Old Pappy’s—Donald T. Oolong
“Hey, Shane, I’m back, I felt kinda sick too, more than just a hangover and—WHOAH WHAT THE FUCK!”
A very fat, naked old man stood before him.
“Ian! Reckoned you’d come back! It’s me, Shane!”
“The fuck you are! Get out before I call the cops.” Ian pulled out his phone, trying to keep his eyes averted from the man.
“Reckoned you’d react like this,” the man admitted, and then rattled off Shane’s cell number, his class schedule, and things that only Shane could have known. Ian dropped his phone, mouth agape.
“Old Pappy’s secret recipe sure has one hell of a secret, I reckon.”
“Shane, dude, you’re from Connecticut! Nobody says ’reckon’ in fucking Connecticut!” Ian’s voice rose to a panicked shriek. Shane considered Ian’s insightful criticism.
“Hmm, well, I reckon old pappies everywhere can say reckon once they get to be old pappies. And I reckon you’re gonna be sayin’ reckon a whole lot soon too,” he winked.
The vague queasiness that made Ian skip his 9 A.M. Working Class Heroes? Marxism and the Mario Brothers class intensified as he remembered the night before. He, Shane, and his other roommates had all been swigging from the bottle of Old Pappy’s Whiskey (“Don’t Get Plastered—GET PAPPIED!!!!”) they’d gotten on their road trip. And if it did this to Shane—
“N-no!” The waistband of Ian’s pants was growing unbearably tight. He looked down to see a small but steadily growing paunch push outward. A button popped of Ian’s shirt and clattered against the window. He doubled over, only to hear a loud tearing noise as his expanding ass split the seat of his pants.
Shane gave a delighted whoop, oblivious to his friend’s horror. “Let the pappyin’ begin!”
It was over in minutes. Ian stood naked in the living room, flabbergasted, his clothes in tatters. Shane stayed where he was, stroking his cock as he eyed his friend. “That was one hell of a show. Reckon it takes a bit of acquaintin’ to, but I think you’ll find it ain’t so bad. And hafta say, Ian, you sure do make for one damned sexy old pappy.”
“I, r-r-reco-reckon I do, but don’t go sellin’ yourself short there.” It surprised Ian how well he was taking all of this. In fact, he reckoned he was feeling downright horny right now, and knew just what he needed. Shane looked down at Ian’s hardening cock, smiled, and jerked his head toward his room. They barely shut the door before they were on each other. Shane was soon on all fours on the bed, leering over his shoulder at Ian as he smeared Vaseline on his cock.
Just then, the alarm in Christian’s room blared to life, only to be silenced with a loud swat “Shit, I reckon I’m hung ov—OOOOH SHIT!”
“Gonna be a whole lotta pappies livin’ here from now on…I reckon.” Ian added for emphasis as he thrust into his friend.
New story for those that like them.
TOM/THOMAS
by RIK
Tom was a handsome young man. Twenty-eight years of age and very good at his job as a publisher, a pleasant family, able to afford almost anything he wanted, he had many friends, although no-one close and had practically no hang-ups.
A tall, dark-haired young man, clean…
Adam didn’t know why he kept his membership here—this gym was a freakshow. Filled with faggots for one thing, most of them so roided up they could barely think straight. They, in turn, attracted the lechers, the fat old men who would pretend to work out on machines, and just ogle the muscle men throughout the room—it was disgusting. He was always careful to wear his cross—that seemed to discourage most of them from looking at him, at least. He’d gotten his fit body from the army, and liked to maintain it after he retired, but this was getting ridiculous.
It was late one night, after his workout, that Adam chanced a shower, since the room was empty. When he stepped out, however, he discovered that he wasn’t quite as alone as he’d thought. A towering man was waiting for him next to his locker, wearing just a jockstrap, muscled beyond belief—but he didn’t look like the other muscleheads in the gym. His eyes were intelligent—cruel even, and Adam clutched his cross, though he wasn’t entirely sure why.
Ah, Adam—I’ve been meaning to have a chat with you, but that silly bauble of yours has been such a bother—it’s been keeping you from seeing me for weeks now. Patrick was nice enough to defile it for me, at least.”
“What?” Adam said, stepping back, “Who—who are you?”
“I’m the owner of this club—and a demon. Tell me Adam, looking at me, what do you see?”
