House of Marvels – Episode 1 (Part 11)

“M-Mr. Fields?” Raury muttered, seeing hints of the older man in the stranger’s face, but so much was different as well.

“Don’t worry–we have a little while. You have a room here, don’t you? Is there anyone there?”

Raury shook his head no.

“Good. Take me up there, with you, and we can talk about what a bad thing you did, and how you can make it up to Master.”

Raury knew he should run, but it was so much better to…obey. He had to do what the smoke said, after all…didn’t he? He turned around and unlocked the door to the dorm while Hunter gathered up the bags of food, and followed him inside. Raury’s room was down in the basement, and thankfully they didn’t pass anyone along the way. Raury opened up his room, and Hunter pushed him inside, immediately letting loose a long exhale, smoke pouring from his nose and mouth into the air of the small room, and he breathed a little easier. Once it was dark, they would return to Master together, which gave him plenty of time to punish him properly.

“Did…did Eric do this to you?” Raury said to Hunter, fondling himself without even realizing he was doing it. “What…what did he do to us?”

“Isn’t there something else you’d rather be doing with that mouth of yours?” Hunter said, pulling a wrapped hamburger from one of the bags. He took off the paper, walked to where Raury was standing, and pushed it to his mouth. Raury devoured it, and somehow it tasted…better than it had back in the dining hall. Something about the smoke in the air, something about the smoke the stranger had fed him, he ate it in five or six bites, and felt his stomach growl in need…and swell slightly larger.

He shook his head, “No…I don’t…don’t make me bigger, please…”

“No? Then why did you have all of this with you? What were you going to do with it then?”

He fed him more before Raury could find words to speak, and after that, Raury didn’t seem to be able to find anything to say at all. He just…ate, and ate, and ate, whatever the man gave him, did whatever he told him to do, his mind slowing to a crawl, the man telling him he was stupid. So stupid for leaving, so dumb for forsaking their master. Just an animal–too stupid to talk, too stupid to run anymore, too stupid to think for himself–from now on, the only thoughts he was going to have were the thoughts Master allowed him to have. Hunter told him how handsome he was becoming, how much Master was going to enjoy him, all of him, how proud he should be of himself and his gluttony.

Before too much longer, the clothes he was trying to wear were ripped away from him, and Raury found himself shoved over the side of the bed, and then Hunter was inside him, raping him, fucking him–what did it matter? He was stupid, dumb, couldn’t be trusted to think for himself. It was good Hunter had come to get him, after all, he didn’t even know what was good for him. Didn’t understand how much Master loved him, didn’t understand how much he needed him. He felt…terrible, remembering what he did back at the house, running away like that. He’d never run again, no–no, he didn’t want to run again, he just wanted to go back.

Hunter came deep inside Raury’s ass, and then Hunter pulled his clothes on and took Raury’s keycard and phone, before pushing a bit more smoke out into the air of the room. “Stay here–I’ll be back in half an hour or so. Don’t make me hunt you down again–you know how much that will upset Master.”

Raury nodded from the bed, and then Hunter slipped out, leaving him alone again…and he thought. Or rather, he tried to think. He tried to make his mind do…anything, but he couldn’t seem to do much of anything at all. He rolled up, forcing himself up to a sitting position, and couldn’t believe how…huge he was now, even larger than he’d been back at the dining hall, but it didn’t terrify him anymore. This…was how he was supposed to look. How a stupid pig like him should look…though he still didn’t look quite right. He was too…young still, but Master would fix that, probably. Master could do anything, after all. Master was so smart, and handsome, and the most important being in the entire world. He found some cold food still in the bags and ate it, feeling his body swell a bit larger still, and it wasn’t long before Hunter returned with a shopping bag of clothing–some for him, and something much larger for Raury. It was dark out at this point, so they got dressed–Raury struggled, both with how slow his mind was running, and how big he had become, and so Hunter had to help him out, but when they were dressed, they left.

Around midnight, they arrived back at the house, and once inside, Hunter breathed a great sigh of relief, the remaining smoke pouring out of him into the already hazy air. He’d made it. He’d made it, and he’d…succeeded. Raury, too, felt better being back here. For the life of him, he couldn’t remember why he’d even left in the first place. He still hadn’t learned what game it was that Master wanted to play with him–and while he wasn’t sure he was smart enough to play it, he would try, for him. He’d do anything for him, after all–Hunter told him he had to, after all, and whatever Hunter told him to think…he’d think.

House of Marvels (Part 10)

“Raury would you get a fucking hold of yourself?” Sam shouted at him, “I just watched you pack on…I don’t fucking know how many pounds, and the only thing you can say is that it feels good? What the fuck happened in there? What did he do to you?”

“He didn’t…I mean, he…” Raury said, trying to focus, and trying to pull his hands away from himself, but it just felt so…good. “I don’t really remember. He…kissed me, and blew all this smoke into me from that pipe, and I ran. I haven’t felt right since, but…but I do feel a lot better now, than when I was coming here.”

“Are you kidding me? Fucking look at what just happened to you!”

“I don’t know, alright! I don’t…I can’t explain it, and I’m still hungry, and…and horny too…” Raury was groping himself more now, one hand still on his gut, while the other had moved beneath it, fishing around for his cock. It was a bit harder to find, buried as it was with all of this new fat, but that, too, sent a little thrill through him, and only made him hornier still. “You, uh, wanna go fill up another tray for me?” he asked Sam.

“You need help, Raury, we need to get you to a doctor, and figure out what the hell happened to you, and we need to get Eric help too. That wasn’t normal, what was happening down there. I’ve never seen Eric smoke a pipe before–do you know where he got it?”

“I…I think Jamie mentioned…something…fuck, if…if I had some more food, I could think better, I’m already hungry again…”

“Come on, get up. Let’s at least get you to the clinic.”

“No, I’m…I’m ok, honest, I think it’ll go away on its own.”

“How in the hell could you possibly know that?” Sam said, “This–this is insane, you realize that, right?”

“Just…just leave me alone, alright? I don’t know what’s happening, and you’re not fucking helping.”

