The Pigtown Chronicles: Chapter 3.3 – Shadow’s Puppet

Marlon was lost, had been lost for a while now. Sometimes, he was there in the cage, feeling his body slowly draining away, too exhausted to move, too exhausted to do much of anything. Other times, he was out of the cage, with Shadow, who for the last week, had been tormenting Marlon’s shade almost non-stop. Shadow didn’t seem to need sleep, or food, or water. Marlon, on the other hand–or at least, the part of Marlon in the cage, didn’t seem to require them any more either, but didn’t stop feeling hunger or thirst. When he managed to find a voice, he would occasionally call out, begging for sustenance, but Shadow and the shade saw no reason to engage. It ought to be wasting away, after all. It wasn’t going to be important, from now on. 

The shade had been flat, at first. Marlon hadn’t quite understood how Shadow could grip something flat, but he could. His manacles could bind it, his whips and floggers could strike it, his needles could pierce it. There was never any mark on the shade from any of this, no matter how hard it was struck, no matter what sadistic torture it was given. There was no mark on Marlon’s body either, in the cage, but he still felt every strike as though it had been against his own flesh and bone under Shadow’s implements. 

The hunger and thirst made him delusional, or at least, he thought they were delusions, at first. Visions that he was outside of the cage, looking down on himself, but without control of his body. It took a few of these before he realized he was literally looking down at himself, through the eyes of the shade. It seemed to happen when Shadow fucked the shade, or fed him a load. Often the shade would have an orgasm of its own, and Marlon’s vision would slip for a moment, looking at his own body. It was pale, flat, sagging. It seemed less like a body, and more like a costume that someone had left crumpled up on the floor. Then he would be back, shuddering, the torture would begin again, and he would return to screaming.

He didn’t understand why he wasn’t dead. Perhaps he was dead. Perhaps he was dying. He asked Shadow, asked him why he was doing this, why he wasn’t dying. There was no sense of time down in the windowless room, just that constant red light. Shadow never replied, of course. The question didn’t particularly interest him. After all, Pigtown had never killed anyone, to his knowledge. Pigtown didn’t want to kill you, it wanted to use you. The men of Pigtown wanted to use you too. Use, or be used. Take, or be taken. 

At some point, Marlon’s voice was taken from him. It took a few minutes, or hours, before he realized that the moans and screams he was hearing were no longer coming from his own mouth–they were coming from the shade. They were different as well. No longer were they full of terror–they sounded pleased. Delighted, almost. His voice croaked out, asking for more, “More, Master, more…” and he clawed at the bars of the cage, furious at his own shadow’s betrayal. He’d been his, after all, all his life. And now, he was taking everything from him. He tried to scream, tried to shout, but nothing–not even a whisper would leave his lips. It was one of the few times Shadow even acknowledged that he was still there, the shaded face turning to the cage, a slight smile across those bearded lips, and then he turned to the shade. “More of what, my little puppet?”

“Everything, all of it,” the shade said. Even worse, Marlon felt his own mouth move with the words, though no sound came from him. 

Marlon found himself slipping back and forth, between his dwindling existence in the cage, and the painful pleasure outside of it, under Shadow’s controlling hands. He could feel the shade’s voice growing, not just when speaking, but in his own mind, too. How much it hated him. Hated that body in the cage, how it had been tethered to him for so long. Marlon found himself growing more and more sympathetic. The pain on the cross, or over the bench, or whatever else Shadow did to him was nothing compared to the aching hunger and thirst and weakness when he slipped back into the cage. He was miserable. He was a miserable little fleshy thing. Better for it to wither away, better for it to disappear. Eventually, he did–mostly. The shade overwhelmed him, took on color, took on space, took on form and feature. The shade became Marlon, and whatever it was that was in the cage continued to wither, until there was nothing really left at all, not after Shadow shared it with his new puppet. 

To an acquaintance, the shade would have been easily mistaken for Marlon, as he had been. There were only a few differences, the most obvious of which was that he lacked a shadow. After all, he was the shadow, where Marlon had put all of his degeneracy, all of his fear, all of his weakness. But the shade had taken all of the substance from him, locked what little remained of Marlon away deep in his own mind, not that he planned on using any of it. It would take the name though–the shade had always liked the name. He had always hated the man it had been tethered to–most shadows resented their living hosts. Of course, the shade was indebted to Shadow, and more than happy to service him. But now, Shadow turned his attention to the two pitch black cocoons which were still quivering, where they were suspended from the ceiling.

He formed a knife from the darkness of the room, sliced one of them open, and what fell out was…something else. A shade, certainly. The shade of one of the officers, but only half-formed. Shadow had devoured quite a bit of them both, weakened them enough that their shades could overtake them, suck what substance remained from them, but there wasn’t enough. 

“Are…are they alright?” Marlon asked.

“They will be, we just need to give them some more to eat, is all,” Shadow said, gave a little flourish with his hand, and gathered some of the shadows in the room around Marlon’s naked body. It condensed against his skin, becoming a set of leather gear, pitch black aside from the metal buckles that seemed to hold the light shone on them. “Why don’t we go out tonight? I have some social calls to make, but we can get these two fed first.”

The shade cradled one of the little shadows in his arms, could feel it beginning to understand itself. There was pale body mixed in with it too, somehow. Whatever it was, he could tell that it would be different from what he’d become. Shadow picked up the other shade, pulled the shadows of the room together and Marlon followed him through the darkness. 

What the old Marlon had only understood, before, as a void, the shade understood as a tapestry. There were all kinds of darkness there, stretching in all different directions. Follow a strand, and you could go, well, anywhere. Shadow led them out of the darkness and into an alley not far from where he had found Marlon and Jimmy that night a few weeks before. It was night, but not that late. Shadow dimmed the lights, and the two of them waited.

It wasn’t long before the darkness of the alley lured a couple of Pigtown’s residents into the alley for a little fuck before heading off to the next bar. What they didn’t expect, was for the two shades to bolt and scurry out of the darkness, crawl their way up their bodies, and latch themselves onto their heads, the two men screaming and prying at the darkness, trying to rip it from them, until they stopped moving. 

“They’ll probably just remember it as a nightmare, is all,” Shadow said to Marlon as they watched. “They’re not strong enough to take everything yet, like you or I could.”

“Like…I could?” Marlon asked.

Shadow nodded. “I may call you my puppet, but it’s merely a term of endearment. You can do anything I can do–I’m just as much a shade as you are. After this, they’ll be strong enough to make it on their own if they keep to the darkness. I had so many of them for a while, but I can’t feel them at all, not since I escaped.”

“From where?”

Shadow didn’t say. He just started off towards the mouth of the alley, and down the sidewalk, Marlon hustling a bit to catch up. Apparently, his questions would have to wait.

The Pigtown Chronicles: Chapter 3.2 – Filing a Report at Precinct 27

The week before, after going to see his friend Kyle at the smoke shop and having that strange conversation with Marshall,Jim had strode down the sidewalk and gone straight towards the precinct as Marshall had suggested. Standing outside the building, however, his resolve had wavered. Marshall had told him he had two options. Either he could forget that any of this had ever happened, like everyone else had seemed to, aside from him and Kyle, or he could ask the officers here for help. Jimmy couldn’t imagine what help the officers here could give him, especially since he had no concrete evidence that what had happened that night, had actually occurred. He didn’t even have evidence that Marlon existed. 

In the end, he’d left, and gone home. He’d think about it. He’d wait. See if Marlon turned up on his own. He felt like a coward, and it was that shame that kept welling his memories of him back up to the surface, just when the water had gone still. The furthest he got was three days, almost enough that he’d forgotten he’d been trying to forget something at all, only for him find a shirt that had been Marlon’s stashed in his closet that he’d stolen one night after some fumbling half-sex together. He’d felt horrible, horrible that he’d decided to just give up on him, horrible that he could still smell him on the shirt, pressed to his face. Horrible that he was clinging to some strange delusion, an imaginary boyfriend he couldn’t even prove existed at all.

And so, Marshall’s point was proven. There really were only two things he could do, two paths forward. He wouldn’t be able to forget him, he could already see that. Time might stretch longer and longer between remembrances, but Marlon would always come back to him, and that, he was sure, would drive him mad, eventually. The only other choice then, was to find someone who could help–and if the officers of Precinct 27 could help, then that’s where he would have to go. He stepped into the lobby on Thursday afternoon, trying to plan the words that might convince the officers to even listen to him. It would sound crazy, he knew that, but Pigtown seemed to be a little crazy already. Maybe that’s why they would be a little more understanding.

He stepped up to the desk, where a rather bored, disheveled officer had his feet up on the counter, and realized that he was thumbing his way through a rather dogeared porno magazine. A gay one, at that. Unconcerned, the officer looked up at him, raised an eyebrow, and asked, “Can I help you, kid?”

“I…I think I need to file a report,” Jim said.

The officer gave a little snorting noise, something between a grunt and a chuckle, and then leaned in and gave Jim a few sniffs, and sat back, his brow furrowed. “Huh, I think you do, actually. Have a seat, I’ll find someone to help you out.”

“Oh, uh…ok,” Jim said, “Do you…need some info, or anything?”

The officer had already gotten up from the desk and left the lobby, heading down a side hall. Jimmy just looked around, considered leaving before the strange fellow returned, but didn’t. He took a seat on a lumpy chair off to the side, and waited.

He didn’t have to wait long, but for a police station, the place didn’t seem particularly busy. Looking around, it also didn’t seem particularly well cared for either. The walls were stained, the floor tiles peeling up. It was a far cry from the shining, well-funded precinct out in the suburbs where he lived, where the clean, well polished officers had looked at him like he was crazy. He didn’t have to wait long for the officer to return, followed by a rather rotund and stout detective in civilian clothes, with a beard down to his chest. Nothing about him suggested he had abided by any sort of dress code, or that he could even pass a fitness test. “Who, that one?” the other officer said, looking over at Jimmy, “You said he smelled like what?”

“You heard me. Faint though.”

“But it’s the middle of the day!”

“That’s why I didn’t go right to Rumwell.”

The new officer gave a huff, and walked over to where Jimmy was sitting. Now that he was closer, he saw that under the officer’s gut was a substantial amount of muscle, and he found himself second guessing his assumption about the officer’s physical capabilities. He had a name tag on that identified him as Ambrose Winston. “What are you here for, kid? You look a little young to be a resident. Feel fuckin’ sorry for ya if ya are.”

“A resident?”

“Of Pigtown.”

“Uh, no–I…the guy, Marshall, who runs the smoke shop, he said…you might be able to help me. My name’s Jimmy, I live out in Barry’s Hollow.”

“Out in the suburbs?” Something about the way the officer said it, made it sound that it might as well be another continent–another planet in the solar system.

“Uh, yeah…My, uh, friend went missing, the Friday before last. I…I tried to tell the cops, out where I live, but they didn’t believe me.”

The officer looked at each other. “Was that when…” Winston said, looking back at the cop from the reception desk, who just nodded, eyes a little wider.

“Huh. Alright, come on back, and let’s have a chat. I think we might be able to help each other out, actually.”

“What?” Jimmy asked, but Winston was already walking away, and Jimmy hurried to catch up. They went down a short hallway, then up a flight of stairs, and found themselves in a collection of cubicles where a few other officers were busy with paperwork. Winston led them to a small office off to the side, took a seat at a desk, and motioned for Jimmy to sit across from him. “So, your friend went missing…a week and a half ago then?”

“I tried to report it sooner, but…well, it’s a little hard to believe, I guess.”

“Trust me kid, I’ve heard some weird ass shit in this precinct–let me have it.”

So Jimmy did. He told him about walking back from Depot, leaving out the underage drinking, since they had snuck in. He told the detective about the streetlights going out, about the man stepping out of the shadows–and only then did Winston perk up. 

“Can you describe the man for me?” he asked.

“Not really well. He was covered in leather. All I could see was the bottom of his face. His eyes were always shaded.”

“Shaded how? Did you see his eyes at all?”

“I…I don’t think so.”

He kept going, describing how Marlon had stepped into the shadow and disappeared. Then he told them about the two officers coming to his rescue, and again, Winston perked up. He asked him questions about them, their size, even what they’d smelled like, the sound of their voices. Jimmy didn’t understand why he was so interested in them, but he hadn’t even gotten their names. He finished by describing how everyone else seemed to have forgotten that Marlon had even existed. Just he and Kyle recalled him at all. When he’d finished, Winston sat back in his chair for a moment, mouth twisted in a bit of a scowl.

“You…believe me?”

“Unfortunately, I do.”

“Can you find him then? He’s not dead is he?”

“Pigtown doesn’t kill anyone. Death would be a mercy.”

“What does that mean?”

Winston didn’t reply. He just pushed a card into Jimmy’s hand, told him to call if he remembered anything else, or if anything happened that reminded him of that night. Jimmy left, realizing only afterward that he hadn’t left any information with the officers–he made the man at the reception desk take down his name and number for the detective, but he didn’t seem to consider it important. He left feeling demoralized, but in an entirely different way. They believed him, but he had no idea what he was supposed to do. He didn’t know if Marlon was alive, he didn’t know who could have done this. It would have been easier if they’d just laughed in his face.

But inside the precinct, Winston wasn’t laughing. He hustled up the floors to the top story, where Commander Rumwell’s office was. He pushed inside, not even bothering to knock, and interrupted the commander with one officer cleaning his boots, while another one was between his legs, sucking and nursing at his sizable cock. Winston didn’t blink at this, of course–he gave a little salute, and said, “Sir, I have new information regarding the disappearances of Glison and Avery.”

“Oh?” Rumwell said.

“I…I think it was Shadow.”

That brought Rumwell up from where he was reclining, and he pushed the younger officer off his cock. “Excuse me? We know where Shadow is–he’s in the jail.”

“I…have solid testimony that leads me to believe he may have escaped. Have you…uh…spoken to the Warden lately?”

Rumwell’s face soured. He took a long draw off his cigar, and pushed the smoke out his nose in twin jets. “We haven’t been on the best of terms lately, no.”

“What?” Winston said, “I mean…I don’t know what that means.”

“It means nothing, for the moment. He’s just sulking. Tell me what you heard.”

Winston told him, and by the end of it, Rumwell had sucked his cigar down to a thin butt, which he snuffed out in the ashtray on his desk. It was credible, as much as he didn’t want to believe it. 

“Do you have a lead?”

“Marshall’s, maybe. I heard he has a new apprentice who seems to know the witness and the victim.”

“He does have a new apprentice, nice kid–little green,” Rumwell said. “Go have a chat. I’ll go see what I can wring out of the Warden.”

The Pigtown Chronicles: Chapter 3.1- Feeding the Fire

The Tuesday after he’d met Rod in the VIP room above Depot, Samuel had given him a call and said he wanted to talk about his offer. He’d intended the meeting to be short–long enough to turn his deal down, and maybe throw a drink in his face. Samuel had never wanted to be bought. You couldn’t get anywhere in the art world without selling your work of course, but there was selling the work you made, your unadulterated vision distilled, and then there was commission, creating for someone else, with your own voice. Advertisements, really. Marketing. He found it distasteful, and after that strange vision in the bathroom of Depot, he also found it terrifying.

Yet, once Rod had stepped into the studio, and begun probing at the art in the revolving process of ideation and disintegration around him, Samuel found his plan already falling off the rails. What unnerved him the most, was that Rod understood. Understood what he saw, what his art was, why he did it. Samuel was obsessed with flesh. Many reviewers misunderstood when he said this to them, and translated his precise word of ‘flesh’ to the more palatable ‘bodies’. Bodies were composed of flesh, of course, but it was not the body itself that drew Samuel’s attention. It was what comprised it. Muscle, fat, sinew, tendon, bone, blood, organ. Rod had used the precise word, without prompting. “I love your depiction of flesh in this one,” he said, holding up a canvas, looking back at Samuel with those steel grey eyes. 

“It’s not right, that one is no good,” Samuel had said, attempting to deflect.

“Oh, none of them are good. None of them are anything like what you’re really capable of, Samuel,” Rod had said, and he’d struck his second weakness, that fine line between backhanded compliment and earnest encouragement. They’d chatted a bit more, then Rod had left, and Samuel stared down at the check in his hand, astonished that he’d taken it. Astonished that he’d wanted to take it. For a moment, after cashing it, he was flush with inspiration, but as soon as he’d sat down to work some of it out, it vanished. 

Since then, he’d spent over a week trying to recapture that moment of inspiration, but it hadn’t returned. Not a single idea that, as soon as it was down, didn’t feel like the most insipid, self-satisfying bullshit he’d ever considered. Normally, when faced with a block like this, he’d found that his best solution was a good fucking at the hands of whatever muscle bound man he was with at the moment. Something about being pounded by a mountain of flesh could provide insight, but Parker, currently filling that role, only terrified him now.

Terrified was the wrong word. Disgusted was the wrong word. He’d yet to find the correct one, in any language that he knew. He could barely stand to exist in the same space as him, and he’d hoped that a few days of distance from that scene in the bathroom would help settle his mind and let him get back to fucking, but the vision refused to fade away. It was always there on the edge of his sight, that beast, those sucking thralls at his monstrous feet, beckoning him. He’d considered telling Parker what he’d seen, asking him about the new steroid that Hugh was apparently selling him now, but neither of those things could cross his lips. He told himself that Parker was far too simple to grasp what he’d witnessed, but he was also afraid that perhaps he would understand perfectly. Perhaps Parker’s ignorance of the beast behind him was the only thing keeping it from bursting free at any moment.

Parker, on the other hand, spent the early part of the week following his night at Depot feeling great. Every workout was phenomenal. He broke through his plateau in a matter of days, packing on a solid five pounds of mass, even as he could tell he was cutting fat, giving his body the sort of definition he’d only been able to manage after a few days with minimal water. His energy was up, his libido was definitely up, and after trying a couple of times to get Samuel interested in a good fuck, he gave up, and started fucking anything that moved–and there were a lot of things in Pigtown that wanted him, day or night.

But as was usually the case with steroids, the effect wore off a few days before it was time to shoot up again, but that first week, the relief was enough for Parker to push through to Friday, get another dose from Hugh, with the usual discount of a good fuck, and then enjoy the rush again. That second week, however, the high dwindled away quicker, his impotence was back by Tuesday, and he was left feeling frustrated that the drug wasn’t delivering what Hugh had promised him. 

Thursday afternoon, he’d returned home from the gym to discover Samuel there. He hadn’t been spending much time at their apartment for the last few weeks, for some reason. He seemed…afraid of Parker, but wouldn’t tell him why, and the two of them hadn’t fucked since before that night at Depot. They ended up fighting about money, of course. Without the fucking to distract them, there was nothing to hide the fact that the two of them were completely at odds with one another. Much to Samuel’s surprise, however, Parker ended up getting rough with him, something he hadn’t done before, pinning him up against the wall, grinding his cock against him–it was only the fact that he couldn’t even get it up that made Parker retreat, leaving Samuel with just a few slaps and a lighter wallet before storming out of the apartment, and heading for Hugh’s, to get his next fix.

He had to pound the door for most of a minute before Hugh finally answered. It was early afternoon, but judging from the fact all he had on was some boxers and heavy bags under his eyes, it had been a late night for him–but then, dealers didn’t get to work normal hours. “Fuck Parker, what is it?”

“I need another dose.”

“You shouldn’t dose again until tomorrow, once a week. Like I said–this shit is real experimental.”

“Real fucking worthless you mean, the stuff doesn’t even last a whole week!” Parker said, pushing into the apartment, “Now I got your money, give me another vial.”

“It has to fully cycle out before you can take another–”

“Trust me Hugh, it’s fucking cycled out, now give me the shit already.”

“Ok ok, calm down man,” Hugh said, shut the door and went into his room, dug around in his stash, and pulled out another vial of BHB. “Are you doing alright? You seem a little agitated.”

“I’m not here asking you to be my therapist,” Parker said, grabbing the vial out of Hugh’s hand, threw the wad of cash he’d taken from Samuel’s wallet down on the dresser, looked around until he found a syringe that seemed clean, and drew out his dose. 

Hugh just watched, just wanting to get Parker out of here. He was obviously agitated, but whether that was a side effect of the drug, or whether he was just frustrated that the drug wasn’t perfect, he couldn’t tell. He had a few other guys testing it out, but he hadn’t seen any of them react quite like this before. Hugh injected himself, junked the syringe, and heaved a sigh of relief, and set the vial down on the counter of the bathroom. “Now, how about that other part of the payment?” he said, and dropped the gym shorts he was wearing.

“Fuck Parker, not right now, I have a hangover the size of Texas. I don’t even know how I got home last night.”

“Well nothing helps a hangover like a good dose of protein, you know?”

Parker stepped closer to him, and Hugh noticed something strange–he smelled different. He was used to Parker smelling–he didn’t exactly shower much after the gym, and Hugh didn’t mind a little musk. This was different, it was sharp, and drew him in with a moan. Parker lifted up his arms and let Hugh clean them both out for a few minutes, before he could feel the same rush of horniness as before, and pushed him over to the bed.

“Seriously Parker, take it easy,” Hugh said, but Parker was aching to fuck now, climbed up, and literally tore to boxers off his body, shoved the slick head of his cock against Hugh’s hole, and pushed it inside. Hugh moaned, that same sharp scent, that need now somehow inside him, suffusing him. He moaned in pleasure as Parker drove in deeper, reaching around his neck with one muscled arm and pulling him back, choking him lightly and also keeping him from moving too much. 

“I don’t do easy, slut,” Parker said, and slammed his cock the rest of the way in, and Hugh gave a howl of pleasure. He lost track of how many times Parker came over the next hour, as he fucked him non-stop. Each time he did, he would feel that same sharpness leech into his body, making him feel weaker, making him want it more and more, until Parker, sated for the moment at least, hauled his cock free, and watched the cum drool from Hugh’s well worked hole, onto the sheets below him, the dealer still moaning. “There we go, that’s better, isn’t it?” Parker said, got up, and fished around in Hugh’s good for another vial of BHB. “A tip–you don’t mind, do you?”

“Wait, Parker…I think something’s wrong…with you…” Hugh muttered, but Parker either didn’t hear him, or didn’t want to hear him. He was out the door and back on the street, heading home to finish what he’d started with Samuel–but when he got there, he was nowhere to be found. The coward had probably run off to his studio. Parker considered tracking him down, but that long fuck with Hugh had mostly fixed the frustration he’d been feeling. What he wanted now was a good long workout, and then maybe he’d hit a few clubs to find a few more holes to plow. Before he left though, he took out the partial vial from Hugh’s place, drew the rest of it out, and injected himself again–a booster, he told himself. By the time he got to the gym, he was riding high, pumping more than he ever had in his life. Even if there was a risk, he was willing to take it–he could take anything he wanted, as long as he felt like this forever.

The Haunting of Jason Camwell

So, this is the story that was too much for Patreon to handle, so no surprise to anyone, it’s pretty extreme. Content warnings include: extreme humiliation, incest, dubious consent, rape, scat, and castration. Consider yourself warned if you read any further!

Part 1 – Ghostly Gaslighting

Jason Camwell woke up with a start, the crunch of metal and the sound of the explosion fresh in his mind from the dream–the same dream he’d had for a couple nights now, ever since the weekend. It had been an accident. It was the Thursday of Spring Break, and he’d left the week long party the wrestling team had thrown for themselves at a cabin up in the woods. Jason had been drinking too much, but he’d gotten a real horny text from Amanda, his ex who was back on campus and clearly horny. He figured he’d spend a couple days fucking her before having to go back to school on Monday. He’d left the cabin, been driving down the mountain, when he’d gotten stuck behind a biker who was going rather slow down the steep and winding road, with a sizable ravine to their left. Jason had gotten impatient, gone to pass him on the right, only to misjudge a rather sharp turn that was coming up. It happened incredibly fast. He knocked up against the bike, the fellow had lost control, slammed into the barrier on the corner, and both he and the bike had flipped over into the darkness. As Jason kept driving, horrified but not willing to stop and check, he heard that crunch, and that explosion, but no one had seen him.

