wesleybracken:

The Smoker Tapes (Part 4)

[Pictured: Above, Eric and his favorite jockstrap. Below, the man who lives in the apartment.]

***

Eric: I’m just here for my things.

<Footsteps approach the recorder, and then stop.>

Eric: What is that?

The Smoker: That’s a pipe. What did you think it would be?

Eric: No, no this isn’t fucking happening, this isn’t—fuck!

The Smoker: Why don’t you have a seat, Eric?

Eric: No, I’m not staying here. I’m not going to sit here, and listen to this, I’m…I’m just going to grab my things and leave.

The Smoker: Here, take a seat here for a couple of minutes, and just calm down.

<Sounds of a brief scuffle, someone sits down hard, most likelt Eric T. The other sits down more gently.>

The Smoker: There, isn’t that better Eric?

Eric: Wait…How…how do you know my name? I never gave you my name. I gave you a fake name, even.

The Smoker: You don’t have any secrets from me Eric, not right now. Why, I even know about that yellow jockstrap you keep in the back of your dresser. The one you only pull out when you’re really horny? The one you try to throw out once a month or so, but you never manage to make it happen?

Eric: How—I don’t….

The Smoker: How’d you get that jockstrap again? You bought it online, right? A private sale? Well use by the previous owner, his handle was PissCumPiggy I think, said he’d worn it for six months, he’d jacked off into it three times a day, pissed through it the entire time too. Quite a steal, at thirty bucks. That’s what? A dime a cum shot?

Eric: I’ve never told anyone about that, there’s no way you can possibly know about that!

<The sound of a zipper, a rustling of cloth.>

Eric: That’s…how…

The Smoker: I knew you wouldn’t bring it along, so I slipped in yesterday while you were at work and grabbed it.

Eric: But…

The Smoker: Goodness, it is rank. And damp too…have you been adding to it? Oh why am I asking, of course you have. Like you could resist.

Eric: I’m getting out of here, I’m done with this. This is crazy.

<Eric stands up and walks to the door.>

The Smoker: You’ve left your things behind again.

Eric: I don’t fucking care! I’m done with these fucking games, I’m fucking done!

The Smoker: This will all go much smoother if you just admit to yourself why you’re here, Eric. You aren’t here for a story. You aren’t here out of some journalistic curiosity. You aren’t here because you’re interested in the truth. You’re here because you want what I can offer you. You’re here because I have this pipe here on the table, and I know you want it to be yours. It can make you the man you’ve always wanted to be, right here and right now.

Eric: This is a fucking joke, it’s just a fucking prank, isn’t it?

<Silence.>

Eric: It’s…it’s not a joke, is it. It’s…all of it…

The Smoker: I told you I would offer you a demonstration, Eric.

Eric: Yeah, on the fucker who lives here!

<The smoker chuckles. The rustling of papers.>

The Smoker: Here’s the copy of lease, if you’d like to see it. Or, what the lease could look like. It just needs a signature.

Eric: But…but my names on all of these!

The Smoker: I hope you don’t mind the decoration—I was just trying to think of what kind of place a nasty, raunchy pig like you’re going to be soon would want to live. Run down, greasy, dirty laundry all over the place, ashtrays brimming. I even put a pipe rack in the bedroom for you, since you’re going to have your own pipe collection soon enough. A sling too, so all the guys you bring home can have easy access to that slutty ass of yours.

Eric: Please—please this is just a mistake. I’m sorry, I—we can just destroy the tape, alright? No one has to know.

The Smoker: Goodness, look how hard you are. Are you leaking even? You are…look at that stain growing there. I guess I got a few things right at least.

Eric: Please, I don’t want this, I don’t.

The Smoker: You do want this, don’t lie to me, Don’t think I can’t tell you’re lying.

Eric: I don’t want to want this.

