Tag: smoke

The Body You Deserve (Sketch) [Commission]

Flash Commissions are ongoing! Here’s another one, which was commissioned by Crazy Diamond. You can find more details here.

“Need another drink, boy?”

Erik looked up from where he was having a conversation with a couple of friends at the man who was looming over their table. Erik did nothing to hide his obvious disdain that a guy like this–chubby, hairy, old, and reeking of cigar smoke–would have the absolute nerve to think Erik–young, slender, hairless, and perfect in every way–would so much as talk to him, much less take a drink from him. “No thanks. I don’t usually waste my time on old slobs like you,” he said, and his friends all tittered.

The bear just rolled his eyes–it was hardly the first time he’d been shot down in his life, and moved on. The twinks gossiped for a bit about him, unable to believe someone like that would ever think one of them could be in their league, and then moved onto other topics. Just as they were about to go back to the dance floor, someone tapped Erik on the shoulder roughly.

Erik looked back, half expecting the bear to have come back to try again, but it wasn’t him. It was an older fellow, muscular, and he had a glass in his hand–the same glass the bear had had a second ago. “That was rather rude of you, I think. Now, that nice man offered you a drink, and you should be gracious and accept it.”

Erik was about to tell this guy, whoever he was, to fuck right off as well, but instead, his hand reached out, took the glass from him, and Erik chugged it, while the stranger and his friends all watched in slight astonishment. Erik could hardly believe it himself–he wasn’t exactly one to tolerate being told what to do, ever, but he couldn’t stop drinking it until the glass was empty. It tasted…odd. There was definitely alcohol in it, but it wasn’t quite like any drink he’d had at this bar before. He put the empty glass down, and the man nodded, “Good–I’ll see you later,” he said, and then slipped off into the crowd.

No one said anything. Erik was red in the face–he hated being humiliated like that. He got up to tell the man off, but when he did, his guts knotted up and cramped, and he ran off towards the bathroom instead, where he doubled over in pain. The spasms in his stomach were spreading now; it felt like his whole body was on fire, being stretched out and deformed somehow. After a few minutes clutching a sink and moaning, the pain began to subside, and he could stand again–but he froze when he saw the face looking back at him in the mirror.

It wasn’t his face. He blinked, and the face blinked as well. It was the face of…that bear, the one who had offered him a drink. He looked at the chubby cheeks covered with a thick, greying beard, the heavily receding hairline, and then down at his body. The clothes he had on were filled to bursting with his thick gut and hefty chest, the waistband of his once skinny jeans groaning before the button burst, his gut sagging out another couple of inches. He could smell himself too–not just the aura of cigar around him, but also his sweat and body odor wafting around him. He had never been more disgusted in his entire life.

That drink–it had to have something to do with that stranger. He had to find him, and figure out how to get his body back! He rushed out of the bathroom, staggering out of his much too small shoes in the process, his shirt beginning to rip apart as he moved. There was no sign of the man in the bar, so he headed for the patio out back, where the crowd was thinner, and sure enough, there he was–standing by the wall with his body–his real body, in the bear’s now much too baggy clothes.

“You!” Erik said, his deeper voice booming across the space, “What the fuck did you do to me!”

“There he is, Roy, I told you he’d find us–come on over here–I think you have an apology to make to Roy here, don’t you?” the stranger said.

“You piece of shit, give me my body back right fucking now,” Erik said storming across the patio, his shirt finally giving up and tearing apart, leaving his hairy gut hanging out over his much, much too tight jeans. He looked from the older stranger over to his own body–and saw that whoever was in it now (the fat bear, he presumed, who the stranger had called Roy) was enjoying the hell out of it, and had a thick cigar clamped in his jaw. One part of him was disgusted, but another part of him…craved it. He licked his lips, eyes locked to the cigar in front of him, his cock getting a bit hard at the sight of his one time body smoking.

He realized, after a bit, he’d just been standing there, staring, for several moments, but he didn’t quite know what to say anymore. He looked from his old body to the stranger, who had an expectant look on his face. “Well?” the stranger said to him, “What are you waiting for? Apologize. You were quite rude back there, don’t you think?”

Erik turned to his old body, unable to control himself, just like before, when the man had given him the drink. “I…I’m sorry…for being rude. Now can I have my body back please?”

“I don’t think that was polite enough. This man is your superior, right? At least, you seemed to think so before. Isn’t this man’s body so much better than yours, in every way?” the stranger asked.

It…was true. Looking at his old body now, he was…enthralled. He’d always taken it for granted before, but being outside it, he could properly appreciate it. He got down on his knees, horrified, and said, “I’m sorry sir, I…I was so rude before, I didn’t think. Please forgive me sir…” He sounded so weak, and yet that just made his cock even harder in the front of his very tight pants.

“I don’t know if that’s enough–do you think he needs some punishment, Roy, to remind him of his proper place?” the man said to Eriks old body.

“I think so,” Roy said, and hearing his own voice, hos old voice…it made Erik melt a bit, it was so sexy to his ears.

Together, they dragged Erik up and shoved him against the wall. Then, the stranger handed Roy a flogger, and he started beating the old bear, focusing on his fat ass, and after two strokes, the jeans split apart, leaving Erik–in his now fat, old body–completely naked on the patio. It didn’t stay naked for long though. As Roy beat him with the flogger, things started changing about them both. New clothes appeared on them, replacing their ill fitting ones–a leather harness and tight shorts for Erik, and a full leather suit on Roy’s now young, slender frame. Lust overtook Roy before too long, and he stepped up, unzipped the ass of Erik’s leather shorts, and fucked him, his cock growing longer and thicker, topping out at ten inches, as his frame filled out with even more muscle. Erik moaned in delight as his one-time body fucked his new one, and he grew taller and fatter, until he was six and a half feet tall and close to 400 pounds, covered in grey fur, and utterly devoted to serving his master, inhabiting his old body. When Roy came in Erik’s hole, the final changes came, sealing them in this new life: a collar around Erik’s neck, and a steel chastity cage riveted around his tiny cock.

