Author: wesleybracken8258

TPC Chapter 1.2

Chapter 2 – Depot

Cities change. They breathe, and they grow, and sometimes they die, only for a new city to be built on top of it, crushing everything old underneath. This is what Barry was thinking about, as they walked over to Depot, trying to recall the last time he’d gone out to a club. Trying to remember the last time he’d even been in this part of the city. The neighborhood looked so different. The clubs were different, the people crowding around the doors were different. Younger than he was, certainly. At some point, they moved through some liminal space, into somewhere new. The men around them grew a little seedier, a little hungrier, a little more ragged, and women almost disappeared entirely. Someone brushed between him and Dennis in full leather gear–and Barry had to pause and try and remember the last time he’d seen anyone in that much leather out on a sidewalk. Years ago, if ever. When he turned to snap something at the stranger, he found that the man was looking at him, leering really, and then he was gone into the dark, before he or Dennis could muster a word, and they continued on. 

“What was the last club we even went to?” Barry asked him.

“I don’t know.”

“The Grotto, wasn’t it?” Barry answered himself.

Parker laughed. “The Grotto? That place doesn’t even exist anymore.”

“Really?”

“It was for posers anyway. Couldn’t get a blowjob in a corner without bribing a damn bouncer with an extra one, right babe?” Parker said, and squeezed Samuel’s ass, getting a peck on the cheek in return.

The Grotto. Barry had liked the Grotto. It was gay, but it was safe. It was expensive, but you were paying for the instagram selfies, and the clout. Sure, some nights the number of straight girls there outnumbered the gay guys, but where was the harm in that? They all just wanted a night free of straight guys anyway. Sure, Parker was right–if someone caught you with your pants down, and you weren’t hired to be go-going on stage, then you were gonna get thrown out on your ass. But what did they think this was, the 70’s? All red lit back rooms and saunas and AIDS around every corner? Sure, it was cleaned up now, but they were all better for it. Safer. Maybe it had been for posers, but Barry didn’t see anything wrong with a little glamour. He looked over at Dennis, but his husband was just frowning, obviously annoyed at having his preference for a quiet weekend at home further disrupted. Barry found himself feeling defensive and frustrated, thought about defending their current course, but decided against it. He’d dragged them out tonight because he’d wanted to have fun, damn it. Dennis would enjoy it too, probably. If not, it was his fault for being a bore.

Samuel and Parker stopped halfway down a block, and walking behind they nearly barrelled into the other couple. It took Barry a moment to realize they’d stopped because they’d arrived. Depot was not the usual garish bar looking to advertise itself from halfway down the block. He would have never even known it was a bar if not for the black clad bouncer sitting on a stool next to the solid black door, with just a small neon sign hanging overhead. Samuel popped up the steps and made small talk–he apparently had been here enough to be on a first name basis with the staff. They were all waved in, the bouncer didn’t bother checking any ID. Looking around, Barry tried to pin down what space had been gentrified and hollowed out to make this. An old gas station or auto shop? Warehouse? The ceiling was high enough that it got lost in the dark. The music was loud and deep, thrumming through them and the floor. Samuel and Parker led the way towards the bar to get a round of drinks. They were cheap, surprisingly, for a place that presented itself as so hidden and exclusive, and looking around, most of the men were clad in simple gear–denim and leather might be out of fashion outside, but not in here. He would have called it a bear bar, and there were certainly bears in the bar, but it was mixed enough that he hesitated. It was nearly all men, however. He couldn’t remember a time he’d gone to a gay bar with so few women in it, in fact. He and Dennis got whiskey sodas, turned around and found Samuel and Parker talking to someone they didn’t recognize.

“One drink, and then we’re leaving,” Dennis said. 

“You’re such a bore,” Barry said, and he could feel Dennis get a little stiff, though he couldn’t see it in the dark. He hated being called a bore, mostly because he knew he was. He didn’t wait for Dennis to stutter something back–he’d never been good at reading or shade–and joined Samuel and Parker with the fellow he didn’t know.

“–god you’re here, that fucking gallery was such a fucking drag, give me a bump darling, just something to wake me the fuck up, please, I’m begging you,” Samuel was saying to the man, who passed him a little bag of white powder. Barry drew up short as Samuel went to slip away, and he rolled his eyes, “Calm down, it’s just a little coke, not meth. You want some?”

“No thanks, I’m good tonight.”

“Suit yourself,” Samuel said, and sat down at a table to make himself a line.

The fellow dealing stuck out his hand, and gave him a solid grip. He was taller than Barry, but then, most guys were. Not quite as tall or as built as Parker, but handsome and charming with a smile that made your knees a little weak.

“Welcome to the Depot boys, the name’s Hugh,” he said, and shook Dennis’s hand as well, “Samuel said your new around here. Anything I can get for the two of you, off menu? Something to make you a little more comfortable?”

Barry hesitated, and Dennis spoke for them, firmly refusing and closing off the possibility entirely. Barry felt himself get a little defensive, both mad that he hadn’t refused faster and confidently, and mad that he couldn’t have a little fun now that Dennis had put his foot down. He’d done his share of shit on the circuit, but while Dennis could tolerate the extramarrital sex provided they were both PrEPed to the gills, the drugs he couldn’t abide, and were strictly “don’t ask, don’t tell”. 

Before anything else could be said, Samuel was back up, well bumped, and pulled Barry away. “Come on! Let’s go dance. I want to see how much worse you’ve gotten at it.”

Looking back, he saw Parker pull Hugh away, asking about something, leaving Dennis standing all alone by the table. He tried to wave him to follow, and was mostly certain he saw him wave, but wandered off in another direction. Fine, if he wanted to mope, let him. There were stairs that dropped down to the dance floor, which despite being relatively early in the evening, was already teeming with bodies in various states of undress. It smelled of sweat and alcohol, but the night hadn’t advanced enough for the scent of vomit to mix in. The music was louder but still deep. It unsettled something in Barry’s guts, and though he hadn’t danced in years, he found himself doing his best. Maybe he should have taken some coke, he always danced better with a little coke, or at least cared less. The energy managed to infect him anyway. He was dancing with Samuel at first, and then he was dancing with someone else, a stranger, and another stranger, and then he wasn’t dancing with anyone, he was dancing with everyone. Perhaps it slid into him then. Perhaps it was later. Perhaps it had been in all of them, all along. 

