The Pigtown Chronicles: Miles’s New Boss

Hey all! For the month of April, I’m taking a break from The Pigtown Chronicles, and will be posting some caption stories instead. We’ll have captions Monday through Thursday, and I’ll be posting some longer stories on Fridays.

I’ve had a couple requests for commissions set in the universe of The Pigtown Chronicles, including this one! They are, unless otherwise noted, canon, so as the series develops, we could very well see these characters coming back into play, for a cameo, if nothing else. No need to read the whole series for this one, it stands on its own.


Miles probably should have been paying more attention to where he was going, but he was more than used to people stepping out of his way, not the other way around. He’d been going down the sidewalk at a brisk pace, trying to find this new restaurant that he was supposed to have a lunch meeting at in fifteen minutes. He’d made a wrong turn a few blocks back, and wandered into the outskirts of Pigtown instead–or perhaps, that was where Pigtown had wanted him, all along. He hit what felt like a wall, and spun off, a little stunned, looked back and saw that he had collided with a very large, very intimidating looking skinhead, surrounded by a small gang of three or so others. 

The man he’d run into was clearly the leader of the pack. A few inches taller than six feet, heavily muscled with a sizable gut, covered in tattoos and piercings, even onto his shaved head. He turned around, took a long draw off the thick cigar he was smoking, and pushed two jets out of his nose, scowling at Miles, standing there in his suit, not quite sure what to do. They stared at each other for a moment, and then Miles managed to break eye contact, turn around, and hustle away for a few steps, before a hand reached out, grabbed his arm, and shoved him up against the brick wall of a shopfront.

“Well? Not even an apology?” the skinhead said, leaning in close enough that Miles could feel the heat of the cigar against his cheek. “Not even a, ‘Sorry I was staring at my phone, couldn’t be bothered to look where I was fuckin’ goin’?’ Too fuckin’ important for the likes of us, right?”

“Look, I’m late for a meeting, I’m sorry–” was all Miles could get out, before the skinhead took a mouthful of cigar smoke and pushed it into his face. The scent of the tobacco was strong, and unlike any cigar he’d ever smelled in his life. He suddenly couldn’t focus on anything else, other than that flavor, that scent, and before he could snap out of it, the skinhead leaned in, kissed him, and something strange happened. He felt a sharp pain in his nose, and in his tongue. When he tried to pull away, he found that he physically couldn’t–somehow, the ring in the skinhead’s nose and pierced through his own, along with the stud in his tongue. The skinhead kissed him for a moment, pressing their faces together. He could feel other sharp stings all over his face and then pulled away with the sound of metal snapping, and Miles’ hands went to his face, where he found not only a new, thick septum ring in his nose, but studs in his tongue, in his eyebrows, gauges and rings and studs in his ears. He looked in the window beside him, horrified at the face looking back at him–at least until the skinhead grabbed him by the hair, and fed him another load of smoke from his cigar.

When he pulled away, satisfied that Miles was dazed by his smoke again, he said, “Come on boy, you’re late for your appointment, aren’t you?”

“What…what did you do? I…help me get these off, I don’t…”

“Why would you want them to come out? You love the way they look, don’t you? Come on, let’s get you to your appointment.”

Miles took one last look at his now freakishly pierced face, and then was dragged away by the skinhead, falling into step with the gang, trying to push his way out of the smoke that was still clouding his mind. Along the way, he learned that the rest of the gang simply referred to their leader as Boss–if he had a name, he wasn’t inclined to give one, when Miles asked him. Boss led them deeper into Pigtown, and came to a heavily graffitied building and into a shop front called, “The Bodyshop.”

Inside was a little bit of everything. The front was a barber shop, and further back, he could see a tattoo and piercing equipment, all of it being manned by various flavors of skinheads, all of them in various leather, rubber or denim gear. 

“Who’s the new guy, Boss?” the young skin at the reception desk asked him.

“Don’t have a name yet. I’ll be working on him personally today.”

“Of course Boss.”

“This isn’t–” 

“Shut up, boy–now come on.”

Boss took him alone into the back of the shop, and through a door, into a small, private studio, where as soon as the door was closed behind them, Boss started tearing his clothes off, Miles trying to push him off and failing, the enclosed space filling up with the smoke faster than he could fight it off. Soon, he was totally naked, his clothes trashed and torn. Before he could even grab them up, another skinhead came in, grabbed them, and bundled them off. “Why are you doing this? I didn’t mean to run into you,” Miles said.

“Well, you shouldn’t have done that, but I’m always looking for new boys to add to the gang, so I’m glad we ran into each other. You will be too, soon enough,” Boss said, coming close and pressing his heavily pierced cock up against Miles own. Like before, he felt the sharp pain as Boss’s piercings joined with his own skin–his PA now running through the heads of both their cocks, a jacob’s ladder locking their shafts together, and he could feel rings and studs erupting all through his sack as Boss pulled him closer, pressing their chests together, his thick nipple rings sliding into Miles’s own. They were locked together, no matter how hard Miles tried to pull away, he couldn’t tear his flesh off the rings and studs threaded through their bodies. Boss’s arms wrapped around him, pulled him close, and he kissed him again pushing smoke into him, making him go weak at the knees–not that he could fall far, and there was a new sensation now, almost like something was crawling onto him. He pulled away, looked down, and saw that the ink covering Boss’s body was swirling around, and running down and onto Miles’s own body. He tried to brush it off, but it was already under his skin, spreading up his arms, across his chest, over his cock and down his legs, coating him with a riot of tattoos, and as they did, he felt something new. A voice in his head, a whisper at first, but then, growing stronger. He found himself looking up at Boss with something other than fear, with a growing lust, and he started grinding their cocks together, almost enjoying the pain of the piercings tugging between them.

“Fuck…fuck Boss, what the fuck are you doing to me?”

“Just giving you what you want boy. Don’t you want to be one of my rough fuckin’ skinhead pigs? Don’t you want all those hot men out there to abuse that hole of yours? Don’t you want to be walking down the street, some tough, scarred up looking fucker, watching men get the hell out of your way–like they ought to?” Boss planted his hands on Miles’s shoulders, and shoved them apart, making him scream in pain. Like before, when he came away, he was left with piercings where they had been connected–two thick rings in his much larger looking tits, a big PA in the head of his cock, weighing it down, a jacob’s ladder down the shaft, and countless studs and rings all through his sack. The ink, however, was still flowing under the surface of his skin. He could feel it, and it made him feel a bit nauseous. He looked at himself in the mirror, horrified at how quickly he had changed–and he found himself wanting…more. But something was missing, wasn’t it?

“Get in the chair, boy. It’s time for your shave, isn’t it?”

“Y-Yes Boss,” Miles said, realizing that’s what he needed. He didn’t look like a true skinhead, not yet. He got in the chair, heard the buzz of the clippers, and Boss started shearing away his styled hair, and with each swipe, he felt that new voice getting louder, that old one getting quieter. He wanted this, of course he did. 

“Take care of this for me, won’t you boy?” Boss said, and shoved the cigar in his mouth, which Miles’ happily sucked on, drawing in the smoke deeper and deeper, feeling it sanding away at the edges of his mind. He gripped his pierced cock and started stroking it, staring at his new head in the mirror, shuddering with each pass of the razor over his head, removing more and more of his worries and cares, until Boss lathered up his skull, and razored even the stubble off. When he was finally finished, toweled him off and showed him his new look in the mirror, it only took a couple of pumps before Miles exploded all over himself, shuddering as Boss ran his hands over his smooth scalp, humiliated, yet more turned on than he’d ever been in his life.

“I’ll forgive you for that one, I know haircuts get you boys all excited, but don’t think you can cum without permission again. Now, up against the wall boy, time for you to thank your Boss properly.”

He dragged Miles out of the chair by the rings in his tits, pushed him up against the mirror, and ran his cock up and down his crack, the metal rings and studs bumping up against his hole making Miles shudder. “Fuck Boss, fuckin’ get inside me…” he moaned, and only realized after he’d said it, what had just come out of his mouth.

“Heh, you fuckin’ pig. I think I know a good name for you, actually. Why don’t we go ahead and call you Piggo from now on, eh?”

