Adventures of a Himbo Daddy

I’m open for commissions from now until the end of September! If you have an idea that you think would make a good short story idea like this one, you can find more details here!


Fuck, why did Nick have to go and make things so complicated? That’s what William kept asking himself every time he got home from work and climbed out of his car, and saw Nick’s bike by the garage looking like its tires need inflating, or saw Mary–his next door neighbor and Nick’s mom–working on something that he could have helped her with–as good neighbors ought to do. 

Mary and Nick had lived next door to William and his family for years now–Mary had moved in after divorcing her asshole of a husband, ditching him on the other side of the country, where he probably belonged. William was married to his wife, June, and they had two girls, but William had always wanted a son. Nick had been lonely, and hadn’t had a decent father figure in his life, so William had, well, helped out. He’d made sure that the boundary was always there between him and Mary–but she never seemed that interested in an affair anyway. This was confirmed a few years down the road, when Mary introduced him to one of her girlfriends–not that there was anything wrong with that, of course! Nick had glommed onto him something fierce though by that time, and for quite a few years, William was happy to be his neighborhood step-dad–coaching him in sports, helping him with his bike or his scooter, giving him “the guy talk” when Mary asked him to one evening. 

But things had taken a complicated turn in the last few weeks. Nick was eighteen now, heading off to college in the fall. The two of them had been alone in the garage one evening, celebrating Nick’s graduation with a beer William had slipped him, when Nick confessed something–well, two things, really. First, that he was gay. And two, that he was in love with William.

William didn’t have anything against anyone gay, and honestly, he’d sort of suspected it of Nick, since the boy had never seemed that interested in girls, but when the eighteen year old tried to move in on him…well, he’d put that down fast–though as gently as he could–and Nick had refused to speak to him since. William didn’t want to tell his mom either (or his own wife), so the wound was just sitting there and festering. They’d had plans that summer–a few weekend camping trips up into the mountains for some fishing before he left for school–but it looked like things were going to stay cool for a while. Heartbreak was a bitch sometimes, even if you weren’t the one in love.

It was a Saturday afternoon, one of the rare moments in the week where William had the house to himself, that he heard a knock on the door. He opened it up, and there, on the stoop, was a small package addressed to him–he recognized the writing as Nick’s. He looked around, but his neighbor had already vanished–so he brought the package inside, wondering what this might be all about. Hopefully nothing trying to get William to have sex with him–then he really would have to have a chat with his mom about…boundaries. He tore off the brown wrapper, opened up the box inside, and grimaced. It was, apparently, as he feared–inside the box was a pair of underwear.

He picked them up, and received an odd little shock from them as he did–he assumed it was static. They were…risque, to say the least. Electric blue, the pouch was a see through mesh, and the ass–well, he wasn’t quite sure how the three straps were supposed to work, but it looked like, well, a jockstrap, almost. A really sexy jockstrap. He wondered, for a moment, what June might think of him in it–William was almost 50, and sliding gently into a dadbod–small beer gut, flabbier arms than he’d had when he was younger, though work at the factory kept him in almost decent shape, though he had a few more aches and pains than he would have liked. His physique wasn’t nearly good enough to flaunt this thing though. Still, there was something poking at the back of his mind, a…curiosity? More of an urge. What could it hurt, really? 

He went upstairs to his bedroom, stripped down naked, and pulled them on. It took him a few tries to get his legs in the right holes, but finally he managed, and he pulled them up around his waist, and chuckled. They did not look good on him. His ass was way too flat, and his bulge…well, it wasn’t quite sizable enough to fill out the very large pouch the underwear had. But as he watched, there was another shock–this one larger, and he felt something happening. His bulge started to swell, his cock growing to eight, then nine inches long–and his balls swelling as well. He turned around and saw that his ass was inflating as well, two globes pushing out the back of the underwear, each one framed perfectly by the straps in the back, with the middle sliding between the two perfectly and resting on his crack, making him shiver. William gasped in horror–and went to pull down the underwear, only to discover he couldn’t get them off, no matter how hard he tried.

