I’ll Change for You (Part 4)

It wasn’t very bright at all, like a candle seen at some distance. He turned off the lights in the room, and in the evening winter gloom, he could see it better–but what could it possibly mean? Could it glow brighter? Was there…more? He thought about putting it on, just to see what might happen…but tucked it back into his pocket. Answers first, he told himself. He needed to find that old man, and figure out what he did to him.

He trekked back to downtown and retraced his steps as best he could, but had no luck. The streets were too narrow, and the shops to clustered in the night for him to find the shopfront from before–if it had even existed. He remembered how massive the store had felt, on the inside. Maybe it hadn’t really existed at all, not like he existed, at least. Frustrated, cold, and lonely, he made the trek back to campus, his hand gripping the necklace tight, the light giving a bit of warmth on his way home, to his dorm–but the small single just felt even colder and more lonely than the world outside. He took out the necklace again, and looked at it, at the little flicker of fire in the stone, and wondered what might happen if he put it on again.

It…seemed like that’s what it wanted, but is it what he wanted? Looking around the room, and down at himself…he wasn’t so sure anymore. After all, if the necklace had done this to him after just a couple of minutes of wearing it, who knew what it might do if he kept it on any longer than that. Still, it had changed how Herman saw him–how he felt about him. Not enough, but it had been a little taste of what Burt was craving. It wasn’t enough to satisfy him. If anything, this just felt worse, knowing he would be working with the man he loved, but knowing it would never be able to go further than this…awkward moment. There had to be more, and if he had to change to make it happen, all he could hope was that it would be worth it, in the end.

He slipped the necklace over his head again, and let the pendant rest against his chest, down between his two chubby moobs, and took a deep breath, waiting for something to happen. After all, when he’d put it on the first time, he’d been almost overwhelmed with desire–but this time he didn’t feel anything at all. Well, nothing more than he was feeling usually, he supposed. Wondering if he just needed to focus, he thought about Herman, about that kiss earlier, and while that was more than enough to get him aroused, it didn’t feel the same. The intensity wasn’t there. It didn’t have direction. He jacked off anyway, going through the motions, hoping it would just work, but he was left with cum in his hand on the edge of his bed, the same chubby young man he’d been, the necklace still against his chest, the gem giving off the same dim light as before.

Was it broken? Did he have to do something else? Is this…all that he was going to get? Maybe he hadn’t loved him enough. Maybe Herman was right, maybe he was just young and foolish, and all of this was going to go away, in time. Maybe it had all been for nothing. But he could still see the wonder in the eyes of that old man, how he’d spoken about his love as this beautiful thing–who would he give him something that would take him one step closer, and then no further? Then again, maybe it was up to him. Maybe this is all he needed–maybe Herman could love him like this, but it was up to Burt to…show him. Or maybe…maybe he’d ruined it. Maybe it would have kept working, if he hadn’t taken it off like that. Maybe he’d doubted himself, and his love, and he’d never get another chance.

There was no immediate answer, and he was tired, and hungry. He got dressed and went to a nearby restaurant to eat, came back and graded some papers before retiring for the night. He never took the necklace off, even if it felt a bit silly to keep wearing it when it wasn’t doing anything for him. Still…it felt comfortable, against his skin, and by the time he got undressed for bed, he wasn’t even noticing it, and he slept with it on.

The next morning, everything felt…normal. That old life of his, when he was a skinny undergraduate, felt even further away than it had before, and this new one, the life of an overworked graduate student, was feeling more real than he would have liked. He got up a bit late, collected his things, got himself breakfast at the dining hall (more than he would have ever usually ate, but his head was telling him this was, in fact, a light breakfast) and then off to teach his first class of the day. He was nervous, feeling like this was the first time he’d ever been up in front of students–who he still couldn’t help but feel were his peers–but it turned out to be easier than he was expecting. In fact, he kind of enjoyed it. There was a certain authority that he had, and seeing all of those younger men and women looking up at him for guidance and teaching…well, he had one of the more uncomfortable boners of his life, after class.

I’ll Change for You (Part 3)

He looked at the papers, confused. He…He knew what they were, but why would he be grading papers for one of the professor’s intro courses? That…that was the sort of thing a TA in the graduate program would do, right? He looked around the room again, and was surprised by a few other little details out of place–books from seminars he’d taken during his senior year, even though he also knew he was just a junior. A picture of him in cap and gown, his parents smiling with him…it couldn’t be, could it? And was that even him in the photo?

He grabbed it and stared at it, in denial. The person there, the person he recognized as himself…he didn’t look right at all. Chubby, with a full beard on his face, hair trimmed short, and even receding slightly already–it wasn’t possible. He went to the mirror in the room, and sure enough–there he was. The same man from the photo, although now even a couple years older than that, with his Masters under his belt, his hairline receding even a bit further, and with another twenty-five pounds or so on his frame. It wasn’t just his body from the picture, though–it was the body from that fantasy, the one he’d felt. Had…had that kiss happened? His fantasy felt so real, and yet he couldn’t be sure–he didn’t quite know what to believe, but he knew, for certain, that he needed to see Herman–there had to be some answers there, right?

He grabbed the pile of papers to be graded, figuring he could use them as an excuse, threw them in his bag and took off for Herman’s office. He usually worked on lesson planning at this time of day, so he should still be there. As he went, everything felt both…completely alien, and yet, also utterly familiar, almost like he’d walked these exact steps already before. He picked up the pace slightly and got to the professor’s office a bit out of breath–he collected himself a moment, before knocking gently.

