Caption: The Mason Boys and the Cop

It wasn’t the most glamorous place to be a police officer, he supposed, but maybe that was for the best, Mitch thought. He had always liked the small town life, after all, as sleepy and boring as it could be at times. The occasional drunken brawl at the tavern was about as exciting as it ever got around here–at least, until that fateful night when the Mason boys were screaming down the highway at over a hundred, and Mitch was waiting in the cop car behind some bushes, though most people knew better than to race through there.

When the car sped past him, Mitch was always too surprised to give chase. Cussing a little, he put his coffee in the center console, flicked on the lights, and raced off after them. If he hadn’t–if he’d just let them go, maybe the Mason boys would have never come to the little, sleepy town of Garrison–and the town wouldn’t have become nearly as interesting as it has, as of late.

The car slowed down as soon as Mitch pulled out from his hiding place with his lights on, and pulled over to the side of the road–which seemed a bit…too easy for Mitch, and set off a few little red flags in the back of his head. Still, it was probably just some guy who, in the middle of the night, thought no one would be around to catch him, but he was wrong, wasn’t he? Mitch radioed in the stop to dispatch, and proceeded to the driver side window–there, he found something similar to what he’d expected, an older fellow, looking a bit…terrified. He was in a suit that seemed a bit…dirty, and he stank, or at least, something stank. That was when he looked back, and saw the two men in the backseat–the Mason boys.

Both of them were grungy looking fellows, with big beards and lots of tattoos, both smoking sizable cigars, and filling the whole cab with smoke, making Mitch cough. The smell of everything made him a bit…lightheaded, and woozy in a way he couldn’t quite explain.

“Please, you have to help me,” the driver said to him, “I…I can’t control…what they tell me to do, please, please, I–”

“Hey! Shut the fuck up, you stupid faggot,” one of the brothers said in the backseat. “Evening officer, what can we do for you tonight?”

Mitch wasn’t quite sure what to make of the situation–the whole thing just looked…strange, to him. “Is…everything alright, Sir?” he asked the driver.

“Go on, bitch, tell the handsome cop why you were speeding,” the other brother said, and the two laughed.

“I…I was speeding because…because I like sucking cop cock, Sir,” the older man said…but to Mitch, it didn’t look like he wanted to be saying it. It looked like he was being forced to say it, but he didn’t see a weapon on anything in the back. “Please, Sir? Can I suck your cock?”

“Are they making you say that, Sir?”

“No sir, I’m just…just a fat old faggot who loves cop cock, please, please fuck me, I want you to beat me with your billy club, and shove it up my old hole, and then cum all over my face, right on the side of the road, please Sir, please…”

The man was crying, and what Mitch wanted to do, was order the other two out of the car, arrest them, and get the story straight from their captive–but what he did instead was order the driver out of the car. He threw him over the front hood, right there on the highway, and started smacking his ass with the club, while the Mason boys got out, cheering him on, the driver sobbing in pain, as Mitch yanked down the man’s pants, and shoved his club into his hole. Once it was good and deep, he forced the man onto his knees, and started fucking his face, the two men urging him on, telling him what a hot fucker he is, their musk making his head spin more and more until he came all over the driver’s face, and Mitch, panting, felt control return to him.

The Mason boys were laughing, the driver sobbing, and before anyone could do anything else, he pulled his gun on the two men, and ordered them against their car. He didn’t know…what they’d done to him, but he hadn’t wanted to do that–he was going to put them under arrest, and figure out what to do about them. He handcuffed them both, and then got them in the squad car, leaving the driver on the side of the road, his club still shoved in his hole, but the Mason boys weren’t scared, they seemed…happy. Thrilled even, as Mitch radioed dispatch, told them he’d resolved the stop, and was quitting for the night. Then, he drove his two captives home, answering all of their questions that they asked him…and only realized something was off when they pulled into his driveway, instead of the station.

“Why…why did I bring you two here?” he said.

“Don’t think about it too hard, bitch–you’re way more fun, and sexy, than that old guy–come on, let’s go inside for some fun–won’t that be nice?” one of the boys said to him.

Mitch couldn’t stop himself as he got out, took off the handcuffs, and followed the two men into his house, where he lived alone–after his last girlfriend had left him. The Mason boys had come to town, and now that they were here, they were going to be staying for quite a while–and Mitch was going to be their first toy.


