Interactive: Frat Daddy (Part 3)

I am currently open for commissions! Of particular note there is a special, limited edition commission I’ll be offering this summer–a custom interlude in the Frat Daddy story line! Want to see one of the boys I’ve done go back to Daddy for another round? Have a particular fetish or scenario that you’d like to see Daddy inflict on one of the boys? You can get a 3000 word entry for a flat rate of $70 ($20 off the usual price!). Send me a note if you’re interested on tumblr, twitter, discord or email! You can find all the details at the link above.


The next couple of weeks passed by rather eventfully for the boys of the house, as they adjusted themselves to the new rules of the house. There was more than a little complaining, but none of the young men were brave enough to stand up to their frat daddy directly and challenge him–not after what happened to Peter. It had been in the evening, a few days after frat daddy’s arrival, and he had made an impromptu visit to the house, clomping his way up the stairs from the basement–where he had a private tunnel connecting the frat house to his own private residence next door. He called the boys for an assembly and inspection in the living room, but caught one boy trying to sneak off upstairs. It was Peter. He grabbed hold of the young jock and dragged him back down the stairs, turned him around, and found that, sure enough, Peter didn’t have his plug in his hole.

Ethan was disappointed. Peter tried to make excuses, that it was too big for him, that it hurt, but Daddy didn’t have any interest in his excuses–he told Peter to stand against the wall, and as the rest of the boy’s watched, he pulled his belt free from his leather pants, and gave him twenty lashings, making Peter count them all out loud. Then, after inspecting the rest of the boys, he suggested that they all help Peter’s hole adjust to his plug a little more–and took them all downstairs, to the gym…and the dungeon.

Peter ended up tied over a sawhorse, and one after the other, every boy in the house fucked him, with Daddy supervising them, critiquing their technique, giving the occasional lash against their thighs or ass if they went too slow, or treated Peter too gently for his taste. It was well past midnight by the time they were all finished, and Peter had collapsed against the saw horse, leg’s shaking, when Daddy finally untied him from the wood, and helped him down, pulling him into his lap, were Peter sobbed and clung to him, while Daddy whispered little nothing’s in his ear, claiming him down, telling him how proud he was of him, that what he did, he did to make him the best man, and the best brother, that he could be. He wrapped one gloved hand around Peter’s cock and stroked him slowly, Peter moaning softly, as Daddy’s other gloved hand slipped two, and then three fingers into his well worked hole. It wasn’t long before Peter came as well, and Daddy had him lick the cum off his glove like a good boy, and fit him with a plug that no longer felt like such a burden.

After that, Peter didn’t object again. If anything, he seemed rather…eager to have his brothers fuck him, and on more than one occasion had to restrain himself from begging his brothers to use his hole. Begging wasn’t required in any case–after all, when the boys had one of their cigars, about all they could think about was getting off, and Peter was more than happy to remain near the humidor in the evenings, should anyone need a smoke and a fuck.

Daddy’s inspections took place outside the house as well. Jameson, in particular, was inflicted with a rather humiliating display out on the quad one sunny afternoon. Daddy, smoking a cigar, passed by on some errand or other, and ordered a surprise inspection. Right there, in front of everyone on the quad, Jameson pulled off his shirt to show his Daddy that the harness was on, as required, but that wasn’t good enough. He had to bend over the back of a bench, drop his pants, and show not only his jock, but his plug as well. Daddy gave it a test, and found it a bit too loose–he pulled the small plug out, and slid in a slightly larger one from his sack, Jameson groaning and moaning as he slid it in, and only after it was firmly in place could Jameson continue on. His face was burning, and he was worried someone would report them for their lewd behavior, but no seemed to have given them a second look. And why would they? A frat daddy was off course allowed to inspect his boys at any time, on or off campus. 

This didn’t sit well with everyone on campus–including with Mason Wright, the college football coach. A number of the fratboys were on the football team, and when they showed up in the locker room in these strange leather harnesses that they refused to remove…Mason was confused. What the boys were telling him, about the rules that their frat daddy had established, it made…sense, and yet it didn’t. Not at all. As the next couple of weeks wore on, the coach found himself growing more and more convinced of a conspiracy afoot, something being perpetrated against the students, some…foul faggotry. Mason was a devout Christian, he knew what faggots got up to in their dark dens, what kind of devils they worshiped, and how they would try to sink their claws, and other things, into innocent young men to corrupt them. He became convinced that he would uncover whatever was going on, and put a stop to it–but he also knew he couldn’t do it alone. 

So he enlisted some help, a young man named Jace, who had recently been hired to the university’s security department. He had been assigned the athletic department during the day, and he and Mason would regularly chat about things, their time in the army, though Jace’s time was more recent that Mason’s, and Mason had been asking him about church, finally convincing him to start attending services with him. He was a sharp young man, with a good amount of discipline, but Mason could tell he didn’t quite have firm faith yet. Still, perhaps this would help him along, and help him see what they were up against. All he asked, was for Jace to check in on the boys at the frat house, and see if anything odd was going on there–he didn’t specify anything, after all, Mason couldn’t quite pin down what was bothering him exactly either. 

Jace did as he was asked, though he wasn’t quite sure what he was supposed to be looking for exactly–at least, until he staked out the house in the evening, and right there, through the front window, he watched the burly man who lived next door to the frat house appear inside, and begin…molesting the boys, right there in the living room! It took him a few minutes to process what, exactly, he was seeing, and he had to work to convince himself that his instincts were right, that what he was looking at was wrong. When the scene had finished, and the man had apparently returned to his own home some other way, because he appeared on the porch, smoking a cigar–and Jace decided he needed to have a word with him.

He only got as far as the walkway up to the house, before the man had stood up, and was on his way to greet him. Well I can’t believe it, is that you, Jace?”

Jace stopped in his tracks, and looked at the man closely. He…didn’t know him, did he? “Sir, I’m a member of campus security, and I have a few questions to ask you.”

“Oh come now, Jace, that’s no way to talk to your old frat Daddy, is it? Why didn’t you tell me you were back on campus?”

“You…You must have me mistaken for someone else…Sir,” Jace said, unsure of why that last word had slipped from his lips, or why it felt so good and right to say.

“Nonsense, I never forget one of my boys. You graduated four years ago, then went into the Army, wasn’t it? A proper pursuit for a man, I must say, but I’m glad they didn’t keep you too long. How long have you been back here?”

Jace struggled for a moment, his head spinning. He hadn’t gone to college, what was this crazy fucker talking about? But the harder he tried to convince himself this, the easier it was to remember, somehow, the years he’d spent here in this house, under…under Daddy’s supervision, under his guidance and…and his control. He took a step backwards, remembering what Mason had said about faggots, about how they could…manipulate you, if you weren’t careful, if you didn’t keep God in your heart at all times. But the smell of the cigar, and when Daddy embraced him, he sighed and collapsed a bit, some of his careful guard dropping. Daddy knew all of his secrets after all, everything about him.

