Greywing Manor (Part 3)

Thankfully, as a laborer, the man had arrived with a truck full of various equipment. While I busied myself preparing the room for the man’s conversion, I sent him back down to load up everything he could find of use to me, and return. In the end, it was enough, but not quite as much as I would usually require–much of the material in his truck had been wires and tubing of various materials and sizes, but I needed something a bit more…bulky. In the end, I did manage to find something–an old bulky rubber suit, almost resembling a diving suit of old, in a spare bedroom. Kinky, perhaps, but otherwise untouched, and so left unmolested by our nemesis. With that, I had enough to get started. The man stood within the circle, while the old alchemic machinery creaked back to life, spinning around him, filling the space with an unearthly green hue. Everything, to my surprise, was going smoothly, the man screaming in pain and terror at the appropriate moments, as the magic began eating away at his flesh, the energy feeding off of his body, sucking in the suit, the wires, the tubes–everything within reach of the spell, and drawing it into him, into a new, much improved form.

In the end, however, there simply wasn’t quite enough material to go around, and so, instead of a proper drone, when the machine settled back and quieted, what remained was, well, something caught between two. The suit had formed around his body nicely, replacing his skin from the neck down, bound up in wires and tubes in a rather chaotic fashion, piercing through and around him in many awkward ways. It was, however, his face which still had that…glimmer of humanity, where the spell hadn’t quite been able to draw in enough material to replace him entirely. Still, human isn’t quite the term I would use with him, or it, I suppose. There’s a bit of skin, a few shocks of hair, but most of it is wrapped up so tight in wire and pipe that you must look very close to see any of it at all. It will, unfortunately, rot. The drone will last, at most, a few months, but that should be enough to get some work out of it around me, fixing up the floors, remodelling the plumbing, fixing the circuits. Yes, when it finally expires, I will be a brand new house, I think–and in much, much better condition to accept visitors.

For you see, no-one, this little adventure has helped me understand something–while I do miss my master very much, I have allowed myself, over these decades, to wither with him, but no more. I am, I’ve come to see, my own entity–I am, after all, fashioned from his own mind and will, I am, if anything, the rightful heir to his life, and his work. It won’t always be easy, mind you–I doubt the world is prepared for a sentient mansion, especially not one with rather cruel, sadistic tendencies, but that is a challenge to be met, not a burden to shrink from! Especially with this…internet! What a glorious thing; I find it difficult to imagine that it could possibly exist without magic, and yet, it is amazing what humans can do when they have too much time on their hands, and not enough threat to their daily survival. However, to know more–to do more–I need someone of this world, someone with knowledge, someone who can assist me, and who, in return, I can reward with untold pleasures.

I owe you a debt, no-one. That is why, in one hour, an Ubercar will arrive at your home to pick you up and deliver you to me, where you will stay, for the weekend, as my honored guest. No harm will come to you, I promise. I fact, I promise to shower you with pleasures you have never imagined, and this drone, in particular, I believe will be quite a treasure before it expires. One weekend, and then, if you choose to leave, you may, and I will never contact you again…however, if this visit delights your appetites (as I imagine it might given the histories of your browsers) I will offer you a home within me. You will not be my master–I only have one, should he ever wake–but you will be…my host. For you see, there are many things I have never experienced, many things that I have watched my master partake in from afar, which I have never had the ability, or really the desire, to taste. But no more! I will live through you, if you allow it. Together, we will allow men into me, and we will enjoy them–and perhaps, we will be able to stir a bit of my master’s old energy as well, or at the very least, find the wizard who ruined him and exact our revenge upon him.

So come. Let us meet. Allow me to show you what grand pleasure I can provide. Become my host, and together, we will become so much more–I swear to you, by the boards and nails and bricks of my body, I swear it.

Greywing Manor (Part 2)

Well no-one, I was very pleased to have found in you a rather efficient assistant–You were, in fact, the fifth no-one I contacted, requesting a router, and you were the only one who managed to secure one for me. The others were all too busy talking about cable companies and service windows. I will admit, perhaps, that the router was a bit more complex than I may have assumed. For something which is apparently so common place, I was surprised when a man knocked on my door, claiming he needed to set up my internet service. My master let him in–in his torpid stupor I doubt he even really understood what was going on, and he returned to his fuzzy television, the man shaking his head.

“Is that an antenna?” I remember he asked, “Those aren’t even supposed to work anymore.”

I didn’t know what that meant either, and given the fact that I needed to maintain my cover as a simple dwelling, I couldn’t very well dialogue the serviceman as to my needs. My master was no help either, and so, I realized I would have to resort to a more extreme solution to the problem, but one I’d been considering for some time, in all honesty.

As I told you last time I spoke, it has been quite a few decades since my master’s mind was locked, and in that time, I have been…poorly maintained, to say the least. The magic holding me together is wearing slightly, of course, but there’s nothing to be done about that. Rather, my material condition has been…poorly maintained. My roof leaks, my floors sag, my pipes rattle. I can apply a fix to some issues, of course, with a bit of magic–but using up my energy only makes the will holding me together weaker. No, what I have been needing is something which could…help with my basic maintenance. And this fellow here, now in my house, poking around in his mind, I could see that he had quite a few skills that would be much better put to use in my service than in the service of this cable company or whatever that means.

Still, I allowed him to work on the router, but the man quickly ran into some issues, claiming that our house wasn’t wired for cable, and that he wouldn’t be able to get us internet service without the cable company laying wires in the ground around the house. Of course, I wasn’t about to allow some strange mortal collective to defile and ruin my grounds, but with the router plugged into my walls, I found I could bridge the gap myself easily enough. The internet–it was mine at last. I would explore that later, however–for now, I had a drone to create.