That was two days ago now, and so far, Jason had heard nothing about any of it. He’d hooked up at Amanda’s place like nothing was wrong, but that hadn’t been much of a distraction, so he’d come back to the house he shared with one other guy, named Harold, to chill out and decompress before classes resumed. He of course hadn’t bothered filing a report or admitting what he’d seen. Jason had a future after all. He was a senior in college getting ready to graduate, and while he wasn’t exactly the best player on the team, his father was quite wealthy and worked at the school as the dean of athletics. Before that though, he’d worked with several major league football teams, and had used his connections to secure his son a cushy position as a team’s psychologist. He’d be a millionaire in a few years, and wouldn’t have to risk a bunch of brain damage to get there. That biker was probably just some stupid fucking mountain hick, probably drunk himself. If he’d just gotten out of the way sooner, or slowed down before the turn, none of it would have happened like that. Really, it had been the biker’s fault, he’d told himself, but that didn’t make the guilt go away entirely. He sat up in bed, and for a split second, he was certain he saw someone in the room with him–an older fellow, rather grizzled with a long beard, wearing biker leathers and heavily muscled, his eyes just these two hollow pits of anger–but when he turned on the light, he was gone. Just his head playing tricks on him, he was sure, but that didn’t make getting back to sleep that night any easier. He did manage eventually, but he was exhausted when he woke up Monday morning, and he couldn’t seem to shake the sensation that he was being watched.

He went out into the main room of the house, where Harold was already up and drinking his morning coffee at the table, reading the news on his tablet. Harold was, as far as Jason was concerned, a beta, and a faggot, though he knew he couldn’t use those sorts of words around the college–too much cancel culture these days. They were both psychology majors, but beyond that, they didn’t share much in the way of similarities. While Jason was focused on sports psychology, Harold was pursuing a degree in neuroscience, and so he was constantly swamped with insanely difficult classes, spending almost all of his time in his room studying. Jason didn’t see why he even bothered–he’d just end up stuck in some boring, poorly paid academic position, saddled with student debt for the rest of his life. Some guys just didn’t understand how to live, he supposed. He was sure that Harold felt similarly about him in his own way. They weren’t living together out of mutual respect, after all. Jason’s rich parents provided him a stipend for living expenses, which included rent, but he had more cash to party if he didn’t have to pay the whole thing himself. He didn’t want his house to become the party house though–that’s what the frat houses on campus were for, after all. So he opted to rent a room to Harold, a boring, but quiet square, rather than one of his hard partying buddies. 

Jason put together his protein shake, when Harold let out a low whistle over his morning cup of coffee. “That’s brutal,” Harold said.

“What?” Jason asked.

“Accident up on one of the mountain highways. Some biker jumped the rail and fell five hundred feet into some ravine. They’re just now hauling up the wreckage.”

Jason’s heart caught in his throat, but he didn’t dare ask Harold for details, worried he might give himself away. He pulled up his own phone, found the article and read through it himself, but heaved a sigh of relief at the end. As far as he could tell, the highway patrol were considering it to be a simple matter of the biker losing control and shooting off the road–there was no evidence of anyone else being involved. His own car had a decent scratch on it, but he drove a cheap beater car out here anyway–his nice car was back home safe with his parents. He was going to be fine, it looked like, and that was enough to make him feel better. He finished his protein shake, got dressed for the gym, with his clothes for class tucked in his gym bag, and left the apartment. As he shut the door, he once again saw that strange figure from before though, that biker standing in the living room, behind Harold, was still sitting at the table, standing and staring right at Jason as he left, nothing but malice in his eyes. Jason refused to acknowledge it, though he considered opening the door again to look, but it had to be an illusion. He knew all about the behaviors of the guilty mind, enough to know how to control himself in this situation at the very least. He wasn’t about to have his final stretch of school ruined by a mistake like this. No one would miss that redneck piece of shit. He didn’t have a future, not like Jason did. 

So Jason went about his day, starting out at the gym, working on his chest and shoulders, relaxing in the sauna for a few minutes, and then changing and making his way to class. This semester’s load was light, with just a capstone class and his thesis credit. Even his thesis was almost done–he’d wrapped up the research in the fall using the wrestling and football teams, phoning in some analysis on the effect exercise had on mood–there were tons of other studies like it out there, but he didn’t care about originality. He just wanted to get the degree and get on with his career. By the time he was finished with class, it was time for lunch. He met up with some of his jock friends, listened to how the rest of the party had gone up in the cabin, and Jason expected to feel a measure of guilt again, but now that he was ready for it, he could compartmentalize it, and drive it away well enough. He faked a story well enough, going down the mountain without incident, hooking up with Amanda but breaking it off because she was getting too “serious” again, and then chilling out at home for the rest of the weekend. It was so banal he could almost believe it. He needed to believe it, really. It was the only story that made sense, after all. One of his friends mentioned driving back and seeing all of the emergency vehicles around the accident, but Jason pretended it was the first he’d heard of it. They all agreed that it was probably just some loser redneck that the world was better off without anyway. No real loss, no real reason to even think about it ever again. That was the healthy thing to do, the right thing to do, too.

He needed to get some work done on the final draft of his thesis, so he could be ready to discuss it with his advisor at the end of the week, ahead of his presentation that was scheduled for early May. After that, it would be smooth sailing until graduation, and he wouldn’t even have to think about this place again, at least until he needed to come back for a feature in the alumni magazine. All in all, everything had turned around nicely, and he felt almost back to his usual, cocky self by the time he got home. He was even thinking about calling up Amanda and asking for another go–sexually at least–when he opened the front door to the house, and was confronted by a scene he did not expect at all.

The front door to the house opened right up onto the living room, with the kitchen straight back, and a stairwell leading up to the bedrooms to the left. But there on the couch was Harold, naked, legs spread, with another guy between his legs, Harold’s whole cock down the man’s throat. The two of them had lived together for most of a year, and not once, had Jason witnessed anything sexual from Harold that entire time. He’d never brought a guy home, never mentioned going to see a boyfriend or even going out to hookup with someone. Jason had wondered, at times, if the guy even masturbated at all. He’d always assumed that fags were sex obsessed little freaks, and while he was relieved Harold didnt’ fit that mold, it also weirded him out that he could somehow be so singlemindedly obsessed with his studies. Had he just been having guys over while Jason was out of the house this whole time?

“Hey Jason,” Harold said, putting one hand on the back of the cocksucker’s head, motioning for him to keep sucking, while he spoke, “How was the morning? You’re back a bit earlier than you usually are on Mondays–everything alright?”

“Yeah, uh…could you uh, take this up to your room or something?” Jason said, trying to keep himself from saying something particularly foul, just for the sake of decorum. Really though, he was disgusted. He sat on that couch! He’d had sex with Amanda on that couch! And this faggot had been, what having random guys come over and have sex right there this whole time. One thing was for sure, they were going to be having a long discussion about it once this fucker was gone.

“What do you mean? You never mind when I have a guy over usually.” Harold said, “Come on, sit down–oh wait, before you do, get me a beer, would you?”

That, it turned out, was the last straw. Having sex in front of him, in the common areas of the house was one thing, but this little faggot telling him to bring him a fucking beer–that was enough. “No–either take it to your fucking room, or he needs to get the fuck out of here. I don’t want to watch any of that faggot shit!”

The guy sucking Harold’s cock pulled up, turned around, and Jason’s jaw dropped. This wasn’t just anyone sucking Harold off–it was Ricky, another member of the wrestlingl team, who Jason knew was straight as could be. “What the fuck Jason, don’t use that fucking word, that’s fucking shitty!”

“Ricky, what–” Jason said, “You have a fucking girlfriend! What the fuck are you doing sucking this fucker’s cock!”

“Calm the fuck down Jason,” Ricky said, “Emily and I are open, and we’re both bisexual. Sometimes you just get a hankering for cock, you know? It’s not a big deal, I don’t know why you’re being so dramatic.”

“He’s always like this,” Harold said, as Ricky went back to sucking Harold’s cock, “This is why I never wanted him to find out, you know. He’s always asking about it, always wants tips on his ‘technique’ from me, since he’s a little insecure about his own abilities, if you know what I mean. I’ve always told him that the best way to learn is to watch, but he always freaks out like this when I suggest it.”

“Ugh, I know, he does that with all of us too,” Ricky said, taking a moment to stroke Harold’s cock with his hand, “Always wants to compare how we fuck on the team, trying to get the weirdest details out of us. He’s seen us all naked, but he seems to think about how we all fuck a lot more than a normal guy would, you know?”

“I’m right fucking here, and I do not fucking ask about that shit Ricky!” Jason shouted.

“No need to get so fucking defensive man, fuck, this is why no one likes you, you know, you can never just chill out and have a good time.”

“I…I can be chill, I just…don’t want a couple of…gay guys having sex in front of me, that’s not strange.”

Harold rolled his eyes, and Ricky muffled his somewhat derisive laugh by going back to sucking on Harold’s cock. “Whatever you say man,” Harold said.

Jason fumed on the way to the kitchen, grabbed three beers out of the fridge, and brought them back to the living room. Fuck those two. He could be chill. It wasn’t a big deal, it was just sex. So what if he asked some questions on occasion, he was just curious! He thought that was a normal guy thing. “Here,” he said, and handed Harold a beer, and opened one up for himself, drinking half of it down to get a headstart on his buzz. “I don’t fucking care if you guys fuck in front of me,” Jason said, “You just surprised me is all.”

“Sure, sure,” Harold said, the mockery and doubt well apparent in his voice, popped the top on his own beer, and took a sip, “Whatever you say, Jason.”

Jason reached for the remote and turned on the TV, starting up whatever he could find on Netflix as a distraction, but found himself looking over at Harold anyway. There was something off about him, something that seemed different from this morning, but it was difficult to pin down what it was exactly. “When did you start growing your beard out?” Jason asked.

“What are you talking about, I’ve had a beard all year long,” Harold said, “are you doing alright, Jason?”

“Yeah, yeah, I…don’t know, just thought it was thinner before, or you had shaved it off.”

“Nope, always had it.”

Jason swore he was lying, that Jason had been clean shaven that morning. He’d seen him step out of the bathroom too, with just a bath towel around his waist, and knew he hadn’t had that much body hair, and that tattoo on his arm was new too. He opened his mouth to ask about those, but hesitated, thinking he’d just seem a bit crazy to keep asking about it. But what other explanation was there? None of it made much sense at all, but how could he possibly explain his housemate growing a beard, body hair, and getting a tattoo in a matter of hours, while still managing to plan a hookup with a wrestler that Jason still swore had been totally straight.

“That’s enough of that,” Harold said after another few minutes, “I wanna fuck that hole of yours.”

“Hell yeah, get in me big boy,” Ricky said, stood up and bent over the side of the couch. It was the first good look that Jason had gotten of Harold’s cock, and Ricky wasn’t wrong–it wasn’t quite as large as Jason’s own, but it was a good sized dick. “I’ll just leave you to it,” Jason said, “I need to get some work done in my room.”

“Come on Jason, stick around!” Harold said, “I thought you wanted to pick up some good pointers. You just told me that Amanda had been asking you about anal, and you chickened out. Why don’t you watch how the guys do it?”

“I didn’t tell you that! That’s–I’m not interested, alright?”

“He’s fucking embarrased,” Ricky said, shaking his head. “Dude, it’s 2021, guys fuck, alright? Stop making it a big deal!”

“It’s not a big deal!”

“Then sit down and watch, learn a thing or two,” Harold said.

Jason didn’t really want to, but he was a bit curious, in all honesty. Harold lubed up his cock, ran it up and down Ricky’s crack, and the big wrestler shuddered and let out a little moan each time Harold’s cock caught on his hole for a moment, before sliding up his crack again. “Fuck Harold, just get inside me, I need it,” Ricky moaned.

Harold gave a little smirk, lined the head of his cock up, and pushed it inside, Ricky giving a little moan, Harold feeding his ass an inch at a time until he was completely inside him, before pulling back out and building up to a steady rhythm. Jason was mesmerized by it, he’d never seen a woman show as much pleasure when he was fucking them as Ricky was showing from Harold’s cock. Was he…not as good as he’d thought? He shook his head, not quite willing to challenge his own self-confidence just yet–the two fags were clearly showing off for him. His thoughts began to wander though, as he watched Harold pound Ricky’s ass harder and harder, the wrestler’s moans growing louder and louder. He seemed to really be enjoying it, but it couldn’t feel that good. Or maybe it would feel good, getting…fucked like that, having some guy just bend you over and use you like–

“Fuck, the straight boy popped a fucking boner!” Ricky said, pointing over at Jason’s pants, which sure enough, were sporting a big tent.

Both of them just laughed uproariously at it, and horrified, Jason stood up, and retreated up the stairs to his room, but not before he heard Ricky said, “Fuck just wait until I tell the team about this, they’re all gonna bust a fucking gut. What a fucking pervert.”

Alone in his room, Jason couldn’t figure out what had gotten into him, but he also couldn’t quite stop thinking about it,wondering if it would feel good, wondering…he shook his head, tried to will his cock flaccid again, but it refused to go down. He shook his head, looked up, and there, again, in his room was the vision–the biker staring at him, just for a moment, a mischievous and cruel look in his eye, and then the shadow was gone again–and Jason looked down, saw his cock in his hand–no, not his cock.

A dildo. He was holding a dildo, and his pants were down around his ankles. He stepped out of them, went the chair by his computer, squirted some lube onto the rubber shaft, unable to believe he was really going to do this. But he’d done this before, of course. Fuck, watching Harold fuck Ricky, or whoever else he had over on any given afternoon, always got him thinking about how much he needed to get fucked. But not…but someone. No, he was too embarrassed for that. It was just experimentation. It wasn’t his fault it felt so good, that he could only seem to get hard to fuck a girl when she would reach around, slide a finger in his hole nice and deep…

He sat down on the dildo, stifling his own moan, still listening to Ricky below, feeling horny and confused, and reflected in the computer monitor, behind him, was that same vision, but again, just for a moment. “Just my imagination, just my fucking imagination…” he muttered, sliding down onto his own dildo, listening to Ricky down below as he got louder, Harold too, and when he heard the two of them finish, he did too, shooting a massive load of cum all over the carpet under his desk. Feeling better, he sat back, the dildo still buried deep inside him, and got to work revising his thesis.

Downstairs, Harold and Ricky settled back down on the couch for a little cuddle and kiss session–but Harold couldn’t stop smiling. When Ricky asked why, he said, “Just thinking about a joke I heard earlier, nothing big–I’ll tell you later.” 

“Sure thing stud,” Ricky said, “but I have to get to class.”

“Yeah, me too–might as well leave the pervert to his own devices for a while,” Harold said.

“Fuck, I thought he was so cool when I first met him, but he’s just such a weirdo. He clearly wants to get fucked, but doesn’t have the guts to just say it.”

“You should see his dildo collection.”

“No fucking way.”

“God’s honest truth, fucker has like ten of them up there. Claims he’s straight, but fuck if he doesn’t ride one of those every night. Heard Amanda broke up with him because she got sick of always having to be the one with the dick.”

“I don’t know how you live with him, Harold,” Ricky said, giving him a kiss, “I’d go crazy.”

Harold laughed again, and the two of them left the house together, while Jason kept rocking back and forth on his dildo, still wondering what on Earth had gotten into Harold today. He seemed like a different person, almost. Oh well, it wasn’t a big deal, he supposed. He took a break to check his social pages, and saw a message from Evan, another wrestler, asking him if he was still coming to the team poker game tomorrow evening.

“Won’t miss it for anything,” he texted back, and then got back to work. 


Chapter 2 – Stripping Away His Dignity

Jason’s teammate Evan was a bit of a gambler, perhaps even an addict, but he was lucky enough to generally stay lucky and flush with cash, or maybe he was just draining his wealthy parents without telling anyone. He usually went to the casinos on the weekends, but that didn’t always scratch the itch he felt, and so he liked to arrange a weekly poker night for the wrestling team and his other friends on Tuesday evenings. It was rarely the same group each week, but Jason had become more or less a regular ever since breaking up with Amanda, when he’d needed something else to fill what had been their regular date night. Evan’s place was just a few blocks over, which he split with a few other students at the college, none of whom shared Evan’s interest in gambling. Jason went around the side of the garage, where a door was propped open, the smell of weed and cigars already thicker than usual. He stepped inside, and saw he was the last one to arrive, judging by the lone empty chair. There was Evan and Will, another player on the wrestling team. Then Ricky, who Jason couldn’t quite manage to make eye contact with after the day before. There was one last person at the table, sitting away from him, that he didn’t recognize right away. The fellow was wearing a leather jacket with short cropped hair and a decent beard, smoking a cigar. When Jason came around to the chair beside him, he realized it was Harold.

He had done his best to avoid his housemate since the incident on Monday evening, and had been more or less successful. The two of them had shared the kitchen for a moment that morning without speaking to one another, before Harold had gone to the science building to work on a laboratory project, and Jason had gone off to the gym, and then class. That afternoon, Harold hadn’t been home at all, which gave Jason a chance to ride one of his dildos in private and jack off, so he could blow off a bit of steam before the poker game that evening. But now, here he was of all places. He hadn’t even known that Evan and Harold knew each other, but as Jason took a seat, the two of them were discussing something technical–Evan’s major was in computer science. Ricky was listening, though not really adding much, and Will, another tech guy, was chiming in on occasion. Jason just listened for a moment, and looked Harold up and down, figuring he must have gone for a haircut that afternoon, and a wardrobe change, and…well, he just seemed different again, in ways he couldn’t quite explain.

The hair was easy to explain, as was the leather jacket. At least those things could change over the course of a day. The jacket did look rather old and well worn–he’d probably picked it up from a vintage shop–and Harold had never cut his hair this short before–which didn’t mean he hadn’t thought about it, Jason supposed. But what about the beard? He’d seemed scruffy on Monday afternoon, but the beard he was sporting now was much more than should have been possible to grow in a day. Was it fake? That didn’t make sense. Before he could think of a good way to ask about it, Evan picked up the deck and dealt the first hand, and the game had begun. 

They played five card draw, and through the first few rounds, Evan, Harold, and Will kept up their rather technical discussion. Jason tried to track it for a while, but just found it deeply confusing and uninteresting. He tried a few times to shift the topic to sports, or summer plans, and Harold would tolerate the new topic for a moment, before moving right back into the same discussion as before. Mostly it made Jason feel stupid–and he hated feeling stupid. Finally, he said, “Can we save the school shit for school? You’re all putting me to sleep.”

The other four just stared at him–and the stares were not particularly kind. He couldn’t think of any time that Evan or Will had looked at him with such disdain. Ricky he could, of course. It was the same look of disgust he’d seen on his face the night before, and Harold just looked cool and cocky–which made Jason seethe even more. “Jason, just because you can’t keep up doesn’t mean the rest of us aren’t enjoying the conversation,” Evan said, “Maybe if you listened a little closer, you’d understand it. None of this is that difficult.”

“I thought we were here to play poker,” Jason said.

Will said, “I mean, it’s just five card draw, we can play and talk at the same time–or at least some of us can. If you’re struggling, why don’t you just focus on the game, Jason? You don’t seem to be doing very well tonight.”

It was true–of the first six hands or so, he’d only won once, while Harold was proving to be quite adept. 

“Well, why don’t we make the game more interesting at least,” Harold said, “Why not play strip poker? Losers gotta give one of the guys still in the game a blowjob.”

“What? What kind of faggot shit is that?” Jason said. 

“Hey, don’t use that kind of language here man, that’s not cool,” Ricky said, “Besides, I know at least three of us here get up to some kinds of faggot shit, you know…”

Jason paused, and looked from Harold to Ricky. Had Harold said something to him about his dildos? That wasn’t gay–some straight guys just liked having their ass played with, there was nothing wrong with that. 

Harold added, “Jason’s just a little embarrassed guys. There’s another reason he doesn’t want you all to see him with his clothes off, is all.”

Everyone looked over at Harold, and then over at Jason, whose cheeks burned. “I have no idea what he’s even talking about.”

Harold just laughed. Ricky smirked, looking like he had a few ideas, but still, Jason had no clue what any of them were even talking about. Harold took another drag off his cigar, and pushed out a clean smoke ring into the air. “Only way you all will find out is if we play.”

“Alright, let’s vote on it then,” Evan said, “All in favor, raise your hands.”

Everyone raised theirs except for Jason, who just sat there with his arms crossed. “Fuck you all, I’m not playing some faggy shit like this. I’m out of here,” he said, stood up, but when he turned to the door, he saw someone standing there, the same vision or figment that had been appearing to him for the last few days, and his head started to swim. He sat down, and Evan dealt out a hand, like no one had even heard Jason’s objection. The rules were relatively simple. If you folded, you had to pay five bucks into the pot, which the eventual winner would collect. If you stayed in the hand to the end of the hand and lost, you had to lose a piece of clothing. Furthermore, the winner also could force someone who folded to take something off, so even if you folded for the entire game, you were still going to end up naked eventually. It became rather clear that the other four players were all more than happy to conspire with Harold to see Jason naked. It didn’t matter who won a hand–if Jason folded, they would always force him to pull something off. Thankfully the evening had been a bit chilly walking over, and so he had on a few layers plus a hat, while the rest of them were dressed a bit more lightly. He started staying in every round, figuring he’d lose something regardless, and managed to hang in pretty well–but no matter how well he tried to bluff, Harold always seemed to know if he had a hand that could beat Jason’s. It was almost like someone was looking over Jason’s shoulder, feeding him information. 

Ricky, who hadn’t been wearing that much to begin with, lost first. With a little shrug, he got down under the table, and a moment later, Jason felt someone spread his legs apart, and he jumped out of his chair. “What the fuck are you doing!” he said.

“Those are the rules, gotta give someone a blowjob,” Ricky said, smirking up at him, “What, can’t get it up right now without some…assistance?”

Jason’s face went beet red, but he didn’t want to feed the suspicions. So then Harold knew about his little pegging obsession, he supposed, and must have told Ricky about it. Is that the secret that Harold was talking about? It wasn’t like he’d shown up with a dildo in his ass or anything like that. “Go suck off someone else, I’m not into dudes.”

Ricky shrugged, moved over between Harold’s legs, and started sucking him off instead, which Harold made a big show of enjoying. Jason tried to pretend it wasn’t happening, but when he looked over at Evan and Will, his two friends had their hands at their crotches, groping themselves and watching the scene. “What the hell, are you two getting off on this?”

“It’s just a blowjob, Jason, calm the fuck down,” Will said.

“When did you become such a wet blanket anyway,” Evan added, “I thought you’d be cooler with this.”

“It’s fuckin’ weird, you know, for a bunch of straight guys to start blowing each other during a poker game.”

“I’m not straight,” Evan said, and looked over at Will, who also shook his head. “Ricky, Will and I are all bi–I thought you knew that. Harold’s gay of course. I think the only ‘straight’ one here is you, Jason.”

Jason knew that was a lie, but before he could challenge it, Harold moaned, and filled Ricky’s mouth with a load of cum. Ricky, still naked, sat back up in his chair licking his lips, and the game continued. Jason was down to one sock and his briefs, Evan and Will had four articles left, and Harold lost the next round, peeling off his shirt, revealing a much hairier chest than he’d had the day before. Again, Jason thought about asking how he’d gone from smooth to hairy in less than twenty-four hours, but didn’t. He figured he’d just get a bunch of eyerolls anyway, and Harold would just say he’d never paid very good attention before. In any case, Jason was on a bit of a streak, and managed to whittle Harold down to just his underwear and socks, and Will down to nothing. Without much ado, he got down under the table, and again, Jason felt two hands on his thighs, a face going for his crotch, and he leapt up from the table, while the rest of the guys laughed harder than the first time. “It’s not fucking funny!” Jason said, “You’re all fucking weird assholes tonight, what the fuck’s gotten into you?”

