Tag: weight gain

Curse of the Homophobe (Part 11)

As soon as Evan thought about giving into this persona, however, the spirit welled up inside him–warning him. Telling him that it would get its satisfaction one way or another, whether he helped it along or not–and so, it would be best for him if he simply cooperated. He looked over at Harry, who was now naked, and felt that familiar squeamishness rise up in his throat at the sight of him, like looking at naked men always seemed to do to him, like he was some fucking queer–and he hated it. He hated Harry, most of all, in that moment, and he thought of all the vile things he could do to him…but he held back and restrained himself. He couldn’t lose himself again, like before. Stay in control of himself, and maybe he could keep his wits about him.

“You know, I just don’t think you have what it takes, Harry,” he said, the power twining out and around him–but not changing him yet, just…sliding a little bit of doubt and confusion into his mind.

“What are you talking about, Evan?” Harry asked him.

“I mean, as far as recruits go–you’re a pretty sorry looking fucker, you know that? I mean, what are you, five foot five? 240 pounds? Decided to tuck into those doughnuts even before you got through the academy. Can’t fucking imagine how you managed to pass the physical tests with that sort of frame, but maybe the standards just aren’t quite what they used to be, back when I went through. They’ll let any short fat dumbfuck become a cop these days.”

Harry tried to rebut him, but the spirit was too quick, warping him as Evan spoke, until the lean, muscled, veteran of the force had almost entirely disappeared. In his place was a short, stocky young cadet, fresh out of the academy, who had been given to Evan to train. The words…stung, but while Harry knew he should try and defend himself, and his honor…he couldn’t seem to make his brain work fast enough to come up with a retort.

Evan just continued, feeling more confident, feeling his cock hardening in anticipation, “I did have a chat with Grant, though, about you. I always check in with him when I get a new cadet to train–and you know what he told me? Grant and I go way back you know–he paired me up with you for good reason, boy–he told me all about those special skills of yours you used to get through the academy. That sweet mouth and tight ass. See, we let the occasional faggot through, you know. Not many–they never make good cops, but they sure can make great bootlickers. You a good bootlicker, boy?”

Evan put his booted foot up on the bench, and watched Harry’s eye go right to it. He knew what was expected of him–and he walked over, got down on his knees, and started shining his superior officer’s boot with his tongue–first one, and then the other, paying special attention to the bottom of the soles (where Evan reminded him he’d walked through dog shit earlier that day) and then shoved the young cub up against the lockers and fucked his tight ass, showing the boy what he could expect his proper place to be in this precinct–though he knew what he was signing up for, didn’t he? He’s fantasized about being a cop’s sex slave for as long as he could remember, which is why he signed up for Grant’s special recruitment program, after all.

He came deep, pulled free, and made the cadet clean off his cock, before ordering him to get changed and out of his sight. Harry did as he was ordered, his own cock rock hard the entire time, and Evan knew he would be jacking off as soon as possible–these little faggot cadets were all the fucking same, after all. Evan went back to changing, and noticed that he had changed as well. No longer just a beat cop anymore–he was the captain in charge of this entire precinct–which is exactly why Grant had sent this pig here–he was just Evan’s type after all, and his last pig had finally broken down and quit a month ago. He wasn’t worried about they talking–they all wanted it, after all, even if the reality was always too much for them. Still, this one was…particularly eager–he might last longer than most, but Evan would grind him down eventually. That was his favorite part, after all.

He was dressed in his street clothes, admiring his broad shoulders, silver hair and mustache, thinking about how nice it would be to get home for dinner…but something was nagging him. This wasn’t quite right, after all. He knew he should be remembering something…but he was so tired, and maybe it was easier to just finally forget. (will check 60%: success! The story goes on!) He did remember though–how could he forget? This wasn’t real, but his task was, at least, finished…and maybe he’d be able to avoid the same fate as before now, if he was careful when he changed back. If he changed back, that is.

He…was important, now, after all. He had ambitions, and…needs. He could becomes someone even more important–he was attending a gala with the mayor and the commissioner in a few days, after all. But is that what he wanted? Thinking about Harry’s young hole…there were some young men in the neighborhood who could use his  If he changed back now…what if he did end up back with Robbie, or maybe even something worse? But what did he want, really?

Alright, Evan can either change back into something else at this point, or he has a couple of options if you’d like to see him continue in his cop persona. If he changes back, there’s two different options below–each has two possible outcomes (two cleaner, two grungier, depending on your tastes).

  1. Changes back into either a campus security guard (50%), or burly ex jock coach (50%).
  2. Changes back, into a grungy, chain smoking redneck sheriff (50%), or Robbie’s fat, slobby mall cop boyfriend (50%).
  3. Pursues his ambition, and corrupts the commissioner and mayor of the city. (80% end)
  4. Pursues his needs, and corrupts some young Mormon missionaries in his neighborhood. (80% end)

Here is the twitter poll

Here is the patron only poll

Polls close on Saturday!

Curse of the Homophobe (Part 9)

What did he remember? Everything was so hazy now, it seemed impossible to remember a world beyond this basement, beyond the torture and rape he was subjected to daily, which he’d grown to crave…but there had been something else. He thought about the sun. He could remember it, the sensation of it on his skin, and he clung to that, trying to piece together when he’d last felt it. Sound came next, the sound of hammer and machinery. The smell of pouring concrete and sawdust. It wasn’t much, but it was something, and he clung to it, reached for it, even as the spirit in his mind tried to tempt him away from it, tried to tell him he didn’t really want that, that what he really craved was down here, in the dark. Evan was tenacious, and the spirit was…not angry, but perturbed that he refused to give into its darkness, and so it opened up a bit further, the memory, and more came to him in a flurry.

