August Suggested Stories Ready for Download! | Wesley Bracken on Patreon

Hey all! If you’re a patron, you can download the three short stories I wrote this month based off suggestions and requests a couple weeks ago. Below, I have one from last month for everyone to read.

Midlife Crisis

Is this what a midlife crisis is? Les had always imagined them to be something…else. In TV shows, the men in crisis are always so…exuberant. Buying new cars, divorcing wives and dating younger women, but for him it just felt like a crippling depression and a growing confidence that everything he had done in his life had been for nothing. He didn’t want a car, or a boat, or some young thing–he didn’t know what he wanted, but after turning fifty this year it seemed like it had just now dawned on him how…miserable he is.

He should be happier, right? He’d been married to his wife for over twenty years, he had a beautiful daughter who had just gotten married the year before after what felt like an endless courtship, his career was right on track, but there was a hole in his chest all the same. It was a hole he’d always felt his entire life, and it had started aching over the last few months and it refused to stop. But this–he had to stop doing this. He couldn’t keep crying like this.

He wiped his eyes in the restaurant bathroom, hoping they didn’t seem too bloodshot. He and his wife were currently driving to go see their daughter, Kate, and his son-in-law, Gabe, and had stopped to get some food, but he’d…god, why was he crying like this so often now? Everything just felt like too much for him to handle, but there was no one he could talk to about any of it.

“Bad life, eh?”

Les gave a start, and in the mirror he saw a trucker had entered the bathroom without him noticing. “Just, uh, tabasco in my eye.”

“You can’t lie to me man, I’ve been there. I can see it,” the man pulled something out of his pocket, a golden coin, walked over and pressed it into Les’s palm. “This will help. It helped me, it’s helped lots of people before me too. Just pass it on once you have what you need.”

***

He didn’t know why he kept it. No, Les knew why he kept it–it was because he couldn’t get rid of it. He’d tried to junk the worthless coin, only for it to keep showing up in his pocket every time. He done his best to forget his strange encounter, and instead focused on enjoying time with his daughter…but when they arrived, both he and his wife could sense something was wrong. It was a few days later, on the back patio alone with Kate, that she finally told Les what was wrong.

“I think Gabe is cheating on me,” she said, choking back tears, “I…think it’s been going on for a while, before we were even married.”

Les just listened, stunned, as she recounted all of the clues and hints that had led her to this conclusion, and how things only seemed to be getting worse, how he was almost more…open about it, like he was daring her to try and do something about it. She was at a loss, and Les was too. He’d never gotten the feeling that Gabe was the sort of man who would do that, and his first instinct was to disbelieve it. Still, it was clear that something was upsetting Kate, and that tugged at his heart and only complicated the feelings he was wrestling with himself. In the end, he had nothing to offer in the way of help, but she seemed to appreciate him listening if nothing else.

It had to be wrong–he…liked Gabe. He liked Gabe more than any of the other young men Kate had dated before this, and he…well, he doubted Gabe felt the same way, but he considered him to be the son he’d never had. The feelings were complicated, though, and mixed in with the rest of the mess he was in. He covered it all up with a smile through the rest of the evening, finding himself looking over at Gabe, at his wife, at Kate, one hand slipping into his pocket and fiddling with the coin. It was hot, hotter than it should be, and he found himself getting…angry. Angry at Gabe, angry that he’d cheat on his family with…who knew who. He was going to cry again, wasn’t he? He excused himself before it hit and went to the bathroom, locking himself inside, tears falling, coin gripped in his hand.

It was even hotter now, hot enough to feel like it might burn him, but he couldn’t release his fist as hard as he tried. He just…wanted everything to work out. He wanted what he could never have, what he’d wanted for his daughter, what he’d only realized he’d wanted once it was too late. Everything shuddered, or maybe it was just him. The tears subsided again after a few minutes, and he went back out to rejoin the dinner, pretending everything was normal, like they all were.

“Would you join me for a cigar after dinner, sir?” Gabe asked him, catching Les off guard.

“I didn’t know you smoked, Gabe.”

The young man looked at him a bit oddly, “Well, I didn’t, until you showed me, sir.”

Many people had addressed him as “sir” in his years, but never had it sounded like it did when it came from Gabe. He agreed, and while Kate and her mother washed up, the two men went into the garage. It felt natural, letting Gabe light his cigar for him, watching him kneel down in front of him, hands shaking as he unzipped the fly of Les’s slacks, pulled out his hard cock, and started sucking on it, blowing his own smoke over it. Les was terrified, and yet…and yet he wanted this, didn’t he? No–this was…kind of what he wanted, but not really. The coin–had it done this?

But he didn’t want to hurt Kate…and somehow, she knew. Knew that her father and her husband were fucking behind her back, but he didn’t want to hurt her, he didn’t want to hurt anyone. But this–Gabe, he was so handsome, such a good young man, and he would be a much better man for his daughter if he was under Les’s control. So he could become a better husband, and a better father as well…a man more like him. The coin was hot again against his leg, and once more the world shuddered.

The door to the garage opened, and his wife entered, unsurprised by the sight of Gabe sucking her husband’s cock over cigars, and set down a couple glasses of whisky. “Thanks, Evelyn,” Les said, giving her a peck on the cheek.

“I know what you and your boy need, honey.”

“You always have.”

“You two going out tonight?”

“What do you think boy, think you’ve earned a night out with daddy at the leather bar? I’d like to see your…technique. Make sure you’re pleasing my little girl. No cumming though–you save your seed for her, understand? I need an heir.”

