April Suggested Stories – Ready to Download! | Wesley Bracken on Patreon

Hey all! I posted this month’s short stories written from your suggestions over the weekend! Anyone who contributes $1 or more a month gets access to these stories, as well previous months’ suggested stories. Here’s one from last month, if you’d like a taste!


Shined Like a Mirror

“Detail oriented”. “High achiever”. “Perfectionist”. These were all terms people had used to describe me at one point or another. So, it wasn’t…surprising that I was being bothered by this, but at the same time, I didn’t exactly make it a habit to notice the condition of people’s shoes around me on a regular basis. Maybe it was the fact that everything else about his wardrobe seemed so…immaculate. The leather shirt that clung to every curve of his torso with barely a wrinkle. The skin-tight gloves holding that thick cigar of his, which I had watched him light with such care a few minutes earlier. The shine off his metal belt buckle–a detail I figured few people would even consider, or notice. The way his pants wrapped his thick thighs as he leaned against the bar, facing out, chatting with another cigar bear beside him–but then, I got to his boots, and the reason for my…annoyance. They rose up to his calves, his pants sliding inside them, and all over, the shine was immaculate, except…except for one blemish on the side of his left boot.

It was easy to see, from my perspective, because one of the lights in the bar was centered on the scuff–there was a perfect circle of shine, with a chunk of matte in the middle. I don’t even know why it was bothering me so much at this point, but I haven’t…really been able to look away from it this entire time. If he’s noticed me staring he hasn’t indicated any sort of interest–and honestly, I’m not interested in him sexually. Leather and kink aren’t really my cup of tea, but still, I should…tell him, shouldn’t I? I mean, if I’d put that much energy and thought into my outfit before going out, I’d want someone to tell me. It’s like…when a friend as food in their beard. Sure, it’s a bit embarrassing–I myself never grow one anyway–but they’d always rather you tell them than just…have them walk around looking like that.

I get up and walk over to him, he notices me as I do. His look is…disinterested. Whatever he’s looking for tonight, it isn’t me. That…makes things a bit easier, I think.

“Hey, I just wanted to let you know that…well, there’s a spot on your boot that you must have missed earlier, that isn’t shined right.”

He looks a bit surprised, and I point out the spot to him I had noticed, but he doesn’t seem concerned, or particularly thankful. Instead, he just looks at me and grins.

“Well, what are you going to do about that?”

I assume I didn’t quite hear that right. It wasn’t my problem to fix. If he wanted to play leather fantasy, then he should at least care about fixing his error, right? He turns away from me and continues his conversation with the other bear, like nothing had even happened, but my eyes are glued to that blemish. I can’t…just leave it. It’ll bother me all night. If he…isn’t going to take care of his gear, it shouldn’t be my concern, but…but in a move that I swear made perfect sense to me at the time, I got down on my hands and knees and started licking at the spot, getting it wet with spit, and then I buffed it with the sleeve of my shirt. To my surprise, it looked…lovely, like the blemish had never even been there. It was so shiny, in fact, I swore I could see my own reflection in the leather. I leaned a bit closer, trying to find myself, and when my face swam into focus, I let out a cry, fell backwards, and then stumbled upright.

In the mirror behind the bar, I was still…me. Young, clean shaven, slight of build, not particularly tall, though I did have a bit of bootblack around my lips and mouth. The man looked down at his boot, appraising my work, and grinned at me again.

“Thanks, boy, that looks much better.”

He pushed off from the bar and walked a couple of steps closer to me. I wanted to back up away from him, but my feet felt rooted to the bar floor.

“Tell me, boy, did you like who you saw in there?”

What…had I even seen in there? It had been my reflection, or a reflection, at least. But…but had that really been me?

“Do you need to take another look, boy?”

The hand he put on top of my head wasn’t…demanding, but it was suggestive. I was…incredibly curious, I admit it. I got back down on my hands and knees, my eyes an inch from the shimmering leather, and this time, when I saw myself, I didn’t flinch away. It was…more than an image. I was there–a different me, a possible me, but even though I could only see my face, I could also…know so much else about him–about me–about…who I could be. I was muscular–massively built, putting in as much time at the gym, under Master’s direction, as I did at work now. Building my chest, especially, those…massive pecs and thick nips I could see in the black shine. My nips were leaking, but the hormones he had me on did that. Master liked milking me, draining my tits and my little cock all at once, while his little muscle tit pig groaned for mercy and release. Distantly, in my real body, I felt his other boot underneath me, rubbing against the crotch of my slacks, making me groan. I could see my massive frame strapped down over a fuck bench, here in the bar, with men lining up at both ends to use me. Master had taken complete ownership of his tit slave now, not that I was fit for much else beyond service. Something…he’d given me had ruined my brain–thinking about anything more complex than sex and working out was almost impossible. My tit milk was squelching under me on the bench–I could smell it, even…taste it, as it ran along my chest and dribbled to the floor–I lurched forward, groaning, my cock exploding in the front of my pants as I rubbed my face on Master’s boot, trying…trying to force my way inside, into that world, but…but it didn’t actually exist. It was just…just a possibility, a figment.

“Seems like you saw something in there you liked, boy.”

I looked up at him. It was the first time I had done so, and yet it felt like the thousandth, like he’d already been a part of my life for so long. I…ached for him, for that…version of myself, as disgusted as I was by the entire vision. But I couldn’t deny it. He didn’t speak to me for the rest of the night, but I spent it on my knees beside him, cleaning his boots, and the boots of his friends. I went home with him that night, for my virgin plowing, my clothes ruined and covered in boot black. I wanted to ask Master if he’d known. If he’d…forced me to see what I’d seen. It didn’t matter, in the end. I wanted it all the same–to be master’s big titted muscle pig, and I was going to do everything in my power to make that vision a reality.

April Suggested Stories – Ready to Download! | Wesley Bracken on Patreon

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