Cities change, but what they don’t tell you, is that it’s not the cities changing, not really. It’s the people who live there. Sometimes on purpose, but not always. As Barry felt himself join the teeming mass of bodies around him, kissing and touching and groping along with them all, losing jacket and then shirt in the throng, he felt something fleeting that he’d missed. Something he hadn’t even really known he was missing. But that small touch, he could feel it, sliding into him, wanting to pull him, warp him, and he found himself terrified, for a moment. But it was just for a night, he told himself. Just a night.

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The Pigtown Chronicles – Chapter 1.1

The Pigtown Chronicles

Arc 1 – A Night Out In Pigtown

Chaper 1 – A Reunion at a Gallery Show

“There’s a spot!”

“It’s too tight. I’m gonna circle around and get that one we just saw on the other block.”

“That one’s probably gone already, just squeeze in here!”

Dennis had already passed it, and Barry sat back in his seat with a sigh, but let his husband circle back around. By the time they’d reached the spot they’d seen a few minutes before, he’d already thought of the perfect little jab, but the spot was still open, and Dennis pulled in without trouble. There, see? It’s closer to the gallery anyway.”

Barry gave a little huff, and got out of the car onto the sidewalk. It was a weekday evening, but the walkway was still flush with people going to dinner at the various restaurants around them. The couple were there to support a gallery show by Samuel, who was an old college friend of Barry’s. An ex, technically, but that was well buried by them both. Samuel had been the flamboyant, outré fine arts major known for his extravagance and openly gay work on campus, and Barry had been the closeted business major just beginning to poke his head out. Barry had been drawn to Samuel’s freedom, while the artist had enjoyed prying open the scared little baby queen, as he’d called him. None of it had been particularly healthy, and the breakup had been explosive, forcing Barry out of the closet, and while he had been bitter about it at the time, with distance and a good therapist, he’d come around to crediting Samuel with a good amount of personal growth. The two of them had reconnected on facebook eventually, and were better friends than lovers.

Dennis knew the history between the two of them, but he didn’t understand why Barry liked Samuel’s company at all. His personality was about as distant from Samuel’s as you could get in many ways. Pragmatic, practical, with a reputation as a bore and a square. The two of them had met through a mutual friend after Barry graduated and landed his first job, and a few years later, had gotten married after a steady engagement. Dennis worked at a hospital in the city doing lucrative knee replacements, while Barry had focused on climbing the corporate ladder. The two of them were a classic TWINK scenario–TWo Incomes, No Kids–though their physical twink days were well behind them at this point. Dennis was quickly approaching forty, and while he assured everyone that age was just a number, he himself was finding some personal reservations and difficulties with it, not that he bothered sharing that with anyone openly. At some point, his boyish charm had slipped away, replaced with a burgeoning bearhood, and a growing waistline to go with it. He was currently experimenting with a beard, and waffled on shaving it off every day. It had a bit too much grey in it for his liking, and it only emphasized his own age. Barry liked it, however, and so it stayed for the moment.

Barry was a couple years younger, and seemed to be coming into his own at last. His career had gotten off to a rocky start, and had remained so over the years. Barry blamed it on the latent homophobia of the corporate world, and while Dennis was sympathetic, he pinned more of the blame on Barry himself. He lacked focus and drive, tended to flit from one project to another, and didn’t really have the leadership and confidence he imagined he did. Barry didn’t like to hear any of that though (another flaw, Dennis thought) and so he coddled him along. His salary more than provided them with a comfortable lifestyle after all. Barry, in turn, considered Dennis to be a bit dismissive of his own contributions to their lifestyle. The aloofness his husband had could drive Barry mad at times, along with his refusal to cede the moral high ground at any moment. But despite their frustrations, their relationship was comfortable, and neither saw any reason to disrupt that. Dennis checked that the car was locked, while Barry brushed his hair into place. Then they oriented themselves, and set off for the gallery where Samuel was exhibiting his latest work.

“So what has Samuel done this time?” Dennis asked him, “That last show of his didn’t make any sense to me.”

“He’s assured me that this one is more grounded, but I’m not sure what that means exactly.”

“Fewer dicks maybe?”

“Doubtful.”

“I just find it a bit crass.”

“Honestly, he’s toned it down a lot over the years.”

“What did you ever see in him?”

“Honestly? He has a great hole. He makes you feel like you’re the greatest fucker in the world.”

Dennis’s lip sneered a bit. He’d never been the most sexual person, and didn’t really understand people’s obsession with it. When Dennis did fell the urge, he’d usually just jack off, or at most, oral only, preferring to top. Since getting married, the two of them didn’t do much together, or separately. Work came first for them both, though Barry would binge on occasion, going to a circuit party on a weekend while Dennis stayed home. It didn’t bother him, so long as he didn’t do drugs or fuck bareback. Barry assured him that the parties he went to were classier than that. “I’d never want to fuck someone on meth, could you imagine?” he said once. Dennis couldn’t, and he’d left it at that before Barry might elaborate.

They reached the gallery not long after that and stepped inside. There were a surprising number of people there in Barry’s opinion, and of a slightly more elevated persuasion than the other shows Barry had attended. More suits, fewer drag queens in outlandish flair, though there was a gaggle of them tittering in a corner. Samuel had confessed once that he usually hired them to attend–after all, a gay artist with no drag representation isn’t really a gay artist at all.

The work was a bit more toned down, in Barry’s opinion. A couple of pieces he could imagine hanging on his bedroom wall (Dennis would never allow it of course) but nothing that he could hang out in a main room where someone from work might see it. Leather, denim, cock, hair. The bodies were twisted out of proportion, almost abstracted. Dennis waved down a young man with a tray of champagne, took a glass, and proceeded to meander, while Barry looked around for Samuel.