“It’s good to see you boy, I missed you.”

“I missed you too Daddy,” Jace found himself saying, his cock…hard, and pressing into the older man’s own erection. He knew he should be disgusted, get away from him, but why would he want to get away from Daddy? Wasn’t he happy to see him? 

“Come on boy, have a cigar with me on the porch–I want to hear about how the new position is treating you, and I have some questions too. The boys have been telling me some…troubling things about the football coach, Coach Mason, I think? You wouldn’t happen to know him, would you?

“I do Daddy, but I don’t…what have the boys been telling you?” Jace asked, already forgetting he had ever been here for a reason other than to see his old Frat Daddy.

“First things first, boy, you know the rules, don’t you?” Ethan asked, grinning around his cigar, “How you properly greet a Daddy.”

Jace blushed, got down, and prostrated himself in front of Ethan, kissed both of his boots, and then knelt down in front of him, right there on the sidewalk, like it was the most natural thing in the world. Only when Daddy told him to rise did he stand again, and follow Daddy up to the porch, where he was more than happy to relay everything about the troublesome coach to Daddy.

“I see, I had feeling that might be the case,” Daddy said, “Well, you’ll help me deal with that, won’t you boy?” he said, pulling Jase closer to him, and sharing a smoky kiss with him. 

“Of course Daddy, anything for you,” Jace said.

“Good boy,” Ethan said, and Jace’s heart fluttered in a way he hadn’t felt in four years, since he’d graduated. “Come on inside, boy. We have more to discuss, I think, and I want to see what those Daddies in the army taught you.”

Jace grinned, and followed Ethan inside the house, his prior plan with Mason all but forgotten. Now, he was more interested in showing Daddy a few trips his drill sergeant taught him in the barracks that might surprise even him.


Mason was in his office, trying not to worry. He’d gotten a few messages from Jace on his stakeout, along with some very disturbing videos. Jace had told him we was going to confront the strange older man he’d seen, and while Mason had told him not to, he hadn’t heard back from him the rest of the evening. He’d assumed he’d be back today sometime to follow up with him and what had happened, but he hadn’t seen Jace around the building all day. Now practice was over, it was about time to go home…but he was wondering if he should go investigate himself. No–that was too risky. Most likely, there was an explanation for Jace’s sudden disappearance that made sense. He was well guarded against the manipulations of faggots, at least if he had been listening to what Mason had been telling him. If he hadn’t heard from him by tomorrow, he’d sort it out then. For now, there was no reason to make his wife worry more–he might as well head home and try to put it out of his mind.

He closed up his office for the evening, and noticed that the athletic building was surprisingly empty, despite the fact that it was still fairly early. He was heading for the exit when his phone buzzed in his pocket. He looked at the message from Jace’s phone, and it was a picture–a picture of Jace, bound up and nearly naked, blindfolded and gagged. Below it was a message, “Meet me in the locker room, we have some things to discuss, coach.”

There was no question of what he would do, of course. He was a righteous man of God–no faggot could touch him. He would sort this out, with his fists if necessary. He stormed off back down into the building, got to the locker room, but when he arrived, it was…empty. He knew where that picture had been taken, but no one was there. He was about to leave again, when someone tackled him from behind, sending them both crashing to the concrete. Mason tried to fight off the attacker, but in a matter of moments he found his hands cuffed behind him, and secured to the foot of one of the benches running between the rows of lockers, forcing him to sit. He looked up at the man who’d tackled him, and realized the man he was staring up at, was Jace.

Except it wasn’t Jace, not really. The faggot–he must have gotten to him somehow! He wasn’t dressed in his security uniform, instead, he was wearing some freakish version of a police uniform, made entirely out of leather, all of it shined perfectly. “He’s secure, Daddy,” Jace said, and another man stepped out from behind the lockers, dressed in the same sort of leather uniform Jace was wearing.

“Coach Mason, isn’t it? We haven’t had a chance to be properly introduced. I’m sorry for the restraints, but I felt it was best given your…proclivities, to keep you bound for now.”

“You–you’re the one who did it, aren’t you! The faggot who…I don’t know what you did, but the boys in Phi Beta Alpha, I know that something isn’t right there. What have you done to them? What the hell have you done to Jace?”

“What do you mean?” Ethan asked him, stepped over and rubbed his leather gloved hands over Jace beside him, the younger man moaning and pushing up against him. “I’ve known Jace for years–he was a PBA boy before he was in the army, weren’t you? I was the one who took the scrawny little twig you were and built you into the fine specimen of a man you see before you.”

“Fuck yeah you were Daddy,” Jace said, “and every day I think about how lucky I was to have you as my Frat Daddy,” he leaned in and kissed Ethan, and Mason tried to not let his stomach turn and dump what remained of his lunch on the floor.

“You turned him into a faggot!” he said.

Ethan looked around, “I don’t see any faggots here, Coach. Just two men who understand what real manliness looks like, and desire it more than anything,” he said, and stepped away from Jace. “As for you, well, you might be a man, or you might be something else. That all depends on what you say to the deal I’m about to offer you,” Ethan said, and crouched down beside Mason.

The coach was a handsome fellow. In his mid to late forties, with just a bit of grey beginning to touch his short cropped hair. He had a stocky build, well muscled still. He wanted to set a good example for his players, after all. Ethan pulled up his shirt and looked under, at the healthy treasure trail running up his small muscle gut, as Mason squirmed and tried to wrench away from him–but with his hands bound behind him, there was only so much he could do. Ethan’s hands drifted lower, giving his thighs a squeeze, before sliding over and groping the coach’s crotch, which only made him squirm harder. Handsome, but so misguided. Well, Ethan would be more than happy to put him on the right track–or if he refused, then he’d deal with him in other ways.

“Now, my boys, they look up to you, Mason,” Ethan said, “They respect you–and rightfully so. You work hard, you’re no hypocrite, you care about their well being. However, you seem to have arrived at the unfortunate notion that we are enemies here, rather than compatriots, looking to make sure these boys become the best men that they can possibly me–men like Jace here. Don’t you think Jace is a fine example of a man?”

“He was, until you warped his head and dressed him up in that faggot leather!”

“Now now, like I said, there are no faggots here, Mason, not yet at least. Here is what I can offer you. Let me help you, Mason. You’re a fine example of a man, but you’re so afraid. You’ve let fear color everything around you–it’s your weakness. Aren’t you tired of being so afraid of us? Of being afraid of your fellow man? So afraid that someone might think you weak, when’s the last time you allowed another fellow to embrace you? To kiss you? Can’t you see that you’re starving here?” Ethan leaned in closer now, lips inches from Mason’s face, where he’d turned away from him. “You need us, Mason. We can complete you. We can take all of that fear inside you and destroy it, and all that will remain is happiness. Don’t you want to be happy?”

“I am happy, thank you very much. I have a loving wife, I have two kids. That’s a real man’s place. That’s where I belong.”