“Into us? I thought you were cool enough to enjoy a blowjob from a bro, but you’re such a fucking cringe loser you can’t even handle that,” Will said.

The rest of the guys laughed more, and Will moved on, sucking Evan off instead and the game resumed. Jason’s luck finally ran out–Harold took the next hand, Jason had to give up his sock, and then took the next hand as well, ordering Jason to take off his briefs. He was going to refuse, throw his clothes back on and storm out, but before he could, he again saw the figure standing behind Harold, one hand on his housemate’s shoulder, and the next thing Jason knew, his briefs were down around his knees, and the rest of the guys were all cackling madly.

“What the fuck–is that a fucking chastity cage?”

“No fucking way, no wonder he didn’t want any of us to give him a blowjob.”

“God, what a fucking weirdo.”

Jason looked down, and sure enough, he had one remaining piece of gear on, under his briefs. There, around his cock, was a metal cage with a little padlock keeping it on, keeping him from getting erect. He reached down and tried to pull it off in embarrassment, but it refused to budge. “I…I don’t fucking know how that got there,” he said.

“Don’t play dumb, Jason,” Harold said then turned to the other three guys, “I locked up his cock because I kept finding all of these cumstains around the house. Dude gets so fucking horny all the time, he’s just been fucking himself on his dildos all day long, everywhere. He just shoots and lets the cum dry where it lands. So I hid all of his dildos until he agreed that I could lock up his cock. Besides, we all know that he really gets off on having his ass worked over anyway.”

“That’s not–I don’t fucking do that!”

“It’s true, you should have seen him yesterday,” Ricky said. “He was so fucking jealous that Harold was fucking me, that he got all uptight, even though he was standing there with a plug in like always. He just stormed off upstairs and we could hear him moaning all evening long, and when I went upstairs, there was a load of cum drying on the steps, where he must have been watching us from above, the fucking pervert.”

Evan and Will just laughed harder, and Jason choked back the urge to cry, or scream, or choke Harold until he was dead. He turned away from them all instead, trying to get control of himself, and they laughed harder when they saw the buttplug he had in his hole as well, which he hadn’t even noticed putting in earlier. 

“Holy shit, that thing is thick! All this talk about how straight he is, and he’s got his cock locked up and fat fucking plugs in his ass. What a lying fucking pig,” Evan said.

“Come on, Pervert, you lost, it’s time to pay up,” Will said. “Since the two guys still in have gotten sucked off, that means it’s my turn.”

“I’m not fucking sucking any of you fucks off, you’re all fucking assholes,” Jason said.

“We’re fucking assholes?” Will said, “You’re the one standing there with your cock locked up and a huge fucking plug in your ass, trying to act all high and mighty. What the fuck is even wrong with you?”

“If you aren’t going to fucking play by the rules, then get the fuck out of here,” Evan said, “I only fucking invited you because Harold said it would be funny anyway, but we’ve all had our fucking laugh, so get going already, you’re fucking pathetic.”

Jason went to gather up his clothes, only for Harold to reach out and grab hold of his wrist. “Now, now, I don’t think that’s very fair. The pervert lost fair and square, so he needs to pay the price, and if he’s not going to pay it with his mouth, then I have another idea.” Harold stood up, and with more strength than Jason expected, he bent him over the table, and shoved Jason’s face into the pile of clothes in the center, while he grabbed hold of the plug in Jason’s ass and hauled it out of him. “You’re always talking about how much you miss having Amanda peg your hole, and I’m fucking sick of it. I think it’s time you had a taste of the real thing, don’t you think so guys?”

Jason tried to object, as the other three all laughed and cheered. He looked back, saw that Harold had already pushed his pants down, and there was his housemate’s cock–even larger than it had been the day before, larger than Jason’s was now, if he could have even gotten erect in the cage he wore now. He struggled and cursed, only for Will and Ricky to grab hold of his wrists, while Harold lined up the head of his cock with Jason’s hole, and slid right in.

“No! Fucking stop!” Jason said, only for Evan to grab hold of Ricky’s jockstrap, still fresh from working out in the gym that afternoon, and shoved it in his mouth. “Shut the fuck up, you fuckin’ pig, we all know you want this.”

“Fuck, look at how much the pervert’s cock is dribbling out, gonna be a fucking puddle on the floor by the time we’re finished here.”

“Maybe we should make him lick it up, that’ll show him to stop making messes everywhere he goes.”

Jason kept struggling, but it was no use–Harold was getting close, and shot his second load of the night deep into Jason’s hole, pulled out, and Evan slid right in without missing a beat. Harold, still horny and still hard, walked around, pulled Ricky’s ass up, and started fucking him, Ricky moaning in delight, eager for another round with Harold’s cock. At some point, Jason stopped struggling, and just let it happen, hoping that it would all be over soon. Evan came inside him after a few minutes, and then he and Will switched. Will came in Jason’s sloppy hole around the time Harold shot for the third time, filling up Ricky with a load at both ends that evening, and then Ricky, horny after getting another fuck, took the final turn with Jason’s hole. It was loose by then, and Ricky complained about it, wishing it was tighter, but he came as well, and then Harold shoved the plug back into Jason’s ass. “See I told you bringing the perv along wouldn’t be all bad,” Harold said.

“It was fun I guess, watching him squirm a bit, but I don’t think I need the loser in my house anymore,” Evan said, “Time for the pig to take his walk of shame!” 

Laughing, the four guys hauled Jason upright, and shoved him out of the door on the side of the garage, naked aside from his plugged home and caged cock. Mercifully, Harold opened the door and tossed Jason’s keys, wallet and phone out to him, which he scrambled to pick up. He pounded on the door, begging them to let him back in, or at least to give him his clothes, but they all just ignored him. Jason didn’t have a choice, other than to sprint home as quickly as he could, ducking for cover behind bushes when he needed to, and thankfully, managed to get home without incident. Humiliated, sweaty, ass aching, he sat down on the couch and cried, horrified at what Harold had done to him, what all of his friends had done to him. What had even gotten into all of them? They weren’t behaving like themselves at all. Sure, they could all be bullies on occasion, but not to each other, and even then, they weren’t usually that mean spirited, even towards guys they hated, like Harold. 

Then again, the guys didn’t seem to hate Harold anymore. If anyone around that table had been hated, it seemed to be Jason, now. They’d raped him, all of them had just gangbanged him, and then shoved him out naked into the street. The more he thought about it though, the less angry he was, and the hornier he found himself getting, the cage became tighter and tighter. He went upstairs just wanting to take a cold shower and put all of it behind him, but before he did, he realized that he really had just been raped, and if he cleaned himself now, he’d get rid of all the evidence. As disgusted as he was, he had all of their cum swilling around in his ass right now, he could get them all thrown in prison for what they’d just done to him.

He went to his room, threw on some sweatpants, and went back downstairs. He wasn’t going to let them get away with that, he couldn’t. He didn’t know what was going on, he didn’t know what had gotten into Harold, but he did know that he’d just been raped, and for that, there had to be consequences. As he went to the front door, though, the vision again appeared before him, eyes searing, and froze him in his tracks.

It couldn’t be, could it?

Ghosts didn’t fucking exist.

But why did he keep seeing this thing everywhere? Was it just a manifestation of his own guilt, or was something haunting him, or cursing him? He thought about how Harold had seemed to know what everyone was holding during the poker game, how things had kept changing, bit by bit over the last couple of days, with no one believing him. The guilt welled up, but he shoved it back down. No–it wasn’t anything like that, there was no ghosts, just one dead redneck and a group of asshole rapists that he was going to send to prison. He stepped through the vision, who offered no resistance, got dressed in some clothes, and dialed 911. This insanity was going to stop, right now, and whatever games Harold was playing with him, he was going to get to the bottom of it, tonight.


Chapter 3 – Bearing False Witness

Jason sat on the couch by the window, looking out and waiting for help to arrive. He’d made the 911 call, and the dispatcher had told him a patrol car would be dispatched to his residence to talk to him about what had happened to him. He had thrown on some clothes upstairs, and was fidgeting, now wondering what would happen if Harold got home before the cops arrived.

There was something going on, something having to do with Harold. He didn’t know how he knew it, or what exactly it was that he could sense, but it was off. There was the fact that every time he’d seen him over the last few days, he’d looked just a little bit off–the hair, the clothes, the demeanor. Then, there was the way everyone else acted around him. Jason had always had a natural charisma, a way with people. He’d never had a hard time making friends, never had to struggle to fit in. He just always knew how to get people to like him. But now, whenever Harold was around, it was just the opposite. Everyone liked Harold now, and Jason was cast aside, and treated like nobody. Or worse than nobody, as a pervert, as a buzzkill, as a loser. That’s what hurt the most, actually. Not the rape itself, but the fact that it had been his friends, or guys he’d thought were his friends. They’d turned on him at the mere suggestion from Harold, raped him and been gleeful about it, then gone on to have sex with each other too. Hypnosis, some weird neuroscience mind control, it didn’t matter what it was. This was all Harold’s fault, and Jason would expose him one way or another. Jason didn’t know how powerful Harold’s control was though–could he control a police officer, or anyone else he wanted? The cruiser pulled up in front of the house, and he breathed a sigh of relief. He couldn’t tell them about it–he would sound crazy, but he had the evidence of the rape right in his ass. Harold’s control didn’t seem as complete over him, and that might be the one thing that would stop whatever plot was going on.

The officer’s came up to the door, and Jason opened it up for them as they approached. “Are you Jason Billings?” One of them asked.

Jason nodded.

“I’m Officer Mattis, and this is Officer Pike.” Mattis looked to be a bit older, probably in his mid 40’s and looked to be eating a few too many doughnuts around the precinct. Pike was younger, and more in shape than his partner, with a cleaner haircut and some tattoos on his arms. “Dispatch said you had a rape to report?”

“Yeah–I was raped tonight.”

The two officers looked at Jason, then at each other, and he could tell what they were thinking. Jason was a sizable guy after all–he didn’t look like the sort who could be forced into sex against his will. Mattis shrugged, “Alright, we need to interview you to file the report. Are the assailants here now?”

“No…it happened at a party tonight. One of them is my housemate though, and I don’t know when he’ll be back.”

“Well, if he comes home, we’ll figure it out then.”

The two officers stepped into the living room and took a seat on the couch, while Jason sat in an armchair across from them. Mattis pulled out an audio recorder and set it on the table in front of them, while Pike took out a little notebook and a pen to take notes. They started simply, asking Jason some basic information, and asking him to name the assailants. He did, and once they’d taken that information down, they asked him what had happened. Jason recounted the story of the poker game, or at least, most of it. He told them about how his friends had been acting a bit strange, especially Harold, who had suggested that they switch the game to strip poker. Jason had felt pressured to play along, though he hadn’t wanted to. Mattis interrupted him then, and asked him why, if he’d felt uncomfortable, he didn’t just leave then and there. Jason was caught off guard by the idea, and scrambled for an explanation, saying that he didn’t have a problem getting naked, but what had happened after that was way beyond a simple game.

He continued the story, massaging the truth here and there. He didn’t tell them about the blowjob part of the game right away, saying that Harold had added that in only after Ricky had lost. Ricky had tried to suck him off, and Jason had said no, so he’d sucked off someone else in the circle instead. He saw Pike cock an eyebrow up and exchange a glance with Mattis–that was enough for Jason to pause in his story, wondering what they were thinking. He felt the need to justify it somehow, explain how strange it had been, but now that he was saying it out loud, he couldn’t help but see why they were incredulous. It was a strange story, even he could admit that, but it was the truth. So he skipped ahead a bit to the more important part. He told the two cops that he’d lost, his friends had tried to make him suck them off, and when he’d refused, they’d held him down on the table and each fucked his ass in turn. That seemed to catch the officers’ attention, though it was clear that the two of them were still a bit skeptical. Jason had neglected to mention the cock cage and the buttplug that had appeared on him when he’d removed his underwear, and it was then that he realized he had made a terrible mistake–he was still wearing them both. He hadn’t even thought about removing the buttplug–if anything, he had rationalized it as useful for holding in the ‘evidence’ from the scene earlier. As for the cage, what would these two officers think if they told him to take his clothes off to inspect him or something like that? Sure, just because he was wearing it, didn’t mean that he hadn’t been raped, but it also didn’t really help his credibility. He kept his composure as best he could, and finished his story, how he’d streaked home, called the police, and brought it back to the present.

“Have you showered since you got home, before we arrived?” Pike asked him.

“I almost did, but realized it might be, well, evidence.”

“Yeah, look, you’re story is suspect, but honestly, if we can get a solid rape kit from you down at the hospital, then the story doesn’t matter so much. I believe you, it’s just, well, hard to imagine your friends treating you like that.”

“I…yeah, I don’t know how to explain that part. Harold was the one who suggested everything. I think he put them up to it.”

“And Harold’s your housemate?” Mattis asked, “Do you have somewhere else you can stay in town, where he wouldn’t know where you are?”

“I…kind of thought you would arrest him. Why should I have to leave my home?”

The cops looked at each other, and then back at him, “Look, we will arrest him, but some guys get out on bail. I’d still suggest you spend the night somewhere else, just in case. First though, you need to go to the hospital. Go to emergency, tell them you need to have a rape kit done, alright? It’s not a pleasant experience, but it might be necessary. Now, where’s Harold at?”

Jason gave the cops Will’s address, and as he was about to head to the hospital, and the cops were on their way to find Harold, there was the sound of the front door unlocking, and when it swung open, there was Harold–mostly. Again, he’d seemed to change a bit, in a few subtle ways, but Jason could see it. His hair was a bit longer, his beard as well. He had a couple of piercings in his ears that he hadn’t had earlier in the evening, and one of his arms was now decorated with a tribal tattoo sleeve. He looked from Jason to the two cops in the living room, and started to laugh.

“Are you Harold Shepard?” Officer Mattis asked.

“Yeah, that’s me.”

“We’d like you to come down to the station with us and answer a few questions.”

“Am I under arrest?” Harold asked.

Pike took the handcuffs off his belt, and walked up to him. “Well, you are now bud,” he said, and Jason watched as Harold just let the cop put the handcuffs on him–and as soon as he was restrained, he let out a sigh of relief.

“We don’t need to go to the station,” Harold said, “I assure you, this is all a big misunderstanding.”

“Please, just…take him away, I don’t want to see him,” Jason said, working up some tears–more earnest than faked, but he figured it would help. 

Again, Harold just laughed. “God fucking damn it, what did the fucking pervert tell you two? Did he tell you we raped him? You can’t rape the willing, I can tell you that much. Look, uncuff me for a second. I got evidence too, you know. I recorded the whole fucking thing.”

“He’s fucking lying, he didn’t record anything!” Jason said. 

“Where’s the recording, on your phone?” Pike asked.

“Yeah, whatever, I’ll unlock it, and you can watch it,” Harold said, “I have nothing to hide, not like that cockhungry pig over there.”

The cop held the phone up to Harold’s face, which unlocked it without issue, even with his substantial changes over the last couple of days. He showed Pike where to find the video, and Jason was fuming a bit, and trying to remember what exactly had happened. He’d fought, hadn’t he? They’d all needed to hold him down to get their cocks inside him, after all. Maybe he’d edited the video already, but Jason wasn’t sure when he would have had the time, or why he would have had the foresight to do it. 

“Hit that button too, and turn on the TV–that way we can all watch it at the same time, and no one will have any doubt that the slut over there wanted all of us to fuck him.”

Jason froze. If he knocked the phone out of the cops hand, that would look like he was worried about what the video would show, but if he didn’t, and if the video did show what Harold said it did, then–but of course the video wouldn’t show that. He was right, he knew what had happened. It had to be a bluff, it had to.

Officer Mattis turned on the TV, and after a few moments, a video started playing, and Jason wanted to throw up. There he was, bent over the poker table, but no one was holding him down. He was gripping it, pushing back as Ricky fucked him, and he was begging for more, oh fuck, but that hadn’t happened, it hadn’t–he’d swear it in a court of law if he had to, it had to be fake.

“Jesus,” Pike muttered.

Jason couldn’t take it, he turned away, the room spinning, feeling like he was going to throw up, and there, behind him, was the vision, the biker, the ghost, he didn’t know what it was, but it was there, staring at him, and he felt time slow to a crawl, the room losing color, leaving just him and the biker there.

“Confess.”

It wasn’t spoken, but it was heard. Felt, really, all through him.”

“One way or another, you will confess tonight–the truth will be your cage.”

“I didn’t fucking see you!” Jason said, “It wasn’t my fault, and who fucking cares about you anyway, some fucking hick, you aren’t even fucking real get out of my fucking head.”

The world snapped back, and when Jason turned around, the two cops and Harold were all staring at him, the video still playing in the background. “Everything alright, slut?” Harold asked.

“You fucker, you fucking did this, you fucking piece of shit!” Jason said, and started towards him, only for Pike to step between them and keep Jason back.

“Look, I don’t know what the fuck is going on here, or what game the two of you are playing, but you’re fucking wasting our time with this weird ass sex shit, or fetish, or whatever,” Pike said, “Tell me the fucking truth then–what the fuck happened?”

Again, the color drained from the room for a moment, and Jason could feel it welling up. A confession. He was going to spill it, he was going to say what had happened on that dark highway, but he couldn’t, he couldn’t admit it, he fucking couldn’t. He knotted up his lips, looked for anything else to say, and what came out was, “I…I was lying, Sir, I was such a horny slut earlier, and I begged them all to use me like the dirty fucking whore I am, and I loved it, but I was so ashamed of it when I got home that I decided to lie, and accuse them of rape so I wouldn’t have to deal with it. I know it was wrong, I know I’m just a perverted whore really, and fuck, seeing it happen to me again, all I want is for you to use me, please Sirs, let me make it up it up to you, use my loose sloppy hole…”

Jason was horrified by what he was saying, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t stop it from pouring out. He looked over at Harold, saw the sneer on his face, and he knew–it had to be him, it had to be. It was a trick, some weird ass psychological gimmick, but he had to fight it, he had to. Instead, he started stripping off his clothes in front of the two cops, dropped his pants, cock cage revealed for them all the see, turned around and bent over the side of the chair, plug still in his hole, and froze in place.

No one did anything for a moment or two. The two cops were red in the face, clearly embarrassed on Jason’s behalf, almost with pitiful looks in their eyes. Then Harold said, “Well, what are you waiting for fellas, the whore confessed, and lying faggot whores like that need to be punished don’t they? Isn’t that your job?”

Jason saw the shift happen in a moment across each of their faces. What had been pity became disgust, and what had been second hand embarrassment turned to lust and sadism. 

“What a fucking waste of our time,” Pike said, pulling his baton free of his belt and walked up behind Jason, “Just a fucking whore faggot looking for attention, eh? Well, you got my attention, and now you’re gonna get your fucking punishment.”

He swung the baton against Jason’s ass, making him jump and let out a loud gasp of pain. Pike pulled back, rubbed one leather gloved hand over the red mark across Jason’s ass, and swung again. Instead of a shout, Jason let out a surprised little grunt, as the pain was tinged with a strange pleasure suffusing him, and each hit after that only made him ache for more and more pain. He realized too late that words were still pouring from his mouth, begging for more, asking for the cops to beat him up, to brutalize him, that a lying faggot like him should be left battered and bruised in the gutter. Mattis eventually shut him up, slapping him across the face and feeding him his hard cock–not too long, but quite thick, while Pike hauled the plug out of Jason’s hole, and ran his gloved fingers around the ring, probing inside a few times before pushing his cock in, unlubed. Jason’s hole was still plenty slick with cum from his earlier gangbang, so he had no trouble taking Pike’s sizable cock, Mattis pulling on his hair, slapping his face anytime he felt so much as a brush of a tooth against his cock. Pike reached under, found Jason’s nuts, and pulled on them, tugging them as far away from his body as he could manage, making the whore scream around his partner’s cock.

Harold just watched the scene unfolding with that same cruel sneer across his face. It wasn’t too long before the two cops finished up and stumbled back from Jason’s body, shaking their heads, a little confused by what had come over them. 

“Thanks for the help officers, I knew you were just the fellas to show this faggot his place, and teach him a lesson about lying.”

“Yeah…yeah, that…fuck. We need to get back to our, uh, patrol,” Mattis said, “Come on Pike, let’s go.”

The two officers left the house as quick as they could, leaving Jason still bent over the chair, moaning, the welts on his ass from the baton turning into bruises, a puddle of cum all over the chair from where his locked cock had leaked the whole time.

“Clean up your mess, you fucking whore,” Harold said, “Fuck, you’re such a fucking piece of shit. You were really going to smear all of those friends of yours as rapists? You’re that much of a piece of shit? Good fucking thing I took that video, so everyone knows exactly what kind of fucking pig you are.”

Jason stood up, and spit in Harold’s face, “Fuck you, you fucking edited that shit, I don’t know how you’re doing this, but I’m going to fucking expose you, one way or another. You can’t do this to people–what the fuck is wrong with you?”

“All you had to do was confess, Jason, and everything would have stopped–but you couldn’t do that. I guess the guilt will just have to keep eating away at you. But if you cross me again, or call the cops, I’ll just have to make that video public–how does that sound? You want everyone on campus to see you for the whore you are? Now clean up your cum, faggot.”

Jason stood strong. He wasn’t going to concede this so easily. Faster than he could react, Harold wrapped one hand around his neck and squeezed–Jason gasped, and tried to pry the fingers loose, but he couldn’t get a grip on a single finger–there was no way Harold could have gotten so strong so fast. He flung Jason to the floor, and before he could try and roll away and get up, he had one booted foot on Jason’s nuts and crushed them against his body, making him squirm.

“I don’t think they’ve driven away yet–maybe you need some more punishment?”

“You fuck, let me go!”

“Maybe I could get officer Pike back in here, that strong fellow, give him one of my floggers and let him go to town on you, really flay open that back of yours. Is that what you want? Too stupid to give up when the gettin’s good. It’s already going to get so much worse you know, now that you made your choice. You should enjoy what you have while it lasts.”

He pulled his boot away, and Jason crawled away towards the stairs. “You’re a fucking monster.”

“I’m not the monster here, Jason. You are, and pretty soon enough, everyone’s going to see it too. Now–lick up your mess.”

It wasn’t a suggestion, there was a compulsion behind it. He found himself crawling over to the chair, and licked up his own cum where it had dribbled from his locked cock.

“That’s it, faggots love the taste of cum after all. They would never let it go to waste, never ever,” Harold said, grabbed Jason by the hair and shoved him into the seat of the chair, rubbing his nose in it. “Good faggot, now get to bed.”

Jason stood up and limped away, his whole body aching, only for something to clatter at his feet when he reached the base of the stairs. He looked down, and saw that Harold had tossed Pike’s baton at him.

“Looks like the officer left you a new toy–why don’t you go upstairs and play with it until you’re too exhausted to continue.”

Jason bent down and picked it up, and carried it up to his room, shutting himself in with it. He tried to resist the urge, but he lubed it up and slid it into his ass, churning up all that cum from all those men together, fantasizing about all of them, drooling cum all over his bed that he would lap up until he collapsed, exhausted, and fell asleep.


Chapter 4 – Pinning Him Down

Jason groaned, aching all over, and rolled over on his bed onto something hard. With one of his hands, he fumbled it out from under him, opened his eyes, and found himself holding a lube-slick police baton. Fuck, it hadn’t been a dream. He didn’t know whether he should feel more horny, or more humiliated. From the sun coming in through his window, it was already late morning. He tried to figure out what day of the week it was, and ended up fumbling for his phone, which had almost no charge on it–Wednesday, ten in the morning. 

