Mike had thus far avoided any of Frat Daddy’s direct attention, and he counted himself thankful, because keeping up with just the new rules of the frat house was proving challenging enough. The worst part, though, was the showers. Or really, the lack of them. Mike was on the football team, along with a few other guys in the house, and between only showering three times a week, not being allowed to use much soap at all, and just being an active guy, trying to workout and burn through the massive calorie diet Daddy had them all on, he reeked–and he hated it. Mike had always prided himself on his cleanliness and style, always smelling and looking good for the girls on campus–none of who would give him a second look now.
None of this had escaped Ethan’s attention though–especially when he found contraband in Mike’s drawer during a surprise check. It was a can of deodorant (unscented even, because he knew any scent would have given him away in the house) and Daddy had him turn around, and threatened to shove the aerosol can up his hole, if he ever found something like this in the house again. Instead, he just gave him ten solid paddlings with the metal cylinder, and left the house with it. When Friday rolled around, and it was again time to gather up and find out who Daddy would have spend the weekend with him, Mike was surprised when Daddy chose him.
The week before, Carter had come back and he’d been…different. More assertive. Bigger too, somehow. He’d been vague about his time with Daddy, but said it had been something very special, and that he couldn’t wait to go back and see him again sometime. In fact, Carter looked outright despondent that he hadn’t been selected, while Mike was trying to figure out, why him? If it was a reward, why pick him after finding contraband in his room? If it was a punishment…he didn’t really want to think too hard about that, actually. There was only one bright spot, he thought, as he followed Daddy through the tunnel and over to his home, and that was, maybe, he could get that little can back from him. It was risky, sure…but maybe, if he could just talk to him, he’d understand, right?
Daddy cooked him dinner, which was off putting. He hadn’t had much in the way of real food, aside from the occasional dining hall visits, since anything consumed outside of the house didn’t actually count towards their daily goal, and the shakes were so damn filling. Daddy was quiet–not like he was angry, but like he was trying to give Mike some space to think. It was enough for Mike to reconsider him for a moment, that maybe he was something more than just the taskmaster he had taken him to be. Daddy asked him about football, and about the coach in particular, if he’d said anything to the boys about their uniform, their diet, or the fact they were forbidden to shower after practice. From there, talk drifted to the topic of hygiene. Mike tried to, gently, suggest that maybe the boys could be allowed to shower more–at least after practice, but Daddy didn’t seem interested in changing his mind. What he did say, was that if Mike still felt that way after this weekend, then he might consider it. It wasn’t much, but a bit of hope was better than nothing. When Mike asked him what they were doing this weekend, Daddy was honest–the house needed some work, especially outside in the garden, ahead of winter. As part of his punishment, Mike would be helping him. That seemed fair to Mike–and he imagined that Daddy could have inflicted much harsher punishments if he so chose. Daddy showed him to his room, and then left–he’d get him up in the morning.
But Mike had a hard time sleeping, for a number of reasons. He was horny, for one thing, but that had become a rather constant feature of his life, since he didn’t exactly enjoy having sex with his brothers, and women were off limits. In fact, Mike hadn’t fucked anyone in the last week–as hard as it was to resist after a cigar. It wasn’t required, so why do it? That, though, brought up another reason sleeping was difficult. He’d taken to consuming one of his required cigars in the evening, and he hadn’t today–so much to his displeasure, he was jonesing a bit for nicotine. The room was also quite hot–hotter than it should have been, especially this late in October. He’d kicked off all the sheets, and was still soaked in sweat. He tried to open the window, it wouldn’t budge. In the end, he got up, tried to door, and much to his surprise, it wasn’t locked–though why he’d expected it to be…he didn’t know. Maybe he could find that can of deodorant at least–if he didn’t have to smell himself, he’d sleep a bit better. If not that, a cigar–Daddy would understand, he was sure. He’d seen a humidor downstairs in the lounge–might as well go there first, for an alibi.
After fetching a cigar–the smallest he could find, since he didn’t want to be up all night, he made his way back upstairs, and found himself outside Daddy’s room–he could tell from the snoring. He pushed open the door, which was ajar, and it was just as sweltering as his own room, not that it was bothering Daddy at all. Sure enough, there, on the dresser, was the little can of deodorant. Just grab it, slip out, spray it on, put it back, and he’d be good for the weekend at least. But instead, as he crossed the side of the room as quietly as he could–he smelled something else. Looking down, he realized what it was, he was standing right on some of Daddy’s well worn underwear, and he could smell it, the cum, the piss, the sweat, all of it wafting up to him, and he didn’t understand what he did, or why, but he bent down, picked them up, and retreated to his own room where he closed the door, lit his cigar, and spent the next hour with the underwear pressed to his nose, moaning and groaning and jacking off, always on edge, unable to cum, until at last, he passed out, the butt of the cigar balance on the side table, still smoldering.