“So you think you’re ready to go to work at the station? Are you sure?” Teddy Mason said, while his brother, Edd, just chuckled.

“Yeah, I…I think so,” Mitch said to them both, standing in the hallway of his house. He…he couldn’t quite remember much of what had happened the night before, after bringing the two dirty men home with him from that traffic stop, but…but his shift started soon, and he was a cop, so he had to go to work. It was important. It was hard to think though, and so he’d been struggling to get ready all morning. Thankfully Teddy and Edd had helped him out.

“You have your uniform on?”

“Yep! It’s blue and everything.”

“Is it clean?”

“It wasn’t but I went I rolled in the dirt out back like you told me to, Teddy. Now’s it’s clean.”

“You get breakfast?”

“Still working on my third can,” Mitch said, as he took another long sip from the beer he had in his hand.

Teddy and Edd were laughing now, but Mitch didn’t know what was so funny, really. He was just getting ready for work.

“You go to the bathroom? Take care of business?” Edd said, sneering at him.

“Oh…uh…no, I didn’t piss this morning yet.”

“Well I bet you have to after breakfast for sure–but you’re running late–better finish that beer and piss yourself to save some time.”

That…that made sense, didn’t it? Mitch downed the rest of his beer, and then felt piss flood the front of his uniform as he stood in the hallway, grinning like an idiot, while the Mason boys just laughed. Something must be real funny–Mitch found himself grinning along, despite not knowing why.

“Alright, I think you’re ready Bitch–go get to the station, and hurry. You’re almost late.”

“Thanks you guys, it was…real hard getting going this morning for some reason.”

“No worries Bitch, we’re here to help.”

Mitch went out to the driveway and climbed in the squad car. It was a bit hard driving after three beers, but he managed alright, and got to the station in one piece. He was half an hour late–the sheriff was going to be so pissed at him. He went in, and sure enough, Sheriff Biggs was there, huffing, and when he saw Mitch there, his face went bright red…and as soon as he was in the station, Mitch…remembered, everything, with perfect clarity.

How the Mason boys had humiliated him all night, fucking him, teasing him, and then this morning, how…how they’d dressed him up in these filthy denim clothes, and now he was here, in front of his boss, looking like some dirty fucking pig…and as hard as he tried to explain himself, no sound would come out of his mouth.

“Mitch, what the fuck are you wearing?”

“My…My uniform, Sir,” he blurted out, unable to say anything other than that, just like the driver the other night. “It’s…it’s blue, right?”

“Have you been drinking?”

“I had…I mean…”

The sheriff sniffed his breath, and wrinkled his nose. “You fucking piece of shit, you’re fucking fired! Give me your fucking keys, your badge, and your gun.”

He had remembered his badge and gun–probably because the Mason boys had known he’d have to turn them in after this stunt. Then, the sheriff booted him out of the station–without a car, he had to take the bus and walk home–and he got there in the early afternoon, fuming, but unable to tell a soul the truth about why he was dressed like this, and soaked in piss.

But the boys’ hold on him was too strong. He went inside, found Teddy wearing his uniform, minus the badge, and when he tried to cuss them out and hit them, he couldn’t move. Instead, he ended up on his hands and knees, cleaning his own boots with his tongue while Edd fucked him, making him recount everything that had happened to him that morning. Mitch cried, finally. He cried, but that just made the boys laugh louder. 

“Fuck bro, this town seems fucking boring, you know?”

“Yeah Edd–and I like our bitch here a lot–you don’t mind if we stay with you for a while, do you Bitch? I think my bro and I could have a lot of fun here, don’t you? You want us to stay with you real bad–you’ll do anything we say, as long as we stay, isn’t that right?”

Mitch had to agree of course, he’d agree with anything the Mason boys said, after all. Soon, all the rest of the men in the town would too, if the boys had their way.

Interactive: Three Word Difference (Part 2)

“I wish I was a middle aged ex-jock,” Adam said with confidence, only realizing, after it was out of his mouth, that those weren’t quite the words he’d been planning on saying. “Wait, I…that’s not what I…I swear I didn’t mean–”

But before he could try and correct himself, he felt a strange force wash over him, as the genie’s eyes grew rather intense, flashing through so many colors and shades he couldn’t barely understand what he was seeing, the mist picking up that same brilliance all around him, as the wish began to take form.

