Alright, so here’s that exciting thing I’ve been wanting to show all of you–I’ve decided to open an account on Patreon! If you don’t know what Patreon is, let me offer an explanation. Patreon is a bit like Kickstarter, except instead of donating once and investing in the hope a project will be made in the future, Patreon allows patrons (i.e., all of you) to pledge donations on a regular basis to creators (i.e. me) as they produce content. This provides artists with a much more consistent revenue stream, especially for those of us who produce work on a regular, while still allowing them to work towards fulfilling larger goals in their work.

So what exactly would I be doing with the money? I have two primary goals. First, I really miss being able to update my tumblr on a more regular basis than simply two days a week, but at the moment, that’s all I can consistently muster given the amount of time I have to write on a weekly basis. If I can start generating a more regular source of income from my writing, then I can start providing more regular content, on three, four or five days of the week. Having more time would also allow me to put out a greater variety of content, like metawriting articles, on a more regular basis.

My second goal is grander. I enjoy writing these captions, but what I would really prefer is to invest my time and energy into longer novellas and novels. This includes my rewrite of “City of Bears,” it includes long commissions for friends that I currently only have time to chip away at, it includes interactive stories and text based adventure games. However, my ideas are generally thwarted by my lack of time and cash. I would very much like to release a longer novella or a collection of stories digitally through gumroad.com for a small price (under five dollars) every three or four months, and Patreon would help me accomplish that.

But what’s in it for you, right? Like Kickstarter, Patreon lets me reward people who donate to me. Anyone who pledges a donation of more than one dollar a month will be able to access a massive archive of unfinished and unposted stories which I have accumulated over the last seven years. It’s huge. Like, 230,000 words huge. Three novels (or one long fantasy novel) huge. If you can donate more than that, you can gain access to stories I’ll be publishing exclusively to Patreon, as well as early access to drafts of stories I’m currently writing. For those who are exceptionally generous, you can even receive a monthly commission from me where I write anything you might want.

I have never objected to providing this content for free, and I still don’t. However, I also firmly believe that we ought to do our best to provide artists with income. Even giving one dollar a month would help me get more content to you faster, and at a higher quality than I have been able to provide on my own for free. If you have any questions about patreon itself, you can check out their FAQ here, and you can find my page here. I’ll be on tumblr all day, so if you have any questions to ask me in particular, ask away.

Commission: Too Big

Cowgirl style, yeah, I’m gonna make her ride it, tell her she only has to take as much as she wants, but she’s gonna want it all, all twelve inches, they always do. And then I get to watch her face, watch the pain as I split her pussy wide open, and then the pleasure once my entire fat cock is in her, she’s gonna–

“Sam, is there something out the window more interesting than chemical solutions?”

Sam snapped out of his fantasy, but didn’t take his hand away from the hard cock in the front of his jeans, and rolled his eyes at his science teacher, Mr. Mulford. Who fucking cares? He was getting laid tonight–that’s all he wanted to think about. “Sorry dude,” he said, “Guess I just don’t give a fuck.”

The rest of the class laughed and he smirked. His pudgy, short teacher’s face got a bit red, but he kept composure. “Well, maybe we can find something to interest you up here. How would you like to test these solutions I’ve made for the class?”

“I’d rather not.”

“Well, I can understand that you might be a bit nervous, but I can assure you everything I’ve been mixing is perfectly harmless.”

“Are you calling me a coward?” Sam said. Mr. Mulford shrugged, the class looked at Sam, wondering what he might do. Socially cornered, he got up from his desk his foot long cock still rock hard in his jeans, but he didn’t care. His huge cock was myth at the school, and he liked it that way–it kept the girls coming in droves. He made sure to stretch at the front of the room, showing it off for the whole class, before joining his teacher by his table, where he had a number of colorful solutions sitting in various beakers. Mr. Mulford had him touch a few (slick and slimy, one colored his finger blue), smell another (fake banana, but Sam said it smelled like ass), and then taste one last one. It coated his tongue, and tasted overwhelmingly of mint, and then Mr. Mulford excused him back to his seat.