Roy tugged the lead connected to his massive slave’s collar, and rewarded him with a breath of smoke, before giving him the half smoked cigar he’d been smoking and lighting a new one for himself. The stranger was nowhere to be seen, but Erik no longer cared–he was right where he belonged, serving his master, in the proper body he deserved, and which Erik had wasted for too long.

House of Marvels -Episode 1 (Part 8)

Eric rolled him over, so he was belly up, looking up at him on the ground, his cock still buried in his hole. Before he could do anything to resist him–not that the old man would ever resist him–he took a long draw off the pipe, leaned over him, and pushed it into him, all of it and more. He pushed that fire he felt inside him, pushed it into his mind, into his soul, burning parts of him away, and as he did, he watched him…change. Mr. Fields began to grow, his belly and muscles swelling larger, his bones cracking and expanding, white hair growing in thick all over his body. His cock, once small, was growing as well, and when they pulled apart, his once blue eyes had turned a steely, grey, the same grey as the smoke curling from his slack jaw.

“What’s your name?” Eric snarled at him, driving his cock into him.

“I…I have no name, master, not anymore,” his thrall said, groaning as Eric’s cockslid deeper than it had before, like it had grown longer in his ass while they fucked.

“No, you don’t. You aren’t anyone anymore, are you. You’re mine–that’s all that matters. You could never be anyone ever again. Without my smoke, you would die now. Now, you need me. You’ll never be able to leave my side, unless I allow it.”

“I would never leave you Master, never. I love you, I love you, please, harder Master, harder…”

Eric gripped his flesh, feeling his nails dig into his hairy skin, his toy growling in pain and surprise, but not resisting. He was nothing more than a vessel, a thing for his Master to use, and to own. His humanity had burnt away now–all that remained was desire and eager obedience, willing to do anything for his master, even if it cost him his life. He felt…terrible, terrible that he’d allowed that other man to escape so easily. He should have tried harder, should have chased after him, and dragged him back down here for his Master to enjoy. Eric came with another roar, even louder than the previous ones, and he watched his Master’s form warp further, muscles bulging and bones cracking, skin turning red and cracking apart all over his body, eyes yellow with rage and greed, the pipe smaller, somehow–or perhaps it was just that Master’s mouth was so large, and so full of teeth.

He withdrew his cock from his thrall’s hole, feeling somewhat better, and more secure in his position. Still, the thrall felt terrible. “I failed you Master, I let him escape. It’s my fault. Please, let me go after him! I’ll drag him back to you by force if I have too, he will understand what a gift it is to serve you in time, if you–”

“No! No, I forbid it. I can’t lose you, I can’t,” Eric said, shaking slightly at the thought.

“Please–please let me do this for you. I’m…stronger now. You can make me even stronger if you so desired. He deserves to be punished–let me serve you, Master, please. Rest here. Gather your strength, and I’ll find him. I’ll show him your power–feed…feed me your smoke, and I…I can do the rest, please, let me do this for you.”

He groveled down at Eric’s feet, amazed at how…large they had become, at the sharp black claws that had replaced his nails, at the slight web between the toes. His master was becoming more marvelous by the day, and with more men to serve him, he would become even more powerful. He could do this–he knew he could…and he sensed that Eric was softening to the idea.

“Yes…I think you’re right, but any sign of danger, and you return to me immediately–and if you aren’t back by dawn tomorrow, know that you will suffer a death that you cannot even begin to imagine, if you betray me.”

“Never Master. I am yours. Your tool, and your pleasure, and your hoard.”

Eric could feel it. Feel his slave’s regret and his own failure, and the burning desire to serve his Master in whatever way possible. In truth, he was terrified. If his thrall didn’t return, what would happen to him then? He…needed him, even more than his thrall needed his master and his smoke–but as risky as it was, it was his only option. With Raury and Sam on the loose, he was vulnerable. He was strong now, but not strong enough–if anyone found out about him…they would kill him, or worse, lock him away in some dungeon to study until he withered away and died. He bent down and kissed him again, pouring more smoke into him, infusing him with enough to keep his strong and healthy until he returned. “You are most important. You are my gem. Return, even if you fail–I couldn’t bear to lose you.”

“Yes Master, I could never live without you.”

“I know. You will have a new name now–you will be my Hunter.”

With that, Hunter took the stairs two at a time, unable to remember the last time he’d felt so strong, body thrumming with vitality. Finding clothes was more difficult–nothing seemed to fit his massive frame, but he managed to squeeze into an old pair of sweats and a sweatshirt, and then he was outside. He missed the smoke, deeply, but he had enough inside him to last–and if he hurried, more than enough to share with the one who had gotten away. He sniffed the air, picked up a trace of smoke leading away from the house and down the sidewalk, and hurried after it. He was Hunter now–and he would never fail his Master again.

House of Marvels – Episode 1 (Part 7)

“Alright…but what’s the game called?”

Eric didn’t say anything, he was looking at Raury’s, trying to see what the smoke was showing him, and trying to understand what it wanted him to do. That night with Mr. Fields had been so…natural–just feed him his smoke, and he’d given in easily–desperately, really. But Raury was something else–he wasn’t right yet. He didn’t belong here with him yet…but he could, with…time. With time, and something else. “It’s a roleplaying game. But one that I’d say is a lot more focused on story and character, than fighting or anything like that.”

Eric leaned in closer, a bit more smoke unfurling from his mouth, sliding through the air and into Raury’s mouth and nose, his friend’s eyes unfocusing slightly. “Can I…use my usual sort of character?”

