Mr. Morris (Part 2)

wesleybracken:

He got up, and he was at least easy on me. He had some lube, and he greased up his fingers, sliding them in, getting me used to the feeling. He was impatient though. I kept asking him to slow down, but he kept pushing me on, two fingers, and then three. I felt so..full, and it kind of hurt. But I…

Mr. Morris (Part 2)

wesleybracken:

Mr. Morris (Pt. 1)

I procrastinated, I know. One month until I was supposed to graduate from high school, and I still needed fifty hours of community service. I pleaded with my principal to just waive the requirement, but she said her hands were tied—if I didn’t finish, I wouldn’t be able to walk, and I might not even get to go to college in the fall. So there I was—four weeks, fifty hours, twenty hours a week. Luckily, the service coordinator at my school had a suggestion. I wasn’t the first student to put it all off, and a local senior living center liked to have students come in during the evenings and weekends to keep people company. It meant that I would have to volunteer six days of the week, every week, but I’d be able to finish. I thought I’d lucked out—how easy could this be? All I had to do was sit around for a few hours and listen to old people talk. It was going to be so easy.

For a few days, it was easy. Really easy. The staff would pair us up with someone living in the center, and we would join them for dinner (which was free for us) and then have us sit with them for a couple hours after, and then send us home. In fact, some of the people were pretty cool. Then I got paired up with Mr. Morris. He was a bit on the short side, and rather fat with a short, full beard. He seemed a bit younger than most of the people who lived there, and it was a pleasant change from the usual sort of awkward conversation I was used to. I mean, I can’t quite remember what we talked about for the most part, though I do remember his showing me this amulet of his during dinner. He said it had been in his family for generations, but that since he hadn’t had any kids, there was no one he could give it to. It was a rather stunning piece of jewelry, coated with gold and with a number of jewels encrusted in it. Gaudy, maybe, but the way it caught the light…He left it out on top of his shirt all evening, and I just couldn’t quite bear to look away.

I was paired up with Mr. Morris every night after that. The staff just treated it like it had always been that way, even though they had made a point of saying before that they liked to rotate people around as much as possible to keep the experience fresh for everyone. I didn’t mind though—I loved being paired with Mr. Morris. By the end of the second week, I had realized something else—I loved Mr. Morris.

Now this was a bit strange for me. On one hand, I could remember being completely straight, and having a girlfriend, but it was like no one else could remember any of it. When I told Amber that we had dated, she laughed at me, and I did feel a bit foolish. I had come out to here my Freshman year, and we’d been best friends ever since, grading boys, the whole thing. She knew my tastes ran a lot older though, and bit more heavyset than people might find normal. Most of my crushes were on faculty, not on students. The strange feeling only lasted a few days though, and then it was perfectly normal for me, though I found myself acting different around Mr. Morris, my heart fluttering a bit when he put his hand on my knee, and whenever I jacked off, I kept having fantasies about him, only him.

Finally, I couldn’t bear it anymore, and I confessed that I not only loved him, but that…that I wanted him to be my first. I wanted him to be the one to take my virginity. I expected him to be disgusted, but instead he smiled like he’d known all along, the amulet glinting, and he suggested that I tell my parents that I would be staying overnight with a friend on Friday night. Amber covered for me, though when I told her why she was a bit disgusted. My parents knew I was gay of course, so staying over with Amber wasn’t a problem at all for them. In fact…they seemed almost…too ok with the whole thing. Regardless, I joined Mr. Morris for dinner that night, and he was dressed so handsomely, I swooned a bit. He was a perfect gentleman, but with how he kept pawing at my crotch under the dinner table, I knew he wanted it as much as I did. When the staff told us it was time to go, no one said anything when I joined hands with Mr. Morris and followed him to the elevator, and up to his apartment.

Once we were inside, I had no idea what I was doing, but he was gentle, and he kissed me, and…and he was everything I’d ever wanted in a man. He helped me out of my clothes, I helped him out of his. I was scared of sucking his cock, but he said he’d like to suck mine first. I agreed, happily, and he told me to get on the bed. I noticed that even though he was naked, he hadn’t taken off the amulet, and it seemed…excited as well. Like it was catching too much light in the dim apartment lighting.

