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Summer Commissions are Open!

Hey everyone! Due to a number of unfortunate financial incidents over the last month, I’m going to be opening up for commissions through the summer and into the fall. Most of the details are the same as the last time I was open last winter (you know, a lifetime ago at this point) but you can find all the details below, if you have questions!

— What kinds of commissions am I offering?

I will be offering three kinds of commissions while I am open.

Sketch story commissions – A sketch story is around 1000 words long, and generally isn’t a fully fleshed out story. Think of it as a writer’s version of an artist’s sketch. The cost for a sketch commission is a flat $25 fee. Other ideas that can be turned into sketches rather easily would include:

  • A TF scene you would like me to write, which doesn’t necessarily warrant a full story.
  • A caption for a photo or two that you would like to see.
  • A branch you would like to see continued over on CYOC with a new chapter.
  • An alternate branch on an interactive story I have written, if you’d wanted to see a different sort of outcome.
  • A short fanfic story, though if I have to research a show or video game I don’t know, it will cost an extra $10 dollars.

Frat Daddy interlude commissions – This is a limited offer for the summer season! Have you been enjoying my Frat Daddy story? Is there a scenario or a fetish that you’d like the see Daddy inflict on one of his boys in the house? These will be a 3000 word commission, offered at a flat rate of $70 dollars–which is a $20 discount off the usual price of this length of story.

Short story commissions – I define a short story as anything shorter than 5000 words. The rate for a short story is 3 cents a word, or 30 dollars per 1000 words written. A short story comes with more restrictions on content.

  • No fan fiction.
  • Stories involving your fursona or OC characters may require further consultation. This isn’t to say that furry stories aren’t allowed–but some ideas may be better suited to the sketch category above, than a full fledged story.

— How does my commission process work?

I do not work with a queue system–I’ve found it tends to make it harder for me to get through more pieces if I have to finish them in a particular order. Instead, I use what I call the pot system. It works like this:

  1. You ask me for a commission, and we chat about your idea. If it sounds like something I can write for you, then I will send you a rough synopsis of the story, as I plan on writing it. Once you agree to that outline, I will put your commission ‘into the pot’.
  2. There are two pots. There is the priority pot, reserved for patrons, and a general pot, for non-patrons. The pots will be publicly posted so you will know how many people are waiting. Sketch and story commissions share the same pots. 
  3. I will select stories from the pot to commit to writing, and then ask for the down payment before I begin the story. A sketch story requires the entire $25 payment before I begin, and a short story requires a $30 down payment. I will select commissions from the priority pot first, and then, once the priority pot is empty, I will begin taking general commissions from the pot, and working on those in turn.
  4. Once I finish a story, I will send you a link to the first draft, and discuss any edits you would like to make. Small detail edits are free–if I have to substantially rework the story, that will incur an additional fee. The balance on a short story commission is due before edits will be done, and the story polished.
  5. I will do my best to work through all of the commissions in both pots as quickly as I can. However, I can’t guarantee that I will finish every commission I put in the pot–this is why I take the down payment before I begin writing, not immediately after the consultation. 

— How do I accept payments?

I prefer accepting payments over cash app or paypal.

— How long will I remain open for commissions?

I plan on remaining open through the end of August, and perhaps longer, depending on demand. When I reach a point that I feel like I cannot reasonably accept more commissions and finish them all in the time I have given myself, I will close the pots–but continue finishing the stories in them. I generally plan to finish all of the stories in both pots–however, life happens. I will only guarantee a story will be written once I have accepted a down payment from you.

What sort of content will I be posting during this time?

I generally put most of my energy into commissions when I am open, so depending on demand, Frat Daddy may be put on hold for the time being. I will still have the suggestion box open through July and August, however.

–Can you get more than one short story commission? Can you commission sequels?

You sure can! However, I only work on one commission from each individual at a time, so you can’t commission 10,000 words all at once. If you would like another commission from me, you’re more than welcome to do so, however, all repeat customers go to the back of the queue automatically, to make sure a few people aren’t hogging my time. In the case of sequels, or multiple stories in the same larger arc, I am generally willing to do so. However, if the story is rather involved, I may charge a 3.5 cent per word rate for sequels.

— How do I contact you?

You can use the following ways to contact me regarding a commission. If you send me a message in some other fashion (say, over on tumblr) I can’t guarantee I’ll receive it. Patrons should message me either through discord, or send me a message through Patreon.

Email – wesley.bracken@gmail.com

Telegram – username @brackenous

Twitter – Send me a DM, my profile is @wesleybracken

Discord: username Wesley Bracken#4835

Thanks for your support as always! Get in touch if you’re interested in a commission!

Arctos: Second Life Thrift (Part 2)

Tim had heard of empty nest syndrome, that parents could have a rough time when their kids go off to college, but after spending half of winter break with his dad, he couldn’t stomach anymore of this ‘new leaf’ as Brian called it. The house was filthy, all his dad wore anymore was filthy biker gear, he stuffed himself silly, drank from the time he woke up to the time he passed out, and he’d be gone for these long stretches–sometimes overnight, and he’d come back reeking of sex. Tim tried to sit him down and talk about the changes he’d seen, but his dad didn’t want to hear it. Instead…well, Tim had gotten the sense that his father was wanting him to drop out and move back home–and that, well, his father wanted to have sex with him. That was made quite clear on the last night he’d stayed there, when his drunken father had burst into his room in the night, buck ass naked, backed up to the bed and asked his son to fuck him. Tim had left that morning, and planned on not coming back–ever if he could help it–or at least until his father sorted his shit out.

Thankfully, he’d moved off campus into a little house he rented with a few friends instead of the dorms, which were still closed, so at least he had somewhere to go. He hadn’t been there for a few days, before he got a package in the mail from some company called Arctos, paid for by his father, from something called Second Life Thrift. He opened it up, mostly out of morbid curiosity, and found that there were a bunch of clothes inside, all of it absolutely filthy–just as nasty as his dad’s new clothes were, if not worse. He sealed the box back up, intending to throw them out, but instead, the box ended up pushed into the back of the closet, where Tim forgot about it rather quickly, as the next semester got rolling. He got the occasional call from his dad those first few weeks he was back at school, but he ignored them, listening to the occasional voicemail, which wanted to know if he was enjoying the gift he’d sent, wanting to know why he wouldn’t talk to him, wanting to know why he didn’t want to fuck him. It was disgusting. Finally, he blocked the number, and started making arrangements to stay at school for the summer–because one thing was certain, there was no way he was going to be living with his dad ever again.

Back home, Brian couldn’t figure out where he’d gone wrong. He had been certain that once his son got a good look at his new persona, he’d jump at the chance to ditch school and be a biker slut like him, but Tim hadn’t seemed the least bit interested. That night when he’d tried to force himself on Tim in his room had been a gamble, and one that hadn’t paid off at all. He’d gone back to the Arctos site, scrolling through some of the lots, wondering what he could send to his son that might give him a little bit of a boost, make him more amenable to the life his dad was offering him, when he’d stumbled on a familiar face–or at least, a face that was familiar to the ghost that had merged with him.

It was Jerry–a trucker that the ghost had been with, off and on, for close to thirty years. Occasionally, their lives would bring them close for a while, and the ghost had always loved getting fucked by Jerry’s massive ten inch cock, even if the trucker hadn’t had much in the way of Brian’s. He spent his time, when he wasn’t driving, focused on his weight lifting, and even when he was nearing sixty years old, he’d been a massive muscle beast, covered with hair–fuck, Brian could almost smell him now, even after all of this time. So why not send his son a gift, and give his old fuck buddy a new chance at life? It was too good an opportunity to be true.

So Brian waited, figuring his son wouldn’t be able to resist the allure of the clothes for too long. After all, it had only taken him a few days to fall almost entirely under the sway of his own ghost, back when he’d gotten his first box. He called his son, but got no answer–over and over again. Why wasn’t he picking up? Surely something must have happened by now, right? In the end, he took an extended trip on his hog to the college, and snooped around, only to discover that his son was…well, completely normal! Nothing about him seemed to have changed at all. How in the world could that even be possible? He snuck around the house for a bit, and eventually spotted the ghost of his old friend, hanging out in Tim’s room, looking a bit lost. He motioned Jerry outside, though it took him a little while to convince him that he could, in fact, see him, and asked Jerry what was going on–why wasn’t he trying to get Terry to wear his clothes?

Jerry told him that he’d been trying, but nothing seemed to work–he just couldn’t get inside the kids head. It had taken all of his energy just to keep him from throwing everything out, and sending Jerry to the dump with the rest of the garbage. It didn’t help that, even as a ghost, Jerry wasn’t the most clever of apparitions. Once brute force had failed, he’d mostly just settled into the room, vaguely haunting the place, waiting for something to happen, growing hornier and hornier, since he couldn’t seem to get any release as a spectre.

Apparently, Brian realized, his son was going to be a harder nut to crack than he’d expected. Then again, he shouldn’t be that surprised, right? After all, Jerry and Tim couldn’t be more opposed if he’d tried–which was one reason he’d chosen him, but the lack of common ground meant there was nothing for the ghost to tempt him with. Brian went back to the dingy motel room he was renting, and thought about what to do next–and eventually ended up back on the Arctos website, where he saw that their product offerings were much more robust than just some second hand clothes. In fact, as he scrolled through the various pages of products, he realized that all he’d need were a few little things to give his son a push in the right direction, and his buddy’s ghost would be able to take care of the rest.


Tim was feeling rundown. School was ramping up, and he was feeling a bit lost in his Freshman year, and that weird visit with his dad hadn’t helped things much at all. He was…worried about him, but what could he do? His dad was an only child so there wasn’t much in the way of family to contact to try and intervene. He didn’t have much in the way of friends. He was at a loss, and having a hard enough time juggling his own school work to try and solve his father’s problems for him. He turned off the sidewalk and climbed the steps to the front door of the house he shared with two friends, Eric and Max, who were both pre-med students like him. There, beside the door, was a package with his name on the label, but he couldn’t recall ordering anything recently. It probably wasn’t anything exciting. He went inside, set down his bag, then went back out and brought in the small package, which was surprisingly heavy, and sounded like there were a few metal…somethings clanking inside. Max was in the kitchen eating a sandwich–and Tim eyed the disaster area with a scowl. He supposed he was just as guilty, but none of them had really had time to clean the place up much since school had gotten so busy for them, but not having a kitchen was bugging him. He was so tired of takeout!

He knifed open the tape, and found a collection of small drink cans inside, with a note folded on top. He opened it up and read:

Greetings!

You’ve been selected by a previous Arctos customer to try one of our sample products! Arctos is a lifestyle brand for men who aren’t afraid to embrace their manliness, and enjoy the company and taste of men like them. The fellow who sent this to you has great taste, and we’re certain that when you get a taste of our products, you’ll understand just what kind of quality and craftsmanship goes into all of our products–you too, will be an Arctos customer for life!

Tim pulled one of the cans out of the box, and found that it was a protein shake, or a meal replacement shake, or both? It wasn’t quite clear from the label. The only thing it promised was that he’d have more energy (something he could use for sure), build more mass (something he couldn’t care less about), and unleash the jock within (dumb marketing bullshit, more like). He had a seven day supply, one set of shakes for breakfasts, and one set of shakes for dinner in the evening. 

He looked at the kitchen again, and then back at the can. Well, what did he really have to lose? It was just a shake after all. He hadn’t had any dinner plans anyway, and if he didn’t have to eat anything else, it was kind of convenient. He popped open one of the night shakes, took a sip–it wasn’t too bad–and carried the box back to his room, where he stashed them in the little fridge he usually used to hold his soda, but was empty at the moment.

He finished the shake, tossed the can in the trash, and sat down to get started on his homework, but after half an hour or so, the shake just felt like it was settling in his gut like lead, making him sleepy. He tried to concentrate on the chapter he needed to read before tomorrow, but it was no use, he was just reading the same paragraph over and over, making no real progress. He’d been up until three in the morning the last few days, and up again at eight to get to his nine o’clock lecture–his exhaustion was just catching up with him, and he was using the shake as an excuse. He struggled along for a few more hours, finding a bit of a rhythm and finishing half the chapter. He got ready for bed, figuring he’d just read the rest in the morning before class, setting his alarm for seven.  

He woke up starving, stumbled over to the fridge, pulled out one of the morning cans, and knocked it back, following it up with a satisfied belch–something he usually would have never done in his life, but at least it stopped the ache in his gut. Tim tried to recall what he’d been dreaming about, but whatever it was, it must have been sexy–he’d just had his first wet dream in ages over it. Pushing that aside, he tried to finish the chapter–but now he had the opposite problem. The can was right–he did have energy, so much that he could barely stay in his seat. He got to class without finishing the reading, and sitting still through the hour and a half lecture was torturous, even though he usually loved this class. All of his classes were like that though, and finally he just skipped his last one, mostly because he was hungry. He went to the dining hall, piled a tray high with food, ate all of it somehow, and then went back to his house, but the jitters didn’t stop. He ended up just walking around the neighborhood for a while, faster and faster, even jogging at times, because that was the only time his head seemed to calm down. He swore he wouldn’t have another shake, but even after a big dinner, he was…starving, he couldn’t settle down. He relented, drank down one of the night shakes, and in less than an hour he was sleeping, snoring heaving, cock tenting his sheets.

On the third day, Tim relented and went to the gym in the morning, just planning on running on a treadmill for half an hour, to burn off some steam. The next time he checked the clock, it was one in the afternoon, his body was screaming, and he realized he’d put himself through a massive workout, despite having never lifted a weight in his life. This…didn’t concern him, somehow. He ate a big lunch–he needed plenty of fuel for his growing body, after all–and went for a jog in the afternoon, returning home in the evening, and realizing he hadn’t gone to a single class all day, and he hadn’t done any of his reading since first drinking the shakes. But something just…told him not to worry about it. He tried to read, but got bored, and ended up just jacking off instead, looking at himself in the mirror in his room, how much…bigger he’d gotten, after his day in the gym, thinking about how much larger he could get. 

By the fifth day, Tim would have outgrown all of his clothes–if any of his old clothes had remained in his room. He burst out of his room after his morning shake, wearing a tank top stretched tight across his pecs, a pair of mesh shorts, and headed to the gym for his morning workout–and didn’t really bat an eye when he ended up at rugby practice that evening. The fact that he’d missed his classes didn’t faze him or his coaches. After all, a jock like him just had to worry about an easy fine arts major–he was there for sports, not to study. He went out to a bar with some of his friends, getting in with a fake ID, brought one home with him, and fucked his ass in his room before drinking his night shake and passing out again. 

On the seventh day, there was a knock on the door, and Tim was surprised to find his father standing on the step, his motorcycle parked on the lawn next to the driveway. “Hey son! I was on a long ride, and thought I’d stop by and give my favorite boy a visit,” he said, pulled Tim in for a hug–and while Tim knew he should be furious for his dad for what happened over winter break, when he smelled him, there was something about him that was suddenly…alluring. Sure, he reeked like he always did now, of booze and cigar smoke and rank musk, but there was something…else in the mix that Tim couldn’t identify. “Come on Tim, you’re happy to see me, aren’t you?” Brian said–it was less a question, and more of an order.

“Of…of course dad, come on in…” Tim said, and let Brian into the house. His two housemates were at one of their classes, so they had the house to themselves for the next few hours. Brian took a moment to look his new and improved son over in the living room, and had to say he was quite impressed with the results from those protein shakes he’d had sent to him. Gone was the scrawny, short bookish boy that had gone off to college–Tim was now a bit over six feet, and close to 240 pounds of solid mass, thick pecs, a solid muscle gut beneath them, and from the bulge in the front of the shorts he was wearing, he seemed to be packing a bit more down there as well–but that could wait for a bit. First things first, was to help Tim and Jerry get acquainted at last.

“Dang son, nice little pad ya got here,” Brian said, and started looking through the place, “Where’s your room at?”

“Oh, uh, upstairs, first door on the left.”

Brian heaved his big body up to the next floor, and Tim followed him, still trying to get close enough to figure out why he smelled so nice. “So…uh, dad, any other reason you wanted to come by? I…I mean, I wasn’t expecting you at all.”

“What, a dad can’t come spend some time with his strapping, hot-as-fuck son?”

Tim blushed at the rather…sexual compliment, recalled the last time, how his dad had tried to get him to fuck him back home, and wondered why he hadn’t. Things had gotten so fuzzy lately though, and he didn’t always do things that made sense, he supposed. The last week in particular had been really weird, and now his dad just shows up out of the blue? Brian entered Tim’s room, went right for the closet, dug around and hauled out the package Tim had received earlier, which he’d mostly forgotten about. Then again, over the last few nights, he’d been having these…dreams, and now, looking at the box, it was almost…deja vu.

“What, ya never even opened it?” Brian asked.

“I…I don’t even remember what’s in there,” Tim said.

“Some clothes I bought for ya, off the internet. I thought ya’d love em. Go on son, take a look.”

So Tim starting digging around in the box, and pulling out the contents, laying it out around him. There were a bunch of tanktops, or t-shirts with the sleeves hacked off, some trucker hats, some jockstraps, cut-off jean shorts, thick wool socks, some steel toe boots, and a few cans of dip. All of the clothes were heavily stained and looked like they hadn’t been washed in ages–that, and they reeked of sweat and musk, grease and exhaust too. But looking around at them, he found that he wasn’t…that disgusted by the gear, less so than he would have expected. Little did he know, thought Brian could see behind him, that the ghost of Jerry had his fingers shoved into Tim’s head, tongue sticking out, working on manipulating the young man as best he could. 

“Here’s what we’re gonna do, Tim,” Brian said, got down beside him, and pulled his son into his pit, where he’d sprayed the special deodorant from Arctos, one designed to make men much more agreeable to his demands, We’re gonna dress you up in this gear, and then you’re gonna fuck your dad’s hole, real good. Then, I think I’m gonna crash on your couch for a while–you’d like to spend some quality time with your dad, wouldn’t you?”

Tim nodded in a stupor, between the ghost working him over and the compelling musk of his father, and together, they got him dressed up in some of Jerry’s best gear, and then he fucked his father’s dirty hole for half an hour, certain, somehow, that he’d done this all before. When Eric and Max got back a few hours later, they found Brian and Tim on the couch watching TV, Tim still dressed in the gear from the box, but with the addition of a lip of chewing tobacco shoved in his mouth, spitting into an empty protein shake can. The two clean, nerdy housemates were put off at first, but Brian was able to smooth things over with them both–by evening, they were all happy to let Brian crash on the couch for a while, especially Tim, who found himself thinking more and more about how hot it had been to fuck his dad’s hole. He couldn’t resist, in fact–he dragged his dad back into his room after dinner, and fucked him again, loud and rough, while the two roommates tried to focus on their school work–but as far as Brian was concerned, the two of them wouldn’t have to worry about things like that for much longer.


Brian had arrived in late February, and both March and April passed in a blur for Tim. The protein shakes kept arriving from Arctos, and he kept drinking them. His routine was much easier now. It didn’t take much urging from his dad to convince him to drop out in March–they both knew well enough that Tim wasn’t smart enough to keep up with college, even the easy courses for stupid jocks like him. He got a membership at a little gym near the house, and started spending most of his time there. He’d wake up in the morning, down a shake from Arctos, and then jog to the gym for his daily workout, which usually lasted four or five hours. Then he’d jog home, and spend the rest of the afternoon with his dad. Sometimes they’d go for a ride–Brian had surprised him with a bike of his own (one that Brian had “convinced” a rather rude biker to give him) and go fuck off in the woods for a while. Other times they’d stay home, and fuck around there instead.

While Tim was out each morning, Brian would find other ways to occupy himself. For the first few weeks, he turned Eric and Max into his own personal projects, testing out a few other arctos products on them both. Before too long, they had dropped out of school as well, a pair of grungy, chubby, stupid pigs with tiny dicks, hungry for Tim’s cock as much as Brian was. After all, he couldn’t afford to give Tim a chance to really think about what was going on, and Jerry’s ghost needed the stimulation. His stamina had always been off the charts, and Brian wanted to make sure the ghost of his friend always had a hole available where he could drop a load. The landlord was another issue, after he came around and saw that the house was turning into a literal sty. With a little manipulation, they came to a new agreement. He’d keep paying the mortgage and utilities, but wouldn’t expect rent in cash anymore–instead, he’d get to enjoy full access to all the cameras he was going to install in the house to catch all the pigs in action, and then spend the rest of his time jacking off, watching them all go at it, day and night.

Somehow, Arctos just knew when to send the second collection of items from Jerry’s lot, and this second load was the final set. He’d lived his life on the road, in his truck, and so hadn’t had much in the way of earthly attachments. In any case, he figured it was time to introduce Jerry and Tim properly. He sent Eric and Max off to spend some time with the landlord–he’d recently gotten divorced, and he was thrilled to have the two pigs in his house, where he could watch them rut in real time. That gave him a few days with Tim, alone, to help him get acquainted with his ghost. He didn’t think he’d run into much trouble, but he had a few surprises up his sleeve, just in case.

Tim was still sleeping off their bender from the night before–in addition to his new dip habit, which had grown more and more severe over the last few months, he’d also taken to hard liquor as well, the cheaper and stronger the better, which had added to his hard gut, even as the rest of him swelled with muscle. Brian went in and gave his son a shake, and then a kiss, and told him he had a surprise for him, when he was up. Tim roused himself, stumbled into the bathroom to take care of business, then into the kitchen for his morning shake. Once he had that in him, and a lip full of dip, he went out to the living room where his dad had a couple more boxes like the one he’d sent him before. He opened up the boxes, and found them full of more clothes–more work gear, really. Some flannel shirts, all well worn and stained with dip spit, grungy hi-vis vests and jackets, more hats, some overalls and coveralls coated with engine oil and grease. Tim was happy with them–though he didn’t really know what he was supposed to do with all of it, or why all of it seemed so…familiar to him. He looked up at his dad, beaming, and shot up from the couch when he saw someone else standing there too.