“Raury, come on, let me take you to a hospital.”

“No, just…just…I just need some space, and I’ll be fine. I’ll talk to you tomorrow, when I feel better, alright? We’ll…we’ll figure out what to do then.” Raury coughed again, a deep hacking cough this time, and again, a tiny wisp of smoke escaped him, slid through the air, and into Sam’s mouth. The taste was slight, barely even noticeable, but Sam felt a sudden sense of ease wash over him, the same as he’d felt down in that basement, but far fainter. He didn’t know why he was arguing with his friend, really–Raury would probably be fine the next day. If he wanted to be left alone…then he’d do that.

“Alright, but tomorrow, ok? Meet me for breakfast at nine, and if you aren’t…smaller, I’m taking you to a doctor.”

“Ok, ok,” Raury said, “But it’s going to be fine, I…I promise.”

He didn’t sound particularly confident about that, but Sam was already turning to leave. Raury didn’t really understand his friend’s sudden change of attitude, but it was a relief. He…had needs, and he didn’t really want Sam to witness them–or anyone to witness them. He got up and went to the dining hall again, made a second round through, getting just as much food, but taking it all to go this time, and then left, heading for his dorm room. He’d gotten lucky this year, and managed to snag a single for himself, and the privacy was amazing. He hurried as quickly as he could, breathing heavily, thighs rubbing, horribly aware of just how ill fitting his clothes were now, but that all could wait. He needed to eat, and he needed to jack off–after that, he could worry about the rest.

He was so preoccupied, that he didn’t notice Hunter behind him on the path, steely eyed, a bit of smoke escaping his mouth every time he exhaled. Hunter had found him easily, but hadn’t wanted to risk confronting him in the dining hall, especially with the other one there. He would have to be taken care of at some point, of course, but he wasn’t his target just yet. Thankfully the other one had left, and now Raury was alone–and once Hunter got his hands on him, he knew he would have no trouble convincing the big man to come back to their Master’s lair, and stay there for a good, long while. Of course, he needed to be punished for his escape, and Hunter could take care of that as well. He felt his cock swelling in the front of his tight sweatpants, a couple of students staring at it as he passed, but Hunter didn’t notice. All of his attention was on his prey.

Raury had to set his food down to find his keycard for the dorm. Hunter checked for an witnesses, saw none, and he swept in, shoving Raury against the brick and pressing his mouth to his before he could scream, pushing the smoke master had given him into his mouth. Raury tried to cough, but Hunter was too forceful–Raury felt the flood of pleasure, moaned into Hunter’s smoky mouth and began kissing him back, the smoke taking all of his other fears and concerns away.

“Found you–you didn’t think you’d be able to get away, did you?” Hunter said.

House of Marvels (Part 9)

Sorry for the break in the middle of the story, but thank you to everyone who has commissioned flash stories from me so far! It’s a big help with moving expenses. I’m still open, and while I might close the pot at the end of the month, everyone will (most likely) get their stories. If you want one, ask now!

Raury finally made it back to campus, and had to stop when he reached a bench near one of the classroom buildings to take a breather. He’d been moving quickly, but not running or jogging, but he was still winded somehow. The air didn’t feel right to him–no matter how hard he breathed, it felt like he was missing something. As much as he hated naming the desire, he wanted the smoke–Eric’s smoke. He could still taste it on his breath, feel it in his lungs, lingering. He forced a cough, trying hard to get it out of him, and thought he could see a few little wisps leave him as he did, and he waved them away, worried they might try to get back inside him when he inhaled again.

He pulled out his phone and texted Sam while he recovered his breath, wanting to know where he was so they could talk about what had happened. Sam was glad to hear from him, and wanted to know if Eric had come to his senses and wanted to get help. Raury told him it would be better if they talked about it in person; he honestly didn’t know where to begin with what he’d seen, and what Eric had tried to do to him down in that basement. That, and how much he still wanted to go back, and let him do it to him. Breathing wasn’t getting much easier, but Sam told him they should just meet at the dining hall nearby, so he hefted himself upright and headed in that direction, his gut growling a bit at the thought of food. The walk wasn’t far, but by the time he got there his lungs were already tired again, and he was shaking a little, licking his lips, and even a bit dizzy and nauseous. There were some chairs inside, and he sat back down in one, coughing again, harder this time, trying to dislodge whatever it was that was inside him. He was certain that something was in him now–he could almost feel it, but he was also starting to think that no amount of coughing would dislodge it. It was deeper than his lungs now, running in his veins through his flesh, infusing him. He remembered how strange Eric’s body had looked, and wondered if he was changing too. He looked down at his arms, looking for any rashes, felt around his face, but froze when he felt around his mouth, and the thick stubble that had appeared since leaving Mr. Field’s home.

He looked around, hoping for a mirror, but there was nothing nearby. He pushed himself back up, and then saw Sam enter through a door on the other side of the space and waved at him. Sam saw him wave, and looked at him with a confused look, which them turned into shock, and he hurried over. “Raury? What…what in the hell is wrong? Are you feeling alright?”

Raury wasn’t sure how Sam could know he wasn’t feeling well from across the room, but he nodded, “Yeah, I…I feel a bit sick, from that smoke I guess.”

Sam just stared at him, or at his midsection more accurately, “Raury…you’re fat.”

He looked down at himself, and sure enough, his shirt was riding up over the small gut which had sprouted while he walked to campus. He grabbed it, and could feel it pushing against his hands–it was still growing. It wasn’t air or gas either–it was fat, and it gave a loud growl of hunger as a cramp struck him, nearly bending him over. “Fuck, I’m…what the fuck?”

“We need to get you to the hospital.”

“No–no, I need to eat, I’m…I’m ok, I just need some food first. I can’t…afford a hospital anyway.”