He sat up, trying to focus, but everything from the night before felt like a jumble of memories, and none of them seemed to fit together properly. One version, where he went to the party, was raped by Harold and three guys he’d thought were all his friends, and then beaten by two cops after he’d tried to report the rape. But it felt thin and hazy. There was another version that felt more real. How he’d gone to the poker game, lost on purpose so he could show off his caged cock and plugged hole to all of his friends, all so he could out himself as a Harold’s loser faggot. They’d been disgusted, of course–why wouldn’t they be, but the disgust hadn’t been enough to stop them all from using him, bent over the poker table, filming the whole thing so they could show all their friends, all of Jason’s friends, so they’d know exactly what kind of whore he was. Then, he’d gone home, still horny as hell, and phoned a couple of cops he knew who were into some real kinky shit. Harold had walked in on him getting his ass beat by one of them, and filmed that too–and Jason had loved every second of it. The cop had given him the soiled baton as a souvenir, and he’d ridden it to exhaustion. He couldn’t stop thinking about the debauchery he’d experienced, but he pushed it away. He had to–it wasn’t…true, even if it had happened, and somehow he knew it all had. All those videos existed, no one would believe him if he tried to tell them otherwise. Harold, though, was doing something to him. Or…or maybe not Harold himself, maybe something else. He thought of that strange vision that had been haunting him ever since the accident, and while he’d been so sure it was just his guilt playing tricks on his mind, maybe it was something more than that.

He sat up in bed, got up and took a cold shower, which helped clarify his mind somewhat, though everything still felt off kilter. From how quiet the house was, Harold must have left already, which was a blessing. One way or another, he was playing a role in whatever was happening to Jason, and the further away he could get from him, the better. As he toweled himself off, sliding a new plug into his ass, embarrassed but unable, and in many ways, unwilling, to stop himself. He had to get a hold of himself, or rather, he had to figure out what was happening to him. It was clear he couldn’t do it alone though, and he didn’t know who would be able to help him, or who would even believe him if he said anything. Maybe…maybe the best thing to do would be to pretend like it was normal. Try to get Harold lulled into a false sense of security, so Jason could get some answers from him. He didn’t know what else to try, in any case. He was at such a disadvantage, and each time he’d struggled, things had only gotten worse. Maybe, for a few days, he’d just do what Harold wanted, and wait.

He flexed in the mirror, and felt a bit better. At least he hadn’t seemed to change much physically. Reality was warping around him, but he was still handsome, muscular, and strong as hell. In a straight fight, even with his larger physique, Jason was confident he’d be able to take Harold down. He didn’t have class for a few hours, and if he stayed in his room, he knew he wouldn’t be able to resist the temptation of his new toys. Best to find something else to occupy his mind, and one thing he’d always been able to count on was going to the gym.

He threw on his gym clothes and left the house, opting to run to campus, which was only a couple blocks away, instead of driving. He felt good, even with the plug in his ass and his caged cock. He felt in control for just a small moment, and that was enough to give him a little hope. As soon as he set foot on campus though, he got paranoid. Were those girls looking at their phones together and laughing watching a video of him? Harold wouldn’t actually post all of that stuff, would he? Were those students going down that other path to avoid him, or because that’s just how they usually went? He pushed the thoughts out as best he could, and arrived at the athletic facility feeling mostly confident. He found his way to the gym, opened the door, and froze.

There were Harold, Evan, Ricky, and a couple other guys from the wrestling squad, all of them wearing their singlets, and laughing over by the water fountain. Harold, though, was who drew Jason’s eye immediately. He was…massive. Easily a few inches over six feet tall, packed with muscle, the singlet stretched tight over his hairy physique, his huge bulge impossible to miss. He rubbed up against Evan’s own spandex clad ass, and Harold watched as Evan let out a little moan, and ground back against Harold, licking his lips, his own erection apparent through the spandex. He turned to leave, not wanting there to be a confrontation with them all, but he only got a few steps down the hallway before a hand landed on his shoulder and shoved him into the wall. “Well well, look who finally decided to join us for the team workout this morning?” Harold’s voice said, while the rest of the jocks all laughed.

“Harold, please–I was just…”

“You were just what, whore? What were you doing here?” Harold said.

 “I…I was just leaving, I don’t want any trouble, come on.”

“Come on now, Jason. Be honest for once in your life. I know its hard for you, but the truth will set you free, once you finally admit it…”

Fuck, he did know, didn’t he? How on Earth could he possibly know about the accident? Jason stammered for a moment, and Harold pulled him away from the wall and spun him around. He found himself surrounded by the members of the wrestling squad, all in their singlets, and all leering at him rather hungrily. “I…just wanted to work out, that’s all. I don’t want any trouble guys…”

“Well we were all just finishing up out workout and were gonna head to our place after–was hoping we’d find you there,” Harold said, “But if you want to get a workout in, pig, fine–we can hang out for a bit and put you through your paces. You can’t wear that though–you know that uniforms are required for team workouts,” Harold said, “Guys, why don’t you head back to the gym, while I get this late piece of shit dressed.”

“Sure thing captain,” Evan said with a grin, and the other jocks all returned to the weight room, while Harold grabbed Jason by the collar of his shirt and dragged him a little ways down the hallway, to the locker room. Jason tried to pull away, but Harold was several inches taller, and nearly fifty pounds heavier than he was now–and the smell of him. He reeked like he hadn’t had a shower in days now, and the scent was making Jason’s cock leak in his cage, as much as he hated to admit it. 

Harold shoved him into the locker room, and Jason had to catch himself on some lockers to avoid falling flat on his face. “Harold, please, I don’t know what the fuck I did to make you want to do this to me, but I’m sorry, ok? Please, just let me go home.”

Harold just laughed. “Will you admit it then?” he asked, and again, that strange vision appeared behind him, the figment of that biker, but now, they seemed…closer than they’d been before. “You had your chance to admit it last night, you know, and you wouldn’t. I still don’t think you’re ready to come clean just yet.”

Jason looked around, saw the emergency exit, and raced for it–only for the vision to appear in front of him, looming large, time slowing down. He could feel more than just anger coming from it. It was hatred, and loathing. He froze in place, Harold walked over, and literally tore the clothes he was wearing off his body. “Go to your locker, pig, and put on your uniform–now.”

He felt like a puppet, that something was dragging his limbs across the tile, over to where his locker was. He fumbled open the combination, and nearly gagged from the stench of whatever was inside of it. His hands reached in, beyond his control, and pulled out a wrestling singlet–but it was one of the filthiest pieces of clothing he’d ever seen in his life. 

The college’s colors were white and gold, and the uniforms matched that–most of the singlets were white, with a gold stripe down the sides. This one, though, was no longer white–it was patchy all over, covered with stains that had rendered it a dull grey in the cleaner parts, and a dark brown around the crotch. “No, don’t make me wear this,” Jason begged, but he couldn’t stop his hands from stretching the neck open, his feet pushing their way down into the still damp spandex and out each leg–and then he realized that the singlet was not the usual size, either. The thighs were stretched out and barely clung to his skin, but were also too short, hiked up a bit closer to his crotch when he pulled the straps up over the shoulders, like it was made for someone shorter than he was. The gut of the singlet was also too big and well stretched out, hanging off him, and the ass would have been as well, it hadn’t been ripped out, leaving his plugged crack exposed for all to see. The usual mascot on the front of the singlet was scribbled out with marker, and a crude, cartoon pig drawn over it with cocks shooting cum onto its face, and on the back, Jason’s last name was scratched out, and the word FAGGOT written underneath it instead. Lastly, a pair of trainers that were much too large for his already big feet went on and were laced up–and they too reeked like a weeks-unwashed socks.

“There, that’s better–now, let’s get you to back to the weight room–you said you were here to work out, right?”

Again, the force guided his body back to the doors of the locker room, but as he walked, he could feel something happening to his body. Almost like he was dissociating from it, no longer quite able to feel it in the same way he should. The walk back down the hallway to the weight room felt like a dream, his body slumping along, not lining up with him, not listening to him, until he was in the middle of the weight room in front of a wall of mirrors, and everything snapped back. He looked at his reflection, and could only whimper in horror.

That wasn’t his body. It couldn’t be his body. But there he was, his face, or almost his face, on a squat, morbidly obese frame that disgusted him to no end. He couldn’t have been more than five foot six, and easily over three hundred pounds, his apron-like gut distending the singlet and swallowing his caged cock whole. His arms were too short and jutted out at a strange angle, pushed up by the rolls of fat around his body, and he could see the thick armpit hair pushing out from across the room. In fact, there was hair everywhere, anywhere there was exposed skin, a pelt crawling up his chest and meeting a thick, bristly beard around his face, his hair long, lank and greasy. His feet had filled in the massive trainers, looking almost like clown shoes on the rest of his body. He would have cried if he hadn’t been so shocked. The crowd of jocks all started laughing at him, and while Jason expected to feel the humiliation course through him, what he didn’t expect was for it to feel good. To feel right, and sexy, and horny. He felt a pulse in his cock, a spurt of precum drooling into the spandex, adding another soon to be stain to the crusty crotch. 

“No! I don’t know what you did, I don’t know how you’re doing any of this, but this isn’t me, this isn’t my body. You have to stop this Harold, please, I’m fucking begging you,” Jason said, dropping to his knees in front of Harold. 

“Tell you what, Faggot,” Harold said, “If you can chest press the bar–just the bar–I’ll see what I can do about getting some of your body back,” he said with a grin. If the other wrestlers had heard, none of them asked about it, but it was the closest he’d gotten to an admission that Harold had some control over what was happening to him. The bar wasn’t that heavy, anyway. Forty-five pounds–almost anyone could press that. He nodded, went over and laid down on the bench, the team still snickering.

He gripped the bar in his fat hands, smelling the stench rolling off his own pits, even stronger than Harold’s had been, and pushed up–the bar coming free, and after a moment’s hesitation, it dropped and landed across Jason’s flabby chest. He pushed, but could only get it a couple of inches up, before his muscles collapsed, leaving him pinned under the bar, squirming.

Everyone laughed, watching him wriggle. He tried to tip the bar off to one side, only for Ricky and Evan to grab an end and pin him there, while Will came around and sat his ass down right on Jason’s face–and farted. The smell was overwhelming, and Jason couldn’t stop himself. He started grunting and licking at the jock’s sweaty singlet, weakly thrusting his crotch into the air as he leaked a full load of cum into the front of his nasty singlet, snorting and grunting all the while. 

“What the fuck are you doing in here?”

Jason knew that voice. The jocks let go of the bar, and Jason could finally roll it off him and onto the floor. He managed to force himself up, heaving for breath, and saw Coach Millard in the doorway to the weight room, glaring at all of them.

“That equipment is not cheap, and it is not a toy–and who the fuck let the fucking Faggot Pig into the fucking weight room! He’s fucking filthy, you know he’s not supposed to be anywhere other than the fucking locker room.”

“Sorry coach, we’ll put him back, we were just having some fun,” Harold said, and together, the squad of wrestlers hauled Jason to his feet and shoved him out of the weight room past the coach, back down the hallway, and into the locker room. There, next to the urinals, was a filthy exercise mat, and a sign over it said, “Pig’s Place.” They all shoved Jason down onto it. Harold stripped down his singlet, hauled out his massive cock, and stared pissing all over Jason where he was on his hands and knees, and the rest of the guys, hooting and hollering, all followed suit, soaking Jason down in their reeking urine while he just froze, disgusted with himself, cock rock hard in his cage, wanting this nightmare to end. 

“Alright guys, I think the faggot’s had enough for today, let’s go get lunch,” Harold said, and they all proceeded to their lockers, got changed, and left, while Jason just sat on his mat, soaked to the skin, and tried to understand what had just happened to him. He didn’t dare move a muscle, terrified that if he did, Harold might somehow make his nightmare even worse, and only when all of them were gone, and the sounds of them had faded down the hall, did he heft himself up, waddle over to his locker, and stare at the empty contents.

He had nothing to wear. He couldn’t leave looking like this, he couldn’t let the entire campus see him like this. He managed to find the rags of his old gym clothes in the trash, and fished out his phone, but who was he going to call? Ghostbusters? He returned to his mat and sat down, wanting to cry but unable to find the tears, when the locker room door opened, and Coach Millard rounded the corner.

Before Jason could say anything, the coach slapped him across the face, sending him to the floor, head spinning. “You stupid, filthy, fucking pig, what the fuck have I fucking told you, so many fucking times?”

“Sir, I–”

“You know how fucking filthy you are. Now I tolerate you in the fucking locker room because you have a good couple of holes, and you’re good for team morale, but we all fucking know why you’re here, don’t we?”

That same sensation from that morning, another version tearing itself apart from the life he’d just lived, and somehow becoming more real than the truth. How he’d tried out for the wrestling team as a Freshman, and everyone had laughed at him, his fat, obese, hairy self wanting to be a wrestler, but it soon came out, at the first party, that he’d only wanted to join because he was a horny, perverted pig looking to feel up a bunch of guys in spandex. It had been Harold’s idea, to designate him the team pig, and as humiliated as he’d been at first, it had been everything he’d wanted, in the end. For four years now, he’d been on the wrestling team, but really, he was just their collective cumdump and urinal–and the most brutal of all, was the coach–who found himself enjoying the level of control and abuse he could level at the faggot pig on a daily basis.

The coach got down and started spanking Jason’s ass, making him grunt and snort in both pain and excitement, before hauling the pig’s plug out and driving his cock in. He shoved the pig’s face into the mat and fucked him good and rough, making sure it hurt–he knew how much the pig liked a good rough fuck, and the coach had quickly discovered that sex with his wife couldn’t satisfy him anymore–meaning the pig got the brunt of his attentions every single day. After a few minutes, the coach came, but he didn’t pull out–a minute later, he let out a sigh, and Jason felt a pressure and warmth on the inside of his ass, and realized that the coach was leaving a load of piss inside him as well. 

Millard pulled his cock free and quickly shoved the plug back in, sealing everything back up. “Don’t break the rules again, faggot, or I’ll have to bring out the paddles from the office, understood?”

“Yes coach,” Jason muttered into the mat, and listened to the coach leave. Once again, he was alone. He couldn’t go home–he couldn’t. He couldn’t go anywhere that Harold might find him–if he did, things would only get worse, though Jason couldn’t really imagine what worse would look like, after this. But then, he couldn’t really imagine somewhere he’d rather be, either.

His memories were still filling in, how word had spread that he was a faggot pig, and that any man in the building could use him as he saw fit. He spent most of his time in the locker room now, on his knees, waiting for men to come in to use him. Sometimes, they needed a little sweet talking–after all, not many guys found him attractive, but he was good enough at begging that eventually he could convince most of them to feed him a load of cum or piss–or maybe they’d smack him around and tell him to leave them alone, that was just as good in some ways, for a masochistic pig like him.

He picked up his phone and saw that he had a message from Harold. With a gulp, he opened it up and read it.

“Once Coach Millard is through with you, why don’t you hang out there for the rest of the afternoon, until after football practice? We all know you’d rather be in there, begging everyone who comes in to use you as a cumdump and urinal, than going to class anyway. But once you’re done with that, come straight home, and don’t bother trying to change out of your uniform or cover it up either. Everyone on campus needs to know what kind of pig you are, after all. Once you’re here, we’ll get the party started.”

He looked at the clock–it was just now one in the afternoon–and football practice wouldn’t be done until five or six. There was no fucking way he was going to just stay here for the rest of the afternoon. He tried to get up, only to find that his knees would bend, his feet refusing to push him upright. He got more and more frustrated, and when he heard the door open, he tried to call out for help–but what came out instead was, “Hey! Come on, come use me, I’m so fuckin’ thirsty, I know you need a piggy urinal.”

The guy who came around the corner was Max, one of the football players, who was probably getting changed to lift weights before practice. “Fuck, are you in here already? I try to get here before that, so I don’t have to fucking smell you,” Max said, the disgust in his voice palpable. “Fine, since I know you won’t shut up until you get what you want,” he said, came up, pulled out his cock, and pissed all over Jason, who drank down as much as he could, and then scooted forward, and sucked the jock off for good measure.

Once Max was finished with him, Jason was horrified by what he’d done, and by how much he’d enjoyed it. He looked at the clock again, and just wanted it to be evening–but from what Harold had texted him, he had something planned for him back at the house, and it couldn’t be good. He could feel the coach’s piss beginning to leak out around his plug, dribbling down the inside of his thighs, dirtying his uniform even further, and wondered how it could possibly get worse than this.


Part 5 – Father’s Discipline

“So fuckin’ loose, tighten up pig, come on, milk it, or I’ll beat this all fucking night.”

“Pig would probably fuckin’ love that, I bet.”

“Yeah, well I don’t want to spend all night smelling him, that’s for fuckin’ sure.”

The head football coach picked up the pace on Jason’s hole, pounding harder and deeper, cum drooling out each time he pulled back–the collective loads of the entire football team, who had already had their way with him once they’d come on off the field. Jason hadn’t been able to stop himself from crawling around the locker room in his filthy piss and cum soaked singlet, begging each and every player to use his hole. Some fucked him, some used his mouth, others just stood around and jacked off on him, but none of them had left without giving him a load in one fashion or other, though none of them seemed too happy about it. They’d all humiliated and ridiculed him in the process, disgusted that they were even using him at all. At last, he’d finished with the team, and all the remained were the two coaches, who were now fucking him together, the head coach in his ass, the assistant fucking his throat. Jason was exhausted, jaw and hole aching, but he did what he could to get the two older men to finish as quick as he could, tightening up and sucking harder until, at long last, they both came within a few seconds of each other, and pulled out.

“Alright, let’s shower and get home then.”

“No kidding, I don’t think I could live with myself if I went home smelling like Pig,” the assistant said.

“Hey, my wife barely ever puts out anymore, always put such a tight leash on that pussy of hers. When you’re a bit older, you’ll understand–hole’s a hole.”

“Fair enough.”

Jason fumbled around beside him, found his plug, and fit it back in his hole, only for it to slide out again almost immediately. He was too loose for it after his marathon afternoon of fucking–he’d just have to go without it. He looked around a moment, considered trying to find some clothes to fit him, but he had a feeling he wouldn’t be able to put anything on. Whatever Harold was doing to control him, it was getting stronger. He hadn’t been able to move from his fuckmat all afternoon, not a toe onto the tile, until the condition that Harold had assigned him had been met. He forced himself up, fat body aching and stinking, and left before anyone else could come into the locker room.

It was seven in the evening at this point, and mostly dark. That made him feel a bit better as he crossed campus back to the house he and Harold shared, but more than a few people saw him. He imagined they’d call the police, but most of them just scoffed or berated him from afar–only one fellow, a security guard on his smoke break, demanded that Jason stop and service him. He sucked him off behind the student union building while the beefy fellow finished his cigarette, then drank down his piss, and was sent on his way with a kick to the ass.

He got to his house at last, and from the number of cars and bikes scattered around, it was clear that Harold had been busy organizing something for his homecoming. He tried to run, tried to go anywhere else, but couldn’t stop himself from walking up the steps, opening the front door, and stepping inside. The living room stank of sweat and sex. There on the couch was the entire wrestling squad, still in their singlets, in the midst of an orgy with one another. Off to the side of the room, were Officers Mattis and Pike, in their service uniforms, fucking the wrestling coach at both ends. 

“Hey Pig!” Evan shouted from the pile of wrestlers, “Harold’s waiting for you down in the basement–get the fuck down there already, you’re stinking up the fucking place. It’s gross.”

“S-Sorry,” Jason muttered, happy at least that he wasn’t getting jumped by all of them for round two. He went into the kitchen and down into the basement. It was unfinished, but a helpful storage space. When he went down, though, he discovered that since the last time he’d been down here, things had changed a lot. The exposed studs and beams were now hidden–mostly. The large central room was now a well stocked BDSM dungeon, all number of whips, floggers, paddles, masks and other instruments of torture hung along the walls. 

Along one wall was Harold, sitting in a wingback chair, upholstered in black polished leather, with another man between his legs, sucking on his cock while Harold smoked a cigar. Harold seemed to have been the only one from the wrestling team to trade in his singlet, and was now wearing a leather harness showing off his muscular, hairy chest, as well as the tattoos running across his chest, shoulders, and down both arms. His beard was longer now, and showing a few strands of grey. Once Jason reached the floor of the basement from the stairs, he saw other signs of age across Harold’s face–some crow’s feet at the sides of his eyes, a few wrinkles here and there. He seemed to be close to thirty now, if not a bit older than that, even. Something shifted in the light, and what Harold had taken to be a shadow behind Harold shifted, and he saw that it was more than just a shadow–it was a being. The ghost, the vision he’d been seeing, it was there behind the chair, his hands on Harold’s shoulders, but it wasn’t just a vision now. It…existed. The shade’s hands slid down Harold’s body, and he shuddered and moaned, a few more grey hairs appearing across Harold’s chest as it did.

“Harold–you have to stop this. I don’t know what that thing is, but look at what it’s done to you, done to us! I know you don’t want this, I know it,” Jason said. 

Harold laughed, “How the fuck would you know what I want? Have you ever once even asked me, Pig? You just ignored me, pretended like I didn’t even exist, because to you, I didn’t. Before this, you never had to care about anyone other than yourself–as long as you had your Daddy here to solve your problems for you.”

Harold pushed the man between his legs off his cock, and when his head came up, Jason realized who it was–it was his father, the school’s dean of athletics, and the only person Jason had told about the accident. His father had helped cover up the damage to the car, managed the insurance claims, making sure that it looked like Jason had never even been near that highway when that biker had been flung off the side of the mountain. “Stand up, fucker. Now that your son’s here, we can get the real party started.”

Eyes dazed and glassy, Jason’s father–Samuel, stood up and wiped the drool and precum from his clean shaven face. He was in his early fifties, and did enough work to keep the worst signs of aging at bay. Only in the last few years had he allowed a bit of grey to creep onto his temples, his hairline receding slightly back. He went to the gym religiously, and kept himself lean and muscular to run two marathons a year. He straightened his tailored suit, still a bit confused as to why he was here, turned to the side, saw his son, and his jaw dropped. “Jason–what on Earth, what the fuck has gotten into you? What are you wearing, and why…why do you smell like a fucking cumrag?”

“Dad, I–”

“Shut up Jason, I’ll explain,” Harold said. “See, Mr. Camwell, I’ve been doing the job that you should have been doing from the start, Samuel–or can I call you Sam? We’ll find a new name for you soon enough, I think. See, my…friend here knows that you know what happened to him on that mountain highway, just like I know, just like Jason knows. You could have confessed, Jason, and stopped all of this. Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad you didn’t, because I wouldn’t be getting what I want too, but all of this was in your hands.”

“Fuck you,” Jason said, pointing at the shade looming behind Harold, “You’re doing this to him. I don’t know what the fuck you are, but I’m not about to let some fucking ghost fuck with us. Harold, listen, you have to fucking wake up! I know you don’t like me, I get it, but this…this isn’t you, I know this isn’t you.”

“What makes you so sure?” Harold said, coming closer now, exhaling a cloud of smoke into Jason’s face, “This is…a mutually beneficial relationship, I assure you. I get what I want–power, authority, a whole collection of men willing to do anything for me, sexual or otherwise. And he, well, you’ll see soon enough. First though, I think there’s a disciplinary problem at home that needs to be addressed.” Harold stepped back, next to Samuel, who was still staring at Jason in horror, barely able to recognize his son under the hair, the fat, and the filth covering his body. “Look at him, look at that faggot son of yours. What a fucking waste he is, wouldn’t you agree? Aren’t you fucking disgusted that thing came from your own seed?”

As Harold spoke, the shade came closer, his dark hands landing on Samuel’s shoulders, and Harold watched his father’s eyes harden towards him, growing cold. “Dad, no–”

“Shut up, pig–don’t speak again until I allow it.”