“Now son, don’t be alarmed, this is Jerry–he’s a friend of mine. He’s been helping you out for the last few months, and now it’s time the two of you got properly acquainted,” Brian said, motioning to the ghost standing beside him, “Jerry died a few years back, you see–a bad accident, but now he gets a second chance, thanks to you.”

“You…what the fuck are you talking about?” Tim asked, backing away. The pale figure was massive–easily six and a half feet tall, packed with muscle, head shaved and with a beard reaching down to his waist. He was naked, and his cock–fuck, it had to be nearly a foot long, and it was mostly soft. “Why the fuck can…ghosts aren’t real, dad!”

“I woulda said the same thing a few months ago, but trust me, this is gonna be great for us both, I promise.”

“You…you did this, all of this, didn’t you?” Tim said, “You…sent those shakes, and…and the clothes! What the fuck did you do to me?”

“Look, I just needed to loosen you up a bit, so you’d understand, that’s all!”

He looked at the ghost, who hadn’t said anything yet, and then back at his dad. “So…so what now?”

“Now, well, now you and Jerry just gotta merge, is all.”

“No fucking way. I’m not letting that fucking thing in me.”

“Aww, come on, I ain’t that bad,” Jerry said, looking a bit sheepish, “I got a big dick, ‘n I fuck real good.”

“Get the fuck out of my house, dad, we’re fucking done–for real this time,” Tim said, stripping out of his clothes, and throwing everything into the boxes, “and you can take all of this shit with you!”

“Sorry son, but you don’t get a say in this,” Brian said, and gave Jerry a nod. The massive ghost stomped over, and while Tim expected him to pass right through him, the apparition grabbed hold of him, and wrestled him to the ground. “I was gonna save this for after the two of you were together, but I’m not surprised you need a little more tenderizing,” Brian said, and pulled out a sizable dildo from a bag he’d had on the coffee table. “I’ve heard these asslickers are fucking amazing, and I ordered this one custom, just for you.”

“Keep that fuckin’ thing away from me! I’m no fuckin’ bottom,” Tim shouted at his dad.

“”Sorry son, but I promise you this, this is the last cock you’ll ever take–don’t worry about that,” Brian said, and lubed up the dildo. He pressed the head to Tim’s tight hole, and watched as it slid right in, despite Tim’s cursing and resistance. The dildo had looked like a candy, almost, and when it slipped inside, he was surprised to taste…sugar on his tongue for a moment, until the outer layer dissolved away, and the first magical layer of the dildo was revealed. The sugary taste turned bitter, and then rank, the outside of the dildo now colored a rather vile mix of green and brown, something between camo and a shit stain. It tasted like someone had shoved a months worn jock into his mouth, and then he smelled something–and realized it was him.

Now, Tim hadn’t really been the cleanest fellow over the last few months, but he usually showered once a day, before putting his filthy clothes back on. It was one habit his dirtier father hadn’t been able to break him of, but he had a feeling this would take care of it. He watched as the layers of grime on the asslicker were worn off, and appeared on his son’s body, dirt and sweat and salt and grease and dipspit. “Aww fuck yeah son, now you’re smelling better, don’t you think?”

Tim tried to disagree, but let off a little moan instead, as the dildo pulsed inside him, and he found the smell wasn’t quite as bad as he’d thought. He…kind of liked it, actually. The ghost relaxed a bit, now that Tim wasn’t fighting him, and slid his fingers into the young man’s mind, warping him further, pushing his excitement to the extremes. “Fuck yeah man, we’re gonna be so fucking filthy together, just you fucking wait,” Jerry said to him, and Tim…saw things, memories, maybe, disgusting scenes from Jerry’s life, with and without Brian, and all of them were thrilling. 

He didn’t notice the next layer appear on the dildo, which was now quite a bit smaller. This one was silvery, and as it was absorbed by Tim’s body, he started to get older, the hair on his head receding, while everything that remained turned grey. His gut sagged a bit, his muscles shrank slightly, but after a few minutes, he looked to be about the same age as his dad, and then, by the time the layer was gone, he was even older–pushing sixty, about the same age Jerry had been when he died. 

The dildo was smaller now, just a plug really, and Brian felt it wiggle out of his hand and disappear up Tim’s hole. He gasped, feeling it squirm up his body, growing smaller, until it reached his skull, giving him a massive headache as it drilled into his brain, mashing it up, Tim drooling dipspit on the carpet as he grew dumber and dumber, feeling his cock swelling larger and larger until it exploded underneath him, expelling most of his intellect and sense with it, leaving him with a cock twice the size, and a brain not really capable of much at all. “Fuck, I…what the fuck happened tah my head?” he slurred.

Jerry could tell this was his opportunity, climbed on top of the older, filthy Tim, and shoved his massive cock into his now well loosened hole. But where Brian had merged with his ghost rather gracefully, after two thrusts Jerry was simply sucked inside Tim’s ass, and he began to writhe on the floor, Brian standing over him, watching as the final changes swept over his son, and now lover. He grew more, another few inches, until he matched Jerry’s ghost in height, and every bit of muscle he’d lost growing older he put back, with interest. A thick pelt of silvery white hair grew all over his chest, down over his belly, shoulders and arms, and tattoos began to swim up to the service of his skin, the same sleazy, redneck ink that had always turned Brian on before. A massive beard sprouted from Tim’s face, wiry and stained brown from the spit that usually drooled into it, and then Tim shuddered, his own mashed mind melding with Jerry, mixed all up together, and when he looked up and saw Brian looming over him, he couldn’t for the life of him remember if it was his dad, or…or someone he’d known long ago.

Brian helped him up and showed him his new body in the mirror, and Tim growled in excitement, seeing his old, muscular frame, filthy, clothes stretched tight over his muscle, fresh dark spit coating his lips, and he started stroking his cock, both of them watching it grow to the full fourteen inches it was now–even longer than it had been when he’d been Jerry, before. “Fuck Pa, can I fuck that nasty hole a yers already?” Tim asked.

“Pretty sure yer the daddy now,” Brian said, and bent over the counter, “Go on man, I’ve missed that cock a yers so much, fuck yer biker son’s hole already.”

First things first, Tim got down behind him, and ate him out, tasting Brian’s rank crack for a few minutes, until his cock was aching and throbbing with excitement, and then he rammed it in. It was so large, even the well practiced Brian moaned in pain as it slid into him, but Tim only fucked at one speed–as brutally as he could. Not many bottoms could handle him, which is why he’d kept coming back to Brian, after all. Well now, they were together again, for another couple of lifetimes. He came deep, holding him close, thrilled to have a second chance with his lover from a past life–and now, with Arctos, they could have a life unlike anything they’d ever imagined before.

Arctos: Second Life Thrift (Part 1)

Well, he’d made it. Life as a single dad wasn’t what Brian had signed up for, and raising his son all these years while holding down his job had been a struggle, but the moment that he’d been aiming for was past–his son, Tim, was off to college, a find young man himself now, and Brian found himself sitting in his now much emptier house wondering, “Now what?”

He’d been ecstatic at first. Privacy! Time to finish the projects in the garage he’d started, but that had always been delayed because of Tim’s school work, or extracurricular activities, or community service work. But that eagerness lasted about a month, when the depression set in. The projects were still sitting there. Brian was spending more and more time after work just sitting in front of the TV, a microwave dinner in front of him with a beer or six, drinking and wondering why his son didn’t call him more often. Is this all he had now? He thought back to when he was younger, and all the things he’d wanted to do, a life he’d pictured for himself before his family had taken over so much, but it was hard to remember any of it. It was a ghost, really, lingering in the corners of his mind, haunting him. 

He didn’t remember how he stumbled on the web site. An online ad, probably, for some service provided by a company called Arctos, and after clicking through a few links, he’d found himself poking around an online thrift shop. It was called Second Life Thrift, which seemed like rather intense branding for some second hand clothing. But one thing kept dragging his attention back, day after day–this biker jacket. It was well worn but still in decent condition from what he could see. He’d always wanted to own a motorcycle, but it had been cast off, just one dream like so many others that he’d never managed to fulfill, too busy making sure his son was provided for. But what was stopping him now, exactly? He dropped a mention of it to his son in a phone call, and Tim laughed at the thought of his dad wearing a bunch of leather and riding around on a bike. But rather than snap him out of it, it only made Brian consider it further. The price was a bit steep for second hand, but it wasn’t like you could find stuff like this at every thrift store. One night, after a couple of extra beers, he pulled the trigger on it. More likely than not he’d wear it around a bit and then it would gather dust in a closet somewhere, but at least, for the moment, he’d feel like he had control of his life again. Maybe it would pull him out of this funk, at least.

It wasn’t until he perused the confirmation email, and noticed that it had been divided into three shipments, that he realized he hadn’t just bought a leather jacket–he’d bought an entire lot of second hand goods! No wonder the price was so steep. There was no inventory of what was included, but he did figure out that the shop wasn’t so much a thrift store, as a front of estate sales. All of the goods belonged to one guy, apparently, who was, sadly, no longer alive. A bit morbid, really, but at least the name made more sense now. No wonder the shop didn’t advertise that more extensively.

A few days later, the first shipment arrived. He wasn’t quite sure what he’d been expecting, but three sizable boxes were left for him while he was at work, and he dragged them into the house. They were numbered from one to three, so he decided he might as well start with the first one. He broke the tape, opened it up, and coughed a bit from the smell–leather, but also…well, he wasn’t quite sure what the musk was rolling off the contents of the box was. He pulled the first item out, and found himself looking at the jacket he’d thought he was buying all along, so at least he had that. It…stank a bit. He’d have to get it dry cleaned at some point, but he couldn’t quite resist the desire to try it on. He did, and was a bit annoyed to find it was too big. That was the problem with buying stuff over the internet, he supposed, you never quite knew what size you were getting. If everything else was this big, well, a lot of it would be going to the dump today. Underneath the jacket was a bunch of denim jeans, all of them unwashed as far as he could tell, and covered with dirt and stiff with unidentifiable stains. He pushed them away, not really wanting to touch them, and pulled the next box over–only to be further disgusted–sitting there, right on top of the second box, was a pair of clearly soiled briefs. He didn’t move them, but under those he could see other clothes, socks, more underwear, some t-shirts, and the stench was…well, his eyes weren’t quite watering, but it wasn’t good. The third box didn’t have clothes at least, but it’s contents were no less disappointing. On top, wrapped up in some bubble wrap, was a clock, surrounded by a neon sign that said, “It’s always drinking time!” and below that, was a humidor well stocked with a collection of cigars.

Brian wasn’t much of a drinker, and he’d never smoked a cigar in his life. Still, he might be able to sell them and get the cost back for what he’d paid. For now, though, all of this was going out to the garage where it wouldn’t stink up the rest of the house, and left the jacket on top of the boxes with the rest. He’d try wearing it again after he got it cleaned up.

The rest of the evening passed normally, aside from the fact that Brian couldn’t quite shake the sensation that he wasn’t alone in the house. It wasn’t the first time he’d felt jumpy since his son had left for college, but this was different, somehow. Like there was something around him, something poking around his house, poking at him too. He probably just felt weird after going through the boxes–after all, he had a dead guy’s stuff sitting out in the garage, why wouldn’t he feel weird? He turned in a bit early, worried that he might be too unnerved to sleep, but he didn’t have trouble at all–but once he was out, that was when the dreams started.

They were intense, sexual, but when he woke up, he wouldn’t be able to remember a moment of them, but each time he’d wake up with a raging hard on, or he’d discover that he’d shot a load into his sheets like he was a teenager again. There was that presence as well, like someone lying in bed with him, but when he turned on the light, there was always nothing there. The dreams continued all week long, and by the time the weekend hit, Brian was exhausted, and all he wanted to do was get one good night’s sleep. Probably the only way he’d manage, he figured, was if he got rid of all of that shit in the garage, but while he intended to do so, in the end he spent a rather uncharacteristic weekend in front of the TV, binge drinking some cheap beer he bought at the supermarket. The presence was there, but where it had unnerved him before, he was growing more comfortable with it. It was nice, not being alone at least. 

Sunday, he got more drunk than he’d ever been in his life. The last thing he really remembered was going out to the garage, putting on that leather jacket, and opening up the boxes again, allegedly to throw out the filthy clothes inside. Instead, he woke up next morning in bed, naked aside from the leather jacket, with a pair of the filthy, stained underwear pressed to his face. He sniffed them, and while the aroma hadn’t changed, his opinion of it had–he gripped his aching cock and jacked off while he sucked on the crotch of the underwear, almost like he could imagine them filled with another man’s cock, and shot all over his sheets, which he hadn’t changed all week, and were beginning to stink a bit themselves after all of these wild dreams. 

Dreams like this one. It had to be a dream, right? He left the underwear there in his bed, and saw a half smoked cigar on his nightstand, resting in an ashtray he recognized as coming from the boxes. He coughed, throat scratchy and head pounding with a hangover. He stumbled out into the living room, and saw the neon sign hanging on the wall–and found a beer out of the fridge and downed it. He found his phone, dead because he hadn’t bothered to charge it, plugged it in and called work, letting them know he was sick and wouldn’t be coming in. Then he surveyed the wreckage, disgusted with his behavior.

But why? Hadn’t he enjoyed himself?

How could he know? He didn’t remember anything from the night before.

He needed to relax. No need to worry about work today, just take a load off. He was too stressed out, everything would be fine.

It seemed like a good idea. A reassuring idea. It only occurred to him later, while he was watching TV, that he wasn’t quite sure whether the thought had been his own, or come from…somewhere else. From whatever presence was around him, something he was growing more and more certain was an actual thing, and not his imagination. That should terrify him, but the more he relaxed, the more he settled down, the closer it got to him…and it was comfortable, somehow. He’d worked so hard, after all, for so long. Didn’t he deserve a chance to let go a little?

He called out of work for the rest of the week, said he was feeling like crap, and that he just needed some time for himself, which he hadn’t taken in ages. His boss was understanding–he’d been urging Brian to use some of his PTO for ages now. Without the pressure of that, Brian found he could relax even more, and soon, he’d pulled out some more gear from the boxes, and was wearing it around the house. The jeans were too loose and baggy around his ankles, but with the help of some leather suspenders he dug out, they at least stayed up. The shirts were all too big as well and stretched out around the gut, but if you tucked them in, it wasn’t really a problem. He kept the underwear on, shoving his hand down the front, and pulling it out to sniff it. He was hungry all the time, and kept the local restaurants in business, ordering lots of food, always intending there to be leftovers, but somehow he kept devouring all of it. At the bottom of the second box, which he hadn’t excavated at first, he found a collection of DVDs, all of which were gay pornos featuring, well, bears apparently. It wasn’t a term he’d heard before, but by the end of the next weekend he’d started watching those movies more than cable.

The first week back to work was torturous. His shirts and slacks didn’t fit right after all the binging he’d done. He craved beer and cigars all day long–but worst of all, he was alone. Whatever…thing had been following him around, it didn’t go with him to work. He was angry, and frustrated, and lonely, and when he got home he stripped down, put on the biker’s clothes (which were beginning to fit him better by the day), watched porn and jacked off while he smoked, drank, and ate himself sick, all surrounded by that comfortable presence, feeling more relaxed and happy than he could remember.

It was Thursday when he arrived home and found more boxes sitting outside his front door, along with something he certainly didn’t expect–a mattress. He opened up the garage door and dragged everything in before the neighbors could see everything, opened up the boxes, and took a couple of steps back when he saw everything that was inside. Dildos, plugs, sex toys all of sorts of descriptions. In another box was more leather gear, harnesses and vests, along with more denim even filthier than the stuff that had been in the first shipment. He was taken aback–he’d…let himself get carried away before this, because he felt so lonely, but this–this was too far. He wasn’t gay! Sure, the porn was…fun, but that wasn’t, he wasn’t–

“Fuck yeah, look at this stuff! They really got a hold of everything!”

Brian had turned away from the boxes to think, and when he spun back around, he froze. There, standing over the boxes was…well, he didn’t quite know what it was. A ghost, he supposed. It was an apparition or a hallucination, something standing there with all of the color drained out of it, completely naked–but judging by the size of the man, or the thing he was looking at, it was about the right size for the clothes he’d been receiving…and he…it felt like that presence he’d noticed ever since the stuff had arrived on his doorstep.

“What the fuck? What are you?”

The ghost turned, surprised to be addressed, apparently. “Fuck, ya can see me now?”

“What do you mean, now?”

“Fuck man, beats me. Last thing I remember was a real wild fuckin’ night, then I was here–you had the boxes of my stuff, and I’ve just been…hanging around, you know.”

“You–you’re the one who’s been making me…wear all of this shit, aren’t you? The dreams! I…I recognize you from them, I…I  can’t remember, but…no, fuck this shit, this shit is all going to the dump, right fucking now.”

“Whoa whoa whoa,” the ghost said, and drifted over to where Brian was standing, “Come on, bud. Maybe…a little, sure, but you’re the one who needed to loosen up, right? Live a little? I’m just…givin’ ya a little boost is all. Nothing serious.”

“No, I’m fucking done! I don’t know what the fuck this is, but I’m through with it,” Brian said, stepped around the ghost, picked up a box and tossed it in the back of his car. “You’re going to the dump, and I’m getting back to normal!”

The ghost kept trying to dissuade him, as Brian loaded up all the boxes that he could fit. The mattress was going to have to wait, but that would be the second trip. Before he could finish loading, however, the ghost lunged at him, and his fingers slid right into Brian’s head–and he stopped moving, his eyes and mouth going slack. “Fuck, being inside you feels so fucking good,” the ghost said, his cock growing erect and drooling a bit of ectoplasmic cum on the garage floor, “I’m not going anywhere, buddy–but why don’t you have a listen to a better idea, eh?”

Brian’s head nodded, his skull moving through the ghost’s fingers. The ghost tried to push in further, but couldn’t–but this was better. Before Brian could see him, he’d barely been able to get in him at all, and even then, only when he was sleeping. He’d been forced to just whisper to him, cajole and tempt him–it had worked, but fuck, this was going to be so much easier now. After he finished explaining to Brian what the new plan was, he drew his fingers out, and was pleased to see that the same blank expression remained across his face even without his fingers inside him. “Now, why don’t you go take care of what we agreed on, right Brian? Then we can have some more fun.”


Brian found himself returning from the dump, satisfied that he’d done what was necessary. Just…too much stuff cluttering up his house, really, so many unnecessary things. He couldn’t really…remember much of what had happened, and when he looked at the clock, he realized that it was the middle of the day of Friday–he’d forgotten about work entirely, he’d been so focused on…on getting rid of all the unnecessary stuff. The biker’s stuff, right? Oh well, he’d call and explain what had happened. Everything was going to be just fine now.

He pulled into the garage, and sure enough, the boxes were all gone. It was a relief to see that. Then he went inside the house, and his jaw dropped. “No…no no no…” he moaned, when he saw the neon drinking sign still on the wall, the porn DVDs by his TV, but everything else had been stripped from the walls. All of his books, all of his movies, his little collection of blown glass–all of it. And there, sitting on the sofa, was the ghost. 

“Welcome back, Brian–feeling better now that we got rid of all of that junk?” the biker said, grinning from ear to ear.

Brian looked down, and realized he wasn’t wearing his own clothes–he was dressed in the filthiest set of jeans he’d ever seen, reeking like a urinal, leather chaps on top of them, no shirt, the leather jacket and a greasy denim vest on the outside of that. He rushed to his bedroom, and just groaned when he saw what was in there–the filthy mattress that had been delivered had replaced his own, and there, hanging from the ceiling, was a leather sex sling taking up most of the room. He opened the closet, his dresser, but all of his old clothes were gone–and the biker’s filthy gear was piled around the room in heaps. “What…what the fuck did I do?” he muttered, and the ghost came up behind him, and slid his hands back into his skull, making Brian go slackjawed again. 

“Now there’s no reason to be scared, or sad, or angry. All of this was your idea. You wanted this. But don’t you think we should celebrate, Brian? I think you should throw a little party, doesn’t that sound fun?”

When Brian came back to himself, he was in the sling, wearing a harness, chaps, boots and nothing else. He struggled, but he had manacles on his arms keeping them hooked to the chain, and the ghost was there, stroking his own cock. He stepped up, and pushed inside him–it wasn’t quite like fucking, but it still felt real fucking good, and the ghost humped up against him. “I was never much of a fucker, you know,” he said, “But I just want to be inside you so bad, it’s all I can think about…” he moaned and fucked a bit harder. “You’re so tight though! I’ll…We need to loosen you up some more, and I know just the thing…”

Brian heard the front door of his house open and close–someone had just let themselves in! He struggled a bit, but the ghost passed a hand lightly through his skull, and he relaxed again. “You want this, Brian. Remember, all of this was your idea. Putting that ad up on the internet, all comers, anyone can use your dirty hole…”

A big, bearish fellow stepped into the bedroom, saw Brian hanging there, and leered at him, groping his cock before stepping up, and pushing inside Brian’s ass without much ceremony. He didn’t last long, and the thoughts of horror and disgust were slowly replaced by pure horny need. By the end of the day, with nearly ten loads drooling from his well used hole. Brian was thanking the ghost for helping him loosen up–and he spent the rest of the evening with a big plug up his ass, watching more porn, and listening to his new ghostly friend talk about his life.