“Yes sir, of course sir,” Gabe said, cock leaking in the chastity device he wore for his master and wife’s sake, sucking a bit harder now, eager for a night out on the town with his father-in-law.

Use It or Lose It (Part 3)

He jacked off when he woke up the next morning, later than he would have ever before, in that old life. It was so distant now, that he could barely recall any of it–not even the names of his wife and daughters. No–in this life, he’d lived as a perpetual bachelor. He’d been in a few relationships over the years, but he’d never found them particularly satisfying, and few women had been able to put up with his rather brutish behavior. The church had receded from his life–he no longer attended with any regularity–but the misogyny had remained unhindered. If anything, it had intensified.

Still, as the day progressed, with no company beyond his thoughts and his hand, there was restlessness, and there was shame. What was he doing with himself, on a Saturday, just sitting in his apartment, jacking off over and over again? He needed to get out, he decided. It had been a while since he’d last fucked a broad–some company would be a nice change, he supposed. Through the afternoon he resisted the urge to keep jacking off and felt better for doing so, for demonstrating he still had some willpower, at least. By seven he was good and horned up, he got in his car and headed for a nearby bar where he had a bit of a reputation as a regular.

The drinking was new, but he hadn’t noticed the shift. Before, he’d never been much of a drinker, considering it to be a sign of weakness to rely on alcohol. On the weekends, he might have the occasional glass of whiskey, but nothing beyond that. Now, however, he bellied up to the bar and started hammering back beers. He told himself he wouldn’t drink too much–just enough to help him loosen up around the women. Still, as soon as he started striking out with every woman he chatted up, three drinks became six, and he was lost. He was so fucking horny, that he thought about slipping off to the bathroom to jack off quickly, but that would amount to admitting defeat. No–he might not be able to get a woman to want to sleep with him, but he could at least pay someone, right? There were a couple…regular woman he slept with on occasion, who were willing to tolerate him for slightly inflated rates. He got back in his car and drove home, went inside and placed a call–the sensual woman on the other end promised to be there in half an hour, but that seemed like forever, suddenly.

His cock was raging like the day before, and the intensity was only increasing. He started stroking, telling himself he was just going to edge himself for a moment, to make sure he could stay hard for the bitch who’d be arriving soon, but the heat of it was too much. Still, he was sweating and panting by the time he finally managed to push himself over the edge, the world lurching around him as his cock exploded, coating his belly and chest with a massive load of cum, leaving him panting and heaving in the mess, head spinning, and feeling like an idiot. How was he supposed to perform now? The whore would be here any minute, and he’d just shot his wad!

There was a knock at the door–heavier than he would have expected from a woman’s hand. Shit–should he just tell her to forget it? He’d probably still have to give her some fucking money, or she’d throw a fit. Not bothering to clean himself up–forgetting, in fact, that he was coated in his own cum–he went and answered the door, but his mouth went agape when he saw the older man on the other side of the door. He was so shocked, first, because he hadn’t expected a man, and second, because the man was so…damn sexy, and he’d never once thought that of a man before in his life.

Or had he? At the sight, he suddenly couldn’t remember being with many women before this. Or…any women, really. “Hey daddy–looks like someone got a bit too excited already.”

Randal blushed, “I…yeah, I don’t think I’ll…be needing anything tonight, actually.”

“Oh, but daddy–we both know what you need more than that, don’t we?” he said, stepping inside, pulling Randal into him, squeezing his ass and making him moan, “Yeah–it’s my cock you need, right daddy?”

Randal tried to object, but his body was like putty in the man’s hand. They ended up in the bedroom, Randal bent over the side of the bed while the man slid his cock up and down his crack. He should say no. He didn’t want this, did he? It didn’t matter–as soon as the whore was inside him, the pleasure of it wiped away all doubts he might have felt, and he was begging for it, shoving back, demanding the young hunk seed daddy’s dirty hole. The whore was more than willing, and fifteen minutes later he was on his way, two hundred dollars richer, and Randal was feeling the cum leak from his ass while he stroked his cock off again, unable to believe what he’d just done–but he’d needed it, right? He needed to get fucked, almost as much as he needed to jack off. He tried to convince himself it was a lie, that he’d called a woman, that he’d been married before all of this, but none of that even seemed possible anymore. No–he was a faggot. A faggot who loved to get fucked. A faggot willing to pay to get fucked by a nice, massive cock.

A cock like he’d had, once. He could remember that better, his ten inch tool–but now it was just seven. He wasn’t imagining it, it really was getting smaller–still larger than average, but for how much longer? Was it because he was jacking off too much? It had to be. He’d stop–he’d get help. He’d go to church tomorrow, and talk to someone. They would have to remember him, right?

Use It or Lose It (Part 1 & 2)

Sorry for the missed post yesterday! Today’s will be a double to make up for it.

“You told my son that masturbation will make his penis shrink, and you’re accusing me of being immature?” she said, resisting the urge to shriek, but losing to her anger at Mr. Randal Gray, the health teacher and wrestling coach sitting across from her. “I thought your job is to educate our children, not flat out lie to them!”

“Ms. Eleway,” he said, emphasizing the fact that the mother had no weding ring, and without a man, no real standing in his eyes, “The bible is clear that masturbation, and lust, are sins. Sex and ejaculation are for procreation, not recreation! A little fib here and there is worth the preservation of innocence, in my eyes. Besides, it’s motivation! The only men who need to masturbate are worthless lazy slob who are too ugly to get any action–is that who you want your son to be?”