Sam tried to get the taste out of his mouth, but it was cloying, and he was starting to feel a bit strange. Still, science was his last class of the day–he was probably just tired. He tried to get back into his fantasy, but instead just felt dazed and confused. He heard the bell and saw the rest of the class get up and leave–he tried to follow them, but his body was just so heavy all of a sudden. He was flailing weakly when Mr. Mulford came over and sat down next to him.

“You know Sam, I’d like to thank you for staying after class to meet with me. There’s something that we need to discuss, something I’ve…noticed about you.”

Sam had no idea what his teacher was talking about. He hadn’t planned on staying after class, had he? And yet, now that Mr. Mulford had said it, he could almost remember, he could remember, yeah, he’d…he’d agreed to stay after class. He was still trying to figure out what was happening to him, when his middle aged teacher reached into his lap, unbuttoned his jeans, and unzipped his fly. “What…you doing?” he asked, but the words seemed too quiet to really be heard.

Mr/ Mulford simply reached into the front of Sam’s pants and grabbed the top of his student’s underwear, and pulled it down underneath his massive cock and huge sack of balls. It had gone soft, but with a bit of attention from the teacher’s fingers, it quickly grew to full size, jutting up between Sam’s abs and the desk, Sam giving off a soft groan.

“Goodness, it really is disgusting,” Mr. Mulford said.

“Disgusting?” Sam slurred, “What’s disgusting…?”

“Why, this huge, nasty sewer pipe of a cock. I mean, I’d heard rumors around school, but I see why you’ve been trying to hide it for so long, if people knew you were a freak, why, you’d be an outcast. People would hate you–laugh at you in the halls.”

“But…but big is good…”

His teacher laughed, “Big is good, but this is too big. No wonder you’re a virgin, you couldn’t even fit this in someone.”

He wasn’t a virgin, was he? But he could almost remember…or not remember…what was wrong with his head? Mr. Mulford pressed his advantage, berating Sam’s huge cock and heavy sack, laughing at him, shaming him, humiliating him over and over until Sam was in literal tears. He was a freak. He’d always been a freak, terrified of his own massive cock. What was wrong with him? Why couldn’t he have just been normal? Even a tiny button cock would have been better than this massive dick. Or a cock like Mr. Mulford’s. Mr Mulford showed him his own cock, seven inches, big and thick but not too big like his. He couldn’t let anyone see him like this. He couldn’t let anyone know he was a freak! The lengths he’d gone to to make sure no one knew–changing late during sports, or skipping the showers entirely. Wearing baggy pants all the time. Refusing to date any girl, even when they were interested. He couldn’t have sex with anyone, but now Mr. Mulford knew his secret.

“You…you won’t tell anyone will you? You can’t–I’d be…everyone would hate me…” he begged on his hands and knees.

Mr. Mulford massaged his cock, smiling down at his student. “Why, of course I won’t tell anyone–so long as you do everything I say. I mean, keeping a secret this big–you’re going to have to do me some favors. In fact, I think you’re going to come over to my house after school every day after school for a special study session, isn’t that right?”

“But–But I have practice–”

“You fucking idiot–Don’t you realize what a risk sports been for you? What if someone sees your freakish cock in the locker room? I think you’re going to have to quit. It’s for the best.”

Quit? But he was the star receiver. Still, the thought of his friends seeing him naked–what would they say? They’d laugh, they’d tell the whole school! Mr. Mulford was right, he had to quit, he had to.

“Now, how about you do me a favor today Sam–how about you suck my perfect cock off?”

“But I’m not gay…”

“Do you want me to tell everyone or not, freak?”

Sam gulped, but he had no choice. He took his teacher’s cock into his mouth and let him fuck his throat for a few minutes, until he shot a load and forced Sam to swallow his seed, and finally sent him on his way with an address in hand. His first study session was tomorrow, and Sam had a feeling that sucking dick wasn’t the only thing his faggot teacher would require to keep his secret safe.