The ghost’s name was Ben. He’d never had money, he’d never had much in the way of family, but he’d sure as hell had fun, riding all over the country, sucking, fucking and pissing all the way. Things had changed over the years. You had to ride deeper now to find the real freedom, now that so much shit is all the fucking same, and so damn sanitized and family friendly. But didn’t Brian want to be free? Isn’t that why he’d bought that jacket in the first place, because he knew that, somehow, it was connected to freedom?

Brian didn’t go back to work. He didn’t even bother calling to tell them he quit–what the hell did that place even matter? It was just a cage. A cage like the cars driving around on the road, the little boxes and the little boring lives that men just…accepted. That he’d accepted. But not anymore. He sold the car–couldn’t get much from it, but it was enough, and he didn’t need to go anywhere yet. All the clothes fit him perfectly now–he’d grown a few inches taller over the last few days, so the jeans hit the boots just right, and his fat gut distended the ratty bar shirts just like they had when Ben had been wearing them. It was comfortable. It was right. That’s what the ghost said, at least, and Brian was more than happy to believe him.

The last shipment would arrive any day now, and the ghost was so eager for it. Sure enough, the truck pulled up, and offloaded the ghost’s old, but reliable, motorcycle. A beat up Harley that had seen hundreds of thousands of miles, but now that it was Brian’s it would see a few hundred thousand more. There were a few boxes with the shipment as well, mostly odds and ends, but it was the bike that the ghost was obsessed with. “Come on,” he said to Brian, “Let’s take him for a ride.”

Brian climbed on, but he’d never so much as ridden a motorcycle before, much less drove one himself. But the ghost hopped up and settled on the seat behind him, and slid his arms down into Brian’s own, and he shuddered as the ghost took control of them, pushed his way into his body from the back, the biker’s big gut in the middle of his back, feet pushing into his boots–and then they were off. Whether he was in control or not–he didn’t know. It felt like it was the ghost just…guiding him along, showing him how to lean, what to twist and when, providing a steady hand. “This could be your life, you know,” the ghost whispered to him, “I’d want this for you. I had a real fucking good time when I was alive, and…I know I can’t be alive again, but you…if you let me in, this could all be yours. Really be yours.”

Brian shuddered as the bike accelerated, slipping into the other lane to breeze past a few cars, the shocked look on people’s faces as he did enough to make his cock explode in his filthy denim jeans. “Fuck–Fuck, I…I fucking do,” Brian moaned.

They pulled off the highway and found a little secluded gully, parked the bike, and Brian bent over it, pants down around his boots, while the ghost ran his hands over and through him. Brian…could tell he was a bit scared as well. Neither of them knew what this would do to them both, but they both…wanted it so badly. The biker fucked him for a while, but it wasn’t enough–they knew it wasn’t enough, so he switched to his fist, pushing it into Brian’s eager hole–maybe even more eager than the biker’s had been when he was alive, and it slid deeper and deeper, until it wouldn’t come free. Both of them panting and heaving for breath, the biker forced his way deeper in, Brian’s ass not distending so much as his mind opening up more and more. The ghost’s other arm then, both of them up to the shoulder, then his head, crawling his way into Brian’s guts, into his very being, and together, they came as the ghost disappeared inside him, beame a true part of him, and Brian collapsed to the ground, groaning in pain, ass shuddering and twitching in orgasm as well, from the sheer excitement of it.

When he stood up again, he was Brian, mostly. At least, on the outside. On the inside, well, that was difficult to say. He shook his gut, which had grown out another few inches, and let off a belch, stroked the long beard that had grown out of his face, and gave his ass a scratch before pushing a couple of fingers in. Maybe on the way home, he’d cruise a few rest areas, see what he could find, yeah, fuck, that sounded hot. By the time he got home, ass pumped full of cum, pants damp with piss that he’d been soaked in a few times, including his own which he’d let go while riding, he entered his house, picked up his phone, and found a message from his son. Fuck, he was a handsome fellow, wasn’t he? Last Brian had talked to him, he’d been struggling at school a bit, trying to figure out who he was. At the time, Brian had been struggling himself, with that same question. Well, Brian didn’t have that problem now–he knew exactly who he wanted to be. He knew exactly who his boy ought to be too. Ben had always wanted a family–when he was alive. Winter break was coming soon–and maybe, if he played his cards right, he could show his son exactly what kind of man he ought to be.


Patreon supporters already have access to the second part! They can read it here. I’ll post it for everyone else next week.

Arctos: Second Life Thrift – Part 1 (Patreon Early Access)

There’s a new story up for Patrons! If you support me at the $5 level or higher, you can find it here. For everyone else, here’s a sneak peek. It’s got two parts, I’ll post the first part next week, and the second part the week after that, but Patrons will get early access to them both, today and tomorrow!


Well, he’d made it. Life as a single dad wasn’t what Brian had signed up for, and raising his son all these years while holding down his job had been a struggle, but the moment that he’d been aiming for was past–his son, Tim, was off to college, a find young man himself now, and Brian found himself sitting in his now much emptier house wondering, “Now what?”

He’d been ecstatic at first. Privacy! Time to finish the projects in the garage he’d started, but that had always been delayed because of Tim’s school work, or extracurricular activities, or community service work. But that eagerness lasted about a month, when the depression set in. The projects were still sitting there. Brian was spending more and more time after work just sitting in front of the TV, a microwave dinner in front of him with a beer or six, drinking and wondering why his son didn’t call him more often. Is this all he had now? He thought back to when he was younger, and all the things he’d wanted to do, a life he’d pictured for himself before his family had taken over so much, but it was hard to remember any of it. It was a ghost, really, lingering in the corners of his mind, haunting him. 

He didn’t remember how he stumbled on the web site. An online ad, probably, for some service provided by a company called Arctos, and after clicking through a few links, he’d found himself poking around an online thrift shop. It was called Second Life Thrift, which seemed like rather intense branding for some second hand clothing. But one thing kept dragging his attention back, day after day–this biker jacket. It was well worn but still in decent condition from what he could see. He’d always wanted to own a motorcycle, but it had been cast off, just one dream like so many others that he’d never managed to fulfill, too busy making sure his son was provided for. But what was stopping him now, exactly? He dropped a mention of it to his son in a phone call, and Tim laughed at the thought of his dad wearing a bunch of leather and riding around on a bike. But rather than snap him out of it, it only made Brian consider it further. The price was a bit steep for second hand, but it wasn’t like you could find stuff like this at every thrift store. One night, after a couple of extra beers, he pulled the trigger on it. More likely than not he’d wear it around a bit and then it would gather dust in a closet somewhere, but at least, for the moment, he’d feel like he had control of his life again. Maybe it would pull him out of this funk, at least.

It wasn’t until he perused the confirmation email, and noticed that it had been divided into three shipments, that he realized he hadn’t just bought a leather jacket–he’d bought an entire lot of second hand goods! No wonder the price was so steep. There was no inventory of what was included, but he did figure out that the shop wasn’t so much a thrift store, as a front of estate sales. All of the goods belonged to one guy, apparently, who was, sadly, no longer alive. A bit morbid, really, but at least the name made more sense now. No wonder the shop didn’t advertise that more extensively.

A few days later, the first shipment arrived. He wasn’t quite sure what he’d been expecting, but three sizable boxes were left for him while he was at work, and he dragged them into the house. They were numbered from one to three, so he decided he might as well start with the first one. He broke the tape, opened it up, and coughed a bit from the smell–leather, but also…well, he wasn’t quite sure what the musk was rolling off the contents of the box was. He pulled the first item out, and found himself looking at the jacket he’d thought he was buying all along, so at least he had that. It…stank a bit. He’d have to get it dry cleaned at some point, but he couldn’t quite resist the desire to try it on. He did, and was a bit annoyed to find it was too big. That was the problem with buying stuff over the internet, he supposed, you never quite knew what size you were getting. If everything else was this big, well, a lot of it would be going to the dump today. Underneath the jacket was a bunch of denim jeans, all of them unwashed as far as he could tell, and covered with dirt and stiff with unidentifiable stains. He pushed them away, not really wanting to touch them, and pulled the next box over–only to be further disgusted–sitting there, right on top of the second box, was a pair of clearly soiled briefs. He didn’t move them, but under those he could see other clothes, socks, more underwear, some t-shirts, and the stench was…well, his eyes weren’t quite watering, but it wasn’t good. The third box didn’t have clothes at least, but it’s contents were no less disappointing. On top, wrapped up in some bubble wrap, was a clock, surrounded by a neon sign that said, “It’s always drinking time!” and below that, was a humidor well stocked with a collection of cigars.

Brian wasn’t much of a drinker, and he’d never smoked a cigar in his life. Still, he might be able to sell them and get the cost back for what he’d paid. For now, though, all of this was going out to the garage where it wouldn’t stink up the rest of the house, and left the jacket on top of the boxes with the rest. He’d try wearing it again after he got it cleaned up.

The rest of the evening passed normally, aside from the fact that Brian couldn’t quite shake the sensation that he wasn’t alone in the house. It wasn’t the first time he’d felt jumpy since his son had left for college, but this was different, somehow. Like there was something around him, something poking around his house, poking at him too. He probably just felt weird after going through the boxes–after all, he had a dead guy’s stuff sitting out in the garage, why wouldn’t he feel weird? He turned in a bit early, worried that he might be too unnerved to sleep, but he didn’t have trouble at all–but once he was out, that was when the dreams started.


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Patreon Suggested Story – Swine Flu

My suggestion box is open each month for Patrons! Here’s one from last month, and here’s a link to this month’s suggestion box if you’d like to contribute an idea. There’s an additional suggested story from last month as well, if you missed it. You can find it here.


Each year, Henry and Clark liked to get away from their wives and kids and reconnect out in the wilderness somewhere for a week or so. It was something they’d done as brothers ever since they were teenagers, and now that they were approaching 40, they wouldn’t give up their little trip away from everyone else for anything. Their parents hadn’t always been there for them, and so they’d been each other’s biggest support network, and even their wives joked that there was no way they could tear the two of them apart. This year, they’d decided to try something a bit different–a rafting trip down a river, where they’d start up in the mountains and ride the current of the river down to the valley, where their wives would pick them up at the end of the week. With their gear packed and route planned, all that was left to do was to rent their vessel–their wives dropped them off at their starting point–a small little town whose economy revolved around campers and backpackers in the area, and they made their way to the little shop that rented out the rafts.

The older man at the desk sorted out their reservation, but the whole time he was there, he kept sneezing, and while Henry handled the paperwork and the deposit for the rental, Clark hung back a bit. It wasn’t just that he seemed sick–though he was clearly unwell, from the sweat beading on his brow, the runny nose, the snorting–it was…well, when the guy pulled off his hat, a clump of hair fell off onto the ground beside him, and his clothes looked to be a few sizes too small for him, like he’d gained weight suddenly, and hadn’t had a chance to find something else to wear. When Henry was done, and they’d left the shop, Clark commented on the guy’s appearance, and Henry shrugged. Apparently, half the town had come down with it over the last couple of days, some flu of some sort. Clark hoped that neither of them would catch it–nothing could ruin a trip like a cold.

All was good for the first day. They spent some time reminiscing, talking about their kids, about the world, and just some nice silence on the river, enjoying each other’s company. It was on the second day, as they were having a snack in the raft, that Henry sneezed for the first time, but passed it off as allergies. By evening, when they stopped to make camp, he was coming down with a fever and shakes, and was ravenously hungry. He devoured most of the meal that Clark made for them both, and then a good helping of their snacks for the next day as well. Henry bundled up in the tent, suddenly cold, but Clark decided to sleep out under the stars. If the flu was worse that Henry thought, then at least one of them needed to be well enough to go get help, if necessary.

The next morning, despite insisting that he felt fine, it was clear that something was very, very wrong with Henry. He had, somehow, gained close to fifty pounds overnight. He was still sweating, and when Clark went to touch his forehead, he found that his brother’s hair had receded, and there was hair everywhere in the tent. It didn’t take much for him to convince Henry to stay at camp while he went to go get help. There was a ranger station not too far off from where they had set up camp, with a trail leading to it. If no one was there, it wasn’t too much further to a little town where he could call for help too, if he didn’t get reception along the way.

Clark packed a light bag for himself, made sure that Henry had food to eat since he was still starving, and set off to go get help. The ranger station was only a couple of miles up, but the trail wasn’t well marked. He was worried that he was lost and going in circles, when he spotted the little cabin tucked away, with a jeep parked beside it on a dirt road. That meant someone had to be there. He climbed up the steps and knocked on the door, but no one answered–even though he could hear someone inside. Or was that someones? There was a lot of grunting, but seemed to be two distinct voices. He opened the door, and there in the middle of the floor were two…men. Or at least, two people that were probably men once. They were naked, their bodies naked and glistening with sweat. The one on the bottom was completely hairless, and probably two hundred pounds heavier than the more muscular man fucking him, who had a coating of boar bristle running down his back, arms and thighs.

He turned at the sound of the door, and his face–what the fuck had happened to his face? His mouth and nose had pushed out into something like a snout, with two short tusks pushing their way out on either side of his mouth. He snorted, hauled his cock out of the fat one, and started towards Henry, his hard, inhuman, and very large cock pointed right at him and drooling cum in a steady stream on the floor. “Fuckin’ horny!” the beast said, and made a grab for Clark, who ducked back out of the way and ran–but not before he saw the shredded ranger uniform still clinging to the man’s body. He didn’t pursue Clark far, but went back in and resumed fucking the other pigman. 

What the fuck was happening? Clark checked the jeep, but it was locked. He wasn’t about to risk getting the keys out of the cabin, not with those two things in there. Instead, he kept going, following the road to town, which was only a couple of miles further on. There, things were much the same. No sign of women anywhere, just these monstrous pigmen, not one of them smaller than five hundred pounds, all of them fucking one another, unless they were stuffing their faces with anything they could find. He saw a few less severe cases, and all of them looked to be sick with the flu–the same flu that had stuck his brother down back at their camp. One, he watched get fucked by one of the massive, boarish fellows, and right before Clark’s eyes, he ballooned out into a soft, simple minded hog. From then on, the only thing that he seemed interested in was getting fucked, or stuffing his body with anything he could get his hands on. Clark kept his distance, and retreated back down the dirt road–hoping he could get back to his brother in time.

He slept a bit in the forest, fitfully, and didn’t make it back until dawn. There, he found Henry in the tent, wrenching in pain, face contorted, somewhere between human and beast. Clark tried to help him, tried to tell him what he’d seen, but Henry just grabbed him, tore off his clothes, and fucked him there by the side of the river. Clark begged him not to, at first, but after the first load coated his guts, the strange swine flu working through his system, Clark found that he was having a hard time thinking about, well, anything. All he could focus on was getting more dick in him, more hot boar dick, and the two brothers spent the next few days in a near constant sexual fervor by the river, until their growling bellies dragged them back to town, and then down into the cities. The world wasn’t prepared for this epidemic, and it wasn’t long before pigs took over and ruled the Earth.

Precinct 27’s New Recruit

When Jordan heard that he was being assigned to Precinct 27 after graduating from the academy, a couple of other trainees pulled him aside and asked what he’d done to get that assignment. From their tone, he couldn’t quite tell if it was a curse or a blessing. When he asked why they seemed surprised, none of them would really give him any details. The only hard fact he could get out of any of them was that the precinct was on the edge of a chunk of the city which was generally called Pigtown, which was a rather unsavory locale, where it was best not to be caught after dark. Jordan, having grown up in the suburbs of the city, hadn’t heard of it, which only seemed to surprise the fellows more. In any case, none of them had been there, or if they had, they weren’t talking about it, so they moved on to other conversations. Jordan learned what they meany by unsavory, however, when he pulled into a parking garage not far from the precinct house, and stumbled upon two guys fucking near the elevator.

He froze. The fellows looked over at him, from the shadows, and one of them was so bold as to beckon him over. Jordan didn’t join them, and if he’d been on duty, he would have hauled them in for public indecency. Instead, a bit rattled, he retreated down to street level, stepped out onto the sidewalk, and found it hard to believe he was still in the same city he’d always thought he’d known. The ground and storefronts were grungy and dirty, the air choked with smoke and exhaust, the streets narrow and full of alleys that seemed to weave around in directions that made no sense. The men passing him on the sidewalk (and it was only men, he realized after a few minutes) were all dressed in leather, denim, rubber, work gear, none of it clean, and some of it rather suggestive, but not as suggestive as what they catcalled him with as he passed by. 

He found his way to the precinct eventually, nearly getting lost in the process. He was certain, somehow, that the streets were moving around him, but that couldn’t be possible, right? In any case, he got there on time, climbed the steps and stepped inside, eager to find somewhere normal after such a strange start to his day, but he quickly discovered that there was a reason precinct 27 had…a reputation with the rest of the cops in the city. 

The building seemed tired. Whether it was because it was simply old, just uncared for, or something else, he couldn’t tell. The tiles of the floor were peeling up and scuffed. The walls had any number of stains on them. The chairs were falling apart, the officer manning the desk had his boots up on the desk in front of him, and he was flipping through a magazine that, Jordan realized as he came closer, looked to be a vintage gay porno rag. He cleared his throat, giving the officer the chance to put the magazine away, but he just looked over the top of it. “What’s up?” he said.

“Uh, hi. My name is Jordan Bethell, I’m a new recruit assigned here? I’m supposed to have a meeting with the commander today at ten.”

The man leered at him. Jordan had never really known what a leer was, until the moment this officer’s nose and lips turned up, upon the news that the precinct had a new recruit. “Sure thing man. His office is on the third floor. Elevator’s broke though, gonna have to climb,” the officer said, pointing to the stairs.

“They gonna fix it soon?”

The man just laughed, and returned to his magazine, groping the crotch of his uniform openly as he reached the centerfold. Jordan backed away, confused, and took the stairs up. He’d be sure to mention the officer’s rather inappropriate behavior when he spoke to the commander. The higher he climbed in the building, the hotter it became, adding ten, then maybe fifteen degrees of heat, despite it being a rather cool Spring day outside. He passed a few officers on the way up, and each of them were walking uniform violations–beards on almost all of them past regulation length, some men who were quite a bit too fat to pass the physical exam, illegal modifications to their uniforms–and he was certain that one of them smelled like alcohol as he passed, and another stank of piss. What kind of operation was the commander running here? He had met a few captains and commanders while he was at the academy, and all of them had seemed rather rigid and sticklers when it came to the rules of how an officer ought to present themselves. Whoever was leading this place–if this is what he let his officers get away with, how could he expect them to look up to him as a leader?

At the top floor, the temperature in the building had to be eighty degrees, and Jordan was already sweating through his undershirt and out onto the crisp, clean button down he’d worn, since he didn’t have his official uniform to change into yet. Those were stored at the precinct, and given to recruits when they arrived. He turned the corner at the top of the stairs, and at the end of the hall, he saw one officer had shoved another up against the wall, and was…making out with him? The other one had his hand down the other officer’s pants and was stroking the man’s cock, making him moan. “What…what the fuck are you two doing?” Jordan asked.

Both officers turned to him, surprised and annoyed at having been interrupted. “Who the fuck are you, askin’?” the larger one asked. He was big, one of the larger men that Jordan had ever seen, and he stalked towards him, footfalls reverberating through the floor, and Jordan stepped backwards, only to stumble into someone else. The officer stopped, stood up straight, and saluted, “Commander,” he said, and the other officer behind him pushed off the wall and saluted as well, “I was just inquiring as to what this…civilian was doing in our precinct.”

“I believe this civilian is Jordan Bethell, our new recruit out of the academy,” the voice behind him said. Jordan turned around, and found himself looking up at Commander Rumwell. He was a few inches taller than Jordan was, his body thickly packed with muscle. Unlike the other officers he’d seen, his uniform was at least worn as it ought to be, but that didn’t stop the older fellow’s musk from forming a thick cloud around him in the heat. Jordan’s nose wrinkled at the smell–it reminded him of the days back in high school after football practice, the air full of sex and hormones and sweat. He shuddered a bit, but wasn’t quite sure why. “We have a meeting, don’t we Jordan? Thank you for your promptness,” the commander said.

The other two officers backed off, and Jordan followed Rumwell down the hall to his office. Somehow, it was even hotter in there, but Jordan didn’t understand how that could be possible. He loosened the tie he’d added to his ensemble, hoping to appear more professional, but now he just felt silly somehow. “Thank you, Sir,” Jordan said once the door was closed behind them. “I walked in on those two making out in the hallway! I…and the man at the reception desk was reading a porno mag. A gay one, I think.”

“Oh yes, Lark and Willis are partners, they usually don’t make it without fucking in the hall until around noon, and Jimmy at the desk pretty much always has his nose in a rag like that. He gets them at an old shop around the corner. I’m surprised you didn’t walk in on him with his cock out–happens more often than you might think.”

“You…you can’t be serious,” Jordan said, and tugged at the collar on his shirt. “Is…the air conditioning broken, or something?”

“Yeah, very broken,” Rumwell said, “I can turn on my fan, if you want.”

Jordan nodded. The older man turned around, twisted the knob on the back of the fan he had sitting behind him, and air started flowing. It didn’t make anything that much cooler, and the air had to pass by the commander before it reached Jordan, which meant that it stank of the man’s musk. It’s not that it was particularly rank–it was…Jordan had a hard time describing it exactly. Rugged? Masculine? Powerful? He shook his head and shuddered again, trying to keep his composure. 