“Come in!”

Burt stepped into the room, and when he saw Herman there, the love swept over him–perhaps even stronger than it had been before. When Burt had first studied with him as an undergrad…he’d known he had to stay close to him, somehow. A Master’s degree had just made sense, at the time…and even though he’d kept his feelings a secret, all this time, he knew, perhaps, that Herman had a few lingering feelings about his star student as well.

“What’s up, Burt?”

“Oh! Uh, I just had a couple of questions about, uh, the rubric for the papers I’m grading is all…” It was a terrible excuse, and the look of puzzlement on Herman’s face told him that.

“You’ve TA’d that class before–you know what I expect.”

“Yeah, I know, I just, well, there’s a few that kind of fall in the cracks, you know?” he pulled a paper out, and took it over to Herman, around the desk, and when he did–he felt it. He’d been here, right here, in that fantasy, and before he could stop himself, he pushed his face to Herman’s and kissed him.

It was nothing like that first kiss–that kiss that no longer even needed to exist in his mind. Herman was surprised, for a moment, and then responded, sliding his tongue between Burt’s lips, and he felt his thick frame shudder with delight, but before he got too carried away, Herman pulled back. “That…was unexpected,” Herman said, a bit red in his cheeks.

“I…I can’t tell you how long I’ve wanted to do that,” Burt said, “I…I love you,” he said, leaned in again, but Herman pushed him back and shook his head.

“I…Burt, you’re sweet, and…cute, and I admit that I find you attractive, but…but we can’t. This isn’t ok. I’m still your teacher, and your mentor.”

“I don’t care!” Burt said, “I…I’ll do anything, please…you don’t know what it’s like, what I feel.”

“Oh yes I do, trust me. I was in love plenty of times when I was young too. It hurts, I know, but this has to be professional first. This could put your doctorate in jeopardy.”

Burt could tell there wouldn’t be any reasoning with him, and so he mumbled an agreement, packed up the papers and left again, back to his room. He was confused, and hurt, and still didn’t quite know what to make of any of this–especially that necklace. It…it hadn’t worked. It hadn’t been enough. Back in the room, he stripped down naked, and looked at himself in the mirror–at his current self. It felt totally normal now…but that didn’t make the change any less strange. Why had the necklace changed him at all? Why not just…make Herman love him? Instead, all he got was a bit shorter, a bit fatter, a bit older, and a bit better of kiss from him than he’d gotten when he was himself–his real self.

He should take it back, fine that old man, and try and get him to change him back. Whatever this was…it wasn’t what he wanted, right? Well, maybe not in isolation, but if it had worked, if it had made Herman love him, he would have been ecstatic, and more than willing to live this life in exchange for that love to be returned. He got dressed again, and then found the necklace on the desk, where he’d tossed it–but something made him pause, before shoving it back in his pocket. The stone in the middle of the knot–it was glowing.

I’ll Change for You (Part 2)

Burt wasn’t sure what to say, “I mean…I don’t know what I could do…but yeah, I guess…”

The old man gazed at him as he stammered, and then, before Burt had really given an answer, he let go and rushed off. “Good! Then I have just the thing!” he cried and rounded a corner, abandoning Burt in the aisle. He spun around for a moment, trying to get his bearings, but he didn’t know where the entrance was, or how he might possibly try and untangle himself from the maze the man had dragged him into. Again, he was struck by the impossibility–the shop couldn’t have been wider than an alleyway, and yet he couldn’t see the walls, even through the shelves. The stuff around him was unorganized, seemed rather cheap, and yet he was afraid to touch any of it. He was about to move, when the old man returned, holding something in his hand, which turned out to be a small stone charm, hanging from a leather cord. “This! This is what you need.”

He pushed it into Burt’s hand, and before he could ask what the man meant, he was dragging him off again, this time back to the entrance and onto the sidewalk. “Wait, how much is it? I can’t afford much…”

“No no, all is free,” the old man said, “You get what you need here–what you need is this. Wear it, and the love between you–it will be worth it. Such a love, so selfless–do not waste it!”

Before Burt could ask anything else, the man had slipped back into the shop, and when he tried to step back inside, he found himself not among the curiosities, but rather in an abandoned building, shelves bare and cobweb ridden. “Had it been his imagination? But the necklace was still clenched in his fist. He looked closer at it–it was simple, a metal knot with a bright red stone set in the middle of it. He didn’t know if it was just because he’d had it in his hand, but it felt…warm, somehow. Should he put it on? He wasn’t really one to wear jewelry, usually…but he also didn’t want to just abandon it. In the end, he slipped it into his pocket, and headed back to campus, relieved that the encounter was feeling more and more like a dream with each passing minute. It wasn’t until he got back to his room that he pulled it back out, still somewhat surprised it was there, since it was becoming more and more difficult to recall the details of his encounter with the shop owner, and studied it a bit more intently.

What was he supposed to do with it, anyway? Wear it, and then what, Herman would just…fall in love with him like magic? It was a ridiculous thought, but what other hope did he have, really? Just to see what it looked like on him, he put the necklace on, and as soon as he did, he felt a strange flush of emotion weave through him–centering on his cock. Looking down he could see it tenting out the front of his jeans, and all he could think about was Herman–but the scene that kept playing over and over in his mind, right then, was his outright rejection of him in his office. It had felt horrible–but why in the world was thinking about it making him horny? But the more he thought about it, things about the rejection seemed to…shift, slightly.