Adam began to grow. He was a rather small fellow to begin with, around five foot nine inches, and around 140 pounds soaking wet. He felt a heat radiating out from his chest and abdomen, shocks and waves of heat shooting down his arms and legs, and he had to cling to one of the bookshelves in the dorm room to try and keep balance. He picked up around six inches, growing to six foot three–even taller than Eli, his roommate was, and his muscles were growing as well, his legs growing massive cords of muscle from calf to thigh, pecs inflating across his chest, his arms and shoulders bulging out as well…but while the muscle was appreciated, some of the other physical changes were less so.

The gut was one thing. Adam had never had much fat on him, but even as muscle packed on everywhere else, his abdomen inflated into a rock hard muscle gut, large enough that when he tried to stand up straight, he found it difficult to balance with leaning back somewhat. As the growth slowed down, he felt something between a shudder, shiver, and goosebumps spread across his arms, legs, chest and back, and hair began to grow…everywhere. Brown at first, the same color as his hair, but then there was some grey sprinkled through the hairs, and then, there was almost an even amount all over his body in a thick coating. He found his way to the mirror in the room, and saw that his face was no longer the youthful one he recalled. His hair was cut short, but obviously receding past the crown of his head, a short, greying beard spreading around his face as well. He looked to be in his forties at least, and he rubbed his face, rubbed the rest of his body, certain this had to be a hallucination.

“Look, I…I didn’t fucking want this, this wasn’t the wish I thought I was saying!” Adam said, as he turned to the genie, speaking in a much deeper voice now, with a certain, gravelly tone to it.

“Do not be ashamed Master, I know that many…gay men–that is what they call you now, isn’t it? Enjoy the idea of being…a daddy? A bear? I’m not sure what to call them, really. You are rather handsome, are you not?”

Adam turned back to the mirror, and the genie wasn’t wrong, of course, but still, he…what had he wanted to say? Everytime he tried to think about it, that same string of words was all that would come to him, but he knew…knew what, exactly? Had the genie tricked him somehow? But they why couldn’t he recall how it must have happened? Maybe he…he was mistaken.

“It is a shame about that shoulder though, isn’t it?” the genie said, eyes flashing and shifting in a more subtle manner now. 

Adam saw a number of scars appear on his right shoulder, where he’d had it rebuilt in his senior year of college, effectively ending his budding football career in the process. Wait–that hadn’t happened, had it? “Don’t…don’t fuck with my memories, I don’t want to forget who I was!”

“How could you forget! You were a star, weren’t you? But all good things must end, as they say, and that was years ago now. Your life has not been bad, has it?”

He was twisting things. The mist was rising up around him, obscuring everything, choking him even, making his head spin. He tried to cling to who he’d been, but that small, tiny man seemed so far away now. He’d been…fuck, he’d been scouted by so many national teams, and overnight, it had all evaporated, and now…now he was here. The mist fell away, and Adam was no longer in a dorm room, but in his small, one bedroom apartment–looking at himself in the dirty bathroom mirror he hadn’t cleaned in, well, years probably. It was his bachelor pad. The genie was right, of course, it wasn’t a bad life. He made decent money working in construction, after his shoulder had healed up. He worked out a lot of course–he couldn’t imagine a life without going to the gym five days a week. Boys were always interested in hooking up with him, now that he was a proper daddy, and a few even loved calling him coach, which was always a fun scene.

The genie’s eyes returned to their normal, now that Adam’s new identity was well in place. He would not remember being that man he’d been before–unless the genie deemed it, of course. He would recall making a wish, but not the details of it–and it would seem…unimportant. Adam left the bathroom and went into the messy living room, smelling himself on the air, and he was…a bit disappointed. The place was a mess, really, and while he knew he could fix that with the genie–hell, he could go back and make his injury never happen! He…didn’t really want to be that pro athlete now. But there was one thing about that life he resented that he’d never gotten–the money.

“Alright genie, here’s my wish. I wish I was fucking rich!”

Or at least, that’s what he tried to say. The genie chuckled to himself, tinkered with time, with Adam’s words, and what came out instead was…


Here’s the next poll! As usual, you can pick up to two options below. Here’s the bonus poll for patrons as well.

Interactive: Three Words Difference (Part 1)

I can’t take credit for the basic idea of this one, it’s a story frame that floats around fairly regularly, but for the life of me I can’t remember who wrote it originally. If you recall the proper credit for the concept, send me a note, and I’ll update it.