Sam tried to insist, and even threatened to call for an ambulance, but Raury refused, mostly out of denial. This couldn’t be happening to him, and if he actually went to the hospital, then he’d have to actually grapple with what he’d seen…but the hunger was quickly crowding out every other concern. He went to the cafeteria, Sam following along behind him, watching as Raury piled a tray high–much higher than Raury usually did, and headed for the exit. Sam noticed a few other things about his once thin friend as they went to a table–the thick stubble around his mouth that Raury had felt before, and now forgotten about in his hunger, but also the fact that his friend’s hairline was receding slightly, and both temples had picked up a slight tinge of grey.

He kept trying to get Raury’s attention about all of this, but all his friend seemed to be focusing on was the food in front of him. He ate with a frenzy, and from his eyes, he was even scaring himself with the sheer desperate need filling him. All the while, his gut continued to expand, from a small paunch to a proper gut hanging out into his lap, the rest of his body filling out slightly as well, especially in his chest, becoming two moobs also resting on his new gut. After half an hour of stuffing himself, and with the tray of food almost exhausted, Raury let out a loud belch and finally managed to slow himself down as the hunger subsided. In fact, he felt much better all over–the nausea, exhaustion and dizziness seemed to have cleared up, and he finally felt like he could think clearly. He looked over at Sam, the first time he’d managed to acknowledge his friend sitting there, and blushed at the look of shock across his face, then looked down at himself, taking in what his self-stuffing had done to his figure.

He was…massive. His gut had expanded out over his thighs, and was falling down between them, pushing them apart. He grabbed it in his hands, kneading it, and let out a surprising groan, his cock responding immediately to the sensation. “Fuck…I didn’t…know being fat felt this fucking good…”

The Fetish Gun Is Loose! (Part 5) [Interactive]

So it was a tie, between giving Rick some additional humiliating fetishes, and having Anthony become his father, so we’ll do a mash up of both. Also, there’s a 42% chance that this is going to end up backfiring on Anthony–and since there’s two changes, there’s two chances it’ll backfire on whoever has the gun at the moment! So we’ll see what happens!

WARNING: SCAT

Anthony was enjoying the hell out of his diaper boy–but he wanted to push things a bit further. What he was really fantasizing about was taking him home and treating him like a stupid little boy…but why not push that in a more taboo direction, and actually become Rick’s father? He didn’t want that idea to turn him on quite as much as it was…and he wasn’t even sure if the gun could do it. Sure, it could create relationships–all he had to do was turn it to dial D–but why not just give it a shot, and see what happens? He turned the dial around to D, while Rick was still busy sucking his cock, and he pointed it at–

(Backfire save roll……Failure! Anthony’s plan backfires.)

Rick. What he forgot, was that the person that gets shot with the gun first, is the person who will be more dominant in the relationship. He pulled the trigger, the ray engulfed Rick in the yellow aura, and then bounced back and swallowed him as well. It was the first time he’d experienced the gun itself–and it was…unsettling. He found all of these new ideas and memories in his mind, how he’d raised his son Rick–and he’d always hated potty training. He’d throw tantrums, insist his father put him back in diapers, and Anthony had always relented–just to get him to stop. He’d assumed he’d grow out of it–and he did, somewhat, but not out of his brashness, and his domineering attitude, and Anthony had just…never been able to say no to him.

Rick wet the bed constantly as a teenager–so much that Anthony believed he must have liked it. If he washed the sheets, then he’d come home from work to discover his own mattress soaked in piss as well. It wasn’t long after that, when Rick coaxed his father into sucking his cock one evening, while they were both drunk, and things had only spiraled out of control from there. Now, here they were–Anthony in his late fifties, and Rick in his mid-thirties, and his son had…total control over his father’s life.

He realized what he’d done, as the gun faded away, but Rick was too quick–he snatched the gun from his father’s hand, and then stood up, and Anthony…quaked. “That’s a very naughty daddy–turn around, someone needs a spanking, don’t you think?”

Anthony realized he was nearly naked in the club–Rick liked to bring him here on busy nights to humiliate his father, usually with both of them diapered. He hadn’t messed his yet–so Rick pulled it down and started spanking his fat father’s ass, and Anthony…liked it. He felt his cock getting hard, knowing his own son was punishing him, and he craved it–Rick had warped his mind so much over the years, that he was willing to do anything for him, now. When Rick was satisfied, he pulled his dad’s diaper back up into place, sat down with a squelch (his own diaper, at this point, was rather full) and ordered his father to sniff his diaper, while he examined his new toy.

He saw the dial on the side, with the settings, and had his daddy explain them to him. He considered lying…but what was the point? He’d just get punished for not telling the truth, if he did. “Well dad, did you shoot me with this earlier? Be honest now.”

Anthony nodded, his face pressed to his son’s pissy diaper. “I…I turned you into a diaper obsessed pig, son, I’m sorry…”

“Don’t apologize daddy–you did good, but you need to be punished for using my toys without permission. If you got to change me, I think it’s only fair that I get to change you, right?”

Anthony gulped, as his son turned the dial to setting A, turned to gun on him. He fought…hard. He had to stop him, he had to regain control, and push back against this…

(Backfire check #2! The risk is still 42% percent, that things will, this time, backfire against Rick, who is holding the gun. Backfire save roll…….Success! No backfire.)

But before he could work up the will to fight for the gun, his son fired–and Anthony found himself losing the will to do…anything, really. More memories filled in, how he’d always been just as lazy as his son–if not even lazier. He…liked being a slob, and being fat, and being…being a loser. It was natural that he serve his son–after all, he was so much smarter and better than he was. When the gun stopped, Anthony had gained close to 300 pounds, kneeling there in his own oversized, saggy diaper–the same one he’d been wearing, and filling, for days at this point. He could smell himself, and he was so filthy–he loved it, and he loved his son even more for showing him just how much of a pathetic loser he could be.

The people around them were just as disgusted as they ought to be, and they’d also attracted the attention of a bouncer, who was coming over to eject them from the bar–but Rick had a plan for that. He fired the gun at the man, and instead of ejecting them, he shoved his dad down and started hitting him–lightly at first, but then harder. Rick just watched the bouncer abuse and beat his father, berating him the entire time, shooting him on occasion with the gun to push him further, until the bouncer–now a filthy, ugly bruiser obsessed with physical abuse, hauled down Anthony’s full diaper, and shoved his hand into the old man’s ass, fisting him roughly right there in the bar, while Rick watched–until he couldn’t resist joining in, fucking his father’s face while the bouncer kept fisting him, jacking off with his free hand, all of them lost in the moment–and none of them minding the gun.