Adam wasn’t sure what to say, “You’re…you’re huge, I mean, more muscular than anyone else here.”
“Muscular? Really?” the demon laughed, “I wasn’t expecting that from you—looks like you’re more of a looker than a poser.”
“What?”
The demon started posing, his cock tenting and stretching his jockstrap tight, “What you see, is who you are, Adam. Am I a lecherous old voyeur? Then you’re an exhibitionist muscle god—but if I’m the muscle god, then that must mean you’re the lecher. So go on Adam, have a good long look—enjoy yourself.”
Adam tried to look away—but he couldn’t. His own cock was rock hard now, and he started stroking it as he watched the demon dance for him, tease him, flex for him. Everything that Adam could want in a man—everything that he wasn’t soon enough. His hair receding back and turning white, fat burying his muscles as the hours wore on, his cock red hot and erect the entire time, the demon ripping the cross off Adam’s neck as he came, the cross one of his muscle pigs had cum on in the locker room the day before.
Adam was there at the gym every day afterwards, ogling the muscle men, begging them to let him suck their cocks or fuck his loose asshole.
“So, do you like it?”
“Like it? It’s great. I still can’t believe you’re only offering it for a thousand bucks a month. I was sure that was a typo,” Derrick said as the older landlord showed him around the room.
“Nope, it isn’t a typo at all—still, I do have several other interested parties, however. Would you like to take the lease? It’s a year long, but if you don’t bite now, I can’t guarantee it’ll be here later.”
Derrick looked around the bare apartment again, and couldn’t help but feel a bit pressured. There had to be something he was missing, but the guy seemed on the level about everything, and he’d given an honest tour, pointing out the deficiencies of the apartment, and the reason it was only one thousand bucks a month. Still, it was better than living with his parents any longer, and so he shrugged and asked, “Where do I sign?”
The landlord helped him through the contract, filled with his initials and signatures, after Derrick had read a summary of what the contract included. Still, when he hit the final line, and added his signature there, he felt a sudden jolt of energy from his pen, and he was blown back, toppling over the chair where he landed with a thud on the ground.
Groaning and aching, he rolled over and hefted himself upright, feeling a bunch of aches and pains that he didn’t even recognize, and looked over at the landlord—or the guy who was where the landlord had been sitting. He looked to be a good thirty years younger—and that was when Derrick looked down at himself, at his flabby hairy belly, and felt his balding head, and freaked out. He ran for the door and flung it open, only to smack right into some sort of invisible barrier keeping him inside.
“What, trying to leave your new home so soon, Derrick? Thanks for the thirty years by the way—I was getting tired of being that old. After a few thousand years, bodies have a way of running out faster than usual—I need young men like you every few months just to stay young. Still I’m sure you’re going to love your new living situation—I’ve even arranged for you to work from home, since you won’t be leaving for a good long while.”
The landlord explained that part of the lease bound Derrick to become a gay gainer—he eat for the cameras he installed in his in the room, as well as consent to being fed by whoever the landlord let into his room. Derrick, of course, was horrified and tried to resist, but the contract was very, very binding, as the landlord ordered then ten pizzas and stuffed every single one down into his growing gut. By the end of the year when his lease was up, Derrick was just another perfectly compliant tennet, weighing in at over 500 pounds. He happily signed a new fifty year lease on the spot, planning on living there for the rest of his life.
Something for Something (Part 2)
Commissioned by Anonymous
Before Dr. Taylor could respond, the smoke curling from between the man’s bearded lips snaked up and coiled in on itself, and then flung its way across the room, slamming into his chest and binding itself tightly around him, holding his arms to his sides as he struggled, and through the smoke, he could see the man differently, almost as though there were two men standing in one place—the short, old hairy troll, and then behind him was Miles, that foolish student he’d had blacklisted, and a shiver of terror shot through him. “Miles? Miles, is that you? What the hell happened to you?”
“You happened to me, you fucker!” Miles shouted, “You happened to me, but you know what? Everything’s going to be alright bitch, because I’m here to punish you, and what a sweet fucking punishment it’s going to be. Strip him—no fucking rip his clothes off.”
