Thank you all for the input over the last month, this has been a lot of fun to do again! I’ll probably take a break on this for a little while, and go back to just photo captions for a bit (look for them on Wednesdays, Saturdays and Sundays). Here’s the finale, which is option #3 with a twist of #2 for all of you desperate pups out there.
His dad did look rather lonely, nursing that beer over there all by himself, looking around at the bar as more and more men succumbed to the new reality slowly taking them all over, exuded by the stranger…or the mayor, right? Dale looked over at the old man, shoving pipe smoke down George’s throat at the bar, and wondered how he could have not recognized him all this time. The damn town mayor! What in the hell was wrong with him, that he’d forget something like that? Oh well, it wasn’t like his head was screwed on too tight when it came to anything that wasn’t food and cars, so he’d make do.
The two young men, Jack and Terry, were still licking him clean, and he started tweaking their brains a bit, a little at a time, pulling and unraveling a few strings at a time, making sure they knew what was happening, but also knowing there was nothing they could do to fight it. Soon enough, they actually kind of liked it–the idea of a man having total control over them, especially someone like Dale. A big man…a father figure, even. Someone they could respect. Someone they could serve, perhaps.
The mayor gave him a funny look, and then shifted his attention to the man who, yesterday, had been Dale’s father. He’d gone to pot a bit since his wife’s death a few years ago, putting on a spare tire, and getting a bit too attached to the beer and whisky. As dale watched, his gut expanded into a firm, hard ball belly, his shirt disappearing, revealing skin coated with hair. His beard filled in but remained a bit scraggly, his nose growing red and bulbous from a few breaks, scars from brawls due to his mean streak, a real roughneck, as rough as they come. A denim vest covered with biker patches and regalia appeared on his shoulders, some well worn chaps over his jeans–Bubba, as everyone called him, knocked back another shot of whisky, stood up, swayed a moment, then stomped his way over to where Dale was sitting with the two young men, and he definitely liked what he saw, liked it even better when Bubba lit a cigar, leaned over and fed Dale a deep lungful of smoke while his two boys went to town on Dale.
Yeah, they were going to be Bubba’s boys for sure, not that the rest of the town couldn’t have a piece of either one whenever they felt like it. He looked down, and saw them changing under the stranger’s gaze. Jack first, his body bulking up with a muscle and fat, a bushy goatee around his mouth, body covered with scars, sores, welts and bruises, but that’s just normal for a punching bag fag like him. He’d grown up taking everything Bubba had felt he deserved, and Bubba thought he’d deserved a whole damn lot–thankfully, the boy’d grown to like it well enough, and generally was happy enough to let anyone abuse him as long as he got a fuck out of it in the end. Bubba tapped him on the head, and Jack looked up, mouth open, letting Bubba drop a cinder in his mouth to swallow, and then he went back to licking Dale’s chest, his tongue leaving a trail of sodden ash wherever it went.
Next came Terry, or Terrier, as everyone called him. A simple boy, he hadn’t really been up to being a man, so Bubba had trained him to be a pup instead. He was smaller than his brother Jack, more lithe and muscular, and he dropped down onto all fours, wagging the buttplug tail in his ass to and fro, as he scrambled under the table, buried his nose into Dale’s fat and started working on his cock, lapping up Dale’s cum as he moaned, and Bubba hauled out his own cock and fed it to Dale’s hungry mouth, and he looked again at the stranger, whose eyes were on him now.
He could feel his awareness dulling, his memories of the last twenty four hours dimming and dulling away into this new sense of normal. He saw Farmer Mick burst into the bar, hauling his massive pig behind him on a leash, coated with mud, and it was just…normal. His sucking Bubba’s cock was normal too, of course. He’d always had a thing for rough types like him, and Bubba had always liked pounding his big, fat ass into the ground, whenever he came in to get a tuneup for his harley. Course, Dale did have a bit of a reputation to uphold–he couldn’t just go around letting the whole town think his fat ass was open to just any fucker who wanted it, but he did have a soft spot for the big lug, he had to admit it. “Ya know Bubba,” Dale said, when he pulled away for a moment, “How ‘bout you ‘n yer boys, ‘n me ‘n mah boys, all spend a nice long night at mah place tahnight?”
“Heh, I had a date with a few biker buds of mine, but I wouldn’t pass up a chance at yer big ass, the way I’m feelin’ tonight,” Bubba growled down at him, and they shared some more smoke, before Bubba hauled him up out of the chair. Dale gave a whistle, and his two boys came over, and all six of them headed off into the night, happy denizens of the new town, where they lived happily ever after, in one life or another.
Bracken's Corner 