Doug sat down in his leather armchair with a sigh, and his slave immediately filled his favorite pipe, lit it and slid it into his master’s mouth, before beginning the long ritual of servicing his smokemaster in the evening. His first duty was a thorough shining of Doug’s boots, followed by a full service foot massage, and then whatever kind of sex Doug might feel like having that night. However, as soon as he was settled, Doug heard a knock on the door to his dorm room, and perturbed that someone was disturbing his evening, he signaled for his slave to go answer the door. “Go see who it is,” he said, “and let them know I’m busy for the rest of the evening.”

“Yes sir,” he said and went to the door, however, as soon as his slave had unlocked the door and opened it a crack, the door flung back, smacking him in the face and he tumbled back, clutching his face. Clark was through the entry a moment later, and after a swift kick to the slave’s balls, he slammed his fist into his jaw, knocking him out in a single, impressive blow.

“I was wondering when one of you would show up,” Doug said, “After I heard what happened to Len, and with Grant going all weird, I figured it was only a matter of time.”

Clark went back over and shut the door, saying, “Yeah, well, I’m tired of trying to rule as a group. I think we need a more dictatorial power structure.”

“I’m happy with that.”

Clark looked over his shoulder, cocking an eyebrow.

“No, really, I am. And I don’t really have much interest in being in charge either,” Doug said, puffing on his pipe, “Why do you think I haven’t made a move yet? I could tell from the first meeting that you, Marcus and maybe Jack were going to start in at each other’s throats as soon as the day was done. Me, I just want to be left alone.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“Why not?” Doug asked, “What did I ever do to you, exactly? Unlike some people, I don’t really find your…inadequacies all that fun to taunt, and I actually respect you more than the rest. Marcus is completely paranoid, and Jack is, well, Jack. You seem like the most reasonable of the bunch. What can I do to help?”

“Thanks, but I’ll be ruling alone,” Clark said, “and I can’t really afford to have any other masters around to fuck me over later when I might have my back turned. Besides, I know that the tobacco you’ve been smoking each night here is designed to make anyone who gets it second hand suggestible to your commands. If you think I believe for a second that you wouldn’t intend to backstab me, or just rule from the sidelines, you must think I’m an idiot.”

Doug did his best to hide his surprise, but kept on smoking. How could Clark have known about his little gambit? “Maybe I was wrong,” he said, “I think you might be the paranoid one.”

“Oh hardly, do you think I’d just barge in on your home turf without investigating a little first? Now, let’s get the rest of this over with–I really don’t want to be here all night–I fucking hate smoke.”

“So you’ve said before,” Doug said, “I still don’t know why we can’t work together.”

“Because I already laced your tobacco, dumbass–I’m just here to finish you off.”

Doug coughed, getting the smoke out of him and setting the pipe aside and looking down at himself–however, nothing seemed different…aside from his crotch. Why in the world were his leather pants bulging out like that? And why was it so numb?

“Here, let me help you out with that,” Clark said. He walked over, pulling out a slim knife, and he cut open the crotch of his pants, revealing that his cock and balls were, well, not quite cock and balls anymore. First of all, they were bigger, but the shaft seemed slimmer and looked like it was bending in a strange fashion into a downward curve, and the flesh was colored strangely, a bit dark, but with a pattern almost like wood grain. On the other hand, his balls were sagging down below that, but it was almost like his balls were shrinking as his sack was growing, leaving only a large flesh pouch behind.

“What…what in the world…” Doug said, slurring his words a bit. It was hard to focus–how could he have been so stupid?

“Here, keep smoking–you aren’t quite finished yet, Doug,” Clark said, slipping the pipe back into the pipebear’s mouth, and watching his continue smoking, even though he was terrified of what might happen–or keep happening. Indeed, as he smoked the rest of the bowl his cock lengthened and the curve grew more exaggerated. Doug knew what it was becoming now–it was becoming some strange cross between a cock and a pipe stem. When Clark ran his hand along the shaft, a bit curious himself what it might feel like, Doug felt a shiver run down his back. The flesh was still sensitive, but hard and smooth like wood. The head narrowed a bit, but the glans remained as the changes slowed, leaving him with an eight inch long pipestem cock. Below that, his scrotum grew bigger still, and his balls disappeared entirely. With a sharp pain, he felt a slit appear in the top of the pouch, and he was almost relieved when he realized that his bowl was finished, so that meant the changes were over, for now at least.

“Well would you look at that,” Clark said, “I think that gives a new meaning to the term ‘pipe bear,’ don’t you?”

“I’m gonna fucking kill you for this,” Doug said, but with his slurred voice and relaxed body, he didn’t seem very serious about his threat, and Clark laughed.

“Oh trust me Doug, you’re going to be too busy smoking to care–in more ways than one. Pity your balls had to go–I always was impressed with how big they were. How about we see if we can replace them with something better?” Clark said, pulling out a bag of tobacco, “I think I have just the thing for you.”

Doug tried to move his hands to fend Clark off, but they were as limp and rubbery as his wooden pipecock was rigid. Clark started shoving tobacco through the slit in his scrotum, filling it with tobacco, the skin growing more and more distended, the dark tobacco visible through the skin, making rendering it almost black when it was full. Completely packed, the slit opened up like the lip of a pipe bowl, but he didn’t light it, not yet.

“Now, having watched you enough, I know you need a smoker to get a pipe going. However, since your slave is incapacitated, and I don’t smoke, I suppose you’re going to have to start off ith some masturbation–how does that sound?

“I can’t…I can’t bend like that…” Doug said.

“Ha, you can know, since I borrowed a few of Len’s flexibility drugs from his room. He wasn’t going to need them anymore, after all.”Clark dropped his backpack to the ground and pulled out some rope. “Now, how about we get you all trussed up?”

The harness shot from Marcus’ gun slammed into Clark sideways, the leather arms wrapping their way around him, binding his arms to his sides and his legs together, the force of the hit sending him rolling across the room and crashing into Doug’s desk. Marcus stood in the doorway, a large gun, almost bazooka like, in his hands, the barrel smoking a bit.

“What the goddamn fuck is this?” Clark shouted, struggling against the leather wrapped around him, “Let me go you fuck!”

“No, I don’t think I’m going to do that, short stuff,” Marcus said, and Clark flew into a rage, screaming obscenities in Marcus’ direction, the kilted bear just smirking at him. Doug would have laughed himself if he wasn’t drugged, and he still had his cock and balls.

“I always wanted to see what would happen if I called him that,” Marcus said, walking over towards Doug and ignoring the tantrum of the cub on the ground. “Dang Doug, he really did a number on you, didn’t he?”

“Please, help me,” Doug said, “I can’t…I can’t move.”