Eric laughed–Raury always liked to play as an elf mage, or the closest thing he could get to it, in whatever game they might be playing at the moment. The idea disgusted him–some young, tall, skinny thing. No–nothing like that was worthy of him, of his attention. “No, why don’t you try branching out a bit? Trying something a little different? I’m thinking something a little…more sizable…something I can really sink my nails into…”

Before Raury could say anything else, Eric had taken a deep breath of smoke from the pipe, and closed the distance between them, locking lips with his friend and pushing the smoke deep into his lungs. Raury wasn’t ready for it, and he started coughing and hacking, shoving Eric off of him and getting up from the couch. “What…what the fuck, Eric?” His head was spinning, and he nearly tripped over the coffee table. What was he doing down here, anyway? He should have left with Sam, he’d wanted to leave with Sam, but something…he’d gotten distracted by the smoke, and by Eric–but this wasn’t right. Eric wasn’t playing a game down here–there were no books, there were no dice. He coughed some more, trying to get the smoke out of him, but he could feel it clinging to the inside of his lungs, working its way into his body.

“Mr. Fields, help Raury out, would you? Help him back over here, so we can talk some more about the game.”

Mr. Fields walked towards Raury and pulled him close for a moment, and something about the older man’s skin against him reminded him of the smoke inside him, made him feel warm, and safe, and…and a little horny too, for some reason. He pushed him away, but Mr. Fields held tight to his arm, and tried to drag him back to where Eric was sitting–but he yanked his arm away. “Eric, what are you doing? This isn’t like you–something is wrong with you, you need to get help!”

“I don’t need help, Raury–you need help. You need my help. Come over here, let’s…chat some more. You’ll feel much better soon, you’ll understand. You’ll be happy here, I promise, you all will.”

Mr. Fields tried to grab him again, but Raury had no intention of getting near him again, if he could help it. He pushed his way past him and ran for the stairs, Eric shouting at him, demanding he get back down there, and as much as Raury wanted to obey him, for reasons he couldn’t understand beyond their sheer force, he pushed on, upto the main floor of the house, where the smoke was thinner, and then outside into the clean air–and breathing it hurt, somehow, even though it made him feel better all the same. He looked around for Sam, but his friend was nowhere to be seen–he didn’t blame him, honestly–he too wanted to put as much space between himself and this house as he could. He knew he should call someone for help, but who? The police? There wasn’t a crime, really–and Eric was his friend. No…no more than his friend, really, but the word he was looking for escaped his tongue. He’d…remember it eventually. No, he just needed some space. He’d connect with Sam back on campus, and together they’d figure out what to do about this. As he walked, he kept coughing on occasion, but nothing else was coming up. He felt winded though, and a bit…heavy, somehow–but he chalked it up to being a bit high on whatever Eric had been smoking in that pipe, and tried his best to forget about it.

Back in the house, Eric was in a fury. When Raury had made it up the stairs and back into the house, Eric had tried to follow him–but hadn’t been able to make it halfway up before he’d started shaking and trembling. He wasn’t ready. He wasn’t ready to go outside yet, he wasn’t…strong enough, he wasn’t finished, and he’d gotten away! He’d been his, Eric had claimed him, marked him, started…working on him, and he’d escaped, and it was consuming him in hatred and anger he could barely understand or grapple with. It was irrational, he knew that, but his reason was drowned out by the simple fact that he couldn’t dispute–Raury was his. His! His, just like Mr. Fields was his, and Eric had let him get away, like a weak fool. He had to get him back, but he had no way of knowing if he would come back here or not–most likely not. But if Eric couldn’t get him back…it would consume him, this anger, and jealousy, and rage. He felt hot, so hot, like something had kindled a fire in his chest, and he let off a roar into the room, Mr. Fields cowering away from him in fear.

Eric hated him. He desired him, but he hated him. He owned him, but he hated him. He hated how weak he was, how small he was, how he was helpless against losing him. If he lost Mr. Fields like he’d lost Raury…he didn’t know what he would do. Just thinking about it made him ache with need, and he stalked over to him, threw Mr. Fields to the floor, and mounted him then and there, pouring out smoke from the pipe, grunting and roaring and snarling, reminding him of his place, reminding him that he belonged to Eric. He had been too kind to him, allowing him to keep a bit of his humanity, allowing him a name, allowing him to be anything other than an object. He was too kind–he would need to rid himself of that if he was going to be happy–if he was going to survive.

House of Marvels – Episode 1 (Part 6)

“Mr. Fields,” Raury said, “You have to see how fucked up this is. We have to get you out of here–both of you.”

“No!” Eric screamed, “No, he’s mine, you can’t have him, you can’t take him away from me, he’s mine!”

“Eric, calm down,” Sam said, “We’re just worried about you, and I don’t think you really know what you’re saying right now. What is in that pipe, anyway? That smoke…it doesn’t smell right.”

Eric, however, couldn’t calm down. After what Raury had said, about taking his daddy away from him, a horrific paranoia and fury had erupted in him. They’d come here to take him away from him. They knew how sexy he was, what a hot, beautiful daddy he was, these two young men, and they wanted him for themselves. He wasn’t going to let that happen–he should…he should kill them.

He gasped, horrified by what he’d just thought. He couldn’t kill them, they were his friends, weren’t they? But what good friend would take his property away? Didn’t they understand how important this was to him? No, that was the problem. They didn’t understand, but perhaps he could…help them understand a bit better, just like how he’d helped Mr. Fields understand his role here better earlier.

“No, you see? It’s just a game, that’s all. A big game,” Eric said, his voice soft and silky on their minds, the smoke twining around them both unnoticed, sliding into their noses, their mouths and ears. “Just a…a role playing game, is all. Mr. Fields was curious about them, about how we played them, and so we’re doing some roleplaying together. That’s all. We’re just in costume, and maybe we got a bit carried away, but we’re both fine–neither of you have anything to worry about. In fact…if you wanted to play too, I’m sure we could find a role for you both in here too. I know how much the two of you like games after all.”

“O-Oh…I guess that makes sense,” Raury said softly, eyes looking slightly distant.

“What?” Sam said, “No it doesn’t! It doesn’t make any sense at all!”