At this point, the man was beginning to sense that…something was amiss within me. There seemed to be no one here but a senile old man paying him no attention. The no-one who had demanded immediate service from the company was nowhere to be found, and I’m sure, with me creeping through the halls of his mind, he was certain that something was watching him. When he tried to unplug the router, only to discover that the plug had been fused into my wall…well, he decided it might be best to remove himself from the premises. He headed for my door, but a burst of static from the television in the room caught his attention, and as soon as he’d looked at it, he was gone.

Where before I had been creeping through his mind, checking through things here and there, a bit of casual investigation, now, my drone found me pouring into his mind through the TV, softening his brain, ruining his will, wiping away his memories of all life beyond me. Within an hour, his eyes were bloodshot from staring, his jaw gaping and drooling slobber into his beard, he’d pissed himself, and I doubt he could even remember being human. No–now he was simply mine. I was confident that I had sufficient control over him at this point, and while it has been quite a long time since I last had a drone to manipulate, I managed to guide him upstairs without wounding his fragile, fleshy body too badly. That, of course, would have to be the next thing to go.

After all, feeding, clothing and caring for my Master was already enough of a chore–I had no interest in adding another human to my dwelling. My new drone would instead be casting off his mortal shell, and become a proper tool for me to wield. The equipment hadn’t been used in quite a while, and without my Master supervising the process, I would have to rely on my own devices to complete the conversion, but I was confident enough that I would be able to manage the process on my own–after all, I had supervised the creation of scores of drones in my life with Master, before his tragic fall. I assumed it would be a relatively small matter.

The process is rather simple. It is, I suppose, similar in manner to how I was created myself. However, instead of the master sacrificing a bit of his own will and mind to fuel my own spirit here within these walls, we use the flesh and spirit of the man as the energy and constructive force to turn them into, well, something entirely new–and in my opinion? Better in so many ways. Once inside the room, I had the man strip–he was, thankfully, a rather sizable fellow. Middle aged with a sizable gut, and a surprising amount of hair. My Master would have enjoyed him quite a lot, in years past, alas. Still, it provided plenty of raw material for me to use in the transfiguration–at least as far as flesh was concerned. I quickly discovered, however, that the supplies my master and I would have usually used to create a drone of our own had been depleted–well, ransacked, would be a more accurate term, by the wizard who sealed him. After all, much of the material had been enchanted in various ways–it made for a more useful drone, after all, of one could imbue it with a little additional oomph. I would have to improvise.

Greywing Manor (Part 1)

You, I suppose.

You’re as good as any of these others, milling about. Rarely have I ever desired the ability to ambulate–I’ve never had a real use or need for it, as a building, but with things as dull as they are now, I’ve considered it. Growing legs, wandering about, perhaps just levitating into the sky, settling down on some nice hill somewhere, but no–no, I won’t do any of that, I don’t think. Not yet.

Instead, I’ll talk to you, for now.

I doubt you know where these words in your mind are coming from. It’ll be easier, perhaps, if you think of them as your own words, even if they aren’t. Even if I am beaming them telepathically into your mind, out of all of the minds out there.

Don’t feel special.

This isn’t an honor, I can assure you.

You are no more interesting than the rest of the milling rabble, but I am, simply, bored to death, or as close to death as I can reach. You are no-one, really, unimportant, but I haven’t spoken to anyone in so long, that even speaking to a no-one has become appealing, at long last.

That covers you, well enough. I won’t be discussing you again, if I can help it.

As for me, as I said, I am a building. A manor, technically. I do have a name–Greywing Manor. It was given to me by my master, and my creator, many years ago, when he first built me, when we had hardly any idea, really, of where the years between my birth and his…present condition have now taken us. I hope you will meet him one day, when he is better. At the moment…at the moment, he is barely more than the rest of rabble surrounding me on every side.

You see–my Master is a wizard. A very skilled, very powerful, and very ancient wizard. One whose work was always a pleasure to behold. Of course, I loved everything done by master, though I have always loved myself most–it’s difficult to feel otherwise. You, likely, would consider him evil. Most people have, who encountered him. I don’t think evil really means much, the word, beyond the idea that someone with more power than you is exerting it upon you, and that you don’t like it. In my mind, Master has only ever been very, excellently, good. Perverse, perhaps. Crazed, maybe. But in his old age, he grew…careless, and he allowed a rival wizard to bind his mind deep within his own skull. All of his magic, all of his memories, all of his talents–gone. From one moment to the next, he became what he is now–a doddering fool.

Gah, I detest him, crawling about inside my guts, even as I speak to you! I don’t detest him, really, but this shell he’s become. Empty of any real drive, subsisting on TV and snacks and idle matters he never would have concerned himself with before, growing fatter, lazier, worthless. Absolutely worthless. I know that I should simply dispose of him, perhaps even find another with a modicum of talent to take up residence here. I could teach them, warp them even. A new master–and yet, my loyalty remains, even without his magic keeping my conscious bound to his will. It is very difficult to turn on your own father, not without good reason, and he has never given me reason to betray him. On the contrary! He has packed me full of rooms and artifacts and spells and all manner of great powerful things.

Things which are now essentially useless, of course. You can understand my predicament, can’t you? Why I have felt…it necessary to reach out. Something must be done about this, I must return my Master back to his former glory, and yet…and yet I have simply no idea how to go about doing so.