***

No one knew what had happened to Sam. One day, he was his normal, outgoing, cocky self, his huge cock displayed prominently in tight jeans, and the next–it was like a whole new person had taken his place. His clothes were loose, he was suspicious of his friends. He no longer returned girl’s calls, and broke up with his girlfriend. He quit the football team in the middle of the season. His parents were concerned–he would be gone most every afternoon and never wanted to tell them where he’d been, saying only that he’d been studying at a friends house. Of course, after a few weeks of strange behavior, he had no friends–none that he could trust, anyway. He could only trust Master Mulford. Master was the only person who understood him, who could love and appreciate him even though he was a freak of nature. And even though he didn’t always like what Master did to him, even though he knew it was wrong, his freakish cock…it wouldn’t stop getting hard, thinking about his afternoon sessions, thinking about the things Master might do to him each afternoon, as he sat in science, daydreaming.

Sure, Master was old and ugly, short and pudgy, but he had the perfect cock. Sam couldn’t help himself now that he knew what his teacher had in his pants–truly it was a cock worthy of worship, unlike his own nasty, massive member. He wasn’t gay, but even now, thinking about it, his mouth was watering. He’d been a good freak though, he’d gone over the weekend and done exactly what his Master had asked him to do. His nipples were still tender, the head of his cock ached, but he had to obey. He had to, or everyone would know his secret. In fact, he suspected that they already did. Everyone whispered as he walked past them. They were all trying to figure out what was wrong with him. How could he tell them? How could he admit that he had a monstrous cock? It was better that people hated him and ignored him. At least he had master. Master wouldn’t tell anyone as long as Sam did everything he said. His secret was safe with him.

Another terrible day at school was over, and Sam walked the now familiar path to his teacher’s house, knowing that Master would arrive first in his car. It took half an hour to walk there, and he wondered what he might have planned. It was difficult to guess–it seemed like every day was some entirely new form of suffering, but the pain always gave way to pleasure, just like Master promised, and Sam would always beg for more, plead with him. He was such a freak. How could he have not noticed before? How could he have ever thought he was normal?

He knocked on the door, and master let him inside, telling him to go down into the basement, strip, and have his drink. Sam nodded. Master’s basement was a fully equipped sex dungeon, and at the foot of the stairs Sam removed his clothes, careful not to hurt his nipples and cock which he had gotten pierced Saturday on Master’s orders. The rings were huge–if he wore a tight shirt, anyone would be able to see them. The same with the PA he’d put in the head of his cock–it served to make his dick even more obscene. He hated it, but Master told him he’d learn to accept the freakishness of it eventually. Master had told him he planned on making Sam’s cock into the freak of nature it is, pierced all over, tattooed. The PA was just the first step–the rest would come later. Naked, he walked to the table and drank down the minty solution he’d first tried in the lab. The haze descended on him faster now–by the time Master joined him downstairs, clad in skimpy leather gear that showed off his chubby, bearish body, it was already difficult to think clearly.

Master’s eyes lit up at the sight of the piercings. “Perfect, just what I wanted,” he said, and tugged gingerly on both nipple rings. “I bet you groaned and got hard when you got them. And that nasty pipe–the piercing artist laughed at you, didn’t he? He was so disgusted at the sight of your cock.”

In fact, the piercings had simply been painful, and the man had been shocked at the size of his dick, but not disgusted. However, at master’s prompting, he happily forgot what had happened and remembered a new version, how he’d moaned at the sensation of the needle in his flesh, how the man had almost refused to pierce his dick; Sam had begged him–after all, if he hadn’t gotten the piercing, Master would have posted those pictures of him naked to the web for everyone to see.

“Now, I have something new for you today. Get on your knees. I want to introduce you to the humbler.”