No one else intervened. The longer it had gone on, the more…normal it seemed for everyone. After all, as disturbing as the trio were, they were all regular sights here, at the bar–the same with Davie and his posse of admirers on the other side, all of them worshiping his massive, monstrous cock–though none were as devoted as Phil–who had an…unhealthy obsession with Davie’s cock. But who gets a hold of the gun next?

So, now that we have a few characters involved, things can get a bit more…interesting. Who gets a hold of the gun next?

Davie recovers it–and starts modifying the three of them to suit his interests.
The brutish bouncer claims it, and uses it on Rick, making him his submissive pain slave as well.
Anthony gets hold of it again, and uses setting E on himself–so the bouncer and Rick will absorb his new fetishes.
Rick keeps hold of it, and uses it to warp some other people into permanent fixtures of the bar’s bathroom.

Here is the twitter poll

Here is the patron poll

Voting ends on Monday!

Pugsley’s Bachelor Party

Commissioned for @pugsleypig – Hope the big day goes well!

When Pugsley told me that he wanted a bachelor party–I knew what he really wanted. After all, he wouldn’t have asked me if he hadn’t had something in mind. I told him I’d organize the perfect party for a pig like him–that he just needed to show up at my apartment on Saturday, at two pm sharp. He arrived a bit early, he’s conscientious like that.

He was wearing his usual clothes: camo tank, shorts, boots and hat–I told him to strip out of those, he wouldn’t be needing them. Then I gave him his uniform for the party–a black leather waistcoat, crotchless and assless rubber shorts, a black bowtie, white cuffs on his wrists, knee high socks and black dress shoes. He was, I told him, going to be the waiter and service at his own bachelor party–thankfully, I had the good instinct to lock up his cock before telling him this, so I could watch his cock strain in it’s tight cage. Then I sent him into the kitchen to start cooking–guests would be arriving at seven, and he needed the appetizers ready to serve on the dot.

He worked hard–he always does. I watched him a bit, and then went to prepare another room for the poker game I had planned with a few acquaintances of mine–Pugsley might have thought it would be his friends coming by later, but I had something a bit better in mind. Seven rolled around, and as the men arrived, I made Pugsley answer the door and greet them all, and when he saw them, I could see him struggling with disgust and arousal at the same time. They weren’t, after all, his type. All four were older, in their forties to sixties, hairy, chubby, several of them smelling of smoke–not the fit, military men he usually fantasized about serving. He served well all the same though. After I got everyone seated at the table for the game, he brought out appetizers, and the men started berating him, groping him, ordering him around, and I saw he was properly enjoying himself.

For the first few hours, while we played the game, he focused on keeping everyone’s beers full and cigars lit, their feet massaged under the table, their plates supplied with food. Once everyone was a bit drunk and enjoying themselves, I moved onto the next part of the party–paused the game, and told Pugsley that it was time for his bachelor gifts. I went over to a bookcase and took down a small jewelry box, opened it, and handed the small stone inside to the first man in the group, one of the younger and fitter fellows by the name of John. Pugsley had noticed, when he’d entered, he’d smelled more strongly of smoke and booze than the others, and he was quite a bit more drunk already.

“Alright, Pugsley–my four friends are going to give you some very special gifts now, and you’re going to be a good pig and accept they all gladly, right?”

He nodded, but he still didn’t quite understand what I was talking about. John cleared his smoky throat, and said, “Alright pig–I’m gonna be giving you my two pack a day cigarette habit, and my alcoholism. I usually drink a six pack every night–so you’d better get used to it.”

The stone in the man’s hand glowed, and a ray shot out at Pugsley, striking him in the chest, and he felt new needs rise up in his chest. He’d been ambivalent about the smoking before–but he had a new need in his eyes–taking a bit of pity on him, I tapped the ash off mine into his mouth, making him thank me for it, and then took a longish butt from the table and worked it into his ass–he’d be feeling better soon, as the nicotine seeped into his system.

John passed the stone to the next man, Craig, who was by far the most heavyset of the men in the group, with a large apron of hat hanging down between his thighs. “Alright pig, I’m going to give you 300 pounds of fat, but in exchange, you’re going to give me a six inches off your height.”

Pugsley looked at me, wondering if that was allowed, but the stone glowed, another ray shot him, and in a matter of moments, the rubber shorts hand split apart on him, the buttons on the waistcoat popping off, the bowtie cutting into his flabby neck. He clawed at it until he got it undone, and heaved for breath, looking down at his five and a half foot frame, now packed with over 500 pounds of fat, hanging off him in massive rolls. A much slimmer, and taller, Craig passed the stone on to the next fellow, Rex. “Well, I’ve always had real bad B.O., you see, and a problem with belchin’ and fartin’–so why don’t you take those pig? I think they’ll suit you.”

The stone glowed again, shot out and struck Puglsey, and he belched immediately, his flabby frame shaking, making all the men laugh. He could feel the sweat rolling off him now, in all the cracks of his body–he reeked, but there was nothing he could do about it. Lastly, Peter took the stone, who was the oldest fellow, with a thick white beard. “Alright Puglsey–I’m going to give you…say, thirty years of my life, and also this impotence I’ve been struggling with a lot lately. A pig like you doesn’t need to use your dick though, right?”

I think he wanted to cry, as the years piled on his new body, his fat sagging further, hair receding and turning white, and we all heard to clink of the metal cock cage falling to the floor–his already meager cock had shrunk back so far into his flab, that it had simply fallen off. We all laughed, and turned back to the game, Pugsley trying to recover and keep serving, but he kept choking back tears. I heard him whispering, “It’s just…for tonight, just for a bit.” He’d seen me take the stone and put it back in the box–he probably thought he would get to give back his gifts–instead, I ushered all the men out into the night, making the new Pugsley thank all of them for their nice gifts for his wedding the next day–and then we were alone, and he finally let it out, sobbing in fear.