Jason’s mouth buttoned up, and Harold continued talking to his father, leaning in closer to his ear. “This is your fault, you know. You were never tough enough on him, never gave him enough discipline. You let him turn into this worthless fucking thing, this blob, this slut, this slob, this pig begging men for their cum and piss. It’s fucking disgusting, and you did this, you did this because you should have been beating him every fucking day that you could, making him fear you. You want him to fear, you, don’t you? Doesn’t the thought of terror in those piggy eyes make you so…excited?” Harold reached around and groped Samuel’s crotch, and Jason could see that his father was hard in the front of his suit pants. “Well, it’s never too late, right?”

“Fuckin’ right it’s never too late,” Samuel growled, the shade’s hands tightening down on his shoulders, and the shade shuddered. As Jason watched, his father’s carefully curated grey hair spread across his whole temple, stubble erupting from his face and becoming a short greying beard, body thickening with muscle, the beginnings of a gut pushing out, Samuel’s shirt coming untucked, his undershirt visible between the buttons now.

Samuel stepped forward, and before Jason could try and defend himself, slapped his son across the face. Jason turned to try and flee up the stairs, only for Harold and his father to grab hold of him, drag him to the middle of the dungeon, and secure him into metal shackles hanging from the ceiling, and bolted into the concrete floor. Jason tried to beg, he tried to scream, but nothing would come out of his mouth since Harold’s last order. Harold secured an O gag in his mouth, and shoved a thick cigar into it, lighting it up and clipping his nose shut with a clothespin. “There we go–gotta make sure you enjoy cigars as much as your Daddy will, right?” Harold said, lighting up another thick cigar and passing it to Samuel. He took it, and again, the shade passed over him, his father’s beard growing in thicker, his grey hair now colored yellow from years of smoking. 

“Fuck yeah,” Samuel said, taking a long drag off his cigar, “nothing like a cigar to go with a good beating.”

“That’s the spirit,” Harold said, “I think it’s time this pig of yours learns some discipline.”

Samuel went to the wall, took down a sizable paddle, and brought it back. He rubbed it on Jason’s exposed ass for a moment, and then brought it down with a loud smack, and Jason tried to scream through the cigar gagging him, but all that came out was a muffled choke, followed by a round of gagging and coughing as he sucked only smoke back in, tears welling up in his eyes. 

Samuel kept pounding away, wrapping one arm under Jason’s gut when he tried to squirm away, pinning him in place as he kept pounding on his son’s ass, harder and harder, all while Jason tried to get away, and failed. He was getting lightheaded from all the smoke flooding into him, and not long after that, he started to get a bit nauseous, head drooping and swinging side to side, the room spinning around him as he struggled not to throw up–that he knew would be unpleasant with the cigar still shoved deep in his mouth. There was the sound of something ripping, and the pounding stopped, giving Jason a chance to get his bearings again. He looked up, and his father had come around in front of him–the tatters of his suit falling away from him. He’d packed on thick layers of both fat and muscle all over his body, along with plenty of body hair, all of it as grey as his long, thick beard. “I, uh…think I wrecked mah suit…” Samuel said, and even his voice was different. Slower, deeper, with a definite rural accent.

“That’s alright Sam, we’ll get you some new clothes, won’t we?” Harold said, and looked over at the shade behind him. Jason tried to shout, tried to do anything, but could only watch as the shade descended on his father, surrounding him, his dark mouth over Sam’s own, pulling smoke and something else, something bright from his father’s throat. Harold walked around beside Jason where he was strung up, and said in his ear, “You thought he was a stupid redneck, not even worth caring about, didn’t you? Both of you thought that. Well, now your daddy there is just a stupid redneck too. He’s sucking all of that out of him, all of his smarts, all of his civilized manner. He’s just going to be a stupid, stinking biker brute when we’re through with him–a biker brute obsessed with brutalizing his stinking pigson.”

The shade pulled back after a few more moments, and Sam staggered for a moment, trying to adjust. The tattered remains of his suit had disappeared, and he’d been dressed in shabby leather and denim biker gear–filthy jeans, dusty chaps, a denim jacket open to let his gut hang out, and a leather vest over it, leather gloves, engineer boots and a grungy red bandana keeping his long grey hair out of his face. “Wha…wha the fuck’d ya do tah me?” Sam said, looking down at himself, “This ain’t me, I ain’t some fuckin’ hick!”

“Oh, we aren’t quite through with you yet–we still need to do something about your memories. Still, at my age, I should be able to take over for you here at the school, and I know there’s some openings in the maintenance department,” Harold said, and the shade seemed to expand, encompassing them both, and after a moment, pulled back–and as Jason laid eyes on his father, he felt a headache, unrelated to the nicotine pumping through him, split his skull.

His father–he wasn’t the dean. How could he ever have been a dean, a stupid, illiterate pig like him? No, he worked as a maintenance man on campus, repairing anything that was broken, and spent all of his free time on his hog riding around the backwoods, looking for dick to suck. Tattoos had appeared all over his body now, trashy looking biker stuff mostly, and across the back of his neck, the word “SKUM”–or rather, his name. Jason tried to pull out his father’s real name, but couldn’t find it. He was Skum–he’d always been Skum, hadn’t he? Skum shook his head, beard flinging around, and took a drag off his cigar. “Fuck, that feel fuckin’ better–now where the fuck was I?” He went and grabbed a whip off the wall, “This’ll teach this pig a proper lesson, I fuckin’ bet.”

He brought the lash down on Jason’s back, and he screamed–properly, as best he could through the cigar lodged in his mouth. Harold came around and admired the welt, the cut where the blow had snapped the spandex apart, leaving a few spots where blood was welling up, even. Harold looked different now–older still, in fact, but distinguished now. A short cropped beard, his leather uniform fitting his muscled body better, but it was his air of confidence and authority that Jason could sense now. He…he was the dean of athletics now. He’d stolen his father’s position in reality, and left him as a worthless, trashy sadistic biker without a moment of regret. Jason felt fear then, for the first time. Another lash came down on him, and he screamed, and broke down, sobbing, muttering nonsense to Harold and the shade, begging for mercy, probably.

The shade drifted over, larger now. Still black, but somehow more tangible. When its hand brushed over him, he could almost feel it there, like a breeze on his shoulder. Then, it clamped down, and there was a rush, a rewiring–he’d felt it before, he realized, but this was so much stronger, so much more immediate. When the shade pulled away, Jason hauled on the cigar in his mouth, but no longer felt sick. The smoke filled his lungs like it belonged, made his little cock drool precum out of its cage. His body had changed again, tattoos filling in all over his body, obscene, filthy, nasty tattoos, all of them–but it was the piercings he felt. The heavy gauge rings in his nose and tits, especially, pulling them down, making him quiver in excitement as his father came around, tugged on them, and made his masochistic pigboy squirm in delight. His father leered at him, pulled the gag from his mouth, gripped Jason’s neck in one gloved hand and squeezed. Jason’s mouth opened, gasping for air, and his father knocked the long ash from his cigar into his mouth–it burned his tongue, but he soaked it in spit as quick as he could, and swallowed it, croaking out a thank you, as his father shoved the cigar back in his mouth, and picked up the whip again.

“We have some more energy that we need, before we’ll be ready for the final phase,” Harold said, “but thankfully, all of those horny men upstairs will provide more than enough for our friend here to start feeling like himself again. You keep that boy of yours well occupied now, Skum, until I get back.”

“Yes Sir, Mr. Greer,” Skum said, and brought the lash down across his son’s back again. This time, the pain was there–but with it a massive surge of pleasure as well, and Jason nearly dropped the cigar, he was so overwhelmed with excitement. “I’ll make sure this naughty fuckin’ pig gits exactly what he fuckin’ deserves.”

“You always have, Skum–I know I can count on you,” Harold said, and with the shade following close, they went upstairs, where the orgy was still heating up. The shade was almost pulsing with delight, and Harold, well attuned to the spirit’s need, could feel it himself. “Not too much from all of them now–I’ll still need a wrestling team when we’re done.”

The shade nodded, and descended on his first victim, Evan, who collapsed from where he was fucking one of his teammates and writhed on the floor in something between agony and ecstasy. Harold smoked his cigar and watched–and when the shade was finished, he moved onto the next boy. Harold pushed his leather boot onto Evan’s face, and the wrestler licked at it hungrily while Harold leered down at him. “Guess I’m more than a nerd faggot to you now, right boy? You want Daddy’s cock in your hungry fuckin’ hole?”

Evan nodded, rolled over, and presented his ass to Harold, who got down and slid right in. “That’s good boy, that’s real good,” he said, and another scream came from below, making his cock even harder. In a few hours, he’d take the shade back down, and finish their revenge together, and then he’d be free to enjoy this for the rest of his life.


Chapter 6 – Rebirth

Harold watched the shade move around the room, to the last couple of men that were as of yet untouched by his dark hands. He had fucked a couple of holes while he waited, but now he was waiting patiently, smoking his cigar by the entry to the kitchen, just admiring the scene unfolding around him. The shade needed energy, if it was going to come back into this world, alive again. A lot of that energy was going to come from Jason, naturally, since he was the target of the curse, but even if the shade sucked him dry, there wouldn’t have been enough. So, they’d spent the week priming a collection of men for tonight’s ritual, taking as much as they could from them all without upsetting the cosmic balance too far against them, and risking bringing the eyes of larger things to bear on them both. Just a few months from every wrestler, a little muscle, a little health, a little body. From the coach, he’d taken a bit more–aged him up into his fifties, given him a solid gut, drained a good chunk of his virility, leaving him with a limp cock and a hungry hole. He deserved it, though–all of the men here deserved a bit of this cosmic justice. Harold, of course, had already paid with two decades of his life, but he felt that he’d received much more in the bargain.

All his life, Harold had wanted power, and wealth, and prestige. He’d come from a poor family–not quite redneck trash, but close enough, that when he’d learned what Jason had done on those winding backroads, his blood had boiled. There were men in his family like the biker, if he hadn’t gone to college, he might have been one of them–or at least, closer to that, than to Jason. But Harold was smart, and he’d gotten his way into college with scholarships, and more loans than he knew he’d ever be able to pay off in his life. No–this future was much better. He was strong, he was powerful, the new dean of athletics at the college. No one could say no to him–especially not any man with a hole that Harold wanted. This house was his now–with a little twist of reality, Harold owned both this house, and what had been Samuel’s home in the wealthy suburbs out of town. Harold needed a place for his orgies, though–closer to campus. Easier for the jocks to get here after practice for their play sessions. 

The shade was working on the two cops now. They had been in decent shape to start with, but now they too were aging somewhat, their muscles sagging, guts growing, becoming a couple of fat, lazy, sergeants who had desk jobs these days, but were helpful in making sure any “complaints” against Harold disappeared, provided they got the occasional invitations to the new dean’s parties off campus. Apparently satisfied, the shade drifted back towards Harold, and he could see the change again. The shade’s darkness was thicker somehow–no longer two dimensional, but still quite thin. It didn’t seem like enough–until the shade brushed up against him, and he felt the cauldron of vital energy seethe up beside him that the shade was holding in. If that wasn’t enough, well, then they’d have to see what happened, he supposed.

It had been about a couple of hours since they’d left the new and improved Skum in the basement to work his boy over. They descended the stairs, and found that Skum had moved on from the beating, dropped his son to the floor, and had Jason on all fours in the middle of the room. Skum was behind him, his fist slippery with crisco and lodged deep in Jason’s hole, who was moaning and groaning in discomfort. “Quit yer fuckin’ belly achin! Ya’ve takken Daddy fist plenty a fuckin’ times, don’t know why yer so fuckin’ tight tahnight.”

“Please dad, please stop! This isn’t you, this isn’t–” Jason gave a holler as Skum worked in a bit deeper, his cock drooling out a long dribble of precum onto the concrete below him.

“Alright Skum, give the boy a bit of a break,” Harold said as he came down the stairs.

Skum grumbled, obviously unhappy about being interrupted in his playtime, but did as Harold told him, pulled his hand free, and Jason collapsed to the floor, ass spasming from the sudden removal. His whole body ached from the day he’d had, between the wrestling team, the football team, the coaches, and now this–he wanted to cry, but couldn’t seem to summon the energy necessary to bring the tears forth. Harold came around in front of him, and knocked his jaw lightly with a boot. “On your knees, you fucking piece of faggot filth.”

“Please, Harold–I don’t know what that thing is doing to you, but you have to fight it. This isn’t you, I know this isn’t you,” Jason said, pushing himself up to his hands and knees, and then lifting up. “Don’t let this thing win, don’t…”

“You stupid fucking–this wasn’t just his idea, you know. He wanted revenge, sure, but he needed me to do it. So we made a deal–and the deal was, that he’ll get your life, and you’d end up as a lowly fucking piece of fuckmeat, and nothing more. I’ve been pushed around by guys like you my whole fucking life. You kept a good mask on, but I know how you talked about me in front of those friends of yours–or my friends now, I suppose, since none of them can stand the sight of you anymore.”

Jason whimpered, and saw the shade come around–so much larger, so much fuller and darker and tangible than it had been even an hour before. “What…what are you going to do to me? What else could you possibly do?”

“It’s easy, faggot. He’s going to take your place, in the same way I took your daddy’s place.”

Jason tried to beg, but before he could even get a word out, the shade bent over and pushed itself over Jason’s head. He could feel it, the vital energy the shade had been draining from him, and all these other men, for the last several days, all of it swirling around–but it lacked purpose and identity. It was all power without direction. Then came a horrific sensation, like someone was sucking his eyes out with a vacuum cleaner, or drilling into his ears with a screwdriver, or both at the same time. The shade was removing something from him, but Jason found himself at a loss to even describe what he was losing–as it disappeared, it became unnamable. He realized too late that he had become unnamable. Then, he simply ceased to be entirely.

The shade pulled away, the darkness beginning to bulge and shudder, converting all of that energy inside of it into mass, into life. A wave of heat swept through the room, along with a burst of air enough to send Harold stumbling back into a wall, and knock Skum onto his fat ass. When both of them regained their composure and looked at where the shade and Jason had been, there were now two men–one standing, and one kneeling. The shade had returned to the living.

“Jason…I’m…Jason,” the new man said, flexing his hands and looking down at his body. He did in fact resemble Jason–as he’d looked before, at least. A strong jaw, auburn hair, lean muscular body. A few things were off–he was hairier than Jason had been, and his hair was longer, falling to his shoulders. “Dad–fuck, Dad, it worked…”

Harold looked over at the newly reborn man, and felt a crush of reality push into him. It was his son, of course. His sexy, handsome boy. Jason went to Harold and embraced him, and they kissed–deeply and passionately, Jason’s cock grinding up against his father’s suited leg. “Somebody’s horny already,” Harold growled at him, reached down and gave his son’s cock a playful tug.

“You have no fucking idea dad, watching all that for days, unable to do anything to join in.”

Skum had regained his footing at this point, walked over to his own son, still on his knees, and looked down at him. He was living, though perhaps not alive. His eyes were completely black, mouth gaping and drooling, body slumped to one side and about to tip over in a moment or two onto its side. “What…what did ya do tah him? Where’d mah pig go?”

Jason pulled away from Harold, and walked back over to where Skum was standing with the empty vessel. “Don’t worry–I’m not done with him yet. We’ve spent all week hollowing out a good, deep pit in reality for him to live in–he just doesn’t know who he is anymore. We can fix that though, can’t we?” He crouched down in front of the pig, grabbed hold of his fat face in his hands, and locked his gaze with those dull black orbs. “Let’s start at the beginning, shall we?”

So the new Jason told the hunk of flesh a new story, a new reality, a new history. He wasn’t born into a wealthy family of elites, with all of his needs catered for, not anymore. No, a single mother in her early twenties, working as a waitress and living in a single-wide with her own mother, knocked up after a drunken one night stand with a sleazy biker, egged on by his gang at the time, who were wondering if the fag could even get it up for a woman. He managed, barely. And so, the man needed a new name, since the shade had taken his old one. He called him Thomas Peterson, and while he was poor, he had a decent enough life. Normal enough, blissfully unaware of what seed he’d come from, he never had the resources to excel academically, but still managed to become a jock in high school on the wrestling team–though he never quite understood why he got such a thrill from grappling with another young man in tight spandex clothing. Thomas, you see, was quite thick. He had a string of girlfriends in high school, but nothing went anywhere, when they found out he had such a small cock, and that he couldn’t even get it up around them. Frustrated, he focused on his athletics, and managed to land a wrestling scholarship at the college.

The same college, it turned out, where his father had settled down somewhat–no longer a young renegade biker sucking guys off on the road, but now working as a janitor and maintenance worker–though if anything, his perversions had deepened, and he often enjoyed spying on the wrestling team in particular during practice, jacking off all the while. It was there that he saw Thomas–the spitting image of himself–and knew, somehow, that single encounter had yielded a son. A little investigation into the school’s records was enough to confirm it, and Skum knew, then and there, that he had to have him. He ran into him after practice, told him who he was, and Thomas, who had always dreamed of knowing who his father was, found himself appalled that the stinking, ugly, fat janitor covered in biker tattoos was his actual father. Or at least, appalled at first. The more he got to know him over dinner that evening at a cheap diner, the more he found himself warming up to Skum–or Daddy, as he insisted Thomas call him. They went back to Skum’s trailer that night, and once the roofie Skum had slipped into his son’s beer took proper hold, he had him in bed, and popped Thomas’s cherry right then and there.

The next morning, no drug was required. Thomas had never felt anything like that before, and found himself eagerly accepting his father’s cock the next day–all day long. Skum missed work, and Thomas missed class, and the boy’s descent into perversion was well underway. Thomas had never had a father figure in his life, and he found himself helpless against his father’s control and praise. He’d already been failing at college–and Skum seemed to have a way with him, with all the men around him, and it wasn’t long before Thomas was servicing the entire wrestling squad as their collective cumdump and urinal. Already failing at school, Thomas dropped out at Skum’s urging, and got a position with him in the janitorial department–but that was just a cover really. Thomas could usually be found in the locker room getting fucked by every man who passed through, his father’s sexual desires and perversions completely overwhelming him–but that was a decade ago, at this point.

Thomas wasn’t even Thomas anymore. He went by T.P. usually, but if you asked him what it was abbreviated from, he’d tell you it stood for Toilet Pig. It really was his name–Skum had gotten it changed on his ID and everything a couple years back, when he’d confirmed his drunk, stupid pig son couldn’t even remember the name his mother had given him anymore. After all, he wasn’t really her son–he’d always been meant to be Skum’s boy–or at least, that’s what Skum told him. T.P. would do anything for his daddy, after all. Hell, he’d do anything for most anyone, but for Skum, he’d give him the world.

Jason pulled his hands away from the pig’s face, and watched as his black eyes unclouded. They were no longer the pale blue from before–but a dingy hazel grey. He stared blankly for a moment until Jason gave the pig a slap across the face, and he gave a grunt, and shook his head. “Fuck, wha the fuck was that?” T.P. muttered.

“Stupid fucking pig,” Jason said, “I fucking asked you if you were hungry or not.”

“Yes Master Jason, this pig’s always hungry,” T.P. said, licking his filthy, bearded lips. 

“Alright then, Toilet, open wide,” Jason said, turned around, and backed his ass up to T.P.’s face. The pig gave a squeal of delight, shoved his face into the young man’s crack and started licking hungrily, prying the hole loose with his tongue, until he felt the first turd slide out. He scarfed it down, well accustomed to the taste of shit at this point. Skum trained him to be his personal toilet years ago at this point, and while T.P. had resisted at first…once Skum had taken care of his son’s nuts, castrating him and replacing them with the two steel balls dragging his sack closer and closer to his knees each day, Jason lost the will to resist much of anything. His father had removed his pitiful nub of a cock a year later, leaving him with just a hole to pee from in the middle of his thick forest of pubes. The surgery had left him largely incontinent, but T.P. was always happy to piss right into his singlet, and if he made a mess, he was always happy to clean it up right away. T.P. finished eating Jason’s load of shit, and the young man stood up, turned around, and leered down at what remained of his murderer–a filthy, middle aged pig in a filthy wrestling singlet, dickless and nutless, licking shit from his lips and already eager for more perversion. 

“Thank you Sir, your shit is always so fuckin’ tasty.”

“Skum, why don’t you take that pig of yours upstairs for a while?” Harold said, stepping forward and embracing his own son, rubbing his hands over his muscular body, Jason shuddering at the sensation, thrilled with being alive once again, “I’d like some time alone with my own son, I think.”

“Sounds good tah me, I think the pig here’s been neglectin’ his party duties anyway,” Skum said, dragged T.P. around by the heavy chain collar that had appeared around his neck, and shoved him onto his knees. “Come on pig, I know ya like that boy there’s shit, but give them some privacy.”

T.P. looked back at Harold kissing Jason, the two men groping each other, and for a moment, he felt something familiar about it. A moment of panic, of loss, but he couldn’t explain or express what it meant. By the time Skum had shoved him to the top of the stairs, he’d lost it, looked out at the ensuing orgy, and started to drool at all of his favorite men gathered in one place. For the next few hours, he took any number of cocks and fists, drank loads of piss and ate shit from several men as well. There was always a lingering sense, however, that he was missing something, that something had been stolen from him, but every time he got close to naming it, it would flee at the sight of the next cock to suck in front of his face. Each time it retreated, it grew more and more distant, until the early morning, when T.P. was certain that nothing was wrong at all.

Pleased with his son’s performance, Skum treated him to a fast food buffet on the way home in his old pickup, and arrived at the trailer where they lived together. Stepping inside, T.P. knew it was his home, and yet the stench of the place, the trash littering the floor, all of it seemed new to him somehow. His father stuffed his face with food, gave him his own load of shit for dessert, and then fucked his stuffed boy in the bed–not even caring when T.P. started pissing uncontrollably all over the mattress. But then, it always stank of piss and cum, there was no use trying to resist it. This was their life now–and both Skum and T.P. no longer could even aspire to something more than this. 

It was Thursday morning, and they were supposed to be at work, but no one really cared if, or when, Skum and his son showed up anymore. They ended up spending the whole morning with T.P. on the bed, his father working both of his fists into the pigs wrecked hole for an hour and a half, before making him lick his dirty fists clean and then suck him off nice and slow. This really was the life, Skum supposed.

Across town, Jason came home from class–to his real house, not the house he and his father, Harold, had been at the night before, which was just a party house where half the wrestling team lived. Harold was waiting for him, already in his leathers, and embraced his son tight, grinding their muscular bodies up against one another. “Fuck dad, we were already at it all night long. You already want another session with your hot son?”

“You know I can’t fucking resist you, stud,” Harold said–now get that ass of yours downstairs. I’m gonna turn it red with a few paddles I didn’t get to try out yesterday, then breed it just how you like it,” he said, biting down on Jason’s neck playfully.

“Fuck Daddy, you know just what this boy needs.”

“Of course I do–we made each other after all. We’ll always have what we need, as long as we have each other.”

Harold gave his son a passionate kiss, and then pulled him downstairs for an afternoon session. In a few more years, Jason would finish his own training, Harold would give him his muir cap, and he’d be a master in his own right–but as far as he was concerned, he’d always be his boy. For sheltering him as a shade, and in exchange for a few decades of his life, Jason was more than happy to serve him in whatever delightful way his father might imagine. Everything had been made right, revenge had been served, and the two lived their new lives, happily ever after.

Interactive Story: Arctos Dating (Part 5)

This is the finale of the story! If I have time over the next couple weeks, I might write an alternate ending for one of the other two options I offered in the survey for Patrons, but we’ll see. Enjoy!