“They look good on you, Daddy, just how I hoped they would.”

William whirled around, and found himself facing Nick, standing in the doorway to his bedroom. “Nick! What the fuck are you doing in here?” Nick had a key to the house, of course, but…wait, had he planned this? “Help me get these things off, now.”

“No daddy, I don’t think so,” Nick said, and dropped the backpack he was carrying onto the floor. “See? We could have had a good thing, but not…a long term thing, I see that now. You would never leave this life of yours, not for me, not being…who you are now. But I thought–why not change you? See, my mom…she knows people. Witches. She’s one herself, actually. She loves me–and she wants me to be happy. She helped–but then, she had her own reasons I think. After all, her and June, they’ve been fucking for ages now–did you not realize that?”

William just starred at him, unable to piece together the nonsense that had just come out of Nick’s mouth. Witches? Magic? The news of his wife’s affair barely even registered to him.

“I just want us to be happy, daddy. You don’t see how miserable you are–but you could be so much better! I want you to be better, you’ll see. Show me that ass–I mean, look at it, it’s divine. A huge cock too! What guy doesn’t want a huge cock?”

“Nick…Please, please don’t do this, I don’t understand…” William was babbling now, trying to piece together everything, but it felt like the foundation of his world had been turned upside down in a moment. June having an affair? With Mary, who’s a witch? Who is helping Nick cast…some sort of spell on him? That just gave him a gigantic dick and a perfect, fuckable ass?

Wait, fuckable ass?

William shook his head, and looked at his ass again in the mirror. It was perfect. He’d…fuck it himself, if he could.

“No no no…” William said to himself, “No, get the fuck out of my house, boy!”

“I’m afraid I’m the one calling the shots around here now, daddy–you have to put on the rest of your outfit–then we’ll get you right back out of it, I promise,” Nick said with a wink.

Nick picked up the backpack, and dumped the contents out on the floor around him, being careful not to touch any of it himself. There were two pink trainers with red socks, some lycra training pants–also in pink, with a red highlight. A pink muscle tank, and finally, a pink cap. All of it looked ridiculous–like something some, well, gay muscle hunk would wear. “I am not wearing any of that shit!” William shouted at him…but already, he could feel the clothes calling to him with the same spark of energy that the underwear had on him. Already, he was thinking about it, wondering what–no, who he’d look like, wearing all of that stuff. He’d…be an entirely different person. A whole new daddy, wouldn’t he?

Nick just stood back and watched as William stepped closer to the gear on the floor, as he bent down, and took the pink muscle tee first. There was another shock–and he could feel it resonating with the underwear, calming him down somehow. Everything was fine–he…he was supposed to wear these things. They were…made for him. The muscle tee had some writing on the front, the words “Butch Muscle Daddy” written in a curly, feminine font that made the whole thing a…study in contrasts. But it was too late, he’d picked it up, his arms were pulling it over his head and down onto his body. It was a tight fit–a size too small maybe, but it worked. He stared at himself in the mirror for a moment, and again, he felt the strange shift inside him–but this time, it was much more substantial.

His fat melted away, and muscle appeared instead. A lot of muscle. The shirt went from tight, to fitting easy, to tight again a moment later, as first his fat gut dissolved and his pecs expanded, pushing the fabric out so it actually hung slightly, touching his his shrinking gut, before it too disappeared, leaving a two pack that wasn’t half bad for a old gym rat his age. He flexed, watched as his arms bulged out as well, the size from working at the factory expanding larger, and also toning from years lifting weights…and damn, he looked good. Real good. His skin darkened as well to a deep tan, even as his body hair thickened a bit, growing a little thicker and denser on his forearms, down his chest and back. After all, he wouldn’t be much of a butch daddy if he didn’t have his body hair right?