“I can’t–I can’t show up like this, I can’t–you…you can fix this, right?”

I shook my head, “I thought you wanted to serve, pig? This is service–you should be thanking me for giving you this opportunity. Besides–you’re still in there, the real you. If he loves you, he should be able to love this you as well, right?”

He didn’t know what to say to that.

“You’re going to stand at that alter tomorrow–in that ill-fitting tux, and in front of all of your friends and family, you’re going to have to ask him to love you. To prove that he’ll love you, no matter what. If he means it? Then he will. And if not…well, you can always come back here, and serve me instead. I’ll always have room for a dirty, fat, worthless pig around here, you know.”

He sucked me off, and I sent him on his way in the same short, tank and boots he’d arrived in–though he could barely fit any of the ensemble now. I knew he’d go through with it, because he knew I was right–if he loved him, truly loved him, he’d love him no matter how he looked. Besides–in 24 hours, after the ceremony, I’d fix him right up, good as he was before–and send those gifts into the void for good. But he’d know if he’d found a man–a man who could truly love a pig like him, no matter what.

The Fetish Gun is Loose! (Part 4) [Interactive]

Looks like the winner was out older bear into diapers, humiliation, and watersports. Let’s see what he does when he gets hold of the gun…

Earlier, in the club…

Had Anthony really seen, what he’d just seen? Even now, it was almost impossible to believe it, even though it had happened, right there across the upper floor of the bar. He had been stashed back in a dark corner, watching that man pick up and toy around with that odd gun he’d found in that booth. Then, he’d shot himself with it, and after…he’d been different. Really different, but Anthony hadn’t really been able to remember how different–it was like the earlier version of the man had been scrubbed from reality, and replaced by the freak in the booth–massively hung, wearing a singlet…but that had just been the start of the insanity. He’d just…eaten someone, with his fucking cock. He pulled himself further back as the man stood up, hauling along the heavy, monstrous thing hanging from the front of the singlet, and went down to the dance floor–he was so taken with the sight, he didn’t realize, for a moment, that the man had left the gun behind in the booth.

He moved quick–grabbed the gun and retreated back to the booth where he’d been, stopping only to grab the piece of paper that had fallen from the table to the floor, which turned out to be a summary of the gun–and it’s five features. It would have been unbelievable if he hadn’t just witnessed it in action. The shit he could do with this thing–the possibilities already had him hard in the front of his pants.

Anthony had a few quirks of his own–though they mostly had to do with other people, than himself. He loved humiliating guys more than pretty much anything–but most of all, he loved forcing guys into diapers and making them piss themselves. He didn’t get to enjoy his fetish very often, because finding guys to go along with it was…difficult. But with the gun, it wasn’t going to be a struggle at all. He turned the setting to A, and then went to the edge of the balcony, where he could look down at the crowd below.

The silicone guy was down there, with half a dozen guys clambering for his attention. He must have used setting B–and as tempting as it was to shoot him…he set his sights on someone else instead, as he dragged his obsessive group of hanger ons away from the dance floor and towards the dark back of the bar. Instead, he spotted someone better–someone he knew. Rick was an “A Gay”, always muscled, always on trend, and always desired. He was in the middle of the dance floor now, wearing just a skimpy thong showing off his substantial junk bouncing as he danced to the music. Anthony leveled the gun at him, held an idea of what he wanted in his mind, and shot him with a ray of yellow, watching it sink into his skin, the thong shuddering…and growing into a thick diaper.

Rick noticed, and was horrified, but he couldn’t stop dancing. People were noticing, pointing, laughing–and then he started pissing himself. He couldn’t stop the flow, and there was so much of it–it overflowed the diaper and ran down the insides of his thighs…and he was so turned on, by becoming the laughing stock of the entire club, that he started groping the front of his diaper, his cock hard, milking himself to orgasm in the warm, saggy diaper. Anthony shot him again as he did, and Rick’s perfect body began to melt and distort. He wasn’t muscled anymore–now he was more chub than anything else, his perfect hair lank and greasy, crooked teeth leering around him at the men laughing, groping harder, loving how everyone could see just how much of a loser he was now, and he came, loudly and obviously, before a bouncer dragged him off the dance floor–but Anthony intervened before they could kick him out, and pulled the much changed Rick into a corner, shoved the loser down to his knees, and soaked him down with his own piss, before making him suck him off right there in the club.

“What do you think now, hotshot? Think you’re the coolest fucker in the club now? Can you even remember was a hot piece of meat you were before?” Anthony said.

Could he? Rick could remember, vaguely, who he’d been–but thinking about that only made him even hotter, knowing that he’d fallen so far, into this nasty piece of shit, stuck in diapers, humiliating himself in the hottest gay bar in town. “No sir, I’m a filthy, diaper wearing loser. Can…can I suck your cock sir?”

Anthony made Rick beg for his cum, plead for it, tell him exactly what a loser he was and how much he loved it, making sure everyone around them knew exactly what kind of pervert he was, and what he wanted–and Anthony finally milked his load onto Rick’s face, and told him to leave it. Then he grabbed the gun and twisted the dial–he wasn’t done with Rick yet, not by a ways.

This time around, we have a bit of a twist! There are three standard options, but the fourth one is special–the more people who vote for backfire, the more likely it is that the tables will end up turned against Anthony next chapter, in different ways, depending on which one of the top three gets the most votes. So mind your vote!

Uses setting C to turn his diaper man into a literal, corruptive diaper he forces another jock to wear.
He uses setting A to add more humiliating fetishes to Rick’s mind.
He uses setting D to create an incestual relationship between them, with Anthony as Rick’s domineering father.
Backfire! – The ending total percentage of this option (combined between both polls, not averaged) is the possibility of the top option among the other three backfiring on Anthony.

Here is the twitter poll

Here is the patron only poll

Voting ends on Thursday!