“Oh, that’s alright–I don’t need you to go anywhere,” Marcus said, got down and dug through the rest of Clark’s pack. “Hmm…I see. Well, I think I know just how to fix this situation right up.” He walked over to Clark, who tried to bite him when his hand came near, but he grabbed one of the straps behind his head and dragged him over to where Doug was seated. “Alright. Clark, I think you really need to calm the fuck down already. And you know what helps people calm down? Smoking. I think it’s time you picked up the habit.”

“Oh you fucking pig!” Clark said, “I’m not smoking that shit!”

“Oh yes you are, aren’t you?”

Clark felt a shiver run through him from the leather, and realized that Marcus’ leather wasn’t going to let him refuse. Marcus propped him up on his knees in front of Doug and pushed him down, where Clark wrapped his lips around the head of Doug’s new cock.

“Alright Doug–any advice for a first time pipe smoker like Clark here?”

“Fuck you, Marcus.”

“Well, guess that means you’re on your own then, doesn’t it?” Marcus took out the matches from Clark’s pack, lit one, and started burning the top of the tobacco, Clark sucking down his first smoke, taking too much into his lungs and coughing it back up. “Take it easy there Clark–you have a lot to smoke here–I wouldn’t want you to burn yourself out.” It took a few tries and a couple of false lights, but eventually Doug’s pouch was burning nice and even, and Clark was sucking down the smoke, unable to resist the compulsion of the straps binding him in place, and feeling a sinking feeling grow in his stomach. After all, this wasn’t just normal tobacco he’d been planning on making Doug smoke. For his part, the pipe bear was slumped in his armchair, moaning and sighing in pleasure. The heat in his sack, and the feel of Clark’s mouth around the head of his cock, pulling the smoke through him–it was amazing, better than pretty much any sex he’d had before, and that was saying something. He wished that he had a bowl of his own to smoke, knowing that would just make it all the better, but he was still trying to figure out some way out of this situation before things could get worse for him, but looking down, he realized that it was Clark who was more likely going to get the shit end of the stick here.

First of all, it was clear that Clark was no longer a cub. From where Doug sat, he could see his hairline beginning to recede a bit, the process speeding up as he drew more smoke into his mouth, the light brown hair turning losing color strand by strand until it was completely white. The tight goatee he usually wore expanded onto his cheeks while the hair on his chin disappeared, leaving him with a set of friendly mutton chops, making him look more like a distinguished polar bear than an angry, vengeful cub. From where Marcus was standing, he could see the rest of Clark slowly change as he smoked. His muscles were already atrophying with age, his body replacing them with sagging fat, the leather bands slowly expanding to account for his new girth, a double chin growing under his chops, and his ass filling out as well. As he smoked, Marcus noticed that Clark had to keep shifting position a bit to keep smoking the pipe, and he realized that the already short cub was actually shrinking even more. There was little doubt that when he stood up that he would be a dwarf–though a very fat one at that, maybe even larger around than he was tall.

Clark, for his part, was too busy fighting off the mental changes to worry about what was happening to his body, but the smoke was winning, little by little. He felt that cold ball of anger in his gut slowly start unraveling. As he smoked, a strange calm was settling over him, and he actually felt…happy. Maybe even content. It was a sensation so foreign to him that it was terrifying. All his life, it was the anger which had propelled him forward and upward, without it, he didn’t know what he would do. It had been his guiding light, and when it started to flicker and die out, he didn’t know what to do, but before too long, it was simply gone, and he felt…peaceful. Maybe even serene. He stopped fighting against the bands then, and instead focused on enjoying his smoke. Having dispensed with his anger, the calmness started in on the rest of him, shriveling up Clark’s massive cock to a very modest four inches, his balls pulling up and contracting, as the sudden lack of testosterone thinned out his body hair, leaving him quite smooth all over. With his burning lust now gone as well, and with a completely impotent cock, Clark felt completely adrift. He didn’t know, for the first time in his life, what to do with himself.

Then he heard the moans of pleasure coming from Doug, and his chest started filling up with something else. Maybe he couldn’t feel much pleasure anymore, after all, these old bones of his weren’t exactly made for sex anymore, but he could still bring pleasure to others–and what was wrong with that? He started working his mouth up and down the shaft of Doug’s cock, making the pipe bear moan louder, and he felt…happy. Happy that a fat old man like himself could still bring someone pleasure. His clothes shimmered in the air, seething beneath the leather straps, and Marcus saw that they were actually becoming more conservative, his polo reforming into a pressed and starched shirt, vest and suit coat, his khakis becoming dark navy slacks, his boots now leather loafers, and a pair of spectacles appeared, perched on his nose and completing the look, and Marcus figured it was time to work on Doug as well. He went over to one of Doug’s many pipe racks, pulled one down and filled it with tobacco from the second pouch Clark had brought along with him, and he stuck it in Doug’s mouth.

“No, please…don’t…” Doug managed to gasp.

“Don’t worry, I think you’ll like this one,” Marcus replied, “Now smoke it all down, like a good cub.”

Doug, still unable to resist a command, helped Marcus get the pipe lit, and the tobacco was surprisingly harsh and young, almost biting him as he inhaled it, and he watched his body fill out with more muscle, growing a bit younger in the process. Fuck, it was sexy watching his daddy smoke his cock, but Doug needed more–he needed to cum. His arms were still weak, but as he changed, growing younger and thicker, he wrapped his hands around the back of Clark’s old head and started thrusting his stem in and out of his old throat, Clark taking it happily, pleased to be bringing his new cub such pleasure, and he felt the smoke suddenly start pumping its way into him, and he inhaled as much as he could, the smoke now natural in his aged, well practiced lungs, and the changes advanced even further for him, aging him a bit more, filling out his fat frame, his cock shrinking down to about an inch and a half, and insuring that for the rest of his life, the entire focus of his life would be bringing as much pleasure to his new grandcub and his pipe cock as he could.

Dougie, on the other hand was barely satisfied after that massive orgasm. He was just so horny all of a sudden, but his pouch had collapsed into ash and gone out. Lovingly, Clark emptied the remnants out of his scrotum, and ran a pipe cleaner up the stem of Doug’s cock, making the muscle cub shiver with delight. “Oh granddaddy,” Dougie said, “I’m still so fucking horny. Smoke me again, smoke another bowl.”

“Of course, Dougie, grandbear will do anything for his little cub, you know that,” Clark said, and got up and hurried around the room, dragging along a stool to reach anything around the room which was too high for him, but he didn’t resent his height anymore. In fact, he rather liked his image in the mirror, the short, plump dwarf of a daddy sent a little sexual thrill through him, even if he hadn’t cum in ages, and when his cub picked him up and fucked him with his pipe, he couldn’t be happier.