“Fuck Boss, ya can call me anything you want, just fuck me!”

Boss drooled some spit down Miles’s crack, and then pushed in, his new boy’s hole already open and eager to be fucked, just like they always were after a good shearing. He shoved the boy’s face against the wall, the other hand gripping his hip, and rammed in deep, making sure it was good and rough, just the way his boys liked it. Miles had never been fucked like this in his life, and he could feel something happening, the ink across his shoulder blades shifting and reforming, becoming his new title, “Piggo” in big letters across his back, with the “O” in the shape of a pig’s snout. He gave a grunt, and his old name went fuzzy. He had to actively try and hold onto it, as something like a drain opened up in the bottom of his mind, and bits of his mind started tumbling into it, lost to the depths. He was so focused on that, that he didn’t notice his  body swelling larger, Boss’s precum already beginning to have an effect on his new boy’s body.

After all, he wasn’t quite big enough to be a pig yet. He needed a bigger gut and broader, more muscular shoulders. A little shorter maybe, with a wide stance. No one would be able to push this pig around, unless the pig wanted them to, of course, and this slutty pig was going to want as many rough fuckin’ skinheads pushing him around as possible. “When I cum in this hole, pig, that means it’s mine. I can have it whenever I fuckin’ want it. Any man I take a liking to, can take it. I own your hole, I own your body, I own your fuckin’ soul from now on, do you fuckin’ understand me? You’re one of my boys now, and you’re never gonna be anything else!”

With a roar, Boss came deep in Piggo’s hole, the newly made skinpig grunting and snorting, bucking back, hungry to get as much of his boss’s seed inside him as he could, packing on mass, even as he shrank a bit, turning into a stocky fireplug, the only hair on his body now a short, chinstrap beard. Boss flipped him around and the kissed for a bit, swapping spit while they came down from their fuck, and then Boss stepped back, looking him up and down.

Piggo–no, not Piggo, that wasn’t his name! Miles shook his head, trying to sort out what was going on in his head. He knew this was wrong, knew that something had happened to him, changed him, but he couldn’t sort everything out. He stumbled over to the mirror and stared at himself in a mix of horror and horniness, his pierced face, his stocky frame, his freakish cock and balls, the riot of tattoos still swarming and settling around his body. “What the fuck did you do to me?” he said, and turned on Boss, “What the fuck did you just do to me, Boss?”

“Still got some fight in you, eh?” Boss said, and came closer, “I do like a fighter, but we’ll have you good and broken soon. Let’s get you dressed, and then it’s time to show Pigtown my new boy.”

“No, fuck–fuck you! Fix whatever the fuck you did to me!” Miles said, doing his best to sound brave, but his voice was wavering, and Boss just laughed, wrapped a hand around the back of his head, and forced him into a kiss, pushing a lungful of cigar smoke down his throat, making his mind spin again, the drain opening up, sucking down more and more of his old self into it. He tried to pull away, but Boss just shoved him back up against the wall and fed him more smoke until he stopped fighting, until he was kissing him back, drooling a bit in smoky stupor.

“Hmmm,” Boss said, “Thought you would be smarter than that, but I can’t tolerate insolence like that, boy,” he said, giving a tug on one of the rings in Miles’s nipples, making him groan. “Gonna be a fun night boy, let’s see how long you can keep that fight up at the Hideaway.”

Miles only had a foggy memory of what happened next. A boy came in with a pile of clothes for him. Some tattered and grungy bleached jeans, calf high rangers with bright red socks he knew to roll over the top, no underwear, and a thick leather biker jacket, leaving most of his upper body exposed. Last, Boss put a choke collar on him attached to a short collar, and tugged him out of the room and out of the shop, Miles struggling to keep up as they headed down the sidewalk. It was only out in the cool evening air that he realized the ass of the jeans was mostly gone–anyone walking down the street could look back and see him hanging out, and the crew around Boss all took turns groping and fingering him, while he tried to keep up with the lead in Boss’s hand.

They arrived at a bar after a twenty minute walk, a place called the Hideaway, and the bouncer out front let them all in without so much as a glance. Despite the relatively early hour, the bar was already quite packed, and as soon as they were inside, Boss used the lead to force Miles onto his hands and knees and made him crawl through the bar while he chatted with a few regulars, ordering Miles to lick their boots clean while they talked. He didn’t want to, but he couldn’t tell if it was the smoke, or the bar, or just the power of Boss himself, he couldn’t seem stop himself from licking any boot put in front of him, no matter the condition. After an hour of that humiliation, enough to soften him up, he was led deeper into the bar, into a maze like series of hallways, where any number of men were already fucking away in the red lit corners. They arrived at a bank of slings, and with a little help, from the rest of the gang, they had Miles in one of them, wrists and booted ankles secured to the chains, and it was clear he wasn’t getting out of this.

“Alright Piggo, time to take your punishment,” Boss said, standing over him, the end of his cigar the brightest thing in the room. “I was gonna let you be a tough little bouncer back at the shop, but after your little outburst, I think that’s aiming a bit high for a pig like you. You’re gonna be a housepig for a while. Cleaning boots, taking fists, serving all of us as our personal ashtray, until you can show me that you can behave, how does that sound?”

He could see it, when Boss’s eyes suddenly glowed a bit in the dark, rested on his exposed gut, and the ink that had still been swirling over his body began to solidify. All over him were inked boot prints, and he found the taste of leather and bootblack lingering on his tongue incredibly erotic. Across his forehead, more ink formed the word ASHTRAY”, and when Boss took one hand away to tap the ash from his cigar into his mouth, he gulped it down, horrified at how eager he was to chew at the hot ash and swallow it. Boss laughed at his excitement, teased his body with the heat of his cigar, eventually pressing it into his skin at the base of his cock, making him howl in pain and delight, the rest of the crew all lighting up cigars and cigarettes of their own, sucking them down so they could feed him the ash and tease him with the heat, while Boss went to work on his hole. 

He skipped his cock, and started working his fingers into Miles’s hole, and Miles groaned from the stretch. He was clinging to anything he could now, so desperate to fight any of this, but he could feel the ink and spreading through him, deeper into him, into his veins, into his heart, as Boss worked two fingers in, and then three, roughly digging into his ass, demanding he be allowed inside, demanding that Miles submit. He could feel it slipping away again, that name, and all he could find again was Piggo as he began snorting and grunting in delight, begging the men around him for more ash and more burns, pushing down, aching to feel all of Boss’s hand inside him, and finally, it slid in, and when it did, he could feel something inside him snap. Piggo’s short, thick cock erupted with cum all over his tattooed gut, taking what remained of his resistance with it, taking the name Miles with it, and Boss drove his hand deeper and deeper into his hole until he was satisfied, and then let the rest of the gang around them took their turns.

Some fisted him too, others opted to ram their cocks into his sloppy hole. Piggo didn’t care as long as he was being used, and every fuck only made him hornier for his gang, for Boss, for boots and ash and cock and pain. He didn’t quite know when the night ended, but everything seemed to fade away into darkness, and Piggo awoke with a snort on a filthy mattress, tongue pressed to the bottom of some other skin’s boot.

He sat up, confused for a moment, crawled over to a mirror and looked at himself, at his tattooed body, his tattooed face, at his smooth head, forever smooth now that he was one of Boss’s pigs. He knew, somehow, that something had changed, but he couldn’t remember what. Instead, he crawled back over and finished what he must have been doing when he fell asleep–cleaning the boots of the gang, and when they woke up, he was more than happy to take their morning loads and their morning ash, a skinpig forever more.

Caption: Work From Home Weight

Avery and Kent had made the decision to move in together just as the first lockdowns were beginning, and they soon found themselves stuck in a small apartment, both working from home. There had been some friction early on, that Avery could vaguely recall. It had seemed so important at the time, but now, a year later, he was finding it harder and harder to imagine a life without Kent with him. In particular, without the food that Kent fed him.

Avery had always been on the chubby side, and he’d never particularly liked it about himself. But working from home, he found that there wasn’t much else to do other than, well, eat, and Kent was more than happy to keep him fed from the moment he woke up to the moment they laid down, and Kent usually fucked Avery’s ass, both of them collapsing in a sweaty heap by the end of it. Still, it wasn’t…that much weight, was it? No, it was all perfectly normal, Avery told himself again, but then, why was he sweating so much, and so nervous about the email he’d just gotten?