Sam did as ordered, and Master brought out a curved metal device that looked sort of like shackles. Indeed, the two ends locked around both ankles, but the center had a hole through the shaft–where Master Mulford pulled his balls through and closed the ring tight, so that if he were to stand up, he would rip his sack apart. Just kneeling was uncomfortable, and he tried to adjust his stance to tug on his balls the least. Master cuffed Sam’s hands behind his back, and then without warning, shoved Sam forward. Unable to catch himself, his landed on the hard floor face first, trying to keep his knees bent as much as possible, his balls exposed beneath the humbler, and his master began slapping them with his hands.

“Yeah, look at this nasty sack of filthy cum–it’s fucking obscene. You know what I think we’re gonna do Sam? I think we’re gonna start stretching this sack of yours down, weigh it down all the time, until these fat balls swing between your knees, you fucking disgusting freak.” He got a paddle and started smaking Sam’s sack harder, until the student started crying out, his eyes tearing up from the gut churning pain. “Oh quit whining, you fucking love this, you pain freak. For whatever fucked up reason, this feels good, doesn’t it? You’re fucking enjoying this–I can see that filthy cock of yours getting hard. You’re fucking disgusting.”

It did feel good. It always hurt at first, but Master was right, he did like it. He liked it a lot. He started flexing his legs, pulling his sack tauter, wondering what it would be like to have his sack swinging between his knees. Freak. He would be such a freak. He is a freak, a total pain freak. His balls were swollen from the abuse, and Master Mulford finally hung up the paddle, massaging his perfectly sized cock with one gloved hand. “Gonna fuck that hole now boy, you like getting fucked, don’t you?”

“Yes sir.”

“That sewer pipe of yours is gonna leak that filthy cum like a faucet as soon as my dick rips open your hole.”

“Yes sir.”

“You want me to use lube?”

“No sir.”

“Why not boy.”

“Because I like pain sir. I’m a pain freak sir. I want you to make it hurt, the more it hurts…the more I love it.”

The old man started shoving his cock into Sam’s hole, listening to him gasp with pain and pleasure. Mulford loved Mondays, he loved how Sam’s ass started to recover and tighten up again, he went in as deep and as quick as he could, making it hurt. “You know, this hole loves being fucked.”

“Yes sir, it does.”

“I bet this hole would love getting fisted. What do you think, slave? Would you like to feel my fat fist burrowing into your hole?”

“Would…would it hurt?”

“Oh yeah slave, it would hurt a lot. It would hurt way more than me fucking you.”

Sam was silent for a moment, and then croaked a quiet, “Yes…Yes, if it would hurt, fucking hurt me sir.”

Master fucked him, but didn’t shoot yet. He pulled out and went back to paddling, smacking not only Sam’s sack, but his ass as well, making him count out the blows. Only after fifty smacks, did he let Sam beg him to finish fucking him. Mulford was only too happy to oblige, and only after seeding his pain slave’s hole did he help him back up onto his knees, and undo his cuffs and his humbler.

“That’s enough for today slave. I’ll see you tomorrow for another session.”

“Yes sir,” Sam said, and wished his heart wasn’t secretly looking forward to whatever pain his Master would choose to inflict on him the next day, and the next, and the next.

It started out as some harmless fun. I didn’t exactly have a lot of time to try and hook up regularly, because I was usually stuck at the office late at night, and would go in early for conference calls with Asian clients, but chat was easy. I could do it from home, no pressure, and if someone got creepy, it was much easier to just close a chat window than kick someone out of your house–or worse, try to extricate yourself from their place.

And there’s a certain freedom to it, too. I mean…well, it’s hard to explain. Out in the world, I’m Marvin Hammens, high powered accountant. But on the internet, I could be whatever handle I chose. I could be anyone. I would lie. Tell guys that I’m married, that I hate my wife, that I fuck around with guys behind her back and tell her about it later. Or I find these young guys, these chasers, and I tell them I’m a daddy, smoke a cigar for them, rub my gut, watch them cum at the sight of me. I mean, I’m not…bad looking, but the way some of those guys look at you. It’s better, and cheaper, than that free gym membership I never use.