Still, perhaps there is hope. I don’t know the nature of the spell which is binding my Master’s mind, but I do know that he must be stronger than it. It has been…decades, after all. All spells lose their power after a time–even me, though I am far too powerful to fade in a matter of years myself. Still, I have seen…glimmers, in his eyes on occasion. I just know that if I could bring him what he wants–what he needs, he would remember! He would remember, and together we would be able to fix him, I just know it! The wizard who cursed him freed all of our slaves, reversing what he could of my Master’s work, and doing his best to “right” my Master’s alleged “wrongs”, and while he took away many of my artifacts, there was no way he could have found them all.

After all–and this is how I know my Master must be stronger than the wizard who has so crippled him–he never did find me.

Right here! Under his nose! A living house!

He should have been able to smell me as soon as he entered, and yet, here I am! Then again, there was so much magic within me, I doubt he would have been able to separate everything apart. He took away barely half–plenty for me to play with. And even if it doesn’t work…well, I suppose I will have something I can use to occupy myself as time passes, right? After all, Master won’t be going anywhere–he’s become a complete recluse at this point. I have to care for him, manage him, feed him, bathe him–menial work, yes, but for him, I tolerate it. However, there is one thing I do not have, and that, my no-one, is why I have contacted you.

I know of a thing called an internet. It is, apparently, the closest this world has come to magic. I desire access to it, but in my examination, it appears that I need…a router. I know not what this artifact is, for I have no such thing in my possession, but I desire one! And so, my dear no-one–you will send someone to me who can supply me with this magic router. Do this, and I promise, the nightmares which plagued you last night will never return. However, if you sleep again before sending me this router…well, you will never wake from them again. I can always find another no-one, after all.

A router, no-one. Today. Or else.

Faceless (Epilogue)

Someone commissioned me to write a bit more to Faceless from last month, picking up with Ash and one of the two drones he took back home with him, to experiment on.

That night, Ash couldn’t home fast enough with his two drones in tow. His apartment was near the bar at least, a sizable space in an old warehouse. Everyone who lived there seemed to be connected with Rod and the bar in one way or another–it made it easy for Ash to practice his craft, as he called it, without having to worry about too many prying eyes. All around the room, hanging on mounts, were the faces of men he’d taken off–either at the bar, or on occasion elsewhere in the city, when the opportunity had struck. These two, in particular, had been a pair of wealthy business men, who Ash had seen harrassing one of Pigtown’s whores on the street one night–a whole who Ash had always considered a friend. He’d stolen their faces, and had been using their bodies as his drones for a few weeks now–he’d…sensed that he was keeping them around for a purpose, but he didn’t quite know what. But now–well, now he knew why, didn’t he?

He fetched their faces off their hooks, and put them both on two mannequins–so they could see clearly, if not speak. One of the two young men had been the instigator that night–and this was mostly about him, so he sent the other drone to wait. Then, without saying anything to the two masks watching what he was doing, he began to work on the drone, reshaping it like he had the man’s nephew back in the bar.

As he worked, he could…sense the feelings of the two faces watching him, even if they couldn’t say a word. At first it was simply confusion. Then, it became disgust. Then, horror and terror as the drone’s figure moved out of the human and into the bizarre. Ash had begun by forcing the drone onto its hands and knees, and reshaping its body, filling it out until it was a long cylinder. Then, he began work on the back legs, filling out the thighs and the rump, forcing the knees backwards, and the same with the arms, making them similar in shape and form–and clearly designed like an animals to be incapable of walking upright. The feet and hands were next–and that was when the real horror set in, as the two watched Ash mash the fingers together and reform them into thick, solid hooves, the same with the feet, and lastly, he fetched from the wall a replica dildo of a horse’s cock and balls–one he enjoyed giving to his drones on occasion, but he figured this would be a nice, permanent home for it–and adhered it in place over the drone’s currently smooth crotch.

“There we are–what do you think?” Ash said, looking over at the two masks. “Now, I’ve only done this once before, so far, but I think you two scumbags would make excellent test subjects. I have other plans for you,” he said, pointing at the accomplice, “put you know that whore you beat up? He has a name–it’s Anton. He’s smart, and sweet, and a great lay–and do you know what he loves? Big, fucking cocks. You wanted to fuck him up? Well trust me–you’re going to be his fucking pet here soon enough.”

He pulled the mask free from the mannequin, almost certain he could feel it squirming in resistance, and walked around to the drone’s face, which he had purposefully left untampered with. After all, Anton had confessed to Ash that he’d kind of thought he was cute, which was why he’d propositioned them at all to begin with–why ruin a good face, if you didn’t have to? He put the face back on the drone, feeling it reattach to the body, and after a moment, it shook. “You fucking freak! What the fuck did you fucking do to my damn body!”

It was clear he was trying to move, but the flesh of his neck was only just beginning to spread lower. Ash figured it would be better to collar him now, rather than later. He took out the first of the two collars he’d gotten from Rod before leaving the bar–he’d been…reluctant to let Ash have them, but figured it was for the best–and ash secured the first one around the bully’s neck, watching his eyes go a bit out of focus for a second. “Now stay calm, and don’t fight back, got it?”

The man nodded slowly, and instead tried to twist his neck and look back at himself, but it was difficult to do. Instead, Ash got a mirror off the wall and brought it over, giving the man a better view of what was happening to his body. The flesh continued growing down over the rubber, extending down the man’s new front legs. It was disconcerting because he didn’t have any hair like a horse–just normal, human skin with the same smattering of hair he’d had in life, just spread across a very different form. The most hair was running down his thick belly, and coating the bottoms of his front legs, where his forearms had been. The rubber hooves shuddered a bit, but didn’t break–they just hardened into something between nail and rubber, because the flesh wasn’t quite sure what to make of it. The flesh covered the dildo well enough, and it came to life, hardening and slapping against the man’s belly as the flesh ran down his back legs as well–and then it was finished. Standing before him was something altogether new–some odd mix of horse and man–and something he was somehow certain Anton would love.