The pandemic was tapering off, the bosses wanted folks back in the office, at least on a limited basis. Avery had asked to be given a remote position full time, but had just gotten a reply that he would need to be in the office at least three days a week. Kent came in, saw that Avery was looking upset, and asked him what the matter was, but Avery struggled to explain what, exactly, it was that had him so flustered.

“Ah, you know, I think I know what the matter is. Lift up the veil, little piggy.”

Avery gave a little grunt, and it was like he was seeing the world differently, remembering everything that felt so blurry before. How Kent had used the lockdown to try and force him to get bigger, while Avery had struggled against it, until…until Kent had done something to him, hypnotized him, and…and well, here he was. Over 400 pounds in about a year, it should have been impossible, but then, Kent had been working every trick in the book to get Avery as heavy as he could.

“You…no! How could you! I–” Avery said, but Kent walked over, shoved up his shirt, and started kneading his gut, making Avery moan in delight.

“How could I turn you into one of the most beautiful men I’ve ever seen?” Kent said, “Fuck, look at how fucking massive you are, and so sensitive…”

“No, I…why…of fuck, that feels so fucking good…” Avery muttered.

“Of course it does. You’re a fat fucking pig, Avery. You love being fat. You love how it feels, you love how you look. You couldn’t be happier with all of this. And now, next week, you’re going to the office, and all of those people are going to see you, Avery. They’re going to know that you’re a fat, greedy, gluttonous little piggy, and they’re gonna whisper about it, and all of that? It’s just going to make you hornier.”

Avery was grunting and snorting now, lost in the fantasy Kent was feeding him, and when he hauled him up and bent him over the desk and fucked him, Avery found himself pushing back, loving how his gut swayed and shuddered, how labored his breathing was, until he came first, right into his gunt. Kent filled him up soon after, and put him back in his chair. “That’s a good piggy. Now, drop the veil, little piggy.”

Avery’s eyes clouded over again, he gave Kent a kiss, feeling better after his chat with him, and got back to work on the computer. Kent gave a contented sigh, and left the room–he was almost there, just a little more conditioning to go. Then he could lift the veil for good, and he’d have the perfect gainer pig he’d always wanted.

Captions: Owned / Dirtier

Since I missed yesterday’s post, here’s a double feature!

Owned

“How long has it been since you were here, slave?”

“A…a month.”

“A month, Master,” he said, and gave the rubber clad man a smack on the ass, and left it there, running his fingers between his thighs, tracing the chastity cage locked on the outside of the rubber catsuit. “I will not have a slave disrespect me in public. We are lax at home on occasion, but I know you know your manners well.”

“Yes Master.”

“A month since you went home with me. Remember what a confident little shithead you were? Talking about how you were all top, never gonna bottom in your life? Now look at you. That big cock of yours locked away, hole loose and ready,” he said, and slid two of his fingers through the slit in the back of the rubber suit, pressing up against the slave’s hole, feeling him shudder at the touch. “You’re owned now, and once we go in there, everyone is going to know it. Everyone you’ve fucked. Everyone who wanted to fuck you. They’re gonna know that you’re my property. How does that make you feel?”

The slave didn’t respond right away, just let out a little moan.

“It makes you excited, doesn’t it?”

Another little moan, followed by, “Yes Master, it does.”

“How many men do you think I should let use your holes tonight?”

“As many as you want, Master.”

“Good, slave, you do learn quickly. The last slave I had, I couldn’t take him out in public for three months. I know you’re going to serve me well in there tonight, won’t you?”

“Yes Master.”

“And remember–always pride. Be proud that you realized who you are. Most of those men in there are too scared to accept it. But you are right where you want to be, isn’t that right?”

The slave nodded, and he followed his Master into the bar to begin his new life.


Dirtier

You hadn’t taken that old bitch seriously, of course. Who would have, really? Ranting and raving about some curse or something, while security was dragging her out of the bank where you worked, saying something about how if all you cared about was dirty money, then you might as well just keep getting dirtier.

But for the next week or so, you kept noticing things. Dirt kept appearing under your fingernails, no matter how well you cleaned them at night, and it wasn’t like you were doing anything to make them dirty in the first place. Then you noticed that, after you showered, you always still had a lingering musk around you. It wasn’t too bad at first, but by the next week, you got a couple of comments at work. You tried all of these different soaps and shampoos, but nothing helped, and by then, the dirt was starting to spread as well.

Then, it wasn’t just you, either. You went to bed in a set of clean sheets, and when you woke up the next morning, they were filthy. Stained, reeking of sweat and cum and piss, and worst of all, you didn’t mind it. It smelled good to you all of a sudden, and you couldn’t resist rolling over, grinding your cock into the sheets and adding another load to them. You showered after, of course, but it didn’t help. You could smell it lingering around you, that same grungy scent, and the more you noticed it, the hornier you were getting.

You tried to find that woman, but there was no sign of her anywhere, all of her bank records had just vanished. Your boss called you into his office, raked you over the coals for your slovenly appearance. You didn’t know where that beard had come from, or how your hair had gotten so long so quickly. You went home early, tried to shave it off and cut it away, but it would grow back faster than you could remove it, thicker and thicker each time. That day, you went to put on a suit, dreading going in to work again, but all of your suits had disappeared, replaced with grungy looking hi vis workwear and nothing else. 

But then, what else would you wear? In a stupor, you pulled on some of the filthy garments and went to work–but not at the bank. You were a construction worker, right? You spent the day trying to convince yourself otherwise, but couldn’t manage it. This just…felt right. You were scared, and too tired to fight it. Maybe if you just let it happen, it would stop. This wasn’t so bad, right? And for a while, your body didn’t get worse, at least, but your mind started growing filthier instead. Working around all of those other musky, masculine men, you found yourself caught in fantasy after fantasy, about how they would use your dirty body–and as you concocted each scenario, they came true. 

The foreman pissing on you in the portpotty. A father and son tag teaming your holes in the back of their pickup. Timmy, the fattest guy on the crew, sitting his grungy ass on your face while you jacked off your rank cock. You didn’t live in that nice house anymore. You lived in a studio apartment, never cleaned, never cared for. Sometimes, you would fight, try and remember who you’d been, but when you did, it would get worse somehow, always worse, but now, why can’t you find your way home?

You usually walked home, sometimes sucking cock in the alleys on your way to and from the construction site, but now, you just couldn’t find it. You ended up in an alley, and slept there, interrupted by a couple of cops walking their beat, who took a little break to fuck your nasty hole in the middle of the night. Come morning, you went back to the construction site, but you didn’t work there anymore. That didn’t stop all the men from using you of course, but you were too filthy even for that work now. You made your way back to your alley, still so damn horny, but things, at least, couldn’t get worse than this, right?

Caption: Long Distance Hypnomutt

Was it what he wanted? Banjo wasn’t quite sure he could really tell the difference anymore. He was humiliated, sure, when the message from his Master came through after his latest hypno spiral, telling him he needed to go get a sharpie, and mark himself with what he knows about himself to be true, now.

He didn’t really know what that meant, but he got himself a new sharpie, took off his shirt, and started writing on himself. When he was finished, he looked in the mirror, upper lip curled up, and gave a little snort.

“It is a dumb mutt…” he said, groping his cock, unable to stop himself from snorting as the words came of of his mouth. “It is a *grunt* sex toy.”

He couldn’t stop until he lost a load of cum right into the front of his underwear, and control returned to himself–mostly. He tried to take off his soiled underwear, but couldn’t seem to get them to peel away from his body–he was stuck with them on apparently, for the time being. He went in to message his master, the man who had been cementing control over him for months now, took a picture, and sent it to him, as he knew he needed to do.

“Good mutt–what a stupid fucking mutt, letting some stranger control you like this. Now, you know I live a long ways away, so it’ll be a while before I can use you myself, but I like sex toys like you well broken in. Go unlock your door, and wait on your knees, mutt.”

Banjo tried to message back, asking for an explanation, but before he could even reach the keyboard, he was standing and following his master’s directions, unlocking the door to his apartment, and getting down on his knees, and waiting.