“This is a public school–it’s facts that matter, not your fucking beliefs!” she seethed, “I’ll fucking report you to the school board.”

Mr. Gray scoffed, and leaned back, flexing slightly against the polo he wore. “Well before you do, maybe sit on a nice thick cock, you fucking cunt,” he said, groping himself, “because that’s obviously what you need to sort your issues out.”

She glared at him, and stalked off. She was bluffing–they almost always were bluffing. And if they did call the school board? Well, half of them attended the same massive chruch he did–things would get swept under the rug as usual. God always wins in the end. It was improper of him to use such coarse language at a woman, but she had cursed at him first, and more importantly, she fucking deserved it.

Thankfully, the rest of the teachers’ communal office space was empty, aside from a few stragglers, so there had been no witnesses. Randal packed up his gear and headed towards the gym–the bitch had made him late for practice on top of everything else, and he believed in setting a good example for the youth. After all, masturbation didn’t actually shrink your cock, but abstinance was still best–goodness, he jacked off one a year at most–and that was plenty. Of course, his wife put out every night like a good christian slut should, so it wasn’t like he was lacking in action. He ran the young men a bit harder than usual, to make up for his tardiness, and then went home. He felt an odd shiver up his spine after dinner, while playing with one of his daughter’s, but forgot about it by the time he and his wife went to bed. He fucked her slower than usual, making her moan properly around his ten inch cock–thinking about that bitch from earlier while he did. He came in deep, and then pulled out. She rolled away, not expecting Randal to do anymore for her, and he fell asleep quickly–only to wake up again a few hours later with a raging hardon.

Still, that was no problem–he had a cunt to fuck after all. He tried to rouse her, but she was deep asleep, and the way she was curled up didn’t allow for…easy use. He rolled back over, determined to just ignore it, but the desire only grew. He reached down, and found himself fondling it, wondering how long it had been since he’d last jacked off. Months, at least, if not a year. What was the harm, really, in a little self pleasure? Still, heaven forbid his wife should hear him–he slipped out of bed and headed for the bathroom, locking the door behind him, and on the toilet he stoked himself. It took longer than he’d expected it to, but it felt wonderful–better than the sex he’d been having lately. She’d taken to being a dead fish, uninterested in him, just…letting him do his business. But his hand…knew him, somehow. Stifling a groan, he exploded. He wasn’t prepared for the size of it, as it shot across the small room and splattered on the wall opposite the toilet. He felt…good. Sleepy as well, and a bit exhausted, sure, and a little…wore out? It was hard to describe, exactly.

He got off the toilet and cleaned up his mess with some wads of toilet paper, and flushed away the evidence, before going to the sink to wash his hands. In the mirror…something seemed off about his reflection. As a gym teacher, he’d always kept his body in solid form, even as he’d gotten older. He’d crossed fifty a few years back, and had only resolved to work harder…but it seemed like some of his gains had disappeared. His gut was bigger, and looked to be more of a potbelly. His arms lacked definition as well, and his chest was flabby. His smooth face looked unshaven, and his hairline had receded more than he recalled. He dried his hands and stared at himself, certain he’d looked better earlier. Still, he’d get himself back into shape–he’d done it before. That, or maybe age was just finally catching up to him. He went back to bed, and the worries didn’t stop him from sleeping–he awoke the next day, and while his appearance hadn’t improved in the night, it at least seemed more…normal to him. What wasn’t normal, was that he was horny again.

Of course, being horny wasn’t an issue itself–Randal was horny often. But what he wanted…was to jack off again. In the shower, he tried to resist, but couldn’t stop himself. The load wasn’t as powerful as the one before, in the night, but it also didn’t leave him feeling tired like that one had either. He was a bit worried, when he got out, that he’d…be different again, but nothing had changed–though he did notice one more thing. Stroking himself in the shower, his cock had seemed…off, and sure enough, when he measured it, it was shorter than before–nine inches, instead of ten. Still, he could worry about that later–he was running late. He got his clothes on, surprised how well they fit despite his body being so off his usual form, and headed to school for another day.

He got to his desk and set down his things, but found an odd note on the desk, written in careful script on a blank piece of parchment:

One inch down. Keep up your new habit, or what you teach will keep coming true.

Randal looked around, but none of the other teachers were looking at him. He asked a few, if they’d seen someone leave anything on his desk, but the early arrivers hadn’t seen anyone come or go since they’d gotten in. What could the note mean? It was probably just some weird prank by some of the kids at school. He threw the note in the trash, and got ready for the day. Still, he found himself…getting hornier throughout the day, and once at lunch, and again after school, before practice, he slipped into the bathroom and jacked off again. He was starting to become a bit…worried, actually. This wasn’t healthy–he didn’t need to jack off, he had a wife to fuck, right? Still, he couldn’t resist the urge, once more in the evening, and when he and his wife climbed into bed–it was the first time in months that they didn’t have sex. He just…didn’t feel like it, and from the way she’d been looking at him, so disinterested, it was clear that she had no interest either.

It kept him up at night, all the same. It was his Christian duty, wasn’t it? Best to nip this habit right in the bud–no more jacking off. It had been a mistake to give into temptation the night before, but he was strong. His cock wasn’t going to control him! He did manage to fall asleep again, and slept soundly through the night, but when he woke up, his cock was erect…and plenty eager. He tried to suggest a morning round of sex with his wife, but she insisted that she had to be at work early. He chastized her for refusing him, but she just blew him off–the reaction stunned him. No one treated him like that, especially not his own wife! They fought that morning, and he insisted she was going to fuck him that evening, or else. She left, he moped–thought about jacking off, but resisted the urge. He was going to save it for the bitch later, he told himself.