Outside the room, Ethan was crouched, looking through the door that Mike thought had been shut tight, but no doors were closed to Daddy. He hadn’t been sure that Mike would take the bait–but the deodorant would have been a fine surprise for the boy too–just a different sort of surprise. For now, he would go with this plan–the weekend was still long, after all, and Mike was a tough nut, he could already tell.
The pounding on the door jostled Mike awake. “Come on boy! Get a move on,” a voice said from the other side of the door, and it took Mike a moment to place it, before he remembered where he was. It was Daddy of course. He sat up, saw the cigar on the side table, and remembered everything else that had happened last night, and his stomach turned. The underwear! He looked around for it on the bed, but it wasn’t anywhere–and then he looked down, and saw that he…was wearing it.
His stomach turned a bit, at the sheer thought of wearing someone else’s underwear–especially one as dirty and…and why were they still wet? He tried to take them off, only to discover they refused to budge from around his waist. In a rising panic, he stood up, almost called to Daddy…but then he’d have to admit that he took them, and admit what he did the night before, which he could barely even reckon with himself. Instead, he put on the clothes that had appeared on a chair by the door–a pair of old 501 levis that fit surprisingly well, a wife beater, socks, and a pair of work boots. They were all used as well, they all smelled of a vague musk, but what choice did he have? He’d just have to get through the weekend and be done with it. He thought again about that can on the dresser, but Daddy pounded on the door again, ordering him out. Mike emerged, followed Daddy downstairs and they had breakfast, followed by a cigar, as Daddy outlined the tasks for the day.
Daddy had some general work to do winterizing the house and the backyard. Mike would be spending the day mowing the lawn, organizing the shed, and a few other general tasks, should he be a good boy and finish all of those quickly. The morning chill burnt off quickly, and Mike found himself mowing the lawn in a heat that felt more like August than Fall–it was unnatural, and he found himself working up a sweat almost immediately. The lawn was connected seamlessly to the frat house’s front lawn, and Daddy told him to mow that as well. Quite a few of his brothers could see him through the windows, and Mike grumbled a bit, knowing that the rest of them would know that he was Daddy’s chore boy this weekend. At least he could smoke a cigar while he was mowing, though that did nothing to ease his horniness. Every erection he sprouted as he walked, he knew it was rubbing up against Daddy’s dirty underwear, and he found it hard to know how he really felt about that. Disgusted? Excited? Both? He mowed faster so he could at least be done with it, and when he was finished, he went back and found Daddy in the backyard, as soaked in sweat as he was.
They had a quick break for lunch, and sat out on the porch to eat it. Each time Daddy raised his arm to take a swig from his beer, Mike would get a whiff of his pits, and the same emotions would roil through him all over again. He was certain this was Daddy’s plan all along, turn him into some…musky boy or whatever he had it mind, like how Carter had come back, and suddenly he was twisting tits and smacking asses as he fucked everyone, and…and what in the world was happening to them all? This wasn’t normal, right? He had to remember that. He had to keep telling himself that.
They finished lunch, and returned to work. Mike spent the afternoon in the shed, organizing and sorting Daddy’s tools, and the tin roof turned it into an oven. Soon, all he could smell was his own musk, or was it Daddy’s? He couldn’t tell anymore, but it was making his cock ache, but he refused to give in. He stayed focused on his task, and finished it without making a fool of himself. If he could demonstrate self-control, if he could show Daddy that he didn’t need to be dirty to be a good boy…then maybe he really would listen to him. He hoped he would, at least.
With their chores finished, and their bodies plenty sore, they went in, and Daddy cooked another sizable dinner. Once they’d eaten, Daddy poured them both some bourbon and they sat back out on the porch with their cigars, this time on the swinging bench, Daddy’s arm around Mike’s shoulder, his pit inches from the boy’s face. “Well boy, you did some nice work today, I have to admit. Good boys deserve a reward, don’t you think?”
Daddy’s arm contracted around his shoulders and pulled him closer, while his other hand groped his boy’s crotch. Mike was very hard–it felt like he’d been hard all day long at this point. The urge to lean in and just…smell Daddy’s pit was nearly overwhelming, but one little lapse, and he’d have lost. He was so focused on not giving in, that he forgot what Daddy would find when he undid the button fly of his jeans–and Daddy chuckled. “Well boy, now where did you get those?”
Mike tried to pull away from him, but Daddy tugged him even closer.
“Looks like someone snuck into Daddy’s room, and made off with a pair of underwear, you little thief. To think, all this time, saying you can’t handle the smell of the other boys in the house, and the first chance you get, you steal a pair of my dirty, cumstained, stinking underwear so you can wear them yourself.”
“That’s not…I didn’t…”
“Sure seems like you enjoy it boy,” Daddy said, groping harder and rougher, and then he pressed his fingers to Mike’s nose. He snorted in reflex, and then moaned, the smell of his own musk mixing with Daddy’s more than he could really take. “What does it smell like, boy? Does it smell like hard work? Smell like hardworking, burly, hairy men? You like men like that, don’t you? Like Daddy? Don’t you want to be a stinking man like that? Dominating all of the men around you with your pits, with your crotch, with your feet?”