Fuck, what was he thinking? He felt like he was going insane all of a sudden! These weren’t his thoughts–this was…something else. Why had he put this thing on? He needed to take this stuff off, right now, but then he saw the bright thong tan line around his crotch, only partly hidden by his favorite underwear, and he blushed, and looked back at the pile. He…he should cover that up, shouldn’t he? He grabbed the lycra shorts, and pulled those on too–they did nothing to hide his bulge, but then, why would he ever want to hide that? He loved how all the boys–and a few of the men–at the gym ogled him when he was walking around, bulge bouncing hypnotically. They all fucking wanted him, of course, he’d want himself too, if he could have him. His thighs and calves blew up just as his upper body had, bulging against the lycra, and he rubbed his hands on the fabric, shivering, feeling his cock starting to grow. “Fuck, I love the way I look in spandex, boy,” he said. His voice…was it deeper? But it also sounded different. Sensual, almost. A light lisp, but a playful one. It could make men melt–he knew that for sure.

“Of course you do daddy. I mean, it’s most of your wardrobe after all.”

That snapped William back for a moment, and he scowled at Nick. 

“What? Go look for yourself, daddy.”

William strutted over to the closet, opened the door, and discovered that Nick was right–all of his flannel, all of his jeans, all of his workwear–it was gone. Instead, it was just…his gym clothes, well, gym clothes and his club clothes too, of course. The singlets. The little strappy numbers. The thongs for the beach and the pool. Most everything was form fitted–aside from a few tastefully clever muscle shirts like this one, and not a sleeve in sight–just a couple of hoodies for the occasional rainy jog around the neighborhood.

But these weren’t his clothes. This wasn’t his life. “Alright boy, this is all very funny, and I do look like a hot fucking muscle daddy, I know, but you’re going to put me back right now, I fucking mean it,” he said to Nick, who just smiled at him, and pointed at the rest of the clothes on the floor. 

“You can take it all off, once you put it all on.”

Nick scowled at him some more, crossed his arms, but his gaze kept flitting to the shoes, and the hat. He was…still so dang curious, he couldn’t help himself. “Fine boy, have it your way.”

He grabbed the socks and trainers–and discovered they were…big. Bigger than his feet by quite a few sizes. Still, that hadn’t mattered for the other stuff, so he doubted it would matter here. He pulled on the socks, then the shoes, and stood up–but almost lost his balance as his feet started to grow–and then he started to grow too.

William wasn’t a tall fellow–just five foot nine, a little below average. But he shot up six inches in a matter of seconds, to six foot three. Everything about him broadened–especially his shoulders–and with the new height, the muscle tee went from being a little loose around his flat stomach, to being a tight crop top, showing off his whole belly–but then, he’d bought it specifically to show it off, of course. There was just one thing left now–the hat. He picked it up, and put it on his head–but this time, it was a different sensation altogether. He felt himself…falling into his mind, but not as the new self emerging–it was his old self, an aging factory worker named William, with a wife and two kids. William was falling away from consciousness, falling deep into the recesses of his mind–not erased entirely, but he found himself in a small box, barely enough room to breathe, or to scream–and outside, Billy was blinking to life. Billy, with his big, luscious lips. Billy with his short beard dyed platinum blonde. Billy with his head shaved bald. Billy, who wasn’t too smart, but he sure was a horny daddy–he turned around and saw Nick standing there–saw his boy standing there, his lovely, lovely boy who had made him, and he swept him up into his arms, picked him up like he weighed nothing at all, squeezed him, and kissed him deeply.

“Fuck son, your naughty himbo daddy is so fucking horny…” Billy moaned. 

“Well then get out of those clothes daddy, and let’s have some fun,” Nick said into his mouth.

Billy set his boy back down, and started peeling everything off–the hat, the shoes, the socks, the shorts, the tee–but Nick stopped him before he could get to the underwear. “Leave ‘em daddy, they’re so sexy on you…”

“Oh boy, whatever you say–you know I’ll do anything for you.”

Nick pushed his daddy backwards towards the bed, and Billy toppled back onto it. Nick climbed up on top of him, grinding his crotch into his daddy’s, still unable to believe just how…perfect he was. And he was his. All his. Nick knew this daddy would do anything for him, do anything he said. He’d never disappoint him, never. He was going to be absolutely perfect.

