The Neighborhood Bitch (Flash Commission)

It’s crazy, is what it is. No one on the block seems to think it’s the least bit strange–but it sure as hell isn’t normal! My wife and I moved in here a couple of weeks ago, and were so busy getting everything unpacked, we didn’t have much of a chance to meet the neighbors–but the ones who came by seemed nice and normal. The one neighbor we didn’t meet was the one who lived across the street–and when we asked about them…no one seemed to have anything to say, really. But there I was, on my my new porch enjoying the evening, when I see the guy leaving the front door…and following him, wearing just a collar and a lead, is some freaky fucker pretending to be a dog!

They walk down the drive like whatever shit they’re pulling is completely normal, and I’m not about to stand for something like this. I charge across the street, howling at them both to cut the faggot shit out, and he just looks at me with surprise for a moment, and then…irritation. Without saying anything, the creepy fucker pulls out this…medallion from under his shirt, and as soon as it catches the light…it’s like everything in my mind flies away, and all I can see is that shining light. I fight it though–and when the medallion goes away, and my…head tries to tell me this is normal, and I should accept my nice neighbor and his…pet, I decide to take matters into my own hand, and I slug the faggot across the chin, like I always did with the fags back in school.

Now the dog-man didn’t take too kindly to that, and leapt on me, both of us rolling around on the ground. Then the medallion was back out again…and this time I knew what was happening, as I stripped off my clothes and got down on my hands and knees on the sidewalk…and the fucking dog-man mounted me! Right there in the middle of the street, in view of all of my new neighbors, and I was just thankful my wife was at the store so she couldn’t see it. The man said something about making me the neighborhood bitch…but then everything faded away again, and when my head was clear, I was alone in the street…but I had to crawl back to my house naked before I could manage to stand upright again.

I think the fucker is fucking with us, with our heads. With everyone on the damn street! Nothing…has been right since that evening. My cock…seems smaller, and it refuses to get hard, much to the frustration of my wife, who usually likes a good fuck every evening. I think…word has been spreading too, about what happened, but it wasn’t until today I realized something was really wrong. I went over next door to borrow a tool I hadn’t been able to find in my boxes. Jerry, the guy there had been nice so far, seemed on the level with everything…but when he got close to me, and…I think he smelled me. He sneered at me in the garage, called me a bitch…and when he did, I couldn’t stop myself.

I took off all my clothes like before, got down on my hands and knees, and he fucked me right there, hard and rough like the dog-man had…and fuck, if it didn’t feel so fucking good! I was moaning and panting, begging for more, and when he shot in me, it was like everything was normal again. I got dressed, we said nothing more of it, and I borrowed the tool like I’d hoped…but he still had that sneer on his face the whole time, like he knew my secret.

Every guy on the block has been the same! They’ve all called me a bitch, and fucked me…and hell if I wasn’t thinking about it still, wishing I could get hard, wanting…wanting all of them to dump their seed in my bitch cunt. I…I have to see him, I have to get him to fix this, I can’t keep feeling like this, I can’t!

He didn’t fix me. He just made everything worse. Now, at home, I have to…do all of my business outside, in the yard. I can’t wear clothes in the house, and I crawl around like a fool. I think he’s been talking to my wife too, because she just treats me like some mutt–feeds me out of a bowl, gives me a naked walk in the evening…and she’s talking to all the guys in the neighborhood, flirting with them right in front of me…and sometimes she even brings one home, and fucks them in our bed…and I’m not jealous of them, but of her–I…I’m the bitch, I should be getting their cum, not her!

My body is changing too–my dick really is smaller, just a nub now, and I can’t tell if I have balls anymore or not. My body hair is all gone–it just fell out over the last week, and I feel…fatter, somehow, especially around my hips. I can’t talk anymore, I just bark and yip like a fucking animal, and she treats it all like the most normal thing in the world. At least…after fucking her, they usually fuck me too. I’m…the neighborhood bitch after all, I get used by everyone…and I like it, fuck, I live for it, and I’m so fucking ashamed of it, I don’t know what to do with myself.

