brackenousjunk:

Ideal Tenants (½)

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Josh and Greg were two younger louts, who had managed to score a year long lease in a rather nice apartment building–and seemed intent to make everyone else living within the place hate their guts. They were loud, violent, didn’t care for the property of others, and when they arrived home one day to find a notice on their door–handwritten–which they didn’t bother to read.

Since I’d never get my lease back if I evicted you, I’ll just have to make you into some tenants I can live with! Your Landord.

The reason the apartment building was so nice, in fact, was because Mr. Emerson, the owner of the building, was a warlock. A warlock, who was rather fed up with the behavior of both troublemakers, and so, over rest of their lease, the two of them would find themselves…becoming Mr. Emerson’s ideal tenants. What they didn’t know, was that Mr. Emerson was gay, and had some rather specific tastes.

It was less than a month before their first awkward moment of sex. Josh and Greg often spent their time after work exercising on a shared bench they’d bought together. But lately, the two of them had found themselves becoming quite…distracted by one another. It was Josh who figured it out first, hauled down Greg’s shorts and started sucking at his cock, before demanding his roommate fuck his ass–Josh didn’t even bother to insist that he wasn’t gay, before fucking his friend’s hole for an hour straight.

From that moment on, every time the two of them tried to work out, they wound up fucking instead. And after every fuck, they found themselves ravenous, and would stuff themselves with anything they could find in the house. Meanwhile, Mr. Emerson was watching all of this on the various cameras he’d installed in their apartment, eager for the rest of the young men’s lives to fall into place.

bearslikeus:

rwhaner:

Sweet smokey kisses

You sure are a sweet looking cub, but I’m interested in bears. Daddybear types like myself. Don’t worry. It’s nothing we can’t fix. C’mere. Give me a big kiss.

Yeah. That’s helping. Let that smoke fill you. Let it make you a handsome Daddybear. Sure you can have a cigar. Maybe you and I can also find a cub that you and I can both have some fun with.

Oh now stop your worrying. You’re the man I want.

vikingzombieboyfriend:

(For Xuluc.)

Dr. Hugo Strange prepared a fresh pipe and brought it to the man in the cell. After Strange removed the feeding tube, the prisoner clamped the pipe in his mouth, as he’d been conditioned to do, and waited for it to be lit. Strange got the pipe going with his own pipe lighter, chuckling at the eagerness with which the subject puffed on the briar.

Not that the subject truly comprehended what he was enjoying. In his current state, he could only take what he was given. It didn’t matter what, and it didn’t matter which hole it went into. For now, the former hero of Gotham was merely a receptacle for food and alcohol and smoke.

Strange was still breaking the subject’s mind down into disconnected memories and subconscious drives. It would take some time to flush out what was unnecessary and build something new out of the leftover debris. But the plan was going well. Batman/Bruce Wayne could no longer recall anything about his old civilian identity and very little about his heroic one. Interrogations revealed he knew only he had once been a great man… hell, two great men, to be honest. And now, he was nobody. Strange pulled what was left of the cowl over the subject’s increasingly fatter, hairier head. It helped to reinforce for the subject how lost he was now.

The accelerated aging caused by Strange’s mind-altering chemicals were an unexpected side-effect but it was not unwelcome. It further softened the subject’s will and helped to distance his current perception of his body from the trim, relatively youthful fighting machine it had been just a few months before. It had been a thrill for Strange to see the first wrinkles appear, to watch the Raven-black stubble abruptly shift into an even faster-growing bushy gray beard.

The subject reached beneath his sagging gut and started to pleasure himself. Strange sighed. He’d have to curb that behavior once the subject was allowed a few hours of total consciousness per day. Once the subject had been programmed as a bottom for the other prisoner, the man from Metropolis. Strange’s backers knew exactly what they wanted, and they were not men who tolerated failure. For now, though, he failed to see the harm. He retreated to a spot beneath the security camera, where he knew he wouldn’t be recorded, lit his own pipe, and unzipped his trousers.

jockbender:

Stereotypical

‘Shit, it’s happened again!’ I cursed under my breath as the jogging pants I’d been wearing as I ran laps suddenly morphed into revealing running shorts and my t-shirt vanished into thin air.