The smell of cigars. He remembered that for sure. They were cheap ones–he didn’t make enough for anything fancy after all, and at the rate he smoked them, he cared more about quantity than quality. Other smells too–mostly his own. His unwashed pits, dirty socks and underwear, his farts and belches, and just thinking about them was getting him horny–but then, he loved the smell of a dirty man more than pretty much anything else. But something else too–or maybe…someone else. They were a bit blurry, but getting clearer, the more he thought about them, the more he could smell them, and see them, and–

***BRRAAAP***

Evan gave a start, and flung an arm up as he woke up from a nightmare he’d been having in his grungy armchair, with Robbie inches from his face, mouth still open from the belch he’d launched right into Evan’s face. He could smell it–and he could smell Robbie too, and he felt his cock shudder underneath his heavy gut, hanging over his crotch in the recliner. “Fuckin’ hell Robbie, I was sleepin’!”

“Ya were snorin’ so dang loud I couldn’t hear the damn TV is what ya were doin’!” Robbie said, and then leaned in closer and kissed him, his mouth tasting of beer, salty snacks…and something else that Evan recognized, but couldn’t quite name for some reason. He was more than happy to kiss him back of course–he loved his little sleazebag of a roommate, or boyfriend, or whatever they were.

They’d met on a construction job a few years prior, and hit it off as friends until one drunken night, they’d come onto one another. It had only been a matter of time before they moved in together, and while they were on the down low, everyone could guess what the two of them were up to. No one gave them too much shit for it, though neither of them had been a very good influence on the other. Robbie now smoked cigars like a chimney, just like Evan, and Robbie had introduced Evan to other, filthier delights. Food, for one thing. He was a hundred pounds heavier now, than when he’d met Robbie, and he hadn’t been small before. Now he was 375 pounds, and while it made work hard, having Robbie clean out all of his filthy rolls every night in bed more than made up for it.

Then, Evan felt a flash in his mind. This wasn’t right, this wasn’t right at all. He hadn’t been this person, had he? Robbie pulled away, and Evan hauled himself out of the recliner, trying to piece together his memories, but it was a struggle. “Ya alright man?”

“Yeah, just…just gimmie a minute,” Evan said, “Just…gonna get a snack.”

“I can get one for ya.”

“I’d rather stretch my legs a sec.”

Robbie shrugged, and plopped back down on the sofa with a loud fart, and Evan retreated behind him, not to the kitchen, but to the bathroom to look at himself–but when he got there, he was…horrified. The shower didn’t have a shower head, and didn’t look like it had been turned on in ages. The toilet–there simply wasn’t one. He found himself sliding back, remembering how Robbie had convinced him, finally, to just…take it out. They didn’t need one, after all, they had each other.

In the mirror, he saw himself–sloppily shaved head with a thick beard hiding three chins. He was wearing a grubby, heavily stained wife beater and some no longer white briefs…and he thought he looked…hot. The spirit was pushing harder now–and Evan could sense it wasn’t just trying to get him to accept this life–but forget everything else. More than anything else, though, he was tired. Maybe he should stop. Maybe he should just…accept this, and live with it. HIs gut growled, and he thought about having a snack, and then Robbie would feed him one of his special weight gain shakes before bed, always with his favorite ingredients…

Evan slapped himself, trying to force himself out of it. The curse was still active, he could get out of this. All he had to do was find someone to insult him. After all, anything would be better than this, right? He went to the bedroom, found a pair of overalls and some boots, and threw them on as quick as he  could, before Robbie noticed what he was doing. He couldn’t explain this after all–Robbie would never believe him. So he slipped out of the apartment Without an explanation, and didn’t dare stop once he hit the sidewalk, even though he was winded by the time he got to the corner.

It was late in the evening now, and the streets weren’t too busy–but beggers couldn’t be choosers. He’d have to find some way to make someone insult him quick, or he could already tell, he’d lose himself again, wander back up to that apartment, and find himself living the filthy life with Robbie for the rest of his days. However, he also knew he didn’t exactly pass for a faggot at the moment, so he was going to have to try pretty hard to get someone’s attention.

Alright, let’s see how this round goes for Evan, and if he can escape his current fate.

  1. He remembers one of his neighbors is an elderly homophobe
  2. He hits on a beefy cop he passes on the street.
  3. He hits on some wealthy businessmen downtown.

  4. He gives in and goes home to Robbie (END)

Here is the twitter poll

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Voting ends on Thursday!

Taming the Beast (Part 9)

The door behind him clicked and opened, and Mark stepped inside, shutting the door behind him. Jacob managed to pry himself away from the trough long enough to snarl and look at him, but then the beast forced him back down into the slop. “Now now, Jacob–don’t fret. You’ll be safe here, just like all of my other pets down here. You’ll meet them all eventually…well, maybe you will. It depends on how long you last, really, in there. After all, Beastie has met most of them already, haven’t you?”

He felt a grunt come out of his mouth, and sensed it was something affirmative. Mark stepped closer, and Jacob could…smell him. Had he smelt that…good before? He was wearing different clothes than he usually did, they were soaked with cum, with…so many different kinds, but mostly his own, and Jacob felt his…or rather, their cock hardening. Mark ran his hands over Jacob’s wide ass, feeling the crisp briefs he had on, and then tugged them down, giving him access to his crack, which he ran his own cock along, feeling Jacob’s body squirm in excitement.

“I must say, when I saw what you could do, back in the hospital, I knew I had to have you, but I never would have imagined you could be such a delight. Just my type–once you’re properly trained, I might even let you wander the house–just tell everyone you’re my pet hog, if anyone asks, not that anyone will, of course.”

“H-How?” Jacob managed to force out through a mouthful of food.

“How? How did I do it? It was easy–you know how. You’re weak. The beast was always the strongest part of you, you were just holding it back. I’ve set it free, and given it exactly what it has always wanted–the perfect life for a little beastie like him.”