Adam climbed up the stairs after a long day of classes, and was mostly thankful it was Monday evening, which meant that his roommate, Eli, would be at practice for the rest of the evening, and Adam could have the room to himself. It wasn’t that Eli was a bad person, or anything–it was just that the two of them had nothing in common, beyond the fact they were freshmen. Adam was a nerd in the engineering program, while Eli was here to, well, play football, and study a few things along the way. It wasn’t like the guy was dumb either–and he was really driven when it came to football–but Adam just didn’t understand it. Things were a bit awkward too, because Adam was gay, and Eli was straight as an arrow. He was being cool about it, but Adam could tell that he was a bit, well, suspicious of Adam living with him. It pissed Adam off a bit, mostly because Eli wasn’t even his type! He had a soft sport for chubby guys, really, and Eli was, well, ripped, and had the ego to match.

He pushed open the door to his dorm room, dropped his bag on the bed, and then set the package that had been waiting for him at the mailroom on his desk. He’d been expecting a care package from his mom for a few days, but this didn’t seem to be it–or at least, it didn’t seem big enough to hold everything she’d promised would be in there. He unwrapped it, and sure enough, it wasn’t–the only thing that was inside, was a small glass bottle. He held it up to the light, trying to see what was inside of it, but the glass had been smoked, making it hard to tell what might be in there, if anything. It was stoppered with a simple cork, and he searched for a letter or anything that might tell him more, but there wasn’t much to go on. It didn’t feel heavy, like there was liquid in there, but why would someone send him an empty bottle? He worked at the old cork for a couple of minutes, and eventually managed to pop it off, and as soon as he did, the room was flooded with a strange blue, green, and purple hued mist.

He rushed to open a window, but the mist didn’t move with the air–instead, it seemed to coalesce near the bottle, until a form appeared–the upper body of a strong fellow, his dark skin picking up the same blue, green and purple tones of the mist. His smile was broad, teeth white, eyes full of mirth and mystery, as he addressed the rather terrified Adam.

“Fear not my young master! I am the genie of the bottle–I have been given to you, because you are a unique soul in need of my services. For the next 24 hours, I am yours–you may have as many wishes as you desire from me while I am in your service.”

Adam was certain he must be hallucinating, but the genie assured him he was not, and in order to satisfy his demands, granted a few minor wishes for him, enough to gain the young man’s trust. This was often necessary, the genie had found–the mortals had heard tales of his kind which cast them as great tricksters. 

The genie was a trickster, of course, just not in the way that Adam was expecting.

The genie would grant his wishes, and the spirit of them–however, the genie had the power to alter three words in his master’s wishes. The master would generally believe that they had wanted to ask for the new wish, and wouldn’t realize what had happened. The genie knew it was so he could keep things from getting too out of hand, but over the centuries, the genie had found that the loophole was more than enough to allow him to toy with his Masters–and the genie was a rather perverse fellow himself. 

Satisfied with his tests, Adam found himself wondering what to wish–what he would do differently. He found himself thinking about Eli all of a sudden, and wondered…what his own life would be like, he was a jock like him. “I can always change myself back, right? If I do something dumb?”

“Of course Master–for the next 24 hours, you can live all of your fantasies.”

“And it doesn’t matter if it’s a bit vague?”

The genie shook his head, “I can sense what you desire Master–if I get something wrong, it is easily fixed.”

“Alright. Then for my first wish…I wish I was a jock.”

The genie smiled, and Adam felt something strange happen as he spoke, or as he tried to speak. It was like the words were caught between his mind and his mouth, and as they came out, they were…twisting into something different, something he hadn’t intended to say, had he? The genie just smiled away, tinkering with his Master’s wish, which was now…


Use the poll below to select what wish the genie twists Adam’s words into! You can make up to two selections. The bonus patron poll is over here as well.

Interactive: A Pigtown Halloween (Part 10)

This is the finale! I’ll have a new interactive starting next week.


He wasn’t going to stay here. He would not become one more monster trapped in these halls! It took all of his willpower to keep from pushing more and more of his cock into the man’s hole, and instead haul it free. Behind him, he heard a strange growl coming from the Master of the Halls–he was obviously displeased with him, but Ken wasn’t about to stick around and find out what might happen to him if he resisted. Instead, he grabbed the man’s tag around his arm, tore it off of him, and ran off down the hall the way the man had come–hoping and praying he would find his way out of the halls before the Master found him first.