“Precinct 27 is…a special case, in the city,” Rumwell was saying, and Jordan struggled to recall what had started the monologue. “This is all classified, and does not leave this precinct. There is a bar, about ten to fifteen blocks west of here, depending on how you walk there, called Pigtown. It has always had a certain…reputation, but as of late, that reputation has become…an aura. Or a zone, perhaps. There’s a perimeter around the bar that, well, it has an effect on people. On men, especially. This precinct is charged specifically with trying to contain and understand this influence, so we can stop it from spreading further. Not many recruits from the academy have the stones to make it here, you know, but I think you’ll do fine once you’re a little seasoned. I selected you in part because your instructors took note of your determination and grit–and also because you’re a rather handsome young man, if I do say so myself.”

“E-Excuse me?” Jordan said, his words a bit slurred. He felt…high, almost. He wasn’t quite sure what was wrong with him, and figured it had to be heat exhaustion. “Do…do you have something to drink? I’m feeling a bit dizzy. From the heat.”

“Are you sure it’s from the heat?” Rumwell asked him and chuckled, a deep chuckle that made Jordan’s heart jump a bit for reasons he didn’t quite want to explore too deeply. He dug a water bottle out from his desk and tossed it to Jordan. He guzzled it, but it didn’t help his head clear much. “Anyway, this precinct and the bar have…an agreement. We enforce the perimeter, and do our best to keep everything on the inside, in, and everything on the outside, out. Nice, and separate. We have our place, in here, and they have their place, out there.”

“Wait, in? Aren’t we…out?”

“Oh no, the perimeter is at 134th street–we’re a good five blocks inside here.”

Wait, it’s…how big is it?”

“Too big, perhaps. This far out, it’s  noticeable, but the further in you go, especially at night…well, you’ll see in good time. No reason to send you running away screaming on your first day. Around here we have a little more lewd conduct on the street than other places in the city, and the only folks who live around here tend to be men, but beyond that, nothing too out of the ordinary, especially during the daytime.”

“I saw some guys fucking in the parking garage…”

“Yeah, like that.”

“I…this…I don’t understand, what are we doing here?”

“It’s a lot to take in, and it looks like you’re having trouble focusing, Jordan,” Runwell said, put his arms back behind his head, and the smell of his musk intensified. Jordan moaned, and realized his cock was tenting the front of his pants. “Seems like your commander’s scent has you all riled up. Don’t fight it–no one around here can resist it. That’s why I’m in charge, you see. That’s why all of the men here, including you, have to obey everything I tell them to do.”

“I…I don’t understand…”

“That’s ok. Recruits like you, if I told you everything right away, well, your heads would probably explode. But that’s ok. You’re kind of tired of listening to an old man like me prattle on and on, aren’t you? Isn’t there something else you’d rather do?” The commander stood up from his chair, and Jordan gaped at him. Six foot five, massive frame packed into a uniform a little too small for him, pit stains under his arms, a thick beard growing out of his face down to the collar of his shirt, a firm muscle gut pushing out, and the bulge of his cock and balls under that. Jordan realized he was staring, but he also couldn’t quite bring himself to pull his eyes away. Would that bulge smell different from his pits? How would his ass smell, he wondered? He shook his head, and managed to push out of his chair.

“This…it’s a trap,” he said, but he couldn’t quite manage to walk to the door, something was…keeping him there, a voice, maybe. A desire. An urge.

“It’s not…not a trap. I really did choose you because I knew you would be able to take it. The work here requires a…certain kind of man. You aren’t quite there yet, but give it a few months around the rest of your brothers here, and you’ll be one fine fuckin’ specimen, I can fucking tell. Yeah, look at you, all clean shaven, short hair, lean frame…but fuck, we’ll make a damn fine man out of you. Isn’t that what you want? For me to make a man out of you?”

Jordan tried to go for the door, stumbled, and fell to the floor on his hands and knees. Before he could crawl, Rumwell stood beside him and rolled him over with one boot, when he was on his back, planted it on his chest. Jordan tried to push him off, but whatever it was that was in the commander’s musk, he just felt weak. He couldn’t oppose this man. He couldn’t fight him. And if he couldn’t do those things, what could he do?

He could submit.

The idea popped into his head a little too readily for him to trust it, as much as he wanted to. He struggled anyway, even knowing that there was nothing he could do. Sensing resistance, Rumwell moved the boot, planting it on Jordan’s neck, applying just enough pressure to make breathing difficult, and Jordan froze.

“Bitchell–you don’t mind that I call you that,” the commander said. It was stated as a fact, not as a question. “Bitchell, you’re going to have to learn here that, as a recruit, you are on the bottom of the totem pole. The harder you fight, the worse you’ll make it for yourself, and the more likely it is that you’ll find yourself dragged away down some alley in the middle of the night, and when you come crawling back out–if you come crawling back out–you will not be the same man that you were when you were taken. Obedience is what protects you. If you obey me, if you only obey me, then you will always come back to me, because that is where men like you belong, do you understand?”

Jordan nodded as best he could with the boot on his throat.

“Now, I am going to remove my boot, place it on the floor, and you will lick it. Then, I will remove my boots, and you will worship my feet–you will do this not because you want to, but because as your superior, in every way, you must obey me.”

Rumwell pulled his boot away, and Jordan did everything he could to push back against the man’s musk and command, and bolt for the door. He managed to roll over onto his belly, but before he could push himself up to run, he crawled over to the boot and started licking at the leather. All the while, he was stuck in his head, screaming at himself to run, but it was like all control of his body had been severed away from him. His mind was reeling still, his vision swirling from the smell of leather and musk and the heat. Rumwell smirked, and then walked back to his desk. Jordan followed, trying to lick the boot as he walked, until the commander sat back down in his chair and put his booted feet up on his desk. “Take off your clothes, including your underwear, then take off my boots and socks and worship my feet, recruit.”

Jordan did as he was ordered, stripping off his tie, shirts and slacks until he was naked and sweaty in the commander’s office, horrifically embarrassed to find himself completely naked before the uniformed older man in front of him. He pulled off one of Rumwell’s boots, and the smell that struck him was even stronger than the general musk of the room, and much to his own disgust, he almost craved it. Not…the smell itself, exactly. He craved…he craved the pure manliness of it. He wanted to drink it down. He wanted it to pour out of him as well. He pulled off the other boot and sock, faster now, and then got down and started licking the commanders size seventeen feet clean, shoving his nose between his toes, snorting up the scent, taking in as much of it as he could.

“That’s a good recruit, get as much of that in you as you can. I had a feeling you’d have good instincts. You want it, don’t you? You might not understand why yet, but fuck, you want it. I can see it, I can tell–there’s no use trying to hide it. Go on, enjoy it. Relish it. Take it all in.”

Jordan didn’t know how long he was there in front of the desk, cleaning the commander’s feet, but when he finally took them away and pulled his socks and boots back on, Jordan collapsed back in the chair, looked at the clock, and saw that an hour and a half had passed since the start of their meeting. “I…What the fuck are you doing to me?” he said.

“Heh, that was just the introduction, recruit. Get up and follow me. Leave your clothes here–you won’t be needing them again. We’ll get you into the recruit uniform for now.”

“I…won’t…everyone see me?”

“You aren’t a very quick learner, are you?” the commander said, “Get out there–locker room is on the ground floor.”

The commander marched him down the stairs, past a few officers who catcalled and whistled at him as they passed, making Jordan’s face burn in humiliation. But as he walked, he was certain that something about him was off. He didn’t quite know what it was, exactly–like he was a little thicker, or a little hairier, his dick a bit bigger–it was rock hard despite how horrified he was by this entire scene. The officers that passed them went and told the rest of the shift that there was a new recruit about to be broken in, and a mob of officers followed them into the locker room, surrounding Jordan, making him feel even more self-conscious. 

“Now, recruits tend to wash out here pretty regularly. They run out into the streets, and when we find them again, they usually aren’t very interested in being officers any longer. We started saving time keeping just one recruit at a time, and you all get the same uniform. I always tell the guy who had it last to wash it, but they never do, for some reason,” Rumwell said, opened up a locker, and pulled out a grungy looking uniform stuck to a hanger. The commander pulled it off, and it was…crispy. He brought over to Jordan, and he realized, from the smell, that the reason it was crispy was because it had been saturated with cum–and probably a bit of piss–and left to dry there in the locker. Once the pants were laid out, he saw that the ass of the pants had been ripped open, giving ready access to whoever’s ass might be underneath. His ass, soon enough, he supposed. 

“I…No fucking way am I putting that shit on,” Jordan said.

“Recruit, put on your uniform–that’s a fucking order,” Rumwell said, and watched the young man struggle to resist. There was no underwear of course, and no boots or socks. He pulled on the shirt, trying not to gag when he realized that some patches were still a little wet–apparently it had been worn more recently than he’d thought. The pants were next, and he had to use the belt that the commander handed him to cinch them up, because they were too small for him, the ankles pooling around his feet. The officers around him laughed, and all Jordan wanted to do was run away.

“Well men, this is our new recruit. For now, you all will address him as Bitchell, until he’s proven to us that he’d good for more than being the precinct’s bitch, right?”

Again, the men laughed and some advanced closer to him, a few with their cocks hanging out of the flies of their uniform pants. This has to be a dream, Jordan thought to himself. He didn’t know what to make of it, if it was, but it was better than this actually happening to him. He tried to shrink away, but the officers were coming from every side, and he wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do.

“Attention, Recruit!” Rumwell snapped at him, and Jordan immediately took the proper position. “Here are your orders. From now on, you will serve this precinct as our cumdump, urinal and bitch. You are not to leave the premises under any circumstances. A cell will be reserved for you below, where you will sleep when you are not on your shift. When you are working, you will service any officer who requires it. You will not refuse a request from an officer under any circumstance, no matter how much it might personally revolt you–but I have a feeling you’ll come around to our way of things soon enough,” the commander added, whispering that into Jordan’s ear.

With that, the men of the precinct descended upon him in the locker room, bending him over the length of the bench between the lockers. One officer took his mouth, another took his ass, and with that, Jordan lost his virginity to two sizable cocks at both ends. He tried to do something, anything, to get away, but his body refused to obey him again, and the smell of the men around him was so heady and intoxicating he wasn’t quite sure that he wanted to leave. The men didn’t last long. Some waited until they could have a turn at either end, while others were too excited and simply shot their loads all over the back of Bitchell’s uniform, as they all called him now. After an hour or so of constant sex, with his hole pulsing and his jaw aching, he was finally done, and just stayed on the bench for a few minutes, shuddering, feeling the cum ooze out of his ass, drain down between his thighs and pool in the crotch of his pants. 

He pushed himself up, and found that he wasn’t alone. The commander was still there, standing against the lockers, admiring the sight of the new recruit plastered with his men’s cum, and a few loads of piss to go with it. “Fuck, you’re gonna be a handsome pig once we’re done with you, I can already fucking tell,” Rumwell said, “I knew it from the first time I saw you in the yard that day, that I had to have you.”

“Please Sir, please…I…just let me go. I won’t tell anyone, I…please…” Jordan said, crawling over to where the commander was standing and kissing his boots.

“Are you sure you want to leave, recruit? Get up, I want to show you something.”

He got down and hauled Jordan up off the floor, and helped him over to the mirror at the end of a bank of lockers. There, Jordan got his first good look at himself since putting on the disgusting uniform…and he was appalled. There was cum all over his face and hair–but then he saw something else that hadn’t been there earlier. He had a five o’clock shadow. He never had a shadow like that. Hell, he generally didn’t have to shave his beard more than a few days a week, because he didn’t grow that much. He opened up the shirt, and saw that the same thing had happened across his chest and belly, a thicker trail of hair had appeared than there’d been before. There was something else too, but harder to pinpoint. He smelled different. At first he thought he was just smelling all of the cum that was on him, but it was more than that. He’d never had much of a musk before this, but he could really smell himself, and…and he liked it. 

“Look at you, already growing into a proper man. Probably won’t even have to have you in the recruit uniform for very long, if you work hard and bulk up quick, and show that I can trust you to be good and obedient. You like being obedient, don’t you? It feels good to obey men like me. The better you obey me, the sooner you’ll be a man just like me. You’d like that, wouldn’t you recruit?”

He came closer and licked the side of Jordan’s face, one hand groping his cock and balls through the front of the crispy uniform–only the crotch wasn’t so crispy anymore. Some of that was because of the cum that had drooled out of his ass, but he realized he’d been leaking this entire time into the front as well. “Please, I…” Jordan managed to say, but then the commander pulled him into a kiss, forcing his tongue into his mouth, invading it, dominating it, and Jordan just…relented, as the commander’s other hand slid behind him, found his well used hole, and slid a finger inside it.

The commander pulled away, and put his lips to Jordan’s ear again. “It feels good, doesn’t it? Getting fucked by men feels good. It feels good to service them. The more you service them, the faster you’ll stop being a bitch, and grow into a real man like them too. You want to be a real man, don’t you? You don’t want to be a bitchy little recruit forever, do you?”

“No, Sir.”

“No–you want to grow big, and strong, and hairy, and musky like a real man, don’t you?”

“Fuck…fuck Sir, I…I do Sir.”

“Do you want me to fuck you Bitchell? Do you want me to pound that hole of yours, flood your guts with my seed? Do you want me to make you even hairier, and bigger, and smellier than you already are? Do you want to become a proper pig like the rest of my men here? You do, don’t you?”

“Please Sir, please fuck me…” Jordan moaned.

“You fucking bitch slut, if you insist.”

The commander pushed him over in front of the mirror, lined up his cock, and pushed inside Jordan’s hole, sliding right in up to the hilt. His cock wasn’t the longest, but it was the thickest, and the stretch of his hole made Jordan gasp and contract. “Don’t fight it bitch, you need this. You want this load. You want every load this bitch hole can take, isn’t that right? If you don’t, you aren’t going to be man enough to stay here. You’ll just wash out, and we’ll leave you out back for the freaks to come collect when night falls–that what you want? You want those pigs out there to drag you into the alley and do all sorts of unspeakable things to you?”

Jordan shook his head.

“Yeah, why would you want that, when we can do all those filthy, unspeakable things to you right here,” Rumwell said, and fucked him harder. He came, flooding Jordan’s guts with his load, and he could feel it, this time. The potency of the commander’s seed, the corrupted essence of it, Jordan looked at himself in the mirror, saw his shoulders widen, his pecs beef up, his waist expand enough that he needed to let the belt out a notch. Even his feet grew larger, and had a fine coating of hair on the surface. 

The commander pulled him close, making sure he got every last drop, and then led him downstairs to the jail. Most of the cells were empty, but the commander showed him to his new room, but left the door open. After all, the men needed easy access to the bitch. His first shift would start tonight–the night shift was always more active here in Pigtown, and a lot of the officers liked to blow off some steam before going out on patrol–it helped keep some of the temptations down. As the commander was leaving, Jordan asked, “Wait, what about my car? My stuff? I can’t…just stay here.”

“Don’t worry about that life anymore, Bitchell,” the commander said, “We’ll take care of you from now on. This is your home now–even when you aren’t the bitch anymore, you won’t want to be anywhere else. You’ll see. That’s the thing, really. In the end, Pigtown will claim us all. Until then, well, someone has to keep order around here.”

With that, the commander left. Jordan thought about trying to escape, but he was exhausted. He curled up on the cot, still in his uniform, and passed out. It wasn’t until around nine at night that someone shook him awake, and shoved a dick in his mouth. The night shift was here, and Jordan’s time as the precinct’s newest recruit had begun.


Those first few months were hard, as Jordan adapted to his new role in life as the precinct’s bitch. Nothing worked the way it ought to. He felt like he was trapped in some sick and twisted gay porno–all the actors were wearing cop uniforms, but none of them were actually cops, no matter what they might look like or say. Except, they were. It was all confusing, and he struggled to keep his footing, just trying to take things as they came, rather than sort the whole mess out all at once. One thing was certain, and that was that the night shift at the precinct was much more active than the day shift. It was populated with a different sort of officer as well–younger, bigger men, all of them forming a stern and tight knit community. They didn’t talk to Bitchell much or engage with him as a fellow officer–it was clear that they didn’t see him as an equal, but merely as a tool. They would go out on their patrols, but who they returned with, if they had to make an arrest, shocked him at first, and one thing the officers always told him, was to stay away from the other cells in the block when they were occupied–best, in fact, to avoid the jail altogether during the night. He had plenty to keep him busy in the rest of the precinct anyway. After their patrols, the officers were usually so horned up and desperate, they either fucked each other right there over the desks or up against the wall, or if no one else was available, they’d use Bitchell. 

Once the night shift ended around dawn, Jordan would go down to the jail, once one of the officers had given him the allclear, and find that all of the men that the officers had dragged in over the course of the night had disappeared from their cells–he’d never see them leave the building in other ways, and there was no other way out of the jail that he had seen yet. It was like the perverts, the leather beasts, the rubber pigs, all of them just evaporated with the morning sun. The one exception, on occasion, would be a rather bewildered businessman waking up with a massive hangover, possibly someone that an officer had dragged in to keep them from going too deep. One thing was clear–if you went too deep, you weren’t going to come out the same person again. Even just skipping across the surface, you’d slip under eventually. He saw a few of these businessmen reappear in the cells as the months passed by, the cops doing their best to convince them to stay away, but the place had its hooks in them, the suits giving way to leather and rubber, tattoos appearing across their bodies, begging the officers for abuse–and some of the cops even gave it to them, if they begged enough. Then, they wouldn’t show up again, or if they were showing up, they were disappearing with the morning, like the rest of them.

Once the cells were empty, Jordan would collapse and sleep in his own cot for six or seven hours, until the day shift had gotten in and was ramping up. Then, Jordan would wake up (or be woken up, if one of the officers was particularly desperate) and he’d spend the afternoon and evening servicing them. The day crew was generally older, chubbier, and looked a little more ragged around the edges both physically and mentally. There was more laughter he supposed, but less camaraderie. None of them remained in the building after sunset, and on a few occasions, he heard them talking about the nights, about their time on the night shift–work that none of them could do anymore, not after what they’d seen, what they’d done, or what had grabbed them in an alleyway during a patrol and done to them. They were scared, he realized. Scared of Pigtown, to some extent, but more terrified of themselves, of what would happen to them when their resolve failed, when they decided to stay out one night, and just relent, at last. But until then, they had each other, and that was enough, even as that fear also held them apart. They processed the paperwork left by the night crew, took note of which apparitions seemed to be active or growing stronger and what could be done about that, and they would leave their advice and suggestions for the night shift, sometimes heeded, and other times balled up with a laugh and chucked against the wall.

But Jordan didn’t understand what they were doing here. When he had the occasional opportunity, he would make his way up to the commander’s office and try and get a straight answer out of him, but for the most part, Commander Rumwell wasn’t interested in giving him a clear answer. He would just tell Jordan to focus on his training–that he’d understand in time. As for his training, it felt like a cruel joke to Jordan. Mostly, his training meant crawling from officer to officer, servicing them in whatever sick way they preferred, and then doing it all over again with the next one. In the bathroom (where Jordan tried not to remain for too long, if he didn’t want to spend a few hours doing urinal service exclusively) he’d look at himself in the mirror, and every day, he looked at a different version of himself. Hairier, more muscular, fatter, taller, shorter, older, strong, weak, filthy, tattoos, piercings, shaved head, shaggy mop, long beard goatee–it wasn’t long before he couldn’t even really remember who he’d been to begin with, that bright eyed, clean cut, young man was gone for good. Not too long after that, he lost his last name–he just couldn’t remember it. All that would come to him was Bitchell. He clung to Jordan for a while after that, but lost it one night, when he made his first proper mistake.

It had been a crazy night at the precinct, which meant that for Bitchell, it had been relatively boring. When most of the officers were out on patrol, or dealing with the men they’d arrested, that usually meant that Jordan was stuck in the office, bored out of his mind and working out in the small gym next to the locker room, waiting for someone to come and need one of his holes. It wasn’t dawn yet, but most of the officers had left, tired and ragged, and so Jordan, without thinking about the fact it was still an hour or so until dawn, descended down into the jail, and found one of the cells was still occupied.

The officers usually took care to make sure that Jordan didn’t get a good look at the men they brought in (he thought of them as men, still, though the officers generally called them beasts, apparitions, or monsters) but Jordan had always assumed they were at least human. They had to be human, didn’t they? Downstairs, Jordan had his first proper encounter with one of the apparitions of pigtown, men who had been swallowed up by the bar at some point, then spit back out as something else and now they roamed the streets, their single purpose now to corrupt others. This one had no flesh visible, just a pile of grimy rubber gear heaped around him, but whether he was wearing it, or whether it was simply stuck to him, it wasn’t clear. Each time it turned its head, another face appeared on the rubber mask it had on, always facing him: a pig, a gimp, a demon–so many so quickly, that all he could do was stare at it, and step closer, and closer to see, to feel it. The next thing he knew, the officers had him by the shoulders and hips, dragging him back, the sensation of the rubber coming unstuck from his face, where the thing had latched onto him–something between a kiss and a sucker–and all he could do was try to get back down there. The other officers spent the next few hours with him in the locker room, shoving their own musk in his face, dominating him, fucking him, but it took the commander coming in and brutally fucking him, to finally break the things hold on him properly. When he was back to himself, back to Bitchell, the rubber beast was just a memory now–faint, but powerful, and he asked what had happened, none of them could come up with an answer that satisfied him.