The kiss, he’d thought, had been awkward, and forced, and short–but now he was beginning to remember it lingering slightly. Had Herman pulled away, slightly disgusted and shocked, or had he been a bit out of breath? The moment kept repeating in his mind, and without even noticing, Burt had his hand down the front of his pants, gently massaging his cock as he thought more and more about it. How Herman had been sneaking glances at him, how he could tell his professor had been at least somewhat interested in him–even if it wasn’t nearly as much as Burt would have liked. How that kiss had lasted a moment, Herman’s hand sliding over and rubbing Burt’s gut…

Burt pushed back on that thought–he didn’t have a gut, after all. He was tall, around six foot three, and even a bit underweight…but in what he was seeing, that wasn’t…the body he had, and the more he thought about it, the more he remembered it, the less wrong it seemed–having a gut, a bit of fur, his beard brushing against the professor’s own. His cock was throbbing now, so much that it was beginning to ache. He was lost in the fantasy before long. No longer questioning it–and he came with a few grunts, spurting a sizable load into the front of his underwear, and the emotions began to relent until they were just a simmer–and before anything else strange could happen, he pulled off the necklace and tossed it onto his desk, next to the pile of papers he’d promised Professor Boel he’d have graded by Monday–

What Would I Do To You #2 (Diaper Cuck)

What would I do to you this time?

We’ve been going steady for a little while now, haven’t we? It all seems rather normal, in fact. I want you to be comfortable, though. I want you to know what normal tastes like, so we let things ride for a few months. The sex begins to feel stale, we begin to discover the things about one another that we hate. I seem to keep pushing your buttons, and you’re beginning to resent me. You’re beginning to think about breaking the whole thing off, in fact, and moving out. That’s when we wake up with the bed sopping wet the first time.

You deny it, but it’s clearly on your side. You’ve wet the bed, a full bladder right into the sheets and the mattress. You’re confused, you feel betrayed by your own body–but that’s alright, I tell you. Accidents happen–I’m sure it was just a fluke, right? The next morning, it’s dry, but you wet it again the next two days in a row. The mattress…smells like piss now, but it was time to get a new one, right? We go shopping, and splurge on a king–but when we get home, you know I have to insist right?

You’re horrified at the thought. You don’t need diapers; you’re a grown man! Yes, I say, a grown man who’s wet the bed nine out of the last twelve nights. We just can’t have these things happening on the brand new bed, right? I reason with you, and I console you, and stroke your ego. We compromise in the end. We’ll use a plastic sheet for now, and if it stays dry for a week, we’ll never speak of it again.

You last for two days, before you wet it again, and this time, I insist. Humiliated, you go along with it, and that is your first night in diapers. It’s the most restful night you’ve ever had. You don’t even mind waking up to the soggy thing around your waist–it…feels comforting, somehow, not that you can admit it. You put up an act for a couple of weeks, but you wear them willingly, and everything seems fine–until the first accident at work.

I entertain your concerns, and we visit the doctor. He assures you this is just a thing that can happen, which is not what you want to hear. On the ride home, you feel lost and adrift–I hold you in bed for a bit, and you feel better, until you let it flow without a diaper on, right there. And with that, you begin wearing them during the day as well. You don’t notice the other things happening, you don’t see yourself sucking your thumb at night while you hump your dick into the front of the diapers, until you spurt. You don’t see how you’re plumping up, how you’re losing the hair on your body. You’re too focused on making sure no one ever notices your secret. But things are going well between us, you think. You’re…surprised by how understanding I’ve been. In fact, you don’t think you could have done this without me. Wanting to do something special, you come home early one day, only to discover me fucking another man in our bed.

You’re speechless. All you can do is stand there and watch, one hand slipping down and groping the front of your diapers, jacking off while you watch me plow a stranger the way I used to plow you, the way I haven’t plowed you in months. You cum, and that snaps you out of it. You bust in, the stranger flees, leaving just the two of us. You think you have the upperhand, and as you begin to yell, the bottom falls out from your world, and you shit your diaper.

You stop midsentence. It’s too much. All of this is too much. You stumble back, and fall on your ass, feeling the shit squish around you, and you start to cry. You more than cry, you wail, and pound your feet and hands, you throw a tantrum–but I talk you down. You see, I love you–I really do, but…you have to understand that I just feel myself attracted to you like I was when we first got together. How could I? I…don’t really have a thing for guys in diapers, but I respect you, and I love you…but you understand, don’t you? By the end of the conversation, you’ve come around, and agreed to open the relationship, for the good of us both.

You hate it though. You hate how…weak you’re becoming. Everything that bothered you about me has only seemed to gotten worse. I never pick up after myself, I belittle you and humiliate you in public, I take your money. Slowly, I’m beginning to control everything about your life–and there’s nothing you’re willing to do about it. Who else is willing to accept you for who you are, after all? You don’t have a choice. Eventually, you come to believe that you’re the real baggage, in the relationship, and you thank me for putting up with you day in and day out. With nothing and no one left to console you, you turn to food to try and fill that hole I’m making in your soul. How much weight have you put on now? Fifty pounds, or is it closer to a hundred at this point? Your body hair has grown thin, and your beard has become patchy–best if you just shave it off, even if it makes you look too young. Your cock is smaller too–just a few inches, not that it gets much use at all. Even if the relationship is open, you’re far too embarrassed to look for sex–though you do, on occasion, chat with daddies on some ABDL websites, not that you’d have the courage to meet them in real life.