It was Friday, and Randal was as distracted as his students–though for different reasons. He’d managed fairly well through the morning, but by lunchtime, his horniness had grown…insistant. He’d tried to find ways to stand in front of the class to disguise his tent, but he’d heard a couple of snickers–after an uncomfortable lunch, he taught the afternoon classes from his desk, to avoid further embarrassment. There was no practice that afternoon, at least, but after packing his things at his desk, he’d decided he couldn’t stand it any longer. One quick shot wasn’t going to do any harm, certainly. In the bathroom, he wrapped his hand around his cock, and once again…the experience was different than usual. It was like that first time, the day before last in the middle of the night. His cock wasn’t simply eager–it was almost aflame with desire. As quiet as he was trying to be, he couldn’t help but release a few moans into the air, but as quick as he tried to make the session, it dragged on. His cock seemed to rest on the edge forever, but finally he managed to push himself over the edge, a load even larger than that first one spilling out of him, onto the stall door, onto the tile floor. He was left sitting, shaking, feeling like an earthquake had passed through him.

Still–he’d needed that, apparently more than he’d realized. Cleaning up as best he could with the single ply the school provided, he left the stall…afraid to look at himself in the mirror when he washed his hands, but nothing seemed to have changed. His stubble was a bit thicker, perhaps, but beyond that, everything looked…normal to him. Happy, he gathered up his things, got in his car and drove off, but as he did, he found himself growing more and more confused. His hands, and his memories–they weren’t taking him where he was supposed to be going, or at least not to the home he could recall with his wife and three daughters. Instead they drove him to a rundown apartment complex in a much cheaper part of town, and parked in a covered spot, like he belonged here.

But he didn’t belong here, right? He got out with his things, still not completely in control of himself, but unable to explain how he knew that, and walked up to one of the buildings, to the second floor, and there, on one of the doors, was a parchment note, similar to the one he’d received the day before:

“Two inches gone–and quite a bit more this time. If you keep resisting, things will only get worse. Don’t worry, your wife and daughters will have a much happier life without you, and you only need your hand now, right?”

He fumbled with his keys–the house key he’d had was gone, replaced by another, which opened the door in front of him. Inside, he found…his apartment. An apartment he could suddenly recall perfectly, as those other memories of a house and a family began to dissolve like a dream. The air was stale, and there was another smell too, that he knew he should be able to recall, but couldn’t. Still, it couldn’t be real–what was happening to him? He looked for the note on the door, but it had disappeared, and his terror was relaxing as well. He was home, right? Shouldn’t he feel…comfortable?

He shut the door, and stripped off his clothes–down to his underwear. That was better–he liked being alone after all–no one to worry about impressing. Plus he could jack off whenever he wanted! That had to be a plus, right? In fact, he was pretty horny right now. He sat down in his recliner and pulled out his cock, to stroke it. This was wrong–he knew this was wrong. The shame was there, but it wasn’t enough to stop him from shooting a load all over his gut. He wiped it off…and noticed something else, as his cock started to soften. It was shorter–again. Eight inches now, when he measured it later. Still, it seemed normal enough that perhaps he was mistaken. He jacked off another couple of times, and then fell asleep in his bed, alone.

Fantasy Feedback Loop (1 of 2)

I’d had no idea where it had come from, it was just there on the porch when I’d gotten home from community college. I was still living with my parents, getting some credits under my belt before transferring to a state school to finish a bachelor’s degree. Regardless, I saw this box on the step, with no one’s name on it, so I took it inside and up to my room. Now, usually I got home first from class, then my dad would get home, and then my stepmom later, so everything was quiet. I liked living with my dad…well, I’ll be honest, I’d had the hots for me father for as long as I could remember.

I was still in the closet–I didn’t dare tell him, after listening to him rant about “those faggots” my entire youth, but he was a walking wet dream for a bear chaser like me. Nice full beard, heady musk (I had a…collection of his dirty underwear and socks stashed away for personal use), and a muscular body from manual labor with a nice, healthy gut. If he wasn’t so fucking straight, right? I’d messaged a few a few guys and chatted on some sites, but I hadn’t actually had the chance to get my cherry popped yet–I think part of me was still holding out for my dad, as sick as that might sound. I opened up the package, and found a small statue inside–well, statue is a bit misleading. It looked high tech–a thick pillar of metal mounted on a wide base with a few buttons, including an on/off toggle, so it had to do something, right? There was a thick manual beneath it, and apparently, the thing was something called…a fantasy generator.

It had to be fake, I told myself. Some stupid prank or something. The book claimed that if you turned it on, and let it charge, it would gather the desires of people around it, and when it was fully primed, unleash those desires, and make them come true. It would literally change reality. That had to be impossible right? Then again…maybe it was at least worth a shot…

My dad would be home in about an hour. I plugged in the machine, saw it had power, and turned it on…and as soon as I did, it’s like…some force just overwhelmed me, and I lost control of myself, got on my bed, and started jacking off with my dad’s dirty underwear, thinking about him, about how much I needed him. I could…feel the energy building up around me, until the room was thrumming with it, and when I heard the sound of his truck pull up, and he walked into the house, and came within the reach of the field…there was a pulse, and everything went white, for a moment. When I could see again, my dad was in the doorway of my bedroom, a hungry look on his face–he walked right over and started sucking my cock–his son’s cock! I nearly shot from that alone…but this…this was normal now, wasn’t it? We’d…been fucking for years at this point, since I was sixteen or so. I was in heaven–so thrilled, that I barely noticed that the machine was warming up again…and when another flash came a half an hour later, I realized I probably should have read the whole book first.