Jacob tried to object, tried to talk to the beast in control of him, but Mark forced his cock into him then, and everything else…disappeared for a while. No–he disappeared for a while, like when he was hypnotized, and he didn’t resurface for…well, he didn’t know how long, exactly, but when he woke up later, the trough was empty, licked nearly clean, and his gut…ached. Ached, and it was so big–bigger than it had ever been before this, and from the smell of cum in the room, he’d just jacked off…but the cum smelled different than usual. It was hard to see, around the huge gut, but he managed to get a peek at it, and saw that it wasn’t…human anymore. So much of him wasn’t human anymore. He was a freak, an animal. He felt something chaffing his neck, and felt a steel collar there, padlocked on, and he wanted to break it, wanted to tear it to shreds, but the beast just…laughed at him. A hyena like laugh in his mind, and he started to recede again, falling back into the darkness of himself.

It was true, wasn’t it. He was weak. He’d always been the weakest. But this wasn’t freedom. He screamed at the beast, telling him he thought this was freedom, but he was nothing. Just a pet, a slave, some sexual freak. All he received back was a silence, and then a pressure, a force driving him back down into the dark, and he was gone again. The beast felt him recede, and laid back on the floor of his room.

The man was right, he supposed. He was nothing more than a pet, really. No better than he’d been with Bacanal, no better than he’d been when locked away by the man. He could get free…maybe, but he was so used to gluttony, sloth and lust now, that it was hard to imagine the fierce forms it had taken back in the hospital. What did it matter, in the end? He was a pet, but he was satisfied. He was a sex freak, but he’d never experienced pleasure like this before. It was slavery, but it you got everything you wanted, wasn’t that just as good as freedom, in a way? The door clicked, and swung open. Beastie crawled through it, and saw Cumrag there in the room, tied up, ass up, and he went over and shoved his snout into the man’s hole and licked. He liked the taste of this one. Liked how he moaned when Beastie fucked him, liked how eager he was for attention, and especially liked how rough he could be with him.

Months passed by. Jacob surfaced less and less, and every time he did, there was less of him that came back from the darkness. Without context, he couldn’t really distinguish between himself in the beast…and by the time he realized the beast’s mind was actually absorbing him, it was too late for him to even consider what it might mean to resist. Mark thought about intervening, but it would have been a substantial amount of work…and really, what good was he to anyone? Beastie was truly the better half–best to just do away with what wasn’t necessary. Beastie kept growing, helped by his constant, massive meals, and after six months he was nearly eight feet tall, and weighed close to a ton. Mark had been forced to renovate two of the other rooms into one sizable pigpen, with a mud hole which he and his pet enjoyed fucking in regularly. After a year, Beastie couldn’t even recall a time when he hadn’t lived with his master, as his pet. It was simply who he was–and he couldn’t imagine any life he could want more than this one.

Taming the Beast (Part 8)

Jacob didn’t know what to make of it. He didn’t feel like he was getting better, certainly…but he did trust Mark, didn’t he? After all, he never would have gotten out of the hospital at all, if it hadn’t been for his help, and if Mark thought he was a danger to anyone at all, he knew that he would never let him hurt someone else again. He decided to do as he suggested, and trust that he would pull his way out of the slump soon, and things would become a bit more normal…but were things becoming normal, or was he just getting used to how filthy his life had become? Men kept coming around to see him, men he couldn’t even remember calling, and the sex he had with them was getting…stranger. He fucked them, always, but also took to soaking them down in his piss, and covering them in his cum, making sure that when they left, they smelled like him…like his property, like his mates.

Then, he went into another rage at work, and this time went too far–they fired him on the spot, and he was just…so frustrated, so angry, and he didn’t feel like he had anywhere to put it…so he ate. He ate, and he fucked, and he drank, and he didn’t rest for days. The next appointment with Mark blew past without him even thinking about it, he just didn’t want to care. He didn’t want to exist. It was two days after that, when Mark arrived at his door…and he was so relieved to see him, that he fell to his knees and sobbed. He didn’t know what he was doing anymore. He couldn’t trust himself, he’d given the beast too much control because…because he was weak. So weak. That’s what Mark told him, that he’d spent so long with the beast out, that he didn’t have the capacity to contain him anymore. Jacob didn’t want to believe it, it couldn’t be true…but when Mark hauled him up and dragged him into the bathroom to look at himself–really look at himself, he was terrified.

It wasn’t his face in the mirror. Or, it was kind of his face, but it was…twisted and bestial, with a snout pushing out around his mouth and nose, two tusks pushing out from his lower jaw, the hair on his head and beard looking more like boar bristle than human hair. He begged Mark to take him back to the hospital, to take him somewhere where he would be safe…but Mark told him he thought the hospital would be the worst possible thing for them both. The beast would panic. He would fight, and turn vicious, and most likely, Jacob in his weakened state wouldn’t be able to regain control, and in the end, he’d just be locked up in a cage for the rest of his life, in a ultramax prison with the rest of the villains of the world. But he wasn’t a villain, right? No–he just needed some time to get back on his feet…but he did need to be supervised. Mark graciously offered him a room down in the basement of his house, and Jacob was so thankful he didn’t think twice. So thankful in fact, that he sucked the doctor’s cock, right there in his apartment. It was just…the right thing to do. To show how much he respected him. To show him how important he was. Some time under the doctor’s direct care was just what he needed. He left with him, not wanting to wait in case the beast resisted, and they got to Mark’s home shortly before dark. They went downstairs and into a large, bare room with several doors on each wall. Mark ushered him into one of them, and while it wasn’t much larger than the room he’d had in the hospital, he should be appreciative, shouldn’t he?

Mark shut the door behind him, and told him he would be back soon with some food for him, and Jacob couldn’t shake the sense of unease he was feeling. The beast had hated being stuck in the hospital, and he’d been certain it would fight this too. But it hadn’t. If anything, he felt better now than he had in his apartment. Safer. Like everything was working out exactly like he thought it should…except it wasn’t. He had none of his things, not even a change of clothes or a toothbrush–not that he’d been using one lately. He hadn’t told anyone where he was going. He looked around, but there wasn’t a phone anywhere, or a TV…or really anything. There wasn’t even a bed, or a window, just some lights inset in the wall behind glass or plastic. It was a cell. He was in a cell.