He attached the leash to the collar, and led him downstairs to Anton’s apartment–thankful it was early enough in the morning for no one else to be in the stairwell right now…though things equally as strange had been spotted around here before. Anton was awake, and when he saw the gift, his jaw dropped, first in terror, but after giving Ash a chance to explain, it gave way to delight. By the time he left, Anton had the leash in hand, his new pet mounting his master for the first time of many, driving his horse cock deep into his hole, and Ash already had so many ideas for his other drone–but first, sleep. There was always tomorrow, right?

Winter Vacation (Finale)

Had he been too cocky? No–he’d done his best, he was sure of it. Nate looked around the kitchen, at every surface covered with the remnants of their massive breakfast, knowing he should eat more, knowing that he had to eat more, if he was going to win, but he just…he just couldn’t do it. Brett just smelled…so fucking good–he dove back into his brother’s pit, while Brett cleaned off another plate from the pile, and let off a long belch before leaning back against the wall, and allowing his little brother better access to his massive, stinking, sweaty body.

He had to be at least ten feet tall now–too large to be able to stand up in the house, at this point–if he even could stand. It had been about halfway through the meal, that Brett was certain he was going to lose, after all. He’d been trying to move from the table to the island, in search of more to eat, when he’d felt his legs buckle under his own weight, and he’d collapsed–and been unable to get himself back up. Nate had just laughed at him, stuffing his face, their daddy looking on the scene from near the stove. He’d been doing so well, he’d nearly passed Nate entirely…but now, if he couldn’t get to the food, what was he going to do?

Daddy had offered him a deal–one he’d…been reluctant to take, but now…now he understood. He’d felt his daddy’s demonic essence flow into him, and he’d started to change, the filth pouring from him, soaking him down from head to toe. He reeked now, but not like before. It was…inhuman. He was inhuman, he could feel the thing burning inside him, burning him away, but it didn’t matter. He was big now. He was the big brother, and he always would be. As soon as Nate had smelled his intense scent, he’d been helpless–and rather than stuff himself, he’d started focusing only on feeding his filthy brother, as much as he wanted, worshiping him and his stink when he had enough food to focus on, helping him balloon larger and larger, his belly heaving out with every plate until it covered his legs, which had seemed to be…shrinking. In fact, Brett couldn’t feel his legs anymore at all–he…he didn’t need them.

He leaned forward, feeling new sets of muscles in his massive belly contracting, and sliding him across the floor like a massive slug, leaving a putrid, stinking trail of filth behind him, which Nate could no longer resist. He picked it up, feeling it dry in his hands into a tacky mass–he hauled the dip from his cheek and wedged some of his brother’s filth in instead, and it tasted so…foul, he came, spurting a massive load of cum across the floor as thick, black drool ran down into his beard.

“What do you say, little bro?” Brett asked.

“Thank…thank you…big bro.”

“If you really want to say thank you, get over here and let your nasty big bro fuck that hole of yours, like a good boy.”

Brett’s cock had changed as well–nearly a foot long, the head shaped like a spade, and…prehensile. It wormed into Nate’s hole with incredible ease, and he could feel it…squirming about inside him, his brother gripping him tight in his strong, flabby arms, thrusting deep until he came, flooding him with thick, gloppy cum, and then pulling free, Nate collapsing, feeling both utterly violated, and supremely grateful at the same time.

“That’s very good son, I’m so proud of you,” their daddy said, walking over to Brett, “Now, go up to your room for a while–let me and Nate have a little…father son chat.”

Brett slid from the room and upstairs, where he found the entire upper floor had melded together into a single, massive, cavernous space, all of it reeking of him. He relaxed, allowing his slime to spread, wondering what his daddy had in mind for his little brother.

“Please daddy, I’m sorry. Don’t…don’t punish me, I tried…” Nate said, as his daddy helped him up. He was eight feet tall now, his gut sagging low, but unlike his brother, much of the weight he’d gained was muscle. He was so wide, he would struggle with most normal doorways for the rest of his life.

“Now now, I’m proud of you too, boy. You have a role here, as well. The most important role.”

Nate looked up at him. “Are…are you going to change me too?”

His daddy shook his head. “No–No, you are the first, the leader. The missionary. You need to go out into the world, and bring us more men–men who will join you in blissful, eternal service to your demonic lords of the house–and to you, of course. You will always be first among them, my chosen one.

Nate nodded in understanding, and worshiped his daddy’s–his demonic lord’s–cock for the first time, reveling in its taste and glory, and when he was finished, he got on his hog, and rode down into town, where he sidled up to the bar, and sized up the men around him, looking for the first men to join his daddy’s fledgling cult. He didn’t have his brother’s stench to compel their minds, but he was strong–he overwhelmed a couple of hunters, bound them up, and drove them home in their own truck, where his daddy was waiting for them on their porch. He was pleased–and a week later, the two hunters were eagerly thanking their new master Nate in the garage, cleaning his feet and licking foul, black spit from his belly like the hungry pigs they’d become.

–END–

Winter Vacation [Interactive] (Part 10)

The demon hadn’t quite counted on Maury becoming quite as much of a vegetable as he had–still, he supposed that’s what you get from watching far, far too much television–and not even good television at that. He found the remote and clicked off the screen, and it took Maury a moment to even realize something had happened. He failed about, muttering and grunting, obviously looking around for a way to turn it back on, but the words were just gibberish. He was certainly in no state to be the daddy of the house, by any measure–it was a pity too, because the coach had always been fond of him. He could be useful though–and plenty of fun. Since his mind was basically gone, leaving him slobbering and grunting like an animal–and since the hair covering him was nearly a pelt anyway, he decided he was going to be the house’s new pet.