A Family’s Legacy (2 of 2)

That summer, the father noticed an improvement in his son’s temperament and commitment to the family legacy. He worked out less, took a greater interest in his father’s business, and that summer, accepted an unpaid internship at his father’s suggestion. Of course, he still worked out quite regularly, but he accepted some of his father’s other advice–taming that hair of his and making it a more conservative style. Pruning back the wild beard he wore, though he insisted on keeping at least a small goatee. But a week before he was set to leave for college, his father discovered something…disturbing on his son’s computer–a very large stash of porn. Gay porn.

No–no, this would not stand. A great family required an heir, after all. He resolved to demand answers from his son, to send him for counseling if he needed it, but the time never felt…right. His son went off to college, only to return for Thanksgiving with a young woman on his arm–and assurances from both of them that his son was very much interested in her, both romantically and sexually. He thought his fears unfounded, and after he’d returned to school, he realized he’d kept the folder of porn on his own computer. He went to delete it…but instead, found himself…looking through it, curious. The photos were all of rather chubby, hairy men–ages ranging from their young twenties to early fifties. James found himself unable to comprehend how his son could have found anyone like this attractive–and found himself equally unable to explain why he, now, was masturbating to the images and videos every night.

His son excelled in college, and with each success, James seemed to suffer setbacks and distractions. The spring of his son’s freshman year, James could no longer resist his new desires–he began going out at night incognito, cruising bars and parks, sucking off men, letting them fuck him–the fatter the better. He found himself disgusting. He could barely look at himself in the mirror, he was so aghast at the state of his soul–and at the state of his body. He’d let himself go to pot, over the years, he realized. His singular focus on work and family had left him middle aged and closing in on 300 pounds. No–that he wouldn’t let happen.

So that summer, while his son toiled away at two unpaid internships, saving an hour a week to date his girlfriend, his father found himself toiling away in the gym. He’d hoped it would prove to be a distraction from his new obsession with sucking cock, but working out only seemed to make him…hornier. He began collecting pictures and videos of his own, expanding his son’s collection, finding his tastes drifting in a certain…grungier direction. Unkempt beards, musk, armpits, big cocks, dirty asses. He was down to 250, and was looking beefy. He’d decided to grow out a beard, but hadn’t kept it well trimmed. His hair had gone wild as well, but something about it–he liked it.

Then, someone caught him. The tabloids made his life hell, and the board removed him immediately. His severance was…substantial, but without work, James–or Jimmy, as he was calling himself these days, when he introduced himself to the big men he thought about constantly–found he only had two things left he wanted to do: have sex, and work out. His son came home that next summer, and announced his engagement. Jimmy was happy for him, but all he could think about was…how handsome, his son had become, in just two years. He’d packed on a good amount of weight, and he seemed so…powerful. Confident. James was all too happy to let his faggot father beg for his cock, of course. He’d have to keep his failure of a father well under control, if the family was going to survive his massive fuckups. Still, James the Third had no doubt he’d be able to rise to the challenge. The Wilheim line would ascend–just like his father had always wanted.

“You see, our company believes that a next generation workplace requires next generation HR strategies for dealing with harassment and discrimination–”

George threw the pamphlet in the trash–he didn’t give a flying fuck about this shit, but after someone had snitched on him for calling Joey a “pansy faggot,” he’d been told he’d have to attend a disciplinary session with this new HR guru or consultant or whatever they’d hired. Still, George had been through shit like this before–all he had to do was play nice at the meeting, apologize, listen to some bullshit about equality and fairness, mind his tongue for a few months, and everything would be alright.

The door opened, and a younger man stepped out of the room, “George? Welcome! Come on in, I’m glad you could join us today. I’m Dr. Vitters, and I’ll be mediating your counseling session today with Joey.”

George went in and sat down with the other two men, and everything was going how he’d expected. “How did that make you feel Joey?…George, is there anything you’d like to say to Joey today?” The usual shit, until about halfway through, when the doctor gave a long sigh, and picked a file up off his desk. “George, I appreciate you going through the motions, but I’m afraid I just don’t believe a word you’re saying today.”

That caught his attention. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, looking at your record here, I have my doubts that you’re actually earnest in your feelings about what happened. So I’d like to apply one of my specialty techniques in this case. George, please stand up, drop your pants and underwear, and bend over my desk here.”

“Excuse me? No fucking way, you fucking sicko!” George said, but his body was already obeying the doctor’s commands, and he was helpless to stop it–Joey just staring at what was happening, his jaw on the floor.

“Now Joey, please fuck George. Roughly, if you would. And George, even though you hate what’s happening, I want you to enjoy it–and when Joey cums inside you, you will cum as well.”

They fucked, the doctor observing and giving them notes, and when they’d both cum, they were allowed to sit back down. “Excellent. You’ll speak to no one about what happened in your session today, but I think we’ll need a few more of these to really break George of his habits. How about, three times a week, for the next six months? I’ll go ahead and schedule you–have a good day you two, and see you Wednesday!”

Source: openshirtlover

Cabin Pressure (Part 4)

“You have a pretty hot mouth, I have to say.”