It didn’t take long to find him. He had cleaned up for the occasion, and Barry was always impressed with how well he could look when he allowed himself a bit of respectability. Tall, broad shouldered, long hair slicked back against his scalp and down to his neck, with a short beard trimmed up around his mouth. He had a thicker frame, but carried it well–managing to tread the line between beefy and chubby better than Dennis did. It helped that he had a better sense of style at least, or at least cared to know what fit him well, and lean into it. He was chatting to someone who looked rather wealthy, probably trying to drum up a sale. Barry hung back until they had moved on, and then slipped in for a hug before anyone else could commandeer him. 

“BarBar, you came! So glad to see you,” Samuel said, bending down and planting a kiss of each of Barry’s cheeks. 

“Yes, well, I was sick and tired of staying at home on the weekends. Dennis can be such a bore at times.”

“Yes, well, you knew that when you tied the knot. No use being bitter, it will sour your soul,” Samuel said, then gripped Barry by the hand, “Speaking of, I have someone I want you to meet,” he said, and pulled him along.

Barry sighed–Samuel was a serial philanderer. No one stuck around for long, but they were always, well, something. This one proved to be no exception. Barry found himself looking up at a rather imposing fellow wearing a sleeveless shirt and shorts that did nothing to disguise the size of the cock he was packing in the front of them. “Barry, this is Parker. Parker, this is a old friend of mine, Barry.”

The muscular fellow stuck out a hand, gripped Barry’s, and while he had long practiced a firm handshake for the business world, this one left him feeling like his hand might cramp. “Nice to meet ya,” Parker said, and then pulled Samuel close. “When are we getting out of this joint baby, you said we were gonna party tonight.”

“Not too much longer, I promise. These rich fucks are boring the piss out of me–no offense Barry.”

“None taken, I guess,” but Barry did feel boring, and sizing up Parker, who seemed to grow more muscular each time he looked at him again, he was feeling a little jealous, a little aroused, and a little bit of FOMO creeping up on him. Samuel was just a year younger than him, and despite all of his own successes, looking at him he still felt envious of his confidence. 

“Evening Samuel, it’s a very nice show,” Dennis said, wandering over to join the three of them. He stuck a hand out to Parker and introduced himself, and seemed unfazed by his substantial grip. 

“So glad you could join us, Dennis. Barry says it’s been a challenge prying you up from the couch on the weekends.”

Dennis ignored the jab. Their mutual distaste for one another was well known. Dennis considered him to be a phony, while Samuel, considered him to be a tasteless square. Neither cared enough about the other to make an issue of it, and Barry smoothed it over well enough with his usual enthusiasm. 

“Barry, why don’t you come out with us tonight? I’m having a little afterparty at Depot, have you even been there? Hell, when was the last time you two even went out? The last year or so, it feels like the city is breathing again, you know? You have to come, it’s amazing. They took this old warehouse, and kept all the scaffolding, just dropped a stage and a bar in the middle of it. You wouldn’t believe the shit people get up to in the corners.”

“Fuck, last weekend, Hugh told me he saw a four guy train up in the rafters,” Parker said.

Dennis heaved a sigh, and generally, Barry would have taken the cue, excused them both for the evening, and gone home to Netflix and bed. But between his annoyance about the parking situation earlier, and the euphoria he alway got for the first few hours he was with Samuel again, he decided to throw caution to the wind. “Fuck it, why not?” he said.

“Barry–”

“Come on Dennis, just one drink. We don’t have to be out long.”

Dennis was caught off guard, and had never been good at putting his foot all the way down. Samuel assured them that it was just a few blocks away–they’d be home before their couch could even miss them. They slipped out the back of the building and into an alley, and the four of them headed for Depot, a club on the edge of a district people were beginning to call Pigtown.

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The Family Portrait

This is…technically an older story that I never got around to finishing at the time, and at the urging of a patron, I returned to it, revised it a bit, and gave it a conclusion. Hope you all enjoy it! Also, the new series I mentioned, “Pigtown Chronicles”, is in early access over on Patreon, and I’ll be posting it publicly next week! If you missed the first three chapters, you can go check them out there, or wait and read them here. If you’re still over on tumblr, I created a new blog for this series–that way it won’t be stuck behind the nightmare that is NSFW tumblr, and have a searchable, accessible archive. If you want to follow it there, you can go ahead and follow it here. I’ll also be reposting all of them to my old tumblr as well.

It was…quiet. It was never quiet, not around here. Keith breathed a sigh in his empty house–as happy as he was at the family he’d made for himself, between Tara and his three sons, that also didn’t leave him very much time at all for himself. The place had been getting quitter, however. With his two oldest sons in their second and third years of college–at the state school a few hours away at least, and his youngest son, a senior in high school, out with Tara running errands on a fall Saturday for a few hours, he had the house to himself. He had it to himself, and he had absolutely no idea what he should be doing with his chance. It was funny, really. He so often wished for more private time, and now when the chance came, he had no clue how to spend it. He sighed–not really a bad problem to have, he supposed. 

He was interrupted by a loud, heavy knocking on the front door. Curious who it might be, he walked to the door and opened it, finding a strange man on the porch he had never seen before in his life. He was none too clean, dressed in a pair of stained camo cargo shorts and a wifebeater, with a thick overgrown beard. He was carrying a large…something under his arm, wrapped in paper. Something rectangular and flat–but he had no idea what. “Hey! What’s up? I’m your new neighbor down the road there, just moved in a few days ago. Name’s Marty.”

“Oh, uh…hi. I’m Keith…Keith Ireland. Nice…to meet you,” he replied, not taking the man’s hand when he extended it out to shake. How someone who looked like this could possibly afford a house in a neighborhood where Keith lived…something seemed a bit odd about this, and he wasn’t about to let him inside his house. “Where…which house did you move into? I wasn’t aware anyone was moving.”

“Oh, just a few houses down.”

“I didn’t see any moving trucks or anything though.”

“Really?”

Keith just raised an eyebrow at him. 