House of Marvels – Episode 1 (Part 7)

“Alright…but what’s the game called?”

Eric didn’t say anything, he was looking at Raury’s, trying to see what the smoke was showing him, and trying to understand what it wanted him to do. That night with Mr. Fields had been so…natural–just feed him his smoke, and he’d given in easily–desperately, really. But Raury was something else–he wasn’t right yet. He didn’t belong here with him yet…but he could, with…time. With time, and something else. “It’s a roleplaying game. But one that I’d say is a lot more focused on story and character, than fighting or anything like that.”

Eric leaned in closer, a bit more smoke unfurling from his mouth, sliding through the air and into Raury’s mouth and nose, his friend’s eyes unfocusing slightly. “Can I…use my usual sort of character?”

Eric laughed–Raury always liked to play as an elf mage, or the closest thing he could get to it, in whatever game they might be playing at the moment. The idea disgusted him–some young, tall, skinny thing. No–nothing like that was worthy of him, of his attention. “No, why don’t you try branching out a bit? Trying something a little different? I’m thinking something a little…more sizable…something I can really sink my nails into…”

Before Raury could say anything else, Eric had taken a deep breath of smoke from the pipe, and closed the distance between them, locking lips with his friend and pushing the smoke deep into his lungs. Raury wasn’t ready for it, and he started coughing and hacking, shoving Eric off of him and getting up from the couch. “What…what the fuck, Eric?” His head was spinning, and he nearly tripped over the coffee table. What was he doing down here, anyway? He should have left with Sam, he’d wanted to leave with Sam, but something…he’d gotten distracted by the smoke, and by Eric–but this wasn’t right. Eric wasn’t playing a game down here–there were no books, there were no dice. He coughed some more, trying to get the smoke out of him, but he could feel it clinging to the inside of his lungs, working its way into his body.

“Mr. Fields, help Raury out, would you? Help him back over here, so we can talk some more about the game.”

Mr. Fields walked towards Raury and pulled him close for a moment, and something about the older man’s skin against him reminded him of the smoke inside him, made him feel warm, and safe, and…and a little horny too, for some reason. He pushed him away, but Mr. Fields held tight to his arm, and tried to drag him back to where Eric was sitting–but he yanked his arm away. “Eric, what are you doing? This isn’t like you–something is wrong with you, you need to get help!”

“I don’t need help, Raury–you need help. You need my help. Come over here, let’s…chat some more. You’ll feel much better soon, you’ll understand. You’ll be happy here, I promise, you all will.”

Mr. Fields tried to grab him again, but Raury had no intention of getting near him again, if he could help it. He pushed his way past him and ran for the stairs, Eric shouting at him, demanding he get back down there, and as much as Raury wanted to obey him, for reasons he couldn’t understand beyond their sheer force, he pushed on, upto the main floor of the house, where the smoke was thinner, and then outside into the clean air–and breathing it hurt, somehow, even though it made him feel better all the same. He looked around for Sam, but his friend was nowhere to be seen–he didn’t blame him, honestly–he too wanted to put as much space between himself and this house as he could. He knew he should call someone for help, but who? The police? There wasn’t a crime, really–and Eric was his friend. No…no more than his friend, really, but the word he was looking for escaped his tongue. He’d…remember it eventually. No, he just needed some space. He’d connect with Sam back on campus, and together they’d figure out what to do about this. As he walked, he kept coughing on occasion, but nothing else was coming up. He felt winded though, and a bit…heavy, somehow–but he chalked it up to being a bit high on whatever Eric had been smoking in that pipe, and tried his best to forget about it.

Back in the house, Eric was in a fury. When Raury had made it up the stairs and back into the house, Eric had tried to follow him–but hadn’t been able to make it halfway up before he’d started shaking and trembling. He wasn’t ready. He wasn’t ready to go outside yet, he wasn’t…strong enough, he wasn’t finished, and he’d gotten away! He’d been his, Eric had claimed him, marked him, started…working on him, and he’d escaped, and it was consuming him in hatred and anger he could barely understand or grapple with. It was irrational, he knew that, but his reason was drowned out by the simple fact that he couldn’t dispute–Raury was his. His! His, just like Mr. Fields was his, and Eric had let him get away, like a weak fool. He had to get him back, but he had no way of knowing if he would come back here or not–most likely not. But if Eric couldn’t get him back…it would consume him, this anger, and jealousy, and rage. He felt hot, so hot, like something had kindled a fire in his chest, and he let off a roar into the room, Mr. Fields cowering away from him in fear.

Eric hated him. He desired him, but he hated him. He owned him, but he hated him. He hated how weak he was, how small he was, how he was helpless against losing him. If he lost Mr. Fields like he’d lost Raury…he didn’t know what he would do. Just thinking about it made him ache with need, and he stalked over to him, threw Mr. Fields to the floor, and mounted him then and there, pouring out smoke from the pipe, grunting and roaring and snarling, reminding him of his place, reminding him that he belonged to Eric. He had been too kind to him, allowing him to keep a bit of his humanity, allowing him a name, allowing him to be anything other than an object. He was too kind–he would need to rid himself of that if he was going to be happy–if he was going to survive.

House of Marvels – Episode 1 (Part 6)

“Mr. Fields,” Raury said, “You have to see how fucked up this is. We have to get you out of here–both of you.”

“No!” Eric screamed, “No, he’s mine, you can’t have him, you can’t take him away from me, he’s mine!”

“Eric, calm down,” Sam said, “We’re just worried about you, and I don’t think you really know what you’re saying right now. What is in that pipe, anyway? That smoke…it doesn’t smell right.”

Eric, however, couldn’t calm down. After what Raury had said, about taking his daddy away from him, a horrific paranoia and fury had erupted in him. They’d come here to take him away from him. They knew how sexy he was, what a hot, beautiful daddy he was, these two young men, and they wanted him for themselves. He wasn’t going to let that happen–he should…he should kill them.