No, the only sexual satisfaction you get anymore is purely second hand. You go to bed early, and I have a friend over, and once we get going, you creep out of bed, trying to keep your diaper from making too much noise, and you squat at the door I’ve left ajar, and you watch. You watch me fuck some stranger, and you…imagine it was you there, instead. But who would want to fuck you? You grope yourself. You’re just an ugly loser. Your little dicklet is hard now. A fat loser in diapers, who can’t even control themselves, who’s…starting to even enjoy sitting around in their piss and shit, like a freak. You feel it, the load of shit squeeze out your ass and you cum in the front, muffling your cry, and keep watching until I finish–and then you sneak back to bed before I notice, lying in your shame, and wonder if I’ll be bringing home someone else tomorrow.

Room for a Houseboy (Pics)

“Trust me man, you’re gonna love it here! It’s a great place,” Travis said.

“Yeah man, sounds good,” Robbie said, following his friend into the house.

Robbie had recently found out he was going to be getting kicked out of the room where he had been staying, because the guy who owned the place was going to have his girlfriend moving in with him. It had sucked, but thankfully, Travis–a guy he’d gotten to know at the gym recently–had suggested he move into the same house where he lived. The landlord had a few rooms in a sizable house, and one of them had just come free. Robbie was a little…hesitant, because something about Travis had always seemed a bit odd, but a room was a room, right?

“That you, boy?” a voice called out from a room or two away.

“Yes sir, Mr. Porter! I have someone I want you to meet!”

Travis signaled Robbie to follow him, and there in the living room was a sizable man–Mr. Porter, Robbie assumed. “This is my friend! I know that after Mr. Everett moved out last month, that we had a room free, and so I thought Robbie might be, well, a good fit.”

Mr. Porter hadn’t looked away from Robbie once since he’d stepped into the room, and the young man was feeling increasingly uncomfortable under his glare. He was right–Travis was a fag of some sort. Was this some weird fag thing? “Look–it’s all good. I have some friends I can crash with, actually,” Robbie said, and tried back away and get out of the door, but Travis grabbed him by the arm and pulled him back.

“See, Mr. Porter…I was thinking, it’s just…a lot of work for one boy, you know? It’s not that I don’t enjoy it, you know that, but think of how good it would be to have two!”

Mr. Porter heaved himself up and walked closer to the two of them. He still hadn’t taken his eyes off of Robbie since he’d entered, and…and Robbie realized he didn’t have his shirt on. When had he even taken it off? “He is a very handsome boy, I must say,” Mr. Porter said, and ran his hands over Robbie’s muscled frame. He expected to feel disgusted…but instead it felt…amazing. He moaned, his cock tenting out his gym shorts, and Mr. Porter started groping him, his mind…hazy and distant all of a sudden.

“I knew you would like him! This is so good!”

“Yes, he is…very nice, I must say. And so very…eager. BUt still, I don’t know if he’d be such a good fit for Mr. Everett’s old room. It would just be such a waste.”

“What do you mean, sir?”

Mr. Porter looked at Travis, considered for a moment, and then stepped back from Robbie. “Boy,” he said to Robbie, “Why don’t you be good and wait here for a bit, until I call you? Travis and I need to…discuss something.”

Robbie was more than happy to wait, and so Mr. Porter took Travis upstairs, and into Mr. Everett’s old room. Travis had liked him–a big burly bear, a hard worker, with a magnificent cock. He’d always helped him loosen up after a day at the office, like a good boy should. “Travis, I’ve had my suspicions, but I just don’t know if you’re cut out to be the house boy.”

The words cut to Travis’ heart like a knife. “What…what are you talking about?”

“You just don’t have the drive. We’ve all noticed it, sadly. You’re a good boy, don’t get me wrong. I had such…high hopes for you when you applied, but it just isn’t quite working out. I think Robbie down there–he’s going to be a much better boy that you ever were.”

“You…are you kicking me out?”

“I’m afraid so, Travis.”

He shook his head, “No! No, please…I’ll do better! I’ll do anything! Please let me stay, please!” he fell to his knees.

“Well, I do have this room open, as you know, but the rent isn’t free, like it is for boys. It’s 4000 dollars a month.”

Travis looked around him, and then back at Mr. Porter. “I…I don’t even have a job, though.”

“I know Travis, but I…can help, if you’d like me to. I’ve been able to help men find their footing in this house before. It won’t be easy, I promise you that–but the room could be yours, if you want it. Or else, you’ll have to leave tonight.”

Travis looked from Mr. Porter to the door, and back. “I…I’ll take it sir.”

“That’s good to hear. Now, let’s get started.”

A month later, Mr. Travis Evers pulled up and parked in the driveway, finally done with work. He was exhausted, but glad to be home, if nothing else. He got out of the car and loosened his tie, grabbed his briefcase and went up the steps to the door, and went inside. Mr. Porter and Mr. Raymond were in the kitchen–the house boy, Robbie, was in a jockstrap serving dinner, and his eyes brightened when he saw Travis enter. “Mr. Evers! He bounded over and gave him a kiss, “You must have had a late day at the office–let me help you.”

A couple hours later, after a nice dinner, he was sitting with a beer and a cigar in his room, in just his underwear, while Robbie lovingly worshiped and massaged his feet, happy to help the men of the house unwind and relax. Travis remembered doing something…similar for Mr. Everett, in another life, but he wasn’t a young boy anymore, not by a long shot. No, he was a man now, and being a man meant having…responsibilities. It was stressful–rent was high, and he needed to work long hours to make ends meet, but living here, with a lovely, hot, dedicated houseboy, made it all worth it.