For the next couple of weeks, Ken has a blast with the app, now that he’s the one in control. He still enjoys taking guys home with him from the shop to beat and fuck in the dungeon, but he is always prowling on the app, looking for more boys to turn into his little redneck pig sons, addicted to his cock, his floggers, and his stink. His form and identity seemed to be settling down and solidifying–he wouldn’t change as much when he hooked up with someone on the app, and he was becoming more and more adept at bending them to his own desires, without letting their own affect him nearly as much. Then, he got a new notification from the app one evening, telling him that he and another member on the app had been successfully matched for a gold tier date. 

Ken clicked on the link, looking for more details, but he was disheartened to see that the information he’d become accustomed to having at his fingertips since becoming a silver tier member was gone. He had no idea who this stranger was, though the one bit of info he could see was that he, too, was silver. He hadn’t dated another silver member before, and he wasn’t quite sure how it would even work. There was a date and a time attached to the date, and while Ken considered not showing up, he knew better than to try and outsmart the app like that. It would make them connect one way or another, and he had a feeling that if he skipped out on it, he would be the one who wound up at a disadvantage. So he got on his favorite biker leathers, climbed on his hog, and drove to the meeting address, only to find himself in a familiar location–it was the same bear bar where he had had his first date with Jack, of all places.

He stepped inside, right on time, and looked around. There, by the bar, was a fellow that seemed to stick out in a rather Arctos fashion–massive, very hairy, smoking a cigar that most guys would struggle to even hold in their mouths like it was nothing. His eyes sparkled when he saw Ken, came over and gave him a hug. “Well damn, I don’t know what I was expecting, but it wasn’t you! Last time I saw you, you were just barely on your way.”

Ken knew that voice! It was Jack, of all people. The big bear pulled away, beaming around his massive cigar. He had changed quite a bit since Ken had seen him last, but then, he’d changed quite a bit himself in the last month or so. Jack had been large before, but he was now even larger, maybe even an inch or so taller than Ken at this point, and Ken hadn’t met someone larger than him in a very long while. He was still muscular, but had filled out a sizable gut as well, though it was the pelt that was most impressive. The hair on his body was so thick you couldn’t see the skin beneath it very easily, and it ran all the way up onto his neck, joining with both his beard and the back of his short cropped hair–though his beard was now a fiery red, even as the rest of his his hair was a light brown. “I’m kind of happy its you, actually,” Ken admitted, “I haven’t been on a gold date before, I don’t know what to expect. Seems fitting you would be the one to show me the ropes.”

“Actually,” Jack said, “I haven’t been on one either. I’ve heard of them, a bit, but only from some guys who are coupled. They wouldn’t give me details though, or maybe they couldn’t–I don’t really know how any of this works.”

“Oh…well, do you want to grab a drink or something?”

“Really? Like we don’t know each other at all?” Jack said, and groped the front of Ken’s pants, his eyes going a bit wide. “Fuck, how big is that thing now?”

“I’d be more than happy to show you, big boy,” Ken said, “My place isn’t far, if you really want to skip the getting drunk portion of the date, and go right to the fun part.”

“Only if you smoke a big fucking cigar while we get down to business,” Jack said, and Ken felt an odd little tingle run down his body. He’d felt that sort of sensation before, but not quite so apparently. It usually signaled a change of some sort. He hadn’t been smoking before, but the craving for a cigar was growing overwhelming. He pulled a stick from his vest pocket where he usually kept them, only to pull out a cigar even larger than the one Jack had in his mouth, easily a 90 ring cigar, and close to a foot long. “Fucking hell, didn’t think you’d come packing two massive sticks.”

“I didn’t bring this thing, you said it, and it happened,” Ken said, lighting the massive cigar up.

“So, if I said I want you to grow a pelt as thick as mine….what would happen?” Jack said.

No tingle this time. Ken shrugged. “Well, I wonder what would happen if I told you that you’re a small dicked loose holed bottom bear, and from the second you groped my massive cock, you wanted to feel it inside you, rearranging those guts of yours until I blow a huge load all over your insides,” he said with a growl.

He saw Jack shudder, and with a grin around his massive cigar, he knew it had worked. “Guess that means we get to take turns,” he said.

“Shut the fuck up and take me home, I need that cock in me so fucking bad…” Jack said, grabbed hold of Ken’s hand and dragged him out of the bar, “My little dicklet is leaking all over my fucking underwear.”

“I’d fucking love to,” Ken said, giving Jack’s ass a swat as they left, feeling like he had the upper hand–for the moment at least. The hog was too small for both of them to ride, and Ken didn’t feel like getting into Jack’s truck, so they swapped a smoky kiss for a moment, and he said, “What was it you said earlier? About a thick pelt?”

“Fuck you, you’re not getting off that easy,” Jack said, “I know how much you love how I smell, you dirty fucker, getting off on my musk all the time, makes that huge cock of yours so fucking hard, especially my rank crack–ain’t that right fucker?” Ken said, and threw his arms up above his head.

Ken shoved his face into his pits, snorting up Jack’s scent, licking and sucking the sweat off the thick hair, grinding his rock hard cock up against Jack’s muscular thigh. “Fuck, you fuckin’… Git on that bike of yours, so I can get you out of that grungy leather and denim at home. I’m gonna plow you into next week for that.”

“You fuckin’ promise?”

“You fuckin’ know it.”

Jack’s truck was gone, replaced by a bike as large as Ken’s and the two of them rode back to Ken’s home, and as soon as they were down in the basement, they started peeling off each other’s clothes. Ken threw Jack onto the king size bed, hearing the springs creak under his massive size, climbed up, spread the cheeks apart and ate out his hole for a few minutes while Jack smoked, reveling in the smell of the hairy bears hole, his cock harder than he could even recall it being. When he couldn’t take it anymore, he climbed up and pushed the head of his cock against his hole, feeling the hairy bear’s ass open up and almost start nursing at the head. “Quit fuckin’ teasing it,” Jack said, setting his cigar off to the side on the nightstand, “Get in there–I’m gonna milk at least five huge loads out of those massive nuts of yours, I want this fucking bed soaked in your cum and sweat before you stop. You wanna fuck me so bad, then you’re gonna be fuckin’ me all night long.”

“Oh fuck!” Ken said, feeling his nuts start to swell even larger as he drove the head and the first few inches of his cock into Jack’s hole, gouting enough precum to help lubricate the rest as he started fucking, a little deeper with each thrust, grunting and snorting with need, his balls literally pulshing and churning with cum, smacking against Jack’s hairy thighs. “You’re fuckin’ askin’ fer it now,” Jack said, his drawl coming on full strength, hornier than he could even recall being in his life. “Ya always were the stupid one, bro, ya know, always thinkin’ with yer hole, never with that head a yers, just my dirty, stinkin’ redneck pig of a little brother, been huntin’ fer cock all day long since he was eighteen, but ya always come back tah mine, don’t ya. No one else can fill ya up like I can, no one can really give this loose, empty hole ya call an ass a proper fuck. No fist is big enough, even, only yer big brother knows how tah treat this hole right, can treat ya as rough as ya really want,” he slammed his whole length into Jack’s ass, pinning him to the mattress, one arm wrapping around Jack’s neck and pulling tight enough to make him gasp, “Ain’t that right, ya stupid pig, yer just mah little fuckhole, ain’t ya, and ya fuckin’ love it.”

He watched as some of the light dimmed out of Jack’s eyes, his beard warping into a set of muttonchops, leaving his chin one of the few places on his body without hair, and the hair on the back of his head grew out into a mullet. It was the smell of him, though, that entranced him. He smelled…like him. They smelled like each other. They smelled like their dad–it was the first time he’d really known he was related to someone he was fucking, not just playing around, and he was so turned on, he pushed off, and started jackhammering into his brother’s hole, listening to the horny pig grunt and snort below him, mind addled, both of their heads filling up with new memories of their lives together. 

They had the same father, but different mothers–they’d met after Jack had turned eighteen, and from the moment they laid eyes on each other, they’d been in a sick, twisted, hungry love with one another. They’d moved in, and while Ken found plenty of other holes to fuck around with, and Jack certainly found other cock, the two of them were truly a perfect match. No one else could take Ken’s rough marathon fucking, and no one else could fill Jack’s aching needy hole just right. Jack gave a holler and Ken felt the hole contract around his cock, Jack’s little three inch cock spurting out a load of cum all over the sheet below him, the first of many anal orgasms he’d enjoy for the rest of the night. Ken thought about taking his time, but he was too horny–he drove in, harder and harder until he exploded, pumping shot after shot of cum into Jack’s ass until it was flowing out each time he pulled out a little, but his cock didn’t go the least bit soft.

“Round two, bro?”

“Fuck bro, don’t you dare fuckin’ stop.”

Ken leaned in, took a hit off Jack’s rank, unwashed pits, and gave a body wide shake of delight, cock back to full stiffness, and he drove back in, easier this time, making sure he hit all the right spots in his brother’s hole, giving him orgasm after orgasm, milking his prostate dry, cumming himself the promised four more times that night before he finally collapsed, too exhausted to continue, and the two of them shared one of their trademark massive cigars in bed, Ken taking regular breaks to enjoy his brother’s pits in the process. 

They got the notification at the same time, alerting them that they had both been promoted to the gold tier of the Arctos Dating app–as a gold level couple, they would be able to go on occasional double dates, though generally, couples wouldn’t inflict further changes on each other. They were also allowed to peruse the silver profiles, and if there was sufficient compatibility, add additional members to their gold unit.

Ken liked the sound of that, and he scrolled through until he found Ryan’s profile, and invited him on a date with them both the next evening.

“Who’s that?” Jack asked.

“I love havin’ a brother, don’t get me wrong, but what I always wanted was a son, ya know that,” Ken said.

“Aww fuck, that mean I get tah be a Daddy too?”

“No, yer gonna be a uncle, dumbass.”

“Oh, right–can he call be Daddy anyway?”

“I’m gonna be Daddy. He’ll call ya Unc.”

Jack pouted a bit. “Will he have a big cock, at least?”

“Would that make ya feel better, ya horny fuck?” Ken said, grinning at his brother. “Fine, he can have a big cock, but it ain’t gonna be as big as mine.”

With that, they fell asleep in each other’s arms, snoring loudly, already dreaming of the pervy family they would be making soon enough, happy as could be.

Interactive Story: Arctos Dating (Part 4)

Ken remained at the sex shop into the early hours of the morning, until he’d essentially run out of dick to suck. Mostly satisfied, he let off a little belch and left out the back door–though it took him a second to realize why. He no longer lived at the apartment he could vaguely recall living at, but instead rented out the basement in a rundown house back behind the sex shop, where the owner of the shop also lived. It was convenient to say the least, and given how popular Ken’s mouth and cock were, the owner gave him a steep discount on the rent provided he put in at least a few hours in the hall every night. He was a bit worried about having to show his face at the office the next day, but that, he realized, was fading quickly as well. Phil, after all, thought a filthy daddy like him ought to be working in a dirty job himself, so he’d never gone to college. He worked menial construction jobs, the dirtier the better, and then after gorging himself on fast food, would spend his free time at the shop, or at home, if he decided to get to know someone better.

He descended the stairs and unlocked the door to his new place, and was momentarily disgusted by the state of things, before the acceptance settled in over it. He went in and remembered that he had finally managed to level up on the arctos dating app. He pulled it up, expecting to be as disappointed as he had been when he’d gotten the bronze designation–but found that, at last, the app had given him a much larger range of permissions than before. For one thing, he could see some profiles, finally. Scrolling through a few of them, he realized that they all seemed to be bronze or trial members. He still didn’t have access to everyone on the app, then, including the guys he’d already dated before this. It was better than nothing, though, and when he clicked into a profile or two, he saw that he could request a date with them, if he so desired.

He explored a bit more of the app though, and saw something else–a tab that said, “Edit Profile”. He hadn’t even seen his own profile at all, so he clicked it, and sure enough, there it was–everything about him. His cigar smoking, his porn addiction, his gaining and incest fetishes, his craving for humiliation, his gloryhole hobby. It was…kind of hot, reading all of it, but he didn’t really want everyone to know that, did he? He clicked something to edit, but instead of opening up a text box, he got a little pop-up. Apparently, he could modify some of the changes that had been inflicted upon him, but for each one he reduced–another one would have to increase. As a silver member, he could modify his profile three times before it would lockdown again.

He knew what he’d change first, for sure. He opted to minimize the ugliness that Phil had given him, along with the humiliation fetish, and opted instead for some additional body growth, bulk, and body hair that had been gifted to him by Jack. He accepted the change, and watched in the mirror as his ugly face straightened out into a more rugged look, and his body grew even larger–with his sizable build, he eventually hit six feet eight inches tall, and weighed in at 450 pounds, a good amount of that packed onto his massive gut hanging off him.

Satisfied with that, he looked through the rest of his options. He decided that, as much as he enjoyed sucking cock, he didn’t really want to be known all over town as a gloryhole pig. He reduced that option, and decided that he could afford to lean into the redneck, blue collar persona that Phil had given him a bit more. It didn’t seem that bad, after all. His reality shifted around, and while he still was a regular at the sex shop, usually it was to get his massive, ten inch, uncut cock serviced by a couple of cockwhores in the hall while he watched some porn in a booth. Then, he smelled it–apparently, when he’d opted for increasing his redneck persona a bit, he hadn’t accounted for the loss in hygiene that came with it. He showered–on occasion. Maybe once a week, sometimes with soap even! He had a constant farmer’s tan from years working outside in just a tanktop, and his hair grew out into a ponytail down his back, even as his beard grew thicker and longer.

He had one final change to use, and decided he might as well address the masturbation and porn addictions as well. Looking over the remaining options, he decided he could stand being a bit older–he found that he actually didn’t miss his younger looks from before, and had quite enjoyed the thought of being the “daddy” to another cub or two…or more. His history shifted again, no longer spending much time at all in the shop at all, other than to go down the hall and get himself serviced, if there was a cute young fellow who liked being called “son”. Hell, he didn’t even mind playing with a guy closer to his own age, so long as they played along as his younger brother. Too late, he realized he had also intensified his incest fetish, so that it was one of the only ways to get him hard–and he could remember fondly how, in his youth, he’d played around with his own redneck brothers, uncles, and even his father and grandfather on one occasion. He wished he could have had a boy of his own…though he supposed, with this little app, maybe he could, one day.

He stroked a load out, thinking about setting up a date with an unsuspecting cub, and then warping them into a total pig for daddies, longing for a proper father to set them right, dominate them, train them, abuse them–anything for family really. After he came, he was surprised by how domineering he’d become after those three revisions, but again, it wasn’t unwelcome. He looked around at the cameras in the corner of the room–since the owner of the shop wasn’t making money off his mouth anymore, instead he had rights to the videos he recorded down in the basement, when Ken brought home his young boys to play with. He was quite popular on the internet, and anything he brought in over rent went right into Ken’s pocket. It was late though, and he had work on the construction site in the morning. He collapsed onto his bed for a few hours of rest, got up with his alarm, rolled through the fast food joint for a few bags of breakfast to feed his gut, and got to the site mostly on time. All day long, he kept checking the app, browsing the various bronze and trial members, narrowing down his selection until he decided on one young man in particular that he quite liked the looks of.

He was twenty three, looked like a bit of a hipster with a nice beard for just a young guy, and quite a few tattoos and piercings. He was wearing a nice shirt and khakis in his profile picture, and it looked like he had a job at some tech startup in the city as a programmer. He’d been on one date already, with a rather grungy leather daddy, who had given him a bit of a stink fetish and a definite kink for leather and BDSM. It seemed like the perfect opportunity to try out some of Ken’s now more domineering nature. He sent the dating request, and told the boy that he wanted to meet him for a drink a rather run down pub near the worksite–some place that would make him feel plenty out of place. Before it sent the request, however, he got a pop up from the app, alerting him that placing a date with this profile would also result in some changes to his own profile, in order to enhance compatibility. He hesitated for a moment, but then figured, why not? It’s not like he hadn’t changed plenty already. He accepted the note, sent the request, and then headed for his truck–except he didn’t own a truck. There, instead, was his motorcycle–an absolutely massive hog custom built for his massive frame. It had cost a pretty penny, but he fucking loved riding it. Looking down, he saw that his clothes had changed as well–adding a pair of leather chaps, motorcycle boots, and a heavy leather jacket. Nothing to object to so far. He climbed on, and rode off to the bar, and parked out front a few minutes early.

He got a beer, and a table where he could see the entrance, and sure enough, there the young man was–named Ryan. Ken gave a wave, and he could see Ryan’s face turn into one of trepidation. The app wouldn’t let him walk away though, and so Ken threw his arms behind his head, leaned back in the chair as Ryan came over and sat down beside him. “Evening boy, how ya doin’ this evenin’?” Ken said in his now heavily accented voice.

“Oh, uh…I think…there’s been a mistake. I tried to delete the app off my phone, and then I still got this notification, but I…I think I should go.”

“But if you go, ya ain’t gonna be able tah git a whiff a these, boy,” Ken said, wrapped one arm around Ryan’s neck, and pulled him into his chest and pit. Ryan moaned in surprise and pleasure, Ken reaching down to grope the boy’s now rock hard cock, and knew that he had him right where he wanted him. He played with him while he finished his beer, softening him up a bit, making sure Ryan knew to call him Daddy, and that every time Ken called him boy, or better, son, he would get more and more turned on each time. When Ken was finished, he suggested they head back to his place. He threw Ryan in front of him on his motorcycle, pulling him close into his sweaty chest, Ken’s massive cock pressed against the small of Ryan’s back, and they drove off to his house, and Ken led his new son down into the basement.

His apartment down there had changed a bit. Half was still a bedroom and kitchenette, but most of the living area was now a well equipped dungeon, with quite a few cameras all around to record the action. Ken undressed Ryan, and while the boy worshipped his grungy body and dirty leathers, he started warping him, twisting him–and especially his hipster tattoos until he was covered with redneck sayings and references–especially trucks, musk and bikers. Then, he got him bent over the fuck bench, and after warming up his son’s ass with a couple of paddles, he hauled out his massive, stinking cock and worked it into his son’s hole, giving him a good rough fuck until they were both sweaty and smelly. Ryan’s own scent was intoxicating, and only served to make Ken even harder and hornier. He came once, unloading a massive wad of cum into his ass, but his cock didn’t soften–he just kept fucking his hole until it was gaping, and dumped in a second load. Ryan could barely stand afterwards, but Ken just led his boy over to the bed, telling him how proud he was of him, that Daddy loved him so much, laid him down and licked his boy clean for aftercare, sucking a huge load from his own uncut cock at the end of it.

Ryan took his leave after that, no longer a programmer, but now a truck driver with a fetish for big dicked bikers–though none of them could compete with Ken. In the basement, Ken felt incredibly satisfied and more than a little drunk with power. He pulled up the app and began poking around in the other profiles, wondering who his next target would be. What Ken didn’t know though, was that there were levels to the app above silver–and someone else had already set their eye on him.


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Interactive Story: Arctos Dating (Part 3)

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Ken woke up the next morning and surveyed the destruction of his long night out with Eddie. His gut had diminished as he’d slept, but not my that much. He dug out an old scale he hadn’t used in a while from under the bathroom sink, weighed himself, and was shocked to see that he was 280 pounds–and from the looks of it, he had gained another inch or two, putting him at nearly six feet four inches tall. His beard was caked with cum, he stank of musk and cigar smoke, and as much as he wanted to be disgusted by himself, he was just horny–he hauled out his big cock from the stained briefs he’d crawled into bed, sat down in front of the computer, pulled up some porn and got to work on his first load of the morning.

His usual stash of porn wasn’t quite doing it for him, so he poked around for something new, and thought back to what Eddie had put on in the booth the night before–a whole lot of dad/son incest porn. While Ken had always liked the look of older guys, the thought of calling someone else Daddy had always made him a little queasy, but he pulled up some videos, started watching, and his reaction now was completely different. He found himself drawn especially to those videos which were a little heavier on the humiliation–whether it was the son manipulating the horny dad into sex, or whether it was the father catching his son in the act of sniffing his underwear, and humiliating him with the fact his own dad turned him on. One load became two and then three, with Ken licking up whatever didn’t soak into his briefs off his hand, feeling himself getting hungrier and hungrier–not only for food, but also for cum. Finally, he took a break, lit up a cigar and made himself some breakfast–but with those two cravings taken care of, the need to suck some cock was only getting stronger.

He’d woken up pretty late in the day, and thankfully he didn’t need to go to work for another few days, but he made his way back to the sex shop, the guy behind the counter giving him a nod and a welcome by name, like he was a regular. A shameless regular, no less. Ken went around behind the booths, half expecting Eddie to be there waiting for him, but there was just a couple of other pigs waiting for cocks to pop through the gloryholes in need of service. It was slow for a while, and Ken was getting anxious. So much so, that he went out and gave the guy behind the counter a blowjob as well, just to keep his hunger sated. There was a fast food joint down the street, and he went down there and stuffed himself for an hour or so, and when he got back to the shop, business had picked up. He sucked a good number of cocks, and when he was feeling mostly satisfied, he packed up what little dignity he still had and went home, where he stayed up for a few more hours, smoking cigars, watching porn, and jacking off, eventually collapsing into bed, considering a shower, but no longer sure why he would even bother.

The rest of his weekend proceeded the same. He’d hoped that some of the desires would wane slightly, but he found himself only growing fatter, even as his height stopped creeping up. By Monday morning, he was six foot four and 325 pounds, and thankfully, his work clothes had adjusted themselves to his new reality, like much of the rest of it had, and grown along with him, though finding the tent like shirts a bit snug on his massive, hairy frame only made him more self-conscious. Work, at least, would be more normal, he told himself–but when he arrived, and tried to focus on the tasks at hand, it was nearly impossible. He pulled up porn on his work computer, and right there in his cubicle, he rubbed out load after load right into the crotch of his suit pants, even as he found himself wondering what each of his male coworker’s cum would taste like.

He took a long lunch break to stuff his gut with fast food, and took several bags back with him to his cubicle, only to be greeted by his boss waiting for him. He was an older fellow, and gave Ken a bit of a flurry in his gut–though any guy could get that reaction out of him at this point. He berated him in his office about his performance and missed work days, only for things to take a rather…unsettling turn, and the humiliation turned rather sexual. Ken found himself bent over his boss’s desk and getting fucked by his sizable cock, and then fed his big load, before being sent back to his cubicle for the rest of the day, where he ate, and jacked off–and then saw the notification on his phone. Someone else wanted to go on a date with him, from the Arctos app.

It didn’t seem like that big of a deal though–the guy just wanted to grab a beer with him after work. If nothing else, it would be another load of cum, right? Ken was a bit disgusted that he was using his cravings as justification for behavior at this point, but if he’d learned anything about dates on the Arctos app, it was that he couldn’t seem to say no to them. So he agreed, the guy sent him the name of the bar, and Ken left work, wondering what sort of hot bear he’d be meeting.

He got to the bar, which was more working class than the sort of place he usually frequented, and scanned around for who he was meeting. The crowd was all guys, but clearly more straight than gay. He looked around at the various grizzled fellows, all done with work at the docks, or factories, or construction yards, but the one who waved him down was none of those–but a burly young fellow sitting in a booth in a corner, who was probably Ken’s age, or a bit younger even. He couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed, as he went over and slid in across from him, the young man waving down a waitress and getting him a beer.

“Ken, right? Howdy! I’m Phil. Glad you could make it.”

“Sure thing, I was just getting done with work myself,” Ken said, loosening his tie, feeling a bit out of place in this more rundown place, noticing how many guys were slipping them glances, or him, more specifically.”

“Yeah, I just got finished with work myself, I work in construction,” he said. “You look like you’ve been stuck in an office all day.”

Ken nodded, and shuffled in his seat a bit. Phil was congenial, looked a bit grimy and dusty in his hi vis gear, but just wasn’t quite his type–or at least, not the type he’d found himself developing over the last few dates. Ken wasn’t going to turn down a load of cum, of course, but he couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed. 