It can’t be true.

It fucking can’t. I’m…I’m a man, I know I am, I was.

I can’t be pregnant, I can’t.

But I can feel the thing inside me…I can feel it. My cock disappeared, and it…it turned into a pussy, and fuck, the first time I got fucked, it was the biggest orgasm of my life, and I hadn’t cum in months…I just wanted more, I wanted every man I could find to fuck me. The neighbor, with the medallion, told my wife (my owner now, I suppose–she doesn’t even remember being married, and the ring is gone from her hand) that I was probably in heat, and to be careful. But every man in the neighborhood fucked me anyway, I couldn’t say no, and now…now I’m some pregnant bitch, and everyone knows it…and I think it’s his.

The guy with the medallion, the way he looks at me, the way he…fucked me, that one time…it has to be his, and I feel so fucking dirty…but I want to feel him in me again, I want them all in me, I don’t care anymore. I’m a stupid bitch, and that’s all I will ever be now.

The Mailman’s Pup (Flash Commission)

The mailman would be here any second, and Carson couldn’t swallow the pit of dread in his stomach, the same one that was there every day now, ever since he’d received that first letter in the mail. Carson worked remotely, managing customer service for a few tech companies out of his small house, and one day, his mailman had delivered a fragile package all busted up. He’d been furious, and demanded the man’s name to report him…but when the mailman had handed him something on a sheet of paper…something else had happened instead. He’d let the mailman in, blown him, and then the man had left–all without him ever learning his name.

Now the mailman came to the door everyday, and each day he’d make Carson service him, calling him his special little pup, and he’d give him a new letter each day. He never knew what the letters said, or how they did what they did, but they would…compel him to do new, humiliating acts the next day, either to himself, or to the mailman.

He heard the gate open, and he opened the door for him–and he saw the mailman had a package with him. A sizable one. “Don’t worry pup–I’ve been extra careful with this new toy of yours–got here safe and sound.”

Carson had no idea what could be in the odd, flat box–likely he had ordered something online, as ordered by the mailman’s letters, and then forgotten about it entirely. Usually he could recall what the man had written, mostly, but other times, the man liked to surprise him. He stood back, and the mailman pushed his way inside–he was short and fat, and reeked of BO–but while that had bothered Carson at first, now it just aroused him more than anything, and he could already feel the need to service the dirty man’s feet and pits beginning to overwhelm him.

“Well come on then, open it up–I’m eager to take it for a ride,” the mailman said.

Carson found some scissors and opened the package up–and as soon as it was open, he could remember ordering it–and what it was. A rim chair. He’d…he’d ordered one, because he needed to worship his mailman’s ass–after all, a pup like him loved liking and smelling dirty holes, right?

Carson wasted no time getting the chair out of the packaging, the mailman behind him ridiculing him, telling him what a dirty pup he is, ordering a thing like this, telling him he hasn’t wiped his ass all day, reminding Carson what a perverse, horny little pup he truly is. When it was finished, the mailman got out of his shorts, and boots, but left on his socks, and sat down. “First things first pup–I’ve been on my feet all day. You know what to do.”

That had been one the early letters–making Carson obsessed with the mailman’s feet. He shoved his face into them, snorting in the man’s reeking scent, feeling his cock harden as he did–but he didn’t touch it. He couldn’t touch it in his presence, but when the mailman was gone, Carson masturbated all the time, thinking about the mailman, about what he made him do, and…and how much he enjoyed doing it all. He tugged the socks off with his teeth and got to work on the man’s feet properly, and when he was satisfied they were clean, he ordered Carson under the rim chair, and told him to get to work.

It stank, and the mailman hadn’t been kidding when he said he hadn’t wiped. He was torn between his disgust, and his desperate desire for the man’s hole–the former fading away until only Carson’s puppy lust remained, moaning as he licked at the mailman’s ring, cleaning it, working his tongue inside of it, listening to the man moan over him. He…he was doing a good job. He was being a good pup–good pups didn’t bark and yell at a mailman, they did whatever a mailman told them to do, like good boys, and Carson wanted to be a good boy more than anything.