“What do you need daddy? What’s a horny himbo like you craving?”

“Fuck son, you know I need your boy cock in my dirty daddy hole,” Billy whimpered in his deep, sensual voice, and rolled over, grabbing the lube from the bedside table, where they kept it handy. Nick squirted some on his cock, butterflies in his stomach. It was his first time having sex, and it was with his perfect daddy, and he wanted it to be good, he wanted it to be perfect. Nick slid inside, and the sensation of Billy’s tight daddy pussy was enough to nearly make him cum, and Nick froze–waiting for the need to pass.

“That’s it boy, just relax–you’re doing great,” Billy moaned, “You’re gonna make daddy feel so good boy, so good…”

He picked up the pace slowly, Billy coaching him along, just like he’d coached him in baseball, just like he’d taught him how to fix a flat on his bike, just like how he’d shown him how to plant those squash in the backyard two summers ago. He was a great teacher, and Nick was eager to learn. Fifteen minutes later, they were both covered in a sheen of sweat, and Nick was pounding his daddy’s hole rough and hard, Billy urged him on harder, and with that Nick came–and as he did, they both felt the energy burst inside them, as the spell finished around them as well, sealing them, and this new reality, into place.

Nick rolled off him, and Billy pulled him close into his arms, telling his boy what a good job he’d done, fucking his daddy for the first time, how proud of him he was, and Nick cried a bit into Billy’s thick, hairy chest while Billy just held him close. William had been sealed away while the spell was finishing, but William…wasn’t sealed off anymore. William was gone, mostly, at least on the outside. He’d never existed now, but there were still pieces of him there. He still loved Nick, so much–and he was thankful, he was surprised to find. Thankful he could really love this boy like a son, and like a lover–and educate him in that way too–make sure that Nick became the best boy he could possibly be.

“Can…can you fuck me too, daddy?” Nick asked, “I’ve, I mean, tried with some stuff before, but–you would be my first.”

Billy put a finger to Nick’s lips. “I’m pretty big boy–you’ll need some practice. I have some toys though we could start with–I think you’ll like them, and I’ll like seeing you fuck yourself–getting ready for daddy’s big tool one day.” Billy hugged him close, and then rolled out of bed, and stretched, one hand grazing the ceiling. “Come on son–how about a workout? You’re not going to get as big as me wasting the day in bed–then later, we can have some more fun, what do you say?”

Nick thought that sounded great–and so he followed daddy down into the rest of their house that the spell had built for them–a bit surprised really that it had been so…all encompassing. There was a new pool in the backyard, a big spacious kitchen, a private gym, and down in the basement–he recalled, was Daddy’s playroom, too. It was a brand new life, and neither Nick nor Billy could wait to live it.

The Fetish Gun is Loose! (Part 2) [Interactive]

Davie took a break from the dance floor, got a bottle of water from the bar, and went to take a seat on the upper floor, where he could get a good view of the rest of the bar for a bit. It was…weird. Usually he would be having a better time here, or at least, he remembered usually having a better time here, but he hadn’t really been able to find anyone who, well, interested him that much. Of course, Davie didn’t have much trouble finding plenty of men interested in him–and the men he could remember going home with before were similar to him. Muscled, young, nicely hung…but tonight, no one seemed…big enough for him. Even the guys who were his usual fuckbuddies weren’t piquing his interest. They were all shorter than him, too…too normal.

He wanted a freak, is what he wanted. Some massive brute, seven feet tall, tattoos and piercings all over his body, cock and balls injected full of silicone until they were impossibly large…but why in the fucking hell did he want that? He…shouldn’t want that, right? It wasn’t what he could recall wanting, at least, at any point before this, but for some reason, it was the only thing he could think about, and every time he thought about it, his cock got rock hard. He looked over at a nearby empty table, and saw something there that looked…suspiciously like a gun. He went over to it, and saw it wasn’t a normal gun, but more like a toy gun of some sort–thought when he picked it up, the thing was surprisingly heavy. There was a sheet of paper wrapped around the narrow barrell of the gun. He unfurled it, and saw that it was a list of instructions–but when he read through them…there was no way the thing could be real, right?