Examining my exposed torso nervously for changes, I nearly freaked when I saw a huge expanse of inked skin where the tattoo of an eagle soared majestically across my serratus and abs.  The tattoo looked as though it’d been there for a few years but like the abdominals it covered, it was really brand new, yet another effect of Justin’s fucked up fag-magic.

When me and my bros mocked him and his blimp of an emo fag hag at the mall last week, I’d had no idea they were into that fucking voodoo-bruja shit but when my board shorts transformed into a faggy white speedo at the beach the next day and my usual gym gear of ball shorts and tee turned into shiny spandex tights, a stringer tank and backwards ball cap that evening in the middle of my workout, I knew some weird shit was up.  The really fucked up thing was that I couldn’t seem to take the clothes off or break out of my routine until I’d finished what I was doing which meant I spent the whole day at the beach being called a fag and got hit on by roided out gym bunnies all through my workout at the gym that night.

I began to join the dots the next morning when I saw one of my buds, Brody on his way to class dressed up like some Ivy League grad student in chinos, button down shirt, tie and blazer.  His cheeks were flaming with embarrassment but like me the previous day it looked like he was forced to continue his day as usual while everyone else seemed oblivious to the changes.

It was three days later when I noticed the first physical changes.  I was at the mall picking up some new threads when my jeans, tee and sneakers transformed into the kind of fruity outfit that would make even the most hardcore gym bunnies blush with shame.  

Catching my reflection in one of the store’s mirrors as the transformation completed, I’d been horrified to see that I was now dressed in revealing lime green spandex compression shorts, a blue stringer tank, fluorescent yellow running shoes, red fanny pack and a white and yellow trucker ball cap.  What freaked me out most though was that I’d hulked out with muscle.  Dressed up in that faggy workout gear, I looked like one those douchy meatheads that can only hold a conversation if it’s about macros, lifting or fucking but I reluctantly had to admit the muscle was pretty cool even if the threads weren’t.

The next morning Brody turned up at class in a three piece suit and tie with one of those preppy side-parting haircuts.  The combination made him look older and when I asked him about it in private after class he told me anxiously that according to his driver’s license, he’d aged fifteen years and was to all intents and purposes forty-five.  Worse still, he told me blushingly, his voice sinking to a whisper, his cock had shrunk two inches and he’d discovered he could only get off by sticking one of his ex’s dildos up his ass.

Eventually we and a few of the other guys worked out who was behind the changes but for some reason, none of us seemed to be able to get near enough Justin and his fag hag to confront them about it.  As my entire wardrobe was gradually replaced by revealing workout clothes in hot, bright colors and synthetic fabrics, I realised, I was beginning to accept and even enjoy exposing my new physique to the world and found myself spending more and more time jerking off in front of the mirror in my room or skipping classes to hit the gym and work on my bod.

As I thought back on the past week and my gradual transformation into a narcissistic gym bunny, I spared a thought for poor Brody, or Broderick as he now preferred to be called, who’d yesterday sprouted a thick grey mustache that worked surprisingly well with his newly receding hairline.  With the tweedy suits he was now wearing day to day, he looked more like one of the professors than a college student and who knew, by this time next week, he might actually become one.

I continued pounding out the laps, conscious that I wouldn’t be able to get out of these shorts until I’d done at least fifty circuits of the track and consoled myself with the thought of a slow jerk off in front of my reflection in the locker room mirror afterwards.  At least I still have that…  Brody’s dick’s so small now he’s had to start bottoming for dudes into old men that he finds on Grindr.  Poor fucker!

bearslikeus:

Papa’s gonna take good care of you. You’re gonna be a fine, cub. Eventually you’ll be a hairy old man like me someday. Just let my cock ease in to you. I know you’re anxious, cub. It’ll happen in time. Can’t rush it. Just focus on taking my thick papa bear dick deep into you. Yeah… You like that? You like having Papa fuck your hole. Tell me how good it feels having Papa fuck your hole. Mmm…yeah fucker. Yeah.

thewhaledude:

txngnr:

A year’s worth of Tummy Tuesdays

Holy hell!! Talk about blowing up