He looked around the room, suddenly aware of the fact that they were alone. Hadn’t there been two others here? Mar…Mark and…and someone else? No, he must just be getting old. He and his cub had been alone all evening surely. He found his favorite tobacco and started stuffing his impatient grandcub’s sack. “How about after I get this burning, you give your grandbear a good smokey fuck, would my little cub like that?”

“Oh yeah daddy,” Dougie said, “I’d love that lots.”

Unnoticed, Marcus had slipped out, dragging Doug’s still unconscious slave along with him. With some reprogramming, he’d make a fine addition to his security personnel. Now, however, he had to talk to his mystery caller. He was going to find the resistance and crush it out, and then all that would be left between him and complete control would be Jack. And really, how much of a fight could a nasty old redneck like him really put up?

Matt’s words caught in his mouth–he didn’t have an answer. What did he want to be? he didn’t even know anymore. Did he want to be his old self, the cloistered, terrified Christian who was socially hamstrung by his fear of sinning against God? Did he just want to be some dumb laborer, someone who didn’t care about the fact that Tom ruled his life with an iron fist, but who could still have a good, carefree time? Did he want to be the fiery cub desperate for anal? A good, proper daddy for Terry, someone to take care of him, and be with him? He didn’t know–he honestly, had no idea who he wanted to be. In the mirror, he couldn’t make out his reflection–it kept shifting and slipping out of his sight, and he looked away, not wanting to know what sort of image it might settle on. “I don’t know,” he said, “I don’t know who I want to be anymore.”

“Well that’s too bad,” Max said, “because pretty soon, those smokes you had are gonna start choosing for you. Still, if you don’t know what you want, there’s nothing I can do for you.” He unlocked the door of the changing room and left, Matt shaking his head, getting up and following him out, but not before slipping his butt plug back in without even noticing.

“There has to be something you can do. Why can’t you just stop it?”

“I already told you, the magic doesn’t work like that.”

“But–”

Max wheeled around suddenly and stalked back towards Matt, “Listen–I don’t give a fuck about your tiny, little problems. As far as I’m concerned, there’s no difference between who you end up ass–because you’ll still just be a weak, sniveling brat. Now get out of my goddamn store.”

Matt left–he wasn’t about to stick around and try and argue with an Alpha, but as he left the mall, he realized that he’d just confirmed the worst possibility–the smoke was still changing him, and apparently there was nothing he could do to stop it, beyond becoming someone entirely new, and he didn’t know if he could face that. Of course, it was going to happen to him no matter what, whether it was the asscub’s slow burn over the next week, or whether he went back to Bear Boutique and Max agreed to change him–he was, this version of him, was running on borrowed time.

He got back to campus and returned to his dorm room, hoping Terry would be back. He needed to talk to him about this, he needed help. Terry always said the right thing, he always knew what to do. Matt realized that he was the daddy here–that he was the one who should be leading the way, but he just…couldn’t. He didn’t know what to do, and even if he did know what to do, he would still be too scared to do much of anything. However, the room was empty–Terry must still be out on his errand. However, then Matt spotted the shorts on the ground, the same denim ones Terry had been wearing when he left, and he saw on the inside of the seat a smear of cum and…blood…

Matt rushed out of the room and down the hall to the bathroom, banging open the door and hearing a shower running. “Terry? Terry are you in here?” he called.

“Here…I’m here,” Terry’s voice said, sounding exhausted from behind the shower curtain. Matt went over and pulled the curtain back, but couldn’t bear to look for more than a few moments, before looking away and covering his mouth. Terry was sitting in the cramped, standing shower, the water raining down on him, already on the way towards going cold. “Heh…I guess…I guess I must be quite the sight,” Terry said, trying to smirk with his fat lip but only managing to wince, the one eye which wasn’t black and swollen shut leaked a tear into the shower water. “He got…a bit rougher than I was expecting. I just thought I’d take a shower, and…and get some of it off…” he said, and then he was sobbing, and Matt was down under the water with him, pulling him into a tight hug, feeling the lash marks criss-crossing Terry’s back and then he was crying himself, but he had to be strong. He had to.

“Come on, let’s get you into bed. You need to rest for a bit.”

“All this…All this and I didn’t even learn anything we didn’t already know,” Terry said, “I told him to stop, but he just…he just wouldn’t…”

“I know, here, let me dry you off,” Now that Terry was standing Matt was better able to survey the damage, and while most everything was superficial and would heal over time, Matt was much more worried about how Terry was dealing with this in his head, as his cub kept sobbing his eyes out. A few of the lash marks on his back were still weeping blood, but Matt toweled them off, hoping they would stay clean, and then helped Terry back down the hall to their room, where he tucked him into bed.

“God, I hurt all over…” Terry moaned, “I just…I just wanted…”

“Shush,” Matt said, “Just sleep for a bit, you have to…you have to rest…”

Terry looked up at him then, and a slight smile crossed his face, “When did you dye your hair, Matt? I like…firetops…” and then he was asleep, and Matt’s own problems crashed back into him. He got up off the bed and looked at himself in the mirror, and sure enough, his hair had turned the same bright red as the cub he’d been earlier. He still had his beard, at least for the moment, but he stripped down out of his now wet clothes and saw that his body hair had thinned out quite a bit, also turning red, and that he was wearing a different jock than the one he had on earlier–a bright red one. It was happening just like in the changing room, and it might even be happening faster than Max had led him to believe, but still…he did look…kind of hot.

He wasn’t really hot yet, not by a long shot, no. Maybe in a few days, when a bit more fat had filled in, and some of this body hair had gone away, then he’d be damn sexy. There wouldn’t be a single bear in the baths who wouldn’t want to use his ass. Oh fuck, would that be hot, climbing into one of the slings there, and just begging every man who passed by to use him like the little asswhore he was made to be. Hell, why not just…just go do it now? He was way to wound up about all of this. Maybe what he really needed was to relax, and everyone knew there was nothing quite as relaxing as a good, rough fuck. Matt was working the plug in and out of his hole at this point, his other hand massaging his much smaller cock through the pouch of his jock, and he already knew that he’d never be hard again without a cock or a fist in his ass, but why was that a bad thing? Why should be be ashamed of these desires? Why should he be scared of this?

He searched for a reason. He needed a reason. He knew that if he couldn’t find one, that he was going to be unable to stop himself from going to the baths right now, finding some big cocked bear and begging him to ream his ass. That without some reason, without something else to guide him, the cub was going to win, and that he was no longer sure there was anything wrong with that, but in the mirror, he saw that there was a reason.

Terry. He couldn’t leave Terry, not like this, not ever. And then, it struck him. He was angry. Not just mad, but truly furious at what had happened to his cub. Not just at the trustee who had beaten him to a pulp, though a good amount of what he was feeling was directed there. He was angry at himself. He was angry that he wasn’t there, that he hadn’t taken care of his cub, that in some twisted way he knew that this was his fault. He’d sent Terry off into harms way without knowing he’d be safe, and now…now he was hurt, and Matt was too busy thinking about cock to even do anything for him.