He was there for almost an hour, cramping, uncomfortable on the hard floor, but he couldn’t move no matter how hard he tried. All he could really think about was the cold load of cum slowly drying in the front of his underwear. Then, he smelled…cigar smoke. He heard boots outside his door, it opened without a knock, and he found himself looking up at a grungy looking fellow sucking on a half finished cigar.

“You must be the mutt,” he said, stepped past him without another word like he owned the place, and Banjo tried to stand up–but couldn’t. All he could do was crawl after him, and the man took a seat in one of Banjo’s chairs like he owned the place, and gave a sigh.

“Fuck, what did he want me to say?” he said, and pulled out his phone. “Right–ok, ‘dumb mutt’, get over here you stupid, ‘sex toy’ and suck my dirty fuckin’ cock.”

Banjo gave a grunt at each utterance, felt his cock swell, and he found the rather repulsive fellow suddenly very…attractive. He crawled over, dug the man’s greasy cock out of the front of his unwashed jeans and started sucking him off. The man kept using the keywords, watching as Banjo grew more and more horny, his mind starting to fade out, and the man told him to turn around, got down, tore open the back of Banjo’s underwear and gave him a rough fuck. Banjo came again in the middle of it with a loud grunt and a moan, and that was enough for the strange to unload in him as well.

“Fuck, yer a weird fucker, but that was kinda hot,” he said. “Nice place too–gotta say. Nicer than my shithole.”

He pulled out his phone, took some pictures of Banjo’s ruined underwear and leaking hole, and sent them off, then texted for a bit.

“Good fuckin’ news, you dumb mutt,” he said. “Yer…Master or whatever says you’re gonna let me stay here for a while. You don’t mind, do you, sex toy?”

Banjo tried to object, but the man showed him a spiral on his phone that his master had sent, and soon enough, he was back in front of the computer, ready for another round of programming, and more than happy to host his new roommate, and give him whatever services he required from then on.

Flash Commission – Junior Joins the Pig Squad

This story is a “se-queal” to a story from last year called “The Pig Squad” which you can read here. I would recommend at least skimming it before you read this one, it will make a lot more sense.


Simon had never seen eye to eye with his father. Whether it was always going to be this way, or whether the death of his mother while he was a young teenager drove a wedge between them they would have been able to bridge otherwise, they didn’t know. The friction that had simmered between them during high school had recently begun to boil over, as Simon had found himself of age, but still stuck living with his dad. He was going to community college, earning credits so he could get into a better four year school, but his dad saw no good reason why he should have to pay his son’s way through life. The fact that his father was a motorcycle cop provided an easy contrast, and by the end of his first year of school, he was proudly supporting anti-police brutality protests, both earnestly, and just so he could rub it in his father’s face.

But this summer, something had happened to his father, something that Simon couldn’t quite understand. He’d always known that his dad wasn’t a great cop–he wasn’t that great of a person, and power like that tended to corrupt. He was short tempered and mercurial, a stickler for what Simon considered meaningless detail, and prone to micromanage as a means of asserting power every chance he could. He came home grousing one night that his squad was being sanctioned and forced to participate in some strange training seminar, and for the next few weeks, something…happened to him. He got fatter, he shaved his head, his uniforms changed from the standard cotton and poly blend to full leather ones that he would wear constantly–Simon even wondered if his father slept in them sometimes. When he asked his dad about it, his dad showed him a little video about the training. It left Simon feeling a little…strange, and he felt better about it for a while, but the worries crept back in slowly.

One night, he got up to take a piss, and on the way back from the bathroom, he heard some noises coming from his father’s room. Wondering what it might be, he snuck down, opened the door, and gasped–his dad and another officer he recognized as from his squad were on the bed, in their uniforms, the other officer pounding a sizable dildo into his father’s hole while they stared at a TV screen flashing some strange spiral pattern. Before Simon could retreat, they looked over at him when he gasped, mouths open and drooling, and they tackled him to the ground, ignoring his pleading for them to stop, cuffed him, and dragged him out of the house and into a patrol car, before speeding off into the night.

Simon had no idea where they were taking him, but he expected it to be the police station. Instead, they ended up outside of a nice suburban house, the two officers went up to knock on the door, and slipped inside. After a few minutes, they emerged again with another fellow in a robe and slippers, who came to the window with them. Simon went to beg him for help, for an explanation, for anything, but the man flashed some strange light in his eyes, and after a few moments, Simon was deep in a trance of his own.

“Alright, get him out and bring him inside, pigs,” Doctor Leoncett said, “Apparently the acceptance training wasn’t strong enough for this one.”

Simon’s father and the other officer hauled the drooling Simon out of the car and into the doctor’s home, down into the basement where he was strapped into a chair in front of a large screen, and the doctor set him up with an IV to receive a new batch of serum he’d been testing. “Alright Officer Mendel, your son is going to be staying with me for extended training. You will return home and make whatever excuses necessary with the college he attends. Otherwise, you will continue as normal, until I say otherwise, understand?”

The two pigs saluted the doctor, and left. The temporary stun was beginning to wear off for Simon, and he was starting to struggle against the bonds holding him to the chair. “What…what the fuck is this?”

“Well Simon, it would seem that you’ve seen a bit too much,” the doctor said, “The acceptance video doesn’t work on everyone, especially if they have a bit too much will. Your dad was a little willful too, it must run in the family–but don’t worry, I think this is going to work out best for everyone involved. After all, your dad’s squad has an opening at the moment…”

“No, what? Let me go!” he said, but the screen in front of him was showing that same spiral, those same flashing lights, and he felt his attention being sucked into it, unable to pull away. 

“Don’t worry, you seem like a good kid. Your dad on the other hand, a real asshole. It’ll be good to have another officer at home to keep him in line.”

That was the last thing Simon heard, before the spiral pulled him down into another trance, and the world around him melted away into nothing.


When he awoke, it took Simon a few minutes to get past the headache still throbbing in his skull, and manage to open his eyes. When he did, he was looking up at a plain white ceiling with fluorescent lighting. It wasn’t…his room. He didn’t even know where he was, actually, everything was…blurry. He could recall finding his dad doing something…and…and nothing really past that, it was too muddled to work out. Thinking about it was making the headache come back anyway, so he rolled up to a sitting position, and found himself on the edge of a small bed, facing a mirror on the wall.

Something was wrong with his reflection. Something inside him was screaming that at him, telling him that what he was looking at wasn’t right at all, but Simon was struggling to figure out what could be wrong about it. Certainly it wasn’t his face–bald head, clean shaven, double and triple chin underneath his short neck, nose turned up a little. It wasn’t his body, right? Barrel chested and bellied, firm but with plenty of jiggle, two meaty pecs with nipples pointing out, half an inch long, and very sensitive. He gave them both a little tweak, and felt his pig cock throb, drooling out a little precum onto the floor beneath him. His short, thick cock was right of course, his meaty ass, thick thighs, size fifteen feet, ham like arms. No…he…this was how he was supposed to look, this…why did he feel so strange?

He held his head in his hands, letting the headache pass again. God he was stupid fucking pig, he should be able to figure this out, but it was gone. He stood up from the bed and saw his uniform hanging beside the door. He took it down and pulled it on one piece at a time. It felt strange as he did it. He knew it wasn’t the first time he’d worn it, couldn’t be the first time, but the sensation of the leather against his smooth skin was so erotic, so new, that he felt like it was his first time all over again. By the time the leather shirt, breeches, boots gloves and cap were on, his pig cock was hard and leaking–he had to resist the urge to haul it out and rub out a load right there, snorting and looking at his hot pig body in the mirror, but he had something else he needed to do first. He needed to go see the doctor of course.

He went to the door, the creak of the leather, the scent of it already putting him in a hornier mood, if that was possible. He stepped out of the room and went down the hall, where he saw the doctor was standing, working on some project or other. It wasn’t important. Pigs like him couldn’t understand things like that anyway. Doctor Leoncett looked up from his work and smiled. “Ah, Mendel Junior, you’re awake. Feeling alright, I hope?”