“Sam, calm down,” Eric said, “You came in here, raving like a lunatic, when obviously, we’re all just playing a silly game here. There’s nothing strange about this at all.”

Was he being silly? But if this was a game, then why in the world had Eric missed nearly an entire week’s worth of classes? If this was a game, why was Mr. Fields even playing it? He seemed way too suspicious of the games they played, and was way too strict of a figure to ever try playing one with them when they’d offered, to be polite. It didn’t make any sense, but what other explanation was there? “Alright then, if you two are roleplaying something, then what are you playing at exactly? Because to me…well, it doesn’t look like anything I’ve ever seen you play before with us, and I know all of the games you know, Eric.”

“Well we don’t have to keep playing this one by any means, I was getting a bit bored with it, honestly. In fact, I’m glad you two came, I was starting to get…well, why don’t we play something? All four of us? It’ll be more fun that just the two of us. Your choice Sam, anything you’d like.”

“Eric, I…really think that something is wrong here, with both of you. I don’t…want to play a game, I want to get you help.”

“If you don’t want to play a game, then why are you here, Sam? You only come here when you want to play games after all.”

Sam didn’t want to listen to anything else, and the smoke was making his head spin. “I…I need some fresh air, I…I don’t know what’s going on here, and I don’t want to know…” He headed for the stairs and got out of the house into the evening air, taking deep breaths and coughing up as much smoke as he could, but it was a few moments before he realized that Raury hadn’t come up with him. He’d…come up on his own, surely. Something told Sam that he should go back in and get his friend, but he didn’t want to go down there again. He didn’t want to smell that smoke ever again, if he could help it. Raury…Raury would be fine, he should just go, and put as much space between him and this house as he could.

Downstairs, Raury had watched Sam go, and part of him had wanted to go with him, knew that staying down here was…dangerous for some reason, but he couldn’t figure out why, exactly. After all, it was just Mr. Fields and Eric down here, playing a game. There was nothing dangerous about that. Still…Sam had seemed really freaked out by something, and he wanted to make sure he was alright. But before he could get to the stairs, Eric spoke, “Come on Raury, stay for a while. Play a game with us. It’ll be a fun one, I promise. Entertain me, I’m so bored today…”

Raury paused, and turned away from the stairs. “What…game do you want to play?”

Eric thought for a moment, and stared at Raury across the room. He wasn’t his type at all–too skinny, too smooth, too small, too young most of all…but could he do something about that? Something…was telling him that he could, that even though Raury wasn’t fit to be his property just yet…he could make it happen somehow. He could almost see it, even, like the smoke was forming around him in clumps, hinting at a larger frame, wisping around his clothes like white fur…thinking about it was making him hard, and Raury went red in the face at the sight of Eric’s cock openly engorging. Had…had Eric been naked all this time, and he just now realized it? “I kind of feel like playing something new–something I just found out about the other day, in fact. I’m sure you’ll enjoy it.”

House of Marvels – Episode 1 (Part 5)

In all of this, Eric hadn’t bothered going to class, or even getting on his computer or using his phone. He had missed all of his teachers’ messages, and the texts from his friends, wondering where he was, and what was wrong with him. On the rare occasion when Eric thought about the life outside of the house, he was a bit worried, but it seemed so…uninteresting to him. It caught him, and Mr. Fields off guard, when Raury and Sam arrived at the house, demanding to see him, and refusing to leave when Mr. Fields told them that Eric didn’t want to be disturbed. Still, it was clear that something was going on inside. Raury and Sam had never once seen Mr. Fields dressed in anything other than a full set of clothes, shoes included, in his house, and here he was standing, gut out, wearing just a pair of boxers, which it looked like he’d put on backwards.

They pushed their way past him and into the house, which was in disarray, something else that was very much unlike him. They shouted for Eric and raced upstairs, but his room was empty–all that there was, was the lingering scent of some odd smoke, an odor they both noticed through the rest of the house as well. Mr. Fields raced up after them, agitated and furious, trying to force the two young men out of the room and out of his house before they disturbed his Master. Neither one of them knew what to make of that, so they ignored it, and demanded to know where Eric was, and what they had done to him, before they called the cops.

Mr. Fields didn’t know what to do. It had been going so well, just him and his Master in the basement, but his mind was slowing and the idea of making a decision was paralyzing. He…wanted to be with his Master. Master would know what to do about these two strangers. Master would take care of everything. “Alright…Alright, he’s…down in the basement.”

“Whatever you freak, you probably killed him down there or something,” Raury said.

Mr. Fields shook his head, “I didn’t! Master is fine! He’s…We’re fine here, and you should just leave, but I can show you if you want to see for yourself.”

“Look, you keep saying Master–we’re looking for Eric.”

He nodded, “He…is my master.”

Raury and Sam exchanged a glance of confusion, and then looked back at Mr. Fields. “Alright, take us to him them, and we’ll see for ourselves whatever you’re talking about.”

So they followed him back downstairs, back around to the messy kitchen, a massive slab of roast out on the counter, and then down into the basement, where the smoke they’d smelled before was thick and cloying, weaving up the stairs as they descended. It was so thick at first that neither of them could make out much beyond blurry shapes in the room. Raury coughed and doubled over, fumbling for a wall, while Sam squinted, the smoke burning his eyes, but there, reclined on a couch in the center of the room was a person smoking a pipe, but it couldn’t be Eric, could it?

No, he was much too large, with a thick gut and broad shoulders. Eric was much smaller, the smallest of all of them in fact. He stepped closer, still not quite sure why he was approaching the stranger still, now that he knew it couldn’t be Eric, but something nagged at him. Something about the curve of the jaw, the hands in his naked lap. Now just a few feet away, he could make out the man’s face, and he felt a chill slide into his bones. It was Eric–or at least, whoever it was was wearing his friend’s face…sort of. Parts of it were distorted, like something seen through a curved piece of glass. The ears were small, his cheeks a bit pointy, most of the hair pulled from his head, that…disturbing rash covering half of his face. “Eric?” he asked, “Eric, what is going on? You’ve been missing class, and you never responded to any of our messages. Why…what in the hell is going on, Eric? Where have you been?”