The mailman put one foot on Carson’s chest, and the other started working the pup’s cock. “Come on you dirty pup–you’re going to cum with your dick under my foot, like a little bitch–I want to see you do it–tongue up my ass, under my feet–you’re really my bitch now, and I still have so many letters for you to read–just you wait.”

Carson tried to hold off on his orgasm, just to spite him–it was one of the few bits of control he still had. The man liked seeing him struggle though, and won in the end–Carson sprayed the underside of the man’s foot, and his own belly, with a load of cum, and he used his feet to rub it into Carson’s skin until it turned tacky.

“Alright, enough of this–get out, hands and knees–I gotta get back to my route.”

Carson wormed his way back out from under the chair, got up, and the mailman fucked him–he had a surprisingly large cock, and while Carson had hated getting fucked by him at first…now, it was really the easiest part of the entire ordeal. The mailman finished quickly, and then got his shorts and boots back on–before handing Carson the next letter, and leaving for his truck.

He tried not to open it, he fought as hard as he could, but he tore into the envelope, and pulled out the letter, and read it. Like before, he couldn’t ever remember what was written on it exactly, and when he came back to himself a half an hour later, he always found the letter burned on the stove–but the contents were sealed in his mind.

Master wanted him to be a dirtier pup–much dirtier. No more showers–and no more using the bathroom at all, in fact. From now on, he was going to do his business out back in the yard–naked of course, and always on all fours, like a proper mutt. He managed to hold it until later in the evening, so his neighbors were less likely to see him, and he crawled out of the house, over to a tree, lifted a leg and peed on it–feeling a bit proud of himself at how good he’d done on his first try, and then humped up to shit as well. He smelled it, and thought of his Master’s hole again…and even though he knew it was wrong, he was already looking forward to servicing him the next day, and the day after that–and then all day on Sunday. Sundays were his…favorite. After all, there was no mail to deliver on Sunday, which meant Master could spend all day with his pup…training him. Carson had a feeling he’d be under the rim chair a lot this Sunday–and hoped cleaning the mailman’s hole was all he’d be doing.

Suggested Story – Worms, Pups, and Pigs | Wesley Bracken on Patreon

This week’s suggested story for Patrons is an extended XL story, since I missed a post last week in the thick of moving. As always, if you support me with at least a dollar, you get access to all of these stories, and the ability to make suggestions of your own. This week, a jock’s plan to blackmail a professor backfires horribly, and he and two of his friends are about to be given very different sorts of lives, after the professor takes his revenge. Includes pup play, humiliation, hypnosis, BDSM, and some extremely strange TF content as a weird bonus. Hope you enjoy it!

The Bro Apartments (Flash Commission)

Commissioned by @mutabear

“Yeah bro–it isn’t much, but it should do you for now, I think,” Greg said, as he showed me around the small one bedroom apartment I was looking at renting. I had just graduated from college this month, landed a tech job with a startup nearby, and the apartment was workable–at least until the app took off and we got some of that sweet venture capital coming in.

Greg for his part seemed…nice. Mid forties probably, but not really dressed like it. He reminded me of the frat bros back in college, but one who never grew out of it. Sports jersey, gym shorts, big belly from too much beer every night, hat on backwards…I mostly felt a bit sorry for him, because he seemed really nice and genuine beyond that.

“Of course,” Greg continued, “We have a gym for you to use if you want. A lot of the bros work out there–saves money on a gym membership! We’re a real tight community around here, so I’m sure you’ll fit in.”

“Well, I’ll probably be at work most of the time,” I said.

Greg nodded. “Well, you just owe me first, last, and a deposit–I don’t bother with credit checks or shit like that.”

“Really? Aren’t you worried about people flaking out?”

Greg laughed, “Eh, not really. Besides PJ gave you a good recommendation, so I’m not worried.”

It took me a moment to realize he was talking about my friend Paul Jeffers, who had moved in a few months earlier, and recommended I check it out. Never in my life had I ever heard Paul referred to by his initials. I signed the lease agreement for six months, gave him a check, and got to work moving in.