“Yeah, just…have this pounding headache,” he said. His voice seemed deeper than he recalled, but again, it didn’t seem wrong, just…like everything else, he wasn’t quite sure what was going on. “Uh, doc? Where am I exactly? I can’t seem to remember anything.”

“Oh, just a routine training, nothing to be concerned about. I wanted you to make sure you and your father were properly adjusted. You finished up first, and he should be done soon–come on, let’s go check on him.”

They went back down the hall to another room, the doctor opened a door, and Junior found himself looking at a very similar scene to the one he could no longer recall, his dad in full leather, riding a massive dildo, staring at a pulsing screen, drool running down his chins as he fucked himself, cock throbbing. But where before Simon had been horrified, all he could feel now was an intense desire and pride. Fuck, his Dad was such a hot pig. The two of them were two peas in a pod really. Mostly, at least. There was no mistaking it when they were side by side that they were related. The doctor hit a switch, and the screen faded out, the music stopped, and the lights in the room came up slowly. Mendel Senior shook his head, spittle flying as he did, and fell forward onto hands and knees, snorting, looking around a bit confused. Junior walked over, shoved one of his boots in front of his dad’s face, and while it took him a moment to focus on it, he gave a little squeal and started licking at the leather, polishing it as best he could with his tongue.

“Fuck dad, you’re such a fuckin’ pig,” Junior said, groping his leaking pig cock through the front of his leather pants.

Senior was still recovering from his recent mindfuck, but he looked up at his son, at his new son, and couldn’t be more proud. He was big and thick and smelled like leather and musk, and he was so much smarter than his Daddy, so much better in so many ways. Senior was more than happy to service his boy in whatever way he required.

Junior let his dad suck his boots shiny for a couple of minutes, as he came out of his trance, and then he went around behind him, and probed his smooth ass and hole with a few gloved fingers, feeling his dad’s piggy hole throb and shudder at the touch of his leather gloves. “Fuck, you’re such a piggy slut,” he said.

“Anything for my hot pigson, fuckin’ plow me boy, come on…”

Of course, all of the pigs on the squad had cocks too small to fuck, other than the sergeant of course, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t find other solutions. He saw on a little table his usual instrument of choice, a strap-on dildo, nearly ten inches long and almost as thick as his fist, that he fastened over the top of his uniform pants, lined up with his father’s hole, and drove it in, making him squeal. He grabbed hold of his father’s leather shirt in his gloved hands, thrusting in deeper and deeper until the dildo was buried up to the hilt, and proceeded to fuck his father nice and rough, how they both liked it. Neither of them noticed the lights fading out, the screen coming back up with a pulsing spiral, the music throbbing in their ears. They just focused on it, unable to look away while they fucked, cementing their new programming, and new relationship, in as deep as the doctor could, ensuring that Junior and Senior, as they were now exclusively known, would be his kinky pig cop slaves for the rest of their lives.

Caption: Daddy Issues #4 – Jace the Lout

Hey all! For the month of April, I’m taking a break from The Pigtown Chronicles, and will be posting some caption stories instead. We’ll have captions Monday through Thursday, and I’ll be posting some longer stories on Fridays.


Jace’s father was a lout, in his opinion. He’d never really been able to hold down a job for longer than a year, preferring to milk unemployment and Jace’s grandparents for cash as much as he could. Jace had resolved to never be like him, and doubled down on his efforts in school, aiming for college, as an opportunity to get out from under his father. His intellect and drive only led his father to brand him a faggot, and when Jace found that he was gay, he didn’t dare breathe a word of his to his father, who could have a substantial rage when he was drunk, which was more and more these days. 

And now, after a few months of bliss, away at school, he had to go back. He pulled into the driveway, and the first thing he noticed was that someone had mowed the lawn. Usually it was a mess of tall grass and tangled weed, but it was freshly shorn. He wasn’t quite sure what to make of it, in all honesty. He went in through the front door, and gasped–the whole fucking house was just like the lawn. It was clean.

Pictures were hung on the walls. The carpet was vacuumed and the tile was mopped. Lightbulbs were changed that had been out when he’d left for school in the fall. He had no idea what was happening, and when he went into the living room, he found his father sitting there and waiting for him, though it certainly wasn’t the father he recalled.

He beamed at Jace when he saw him, got up and gave him a hug, telling him he was so glad he was home, and when he did, Jace felt…something start to grow and curdle inside him, something he didn’t understand at first. His dad pulled him into the kitchen, told him he had dinner all ready for him, sat Jace down and started bringing him all of this food, and Jace, who had always been careful with his food and drink, found himself stuffing his face greedily, and when the six pack of beer appeared next to the place, he pulled one free without a second thought, and guzzled it down, letting some of it run down his chin.

When he’d finished, it was a different sort of Jace sitting there in the chair. Gut doubled in size, head shaven, tattoos appearing all up and down his arms and legs, piercings in his ears and face. He sneered at his dad and said, “Fuck, at least ya can still cook a good meal, for a old faggot. Go on then, I know what ya really want.”

His dad was on his knees, face between his son’s thighs sucking on his cock, and Jace smelled something, some musk rising up around him. His musk, of course. He raised an arm and took a whiff of his own pits, enjoying the scent, knowing that it would drive his horny father wild too. School was already fading from his mind–why the fuck would he leave a cushy gig like this? A horny father who took care of him day and night, who would do anything for a load of his son’s cum? What lout would turn that down?

“Been a while since I’ve had the boys over,” Jace said, “Ya wouldn’t mind cookin’ again, right? Ya know how much they all can eat. If you’re real good, we’ll all fuck that old hole of yours, how’s that sound?”

“Sounds amazing son,” his dad said, and went back to sucking on his cock. Yep, this was the life, and Jace wouldn’t trade it for anything, anymore.

Caption: Daddy Issues #3 – Evan the Roughneck

Hey all! For the month of April, I’m taking a break from The Pigtown Chronicles, and will be posting some caption stories instead. We’ll have captions Monday through Thursday, and I’ll be posting some longer stories on Fridays.

Evan wasn’t supposed to have even gone to college, if his dad had had his way. He grew up in the sticks in a small town. HIs dad, Gary, ran the only real construction crew in town, and made good money fixing up everything beyond what a handyman could handle, and he’d expected his son to be a proper man’s man, drop out of high school, learn the trade, and follow in his footsteps. Of course, Evan had ended up, in his father’s opinion, a total sissy. He’d given up on him really, and just to get out from under his father’s house, he’d taken on a bunch of loans to get to college in the big city, just as a chance to breathe. But now, he climbed into his car and got ready for the drive home, bracing himself for the culture shock he knew he’d feel after a few months in civilization, back under his dad’s roof.

It was a good four hour drive home, and Evan spent the whole time mulling over his father. He was so focused on it, really, that he didn’t notice as things started changing around him. The pack of gum in the console became a can of skoal, and without thinking about it, he popped it open, packed his upper and lower lips, and just let the spit drool out onto the shirt he was wearing, which had come a grungy looking t-shirt, his pants now ripped camo shorts. The radio switched over to the country station, and rather than change it, he found himself enjoying it. About an hour out from town, he pulled over to use the rest area, got out, but in the bathroom, despite having to piss like a racehorse, he just…couldn’t. He had to save it, didn’t he? He went back out to the lot, climbed into the sizable pickup that had replaced his little junker sedan, and sped off down the highway, eager to get home, finally.

He pulled into his dad’s driveway, hopped out, went inside, and sure enough, there was his lazy fucking father, passed out on the couch, wearing the coveralls for work that he pretty much never took off, even on the weekends. 

Evan jumped up on the couch, boots on either side of his dad’s flabby body, and spit right in his face, making him jump. “Hey pig, open yer fuckin’ mouth, yer boy’s gotta fuckin’ piss.”

He didn’t even wait for Gary to open up, just hauled out his cock, and unloaded all over him and the couch, his dad confused and sputtering for a moment, but once he smelled it, he sat up, opened wide, and drank down as much of his boy’s sweet piss as he could. Once he’d finished, the two of them looked at each other, trying to reconcile what they had expected with what they were looking at, but the smell of them both, and the piss all over them, only made them hornier.