He came away relatively unscathed–but he did lose his first name–it had just been pulled right from his mind by the beast’s sucking rubber. If that rubber thing had kept a grip on him, what else could he have lost, and how quickly? Bitchell looked at the night shift with more respect after that. They could have abandoned him to that thing, the apparitions were always easier to wrangle after a snack, but they’d saved him. It was the first time that Bitchell felt like he belonged there, and he minded them and their orders more carefully in the future.

As the weeks became months, Bitchell’s body began to shift less from day to day, and was beginning to solidify into something he could at least recognize as a person. He hadn’t grown much older, at least. Some of the times he’d looked at himself in the mirror he’d seemed older than half the officers at the precinct. There was a thick beard coating his face, about an inch long. It never seemed to get longer, oddly enough, but it would get thicker and bushier. His face was more angular, brow heavier. His eyes were no longer blue, but instead a dark grey. The rest of his body was filling out the recruit’s uniform he’d been given rather well. Where before everything had been relatively baggy on him, on some days it now felt too tight. The belt was on the last notch, when he could even manage to get it fastened, the buttons across his chest were threatening to pop free, and he could fell the fabric stretched tight across his thighs, biceps, and hips. The officers had pitied him after a month and thrown him some boots–they’d been size sixteen, and now his toes cramped up in them after a day.

There were other changes as well. While he found himself still bound to obey the other officers, and especially the commander, the compulsion no longer seemed as strong. Lying on his cot in his cell in the mornings, while he listened to the activity above him, he wondered if it was because the commands were losing force because he was stronger, or whether it was simply because he wanted this. Did he want this? He hadn’t seen the outside world in so long now, he wasn’t entirely sure that it existed. There was just the constancy of his service, wallowing in the musk and the fucking and the piss and the debauchery of his precinct. Wasn’t he enjoying himself? He struggled to remember the academy, what he’d learned there, but none of it seemed to matter anymore. The men of precinct 27 carried their guns, but they were largely worthless. They couldn’t keep you safe from Pigtown. It was the strength of your will that saved you, not a bullet. Was he getting stronger though? Is that why he was thinking…all of these new thoughts? Having all of these dreams?

His sleep had been filled with visions lately, fantasies of storming through the precinct house, bigger than he is now, roaring, pinning down the officers one by one and fucking the daylights out of them, culminating with the commander in his office, but he always woke up before they came to blows. The dreams terrified and thrilled him, and more than once, he’d filled the front of his stained breeches with a load or several even before waking up and climbing from the jail to assume his duties. 

Then one day, he lost it. It had been Hopkins of course–that fucker was always taunting him, from his first week at the precinct. Hopkins, Bitchell had managed to deduce, had been a stellar cop at a central precinct, aiming for a promotion, before he’d been transferred here as a way to get rid of him for some failure Bitchell hadn’t deduced yet. The commander almost never took experienced cops–they simply didn’t understand what they were getting into. Hopkins had disregarded all of the commanders warnings, gotten in over his head within the first month, with several cops having to drag him back to the precinct just to keep from losing him entirely. Now, he was dayshift only, and Bitchell had heard that he got up to some rather…freaky shit when he wasn’t here. He took a lot of his rage out on Bitchell because he was an easy target–at least until Bitchell had had enough, and with a snarl, thrown Hopkins to the floor, tore out the rear of his pants, and mounted him right there in the middle of the office. 

The rest of the officers had just laughed and watched–there was no real love for Hopkins at the station. They all knew that one day, he just wouldn’t show up, and he’d be just another one of the freaks out there. Hopkins knew it too, and that terrified him more than anything. By the time Bitchell was through with him, he was begging for more, begging him to fuck him harder, and only when Bitchell pulled his cock out, and Hopkins looked around him, did he realize what had happened. He fled the station, and Bitchell was summoned to the commander’s office. He’d expected to be reprimanded, but instead, he was told that he was being promoted, and to get out of that filthy uniform. He was so thrilled, and so thankful, he stripped down and bent over the desk, allowing the commander full use of his ass, and then he received his first civilian clothes in ages, and that afternoon, he left the precinct for the first time in nearly nine months. The sunlight on his skin, even just in the evening, sent a shudder down his spine, and he cried a little. Gunner, the other officer he was with who had offered him a spare room in his place, just held him for a moment, and let him use his shoulder. “You’re alright, brother,” Gunner said, “I know it sucks, but its fuckin’ necessary. Come on, let’s get a meal in you, and then get home.”

They got there as twilight was ending, and already, the denizens of Pigtown were out in force, selling their wares, or just tempting the unsuspecting men travelling through for a little fun in an alley. Gunner showed Bitchell into his apartment–a cozy and rather rundown two bedroom flat, but after sleeping in a prison cell for most of a year, it was heaven. Gunner had made up the second bed, as an offer, but he wasn’t surprised when Bitchell climbed into bed with him, nuzzled up to him, but he was asleep before the two of them could get past foreplay. Bitchell wasn’t sure whether he should be embarrassed or apologetic the next morning, but Gunner got down, blew him, then fucked him, and that was enough to explain that there was nothing to feel bad about. Back at the precinct, he received his new uniform–and it really was a new uniform, much to his surprise. He pulled it on, and found that he missed the smell of his old one–he’d felt…surrounded, in it, by everyone at the station. Now, it was just him–his own musk, warped and twisted by the men around him, sure, but it was still him. Lastly, he received his badge, but where he’d half expected to see the name Bitchell written there, instead, he saw the name Bulldog. “I think it’ll suit you, soon enough,” Rumwell told him with a wink, and with that, he was officially a full-fledged officer of precinct 27.

He trained with the day shift at first, as they explained what to expect outside the walls of the precinct, and what their job was. They had two tasks, really. Protect the folks outside of the zone, and do their best to keep them out. This was what the day shift did, primarily, policed the space between and tried to keep everyone on their proper sides. This was the best they could do to keep Pigtown from getting any larger than it already was. Over the years, they’d learned that the more men that congregated there, the stronger the power at the center became, and while they knew the deal would hold between them and the owner of the bar, they were sure that, as soon as the opportunity arrived to overwhelm them, the owner would do so without hesitation. The second task was the night–dealing with the rogue agents of Pigtown–the apparitions, the beasts, the monsters–whatever you wanted to call them. He wasn’t ready for that yet, but he would be soon. For now, he was partnered up with Gunner, who worked both shifts off and on, and kept sleeping at his place for the time being. Together they walked the streets, did their best to steer folks away using whatever means necessary, and gathered what intel they could from the men, in exchange for a load of cum or piss, usually. 

Then, after about six months there, he was transferred–the commander thought he was ready for the night shift. The crew that greeted him was familiar to him, but now, instead of keeping him at arm’s length, they welcomed him into the fold as a fellow officer. After all, the night was different from the day. Out in the maze of the night, the only folks they could rely on were each other. It was night when the apparitions came out. None of them knew for certain what they were, if they’d been men before this, if they were men during the day, if there were something else entirely, some tendril of power coming from the bar itself. The only thing they knew, was that the stronger they got, the harder they would be to fight. So they captured and tamed them, as best they could, worked to uncover their weaknesses, or at least tried to keep them confined to the inner segments of the neighborhood. Those first few nights were unlike anything Bulldog had ever witnessed, and when they got back to the precinct house, he tore open another officer’s clothes and fucked him there in the entryway–the other officers pulling him off, calming him down, but all of them were so caught up in it, it wasn’t long before an orgy had broken out around the office. When a new recruit appeared in the jail one night, Bulldog realized how necessary his own role had been–the more he could fuck here without distracting another officer, the clearer his head could be out there without impeding their mission.

He proved himself many times over the next few years, dragging a few of his fellow officers back from the brink, and surviving more than a few encounters with apparitions that should have been the end of him, but which he scraped free from with just his wits and sheer force of will. The only weakness he had was rubber. More than once he’d seen that apparition from the cell when he’d been a recruit, just watching him. Perhaps, one day, when he finally fell, it would be at the hands of that thing, everything sucked from him, until he was just a pile of rubber, just another face in the mask–but not tonight. Not for a long, long time, if he had anything to say about it. 

Officers came and went. Hopkins never came into work about a year after their encounter in the office. Not too long after that, a couple of officers found him in a rather sleazy den, the property of a leather clad pimp. Hopkins was decked out in a rubber cop uniform with a zipper up the ass, his hole drooling cum and lube, his mind already gone for the most part. They did their due diligence and tried to get him to return with them–a brother is a brother, after all–but he no longer remembered anything before his service with his new master, and so they left him. He was happier now, in any case, right? New cops came, usually three or four a year, barely enough to replace the ones they lost. Only a few came up from the academy–most of the others ended up in precinct 27 because they pissed off someone more important than they were, and they needed to disappear. Usually they did, but the rare one, who listened to Bulldog and the others, managed to stay relatively sane and become a proper brother. 

Bulldog and Gunner had something like a relationship, but neither of them could really explain what it was between them. A shared tragedy, mostly. Gunner had been the recruit before him, raised up to a proper officer just a week before Bulldog had arrived. They had seen everything together, and no one else could really understand them, other than the commander, perhaps. Bulldog kept meaning to move out and find his own place, but being alone no longer felt right. They were safer together, in the end, even off duty, even if commitment seemed dangerous and terrifying. Would that make them a target? Could he bear to lose him one day? Could he resist him, if he had to? It was better not to worry about it, to take the shelter where he could find it. Happiness was fleeting, and that made it all the more important to hold onto, wherever you could find it.

Slowly, he found himself not just a brother, but a leader. The other officers started asking him for his advice, and more often, he was the one leading their incursions into Pigtown, tracking down the troubling apparitions and finding ways to drain at least a bit of their power and keep their city safe for a little longer. It was a losing battle–Pigtown would creep larger, pulling in a few more blocks each year. The further out you went, the less you felt it, but it was there. At the same time, Bulldog knew he’d never be able to leave. It was home, now. A part of him. He wondered, at times, what it would be like, if Pigtown were…everywhere. He tried not to listen to the part that seemed thrilled by the prospect. They wouldn’t have to fight it anymore. They could just…give in. Fuck. Night would go on forever then, they would never have to go to bed, they’d never have to wake up. It would be hell, it would be paradise. But his conscience wouldn’t allow it. He had to be a force for order. He had to, if he was going to live with himself.

He was surprised when, a couple months shy of his five year anniversary at the precinct, Commander Rumwell invited him to his home for dinner. It wasn’t the first time he’d been to the commander’s townhouse, but it was the first time he’d been invited alone. Unsure of what to expect from the older man, he arrived looking as sharp as he could out of his uniform, as twilight was falling, and stepped inside.

“Evening Bulldog, good to see you,” Rumwell said, and pulled him into a hug and a short kiss. This close to the man, Bulldog felt that same flutter he always did when he smelled his commanding officer’s musk. No matter how many holes he fucked, no matter how much of a top he was, he knew he’d always bend over for Rumwell with just a word, no matter what. 

“Evening Sir, my pleasure,” Bulldog said, took off his leather jacket and hung it up, along with his cap. “I just wonder what the occasion is,” he added.

“What, I can’t have dinner with one of my most reliable and trusted officers at the precinct? I can’t congratulate him on the fine work he’s done over the last few years?”

“I mean, sure, but…” Bulldog wasn’t really sure what to say to that. There had to be more. It felt like there was more, between Rumwell’s words. 

Rumwell put an arm around his shoulder, and pulled him towards the kitchen. “Come on, let’s eat. We can discuss more over a cigar after, alright?”

The food was delightful–Bulldog had always been surprised that the commander was a decent cook. With Gunner, he mostly relied on takeout and a good workout regimen to keep the fat off as necessary. After they’d eaten their fill, they retired downstairs to the commander’s modest, but well supplied dungeon, stripped out of the rest of their clothes, and took a cigar each from the humidor. Even now, being naked with the commander made him feel so…vulnerable. He could almost remember a young kid, fresh out of the academy, a sweltering hot office, a scent he could barely even understand, a power he not only wanted to worship, but a power he desired himself, worshiping this burly, masculine, forceful man. But that felt like a lifetime away, now.

They chatted for a while about some cases that were ongoing, before they fell into a lull of silence, and Rumwell said. “The reason I’ve asked you over, Bulldog, is more than just to congratulate you on your work, though fine it is. I’m offering you a promotion. Precinct Captain. I trust you won’t refuse.”

Bulldog stared at him, a bit confused. The precinct didn’t have a captain. In fact, it didn’t really have rank at all–they were all just officers. Equals, aside from the commander, and whatever recruit they might have crawling around at the moment. “I…I guess I didn’t know there was a position for a captain available.”

“There usually isn’t. But I’ve been doing this for…nearly twenty years now. I have a few more left in me, but I know, one of these days, it will get me too. I’m…I’m ready, in some ways, but not yet. I needed someone that I knew would be able to handle this job when I’m gone–a proper successor. And I want that man to be you, Bulldog.”

“I–I mean…” Bulldog stammered, but in all honesty, he’d never allowed himself to think about a future where the commander wasn’t there. But if there was one thing he’d learned about Pigtown, it was that none of them would escape it, in the end. Not even he would. Not even Rumwell either.

“And more than that, as well,” Rumwell said, getting up and walking over to a cabinet, where he pulled out a uniform not unlike Bulldog’s own. But when the commander brought it close, and Bulldog smelled it…he moaned. It smelled like the commander, pure, delightful, pungent power, almost dripping from it. “I’ve been wearing this one for a few weeks at home, getting it ready for you, boy,” Rumwell whispered in his ear, “Look at the badge, too.”

Bulldog did, and saw that it was a captain’s badge–and the name on it was, “Bulldog Rumwell”. 

“I…I don’t understand…”

“I’ve always wanted a son, you know? Rumwell said, pulling Bulldog up from his chair and helping him get dressed in the uniform he’d prepared for him, “In this place of course, that’s out of the question, but…but I think this just might work. Wrap you up in my scent, seed that ass of yours, and maybe, if we believe enough, we can get what we both want, eh son?”

Bulldog shuddered at the word, and nodded, smelling his own scent from his body melding with the scent of the uniform, becoming something between them. He fell to his knees and pushed his face into his commanders–no, into his father’s crotch, inhaling his scent, licking at the head, sucking the web of pre that had already formed between the head of his cock and his low hanging balls. “Feed me Daddy,” he said, “Feed me your seed, and make me your son, your successor, please…”

He lost count of how many loads Rumwell fed him that night. It seemed that the magic of the place was suffusing them both, stretching out time, driving them to heights of arousal and perversion neither of them had experienced before. By morning, they were a tired, aching, heaving knot, Bulldog’s uniform discarded and crumpled off in a corner of the dungeon. Rumwell Sr. was snoring still, when Bulldog got up, thighs, and hole aching, and stumbled into the bathroom to take his morning piss, but froze in the mirror. 

His face–it was his face, almost. But the nose, the jaw, the auburn hair–there was no mistaking it, was there? He lifted up an arm and sniffed his ripe pit, and moaned in delight–he smelled like his dad, fuck! That same authority, that same masculinity was flooding the bathroom around him, and it was so hot he could barely contain himself. He tried to stroke off, his arm was too tired from the night before to finish the job, and he had to go back to his father lying on the floor, lick him clean, thank him for his gift, for his power, and Rumwell Sr. was so thrilled to have his son, that they spent the morning fucking as well.

Everyone at the precinct was nervous, when Bulldog and Rumwell showed up late. The commander was never late, after all, and never arrived to work…with anyone. But as soon as they caught a whiff of them both, they found themselves beginning to understand what had happened, and by the time Rumwell gathered them all in the office to announce the promotion of his son, Bulldog Rumwell, to the position of Precinct Captain, no one could object. Bulldog would oversee the night shift as their shift commander and report to Rumwell Sr., while the commander would continue to supervise the day shift, as he had been. 

Afterwards, the other officers came up to congratulate Bulldog, and to get a good sniff of him too–which Bulldog was more than happy to give them all. And when they were all drunk of his own powerful musk, he enjoyed ordering them all up against the wall so he could sample all of their holes with his cock–and whoever was the nicest fuck would get his load. His father looked on, proud of his boy and pleased to see how quickly he’d been able to assume control over the officers. He could rest a bit more easily now, knowing that when he was gone, there would be a leader here. And maybe, when Bulldog found the right man, the Rumwell legacy could continue. Someone had to keep the city safe, after all. Bulldog looked back at his father, and realized that this is what he’d always been looking for, when he’d decided to become an officer. A family, and a duty. And now that he had both, he would do whatever he could to protect it, until he too, fell under, until they all did, one day. But that was for the future. For now, he had holes to breed–it was time to put these pigs in their place, and show them who would be boss around here, soon enough.

A New Recruit at Precinct 27 (Sneak Peek)

Sorry for the long bout of silence! Things have been happening, mostly a lot of commissions, most of which are sizable (and some which are…not fit for public consumption). In any case, that should be changing soon, starting with a new story here. This is a Pigtown story, but it’s also not really about the bar this time around. A while back, riffing off a fellow who did some captions inspired by Pigtown on his tumblr, that turned it into more of a neighborhood, instead of just one bar, I did a little riff using the same idea in a couple of captions. I’ve used the idea in a few stories, but most are unfinished–but I’m pretty happy with this one, and thanks to the commissioner for the nice ideas and being willing to let me run with it! This is a sample of the story, I’ll post the full version publicly next week. If you want to read it sooner, you can find it on my Patreon, if you support me at the $5 level or higher.


When Jordan heard that he was being assigned to Precinct 27 after graduating from the academy, a couple of other trainees pulled him aside and asked what he’d done to get that assignment. From their tone, he couldn’t quite tell if it was a curse or a blessing. When he asked why they seemed surprised, none of them would really give him any details. The only hard fact he could get out of any of them was that the precinct was on the edge of a chunk of the city which was generally called Pigtown, which was a rather unsavory locale, where it was best not to be caught after dark. Jordan, having grown up in the suburbs of the city, hadn’t heard of it, which only seemed to surprise the fellows more. In any case, none of them had been there, or if they had, they weren’t talking about it, so they moved on to other conversation. Jordan learned what they meany by unsavory, however, when he pulled into a parking garage not far from the precinct house, and stumbled upon two guys fucking near the elevator.

He froze. The fellows looked over at him, from the shadows, and one of them was so bold as to beckon him over. Jordan didn’t join them, and if he’d been on duty, he would have hauled them in for public indecency. Instead, a bit rattled, he retreated down to street level, stepped out onto the sidewalk, and found it hard to believe he was still in the same city he’d always thought he’d known. The ground and storefronts were grungy and dirty, the air choked with smoke and exhaust, the streets narrow and full of alleys that seemed to weave around in directions that made no sense. The men passing him on the sidewalk (and it was only men, he realized after a few minutes) were all dressed in leather, denim, rubber, work gear, none of it clean, and some of it rather suggestive, but not as suggestive as what they catcalled him with as he passed by. 

He found his way to the precinct eventually, nearly getting lost in the process. He was certain, somehow, that the streets were moving around him, but that couldn’t be possible, right? In any case, he got there on time, climbed the steps and stepped inside, eager to find somewhere normal after such a strange start to his day, but he quickly discovered that there was a reason precinct 27 had…a reputation with the rest of the cops in the city. 

The building seemed tired. Whether it was because it was simply old, just uncared for, or something else, he couldn’t tell. The tiles of the floor were peeling up and scuffed. The walls had any number of stains on them. The chairs were falling apart, the officer manning the desk had his boots up on the desk in front of him, and he was flipping through a magazine that, Jordan realized as he came closer, looked to be a vintage gay porno rag. He cleared his throat, giving the officer the chance to put the magazine away, but he just looked over the top of it. “What’s up?” he said.

“Uh, hi. My name is Jordan Bethell, I’m a new recruit assigned here? I’m supposed to have a meeting with the commander today at ten.”

The man leered at him. Jordan had never really known what a leer was, until the moment this officer’s nose and lips turned up, upon the news that the precinct had a new recruit. “Sure thing man. His office is on the third floor. Elevator’s broke though, gonna have to climb,” the officer said, pointing to the stairs.

“They gonna fix it soon?”

The man just laughed, and returned to his magazine, groping the crotch of his uniform openly as he reached the centerfold. Jordan backed away, confused, and took the stairs up. He’d be sure to mention the officer’s rather inappropriate behavior when he spoke to the commander. The higher he climbed in the building, the hotter it became, adding ten, then maybe fifteen degrees of heat, despite it being a rather cool Spring day outside. He passed a few officers on the way up, and each of them were walking uniform violations–beards on almost all of them past regulation length, some men who were quite a bit too fat to pass the physical exam, illegal modifications to their uniforms–and he was certain that one of them smelled like alcohol as he passed, and another stank of piss. What kind of operation was the commander running here? He had met a few captains and commanders while he was at the academy, and all of them had seemed rather rigid and sticklers when it came to the rules of how an officer ought to present themselves. Whoever was leading this place–if this is what he let his officers get away with, how could he expect them to look up to him as a leader?

At the top floor, the temperature in the building had to be eighty degrees, and Jordan was already sweating through his undershirt and out onto the crisp, clean button down he’d worn, since he didn’t have his official uniform to change into yet. Those were stored at the precinct, and given to recruits when they arrived. He turned the corner at the top of the stairs, and at the end of the hall, he saw one officer had shoved another up against the wall, and was…making out with him? The other one had his hand down the other officer’s pants and was stroking the man’s cock, making him moan. “What…what the fuck are you two doing?” Jordan asked.