No, the cub couldn’t win, but not for the reason Matt had first thought. He would like being that cub, he realized. It would be fun, it would be freeing, he would be popular, and well liked, and he would like himself. It wouldn’t be a bad life, not by a long shot, or at least not a bad life in this world. No, the cub couldn’t win because then Terry would be alone. The cub couldn’t win because Matt had to be his daddy–he had to protect him, and cherish him, and raise him…and suddenly, Matt found that he did know who he wanted to be. He walked over and gave Terry a kiss on the forehead, wishing he could stay, but he couldn’t let the cub get any stronger than he already was. He had to go back to Bear Boutique, and ask for Max’s help. He wondered, for a moment, whether he was making the right choice–the moral choice–but Matt didn’t know. All he knew, was that it was the choice he had to make, for him, but even more for Terry.

Chapter 5

Marcus leaned back in his office chair a bit, splaying his legs apart and with one hand shoved his slave’s head down further onto his cock under his kilt, while he stared at the bulletin board next to his desk. He’d stared at this thing for so long now that he could probably replicate it perfectly in his mind, and he let out a growl of dismay. The resistance. They were planning something, they had to be–it’s what he would be doing in their position at least. They must know by now that Tristan and Erikson were missing, so then why were they doing nothing about it? Why not shout it from the rooftops, and try to spark a revolt? What were they even doing?

He frowned a bit, wondering if he’d overestimated their abilities. Still, better than he overestimate rather than underestimate them, and there was the other conflict going on that he needed to focus on, this infighting amongst the masters. He’d been keeping tabs on all of their activities, and Clark taking down Len was no surprise, though Jack’s aggression towards Grant was a bit unexpected. They had usually gotten along fairly well, surprisingly enough–so then why target Grant, instead of trying to forge an alliance? Still, that just left four of them now, including him and Doug. Doug didn’t seem too inclined to get involved at all and as far as Marcus could tell, he hadn’t made moves against anyone, but he might just be sneakier than the rest. A voice told him he was probably just being paranoid, but isn’t that exactly what he should be at the moment?

Marcus just wanted order–he was tired of all of these variables he couldn’t easily account for getting in the way of making sure the campus was peaceful. He was just going to have to get rid of all of them eventually, he realized. That was the only way to get things back to normal. Once he was in charge of campus, no one would have to know, but then he could know everything. He could put cameras everywhere, he could know everything about everyone. On one, then, would be able to make a move he couldn’t predict–no one–and once that happened, then maybe he could stop feeling so paranoid.

He didn’t hear the phone ring at first, because he wasn’t expecting a call from anyone, and when it did finally intrude into his thoughts, he almost let it go to voicemail, because if he wasn’t expecting a call, that meant that something else was going on that he didn’t know about, and that meant it might be a trap. He thought it over, decided the risk was minimal, and picked up the receiver. “Marcus McSimmon, Security Sevices,” he said.

“Hello Marcus, I’m calling to put in a tip, about the resistance.”

Definitely not what he was expecting. Who in the world would know something about the resistance that he didn’t already know? “Who is this?”

“I’d rather stay anonymous,” the voice said.

Marcus covered the receiver with his hand, and said to his slave, “Trace the number. See if you can tell me anything about who this guy is.” His slave immediately got up and hurried into another room, where he started the trace, Marcus keeping an eye on the clock, knowing it would be a few minutes before he had any information, and he spoke into the phone again, “Alright, what’s your information?”

“Hold on, I have something I want, first. I want you to get rid of Clark Bonarte. Then I’ll tell you everything I know.”

“Why in the world should I think you have anything?..Hello?” Marcus said, but the line was dead. He set the phone down, already knowing that his slave hadn’t gotten anything useful out of fifteen seconds, but he had a good idea of who the caller might have been. Clark had gotten a bit rough with the trustees a few days ago, and if there was anyone who might have some information that Marcus didn’t, it would be someone pretty high up. How did he know, though, that his wasn’t just a ploy? That whoever was calling wasn’t just trying to spur more infighting between the masters? Well, then again, of course that’s what they were doing, and probably looking for a little revenge along the way. Clark was an unpredictable shithead though, Marcus knew that much, and getting him out of the way would be one less thing he’d have to worry about complicating the larger picture, and if the caller did have something on the resistance, then all the better for him.

“Slave, give me the whereabouts of Clark Bonarte–put him up on my screen if you can.”

“Yes sir, here’s the feed sir.”

The screen of Marcus’s computer flickered to life, showing a security feed of Clark crossing campus, his slave following meekly behind him on a leash. Clark deduced from the direction he was heading that there was probably only one place he was likely going–Doug’s dorm room. Marcus got up out his chair, a bit pleased that he would be able to hit two bears with one dart, and he headed for the security armory. He’d been stocking up tools just for situations like this, and he already had a feeling that Doug and Clark could both use some time in the other’s shoes.

Chapter 4

“Are you sure the lead is a good one?”

“Yeah, TJ dropped a word in all the right places, and what do you know, the guy calls me the very next day. He must have really been interested in finding someone to fuck,” Terry said, “I’ll give him a good squeeze, and see what pops out.” He pulled on those denim shorts which hugged his ass so tight, and Matt felt excitement pulse through him, not that his cock would respond. For what felt like the hundredth time today, he reached around and gave his ass a scratch, frustrated by how it kept itching. It had been two days since his run in with Butch and Leon, and the effects of the smoke were still there, like Tom was taunting him, every time he had sex with Terry. It was just making him angry at this point, but he was doing his best to not let it show in front of his cub. Terry was already worried enough about him at this point, and there was no reason to give him more to stress about.

“And you’re certain he’s on the board?”

“Yes, Matt, quit fretting, I’ll be fine. This isn’t the first time I’ve handled a VIP client, trust me.”

“I do trust you. That’s not the problem. I don’t trust this guy you’re meeting especially if he won’t give you his name. I just…I just don’t want to put you in harms way for information which might not even be helpful.”

“Well, we won’t know until we ask, will we?” Terry said, leaning over and giving Matt a kiss, “Don’t worry Daddy, you still have my heart.” He gave Matt a wink, and the strutted out the door to his meeting. TJ had heard that someone on the board of trustees was looking for a cub to fuck, and he’d dropped Terry’s name in the offices. Matt hadn’t expected it to pan out, but now there Terry went, into the lion’s den–alone. Matt reached around and scratched his hole again, and now that he was alone, he slipped a finger in and let loose a little moan.

He still hoped it was just his imagination. He did get out as fast as he could, right? And there wasn’t any smoke around now, so how could he still be changing?