It was, allegedly, called the fetish gun. It had five settings, which he skimmed through, but there was no way this could possibly be a thing. He looked around, and there were a few people chatting as well, he moved into a booth, set the gun to A, and shot it at the ground. A yellow beam shot out of the tip of the gun, hit the floor, and spread out–doing nothing, but it was…a pretty effect if nothing else.

Could it really be true? He thought about the…obsessions that had gripped him over the course of the evening, and figured there was nothing he would lose if it didn’t work. He pointed the gun at his thigh, thought about the fetishes he’d been obsessing over, and fired. This time, instead of just dispersing, the light infused him, spreading from where it hit his body, all around him, and he felt his skin…tingle. He let the gun go for five seconds or so, let it go, and when he looked at himself…he definitely wasn’t the same person he’d been a moment before.

He was bigger for one thing. Not just more muscular, but taller as well, by a couple of inches. Of course, the steroids he’d been using for most of a year now were helping with that. The memory surprised him–he’d never used steroids before, right? But he had new memories now, how he’d grown so disappointed with his progress (as good as it had been) that he’d decided to throw caution to the wind, and make himself the body he wanted, no matter what it took. That included…silicone. Lots of it.

He’d started with his cock and balls. Now, they were twice the size they’d been before, and he loved how they bulged in the front of the tight spandex singlet he’d worn to the bar tonight. He hadn’t been able to stop there though–he’d started injecting his pecs as well, making them bigger and puffier, as well as his ass, filling out the back of the singlet with a wide bubble butt. He looked…strange. Not quite right, but he didn’t care–he loved it. He loved that people stared at him like he was a freak, and he loved how many men wanted to be with him, because he was a bit fucked up. The tattoos and piercings were just the icing on the cake really–thick blackwork lines running all over his arms and legs. He was going to fill in the rest of him eventually, but shit, it was expensive. He’d also been pumping and stretching his nipples, and just put in new zero gauge door knockers tonight. He loved how it felt, feeling them pulling down on his chest, just like the bull ring he kept in his nose all the time now.

He knew this wasn’t right, but it was what he’d fucking wanted, and now it was true! He looked down at the gun in his hand, which seemed…smaller now, and at the dial on the side. The slip of paper with the instructions had disappeared, but he remembered well enough what they all did. A would make him or anyone else match the fetish he was thinking about, B would make his fetishes contagious, C would…do something with an object and make someone else like that same object, D would make people into couples or groups, and E would cause someone to absorb the fetishes of the people around him. He gave it a spin, before settling on one of them. This would be fun, he thought, and then he could always try out something else later–probably.


So, what’s Davey’s first move with the gun?

  1. He uses setting B to make people in the bar obsess over his changes.
  2. He uses setting C on his silicone filled cock and balls, wondering what night happen if he shoots someone afterward.
  3. He uses setting D on a big leatherman in the bar, to make them fuckbuddies.
  4. He uses setting E to absorb different fetishes from other men on the dance floor.

Here’s the twitter poll

Here’s the patron only poll

Voting ends in two days on Friday!

Coach’s Summer Training – Part 2

Phillip Emerson was my next pupil. I’d met him while helping out with a few local wrestling meets at the college level. Part of what I liked about him was he was more than an exceptional all around athlete, he was incredibly smart to boot, in the midst of pursuing some degree in an advanced math program. Just the kind of guy I can destroy, and love every second doing it, usually with a bit of challenge along the way. Wrestling was his chance to not think for a while, he told me, and I figured that by the time we were through, he wouldn’t be thinking much at all. We spent a day in the ring getting nice and sweaty, and I offered him a massage to help him cool down afterward. I started on his shoulders, and immediately his body went limp, and he let out a groan. I urged him to relax, to just focus on his good it felt as I kneaded all the tension from my body. He still eventually noticed what I was doing, of course, once he saw his legs shrivelling up and disappearing into his torso. I started pulling him on, and he couldn’t do anything but flap his withering arms at me, his head shrinking down into his neck of the shirt as I pushed my head through. I sniffed the sweaty fabric and jacked off, making sure to shoot up the front–the first load of seed of many more to come.