“Fuck son, been waitin’ fer ya tah get home,” his stupid dad drawled, and shoved his face into his rank underwear, “All the guys on the crew been plowin’ mah hole, jus’ like ya told ‘em to, but it just ain’t the same as mah boy’s big ass fuckstick…”

“Don’t ya worry Daddy, yer boy ain’t gonna be goin’ away again anytime soon,” Evan said, “Now roll over pig, let me see if that slutty hole a yers is still a little tight.”

Caption: Daddy Issues #2 – Evan the Bully

Hey all! For the month of April, I’m taking a break from The Pigtown Chronicles, and will be posting some caption stories instead. We’ll have captions Monday through Thursday, and I’ll be posting some longer stories on Fridays.


James’s father, Paul, was a health freak. He went to the gym five days a week, ran each morning before work, prepared only the healthiest of food, and had used all of this to rule over James’s body like a tyrant. James’s body, on the other hand, had never taken to his father’s rule well, and he’d struggled all his life trying to conform to Paul’s expectations for how he should look, and what he should do to get there. There was always just a bit too much fat, not enough muscle, why couldn’t he work harder. The question of sexuality was complicated by the fact his father essentially demanded a family from James, something he had no intention of giving him, of course. 

At college, finally free of his father’s strict hand, James had really let go, and already gained close to the Freshman 15 without even trying. He was terrified of what his father would say when he saw him, as he went up to the door and into the house, but his father wasn’t anywhere to be found. He eventually went up into the bedroom, after he heard someone grunting and groaning in there, and what he found made his jaw drop to the floor.

It was his dad, right? It had to be his dad. He could still see some of the resemblance there, but so much of it was…well, it was how fat he was, first of all. He was struggling where he was tied to the chair, and he was so heavy, he could hear the wood creaking under him, his father’s eyes horrified at what had happened to him. James felt a bit dizzy, and retreated from the room and into the bathroom, his body heating up, muscles cramping, after once the discomfort had subsided, he stood up, looked in the mirror, and was staring at a body just as unfamiliar to him as his father’s now was.

Fuck–he was…hot. He was really hot. He ran his hands over his muscled body, groped his bulge through the jockstrap he now had on, and gave a little smirk, before going back out to where his father was still tied up.

“Fuck dad, look at you, really let yourself go while I was at school, eh?” he said, walked up, and started groping and teasing his dad’s massive body. Paul squirmed and jiggled away as best he could, but James could see the confusion in his eyes, and with a little digging under his massive gut, he found out why–his dad was rock hard. “Fuck, is this turning you on old man? You fucking pig? Having your hot jock son play with your fat and tease you is getting you off?” He pulled his hand out, covered with his dad’s precum, took out his gag and fed it to him off his fingers.

“Please, I…I’m so fucking hungry, but I don’t know what’s wrong with us. Please son, we need to get help.”

“I’ll tell you what we need to get,” James said, picking his dad’s phone up off the counter. “We need five extra large pizzas here ASAP, and I’m going to feed every one of them to you. Then, when you’re good and stuffed, pig, I’m gonna bend you over and fuck that fat ass of yours. I have a feeling you’re gonna love it.”

Caption: Daddy Issues #1 – Conrad the Disciplinarian

Hey all! For the month of April, I’m taking a break from The Pigtown Chronicles, and will be posting some caption stories instead. We’ll have captions Monday through Thursday, and I’ll be posting some longer stories on Fridays.


Four freshmen in college met during a meeting of the college’s queer group, and quickly bonded over a common problem they shared–their fathers. It wasn’t uncommon for young gay guys to have daddy issues of course, but for them, coming out at home was still an impossibility. While each of their fathers was different, what tied them all together was their desire to control their son’s lives, and an unwillingness to accept anything other than the straightest of behavior from all of them. As they shared their woes, and prepared to go home for winter break, a mischievous little sprite was listening in on their discussion. It didn’t seem fair to the sprite, not at all. But magic always came with a cost. They could have fathers who were more agreeable, sure, but they too, would have to change as well.

Conrad’s father, Harry, was a cop, in just about every sense of the word. He worked on the police force of the city, but lived in the outlying suburbs. He was a real piece of work, and he’d ridden Conrad every moment of his life, trying to “man him up” and get him to follow in his footsteps, train him into what he considered to be a proper young man, and none of it had stuck. Now he was off to college and studying literature–what a waste in his opinion. He’d refused to pay for any of it, and Conrad was currently relying on loans to make it though. He couldn’t find somewhere to stay on break, and so, he resigned himself to going home for a few weeks. He arrived, stepped inside, and was greeted by a sight so strange, it took him a moment to understand what he was looking at.

It was his father, naked, wrestling with a leather harness that seemed to have a life of its own. “God damn it, what the fuck is this shit? Conrad, help!” he shouted when he saw his son, but Conrad just gawked, then looked around, and saw a box by the door addressed to his father. As he watched, something crawled out, scuttled across the floor, flew and shoved itself into Harry’s mouth, wrapping around his head–a ball gag and head harness. It distracted him long enough the harness could crawl onto him, followed by a pair of boots, and a butt plug with a curly black tail on the end, that flew into his father’s ass, making him howl as he crawled around, in distress.

Conrad took a step forward, only for more gear to crawl out of the box and start crawling across the floor towards him. He backed up, but before he could get out the front door, the arms of a rubber cat suit wrapped their way around his legs and pulled them out from under him. He fought them off as long as he could, but something…was wrong with them. He could hear something, hear a voice, soothing him, relaxing him, telling him all sorts of filthy, wicked thoughts.

He stood up after a few moments, fully clothed in his gear, and he felt different. Taller, more muscular. He walked past his father, still struggling on the floor with his gear, went to his humidor, took out a cigar and lit it for himself, before walking back, kicking him over and putting a boot on his father’s neck.

“There’s going to be some changes around here, piggy,” Conrad said, his usually meek voice now full of confidence. “Yeah…gonna…gonna train you into a proper little pig slut, yeah. You tried to make a man out of me, pig, well what do you think? Is this man enough for you?”

He pressed down, and saw his father go a little limp, aside from his cock, which was rock hard and leaking. 

“I’m the man who’s gonna make a proper pig out of you, and I’ll love every second of it. You will too, soon enough. Now, I wanna hear you squeal.”

Commission – Bottom-Up Selling

This was a commission from last year I’ve been sitting on for a bit, but wanted to finally share it. It was commissioned and edited by J. Swartz. He’s a very fine author himself, and published a book called “The Initiate” a few years back that I was quite fond of. If you like bears, bondage, BDSM, and some sexy artwork to go with it, I’d recommend taking a look! You can find it over on amazon here, if you’re interested. Hope you enjoy!


John looked up at the clock and sighed. These last couple of hours were always the worst part of the shift. He loosened his tie a bit and straightened up the desk. Noah, the night auditor, was a stickler for neatness, and if the front desk wasn’t just so when he arrived to relieve John at  eleven, there would be passive-aggressive notes left in his mailbox the next day. Still, the job  wasn’t that bad, in the grand scheme of things. John had started here a couple months back, on a recommendation from one of his professors, Dr. Farnham.  

Having been accepted to UCLA on a football scholarship. John wasn’t the best when it came to school work. As such, he was pursuing a relatively easy business management major. Farnham had recommended the position to him as a good way to bulk up his relatively weak resume, and was offering him extra credit too. That was handy since John hadn’t been doing great in Farnham’s Psychology class either. Working on the weekends sucked, knowing he couldn’t be out at the bars having fun with his college friends. Still, LA was an expensive city, so he wasn’t going to complain about his generous compensation. So three evenings a week, John was planted behind the hotel front desk, checking folks in mostly in the afternoons. By the time evening rolled by, aside from the occasional late businessman, there wasn’t much to do. The door chimed, and an older fellow in a suit walked up to the front desk, rolling a suitcase behind him. “Welcome to Windell Suites,” John said, “Do you have a reservation?” 

The man smiled and shook his head. “No reservation, I’m afraid.”  

“No worries, I have some vacancies,” John said, and pulled up the available inventory on the computer. “Okay Sir, you’re in luck! I have a single queen, lake view, available for $120 a night–”  

“Oh, that won’t do,” the man frowned, “I’m going to require the executive suite.” John was taken aback at this, and the businessman cleared his throat. “And quickly, if you would, young man.”  

