Interactive: New You Resolutions 2020 (Part 2)

Jim opened up the second envelope, and pulled out the note inside:

Here’s your second resolution Jim:

— You resolve to stuff yourself every day and gain as much weight as you can.

We’re here to help! Head into the kitchen. You’ll find everything you need to make yourself a nice, filling lunch.

Jim just stared at the note, reading it again, unable to believe what he was reading. This had to be some sort of joke, didn’t it? But then, he had just quit his job! Sure, it was something he’d wanted to do, for a very long time even…but he’d never actually thought he would do it, right? He went into the kitchen, and his gut gave a rather uncharacteristic rumble. Jim wasn’t exactly in great shape, but he’d never really liked food much. It had as much to do with his sedentary desk job as anything else. He expected a meal, in all honesty, but all he found was a new blender on the counter, and a canister of some sort of powder. He looked at it, and saw it was a mix to make a weight gain shake–all he needed was some heavy cream. He checked the fridge, and sure enough, the right amount of cream was there. He wasn’t going to do this though, was he? His gut growled again, more urgently, and he pulled the cream out of the fridge, dumped the powder in the blender, and started it up. The hunger was overwhelming. He didn’t even bother pouring the mix into a glass–he just tipped the pitcher of the blender back and chugged it straight down. He tried to stop himself, especially as his gut swelled and started to ache, but he couldn’t put the thing down until it was all inside him.

At last, it was done. He felt his gorge rise a bit, but resisted the urge to hurl. He had to keep it inside him. He had…he had to get fatter. He shook his head, trying to push the urge away, looked down, and saw another envelope next to his hand, that hadn’t been there a moment earlier, he was sure of it. He opened it up as well:

Now that you don’t have to worry about that pesky job anymore, why don’t we find something more fulfilling for you to do with your free time, Jim? Here’s a few more resolutions for you:

— I resolve to start smoking cigarettes, working up to two packs a day.

— I resolve to start pumping my cock, stretching my balls, and pumping my nipples on a daily basis.

— I resolve to begin collecting gay porn, and masturbate to it at least three times a day.

Why don’t you head up to your office and get started, Jim? Dinner will be ready in a few hours.


Jim was straight, wasn’t he?

Sure, he’d…thought about it on occasion, and women always seemed…difficult, to him, and he’d never really managed with relationships, but…

But an hour later, he was in the thick of it. He had a metal stretcher secured around his balls  dragging them off the front of his office chair. His second cigarette from the pack he’d found next to the keyboard was lit, and he was happily inhaling off of it, eager to feel the addiction settle in. He had already worked out how the vacuum tubes worked, and had his tits inflating inside them, and now had his cock in the larger one, watching it swell and swell as he pulled the air out of the glass tube, more turned on than he could recall being in his life, as he started perusing sites for porn. When he couldn’t handle it anymore, he pulled the tube free, and started stroking his puffy cock. It was harder to cum when it was pumped, but he managed one load easily enough, before his gut grumbed again, and he went downstairs, where the ingredients for another shake like the first was set out for him, along with some assorted junk food, to get him through the evening. He made his shake and guzzled it, then carried the chips and candy upstairs with him, where he jacked off late into the night, lost in a haze of lust and smoke he couldn’t seem to control.

The days blurred together, after that. He would wake up in bed, or sometimes in his office, covered in ash and cum, and his gut would drag him downstairs for breakfast. The shakes started out small, but got larger and larger as he grew accustomed to them, and he could see an effect after just a couple of days. He would shower in the mornings on occasion, when he could resist the pull of his office for long enough, and then he would settle in for the day, light up a smoke, pump his cock, put on his stretchers, pump his nipples, and then start working on his collection, only coming down for meals and snacks as demanded by his gut.

Months passed. It was Spring now, and Jim barely recognized himself in the mirror. He’d left the house maybe twice since leaving work on January second. He smoked two packs of cigarettes a day, from the moment he woke up, to the moment he fell asleep. His cock was…different. It didn’t look right when it wasn’t pumped, and he couldn’t get hard at all unless he got it in his tube. A month ago, it had been upgraded to a larger size, and now, when he was done, it was around nine inches long, and as thick as a beer can. His balls hung quite low, another two inches or so, and his tits were always thick, and very sensitive. By far, the most drastic change was his weight. He had no idea what was in that powder, but it worked–he’d gone from 225 to 350 in a matter of months. His gut was covered in stretch marks from the rapid growth, and he couldn’t get used to navigating spaces with his new heft.

He came down this morning, to discover something that terrified him–another envelope. Apparently, it was time for a few more resolutions. What does the envelope have in store for Jim now?

Here’s your next poll! Remember, you can select three of the options below, so don’t leave votes on the table. Patrons have their bonus poll over here as well.