Both officers turned to him, surprised and annoyed at having been interrupted. “Who the fuck are you, askin’?” the larger one asked. He was big, one of the larger men that Jordan had ever seen, and he stalked towards him, footfalls reverberating through the floor, and Jordan stepped backwards, only to stumble into someone else. The officer stopped, stood up straight, and saluted, “Commander,” he said, and the other officer behind him pushed off the wall and saluted as well, “I was just inquiring as to what this…civilian was doing in our precinct.”

“I believe this civilian is Jordan Bethell, our new recruit out of the academy,” the voice behind him said. Jordan turned around, and found himself looking up at Commander Rumwell. He was a few inches taller than Jordan was, his body thickly packed with muscle. Unlike the other officers he’d seen, his uniform was at least worn as it ought to be, but that didn’t stop the older fellow’s musk from forming a thick cloud around him in the heat. Jordan’s nose wrinkled at the smell–it reminded him of the days back in high school after football practice, the air full of sex and hormones and sweat. He shuddered a bit, but wasn’t quite sure why. “We have a meeting, don’t we Jordan? Thank you for your promptness,” the commander said.


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Frat Daddy: Interlude #5 (Jimmy/Bear)

Jimmy didn’t understand how they could all do it. Just…go along with it. Ever since Daddy had appeared and taken over the house, Jimmy had been hoping that someone would say something, or stop it, and while there were so boys would put up resistance (like Jake, who was going out every night to fuck girls in various sorority houses around campus, no one was…fighting this. Jimmy wasn’t fighting it either, mind you, but he wanted someone to, mostly because he was, well, falling behind. But then, Jimmy usually found himself behind, if he was being honest. He was a freshman, and he’d rushed the fraternity with a couple of his friends that he’d met at school, who assured him that it was going to be the best way for Jimmy to meet, and ideally fuck chicks. Jimmy hadn’t fucked anyone before–he’d had a few near misses back in high school, but he’d never gotten further than touching a boob. Jimmy wasn’t the most handsome, or the most athletic. He kept hoping that he would find a time to really shine–that’s what his mom always told him would happen at least, that he’d find his place at school, but now that so much had changed, he only felt like he was flailing more. 

Jimmy tried to keep up with the rest of the house as best he could, but he knew he was falling behind–although falling behind of what, he didn’t know anymore. What did he want out of any of this? He’d already hated being in the frat. His friends didn’t really talk to him anymore once they’d gotten in, and most of the other guys in the house just ignored him, and he’d already been looking for a way to get out as soon as he could. Now though, the rest of the boys were all, well, thriving, he supposed. Some of them especially, like Mike and Carter, were taking really well to Daddy’s new direction. Most of the rest of the guys were guzzling shakes, working out as hard as they could, and packing on mass. Jimmy struggled. He would drink as much as he could, but he’d struggle to even hit the goal Daddy had set for them, and if he did hit it, he’d feel so gross he wouldn’t be able to join the rest of the guys for the evening workout. He’d just smoke a cigar, horny as hell but with no outlet, and go to bed early. The other guys would come up, fucking each other into the evening and night while Jimmy laid in bed and hoped no one would accost him. No one did, which somehow made him feel worse. He was just getting fat, and the fatter he got, the more he hated himself, and the more he hated everything about all of this.

Each Friday night, he would stand at attention with the rest of the boys, utterly terrified that Daddy would pick him to come over for the weekend, but also desperate for some sort of recognition. Just…to know that he was noticed, and not simply disappearing. Daddy didn’t say anything to him usually, but he did see him, see through him, into him, and that was somehow worse. Eventually, it happened. Daddy had been taking a couple boys at a time, but this weekend, he only selected Jimmy. The others looked confused–why would Daddy want that loser, they would wonder. Jimmy didn’t know either, but he followed Daddy downstairs, through the tunnel, and into his dungeon. He was terrified that they would stop there, but instead Daddy led him upstairs, where dinner had been prepared, and Jimmy devoured the first real meal he’d had in ages. Daddy ate too, but he mostly watched. They were both silent, Jimmy looking up at the older man on occasion, wondering if he should say something, or if saying something was a trap.

“Is this how you got your way through life so far?” Daddy asked as they finished their plates, “Staying quiet and hoping no one would notice you?”

Jimmy didn’t know how to respond to that, so he just kept mum, hands in his lap, eyes on his hands.

Daddy got up from the table, and motioned for Jimmy to stand as well. Daddy circled him, making a few little hmms and haas as he did, and Jimmy hated it, feeling like he was under a microscope all of a sudden. Of course Daddy had brought him here because he was a failure. He was probably going to kick him out. Would that be a bad thing? Isn’t that what he wanted anyway? A way out?

“Why did you join the frat, Jimmy? What were you looking for?” Daddy asked as he finished his circle.

“I wanted to…have sex with girls,” Jimmy said, a little horrified at how his mouth had just poured that out so easily. “My friends said it would be easy.”

“Have you been having sex with your brothers now?” Daddy asked, giving Jimmy’s cock a squeeze through his jock.

“Not…really. A few have fucked me, but I’ve never pulled out their plugs.”

“You must be a little pent up then.”

Jimmy nodded, and blushed, embarrassed that he’d admitted it all so easily.

“Do you want to fuck them?”

“I…I don’t know.”

“Are you sure you don’t know?”

“I do, Daddy.”

Daddy nodded. “Alright then. Come on, let’s have a smoke, boy–Daddy’s cock needs some attention. Tomorrow, I have something I’d like to try with you.”

They retired to the lounge, where Daddy and Jimmy smoked a pair of cigars, and Jimmy spent the rest of the evening between Daddy’s legs, blowing smoke over his cock and sucking on it until Daddy fed him a sizable load–then it was time for bed, and Jimmy found sleep difficult, wondering what Daddy could have in mind for their day tomorrow.


After breakfast, Daddy left Jimmy to clean up while he disappeared for a little while, and then reappeared from downstairs. He told Jimmy to follow him down, but they stopped before they reached the dungeon. Daddy showed him three masks that were laid out on a side table. Jimmy hadn’t ever seen these sorts of masks in real life, but he’d seen pictures of things like them in porn before. There was a fairly standard looking pup hood, made of leather and neoprene. Next to it, was a rubber pig hood. Lastly was one he hadn’t seen before. It was similar to the pup hood, but clearly it was modelled after a bear, and made with much thicker leather pieces, with some metal studs to signify fangs on the snout.

“I think that each of these would appeal to you, in one way or another,” Daddy said, “A mask isn’t a solution, but it can…let us escape from ourselves from a little while, imagine something different. If you want my honest opinion, Jimmy, your problem isn’t that this place is a bad fit for you–it’s that you don’t know what you want to get from it, so you feel listless. This might help give you something to hold on to. Go on and pick one, and then we’ll go play.”

Jimmy picked up each of the masks, but wasn’t brave enough to put any of them on himself. He felt silly, like it was Halloween or something. There was one he preferred though–he handed the bear mask to Daddy, but Daddy just motioned for Jimmy to put it on. He did, not expecting anything miraculous from the experience. Daddy helped get it centered on his head so he could see easily, and then put him in front of a mirror, and the reflection…it did feel different. It was his body, but it wasn’t his face. The mask made him look tough. Like no one would want to mess with him. He tweaked his face a bit, and managed to bare the metal fangs of the mask, and a little thrill went through him, much to his embarrassment. He almost pulled it off then and there, but Daddy secured the mask to his collar and locked it, and then pushed the masked Jimmy into the dungeon, where he found himself looking at a boy on the fuckbench, hooded so he couldn’t see who it was, exactly, and there weren’t any other identifying features that he could see.

“Well, you told me you want to fuck a hole, Bear,” Daddy said, “So fuck it.”

Jimmy balked, at first, but something else pushed him forward, something…instinctual. He gripped the boy’s hips in his hands, hard enough for the young man to moan through the gag in his mouth, and Jimmy’s cock was already hard. Fuck, he couldn’t do this, could he?

He looked over at the mirror, and a new thought came to him. Maybe Jimmy couldn’t. Maybe Jimmy was too scared, too timid, too worried, too anxious. But was Bear any of those things? Bear didn’t look like any of that–Bear looked like a fat, furry, beast who was ready to fuck. He pulled the plug out without taking the time to second guess himself, and pushed his cock into the boy’s already lubed hole, and he moaned–no, no moans from him. Bear growls. Bear grunts. Bear fucks hard and mercilessly. Bear doesn’t take shit from anyone. Bear knows what he wants, and Bear takes it. Jimmy fucked hard, came once, and just kept going. Bear doesn’t stop until he’s satisfied, after all, and Bear has not had enough sex in a very long time. 

Finally, after three loads, Jimmy stepped back, exhausted and sweating, and looked at himself in the mirror again–but he wasn’t looking at Jimmy, not at the Jimmy he recognized. He was muscular, covered in hair, a thick beard pushing out from the bottom of Bear’s mask, tattoos on his chest and arms, a thick cock with a PA in the head, two massive balls swinging below it. He gaped at himself, until Daddy stepped up, unlocked the mask from his collar, and pulled it off–and the illusion was gone. It was just him standing there, and a very well fucked boy moaning on the fuck bench, obviously quite satisfied.

Daddy pulled him out of the room and took him into a bathroom where Jimmy had a shower, and when he stepped back out, the boy was gone, and the masks were as well. It was just Daddy waiting for him, and JImmy understood what he’d meant, sort of. But that hadn’t really been him, had it? No–that had been the mask, it had changed him, he’d felt it. Daddy told him that he didn’t need the mask–that if he really wanted to become Bear himself, the only thing standing in his way, was himself.

It made sense, in a way. Daddy spent the rest of the day with him in the gym, giving him some pointers on exercising, encouraging him to convert some of that bulk to brawn, but when Jimmy asked if he could wear the mask again, Daddy shook his head. “You can’t just rely on the mask–things like that can have a mind of their own as well, if you aren’t careful,” Daddy said with a slight smile, “Never put it on without me there to supervise, alright?”

That sounded like bullshit to Jimmy, but he nodded in agreement. Maybe he had a point after all. But part of him couldn’t get past the idea that Bear was…different than him, that putting on that mask had given him some extra power that he didn’t have on his own. When he returned to the house that Sunday, feeling and looking a bit better, he did his best, and to some extent, he managed. He kept up with the meals and the workouts, and the other boys that had always ignored him, that he’d always assumed had despised him, didn’t seem so bad after all. But it wasn’t easy. It was work. After a week of it, he found himself falling back into his old habits, isolating himself, but now he couldn’t blame it on everyone else. Now he knew that he was making a choice, and that hurt.

If he could just wear that mask again, if he could just feel like that again, it would help, he knew it would. He found himself hoping on Friday that Daddy would take him again, though he’d never taken the same boy two weeks in a row. He didn’t, of course, and while Jimmy knew that his hope had been irrational, he still felt betrayed. Couldn’t Daddy see that he was still struggling? That he needed help? But it was all in his hands, he knew that. He could make the change, he could do the work, he could be that person he’d seen in the mirror. But if he was the one making the change, then why couldn’t he decide to use that mask to help him along?

He knew that was a bad idea, after what Daddy had said, but it stuck with him all the same. Saturday night, after a long rough day of struggling to make progress, he couldn’t resist it anymore. He went downstairs, crossed through the tunnel into the dungeon, going as quietly as he could, and found the three masks hanging on the wall. He pulled down Bear again, held it in his hands, and if he hadn’t been certain before, he was now. It wasn’t…alive, but it was aware. It had power. Whether it had power because he believed it did, or because Daddy had put it there, it didn’t matter. He pulled the mask on again, and felt that rush from before when he looked at himself in the mirror, watched himself growing thicker and hairier, a good amount of fat melting off his body and being replaced with muscle. He saw the tattoos on his body appear again, saw his thick cock grow hard and begin to leak, and he wanted to fuck so bad. Maybe…just go back to the frat, fuck one of the boys who was still awake. He could do that, right?

He went to leave the dungeon, only for a sudden sense of vertigo to send him to his hands and knees, the room spinning around him. Something was wrong. He was still…growing? No, he was still changing, but not getting bigger. Was he getting smaller? Growing more compact, maybe, his height contracting to around five and a half feet, even more mass piling on him as he grew hairier, coated in a full pelt of fur now. The voice from the mask was louder now, so loud! Not so much a voice, just…thoughts, desires, thirsts. He tried to pull the mask off, but couldn’t get a grip on it, like the leather had somehow fused with his neck. His skin…why did it feel so rough and leathery all of a sudden? His face ached, feeling like the mask was tugging on it, contorting it, teeth aching. He roared in pain and collapsed–the last thing he remembered was the sound of feet on the stairs, and Daddy was standing over him, when he fainted.

Jimmy didn’t remember much, when he woke. Daddy was there with him, still on the floor of the dungeon, stroking his side and back, making Jimmy moan. Daddy sighed. “I warned you about this, but I didn’t think it would go this far.”

Jimmy tried to ask him what was wrong, but his mouth didn’t seem to cooperate. He could get out a few words, but between his aching face under the mask, and his addled brain, nothing made sense, really.

Daddy hushed him, and kept him comfortable, gripped the amulet around his neck, and stroked his head. “Hush now, my bear. Go to sleep. Everything will make sense in the morning. It’s not what I wished for you, but it seems you may have made a place for yourself anyway. You’ll be more than happy, I promise.”

When Bear awoke, it was on the floor of the dormitory upstairs. He looked around, a bit discombobulated, but this was where he was supposed to sleep, right? He looked around at the little corner the boys had made for Bear, someone between a brother, a house mascot, and a pet. No one really knew where Bear had come from, if you asked them–especially not Bear. No one could recall Jimmy had ever existed, and his bed and belongings had seemingly evaporated. Bear crawled out of bed and gave a shake and a yawn, showing the rather…inhuman mouth he had inside that leather mask that never came off his head. No one knew for sure if it even could–Bear had been known to snap at anyone who tried to mess with it too much. Other than that, he was completely naked. Even when the boys took him on campus to go to their football games, Bear remained nude, but no one thought it odd. 

Bear was still hard from the rather pleasant dream he’d been having in his sleep, something he couldn’t remember, but which had certainly aroused him. He bent over, and gave the head of his thick cock a little lick, his stout body surprisingly flexible. He eyed the boys around him, just rousing from sleep, saw Eric had bent over next to their bed, and before the boy could do anything to avoid it, Bear had crawled over, hauled his plug out with his teeth, growled something that was understood to be the word “Fuck,” and mounted him right there on the side of the bed, his cock driving right into the boy’s hole.

“Goddamn it Bear!” Eric said, pinned under the stout fellow’s substantial mass as Bear humped his hole. Still, there was no saying no to Bear. In fact, getting fucked by the brute was a pleasure, since his cum always seemed to have a rather…invigorating effect on the boy who got seeded. Bear responded to the boy’s annoyance by putting his mouth around his shoulder, not hard enough to pierce the skin by any measure, and letting loose a low growl as he thrust deeper. It was enough to remind Eric that his hole was Bear’s by right–and that complaining too much just meant he would get rougher. Eric relaxed, and Bear fucked, grunting and growling and snuffling until he unloaded in his hole with a roar loud enough to make the other boy’s turn in his direction. Once he’d dismounted from him, Eric pushed his plug back in, keeping all of Bear’s helpful cum in his hole. He glowered at the beast for a second, who was panting happily, and couldn’t stay mad. Bear ended up on his back, growling and grunting while the boys all gathered around him, giving him his morning belly rubs, before going down for breakfast, Bear plodding after them–crawling through the room, and then toddling down the stairs on two legs, but hands and knees were preferable for him. Later in the day, Daddy came over to check on him and make sure he was acclimating well, but Bear had never been happier. He’d found his place after all, and he’d never look back.

Frat Daddy: Interlude #4 (Mike and the Pig)

This is another Frat Daddy commission, this time looking for a followup to Mike’s last interlude. If you’re interested in a commission like this, it’s $70 dollars for 3000 words, a $20 discount! You can find more details here.


Mike managed. That’s what his life became, after his weekend with Daddy. He managed the pig inside him, found himself weighing every urge, every thought, every fantasy, trying to separate what was him, from the pig that he was certain was growing inside of him at every moment. Was he hungry because he actually was hungry, or because the pig wanted him fatter? Better avoid the dining hall, just in case, but he’d find the hunger overwhelming him in the middle of the night instead, going downstairs into the kitchen, devouring a shake, and then another, desperate for something to fill him up. Was he exhausted and avoiding a workout because the pig wanted him lazy, or because he hadn’t slept well in days? Best to workout harder. Or did it want him to workout so he’d get sweaty and even more rank than he was? Best to avoid the gym altogether, go grab something to eat, sit at his desk trying to focus on school work. Did he want to hang out with the brothers in the house, or did the pig just want to smell them? They all smelled so different, so wonderful, but every sniff was a temptation he couldn’t afford. Best to be alone–but maybe the pig wanted him alone, wanted him isolated? Then he couldn’t avoid his own stink, and he’d find himself on his bed, arms up, snorting up his own musk, his cock hard and leaking, but he couldn’t cum without fucking, and fucking was too dangerous–far, far too dangerous. Dangerous because the other boys could never know about him, about what was wrong with him. If they knew–what would they think of him? What…what would they do with him if they knew? He could picture it, all of them gathered around him, nowhere for him to escape, forced to smell their pits, their crotches, their feet, their underwear. Drink their piss, drink their cum, eat out their asses, reduced to an animal, to a slave, to a fucking, nasty pig!

Coming back from that moment was always difficult. He’d be so lost in these fantasies, slipping between the boundary between nightmare, reality, and desire than when he found his way back to himself, he wasn’t quite the person he’d been before he’d gotten lost. A few pounds here and there, his nose suddenly turned up, his balls bigger and leaking cum all the time, his pits reeking more than before, bristly hair all over his shoulders and back. How on earth was he going to stop this? After a week, he went back to Daddy and begged him to fix him, but Daddy just shook his head.

He said to Mike, “You’re afraid, I understand that. But fear is your enemy here. What are you really afraid of? The pig, or something else?”

Mike had asked him what that meant, but Daddy just smiled, gave him a light tap on the cheek with his gloved hand, and smiled at him. “You’ll figure it out–you boys usually do in the end.”

Mike didn’t have the same reluctant faith in himself that Daddy did, but since he wasn’t giving him any real help, Mike turned somewhere else–his friend, and fellow frat brother, Jake.

Jake and Mike had been friends for a long time. They’d even gone to the same high school together, rushed at the same time, and were in the same major and most of the same classes. Jake, however, had always outclassed Mike, at least in terms of looks, athletics and girls. Jake was on the swim team, perfectly toned year round, while Mike had always had a bit of a paunch and bulk, thanks to his years on the football team. Jake could be a bit of a pompous asshole…but he was the only one that Mike felt he could trust with this. So one day after class, Mike pulled Jake aside before they got back to the house, and explained what had happened when he’d gone to stay with Daddy that weekend, and the current curse he was suffering from.

“Fuck man, that shit’s heavy,” Jake said, when Mike had finished his story, “I’d just assumed you were going queer like the rest of them, and that’s why you were acting so fucking strange the last few weeks.”

“I’m not gay!” Mike said, “I mean, I don’t…want to be. I don’t want to smell my pits either! But like today, I was so busy smelling them that I missed the shower, and–”

“Fuck bro, I don’t want the details!”

“I’m sorry, I just…who else can I talk to about this? Can…can you help me?”

“What you need, man, is pussy. I’ve been slipping out at night, you know, heading over to Gamma Pi–those chicks know how to fuck. Come along tonight–we’ll sort you out.”

The thought of fucking a woman turned his stomach–and the thought of a woman seeing him like…like this…no, that wasn’t going to work. He shook his head. “No, come on, that’s not even the issue here!”

“Well, then you’re just going to have to man up then! Come on–I can think of something to try.”

They went home together, and down into the gym. Mike hadn’t been down here in a few weeks, not since he’d caught a whiff of himself on the bench press, and nearly dropped the bar on himself. It showed on his figure–the shakes were piling on the pounds, now that he’d stopped trying to work them off. “I…I can’t do this,” Mike said, “I’ll stink too much.”

“Pussy, get on the fucking bench–I’ll spot you.”

Mike shook his head.

Jake sighed. “Spot me then.”

Mike did, following Jake around while he did a quick circuit of a few machines, working up a good sweat–then he lifted up an arm, and shoved it in Mike’s face. Mike backed away as fast as he could, until he hit a wall, Jake following him. “What the fuck man? What are you doing?”

“If you lick my pit, you fucking pathetic faggot, I am going to bend you over that bench and fuck you–is that what you want?”

“No!”

“Then don’t do it.”

Mike tried as hard as he could to resist, but the pig shoved his face forward, and he sucked the fresh sweat from Jake’s pit–and his friend, shoved him over the bench, hauled the plug from his hole, and fucked him–hard. “I’m doing this because I want you to get better, bro,” Jake said as he plowed him, “So we’re gonna have to give you some negative reinforcement. Learned this one in psych class.”

And so, Mike found himself with a new kind of torment. Jake would invent all kinds of reasons to get him alone, confront him with some new stench, and if Mike gave in, Jake would fuck him and humiliate him for it. Mike always gave in. Worse still, Mike was beginning to wonder if he enjoyed the treatment. Worse than that, he was starting to think that Jake might be enjoying it most of all. He was straight, or so he said, but he’d always had a thing for ass–as Mike had found out one night in high school after they’d both gotten a bit too drunk. Jake had apologized…but had he meant it, really? Had Mike been asking for it, like Jake had said? 

