Doug sat down in his leather armchair with a sigh, and his slave immediately filled his favorite pipe, lit it and slid it into his master’s mouth, before beginning the long ritual of servicing his smokemaster in the evening. His first duty was a thorough shining of Doug’s boots, followed by a full service foot massage, and then whatever kind of sex Doug might feel like having that night. However, as soon as he was settled, Doug heard a knock on the door to his dorm room, and perturbed that someone was disturbing his evening, he signaled for his slave to go answer the door. “Go see who it is,” he said, “and let them know I’m busy for the rest of the evening.”
“Yes sir,” he said and went to the door, however, as soon as his slave had unlocked the door and opened it a crack, the door flung back, smacking him in the face and he tumbled back, clutching his face. Clark was through the entry a moment later, and after a swift kick to the slave’s balls, he slammed his fist into his jaw, knocking him out in a single, impressive blow.
“I was wondering when one of you would show up,” Doug said, “After I heard what happened to Len, and with Grant going all weird, I figured it was only a matter of time.”
Clark went back over and shut the door, saying, “Yeah, well, I’m tired of trying to rule as a group. I think we need a more dictatorial power structure.”
“I’m happy with that.”
Clark looked over his shoulder, cocking an eyebrow.
“No, really, I am. And I don’t really have much interest in being in charge either,” Doug said, puffing on his pipe, “Why do you think I haven’t made a move yet? I could tell from the first meeting that you, Marcus and maybe Jack were going to start in at each other’s throats as soon as the day was done. Me, I just want to be left alone.”
“It’s not that simple.”
“Why not?” Doug asked, “What did I ever do to you, exactly? Unlike some people, I don’t really find your…inadequacies all that fun to taunt, and I actually respect you more than the rest. Marcus is completely paranoid, and Jack is, well, Jack. You seem like the most reasonable of the bunch. What can I do to help?”
“Thanks, but I’ll be ruling alone,” Clark said, “and I can’t really afford to have any other masters around to fuck me over later when I might have my back turned. Besides, I know that the tobacco you’ve been smoking each night here is designed to make anyone who gets it second hand suggestible to your commands. If you think I believe for a second that you wouldn’t intend to backstab me, or just rule from the sidelines, you must think I’m an idiot.”
Doug did his best to hide his surprise, but kept on smoking. How could Clark have known about his little gambit? “Maybe I was wrong,” he said, “I think you might be the paranoid one.”
“Oh hardly, do you think I’d just barge in on your home turf without investigating a little first? Now, let’s get the rest of this over with–I really don’t want to be here all night–I fucking hate smoke.”
“So you’ve said before,” Doug said, “I still don’t know why we can’t work together.”
“Because I already laced your tobacco, dumbass–I’m just here to finish you off.”
Doug coughed, getting the smoke out of him and setting the pipe aside and looking down at himself–however, nothing seemed different…aside from his crotch. Why in the world were his leather pants bulging out like that? And why was it so numb?
“Here, let me help you out with that,” Clark said. He walked over, pulling out a slim knife, and he cut open the crotch of his pants, revealing that his cock and balls were, well, not quite cock and balls anymore. First of all, they were bigger, but the shaft seemed slimmer and looked like it was bending in a strange fashion into a downward curve, and the flesh was colored strangely, a bit dark, but with a pattern almost like wood grain. On the other hand, his balls were sagging down below that, but it was almost like his balls were shrinking as his sack was growing, leaving only a large flesh pouch behind.
“What…what in the world…” Doug said, slurring his words a bit. It was hard to focus–how could he have been so stupid?
“Here, keep smoking–you aren’t quite finished yet, Doug,” Clark said, slipping the pipe back into the pipebear’s mouth, and watching his continue smoking, even though he was terrified of what might happen–or keep happening. Indeed, as he smoked the rest of the bowl his cock lengthened and the curve grew more exaggerated. Doug knew what it was becoming now–it was becoming some strange cross between a cock and a pipe stem. When Clark ran his hand along the shaft, a bit curious himself what it might feel like, Doug felt a shiver run down his back. The flesh was still sensitive, but hard and smooth like wood. The head narrowed a bit, but the glans remained as the changes slowed, leaving him with an eight inch long pipestem cock. Below that, his scrotum grew bigger still, and his balls disappeared entirely. With a sharp pain, he felt a slit appear in the top of the pouch, and he was almost relieved when he realized that his bowl was finished, so that meant the changes were over, for now at least.
“Well would you look at that,” Clark said, “I think that gives a new meaning to the term ‘pipe bear,’ don’t you?”
“I’m gonna fucking kill you for this,” Doug said, but with his slurred voice and relaxed body, he didn’t seem very serious about his threat, and Clark laughed.