The Smoker: Now that! That’s the truth. You don’t want to want this. But you do want it, don’t you? You’ve always resented your intellect. Your perfect track into the bland middle class, its suburban boredom. You’ve tried to sabotage yourself, I know. Coming out at work to your homophobic boss, but that didn’t get you fired like you’d hoped—you were just banished to the style section, and now here you are, chasing me. And now that we’ve found each other, maybe you should sit down here and take a look at this pipe here, that I picked out just for you.

Eric: Don’t make me do this.

The Smoker: I’ve been very precise. I can’t make you do anything without your consent, Eric. Now why don’t you at least come over here and pick it up. That can’t do you any harm.

<Footsteps approach the recorder, the clack as the pipe is picked up off the table.>

Eric: It…it feels really…It feels so right…

The Smoker: I do know how to pick them. Would you like me to fill it for you? It doesn’t have the right heft unless it has a packed bowl.

<Rustling for a few moments.>

The Smoker: There, now hold it. Feels good, doesn’t it? Put it in your mouth—yeah, fuck that looks hot on that face. Would look even better with a big, bushy, grey beard.

Eric: I’ve always…I’ve always wanted one, but it never came in right.

The Smoker: Well, you could have a huge one. Thick, all the way down to your chest. Wiry and grey, crusty with cum and spit, your mustache yellow from the decades you’ve spent with briar between your lips.

Eric: Don’t…stay away….

The Smoker: Yeah, imagine how dirty you could be. No more desk jobs, just a union laborer, thirty dollars an hour, plenty of money to waste.

Eric: Fuck…

The Smoker: You could retire in two or three years. Big fat pension Spend the rest of your life hooking up, drinking piss by the gallon, stuffing your fat gut full of food and cum and whisky, smoking like a chimney until the day you die.

Eric: Please…

<Silence.>

The Smoker: “Please” what? Please, yes? Please no? I know what you want. I know what you want to want, even. So say it. Fucking say it already.

Eric: Yes. Please. Please, fucking light it up, before I think about it, please.

<The sound of a struck match. Some groans.>

Eric: Fuck, that…that shit’s fuckin’ dank…man…

The Smoker: That’s the way you like it though, raw and nasty.

Eric: Fuck yeah, feel…fuckin’ strange though.

The Smoker: Shut up pig, feed me some of that smoke.

<Nothing is said for a few minutes, there’s some groaning and muttering on the tape.>

The Smoker: Fucking look at you already. Look at that fuckin’ beard! And I love a big belly on a man. Let’s get this shit off of you. You don’t wear office shit.

Eric: Fuck….fuck no…why the fuck ‘m I wearin’ this shit anyway?

The Smoker: Don’t fucking worry about it. I got your favorite jock though.

Eric: Fuck yeah, I love this thing!

<A deep snort, some panting.>

Eric: Had it for years now, fuckin’ nasty as fuck.

The Smoker: Put it on, pig.

<Nothing spoken for a moment, a few grunts.>

The Smoker: Looks like it’s meant to be on you.

Eric: Course it is. Get o’er here, I’m not done with that hot mouth a yers.

<Nothing spoken. Grunts and moans for several minutes. A slam, likely someone shoved against a wall. A few mutters determined to be indecipherable.>

Unknown Speaker: Go on, you nasty son of a bitch. Piss yourself, fuck yeah.

Unknown: Fuck, oh fuck yeah, so fuckin’ nasty…

<Nothing spoken for a several minutes. Grunts and groans. Heavy footsteps, a loud thump.>

Eric: Fuckin’ put it in me! Shove that cock up my filthy shit chute, I’m fuckin’ horny as fuck.

The Smoker: Yeah, look at you, you old fucking pig. Look at that sloppy fuckin’ hole. So fuckin’ loose, I can slip my fingers up in there, no fuckin’ problem.

Eric: Come on, gimme yer cock man, ram it up my piggy hole, make it hurt, motherfucker!