It was the imp that saved him, in the end. He caught sight of the little fellow running down a hall, and followed him all the way out of the maze, struggling to catch up to him, but by the time he got to the dance floor, and then to the clothes check, the imp had already turned in Ken’s tag and escaped with his clothes into a changing room. He begged the masked man working the counter, tried to explain what had happened, but he just took the tag from him, shoved a bundle of clothes into his arms…and the next thing he could remember clearly, he woke up in his bed.

Of course, it wasn’t his bed. It wasn’t his room, it wasn’t his apartment, it wasn’t his life, it wasn’t his body. He stood in front of the mirror, looking at his fat, hairy, middle aged body staring back at him, and he just…gaped at it for a while, struggling to take it in. He wasn’t in the halls at least, but who’s life had he taken, anyway?

Thankfully, it the routine came to him naturally, as did his new name–Ollie Dawson. He worked as a manager at a small bank branch near his home, and made good money doing it, but Ollie…well, there was always a reason guys found their way to Pigtown, and Ollie was no exception. He was a pervert, and a porn addict. He’d never had sex with anyone in his life, but the only thing that could get him off was masturbating. It was humiliating, and he could feel his own memories of sex fading away as he settled into Ollie’s life, found himself enjoying his edging time after (and during) work. He knew that if he kept this up, he would lose his old self soon enough, and all that remained would be this old pervert–that was what drove him back to the bar, a few weeks later. Desperation. He had to know it had been real, that the dreams he had of those halls, of the teeth, of the imp, that they were real. It had to be real, it had to, didn’t it? Not just some crazy dream pulled from his sex addled imagination?

So he went, and the bar was smaller, with fewer men huddled at the bar and the tables. There was no hallway where he could remember it, no way back into the haunt. When he asked the bartender about it, after a couple of drinks, the man just smiled. It would come back next year, he said, along with everyone in it. Until then, they were having their own never ending Halloween party. Ollie shuddered at the thought of going back in there again, of seeing the man he’d abandoned, warped and twisted by the master…no, he wouldn’t be back here again, not if he could help it–and then he saw him.

Himself, rather.

It took him a moment to realize why he looked so familiar to him–it’s because it was him, the face he’d stared at for years. His body was right there, across the bar, feeling up some leather bear, and…and he’d never been this angry in his entire life, that he could recall. The bartender leaned over, and asked him if there was anything he could get him, and Ollie whipped around, and made a request. The man smiled, made him the drink, and he took it over to Ken, and introduced himself.

The next morning, the imp, in Ken’s body, woke up with a hangover, in Ollie’s apartment. He felt…strange. Really strange, in ways he couldn’t quite explain, but when Ollie told him to dance for him…well, Ken danced. He did everything that Ollie ordered him to do, he was his living porn model, now. Ollie, after all, only really wanted to watch–but since the imp had made it so he was stuck as this old pervert, the least he could do was keep him satisfied, right?

Suggested Story: House of Fears

Something a bit strange and silly for Halloween. I do little sketches like this for Patrons a few times a month, based on their requests! If you aren’t supporting me over there, and have some ideas for stories, that’s the best way to get me to write them. This month, we also had a rather eccentric veterinarian performing heart surgery, and a fellow trying out a new fantasy game on a VR system that gets a bit too real for him.


“Please, there’s no way it can actually work like that,” Derek said, as he and his friends from the wrestling team all waited in line for the haunted house.

“I’m fucking serious dude,” Jay said, “Marc went last week, told them he was scared of bats, and the whole fucking place was fucking full of them!”

“Well no shit, that’s fucking easy!” Derek said, “They probably already have a bunch of shit in there. People are always gonna say obvious fucking shit like that.”

It was a new kind of haunted house, or at least, that’s what they were advertising it as. Completely personalized–whatever you were scared of, the place would be full of it–and a lot of people were saying it was true. But Derek thought it was bullshit, obviously. There was just no way it could possibly be true, that they had a scenario for everyone’s weird ass fears. So he decided, right then and there, that he would do something to show them. “Tell you guys what, I’m gonna tell them I’m afraid of something so stupid, they’ll never be able to come up with something for it.”

“Oh yeah? What?”