Winter Vacation (Finale)

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank…thank you…big bro.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

–END–

Winter Vacation [Interactive] (Part 11)

The sun rose, but neither Nate nor Brett stirred until it was quite high in the sky, shortly before noon. Still, that wasn’t uncommon–Brett had been up late in his room, watching reruns of Dukes of Hazard, dipping the whole while, and Brett–well, it Brett was a awake, he was usually watching porn and jacking off. Brett didn’t do much else, anymore. With a grunt, he rolled over in his bed, feeling the soggy mattress squish beneath him, reeking of piss and cum. Brett just took a long snort of the fumes, shoved his hand into his underwear and started milking his cock, already excited for the first cum of the day. It was always the best, somehow–he liked to let this one last a bit longer than the rest.

Brett hadn’t weighed himself once since arriving at the house, but if he did, he would have been amazed to discover that he was now cresting 500 pounds. Reaching his cock, however, was getting difficult–but the sensation of his fat shaking, slapping and sloshing around him was heavenly. However, the larger he got, the more he seemed to sweat. Some days, he actually dribbled a trail behind him as he walked, like he’d just emerged from the shower. Still, he never felt dehydrated–if anything, all of the liquid seemed to be coming from inside him, replenishing itself no matter how hot he got–and the same went for his bladder. He seemed to piss every hour, and no matter how large of a piss he let go, he could let off another one, just as large, within an hour. His mattress, which had already been wet when he’d arrived, was now sodden. Whenever he laid down on it, he could hear piss, cum and sweat dribble from it and onto the floor, where it soaked into the clothes piled around him. Still, as large as he was…he wasn’t big enough.

All week, it seemed, Nate had been just ahead of him, always the bigger brother. He hated it–mostly because that meant Nate could order him around, and make him do whatever he wanted. Nate would holler for him across the house, and Brett–so comfortable in his soggy bed, would have to get up, head downstairs into the garage, where Brett would bend him over a bike and fuck him, or dress him up in leather and make him be his slave pig for an hour, or two, or five. Once, however, he’d won. He’d been the big brother, and he dragged Nate upstairs, made him drink his piss and suck his cock all night long, dressing him up in filthy clothes, feed him his dip spit–fuck, that had been amazing. Just thinking about it–he was so close. He came, filling the front of his underwear with a massive load, and sighed. His gut rumbled–and he smelled breakfast on the air. He heaved himself up, shook off his night sweat, and headed downstairs, leaving a trail of wet footprints in his wake.

On the other side of the house, Nate was awake too. He was nearly 550 at this point, a massive, hairy apron sagging down to his thighs. He stepped into his grungy, greasy overalls and pulled them up, feeling his gut grumble. Still–first things first, he packed his bottom lip with chaw, the drool starting to flow into what had become a massive, black beard growing high up his cheeks. The rest of his body was caked with filth–grease, dip spit, cum, and who knew what else, not that he minded at all. A redneck like him ought to be good and filthy, after all. He stepped into some boots, put a stained hat on his head, and headed through the garage to the main house, just as Brett was coming down the stairs. “Mornin’ little bro,” Nate said with a grin.

Brett scowled at him, “Mornin’ big bro.”

“What’s say you ‘n I have some fun in the garage after breakfast? I’m feelin’…might filthy, ‘n I could use a nice tongue bath.”

“What…whatever you say, big bro.” In his head, however, Brett had other ideas. Other, much filthier ideas, if he could just be big enough.

They went into the kitchen together, and found themselves staring at the most massive spread either of them had seen–and a stranger waiting for them as well. Or was he a stranger? It was…their daddy, wasn’t it? But it wasn’t the same daddy they’d had–that daddy had been fat…and kind of stupid. More like a vegetable, really. This daddy had a sharp gleam in his eye, and he was…muscular. “There’s my boys–you two ready for breakfast?”

Brett and Nate nodded, still not quite sure what to make of this change of events.

“Now, I’ve been watching the two of you, you know,” Daddy continued, “your little competition to see who’s the big brother around here, but today–well, let’s just say that whoever the winner is after this meal, isn’t going to be losing the title from now on. If you want to be the big brother, well, you’re going to have to eat like you’ve never eaten before.”

Brett and Nate looked at each other, and then they rushed the table, grabbing for anything they could reach, and shoving it in their face. Occasionally, they would glare at each other, try to shove each other out of the way–and the demon just stood back and watched his boy’s grow. But they weren’t just growing fatter–no. Brett and Nate were both now several inches taller at this point, looming a bit over the table, oblivious to what Daddy’s special meal was doing to them.

Still–there could only be one winner. Who is it going to be? Brett or Nate?

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Suggestions Open for February! | Wesley Bracken on Patreon

It’s that time of the month again! One dollar a month towards my Patreon gets you access to the suggestion box, where you can drop in ideas for stories you’d like to see me write. You can find more information at the link above! Here’s an example of one I did last month, if you’d like to see what these look like.

Roommate Rules

“Trust me man, things are going great! You have no idea how many subscribers I’ve picked up in the last month! My last video, like, broke 10,000 views.”

Curtis just glowered at his roommate, Peter. “Dude, you fucking got fired today! What about the bills?”

“Calm down man! I’m good for it, once I start monetizing my shit. Don’t even sweat it. Besides, you make enough to pay for things, I know you do. It’ll all be fine.”