“Well look, I just wanted to say…hi. My wife, she’s an artist, and we always have too many things of hers, so we like to give our new neighbors some of her artwork. If you don’t like it, you don’t have to keep it or anything–her stuff isn’t for everyone, but it’s nice, right?” He held out the paper wrapped picture to him, and as strange as this was, Keith didn’t want to seem mean, especially if the guy really was his neighbor. He could always take a look, and then give it right back. He tore open the paper and flipped the picture so it was facing him. It was a sizable canvas, probably at least three feet wide, landscape, but there wasn’t much at all in the picture itself. In fact, it wasn’t even a painting–it was a photo. It looked like one of those cheap portraits you might get a Sears or something, but the only person in the picture was Marty, centered but small. Like it was supposed to be a family portrait but he was the only one who showed up. He looked closer, trying to figure out who could possibly see this as valuable, and discovered that the background of the photo…it was moving. The backdrop pattern…it was alive, twisting and ebbing back and forth–he couldn’t look away even if he’d wanted to. It felt like the pattern was growing in his field of vision, almost giving the illusion of falling into the photo, his mind emptying. 

Marty watched his “neighbor’s” eyes grow dull and his jaw go slack, and he walked around him, stepping inside the threshold of the home, looking at the family portrait. The photo was indeed shifting and twisting, in one particular place–a figure coming clear standing beside Marty–quite blurry, and yet if you squinted you could see that it was Keith appearing in the image. The focus became a bit sharper, but never came fully clear, Marty taking a moment to inspect Keith, see how he’d changed all these years.

Keith obviously hadn’t recognized him, but they’d both been very different back in high school together. They even, at one time, were friends–with a few benefits. Keith was bi–and he’d let Marty suck his cock on a few occasions, but when they’d gotten caught, he pinned the whole thing on Marty–claiming he’d been “corrupting” him. Or rather, his dad Gary, a conservative city councilman who couldn’t afford to have a gay son in the news, made his say it, and Keith went along with it. Marty had had no one after that–he’d gotten expelled from school, and kicked out by his family. But now, well, Marty had a little revenge planned for his old friend. He’d gotten by as best he could, but Marty had made a few new, strange friends along the way…including a warlock who specialized in revenge spells. He’d made the portrait Keith was currently staring at–and which was absorbing his image. It was Keith’s fault that he’d lost his entire family after all. As far as Marty was concerned, that meant Keith could provide him with a new one—a better one. One Marty was going to design just for himself. 

It had been long enough now–the rest was up to him. He landed a heavy hand on Keith’s shoulder, making him start and jump, his mind snapping back to awareness, eyes blinking, trying to understand what had just happened to him. “What do you think bro?” Marty asked, “Ain’t that a good picture of us?”

Keith’s eyes moved from the portrait in his hands, and looked beside him, at his…his brother. His brother Marty. Something was still wrong with his mind–it felt like part of him was…missing. His eyes slowly traced back to the picture, at the blurry image of himself in there. It looked like…like he was screaming in there. Marty pulled him back by the arm and shut the door, plucking the picture from Keith’s hands and pressing it to a nearby wall, where it adhered immediately. “Come on bro, the game’s almost on–I know you hate missing a game, right?”

Keith found himself nodding, even though he’d never in his life enjoyed watching football, and stumbled sleepily after his brother into the den, finding the portrait looming over him on a new wall in the den–it had moved somehow, haunting him–as Marty pushed him down onto the couch in front of the TV, grinning wide. 

Another touchdown! Both Keith and Marty threw their arms up, shouting with excitement. Their team was doing great, and Keith couldn’t be happier if he’d tried, sitting here with his favorite person, his brother, watching the game with him. He grinned over at him, grabbed another handful of potato chips and shoved the whole wad into his mouth, chewing loudly with his mouth open, washing it all down with his seventh can of beer, a huge belch rumbling out of his fat belly. He gave it a pat, feeling it jiggle and wiggle around him. It felt…damn good, actually. Like Marty had told him, he’d always been a fat ass–he couldn’t stop eating if he fucking tried, he loved it so much–drinking too–and it showed, nearly six hundred pounds of flab, but he didn’t care. Like Marty said, he found it…kind of hot, actually.

He still wasn’t feeling quite like himself though. Ever since he’d sat down and started watching the game, he’d felt…almost like he was in a dream. Marty was there for him though, reminding him to get the snacks and beer, talking with him while they waited through replays, about all sorts of things. Like…like his lucky jersey. He’d worn in for years, ever since their team had won the superbowl, and he wore it for every game, religiously. He never washed it, so it stank to high hell, and was easily three sizes too small at this point, but it just didn’t feel right not wearing it, right? In fact, Marty had been doing most–or rather, all of the talking. Keith had focused on cheering during the game–with how hard it was to think, he didn’t feel capable of keeping up a conversation at the moment. Besides, it was more important for him to listen to Marty. Marty was the smart one, the clever one…but his eyes kept going to the clock next to their family portrait, and Marty noticed.

“Worried about the time, bro?” Marty asked him.

“Just…wondering when…Tara and the boys…” he said, but couldn’t complete the thought through the haze in his head.

Marty smacked his head and scowled at himself. Fuck, he’d forgotten–that would have made a mess of things for sure. “Why in the hell would that bitch be coming here? She hates your guts. The two of you haven’t laid eyes on each other since that last time she dragged you to court over missing your alimony payments. You’re lucky you didn’t lose partial custody over that shit.”

Keith looked at his brother, confused…but he…he was right. Tara hated him, and she kind of had good reason to. “Yeah…don’t know…why I’d thought…”

“Don’t worry about it bro, you hate women anyway. They fucking disgust you. The only people you want to spend time around is family. Especially me, your best friend. Your best big brother in the whole world. You love me more than anyone, right?”

Keith nodded and grinned at him, letting off another belch.

“Yeah, you’re just a fuckin’ deadbeat dad, really. Can’t hold down a job–doesn’t help that you dropped out of school, still, considering how stupid you are, that ain’t surprising. Luckily we could move in together–I support you, but that’s ok. There’s nothing you’d rather do, aside from lounging around the house, naked all the time, stuffing your face, drinking beer, watching TV, and loving me.”