“Oh, well…” John muttered, wondering if he could come up with a good excuse. The manager hated it when the executive suites got reserved first. They cost more, sure, but they took three times as long to clean, and it was cheaper to leave them empty until the end of the night, selling the less expensive suites first. Bottom-up selling, his professor had called it once, he thought.  Trying once more to steer the guest away from the top level of the hotel, John explained,  “Sir, I assure you, our smaller rooms are quite comfortable.”  

The businessman’s smile hardened and his tone became icy. “The suite is available, isn’t it?”  John gulped at this. Apparently, he wasn’t going to be able to talk his way out of this one. “The executive suite is available, yes Sir. It runs $540 a night.”  

The businessman chuckled. “Actually, I’ll be getting the specialty rate.”  

John winced. “Excuse me?”  

Nodding towards the back office, the guest explained coolly, “You’ll find my name on the VIP list. Kip Walker, friend of the owner’s family.”  

John resisted the urge to grumble, slipped into the office, and checked the owner’s personal VIP list. Sure enough, there he was. Closing his eyes, John rubbed his forehead and let out a sigh.  Not only was this guy going to be a high maintenance guest, he was buddies with upper  management. John had to give Mr. Walker what he wanted, and there was nothing he could do  about it.  

Masking his annoyance with a cheery smile, John re-emerged from the office. “Sorry about that, Mr. Walker,” he said. “Let’s get that reservation straightened out.” John took the guest’s credit card and created his room key. All the while, he kept getting a rather peculiar vibe from the older fellow. He wasn’t particularly imposing, an average frame concealed in a suit, glasses, short  haircut, mustache, but the way he kept looking at John was unsettling. Relief washed over the  him as Mr. Walker made his way to the elevator, and especially thankful he’d only reserved the room for one night. He’ll be the night auditor’s problem soon enough, John thought.  The rest of the evening was smooth and dull. Noah arrived on time as always, and John filled him in on the shift’s events, including the odd businessman in the executive suite. Noah just nodded, like he was familiar with this particular customer, but didn’t share insight. John was about to clock out, when the front desk phone rang. Noah answered it, then handed it to John. Wondering who in the hotel would ask for him, John took the receiver, listened for a few seconds, and hung up.  

Without saying anything to Noah, John clocked out. However, instead of heading for the parking lot, John entered the elevator and rode it to the top floor. Noah just chuckled. He should have known the new guy was one of Walker’s boys, it made sense now. Noah got the receipts in  order and began working on balancing the accounts for the day, while John got ready for a party he didn’t know he’d been invited to, where he was going to be the main attraction.  

***  

“Well Al, I must say you have out done yourself with this one. Truly one of the nicest specimens you’ve brought to our little club to date.”  

John shook his head, and tried to remember what had happened. The last thing he clearly  recalled was picking up the phone at the desk, and then…nothing. Now, he was standing in the  middle of a room that he slowly recognized as the executive suite, the one he’d given to that  strange businessman earlier in the evening. Sure enough, Mr. Walker was in the room with him,  along with his professor, the one who had gotten him the job here to begin with. Al Farnham was  a taller fellow, mostly slender but with a bit of a gut. Now in his sixties, he’d had a rather wild  youth, before going straight. Farnham’s hippie roots still shone through, and his theories about  psychology were rather unorthodox, but what was he doing here, with Mr. Walker? And why was John here at all? John started to ask, but then caught sight of himself in the mirror across the room, and a more pressing question posed itself. What the hell was he wearing?!  

John’s hotel uniform was gone, and on his legs clung a pair of black stockings, attached to silk garters, pulled up over his hairy calves, and strapped to a belt around his waist under his gut,  which left his crotch and ass exposed. Or at least, it exposed the black lace panties he’d been  squeezed into at some point while he was out. The fabric was cutting into John a bit, especially at the parts of him where he had a little extra weight; his ass, under his gut, and around his thighs. John’s thick cock was bulging out, and his muscular ass had the material stretched thin. He had a silk and leather harness buckled around his chest, with a cut out for his pecs. The material seemed to actually push them up and out, making them even more prominent than they usually were. His hands were bound above his head, and then the rope was wound into an intricate weave between his upper arms and around his shoulders, before reaching above him to a beam in the ceiling. It was effective at suspending him upright, and the rope had been pulled tight enough that he couldn’t quite rest easily, forcing him to keep his heels raised up and standing on the balls of his feet.  

“I should have gone a size up, didn’t expect him to be quite so thick,” Farnham mused, as he groped John’s ass with one hand, squeezing his cheek through the silky, thin panties.  

“What–what the fuck is going on? What the fuck did you two perverts do to me?” John slurred, peering at the two older men in the room.  

“Us? Perverts?” Walker exclaimed, “Why, we’re not the ones wearing garters and strung up like a piece of meat, panty boy. If anyone here is a pervert, it would seem to be you.” 

His mouth agape at the businessman, John turned to Dr. Farnham. “Professor, what is  going on? Why…why can’t I remember anything?”  

“Now Johnny, don’t worry your pretty little head about any of it. Just enjoy yourself tonight–I have no doubt that you will put on quite the show. After all, I’ve been training you for it for a month now,” Farnham said, but his usually kind smile seemed quite a bit darker than usual.  

John tried to figure out what he meant by that, and he realized, slowly, that he’d been visiting Farnham’s office hours regularly for about a month. But he’d been working on his classwork, hadn’t he? He’d been doing poorly, but why couldn’t he recall what they’d talked about there? Had…had he been hypnotized, or something? He struggled harder, but the professor stroked John’s bearded face, gave him a little shush, and said, “Relax now–we can’t have you getting all worn out before the main event. Relax.”  

John moaned, and felt some of the fight go out of him, and he slumped slightly into the ropes holding him. “But…why am I here? What are you doing to me?”  

“We’re hosting a party tonight, for one of the city’s most exclusive clubs. You, John, are going to be our full service boy. You remember what that was from your hospitality classes, don’t you? Don’t tell me you fell asleep during that lecture too.”  

John gulped, figuring he had a good enough idea, but Farnham just stroked his cheek, imploring him to relax again, his voice growing softer.  

“That’s it sissy boy, just relax,” Farnham said, dropped his hand lower, and groped John’s sizable cock through the panties he was wearing. At that moment John realized, with some horror, that he was semi-hard. “Just relax and enjoy yourself,” Farnham whispered. “You want this, don’t you? Aren’t you excited, and you don’t even know why?”  

John shook his head, but moaned loudly when the professor kept teasing his cock, causing him to leak into the front of the panties.  

“Quit playing with him already,” Walker snapped, and handed Farnham a masquerade mask, just enough material to hide his identity. Walker was already wearing one. “The other guests are starting to arrive. We should get the cameras rolling.”  

“Cameras?” John asked in a stupor, and struggled a bit, but found it hard to put that much effort into it. His body just felt so slack and at ease. He had to fight, but it was difficult to convince his body to agree with him.  

Professor Farnham smiled at this. “Well of course, Johnny. We always tape our sessions here. Now, you will only refer to me as Mr. White, and Mr. Walker as Mr. Grey, until I say otherwise,  you will forget we have any other name. Better yet, you don’t really need to say anything at all.  We take the confidentiality of our clients very seriously.” The white-bearded man then pulled a  small remote out of his pocket, and turned the various cameras installed around the room on.  Together, they would give a complete record of everything that happened in the suite that night,  but most of them were pointed at John, to capture him at every angle.  

Suddenly, there was a knock at the door. Walker opened it and welcomed in another masked man, also wearing a suit. For the next ten minutes, a steady stream of other men followed. Most of them arrived alone, but some arrived with young men at their side, also masked, many of them wearing rather skimpy, sexy attire–leather, rubber, silk–all of them clinging to their older date’s arms rather happily. Every guest greeted Mr. White and Mr. Grey, and then came to admire the newest addition to their collective stable.  

They gathered around John, running their hands over his body, groping his cock, squeezing his ass, and while John pleaded with them all to stop, begged them to let him go, they all would just laugh and continue on, before congratulating Mr. White on his latest catch from the college. John realized, then, that the only person unmasked in the room was him, and the men were all using his first and last name. Everything was on camera! What if the team saw this? What if his parents did?! He struggled against the bonds, but he also knew it was too late. The only thing he could do was get through this, and figure out how to destroy the footage after, maybe.  

