him under, I get into his uniform, and make him service me in his grungy, filthy, cum-coated underwear. He’s started to put on weight recently–not something I told him to do, but it makes him look even more worthless, so I’m encouraging it, that as he wrecks his body, he’s going to look less and less like the real man he always though he was, and more and more like the cum hungry faggot he’s going to be from now on.

He’s probably going to quit the force soon. He’ll lose too much of his nerve, he won’t be able to see himself as one of the officers surrounding him…but I know he won’t lose his appreciation for the uniform. After all, he’ll believe he lives next door to a handsome, rough daddy cop–one who loves having the fat faggot from next door over to worship and service him, cleaning his boots everyday, and going back home with a load of cum in his ass every night. Eventually, I’ll wipe out all trace from his memory that he had ever even been a cop, and I’ll help him find a history more…fitting for a worthless faggot like him…but that’s for the future. For now, I’m just enjoying my faggot cop’s lips around my cock, and looking forward to all the fun we’re going to have.

A Bulked Ass (Caption)

“Dude, I think something’s wrong with my ass–does…does it look bigger to you?”

TJ put one foot up on the coffee table, and pointed his ass towards Ben–and his fellow frat brother shielded his eyes in confusion when he looked up. “What the hell man, put some pants on.”

“They don’t fit–I…I took some stuff I got online, and I thought it would bulk me up, but it just fucked up my ass!”

“And what the hell made you think I’d want to see it? Go to the doctor or something!”

“I…I don’t know. I just wanted to show someone, and…and there’s other stuff going on too, like…oh fuck, one’s coming, I–” TJ was interrupted by his own fart blasting from between his cheeks, hard enough to make them shake a slightly, and before Ben could react, the smell hit him. It was pungent and thick, but also…somehow enticing, and his jaw dropped a bit, a little drool accumulating at the corner of his mouth.

“Fuck–I…maybe I should take a closer look,” Ben mumbled, and got off the chair he’d been sitting it.

“Whoa, Ben, you…you ok man?” TJ said, noticing his bro’s eyes had glazed over, and that…something else seemed a bit off to him too. But before he could do anything, Ben shoved his face between the massive cheeks of TJ’s ass and started eating him out–and it felt so good that TJ just moaned, moved over to the sofa while Ben just kept eating, another fart blasting from his ass right into Ben’s face, but they both just moaned in pleasure.

It was TJ who looked back after a few minutes, saw that the hair on the top of Ben’s head had turned silver, and freaked out enough to pull his ass away. Ben…wasn’t looking like Ben anymore. His face was slicked with drool, his hair receding and turning silver, a thick bushy beard growing around his mouth. “Wait boy, daddy…daddy ain’t done with that ass yet–don’t you want daddy’s cock in ya? Gotta make sure that hole is good and loose first, right?”

Ben stood up, a thick gut hanging off him, and a massive cock swinging between his legs. TJ tried to get away, but Ben grabbed hold of his hips, dragged him back, and kept eating. Soon, TJ was moaning and shivering again, and Ben knew he was ready, and impaled the boy on his cock–all thoughts of his prior youth wiped away–and when another frat bro happened upon the scene, and the stench in the room, it wasn’t long before TJ had a whole bevy of dirty daddies passing around his wide ass for fun.

New You Resolutions (Part 9) [Interactive]

Duncan was holding his breath, listening to the audience of men in front of him laughing and whispering, discussing his fate, toying with the devices they were all holding, until he heard a ding above him, and the screen changed.

“Well, it looks like the audience has decided to give you a little mercy, Duncan,” the MC said, and Duncan felt a rumble in his guts. The screen above him said he would lose some weight and regain some of his youth, and he was, well, thrilled. Some of the fat on him melted away, his heavy apron reducing, the hair all over him regaining it’s former brown color–but the hair didn’t lessen at all–it was still incredibly thick, his long beard intact. The weight loss tapered off far sooner than he would have liked as well–leaving him around 300 pounds, with a solid gut, and thick moobs, and a wide ass of course. He wasn’t quite as young as he’d been either, ending up around 30 or so in age.