He went to the door and tried to open it, but it was locked. He was locked in here–he’d let himself get trapped in here, like an idiot! Still, the door was nothing compared to what the beast was capable of, right? He focused, trying to reach for it, trying to harness it…but while it was there, it was calm. No–more than calm, it was relaxed, and watching him panic, and enjoying this. It wanted to be here.

There was a loud thunk from the long wall of the cell, and the bottom foot or so angled out, revealing a shallow trough running the entire length. A moment later, slop slid down into, steaming slightly, and Jacob felt his gut rumble, and the beast licked its chops. No–no, he licked his lips, right? Jacob was still trying to understand what was happening to him in his mind, as his body lowered itself down onto his hands and knees and crawled over to the trough, shoving his short snout into it and devouring as much of it as he could, as quickly as he could, while it was still warm and delicious.

Taming the Beast (Part 7)

The whole rest of the week, Jacob noticed that he was feeling a bit…strange. Well, strange wasn’t really the best way to describe it–what he was mostly feeling, was hungry. Hungrier than he could really ever remember being in the past, in fact. His meals doubled in size, much to his dismay, but whenever he tried to exert a bit of self-control, it would crumble by the time he ate next, and he’d end up gorging himself until he could barely move. It became a problem at work especially, being around food all the time. He would sneak snacks right off the grill or out of the fryer, and afterwards, started taking home anything that was leftover and would usually be thrown out, and stuffing himself with it before going to bed for the night.

As unnerving as it was, he hesitated bringing it up with Mark. He was just so happy being out of the hospital, and he knew that at the first sign of a setback, he could be readmitted immediately. So he did his best to pretend like nothing was going on at all, as he watched his weight steadily creep upward on the scale he kept in the bathroom, until in a fit of shame and panic he threw it out and went on a weekend long binge, cleaning out his cupboards and fridge, stopping only to masturbate every few hours–though he found it easy enough to do both things at the same time. That was the final straw. He had to talk to Mark about this, even if it meant going back to the hospital. This had to be something to do with the beast–there was no other explanation that he could think of for these sudden urges.

At their next session, before Mark hypnotized him, Jacob told him about what had been happening to him. About the binging, and the fact that he seemed to be masturbating more and more often. Mark was troubled by the new developments, and they talked about it for a while, trying, together, to determine whether what was happening posed a danger to him, or to anyone else. In the end, Mark left the decision up to Jacob, if he wanted to go back to the hospital or not–and Jacob told him this was something he’d rather deal with himself. It felt so good being back out in the world, and he wasn’t ready to go back to being locked up again, not until he felt like he couldn’t handle this himself. Mark told him that he would have a word with the beast, and see if he could understand what this sudden shift in behavior might mean. He seemed to be under for…a very long time. Several hours, at least, and when he came too again, Mark was sitting across from him, though his face was rather grave.

“Was…was everything alright?” Jacob asked him, sitting up from the couch where he’d been lying down.

“Yes, I mean, these compulsions of yours do seem to be related to the beast, but…well, I can’t know anything without further observation. I think the best thing you can do is try to resist them as best you can. Keep track if possible–how often you binge, how often you masturbate, anything else that sticks out to you as odd. We’ll try to get a baseline for the behavior, and see if it gets worse, alright?”

Jacob did his best for a few days, but he kept forgetting about keeping a journal, and the whole exercise just…didn’t interest him much at all. Work was the same. Over the next few weeks, he found himself getting aggravated at his boss and coworkers, and would on occasion break out into a sudden rage that would catch him off guard. He didn’t do any real harm, aside from a couple of broken dishes, but the fact that it kept happening…it terrified him. Was he really ready to be out here with people? He found himself wondering about every tic and every thought, and the constant self-awareness was exhausting. He started oscillating between days where he would try to constantly check himself, and days where he would give up and just indulge in…everything. He would stuff himself, drink excessively, masturbate over and over, miss work, and even fuck on occasion. Men–always men, something he had never done before in his life, but he loved it, and the rougher he got with them, the harder he came–and most of them came back for seconds.

It was Mark who brought up his hygiene one session, awkwardly, like he’d been hoping Jacob would mention it finally, without him having to bear the burden of broaching it. Without having to humiliate Jacob with the knowledge that he hadn’t even noticed how dirty he was becoming. He hadn’t trimmed his beard in weeks at that point, and it was coming in thick–much thicker than he could remember it looking the last time he’d tried growing one out. The same went for his hair, which was quite long, as well as the hair on the rest of his body, which was filling in thicker than he knew it should over his now substantial gut. Looking down at himself, and paying attention to it, he realized that he couldn’t clearly recall the last time he’d taken a shower, and he also couldn’t remember when he’d last changed his clothes. He’d been wearing the same outfit for work without washing it for over a week, which no one had complained about out of fear it might set one of his rages off, and he hadn’t changed the underwear beneath that in…a month? More? It was wet, at the moment, since he’d jacked off before coming over, but he could smell cum…so much cum. They were saturated, as was the undershirt he was wearing. He felt ashamed of himself, ashamed that he was losing so much control, so quickly, without even realizing it in the moment. He couldn’t trust himself, he couldn’t be trusted with himself, but he also couldn’t bear the thought of going back to that hospital either…though he knew Mark was going to call for it.

But to his surprise, Mark didn’t. In fact, he told Jacob that he thought he’d been improving, and after the session he seemed really pleased with how Jacob was progressing. These new behaviors were a surprise, sure, and might be difficult to adjust to, but he was going to have to deal with the fact that the beast inside him was, from now on, most likely going to be a more immediate presence in his life. The best thing he could do, in Mark’s opinion, was keep it satisfied, and likely, in a few more weeks, they’d manage to reach a new equilibrium. It might not be what Jacob wanted, necessarily, but this was most likely the course his power was going to develop. Fighting it would likely only make it worse.