This time, even Marty could feel it, the changes sweeping through them. The house around them began rotting–there was no way either of them could live in a neighborhood like that, after all. Still, served the fucker right, Marty thought. They ended up in a double wide trailer in some rundown park–still nicer than pretty much anywhere Marty had lived before, and it felt like home, his brother splayed out on the couch next to him, completely naked aside from his lucky jersey, eyes glued to the TV.

“Oh, and smoking cigars, of course. You couldn’t live without those.”

The air grew dank and smoky all of a sudden, and Keith sucked deep off his cheap cigar. Smiling, amazed at how well the portrait was working, Marty leaned forward and lit a cigar for himself, sighing smoke out, groping his cock through his filthy shorts, wondering how much further he could push this before getting down to business. Hell, why not now? He could remember how big Keith’s cock had been when they were teenagers, and it had only gotten bigger–but no fucking way did he deserve a tool like that, not after what he did.

“The smoking, the food, the beer–it makes you fucking horny too, right bro? So fucking horny all the time. Too bad you can’t find your inch long cock in all that flab of yours. Just makes you sex crazed all the time, leaking cum everywhere, desperate for release.” He watched Keith start panting, heaving smoke, sweating, crotch damp with precum, “Luckily you have a big brother to take care you, right? Help you out?” He reached over and dug around in keith’s new gunt, finding his miniscule cock, stroking it, watching his obese brother spasm with pleasure. “And luckily you’ll do anything your perverse big brother wants you to do, right? You love satisfying all of my sick, disgusting fantasies. At heart, you’re all bottom. A sex crazed pig, aching to have all of your holes stuffed at all hours. That’s the only way you can cum, with a big cock in your ass or buried in your throat, while you grunt and snort like a pig.”

Keith didn’t make it to halftime, before he tore into his brother’s shorts and started sucking on his cock. He ended up bent over the couch, his brother balls deep in his sloppy hole, dull mind desperate for sex, cock leaking like a faucet onto the already well stained couch. His eyes–he felt them pulled up, to the portrait on the wall. The background, it was swirling again, but his image–it was becoming clearer now–no longer blurry. His massive frame barely contained by his favorite jersey, wearing a pair of massive sweats. His shaven head and face looking even larger, three chins drooping under his thick handlebar mustache, a stupid grin on his face, leaning on his brother, his big brother, the best big brother in the world. With a snap, the portrait froze in place, and it was like all of him came alive again. With a holler, his tiny cock spurted a load into his fatty folds, and Marty shot deep in his filthy brother’s hole, and looked up at the photo. A good start, for sure–but there was still so much room in the portrait. Luckily, he had a few ideas for other people he could add to their family–starting with his new nephews. He knew that they would be so much happier away from their bitch mother for good and living with their dad and uncle, where they really belonged.

When reality snapped back to order, the effects were seen far beyond the run-down house where Keith now lived with his older brother–his now ex-wife and sons were forced into new realities as well. The two older sons, David and Terrance, were living out on their own, working and renting an apartment together while they attended the local community college, trying to make the leap to a four year college when they could afford it, and both of them avoided their father like the plague. His youngest son, Bobby, split his time between his mother’s house and his father’s house, but only because he was still seventeen for a few more months. In all honesty, he hated every second he had to spend with his filthy uncle and father–he was ashamed to even be related to them. His mother understood, but there was nothing she could do, until he reached eighteen and could legally decide for himself. And so, Marty decided that the next easiest target would be Bobby, when he arrived to stay with his dad and uncle the next week.

That gave him plenty of time to get adjusted to life with his new stupid, lazy younger brother, and he loved every second of it. While he couldn’t make any massive changes to him, now that the picture had become static again, just like his wizard friend had said, he could continue making small changes and suggestions for another few days, all of which Keith was more than happy to obey, and by the end of the week, he reeked of cum and sweat, he hadn’t had a shower in months, and he spent all day and night drunk, passing out on the couch with the TV on every night, when he wasn’t busy in his brother’s bed, servicing his every sexual desire. Still, they both knew that as soon as Bobby arrived for his week of custody they would have to control themselves…for a little while. Marty didn’t think Bobby would be returning to his mother’s house anytime soon, that was for sure. All he’d have to do is get the young man relaxed and focused on the portrait, and everything would be perfect.

However, from the day Bobby arrived, it became clear it wasn’t going to be nearly as easy as Marty had thought. The boy had some…problems with authority, especially parental authority. He spent almost all of his time in his room, giving his uncle no real chances to exert much influence on him in any way. Marty thought he had him the second night, when he managed to successfully enchant Booby with the portrait, causing a third blurry figure to appear beside the images of his father and uncle, but when he tried to influence the boy, and turn him into a chubby, submissive cub for them both to use, nothing seemed to work–Bobby fought his suggestions, and after an hour, the image of him had faded from the picture entirely.

Angry and frustrated, Marty called his wizard friend, demanding to know what was wrong–the wizard was a bit flummoxed, but said that the reason for Bobby’s resistance probably had to do with his perceived relationship to his family–that is, he didn’t want to perceive himself as Keith’s son, but he didn’t have an easy solution for him. Marty’s mood stayed sour for a few days, until he overheard a fight between Bobby and his father one night. Bobby told him that Keith had never been his father, that Bobby was the only person in the room who could act like an adult–and that gave Marty an idea: if Marty thought he was the adult in the room…well, why not make him one?

The fight ended, Bobby stormed off to his room. Marty waited for half an hour, and then knocked on the door, letting himself in–the portrait had appeared on the wall of Bobby’s room, looming over him. “Bobby, I know you aren’t a fan of us, but you need to accept the fact that we’re your family, and there isn’t anything that can change that,” he said, and pointed at the picture, “Look at us up there, wasn’t that a good day?” Bobby looked at the swirling paint, his eyes drawn in immediately, a fleshy blob appearing in the picture, but Marty could see him fight, see him resist his placement between them, where a son belonged. So Marty tried something different, “But you’re a man now, you know? And you know, we don’t treat you like that enough. You aren’t a boy anymore, Bobby–no, not Bobby–Bob. You’ve grown into a fine young man, haven’t you?”