<Grunts, a loud groan.>

Eric: Oh fuck yeah, fuck me rough, fuck me hard…

The Smoker: Fuckin’ sloppy in here. I’m not the first guy who’s fucked you today, am I?

Eric: Fuck no, some guy cruised me at the construction site, he plowed me in an alley behind a dumpster on my lunch.

The Smoker: You’re such a fuckin’ whore.

Eric: Fuck yeah! Been a whore ever since I was suckin’ cock in the department store bathrooms when I was a teenager! Fuckin’ love cum, nothin’ better.

The Smoker: Fuck…fuck, getting close…

<A loud smack, a snort in response.>

The Smoker: Who’s my new pig whore?

Eric: I am!

The Smoker: Who’s my pisss swillin’, pipe smokin’ bitch pig!

Eric: Me, fuckin’ fill me up, come on!

The Smoker: F—Fuck!, Fuck, you feel that? Breeding you piggy.

Eric: Give it to me fucker, pump me full of yer fuckin’ seed…

<Nothing spoken for several moments. Audible panting. A grunt.>

Eric: Fuckin’ let me clean it, I love a scummy cock, fuck…

The Smoker: Well you sure scummed this one—fuck, you don’t kid around do you, pig? Yeah, look at you take that down your throat, no trouble at all.

<Nothing spoken for a few moments. Grunting.>

Eric: Tasty as fuck…

<The recorder is picked up, and the tape stopped. It resumes an unknown time later, recorded at an unknown location.>

The Smoker: So, what do you think? Eric’s happy now, just a sexy fuckin’ pipe smoking pervert. How about you? Do you want me to help you be happy? Then come find me, I’m ready for you. Just keep an eye out for The Smoker.

***END TRANSCRIPT***

wesleybracken:

The Smoker Tapes (Part 3)

[Pictured: Max, in the process of being changed by the Smoker, and his final form.]

<Pages turning, an uneasy cough, most likely Eric’s.>

Eric: When is your friend supposed to come back?

The Smoker: Don’t know. Kind of depends.

Eric: And you were drawn to him already? But he hasn’t given you consent yet?

The Smoker: No. We’ve talked a bit about it, but he doesn’t quite know what I could offer him yet.

Eric: Do you, well, do you have any problems with the ethics of your work? After all, smoking kills many people every year, and here you are, turning men into heavy smokers. Does that ever bother you?

The Smoker: No, it doesn’t. In fact, I don’t see it as unethical at all.

Eric: Really?

The Smoker: People do dangerous things with and to their bodies every day. Smoking is just a risk, and it isn’t like the men I change don’t choose to partake.

Eric: True, but you’re vastly shortening their lifespan.

The Smoker: <Chuckling.> You’ve smoked before, I assume? Most everyone has at some point.

Eric: A few times.

The Smoker: And you knew the risks.

Eric: Of course, but smoking a cigar or some cigarettes is different from completely changing someone body and mind.

The Smoker: So, your concern isn’t really about the smoking, is it? It’s about the change itself.

Eric: I’m concerned about all of it. I don’t think this is a concern that can just be waved away with an appeal to ‘consent’.

The Smoker: Maybe not. It’s true that not everyone I help has a full knowledge of what they’re losing. But often they don’t really want to know—they just want help. And if they’re happier people when I’m finished with them, if I can make them happier…isn’t ten years of being happy better than fifty years of mild misery, boredom and frustration?

Eric: I don’t think that’s fair.

The Smoker: Back in the eighties, when I was still fairly new at this—still figuring out techniques, still sorting out what these men wanted from me…well, I made some mistakes, I suppose. I misjudged what people wanted. That’s where some of the rumors started. I remember one in particular, let’s call him Max, he was another tough case, but what he wanted was pretty simple. A big man, cigar smoker, a tough guy. Masculine and a cowboy. The Marlboro men were still around then, still seen, especially in gay circles, as these…paragons of masculinity.
Max consented. I was still new at this, and it took me longer, back then, to get things right. I kept him down in my basement, bound up, gasmask on, and I fed him smoke for days on end. It was like I was inflating him, watching the fat and muscle bulk up on his frame—fuck, it was sexy as all get out. But something I didn’t know about was happening too—he was getting older. In fact, he started out in his mid-twenties, and when I was finished, he was a six foot three, three hundred pound, middle aged cowboy, deep raspy smoker’s voice. He wasn’t happy to have lost thirty years of his life, but he settled into it, eventually. He grew to like it, the maturity.