“Hmm, yes, well we can’t have that now, can we?” Ethan said. “Well, she must not have been very happy, since she left you all those years ago. Took the kids too. None of them even write to you anymore, no one calls. It’s like you don’t even exist to them anymore.”

“That’s not true!”

“I know it’s hard, Mason, but you can’t be happy until you face the truth. I know you didn’t want anyone here to know, you kept up a strong face, pretended like everything was fine–but they’re gone. You have to accept that.”

Mason tried to hold onto it, tried as hard as he could to resist what the man was saying, but he could feel it worming into him, the knowledge that…that his secret was out. She’d left him and taken the kids years ago, with almost no warning. He hadn’t seen them since. He’d kept up the lie as best he could–he was too ashamed to admit it. That he’d failed. He’d failed as a husband, and he’d failed as a father, and he’d failed as a man. Ethan’s gloved hand cupped his chin, and pulled his face towards his–and Mason realized that it was the first intimate, human contact he’d had with another person since she’d left. The tenderness surprised him. It even aroused him, though he couldn’t admit that to himself.

“We’re here for you, Mason. A new family. Men who understand you, who understand what you really need. She left because she realized, even before you did, that you weren’t right for her–the only people who can handle you are men–real men like us.”

“No–you’re the fucking devil,” Mason said, holding back tears, unwilling to show weakness in front of them.

“I swear I am no such thing–just a man offering you a future. You could do such good here, you know. Training these young men. It’s no wonder you were drawn here to them, so you could help mold them. You enjoy being around them, don’t you? They fill a hole inside you you didn’t know was there. You want them too–don’t try to deny it. I know how you think about it in your office, and at home in that lonely apartment you rent now, how you wish you could hold them, and smell then, and caress them, and fuck them.”

Ethan’s hand slipped lower, groping Mason’s crotch again, and now, the coach was rock hard. He couldn’t help but thrust up, just ever so slightly, into Ethan’s hand, but then stopped himself, froze, horrified by what he was thinking, that this man could see so deeply into him without having ever met him. How could he know any of this? His deepest secrets, his deepest shames. 

“Just say ‘Yes, Daddy’. That’s all you have to do. Just say yes, and I can show you all of the things you’ve missed, all of the pleasures you never allowed yourself, but that you longed for so deeply. All you have to do is say the words, and you’ll never have to worry again.”

Mason moaned, despite himself. He was lonely. He’d always been lonely, even before the divorce, even before the kids, even before the marriage, all the way back, he’d been alone. So afraid of what anyone else might think, he’d closed himself off for so long, that even this was enough to bring him to the verge of tears. But that was where he wanted him. Dependent. Weak. Open. But he was stronger than this. He was stronger than this faggot magic. He had to fight, he had to fight!

“No–I could never do that to these boys. They look up to me. I’m their coach! It’s perverse. It’s wrong. I would never betray their confidence like that.”

“Well, you don’t have to be their coach, if that’s a problem for you,” Ethan said, and Mason’s guts twisted a bit. “Come on, I know you’re hurting–but I can help you. No one else can, not like me. Just say it, don’t fight it–I won’t give you a better offer than this one, right here, right now.”

“No–no, I won’t let you do this to me.”

Ethan sighed.

“You don’t understand. I’ve been a coach here for going on fifteen years. This is like a family to me. You won’t understand that, you faggots don’t understand anything like that. Everything is sex with you, there’s nothing else.”

“You don’t have to keep up the lie with me, Mason.”

“I’m not lying! I love these players like they’re my own children.”

“Not about that–about being a coach. You’re getting things mixed up again. I know it can be hard to remember, sometimes, when you get lost in a fantasy, but you’re not the coach, Mason.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Sure, you like to come here, to the locker room. Fantasize about being the coach. About ordering all those players to line up in their smelly jockstraps for an inspection. But you’re not the coach–you’re the janitor, Mason. Thirty years, you’ve been the janitor here. Always looking, always lusting, stealing jocks for your collection back at your apartment, from all of your favorite players over the years.”

“Shut up! It’s not true.”

“Lurking under the bleachers during practice, coming in for some equipment you forgot while the boys are all showering together. You don’t have to be ashamed anymore, Mason. I know what you need, and I can help you–but you have to be honest with me. You have to be honest with yourself.”

“No! No, I won’t let you do this, I won’t!”

“You pigs sometimes, so damn stubborn!” Ethan said, and turned to Jace, “Help me get him up.”

They unlocked the cuff around one hand, unhooked it from the foot of the bench, and then resecured it around his wrist. Together, Ethan and Jace took one of Mason’s elbows and hauled him upright, then walked him down the row of lockers, towards the showers, where a large mirror was on the wall. Mason closed his eyes, not wanting to look. He was the coach. He was in charge here. He cared for these boys, he looked out for them! He wouldn’t let this freak take that away from him, he wouldn’t!

“Open your eyes, Mason.”

“No.”

“Why not? Are you afraid of what you’re going to see? If you’re so sure that you’re the coach, wouldn’t you know exactly what that reflection is going to look like? You know you won’t open your eyes and see an old man in his late fifties, wearing a pair of filthy, cumstained coveralls, with a big gut and no real muscles, a thick, greying beard stained around the mouth from all those cigars you chain smoke.”

“That’s not me!”

“If that’s true, then open your eyes, and let’s look, together.”

“You’re trying to trick me, you’re the fucking devil! I don’t have to look, I know the truth, I know it!”

“Go on then. Tell me what you’re really going to see. If you’re right, then I’ll let you go, and you’ll never see me again. If I’m right, well, then you’ll have to listen to what I’ll offer you. So say it pig, who do you think’s in that mirror?”

Mason tried to focus, tried to remember, but suddenly, the vision wasn’t as clear as it should have been. “M-Muscular. I’m…43, I think. Clean shaven, I know that for sure. Tall, yeah, tall and still strong, because I work out every day with the boys, watching…I mean. Yeah, and hairy too, fuck.”

“Alright, so open them up, Mason, and let’s see who’s right.”

He knew it. He had faith. He knew who he was, who he had to be. He opened his eyes, ready to sneer in the frat daddy’s face, but he had to stare at the reflection in the mirror for a few moments, trying to sort out who he was looking at. There, on both sides, were the two leather men, but in between them–no, no that couldn’t be him, it couldn’t be him! He looked at the stranger in his late fifties, looked at the full beard, looked at the gut sagging out from under the ill-fitting athletic department t-shirt he had on, the cumstained gym shorts–he was the coach, he wasn’t the janitor! He wasn’t!

“Please no, please just let me have this, please,” he said to Daddy, “You can’t do this to me, you can’t!”

“Just be honest with me, Mason–you have to tell me the truth now, alright? No more lies. Whose clothes are these?”

Mason tried to say that they were his, that they were the usual clothes he wore to work, but instead he said, “I stole the shirt and shorts from the coach’s office at the beginning of the year, while I was cleaning it.” 