I settled into a few personas. That first one, the married guy–that handle is MarriedandHateIt–I’d play him in the garage, shirt unbuttoned, drinking a beer and smoking a cigar, telling guys about the crazy shit I do behind my wife’s back. The daddy, he stays in my suits in my study, sometimes I wear glasses too, telling all the cubs and boys out in the world how much they mean to me. On the weekends, I’ll occasionally let it out, play a bit of a rough daddy, dumb down a bit, find a few other lonely saps for a wank session. It was fun, getting these guys to see me as something different, even just for a little while.

I do still go out on occasion, and it was one of those occasions that everything was ruined for me. There’s a bear group that meets at a leather bear bar downtown that I usually try to go to every month, and this particular time, it happened to line up with the local leather night. I didn’t own a single piece of leather, and so I stuck out like a sore thumb–which isn’t to say I wasn’t having a good time, of course, but I took a smoke break on my own, sometime after one or two in the morning, and there’s this alley between the bar and the next building, and I noticed some smoke hanging over the entrance. Curious, I walked over, looked down, and saw this guy, clad head to toe in leather, sunglasses on in the middle of the night, and yet…and yet, it worked, under the yellow halogens in the alley. There was someone else there too, a younger guy, skimpy leather outfit, a collar on, shivering a bit in the night air, and the leather guy just strutted over, shoved the cub up against the brick and started making out with him.

I watched the entire scene unfold–it couldn’t have lasted more than six or seven minutes. They kissed, the leather man turned the cub around yanked down his leather shorts and probed his ass with a few spit lubed fingers, before he got out his cock and worked that in next. But it wasn’t the sex that I was looking at–it was the top, the guy in the leather, there was something so…authentic in him, in what he did, in how he handled himself…The guys in leather I’d seen, well, they were never quite the real article. The kind who take you home with them, and the first thing you notice is the complete works of Jane Austen on the shelf, you know? They were as fake as the guys I played on chat. But he–he was real. This was no persona, or if it was, it was so complete that no seam showed. This man existed only at night. He fucked in alleys. He smoked cigars. He made cums shot their loads against alley walls and then watched them lick it up without him even ordering them to do so.

I was obsessed. I never met him, because he left down the opposite end of the alley, and I was too terrified to follow him. I bought leather gear. I shaved off my beard, and left myself with a shit imitation of a copstache. I watched videos, I went to bars, I tried to find that space within myself, that persona, but it didn’t exist in me. It wasn’t me. The leather was always just a costume–a good costume. A costume a lot of guys liked, both through a chat window and across the bar, but I could no longer shake the sensation that all of us were merely trading masks across rooms, no one showing their hand, but I’m going to keep trying. I’m going to find him. He has to exist, I can’t have imagined him. I have to find him, and ask him how he does it. How is he even real? How is it that he can be real, and all I can be is fake?

Commission: Bubba’s New Pup

Commissioned by Anonymous

Officer Nate Jensen climbed out of his patrol car, hefted his belt up, and heaved a sigh. At least the beat up truck had pulled over–half the time, these crazy rednecks would just hit the gas pedal harder, and make him chase them down. Usually they were high out of their mind on meth too–with gun racks hanging in the window. What a terrible fucking job–he’d always wanted to be a police officer, but if he could go back and tell his high school self that it would mean long night shifts sitting on the side of the road dealing with dumb, drugged out, aggressive rednecks, then maybe he’d have pursued something else. Still, no gun rack in this one that he could see–and hopefully the guy was just drunk.

He went around the driver’s side of the cab. The window was already rolled down, and sitting there with a shit eating, slightly toothless grin was a hefty bubba, hairy chest, mullet, and a ragged wifebeater. But what caught his attention most was this strange smell. It was dank, like pot, but even then, that wasn’t quite right. Some other kind of drug? He looked the driver in the eyes, but his pupils looked normal. What in the hell was it? “I…Could I get your license and registration please?”