Derek thought for a second, “How about milk, man? Who the fuck could be afraid of milk?”

The other guys on the team all laughed, but they all agreed it sounded like a funny idea, and it wasn’t like Derek was going to take it seriously anyway. They got to the front of the line a little while later, and the attendant let them in one person at a time. Derek was sent into the complex, and found himself in a little black room, where a guy in a rather realistic werewolf makeup was waiting for him. “Tell me your fear, so you may pass through our gauntlet of terror,” he said in some spooky voice that just made Derek want to giggle, but he tried to control himself.

“I’m afraid…I’m afraid of milk,” he said, but couldn’t control himself, and just started laughing in the guy’s face, but the man didn’t react. He hit some button of some lever or something, a trap door opened under Derek, and he slid down a slide for a while and landed at the bottom on a dingy mattress in the dark.

“What the fuck, where the fuck am I?” he said, and looked around. The floor and the walls were all stone–real stone, not some fake shit, and it was all lined with torches. He started down the passageway, amazed at how real it was, but there sure wasn’t any milk anywhere–this didn’t make much sense at all to him, really. He went down the passage, and came to a fork in the path, and then another one beyond the first–it was a maze, or a labyrinth of some sort, wasn’t it? He hadn’t bothered to trace his way at all, and so all he could do was wander blindly through the halls, though occasionally he would hear noises. The scrape of something hard against the stone, and then a scent on the air, a bit rank, like…like spoiled or sour milk. It was freaking him out a bit, and he walked faster, until he came to a large chamber–the center of the maze, and there, he found himself staring at the minotaur.

He was massive, at least eight feet tall, and heavily muscled. But what Derek found himself staring at was the minotaur’s cock–a massive, two foot long bull’s cock, leaking thick white cum onto the stone floor, and the minotaur’s overdeveloped pecs were leaking the same thing, while the beast leered at him. “Come on then, get your milk boy,” he growled, and charged at him.

It was a haunted house, right? He couldn’t actually touch him. But the beast barrelled into him, and started tearing off his clothes as he laughed, and then forced Derek’s mouth against one nipple, holding him there, forcing him to drink down the rank, sour milk coming from his teats. It was disgusting, but he couldn’t stop himself from swallowing, and as he did, his body began to change, growing fatter and pudgier by the moment, until the minotaur dropped the once husky wrestler to the floor, who was now over 300 pounds, with a gut full of milk.

“That’s looking better already–but this bull needs a real cowboy to play with,” he said, rolled Derek over, and started working his cock into his hole, lubed up with just his milk, pumping him full from the other end, and Derek kept changing. He grew fatter and fatter still, passing 400, and then 500 pounds. HIs cock and balls began to engorge, until they looked like one massive teat, and began to leak milk of his own all over the stone floor, making a puddle underneath him, his fat tits doing the same, as black and white fur covered his body from head to toe, little horns poking out from his temple, as he mooed and lowed in pain from the minotaur’s cock fucking him. At last, the beast came, and the milk pumped his so full that he gagged, and it spewed out of his mouth, all over the ground in front of him.

“Don’t worry cowboy, we have all night in here before I have to let you go, and we’re just getting started,” the minotaur said, and worked his cock in again.


“Where the hell is he? He went in second.”

“Don’t fucking know–do you think he really said milk like an idiot?”

“Of course he did.”

“Is that him? There he is!”

Derek was stumbling out of the exit of the haunted house, back to his normal body, but he could barely speak to any of his friends, as they ushered him away from the house, asking him what had happened to him. He couldn’t bear repeating it to any of them–it had been too nightmarish, but when Derek flipped out after seeing the milk boxes at school the next day, none of them knew what to make of it.

Every night, he dreamed of the minotaur, and every time, he had to run, and run, and run through the labyrinth and escape him. He knew if the minotaur caught him…he wouldn’t wake up. He’d be stuck there, as the monster’s perverted little cowboy for the rest of his life, and he would wake up screaming, hard as a rock and soaked in precum, unable to talk about what was happening to him to anyone, not even his friends in the dorm, or his parents. On the morning after Halloween, his roommate woke up to find that Derek wasn’t in his bed–and no one on campus had seen him either. They searched for him, but there were no clues at all–it was like he had just vanished from his bed. 

The minotaur had caught him, and now Derek was in the maze forever, massively obese and soaked in milky cum, all because he thought milk couldn’t be scary at all.