He felt his face burn, as Ethan nodded, and pulled down his shorts, to reveal a well soiled jock underneath–which they could all smell in the room. “And the rest of it? The jock? The socks?” Ethan asked.

“The jock was…from Jullian Barber, class of ‘02. Linebacker. Never washed his jock, thought it was lucky. He tossed it when they lost the championship–fuck! No, why–the socks are from…from August Rickett, class of ‘08 on the right, and Wade Marger, class of ‘98 on…on the left…”

“Sounds like you’re quite the collector, Mason.”

“Please–please don’t tell anyone, I’m not hurting anyone, I’ve never touched any of them, they’re just…fuck, I…they’re so sexy, you know? I know they would never want me, but…but I like to pretend. I’m just so lonely, I’m–” Mason said, and choked back a sob. Daddy stepped into him, pulled him close, and let the old fellow cry into his chest for a moment, holding him tight. No one had held him like this, this firmly, since he was young, and the smell of the leather, it was…no–no, this wasn’t right either, he’d been tricked again, hadn’t he? Everything was so twisted up. He was tired, and horny, and lonely, and angry, and scared. He just wanted someone to tell him what to do, he just wanted all of this to be over.

Ethan released him from his embrace when he’d calmed down a bit, and Mason stared at his reflection, in resignation. “I was wrong. I want to help. I can help! Please, I…I’m sorry for what I said, before. I’ll do whatever you ask, just…just tell me what you want from me.”

“Well, I’m afraid that offer is no longer on the table,” Ethan said, “That was an offer I was willing to make to the coach–but you aren’t the coach, are you? You’re just a dirty minded janitor, a pig who lusts after hot, young athletes all day long. But I’ll make you a new offer, how about that?”

Mason gulped–what choice did he have? He nodded, and waited to see what Ethan and Jace had in store for him.


It’s finally time for another survey! Because I’m going to be working on commissions, I probably won’t be able to keep up with the usual pace of this story, but I’ll do my best–and of course, commission interludes will be posted as I finish them, if people want them. Patrons have their bonus survey as usual, with two extra questions! They can access that survey here, through Patreon.

Use It or Lose It (Part 9)

Around seven, he finished his work and left the building, but the parking lot was empty. He was too poor to afford a car now–he waited for the bus, his cock burning frustrated, already feeling like it was too late. Could he really wait until he got home? Did he have a choice? Was this a life he was willing to accept. He saw a bar nearby…and he knew he could probably go in there, get a drink, and find a rude fucker willing to fuck him, but he didn’t want to be that person. He’d hold it. On the bus, the need only got worse, and by the time he was home, it was clear he’d have to hold out, or he’d lose another inch.

He lived in a different apartment now–smaller than the last, and even more filthy than before. It hardened his resolve–he couldn’t imagine living here for the rest of his life, settling for this. But a new voice piped up in response for the first time, familiar and alien all at the same time. It was him–his voice–but it was a voice from this life. It was insulted at the idea that this life was somehow inferior to the one he might have had before. What was so good about that life? Who wanted to deal with a wife? Who wanted to deal with kids? Here he could jack off all he wanted, he had an easy job that kept him afloat (and a few hot teachers willing to use his hole never hurt either!) What was so bad about this exactly?

Randal knew there were reasons, but they were slipping through his hands like straw. Still–if he jacked off now, things would get worse. He couldn’t let things get worse. At least hold out for another day, regroup, and go from there. What he needed most was a beer, and some food. He’d feel better with something in his belly. He threw a frozen dinner in the microwave and then popped a beer, chugged it, and opened a second, drinking it nearly as fast. By the time he’d finished dinner, he was feeling a solid buzz, his rational voice was spinning, and his body was on it’s way to the bedroom. It needed a good fuck, and he needed to cum–why hadn’t he gone to that damn bar earlier? He would have loved another fuck, but a dildo ride would have to do.

Reason put up a weak resistance, but Randal was in no mood to listen to it. Where had it even gotten him now? That old him–that was the whole reason he was in this mess to begin with! Maybe…maybe he deserved this. He certainly felt like he deserved this. The dildo slid in, his hole still a bit loose from his fuck earlier, and he started groping his cock through his filthy whites, the sensation of the crispy fabric against his cock doing wonders, bringing him closer and closer. There was a grungy mirror in the room, and reason made himself face it, hoping it would bring him back to his senses, but his new voice found the fat bearded slob in the mirror fucking himself on a dildo through a hole in the back of his underwear so sexy that his cock exploded, pumping a huge load into the front of them–and the euphoria! It was the hottest cumshot of his life, somehow, and one of the largest. He rubbed his underwear, getting them good and soaked, and then stripped them off, dildo still in his ass, and sucked the cum out of them for the camera.

It surprised him, for a moment. It hadn’t been there a moment ago, there next to the mirror, but seeing it now, and that red light–fuck, it made him so fucking horny, knowing he was taping himself. He loved taping himself, and later tonight he was going to put on the internet, and show the whole fucking world what a fucking slut he is. He sucked harder, bouncing on the dildo some more, his four inch cock barely visible under his sizable gut, but he wanted to make this one a double–his fans loved his double shots. Yeah, it was coming–his arm was tired, but he could make it, he knew it. He shot the next load into his palm–it was smaller, but he had a sizable pool in it. He got up off the bed and went in for a close up, smearing the cum into his tangled beard for the video, sucking some of it out of his mustache.

“My name is Randal Gray, and I’m a fucking cumpig faggot,” he said, and then turned off the camera.

An hour later, he was in front of his computer, his newest video uploaded, still fucking himself silly and jacking off, watching the views start to climb–watching the humiliating and degrading messages come pouring in. Part of him was absolutely horrified by this, but why should he care? Soon enough, that old him wasn’t going to matter anymore, right? No–this was the way things should be. He was a faggot–a weak willed, masturbation addicted faggot who craved humiliation and a well fucked hole all day long. He came another couple of times, before the old Randal could take over again, before reason conquered lust for the moment, and he could look on in horror at his online legacy.

There were hundreds of videos here, all of them featuring him. About a third of them were videos of him getting fucked by men who at first appeared to be strangers, but as he saw them, contexts began to fill there way in: men from the apartment complex, a couple of teachers from the school (including a couple with Mr. Jones), and plenty of hookups from bars around the city and online. Most of the others were just him fucking himself with various dildos and jacking off, usually while humiliating himself and begging others to expose him far and wide, to spread his pictures and videos all over the world, to show him off as the faggot pig he was born to be.

Three’s a Crowd

It was supposed to have been about you–you were the one who brought them here, after all. A cute younger couple, friends of yours, and you knew the perfect bar where the three of you could hang out after work–a bit kinky, a little strange, but all fun. See, they were a bit too…vanilla for your tastes, and despite your obvious interest, neither one of them seemed very interested on opening up and letting you play with them, either together or separate. So, why not help things out a bit, right? That’s what Pigtown was for. It had helped you out, after all–shown you what you could be, and now you could introduce the two of them to what they could be, in your eyes.