<A moment of silence, and the The Smoker laughs.>

Eric: What?

The Smoker: You know, some people actually like the idea of being older. It isn’t something to be terrified of after all. It happens to everyone at some point, and they can be the best years of your life. Why begrudge someone if that’s what they want? Max ended up wanting it—he just didn’t know that he wanted it. I could sense that he wanted it, and I gave it to him without knowing that’s what I was really doing. It all works out for the best in the end.
That said, the reason I was laughing is that Max’s story is that the first one that turned you on, judging by the hardon in those khakis you’re trying to pretend isn’t there.

Eric: It didn’t turn me on!

The Smoker: It’s ok to admit it. I already know.

Eric: I’m not, I mean…fuck, it’s so fucking hazy in here, could you put out that cigar for a bit?

The Smoker: I’d rather not, and I don’t think you actually want me to, either. Come on, you seem like the kind of guy who’s willing to light one up, probably around the poker table with a bunch of other guys from work, all of you trying to look more manly than you really are.

Eric: I mean, yeah, but that’s different, that’s—

The Smoker: Not that different. You’ve always smoked to seem older. Out behind the convenience store, with your brother’s friends, just twelve but wanting to be so much older, looking at them, turned on my their smoke before you even knew what being turned on was.

Eric:…How…How do you know about that?

<Silence.>

Eric: How in the fuck do you know about that!

The Smoker: How do you think I know about that, Eric?

Eric: I don’t—I mean…

The Smoker: Do you mind if I ask you something though? Tell me, why have you never tried smoking a pipe? That’s what always catches your eyes and nose right? That sweet pipe smoke, you love it, but you’ve never tried it. Every time you pick up cigars for those poker nights—you always bring them, after all, as an excuse to smoke yourself—and you’ve looked at the pipes countless times. Why haven’t you ever bought one? Or even tried one?

Eric: I’m not going to talk to you about this.

The Smoker: Come on, I’m just curious.

Eric: How do you even know all of this about me?

<A long silence.>

Eric: Please, I just…I don’t understand…

The Smoker: I’ll tell you, but first answer my question. Why never a pipe?

Eric: ….Because….they just always seemed like something, someone older than me would smoke, but I don’t understand what that has to do with anything. But how do you know any of this? Did you investigate me or something?

The Smoker: Why were you looking for me, Eric?

Eric: That’s just another question, you said you’d answer.

The Smoker: Why my story though? Why this urban legend? Why are you looking for me?

Eric: I’m—I’m done with this, I’m getting out of here.

<The sound of Eric T. Standing up, hurrying to the door and leaving the apartment. The Smoker chuckles, there is the sound of someone picking up the recorder, and The Smoker’s voice is suddenly clearer, as though he is speaking right into the microphone.>

The Smoker: They always do this, this mock outrage. Storm off, pretend this isn’t what they want, but like Eric here? He just left all of his stuff. See, when they do that, it means that they only want to seem scared. They only want to seem uninterested in what I can offer them. It’s a show and a performance. After all, no one is supposed to want what I offer. Not really. Maybe as a fantasy, maybe as something thought of in the dead of night, as nightmare.
Just between you and me though, whoever might be listening to this down the line, I don’t have any regrets about this, about any of this. I mean, sure, I made a deal with the devil, I know that. I’ve ruined people’s lives—I mean, they wanted me to ruin them, but that’s no excuse, not in the long run. I can’t excuse that, I suppose.
But what about you, in there, on the other side, all those years later? What do you want? Are you looking for me? I’m not planning on quitting any time soon, just so you know. All those stories you’re hearing? All those rumors, old and new? Chances are they’re all true. Come and find me, if that’s what you want. I’m right here. I’ll be here for years to come.
Think it over. I have to get some things ready for when Eric comes back up here in a few minutes, once he’s done pouting, and pretending he didn’t make up his mind an hour ago.