He gasped, horrified by what he’d just thought. He couldn’t kill them, they were his friends, weren’t they? But what good friend would take his property away? Didn’t they understand how important this was to him? No, that was the problem. They didn’t understand, but perhaps he could…help them understand a bit better, just like how he’d helped Mr. Fields understand his role here better earlier.

“No, you see? It’s just a game, that’s all. A big game,” Eric said, his voice soft and silky on their minds, the smoke twining around them both unnoticed, sliding into their noses, their mouths and ears. “Just a…a role playing game, is all. Mr. Fields was curious about them, about how we played them, and so we’re doing some roleplaying together. That’s all. We’re just in costume, and maybe we got a bit carried away, but we’re both fine–neither of you have anything to worry about. In fact…if you wanted to play too, I’m sure we could find a role for you both in here too. I know how much the two of you like games after all.”

“O-Oh…I guess that makes sense,” Raury said softly, eyes looking slightly distant.

“What?” Sam said, “No it doesn’t! It doesn’t make any sense at all!”

“Sam, calm down,” Eric said, “You came in here, raving like a lunatic, when obviously, we’re all just playing a silly game here. There’s nothing strange about this at all.”

Was he being silly? But if this was a game, then why in the world had Eric missed nearly an entire week’s worth of classes? If this was a game, why was Mr. Fields even playing it? He seemed way too suspicious of the games they played, and was way too strict of a figure to ever try playing one with them when they’d offered, to be polite. It didn’t make any sense, but what other explanation was there? “Alright then, if you two are roleplaying something, then what are you playing at exactly? Because to me…well, it doesn’t look like anything I’ve ever seen you play before with us, and I know all of the games you know, Eric.”

“Well we don’t have to keep playing this one by any means, I was getting a bit bored with it, honestly. In fact, I’m glad you two came, I was starting to get…well, why don’t we play something? All four of us? It’ll be more fun that just the two of us. Your choice Sam, anything you’d like.”

“Eric, I…really think that something is wrong here, with both of you. I don’t…want to play a game, I want to get you help.”

“If you don’t want to play a game, then why are you here, Sam? You only come here when you want to play games after all.”

Sam didn’t want to listen to anything else, and the smoke was making his head spin. “I…I need some fresh air, I…I don’t know what’s going on here, and I don’t want to know…” He headed for the stairs and got out of the house into the evening air, taking deep breaths and coughing up as much smoke as he could, but it was a few moments before he realized that Raury hadn’t come up with him. He’d…come up on his own, surely. Something told Sam that he should go back in and get his friend, but he didn’t want to go down there again. He didn’t want to smell that smoke ever again, if he could help it. Raury…Raury would be fine, he should just go, and put as much space between him and this house as he could.

Downstairs, Raury had watched Sam go, and part of him had wanted to go with him, knew that staying down here was…dangerous for some reason, but he couldn’t figure out why, exactly. After all, it was just Mr. Fields and Eric down here, playing a game. There was nothing dangerous about that. Still…Sam had seemed really freaked out by something, and he wanted to make sure he was alright. But before he could get to the stairs, Eric spoke, “Come on Raury, stay for a while. Play a game with us. It’ll be a fun one, I promise. Entertain me, I’m so bored today…”

Raury paused, and turned away from the stairs. “What…game do you want to play?”

Eric thought for a moment, and stared at Raury across the room. He wasn’t his type at all–too skinny, too smooth, too small, too young most of all…but could he do something about that? Something…was telling him that he could, that even though Raury wasn’t fit to be his property just yet…he could make it happen somehow. He could almost see it, even, like the smoke was forming around him in clumps, hinting at a larger frame, wisping around his clothes like white fur…thinking about it was making him hard, and Raury went red in the face at the sight of Eric’s cock openly engorging. Had…had Eric been naked all this time, and he just now realized it? “I kind of feel like playing something new–something I just found out about the other day, in fact. I’m sure you’ll enjoy it.”

Remembrances – Episode 2 (Part 9)

Pete nodded, “Fuck Unc, fuck me, fuck…my loser hole…”

“See? He’s grateful for it. He deserves it–unlike you. But don’t worry, you can watch…sometimes. When I feel like it. But I don’t think you’re going to get this cock in your ass very often anymore at all. But you’ve found….other ways, haven’t you?”

Harry’s hand fumbled for the humidor, found a thick, 90 ring cigar, ones he kept in there for…special moments like this. He licked the end, and then leaned forward, sliding it into his ass, fucking himself with his cigar while Wilbur fucked his boy and he watched, wishing it could be him in either position, wishing he hadn’t been foolish enough to challenge him, wishing he’d been better, wishing he hadn’t simply been…replaced. “Please…please, I’m sorry…” Harry muttered.

“What? What was that? You gotta speak up, Harry, I can’t hear you over the sound of your son begging me for more of his uncle’s cock.”

“I’m sorry!” Harry shouted, “I’m sorry Wilbur, I’m sorry, but…but please, I need you inside me, please, I know I was wrong, I’ll be good, I swear, but please, you have to…do what you want to me, take whatever you want, but I love you Wilbur, I…I love you…”

Harry felt a surge of pleasure as he rammed his cigar deeper into his ass, and his flaccid cock leaked a dribble of cum from the head. It was as a good as an orgasm got for him anymore, that he could remember. He looked over at Wilbur, at Mr. Elroy, at his son, but they weren’t paying him any mind. He wasn’t important. He was just a weak, impotent old man. Wilbur kept fucking until he came deep in Pete’s hole, and then slid out, Pete pushing himself up with a grunt, face red, hating how his Uncle Wilbur could make him feel so weak, and yet he…loved it somehow.

The vision of Wilbur faded, and Mr. Elroy was there once again, and he walked over to Harry, still helplessly siding his cigar into his hole, deeper and deeper, feeling slightly sick from the surge of nicotine in his system, leaching into his ass. “I accept your apology, Harry. But I think you understand now, that things are never going to get better for you–for either of you. If you cooperate, I can make sure you are at least…happy and cared for, but you will never be anyone of importance. You’re mine now. I can make you whatever, and whoever, I desire you to be, and you will believe it. Do you understand that now?”