Now, I suppose I haven’t said too much about myself up until now. I suppose part of the reason is that I was pretty average. Average build, not too muscular, but certainly not fat. Maybe a bit tall and gangly, but what teenager isn’t a little bit? I was smart. I’d gotten into every school I applied to, with even a full ride from one, which was good, because my parents weren’t very well off at all. And there I was, naked, mostly hairless, sitting on Mr. Morris’ bed, and this bear of a man climbed up on all fours, amulet hanging from his neck and shining and all I can think is how lucky I am. Then, he swallows my rock hard cock and…and I can’t even describe it. I’d always felt a connection to Mr. Morris, ever since I’d first met him. But with our first sexual contact…I could feel him…inside me. I swear the amulet was glowing now, but that probably was just my imagination, but Mr. Morris, he was in my body, or exploring my body, or something, and then things started happening. I noticed my stomach start to gurgle, and all of a sudden my flattish stomach was bulging out into a gut, pushing up and out. I…I freaked out, and scrambled away from his mouth, and as soon as his mouth was off my cock, the feeling was gone.

He could see that I was scared, and I asked him what had just happened. He told me…mostly everything. How the amulet could change things, if he wanted them to change. That the closer he got to something, the more he could change them. The whole time, he was rubbing my gut, and I had to admit, it felt really good. Then again, I’d always…kinda wanted to be fat, you know? It seemed natural, after all. I was attracted to fat guys, right? So why wouldn’t I want to be fat too? And maybe…maybe a bit hairier. A proper bear cub. At least…at least, that was how Mr. Morris explained it to me, and it made so much sense. He told me that he could make it happen. That he could make me fat, and no one would know the difference. I was nervous, but how could I say no to him?

I sat back on the bed, heart beating fast, but this is what I wanted, right? I just…couldn’t quite remember it being what I wanted, was the problem. He wrapped his mouth around my cock again, and he was inside me, and my gut was growing, and soon enough it didn’t matter. The gut became too big to really be a gut anymore, and my chest was filling out into fat moobs. I touched my fattening nipples, and they were so sensitive! I could feel cum leaking from my cock like a faucet, but I held off as best I could. I could see my thighs growing wide, my ass spreading out underneath me. My chin was a bit scratchy, and I felt a short beard there. I’d never been able to grow a beard! And there was hair on my chest! I ran my fingers through it, and it was too much for me. I shot my load, and he swallowed it all down, nursing on the head for a moment, before releasing me. I laid back, surrounded by fat, and sighed. I felt like…me. Like a me I hadn’t even known could exist. Like a me that shouldn’t exist. Mr. Morris was looking at me…fuck, he wanted me. I could see it in his eyes, and in his huge, fat, hard cock. I remember what he said next. “Roll over.” It wasn’t a request, he wasn’t asking for permission. I tried to stop myself, I was scared, I didn’t think I could handle anything in my ass, but my body was listening to him, not to me.

The Bears Den – Part One

maletfstories:

by Titan

This couldn’t be the bar he was looking for. For one thing, it was definitely the seediest part of town, Luke thought to himself as he steped over a tramp swigging on a bottle wrapped up in brown paper. But the address matched the one in the ad for ‘the den’. He was new in town, looking for some male action, and had read about this place in some ‘pink’ newspaper. 

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The Shaft

maletfstories:

The young man worked for a courier company.

As he stood there he had a package he was rushing to deliver to management on the top floor.

Hearing the ding of the elevator the man got in.

Pacing back and forth he checked his reflection in the mirror.

He was a good looking guy no doubt about it. Smooth-shaven, 24, light brown haired and packing an impressive 8-inch cock.

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The New Me

maletfstories:

by ?????

This is a true story of my transformation from one type of man to a complete different type of man.