They’d been sitting quietly for a few minutes, Jeff trying to sort out his thoughts and his memories, feeling his body, trying to understand how it could feel both so…new and strange and yet familiar at the same time. He could barely fit in the seat assigned to him now, and Brian had raised the armrest between them, meaning their fat bodies were now in constant contact–something which scared jeff to death for reasons he couldn’t quite explain, and which also excited him to no end–feeling each breath of the hot fucking man beside him–he’d really…lucked out, right?

“Hello? Earth to piggy.”

Jeff blushed, “Sorry, sir, I’m…glad you enjoyed it. I…enjoyed it too.”

“I could tell. Bet you’d like me to get my cock in that ass of yours too, right?”

Jeff nodded, humiliated that the people sitting around them could hear what he’d just said to him. Why was he doing this? Letting this fat fuck do this to him? He…honestly wasn’t quite sure what had happened to him, but something was different–no, something was wrong. This was wrong, he was in the wrong body, this wasn’t who he was supposed to be, and he…he couldn’t remember who he’d been at all. Fragments–workout equipment. A woman. A…roommate. That was clear–the roommate. Kevin. He stopped thinking about himself, and focused on Kevin instead. He’d met him at…at college? In the gym–no, on the wrestling team! He’d had to have gone to college, if he’d met Kevin! And Tiffany! He’d just visited her, he…he was sure of it, even if he couldn’t remember it. That…that meant that this wasn’t him–he couldn’t remember everything, but he knew that much.

“How about, when we get off this plane, we head to the bathroom and I give that hole of yours a good plowing? How does that sound?” Brian said, leaning against him gently, exerting a bit of his pressure.

Jeff instinctively started to lean away, to pull back, but then he leaned back in, applying some pressure of his own. “No–no, I’m not going to let you do this to me anymore. I don’t know what the fuck you did, but you’re going to fucking change me back!”

“Did to you? I didn’t do anything to you, pig. This is just who you are!”

“No it fucking isn’t. I…know that. I don’t remember everything but…but I had a roommate I met in college–yeah, college! I know I went there. And I know I just…was just with a girl in Paris, that’s why I fucking went there. I…I forgot her name, but she was there, I know she was there. This is some fucked up fantasy of yours, and I don’t know how you did it, but I know your game.”

“Oh?” the man said, grinning wider, leaning harder, “More fight than I expected. Still, you’re so far gone, there’s nothing you can do but make things worse for yourself, if you keep this up.”

“Fuck you, you’re a fucking liar.”

The man shrugged. “Alright, then, Mr. Fry Cook. Tell me, how did an fast food dead-ender like you manage to afford a European vacation?”

Jeff tried to talk…but he didn’t have an answer. Where did he get the ticket? How did he even get to Europe? On one hand, intellectually, he knew the missing piece was there, but the girl, his roommate, it didn’t fit with everything else in his head…and something else, some other glimmer was forming, the man leaning harder, Jeff losing ground, feeling himself pressing against the side of the plane. “I…I couldn’t afford it, not on my own. I don’t have any savings,” he blurted out. It was…true. But it wasn’t right.

“Of course not. But the guy you were chatting with about those things you wanted, the mods. You couldn’t find anyone state side. And when he offered to pay for your ticket, in exchange for complete willingness as a test subject…well, what choice did you have?”

Jeff was shaking his head, trying to speak, but he couldn’t quite get in a full breath of air. He was feeling lightheaded, desperately trying to keep from passing out again, trying to keep Brian from changing him again, trying to keep himself from connecting the dots that he was being told to follow, because he didn’t want to see what was at the end there. “Please…” he croaked, “I’m sorry, I’ll let you fuck me, I’ll let you do whatever, please…”

“But I’m curious, Piggy. I’m curious about what you needed him to do. What were you so desperate for, that you were willing to let a stranger buy you a plane ticket to another continent, so he’d do it to you? What was so hard to find, what was so perverted, that you couldn’t find anyone closer to you, who would do what you needed so badly, that you were willing to let him do whatever he wanted to you? How long were you with him? How long were you his play thing?”

“I don’t know, I don’t know!”

“Yeah, he kept you pretty well drugged, didn’t he? In that dungeon of his, kept in that cage, while you rested in between sessions? Probably a bit hard to remember the details, but I know that you know what you wanted more than anything else. What you were willing to give up your freedom for months to have done to you.”

“I’m not…You’re wrong.”

“It’s only going to get worse, if you don’t just admit it.”

“I…it…tattoos?”

“Oh, I know he was a talented artist, and I know he was excited at a thought of a canvas your size, but that–you could get those anywhere. No, what you needed was much more…taboo…”

Jeff could feel the pricks across his body, ink appearing all over his skin. It still hurt, but Brian was right, there was something else. He…he knew what he was supposed to say, but there had to be something else, right? Not that…he didn’t…really want that, did he?

“Say it pig, say it hog. Say what you begged the filthy pervert you met in Paris to do to you. Tell me what you needed, to finally feel at home in your own, disgusting body.”

Jeff had been holding his breath, knotting up his tongue. He wasn’t going to say it, he wouldn’t. His eyes rolled back into his head, and he passed out again, Brian chuckling, pressing harder, and Jeff dreamed again.