It was a week later when I finally managed to connect with Paul in the complex. Moving in had been easy–even the furniture. A couple neighbors of mine (just as broish as Greg was, but still nice fellows) helped me get stuff up into my room, and insisted I come over to their apartment for a beer afterward. The strangest thing…is I don’t really remember getting home that night, and when I woke up, I…was nearly naked. All I had on was this weird, ripe smelling jockstrap. I took it off of course, and meant to throw it out, but it ended up by the bed.

When I did connect with Paul, or rather, PJ as everyone in the apartment complex called him, I…well, it was a surprise to say the least, on many, many fronts. The Paul from school had been a small guy, really bright, a sharp programmer…but this was not the same Paul I had known from a year ago.

For one thing, he was taller than me. He must have grown a foot taller somehow, and when I pointed it out, he just told me it was a late growth spurt. He was more muscular, with a decent sized gut, wearing sports jerseys like everyone else in the complex besides me it seemed. He spoke different too–slower, with a whole lot more “Bro” and “Dude” than he had…but it was the same guy. I was put off, but once he’d coaxed me into drinking a few of the beers he’d brought by, we got on perfectly well…but again, I fucking blacked out, and woke up alone, in my bed…wearing that same jock from before.

I thought it had to be some prank the guys were pulling on me, but I’d also woken up horny as hell, jacked off, and blew my load into the pouch…and I left it there, and dozed back off. When I woke again, I pulled the thing off in disgust and took a shower…but still couldn’t seem to throw it away.

It was a few days after that when I got an even bigger surprise–when PJ introduced me to his boyfriend–Alec. Paul–Paul who had always been straight, if not all that successful at it, was gay! It…surprised the hell out of me, and I wasn’t too keen on hanging out with him after that, especially since the last time I’d woken up with no memory and mostly naked…but he was just so congenial, and Alec was sweet, and with some more beer, they coaxed me over to watch a game–and then another game a few nights later. And then I started going to the gym with them, and hanging out more, and…and I was having so much fun, and work was just so difficult and stressful!

I couldn’t seem to focus while I was at the office, and the capital wasn’t coming, and I didn’t know how I was going to be able to pay rent a few months down the line. So yeah, I…avoided my problems a bit. Hanging out with PJ and Alec–and some of the other bros in the complex was just so much more relaxing. It was a week later when I realized I had the jock on–at work. I had woken up in it a few days earlier, and just never taken it off! I was horrified, but didn’t have anything to change into…and by the time I got home, and had a couple of beers…I didn’t want to take it off. Greg…told me about this party he’s throwing for the whole complex here in a few days. He really wants me to come…but I’m scared. This place, these guys, they’re doing something to me, they’re making me like them, and…and I’m so happy, I don’t know what to do.

The party was a fuckin’ blast bro! Just–fuck! You had to be there to really, you know, get it.

So I showed up, and everyone from the complex was there, hangin’ around the pool, and they were all wearing these jocks, just as dirty as the one I had on. A few other guys, more “normal” ones like me, were there too…and we all started stripping down to our own jocks…and fuck, it felt so good not to have to hide anymore, or be alone!

PJ and Alec found me, got some beers in me, and before I knew it, PJ had his tongue down my throat, and fuck, I…I’d wanted him since the day I’d seen him here, but I hadn’t even realized it. Alec came back, lubed up my hole, and coached me through it, just like he’d coached me at the gym, and soon I was riding his cock, moanin’ and gruntin’, PJ sucking me off, and Greg…he was holding court, watching all a us bro’s hangin’ out and fuckin’, and happy as a fuckin’ bro whose team just won the championship.

I woke up between them in their apartment…and I knew there wasn’t any way back for me. I’m…fuckin’ huge, and hairy, and…maybe a bit stupid, but who cares? PJ ‘n Alec don’t care–when they woke up we went right back into it, fuckin’ and suckin’ and lickin’…

I quit my job. Alec says he can find me somethin’ nearby at the college working in sports administration or something, nothing too hard. I’ll be saving money in any case, ‘cause I’m movin’ in with them next week–Greg was more than happy to let me off the lease, as long as I recommend someone to take it, and I got just the friend in mind.