The Kingsford County Line (Part 6)

Tyler looked at his extended index finger, at the filth under his chipped nails, skin crusted with grease and who knew what else, but like in a dream, his hand floated up, grabbed hold, and gave it a tug–and immediately Skip let loose a loud, noxious fart with a chuckle. Tyler chuckled too, but half-heartedly, but once the stench him him like a truck, he let out a groan, and collapsed to his knees. “Oh…Oh fuck! What the, fucking hell, it…smells so fucking…”

“Yeah, probably shoulda warned ya. Pa ‘n I got us some fuckin’ nasty gas. Still, ya don’ mind it that much, do ya?”

Tyler didn’t reply. On his knees, his eyes watering, but vacant, tongue lolling out from his gaping mouth.

“Heh, didn’t even pull that hard,” Skip said, unbuckled his belt and dropped his greasy jeans as he turned around. He didn’t have underwear on, and he stooped slightly, so his ass was inches from Tyler’s face. “Good thing Ah got plenty more.”

“No…No, don’t.” Skip looked up, and saw Dave there, shaking his head, “Please…if…if you have to, just…take me. I need…need some more, please–I’m thirsty still.”

“Shut up, you’re not man enough for me anyway. You’ll get what you need from someone else, but I’m fuckin’ busy. I don’t want to hear a fucking peep, or I’ll give you some shit to eat to keep you occupied.”

Dave looked like he wanted to say something else, but thought better of it. Instead, he grabbed his sopping wet shirt, pulled the collar up past his mouth and started sucking the piss from it.

“Better–now where where were we?” Skip said, looking back at Tyler, “You ready? Cause here it fuckin’ comes!” Skip grabbed his own index, and gave it a hard yank–and this time a massive fart ripped from his hole, powerful enough to ripple his cheeks slightly, and all of it blasted directly into Tyler’s face, who started snorting it up, mouth turning up into a sneer, and with his hands he spread Skip’s ass and shoved his face into the ripe, filthy crack, licking and chewing at the hole while Skip encouraged him with another fart or too, until Tyler was snorting and grunting uncontrollably, his hands fishing his cock free from his pants so he stroke it, shooting a load all over himself, the back of Skip’s boots and the asphalt in a matter of seconds.

It wasn’t too much longer that Pa, came out of the store with a twenty-four pack of cheap beer under his burly arm, walked over to the tow truck and tossed it back behind the seat, and then looked around for Skip. He didn’t see him anywhere–but fuck, he could smell something filthy back around the building–hell, he could smell his boy coming from a mile, he knew his stench so fucking well. So he followed his nose around the side of the building, and sure enough, there he was, bent over, with the face of one of the boys he’d seen earlier shoved in his crack, encouraging him, urging him to dig deeper, suck harder on his filthy hole, get it nice and clean.

“Didn’t think ya’d start without me,” he said, “Heh, ya should see what’s goin’ on inside, fuckin’ Bubba ‘n his gang got a hold a one–almost feel sorry fer ‘em. Sure glad Ah ran intah you ‘n not them.”

Skip pulled his ass away from Tyler, and he tried to follow, tongue greasy, nose a bit brown, eyes still empty of everything other than hunger. “Come on Pa, let’s git ‘em in the truck–we got plenty a time tah dawn tah work on ‘em tahgether.”

“Sounds like a plan tah me!” Pa said, reached down and hauled Tyler up by the arm. His legs were like jelly and Tyler didn’t know who this guy was supporting him, but…but fuck, he smelled good. Almost as good as Tyler. Pa had his arm under his, and Tyler leaned it to the redneck’s exposed pit, licking at it with as much eagerness as he had Skip’s hole, and Pa laughed. “Fuckin’ eager!”

“Ah think he’s gonna be perfect. Ya’ve been needin’ some help.”

“Heh, as much as Ah love ya son, yer too much fer one daddy, I know. Come on man, let’s git ya’ll home, where we can have some real fun.”

“S-Sure…home…” Tyler mumbled, and let Pa and Skip help him over to the tow truck.

Pa popped open the driver’s door and helped Tyler inside. “Only one bench, so ya’ll have tah sit between us–don’t think ya’ll mind though.” Tyler shook his head, still not quite sure what was going on, but…but he was happy. Still, shouldn’t…shouldn’t he be in the van? That van, over there? He saw his Uncle Logan get out of the side yelling at Pa for some reason, but before he could say do much Pa laid him out on the asphalt with a haymaker to the jaw, and then Skip climbed in the passenger side, Pa hopped in–smashing Tyler between both their filth, and drove off with tires screeching. Tyler wanted to look back, and make sure his uncle was alright, but when he turned to the side he found his face in Pa’s armpit again…and he’d rather lick that anyway, right?

“Heh, found an eager one, fer sure,” Pa said, lifting his arm a bit higher to give Tyler better access, steering with his left hand.

“Fuck, shoulda seen the other one, sorry piece of shit. Got one whiff a me ‘n pissed himself.”

Pa laughed, “Don’ know, sounds right up our alley tah me.”