Cabin Pressure (Part 3)

Jeff looked around his office, trying to figure out what he was doing here. He should be on vacation, right? The offices around him were all empty, the air was stale and…and as he walked around, looking for an exit, he was beginning….to suspect that he didn’t work here at all. No, he didn’t know where he was, now that he thought about it–but he did work in an office, right? He’d…he’d gone to college, he’d majored in business, he worked as an accountant. The air was thinner all of a sudden, and he was feeling woozy, some sort of pressure pulling him to the floor, giving him a headache, and he could…feel his intellect being crushed. Jeff had never been that smart, but he was clever enough–but not only was his knowledge fading, but his edges were dulling as well. Everything seemed…simpler all of a sudden, and looking around at the alien office, he could see the walls…dissolving around him, reforming, until he was lying on filthy tile, not carpet, surrounded by a bank of cooking equipment–like…like in a fast food restaurant.

He managed to push back against the pressure, reassert himself, and as much as he didn’t want to find the place familiar–he knew it intimately. It was the fast food place where…where he worked. Where he’d worked for years, ever since he’d stupidly dropped out of high school, not that he could have gone to college with his shitty grades. He couldn’t even get a promotion, not without a GED, and he was too lazy to even bother getting that. So here he was, working the fryer, microwaving burgers, and…and taking orders.

At that thought, the pressure shoved him forward, towards the register. He was dressed in his uniform–4XL, and face to face with…with a young woman. Someone he should know…right? A name popped into his head from nowhere–Tiffany. She was pretty, she was his…girlfriend? But at that thought, her face looked at him, disgusted, like she had read his mind. No, someone like that would never be interested in a fat loser like him. The shame was burning through him, he couldn’t believe he’d even thought that. No, he couldn’t be interested in her, he wasn’t interested in her, he…he was…interested in…

The look of cruel disgust didn’t shift on Tiffany’s face, but the rest of her body did, growing larger, inflating, her dress becoming leather gear, her face growing a beard, his cock, fuck…fuck, his cock. Jeff was salivating, the pressure behind him, pushing him against the counter, bending him over as the man shoved his cock in Jeff’s mouth, and he saw a line form behind the man, and felt another line behind him, a stranger hauling down his uniform pants, fucking him roughly, like he deserved. Yeah, this is what a fat loser like him deserved, what he needed, what he craved. The man in front of him–he knew him now. A guy he’d hooked up with a few times around town–the man who held the key to the cage his cock was trapped in. Not that it was much of a cock–two inches when hard, and buried in his fat, but the man liked it locked all the same. After him, came the chubby manager of the restaurant, who had found out Jeff was a cocksucker, and he’d been servicing him ever since, the man threatening to fire him if he told anyone. The line continued. His father and stepfather, both of whom had abused him. Teachers. Strangers. Roommates. All of the men in his life he served, and at the end, a looming figure, familiar, pressing his gut into Jeff’s face, guiding his head lower with a hand–

Jeff opened his mouth and took Brian’s thick, seven inch cock into his well practiced throat, allowing him to slide in deep, down his throat. He hadn’t had a gag reflex in ages, and the sensation of being used roughly sent a tingle of pleasure through his jiggling body, like always. One hand twisted his meaty nipples and tugged on his fat moobs, the other slid down the back of his pants and toyed with the buttplug he wore almost constantly, puny cock aching in the confines of it’s extra small cage.

“How’s it taste, you fucking loser? You like eating my nasty cock?”

Jeff did like it–but then again, rough, abusive, fat men got Jeff’s hunger going like little else. Hell, he was so shameless at this point, that he’d beg men like this to abuse him–that’s why they were here, after all–Jeff had begged the man to feed him his cum, and when else was he going to have a chance to join the mile high club? He kept sucking, and the man fed him a load of cum after a couple of minutes. Someone was knocking on the door–had been knocking on the door. Brian zipped up and left, leaving Jeff on his knees, cum in his beard, looking up at an older, chubby gentleman in a business suit, staring down at him. “I’ll…suck you too, if you want,” he said, unable to believe his own audacity, or that the businessman–who’d briefly been pressed up against the wall by Brian, sneered and stepped inside.

“I hope you’re full service–because I have to piss first, and you’re in front of the toilet.”

Some other man, deep inside him, screamed, but Jeff had drank piss numerous times before. It took the man a few minutes to get past his nerves to actually piss in his mouth–Jeff helped put him at ease by telling him to pretend he was just an object–not a person at all. He drank the man’s bladder dry, and then sucked him off. The man blew after a minute, and slipped out, back to his seat. No one else was waiting, so Jeff went back down the aisle. Brian was waiting for him, and let Jeff slide back in by the window, his now 450 pound bulk mashed between the armrests, and Brian joined him again with a smile that told Jeff he wasn’t quite finished with him yet.

Ideal Tenants (½)

Josh and Greg were two younger louts, who had managed to score a year long lease in a rather nice apartment building–and seemed intent to make everyone else living within the place hate their guts. They were loud, violent, didn’t care for the property of others, and when they arrived home one day to find a notice on their door–handwritten–which they didn’t bother to read.

Since I’d never get my lease back if I evicted you, I’ll just have to make you into some tenants I can live with! Your Landord.

The reason the apartment building was so nice, in fact, was because Mr. Emerson, the owner of the building, was a warlock. A warlock, who was rather fed up with the behavior of both troublemakers, and so, over rest of their lease, the two of them would find themselves…becoming Mr. Emerson’s ideal tenants. What they didn’t know, was that Mr. Emerson was gay, and had some rather specific tastes.

It was less than a month before their first awkward moment of sex. Josh and Greg often spent their time after work exercising on a shared bench they’d bought together. But lately, the two of them had found themselves becoming quite…distracted by one another. It was Josh who figured it out first, hauled down Greg’s shorts and started sucking at his cock, before demanding his roommate fuck his ass–Josh didn’t even bother to insist that he wasn’t gay, before fucking his friend’s hole for an hour straight.