The darkness was getting harder and harder to avoid, and his own perversions were growing more and more intense. He couldn’t bear to shower now, just like Daddy had said would happen. He’d gained so much weight he needed a new jockstrap, after the other one started cutting into his chubby hips. Sleep was impossible. The dreams were too intense, and the boys were asking too many questions about why he would wake up snorting and squealing and screaming in the night. So he’d retreat downstairs to the gym, enjoy the fading musk of the boys’ evening workout, usually with a pilfered shoe of Jake’s. He wouldn’t know, he was busy sneaking out every night fucking some pussy when…when he had a perfectly good pig to use here, right? Daddy found him like that, sitting on the floor, face shoved in his brother’s shoe, snorting and stoking on edge. 

“When’s the last time you came, boy?” Daddy asked.

Mike snorted in surprise, and fumbled the sneaker to the floor, face red with embarrassment. “Daddy, I wasn’t–”

“When’s the last time you came.”

He hadn’t been able to fuck anyone since he’d visited Daddy, and that was the only time they could cum, so… “Not…since that night, with you.”

“No wonder you’re so pent up.”

The tears were welling up before he could do anything about it, and he started sobbing there on the gym floor. “I’m…I’m scared, Daddy,” he said, “I don’t want to be a pig. I don’t want to want to be a pig. And Jake, he’s just making it all worse, and he’s supposed to be my friend, and I don’t know what to do anymore. I’m tired, Daddy, I’m so tired of fighting it.”

“Then don’t.”

Mike looked up at him.

“Stop fighting it. What’s the worst that can happen?”

Mike couldn’t believe Daddy would say something so cruel to him. He knew what could happen. He knew!

“I know you’re worried, boy. I know this is new for you, and scary. But it’s not the pig controlling you, it’s your fear.”

“I don’t…what are you talking about?”

“Tell you what,” Daddy said, and stood back up. “Come spend the night with me. Or, spend the night with that sneaker, again. Don’t think I haven’t heard you in here the last few nights with that thing already. I’m surprised you haven’t sucked all the stink out of it by now. It’s up to you–but you’ll only have a chance to cum with one of those options–and you know which one.”

Daddy turned around and walked back down the tunnel to his home. Mike sat there for a minute, looking from the tunnel to the shoe and back again. He could smell Daddy on the air now, fresher than the workout musk from earlier, and his mouth watered, his cock drooled. He got up, and followed Daddy down the tunnel, and found him in the dungeon on the other end, waiting for him. He was wearing just a pair of briefs, nothing else, and from where Mike was standing, he’d been wearing them for a few days–maybe…maybe a week. They stood there, facing one another, until Mike finally muttered, “Is…can I…” but the words died on his lips.

“Is there something you want, boy?” Daddy asked him. “Come and get it, or go back to the shoe–your choice.”

“I…but what if…I get stuck?”

“Stuck as what?”

“As a pig! What if…I don’t come back as me!”

“So what if you don’t?” Daddy said, and took a step forward, stretching his arms up and putting them behind his head, “So what if you end up as a filthy, fat, stinking pig down in my dungeon, locked in a cage heaped with my filthy clothing? So what if I only let you out in the evenings so you can crawl down the tunnel and go clean up all the good little boys after their workout? So what? What if you really do want that, boy? What if it isn’t the pig you’ve been hearing all this time? What if it’s just you?”

Mike stepped back, turned toward the tunnel, but before he could run Daddy grabbed hold of his wrist, tugged him back, and pulled his face into his pit, feeling Mike relax against him and start licking, sighing with relief, and Daddy pushed down on his shoulders, guiding him down his pecs and chest to his crotch, Mike burying his face in the stained briefs, snorting and grunting in heat, cock rock hard and aching. “Oh fuck Daddy, oh fuck you smell so fucking good Sir…”

“That’s it boy, you enjoy that,” Daddy said, and dropped the briefs to the floor. Mike grabbed then and shoved them to his face, snorting happily, while Daddy went to the wall of the dungeon, and came back with thicker collar than the boys usually wore. After taking off Mike’s thin one, He snatched the briefs from Mike’s hands, pulled them over his face, and secured the  bigger collar tight around his neck with the waistband tucked past it, pulling the briefs tight over his face, blinding and hooding him. 

Mike was terrified at first, tried to rip the briefs off his face, but Daddy grabbed his hands and held them behind his back, shushing in his ear, bringing him back down out of the terror. “That’s it boy, just relax, just let it all out. You’re so horny, aren’t you? Don’t you want to cum?” Daddy lifted one of Mike’s arms and sniffed his pit, and then licked it. “Oh, what a naughty pigboy–you’ve been skipping showers, haven’t you? And you’re getting so fat now–too nervous working out with your brothers? Worried their musk would distract you?” Daddy groped his gut, and Mike moaned and muttered something unintelligible. “Well, you don’t have to worry about that, boy. You just focus on this,” Daddy said, and tore open a hole large enough for Mike’s mouth in the seat of the briefs over his face. “You just worship Daddy, enjoy it.”

He guided his mouth down to his pit again, and Mike happily licked at them, lost in the pleasure of it now, hungry for more. Daddy guided him from one pit to the other, then down lower, having the boy worship his cock and crotch for a while, and then down to his feet. Once he was satisfied, Daddy rolled over, pushed his ass into Mike’s face–and the boy balked. “I…Daddy, I–”

“Boy–what are you?”

“I…I’m a pig, Daddy,” Mike said, surprised by how good the admission felt after so many weeks of denial.

“Then eat my ass like a good pig. Doesn’t it smell good and ripe?”

Mike gave it a tentative lick, and then dove it, probing Daddy’s hole with his tongue, giving the hairy crack long, loving licks from bottom to top, his own cock hard and aching in his hands, drooling precum all over the floor. “Please Daddy, please let me cum…” he muttered.

“Boys only get to cum in a hole, isn’t that right?”

Mike whimpered a bit–there was no one here for him to fuck…right? Had…had Daddy meant…should he…

“What are you, boy?”

“I’m a pig Daddy.”

“Are you a fucking pig, boy? A manly, burly, fat, hairy, stinking pig fucker?”

Mike was panting now, unable to take it. He raised up, felt with his hand, lined his cock up with Daddy’s loosened hole and drove it inside.

“Fuck yeah, you fucking pig! Give it to Daddy!”

“Fuck yeah, I’m a fucking pig!”

“That’s it boy, this is what you fucking wanted, isn’t it?”

“I’m a fucking pig, I’m a big, fat, stinking pig fucker!” Mike shouted, and his cock unloaded deep in Daddy’s hole. The orgasm felt like it lasted an hour, burst after burst of pleasure he’d resisted for so long overwhelming him, until he finally felt himself come down, exhausted and aching and happy and relaxed, and He slid free of Daddy’s hole. He came around, pulled his boy into a hug, and held him, Mike nuzzling into the base of Daddy’s neck, smelling his musk there, licking a bit, happier now than he could remember being…ever, perhaps. 

“That was great boy, you did great.”

“T-Thank you Daddy…”

“Come on, stand up now–I want you to see something.”

Daddy helped Mike up, and he was a bit unsteady for reasons he couldn’t quite figure out at first. He assumed he was just disoriented, from the briefs still pulled down over his head, but when Daddy pulled them free, Mike saw…something else, in the mirror in front of him. It was him–he recognized him, but he was…different. Taller and broader, more muscular across his back and shoulders. Below that, a thick gut stuck out, almost like a beach ball. He was coated with hair, matted in sweat, a thicker beard growing higher up his face than it had before, and his cock! It…fuck, it was bigger than Jake’s now, and Jake had always been quick to point out the difference before. 

“What do you think, boy? You make a pretty fine pig, don’t you think?”

“Fuck Daddy, I…I mean…”

“Just say yes, boy.”

Mike gulped. “Yes, Sir. Thank you Daddy, for letting me, uh…”

“Thank you for servicing my hole, fuck pig–I’d been wondering who the first boy would be to have the honor.”

Mike blushed with pride, and then he realized he was missing something–the fear…it was gone. It had evaporated, and all that remained was a deep relief, and he nearly collapsed from it, but Daddy caught him before he could hit the ground. “Come on boy, let’s get to bed.”

“Wait, I…Daddy, I have something to say,” he said, and turned to face him, head hung low. “I’m sorry for my behavior before. What I said–I allowed my…fear to control me, and I insulted you. You were right. And you were right, that one day I’d understand what to apologize for. I think…you’re probably right about everything.”

Daddy chuckled, “I wouldn’t go that far, boy–now come on.”

Mike nodded, and allowed Daddy to help him upstairs to his room, where they slept together, and Mike had the most peaceful night of sleep in ages.

The next day, when Mike returned to the house, after the communal shower, stinking of sweat and cum and sex, looking beefy and fat and hairy and rough, with a massive bulge in the pouch of his jock, no one knew what to say. Mike threw a wink at Carter across the room, who nodded, glad that he’d finally understood what Daddy could offer. And later, when Jack confronted him, accused him of giving in, of becoming a faggot, Mike didn’t have anything to say to him–he just threw him against the wall, hauled out his plug, and shoved his big pig cock up his brother’s hole. This one would get what was coming to him, Mike thought, sooner or later. But Mike didn’t have to worry about him anymore. He knew what he was now–he was a fuckpig. And this boy was just an asshole–and he knew just what to do with an asshole, didn’t he?

Frat Daddy – Interlude #3 (Carter’s Rebellion)

This interlude was a commission, and involves a bit of a time jump. Don’t worry, we’ll return and pick up Coach Mason’s tale another time. I’d also recommend reading the first interlude, which has the beginnings of Carter’s journey. If you’d like a commission like this one, you can find out more details here!


Fall was slowly shifting to Winter around the two houses. The leaves had fallen and been raked up by the boys, classes were gearing up for finals, some were eyeing the oncoming Winter break with a nervous glance, since it was unlikely that the Frat Daddy would simply allow the boys to return home to their families without some humiliating expectations of behavior to follow. But other boys were struggling for other reasons–and one of those boys was Carter. These last few months had been a whirlwind, from losing his hair, to finding himself under Daddy’s paddle and whip, finding himself beaten down and built back up again by Sarge on a regular basis in the dungeon. Some weeks, he felt like he could take on the world. Other weeks, he ached from the bruises, welts and cuts on his body, from his muscles and bones working through another growth spurt, and wondered how he could want this, if he was broken for wanting it at all. Other weeks, all he could do was stare at the other boys, frustrated that he couldn’t take his budding sadism out on them, as Daddy did to him. He’d look at himself in the mirror, miss his hair, no longer knowing what he wanted, or who he wanted to be. Just a mass of sensation, rudderless, no consistent identity from one day to the next. 

Maybe that was why it happened. Or maybe, it was the dreams that had been plaguing him most every night, the visions of being stripped and hung in Daddy’s dungeon, flesh and soul peeling away from him with every strike of the lash until there was nothing left of him, just a dull buzz of…something in the back of his mind, something trying to pull him together. Or maybe it was Daddy wishing for him to understand, to see what Daddy saw in him, consciously or unconsciously. But whatever the reason it happened, one Friday morning, wondering if he’d be able to spend another weekend with Daddy again, wondering if he wanted to spend another weekend with him, he found himself mostly thinking about his hair. He’d be lying, if he said he didn’t miss it. He understood, somewhat, why Daddy did it…but at this point, hadn’t he proven to him that he was more than just his hair? Couldn’t Daddy at least let him grow it out again, instead of keeping his scalp shaved down every single day? It didn’t help that his beard wasn’t growing in as thick as he would have liked. His blonde coloring just didn’t stand out enough, making it look like thin, long, peach fuzz.

He looked away from the mirror, and felt something familiar brush against the back of his neck. When he turned back around, he was shocked to see his hair! It was growing in again, faster and thicker than it had before, still that perfect golden blonde that so many girls had gone wild for in high school and college, before Daddy had taken over. He ran his hands through it and gave it a tug, but it was real. How was this even possible? Looking at himself, he noticed that his beard was also filling in and growing. It finally passed through that awkward fuzzy stage and became a thick, blonde beard that reached down to his chest.

“D-Daddy?” he asked, but the room was empty–most of the other boys in the house were eating downstairs or in class. He looked back at the mirror, and then down at himself. If Daddy hadn’t done this, then…had it been him? As a little test, he thought about being bigger–thicker and taller really, and he felt his body surge outwards and respond to him, packing on muscle, his harness growing tight against his body. As he ran his hands over himself, another boy, named Ryan, came up the stairs and into the communal bedroom–and froze when he saw Carter in front of him. “C-Carter?” he asked, “Your…hair, man, how…”

Could he…change others? “Ryan–get over here and bend over, I’m fucking horny,” Carter said with a grin, and watched as Ryan did exactly as he ordered, bending over the side of his bed, and allowing Carter to pull his plug out with a pop. Ryan almost never got fucked in the house–he was too careful, but Carter had gotten him a few times. But now, he’d just…given up! Given up, because Carter had ordered him to. The rush he felt then–the sensation of power and domination over another. He loved fucking Ryan’s hole then, but nothing compared to watching that boy obey him without a single question. “Feels good, doesn’t it Ryan? You want me inside you more often, don’t you? You want me inside you as much as you can get me, got it?” he said, and Ryan started moaning and panting louder, pushing back as Carter fucked him, until he came deep in his ass–but when he pulled out, Ryan turned around, cock hard in his jockstrap, and begged him for more, his eyes betraying a terror and frustration that his mouth couldn’t articulate, but Carter was so lost in the pleasure of control that he didn’t even notice it. “Come on Ryan, let’s go see how the boys downstairs are doing. Maybe if they get me horny enough, I’ll fuck you again, would you like that?”

“Yes Sir, more than anything,” Ryan said, following along meekly as Carter went downstairs, eager to have some fun with the boys before Daddy came over in the evening.


Ethan had finished his dinner, dressed himself in his gear, and selected a cigar. With one last look in the mirror to ensure he was holding himself to the same standard he held his boys to, he went downstairs to his dungeon and crossed through the tunnel between his own home and the frat house next door, mulling over his decision again. He’d had most of the boys over at least once at this point, sometimes one on one, and sometimes together, enough to have introduced them all to the specialized plans that Daddy had for their budding manhood. Carter though–he was the exception. While he hadn’t come over every weekend, Daddy had devoted a potentially unfair amount of attention to the budding masochist over the last few months. While he wanted him again this weekend, for his own selfish ends as well as for Carter’s growth, he had decided against it. Carter had hit a wall over the last couple of weeks, one that Daddy was familiar with. He was wrestling with himself, with what he wanted to be, and it was best to let him rest for some time, to sort it out in his own time. If he pushed him too hard, it wouldn’t help anything.

He came out of the tunnel in the gym under the frat house, and that was the first indication that something was amiss–there was no one down there working out. Usually, on a Friday night, many of the boys would be down here working off their dinner, some of them working out while they smoked to take the edge off their horniness without having to fuck–or for the couple of boys in chastity at the moment, because they couldn’t. But there was no one. Guarded, he climbed the stairwell that led up to the living room, and found himself looking at the entire house of boys, all of them clustered around Carter, who was sprawled on a chaise, every single boy in the house worshipping him, with Ryan on top, fucking himself on Carter’s cock, moaning in ecstasy.

“Boys, Line up!” Daddy called, and that was enough to jolt them to their senses. Most of the boys did as commanded, some of them looking a bit…confused or scared, like they’d been caught in the act of something wrong. Carter did not line up with them, but instead stepped forward, his long hair and beard soaked with sweat from the hour long orgy he’d instigated with the rest of the house–well, commanded, really. Carter had been waiting for this, hoping his Daddy would be proud of him, but what he saw in Daddy’s eyes wasn’t appreciation, it was the sort of scowl he reserved for the boys who truly misbehaved. “Carter, what is the meaning of this? Where the fuck did that hair come from? You know that is a violation of the house dress code.”

“I…I grew it, Daddy,” Carter said. “I…I thought it was you.”

“Tell me what happened boy,” Daddy said, and Carter did–told him about how he’d grown his hair, about the power he had over the rest of the boys, the same sort of power that Daddy had himself. 

“Can’t you see Daddy? I’m a man now! Like you said I would be one day, I’m…like you. I can help you!”

Daddy sighed. “Carter, come here–stand with me and look at the boys in the line.”

Carter did as he was told, but wasn’t sure what he was looking at.

“They’re scared, Carter. They’re scared of you.”

Carter looked again, and he understood then. None of them would meet his eyes. Some turned away, out of fear or shame, or perhaps both. “Well, they should be afraid of me,” Carter said. “They should be afraid of both of us.”

The slap shocked him. It wasn’t the first time Daddy had done so, usually when Carter mouthed off in the dungeon, but never publicly, and never quite that hard. “No–that is not what we do. That is not what I do. We do not use fear, not here, not between us. Power, yes, but never fear. Get downstairs, Carter–we have to figure out what’s going on here, and how to stop this…power of yours.”

“What? No!” Carter said, “I…I thought you would be proud of me.”

“Carter,” Daddy said, resting his hands on his shoulders, “You are still so young, and so new. Gifted, yes, but you are wading into waters far too deep for you to handle yet. I’m not angry–I understand, but you need to listen to me. We have to fix this, alright? I cannot allow what you have done here tonight to stand. Now come with me, and we will sort this out.”

Ethan inflected that last sentence as an order,, with a sliver of will from the amulet around his neck, but he felt Carter shrug it off without much effort. “Let go of me,” Carter said in response, and the force of it caught Daddy off guard. He removed his hands, and Carter stepped back. “You’re weak. You were always weak. I’m stronger than you, I bet. Why don’t you get down on your knees and kiss my feet, Daddy? Maybe a few days servicing me will help you appreciate my power a little better.”

The young man was strong, but Ethan felt the command slide off him without him so much as flexing a knee. When he didn’t bend, he saw the kernel of fear that Carter had been hiding in his eyes grow a bit larger, and he took another step back. 

“I said kneel!” Carter said again, but again, Daddy was unbent, even as every boy in the line off to the side collapsed to their knees at the force of the command.

“This is not power, Carter, this is a tantrum. Get downstairs now, or I will drag you down there myself.”

Carter found that he had to flex all of the will he could muster just to shrug off Daddy’s command–he would lose if this kept up. He had to get out of here. He bolted for the front door, and was out and down the steps before Daddy could make it onto the porch. 

“God damn it boy, get your ass back in this house!” Daddy shouted at him. Carter felt the pull, but sprinted harder, dragging free of it. There, on the street, a motorcycle. Had it been there, or was this a wish of his own? He didn’t know how to ride it, but with a wish, he was dressed in leathers and a helmet, hopped on, and sped off down the street. He made it a few blocks before he had to pull over, rip the helmet off, and sob. He would show him, one day soon. He’d show Daddy just what kind of man he was. He’d be back, and when he did–Daddy would be the one kneeling before him, begging for forgiveness.


Ethan stood on the porch and watched Carter roar off down the road. He probably could have caught him, brought him back, but he decided not to–it was more important to tend to the boys and make sure they were ok, in any case. Back inside, the boys were rattled, but mostly resilient. Daddy canceled training that weekend, and spent the next couple of days with the boys, focusing more on making sure they felt cared for, smoking together, lying around with them, seeing to their course work, talking with them. Many asked about Carter, about what Daddy would do about him, but Daddy told them not to worry. Carter had needed space from him–but apparently, he’d needed more space than even Daddy had anticipated. One way or another, he would be back. All Daddy could hope, was that when he returned, he’d come back with a new understanding. Otherwise, there might not be a choice, other than to fight.

He sat with the amulet and meditated with it, trying to uncover how, or when, Carter had been given that strange power. In the end, nothing revealed itself which was troubling itself. If Ethan couldn’t understand how he had gifted Carter his power, then that meant he would have to be ready for it to happen again with the other boys. The weekend passed, and Carter didn’t return. Daddy spent the evenings out on the porch with a whiskey and a cigar, ready and waiting to see that motorcycle come back–but it didn’t come. After a week, Ethan began to wonder if he might be gone for good–or that perhaps something else had happened. In any case, there was nothing he could gain from worrying over it. In the end, he hung up the vigil, and things settled back down into a new normal.

Thanksgiving was coming closer, and Daddy and the boys were getting ready for the feast–none of them could return home to see their families, Daddy said, and while many were disappointed, they had found themselves growing closer to one another, and to Daddy–enough that to some of them, this felt more like their family than their old one ever had. It was Monday night andEthan had been out late shopping. Sure, he could just make the food appear if he wanted to, but he didn’t like to rely on it for the mundane. He believed it was better to retain a bit of humility, as a reminder. When he pulled up in front of the house, there was the bike. It had obviously been well travelled over the last few weeks, the wheels coated with dust and mud. Still, Carter wouldn’t have parked it here if he’d planned on jumping him. That either meant he’d come to his senses, or he’d grown powerful enough that he thought he could take Daddy without the element of surprise.

The door had been unlocked–not surprising, with Carter’s power. Daddy took a few minutes to put the food away, and just listened. He couldn’t hear much, but he could smell smoke wafting up from the dungeon below. Once the groceries were stashed away, Daddy took a cigar from his humidor, lit it, and went downstairs to meet his lost boy.

Carter was there, sitting in the bondage chair, a cigar in one hand, and a glass of whiskey balanced on the arm rest. He looked about as rough as the bike did–hair greasy and unwashed, longer than it had been in the house, reaching almost to the small of his back. His beard had grown out as well, down to his belly–or rather, a gut. Carter looked up at him as he entered, and Daddy saw that Carter was not the same boy that he’d been when he’d left. He was older–not as old as Daddy, but easily in his thirties. His skin weathered from hours riding under the sun. He shuffled his feet, and downed most of his glass of whiskey. “Hi…Daddy,” he said, finally.