It was true–Curtis made enough money that he carry the house bills on his own if he had to. The place was in his name, after all. Still, he liked having a roommate so he wouldn’t have to freak out about money–and for the company. Still, Peter was…a frustrating guy to live with. All he really wanted, was to be an viral internet sensation, and Curtis just didn’t have any patience for it. “Fine–but you’re gonna have to pick up some other responsibilities around here, got it? If I’m paying the bills, them the least you can do is some extra chores.”

“Of course!” Peter said, and gave his roommate a hug, squeezing the big man tight, which made Curtis feel a bit awkward. Peter knew Curtis was gay, and he secretly thought Peter did shit like that because he thought it was flirty and endearing, when it was just obnoxious. Peter wasn’t even his type at all–though most of his fanbase thought he was dreamy and handsome. Then again, if his dreams took off, it would be good, right? Curtis did really want to help, after all…but he did get the sense he was also getting taken advantage of.

The next couple weeks confirmed that sentiment. Peter did nothing else extra around the house, and if anything he did even less than before. It was then that Curtis passed an odd store on the way home from work, where the proprietor convinced him to purchase something odd. It was just a simple scroll of paper, with the words “House Rules” across the top.

“You’re the man of the house, aren’t you?” the old man said with a chuckle, “Then perhaps it’s time you took some control, eh?”

It…sounded good to Curtis, for some reason, and he went home, put the list up on the wall, and told Peter that he was going to start using it to list the chores he wanted done regularly. Peter just scoffed at it, told him it wasn’t necessary, but…Curtis wanted to do it anyway, so he started writing some basic chores–picking up clutter, washing the dishes, mowing the lawn. And the next day, to both of their surprises, Peter did all of them. Peter, in particular, didn’t quite know what had come over him–he didn’t…want to be doing the chores, but something in him knew that he had to do them–and when he’d finished the list, he was free to do whatever else he needed to do, and Curtis saw that the tasks had disappeared, like magic.

He kept listing chores, and Peter kept doing them. He found that if he added to the list that he needed something done regularly, the item would stay on the list, and Peter would do it every day. It was after a week of this, that Peter came to him and asked him where he’d gotten it–and they got into an argument. Peter tried to tear the list down, but it refused to come away in his hands, and he couldn’t write on it for some reason. In frustration, Curtis wrote down that Peter would obey all of the commands of the man of the house without question–and when he ordered Peter to sit down on the couch–he did.

He couldn’t even stand back up, and watching him struggle there, Curtis felt…something else–a rush of power. The old man was right. He was the man of the house, and that meant he should be in charge. “Alright, I think you need some punishment,” Curtis said, and sat down, “Bend over my knee boy, and let’s give you a spanking.”

To Peter’s horror, he couldn’t resist the command, and as Curtis smacked his ass, he found himself getting more and more turned on–and when he was finished, he sent Peter to his room for the rest of the night, told him he was grounded until further notice, and looked at the list again.

He knew he shouldn’t. He knew it was wrong…but Peter was trying to take advantage of him. What was the harm with getting a little something in return, for his generosity? When Peter woke up, he found that where before, the list had been mostly empty, Curtis had, in the course of the evening, filled it. Peter could no longer leave the house without permission, and he always had to return home in time for dinner. While Curtis continued to cook–Peter had never shown much talent in the kitchen–the majority of household chores were now Peter’s responsibility, and they took so long each day, he generally didn’t have any time left to work on his videos. However, it was mealtimes that Peter dreaded. One of the first new rules, was that Peter eat everything Curtis put down in front of him. As a muscular young man with a small appetite, he had never been one for food, but Curtis began stuffing him morning, noon, and night–and making sure he was snacking in between meals as well. After a few weeks of this, Peter saw that his body was beginning to grow flabby, and when he complained to Curtis, he just laughed.

“You were the one who was always flirting with me, I thought? Well, I like my guys on the…hefty side. I’m sure you’ll learn to enjoy it soon enough.”

“But what about my videos? Curtis–please…you can’t do this to me, it’s not right!”

“Oh? Does someone still want to be an internet sensation? We can arrange that, don’t worry boy.”

More rules appeared, all of them becoming rather…sexual. Peter discovered that overeating was beginning to arouse him, and he wouldn’t be able to resist jacking off whenever he ate–and true to his word, Curtis began taping his feeding sessions, encouraging him all the while, before uploading them to the internet for the entire gaining community to see. As he gained more and more weight, Curtis began showing more and more interest in him as well, shaking his small gut and love handles, smacking his ass, making him dress in fewer and fewer clothes around the house, until all he was wearing was a pair of his new much too small briefs, while Curtis filmed him doing chores around the house. He would pin him down under his own, larger body, make Peter worship it, tell him how much he envied him, teased him by telling him that once he was even larger than him, he might let the boy move out on his own–if he still wanted to leave, that is.

The more Peter obeyed the list of rules, however, the more normal everything started to feel. He…wanted to keep eating, and he liked being humiliated by Curtis. When his briefs finally ripped open in film one day, he couldn’t stop himself from jacking off right then and there for his fans, while Curtis spanked him for ripping his clothes, forbidding his fatboy from wearing anything else in the house from now on. He grew fatter and fatter, passing 250, and then 300, no longer wanting to be thin ever again. Curtis wanted him to be fat, and Curtis was the man of the house. He was just Fatboy–he’d forgotten his real name, and that one suited him so much better anyway. He never did end up moving out–why would he ever want to be away from Curtis anyway? No–this was the life he’d always dreamed of–he was an internet sensation, after all! No one had gone from under 200 to 600 pounds in two years–but with the help of his master, and a few strict rules, Fatboy finally had the life he’d always wanted.