When all of the men had arrived and been poured a glass of champagne, Mr. White got their attention and gave John a proper introduction. A sophomore football player, a rather impressive tight end (bringing laughs from the men, and a blush to John’s cheeks), and of course, a secret sissy with a rather humiliating collection of fetishes that they would be displaying for all of these men this evening. “One of those fetishes is hypnosis,” the professor said, “please take the panty boy’s protestations this evening with…a grain of salt. He asked to be made unaware of the fact that he had asked for this–or rather, begged for it, repeatedly. I’m sure that by the time we’re through this evening, he’ll remember perfectly well just what kind of slut he is.”

John looked at the professor in confusion. That couldn’t be true, could it? He wouldn’t…want this to happen! “That’s not–I didn’t ask for this!”  

The men all laughed, and John’s face burned hotter still.  

“Now, Mr. Grey put up the initial investment for John here, and so, as usual, he will have the honor of breaking him in. After tonight, John will, of course, be available to all members through the usual avenues. Now, Mr. Grey, if you would,” the professor said, and bowed off to the side while Walker stepped up next to where John was suspended. The men clapped, and he took a bow.  

“Now, Mr. White here has asked me to demonstrate a few of our newest boy’s proclivities, which I am more than happy to do. First on the list, is that the sissy boy loves to be disciplined, don’t you?”  

John started to object, but not before Walker brought one of his palms down on John’s pantied ass, making him gasp in surprise. The sheer fabric did nothing to disguise the pain of the slap, but what surprised John most was that it felt…good, somehow. Not that it didn’t hurt, but that with the slap, there had been some strange burst of perverse delight in his mind, making his lip curl, and cock throb in the front of his panties. Walker gave his other cheek a smack, and this time, John groaned audibly, swinging out slightly from the force of the impact, and the men around them laughed.  

“You were going to say something, sissy boy?” Walker snarled.  

John panted, and then heard himself bleat, “M-More Daddy, please…I’ve been a naughty sissy boy.”  

“Yes you have, going around the school, pretending to be a big *smack* strong *smack* butch *smack* football player, all the while thinking about dressing up in panties and having a mean, old Daddy bend you over his lap and give you a proper spanking, you slut.”  

Walker fell into a rhythm after that, alternating cheeks, bringing out a collection of whimpers, moans, and shudders from John that horrified him, and yet felt so completely natural.

The suspension only increased his predicament, as he swung out slightly with each blow, only to come back as Walker brought his hand back down on his ass again. He stopped, and John  came to rest again, and then heard him pick up something behind him, step around, and hold up  a thick, wooden paddle.  

“What do you think of this, you little spank slut?! Think this will teach you your lesson?” 

Part of John was terrified, but all that escaped from his mouth was a moan, followed by, “Yes, Daddy.”  

John didn’t know how hard Walker was really swinging it, but each connection stung, and made John let out a scream. He twisted a bit further now, trying to evade the paddle, only for gravity to drag him back into position for another strike. Too late, he felt his cock throbbing, harder and harder with each blow, and with a loud cry, he came, filling the front of the sheer panties with a massive load of cum. He looked down, watched it spurt through the fabric and onto the floor, the men around them cheering and hooting at him, John’s face burning in absolute shame.  

He wasn’t quite sure what happened next, but his professor stepped up, whispered something in his ear, and John relaxed, deeper than he could really have thought possible. Distantly, he felt the ropes around his shoulders loosening and he was let down to the floor, where he collapsed into the professor’s arms. He was put on his knees, and Walker was saying  something, while the professor fit something in his mouth, and then, everything was a blur.  

***  

The next thing John knew, he was unbound, and lying against the foot of the bed on the floor, facing the TV. Looking around, the men had all disappeared other than Professor Farnham and Mr. Walker, who were sitting in a couple of chairs, smoking cigars, and watching the screen. John looked up, and saw that it was a video of him taken by the cameras in the room. He was on his knees, a spider gag stretching his mouth wide, while men surrounded him, jacking off, dumping their loads into his open mouth on splattering them across his face, all while John’s clearly hard cock hung out the front of his panties.  

“What do you think, John? It’s a good debut, don’t you think?” Farnham smirked, and sat back in the chair. “Should we post it on xtube tonight?”  

John stood up on aching legs, and sat on the bed, head in his hands, trying to figure out what to do about any of this. Beg? Plead? Fight?  

Taking a puff from his cigar, Farnham continued wistfully, “Then again, no one has to know about any of it. All you have to do is sign a two year contract as an escort with our exclusive club, and this video will stay in our archives, instead of being distributed to your parents, and blasted onto every computer on the college network.”  

John shuddered, and tried not to think about what a turn on that was for him all of a sudden. The idea of everyone on campus knowing he was a sissy panty slut, all of his coaches, his…father. His cock throbbed at the thought, and he pushed it away, horrified. “You–you did this to me, you made me want this.”  

“Did I?” Farnham chuckled, “Or did you ask me to do this to you? Come to my office with all of these secrets, wanting to make them a reality? You don’t remember, do you?” 

John gulped–he didn’t remember. He didn’t know at all.  

“Come on now, John. Be a good sissy boy, and put your name on the line,” Walker goaded impatiently, holding out the pen. “Do it quickly now, and you’ll get your reward.” What choice did he have? John tried not to think about how thrilling it was to put his name on the dotted line, knowing that any of those men from the night before would be able to use him now, whenever they wanted, that he was essentially a slave for all of them to spank and humiliate and degrade whenever they wanted to. As John signed his rights away, a look of evil satisfaction came to the businessman’s face.  

“That’s it bitch… Now get down here and thank me properly for disciplining you earlier,” Walker barked, and John looked over to see the man’s rock hard cock jutting out of his slacks. John gulped, then got down on his knees in front of him and started sucking. He hadn’t sucked many cocks before, and it wasn’t more than a minute before he grazed the shaft with a bit of teeth, and Mr. Walker picked up the riding crop from the table and brought it down hard on John’s ass, making his gasp. “No teeth, or I’ll have to gag you–but you’d probably like that, wouldn’t you? Go on, gag on it, get it good and wet for daddy, or you’re going to be at this for a while.”  

John redoubled his efforts, doing his best to lick and suck as Mr. Walker requested, until at last, he was rewarded with a load of cum. Finished with one, he moved over and sucked off his professor as well, who shot his load all over his face.  

Speaking softly, the professor’s gentle tone was undercut by the harsh directive. “Now, you  fucking slut… Get dressed, and wear that load all the way back to campus,” Farnham said, and  handed him a small flip phone. “This is for work. Always answer it, no matter when it rings. You’ll be given instructions and a location each time. Don’t be late, don’t be disobedient, and the video taken last night will never see the light of day.” He paused, grinned, and cooed, “Unless, of course, you want it to.” Farnham leered down at John, like he’d known the filthy thought that had crossed his mind a moment ago, his burly father seeing what a slut John was, bending him over his knee, and…  

John nodded and gulped, removed his party attire, and changed back into his hotel uniform before slipping out the back. Dawn was breaking over the horizon, but John took a moment to jack off in his car, his ass aching against even the soft seat, thinking about how it would feel on the hard classroom chairs. Fuck, what had his professor done to him? He came in the front of his slacks, cheeks burning with shame, and headed home. It was just two years, right? He’d be done by the time he graduated, and the fee he’d receive for each escort would be…substantial, according to the contract. 

John got what little rest he could, and in the morning, did his best to pretend that everything was normal. That is, until the sound of an unfamiliar ringtone interrupted his homework. He answered the flip phone, and a computerized voice on the other end instructed, “The executive suite has been reserved for a special guest after your shift this evening. He requested the same outfit as last night, you’ll find it in the drawers of the suite’s dresser. The party last night was a great success, you’re already booked out every night for the next two weeks. Get your rest, sissy boy.”  

They hung up before John could reply, and he felt his stomach churn in anticipation, terror, or both. Apparently, the only bottom at the hotel being up-sold now, was his.