As I expected, Phillip was too smart to be a screamer–he was a bargainer. He obviously knew that I wanted something out of him, but he didn’t know what. His mind was too adept for me to wear him down to the breaking point like I had Shawn–so I decided to work on him a little differently. I proceeded with what I had been planning, and I started a long, intense workout regimen which had Phillip soaked in my sweat from dawn to dusk, and as I lifted weights and ran my miles, I counted. I counted steps, I counted sets and reps, and I counted at him, and soon, unable to help himself, he was counting too. He didn’t exactly have much else to do, right? And he did love math, after all. Then, while he was busy counting, I could sneak around in his head, sand off off a little cleverness here, erode a little vocabulary there, take off a little bit of wit over there. By the time he noticed that he was getting dumber, it was too late–then he started screaming.

Thankfully he got too dumb to figure out why he should scream soon after that. Soon his mind was so far gone that pretty much all he could do was count–and not very high at that. He’d usually lose track somewhere around ninety during our runs–that jump to one hundred always seemed to confuse him, so he’d happily start back at one again over and over and over again. He was much better with sets and reps, of course–smaller numbers were better, he said. I had him eagerly sucking up all of my sweat at this point too. You know those fabrics that are supposed to wick away moisture? They don’t have anything on a jock trapped in a shirt sucking all your sweat up and drinking it down for you. I had also been making him bigger this whole time, baggier, with big arm holes and a low scooping neck. When I was happy with him, I decided it was probably time for the finale.

As I said, if I focus hard enough, I can keep someone as clothing even when they aren’t on my body. One morning, I finally peeled Phillip off my wet body, laid him out on a table, got out a black sharpie, and I started drawing. On the back I wrote “MUSCLE FAGGOT”, in big, thick letters, and then filled in the rest with smaller stuff. Some of it was writing–“Musk pig”,  “Fuck my holes” with an arrow pointing down the back–but everything else was just swirls and blocks of black ink all over the shirt. He didn’t understand what I was doing at all–but once he was more black ink than white (well, “white” I suppose, he was really more of a dingy brown at this point) I released my focus, and the brand new Phillip Emerson emerged from his form.

He was huge–at least six and a half feet tall, and packed with muscle from neck to calf. Hell, he could have been an amazing bodybuilder, if it wasn’t for all of his tattoos. He was covered everywhere, even up onto his neck, face, and shaved head with tribal swirls. Of course, the centerpiece on his back was “MUSCLE FAGGOT” in massive letters so large it had to be spread down over two lines, and the simple minded oaf didn’t really know what was going on, but he could smell me, he could smell my musk, and so he got down and started cleaning my body for me. I fucked his surprisingly tight hole in return, before dropping him off at his home, a local gym. He lived upstairs there, and worked out day and night–when he wasn’t getting gangbanged by the regulars in the locker room. Being as stupid as he was came with some issues of its own. He was lucky that the owner was a sadistic fucker who loved the idea of keeping a big, stupid, muscle faggot pet for himself and all of his friends. Still, because he didn’t quite understand social standards, Phillip’s dick was kept locked 24/7, so he couldn’t just drop his shorts anytime and start jacking off like a pig during business hours. When he kept stripping his clothes off anyway, his master forced him to wear singlets, because he was too stupid to figure out how to take them off without help–and so he never did, usually wearing them until they started ripping and tearing at the seams, his locked cock obvious underneath the spandex. Needless to say, I keep a membership there now, but rarely to work out–I mostly just like to drop in on my muscle faggot on a regular basis. He’s always so excited when he smells me coming–even though he doesn’t even know why.