Suggestions Open for February! | Wesley Bracken on Patreon

What Would I Do To You (#1 – Dippig)

A new sort of thing I’ve had on my mind, ever since this post blew up a couple months ago. Not sure how often I’ll add entries, but it’ll be a different sort of thing each time. This one is dedicated to someone in particular, you know who you are.)

What would I do to you today?

Let’s start you off with some dip. If you’re a novice, even better–I show you how to pack that lip your first time, see that buzz in your eye, and you smile, but before you can finish jacking off, you have to race to the toilet to throw up. It happens–but it’s good to see how you take it. We don’t do anything else with the dip right then, instead, I wait for you to bring it up again, because even after that, you’re still curious…and a bit humiliated. You should have been able to take it, you tell yourself. It wasn’t even that much. So you ask, and I oblige. A bit less this time, get you comfortable, get you spitting in a little bottle, and you’re feeling good. You jack off, and you leave it in after, dropping it in the trash before you go.

We see each other more often, and everytime, we pack that lip for you. It helps you enjoy yourself–you feel more relaxed, and more energized with it. But for the moment, you still only do it when you’re with me–but why? You know the brand I give you, there’s nothing stopping you from stopping by the gas station as you leave to buy some of your own. You drop the occasional hint that it would be nice to have a tin of your own, but I don’t give you what you want–you’re not going to get any from me, no, you need to get it yourself. Finally, you do. You don’t use it often–maybe once every couple of days to jack off with, but that’s ok–we can take it slow.

You arrive with a packed lip, and you leave with one now. It isn’t long before spit begins to play a larger and larger role for you in sex. I make you watch me drool, I spit in your face, I lick your body, and I stop giving you a bottle. I want to see you drool. I want you to feel it running down your chin and onto your chest. I want to rub it in there, smear the dark, tacky liquid all over you where I can lick it off later–maybe.

When does an obsession become an addiction? When do you go from dipping because you want to, and start dipping because you need to? Is it the first time you sneak a lipper at work? You keep it small, so no one can notice, keep the trash can nearby for spit, and be sure to enunciate. You’re hard though, and you slip off to the bathroom to jack off, drooling a bit down your chin as you do, and wipe it clean with some toilet paper when your finished. Your chin feels a bit sticky for the rest of the day, all the same.

But I want to take things further–and you do too. You’re enjoying yourself too much to say no. I suggest you grow out your beard, and you agree. We have off your hair, once you have a decent scruff balance the bare skull. More and more often, I start feeding you during our sessions together. It takes some practice, not swallowing the leaf and spit while I stiff you full, but you’re smart, aren’t you? You figure it out, like a good pig. Did you know how erotic eating could be? I don’t think you did. You’d read stories about it, sure, but had you ever experienced it? You start buying snacks when you stop at the gas station to get more dip. You become a frequent customer at the vending machine at work. You bring doughnuts for everyone–but eat a half dozen yourself. You feel less obvious, that way.

We carry on, for a while. It begins to feel normal, now. Your boss catches you using tobacco at work, and you get written up. It feels unfair–it’s not like you’re smoking after all–but rules are, apparently, rules. You try to stop for a day, figuring it would be good if you scaled back somewhat…but the withdrawl hits, and by the end of the week, you’re back to covertly dipping again, and being more careful this time. Is that all the willpower you had? Two days without? Not even without–just for an eight hour stretch at work. You jack off that night, thinking about it, realizing how much you need it–and wondering if you can even stop now, if you wanted to.

You’re spending the night regularly now. I make sure to stock up on all of your favorite snacks, and keep them close at hand all night long for you to binge on. He strip you down, pack your mouth full, and you start drooling like a beast, watching it run down into that beard of yours. I get plenty of spit elsewhere too–all over those soft pecs of yours, over your small gut, drooling all over your dick and balls until they’re good and brown, eat out that ass of yours too, before I fuck you. And you? You’re just in a stupor of pleasure, stuffing your face, with food and more dip, needing it to get hard now, needing all of it.

Do you want to move in yet? Ready to go all the way? I don’t let you quit your job–no, I want them to fire you. I want you to see just how much they’ll let you get away with. But no more showers, not for you. No bottles, either. That spit just drools right out your mouth and into your beard. The chin is stained several shades darker than the rest of your hair now, like some strange dye job, and the hair is crusty and matted together. I put you on a strict gaining diet, and you take most of your meals out of a small trough in the kitchen. Pretty soon, you crest 300 pounds, and not too long after that, they finally fire your ass–and you realize, then, that I’m the only thing you have left to rely on.

But that’s alright, isn’t it? You like being here. It feels good–you feel good, being my dippig. I slowly start breaking down the rest of your social shame, I warp you into an exhibitionist, I make you get off seeing other people see you dipping, seeing you filthy, seeing your fat ass in too small of clothes, covered in muck they can’t even recognize. You don’t carry a can anymore–no, we’ve switched to a different storage system, now that you’ve got that nice wide ass. We just pack chaw in between those cheeks of yours, and let you walk around with it all day long. Fuck, watching you rummage around in your underwear in the supermarket, haul a damp wad of chaw out and shove it in your mouth, right in front of a couple of breeders who just stare at you in horror–I drag you right into the restroom for a good fucking–and in your eyes, I see that that’s exactly what you’d hoped would happen.