Bobby resisted for a moment more, but then visibly relaxed where he was sitting on the side of the bed. Marty could see his body changing, hair growing up his forearms, thick like theirs, his body bulking, as he grew older, into his mid 20’s. Finally, finally he had him, and Marty knew exactly what this young prick needed–if he wanted to be an adult, then fine, let him. 

“You know Bob, I’ve always admired you. I’ve never seen you as a nephew, not really. I’ve always thought of you as a real brother to me. And I know Keith gets on your nerves, but he’s, well, he’s younger than us, right? He’s always going to be a bit immature.”

Bob kept growing older, his face growing a bit more lined, hair receding back past the crown of his head, becoming flecked with gray, and he chuckled, “He acts like a fucking child,” Bob said, “I wish…I wish…grandpa had been sterner or…or something, he…why does my head hurt all of a sudden?” Bobby said, rubbing his temples, “I…I feel like I’m forgetting something…”

“You mean dad, don’t you?” Marty said. “You wish dad had been stricter.”

“I…I guess.”

“Look, you’re not one to run away from Keith when he gets on your nerves. You know what he needs–you’ve always known what we both need, as the oldest.”

“Yeah…yeah, you’re right Marty–you always have a way of…of making so much sense, you know?”

“Yeah, I know, now come on. I think you should go have another word with Keith, don’t you?”

Bob nodded, and turned to leave the room. Marty checked the portrait, and sure enough, there was Bob level with them both–but Marty wasn’t really interested in having another brother. Since Bob wanted to be an adult so badly, why not go a little further? He smiled, and joined the rest of the family in the den.

The now middle aged Bob went and stood in front of Keith on the couch. He looked up at him, confused for a moment, before the magic helped him along. Bobby his son didn’t exist for him now–he was looking up at his big brother Bob. 

“Yer blocking the game Bob, get out of the way,” Keith said, craning around him as best he could.

“Yeah? That so? What’s a fat fucking piece of shit like you gonna do about it?” Bob asked.

Keith glowered at him, and hefted himself to one side, but Bob just shifted along with him.

Marty stepped up, and saw that the family portrait had followed them, and was now hanging above the fireplace. “Come on now Bob, you know what Keith needs, don’t you? Ever since he was a kid, you knew exactly what kind of worthless piece of shit he was going to be, and you never hesitated to put him in his place.”

Bob’s gaze grew a bit harder, and he undid the belt around his waist, pulling it free of the loops with one pull. Keith’s eyes went wide, but he couldn’t move before Bob’s hand was around his neck, gripping tight enough to make him gasp for breath. “Apparently someone has forgotten who the boss is around here,” he said, “get up, knees on the sofa boy, I think you need a good reminder.”

Keith tried to mumble something, maybe an apology, but Bob’s grip tightened enough that he only managed a squeak. He released him, and Keith did as he was told, hauling his fat body up and onto the couch, letting Bob tug the back of his grimy underwear down, and pushing his body over the back of the couch, so his ass was high. The first smack made Keith holler, and that was enough to shake Bob as well, and he looked at the belt–almost like he couldn’t believe what he’d just done.

“Don’t worry about the screams, Bob–we all know that just makes that big dick of yours even harder. All those years working construction put a whole lot of muscle on you, and you love using it on the pig–even more than the pig likes the abuse. Go on, see how much that fat pig’s puny cock is leaking.”

Bob ran a hand between Keith’s legs, and sure enough, it came back coated with precum that he wiped across both cheeks. Leering now, he brought the belt down again and again on Keith’s ass, stopping only to pop open the buttons on his jeans, letting his own sizable cock free. Unable to resist anymore, He tossed the belt down and drove the cock into Keith’s loose hole, making them both cry out in delight.

“That’s it Daddy,” Marty said, coming close and stroking Bob’s body as he fucked the pig’s hole. “You’re such a good daddy to us boys, aren’t you?”

Bob was too eager to fuck to even muster much of a resistance, as the portrait began to shimmer again, Bob’s image migrating behind Keith and Marty, where the patriarch would be. 

“Retired now, sure. Past your prime, maybe. But you trained the pig well, didn’t you? You knew before he could walk that he wasn’t going to amount to shit, and no amount of discipline would stick, because the pig just wanted more. More punishment, more humiliation, more, more, more. But that’s ok, isn’t it? You do love him, you want to give him what he wants. It just so happens its exactly what you want to, right Daddy?”

Bob swelled larger, body filling out with more fat and muscle as his hair all turned a stark white, beard down to the top of his gut, snorting and grunting in time with his son as he thrust harder and harder, until he came finally with something like a roar. He pulled free, and his cum drooled out Keith’s hole, who was coming down from his own orgasm, having soaked the couch cushion below him. 

“Fuck Daddy–you’re so fucking hot. Take care of me now, come on. I’ve always been the favorite. Your oldest, I could never do anything wrong. You want to make me happy all the time, don’t you Daddy? You can’t resist anything that I say,” Marty said, grabbed his burly father by the shoulder and shoved him down to his knees, Marty’s own cock out. “Come on Daddy, suck your boy off, you love the taste of my fuckin’ cum, you fuckin’ need it.”

Bob swallowed Marty to the hilt in one practiced motion, and he didn’t last more than a couple of thrusts, before exploding in his Dad’s mouth. He could feel the magic tightening around them all as the portrait turned solid again. It wasn’t quite what he’d planned, Marty thought as he pulled free, watching his new father lick his lips and thank his favorite boy for his load, before getting up, grabbing a beer and a cigar, and sitting down next to the still panting and huffing Keith to finish the game. Marty could make this work, though. He’d pay a visit to Keith’s sons soon, once he was sure these two were well under his thumb, and his new family would be nearly complete.