“Welcome back, boy. I was worried about you,” Daddy said, and pulled over a chair to face Carter.

“You…didn’t come after me. If you were worried, why didn’t you look?”

“You needed space,” Daddy said. “Me chasing you wouldn’t have made you stop running, and it wouldn’t have helped the rest of the boys either. They needed me here more than you needed me coming after you.”

Carter looked a bit pained, like the reason was so obvious now, and the fact that he hadn’t seen it only made him feel worse. “Are…they all ok?”

“Yes, for the most part. I don’t know if they’ll be happy to see you, but they’re ok.”

“I came…I mean…I tried, I really did,” Carter said, and the first of the tears fell then. Daddy held back–but it was painful to watch all the same. “All I wanted was to be like you. To be strong like you are. I thought…if I could do it to others, then I must be, but god, I fucked up, I fucked up…”

“You did.”

“Not just the house, out there. I thought it was complicated here, but out there–fuck.”

Daddy nodded. 

“You were right. I wasn’t ready. I’m just a kid, but the more I felt that way, the older I got, and I…I don’t know if I can go back, it won’t let me go back.”

“You can’t go back, Carter. There’s no erasing what you did. All you can do is go forward.”

“Please, I want to be a boy again. Help me try again, I’ll be better, I’ll listen this time.”

Daddy chuckled, and took a drag off his cigar, “But if you went back, you won’t know why you needed to listen, would you?”

Carter’s head sank. “So…I’m stuck? Like this? For good?”

“Well, I don’t know about that,” Daddy said, and stood up. “I can try something, I think–but you have to trust me, like you did that first day–can you do that? You have to want this to be right, more than you want to feel ashamed, and guilty, and depressed. You have to believe that I can offer you something else.”

Daddy walked over, and started fastening Carter’s wrists and ankles to the arms and legs of the bondage chair, then slipped a blindfold over his eyes. He went to the wall, took down a pair of scissors, and bundled up Carter’s hair into his fist. “What do you want me to do, boy?”

“Please Daddy–cut my hair. I…I haven’t earned the right to wear it yet.”

“I will boy–but listen to me. When I cut this hair from you, I will sever you from your power–this power. Concentrate on that. It will be sealed away inside you, until you are allowed to grow this again, properly. And when that power is sealed, you will be renewed, do you understand? You will be a boy again–you will be my boy again.”

“Yes Sir, I understand Sir.”

Ethan cut through the hair–but it was harder than the first time. The grease didn’t help, but the power was resisting as well. He had to draw on his own, push it down into the blades of the shears, but they finally cut through, and Carter let out a sob of relief. Daddy kept cutting, working around the strap of the blindfold, and when he’d clipped as close as he could, he shaved Carter bald once again–but he left the beard. A token, perhaps, but in all honesty, it was vanity. It looked good–and the boy would need something to remind him of this.

He removed the restraints, led Carter in front of the mirror, and took off the blindfold–and Carter gasped in relief. He was young again. Himself again. He collapsed to his knees, and kissed Daddy’s boots, thanking him for another chance. Daddy got down with him, and pulled him close, giving him a kiss, running his fingers through his still grungy beard. “I’m proud of you,” Daddy said.

Carter didn’t say anything back–he clearly didn’t understand how Daddy could be proud of him, after what he’d done.

“You came back, boy. You came back–but more than that, you were man enough to admit that you’d been wrong. You surrendered to me not because you had to, but because you want to. And that shows that you are stronger than nearly every man I have ever met–and you’re still just a boy, for now. But one day, I can already tell, you’re going to make a great Daddy yourself. Maybe even a Frat Daddy like me.”

“I…Thank you Sir, I’d…be honored.”

“But first, there’s the small matter of your punishment, I believe.”

“I’ll take whatever you deem necessary Sir.”

“Oh, you’ll take a beating from me, yes. But first, I think the other boys have a right to first crack at you. Get up–you’re going on that cross. Every boy in the house is getting a flogging lesson tonight–and you’re the meat–got it?”

Carter gulped, but they both saw his cock jump at the thought. And once all the boys in the house had gotten a chance to take a little bit of their frustration and shame out on the now powerless Carter, they were all more than happy to take him back into the fold. And for Thanksgiving, they were all thankful for Daddy–but none more so that Carter, at Daddy’s right hand. He knew what he was now, without a doubt. It would take time, and training, and practice, and diligence, but he’d be a Daddy too, one day–it was the only thing he wanted to be. The only thing he could be. But he’d do it right, and he knew that with Daddy guiding him, he’d grow to be the best man he could possibly be.

This interlude was a commission, and involves a bit of a time jump. Don’t worry, we’ll return and pick up Coach Mason’s tale another time. I’d also recommend reading the first interlude, which has the beginnings of Carter’s journey. If you’d like a commission like this one, you can find out more details here!


Fall was slowly shifting to Winter around the two houses. The leaves had fallen and been raked up by the boys, classes were gearing up for finals, some were eyeing the oncoming Winter break with a nervous glance, since it was unlikely that the Frat Daddy would simply allow the boys to return home to their families without some humiliating expectations of behavior to follow. But other boys were struggling for other reasons–and one of those boys was Carter. These last few months had been a whirlwind, from losing his hair, to finding himself under Daddy’s paddle and whip, finding himself beaten down and built back up again by Sarge on a regular basis in the dungeon. Some weeks, he felt like he could take on the world. Other weeks, he ached from the bruises, welts and cuts on his body, from his muscles and bones working through another growth spurt, and wondered how he could want this, if he was broken for wanting it at all. Other weeks, all he could do was stare at the other boys, frustrated that he couldn’t take his budding sadism out on them, as Daddy did to him. He’d look at himself in the mirror, miss his hair, no longer knowing what he wanted, or who he wanted to be. Just a mass of sensation, rudderless, no consistent identity from one day to the next. 

Maybe that was why it happened. Or maybe, it was the dreams that had been plaguing him most every night, the visions of being stripped and hung in Daddy’s dungeon, flesh and soul peeling away from him with every strike of the lash until there was nothing left of him, just a dull buzz of…something in the back of his mind, something trying to pull him together. Or maybe it was Daddy wishing for him to understand, to see what Daddy saw in him, consciously or unconsciously. But whatever the reason it happened, one Friday morning, wondering if he’d be able to spend another weekend with Daddy again, wondering if he wanted to spend another weekend with him, he found himself mostly thinking about his hair. He’d be lying, if he said he didn’t miss it. He understood, somewhat, why Daddy did it…but at this point, hadn’t he proven to him that he was more than just his hair? Couldn’t Daddy at least let him grow it out again, instead of keeping his scalp shaved down every single day? It didn’t help that his beard wasn’t growing in as thick as he would have liked. His blonde coloring just didn’t stand out enough, making it look like thin, long, peach fuzz.

He looked away from the mirror, and felt something familiar brush against the back of his neck. When he turned back around, he was shocked to see his hair! It was growing in again, faster and thicker than it had before, still that perfect golden blonde that so many girls had gone wild for in high school and college, before Daddy had taken over. He ran his hands through it and gave it a tug, but it was real. How was this even possible? Looking at himself, he noticed that his beard was also filling in and growing. It finally passed through that awkward fuzzy stage and became a thick, blonde beard that reached down to his chest.

“D-Daddy?” he asked, but the room was empty–most of the other boys in the house were eating downstairs or in class. He looked back at the mirror, and then down at himself. If Daddy hadn’t done this, then…had it been him? As a little test, he thought about being bigger–thicker and taller really, and he felt his body surge outwards and respond to him, packing on muscle, his harness growing tight against his body. As he ran his hands over himself, another boy, named Ryan, came up the stairs and into the communal bedroom–and froze when he saw Carter in front of him. “C-Carter?” he asked, “Your…hair, man, how…”

Could he…change others? “Ryan–get over here and bend over, I’m fucking horny,” Carter said with a grin, and watched as Ryan did exactly as he ordered, bending over the side of his bed, and allowing Carter to pull his plug out with a pop. Ryan almost never got fucked in the house–he was too careful, but Carter had gotten him a few times. But now, he’d just…given up! Given up, because Carter had ordered him to. The rush he felt then–the sensation of power and domination over another. He loved fucking Ryan’s hole then, but nothing compared to watching that boy obey him without a single question. “Feels good, doesn’t it Ryan? You want me inside you more often, don’t you? You want me inside you as much as you can get me, got it?” he said, and Ryan started moaning and panting louder, pushing back as Carter fucked him, until he came deep in his ass–but when he pulled out, Ryan turned around, cock hard in his jockstrap, and begged him for more, his eyes betraying a terror and frustration that his mouth couldn’t articulate, but Carter was so lost in the pleasure of control that he didn’t even notice it. “Come on Ryan, let’s go see how the boys downstairs are doing. Maybe if they get me horny enough, I’ll fuck you again, would you like that?”

“Yes Sir, more than anything,” Ryan said, following along meekly as Carter went downstairs, eager to have some fun with the boys before Daddy came over in the evening.


Ethan had finished his dinner, dressed himself in his gear, and selected a cigar. With one last look in the mirror to ensure he was holding himself to the same standard he held his boys to, he went downstairs to his dungeon and crossed through the tunnel between his own home and the frat house next door, mulling over his decision again. He’d had most of the boys over at least once at this point, sometimes one on one, and sometimes together, enough to have introduced them all to the specialized plans that Daddy had for their budding manhood. Carter though–he was the exception. While he hadn’t come over every weekend, Daddy had devoted a potentially unfair amount of attention to the budding masochist over the last few months. While he wanted him again this weekend, for his own selfish ends as well as for Carter’s growth, he had decided against it. Carter had hit a wall over the last couple of weeks, one that Daddy was familiar with. He was wrestling with himself, with what he wanted to be, and it was best to let him rest for some time, to sort it out in his own time. If he pushed him too hard, it wouldn’t help anything.

He came out of the tunnel in the gym under the frat house, and that was the first indication that something was amiss–there was no one down there working out. Usually, on a Friday night, many of the boys would be down here working off their dinner, some of them working out while they smoked to take the edge off their horniness without having to fuck–or for the couple of boys in chastity at the moment, because they couldn’t. But there was no one. Guarded, he climbed the stairwell that led up to the living room, and found himself looking at the entire house of boys, all of them clustered around Carter, who was sprawled on a chaise, every single boy in the house worshipping him, with Ryan on top, fucking himself on Carter’s cock, moaning in ecstasy.

“Boys, Line up!” Daddy called, and that was enough to jolt them to their senses. Most of the boys did as commanded, some of them looking a bit…confused or scared, like they’d been caught in the act of something wrong. Carter did not line up with them, but instead stepped forward, his long hair and beard soaked with sweat from the hour long orgy he’d instigated with the rest of the house–well, commanded, really. Carter had been waiting for this, hoping his Daddy would be proud of him, but what he saw in Daddy’s eyes wasn’t appreciation, it was the sort of scowl he reserved for the boys who truly misbehaved. “Carter, what is the meaning of this? Where the fuck did that hair come from? You know that is a violation of the house dress code.”

“I…I grew it, Daddy,” Carter said. “I…I thought it was you.”

“Tell me what happened boy,” Daddy said, and Carter did–told him about how he’d grown his hair, about the power he had over the rest of the boys, the same sort of power that Daddy had himself. 

“Can’t you see Daddy? I’m a man now! Like you said I would be one day, I’m…like you. I can help you!”

Daddy sighed. “Carter, come here–stand with me and look at the boys in the line.”

Carter did as he was told, but wasn’t sure what he was looking at.

“They’re scared, Carter. They’re scared of you.”

Carter looked again, and he understood then. None of them would meet his eyes. Some turned away, out of fear or shame, or perhaps both. “Well, they should be afraid of me,” Carter said. “They should be afraid of both of us.”

The slap shocked him. It wasn’t the first time Daddy had done so, usually when Carter mouthed off in the dungeon, but never publicly, and never quite that hard. “No–that is not what we do. That is not what I do. We do not use fear, not here, not between us. Power, yes, but never fear. Get downstairs, Carter–we have to figure out what’s going on here, and how to stop this…power of yours.”

“What? No!” Carter said, “I…I thought you would be proud of me.”

“Carter,” Daddy said, resting his hands on his shoulders, “You are still so young, and so new. Gifted, yes, but you are wading into waters far too deep for you to handle yet. I’m not angry–I understand, but you need to listen to me. We have to fix this, alright? I cannot allow what you have done here tonight to stand. Now come with me, and we will sort this out.”

Ethan inflected that last sentence as an order,, with a sliver of will from the amulet around his neck, but he felt Carter shrug it off without much effort. “Let go of me,” Carter said in response, and the force of it caught Daddy off guard. He removed his hands, and Carter stepped back. “You’re weak. You were always weak. I’m stronger than you, I bet. Why don’t you get down on your knees and kiss my feet, Daddy? Maybe a few days servicing me will help you appreciate my power a little better.”

The young man was strong, but Ethan felt the command slide off him without him so much as flexing a knee. When he didn’t bend, he saw the kernel of fear that Carter had been hiding in his eyes grow a bit larger, and he took another step back. 

“I said kneel!” Carter said again, but again, Daddy was unbent, even as every boy in the line off to the side collapsed to their knees at the force of the command.

“This is not power, Carter, this is a tantrum. Get downstairs now, or I will drag you down there myself.”

Carter found that he had to flex all of the will he could muster just to shrug off Daddy’s command–he would lose if this kept up. He had to get out of here. He bolted for the front door, and was out and down the steps before Daddy could make it onto the porch. 

“God damn it boy, get your ass back in this house!” Daddy shouted at him. Carter felt the pull, but sprinted harder, dragging free of it. There, on the street, a motorcycle. Had it been there, or was this a wish of his own? He didn’t know how to ride it, but with a wish, he was dressed in leathers and a helmet, hopped on, and sped off down the street. He made it a few blocks before he had to pull over, rip the helmet off, and sob. He would show him, one day soon. He’d show Daddy just what kind of man he was. He’d be back, and when he did–Daddy would be the one kneeling before him, begging for forgiveness.


Ethan stood on the porch and watched Carter roar off down the road. He probably could have caught him, brought him back, but he decided not to–it was more important to tend to the boys and make sure they were ok, in any case. Back inside, the boys were rattled, but mostly resilient. Daddy canceled training that weekend, and spent the next couple of days with the boys, focusing more on making sure they felt cared for, smoking together, lying around with them, seeing to their course work, talking with them. Many asked about Carter, about what Daddy would do about him, but Daddy told them not to worry. Carter had needed space from him–but apparently, he’d needed more space than even Daddy had anticipated. One way or another, he would be back. All Daddy could hope, was that when he returned, he’d come back with a new understanding. Otherwise, there might not be a choice, other than to fight.

He sat with the amulet and meditated with it, trying to uncover how, or when, Carter had been given that strange power. In the end, nothing revealed itself which was troubling itself. If Ethan couldn’t understand how he had gifted Carter his power, then that meant he would have to be ready for it to happen again with the other boys. The weekend passed, and Carter didn’t return. Daddy spent the evenings out on the porch with a whiskey and a cigar, ready and waiting to see that motorcycle come back–but it didn’t come. After a week, Ethan began to wonder if he might be gone for good–or that perhaps something else had happened. In any case, there was nothing he could gain from worrying over it. In the end, he hung up the vigil, and things settled back down into a new normal.

Thanksgiving was coming closer, and Daddy and the boys were getting ready for the feast–none of them could return home to see their families, Daddy said, and while many were disappointed, they had found themselves growing closer to one another, and to Daddy–enough that to some of them, this felt more like their family than their old one ever had. It was Monday night andEthan had been out late shopping. Sure, he could just make the food appear if he wanted to, but he didn’t like to rely on it for the mundane. He believed it was better to retain a bit of humility, as a reminder. When he pulled up in front of the house, there was the bike. It had obviously been well travelled over the last few weeks, the wheels coated with dust and mud. Still, Carter wouldn’t have parked it here if he’d planned on jumping him. That either meant he’d come to his senses, or he’d grown powerful enough that he thought he could take Daddy without the element of surprise.

The door had been unlocked–not surprising, with Carter’s power. Daddy took a few minutes to put the food away, and just listened. He couldn’t hear much, but he could smell smoke wafting up from the dungeon below. Once the groceries were stashed away, Daddy took a cigar from his humidor, lit it, and went downstairs to meet his lost boy.

Carter was there, sitting in the bondage chair, a cigar in one hand, and a glass of whiskey balanced on the arm rest. He looked about as rough as the bike did–hair greasy and unwashed, longer than it had been in the house, reaching almost to the small of his back. His beard had grown out as well, down to his belly–or rather, a gut. Carter looked up at him as he entered, and Daddy saw that Carter was not the same boy that he’d been when he’d left. He was older–not as old as Daddy, but easily in his thirties. His skin weathered from hours riding under the sun. He shuffled his feet, and downed most of his glass of whiskey. “Hi…Daddy,” he said, finally.

“Welcome back, boy. I was worried about you,” Daddy said, and pulled over a chair to face Carter.

“You…didn’t come after me. If you were worried, why didn’t you look?”

“You needed space,” Daddy said. “Me chasing you wouldn’t have made you stop running, and it wouldn’t have helped the rest of the boys either. They needed me here more than you needed me coming after you.”

Carter looked a bit pained, like the reason was so obvious now, and the fact that he hadn’t seen it only made him feel worse. “Are…they all ok?”

“Yes, for the most part. I don’t know if they’ll be happy to see you, but they’re ok.”

“I came…I mean…I tried, I really did,” Carter said, and the first of the tears fell then. Daddy held back–but it was painful to watch all the same. “All I wanted was to be like you. To be strong like you are. I thought…if I could do it to others, then I must be, but god, I fucked up, I fucked up…”

“You did.”

“Not just the house, out there. I thought it was complicated here, but out there–fuck.”

Daddy nodded. 

“You were right. I wasn’t ready. I’m just a kid, but the more I felt that way, the older I got, and I…I don’t know if I can go back, it won’t let me go back.”

“You can’t go back, Carter. There’s no erasing what you did. All you can do is go forward.”

“Please, I want to be a boy again. Help me try again, I’ll be better, I’ll listen this time.”

Daddy chuckled, and took a drag off his cigar, “But if you went back, you won’t know why you needed to listen, would you?”

Carter’s head sank. “So…I’m stuck? Like this? For good?”

“Well, I don’t know about that,” Daddy said, and stood up. “I can try something, I think–but you have to trust me, like you did that first day–can you do that? You have to want this to be right, more than you want to feel ashamed, and guilty, and depressed. You have to believe that I can offer you something else.”

Daddy walked over, and started fastening Carter’s wrists and ankles to the arms and legs of the bondage chair, then slipped a blindfold over his eyes. He went to the wall, took down a pair of scissors, and bundled up Carter’s hair into his fist. “What do you want me to do, boy?”

“Please Daddy–cut my hair. I…I haven’t earned the right to wear it yet.”

“I will boy–but listen to me. When I cut this hair from you, I will sever you from your power–this power. Concentrate on that. It will be sealed away inside you, until you are allowed to grow this again, properly. And when that power is sealed, you will be renewed, do you understand? You will be a boy again–you will be my boy again.”

“Yes Sir, I understand Sir.”

Ethan cut through the hair–but it was harder than the first time. The grease didn’t help, but the power was resisting as well. He had to draw on his own, push it down into the blades of the shears, but they finally cut through, and Carter let out a sob of relief. Daddy kept cutting, working around the strap of the blindfold, and when he’d clipped as close as he could, he shaved Carter bald once again–but he left the beard. A token, perhaps, but in all honesty, it was vanity. It looked good–and the boy would need something to remind him of this.

He removed the restraints, led Carter in front of the mirror, and took off the blindfold–and Carter gasped in relief. He was young again. Himself again. He collapsed to his knees, and kissed Daddy’s boots, thanking him for another chance. Daddy got down with him, and pulled him close, giving him a kiss, running his fingers through his still grungy beard. “I’m proud of you,” Daddy said.

Carter didn’t say anything back–he clearly didn’t understand how Daddy could be proud of him, after what he’d done.

“You came back, boy. You came back–but more than that, you were man enough to admit that you’d been wrong. You surrendered to me not because you had to, but because you want to. And that shows that you are stronger than nearly every man I have ever met–and you’re still just a boy, for now. But one day, I can already tell, you’re going to make a great Daddy yourself. Maybe even a Frat Daddy like me.”

“I…Thank you Sir, I’d…be honored.”

“But first, there’s the small matter of your punishment, I believe.”

“I’ll take whatever you deem necessary Sir.”

“Oh, you’ll take a beating from me, yes. But first, I think the other boys have a right to first crack at you. Get up–you’re going on that cross. Every boy in the house is getting a flogging lesson tonight–and you’re the meat–got it?”

Carter gulped, but they both saw his cock jump at the thought. And once all the boys in the house had gotten a chance to take a little bit of their frustration and shame out on the now powerless Carter, they were all more than happy to take him back into the fold. And for Thanksgiving, they were all thankful for Daddy–but none more so that Carter, at Daddy’s right hand. He knew what he was now, without a doubt. It would take time, and training, and practice, and diligence, but he’d be a Daddy too, one day–it was the only thing he wanted to be. The only thing he could be. But he’d do it right, and he knew that with Daddy guiding him, he’d grow to be the best man he could possibly be.