Interactive: A Pigtown Halloween (Part 9)

“God damn it, get the fuck back here, you little fuck, I’m gonna fuck your hole and then tear new ones in you and fuck those too!” Ken roared as he chased the imp through the halls, his rock hard, rubberized cock swinging painfully as he ran through the halls, shoving his way through all of the other freaks and men fucking in the dark as the night came to a climax. He saw a clock as he ran, giving him about an hour and a half before the window of escape closed off forever, and he was stuck here. While this wasn’t exactly…bad, he still had no intention of letting that imp get away with his tag–and with his life.

But as he ran, it was getting harder and harder to ignore all of the men–and especially all of the holes–he was passing by. His cock was aching for a fuck, and he…well, he was built to fuck, wasn’t he? He was a hot fucking top, and every hole needed him inside of it, pumping his cum deep into their guts, showing them who was really in charge in these halls, warping and changing them into freaks just like him, and–

He had to stop for a moment, and try and get his head back under control. That wasn’t him, that was this fucking gear trying to think for him. He wasn’t going to be whatever freak this place wanted him to be–he wasn’t! He saw the imp round a corner up ahead in the halls, and took off after him, growling. There was only one hole that he really wanted in this whole fucking place after all, and he wasn’t going to give up until he got it.

He rounded the same corner at top speed, and ran right into another person, sending them both tumbling to the floor of the hallway in a tangle, that Ken struggled to extract himself from. By the time he got himself out, he looked down the hallway, and realized he’d lost the imp in the mess. “Fuck! God fucking damn it!” he shouted, and whirled on the man he’d crashed into, “You fucking piece of shit, he got away! I…why I oughta…F-Fuck! Fuck you!”

The man on the ground looked up at him in a bit of terror. He was a bit older, and a little chubby. He must have entered the area later than Ken had–he still had on his black shorts, and even had his clothes tag around his arm. “Please…please don’t, I just want to get out of here! Don’t hurt me, please…”

Ken growled at him, and kicked him in the gut, sending him to the ground, gagging…and seeing that, Ken smiled cruelly. Fuck…it felt real fucking good, hurting him, and he gave him another kick in the balls, just to make sure he stayed down. “Fucking faggot–fucking pig, I’ll fucking do whatever I fucking want to you–you’re fucking mine, understand?”

The man tried to crawl away from him, but Ken grabbed him by the hips and dragged him back, tearing open the back of his shorts like they were paper, and shoved his rubber cock between the man’s fat ass cheeks. He could feel him…shudder, the fucking bitch wanted it, didn’t he?

“You fucking want this, don’t you? This big fucking cock in your sloppy pig hole,” he growled at him, as he kept fucking the man’s cheeks, his cock starting to leak a thick, black, rubbery cum.

“I…fuck, please Sir, please…fuck this slutty faggot’s hole Sir…”

He couldn’t afford to get distracted. He couldn’t do this–right now, that fucking imp was probably heading for the exit, Ken’s tag in hand, and if he didn’t get there first to intercept him…there was no way he was going to get out of here in his own body. But this…this fucking hole, he needed it. He needed it in a way he could barely articulate, like it was his purpose. He was a fucking top–and when a hole like this presented itself, begging to be used like this, how could he possibly say no? He pushed the head in, and shuddered, the strange cum working as lube, the man moaning in pain, trying to pull away, but that only made Ken grab him by the hips and drag him back, inch by inch, his massive cock slipping inside him.

“That’s it faggot, just fucking take it like a good bitch,” he said.

“Oh…oh fuck Sir, it’s so big!”

“Trust me, you aren’t going to want any other dick other than mine one I’m through with you,” he added…but Ken also knew that if he didn’t stop now, he wouldn’t want anything else too. Looking up, he saw…the teeth in the darkness. The Master of the Halls was there, observing, wanting to see his new top’s first performance for himself, and…part of him was excited. Excited that Master wanted to see him, excited that Master…no–no, this isn’t right, it isn’t what he should be, is it?

He looked down, and saw the tag around the man’s arm. He looked back at the Master’s teeth. He thought about the imp, scurrying through the halls. He had to make a decision, but what?


This next one is the last entry! Here’s the bonus patron poll as well. I’ll start something new next week, that may or may not be holiday related–haven’t decided yet.