Ten years ago I was your average mid forties gay guy.   Professional job in a small business I owned and grew, nice townhouse in the city,  pricey foreign car.    I hung around other professionals,  went to gym,  rode expensive bicycle long distance,  ate organic and healthy,   manicures and biweekly haircuts,  pricey clothes and shoes from Bloomingdale’s.   Pretty sweet office job wearing nice clothes and an occasional suit.

I was not muscled but average build.   Light work outs at the gym, some cardio,  yoga kept me in decent shape.   A weekly 25 mile bike ride added to my body being in good shape.   Kept my waist at 32-34 depending on the cut of the pants.   I enjoyed wearing the lycra to ride and a water polo speedo at the beach or pool.    I did man groom to keep my body tidy, with a bi annual waxing of my back to keep me smooth.

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Who He Was Meant To Be

maletfstories:

Nick was an introverted 18 year old and a Senior at his local high school.  He lived in a small, rural town surrounded by thick forests, forests he often frequented to find solace and solitude.  Many times the isolation of the forest would inspire kinky, arousing feelings within him and he often masturbated amongst the tall pines, wise and silent.  These thick, rough trees made him think of the classic image of a lumberjack: tall, bulging muscles covered in thick brown hair that poked out of a soft flannel shirt, connecting chest hair with the lush, courageous beard that was speckled with grey like glimmering stars in a reddish-brown sky.  It was such a sexy contrast to his own body: short, thin, and wiry; essentially hairless, and utterly boyish.  Even his light brown pubes were sparse, not even reaching high enough to form the beginnings of a happy trail.  He always found himself wondering longingly why his body was so immature.  He had never known his father as he and his mom had lived quietly alone in their small two bedroom cottage ever since he could remember, and he’d never even asked his mother about his dad.  He could sense that she wasn’t keen on talking about him.

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thefattestwizard:

When someone mentioned the super bowl, I would always laugh. I had neither
the time, nor the interest, to waste over three or four hours watching a bunch
of big muscle brutes tackle each other over some stupid game that had no real
repercussions. To me, the people that watch the Superbowl were just fat,
middle-aged people who had nothing better do with their time – and as a young
wealthy businessman on the West Coast, I had nothing to do with those kinds of
losers.

Well, that was true, at least before I ended up moving to NoWheresVille,
Iowa. My company was starting up a new location and they wanted me to be the
head of the new office. I reluctantly agreed, realizing that it could be a
stepping stone to a much better position in a much more suitable location.

So I moved to a nice home in a typical Midwestern suburban neighborhood. The
neighbors were all typical – pushing their late 40’s, all with kids who had
moved on and wives that had divorced them. I thought it strange that nobody in
the neighborhood was still married, but I figured it was a product of the times
– I had never held onto a woman myself, although that was more my choice than
theirs. The guys seemed nice enough, but I always declined their invitation to
barbecues, cookouts, and other neighborhood-wide activities they would host. I
was an established businessman – I didn’t want to hang out with all the
overweight, middle-aged rednecks that lived around me, nice or not.

As the weeks progressed, however, I realized finding friends that shared my
same values would be harder and harder. I was forced to work over Christmas,
and with the colder winter months came a crippling loneliness. I became more
and more desperate through the new year. Then, one day, I noticed a note in my
mailbox:

To my fellow Lakeside Community Members:

 I’ll be hosting a Superbowl party this Sunday, and I’d love if you all
could make it. Bob and I will provide the snacks, you guys supply the booze.
See ya there, fellas.

    -Tom

I decided that I had nothing better to do that day, and it was apparent I
wasn’t going to make any other friends. So I showed up on game day half an hour
before the game, with an expensive bottle of wine in hand. After a quick knock
on the door, it was thrown open, a big, gruff man in jeans answering the door,
sporting what I assumed to be a sports jersey of one of the teams.

“Hi there, my name is Howard, I live at the end of Sycamore Street in
the green house and – ”

“Say no more buddy! I’m Tom.” I extended my hand to introduce
myself, but the big guy, who I now know was Tom, pulled me into his stomach in
a tight hug. I was a little appalled – I didn’t even know the man’s name, and
he had a slight scent of body odor emanating from his armpits, which, upon inspection,
had small sweat stains creeping over his puffy chest. He released me after a
moment, grabbed the wine, and then boomed: “Good of ya to join us – many
of us were wonderin’ if you were just some hermit! The boys are inside shootin’
shit and watchin’ the pre-game show, go take a seat ‘n introduce
yourself.”