“This…this isn’t enough!” he said, shaking his gut with his hands. “If you can change me back this much, at least change me back all the damn way! This…this is almost worse!”

The audience was laughing again, and toying with their devices, when he heard a second ding, and another change popped up on the screen.

“Well, it looks like they audience thinks you should be a little more…grateful, for what they’ve given you, Duncan,” the MC said.

He looked up at the screen, and the second change said that he was going to start becoming an exhibitionist, who loved flaunting his fat, filthy, and hairy body for everyone to see, and as he read it, he felt his head start…swimming. He didn’t want to feel like this. He didn’t want to enjoy this! But when he shook his gut again…it felt good. He belched, and when the men laughed at him, he felt a burst of pride, and belched again. Then, without really thinking about it, he hauled off his tanktop, showing off his whole hairy expanse of a gut, and the men were all laughing and cheering him on…and it was…almost like the resh he’d felt in front of the camera before, when he’d been modelling. Almost…better in some ways. He started groping himself, hornier than he could really imagine from showing off like this in front of all these men, when there was another ding above him.

He felt the change happening as he groped his crotch, before he even looked back–his balls growing larger, his cum production constant, and perpetually horny, so he wouldn’t be able to resist groping and jacking off almost constantly. The last bit of himself that held any shame tried to drag his hand away from his cock, which was rapidly being dwarfed by the size of his balls, but he couldn’t. It just felt too damn good, and the first load of pre gouted from the head of his cock, soaking the front of his mesh shorts, and he could smell it, how pungent it was, and then it was too late–he was openly jacking himself off now, feeling the precum flowing almost constantly, soaking his shorts, running down his chubby thighs. He didn’t really hear the final ding–different from the rest.

“Oh goodness, looks like someone has made an offer!” the MC said, and one of the men from the audience climbed up onto the stage. He was the owner of a collection of fast food franchises–and he had plans for Duncan. His hands were shackled, something that frustrated him to no end, since he had to stop touching his cock, and the man–his new owner–led him away.

In the new year, when he awoke, he was in a cage in the store room of his new owner’s fast food chain, who came and let him out–but only after servicing his cock, of course. Then, he spent the entire day working the fryers in the back, hands shackled so he couldn’t touch himself, until the evening, when he was released and dragged back to his cage, where he ate his meal of cold fast food and jacked off–his old life forgotten, and his new life of servitude stretching before him forever.

As Duncan was led off the stage, the next of the four was pushed out onto it–Morg. He was massive now, easily six and a half feet tall, with a massive gut, body packed solid with muscle. He was wearing some of his clothes from his work, grubby from his labor, and wondering what all of this was about–but part of him…wondered if there was a chance he could change back, go back to being that college student, because he was…terrified by how much he enjoyed this, being this rough, aggressive, domineering brute–the brute who had spent the whole fall hunting down and raping the entire football team, one after another, turning them all screaming sissy bitches impaled on his massive cock…

The MC announced him, and the audience began to deliberate and vote–and Morg waited to see what they had in store for him now.

The next public poll is below, and the bonus poll for Patrons can be found through this link!

New You Resolutions (Part 8) [Interactive]

It was December 31st, 2019–the end of the year, New You Enterprises New Year’s Bash had arrived, and all of the attendees were mingling together, excited to see what sorts of fun they would be having soon enough, once the stars of the event were brought out.

The company had selected four men this year to receive their batches of life changing resolutions, and the attendees had been assured that the results were simply unbelievable–if incomplete. After all, there was still a few hours left in the year, and that meant the magic affecting the four young men was still potent–once midnight struck, all of them would be stuck in their new forms, whatever that might be, but the company liked to give the men it selected an opportunity to beg for mercy–though it was up to the audience of the ball to decide it they deserved it or not–or if they deserved a few final changes to really make their new lives properly…interesting.