“No,” Mike said, and managed to push himself away, and stand up. “No–I know what you’re doing, but I’m not like you, I’m not! I’m not just…just going to let you do this to me, to all of us.”
“Boy, sit your ass back down, right now,” Daddy said, but Mike ran inside, and headed for the stairs. The first place he stopped was the bathroom, so he could get in the shower–but he discovered that there simply wasn’t one there.
“Boy, think about what you’re doing right now, you’re about to make a mistake.”
“Shut up!” Mike cried, “I’m not some fucking boy–I know what I’m doing, and what I want, and it isn’t this!”
He went into Daddy’s master bedroom, but again, somehow, the shower in the attached bathroom he was certain should be there was just…gone. He turned, saw the little can on the dresser, and made a beeline for it. He might not be clean, but at least he wouldn’t stink!
He popped off the cap, and Daddy stepped into the room, hands down, looking…not angry, like Mike had expected of him, but a bit…concerned. “Boy, you don’t understand what you’re about to do. I know it’s hard, but I just need you to trust me, and you’ll understand that what I’m offering you is about more than this. That if you don’t work past this, one way or another, you won’t–”
“Shut up! I’m sick and tired of your rules, and your lectures, and your fucking stink!” he said, and proceeded to spray himself from head to foot–but as soon as the mist struck his nose, he knew something was wrong. This…wasn’t unscented anymore. It smelled…foul. Fuck, it fucking reeked so…so fucking much, and the next thing Mike really remembered clearly, he had crawled across the floor, grunting and snorting, and shoved his nose into Daddy’s crotch, snorting up all the musk there, hungry for it, aching for it.
“I tried to warn you pig, but some boys need to learn the hard way, no matter what,” Daddy said, and dropped his own jeans, so Mike could shove his nose into his dirty underwear, sniffing and grunting and squealing until he shot a load in the filthy pair of underwear he had on still. Mike was desperately trying to regain control of himself, but he could feel that he was changing further, his gut sagging lower, his body coated with sweat and grime like he hadn’t had a shower in ages. Daddy stripped down, got on the bed, and let the pig climb up with him, licking him clean, worshipping every inch of his body, every slight difference in musk registered and relished by his more sensitive nose, until Daddy had had enough with the licking, shoved the pig down on his belly, and pounded his hole, making the pig squeal and shoot another load all over the sheets beneath him. After that, Daddy kicked the pig out of bed. Mike crawled around, sniffing for a while, and eventually curled up in a pile of dirty laundry, and was soon snoring away.
Sunday morning came, and all that registered to Mike at first, was a headache, like he had spent all night huffing paint. He made his way to the bathroom, splashed a bit of water on his face, took care of his business, stumbled out, but Daddy must have woken up already. Mike went downstairs, carefully, since the world was still spinning a bit rapidly, and found Daddy cooking a delicious smelling breakfast. His memories of the night before were…hazy. He could remember the fight, somewhat, and he felt…bad, but he wasn’t quite sure why.
“There you are, pig,” Daddy said, with a grin, “sleep well?”
“I…I feel like I got hit by a train, Daddy,” Mike said, and sat down at the table.
“I tried to warn you, boy, but you didn’t want to listen.”
“Well I’m sick of listening! I’m sick of you telling us what to do. We’re adults, you know! We’re–” before Mike could get anything else out, Daddy had walked over, shoved his face into his pit, and everything else disappeared–there was just that wonderful, filthy stench, and with a grunt, Mike was licking and sucking at his pit with pure delight, until Daddy pulled away, and Mike came back to himself, horrified. “How…why did I do that?”
“You’re a pig.”
“But the spray, I thought it wore off.”
“It might wear off, eventually. But until then, anytime you smell another fellows musk–you’re going to turn into one hundred percent grade A muskpig.”
“You…you can’t be serious.”
“I most certainly am. It’ll get worse, too. You’ll get fatter, the more it happens. Dirtier. It’ll start wearing off on you. Showers, for you, are optional from now on–if you can stand to take them. You might even start to like it. You might forget you ever wanted to be a man at all, boy. You might just leave here a pig, and never look back.”
Mike sat in silence, while Daddy finished cooking, and set the meal in front of him. Was he hungry because he was legitimately starving, or was he hungry because the pig was urging him on? He ate anyway, trying to hold back, trying to find the line, but it eluded him. “For what I said, Daddy, I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize. You meant it,” Daddy said, and looked him in the eye, “When you really understand what you did wrong–then apologize. Until then, well, we’ll see.”
After breakfast, Mike returned to the house. The boys all asked him how it had been, if the chores had been a punishment, or something else. Mike didn’t really know what to tell any of them. Later, Carter found him, alone, and sat beside him–and just put his arm around him. Mike knew it was commiseration, but it took all of his will to not leap into Carter’s pit and suck it clean.
“Daddy’s a real bastard, isn’t he?” Carter said, “But fuck, he knows what he’s talking about.”
“He is a bastard, that’s for sure,” Mike replied, and left it at that.
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