“Nah, don’t need no fuckin’ jittery fucker, Pa,” Skip said, “Not fer what Ah got in mind.”

Pa looked over at his son in the passenger seat, illuminated by the dim instrument panel and the tip of his cigarette, “Yeah, Ah think Ah see what yer lookin’ fer. Just…don’t replace me, ya know?”

“Ain’t nobody getting replaced Pa, don’ be gettin’ all sappy on me, ya fucker–’sides, yer gonna be helpin–he’ll be yers as much as mine.”

“Shit Skip, ya know all Ah need is you.”

“Yeah, but is that all ya want?” Skip asked, and looked over. He could smell how horny his daddy was, with this fucker’s mouth suckin’ at his ripe pit, he knew he wanted it. “I know ya got lots a love Pa, Ah made ya that way, ‘n I gots plenty too.”

Tyler, between them, was only able to half listen to the conversation. The rest of him was either enthralled by the filthy smell of Pa’s pit, which only seemed to be growing fouler the more he cleaned it, or terrified beyond belief. What in the hell was he doing here? Had he really just climbed into some strange tow truck, by himself, with these two freaks? What had he been thinking? Then again, it felt more like he hadn’t been thinking, ever since…since that first nasty fart. Fuck, that…that had smelt so damn good, fuck! No–No, he had to get out of here, he had to. It took all the force he could muster inside himself, but he managed to rip his face from Pa’s pit with a gasp, wipe his slobber from around his mouth on his arm, and say, “No, no, I want to go back.”

Skip laughed, “See what I mean? Got a strong one.”

“Ah heard strong ones are just annoying,” Pa said, “Always gettin’ in tah trouble before they finally settle down. Hell, Hendrick was one a those, ‘n ya hate that fuck.”

“Yer fergettin’ Pa, tha ya were pretty strong willed yerself, ‘n look at ya now. Most fuckers jus’ don’t know how tah break ‘em right, make ‘em need ya.”

“I said I want to go back–please, just let me go back.”

“Pa, why don’ ya go on ‘n let one loose, give ‘em a taste a yer shit–he already got a taste a mine.”

Pa smiled around his own cigarette, lifted his inside leg and let a long, loud fart loose towards Tyler. In the small cabin, which already reeked of musk and smoke, he hadn’t imagined that it could smell worse, until the dank, rotten egg slammed into his nose. It wasn’t quite as pungent as Skips had been, but it didn’t matter–unable to stop himself, he was snorting and inhaling deep, bucking his hips mindlessly.

“Fuck, look how riled up that got ‘em–’n that wasn’t even that nasty! Damn Skip, ya sure can pick ‘em.”

“See Pa? He’s fuckin’ perfect. ‘Sides, ain’t ya always wanted a brother? Some filthy fuck to pal around town with?”

“Ya mean–”

“Ah jus’ want ya tah be happy Pa, that’s all.”

“Aww fuck son–I love ya so damn much.”

Between them, Tyler was trying desperately to get his body back under his control, but he couldn’t avoid the stench. Skip lifted a leg and let loose a fart of his own, and that only made things worse. He couldn’t think about anything beyond the smell, and how…and how much he wanted it. It reeked, sure, but he wanted it all the same, wanted it all. He only dimly realized that, at some point he had undone the fly of his pants and had begun jacking off. The first load blasted out of him, cum splattering across the radio in front of him, Skip wiping some of it off with a finger and giving it a taste.

“Fuck, why…why do I…why do I want this…” Tyler gasped, sobbing, and Skip hushed him, wiping his tears away with one hand.

“Don’ worry ‘bout that Unc. Here–let’s git ya somethin’ tah settle ya down.”

Skip pulled out a box of cigarettes and tapped one out, stuck it in Tyler’s mouth and lit it for him. It wasn’t the first cigarette Tyler had tried–he’d attempted to smoke one once back in middle school, with some “cool kids”, but this was different. Obviously unfiltered, and the leaf was cheap and rank, and yet, just like the filthy musk rolling off the two men who’d kidnapped him, he couldn’t stop once he got a taste. When Skip handed him a beer, he didn’t bother questioning it, and after a few more miles,  as they all started rolling past the outskirts of Kingsford itself, he had a solid buzz going, and had his face happily stuck in Skip’s pit now, licking it clean, taking the occasional moment to take a drag off his cigarette or slug some of the beer down. Before too much longer, he’d stopped finding the whole situation so strange. If anything, this is where he belonged, right? At least that’s what Skip and Pa were telling him, and…and they wouldn’t lie.

At last, they rolled into a very rundown trailer park–one of several they’d passed along the road in varying states of disrepair. The sign out by the road called it “Louisiana Acres.” Pa drove them around until they came to a well-rusted single wide, pulled the tow truck up in front of it, and got out.

Well Unc, welcome home man.”