It had been a bigger change than Marty had planned on for Bobby, and he was a bit concerned that he might try and push back against the magic, but for the rest of the weekend, everything progressed smoothly. If anything, Bobby was revelling in his new found authority and power over his new son, humiliating and abusing him all day long, cementing Keith’s new role as the family loser more and more. But much to Marty’s surprise, the change to Bobby was having an impact on him as well.

Apparently, by making him his dad’s favorite son, that changed some of his own past in the process. Over the rest of the weekend, as his dad showed him his new found affection, pleasing his favorite boy as much as he could, while he did everything he could to punish Keith, Marty found he was losing weight, and putting on muscle. New memories came to him of playing football in high school at his father’s urging–it clashed uncomfortably with his other, older memories of being kicked out of school at Keith’s father’s behest. Needless to say, Marty was thrilled that he could be affected as well, and once he realized the effect it was having, he pushed his dad, and himself, to be more manly, more masculine, both of them sprouting thick beards and bigger cocks, ending Sunday night with a family spit roast in their leather gear–father and his favorite son skewering the family pig at both ends, while they both smoked their favorite cigars, before dragging him down into the basement dungeon, where they took turns flogging him until the pig’s puny cock exploded in delight against the wall.

Marty had spent a bit of time trying to work out how to get the rest of the family under the portraits influence as well. Talking to his friend, the portrait was bound to the house–it would only affect people while they were here. That meant he had to figure out some way to get Keith’s other two sons, Jack and Eric, over here–but neither of his older sons wanted anything to do with him. In the end, the situation with Bobby, now Bob, created a solution to the problem. When Bobby didn’t return to his mother’s house on Sunday night, and with no word from Keith, and after a call to the police turned up no record of her son at all, she asked Jack and Eric to check up on Bobby and make sure he was alright, and to bring him home.

And so, Monday evening there was a pounding on the door. Bob and Keith were downstairs taking care of some discipline, and so it was Marty who opened the door, and found both of his nephews standing on the doorstep, looking rather angry. “Marty,” Jack said, “Is Bobby here?”

“Bobby?” Marty asked, a bit confused. He’d almost forgotten that his father downstairs had been a teenager a couple days before this. 

“Stupid fucking freaks, where the hell is he?” Eric said, shoving his way inside and looking for Bobby in the living room and kitchen. Jack followed after him, and Marty shut the door, smiling that his next two targets had entered the web so willingly.

“Boys, I think you’re confused. Who’s Bobby?”

“Our brother, you know who.”

“Are you sure? I don’t think I had any boys other than you two,” Marty said, looking up at the portrait up above the fireplace, watching the image of both young men materialize in front of Keith for a moment, but Marty had a better idea. Keith was a loser pig, and these boys didn’t deserve that. No–he had a better idea for both of them, that he’d been mulling over for the past couple of days, and with some focus, he watched the images of them scooch over, and take their place in front of him instead. These were going to be his son’s now, and he would raise them just right.

He saw that slight daze come over both of them as the portrait took hold of them, and smiled. “Come on boys, I know you’ve had a long day at work on the site. Crack open a beer and let’s have some family time, while Grandpa’s taking care of your uncle downstairs.”

“What…no, we….we came here for…for Bobby,” Jack said, trying to push through.

“No, you’ve been working on the construction site all day, like usual. Now you’re home, where you belong, with your family. You’re thinking of Bob, your grandpa. You two aren’t too bright, I know you can get confused easily.”

Marty was a bit worried that they’d put up as big a fight as Bobby had, but he watched as Eric’s clothes shifted to some grungy workwear and boots covered in dust and dirt, and seeing it happen to his brother, Jack changed quickly after that. Apparently, the two of them had a good affinity for each other–Marty could work with that too. The two of them followed Marty over to the sofa and sat down together, while he got the remote, fiddled with it, and found an old boxing match to put on. “There we go, that’s what you boys like, isn’t it? A good bout, right?”

Jack and Eric watched the fight go on, while Marty kept talking.

“Yeah, the two of you have always been fighting each other, ever since you were kids. I was always hollering at you two to cut it out, but that just seemed to encourage you. But you’re both sadists, just like me and your grandpa–it shouldn’t have surprised me, I suppose, all the roughhousing. You two were always so easily matched though–identical twins, and damn, did both of you grow big and strong, just like the real men of the family.”

Jack gave a groan, and was the first to pull his cock free of his pants, with Eric following along soon after. The two of them were swelling larger now, packing on a substantial layer of beef across their chest, arms and legs as they grew larger, topping six and a half feet. Their features were melding together–Jack’s hair lightened to the color Eric’s shaggy brown mop, while Eric’s eyes grew more sucken and his brow grew in to match Jack’s own forehead. 

“Fucking inseparable, the two of you. Always have been. Only way I can tell you apart at this point is that Jack, you lost both of your front teeth to a game of backyard football when you were fourteen, and Eric, you pissed Jack off so much a year later he pummelled your face and flattened that nose of yours to your face. But you love each other, deeply. Been catching the two of your fucking around with one another for years now, and I swear you know what the other is thinking half the time. Of course, both of you are such dimwits that it makes sense the two of you would only have one brain between the two of you.”

At the same time, their hands moved and took hold of each other’s cocks, and the two boys moaned simultaneously. One eye each still on the screen, taking in the blows of the bout, obviously excited at the bloodsport, they leaned in and started kissing each other, pressing closer, Eric wheezing through his busted nose, his tongue sliding through the familiar gap in the middle of Jack’s teeth.

“That’s it you two. Fuck, I couldn’t be more pround of my two handsome, dirty, sadistic boys. Hardly ever showering you, pretty much always have a thick cloud of musk and cigar smoke clinging to you, covered in dirt, but not so much that we can’t all see the riot of matching tattoos the two of you have gotten over the years together, all over your arms, your chest, even your cocks have twin snakes down the length of them,” Marty said, came around the front of the couch, and climbed up, one foot between each boy’s legs, his cock thrust between their faces, his twins slobbering all over their new father’s cock as the portrait swirled, coming more and more into focus, the old Jack and Eric fading away, and replaced by the two massive twin bruisers parked on either side of their massive father. “But most of all, you two boys love your Daddy, don’t you? You’ll both do anything for me, without a moment’s hesitation–and your Grandpa too. We’re the only guys who ever fuck you–aside from each other. But that’s what guys in a family do for each other, right? Besides, I know how the two of you love to fight over my cock.”