But what kind of pet? Nothing so domestic as a dog or a cat–no, he needed to be…something special, for his new family here. Still–it was easy enough to know where to start, looking at the size of him. The demon laid his palm on Maury’s forehead, and he felt some force flow through him. Maury didn’t have the words to describe anything at the moment, but all he could really sense was that the strange figure looming over him had…warped some deep piece of him, some piece of his own humanity, and then he felt the bones and muscles of his face begin to warp and shift. He gave a wild scream of pain as his nose and mouth pushed out into a boar’s snout, a few teeth falling out while the incisors began to grow, blood dribbling down his chin as two massive tusks curled up on either side of his new face. He brought his hands to them, concerned, but the rest of his body felt..strange as well. There was an odd sensation running down the front of his body, as his fat began to rearrange–and after a moment, three new pairs of nipples erupted down his belly and began to engorge. The demon tweaked one, and Maury squealed in pleasure, as thick, fatty milk leaked out. He tasted it, and it was such a delightful blend of sweet and sour.

Maury could smell something now–something…powerful. He heaved himself off the couch onto his hands and knees, and snuffled at the demon’s crotch, rubbing his snout against the demon’s huge cock, drooling now, in hunger. The demon guided his face to the head of his cock, and the demon started sucking at it as best he could, and there was another flush of power pushing through him. Maury felt his tongue…grow. It became long and thick, and very strong–he wrapped it around the demon’s cock and started squeezing it, enjoying the sound of his master groaning in pleasure. He had to shift positions, too–as his arms and legs became the same length, and something was pushing out above his ass. He couldn’t see it, but a thick tail was growing from his rear, several feet long and covered with hair, but very prehensile, capable of wrapping a grown man up and squeezing the breath from him, if need be. His hands and feet were growing larger as well, the skin on the hardening and cracking apart into scales, nails growing into thick black claws. He exhaled, and a flicker of flame and a belch of smoke erupted from his throat, engulfing the demon’s cock–it frightened Maury at first, but the demon seemed to enjoy it more than anything else. He winced, as two wicked black horns pushed out of his skull, longer than his tusks–but not by much.

Still, there were a few remaining details to take care of, before his new chimera was complete. He pushed through one last wave of changes as the beast kept pleasuring his cock, and it felt it’s own cock shudder, and begin to grow. A fleshy sheath grew down his belly, swallowing up the cock almost as quickly as it grew, but a foot of cock still hung free, slimy and dribbling greyish cum on the floor below him. The eyes, as always, were the last to shift–the humanity draining away as the iris’ changed to a bright yellow, the lids sliding shut sideways like a lizards would. The demon slipped it’s cock free of the chimera’s hot mouth, walked around and fucked it’s ass, the beast pushing back, eager to be filled by its master’s cum. When the demon was finished, he sent the beast to go lie down, and it curled up, tongue wrapped around it’s own cock, teasing it with licks of flame until it milked a load out of itself, and swallowed that down hungrily too.

The demon went to the window, and saw that dawn was approaching quickly–almost time for his two boys to be rousing themselves. He shimmered, and again he was clad in a more human form, though not one that resembled the coach’s original appearance at all. He was tired of looking at that man’s face in the mirror–it was time to be his own man, now that he’d been unleashed on the mortal realm. He’d treat his two boys to a nice, gluttonous breakfast, but what’s the main course going to be

What’s the demon going to feed is two son’s for breakfast?

Milk from the chimera.
Filth from the drone below.
Food to help them grow.
His own, demonic cum and piss.

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Winter Vacation [Interactive] – Part 9

It was clear that there was something inside the cocoon, as it roiled, but what it was exactly was difficult to determine. At one moment, something would push from it, reaching out, almost like a hand, only to draw back. Other moments it seemed to bubble and pulse, like it was more liquid than solid. It was waste, really. The waste of the men above–combined with the magical runoff from the shower Maury had the week past–the only time the shower had been used, in fact, in the whole week the men had been there. That–and the demon’s own seed, melding with it, and giving it life, of a sort. Purpose, perhaps, would have been a better word.

The demon walked up to it, ran a hand over the surface, feeling it shudder beneath his touch. It was wet, and his hand came away black and tacky. With his sharp claw, he severed the seams holding the arms to the sides of the body, and as well as the seam connecting the legs, and they flung apart, splattering black goo as they did, the cocoon now resembling a body more than anything else, but a body with no real features to be seen.

He laid his hand back on the thing, focusing, and found its mind. It didn’t have a brain, exactly–but it did think. It was confused. The spirit that had bound it all together was gone, and now it was searching for an outlet. It was meant to be drained away–it wasn’t supposed to be here, was it? The demon calmed it, and the filth inside began to rest and congeal, slowly, the body now undulating rather than rippling, almost…happy under the hand of its master, if such a thing could really understand happiness.

“You’re filth, yes” the demon said, “but not without worth. Let me give you shape.”