<There are some muffled shuffling sounds, the click of a case opening and closing. A clack of something hard set down on the table. The Smoker sighs. Silence for a few minutes. A door opens.>

The Smoker: Welcome back, Eric.

hootie-who:

Tyler knew he shouldn’t fuck girls with daddy issues but Kim’s tits were just too perky and her lips were too full to pass up.

Tyler also knew whenever he came in her and she moaned ‘Daddy’ he seemed to gain 20lbs and age 5 years but he couldn’t stop lusting after her. She was so sexy he started to appreciate the jiggle of his beer gut, her hands on his bald head and the way she sucked his hairy man tits. 

Tyler promised himself at the first sign of grey hair he stop but as his pubes turned color and he swelled up into a real DILF Kim rolled over, spread her legs and begged for more. He was powerless.

wesleybracken:

Huck and Justin’s Hot Summer

Justin was in his room, working out. It was one of the few things he could still do that would give him some peace. It was hot summer afternoon, his brother, Huck, in his room next door, doing who knew what. He didn’t want to think about Huck right, now, not since that…whatever happened. He still didn’t know how to even talk to himself about it in his head.

And so he was working out. He was working out because he couldn’t be out at bars, hooking up with slutty bitches and fucking them in the back of his truck off the highway. He was working out because it was exhausting, it wore him out enough that he wouldn’t get horny. He was working out because then, once he figured out what in the hell his brother had done to him, he’d be hotter than ever, and after a solid beating he’d tie Huck up and make that faggot watch him fuck woman after woman in his bed, but for now, he was working out, and that’s all he could do.

The phone on his desk, next to the bench, buzzed once, he set down his weights. It was from Huck—best to ignore it.

A minute later, it was obvious that Huck wasn’t going to be ignored. He heard his brother knock on his locked, bedroom door. “Becca’s at her window. Getting into her bathing suit. I think she’s wondering why you haven’t been calling.”

“Fuck off Huck, I’m not going to look.”

“Oh, you don’t have to look, bro. What’s it been? Six days? I know you like working out, but those balls of yours are only gonna get bluer. Those breasts of hers though, damn, almost as big as mine, bouncing like that. I think she’s pretty horny for you.”

Justin felt his cock pulse, but he tamped it down as best he could.

“I heard the two of you fuck once, you know. She sounded like she wanted you bad. All the girls want you bad though, they all want that big cock of yours. Too bad they can’t have it now—the only one who gets your hard cock is me, daddy. Are you my daddy yet? Why don’t you come out and play, daddy?”

No use, it was getting hard. He could feel his muscles going soft, the gut growing in. The work out clothes he had on were too tight suddenly, and he yanked them off, one wrinkled hand stroking his cock. It had always been seven inches, but now it grew to ten. All he could think of was Huck, that sexy, fat cub, of his. He licked his lips, feeling the white mustache sprout on his lip, his hair gone from his head. He hefted himself up and opened the door—there he was, fuckin’ beautiful.

Huck was down, and his whole cock was down his cub’s throat in one thrust. Justin skull fucked his brother, making him gag. He wanted him to suffer as much as possible, but Huck just loved the rough treatment even more. After less than a minute he was cumming, his old balls pumping out what felt like gallons of cum, cock softening, fat retreating back into muscle. He yanked his cock from Huck’s suckling mouth and slammed the door in his face without a word.