The smoke tightened around the professor, gripping his suit, and then exploded outward, the fabric ripping to shreds in a flurry around him, and the professor was sitting in front of Miles in his chair, naked, and Miles glared at him. The professor was in his mid 50’s, but was still fairly slim, with an angular, clean shaven face, and Miles could see that he had a decent sized cock and balls, and a relatively smooth body. The professor, in that moment for freedom, tried to stand up and get to the door, but the smoke collected around him again, tripping him and sending him crashing to the floor face first at Miles’ feet. “Who…who are you? What is this.”
“This is payback. This is revenge, you fucker, for ruining my life, so I figured I might as well ruin yours—what do you say? I think that’ll be pretty fair, don’t you? How about we change your attitude first though? I’m sick of looking at that snide fucking look of yours.”
Something for Something (Part 1)
Commissioned by Anonymous
“Alright, miss, here we are—and feel free to call anytime you need a lift,” Miles said, as he pulled up next to the curb.
“Thanks again, sir,” the girl in the backseat of the car said, grabbed her backpack and climbed out of the campus security car, which had picked her up at the library and dropped her off in front of the house. In the front seat, Miles and Ed watched to make sure she got into her house, and then set off back to campus a few blocks away. Miles had pulled away and reached the end of the block before Ed started to giggle in the seat next to him.
“Shut up, I don’t want to hear it.”
“Ha, she called you ‘sir’! I always knew this day would come,” Ed said, laughing openly now, “I can’t believe it, my little security bumpkin has finally become a man.”
Miles scowled as he turned down a sidestreet and skulked a bit in the driver’s seat. He was at most six or seven years older than the college girl he’d just dropped off, but apparently he was already out of touch enough to warrant a “sir.” He didn’t want to be a “sir,” and he was sick and tired of working this damn security job. He’d been assigned to work with security services while he was attending school as a Freshman, and that’s when he’d first met Ed. Ed was an old timer—he’d worked for the school for close to forty years now, and as much as Miles liked the old guy, he didn’t want to be him, and yet it seemed like everything in his life had conspired to trap him here, in this faux squad car, dropping off girls that never seemed to age at the same houses off campus, and he gave a heavy sigh.
“Aww, hey, cheer up—you’re only as old as you feel.”
“And what does that make you, eighty?”
“Oh don’t get snappy with me, boy, we still have five hours on this shift, and I don’t want you getting all pissy and morose. It’s annoying. This is my last semester after all—maybe be a little happy that at least it only took close to half a century for me to escape.”
“Don’t remind me. I don’t want to be stuck doing this for the rest of my life. I had plans man, I had…gah…” Miles stopped himself before he rehashed the same old sob story for Ed to hear once again. The old guard was way more tolerant of his bullshit than he had any right to be, but Miles still didn’t want to push him away with a plea for pity. “Sorry, I won’t get into it.”
“Trust me, I understand better than most, kid.”
They got back to campus, and parked in a lot outside close to the library, ready for the next person who wanted to be ferried from safe haven to safe haven, and neither of them said anything for a while. Ed was either sleeping or pretending to sleep, and Miles was thinking back to all of those failed applications to grad school, how all of that work had been for nothing, all because his thesis’ conclusions had contradicted those of Dr. Taylor, the head of the chemistry department on campus, and his big money donors. Miles had been the most gifted student the department had ever seen, but thanks to Dr. Taylor’s insistence or writing him a personal recommendation, not a single school would accept him for graduate study. Effectively blacklisted and muzzled, he’d managed to receive a full time position on the security staff at campus, and here he was still. He could see the science building from where he was parked, and there were a few offices still lit, and he realized with a start that Dr. Taylor’s light was on. “That fucker…” Miles said under his breath.
“Who, your Goliath?”
“Yeah, shut the fuck up.”
“Hey, I’m sympathetic kid, but academia is a monster. You were too much of an idealist—you wanted to be right, more than you wanted to be successful. Life’s full of tradeoffs—you can’t get something for nothing.”
“What would I have to give up for a chance at revenge?”
Unfortunately for Jerry, he didn’t realize the ornate, beautiful pocketwatch was the catalyst for the new father time role. He just thought it looked great. He had no idea that once worn and used it would be slowing turning him into the next father time. He beard and hair started to go white and wrinkles started to appear. Over the next few minutes all he could do was stare at his watched as it zoomed at hundreds of miles an hour, aging him into an old man, the new father time.
Stuck as Santa 