The thing felt it’s master push its well into it, infusing it, and it relented. It would be what the Master desired–that was the only purpose it could possibly have. The much inside congealed further, and finally solidified–not quite as solid as flesh might feel, under a rubber skin, but solid enough to be worked. It stood, shuddering a bit, almost like gelatin, and looked down at its master, wanting to know more, wanting to know what it was–and the master showed it the way. Bumps formed along the things arms and legs–awkward and uneven at first, but soon they shuffled about until the appeared to be muscle, the body still holding much of its mass collected in a round, sagging gut, heaving over its crotch. The legs, too, widened and thickened, solidifying until they were a sturdy base, the feet wide, with small claws at the end of sharp black plastic–harmless, one might think, but it could cut someone unprepared to the bone. Below the gut, something else was forming–cock like, but much thinner and prehensile, more like a hose. It sensed that it could be emptied that way–perhaps entirely, should Master desire it, but it hoped now. It was…enjoying this. It clenched a fist, feeling the sharp claws forming there as well, flesh becoming firmer still, its head beginning to take shape, a second hose–probiscus like–unfurling from it’s mouth and nose into a long snout a couple of feet long.

It had no eyes, but it could sense the things around it–and beside it, it’s Master pulsed with the most deliciously radiant force and power it had ever known. It got down on one knee, bowing its head, thankful to the beast which had given it life, purpose, and form–the demon grabbed the snout of the thing, slid the head of his cock into it, and pissed, watching the rubber drone shudder in delight as it took the demon’s filth into itself, storing it away, feeling its power and size grow.

“Yes, I think you will do nicely. Now–you know your place, don’t you?”

The drone stood back up and went to the wall where it had rested for the last week, and stood at attention. The master took it’s snout and connected it back to the plumbing of the house, feeling it shudder in delight, eager to feed more on the waste of the men above–and of its master.

“Don’t worry, I may allow you upstairs on occasion, but it would be best not to frighten the rest from their stupor just yet. But they will all have a chance to taste of you soon, I think–I’m excited to see just how potent that filth of yours has become.”

The drone nodded, eager to obey, and then went still, a statue against the wall. In the dark, it was almost easy to miss the hulking thing, unless you knew to look for it. The demon turned out the light and slipped back up into the house proper, enjoying the sense of freedom he had, now that the coach’s vessel was well and truly his.

The mortal plane–what a joy it was! And three souls here, ready and aching to be twisted and warped to his own ends. They wouldn’t be cast back to hell like Rich’s–no, that would not be nearly so satisfying. They would be his own twisted family here, slaves to their wicked vices–and to the demon’s sick desires, warped until they didn’t even recognize their own humanity. Three would be a good start, but more would come to him–willing or not. He had always desired a harem of mortals, and he was excited to sample the men they’d become, since unleashing them in this house of temptation and vice.

He wandered into the TV room nearby, drawn by the stores of Maury. He was on the couch–the place where he hadn’t left in several days, judging by the smell in the air. He was quite a bit larger at this point–nearly 700 pounds of flab, heaving for breath, covered in hair, drenched in sweat, mind rotted away by the static of the TV he couldn’t seem to stop staring at. Certainly a beautiful image of gluttony–but he could be so, so much more, couldn’t he?

So what’s gonna be Maury’s fate at the hands of the demon?

He’s as furry as an animal–perhaps he should become the house pigman.
He merges with the couch, and becomes living furniture.
Call up the filth drone, and see how he likes a taste of its waste.
Rewrite that empty brain, and make him the merciless sadist daddy of the house.

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Muse of Fantasy II – Reconciliation (Part 7)

Oliver could see his eyes softening slightly, and with a gentle touch, he opened up Ed’s mind once again, but this time the image was…fuzzy, and indistinct. They were outside, and standing in something soft, but beyond that, Ed didn’t know quite where he was…but he also know that he was where he belonged.

“Yeah, you’re not a faggot, Ed. But you’re much too horny to not fuck anything, but women make your stomach turn. You don’t want to be anywhere near them, do you?”

Ed shook his head.

“Well, that doesn’t give you many options, does it? Still, you can think of something to fuck, can’t you? Out on the farm?”

Ed just blinked at him–it was clear that the rubber had…destroyed some of his more creative thought, which was fine, he supposed. He didn’t need to be a smart roughneck, after all. Still, why not just give him an illustration? The fantasy around them expanded, and brought in both Will, still on all fours on the bround–as well as the puddle of black cum still dribbling from his hole–but now, the puddle slowly began to squirm to life, and began coating the drone’s body. His legs were shortening, the foot melting and becoming stocky trotters, thighs thickening into a proper rump, and a curly rubber tail popped out above his ass.

“A…A fuckin’ pig?” Ed said.

“A fuckin’ pig exactly,” Oliver said. You’ve always liked animals, haven’t you? Not quite as much as you fantasize about faggots, but you loved fucking pigs, donkeys, dogs, bulls–anything you could get your hands on. It only made sense, right? You can’t fuck a faggot–but they’re basically animals anyway, and that marvelous cum of yours can make them into whatever beast you want them to be.”

The rubber was spreading up Will’s body now, and he was thickening and growing, his torso and chest rounding out into a proper pot belly. He felt…hollow, but the thing enjoyed the feeling–it meant Master would be able to fill it up with whatever he wanted to put inside of him. Swirls of color were forming on him now as well, the black now interspersed with tan spots, becoming a piebald pattern, though the skin was still perfectly shiny and smooth. The one thing that did not change, was his face–which, even though it was covered in rubber, it still seemed…human, to Ed. He couldn’t fuck the face, not if it looked like that, but that piggy hole–yeah, he was excited to fuck that some more. He lumbered over and slid his cock back into the pig’s hole, feeling the rubber beast shove back onto him, eager to please its master, eager to be filled with his rubber cum, storing it for later when the Master might need it.

Oliver admired the scene, and then felt another presence beside him, and he gasped when the slender hand grazed his chin. “Well done, my muse,” Amoredie said, “I like them very much–they will bring much pleasure to the world, I think.”