“Oh trust me Doug, you’re going to be too busy smoking to care–in more ways than one. Pity your balls had to go–I always was impressed with how big they were. How about we see if we can replace them with something better?” Clark said, pulling out a bag of tobacco, “I think I have just the thing for you.”
Doug tried to move his hands to fend Clark off, but they were as limp and rubbery as his wooden pipecock was rigid. Clark started shoving tobacco through the slit in his scrotum, filling it with tobacco, the skin growing more and more distended, the dark tobacco visible through the skin, making rendering it almost black when it was full. Completely packed, the slit opened up like the lip of a pipe bowl, but he didn’t light it, not yet.
“Now, having watched you enough, I know you need a smoker to get a pipe going. However, since your slave is incapacitated, and I don’t smoke, I suppose you’re going to have to start off ith some masturbation–how does that sound?
“I can’t…I can’t bend like that…” Doug said.
“Ha, you can know, since I borrowed a few of Len’s flexibility drugs from his room. He wasn’t going to need them anymore, after all.”Clark dropped his backpack to the ground and pulled out some rope. “Now, how about we get you all trussed up?”
The harness shot from Marcus’ gun slammed into Clark sideways, the leather arms wrapping their way around him, binding his arms to his sides and his legs together, the force of the hit sending him rolling across the room and crashing into Doug’s desk. Marcus stood in the doorway, a large gun, almost bazooka like, in his hands, the barrel smoking a bit.
“What the goddamn fuck is this?” Clark shouted, struggling against the leather wrapped around him, “Let me go you fuck!”
“No, I don’t think I’m going to do that, short stuff,” Marcus said, and Clark flew into a rage, screaming obscenities in Marcus’ direction, the kilted bear just smirking at him. Doug would have laughed himself if he wasn’t drugged, and he still had his cock and balls.
“I always wanted to see what would happen if I called him that,” Marcus said, walking over towards Doug and ignoring the tantrum of the cub on the ground. “Dang Doug, he really did a number on you, didn’t he?”
“Please, help me,” Doug said, “I can’t…I can’t move.”
“Oh, that’s alright–I don’t need you to go anywhere,” Marcus said, got down and dug through the rest of Clark’s pack. “Hmm…I see. Well, I think I know just how to fix this situation right up.” He walked over to Clark, who tried to bite him when his hand came near, but he grabbed one of the straps behind his head and dragged him over to where Doug was seated. “Alright. Clark, I think you really need to calm the fuck down already. And you know what helps people calm down? Smoking. I think it’s time you picked up the habit.”
“Oh you fucking pig!” Clark said, “I’m not smoking that shit!”
“Oh yes you are, aren’t you?”
Clark felt a shiver run through him from the leather, and realized that Marcus’ leather wasn’t going to let him refuse. Marcus propped him up on his knees in front of Doug and pushed him down, where Clark wrapped his lips around the head of Doug’s new cock.
“Alright Doug–any advice for a first time pipe smoker like Clark here?”
“Fuck you, Marcus.”
“Well, guess that means you’re on your own then, doesn’t it?” Marcus took out the matches from Clark’s pack, lit one, and started burning the top of the tobacco, Clark sucking down his first smoke, taking too much into his lungs and coughing it back up. “Take it easy there Clark–you have a lot to smoke here–I wouldn’t want you to burn yourself out.” It took a few tries and a couple of false lights, but eventually Doug’s pouch was burning nice and even, and Clark was sucking down the smoke, unable to resist the compulsion of the straps binding him in place, and feeling a sinking feeling grow in his stomach. After all, this wasn’t just normal tobacco he’d been planning on making Doug smoke. For his part, the pipe bear was slumped in his armchair, moaning and sighing in pleasure. The heat in his sack, and the feel of Clark’s mouth around the head of his cock, pulling the smoke through him–it was amazing, better than pretty much any sex he’d had before, and that was saying something. He wished that he had a bowl of his own to smoke, knowing that would just make it all the better, but he was still trying to figure out some way out of this situation before things could get worse for him, but looking down, he realized that it was Clark who was more likely going to get the shit end of the stick here.
First of all, it was clear that Clark was no longer a cub. From where Doug sat, he could see his hairline beginning to recede a bit, the process speeding up as he drew more smoke into his mouth, the light brown hair turning losing color strand by strand until it was completely white. The tight goatee he usually wore expanded onto his cheeks while the hair on his chin disappeared, leaving him with a set of friendly mutton chops, making him look more like a distinguished polar bear than an angry, vengeful cub. From where Marcus was standing, he could see the rest of Clark slowly change as he smoked. His muscles were already atrophying with age, his body replacing them with sagging fat, the leather bands slowly expanding to account for his new girth, a double chin growing under his chops, and his ass filling out as well. As he smoked, Marcus noticed that Clark had to keep shifting position a bit to keep smoking the pipe, and he realized that the already short cub was actually shrinking even more. There was little doubt that when he stood up that he would be a dwarf–though a very fat one at that, maybe even larger around than he was tall.