***

The summer only got hotter. The nights, humid and sleepless, Justin would find himself unable to control himself, waking in the middle of the night from half remembered dreams, his huge cock rock hard, feeling his soft belly rise and fall, thinking about Huck in the next room. Sometimes a few rounds of sweaty masturbation, imagining his fat brother sucking on his old balls or licking out his damp crack would be enough to cum and calm down, but increasingly he would have to go to greater lengths to sate himself.

He stole a pair of his brother’s briefs, and the stink of his brother’s sweat would help him cum. Unfortunately, it would make him so horny it would take two or three orgasms before he returned to normal. He soon discovered that Huck knew what he had stolen. One bad night, he checked for the briefs and discovered they’d been replaced by a rag, still cum damp, and he sucked out as much of it as he could, panting and yanking on his old nipples as he did. His brother started sending him messages at night to rile him up—before long they were trading pictures. It was a sleepless summer. Huck began tempting him over. Telling him how much he wanted to suck his daddy’s old dick dry all night long. Justin resisted. Huck grew impatient, and drilled a hole through the wall.

Huck’s bed was across from the wall, and Justin would crouch there, peeping for much of the night, watching Huck toss and turn, rub his sweaty body, jack off. He would talk dirty, how he knew his pervy daddy was watching him, wishing he was brave enough to come over and give his cub a good fuck. He would sit on the other side, begging Justin to stick his big, wrinkled cock through, let him suck it. He always did, eventually. He loved that slutty fucking cub of his. He liked leading him on. Now he was the one trying to get Huck horny. Now he was the one sticking his cock through the hole first, telling Huck how much he wanted his daddy’s dirty cock. And then, he was slipping into his brother’s room at night, while he hoped he was asleep, jacking off over him, cumming across his face before retreating back to his own room.

The days were hotter; he was haggard and exhausted. He felt less and less like himself. He no longer worked out, and dozed instead. He found that women no longer could excite him, even as his muscular, young stud self. He would watch Becca out his window, but no hard on would come. All he wanted was his brother now, and Huck knew it.

***

August, the heat unbearable.

“I know you want to, daddy.”

Huck was outside on the back patio, naked.

“Come on out and play with me. I have a cold beer for you…” he sang, turned around and swung his ass how Justin had come to like it. This body, his body was so fucking sweaty, under his moobs and in his gunt, and he was starting to stink, especially after he’d spent all night in bed, rolling around with his cub, fuck. He was starting to stay like this longer and longer now. This was starting to feel normal. This wasn’t supposed to happen, he was supposed to push back, keep himself together, but now here he was, seriously considering going outside, naked, where anyone could see him and Huck, and fuck if his cock wasn’t rock hard at the idea of someone seeing. Yeah, he wanted people to see, he wanted people to know what a perverted old daddy he is. He wanted people to see how much he loves his fat cub.

Huck was still shaking his ass, slow, back and forth, and Justin stepped onto the patio, pulled his boy close, running his cock up and down the cub’s crack. Huck moaned as his daddy sucked on his neck hard, leaving a dark hickey, his wrinkled hands kneading Huck’s breasts. He pulled away and turned around, sat Justin down in a chair, gave him the can of beer, and he could only watch, trembling a bit, as his boy lubed his big cock up with spit and slowly slid his the shaft into his ass. Their first public fuck. Any of their neighbors could see them if they just looked down.

Later, in his room, Justin crumbled down next to his bed, cock soft, his real body back, and sobbed. He couldn’t think about what he’d just done, about what he was doing. He couldn’t think about that, because as soon as he did his cock would get hard, and he’d fall back into his perversions, into that fat old fuck of a body, and he couldn’t let that happen anymore. If it kept happening, before too long he didn’t think he’d want to be himself for much longer. Huck’s ass was just so tight, so fucking warm. The way it slid in so easily; that boy’s ass was made for his cock. Justing dug around under his fat gut for his cock and gave it a few strokes, and then found Huck in his room, naked, and fucked him all over again.

This is the last time though, he told himself, the last fucking time, I swear.