No, he couldn’t even let himself think about it, better to just think about how nice it felt having something in his hole, but he needed something bigger. He dug around for his fun bucket and pulled out one of his dildos, sliding it into his hole as easy as could be. He’d never been able to do that before, but suddenly everything, no matter how big, just slipped in so easily…it was hard to go all day without something up there all the time now. Yeah, he did love having something huge stretching his hole, he was such a asswhore, yeah, but god, he still wondered…wondered what it might be like to get fucked like this, with this amazingly sensitive hole. But he had to be a daddy for Terry, he had to be strong, but still…His thoughts drifted back to Tom suddenly, and with a force Matt couldn’t halt, back to their rough fucks. He’d always complained that Tom would shove his cock in too fast, but that wouldn’t be a problem now, and Matt bet that his ass would be able to last for fucking ever like this. Maybe…maybe he could just call him up for a quickie. Yeah, maybe Tom would be into that.

He was on the bed now, slamming the big dildo home over and over again, jacking his cock with the other hand, moaning Tom’s name over and over when he came, spurting his cum all over himself, licking up anything that landed by his mouth hungrily, and he finally came back to himself, and embarrassed, he hauled the dildo out, with some regret he noted, and put it back in the bucket.

It really was getting worse. It wasn’t just his imagination. He got up and looked at himself in the mirror. He didn’t have a measure or anything, but when he wore his overalls now, where they’d hit his boots perfectly before all that happened, now they puddled down on top of his feet. His shirts were too big in the chest and too tight in the belly, and getting worse every day. Even his beard was thinning out a bit, as his hair continued to push back towards his forehead. It was happening slowly, sure, but it was happening. He couldn’t deny it.

He wondered whether Terry had noticed. Probably not…then again, maybe he had, and just didn’t have the heart to tell Matt what he was seeing. Matt started questioning everything all over again. Maybe he was just crazy. How could Terry not notice, and if he had noticed, why wouldn’t he say anything? Matt was sick of looking at himself at this point, sick of wondering. He had to know for sure, and it was becoming more and more apparent that there was only one place he could go to find out for sure. He found the wrapper he’d pulled from the smoky room, the one labeled with the name Bear Boutique. He had to go. Sure, everyone he’d talked to warned him not to, that getting out of the store unchanged was easier said than done. Still, Butch and Leon had managed it, why couldn’t he? It was the only way he could be sure. He got dressed, his clothes fitting a bit worse than when he’d had them on earlier, and unable to help himself, he took a small butt plug and slid it into his hole, giving a little sigh of pleasure as it settled into place, and he pulled on his coat and set off for the mall.

***

It looked innocuous enough, just like every other store around him in the mall, maybe people were just exaggerating their tales of the place. Still, Matt was a bit scared to go inside, just because, well, he’d be crazy not to be a bit scared, he supposed. Sill, he couldn’t put this off any longer than he had already, and it was getting hard not to think about popping down to the restroom and jacking off in a stall, while he fucked himself with a dildo. In fact, there were probably some glory holes…maybe, maybe he could find someone to fuck him. That would be so damn nice–he needed a good fuck so bad…

Matt shook his head and before he could second guess himself, he walked into the store, but there was no one at the front register, or in the store at all, actually. However, he could hear some shouting from behind a beaded curtain, and out of curiosity, he crept back and pushed it aside.

“I just don’t get what’s up with you, it’s like you’re a completely different person!” he heard someone shout–the leather clad man covered with tattoos, with the word “BRUTE” written across his forehead. He was shouting at a shorter, chubbier, and quite frankly filthy biker, who appeared to be standing his ground, despite how close Brute was to his face.

“Oh fuck off Brute, I’m done having this conversation.”

“At least tell me why. Why in the fuck did you beat up Beast like that?”

“Because he called me Scuzz. I told you that isn’t my name. If you use it, I’ll beat you down too. My name, is Maxwell. You can call me Max, if you’d like, but that’s it–got it?”

At the curtain, Matt found himself taking deeper and deeper breathes. The scent of these men, especially in confrontation–it was intixicating–even the biker, Max, who was hardly clean…Matt just wanted to…to crawl over, and…and well…do anything the two of them wanted him to do. Suck their cocks, clean their bodies, clean their boots, clean their holes–anything. Maybe one of them would fuck him, that would be amazingly hot, to have someone like that give him the honor of being a dump for their cum–he would be so happy–

Matt caught himself about to step through the curtain and go beg the two men to use him as they saw fit, and before he could give in, he stepped back and retreated towards the fresh air of the mall. That couldn’t have just been the smoke he was subjected to–there had to be something else going on for him to react like that. He was about to book it out of there, never come back, and just deal with what was happening to him when he heard the rustle of beads. He turned around and saw the dirty biker looking at him from the doorway. “Something I can help you find?” he asked.

Matt saw the name Scuzz emblazoned on the man’s forehead, but figured he wouldn’t use that name if he could help it. In fact, his head told him, the only appropriate way of addressing this man, was the word ‘Sir.’

“I…I guess, well, sir…” Matt said, stumbling over his words like a lovestruck cub. He could smell that scent again, and it was just aching to make him submit, bending his will to this filthy, beautiful master, standing right in front of him.

Max sighed, walked over to the counter, picked up an aerosol can and sprayed it all over himself, and a few moments later, Matt felt clarity return to him. “Sorry, I was working up a bit of a sweat in the back. Curse of the Alpha and all that.”

An Alpha–that explained why Matt had felt like that. He’d never meet one, but he’d heard plenty fo rumors about Alphas and their thralls. Matt gave a bit of a shiver, but was glad he had control of himself again. “Th-thanks, it was getting a little hard to think there for a second.”

“Don’t worry about it. Now, what can I do for you?” Max asked.

“Well, you see…” Matt started to explain, “There was this…this prank some guys pulled on me. They, well, they burned some cigars they must have gotten here, and forced me into a room with all the smoke, and well, I’ve been…I think I’ve been changing, even after I got out. I was…well, I just want to make sure I’m not crazy.”

“I see,” Max said, “Well, let me give you a smell.” He walked over to Matt, the sudden closeness a bit surprising. While the spray had concealed the Alpha musk, the rest of the filth on Max’s body stunk plenty, and Matt did his best to breathe in through his nose. Max leaned over him, taking a few sniffs around his face and chest, before settling back and thinking for a moment. “Yeah, I remember those two. They came in two days ago, bought some cigars. I smell…some cub-an, asshog, and subsmoke, I think. Yeah, even a little exposure is enough to trigger the change. It just take longer. How long were you in the room?”

“I don’t know, maybe a minute?”

“Hmm…yeah, I’d say you’ll finish changing in about a week and a half from the initial exposure. What are you, a couple days into it?”

“You mean, I am still changing? How can I stop it?”