“Yes sir, I do,” Harry muttered.

Mr. Elroy bent over and slid the cigar free of Harry’s hole, making him grunt. “Good. Now, I think you do deserve a treat, because all difficulties aside, your son was…a delightful meal. And we haven’t even gotten to your grandson yet, have we?”

Kyle. He hadn’t thought of him once since he’d gotten into this. His younger brother, or at least, he’d been his younger brother…ages ago now, it felt like. Those memories were dying on the vine, faster and faster now, but he could remember his grandson’s face…though it was blurry, like his son’s had been, before he’d arrived.

“No–not him, you can’t…”

“Oh, I most certainly can. After all, the three of you are family–whether you like it or not, your fates are tied together. As soon as you stepped into this room, Harry, you sealed all of your fates together. You’re all mine, and you’ll all be mine until your all just husks, and I’ve taken everything from you that I can get. Still, that won’t be for a while yet–after all, I do so enjoy playing with my food, and my last meal was quite…sustaining, though the three of you are mighty hearty yourselves. No, Harry–I think you’ve learned your lesson well enough, and I think you and your boy here have earned yourselves a little time alone together–some father son bonding–won’t that be nice?” Mr. Elroy looked over at Pete, hauling himself up and pulling his grimy pants back up. “He’s such a handsome brute after all–you always thought so, didn’t you?”

The memories came back, a new version of their time together. Now, though, while they had often wrestled…in was Pete who always would win, or at least, nearly always…because Harry wanted him to win. Because Harry loved how weak he felt, his own brutish son overwhelming him, and when Pete had fucked him that first time…they even dropped the pretense of wrestling. Pete knew his father would do anything for his cock, just like Harry would do anything for Wilbur’s. More than once, the two of them had fucked him together, trading ends back and forth, and when Wilbur had died, his son was the only one left who understood him, who knew how to…treat Harry right. He’d learned from the best after all–and while he’d never been one for school, Pete had learned everything he’d needed to know about being a selfish, brutal top from his favorite uncle.

The memory faded, and Harry looked around his apartment, but Mr. Elroy was gone. It was just him in his favorite chair, and his son on the couch, both of them smoking cigars in the quiet afternoon. Pete gave a stretch, showing off two very hairy armpits from the ash covered wife beater he had stretched over his massive gut. “Well Pa, looks like yer settling in well here–and that nurse a yers seems like a swell fellow. Reminds me…a bit of Uncle Wilbur, you know?”

Harry nodded, not sure what to say. Should he try and talk some sense into him? What was the use? Mr. Elroy might not be here…but he knew what would happen if he tried to fight this. Where would he go, if he did escape? “Yeah, he treats me pretty good,” Harry said.

“Think I’ll bring Ky over tomorrow to say hi too–don’t think he’s had a chance to visit yet, but that boy…he don’t understand how important family is, I don’t think. Doesn’t really take after you the way I do, right Pa?”

He hefted himself up, lumbering over to him, and he smelled him, the stench of stale cigars and his fat body, booze and food and laziness, and he wanted to say he wasn’t turned on, but he was. He…remembered how proud he’d been of him, when he’d had so much potential, and yet something about seeing his brawny young son turn into his fat piece of trailer trash…he loved it in a way he couldn’t explain. “I’ve tried a couple a times, tah show him, but he just doesn’t have much interest in wrasslin’. You don’t need any encouragement, do ya Pa? Haven’t gotten mah dick sucked in a few days now, ‘n sure could use a hot mouth like yours. Take those teeth out–feels real nice without ‘em.”

Harry felt the resistance ebb away. What could he do? Even though his son was a fat piece of shit, he still was stronger than Harry was–and Pete had never been one to take no for an answer. He set the cigar aside, pulled out his teeth while Pete hauled out his cock, and fucked his father’s face in the living room for a few minutes, until he came. Neither of them said anything about it afterwards, they just turned on the TV and watched the news for a while until Mr. Elroy returned, and announced it was time for Harry to take his pills–and asked Pete if he’d like to stay for dinner.

“Nah, I should get goin’,” Pete said, “Ky’s probably wonderin’ where his deadbeat dad has gotten off to. Need to keep the boy fed, right?” He winked at Harry, and he felt his gut twist all the same, thinking about what was in store for his brother soon enough. “Can’t wait tah bring him by here tomorrow, I think he needs to be more involved with his family from now on.”

“Yes, recovery goes so much smoother when the whole family is involved, in my experience,” Mr. Elroy said, “The afternoon is best for Harry’s schedule–we’ll be expecting you around two or so.”

“I don’t…think I want any visitors tomorrow,” Harry interjected.

“Nonsense Harry,” Mr. Elroy said, “You always have time for family. Don’t you want to get better?”

“I feel fine.”

Mr. Elroy and Pete shared a look.

“Always a stubborn son of a bitch. Don’t worry, we’ll be here tomorrow,” Pete said.

“Excellent–I’m sure it will be great to see you both.”

Pete shook Mr. Elroy’s hand, and then left, still smoking his cigar on the way out. Harry could only wonder. Wonder if there was anything of his father–his real father–buried anywhere inside of him, just like he was…or was there nothing left? After all, Mr. Elroy said that the only reason he was here was because of his connection to Harry–was Mr. Elroy keeping his mind intact for that reason? Maybe…Maybe there was a chance still. A small one. Maybe with Kyle’s help they can be free of this. “Now, dinner I think,” Mr. Elroy said. “Given how difficult you were today, you’ll only get your cane tonight. I feel like watching you struggle–this is always more fun when you struggle.”

Suggested Story – The Sponsored Rehabilitation of a Resistance Fighter Jeff Wood | Wesley Bracken on Patreon

Here’s this weeks short story that’s available to Patrons only! If you want access to these flash fictions, and the ability to suggest your own ideas, all it takes is one dollar a month! This week, the government has mandated that all men in the country must have a BMI of at least 40. There has been…resistance, of course, but one of the resistance leaders, Jeff Woods, has been captured, and the government has planned a special rehab program just for him, with the help of his father.