From that moment on, every time the two of them tried to work out, they wound up fucking instead. And after every fuck, they found themselves ravenous, and would stuff themselves with anything they could find in the house. Meanwhile, Mr. Emerson was watching all of this on the various cameras he’d installed in their apartment, eager for the rest of the young men’s lives to fall into place.

Source: hornyserbian

Officer Wetzel Meets a Demon (Part 1)

Every year. It was absolutely disgusting. Officer Wetzel could at least tolerate the pride parade in June–there was no modesty, but at least it wasn’t so…filthy. No, there were the drag queens, which were relatively harmless. The dykes on bikes, the…occasional man in leather or rubber, but this weekend, each year, the streets were clogged with them. Leather uniforms, rubber and latex body suits, men wearing next to nothing at all, men pretending to be dogs and pigs, the alleys stinking of piss even more than usual, as well as that sour odor he’d realized was cum a few years back, and was still hoping he could forget. Each year, he begged his Lieutenant not to force him to work that weekend–he’d request vacations, he’d try anything. Sometimes it worked, and then sometimes, like this year, he was stuck. Here, amidst the throngs, men leering all around at him as he scowled back, making sure they knew that his uniform wasn’t some fetishistic role play. Some of them still didn’t get the hint, and those were usually the ones who ended up with their face against the wall, and then in the drunk tank at the local precinct.

Still, it was only three days, one long weekend. That’s what he told himself, but it didn’t help matters much. If anything, he was becoming rather desensitized to the filth and perversion and whoring going on around him–and that alone was enough to worry him. No one should consider this normal. These displays were a modern Sodom; if only God would come down and wipe this place clean like he did Millennia ago. A little divine intervention, that’s exactly what this fucking city could use.

The day was wearing on him. It was mid afternoon, the heat still climbing even as the sun was starting to drop. His uniform was itchy and uncomfortable. This was just the first day, and he didn’t know if he was going to be able to take two more days of this filth without some well deserved police brutality. Maybe on the last day, when they were too drunk to care about reporting it. Still, considering some of the shit he’d broken up before, the pigs would probably just enjoy it, so what the hell was the point?

In his glum and dour mood, he hadn’t noticed the older fellow, a bit of a belly but quite muscled, shirtless and wearing a pair of tight leather pants, smoking a cigar and holding a beer, walk up and lean on the building beside him. “Well hello Officer,” he said, “You might be a bit more comfortable in this heat if you…took off a few layers. I could help, if you want.”

The man’s hand slipped closer, and Officer Wetzel recoiled, “Lay one of those pervert hands on me, and I swear to god, you’ll be in a jail cell so fast you won’t know what happened to you, faggot.”

“Oh my–I saw that you could use a little bit of temptation, but I suppose I hadn’t quite imagined how much.”

Officer Wetzel had had enough of this fuck–might as well get the bashing done early–as a plus, he’d have to spend the rest of the weekend doing paper work. He slipped his baton out of his holster, went to raise it up, when the man caught his wrist in a firm, sensual hold, and closed the space between them in an instant, lips inches apart, the air now mostly smoke. The cigar stank worse than most, with hints of coal and sulfur. They were in the shade of a building, but even in the shadow, the man’s eyes cast an odd glow, like a flame was reflecting in them. “Now now, officer Wetzel. Why don’t you relax for a little bit? Enjoy yourself a bit?” He glanced over at the people streaming along the sidewalk, caught the eye of some older faggot wearing only a collar and jockstrap, and pulled him closer with a beckoning finger. “How about you, cocksucker? You want to help Officer Wetzel here relax a bit?”

“Would I fucking ever!” he said, got down on his knees, right there on the sidewalk, and started opening the fly of his uniform pants. Wetzel tried to protest, he tried to shove the man away, clober him with the baton he still had raised in his hand, but he couldn’t move. The one hand, firm on his wrist, had frozen his entire body–or rather, everything but his cock, which grew hard as soon as the old pig took the head in his mouth. He was disgusted with himself. He couldn’t really be turned on by this faggot sucking his cock, could he? What kind of man was he? What kind of godly man was he?

“Oh, God isn’t here–God hasn’t come down here in a long time, Officer Beauregard Wetzel. But I come up here every year. And every year, I bring someone down to my level–and this year, I think that’s going to be you.”

Officer Wetzel’s eyes went wide, and he began to try harder to pull himself away, both from the stranger’s hand, and from the man sucking his cock. The man just gave a deep belly laugh, leaned in closer, locked lips with him, and blew the smoke deep. It was hot, so hot it hurt, deep inside him in a place he couldn’t quite identify. He tried to cough, but the force of the man’s breath just kept filling him up, making him light headed, his arm relaxing, the baton falling to the ground as his hand went limp. The man pulled away, gently, Wetzel following him without thinking about it, a slight moan escaping his lips.

“Oh officer, you droped your baton. You really should put that in a safer place, don’t you think?”

Officer Wetzel nodded. Careful to not disrupt the cocksucker, he squatted down and retrieved his baton, and allowed his pants and underwear to drop down around his boots. The thought was in his mind, and he was horrified. He wouldn’t do this to himself, he couldn’t do this, not here, not in front of these freaks. Indeed, men had started to slow, stop, and stare at the scene unfolding here. “Go on officer, I promise that there’s no place safer.”

Wetzel gave a quiet sob, and bent over, moving his baton to the opening of his asshole.