Seeing his friends roused something inside him, and Eric felt a bit of his old self rise back to the surface. “Sam? I…” Eric didn’t know what he was supposed to say, though. None of this made any real sense, and yet it also seemed perfectly natural. But how could he even begin to explain what was happening to him, and what he was feeling? “I don’t know, I started smoking the pipe that Jamie gave me, and…and I know this must look so strange, but really, I’m fine. We’re both fine. You should go–don’t worry about me, just…just forget about it.”

“Are you fucking insane?” Raury said, coming closer, “Look at yourself, what’s wrong with your skin? And is that…what is that around your mouth? It looks like blood or something.”

“I just ate is all, I get…really hungry now.”

Sam and Raury looked at one another, and then Sam grabbed Eric by the hand and tried to pull him up from the couch. “We need to get you to the hospital, both of you. Something weird is going on and you’re acting crazy.”

Eric yanked his hand away from him. “No! Didn’t you hear what I said? We’re fine!”

“Yeah, we’re both fine, we want to be here,” Mr. Fields said, still standing by the stairs. “Look, you’re…you’re upsetting him, and it’s almost time for his dinner, so I think it’s time for you to leave.”

House of Marvels – Episode 1 (Part 4)

Eric too, found himself struggling to adapt to whatever had happened to him that night, when he’d placed the pipe between his lips for the first time. From that moment on, the only time the pipe even left his lips for longer than a few seconds was whenever he was asleep, but otherwise he was smoking it. It didn’t require much–in fact, just the smoke coming from the bowl was enough to stave off the craving, but it tasted so wonderful, and it felt so good, heating his lungs, that he preferred to get as much as he could. There was the occasional moment of rebellion when he’d try and resist it, but he couldn’t go more than a few minutes without it, and he’d find himself helplessly drawing as much smoke as he could into himself afterwards, in an attempt to catch up. In fact, despite all of his newfound power, he felt…weaker in other ways. Mr. Fields was a weakness–he absolutely hated it whenever he left, not only because he wanted him by his side, in the same way he wanted the smoke. No, what he felt when he watched the old man walk up those stairs was fear. Fear that he would lose him–not in the sense of losing someone in a relationship, but like he was going to lose his property. Mr. Fields belonged to him, and he spent quite a bit of time drilling that into the old man’s head, making sure his new daddy, his first daddy, wasn’t just dependent on his smoke, but that he wanted, more than anything, to be his servant.

It proved to be relatively easy, in fact. After all, Mr. Fields was a god-fearing fellow. All he needed to be convinced of was that his god, the god he should have been worshiping all of this time, was here, and very real, and right in front of him. Once he’d accepted that, deeply in his soul, all of his doubt and resistance disappeared immediately–and Eric was surprised by how aroused he became seeing this old daddy utterly enraptured by him, whenever they were together. He seemed more lustful than Eric in fact, begging his god to use him, and fuck him, staring at him with as much awe as Eric stared back at him in lust and covetous delight. In fact, he was so caught up in the pleasure of his first thrall, that it was a few days before he noticed that Mr. Fields wasn’t the only one suffering some unexpected changes.

It started with an itch on his neck. Small enough that he didn’t mind it particularly much for a while, but it only grew more insistent, and he found himself unable to resist scratching at it. It began to spread into a larger patch, and then other patches appeared on his chest, arms, and thighs. They didn’t seem bad at first, just like patches of dryness, but the more he scratched them, the more red and inflamed they became, and the skin seemed to be cracking apart, and even bleeding on occasion, though never badly or for very long. He dreaded the idea of leaving the basement, and so he ordered Mr. Fields to bring the house’s largest mirror down into the basement, so he would have a way to look at himself, and it was then that he saw the skin was only one of the changes happening to him.

His hair was falling out, for one thing. It wasn’t an orderly kind of baldness either, like he was growing older. It was falling out in clumps, and not only from his head–his beard was thinner, and the hair on his body was also falling out, especially in the areas where the rash had struck. He was terrified, certain it had to be some kind of disease, but he felt great otherwise. In fact, he felt better than he had in ages, and despite the fact that he never did much of anything down in the basement, beyond smoke his pipe, he was growing.

It was difficult to be certain, but his musculature seemed odd, especially around his back, which was growing faster than everything else. He measured himself on the wall, and in two days, he added an inch of height. Not much, by any means, but it gave him a sense of satisfaction he couldn’t quite describe. He ate more than he ever had in his life, the meat Mr. Fields was bringing him became rarer and rarer at his insistence. It just…tasted wrong when it was cooked somehow, but his human sensibility insisted on at least a seared outside. It was difficult to eat it so raw for a few days, especially when the first of his teeth began to fall out, though new, sharp fangs grew in their place, which made the meat much easier to chew.

After a few days of this new life, Eric found himself growing…bored. The dream he’d had that night kept returning, every time he dozed off, and he was surrounded by smoky daddies that he couldn’t touch, but which he desired with a force he couldn’t explain or rationalize. It was instinctual, to collect and own them. To hoard them down here with him, to keep him happy and entertained. He found himself growing tired of Mr. Fields–the man who had so enraptured him for a few days now seemed boring and uninteresting. He wanted someone new, he wanted more…but he didn’t know how to get it.

House of Marvels – Episode 1 (Part 3)

He stripped off his shirt and boxers he usually slept in–wearing clothes seemed…strange all of a sudden–and still with the pipe in his mouth, feeling more and more like it was some extension of his body, rather than a simple tool, he walked down the hall to Mr. Fields’s master bedroom at the end, and let himself into his room. Mr. Fields was still sound asleep, snoring gently, wearing a full set of pajamas in his bed. Eric just watched him sleep for a moment, his cock growing hard as a rock being this close to a man he’d wanted for so long, and then he walked around to his side of the bed. Mr. Fields heard him and made a groggy noise, but before he could register who was beside him, Eric had bent over him, shoved his lips to Mr. Fields, and pushed some of his smoke down his throat and into his body.