“Stop it?” Max asked, and then laughed, “Man, we don’t sell anything that stops a change, are you kidding me? You’re just gonna have to get used to it.”

“No, I don’t want…I don’t want this. Please, isn’t there anything you can do?”

Max sighed, “Well, we could always counter this change with another one. I mean, the force of the change is pretty weak. The only reason it’s advancing is because there’s nothing pushing back against it. Still, how do you know this isn’t what you want? Maybe we should make sure before you buy anything you might regret later.”

“What are you talking about?” Matt asked, but Max wrapped his arm around his shoulder and pulled him along towards the changing rooms behind the clothing racks.

“Here, let me show you what I mean,” Max said, shoving Matt into the room and following him inside. The small room was a bit more spacious than any changing room Matt had ever seen, with one of the long wall dominated by a large mirror. He caught a glance of his reflection and did a double take. That wasn’t him in the mirror. It couldn’t be him, there was no way. Reflected back at him was the image of a short, chubby cub, dressed not in the flannel and overalls Matt had come in with, but instead in a red leather harness and a red jockstrap, his hair no longer a dark, nearly black brown, but a fiery red. His beard was gone, replaced by a short, thin goatee, and he as fat. Well, not so much fat as plump, with a big, soft ball gut and two of the roundest, firmest moobs he’d seen on a man, with pert nipples ringed by a soft layer of the same red hair as the rest of his body, which joined a soft treasure trail down into his jockstrap. His skin was so pale too, and his face was freckled a bit even.

The itch in his ass was suddenly a flame, and he reached around, grabbing for the butt plug he’d put in earlier, but instead finding his ass filled with a ten inch, beer can thick dildo, also red, which he started thrusting in and out of his ass. “Oh fuck yeah, fuck I need something up my cubpussy!” he moaned, his voice higher, and with a hint of a lisp…wait…Matt though. No…No it was just a reflection, wasn’t it?

He ripped his eyes away from the mirror and looked down at himself, letting out a bit of a shriek when he saw that, in fact, it wasn’t just a reflection, not anymore. He was the fat, pale, hairless cub he was looking at in the mirror, helplessly slamming the dildo home in his ass, but he knew his cock wouldn’t get hard unless it was filled with something…something else. A big cock, two big cocks, a fist, two fists, anything, anything as long as it was alive, as long as there was some man wreaking and abusing his worthless hole. “Oh fuck I need a cock,” he said, then turned to Max and dropped to his knees, “Please sir, please fuck me, this cub is such a horny asspig, I need it so bad sir, please.”

Max laughed, “Sorry cub, but you wouldn’t like what my cum might do to you.”

“But I need to cum sir, please, isn’t there anything you can do? My pussy is aching sir, my hole needs a man to fill it, it’s so empty…”

Max felt a twinge of pity in him. The old him, well, he would have never put himself in a position like this. Still, where had those old principles of abstinence and freedom gotten him? Here he was, trapped in a foreign dimension, in a foreign body, with these foreign beings which were just aching to be dominated. Max felt his cock harden in his grimy jeans, leaking a bit of his alpha cum. It would be so easy to turn him. He hated Toilet, hated that sniveling worm of a thrall, but this one, this little cub could be everything that Max wanted. He could be his true first, the thrall he kept. Max shook his head, pushing the thought away. He wanted to wait. He wanted his body back first. He would take a thrall then, when he was back to normal, and besides, he already had a someone in mind for his first conversion–Tristan. That little cousin of his, oh the things Max was going to do to him…

“Alright you fucking cub–I suppose I have to help you out a bit, or you’ll just be stuck like this. How about I shove my fist up that hole of yours?”

“Oh thank you sir,” Matt said, got down on his hands and knees and shoving his ass towards Max. “Put it in dry sir, my hole can take it. I want it to be rough.”

“Well aren’t you just a little assslut.”

“The biggest assslut sir! Now please, please fist my cubhole sir!”

God Max wanted to fuck that hole so bad, but he resisted, getting down on his knees and working in a few fingers. The cub’s ass nearly swallowed them down, and they slid in so easy, that in a matter of moments, without Max really remembering how, his entire fist was buried in the cub’s hole, Matt moaning and groaning like a complete whore, his red jock showing the first blot of precum as his tiny cock hardened now that his hole was being used properly. “Fuck cub, this is the easiest ass I’ve ever had,” Max said.

“More sir, give me more! I need it so bad.”

Max felt the cub’s hole grip his arm and start pulling him in, massaging his arm a bit as it entered. He could only imagine what that would feel like on his cock. Maybe just one fuck, but Max held off. Giving in now would be complacency. Besides, if he had an ass like this around all the time, he would never get around to freeing himself from this hellhole. Now he was in up to his elbow, and Max reached between the cub’s legs, massaging the pouch of his jock, making the cub squirm.

“No, no, don’t jack me off, put that fist in me too, I want them both.”

“Fuck, you are a horny asscub.”

“Just do it sir, please!”

Who was Max to deny the cub his pleasure? His second fist slipped in just as easily as the first, and soon he was pummeling Matt’s hole, sliding both fists in and out as easy as could be, the cub shivering and shuddering with every pounding thrust into his ass, and with a loud groan, he filled the pouch of his jock with a massive load and collapsed onto the carpet, Max sliding his fists out as he went down, watching as Matt’s original form reasserted itself, leaving him lying on the ground, trying to process what had just happened to him.

“There, see?” Max said, “That wasn’t so bad, was it? You sure did seem to enjoy it.”

“No, no I can’t let that happen.” Matt said, pushing himself up. His hole was so sore from the pounding, but god if that itch hadn’t disappeared for the moment. It was an amazing relief, but if he fell into that trap–well, in another week, that’s who he would be. A cub wandering campus begging men for their cocks and fists, returning to Tom’s room every night for another reaming, with Butch and Leon there too, probably. Even worse, as he was imagining the scenario he was getting turned on big time. He had to fix this, he couldn’t let that happen to him. “Please, you have to help me.”

“Well it’s not that simple,” Max said, “I can’t just change you into anything. There has to be desire behind it–drive. That’s what makes it all work. There has to be will behind it, or it all just fizzles out, wasted. So, if I’m going to help you, you have to tell me what you want to be.”

“Can’t it just be a small change? I don’t…I don’t want to…”

“Don’t want to what?”

“I don’t…I don’t want to, well, forget.”

Max cocked an eyebrow at him, “So finally, I get to meet a member of the oh-so-famous resistance which has been such a thorn in my cousin’s side.”

“Tristan’s your cousin?”

“Oh yes, not that it matters.”

“But that means you know where he came from, what he’s doing. Why is he doing this? Where did he go?”

Max laughed, “Please, I don’t give out my answers for free.”

Matt frowned at him. “What could I give you in exchange?”