Yeah, you’d wanted a couple of cubby slaves, right? Two boys, maybe even brothers, both of them obsessed with you, focused on you and your pleasure, willing to do anything to make you happy. Because that’s what had always bothered you most, was that ever since the two of them had met–ever since you’d introduced them to each other, two years back at a party–they’d…become so much more interested in each other than they ever had been in you, and fuck, you hated that. So you plied them with beers, got them loosened up, the regulars all circling around, looking for an opening to jump in and spoil things, so when they start getting horny, you drag them back into the club, find somewhere a bit secluded, and start trying to work them over into what you want them to be.

But it was like herding cats, with the two of them. You’d get them down on their knees, your cock in their face, and after a couple of licks each, they’d just start making out with one another instead. You tried working on them one at a time, but somehow the other would slide right in and replace you before you even knew what was happening. Neither of them is shaping up how you wanted–they’re growing older, more muscular, more confident. Two…hot fucking leather daddies in love and lust with one another, and there you are, six feet away, leaning in a doorway–watching.

Watching them like you’ve been doing for years now, on the outside all over again. You should try again, but honestly? It’s too exhausting to keep trying. Maybe it just wasn’t meant to be. You…got replaced, and you don’t have to like it, but…maybe it’s time to give up. Settle in. They are…fucking sexy together, you have to admit. You did always like watching them together, didn’t you? Whispering in each other’s ears, laughing–you were on the outside and that burned you up, but the curiosity was always there. They never cared about you, but you have always cared about them, watched them, obsessed over them, desired them from afar. They don’t…even know you exist, but then who would want to notice you? It’s not like you’re really anything to look at–not anymore, at least.

Because you’ve been changing, leaning there, staring at them hungrily. You’re shorter and fatter. Older still, at least fifty if not sixty. Four inch cock, getting shorter with every stroke, tongue hanging out, eyes glued to the sexy daddies fucking each other’s brains out against the wall. Better than porn–and you should know, after all, since that’s all you do with your time now, you fucking voyeur. Just a fat old faggot, sitting at home all day, masturbating, and then you come here to pigtown, and watch people sexier than you fuck and masturbate to that too. No one even sees you. No one cares about you, and you hate it, but that’s just the way things are now.

The bears finish up after half an hour, and the couple heads off into the club to find a couple other guys to play with. They walk right past you, through the doorway–one of them even bumping into your big, furry gut, but he doesn’t apologize, or even recognize you. You’re a ghost now. You look down and realize what you just allowed happen, but it’s too late for you–there’s another scene brewing in the next room, and the sounds of men rutting draw you like a fly to a wound, jacking your short cock. Invisible, desperate, and always alone.

Arctos: Briar (Part 5)

Then, as quickly as it had begun, it was gone, leaving Jase gasping and shaking on the floor, trying to understand what had just happened to him. Where even was he anyway? He looked around, found he was in the hallway outside his son’s door, which was open a crack. He must have been…been peeping. Yeah, he always liked to watch his son get plowed by the guys he brought home, and he’d been bringing that sexy fucker Cole home a whole lot lately. Damn, that pig was nasty, and a huge damn cock…

No–No, he wasn’t thinking straight. Jase stumbled up, but couldn’t catch his balance, felt like he was going to throw up. He went into the bathroom and stared at himself in the mirror…but the reflection was wrong! He looked so…so young, not even a hint of grey anywhere, and certainly more muscular…right? He looked more like his son, if anything–what it the world was going on? Some other part of him was trying to tell him he was wrong, that something had happened to his mind, that he wasn’t thinking straight somehow, but everything was so hazy…maybe if he had a smoke…He patted his pockets, but his pipe wasn’t there. He checked the floor where he’d fallen, but it wasn’t there either.

Downstairs, he heard the doorbell. The pipe could wait a moment–it was more important that he go down and get his package. He opened the door and found a burly delivery man there–a sexy fucker, huge cock outlined in those tight shorts, and he handed Jase a small package, told him to have a good day, and then left. Jase closed the door and opened up the box, where he found a short note:

“Valued Arctos Customer,

We’ve been alerted to a reality incongruence event, and wish to apologize for any distress this may have caused you with a complimentary gift to help ease your transition.

Enjoy!”

It was his pipe.

His favorite pipe was in this box for some reason, along with a pouch of his usual tobacco, but how in the hell had it gotten there? Then again, maybe…maybe that wasn’t worth worrying about, better to just get it lit as soon as possible. He’d feel better with some smoke in his lungs. He found his son’s lighter and packed the pipe, fumbling with it awkwardly, like his hands kept trying to fight him somehow, some voice screaming deep in him, best to shut it up quick before he got any ideas. He pulled in the first lungful of smoke, and calm suffused his body, muffling the objections he’d been feeling. Everything was alright, now that he had his pipe–now he could get back to what really mattered–watching that hot daddy Cole give his son a proper pounding. His standards seemed pretty low–maybe he’d even give Jase a fuck too.

He climbed the stairs, and halfway up his joints and muscles started to ache familiarly. He passed the bathroom and caught sight of himself in the mirror. Funny, he thought he’d looked odd a few minutes earlier, but things were looking more normal now–his frizzy mane of hair had lost nearly all of it’s red at this point, the same with his beard. He was short, with a thick gut, arms and legs withered a bit with age, that puny cock of his…couldn’t even get hard anymore, not that he’d ever had much use for it. No, he was an old pig through and through–taught his boy everything he knew, and he couldn’t be more proud of the filthy slut Miles had become.

He got back down on his knees, slowly this time, one hand on the wall to steady himself. It fucking sucked getting old–twenty years ago, there wasn’t a single pig around here who could match him. Still, maybe it was time to pass the baton to his boy, because fucking look at him. The way he’s taking Cole’s cock, god damn. Jase reached down under his sweaty, greasy gut for his short cock and found it at half mast–even that was an increasing rarity these days, but a relief to know that the old pecker wasn’t quite dead yet.

Miles and Cole shifted positions, and the cub looked over and saw the door was open, and someone was crouched down in the crack. He had no idea who it could be, but he recognized his pervy, nasty dad after a few moments. Odd how he’d looked like a total stranger for a moment, but rare was the time when his dad wasn’t watching his son get fucked by the men he brought home with him. He put on a bit of a show, watching his old man’s gut heave a bit, drool in his thick beard, old tongue on his thin lips, huffing on that ancient pipe of his. Past his prime, but damn, Miles wished his old cock could still work. His dad wasn’t much of a fucker of course, but Miles had always liked how…close he felt, getting fucked by his dad, back when he was still learning what a damn pig he was. Cole noticed him a moment later, and his reaction was a bit more extreme. He hauled his cock out and stepped back, shouting, “Who the fuck is that?”