“Sure thing, officer,” the man drawled, and leaned over to the glove box. Nate tried to keep an eye out for a weapon that might appear from nowhere, but that stink was still on his mind. Where was it coming from? He was taking deeper breaths through his nose now, trying to pinpoint what it was. He realized that the redneck was holding the paper and card out to him to take–had he really just zoned out? “Ya’ll right? Ya look tired, sir. Long shift?”

“Oh…uh, yeah. Just…just tired is all,” Nate said, and took the paper and license without looking at them. “Sir, I…uh…I can’t help but notice that there’s a strange smell in the cab of your truck. Have you been using drugs tonight?”

The redneck laughed, “Nuh uh boy! That’s jus’ me is all. I’m one stinky dude, right? I fuckin’ love it though–my pits ‘r so fuckin’ ripe, ya wanna sniff ‘em?” He hefted his arms up over his head, showing off his thick bush under his arms, and a unavoidable wave of the odor washed over Nate at the window. The license and paper tumbled from his hand, his jaw dropped open, tongue out, panting a bit heavily. “Yeah, that’s a good boy, come on, lean in here ‘n take a good sniff a mah pits.”

He tried to stop himself, he tried to scream. He leaned his hands on the sill of the window and pushed his head in, sniffing deeply, tongue out. Fuck, it smelled so fucking rank, how could anyone smell so fucking disgusting? The bubba grabbed the back of the officer’s head and pulled him in, pressing his nose into his pit, and Nate felt his body shake uncontrollably. It took him a moment to realize he’d just shot a load into the front of his uniform pants, but he couldn’t do anything about that, he had to smell, and lick, and lick and lick it all up like a good boy, a good boy, yeah…He was grinding his wet crotch against the side of the truck, humping it, eyes vacant, tongue running it’s way through the hairs. The bubba reached over to the passenger seat, grabbed a leather dog collar, and with one hand, draped it across the back of Nate’s neck. He felt it there and tried to pull away, but his body wouldn’t respond. The bubba took his time, drawing the collar together tight against Nate’s neck, and when it fastened shut, his body started sliding backwards, his legs collapsing under him, until he landed on his ass and back on the side of the road.

He had to get up. He had to get back to his car, or radio for help, but his legs weren’t cooperating. He tried to stand up, but didn’t quite know how to make his body work like that. It felt so much more natural to just stay on his hands and knees, and he tried to crawl towards his car, but the bubba stepped out of the truck with a leather leash, bent down, and clipped it to the collar around his neck.

Master, a voice said in his head, and he looked back at the heavyset redneck leering down at him, and that was the word that kept repeating in his head. Master master he’s my master obey master follow master obey obey follow serve obey… He tried to shake the thoughts out, tried to push back, but it felt like they were coming from inside his head, from some deep part of his own mind that he’d never noticed was there. He tried to shout, tried to call for help, tried to do anything, but what came out of his mouth instead was a series of barks and yelps and whimpers that he would have mistaken for a stray dog, if he hadn’t heard them come out of his own mouth.

“What do ya say, Copper? Should we head on home?” Master said.

Copper? Who was Copper? He tried to piece things together, and realized he was Copper. But he hadn’t always been Copper, right? He’d had a real name, a human name, he’d been…

Master tugged on the leash, and Copper crawled after him, around the back of the truck. He helped him up into the bed, where he saw a large animal crate with the door open. “Go on Copper, git in there boy.”

He whimpered, but did as Master commanded. Bubba leaned in, shut the door behind him, and latched it. “That’s a very good boy–yer gonna git a real nice present when we git home, Copper. Hmm…actually, how about I give ya somethin’ now? We’re a hour and a half away after all, ya’ll need somethin’ tah occupy yerself with til then. I wouldn’ want ya tryin’ tah git out a there, after all.”