Mr. Fields shuddered for a moment, and then shoved Eric off of him, and backpedaled away from him across the surface of the bed, coughing, but none of the smoke seemed to be coming back out of him. “Eric! What–What as gotten into you?” He looked over and saw the pipe in his hand, “It’s the damn devil weed, isn’t it? I told you to never smoke in this house!”

Eric just put the stem of the pipe back in his mouth, and stroked his cock with one hand, “I want you, Mr. Fields. I’ve wanted you since I saw you, and you’re going to be mine. You already are mine, in fact, you just don’t know it yet.”

Mr. Fields was quivering slightly, and still coughing. He could taste the smoke lingering in his mouth, clouding his palate. He had…had a period of rebellion in his youth, he knew what weed tasted like, and tobacco too–but it didn’t taste like this. Still…it tasted good, and he felt the beginnings of a strange flush in his body. Eric got up on the bed, his rock hard cock jutting out, and Mr. Fields kept trying to back away, but ran out of space quickly. Eric lunged forward, and kissed him again, feeding him more smoke somehow–though Mr. Fields hadn’t seen him take another draw on the pipe he was holding in his hand. The pleasure was stronger this time, and he moaned into Eric’s mouth, his own cock responding and getting harder than it had been in years. He touched his young renter’s skin, with hesitation at first…but something about it seemed wrong, like he’d expected it to feel…different somehow. Not as soft as it was–it should be…rougher. He didn’t know what to make of the thought–he didn’t know what to make of any of his thoughts suddenly. Nothing was fitting in his mind–it felt more like the smoke was filling him up and clouding everything–his memories, his life. He leaned into Eric now, hungry for the young man’s mouth, his smoke, drawing more and more of it into himself, grinding their cocks together in his bed, knowing that lying with another man like this was a sin…but Eric wasn’t a man–or not just any man at least. He was…

“M-Master…” he muttered when their lips parted for a moment, eyes cloudy and distant, “Thank you Master, for making me yours.”

“You’re welcome slave. Now, please me–show me what you desire now, the only thing you truly desire in the whole world.”

Mr. Fields slipped lower and took Eric’s cock into his mouth, and Eric sighed, pipe back in his mouth, drawing in more smoke, feeling the desire still smoldering inside him. This was good. This was right, and what he deserved, how he deserved to be treated. Things were going to change around here, Eric was certain of that–but even he didn’t know, at that time, just how much.

They woke up together, with Mr. Fields still wrapped around his young renter in his bed. For a moment, he tried to reassert control, and demanded that the faggot harlot get out of his house, but Eric picked up the pipe from where it had landed beside him, stoked it back to life without even needing a match, and watched the man start to shake and quiver, craving…something, but not knowing what. Eric also wasn’t moving, and the room was slowly filling with the smoke pouring from his nostrils. Mr. Fields began to lose his train of thought, the words disappearing from his mind as his feet shuffled him closer to the bed, the smoke clouding him back into that comfortable space, and a moment later he was sucking down Eric’s smoke, and then rode his cock for a good long while, Eric making sure he had plenty of smoke to keep him in the proper mindset. Then, when he was back to being the kind of obedient daddy that Eric wanted, they started setting some new rules around the house.

First, Eric told him that he was moving into the basement–the entire basement. Mr. Fields cleaned his things out of sizable space down there over the next few days, and Eric spent his time down there, smoking his pipe, lounging about, having Mr. Fields service him whenever he desired (or sometimes he just had him stand where he could regard him, he was such a beauty, truly) and he ate, and ate, and ate. Eric had heard somewhere that smoking tended to take away your appetite, but for him, or for this pipe, the opposite was true. He was constantly hungry, and the only thing he was hungry for was meat. Mr. Fields found his day spent serving his new master, sometimes happily, and sometimes with resistance, but even when he was away from Eric and his smoke, he…thought about it, how much he craved it, and he could tell that something about him had changed, something deep inside him, but he didn’t know how to articulate what he’d even lost.

House of Marvels – Episode 1 (Part 2)

The rest of the evening was uneventful. He made dinner downstairs for himself after Mr. Fields was done in the kitchen, watched TV with him while he ate, chatting about his classes when Mr. Fields asked about them, then did his dishes and returned to his room. Mr. Fields went to bed early, like usual, giving Eric an opportunity to jack off again. Usually once every few days was enough for him…but he was feeling horny today for some reason. He came once, and then kept going, the scent of smoke in the room getting stronger, though Eric didn’t notice it at all anymore. He lost track of time, and discovered he’d been jacking off to a stream of old daddy bears for close to three hours when he should have been finishing this paper…but he was tired, too tired to keep at it now. He got into bed, falling asleep almost immediately, and then the dream started.

It was dark, but not a nothing dark. He was somewhere, standing somewhere dark, and cold, and damp, and empty. Very empty. It should be full, it needed to be full of something, something he wanted, and…and needed. Then, there was light, a flame of some sort, and he could see better where he was. It was a cavern of some sort, a massive one, but while he supposed he ought to be concerned about that, and want to escape, he instead found it…cozy somehow. Though it would be cozier if he wasn’t alone, if he had…if he had what he wanted with him down here, but what did he want?

Smoke appeared as the light grew a bit stronger, but it didn’t rise like Eric knew it should, it collected around him near the ground of the cavern, more and more of it, making him cough. It kept coming, and soon it was forming…something. Figures. Men. Men all around him, fat, sexy, hairy and very naked men in every direction, all of them fucking, and sucking, and he felt so happy, surrounded by them all. He reached for the nearest one, but his hands passed right through him, and all he felt was a piercing rage and despair. He grabbed for him again, but the man just dissolved, him and all of the others, and the smoke surrounded him, obscuring the cavern around him, and his coughing grew more intense until it woke him up–and he discovered that he had been coughing not because of the smoke in his dream, but because of the actual smoke filling up his room.