“Just my pig dad Cole, don’t worry about it. I always let him watch,” Miles said, “Get back in me daddy, I want your damn cock, sir…”

Cole ignored him and strode to the door, opening it, and looking down at the short, flabby old man in the doorway. Jase–he could still see him in there, even as the smoke rewrote his memories. He’d always pictured him as a cub…but damn, he made a sexy old pig in the end too. “Nonsense, I think your dad should play too, don’t you Miles?”

“His cock don’t work anymore.”

“Yeah,” Jase added, “Was never much a top anyway.”

Cole smirked, “Get in here dad. Shove that fist up your boy’s cunt, and I’m gonna feed his throat. How’s that sound?”

Jase’s cloudy eyes lit up with a sparkle. Cole helped the old man up and together they flanked his son and got to work. By morning, all three of them couldn’t even fathom a time when they hadn’t been living together, their own fucked up family unit, and with how often Arctos showed up on the doorstep…well, that’s a story for another time, don’t you think?

Arctos: Briar (Part 4)

Cole heard that. He sat back and stood up, his face appearing from behind Miles, and he did a double take. “Jase?”

“Cole?” Jase said, “What the fuck are you–who the fuck is this? What…Where’s my dad…?”

Miles was blushing a bit, but also found it kind of sexy that they’d gotten caught by his…son? His mind immediately told him that couldn’t be right–he and Jase were almost the same age after all. No, so then…housemates? Yeah, housemates, of course. He kind of wished they were more than that, after all, Jase was one sexy fucker, but he’d settled for Jase’s equally hot coworker Cole in the meantime. He figured that if Jase…stumbled in on them a few times, he might eventually get up the courage to maybe join in. “Sorry Jase,” he said, “we got a little carried away, right Daddy?”

Cole didn’t say anything–if this wasn’t Jase, then who the hell…his mind started filling in blanks for him. How he’d met Miles when he’d stopped by the worksite one day to give Jase something from home, and the two of them had known at a glance that they were going to fuck, and soon. That very night, in fact, Cole followed Jase home and fucked around with Miles, much to Jase’s frustration. He could still recall, of course, that Jase had been his original target, but Miles was certainly a nice consolation prize if nothing else. “Yeah, sorry man…you know how I get around Miles, right?”

Jase didn’t know. Even as the other two had new memories forming, Jase was at a loss, the smoke filled room making his eyes water a bit, unable to understand where his dad had gone, and how these two strangers had gotten here instead.

“Guess he’s speechless–come on daddy, wanna keep going in my room?”

“Sure thing cub, lead the way!”

Miles got off the couch, grabbed Cole’s hand and pulled him towards the stairs, passing Jase along the way, who was still unable to process what was going on. He shared a look with Cole as he passed, the older man regarding him with a smile, but was there also a bit of disappointment there? They both went upstairs, and all that remained was their plumes of smoke, which Jase couldn’t help breathe in, and he started looking around wondering where his dad was, but the more second hand smoke he breathed, the less certain he became that his father was there at all. Still, he could remember him, right? Certainly he could remember someone else who should be here besides Miles, his housemate. No–what?

He paused. Where in the hell had that thought come from? And wasn’t Miles his father’s name? That was an odd coincidence he supposed, but not really that strange in the end. His memories felt more and more confused, and he heard a loud thump from upstairs in the master bedroom, where Miles slept, a groan, and then the squeak of his bed’s springs. Ugh, he couldn’t believe Miles liked Cole of all people. He didn’t really care that they were fags, but did he have to pick the coworker he liked the least the fuck around with? He shook his head, figuring there were just some things he wouldn’t understand, and he too, went upstairs, back to his room and inside, but where the air was clearer, the worries returned.

He saw pictures of him and his father, pinned to the wall, the memories of them here in this house so damn clear to him, but at the same time, some other part of him kept saying he had to be mistaken. He pushed that other part of himself away, and focused on his memories–coming home and talking to his dad. That strange box he’d received in the mail. It was crazy, but…but what if Miles…was his dad? Had something happened to him? Or more precisely, had Cole done something to him? He thought of the surprise he’d seen on Cole’s face downstairs, of the sense of disappointment as he’d walked past. The box…it had been for him. Was…did something happen to his dad that should have happened to him instead?

He could still smell smoke. He threw open his window, leaned against the screen, and his head cleared further still. His dad had been acting so strange about that package, and Cole was such a raging pervert…there was a piece of the puzzle he was missing though–what had been in the box? He went downstairs and searched a bit further, until he found where his father had opened it in the kitchen, but there was nothing there–just an empty box with Arctos printed on the side, a blank piece of paper beside it. This was no use–he’d have to…maybe if he spied a bit, he’d figure something out, something that would help him figure out what had happened to his dad.

He crept up the stairs, towards the door to the Master bedroom. The smoke was thicker here, the smell as strong as it had been downstairs, and he could hear them moaning behind it–he cracked open the door, smoke billowing through, and it was so thick, he could only see the outlines of them fucking on the bed. His housemate was there, Cole’s cock buried in his hole–no! No, it was his dad. Fuck, looking at him, how hadn’t he seen it before? He looked like he had in old family portraits, just hairier, and…sluttier. But he was so young, he couldn’t be his dad, and be that young. The smoke was thick in his lungs, making him feel lightheaded. Those doubts were back, and he fought harder, knowing that they were false…but the more smoke he breathed, the stronger they got. He could sense them, trying to rewire his mind somehow, frustrated that he was being as resistant as he was, and then they noticed his awareness, and they pushed harder. He focused as hard as he could, focusing on his dad, on helping him, on fighting, but it was too much. He felt a sharp pain rip through his brain as something in him broke apart, and then fell back clutching his head, trying not not to scream.

Features & Bugs (Part 3)

The office was small, and the man’s desk had been against a wall to the side. The man was there in his chair, staring at his computer screen–his shirt was unbuttoned, his fly too, and he was jacking off. Something was playing on the screen, some video, but at the angle I was crouched at, I couldn’t get a good look at anything other than him…and something was wrong with him. When I’d helped him the day before, the guy had been young, slender and wiry, clean shaven and hairless as far as I could tell. Looking at him now, I wondered if my memory was simply wrong, or if something else had happened to him. His body had grown larger, more muscular, and was much hairier than I would have expected. He had more than a five o’clock shadow–somehow he’d grown a short beard overnight. He must have been older than I’d thought as well, because it was flecked with grey, and I could see his hair receding slightly. But then something else happened, something I knew I couldn’t explain as easily as all that.

I could see him in profile, and he twisted towards me slightly in his chair. For a while I was focused on his cock–easily the same size as the dildo I’d had in my ass the night before, if not a bit larger. But something else caught my eye as well, something happening on the gut he’d grown overnight–there were lines on it. Black lines. I thought they were a shadow, but shadows didn’t move like this, they didn’t…grow. They were forming shapes on him, which I didn’t recognize at the time. The sight was enough to jolt me away from the crack–I stood up and slipped the door closed again…and only then did I realize I’d had my cock out as well, jacking off while I was watching him, right here in the damn hallway! Thankfully no one had seen me; I zipped back up and fled back to the IT department, where I ran into Austin. I tried to tell him what I’d just seen, but couldn’t get the words out, once he started toying with me. He ended up fucking me in the bathroom stall, and then suggested we get an early start on our weekend, and I was only too eager to agree, and what I’d seen had slipped to the back of my mind.