“How about we discuss that later,” Max said, “You still didn’t answer my question. What do you want to be?”

The glow returned moments later, and Grant had to stop his rows for the moment, because his skin started to itch. It was all of this body hair and these too tight of clothes. They always made him itch, but he never seemed to remember to go get some better fitting garments. He took advantage of his momentary break to take a sniff of his pits, and then a longer one, his hand rubbing his hard cock in his shorts, as he let off another belch, and feeling braver, he lifted his arm up over his head, rubbing his nose right in the pit, loving the feel of his hairy pits grating against his wild, tangled beard.

“Hey, Grant, if ya ain’t too busy over there,” Jack said with a smile, “Would ya mind spottin’ me on the bench press?”

Grant looked over his shoulder sheepishly, a bit embarrassed to have been caught getting off on his pit stink by someone as hot as Jack. “Sure man, I’d be happy to,” he said, got off his machine and hurried over to where Jack was positioning himself under the barbell. Even just standing over him, Grant could take in the musk which surrounded Jack. How could he have not noticed how amazing that smells before? He’d always thought that he’d hated it, but already he couldn’t get enough to satisfy himself suddenly. Again, he was struck by how he looked in the mirror across the room, and yet, it was his reflection–why did it bother him so much? Everything just seemed so…different, all of a sudden.

“You ready Grant?”

“Oh…yeah, whenever you are.”

Jack started pressing the bar, Grant counting off his reps, but mostly unable to take his eyes off himself. There was something wrong here, something that should be obvious, but it was like something hiding impossibly well right in plain sight. He shouldn’t look like this. That’s what was wrong. He didn’t know what he was supposed to look like, sure, but it wasn’t this–this massively fat man with a dingy beard and greasy hair, with clothes too tight, his skin bursting with hair. He grabbed the barbell as Jack was in the middle of one of his last reps, and shoved it down, pinning it against Jack’s chest, catching the big bear off guard. “What the fuck have you done to me, Jack?” Grant said.

“What the–what are ya even talkin’ about!” Jack cried, trying to push the bar off his chest, “Let me up, will ya?”

Grant felt a tremor of doubt in his chest. No, it couldn’t be Jack. Jack wouldn’t do something like that to Grant…right? No…no, of course not. But then that meant that they were both in danger, that Marcus or Clark or Doug were somewhere around here, maybe even manipulating them both. “Look, I don’t…I don’t think it’s safe here, I think one of the other masters…I think they did something to me.”

“Just let me up!” Jack shouted, and Grant helped lift the bar back into place, letting Jack sit up and take a few deep breaths. “Alright, what it the world are you talking about?”

“Someone did it to Len man, they changed him, they kicked him out of the program, and now I think they’re doing it to us. Do you…do you feel different at all?”

“No, do you?”

“I don’t…My head is telling me that this is all wrong, that…but I don’t know, it just isn’t right. It isn’t right at all. And there’s this glow I keep seeing, this weird glow, and then…”

“A glow eh?” Jack said, it didn’t happen to look like this, did it?” Grant turned around to see that Jack had a small handheld raygun in his hand pointed at Grant, and a second later, the tip of the gun engulfed Grant in that same glow, and he felt sucker punch to the gut. It was Jack–Jack, his hero, had been doing this to him–whatever this was. Shouldn’t…shouldn’t he be happy about that? The glow faded, and he was left trying to sort out the sudden crush of contrary feelings. Honor, fear, confusion, lust–he didn’t know what to feel, or why he should be feeling any of it. “It’s just a little something I picked up from Bear Boutique a little while ago–somethin’ called a Slobifier. Great little thing, ain’t it? Not only can it make someone slobby, it can change how they think, ‘n even change how they treat other slobs.”

“That’s amazing,” Grant said. He loved it when Jack spoke–he loved listening to Jack’s voice so much. He’d do anything for Jack.

“Yeah, sure is. Now Grant, how about ya do a few reps yerself? I’ll spot ya.”

“Oh..sure! Yeah, we can do that, but why are you…I mean, why me? Why use it on me?”

“Well, because you were such a tight ass before, I figured you could stand to loosen up a bit.”

“So I was different before–who was I? Tell me what you did.”

“Why? Ain’t you enjoyin’ who ya are now?” Jack said. Come on, lie down on the bench, and lets keep going with your workout.”

Grant was torn. He wanted answers, but he also really needed to do what Jack said. He couldn’t resist obeying anyone as dirty as he was, so he figured they could always talk about it later. He lied back down on the bench, and Jack went around to the head, and when Grant looked up, he saw that Jack had stripped off the denim shorts he’d been wearing and had nothing on other than his signature suspenders strapped onto one of the filthiest jockstraps Grant had ever seen. He wanted it. He wanted it on his face, in his mouth, all over his body. “Oh fuck Jack, why have you been hiding that from me?” he said, and went to lick the pouch, but Jack backed off.

“Nuh uh, ya gotta finish your reps first.”

“Please Jack? Please just a taste?”

“Are ya tellin’ me that you’d rather taste my nasty, pissy jock instead a workin’ out?”

That was a stupid question, Grant thought, why would he ever choose differently? He nodded, “Fuck yeah, man, give it to me.”

Fine, ya can taste it,” Jack said, “but only if you piss yourself. Right here, right now.”

“What?” Grant asked, taken aback.

“I wanna see ya piss those army shorts of yours. I want to see them soaked. I want to see you fucking piss your pants like a real nasty son-of-a-bitch. Then you can taste my sweaty jockstrap.”

Grant really wanted to taste it. What harm could there be in pissing his shorts? Something about it felt…just wrong, but thinking back, he’d woken up more than once after a night of drinking to find he’d pissed himself. Who really cares? Still, between his hard on, his inability to look away from Jack’s jock, and his nerves, he found pissing to be next to impossible. “I…I don’t think I can.”

“Do ya want some help?”

“I…I guess so. I do really want to taste your jock.”

“Well, the slobifier here, I can use it to make you incontinent. I can make it so ya have to piss yourself. How does that sound? I mean, ya can’t taste my jock until ya piss those shorts, so what have ya got tah lose?”

That was a horrible argument, or, it should have been a horrible argument, but everything that came out of Jack’s mouth just seemed to make so much more sense than it really should. And hadn’t that gun, that slobifier been the source of the rest of his problems? Were they really problems at all? And he did want to taste his jock, so what choice did he really have? “A–Alright, I guess you can do that to me.”

“That’s a good pig,” Jack said, aimed the gun at him and let loose once more. Grant didn’t feel any different once the glow faded, but a second later, he felt a strange warmth spread in his shorts, and sitting up, he could see the front of them darken, the piss flowing beyond his control, before flowing onto the bench and off the sides, where it dribbled onto the carpet.