Home? It didn’t feel like home. Hadn’t…hadn’t he been doing something else? Been going somewhere else? Still, when Skip waved him to follow, his feet shuffled after him, up the steps, and into the trailer behind them.

Emptied Out (Part 5)

Nate nodded dumbly, and Biff helped him out of the tub, and led him by the hand out into the living room, and sat him down on one side of the couch. Licking his lips and groping his own cock, which he still hadn’t shot today, though he’d soaked the front of his whities with plenty of precum already, watching his son change right in front of his eyes, he put on his favorite porno of two slobs cleaning off each other’s fat bodies, and let Nate watch for a bit, while he went into the kitchen and returned with two big bottles of soda and bags of snacks, which he sat by them both. “What ya love most of all, Nate, is the same thing Daddy loves–wastin’ yer whole day on this stinkin’ couch, watchin’ porn, ‘n edgin’ yer cock. Fuck boy, I been alone so damn long, dreamin’ ‘bout this day, thinkin’ ‘bout when I’d finally get a son a my own, and now we can do it together–ya love spendin’ the whole damn day edgin’ with daddy, right son?”

Nate nodded, and started groping himself again, staring at the screen. Biff stuck the cigarette back in his mouth, and he started digging into the snacks and drinking the soda as well, letting off belches as he did.

“Yeah, just a dumb ass boy, as dumb as your daddy. Can’t read, can’t really think ‘bout anythin’ important, but sure does love feelin’ good, ‘n this makes ya feel real good boy, endulgin’ like this, without a care in the whole world, just a horny, filthy pig,” Biff sat down with him, the couch sagging between them and making them roll together slightly, “A fat horny pig just like yer daddy.”

Nathan surfaced again, but slower this time. He could tell something was very wrong with his head, like someone had taken his brain and smoothed out some of it’s bumps and ridges. Still, watching porn was fun, and he had plenty of snacks to eat and fags to smoke–but he couldn’t help but feel like it was…wrong. He looked over at the computer, knowing he’d thought about something earlier, something about how to use it to get away, but getting up just seemed like so much work. Better to just sit here, and watch the two fat pigs rutting on the screen, like his daddy was doing. One movie ended, and Biff got up and started another one. There wasn’t a clock that he could see, and the windows were blocked out–Nathan had no idea what time it was, or how long they’d been here, groping himself in his daddy’s nasty underwear.

“Enjoyin’ yerself, Nate?”

Nathan didn’t know quite what to say, but after a moment, he nodded. He…was enjoying himself, he supposed. He liked sitting this close to his daddy, groping his cock, feeling their big bellies shifting against one another–even if his daddy kind of stank, and not in a good way. Still, this was wrong. He knew this was wrong. “D-Daddy? I don’t think we should be doing this…” he said, hesitantly, not quite sure how to put his reservations into words.

“What are ya talkin’ bout son? This is what we always do, ain’t it?”

He was right–but he could remember something else, he could remember himself this morning, dressed in pressed khakis and a button down shirt, excited to go home for the summer and to finally be away from his nasty housemate. He…knew that was right, somehow, even if it now felt so far away. “I…I want some more snacks, daddy,” he said, got up and waddled towards the kitchen, passing close to the computer along the way, but when he saw the keyboard, all of the letters swam around him–he had no idea what any of them even were. That…wasn’t surprising, though–he never learned to read, right? Daddy didn’t see any reason for a nasty boy like him to learn much of anything.

“Thought ya were gettin’ snacks, son,” Daddy said, his voice a bit cautious, seeing Nathan staring at the computer, thinking hard, “Why don’t you come on ‘n sit back down here, ya still got plenty tah eat ‘n drink.”

Nathan waddled back over, and sat down with a mighty belch, making his daddy laugh, and he chuckled too.

“Nice one son, but get a load a this,” Biff said, leaned away from Nathan and let loose a long, wet fart in his direction. The stench brought tears to his eyes, and he coughed, nearly dropping his cigarette.

“Fuck daddy, that’s nasty,” he said.

“Oh yeah?” Daddy said, leaning in close and digging his hand under Nathan’s huge gut to his cock. “Smellin’ mah farts always makes me so damn horny, boy. Fuckin’ kiss me, give me some a yer smoke.”

Nathan leaned in and they smoked each other out, one eye still on the porn playing on the TV, and Nathan didn’t feel like this was…so bad, really. He liked how his daddy rubbed his cock, and how it gave him two free hands to stuff his face, when he wasn’t breathing in Biff’s cigarette smoke. The front of the whities he had on were sticky and wet still from the other load he’d shot into them–not to mention how sweaty his gunt had become as well in the hot, stuffy apartment. He was humping into Biff’s hand now, feeling his gut shake around him, Biff using his free hand to tweak his boy’s nipples, watching him sweat and get closer to another orgasm. “That’s a good boy, gonna get ya so empty…”

Empty. He remembered Greg then, remembered himself, his old self, but it was too late to stop it–he came again, and felt himself fading away, falling back against the couch.