Curse of the Homophobe (Part 6)

It was over a week, before Evan’s curse activated. A week he actually found himself enjoying, despite the fact that everything he knew about himself told him he should hate this. He should hate being filthy, never showering, never using deodorant, always stinking. He should hate what he did to Curtis, how he fucked him mercilessly, abused him, raped him–though Curtis always begged for more. This Curtis. Was the other Curtis in there somewhere? The jock? When he thought about that, once, he swore he heard the voice in his mind chuckle…and that gave him the most likely answer. The next weekend, Robbie begged him to come over again, offered to pay him double the usual fee if he’d let him be his toilet for a day. Evan felt like a whore, but this new Evan didn’t care. Money was money after all, and watching the pig worship him all day long? It was worth it, in its own way too. Brought back…memories of them in that trailer, how close he’d been to giving it all up for a life of filth. He imagined that if he propositioned the pig, he could give up his football career, dropout of college, move right in with him…and it would be like nothing had changed at all…in fact, he could sense that the curse would always leave that door ajar for him, a little trap and temptation that made the whole thing feel even more sick.

But what was there to do, beyond live? He couldn’t go back, and the more days that past without anyone harassing him, the more certain he felt that the curse was beginning to fade from him, bit by bit, growing a bit bored and uninterested, pondering abandoning him entirely, if he wasn’t going to be a good little victim again. Until that Tuesday afternoon, after practice. He’d forgotten something in the locker room, and had slipped back in to grab it real quickly, only to hear two of the teams coaches–Hawke, the offensive coach, and Jerry, the head coach–talking. Talking about him.

“You didn’t tell him the scouts are coming?” Hawke asked, “I mean, I know you don’t like the guy, but he’s fucking good at what he does.”

“Please–I know these scouts, and I know what they’re looking for. He ain’t what they want. I’ve already…discussed it with them. No–as far as I’m concerned, the only guy worth scouting on this team is Everett.”

Everett was a receiver, a year than Evan was now. Good. Good enough to go pro, if he lost some of the ego and trained harder, or got a bit more charisma and could sell himself better as a property.

“That’s pretty fucking cold man.”

“You know as well as I do that nasty faggot is a fucking embarrassment to this school and this team. You think I’m gonna let someone like that go pro?”

Evan felt his guts twist. It wasn’t him. They weren’t talking about him, were they? No–no, of course they were, and he was fairly certain that even if they hadn’t been, it wouldn’t have mattered to the curse. His body was starting to heat up, he could feel himself starting to shift, and he backed out of the locker room before either of them could see him.

He stumbled into the laundry room, which was unoccupied, and gave into the curse, feeling it wash over him as he shifted. He lost some height, but not a whole lot–but his muscular build diminished quite a bit, and he found himself with a hefty beer gut stretching out his shirt, which was changing from a sleeveless tee into the same red polo as the rest of the coaching staff wore, his gym shorts turning into khakis. He cleaned up substantially as well, losing some of his musk, though not all of it by any means, his beard shortening into something a bit more professional, and picking up a smattering of grey–as did his receding hairline underneath the team cap he was wearing.

As the change completed, Evan’s old life faded away as well. Now, he was one of the teams assistant coaches, and an alumni from the school who had been decent, but not nearly dedicated enough to go pro. Instead, he had tried to settle down with his college girlfriend and they had a son together, but Evan had never really been able to control his temper, or his disdain for her, and all women, really. They’d been divorced for years now–his son, Will, was a senior in high school now and planning to attend here, and would be on the team if Evan had anything to say about it.

He hadn’t managed to settle down with anyone else, and told everyone that he was happier with the bachelor life–but in reality, he lived in denial of his own feelings, that the people he really wanted to fuck were the students and coaches on the team. He’d always gotten such a…thrill, ramming into guys on the field, dominating them, roughing them up…his wife had never taken to that much, but women couldn’t take shit. He couldn’t handle the idea of being a faggot though, so he bottled them up–and was as much of, if not more so, of a homophobe as Jerry.

But Evan–the real Evan, was clinging on all the same. If he was quick, and got back to the locker room, he might be able to change Jerry before he succumbed to this new life entirely, and get things back to normal quickly. However, when he got there, both Jerry and Hawke had gone home, and Evan, now fully lost to the coach, headed home himself to his dingy bachelor’s apartment, drank too much beer, watched some unsatisfying straight porn, and then went to bed. He’d have other opportunities soon to get back at Jerry–and maybe some other homophobes as well–but when?

Here are you options!

  1. At the next coach poker game, they become cigar smoking bears.
  2. At the next practice, he turns the coaches into dirty, gay football players.
  3. Cuckolds the head coach, fucks his wife and makes him love the humiliation.
  4. Confronts him in the locker room, makes him a piss drinking janitor.

Here’s the Twitter poll!

Here’s the Patron-only poll!

Polls close on Saturday!

Carnival (Part 7) [Interactive]

The Daniel on the ground started to laugh, and then let off a loud belch, rolling over and giving his ass a scratch as he did. “Fuck, feels so fuckin’ good being outta there,” he stood up, tottering slightly, and then faced one of the mirrors in the room, looking at himself and taking it all in.

When he’d entered the maze, Daniel had been in the best shape of his life–swimming and playing soccer, watching his diet, keeping himself at a lean 160 pounds or so. He was stunning on campus, but had been with his girlfriend for a couple of years now, and was planning on proposing to her after graduation. But that Daniel wasn’t here anymore–and the Daniel looking at himself in the mirror, was, in almost every way, his physical opposite.

Where Daniel had been tall, a couple inches over six feet, he was now about five and a half feet tall. His lean body had been replaced by rolls and rolls of fat, his smooth body coated in hair, his cleanliness replaced by filthy unwashed clothes and grimy skin–the embodiment of his worst drives and impulses, his greed, lust and sloth made manifest my the twisted mirrors of the maze–and these needs were powerful, and starving. Still, the reflection didn’t leave without grabbing a shard of the broken mirror and sliding it into his pocket–after all, he had lots of other friends in here eager to escape the maze into the lives of the people who wandered into the funhouse, and he was generous.