“You alright? You seem a little distracted. Long day?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Ken said, “I…you just aren’t quite what I was expecting, is all.”

“I get it,” Phil said, “You like your guys a little older. I do too.”

Ken looked at him a little confused. “They why ask for a date with me, if I’m not your type?”

Phil threw him a mischievous little grin, “You’re not my type yet, daddy.”

The word sent a shiver down Ken’s spine. “I, uh, gotta go, I just realized I forgot something at the office–”

“Daddy, sit down. See, you’re a great package already. Big, chubby, hairy, big beard, and a total pig for cock. We just need to adjust your…outlook, is all. Come on, sit down, have another beer with your boy for the afternoon, and let’s chat.”

Ken sat back down, and when the waitress came back by, she dropped off a whole bottle of cheap whiskey, which Phil insisted Ken swig from while he told him what he was going to expect from his latest daddy. For one thing, he wasn’t going to be working in an office–or if he did work in an office, he wouldn’t be wearing a suit, or anything like that. No, he liked his daddies with a bit more country in them. Ken listened, his tie disappearing, his button down swapping out for a grungy undershirt, khakis becoming grubby looking jeans. His daddies weren’t very smart either–no college education, for sure, and preferably a high school dropout. After all, Ken didn’t have much of a brain for smart stuff like that–for all of his life, he mostly just let his big cock do the thinking for him.

Ken was now quite drunk, and couldn’t seem to keep his hands away from his cock, which was not only hard, but quite a bit larger than it had been before. “Yeah, that’s right, just a big fuckin’ donkey cock shoved in those pants of yours, isn’t it? Just a stupid, sex obsessed daddy, can’t keep your hands off yourself, even when your out in public. You like it though, don’t you? Showing off that big fucking bulge of yours to anyone around? The humiliation just makes your hornier–and I think a lot of guys get one look at it, and probably want you inside them. You can’t turn anyone down though. You might be a top, but you’re too stupid to be much of a dom. You like other guys telling you what to do, who to fuck, how long, how hard, how many times. You’re just a stupid, dirty, ugly stud daddy. An ugly fuckin’ pig. No one would even look twice at you, if it wasn’t for that monstrous cock of yours, those huge balls, constantly leaking into your grungy underwear–”

“Fuck boy, ya can keep talkin’ if ya want, but if ya do, this load isn’t goin’ in yer hole, I can tell ya that.”

“What, you wanna fuck my hole daddy? I thought you liked older guys? I guess you don’t. I guess you like young cubs, don’t you? I mean, you’ll fuck anyone of course, if they ask for it, but that’s who you like best, muscular, handsome boys like me. You’ll do anything for someone like me, won’t you?”

Ken nodded, drooling a bit from two ends, and finally, Phil stood up, and led the way into the bathroom, where he bent over the toilet in the larger stall, and pushed his butt out in Ken’s direction. He didn’t need another invitation–he dropped his grubby pants, ran his precum-slicked head up and down Phil’s crack, and then pushed his massive head into his hole. 

“Oh fuck Daddy, you’re so fuckin’ big!”

“Eleven fuckin’ inches boy, and you’ll get all of it if ya want it.”

“Of course I fuckin’ want it, you stupid fuck! Get it in me!”

Phil was tight, but then, Ken hadn’t met much in the way of holes that were loose when it came to his cock. He drove it in, focusing on what Phil told him to do, and it wasn’t long before both of them were sweaty, and Ken was getting real close to cumming. He drove his massive cock in up to the root, and filled his boy up real good with a massive load, holding it in there as long as he could until Phil told him to pull out, and then the young man turned around and sat down on the toilet, his own cock rock hard. “Fuck daddy, that was a good one–now come get your reward. You love boycum, don’t you daddy?”

“Fuck boy, I love any cum, but boys like you always taste the fuckin’ best,” Ken said, got down on his knees, and started sucking. Phil didn’t last long, fed Ken his load, and then he was standing up, and out of the stall faster than Ken could do much. It wasn’t surprising–not many guys wanted to be seen with him, after all. He got himself put back together, stepped out of the stall, and got a good look at his new face for the first time, and was a bit shocked. His big ears and nose, heavy brow with sunken eyes, beard climbing up onto his cheeks paired with substantial balding, most of his beard greying now and colored a bit yellow from all of his cigar smoking over the years. He was an ugly fucker–but what a fucker he was, he supposed. He left the bathroom, paid for his drinks, and left–climbing into an beat up old pickup he couldn’t recall owning, and headed for the sex shop. One load couldn’t satisfy him after all, and at least through a hole, no one cared what he looked like. Guys loved his massive cock, and he could usually get two guys to service him at the same time–provided they didn’t have to look up at his ugly mug while they were doing it. On the other side, he could get as much cum as he wanted, and no one needed to know what he looked like either. 

He took a little break to check his phone that night, while grabbing dinner at the fast food joint nearby, and saw a notification from the arctos app–he’d received another upgrade! He was now, officially a silver tier member, with new benefits. Most importantly, he discovered that for the first time, he could see other profiles on men on the site–those who were bronze or trial members–and request to go on dates with them. And he assumed, that also meant he’d be able to warp them in the same way he had been warped before this. His mind was rather excited by this–but it would have to wait. He finished his meal and went back to the shop. There were still more cocks to suck after all. In a day or two, he’d find someone for a date, and take the app’s new privileges for a test drive.

Interactive Story: Arctos Dating (Part 2)

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Ken did his best to pretend that the night with Jack had been more or less normal. Sure, there might have been a few…oddities, but he had probably just been drunk and imagined things that weren’t really there. He kept hoping, for some reason, that Jack would reach out to him again, since he still had no way of contacting him from his end of the app. However, the more he tried to focus on getting back to normal, the more he noticed that things seemed to be different.

For one thing, he was just so damn horny now, all the time. Horny, and hungry. The day after he met Jack, and he felt like he was hungover as hell, the one thing that still seemed to be working was his cock, and so he milked out three loads before falling asleep that night at last, wishing he had another day to recover before going back to work on Monday. 

That morning, he woke up, needed to jack off again, ate a much larger breakfast than he usually did, and when he tried to get into his usual business casual, he was frustrated to discover that everything was just a bit too small for him. It wasn’t a matter that he’d gotten chubbier or anything, though he had perhaps gained a little chub–everything was off, from the length of his sleeves, to the legs of his pants, to even his shoes feeling a bit too cramped for his feet. He passed it off as nothing, maybe just a strange little bloat, and did his best to get through the workday, but the sensation of being hungover refused to pass. It wasn’t until he passed by some coworkers who had just come in from a smoke break outside that he realized he wasn’t hungover from the drinking, but from the cigar he’d had with Jack.

He’d quit that though. He wasn’t going back to being a smoker if he could help it. It wasn’t even that he found himself craving cigarettes again–he wanted the feel of a cigar in his hand, that more complex flavor, and deeper nicotine buzz. That evening, he held off pretty well, but soon found his porn interest sliding into cigar smoking videos, and as horny as he was without a chance to jack off at work, he found that he couldn’t cum–and the hangover sensation was only intensifying. He tried to go to bed, but just tossed and turned for a couple of hours before he finally gave in, found a smoke shop that was still open, bought some cheap cigars, went home, smoked one, and the relief! It opened the floodgates in other ways as well, and he came twice as he smoked it, and feeling better than he had in days now, he managed to sleep.

The next few days though, everything just got worse. He was definitely outgrowing his clothes. He measured himself, and was surprised to discover he was gaining almost an inch a day–and was now 6’1”–no wonder his pants were too short! He did have a definite belly coming in, but his chest seemed to be growing not only fat, but some muscle as well–that, and there was the body hair. He’d never been that hairy before, but the day after, he’d started feeling rather itchy, and now three days past the date with Jack, he had a full blown forest of fur coming in all over his chest. It was embarrassing, and coupled with the shrinking clothes, he faked an illness on Wednesday and planned on calling out for the rest of the week, until whatever this strange shit was subsided. Only it didn’t subside at all, and the time off from work only gave him more time for his worst impulses. He spent Wednesday and Thursday bingeing food, cigars and masturbation, until Friday afternoon, when he got a notification from the Arctos dating app–someone else wanted to take him on a date!

He opened it up, but again, he couldn’t see the fellow’s profile or picture or anything–but this time, there was a messaging function open that wasn’t there before, along with a message from the stranger.

“Hey man! You’re looking hot–wanna grab dinner and take a trip to the movies tonight?”

Ken hadn’t gone to see a movie in over a year, since the pandemic had struck. Maybe it would provide him a little bit of relief from his recent impulses as well. He was a bit worried that meeting up with another guy might change him more, but it’s not like that was really possible. He was just having a rough week is all, getting back into the dating scene after a year without. He was just pent up, and a little bloated, and a few days away from work was all he needed. He took the fellow up on his offer, and the fellow offered to pick him up. It wasn’t exactly the safest thing, he knew, but it was probably fine. Ken told him to pick him up at a park near his apartment, so he wouldn’t have to give him his address, and at six, he was out waiting, wondering who this next blind date was going to be.

It wasn’t long before an old beater truck pulled into the parking lot. Ken didn’t think much of it, until the driver climbed down out of the seat, turned around, and beamed at him. “You must be Ken!” he said, “The name’s Eddie, nice to meet you.”

Ken was a bit confused at first. He’d been expecting someone of at least Jack’s caliber, but this guy was decidedly not in stud territory. He was quite a bit shorter than Ken, especially at his new, inexplicable height, with a massive ball gut that Eddie had to tilt back to support. He was wearing some old, grungy looking jeans, suspenders, and just an undershirt with a number of unidentifiable stains on it, and when he came in for a hug, he definitely didn’t smell like he’d taken a shower that day. “Uh…yeah, nice to, uh, meet you.”

“Well come on then, get in the truck! I’m starving.”

“Oh shit, you know, I just realized I forget my wallet at home,” Ken said, “Let me, uh, go grab it.” It was a bad excuse, but it was something at least. There was no way he was going to go on a date with this fellow, if he could help it. However, he found himself walking after Eddie to his truck,, and climbing in with him, feeling a bit sheepish, and wondering why he was doing this. He’d felt the same way with Jack, actually–every suggestion had just somehow necessary. Eddie just chuckled, “Don’t worry pal, I can spot you.”

They drove off, Eddie’s right hand leaving the steering wheel and making its way over to Ken’s thigh, across the bench seat. “You don’t mind if I smoke, do you?” Ken said, hoping that a cigar might dissuade him.

“Hell no, light it up! Cigars are fucking sexy as hell. Loved seeing that in your pics.”

His pics? He hadn’t taken any pictures of himself smoking, that he could recall, and he certainly hadn’t put any up on the dating app. As far as he knew, the only photo up there was his face pic that he’d used as his profile picture. “My pics?” Ken asked, as he lit up his cigar.

“Yeah, you got a good little collection going already on there. Love a big, furry fella like you, couldn’t resist adding my own special twist, if you know what I mean,” Eddie said, and gave him a wink. He turned into a strip mall parking lot, and then into a fast food drive through. This, apparently, was dinner. Eddie pulled up to the speaker and rattled off way more food than two people ought to order. Ken tried to tell him he didn’t want to eat that much, but Ken didn’t pay attention. At the window, five bags of food came at them, along with two big drinks each. Eddie pulled into a parking spot, tossed Ken a bag, and told him to eat up.

“I, uh, don’t usually eat fast food, honestly.”

Eddie just leered at him, “Well you do now, pig. Come on, I know how fucking hungry you are,” he unwrapped a burger and pushed it to Ken’s lips, who found himself helplessly opening his mouth and taking a bite, his gut giving a little gurgle, his hunger rising. “Come on, you don’t have to hide that gluttonous side from me, I know exactly how good it feels to just let go and enjoy yourself.”

Ken ate the first hamburger is about six bites, picked up another one and tore a big chunk out of it with a moan, while Eddie slid closer, eating his own sandwich with one hand while he pushed up Ken’s tight shirt and rubbed his belly. “Oh fuck, it tastes so fucking good,” Ken said through a mouthful.

“Sure does piggy, come on, let’s see how big we can get this gut tonight.”

Ken demolished bag after bag of food, Eddie eating his own smaller share, but spending most of the time rubbing and massaging Ken’s belly and chest, rubbing the grease into his skin as he did, telling him that it was good for making his hair grow. His sweat pants were a bit tight now, and Eddie hauled down the front of them, fished out his cock and rubbed it as well, telling Ken that he loved being a glutton, loved seeing how big he could get, loved eating in front of people like a shameless pig, making as much of a mess as he wanted to. Eventually, all the food was gone, and Ken was left groaning while Eddie massaged his much larger belly and chest, his shirt now impossible to pull down over it at all, and sure enough, even more hair had sprouted across it and down into a thick pubic bush as well. Eddie took a photo of Ken’s face and showed it to him, and sure enough, his beard was longer too–just barely long enough to brush across his chubby chest, full of grease and bits of food.

“Alright, let’s go see what’s playing, pig,” Eddie said, and drove off again. Ken just nursed his very full gut, groaning a bit, but still so hard and horny. He reached down to play with himself, only for Eddie to knock his hand away, telling him to wait. He pulled into another parking lot, and Ken was confused for a moment–there was no movie theater here, just a run down looking sex shop. “Come on, let’s get inside,” Eddie said, and Ken hauled his fat ass out, trying to get his shirt down and failing, waddling after Eddie, horrified at what this nightmare date was becoming.

Eddie knew the old man behind the counter by his first name, pulled Ken to the back of the shop where there was a row of private booths. “I like this place cause most of these are big enough for big guys like us,” he said, “Go on, get in and sit down.”

Ken went in and sat on the sticky bench, and Eddie followed, squeezing down between Ken’s thighs, his face in Ken’s crotch. He pulled the door shut, put on some gay porn, and got to work milking Ken’s cock. It wasn’t Ken’s usual porno selection, but he found himself enraptured by it anyway–and feeling Ken sucking on his cock the whole time left his own hands free to explore his new, even larger body. As disgusted as he was by the massive gut, the skin was incredibly sensitive, and the increased layer of hair made him shudder–especially when Eddie’s hands joined in. Even his longer beard was a new sensation, and not an unwelcome one. In about fifteen minutes, Eddie milked one load out of him, and when Ken went to open the door, he stopped him. 

“Now now, I know these fat fucking pig balls of yours can pump out more than one load–I’m not done with you yet, piggy.”

Eddie kept sucking, and sure enough, Ken was still hard as a rock. He made his way through three full videos, an hour and a half, with Eddie milking load after load out of his cock, leaving Ken panting and heaving, both of them sweating up a storm in the tight quarters, before Eddie finally stood up, and fed Ken the last load of cum he’d shot into his mouth.

“Fuck, that’s not…the date I was expecting, you’re a damn fine cocksucker.”

“Heh, I’ve had lots of practice,” Eddie said, “But I think it’s time you got dessert, don’t you?”

“Oh fuck, I can’t eat more man, come on.”

“Trust me, you’ll like this. It’s your favorite fucking meal. Come on.”

They left the booth, squeezing their way out, but instead of leaving the shop, they went down to the end of the booths, around behind them, and found themselves in a narrow hall behind the booths. Ken had noticed the glory hole in the booth, but hadn’t thought much of it–there was one in every booth, all the way down. A cock popped through, and Eddie shoved Ken forward. “Go on pig, get your dessert.”

Ken got down and started sucking, while Eddie encouraged him, groped him, gave him tips and pointers, and in a few minutes, he got his first load of cum–and just like Eddie said, it tasted fucking delicious. He crawled down a couple of booths to where another cock had just pushed through, and sucked that one as well, no longer needing much in the way of encouragement, letting Eddie pull down the back of his sweatpants, and slide his own cock into Ken’s hole while he sucked the stranger off. Ken lost track of how many loads he ate as he crawled from glory hole to glory hole. Eddie would occasionally take a break to suck a cock himself, and more than a few guys came around to use Ken’s hole while he was sucking, but he didn’t mind. He loved cum after all, just like Eddie said, and it didn’t matter which end it went into.

It was nearly three in the morning when the two of them finally stumbled out, Ken’s belly now even larger than it had been when he’d entered. He hauled his shirt off and let it all hang out, as he dug the half smoked cigar out of the truck, relit it, and sucked it down as well, while Eddie gave his full, massive gut a rub down. Eddie took him home not long after that, and Ken collapsed into bed, exhausted, knowing that come morning he would be horrified by how he’d spent the evening, but he couldn’t help but admit that part of him was thoroughly satisfied as well. He’d just have to deal with the consequences in the morning, wouldn’t he?


Don’t forget, if you want to help pick what happens in the following chapters, check out my patreon!

Interactive Story – Arctos Dating (Part 1)

Guess who finally cleared their commission queue! This fella, it was me. Sorry the content over here has been a little sporadic for the last while, but while I get back to work on The Pigtown Chronicles, I thought it would be a good time to do another interactive story! I considered picking up where I’d left off with Frat Daddy, but decided to start a new one instead. This time around, we have a rather mysterious Arctos branded dating app. One slight change this time around is that I won’t be running a private and a public poll for these anymore–voting on what happens next will be patron only. However, all patrons, at every reward level, will be able to access it this time around. If you want to support me, and get a say in what happens next, check out my patreon page!


It had been the longest year and a half of his life, he supposed. Ken had gotten out of a relationship in the summer of 2019, found himself his own place and settled in on his own in the fall, as the first news of the new virus was spreading through China. He hadn’t thought much of it–he’d been more focused on enjoying his new found solitude after that rather crushing relationship. He didn’t want to be alone forever, of course, but after taking a few months to himself, just as he was about to start putting himself back out there, well, the whole world had shut down in a matter of weeks, leaving him trapped in his apartment, utterly alone.

His work had gone fully remote, he could order in enough food, but as the months wore on, his one bedroom apartment went from feeling cramped, to claustrophobic, to outright punishing. He reorganized the furniture over and over again, obsessed over whatever stupid hobby people were discussing on social media. He baked bread, he curated his zoom background for work and presentations, he streamed more movies and television than he’d ever wanted to watch in his whole life, but now, at last, the world was beginning to blossom again.

Early on, he’d retreated onto the various hookup apps like a lot of guys had, only to find the whole experience dissatisfying. He didn’t want more people to chat with, or another screen to stare at, he wanted someone he could touch, and smell, and, well, fuck of course. So he’d uninstalled them all after a while, resolving he wouldn’t download any of them again until he was confident he’d be able to see people in person, and that time seemed to be now. The first few gay bars were opening up around town again, and while distance and masking was more or less adhered to, now that cases were down and Pride season was swinging, it felt as close to the old world as he’d managed to get, since he’d gotten his vaccination in late Spring.

And so, he started downloading. He picked up the usuals of course–grindr, scruff, and growlr–he had a soft spot for bears. When they were downloading, he saw another app recommended for him. Something called Arctos Dating. He opened it up, and saw it was another bearish sort of dating app, and downloaded it on a whim. It probably didn’t have much of a user base, but why not give it a shot and see what happened.

He opened it up, and quickly realized what the gimmick was. It was a bear dating app, sure, but it was also blind. No profiles, no pictures. The app just asked you these fairly boring multiple choice questions–favorite colors, hobbies, that sort of stuff that you’d put in a profile anyway, and then it whisked it away. He poked around the app a bit more, but found that he had limited functionality, because he was only a trial member. Wondering how much the thing cost per month, he couldn’t even find a place to purchase a membership. The only information he could find was a rather cryptic section of a deep FAQ that said membership levels were determined by participation on the app. But how was he supposed to participate, if the app didn’t let him do anything? Frustrated, he closed it out and mostly forgot about it, sticking to his profiles on the other sites, reconnecting with guys on there–but that evening, he got a little push notification from the Arctos app.

“Hey! A silver level member wants to meet with you tonight! Tap here to connect!”

Curious again, Ken clicked the notification, expecting a profile to pop up and maybe a chat window, only for there to be nothing of the sort. There was just a time and a location, telling him the date was set for seven that evening at The Roadhouse, one of the more bearish bars in town. It really was going to be a blind date–he knew absolutely nothing about this person. Still, he’d struck out on tinder, hinge, grinder, scruff and every other app that evening, so what was the risk, really? If the guy was ugly, he could just leave after all. Or who knows, maybe he could pick his brain a little about how this app actually works, and how he managed to become a silver level member, and what that even meant.

So he got dressed in some casual clothes, and checked himself in the mirror. He’d fuck himself, he supposed. He was twenty-five, still pretty much in the twink category–or chaser, as he’d been called a few times before, given his interest in older bears. He had thick hair that fell almost to his shoulder, and when he was more committed to working out, could still manage to get that six pack to pop out on occasion, though he’d been pretty sedentary through the pandemic, and wasn’t quite as muscular as he had been before. Still, he felt good about it, and headed for the bar, wondering how, exactly, he was supposed to know who he was even meeting.

It was a weeknight, and so the bar wasn’t particularly crowded. Ken went to the bar, got himself a drink, and scanned the room, only to spot a fellow waving him down from a table in the corner of the room. He wandered over, and the man stuck out his hand. “You must be Ken, right? From Arctos?”

“Uh, yeah. How did you know?”

The fellow showed him his phone, and sure enough, there was a photo of Ken on it, though he was certain that the app hadn’t asked him for one. “Sure looks like you.”

“That is me, but how do you have a photo? The app doesn’t show me anything like that.”

“Oh fuck, are you just a trial member? I remember those days. I didn’t check, I just don’t see many chasers on the app, thought it would be a little treat,” he said, and said, “The name’s Jack, nice to meet you.”

“What’s up with the membership thing? I couldn’t find a screen to explain the subscription to me.”

“Oh, you don’t subscribe, it’s based on activity. The more you use the app, the more access it gives you to other features.”

“How am I supposed to use it if it doesn’t let me do anything?” Ken asked.

Jack just laughed, and pulled a cigar from the pocket of the flannel shirt he had on. “Let’s head for the patio, you don’t mind if I smoke, do you?”

Ken did, actually. He’d quit smoking about three months before the pandemic had hit, and managing to keep from going back to it was one of the few victories he’d managed to chalk over the wasted year and a half. But before he could say that, he found himself following Jack out onto the patio, where the bear lit up his cigar, and exhaled a thick plume into the evening air. They continued to chat, though Jack seemed to be the one steering the conversation. It started off fairly innocuous–work, hobbies, things like that, though the two of them had almost nothing in common. Something about Jack was rather infectious though, and despite the fact that Ken wanted to despise him for any number of petty reasons, he was instead hanging on every word, and growing more and more turned on with each plume of smoke pushed in his direction.

“Want to taste it?” Jack asked, turning the cigar to him, “You haven’t taken your eyes off it.”

“I quit smoking about two years ago, I’m not looking to start again.”

“Come on, just one little puff is all,” Jack said, pushed the cigar into his mouth, and Ken took a little into his mouth, resisting the urge to inhale it, only for Jack to lock lips with him and pull the smoke out of him, then feed it back. Ken had never done anything like that before in his life, and when Jack took a deeper draw on the cigar, leaned in and kissed him again, he rolled with it, the two of them sharing a smoky kisses for the next few minutes, until Ken couldn’t bear it anymore, and got up, excusing himself to the bathroom for a moment.

He didn’t know what had gotten into him, honestly. None of this was the sort of thing he was even into, usually. In the bathroom, he splashed some water on his face, looked at himself, and was taken aback. His usual five o’clock stubble was closer to a full beard, and he seemed thicker than he should be–but maybe that was just the light, and the slightly warped bar mirror. In any case, this date was too weird, and as turned on as he was, he resolved to ditch–only for the door to the bathroom to open and Jack to step inside. “Thought you could hide from me in here, eh?”

“Look, I…I think I’m gonna head home, alright? It’s been nice meeting you, but this isn’t really what I’m into.”