Emptied Out (Part 1)

Nathan gave a start, and realized what he’d heard that had woken him up was someone knocking on the door of the small house he was renting with a few other students on campus. He’d been waiting for his dad to arrive and drive him home for the summer–the only other person still waiting was Greg–the housemate he detested the most. Every living situation had a bad egg, but Greg was worst than most–refusing to clean up after himself, getting everything filthy, smoking cigarettes and drinking in his room, and Nathan had even caught him masturbating in the living room to porn once. He was vile, and he was sitting in the chair across from Nathan on the sofa, just smiling–and giving him the creeps.

The house was empty except for them, their other two housemates had left the day before, carpooling to the airport, and that had left Nathan alone with Greg since then…and he’d been a bit stranger than he usually was. On top of that, Nathan had noticed that he’d been zoning out off and on–almost always while Greg was in the room with him. If he focused, he could…almost remember them having conversations, but if he thought too hard about it, he always seemed to get a headache.

“I think that’s your dad, Nathan,” Greg said, still not letting the grin down.

“Yeah, probably,” he said, got up, and straightened out his ironed shirt and khakis. Unlike his roommate, Nathan took good care of himself–went to the gym, ate healthy meals, and attended all of his classes. His family was rich, and he would admit that he could act a little spoiled because of it, but when it came to people like Greg, they deserved to be reminded of their place in the world–that is, as people much lesser than Nathan. He’d flunk out before even graduating, probably, and Nathan wouldn’t have to think about him ever again–in fact, he’d ask his dad to help him pay for an apartment for himself next year–he didn’t want to get trapped with another terrible housemate like this again. He went to the door and opened it, but it wasn’t his rich father waiting to drive him home in his Tesla on the other side–it was some nasty looking fucker, even dirtier than Greg, with a beat-up van behind him parked in the driveway. “Who the fuck are you?”

The man looked past him to Greg, and grinned, “Is…Is he the one, Master? He looks fun.”

“Yeah daddy, he’s the one you’re getting.”

Nathan just looked from one slob to the other, confused as hell with what was going on.

“He don’t know yet?” the older man asked.

“Nah, daddy,” Greg said, “I like them to find out now, what’s about to happen to them.” He got up from the chair where he was sitting and walked to where Nathan and the man were standing, “Let me introduce you, Nathan. This is Biff, one of my daddy slaves, and the man who is going to be your daddy from now on. Biff has been real good lately, and I thought he deserved a boy of his own as a reward for being such a good slave.”

Biff nodded, and beamed, while Nathan just looked at Greg like he was insane. “Slave? What the fuck are you talking about?”

“I know you don’t remember much of it, Nathan, but I’ve been hypnotizing you for months now–isn’t that right, horndog?”

Nathan didn’t know what came over him, but his cock got immediately hard, and he shoved his hand down the front of his pants, stroking himself right in front of them both while they watched, leering, “I…what the fuck is this!”

“This is just the tip of the iceberg, Nathan. We’ve had so much fun together–all of us have. You, me, Hal, and Josh–all of you have been such good little piggies here with me, all semester long. You though–you just never could drop the attitude…well, that and when I saw that picture of your dad, I just new I had to have him as one of mine, which means I need to find a place to keep you.” He paused a moment, and smiled, “You’ll understand everything here in a few moments, once you cum–then daddy Biff here can start filling you back up.”

Filling him up. He…knew those words somehow, but they lacked context–he was sure it wasn’t good though. Nathan did his best to try and control himself and stop masturbating, but he was helpless. He could already feel his load building, and with a muffled groan, his cock exploded in the front of his khakis, leaving a sizable wet spot on the front, but Greg wasn’t looking at his housemate’s crotch–he was looking at his face. As he came, Nathan’s mouth went slack, his eyes unfocused, shoulders slumped forward in a daze.

“Are you there Nate?” Greg asked.

Nathan nodded, “Yes, Master.”

“Good. Tell me Nate, are you empty, or full right now?”


“Yes, you’re very empty, because you just shot a big chunk of Nathan right into those pants, didn’t you? Well, the good thing is that your daddy is here now, Nate–you know who your daddy is, right?”

Nathan nodded slowly, “Biff is my daddy…”

“Good. And what can your daddy do?”

“Fill me back up.”

Greg looked over at Biff. “Alright Daddy, he’s all yours, like we talked about. You know what you want to fill him up with first?”

“Sure do boy! Been thinkin’ ‘bout it the whole way here,” Biff said, and pulled out a carton of cigarettes, tapping one out into his dirty palm, and pulling a lighter from his pocket. He stuck it in his scruffy maw and lit it, taking a deep, practiced inhale, and sighing two jets of smoke from his nose. “Alright boy, let’s fill ya back up with some smoke. Here, let Daddy give you some,” he said, took another long drag, leaned in, pressed his mouth to Nathan’s slack jaw, and pushed the smoke into him, and Nathan inhaled deep, his body resisting the urge to cough. “That’s good boy,” Biff said when he pulled away, “Ya love gettin’ smoke from yer daddy whenever ya can–not that you’re ever without a fag yerself, right son?”