The exit revealed itself quickly–the mirrors posed him no danger now, after all–and emerging from the curtain and into the noise of the carnival was thrilling. So many delicious smells, and so many men! Daniel stared at the dads and college students passing him, imagining them naked, imagining sucking their cocks and cleaning their bodies, and any number of lewd acts Daniel would have never imagined doing in his life, but this Daniel did all of that. This Daniel didn’t go to college–no, this Daniel worked some menial labor job to pay the bills, lived in a rundown apartment, and spent all of his free time hunting down men to fuck–but fucking could wait. Right now, all he wanted was to eat.

He found the midway, and went from food cart to food cart, loading up on everything fried and sweet that he could find, polishing off each meal as he stood in line for the next. He could feel his gut heaving and bloating, hanging heavier on him, dropping out the bottom of his shirt, and the looks of disgust from the people around him only made him hornier–and he would stare back until they looked away uneasily, just like they always did when he’d been a reflection in a mirror, unable to bear the sight of themselves, but now they had no choice. Now, he was one of them–and he kept feeling the rough shard in his pocket, thinking about it, his little cock getting hard, buried in his fat (Daniel had been quite well endowed, but his reflection had never found length necessary to have a nice time).

In the end, his horniness overwhelmed his hunger, and he retreated into the shadows between two booths dropped his grimy pants, and started jacking off, intending to let off a bit of steam before finding some action later–but was rudely interrupted by a voice shouting at him. Daniel didn’t stop jacking–why would he after all, he was enjoying himself–but looked over and saw that the voice had come from a young police officer, likely working off the clock in uniform, providing a bit of security for the carnival while it was in town.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing, you fucking pervert?” the young man said, and started towards him. Daniel went down for his pants, but not to pull them up–he dug out the fragment of the mirror maze, got it in his palm, and as the young man approached, he pointed it at him, and watched the young man’s eyes be drawn to it, lock onto it, and contort into a vision of horror. Daniel didn’t know what he saw in there, but it was clear that he couldn’t look away–well, he had an idea what he might be seeing in there, but even a fragment, outside of the house, was a powerful force. The horror dulled, and when the young man looked away, he had a very different look in his eyes than before.

“How about I offer ya a little somethin’ and you just keep quiet about what you saw here, eh officer?” Daniel said.

‘Fuck–you nasty fucker, get to it.”

He got down and sucked the young man off, jacking off as he did, both of them cumming after a couple of minutes, and then they both got dressed and went off their separate ways. The young cop, found himself drawn to the food carts, stuffing himself silly for the rest of the night, filled with a hunger that he couldn’t explain–but which he had to indulge.

Meanwhile, three other frat brothers were standing in line for the Tunnel of Love, but they had just reached a surprising fork in the line. One direction was labeled for couples only, while the other was marked for single passengers. It just so happened that the three of them were single at the moment, which was part of why they’d thought it would be funny to go on the ride in the first place. One brother suggested they head down the couple line anyway, just for fun, but another one said they should go down the line for singles, hoping they might find some girls down that way for dates.

Which line did they end up in?

  1. They go down the couple line together and ride as a threesome.
  2. They go down the singles area and get paired up with other single passengers.

Here’s the Twitter poll!

Here’s the Patron poll!

My Town (Part 11)

Quentin woke up later on a concrete floor and rolled over, expecting to find himself still in his garage, but he wasn’t. Instead, he was somewhere else he recognized–the inside of one of the city’s jail cells. He got up, still a bit unsteady, and went to the cell door, but it was locked–why in the hell was he even in here at all? The evening before was…fuzzy, but he could remember enough of what mattered–that Todd was doing something to the men of the town, something evil and vile, and he needed to be stopped. Something…else was wrong with him though. There was a need in his chest, a need in his guts, something he couldn’t explain. He knew he should…remember, but it was locked away somehow, but he felt…sick to his stomach.

He shouted for help, but no one came. He just sat on the bench, guts twisting, a headache brewing in his temples, wondering what on Earth was going on with him, until he heard voices–the familiar voices of his two most loyal deputies–coming down the hall to the cells. They would understand–he knew Todd hadn’t gotten to either of them yet. Together, maybe, they would be able to stop him.

Then he smelled it–smoke. Not fire smoke, but tobacco smoke. The need in his guts grew more intense, and he gagged, vision spinning. They rounded the corner and he could see them, Deputies Hawkes and Miles, and walking ahead of them both was Todd, smoking a cigar just like he had been the night before. His blood ran cold when he realized that both Hawkes and Miles seemed different as well. They were both smoking too–Hawkes a massive Boswell Pipe, and Miles a thick gauge cigar, and their uniforms were wrong too. The usual cotton blue was gone. Instead, they were both wearing formal black leather uniforms…just like the one he’d seen on himself in that vision the night before. And when he saw that, it finally occurred to him that he wasn’t wearing the uniform he’d had on the night before either–but he also wasn’t wearing a leather version like his fellow officers.

It fact, he wasn’t wearing much of anything at all. He had on a pair of denim shorts, hugging his ass and crotch tight, showing off his ample ass, thick leather biker boots up to his knees, and a mesh shirt, which showed off his hairy chest and shoulders. He felt different, somehow–his entire body seemed off, but he couldn’t quite nail down the details. It felt like his body, but at the same time he knew he should be different–not this muscular, not with this wide ass that seemed to shake when he took a step. He caught another whiff of smoke, stronger this time, and he couldn’t stop his mouth from opening up and saying, “Fuck boys, this ash pig is starving–you got anything for a filthy slut like me?”

His cheeks turned bright red when he heard himself speak, mostly from how desperate he sounded. The deputies laughed as they approached, and Miles said, “Sure, Ashtray, have some of mine,” and stuck the lit end of his cigar through the bars, tapping it on the metal, and dropping the ember onto the floor. He flung himself down picked up as much of the ash in his fingers as he could and shoved it in his mouth, the satisfaction flooding his body making him moan, and he groped himself in his tight shorts, before getting down and licking up the rest of it from the concrete.