Master undid his belt and dropped his jeans. Underneath, he was wearing a jockstrap, which he took off too. Copper saw that Master had one of the biggest cocks he’d ever seen, hanging there under his hefty gut, with a thick foreskin. Copper whined more, Master pulled his jeans back on commando, unlatched the door, and tossed the grey and yellow jock into the carrier with his new pup. He could smell it. It smelled foul, like piss and cum and sweat, and still he pressed his nose into it, licking at the fabric, trying to get as much of his master’s sent in and on him as he could, his cock hard and throbbing in his uniform pants. He didn’t even notice Master latch the door closed again, but suddenly they were moving, abandoning the patrol car on the side of the road.

It was a long, cold ride back to Master’s home. Shivering, Copper tried to avoid the jockstrap as best he could, but his nose kept being drawn back to it over and over again. His sense of smell…every time he smelled the jock, he could distinguish more and more from the grimy fabric. Master had shot in it recently, he could sense the fresh cum slowly drying into the old stale smell of the rest. He’d pissed in it recently too, and the bottom of the pouch, slightly brown, smelt of Master’s asscrack, and he found that particularly fascinating. His cock remained rock hard the entire time, and would occasionally shoot a load into his pants, which were growing increasingly uncomfortable. He couldn’t quite figure out why he even had clothes on–wasn’t he supposed to be naked? He was glad for them, kind of. It would have been very cold without them in the carrier, but still, pups like him weren’t supposed to wear clothes; clothes were only for masters.

His head, something was happening to his mind. It felt like, as his senses grew keener, he was slowly losing his sense of self, as a human, as a person. The worst part was that he couldn’t even tell when it was happening. As soon as something was gone, wiped from his mind or memory, he could only vaguely sense that it had been there at all. As terrified as he was to know where Master was taking him, when he felt the truck slow down and turn off onto a gravel road, he was eager just to get away from the jock, to try and get his head on straight, to try and figure out what he could do for master–no, no that wasn’t right, was it? He had to get away from him, he had to try and run, right? He didn’t know why he wanted to run though. Master wasn’t a bad man, Master was good, Master was very good, and he would be a bad boy, a bad dog if he ran away, Master would be so worried!

He shook his head. This couldn’t be happening to him, it couldn’t. The truck came to a stop, and Copper saw Master get out of the cab and lumber around to the back of the truck. “How’s mah new pup doin’? Ya’ll right in there?”

Copper whined. Master undid the latch on the door, and he stumbled out on his hands and knees, reached the gate of the truck and tumbled out onto the dusty ground.

“Careful Copper–Ya ain’t used tah bein’ a pup yet, but ya’ll git the hang a it soon as we git rid a all that bad man in yer head.”

Bad man in his head? That made a surprising amount of sense to him for some reason. He did have a man in his head, but he was a pup, he was Copper, Master’s pup, right? He wasn’t a man at all. Another voice pushed back, told him he was being deceived, but Master wouldn’t deceive him, right? He rolled up onto his hands and knees Master running his hand down his back, petting him, letting him know he was being a very good boy. Copper was panting. Copper was happy. He could smell his master, he could smell him right there next to him, and smelling him made him happy, made him feel safe. Master hooked the leash back to his pup’s collar, and lead him over to a single level, rather ramshackle looking farmhouse.

Inside, Copper was assaulted by a massive number of smells. Master, he could smell master everywhere, but also smoke, and also…also other pups. Other pups like him. One…two other pups. He looked around, and then up at master, whining a bit. “Yeah, don’ worry, Buddy ‘n Rover ‘r out back, in the dog run. Ya’ll meet ‘em in a bit–I’m sure they’ll take a likin’ tah ya. First though, we gotta git rid a that bad man fer good. First, let’s git them clothes off ya…”

From his belt, Master pulled a buck knife and he started cutting off the constricting uniform from Copper’s body. He felt so much better with only his collar on! Copper couldn’t believe it, and he gave a full body shake when everything was off him. He felt more like a real pup already. He panted up at Master, trying to show him how happy he was, and Master gave him a scratch on the back of his neck.