Joining The Family (Part 2)

All my life, thinking of Mikey’s father and how I’d failed him when he was growing up, I’d always blamed my drinking, my absence. “If I’d been there, if I’d been sober,” I’d tell myself, “None of that would have happened. I would have been able to catch him before everything went wrong.” Well now here I was again, watching another young man in my charge slowly slip away from me, except this time I couldn’t blame my drinking. I wasn’t even sure I could blame myself, though there was plenty of that involved, I can tell you. I kept trying to figure out how to get Mikey to open back up to me, to help him find his way back to that sweet kid I’d been raising, but suddenly it was like I was living with someone else entirely.

There was the smoking. I couldn’t prove it, I would turn his room over while he was at school  searching for cigarettes or ash, but I never found anything. Still, it was the drinking that made me even more furious. I’d worked so hard, freeing myself from liquor. I’d told him everything, I’d told him how the devil was in alcohol, how it had ruined my life, his father’s life, and then there he was, coming home with booze on his breath, eyes unfocused, that new sneering grin of his on his face, pushing past me and locking himself in his room until the morning, when he’d leave again, picked up by those two foul twins. “They were to blame,” I told myself now, it was their influence which was ruining him somehow, but I knew it was a lie. Things just fell to shit sometimes–I’d known that for as long as I lived. There was only so much I could do. So…I was there for him as best I could be that spring, but things only got worse.

He started packing on weight, going from thin to pudgy in a matter of months. He wasn’t taking care of himself, refused to brush his teeth or shower. He’d wear the same disgusting clothes for days at a time, usually just a pair of overalls with nothing else, not even overalls. Dale and Rick liked the look, he told me, wanting me to be furious. He refused to go to church, he burned my bible at one point after one of our common fights, when I’d slapped him for disrespecting me. It wasn’t too long after that I decided I’d been passive for long enough, that I had to do something, or Mikey would ruin his life before it even began.

I started following the twins around in my own truck, both with and without Mikey. I’d been getting calls from the school, telling me that Mikey’s attendance had slipped severely, and I found out that the twins almost never went to school. They’d pick Mikey up, and then drive a few miles down the road to the trailer park where they lived–one even more rundown than mine, and they’d spend all day there. They lived there with their father, a man who reminded me in all the worst ways of myself when I was younger. He’d leave once a day–long hair, scruffy beard, huge gut–and take the truck to a gas station down the road, stock up on way more beer and cigarettes than he needed himself, and then go back home. Obviously he was supplying his sons and Mikey–I confronted him at the station one day, but he just sneered at me with a smile missing more than a few teeth. “Gotta give my sons what they want, ya know? Best be stayin’ away if ya know what’s good fer ya,” he said. Well when Mikey stopped coming home at all, that’s when I’d had enough. He stayed out two nights, and then I got in my truck and drove off, planning on dragging him back home if I had to.

They were obviously home. I pounded on the door for close to ten minutes, and I could hear them inside, laughing at me. The door wasn’t exactly strong, and I might be sixty but I still had some strength left. I forced the door open and stormed into the trailer. The place was a complete sty–ashtrays and booze bottles everywhere, the stench of the place made me gag. There in an armchair was their father, staring at the TV screen, wearing nothing but a pair of whities stained yellow with who knew what. He had his cock out and was jacking off, tongue out, but a thick cigar stuffed in one corner spouting smoke, drooling at the screen. I came around but the screen wasn’t showing anything but static. I tried to get his attention, but he didn’t even seem to notice I was there at all, aside from a low, guttural chuckle. I could hear something in one of the bedrooms–I forced my way in again, and found the twin’s bedroom lit only by candles, and Mikey was between them, and they were all naked. I didn’t want to know what was happening there, in the dark. The light from the candles was burning bright, but it couldn’t quite manage to extend light to the entirety of the small room, leaving what was happening there to the imagination. It was almost like there were too many bodies on the bed, too many arms and legs. I suppressed a gag, and fumbled for the light, flipped it on and soaked the scene in fluorescent clarity.

There they were–Dale buried in my grandson’s ass, Rick in his mouth. I was nearly sick again. I’d never had tolerance for faggots, it was never something I’d ever been able to understand. I’d had my suspicions with Mikey, given his disinterest in girls, and I’d…been trying to think about what I might say to him, if it came to that. Trying to figure out if I could still love him or not. But this filth–it was too much. My head was reeling. The smoke was so thick in the trailer, it was hard to breathe, my head spinning. I didn’t feel good, and I tried to get out, but without me hearing him, Dale and Rick’s father got up and blocked my way, and whispered in my ear, “Told ya tah stay away. Who knows what might happen to ya now…” He laughed–the sound was filled with his own terror and desperation, and that hopeless sound filled me with more terror than anything he could have said to me, right then.