I…don’t remember much of that night. We had dinner somewhere, but I was so horny all I could think about was getting back to his place for sex. He told me he had a present for me, sat me down in front of his computer, and showed me a twenty file movie collection, he had queued up for me…and I watched all of them, in a row, all night long. Most of them had that same pig in them, but some had others. They were all pigs too, but some were different. One had a fat pig bound up, getting stuffed with food. Another pig got whipped, and spanked, and pierced, and bloodied for over an hour. Always there was piss. Always there was rubber. Always there was humiliation and abuse. Always, there was this odd…flicker, that I noticed on occasion, but it never held my attention for very long. I didn’t sleep once. I think I remember Austin leaving me there and then coming back. In the morning, he set a heaping plate of food by me, and I devoured it with one hand and stroked off with the other. In my mind, I’d gone from admiring these pigs, to identifying with them, experiencing their humiliation and abuse vicariously, and then, I actually started to feel like I was one of them. Like I’d entered the videos myself, like I was watching videos of things that had happened to me. I ate again, at some point, and eventually, Austin turned off the videos, and the only sound in the room was me snorting, the sound of me groping my pig cock.

“That’s better pig,” he said, “You feeling more like yourself now?”

I didn’t know how to answer that question, but his cock was there, and just seeing it made my mouth drool. I swallowed it, sucking hard, and a minute later my mouth flooded with piss for the first time, and I drank it down, the taste so familiar even as the newness of it struck me. I felt different, I didn’t feel like me, but I didn’t know how to explain it in terms anyone might be able to understand. The flow slowed, and he went back to fucking my face. He was brutal, choking and gagging me, but I just took, enjoying the roughness, enjoying being treated like a pig like me deserved to be treated. The first time I thought of myself as a pig, the first time I realized that’s what I was, I came with a huge grunt, I was so happy to have figured it out!

Austin didn’t cum, he just pulled out, and told me that he wanted to go out that night. He’d laid out a few outfits on the bed, and he wanted me to pick what I wanted to wear, we’d eat, and then head out. I got up from the chair where I’d been sitting for a day–it was sopping with piss and cum…I must have been sitting in my own filth this entire time, but for some reason that didn’t bother me. I didn’t even think of taking a shower–I just lumbered down the hall to the bedroom, and there, sure enough, were a few sets of clothes: a business suit, some shorts and a t-shirt, and finally what looked like a collection of rubber gear. I made a beeline for that of course–why would I want to wear any of that other stuff? It ended up being a rubber singlet, black with a red accent up the side, like a tuxedo stripe, and the ass was open. It had seemed…big, when I started putting it on, but when it was finished, it actually seemed a bit small. I pulled on some black army boots to go with it, and felt…good, surprisingly. Sexy even. I’d never felt sexy in my life, I’d thought, what in the hell was wrong with me?

Life Coach (Part 5)

The neighbors were out in their backyard again, fucking. Shane only knew a little bit about them, but they seemed nice enough. The wife was beautiful (not that Shane had any interest in women, of course, but he could still appreciate the form, he supposed) but it was the husband who attracted his focus, with his hot dad bod and nine inch cock. They fucked like rabbits, and all summer long they were out fucking by the pool, giving Shane a chance to peep between the fence boards a few minutes at the time, when he was working on master’s garden. Of course he’d never do anything–they were so happy together, and good people. Not like Shane. Stupid, worthless Shane, he couldn’t even be a good slave half the time. He had no idea why his master even kept him around half the time. Still, watching that huge cock, his own puny member was trying as hard as it could to expand in the tight cage master kept him in. He hadn’t had an orgasm in years at this point, and expected that he’d never have one ever again.

“Hey! Dumb cunt! Where the fuck are you?”

Master was calling. He went the long way out of the bushes, making sure his naked body was covered in enough dirt and dust to look like he’d been working. When he worked on the neighbor’s yards, Master allowed him to wear a ragged pair of cutoffs, but in his own yard and house Shane was always naked aside from his cage and collar. “Yes sir, sorry sir. Was weeding by the fence,” Shane muttered, sweat running down his bald head and into his mutton chops, smoking one of the cheap cigars Master allowed him. Even standing, he had to crane his neck to look at his master, who towered over him by nearly two feet. “How can I serve you sir?”

“Barry just finished his session, but he needs some practice. Meet him in the dungeon, would you?”

Barry was one of several clients who were seeing his master to help with anger issues, usually men going through divorces or who had been arrested for assault. Somehow, they always became extreme sadists–taking their rage out on consenting slaves–helping them be much nicer to real people. Shane wasn’t worthy of being a person, however. He hurried down the steps into the basement, and found that this had been a breakthrough session for Barry. He’d been a larger man in his late forties when he’d first started seeing Master Evan, but now he was huge, a full bent pipe clutched in his bearded jaw, wearing a pristine leather uniform. The excitement of his brutal punishment had Shane’s cock leaking through his cage even more than seeing his neighbor’s cock, and he threw himself at Barry’s feet, begging to be punished.

It began with kicking and stomping, and then Barry hauled Shane up from the floor, suspended him in the air, and began whipping him, making sure to add his own welts to Shane’s back on top of his master’s other anger management clients. He couldn’t remember the last time his back had been without at least one wound, and he was secretly thankful his master never allowed him to wear a shirt. He…secretly liked the fact that everyone in the neighborhood could see what kind of treatment he deserved, and he also thought that wearing anything against these welts would be horrifically painful. After he had been whipped to Barry’s satisfaction, he gave Shane a deep fisting before finally slamming his own cock in deep, exploding only a few seconds after his entrance. After all, for Barry, it was the pain that got him off more than anything else. After he came, a look of bliss came over his face–he undressed and hung up the uniform, and left, happy to no longer the angry man he had been anywhere outside this dungeon, where Shane was more than happy to take anything Barry–or anyone else–thought he deserved.

Master came down after Barry left, and spent a few minutes tending to Shane’s wounds, making sure his back, in particular, didn’t get infected. There was little love in these moments, however–it was clear that his master wasn’t tending to him out of any sort of love or care, but merely as one would maintain a tool, to ensure it had a long life of usage. Shane had lost his cigar at some point in the session–he found the half-smoked end and relit it–Master would only provide him a new cigar after he ate the last butt in front of him.