The clock struck ten, and the lights in the room dimmed, two spotlights hitting the stage on the far end, where the attendees all gathered to look and see who the company would reveal first. An MC stepped out, to a round of applause, and introduced the companies first selection of the year.

“Hello everyone, VIPs, executives–thank you again for attending our little gathering this year. It’s my pleasure to begin the main event of the evening–but first, I would like to introduce you to our first recipient–Duncan Everett!”

Up on the screen on the stage, a slideshow began, showing old images of Duncan from years past, back when he had been the slender, handsome male model.

“Duncan has made some massive changes to his life this year, thanks to our help, but before all of this, he was the rising star of the modelling world, on the cusp of nailing down contracts with several major designers and modeling agencies all over the world. However, our company saw much different potential in this young man, and we are over the moon with the progress Duncan has made on his new self in the last year–why don’t you come on out here Duncan, let everyone get a glimpse of the new you!”

No one appeared for a moment, because Duncan had no interest on getting on stage. In the end, it took two stage hands to shove him out into the center of the stage, stumbling over his feet, looking nothing at all like the lithe, hairless, handsome young man on the screen above him. The entire audience clapped, impressed at how easily New You Enterprises had turned the young model into the massively obese, extremely hairy slob standing in front of them now.

The remainder of the year hadn’t been particularly kind to Duncan–as he’d kept aging up into his fifties, his metabolism had slowed down more and more, and by the beginning of December, he had finally crested four hundred pounds, much to his horror. The grungy clothes he’d bought back in January were still the only clothes he could manage to wear, and standing on stage there, in his tight set of mesh shorts, crusty and stained with hundreds of loads of cum, a wifebeater completely unable to hold his hairy apron of fat, he was…horrified at all of these handsome, well dressed men staring and leering at him, like a piece of meat…and yet, he also wanted them all–all of them, to surround him, and jack off on him, cover him with their jizz, so he could leave the party smelling even more like a cumrag than he did already. He took a drag off his cigar–the smoke helped him feel a bit calmer at least–he didn’t know how he could have gotten through this without them.

“Well Duncan, is there anything you’d like to say to our audience here? Anything you would like to ask them? If you beg, they might even be willing to give you some of your old life back, you know…”

Duncan looked out at the men, unsure of what to say, what might induce them to feel a bit merciful towards him. “P-Please,” he croaked, still not used to how raspy his voice sounded after the hundreds of cigars he’d been forced to smoke over the last year, “I…I took it all for granted, I know that, but I…I didn’t ask for any of this. This isn’t who I am! I don’t…I just want…people to look at me without being disgusted by me again, I just want to be normal again.”

Some of the men in the audience laughed, and others just shook their heads.

“You sick fucks!” Duncan shouted at them, “I–This year has been like hell. I…I wasn’t a good person, is that what you want me to say? So maybe I was a jerk at times, but I didn’t deserve this, no one deserves this…”

“Well audience, the choice is in your hands–use your voting devices, and decide what fate is in store for Duncan here.”

Alright, that last poll was fairly evenly divided between the various options, so I thought I would break it down a bit, for each character. The poll below has a few different kinds of choices in it. “Before” choices will bring back some of the character’s qualities from their prior life. “Extra” choices will enhance or intensify some of the changes already made to the character. Lastly, “Partner” choices will have someone from the audience claim the character as their own, and make some additional modifications to their lifestyle. I plan on mixing and matching options together from the various categories, depending on what’s popular, so there will be multiple winning options, as before in this interactive. Patrons have their own poll as well, over here!

New You Resolutions (Part 4) [Interactive]

There was no way he was going to do this, Morgan told himself. The list he was holding read like a nightmare:

Morgan’s Resolutions for 2019

Drink lots of cheap beer, and grow a big beer gut.
Drop out of college and find a job doing menial labor.
Go through a second, intense puberty, and age an additional ten years.
Act like a lazy slob, rarely shower, and get off on my own musk.
Become an aggressive, dominant top, and double the size of my cock.