The Fetish Gun is Loose! (Part 9)

And we’re back! There will still probably be a few days this week without new updates, but hopefully it should be back to normal(ish) by next week. Bear with the upheaval–besides, it’s my birthday on Friday! You all have to cut me some slack, so there.

Rick gave a groan, and sat up in the booth where he’d been thrown by the gun, when it had gone shorted out. When he realized where he was, and who he was, he made a quick check of himself to see if anything about himself had changed when the gun had struck him–and to his surprise, he was still the same tall, thick leather clad biker bruiser he’d been after his tussle with Parker a few minutes ago, or at least, what he assumed had been a few minutes ago. He had no idea how long he’d been out, in all honesty.

The gun wasn’t where it had fallen, and he got up to look for it–but when he did, he heard a rather unsettling moan coming from under him, and his foot sank into something…squishy, and fleshy. He tumbled back down in alarm, and saw that both of his boots–were not quite boots any longer. They were still black, mostly, but the rim of the top of each of them were shaped like lips, and he could feel them sucking on his feet gently. The tongues of the boots were becoming more active and shrinking, becoming red instead of black, as fledgling limbs began to sprout on the sides and out the toe of the boot. The leather faded into flesh–though it remained quite leathery–he reached down and stroked one gently, and felt Anthony–he thought–shudder at his touch, and suck a bit harder, trying to stay on his foot even as his body was beginning to reform into a proper sort of form.

The foot of each boot began to grow, becoming a proper body–small at first, but becoming larger with each passing second. He could still feel his feet filling each man’s mouth, and down a bit of their throat, though it was becoming tighter and tighter. The men tried their best to keep his feet slammed in deep, but it proved hopeless as their human anatomy regained prominence. They each had to release the foot eventually, though their oversized tongues kept slathering Rick’s feet as hungrily as they had before.

As they grew larger, Rick noticed something else–that he couldn’t quite tell who was who. When he’d fired the gun at Anthony, by accident, he had been his father–wearing his soggy diaper, covered in shit from Parker’s eager fisting of Anthony’s hole, before he’d tried to grab the gun. But when he’d shot Parker, he’d been…normal, mostly. Now however, he was looking down at two versions of his dad–they looked…identical. Two massively fat old pigs, both of them eagerly sucking and feasting on his filthy feet.

As they both changed back, new memories were filling in his mind–and it wasn’t his father and a stranger sucking on his cock, but rather his uncle and father, twin brothers/, and both of them hungry for Rick’s filthy body more than anything else. They were mostly changed at this point, and Anthony noticed something else, that each of the brothers was actually a mirror image of the other–just like his boots of course.

After another few minutes, they were both back to their (new) old selves, their prior lives forgotten for the most part. Rick allowed the two of them to keep servicing his feet for a couple of minutes, lost in the pleasure of it until he recalled the gun, and kicked both of them off–they could take care of cleaning his feet later.

Rick surveyed they bar, and saw a couple of guys tussling over something by the dance floor. Sure enough, he caught sight of the gun between them, the pig turning the other man into a brutal looking rubber master, who proceeded to fuck the pig’s mouth right there on the floor–and the pig let the gun fall to the floor beside him, largely forgotten.

This was his chance–if he could get to the gun, it would be his again–and he could have some more fun with it before the night was through. Then again, the rubber redneck looked…pretty sexy. He might be amenable to joining forces, and families. There was always Davey too–and the odd, shifting bartender over there. He could find some way to get his hands on the gun again…probably.

So what should Rick’s plan be next?

He tries to work out a deal with the rubber redneck, and sees what he might want to trade for the gun.
He fights with him for the gun, causing some wild, unpredictable shots.
He notices that the drinks poured by the bartender seem to be having strange effects, and wonders if that could help deal with the rubber redneck.
He heads over to Davey instead, and sees if he wants to team up and get the gun back together.

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