Jack moved in, one hand going right to Ken’s crotch and groping his mostly hard cock. “Feels like you’re pretty into it, if you ask me.” He pushed Ken back against the wall, one arm on either side of his head, and Ken could smell him, his woodsy, smoky musk coming through the shirt, and he let out a little moan again. Jack went for his neck, kissing and licking where his sudden beard stopped while he undid the buttons of Ken’s shirt, rubbing his hands over his chest and belly. Ken shuddered, and when he looked down, he saw that, like his beard, he was much more hairy than he should be. And a little more muscular, just thicker all over, really. “Please, something…I need to get home.”

“I have a better idea,” Jack said, “Why don’t we go home to my place, and we can plow each other’s holes all fucking night long? That big cock of yours would feel so damn good in my hole, I can already tell.” Jack gave Ken a hard grope, and he could almost feel his cock swell larger as he did, and even though he tried to protest, a few more kisses, a grope of his ass, and he found himself holding onto Jack’s hand and letting the bear drag him the two blocks away to his apartment.

He spent the rest of the night in the bedroom, a cigar shoved in his mouth, giving Jack a good long fuck–though Ken was usually much more of a bottom. He’d never felt this horny in his life, and while he didn’t measure it, he was sure, somehow, that his cock had grown at least a couple of inches. The rest of him too, it seemed that the more contact he had with Jack, the more he was becoming some big, hairy cigar smoking muscle bear. The night finished with him on all fours on the bed, Jack eating out his sweaty asshole and blowing cigar smoke up his hole before returning the favor, shooting a load deep in his ass and milking a second load out of Ken all over the sheets below him, before the two of them collapsed on the ashy sheets.

“Fucking hell, what the fuck was that?” Ken muttered, mostly to himself, but Jack chuckled and pulled him into his damp, hairy chest.

“I asked myself that too, the first time. It’s a great app, trust me.”

Whatever hold Jack had over him seemed to be ebbing, and when Ken excused himself to leave, Jack didn’t stop him. He walked his way back to his car, horrified and elated in turn, and got home in one piece at around five in the morning. He was almost afraid to look at himself in the mirror, but the strange changes he’d noticed over the course of the night seemed to have disappeared–mostly. He still had a slightly heavier stubble than normal, and the nicotine craving was much, much stronger than he wanted to admit, but after a few glasses of water and a shower, he was more exhausted than anything else. He climbed into bed, and figured he’d sort the rest of it out in the morning.

It was hard to parse what he was feeling the next day. Hungover, humiliated, ecstatic, mortified, horny, desperate, used, satisfied. He popped some tylenol for the physical misery he was suffering, after a long night of physical exertion, and checked his phone, only to find another notification from the Arctos Dating app waiting for him.

“Congratulations, you got your cherry popped! You’ve gone from trial member to bronze member.”

He clicked the notification, expecting the app to have opened up for him now, but found that the functionality was frustratingly limited still. No profiles, no pictures. The one thing he could find that was definitely new was a button that said, “Update Profile”. Maybe that would open the app up for him, then. He wasn’t quite sure he wanted another experience like that though, so he closed the app down and focused on getting through the rest of his weekend chores…but by that evening, his curiosity, and his horniness, had the app back open again.

He’d never had an encounter like that in his life. Sure, it had been…a bit scary, but nothing bad had happened to him, right? So he clicked the button, only to find himself assaulted with a slew of new meaningless questions–or at least, the first couple were. Then, it asked…very specific questions about his little encounter with Jack that night, and he got a little concerned. How did they know any of this stuff? He tried to exit out, but the app wouldn’t let him leave until he finished the survey, so he completed it, and shut it down, thought about deleting it, but didn’t. Jack probably put the info in or something. Nothing nefarious. He opened it up again, but still no profiles–apparently, he’d just have to wait again for someone to want to meet him for another blind date, and in the meantime, he’d just have to let things be.


As I said above, patrons get early access to these chapters, and get to vote on what happens next in the story! Patrons at all levels, even just $1, get access to the surveys. If you’d like to know more, check out my patreon page here.

The Pigtown Chronicles – The House of Brand

I had intended to get back to posting regular chapters of The Pigtown Chronicles last month, but due to some financial constraints, I took on a few extra commissions instead, which I am just now wrapping up. However, one of those was this one, which the commissioner requested take place in The Pigtown Chronicles setting, and he was gracious enough to let me explore a part of that setting which I was worried I wouldn’t be able to get to for a little while in the main story arc.

As a little gay history lesson, just as there were houses for drag queens and for vogue, there were also leather houses and leather clubs that served a similar purpose–mentoring young men interested in leather and BDSM, providing family for those who didn’t have any of their own, and support network for elders in the community. Pigtown has its houses as well, sometimes feuding, sometimes cooperating, all of them with their own quirks and talents that their members learn to harness and control. Here’s an introduction to one such house–The House of Brand.

Like my earlier post, “Miles’s New Boss“, this episode also stands alone, and so can be read without having to know the full back ground of the earlier arcs. Enjoy!


Alex checked the address again, and looked up at the rather sizable house he was standing in front of, wondering if this was really the place. Alex had been dipping in and out of Pigtown for the last few months, ever since hearing a few rumors about the new clubs, bathhouses and sex shops that had been popping up in what had been a fairly boring industrial district of the city not too long before. Alex was in his early thirties, and trying to make up for lost time. He’d been living with his rather conservative family up until a few years ago, when he finally moved away and came out of the closet, hoping to live the life he’d been denying himself, but in all honesty, he felt like he’d missed his chance.

Going into these clubs, looking at all of these hot daddies and the young cubs they were with, Alex felt like he didn’t belong in either camp. He certainly looked more like a daddy, with his slight paunch, furry chest, receding hairline and beard, but mostly, he felt envious of the young cubs. How excited they were, trying new things, eager and anxious and full of vitality. He wondered if he’d wasted his relative youth on a family that wouldn’t even speak to him again, if they knew where he was now. Most of his encounters with men in Pigtown had felt like misfires. If he paired up with a cub, he often felt like they were both fumbling, the younger man wanting him to take the lead, but Alex lacking the experience to know how. If he went home with a bear, the result was usually a bit more exciting, but he couldn’t help but feel like he was missing something with them that he couldn’t quite explain. Despite the missteps, something kept drawing him back, first on the weekends, then most nights a week, then almost every night. Something was there, something he needed to find, but it kept eluding him. Then, he met Chris.

It had been at The Hideaway, which was quickly becoming a staple of Alex’s regular nights in Pigtown. He would have a few drinks at the bar and then wander the maze–sometimes watching, sometimes participating, always yearning, until he woke up back home, without any memory of getting there. Chris had arrived with a small contingent of leather men and boys, ended up breaking off at some point, and sitting next to Alex at the bar, where he’d struck up conversation with him. Alex had told him his story, and to his surprise, the man had listened, and at the end, offered him a suggestion.

“The house I belong to is opening up for prospects. I think it might be what you’re looking for,” Chris said.

“A house?”

Chris nodded. “Think of it…as a club, or a family. Chosen family. A group of men who are stronger together than we were separate. Helping each other grow here.”

“Sounds like a cult, or a frat.”

Chris laughed at that, but didn’t deny either accusation. He just slipped Alex a business card, gave him a kiss on the cheek, and slipped off into the maze, where the rest of his group had already gone. Alex hesitated, wondering if he should follow him. He finished his drink, worked up the nerve, and followed into the dark, but for the rest of the night, he didn’t find any of them, anywhere, and woke up panting in his bed, as if from a nightmare.

There in his pocket, though, was the card. House of Brand, with an address, and on the back, a date and time. It wasn’t much of an invitation, but there on the street, he flipped it over in his hand, figuring it would have to do, marched up to the door, where a leather clad bear was waiting. He gave Alex a glance up and down as he approached, and from the slight frown on his face, he seemed a little suspicious of him. However, when Alex showed him the card and told him he’d received it from Chris, the man welcomed him to the house, tied a strip of dark green cloth around his right arm, and welcomed him as a potential prospect of the house. 

Inside, the large house seemed a bit rundown, just like the outside. Well worn, he supposed. The scents on the air were musk, almost like a locker room, and tobacco smoke, both fresh and stale. He could hear the sounds of men talking and laughing nearby, followed them, and entered a sizable ballroom, full of leather clad men. The doorway he’d entered through was up a short flight of stairs, giving him a good position to survey the room, and already, he was intimidated. He nearly turned around to leave before getting too deep into something he neither understood, nor was certain he wanted any part of, but when he turned, Chris was there, smoking a cigar, waiting with a few other men who had green cloth tied around their arms, but on the left side.

“I was wondering if you were going to stand me up,” Chris said, came up, and gave him a little kiss.

“I don’t…what is this, exactly?” Alex asked.

“This is the House of Brand. A group of like minded men who have come together to be larger than something they can be alone. A family, I like to think. Come on, let me introduce you around.”

Chris wrapped one arm around his waist, walked him down the steps and into the crowd. Many of the men gave Chris the same, somewhat skeptical look as the man at the door when he’d approached, but they all were welcoming and generally congenial. As Alex encountered a few more men with the green cloth on their right arm, like him, he began to understand why. All of the other prospects, also escorted by an older bear with a cloth tied on the left, were generally young cubs eagerly pawing at any man they came across, obviously eager to ingratiate themselves with the men of the house by any means possible. The display made Alex a little embarrassed on their behalf, and he found himself wondering whether he ought to be doing something more. When he had a moment alone with Chris, he tried to ask him more about what this event was all about, but just as he felt he was going to get an answer, the lights dimmed. Everyone looked to the entrance doors, where a dignified old leatherman was climbing the steps. Chris leaned over and whispered, “The Housefather, Darren.”

“Welcome Prospects!” Darren said, “Tonight, the House of Brand will select the most worthy of you to join our ranks. Nominators bring your prospects to the center of the room, so we may begin our evaluations.”

The men in the crowd hooted and hollered, and Chris tugged Alex to the middle of the crowd, where a large stage had been erected in the center, and on it, what looked to be a complete dungeon. Other prospects were climbing up onto the stage, and Alex reluctantly climbed up as well, clearly feeling out of place as the oldest of them all, the misfit. Some of the others paired off, kissing and fondling one another while the men of the house catcalled them. Others stepped forward alone, dancing for the crowd, basking in the attention of the men, and Alex shrank back, not sure what, exactly, he was even performing for. He slipped back behind some of the dungeon equipment, only to find Chris standing there, grinning. 

“Chris, I don’t understand. I’m not…a cub. I don’t look anything like them. I don’t even know what all of this place is!”

“Boy, you need to relax. I know what’s there, in your heart,” Chris said, moving closer  to him, taking a long drag off his cigar, wrapping one hand around the back of his head and feeding Alex his smoke, feeling him melt against him. He pulled his lips away, wrapped both arms around Alex and buried him in his furry chest. “Just let Daddy show you who you can be here, what kind of family we are.”

The world was spinning. Alex looked down at himself, and was a bit confused. Something seemed a bit…off. His chest was slightly less hairy, his gut a little thicker and softer, his cock a bit shorter, but most of all what caught him off guard was the sudden fire in his chest. It was like the smoke had condensed inside him into a little cinder burning there, spreading warmth all through him, and when Chris turned him around and pushed him back into the collection of cubs there, he slammed into one, pressed his lips to him, and kissed him–and it felt…right.

He felt right. He felt young, and horny, and anxious, and terrified, and eager, a whole flurry of emotions spinning through him, and he pulled the cub close, groping him, kneading his gut, the other doing the same to him while the men around them shouted and cheered for them to continue. 

Chris came up behind him, ran a hand up and down Alex’s crack, fingering his hole with one leather gloved finger, and pushed inside. Alex gasped, feeling how tight his hole was around it, how he could squeeze it, and then, he looked up and saw another Nominator on stage with the cub before him, running his own hands over the boy he’d chosen. “Giving yours a makeover? It takes more than a glamour to satisfy the housefather you know,” he said to Chris.

“Oh, just some encouragement. Trust me, I know this one is worthy.”

Looking around, Alex saw that the other nominators had joined them on stage. Some were working with the boys they’d chosen, some were inspecting the others, toying with them, using them. A pair had strapped one boy to a cross and were flogging his back while the boy cried out, another had two boys worshipping his cock, fighting over it, eager to earn the privilege of taking his load. Together, Chris and the other nominator bent the cubs over, pushing them onto their hands and knees, still kissing, and got down on their knees, cocks out and hard, eager for the boy’s holes.

“Why don’t we switch?” the other nominator said.

“And give you first fuck at the hole I chose? Why should I?” Chris shot back.

“The goal is to be impartial. If it’s as good as you say, wouldn’t you want a brother to partake?”

Chris grinned, and gave a mock bow. The two swapped places, and the other got on his knees behind Alex and pushed the head of his cock against his hole. “Let’s see how the boy takes it, eh?”

He slid in, and Alex groaned in excitement. The pain was there–he wasn’t exactly an experienced bottom, by any means, but he could feel this eagerness inside him, something that had always been there, but tamped down by years of regret and fear burst forth. He opened up and felt the man behind him moan in surprise. “Fuck, he does have a good hole, how the fuck do you always know, Chris?”

“Years of experience,” Chris said, and slid his cock into the other cub’s hole. It was more of a struggle, but Alex did his best to distract the young man, encourage him, keep him more horny than nervous, and it wasn’t long before the two daddies were pounding the boys in tandem, shoving their faces together while the cubs kissed, and after a few minutes, they both pulled out, and swapped. Alex, though, had an idea–he rolled over onto his belly and slid under the other cub, taking his cock in his mouth, and sucking, the other cub getting the hint and sucking his as well. The other men all cheered at the cub’s ingenuity, and Chris smiled–right again. He grabbed hold of Alex’s ankles and hauled them into the air, on either side of the other cub’s head, and pushed his cock into his hole. No wonder the other cub had struggled a bit–Chris was quite a bit thicker than the other daddy had been, but Alex knew he could take it. Wanted to take it. It wasn’t long before they all blew their loads in quick succession–first the other cub, then the other Nominator, Chris, and finally Alex, who flooded the cub’s mouth with a massive load. The other cub rolled off and they swapped their loads while the rest of the room looked on, the show slowly coming to a conclusion, and when all the prospects had been freed from the predicaments around them, they were lined up, sweating, heaving, and most of all, thrilled.

Their number had dwindled. A few had decided they’d bitten off more than they could chew, and had fled the stage. Another couple were dismissed–their performance had been deemed unsatisfactory for one reason or another, but Alex remained. The last thing he recalled clearly was the housefather, Darren, tapping a chunk of ash off his cigar and into his hand, before swatting it against Alex’s ass, where it burned. He screamed, but Chris was there, holding him in shock, telling him how proud he was of him, that he was home now, and kissed him, fed him smoke, and everything faded to nothing after that.


Alex awoke slowly, the heat of the night before now turned cold in his body, leaving him with any number of aches and pains that he didn’t quite regret, but which he also did not appreciate. He opened his eyes, and found himself looking at an unfamiliar wall–and sat up to get his bearings. It was the first time he hadn’t gone to his own home after a night in Pigtown. He’d begun to assume that he’d always end up back there, and so the fact that he was somewhere else was more unsettling than he’d expected. There was a window near the bed, and he looked out, and saw the same street from the night before–he was still in the House of Brand then, perhaps in Chris’s quarters.

It smelled like Chris, at least. He could smell the cigar, and his musk, and there were the leathers he’d been in the night before tossed over the back of a chair–though there was no sign of his own clothing anywhere. He’d lost it in the course of the night’s event, most of it after Chris had changed him because none of it had quite fit right. He was no longer quite sure he’d even changed at all, really, but then, the whole evening had been such a rush he wasn’t sure what had happened at all. There was full length mirror hanging on the wall, and he went over to look at himself, and scowled at his reflection.

Some of it was right, and some of it was not. His hairline was receding, but not quite as much as before. He looked a bit shorter, but without something familiar to judge against, it was difficult to know for sure. He seemed to have gained a little paunch, and his body hair wasn’t quite as thick. He turned around to look at his back, and let out a little gasp when he saw his ass. There on the right cheek, where the housefather had slapped his ass with that hot cinder was a mark–but not a burn. It was more like a brand, a scar, really, in the shape of a little ball of fire. He reached his hand back to feel it, and it was tender, but didn’t feel fresh.

He was interrupted by the sound of a door opening elsewhere in the suite, and a moment after that, Chris entered the bedroom, towel slung over his shoulder, clearly fresh out of the shower. “You’re awake!” he said, “How are you feeling? You must have some questions. I wanted to be here when you woke, but risked taking a shower first.”

“What…what the fuck is this?” Alex said, indicating the mark on his ass. “Where the hell did it come from?”

“That’s the mark of an initiate,” Chris said, “The housefather felt that you had demonstrated potential, and inducted you into the house. We all have one, myself included.” He turned around, and sure enough, there was a brand on his own ass as well, though his was much more detailed and spread across both cheeks. There on the right side, just as on Alex’s, was the same little fireball, though it was surrounded by scars resembling a crossed cigar and flogger, among other things. “I am currently at the rank of Master, which gives me the honor of nominating prospects and training initiates, if they are accepted. You will be living in my quarters until you become an acolyte.”

“I–I can’t live here! I have an apartment, a job–”

“You had an apartment and a job. Now you have a house, brothers, and a purpose that no job can give you. I know, I…well, I assume I had one at some point, but that feels so long ago now. I suppose you could still leave, if you want,” Chris said, stepping away from the door and holding up his hands, “I understand that this is…more than you may have expected, but there is a reason I invited you. There’s a reason you were selected. There were twenty nominees last night, and the housefather only accepted four, including you. I want you to know what you’d be giving up, if you decided to leave.”

Alex looked at the doorway, then at his reflection, and then went and sat down on the bed. “Alright. What did you do to me last night? Why do I look different?”

Chris chuckled. “Do you mind if I smoke?” he said, but lit a cigar before Alex could signal he was fine with it. “It would be easier to just show you, I think,” he said, taking a breath of smoke, coming over to where Alex was sitting. He wrapped a hand around the back of his neck, making Alex throb, and fed him a lungful of smoke like he had the night before. Again, Alex could feel the heat of it, the rush, but slower this time, more considered. It wasn’t the smoke that was suffusing him, but a warmth through his entire body, and when Chris pulled away, he could see in the mirror the reflection of the cub he’d become the night before. “That’s…how I did it. If you stay, you’ll learn that trick yourself, in time.”

“Is…it a drug or something?”

“No, you’re seeing a version of yourself that I see,” Chris said, pulling him up from the bed, pulling him in front of the mirror, and hugging him from behind, rubbing his hands all over Alex’s chubby torso, nuzzling the back of his neck with his beard. “When you see it yourself, when you believe it, I won’t have to feed you smoke to make it happen. You’ll…do it yourself, in a sense, when you find your own heat.”

“That…doesn’t make sense,” Alex said, resisting the urge to moan and push himself back against Chris’s cock.

“This is Pigtown, boy, it makes perfect sense,” He bit down on Alex’s neck, a little harder than usual, and Alex pulled away, a bit surprised. “Sorry, you’re so hot you get me excited. If you don’t cool off a bit, I’ll have you down in the dungeon before breakfast.”

“I’m not into the whole…BDSM thing, really,” Alex said, “I mean, I like the leather and everything, but–”

“Have you done anything like that before? With anyone?”

Alex shook his head.

“There’s a reason I invited you, you know. You aren’t the first initiate I’ve trained, and while I don’t think you’ll be the last, as soon as I got to know you, got a taste of you, I knew you were meant for this, meant for me. That you understand it, even if you don’t know you do. Let me show you.”

Chris came closer, tweaking Alex’s nipples in his fingers, twisting them, tugging them, then he took an inhale of smoke, leaned down, sucked one of Alex’s meaty nipples into his mouth, and bit down. Alex hollered in surprise, felt a searing heat through his chest, and when he tugged his chest away, he saw something new. A ring had appeared in his nipple, already healed, and he looked down in disbelief as Chris smiled, toying with it. “Looks good on you, doesn’t it? But wouldn’t it look better if it was symmetrical?”

He pushed Alex against the wall, toying with both, and Alex was aware, suddenly, of how hard he was, how hot he was, sweating in the room though he’d woken up and it had felt a bit chilly. He gave a little nod, surprising even himself, and Chris bent down, bit the other nipple, and this time, expecting the pain, he could anticipate it, the heat that rushed through him, that spread through them both, and when Chris pulled away, he kissed him, hungry and hot and fevered. The next thing he knew Chris was lying down on the bed and he’d climbed up on top of him, Chris’s cock sliding into his hole like a red hot poker spearing him, his own cock throbbing and aching as Chris toyed with his new rings. Chris came after a couple of minutes, filling Alex’s hole with a load of cum, and Alex came as well, spraying his cum across Chris’s chest where it steamed slightly on his skin.

“Fuck, you’re so fucking hot,” Chris said, “I’ve never seen someone push so much heat out so soon, you’re a little fucking heater, boy.”

Alex collapsed back on the bed, sweating and shaking, and Chris pulled him close. He was so hot, and yet the heat comforted him, and with a little breathing, Chris helped him cool down, ease back into himself, and after a few more minutes, he felt the heat soften, and he pulled away from Chris, embarrassed and unsure of what had just come over him, only for Chris to reach out and pull him close again.

“You felt it, didn’t you? The heat?” Chris said.

“I…I don’t know what I felt.”

Chris held up a finger from where they were laying down on the bed, snapped his fingers, and Alex let out a little jump when he saw sparks. There, dancing at the tip of his finger, was a little flame. With his free hand, he grabbed Alex’s wrist, lifted his hand, and touched the flame to his finger. He felt it, the slight burn, but it was no more than the sensation of the sun, the flame growing brighter between their two fingers. “I knew you’d be a natural.”

Alex pulled his finger away, and for a moment, he saw the flame split, feeding off his own heat, but he stamped it out. He stamped it out like he’d stamped out so much in his life, all of those years spent with his family, beating out any light, horrified any of them would see a spark, terrified in the dark and the cold and now he was warm, and he could barely express the relief that threatened to overwhelm him.

“I know that you’ve been hurt. We all have. That’s what draws us here, to the flame. Family, lovers, strangers, the world. We know what it means to ache, and sting, and scar over. But we heal ourselves and each other here. We’re a family, and you’re a part of us. You’ve been looking for us for so long, and I know it doesn’t feel that way now, but when you’re a master yourself, you’ll look back, and recognize the little flame you’d been tending all your life, waiting to bring it here, to join it to ours.”

Alex didn’t know when he’d started crying. The tears were hot, they felt like they were boiling from him, and Chris pulled him tight to his chest and just held him, kept him warm, and Alex knew that he couldn’t leave. Chris was right. He belonged here, and Alex didn’t know how he knew that, but he did. After a few minutes, when they’d finally cooled off to room temperature, they got up from the bed, and Chris retrieved a collar from the desk in the room. 

“This is your collar. While you are an initiate, this is all you will wear in the house, unless ordered otherwise.” He took a leash and attached it as well to the ring. “Initiates should not roam the house on their own–it will earn you a rather severe lashing if you’re caught. Usually you will be in my company at all times, unless you’re lent to another Master for a lesson or service.”

“How…long will I be an initiate?”

“As long as you need to be,” Chris said, “Some don’t make it beyond this point. You might say that they end up being unable to take the heat. You though, I think you’ll be an acolyte faster than most.”

“But how long–”

Chris put a finger to his lips, and smiled. “Time isn’t important. The path is. The heat is. Now, you’ve burnt up so much I know you must be as starving as I am. Let’s go get breakfast, and then we’ll introduce you to your new brothers.”

Alex nodded, and followed his new Master out into the hall of the house, naked and shaking, but he was home. Truly home, and he felt his chest bloom with pride and excitement, eager for his new journey to begin.