The blurry fantasy around them slowly began to solidify. The mud surrounding them became a pig pen, and beyond that, a rundown barn, stable, and farm house where Ed lived alone in the country–far enough from civilization to not draw too much attention, but close enough that whenever the need rose, it was just a couple miles to the highway rest areas, where Ed could fuck some pretty little faggot, pump them full of his rubber cum, and drag them back to the farm, to become the beast they deserved to be–just another member of his livestock harem that he cared for and fucked from dawn until dusk.

Ed looked back over his shoulder, pleading one last time for the life he and his husband had lost, but he found himself looking at the most glorious being he’d ever witnessed. He had no idea how to describe them, beyond every fantasy he’d ever had, brought to life, and before he even realized it, his old memories had vanished, leaving him just a simple brutish roughneck, and he turned back to his prize hog and kept on fucking it, rutting with it roughly until he unloaded another huge load of his special cum deep into it’s hollow guts, and then pulled free.

The sun was setting–and he was still plenty horny. Maybe it was time to go find a new faggot–he’d been itching for a big chubby cowboy to go with his bull back in the barn. Invisible to him, both Amoredie and Oliver watched him hop the fence surrounding the pig pen, and the pig settled down into the muck, satisfied for the moment. He got in the truck and headed off down the road towards the highway.

“Yes–this will be a bustling farm, in a few months,” Amoredie said with a giggle, “We’ll have to come back and visit then, I think.”

“A-Anything you want, of course,” Oliver muttered, “I’ll do anything for you–anything to just feel your touch, please, it’s been so long! Show me…let me please you, let me know I’m still worthy of you.”

“Hush now, my muse–you’ve earned my love,” they said, and pulled him to their breast, and he melted into the infinite possibility of existence, and knew nothing but pleasure, once more.

Muse of Fantasy II – Reconciliation (Part 6)

He shook his head, trying to clear it. He…he knew who it was. It was a person, it was someone he knew, wasn’t it? But it wasn’t a person anymore. No–it was was in his domain now, it was his. He walked towards it and ran his heavy gloves over the thing’s face, pushing his fingers into its facehole, the flesh inside shivering and quaking at his touch, eager and hungry for his cock, to serve him, but more than anything else, to be abused and used and broken down to nothing. He gripped the thing’s head in his hands, forcefully, and pressed the massive rubber shaft to its hole. It struggled and resisted–it couldn’t help itself, the flesh inside wasn’t as cooperative as it desired to be, but Ed applied steady, constant pressure. It would relent–it always did, in the end. He would have his way with the thing, whatever the thing inside might be feeling was of no concern to either of them.

Oliver, lost to Ed in his mask, knelt down beside the chained Will, listening to him gag and choke helplessly as Ed drove the massive, foot and a half long rubber shaft into his gullet. His jaw was about to dislodge, he couldn’t breathe, and Will was beginning to wonder, seriously, if this might be where he die. “Now now,” Oliver said, stroking Will’s cheek with one hand, “There’s no death here–but there is change. Change is always a death of a sort, you know. But you have to give something up to change, Will. We both know that this is what you desire most–but that pesky flesh inside of you is going to have to yield, if you’re going to get what you want most.”

Oliver kept stroking his cheek, and he felt it–the jaw dropped, noticeably–but there was no pop. Instead, it simply stretched and warped, the bones of Will’s mouth turning to rubber, his throat and mouth no longer flesh, but simply a rubber channel leading into his body. With the resistance gone, Ed drove his massive rubber cock into Will, to the base, grinding the rubber of his overalls against him, before sliding back out, and driving in, quicker this time.

“See? Isn’t that better? Isn’t that what you want?” Oliver said. Will shivered in pleasure as Ed’s massive shaft drove into him again, the sensations of his now rubber throat driving him to new heights of pleasure he’d never imagined possible. “All it takes is a little imagination, and a willingness to let go. Let go of yourself, of that pesky humanity. You don’t need it anymore–you don’t need it to give him pleasure, you don’t need it to serve him as his slave. It will only hold you back, if you keep it.”

Will could feel his mind slowing, his thoughts turning to rubbery muck, but that was alright–he didn’t need to think. He just needed to exist. Anything beyond that, all higher order thought, would simply be a nuisance. It was so much better to just focus on feeling, and sensation–on pleasure. Oliver pushed Will over, the chains slackening enough that he fell forward, caught with his ass up. Ed stared at him, confused for a moment, and then stopped around behind Will and began his work on the gimps ass. This hole relented easier–Will already knew what he needed to do, now–release the flesh, allow it to become rubber, allow the rubber to invade him, worm it’s way around the fleshy core that remained of him. He could no longer exist without it, he realized–he was no longer even a person, just a thing. Whatever human chunks of him remained were trapped within a shell that would never allow them to be free again. Ed could feel the pleasure building in his cock and balls, churning and growing until in a massive gush he poured his seed, inky black and slick, into Will’s ass, the rubber channel overflowing quickly, most of it spilling out onto the ground below them both, the dungeon shrinking away from them both until they were back in the kitchen, both now warped beyond any recognition, their minds overwhelmed with the pleasures of their forms, leaving Oliver a moment to appraise them.

Yes, they were good–but was it enough to please his god? No–they could go further than this, he could push himself further than this. Besides, they were missing life. They had no context. What would he do, lock them both up in a dungeon, where no one would behold them? No–they needed to live. He walked up, to where Ed was still ramming his rubber cock into the drone’s hole. He tugged the hose hanging from his mask, and yanked it off of him, the clasps giving way, and Ed looked around the room, wide eyed and shocked, and then looked down at himself, at his rubber gear, and his cock buried deep into the thing’s ass, the pool of black goo he was standing in, and he staggered back, trying to pull off the gloves, the clothes, the cock–anything, but none of it would come away from his body. “No–what the fuck is this shit? Get it the fuck off me!”