“That’s a real good boy–yer gonna be a easy one, ain’t ya?” He pushed on Copper’s side, and he sensed what Master wanted, and rolled over onto his back. Master gave him a belly rub, and Copper panted happily. “Looks like yer comin’ along nice–ya already got yerself a bright red puppy cock.”

Curious, Copper lifted his head and saw that something had happened to his crotch–where his human cock and balls had been, he now saw a fleshy sheath running up his belly, and as Master scratched around it, a bright red head suddenly poked out, a cock unlike any he’d seen on his body before. “Glad tah see my jockstink worked it’s magic on ya–but ya still got a little ways tah go before I can trust ya out back wit’ the other boys. How ‘bout ya git a taste a master’s meat, eh Copper?”

Copper rolled back onto his hands and knees, and Master dropped his jeans. letting his massive cock flop out. Copper pushed his nose against the head, and then ran his tongue up into Master’s foreskin, tasting the cheese he’d smelled on the pouch of the jock, feeling his puppy cock push completely out of his sheath. Master told him to open up, and he started thrusting the cock down Copper’s throat, and as he did, he could feel his face warping and contorting, his mouth pushing out into a muzzle, his tongue growing longer, teeth sharpening into fangs which he was careful to keep away from his master’s delicate flesh. The bad man in his head was horrified, but he was powerless. The only man Copper listened to was Master, he was the only man that mattered. Master tensed up after a few minutes and fed his new pup a load of cum. Huffing and panting, he pulled his cock free of his pup’s mouth, looked down at Copper and frowned. “Hmm…not quite done yet. I got a idea though. How’d ya like a taste a Master’s ass, Copper? That make ya a happy pup?”

He went over to the couch and bent over the side, Copper came up behind him and started licking at Master’s filthy crack, shoving his new nose against the hole, shivering with pleasure. Unable to stop himself, he reared up, trying to grapple the sides of his master and started grinding his cock against his leg, humping him, licking Master’s ass from his snout, eyes glazing over. He could feel the bad man dying away now, Master was all he needed to think about, didn’t even need to think. Just a pup, a dumb obedient pup. With a howl, he shot a load of his new pup cum across the side of the couch, and then dismounted from Master, hoping he hadn’t done a bad thing. He’d just been such a horny pup.

Master hefted himself up, and laughed. “Ya sure got spirit, I’ll give ya that. But yer at the bottom of the pack right now, Copper. Still, I’ll let Buddy and Rover break that intah ya tahnight. Come on.”

Not at all sure what Master was talking about, he walked after Master through the house. His legs felt strange–his hindquarters were nearly all dog, and he felt a tail wagging along behind him. His forelegs still looked mostly human, except for that his hands had become paws. Still, he wasn’t a real dog–just a pup. Out in the backyard, he saw a fenced area, and two sets of eyes staring at them in the early morning light. Master opened the gate and pushed Copper in, and he found himself faced with two massive pups. Master obviously liked his pups to work out–while their hindquarters were sleek, their upper bodies bulged with muscle, and both of them started snarling. Copper snarled back, but the first smacked him with a paw. He tried to fight, but in a matter of moments he was pinned to the ground as the first pup, Buddy, mounted him, and when he’d cum up Copper ass, the second pup took his turn. Master watched the show, seeing the strong will in Copper’s eyes fade away. By the time Rover had finished, Copper was a new dog–deferential, eager to please, and subservient to the rest of the pack.

Satisfied with his new addition, Master headed inside, letting the three dogs get to know each other better in the dog run. He’d start training Copper up in a few days, after he’d recovered physically and his new pup’s personality had had time to settle in. Still, he had no doubts that Copper would be as good a pup as all the rest–and after he’d sold off Buddy and Rover to good homes looking for a kinky gay pup–Copper could have his turn as an alpha, and show future pups the ropes too.