“Fuck, oh fuck Jack that feels so good, and it reeks man–it fucking reeks…”

“You like that, don’t you, the smell of piss?”

“Oh yeah…oh, I don’t…I don’t feel too good…” Grant said, feeling a cramp in his gut. A moment later, he let loose with what he was expecting to be a fart, but was much more than that, shit suddenly packing itself into the back of his tight shorts. “Oh…oh god, I just…just shit myself.”

“Feels even better, doesn’t it?”

“God, it does…no, no this is so fucking messed up.”

“But you do get to taste it now, isn’t that what you wanted?” Jack said, pushing Grant down onto the bench and leaning over his, smashing the filthy jock right into his face. A second later, Jack started pissing himself, the stream flowing out of the jock and down over Grant’s face, into his open mouth, Grant couldn’t seem to close it for some reason, he needed that piss in his mouth, and the jock pressed against his nose stank of stale cum and piss and he was in heaven. He could smell his own shit now, mixing with the piss in the air, driving him to new heights of pleasure, and suddenly he was shooting his wad right into his shorts, letting it sink in with his piss. He’d never cum spontaneously like that before, but he had just as little control over that as the rest of his fluids, suddenly.

“Ha, alright, I think yer ready fer the truth,” Jack said.

“What do you mean?” Grant said, but the glow surrounded him again, and suddenly, as though a different light was shining on the events of the past hour, he remembered. He remembered all of it, how he’d been, how Jack had been changing him slowly, slowly reducing him to this…this nasty fucking slob! He scrambled up off the bench and backed away from Jack, “What the fuck!” he sputtered, “You fat fucking pig, what the fuck did you do?”

“Now, now, be nice, I ain’t the only ‘fat fucking pig’ here anymore.”

“Change me back.”

“Hah, no way”

“If you don’t change me back,” Grant said, starting to advance on Jack, but the redneck leveled the gun at him, and he stopped.

“You probably don’t want to find out what this thing will change next. All I did just now was make you aware of the changes. As much as I like having you as a lovestruck little pig, I’d rather finish off with the real Grant.”

“Why me?”

“Everyone’s picking off somebody. Don’t tell me you weren’t thinking the same thing.”

“But why me?”

“Because you’re a fuckin’ snob, dumbass. I just want tah show ya that yer nothin’ more than a pig, like me, everyone else is gonna be, and I’m gonna be king pig, whether you like it or not. However, judgin’ from the cum stainin’ yer shorts, I think ya like it more ‘n ya let on. Reagrdless, I’m done wit’ ya now. There ain’t no way yer gonna stick around in the masters program, since the only thing gettin’ you off in the near future is the smell a piss ‘n shit.”

“You can’t just leave me like this, remembering who it the fuck I was!”

“Sure I can. I wouldn’t want you tah have any regrets, would I?”

“You fucking asshole.”

“Don’t worry Grant, you’ll settle into it. Before long, you won’t be able to imagine bein’ anythin’ other than a filthy pig, ‘n ya’ll love it all. Now why don’ ya march on out a here, while I’m goin’ easy on ya. Drop out a the program, ‘n I won’t have tah pay ya another visit wit this guy.”

“Please, don’t leave me like this. Just do me that fuckin’ service. I’ll drop out, I’ll do whatever you want. Just change me back.”

“But I like you much more like this, and don’t worry, by the time I’m through with this campus, everyone is going to be as dirty as us. Won’t that be fucking hot?”

Grant did his best not to think about it, but it was making his cock hard again, and Jack was coming closer now. “Keep…keep back,” Grant said.

“Just think about it Grant, think about who you used to be, that tight ass marine, think of all the work you had to do. Now, all ya have to do is laze about, pissin’ and shittin’ yerself, cummin’ on occasion. Isn’t that a better life?” Jack said, rubbing Grant’s crotch.

“No…No, I don’t think it is.”

“Why?”

Grant didn’t have an answer to that–why didn’t he have an answer? It should be the simplest question in the world, but he was…enjoying this. Enjoying this a lot. He let out another belch, and that pleasant self-satisfaction filled him with pride. He tried to fight it back, but it was authentic. He did feel proud of himself. He was reveling in this in ways he couldn’t even begin to grasp.

“How about this. How about I trust you to help me out?” Jack said, and Grant felt Jack press the gun into his hand. “Everyone needs to feel like this, Grant. People fight it, they always do, but you can bring them down to our level. You can show them how wonderful it is to be a slob.”

“No…”

“You can’t fucking resist me, Grant,” Jack said, leaning in close, and Grant nearly fell forward, desperate to get Jack’s scent on him–in him, everywhere. Jack needed to be in charge, he realized. The world needed him to lead it, and if Grant…if Grant could help him do that, it would be an honor. He was down on his knees then, sucking on Jack’s cock through the wet pouch of his jock, and Grant realized that he’d been beaten. That he had accepted Jack’s world, that this was indeed best to him, and that he would do his best to help Jack succeed, because it was the right thing to do. It was right, to serve Jack, and he did need to show everyone else how true that was. Jack let his cock slip out of the punch, and Grant happily sucked it down, tasting the filth coating the shaft, thankful that Jack, his master, was allowing him the honor of service. It was an honor, a true honor, and when Jack’s cum filled his belly to the brim, he came again, without touching himself.

“Ya know what ya need tah do, don’t ya?”

“Yes sir,” Grant said.

“That’s a good marine. Now get to work,” Jack said, and left the gym, Grant following him out a few minutes later, wanting to get out before anyone caught him in there, and before he could meet any traffic on the way back to his dorm who might smell the shitload in his shorts. He got back before his cadet had returned from his run, and he sat there, in the dark, smelling himself, holding the gun and terrified of doing what was necessary. It couldn’t really be the best thing, could it? But Jack, his master, had told him to do it–so he…he had to, as sick as it might make him to do it.

When his cadet came into the room, panting a bit, the stench of musk in the room was overwhelming. “Holy crap…what is that,” he said, “Sarge? Sarge, are you there sir? What’s that smell?”

He could just barely make out a fat figure sitting on the bed, holding something, no, pointing something at his chest. “I’m…I’m sorry Cadet,” he heard his sarge said, and then he was surrounded by a strange glow, and then, nothing much mattered to him. He could smell it though, he could smell what he needed. Snorting a bit, he made his way to the bed and buried his face into the seat of his Sarge’s shorts, smelling and licking at the shit there, hungrier than he’d ever been in his life, and Grant felt a shiver run through him. Still, he did need someone to clean him up a bit, and who better than his cadet? It felt…surprisingly good, he realized, to make someone into a slob like him. Maybe Master Jack was right. Maybe they were all just pigs at heart. Well, Grant would do his part. If Jack wanted an army, he was going to get an army. He had a sergeant to lead it after all–now Grant just had to recruit all the soldiers he could find.