Joining The Family (Part 1)

Considering everything the boy had been through, I suppose it was pretty impressive he was as happy-go-lucky as he was. His father sent off to prison when he was seven–dumb as boy a mine, I’ll take credit for that one. Never…quite knew how to be a good father, you know? The fuckin’ babe just pops out, and it’s not like you have a damn instruction manual. Yeah, his dad was a lout–drunk, unemployed. Got busted cooking meth with a buddy, ended up shooting a dang cop! He’s gonna rot away in there, and serves him right. Still, Mikey’s mom didn’t hang around for much longer–she needed her fix, after all. She ditched him on the steps of my trailer, just some kid I barely knew–it’s not like my son brought him around to see Gramps very often. Then she hopped on the back of a motorcycle, driven by some fat fuck with fewer teeth than her, somehow, and she hasn’t come back. I doubt she ever will. Wouldn’t matter anyway–court’s given me full custody, and I resolved to do better with this generation than the last.

Still, I owe a lot of it to Mikey–he’s a real good kid, you know? Not like his father ever was, at least, or maybe I just have a bit more patience now. Helps that I stopped drinking, and the church helps us out too, of course. Gives us a some structure. And now, here he is–seventeen and almost a man, not that you’d really know it, looking at him, or maybe I just see him that way since I raised him. He still looks fourteen to me, his bright eyes, chubby face. Barely has any stubble anywhere on his body, and he’d rather be down in the forest catching crawdads than chasing girls–which is a better occupation in my book. He doesn’t have the grades for college or anything, but he’s already got a job helping out in the kitchen at the roadside diner down the road from our trailer park–he’s got a real talent for cooking, not that you’d know it, looking at the beanpole. He’s put a few pounds on me though, with his food at the diner! Things were going great–until things suddenly weren’t going so great.

It was spring, I remember that–just finishing up his junior year. Now, Mikey had never been very good at making friends. He just…had a hard time trusting people, and opening up, I think. He was always a quiet kid, and I don’t think he’d ever invited anyone over to his house, and had rarely gone anywhere else to play. It was usually just him and the forest until he came home at dusk for dinner. Then, one day, he wasn’t on the school bus when it rolled by. I assumed he’d just missed it, which happened on occasion if he got hung up by a teacher. I was getting ready to drive to school and pick him up, wondering why he hadn’t called me to tell me. I went outside, in time to find some mud crusted pickup, spewing fumes, roll into the trailer park, stop, and a moment later, out came Mikey, laughing and smiling at the other boys in the truck, gave them a wave, and then walked over to me and came inside.

I asked him who they were, and he just said they were some kids from his class who’d offered to give him a ride. He smelled of smoke and…something else I couldn’t place. Something a bit musky? His quietness had changed as well–before he’d been happy to talk about anything once he got talking–but suddenly he was clamming up, dodging questions. He excused himself and went to his room–odd since he usually preferred the woods after school, and he didn’t come out until dinner, and when he came out this time–he still reeked of smoke and that musky smell again…and I realized what it was. He’d been masturbating.

Now, like I said, he hadn’t shown really…any interest in girls, or sex at all for that matter, as long as he’d been in my trailer. So this was odd, to say the least. Now, I’m religious, but I don’t think there’s anything wrong with a guy busting a nut now and then. Hell, I jack off plenty myself, and I don’t want to be a hypocrite, so I just let it slide. I figured he’d get over it, or if it became an issue, we could talk about it.

Well, it wasn’t the masturbating that became the issue, it was the smoking. From that day on, he stopped taking the bus–instead, he caught rides with those new friends of his. It took me days to pry their names out of him–Apparently the ringleaders (that is, the two who drove the truck the rest of them rode around in) were Dale and Rick Pearson–twin brothers in the same grade as Mikey. Everytime, he smelled like smoke, and he insisted he wasn’t having any of it, and I believed him–until I found the lighter and the pack of reds in his room! I threw them out, and we had a long talk–well, a long argument at least. He was pissed I’d gone through his room, and I can understand that, but I didn’t want him smoking. He didn’t see anything wrong with it–after all, Dale and Rick smoked all the time! It didn’t end well–I sent him to his room, which was where he wanted to be anyway, and…he stayed mad at me for a while. I knew he was still smoking, but I couldn’t prove it, and I blamed those two twins, for coming between us. I hoped that this was going to be the worst of it, but it turns out things were only going to go downhill from there.

Good Things – Part 1 (Patreon Commission)

“You let him haggle you down to what?” Mr. Greery just stared at Eddie in his office, “I can’t run a dealership if you’re selling our cars at a loss.”