Shane cooked dinner for his master, and then had his own small portion. After that, it was time for his evening rounds through the neighborhood. His master had been busy over the last few months, ever since the two of them had moved in here. So many good people around them had been living boring, tedious lives–and there were quite a few terrible people who hadn’t deserved the lives they had. That thought…tugged at something in Shane, and he felt even worse than he usually did, but pushed the concern away–he had work to do and men to serve. Phillip needed to be fed–he’d recently become too large to get out of bed, so master had been kind enough to provide him with an automated feeding system. Still, it had to be filled twice a day, but the mush fed continuously to him ensured the fat ass would keep growing until Master Evan decided he could stop. After that, it would be time for a session with Nick and Roy–they had been a nice gay couple a block over, but Master had found them to be far too boring. Now, the two of them were a pair of muscle bound, smoked out daddy bears, and Master was enjoying seeing how freakish the two of them could become. Still, since they were both tops, they needed a bottom regularly to keep them happy, and Shane was usually the one who had to take care of them both. Recently, however, they’d both developed a rather disgusting fondness for piss, and the last few times, Shane had to waddle back home, his already rotund gut distended with several loads of piss and cum. Still, a slave’s work was never done, right? He pulled on his cutoffs, said goodbye to his master, and set off for the evening, glad that even if he was a fucking loser, he could serve his master, and the neighborhood, to the best of his abilities. That was something, at least.

I’d always hated him, Mr. Wallingford, my parent’s next door neighbor. A total fruit, and everyone knew it–but while that was disgusting, what made it worse was how much he wanted me. Ever since I was a teenager and had started coming into my own, I’d noticed how often he looked at me, whenever I was playing outside with my friends, he’d be watching me through the window. I tried telling my parents but they wouldn’t listen, and he never did touch me or say anything to me. He’d just…watch. Stare. 

I was so happy, when I went off to college, that I could be away from him finally, but coming home for breaks and summers was horrible. I’d get home, and there he’d be again, still staring, still licking his lips, still…disgusting. I did my best to ignore him, and that worked fine until the summer between my Sophomore and Junior years, when I got home and something changed. Not right away. The first month was the same–he would still watch me, but now he had a strange glee in his eye that he hadn’t before. Every year the neighborhood throws a big block party for independence day, with a big potluck. Mr. Wallingford provided the cake that year, and everyone had a piece–it was delicious, but after that…

Suddenly, I was the one who couldn’t take my eyes off of him, and he made sure I had plenty of opportunities to see him. He would walk around the neighborhood naked, and no one would bat an eye or find it the least bit strange, but I was the only one who knew, and I couldn’t divert my eyes. Every waking moment I had to follow him, stare at him…lust for him. He was in my dreams, all of these sick, twisted fantasies I’d never had, they were all I could think about. At first that was it, but now, things are getting worse.

My…body. Something’s wrong with it. I’m putting on weight, I have these dreams were I’m massively fat, and I deserve it, I deserve to have my hot, muscular body ruined for ignoring him all these years, for…for never serving him how he needed to be. My…my dad raped me last night. He went in my room, threw off my covers and fucked my ass, loud enough for my mom to know, and I wanted it, and he watched it happen through the window, jacking off. Now, he’s out on his driveway, pissing, and as soon as he goes back inside…I’ll be out there, on my hands and knees licking it up off the concrete, because I need it, and everyone will watch me, everyone will see me. And then I’ll crawl to his door, and I’ll beg him to use me, because… because I need him. Because I’ve watched him forever, but I never knew how much I needed him until now. Because I’m his pig now, and that’s all I’ll ever be from now on.

Requested by Anonymous


These fucking kink festivals these faggots throw, fuck it’s disgusting, but hey, it’s a fun way of ruining a few faggots lives at least. You know, get a few pictures of some of them, and all it takes is some sleuthing on the internet, figure out their day job, and ruin their careers with a bit of blackmail. Heh, there’s one now–look at that old fuck, like anyone wants to see that disgusting body out in the sun. Gotta get a picture of that shit.

*CLICK*

Yeah, sexy old fuck like that, damn–not that I’m much younger than he his. No, wait, what the hell am I even saying? Look, whatever. I’ll just focus on some of these other fags–fuck, look at that one! Parading around in fucking panties, it’s like they’re fucking asking for me to ruin them!

*CLICK*

Yeah, I know how he feels, they’re so fucking sexy, and the way guys look at me like I’m some fuckin’ fairy makes me so damn hard. I…I love coming down here, really feels like I can be myself, let the freak out a bit, you know? Fuck, look that that sexy fucker! Big old gut, hot goatee, smoking that cigar in that leather gear of his! Gotta get a picture of that.

*CLICK*

Fuck yeah, got my old cock so fuckin’ hard, gonna love jacking off to these pictures for the rest of the year! Not like many guys wanna get with a pansy old fat fuck like me, but I’d rather watch and look at pics anyway! Think I might go smoke my cigar and look at these pics for a bit, blow a wad in my panties, and then see if I can find a few more sexy fucks for my photo collection!

Adam didn’t know why he kept his membership here–this gym was a freakshow. Filled with faggots for one thing, most of them so roided up they could barely think straight. They, in turn, attracted the lechers, the fat old men who would pretend to work out on machines, and just ogle the muscle men throughout the room–it was disgusting. He was always careful to wear his cross–that seemed to discourage most of them from looking at him, at least. He’d gotten his fit body from the army, and liked to maintain it after he retired, but this was getting ridiculous.

It was late one night, after his workout, that Adam chanced a shower, since the room was empty. When he stepped out, however, he discovered that he wasn’t quite as alone as he’d thought. A towering man was waiting for him next to his locker, wearing just a jockstrap, muscled beyond belief–but he didn’t look like the other muscleheads in the gym. His eyes were intelligent–cruel even, and Adam clutched his cross, though he wasn’t entirely sure why.

Ah, Adam–I’ve been meaning to have a chat with you, but that silly bauble of yours has been such a bother–it’s been keeping you from seeing me for weeks now. Patrick was nice enough to defile it for me, at least.”

“What?” Adam said, stepping back, “Who–who are you?”

“I’m the owner of this club–and a demon. Tell me Adam, looking at me, what do you see?”

Adam wasn’t sure what to say, “You’re…you’re huge, I mean, more muscular than anyone else here.”

“Muscular? Really?” the demon laughed, “I wasn’t expecting that from you–looks like you’re more of a looker than a poser.”

“What?”

The demon started posing, his cock tenting and stretching his jockstrap tight, “What you see, is who you are, Adam. Am I a lecherous old voyeur? Then you’re an exhibitionist muscle god–but if I’m the muscle god, then that must mean you’re the lecher. So go on Adam, have a good long look–enjoy yourself.”

Adam tried to look away–but he couldn’t. His own cock was rock hard now, and he started stroking it as he watched the demon dance for him, tease him, flex for him. Everything that Adam could want in a man–everything that he wasn’t soon enough. His hair receding back and turning white, fat burying his muscles as the hours wore on, his cock red hot and erect the entire time, the demon ripping the cross off Adam’s neck as he came, the cross one of his muscle pigs had cum on in the locker room the day before.

Adam was there at the gym every day afterwards, ogling the muscle men, begging them to let him suck their cocks or fuck his loose asshole.