I nodded, and headed straight to what I assumed was the living room. Inside
were a handful of men about the size of Tom – tall, middle-aged, and with a
good size gut. Some looked older, some stockier, but they all seemed like
typical, blue-collar workers, dressed like Tom – supporting their favorite
team, by the looks of their jerseys they had on. I suddenly felt a little stiffer
in my casual business dress wear – I stuck out like a sore thumb in my dark
khakis and dress shirt. Still, the boys paid it no mind, and introduced
themselves one by one. There was Ben, who worked on a nearby farm as a
farmhand, Bob, who helped co-host the party and seemed to be Tom’s roommate, and
Jerry, the owner of a mechanic’s shop off of downtown. Lastly there was Stew,
who apparently worked as one of the city’s trash men. He was massive – well over
6 and a half feet, and weighing probably upwards of 400 pounds, with very
little of it muscle. He also seemed dumb as a sack of potatoes – I almost
pitied him. The rest of the guys seemed okay though, and within a few minutes,
they were all hootin’ and hollerin, and treating me like a brother. When it
came time to sit down on their huge couch, I was unfortunately stuck between
Jerry and Stew (who had an unusual scent emanating off of him) on the couch,
their bellies pooled slightly onto my lap, and their love handles providing an
arm rest which I awkwardly used, not sure where else to place them. 

“So, can I grab ya a beer, bud?” Bob offered.

I politely declined. “Nah, I’m not much a beer drinker. Thanks though.”

“Nonsense!” Tom shouted from the kitchen, bringing up a 6-pack for
us all to share. “Let’s all chug one to commemorate Howie comin’ out and
watchin’ the big game with us!” I quietly refuted that my name was Howard,
not Howie, but nobody heard my over the loud laughs and cheers as we each
caught our beer and popped it open. I followed their lead and sucked the foam
out of the tough, coughing slightly – the stuff was bitter, more bitter than I
can remember any beer ever being.

“To our new friend!” All the boys raised their can, and I followed
suit, then brought it to my lips, tipped back, and chugged. I felt like I had
something to prove to these gruff gentleman, so I took it like a man, feeling
the cold drink burn as it went down my throat. It wasn’t until I finished the
entire can that I felt a wave of nausea come over me. I stood up, sputtered,
then bent over and coughed, my eyes watering. Tom came up and patted my back.
“Atta boy, Howie. Sorry, we tend to stick to our stronger beers – hope you
won’t mind.” He gave me a wink and a nudge. I nodded, feeling a bit
better, and wiped my eyes. I didn’t even notice my heart flutter from the wink
the big man gave me, or the twitch of my cock as he rubbed my back a bit longer
than most friends would.

I sat back in my spot between Jerry and Stew, not caring so much about how
confined I felt between the two mountains of men. It was almost comfy to lean
into the two of them and their huge bellies, comforting to feel them pool over
my lap like a blanket. And the two of them payed it no mind, either. Tom
brought us all another handful of beers, placing two in front of me – just in
case I wanted to keep drinking. I decided to crack on open, and sip on it
slightly, listening to the men argue about their favorite team’s stats and who
was going to win the game. The discussion was getting pretty heated (by the
tone of their voices), but I was too entranced by the way their bellies jiggled
to notice really what they’re talking about, or really take part in their
conversation.

“Ahem, Howie, I’ll ask you again, what’s yer favorite team?” Jerry
nudged me, getting my attention.

“Oh, Uh…. I don’t know…. San Francisco? The 69ers?” I was from San
Fran, so it felt like the most obvious choice.

The boys let out a guffaw. “That’s the 49ers, numb nuts.” Tom gave me a
wink. “Why ain’tcha wearin’ their jersey, then?”