Eric fell out of his bed and onto the floor, looking around desperately for any sign of flames, assuming the smoke was coming from a fire that must have started somewhere in the house. However, as he woke up, he recognized the smell, the sweet and savory notes of meat from before, and then he saw the tiny bead of light on the shelf–the little pinprick of flame in the side of the pipe, where the dragon’s eye was carved into the bowl.

It couldn’t be. All of this smoke couldn’t be coming from that pipe–how was it even possible? He got up from the floor where he’d fallen, and he made his way to the shelf, grabbed the pipe, and sure enough, the smoke was gouting from the bowl and the stem, and deep inside…somewhere, he could see a dim red glow of coals inside the bowl. He looked around him, wondering if he should get it to the bathroom and try to put it out, but now that he was holding it, the dream came back to him, the smoke men dancing around him in the cavern, and how…how he’d desired them.

He could feel the sudden heat in the bowl raging, and the light that sprang up was enough to light his dark room. He did desire it–he had to admit it. He was lonely, he was so lonely, and he’d always been lonely, and he’d desired and coveted so many men, so many sexy daddies–Mr. Fields of course, but also his father and uncles, his teachers and coaches, boy scout leaders and neighbors. He wanted them, he wanted to collect them like he collected everything, but he couldn’t–but the pipe could feel it in him, and he could feel it too, feel it calling out to him, that heat, promising him that it could be his, they could be his, all of them.

He brought the stem to his lips, and then paused. He knew he shouldn’t. He knew this was something strange, something unnatural, but the desire was so great, he didn’t care what it cost. He didn’t care what he might lose. He wanted them, all of them, he wanted to own them–and so he took the stem in his mouth, and he inhaled–or rather, the smoke forced it’s way down into his lungs, as he struggled to keep up. He didn’t know how it could keep rushing into him at the pace it was coming, and with wide eyes, he saw the smoke around him in the room drawing closer to him, back into the bowl of the pipe, and back into him. Finally, when he was certain that his lungs, or his entire body, was going to explode, it stopped–or rather, there was no more for him to take in, and he could finally exhale, pushing three thick plumes of grey smoke from his nostrils and mouth, watching it curl around him…and the desire in his heart was burning with a fierceness he’d never experienced before.

He took another draw from the pipe, the smoke as natural, and perhaps as necessary, as air, and knew what he wanted. What he’d wanted, and coveted from the moment he’d stepped into this house. Eric knew also, that this was the night he would finally take it.

House of Marvels – Episode 1 (Part 1)

“I saw it in the window, and I couldn’t resist,” Jamie said, as he handed him the little gift wrapped in newspaper he’d purchased for his friend, Eric. “I know your birthday isn’t for a few days, but I can’t make it to the game this week since I have to go see my sister get married this weekend, and I wanted to get it to you before at least.”

Eric took it, turning it over in his hands, and trying to imagine what could account for the odd shape of the package, tapered at one end, and round at the other. He found the bit of tape holding the wrapping together, tore it off, and unrolled it until the contents rolled out into his hand, and he found himself looking down at an old smoking pipe, the bowl and stem carved on one side into the image of a roaring dragon. He grinned, “Dang, that’s really cool!”

“Right?” Jamie said, glad his friend liked it, “Not that you smoke of course, but it fits in your collection at least.”

Eric collected dragons–well, Eric collected lots of things really. Board games, collectible card games, figurines, action figures from his favorite shows–but his largest collection by far was his collection of dragon related things–most of it just odd and strange curios in the shape of a dragon, just like this pipe. It was kind of perfect, actually. “Where did you find it?”

“Some weird little shop downtown, called…House of Marvels or something? Had never seen it before, and honestly, it was a lot cheaper than I expected. It doesn’t have a signature though–my mom says that things like that that aren’t signed are usually made by a machine or something, so maybe it isn’t worth much. Still, it looks cool!”

Eric nodded, and then said goodbye to Jamie. They both had a bit too much homework to contend with, since their college midterms were right around the corner, so their usual afternoon of video games was just going to have to wait. Jamie headed down the stairs, said goodbye to Mr. Fields as he left, the old, retired widower that Eric rented from. Jamie was a bit jealous, actually–Mr. Fields let Jamie do pretty much anything he wanted in his house–he even let him host their weekly game nights on the weekend with their two other friends from college, and he didn’t complain a bit. He thought about asking Mr. Fields if he might have another room he could rent himself next year, but he’d wait and see.

Upstairs, Eric set the pipe with the rest of his collection on a shelf, but as he did, he caught an odd whiff of smoke. He leaned in closer and gave the bowl of the pipe another sniff, but he didn’t catch another smell–but it had smelled kind of good, though now that it was gone, he couldn’t quite described how it had smelled good, exactly. He went back to his desk and got back to the paper he was trying to write, but every time he got into a decent flow, that smell would catch his attention again, and he’d be back to smelling the pipe, and wondering where in the world it was coming from exactly. It was one of those moments, when he was holding the pipe, that Mr. Fields passed by his open door.

“Is that a pipe, young man?” he asked, “You know I don’t want any smoking in here, ever.”

“Of course Mr. Fields, it’s just decorative. I don’t even own any tobacco or anything. It’s just a gift Jamie got me, because it looks like a dragon.”

His landlord scowled at him, and then kept going towards his own room. Eric liked Mr. Fields, and he was generous–but he had a lot of rules, and he was a total homophobe. Eric was just lucky he’d figured that out before mistakenly coming out to him when he’d been looking at the apartment. He couldn’t have anyone in his room–hell, he couldn’t even have his door closed, or his landlord would knock and make sure nothing “disgusting” was happening between him and his hands. Still, the rent was cheap, and the room was large–and for whatever reason he didn’t object to Eric and his friends playing their games downstairs in the basement, so all in all, it was alright, he supposed.