“You’re such a fuckin’ pig, Ashtray,” Hawkes said. He unlocked the cell door and stepped inside, moving behind Quentin and grinding his fat cock against Quentin’s fat ass. “Sometimes I think you cause trouble just because you like getting fucked in a cell. That turn you on pig? Being at the mercy of the two meanest cops in town?”

“Officer, ya can fuck me anywhere, anytime as long as you pay me for it, you know that,” Quentin said, and slipped his shorts down, Hawkes slipping his own sizable cock into Quentin’s ass. “Fuck, nothing like the first fuck and the first mouthful of ash in the mornin.”

“Get that tongue out, Ashtray,” Miles grabbed him by the hair through the bars and yanked him up, and Quentin stuck his tongue out, screaming in delight when Miles rolled the cigar over his tongue, leaving it coated in ash. Then, before he could swallow, he shoved his cock through the bars, and rammed it down Quentin’s throat, making him gag on the length, and the hot ash he hadn’t managed to swallow.

The two cops played with Quentin for a couple of hours, and in his mind, he was reeling. He had no control over himself–he’d do literally anything for a taste of ash, or a taste of smoke from their lips. He would look over at Todd on occasion, begging him with his eyes for release, but Todd was just smiling around his cigar, his gloved hands exploring his body, and as he watched, Todd changed more–his beard now more white than ash grey, his body powerfully muscled aside from a thick gut, cock now over twelve inches long, so long he stroked it with two hands while he watched, encouraged, and directed the humiliating scene unfolding in front of him.

The two cops came first, both in Quentin’s now very loose hole. Then Hawkes dumped the ash from his massive pipe on the floor while Miles held him back, pissed on the pile, turning it into a slurry, and they let him loose, watching him grind his bearded face into the ashy muck, Miles shoving the end of his cigar into Quentin’s hole, and told him to keep it there, so he could eat it later. Unable to stop himself, Quentin felt his cock explode in his shorts as he licked up the filth, and the two cops laughed as they left the cell, telling Ashtray that he was free to go–unless he felt like hanging around for round two in a couple of hours. That, or they could always pick him up off the street a bit later, instead.

They laughed, and walked off, leaving Quentin overwhelmed and humiliated, looking up at Todd, who was still across from the cell, smiling at him. “Well Ashtray? You gonna get going or not?”

April 2018 Suggested Stories Ready for Download | Wesley Bracken on Patreon

The suggested stories from this month are also ready to download! One dollar a months gets you access to three or four vignettes, like the one below, each month (as well as all of those I’ve written previously!) It also gives you the ability to suggest ideas for these at the beginning of each month.

Milk the Fat Right Off

“Dude, you can’t keep eating like that! Coach told you that you have to start cutting–we have a meet next week!” Reggie said, as he watched Max pile up yet another full tray of food and start gorging himself.

“I can’t help it man, I’m fucking hungry.”

“Well no shit you’re hungry, you’re cutting.”

“No man, trust me, I got this. There’s this new fucking place in town, it’s fucking amazing. You go there, for free, and…I don’t know the details of it or what they do, because they put you under or something for the procedure, but when you leave, you’re fucking cut, like they sucked the fat right off of you.”

Reggie just looked at him like he was crazy…but Max had been acting kind of strange for the last few months, and his weight had been swinging wildly. He would gain 25 or hell, even 50 pounds in a few weeks, stuffing himself night and day, disappear for a day, and come back in time for a meet, and somehow slide right into his ideal weight class. It didn’t make sense, but Reggie was sure it was some eating disorder…and he was really worried about him. He’d gone through a real rough patch of binging and purging in high school, and he knew what it looked like, even if he’d never swung quite as wildly as Max managed on a regular basis. Still, Max kept eating, and Reggie decided he was going to follow him, and see what, exactly, this magical place was he was talking about.

The Friday before the meet, Max headed downtown, and Reggie followed him to a rather boring looking office park. There, he went into the Fat Studies Clinic, a place Reggie had never heard of. He gave it an hour, and then went in after him, just to see what was going on. He meant to ask the receptionist what they did there, but the nice young man chatted with him for a while…and there was an odd buzzing in his ear, something he couldn’t quite pin down. Before he really understood how it happened, he’d agreed to a trial–he was ushered into a small room, where a man drew some blood, announced he was a viable candidate (whatever that meant) and they took him deeper into the building, and the buzz kept getting louder, and his head kept getting more and more thick.

They got him undressed, and they gave him a shot–a very large shot–and one that hurt like hell, all over his body. He demanded to know what they had done to him, but they said nothing, and just dragged him into a room full of food–and as soon as he saw it, he had to eat it–he was ravenous. He didn’t know how long he stuffed himself in that room–all he knew was that he was still hungry when the men pulled him away, and when he looked down at himself, he was horrified to see he had somehow gained nearly 100 pounds of pure fat, a huge gut and two moobs hanging off of him, as the doctors, ecstatic at his performance, dragged him to another room, strapped him into a chair–and then he saw the thing filling the rest of the room, and started shaking.

He didn’t know what it was at first, just some heaving blob of flesh. As they secured the milking tube over his cock, he realized it was actually…a person. A massively obese person, larger than should even be possible, just staring at him, licking his lips…but the sound he’d been hearlng was even louder here, and Reggie found his disgust giving way to fascination, and then to arousal. He was…beautiful. So massive, so fat–it was good to be fat, but he…he didn’t deserve to be fat, no, he…he only got fat so he could serve him, his massively obese master, his god.