I just shrugged my shoulders. “I don’t own one, honestly….” I blushed,
feeling a little ashamed.

“Well there ain’t no shame in that, I think Ben’s got a spare in his
room, n’ he wouldn’t mind sharin’, would you Ben?” Ben said that he
certainly wouldn’t, and took off down the hall, coming back with a crimson red
jersey with the number 40 in pearly white (save for a stain or two), although it
certainly it wasn’t too big. “Take yer stiffneck shirt off and put this
on, I’m sure you’ll be more comfortable.” I did as I was told, not even
concerned that all the men could see my chiseled young body as I switched
shirts. The jersey hung limply off my frame, but I felt better – more accepted
by the fellas.

Finally kickoff had started, and the hootin’ and hollerin’ kept going. I
drank more and more of my beer as the game progressed, eventually surpassing
the two and moving on to three, then four. I got drunk enough that I tried to
eventually join in on the conversation, but everytime I tried to contribute the
boys laughed. “God Howie, you sure are thick ain’tcha? Maybe you should just
sit back and let the intelligent guys talk.” They would say. I felt a little
ashamed, and a little angry – I knew more important things, like how to manage
a staff team or read a graph and do somethin’ with… products, or somethin’. It
was getting harder to think, my senses were getting duller. I sunk further and
further into the couch, spreading out and relaxing between the two men. I
notice they were touching more of me – their bellies now touched my own
stomach, I could feel. Their arms came to rest on my sides now, their ham like
appendages covering my thighs.

By halftime, I was pretty damned buzzed, and feeling good.
The fellas weren’t really paying much attention to the show – and, even though
the halftime used to be my favorite part, neither did I. Instead, they all went
to the kitchen. I tried to follow their lead, but after being pinned down by
Jerry and Stew, it was pretty hard to stand up. Tom offered to help me up. But
it ended up taking him and Ben both tugging at my big ol’ arms to get my lazy
ass off the couch.

As I stood up, I felt something pretty unusual. My weight
shifted downward, and I felt a soft tug at my chest, stomach, and ass. I looked
down, and patted my stomach, which jutted forward and rested over my belt line.
Man, I must be gassy – I let out a large burp, hoping my belly would sink a
little bit, bit not overly surprised when all it did was jiggle. 

“Damn son, nice one!” Tom followed up with his own
thunderous burp, right in my face – I could smell the beer and cheese dip on
his breath. I felt the pressure on my waistline increase, as my cock stiffened
against my dress pants. “Hey, those look a little tight, let me help you
with that.” I silently prayed that he didn’t feel my rock hard cock as he
fumbled with my belt, and unbuttoned my shorts. “There, much better.” My dress
pants dropped to the floor, revealing my briefs underneath – or what you could see
underneath the huge crimson-red jersey which barely contained my gut. “Now
then, how’sa ‘bout you join me ‘n the boys for a few drinkin’ games?” I felt a
small pressure on my cock, Tom’s thick arm still extended out underneath my
belly and groping my raging hard on.

If I wasn’t interested, I was far too embarrassed to say so.
I just nodded dumbly, following Tommy to the kitchen where the boys had already
cracked open another ice cold brew for us.

15 Minutes and a few beers later, I was approaching a pretty
good buzz. Me ‘n Ben were sitting off chatting – well, he was talking, I was
mostly listening. “Dig the hair, man. We all have to go bald sometime, but it’s
so much better to be a man about it, and embrace it, then continue to live a
lie, y’know?” I looked at him quizzically – I always had a gorgeous full head
of hair, one that I payed my barber good money to keep looking good. Sure,
maybe I hadn’t seen him in a while, but no way was I going bald, and I told him
so. But he only laughed. “Oh is that so? Lookin’ pretty bald to me, buddy.” He
rubbed his hand across my scalp, and to my surprise I felt, well, nothing. His
rough hand graced over the shavings on the side of my head and rested on my
smooth dome. “Looks good though, eh? And I like your tattoos too. I got a
couple in my younger years as well – is that a bear?” Again, I had no idea what
he was talking about, and looked at him stupidly. “God Howie, you sure are
slow, ain’tcha?” He tugged up my left sleeve and I looked down at my ham-like
appendage. I had a barbwire, like I remember getting for my 18th
birthday – it was the “in” thing to do at my high school, and after that I was
too embarrassed to get any more. Above that though, was something that, even in
my inebriated state, I thought was unusual. I had never gotten a bear tattoo,
have I?