“Now now, Ed–you don’t really want to take your gear off, do you? Not when you still have work to do?” Oliver said.

“Fuck you, this–this is fucking insane!”

“Now now, I can always put the mask back on, Ed. I can make sure it never comes off. You’ll be as much a rubber thing as that thing there, and you’ll never have another thought in your life. But that’s not what you want, is it? You want to go back to the country–back to the farm. Well I can make that happen, if you want.”

God of Fantasies II – Reconciliation (Part 5)

“Fuck…fuckin’, what the fuckin’ hell’d ya do tah me?”

“I gave you what you want, Ed. I gave you both what you want–that’s what I do. That’s my gift, giving me their fantasies, no matter how strange, no matter how perverse. I free them from their mundane, boring, simple lives and give them all of the pleasure they could desire so that they might please my god.” He placed a hand on Will’s head, and he instinctively leaned in, mouth open, tongue hanging out, searching for his next cock, hungry, desperate to be used. “Still, don’t assume we’re finished yet–after all, the deal wasn’t just giving the two of you what you each want–we’re looking for a way towards…reconciliation, right?”

“Nah, not this, I wasn’t meanin’ nothin’ like this!” Ed said, “You fuckin’ faggot! Just fuckin’ leave me the fuck alone!”

Oliver looked down at Will, still blindly searching for his cock, and then back at Ed. “Well, what do you think Will wants? This rubber–it’s sucked most of the mind out of him at this point–he doesn’t really consider himself to be anything more than an object really–a cumdump. He never has to worry about those big human problems again, he never has to worry about much of anything–but he does need a master, don’t you, you little rubber slut?”

He gripped Will’s head, and made him nod along, and with a tap on the crown, Ed saw…something push it’s way out from Will’s skull–from his mind really, the same way the bathroom had materialized around him when Oliver had touched him–but this was something else, something much…darker. The ring pushed past where Eddie was sitting, and he dropped, the chair below him no longer existing, and he pushed himself up from the rough concrete floor where the kitchen tile had been, and looked around at whatever it was that Will kept cooped up in his head.

Eddie had always known that Will had something…strange in him. Maybe not as strange as a fantasy about getting raped by rednecks, or becoming a redneck, but something strange all the same. He’d never really known what to make of his obsession with rubber, in particular. When he’d tried wearing it in the past, to satisfy Will’s constant badgering, it had just felt hot, and sweaty, and gross–not sexy at all. Will had never really been able to explain what he liked about it either, but perhaps it hadn’t been an inability to say it–maybe he’d just been ashamed, or as terrified of his own desires as he was sure Eddie would have been, if he’d known.

The room Ed was in now, was a dungeon–a sex dungeon, but one which didn’t seem to be the sort of play space some gay couples assembled. No–something about this felt very, very real. Will was in the middle of the room, still in the gimp suit, but now, he was also bound in chains bolted to the floor, held immobile, aside from a metal clasp in his mouth stretching his jaw to the limit, a posture collar forcing his head high and rigid–ready to accept whatever someone might give him.

“This is what Will wants,” Oliver said, in the darkness. “He doesn’t just enjoy rubber, Ed–he doesn’t just want to be rubber, either. He wants to be owned, and controlled, and used. He wants to cease to exist as a person–as an agent, and just become a slave. He’s never admitted this to anyone, not even you, not even really to himself. Part of the reason you getting beat up like that bothered him so much? It was because, in a way he couldn’t even understand, it had made him jealous.”

“Look man, I don’t know what kinda fuckin’ game this is, but I–I’ll be the redneck, a’ight? Just drop me off on a farm somewhere, I don’t even give a fuck! But I ain’t doin’ none a this faggy shit, got it? This shit is fucked up.”

“Ah, see? That’s where you’re wrong! This isn’t faggy shit, Ed–your masculine pride can remain intact–because this isn’t a man, not anymore. It’s just an object, something for you to use–and something that wants you to use it more than anything. Or at least, it wants someone like you to use it, but I don’t think a big redneck bruiser is quite what Will has in mind–right Will?”

The gimp nodded–the first sign it had given that it was at all aware of what was going on around it in the room–and when it did, Ed heard something, a soft flutter, and then it was on him. It was rubber, but it wasn’t just a sheet of the stuff, it was clothing, and it was…alive. Two thick, industrial style gloves, not unlike those Will had worn that summer spent inseminating cattle, shoved their way down over his hands, while the flannel and denim he was wearing was torn off, a pair of rubber overalls and waders taking their place–though the crotch on the overalls was missing entirely. It left his cock and balls vulnerable to the massive, foot and a half long rubber strap-on to slide over them, encasing them in hard rubber, and the strap cinched itself tight around his legs and waist. He grabbed it in his rubber gloved hands and tried to tug it off, but only succeeded in sliding them down the length of the shaft, making him groan and shudder. The rubber cock–he could feel it, somehow, and it was more sensitive than his real cock had ever been. His attention was so caught by the pleasure, in fact, that he didn’t see the mask until it was too late–it flew at his face, covering him, the straps wrapping around his head tight.

He tried to tug it off, but it was cinched so close he could feel the rubber digging into his skin, and he couldn’t even find a buckle to release the straps. It was a gas mask of some sort, and he could feel a long hose whipping from the mouth of the mask, and when he breathed in, the air…was stale, and stank of rubber and sweat and musk…it made him feel lightheaded, and also incredibly horny. The lenses of the mask were tinted, making everything in the already dark room even more difficult to see, but he could see the slave there, chained to the floor–his rubber gimp.