“I-It wasn’t at a loss, we got that car at auction for a couple thousand–”

“Don’t quote numbers at me Eddie!” Mr Greery shouted, “I could have sold that junker for eight thousand!”

Eddie doubted him, but he stayed silent, intimidated by his boss. Then again, Eddie was intimidated by everybody. Short, slim, blond haired–the picture of a twink. Mr, Greery was all man. He was a local competitor who’d bought the dealership out a few months prior, and he’d been gunning to fire Eddie the entire time for his “faggotry”. Eddie wasn’t the best salesman, sure, but he could move product. It wasn’t fucking fair, but he knew an outburst could get him forced even faster.

After the half hour tongue lashing, Mr. Greery left him with a warning that if his sales numbers failed to hit projection by the end of the month, he’d be gone. Thankfully, it was his weekend, and Eddie got out of there as soon as he could, and decided he could use a drink or five. He spent the afternoon at home, looking at porn. It didn’t help matters that Mr. Greery was totally his type–big, muscular, bearish, bearded, rough…He ended up fantasizing about his boss fucking him on his office desk, but too much alcohol had made his four inch cock depressingly soft. He couldn’t have anything good today.

He went to close the porn window, but ended up clicking a pop-up that appeared unexpectedly. Cursing, he fought his way through a series of redirects and windows until only one remained, a site he’d never seen before–and it didn’t even look like porn. He tried to close it, but it kept popping right back up, three times, until there was suddenly a banner flashing spastically across the top:


And so he looked, but this couldn’t be real, right? A website…run by a fucking wizard? Wizards didn’t exist! He closed it and the window came back with a new banner:


He was too drunk, this was crazy. It was probably just a virus, he’ll take care of it tomorrow. Scared to turn off his computer, he flipped off the monitor and went and watched TV for a bit, but kept sneaking glances at the black screen. What if it really was real…

He woke up in bed, head pounding. He knew better than to drink that much, but fuck if he wasn’t horny. He wrapped a hand around his cock and started stroking it, not really thinking about it, and after less than a minute he was cumming…and his cock. It writhed in his hand, suddenly growing a bit longer and thicker…and even harder. He stared at it, but his horniness hadn’t abated at all. He gave it a tentative stroke–it was even more sensitive than before, and ended up spending two hours in bed, stroking himself off over and over again, groaning and grunting, covering himself in cum, before he finally ripped his hand away, sat up on the edge of the bed, looked at himself in the mirror, and screamed.

What in the world had happened to him? It was him in the mirror, right? He waved his hand in the mirror, and then flexed his arm, watching his bicep bulge up, running his other hand past his firm pecs and down over his ridged, furry abs. Furry! He’d never had this much hair on his body before, it was insane. Hell, he’d gone from clean shaven the day before to a heavy, dark shadow across his cheeks and jaw. He’d somehow gone from short twink to muscle bear overnight…and he could only think of one way this might have happened.

He hurried over to the computer, and saw that a receipt email was in his inbox from that strange wizard’s porn site he’d stumbled on the night before:

Thank you for your purchase!

You purchased one item:

  1. Curse (Target – Self): Too Much of a Good Thing…………$399.99

No refunds. If you have any questions or concerns, please contact spellsandcurses@mail.wiz.

A curse? This wasn’t a curse, this was the best thing that had ever happened to him! He leaned back in his chair, massaging his cock, and before long he was jacking off again, running his other hand all over his body until he blew another load all over himself, rubbing in the cum, and he kept going. He’d never felt like this, so fucking powerful, so fucking…horny! His arm was starting to hurt, but after he came again, he watched both of his arms bulge out with even more muscle, the fatigue drained away, and to celebrate he went ahead and came a third, and a fourth and fifth time, never moving from in front of the computer.

What convinced him to stop stroking himself off wasn’t exhaustion, but two other things. First, he was starving. Looking at the clock, it was nearly five in the evening–he’d spent the entire day jacking off. The second thing was this buzzing in his head, this…craving. His tongue felt like it was missing something, like…a flavor he needed but couldn’t quite put his finger on. Then he spied the ashtray next to the computer, stared at the cigarette butts snuffed out in it, and realized he needed a smoke. He rummaged around the room, surprised to find it as messy as it was. Papers which he usually kept perfectly organized were scattered everywhere. He found a pack in the pocket of a coat he’d left on the floor, tapped one out, found his lighter and got it lit, taking a long drag, and sighing out the smoke. Only then did he realize that he’d never smoked before in his entire life.

Where in the hell had these even come from? And the room had gone from clean to looking like a complete mess all while he’d sat around jacking off all day. Odder still, he didn’t mind much at all. He’d always been a bit of a clean freak, but if anything, the mess felt…comfortable. He ran his hand through his now inch long, thick brown beard, stroking it and smoking for a minute before he even considered the fact that he shouldn’t even have a beard. He looked at his bearish self in the mirror through a thin haze of smoke for a moment, and decided that it wasn’t too much good for him yet.