“No worries man, I’m in the same club.” He hiked up his
shorts to exhibit a bear claw in brown, white, and black stripes, although it
was fairly faded. “We consider ourselves pretty open here, and more than a ‘lil
accommodating, if you catch my drift.” He gave me a wink, but before I could
ask what exactly he meant, and why I felt so off, Tom had called us all to the
center table. “Alrighty boys, one last game before we watch the next half – and
Howie, buckle up, ‘cuz this one’s a doosie. We’re gonna see who can chug the
most of these fuckers before bitchin’ out. If you don’t wan’ ter play, I
understand….”

Tommy looked at me, and I squinted my eyes, trying to
comprehend what he was saying. I felt sluggish – more so then I usually am when
I drink, both in body, and mind. Once I finally comprehended, though, I heavily
refuted. “No! No, I’m good….” I stammered out, a bit surprised at how deep my
voice was, with an almost southern accent. For whatever reason, I didn’t want to
upset Tommy. Consequently, his face lit up, and explained the rules.

After each of us had ten beers by our side (Ben helped me
count mine – for whatever reason, I couldn’t get passed 6), we all popped our
tops off, and Tommy began the countdown. On Go, me ‘n the fellas through our
beers back, and chugged. The first one went down easy for all of us, then began
the second. I was a close second behind Stew, who was happily chugging along. I
felt a warmth build up in my belly, and felt the fabric shift up my gut on the
third one. I didn’t want to stop though, so I kept tugging my shirt down, and
then eventually pinned it to my side, trying not to give the guys a flash full
of belly. By the fifth beer, it was too much – I felt my shirt stretch as wide
as it would go, and my belly flopped onto my lap audibly. I was a tad embarrassed
– but too competitive to stop now, so I moved onto my 6th. I felt
the golden liquid drip down my mustache and onto my second chin, glistening the
fu-man-chu I had spent several years trimming to perfect. I had long since
closed my eyes, but if I wouldn’t have, I would’ve noticed all the guys, who
had stopped drinking at around the third beer, instead watching my
transformation.

By the time I reached my 9th beer, I had lost all
cares in the world – about my tattoos, my bald head, my mustache, or my huge
belly. In fact, I was damn proud to show my brothers who I was – a real man, a
man’s man – even, in some ways a pig. Yeah, that’s what I was, a big ol’ pig. I
began to rub my gut, feeling my jersey ride higher, now more of a bra for my
sagging tits than anything. I was their pig, their big ol’ slob of a pig
friend.

Finally, the last beer passed down my mouth and down my
gullet with ease. I opened my eyes to my new friends, who were cheering and
hollerin’ at my achievement. “Wow, 10 beers in under 3 minutes – that’s a new
record, boys!” To my surprise, I didn’t feel sick. I just felt, well, slow, and
lethargic. But that wasn’t anything new – I’ve always been such a big lazy
slob, and a fuckin’ dunce, too. I grinned stupidly at them my tiny cock rock
hard underneath my big ol’ gut.

“Well boys, how’sa ‘bout we head back to the couch, then
feed our new piggy his prize?” Tom leered at me, an almost sinister look in his
eyes – a look that made my heart, under all that saggy fat, flutter like a
schoolgirl. Yeah, we all returned to watch the game – and I was hootin’ and
hollerin’ just as loud as my boys, even if I was dumber’n a sack of bricks. The
real treats were during the commercial breaks, though, when I used my dumb pig
mouth and expert cock-sucking skills to get each of ‘em to cum, several times
over.

God, I was so blessed. Good food, good beer, ‘n good company
– the best things in the world. Oh, and football, too.

Source: hillbillydoughboy-blog