Mr. Fields passed back by the other direction, coat and hat in hand. “Gonna run a few errands,” he said, and left through the garage, and Eric decided this was an opportunity to take a break from his paper and jack off–so he pulled up some of his favorite videos and started playing them. It was a bit funny, he supposed, that his landlord was exactly his type–big bellied, older, gruff, hairy–it was a bit of a perk in its own way, and he’d had to learn how to master his erections in front of his chubby daddy crush. Eric, on the other hand, was a twink–or he could be a twink, if that sort of thing interested him in the slightest. He didn’t really have time for other people, or relationships. He had his friends, and his collections, and his games, and that was more than enough to keep him occupied. He wasn’t a virgin by any means, but most of the sex he’d had was…uninteresting, mostly because he’d never been with a man he really found attractive, just other guys his age, and it had always been pretty disappointing.

The smell of smoke found its way to his nose again as he masturbated, but he didn’t really notice it this time–or it wasn’t noticeable enough for him to stop what he was doing and investigate it. It wasn’t a bad smell by any means–as far as smoke could smell, he supposed. It was a little sweet, and a little like roasting meat. He came into the cumrag he kept hidden next to the desk, and then closed everything up and got back to work on his paper. Mr. Fields was never gone long–usually just an hour or so, because he was quite a homebody. He was going to have to find somewhere else to live next year, he thought–the old man was nice, but he did want some privacy on occasion, and it would be nice if he would stop treating him like he was his son.

Remembrances – Episode 2 (Part 7)

But Pete wasn’t really interested in one woman–he wanted all of them. He wasn’t much of a looker though, and so he usually had to settle for women a bit older, with the sort of reputation you didn’t want your son associating with. Harry and Patricia tried their best to get him to find a nice, younger girl, but Pete seemed determined to be a bachelor. Before Harry had really been able to tell that any time had passed at all, his son was eighteen, two inches taller than he was, broad of shoulder and big of fist, working alongside him and Wilbur at the factory. He couldn’t have been prouder of him, in all honesty, he had turned into the exact kind of rough, manly sort of son he could have wanted. They still wrestled even, but now his son had a height and a weight advantage, and Harry noticed something else–that his son seemed to get an erection every time he pinned him to the ground, grinding his cock against his ass until his father was crying uncle. Then, one day, when he’d expected to walk in on Wilbur and Patricia fucking in the afternoon, he discovered, instead, Wilbur and his son wrestling in the bedroom, naked, his son pinning Wilbur to the ground and fucking him rough–Harry had never seen anyone fuck Wilbur. Wilbur had only ever fucked him, and seeing his son top him…he didn’t know what he felt, exactly. Jealousy, envy. He grew a bit distant from Wilbur after that, and then the accident, and all those nights stuck in the hospital, spent wondering who Wilbur was fucking with that night. His wife? His son? Both of them? He could just slide into his place and take over…and why not? Wilbur was a better man than him. Hell, Pete was a better man than him, especially after the accident, when Harry could barely walk. When Harry couldn’t even get hard anymore.

He couldn’t fight it. He knew it wasn’t right, he knew he was letting this man, this thing, whatever Mr. Elroy was, ruin his life, and the life of his son, but he couldn’t stop him. He was weak. He’d been weak ever since that day, ever since fate had pushed him in front of that machine, ever since his entire future had been ripped away from him. But Pete–Pete could have been something too. He was a good boxer, when he fought fair and followed the rules, but the visions followed him. Followed him into a little single wide trailer, where he smoked, drank, and masturbated himself to sleep every night–jacking off to porn–men, women–it didn’t matter as long as he imagined himself on top. The factory closed, and he had to struggle for work, and while he was a good worker–he had issues with authority. He had his ass booted from one job after another. He just couldn’t work well with anyone else, and Harry could see his son’s potential withering down and dying on the vine, until now, here he was, working as a truck driver–sometimes–still living in that same trailer, still drinking and smoking and masturbating, no longer even caring about being anything more than that. It was horrible, but what else could he have possibly been? There should have been more. Harry knew there had been more, but the spell was closing, the life was sealed, and he was back in his recliner, wishing his tears weren’t dried up now, and staring at his new, familiar son sitting to his side.

He was…massive. He hadn’t been taking up that much of the sofa before, but Harry couldn’t quite tell it was simply a question of his son’s size, or just his demeanor. The years…well they hadn’t really been kind to either of them, he supposed, but the last really clear memory he had of his boy was back in his early twenties, strapping, heavily muscled, the smell of heavy gym musk and cigar smoke trailing behind him, always giving Harry a bit of a stiffy whenever he was nearby. But now–another thirty years beyond that…well, time had taken it’s toll on him, or rather, Mr. Elroy had.

As a single man, and one who had never been very interested in home economics, most of what Pete ate was junk–fast food, snacks, microwave dinners. He hadn’t been back to the gym in almost twenty years, but he still ate like he was lifting weights every day–the result was that he’d blown up to 350 pounds, or hell, maybe even more, a thick, soft gut hanging down between his wide thighs. He was wearing a pair of ragged shorts, marred with quite a few cum stains–the same with the t-shirt he had on, which had grease spots, cum shots, and sweat stains under the armpits and moobs. His beard and hair had grown long and tangled, both of them pulled into quick ponytails, and when he shifted the cigar in his mouth, Harry saw he was missing a number of teeth–some from ancient bar fights, and others had just started rotting out of his mouth lately. “Damn Pa, ain’t a bad place, gotta say–sure beats the ol’ trailer I got! Maybe I oughta move in wit’ ya.”

“Maybe one day, Pete,” Mr. Elroy said as he gave him a light tap on his shoulder, and Pete’s head slumped forward into a deep sleep. He caught the cigar as it fell and twirled it in his fingers, and stood back up, looking at Harry, who couldn’t peel his eyes away from his son. “What do you think? He’s just the kind of stupid, worthless, disgusting brute a failure like you would raise, don’t you agree Harry?”