Clark, for his part, was too busy fighting off the mental changes to worry about what was happening to his body, but the smoke was winning, little by little. He felt that cold ball of anger in his gut slowly start unraveling. As he smoked, a strange calm was settling over him, and he actually felt…happy. Maybe even content. It was a sensation so foreign to him that it was terrifying. All his life, it was the anger which had propelled him forward and upward, without it, he didn’t know what he would do. It had been his guiding light, and when it started to flicker and die out, he didn’t know what to do, but before too long, it was simply gone, and he felt…peaceful. Maybe even serene. He stopped fighting against the bands then, and instead focused on enjoying his smoke. Having dispensed with his anger, the calmness started in on the rest of him, shriveling up Clark’s massive cock to a very modest four inches, his balls pulling up and contracting, as the sudden lack of testosterone thinned out his body hair, leaving him quite smooth all over. With his burning lust now gone as well, and with a completely impotent cock, Clark felt completely adrift. He didn’t know, for the first time in his life, what to do with himself.
Then he heard the moans of pleasure coming from Doug, and his chest started filling up with something else. Maybe he couldn’t feel much pleasure anymore, after all, these old bones of his weren’t exactly made for sex anymore, but he could still bring pleasure to others–and what was wrong with that? He started working his mouth up and down the shaft of Doug’s cock, making the pipe bear moan louder, and he felt…happy. Happy that a fat old man like himself could still bring someone pleasure. His clothes shimmered in the air, seething beneath the leather straps, and Marcus saw that they were actually becoming more conservative, his polo reforming into a pressed and starched shirt, vest and suit coat, his khakis becoming dark navy slacks, his boots now leather loafers, and a pair of spectacles appeared, perched on his nose and completing the look, and Marcus figured it was time to work on Doug as well. He went over to one of Doug’s many pipe racks, pulled one down and filled it with tobacco from the second pouch Clark had brought along with him, and he stuck it in Doug’s mouth.
“No, please…don’t…” Doug managed to gasp.
“Don’t worry, I think you’ll like this one,” Marcus replied, “Now smoke it all down, like a good cub.”
Doug, still unable to resist a command, helped Marcus get the pipe lit, and the tobacco was surprisingly harsh and young, almost biting him as he inhaled it, and he watched his body fill out with more muscle, growing a bit younger in the process. Fuck, it was sexy watching his daddy smoke his cock, but Doug needed more–he needed to cum. His arms were still weak, but as he changed, growing younger and thicker, he wrapped his hands around the back of Clark’s old head and started thrusting his stem in and out of his old throat, Clark taking it happily, pleased to be bringing his new cub such pleasure, and he felt the smoke suddenly start pumping its way into him, and he inhaled as much as he could, the smoke now natural in his aged, well practiced lungs, and the changes advanced even further for him, aging him a bit more, filling out his fat frame, his cock shrinking down to about an inch and a half, and insuring that for the rest of his life, the entire focus of his life would be bringing as much pleasure to his new grandcub and his pipe cock as he could.
Dougie, on the other hand was barely satisfied after that massive orgasm. He was just so horny all of a sudden, but his pouch had collapsed into ash and gone out. Lovingly, Clark emptied the remnants out of his scrotum, and ran a pipe cleaner up the stem of Doug’s cock, making the muscle cub shiver with delight. “Oh granddaddy,” Dougie said, “I’m still so fucking horny. Smoke me again, smoke another bowl.”
“Of course, Dougie, grandbear will do anything for his little cub, you know that,” Clark said, and got up and hurried around the room, dragging along a stool to reach anything around the room which was too high for him, but he didn’t resent his height anymore. In fact, he rather liked his image in the mirror, the short, plump dwarf of a daddy sent a little sexual thrill through him, even if he hadn’t cum in ages, and when his cub picked him up and fucked him with his pipe, he couldn’t be happier.
He looked around the room, suddenly aware of the fact that they were alone. Hadn’t there been two others here? Mar…Mark and…and someone else? No, he must just be getting old. He and his cub had been alone all evening surely. He found his favorite tobacco and started stuffing his impatient grandcub’s sack. “How about after I get this burning, you give your grandbear a good smokey fuck, would my little cub like that?”
“Oh yeah daddy,” Dougie said, “I’d love that lots.”
Unnoticed, Marcus had slipped out, dragging Doug’s still unconscious slave along with him. With some reprogramming, he’d make a fine addition to his security personnel. Now, however, he had to talk to his mystery caller. He was going to find the resistance and crush it out, and then all that would be left between him and complete control would be Jack. And really, how much of a fight could a nasty old redneck like him really put up?
Bracken's Corner 