His cock was rock hard, and the doctors slipped a tube over it–and then the milking began. It ached for a few moments–but the flow of his cum began right away, and the pleasure was unlike any orgasm he’d ever felt before. The cum looked strange as well–too thick, and almost like cream. It flowed through the tube and over to the obese man, who drank it all down, from a massive pipe hanging over him on the ceiling, and Reggie watched it run down his multitude of chins–wishing it could be him devouring it, getting fatter and fatter…and to his horror, he realized he was shrinking. The cum he was putting out wasn’t just cum, it was all of his fat, all of the fat he’d just gained was disappearing. After an hour with the machine, he was more cut than he’d ever been in his entire life, but depressed and angry and sad at his body–a body he knew he should desire, but that he no longer wanted. Once they released him, he went right over to the massive man in his grief, over to his Master, his God, and began worshiping his fat, serving him, cleaning him, longing to be close to him, knowing that he could at least provide his god with the fat he desired, that he wasn’t worth of gaining any himself.

Max was there too, climbing over their Master, and they fucked for his amusement right there on his massive gut, both of them eager to do whatever they could for their lord–and that evening, they left with no solid memories of their time there. Both of them won their division at the meet that day, but the hunger never went away, the desire to gain, and Dennis discovered that everything they ate became fat nearly instantly. Reggie packed on the pounds especially quick–three days later he was back to being morbidly obese–not quite as large as he’d been in the lab, but close. He was horny too–so horny, but he couldn’t get off, no matter how hard he tried, even if Max helped. He…he had to go back. That was the only place he could get relief–that was the only place he’d find relief ever again.

April 2018 Suggested Stories Ready for Download | Wesley Bracken on Patreon

Emptied Out (Part 5)

Nate nodded dumbly, and Biff helped him out of the tub, and led him by the hand out into the living room, and sat him down on one side of the couch. Licking his lips and groping his own cock, which he still hadn’t shot today, though he’d soaked the front of his whities with plenty of precum already, watching his son change right in front of his eyes, he put on his favorite porno of two slobs cleaning off each other’s fat bodies, and let Nate watch for a bit, while he went into the kitchen and returned with two big bottles of soda and bags of snacks, which he sat by them both. “What ya love most of all, Nate, is the same thing Daddy loves–wastin’ yer whole day on this stinkin’ couch, watchin’ porn, ‘n edgin’ yer cock. Fuck boy, I been alone so damn long, dreamin’ ‘bout this day, thinkin’ ‘bout when I’d finally get a son a my own, and now we can do it together–ya love spendin’ the whole damn day edgin’ with daddy, right son?”

Nate nodded, and started groping himself again, staring at the screen. Biff stuck the cigarette back in his mouth, and he started digging into the snacks and drinking the soda as well, letting off belches as he did.

“Yeah, just a dumb ass boy, as dumb as your daddy. Can’t read, can’t really think ‘bout anythin’ important, but sure does love feelin’ good, ‘n this makes ya feel real good boy, endulgin’ like this, without a care in the whole world, just a horny, filthy pig,” Biff sat down with him, the couch sagging between them and making them roll together slightly, “A fat horny pig just like yer daddy.”

Nathan surfaced again, but slower this time. He could tell something was very wrong with his head, like someone had taken his brain and smoothed out some of it’s bumps and ridges. Still, watching porn was fun, and he had plenty of snacks to eat and fags to smoke–but he couldn’t help but feel like it was…wrong. He looked over at the computer, knowing he’d thought about something earlier, something about how to use it to get away, but getting up just seemed like so much work. Better to just sit here, and watch the two fat pigs rutting on the screen, like his daddy was doing. One movie ended, and Biff got up and started another one. There wasn’t a clock that he could see, and the windows were blocked out–Nathan had no idea what time it was, or how long they’d been here, groping himself in his daddy’s nasty underwear.

“Enjoyin’ yerself, Nate?”

Nathan didn’t know quite what to say, but after a moment, he nodded. He…was enjoying himself, he supposed. He liked sitting this close to his daddy, groping his cock, feeling their big bellies shifting against one another–even if his daddy kind of stank, and not in a good way. Still, this was wrong. He knew this was wrong. “D-Daddy? I don’t think we should be doing this…” he said, hesitantly, not quite sure how to put his reservations into words.

“What are ya talkin’ bout son? This is what we always do, ain’t it?”

He was right–but he could remember something else, he could remember himself this morning, dressed in pressed khakis and a button down shirt, excited to go home for the summer and to finally be away from his nasty housemate. He…knew that was right, somehow, even if it now felt so far away. “I…I want some more snacks, daddy,” he said, got up and waddled towards the kitchen, passing close to the computer along the way, but when he saw the keyboard, all of the letters swam around him–he had no idea what any of them even were. That…wasn’t surprising, though–he never learned to read, right? Daddy didn’t see any reason for a nasty boy like him to learn much of anything.

“Thought ya were gettin’ snacks, son,” Daddy said, his voice a bit cautious, seeing Nathan staring at the computer, thinking hard, “Why don’t you come on ‘n sit back down here, ya still got plenty tah eat ‘n drink.”

Nathan waddled back over, and sat down with a mighty belch, making his daddy laugh, and he chuckled too.

“Nice one son, but get a load a this,” Biff said, leaned away from Nathan and let loose a long, wet fart in his direction. The stench brought tears to his eyes, and he coughed, nearly dropping his cigarette.

“Fuck daddy, that’s nasty,” he said.

“Oh yeah?” Daddy said, leaning in close and digging his hand under Nathan’s huge gut to his cock. “Smellin’ mah farts always makes me so damn horny, boy. Fuckin’ kiss me, give me some a yer smoke.”

Nathan leaned in and they smoked each other out, one eye still on the porn playing on the TV, and Nathan didn’t feel like this was…so bad, really. He liked how his daddy rubbed his cock, and how it gave him two free hands to stuff his face, when he wasn’t breathing in Biff’s cigarette smoke. The front of the whities he had on were sticky and wet still from the other load he’d shot into them–not to mention how sweaty his gunt had become as well in the hot, stuffy apartment. He was humping into Biff’s hand now, feeling his gut shake around him, Biff using his free hand to tweak his boy’s nipples, watching him sweat and get closer to another orgasm. “That’s a good boy, gonna get ya so empty…”

Empty. He remembered Greg then, remembered himself, his old self, but it was too late to stop it–he came again, and felt himself fading away, falling back against the couch.