Winter Vacation [Interactive] (Part 7)

Brett heard his big brother disappear into the garage, and wondered why he was heading there, when Daddy had told them both to go to their rooms. Still, something told him he didn’t really need to worry much about that–Nate could take care of himself, after all. He hefted himself upstairs, surprised by how hard it was with the extra weight of his new gut. He paused about three quarters of the way up, and wondered how in the hell Daddy was going to get up these stairs to go to bed, and thought about it, about daddy’s massive apron, covered in hair, wondering what it would be like to have one himself. His cock got hard, but he resisted touching it. Something…still just didn’t seem right to him, about all of this, even if he couldn’t quite figure out what it was exactly.

At the top of the stairs there was a hall with several rooms splitting off. A second bathroom–also equipped with a urinal, like the one downstairs, and a few bedrooms. He went to the next door, opened it, and as soon as he did, he gagged. Whatever was in this room…it reeked. He stepped back a bit, shaking his head. That couldn’t be his room. It just…it couldn’t be. But the stench, now that he smelled it…it did seem familiar somehow. Comfortable, even. He tried to leave, fully intending to get out of the house and never come back, but instead he walked into the room, eyes watering, and shut the door behind him.

Once shut it, he felt better. The air was muggy and humid–and almost immediately Brett felt himself start to sweat. He wiped his brow and looked around, disgusted by the room around him. It was filthy. Empty food wrappers and containers were scattered everywhere, mixed in with the dirty laundry that made up most of the clutter. There was a closet lying open, but there was nothing inside but even more clothing, also dirty–why in the world was there so much of it?

He felt dizzy in the heat of the room, and he went over to the bed and sat down on it…and when he did, he felt it…squish beneath him. The surface was wet, and a thick plume of filthy air billowed up around him, and when he inhaled it this time, he just felt more of his mind shut off, his jaw dropped open, one hand went to his cock and started stroking it slowly. Yeah–this was better. Much better. He was back where he belonged now, he could tell. He’d been wrong before, when he thought about leaving this–and he laid back on the damp, stinking mattress and jacked off a bit faster.

As he laid there, he could start to pick out some of the specific odors around him. Piss–there was lots of that. His stomach turned for a moment, as he finally realized why, exactly, the mattress felt so soggy…but then it just didn’t bother him at all. In fact, knowing the thing was leaden with his own stale piss somehow made everything so much…hotter. There was sweat, too–his own sweat rolling off him. He lifted an arm and took a whiff of himself, still unwashed after days of looking after daddy, and it smelled amazing. It wasn’t enough though–it still just wasn’t quite right. He’d missed something, but what?

It clicked in his head, and he smacked his forehead. He could be such a stupid, stinking boy sometimes. He wasn’t dressed, of course! He rolled over, intending to sit up on the bed, but it was hard work, for some reason, liks his body wanted to move as little as possible. He managed, however, to make it back to the edge, and he fished around in the piles around him, looking for something that smelled…right, tossing things back that dissatisfied him, and pulling on the things he found that interested him. A nasty wifebeater, some ratty briefs, some socks–and then a couple more socks on top of those–he liked it when his feet got nice and rank. Satisfied with his choices, he laid back down with a contented sigh, and continued masturbating, face snorting from his pits now, hand shoved down the front of the briefs, working on his cock, which had started leaking precum profusely into the fabric.

His balls were growing–swelling in the stank briefs, and as they grew, he could sense his own mind growing dimmer. He tried to cling to his thoughts of escape, but they slipped away from him, and soon he didn’t even feel like he was missing anything. He was just a nasty slob in his stinking room, jacking off like he always did, when Daddy or his brother didn’t need him, not that he was good for much. He was…fucking worthless, actually. He could cook, he supposed, but that was about it. He knew that should bother him, the fact that he was just wasting his life up here, but he loved it. He wanted to be worthless. He wanted to waste himself on porn and masturbation, living in his stinking man cave. The first orgasm came, but it only got him hornier. Brett could chain ten or twelve loads a day, his underwear eventually completely saturated with his fluids, and he’d still usually have a wet dream or two in the night, humping his nasty mattress until he came.

He needed to piss, and he knew he should use the urinal, but when he tried to get up from the bed this time, inertia won. Fuck–he was so fucking lazy, he wasn’t even going to make it to the bathroom. Not this time, at least. The piss started to flow, and there was so much of it, flooding through his briefs and soaking into the bed below him, and he came again, and again, and again, until he couldn’t think of anything else he’d rather do than waste his life as a worthless slob.

The next few days were quiet. Daddy and his two boys adjusted to their roles rather quickly, and it wasn’t long before they had forgotten about their old lives entirely, their gear thrown out into the backyard by Nate, who only saw the four duffel bags as junk. They ate–with Daddy always pitting his two boys against one another to see who would be the big brother for the day. Nate usually won, but Brett could pack away his groceries on occasion, and when he did, he loved bossing his brother around, ordering him to suck on his huge, nasty feet while he jacked off onto him. Nate, on the other hand, would use his brother as a biker pig out in the garage, when he won–at least, when daddy wasn’t using them both for his own pleasure.

It was about a week later, halfway through their alleged vacation, that a new car pulled up into the driveway. The mastermind had been watching the events unfolding, and was very, very pleased by the four young men’s progress–but now it was time for stage two, whatever that might be. So, who is our perverse Mastermind, anyway?

It really is Rich’s mysterious uncle, who brought along Rich’s father for extra fun.
A group of nerds they bullied looking for revenge.
The football coach, who is possessed by a demon of sloth, lust and gluttony.
A mad scientist, happy some guinea pigs wandered into his trap.

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