Why in the hell would he do any of this shit? Who in the hell was this company anyway? He looked back at the letter, and then at the list again, looking for more information, but there wasn’t anything else, just this sudden wave of anxiety, and he…he…

Fuck, he needed a fucking beer.

Morgan shook his head, trying to clear it. Why in the world had he thought that? He didn’t drink much at all for one thing, but it did nothing really to slake his thirst. The older couple were out of the house for a while, running some errands…and before he could muster any mental opposition, he went down into the kitchen, opened the fridge, grabbed one of the beers the man always kept on hand, but which Morgan had always refused, and chugged it, letting off a long belch afterwards.

And fuck, if he didn’t feel so much better, almost immediately.

He spent so much time trying to be perfect, so much time trying to live up to some standard, to prove everyone wrong, to be everything he was supposed to be…but why? Why was he doing this, any of this? He knew he’d had answers, he might have even had answers when he’d woken up that morning, but he didn’t have them right now…and he found that to be such a relief, somehow. He grabbed another beer, drank that too, and then figured he should just go buy some of his own to replenish what he’d taken. He bought a twenty-four pack at the nearby gas station, went home, and in three days, it was gone.

In three days, he hadn’t taken a shower, he hadn’t thought about school, he hadn’t thought about those jocks or being bullied, or any of it. He’d sat in his room, drunk off his ass, doing jack shit, masturbating to the smell of his pits, and feeling…odd. It took him a few more days to realize what was odd–it was that he was aching in a weird way, like he was growing again, but faster than he had in his teens. He was angry too, all of a sudden. Angry, and lazy, and he had so many hormones rushing through him, that by the time school started back up a few weeks later, it was a relief to have an outlet, that he could charge up to the registrar, drop out, and be done with the whole mess.

It felt good, doing it. It felt good, like he was freeing himself. Sure, he didn’t have a job or anything, but he’d find something. He had some savings, some cash from his parents, enough to pay the rent and coast for a couple of months, and figure some things out–that, and finish growing. He hurt all the time now, in ways that he hadn’t remembered since high school. Each day, it seemed like something new happened–his voice cracking and dropping to a low bass, acne appearing across his face, his cock…growing. It seemed like it packed on another inch each week, and Morgan found his desires shifting as it grew, away from the mostly bottom he’d been, to something far more aggressive. He’d watch porn videos of gay guys taking down straight homophobes, raping them, and nothing would get him harder–he’d explode all over himself, thinking about the jocks he hated, so happy he’d never have to see them again–but if they did, boy, would they have a surprise coming to them.

By the time March hit and he had to hit the streets to look for work, Morgan looked like a brand new person. He was about six inches taller, more muscular, his jaw stronger and covered with a thick beard growing up his cheeks, his arms and chest similarly coated with hair from his renewed puberty. His gut, however, was the most notable part about him, jutting out like a beach ball in front of him, making him balance it out by leaning back a bit. He didn’t have a hard time finding a job in the city, and ended up working in a warehouse down on the docks, amazed at how much he could rake in with a union job, enough to move out of that room and rent his own place by June–a proper bachelor pad, he told himself.

By then, he barely recognized himself at all in the mirror, and sure, part of him was horrified…but part of him liked it. A growing part of him, a brute thrumming in his chest, the mean drunk that came out when he’d had a few too many, the brute that had…forced himself on a couple of the guys at work, who had, to his surprise, relented, and let him plow their holes with his massive, ten inch cock. But the greatest conquest was something special–after finals, one of the chief jocks who had bullied him ended up there in the bar–in his bar. Morg knew just what the prissy piece of shit needed–and he cornered him in the bathroom, and fucked the young jock’s brains out, raped him for all the shit he had done to him, and he realized, then, that perhaps these resolutions weren’t so bad after all.

But who else got a letter from the company?

Here’s the next poll! I used two fairly popular ideas from the last poll, to give them one more chance, and also used two ideas from readers that they submitted with the last poll. The public poll is below, and the patron only poll can be found here.