Jack won the day not long after that, taking his dad’s cock in his mouth while he shoved his brother’s face lower, Eric relenting and lapping at Marty’s balls until he exploded in Jack’s mouth. He pulled free and fed the load to Eric, the two of them sharing it, watching it drool into their tangled brown beards. “Fuck dad, you’re so fuckin’ hot,” Eric said when they pulled free, “Can I suck it next time?”

“You know the rules boys, Daddy likes watching you fight for it,” Marty said, getting down from the couch. “Now come on, let’s go see how grandpa’s work on your pig uncle is going.”

They all went down into the basement dungeon, where they found grandpa with his flogger, coated with a sheen of sweat, laying into Keith’s back with a whip. The smell of blood and sweat mingled in the air, and from his sons’ panting, Marty could tell the scent was getting them excited. “Hey dad, Eric and Jack are home from work, why don’t you let the youngin’s take over for a bit?”

Bob looked over his shoulder, confused for a moment, but the magic took hold after a moment, and he remembered his two grandson’s properly. “Sounds good to me–I think the pig’s just getting warmed up, isn’t that right?”

He walked around, and there was a puddle of cum under Keith from where he’d lost any number of loads already, but from the look of bliss across his face and his still rock hard little cock, it was clear he was ready and eager for more punishment. “Fuck yeah boys, come teach your naughty pig uncle a lesson already,” he said, leering at the two of them. Jack and Eric stripped down repositioned Keith so his hands were together and suspended from the ceiling, pulled tight enough he couldn’t quite touch his entire feet to the ground, and then started using him as a punching bag, one twin punching his uncle’s fat gut while the other held him fucking or fingering his ass while he did, and then trading positions. Meanwhile, Marty took a seat where he could watch his boys work, and Bob came over, got down, and started sucking on his son’s cock.

This was shaping up to be a better family that Marty could have ever dreamed of–but it was still missing one last person, he thought. Gary, the old patriarch of the family, was going to have to be given a new position, since Bobby had already taken his. Now with his two sons in place, Marty knew just where to put him, and then, the portrait would be complete.

Over the next day or so, as Marty made sure his twin boys were well cemented in their new lives, he could feel the magic of the portrait beginning to ebb and pull back. If he was going to bring Gary into the fold, he had to do it soon, or he would miss his opportunity. Thankfully, Gary still lived in town, though his years as a councilman were behind him at this point. He’d used his local connections well though, ending up on the board of a sizable corporation, doing very well for himself. It was time, in Marty’s opinion, to take the old man down a few notches. The disjoint between the two realities–between the portrait and how things used to be–made it difficult to see how to get him close enough for the magic to work on him. After making a call or two, he didn’t even recognize Keith as his son, whether that was because of the magic, or because he wanted nothing to do with a pig like Keith, well, it didn’t matter that much.

In the end, the simplest solution proved to be best. Marty told his two sons to go get the old man and bring him back here, no matter what it took. It took a little breaking and entering, and a little bit of a beating, but not long after midnight, Jack and Eric returned with a well bound, and slightly bloody Gary between them, that they dragged into the house. 

“What the fuck is this? Do you fucking know who I am?” Gary shouted when Marty pulled the gag from his mouth. “Is this about money? Well, you’re not getting any, you’ll all fucking rot in jail!”

“No Gary, this isn’t about money,” Marty said, “This is a family matter. You remember your son Keith, don’t you?”

Keith stepped forward, battered and bruised, stinking of cum and musk, covered in hair. Gary stared at the pig, horrified, but after a moment, there was recollection as well. “K-Keith? What…I…what happened to you?”

Keith, on the other hand, didn’t know who this man was. As far as his simple mind was concerned, Bob had always been his father now. An uncle, maybe? He looked over at Marty, unsure of what to do or say, and the pig knew better than to act without direction from his superiors.

“Yeah, your boy,” Marty said. “Or at least, he was your boy. How about me, Gary? Do you remember me? Marty Hackman, that ring a bell?”

Gary shook his head.

“You ruined my life, Gary. Your son gave me a blowjob in high school, and rather than deal with the fact that your kid liked dick, you decided to demonize me, and get me kicked out of school. Now do you remember Gary?”

Gary’s face went a bit pale, then. “I…What is this, what are you going to do to me?”

“Well, I suppose you could say, I’m going to give you another chance, boy, to do right by your family. Boys, pick him up, bring him into the den, so he can see our family portrait.” Jack and Eric dragged him along, following their dad into the family room, where the portrait was hanging over the fireplace. “There, Gary–doesn’t that look like a happy family?” Marty said, grabbing Gary by the hair and making him look up at the picture, “Still, it’s missing something. It’s missing you, Gary…”

Gary watched as the image began to shimmer, and after a moment, a new image appeared in it, behind Keith and next to Bob–his own image, in fact. “What? How…how did…” Gary said, but trailed off, the magic already taking hold, putting him in a light trance.

“Oh, but that’s not where you belong in the photo Gary, not after everything you’ve done,” Marty said. “No, not someone as petulant as you. As greedy. As cruel and conniving. You don’t get to be the head of this family anymore. But there’s always room for another pig, right nephew?”

Gary watched as the portrait shimmered again, and his image in it moved and shifted, moving from the back beside Bob, down to the front row, in front of Keith and next to Jack and Eric. “How…I don’t understand…”

“I know it’s hard for you, pig’s aren’t very good at thinking, right Keith? You wouldn’t expect a pig son of yours to be any good at thinking hard, would you?”

“No way bro,” Keith said, “No son a mine would be a good thinker. He’d just be a stupid, gluttonous, cocksuckin’ pig like me, if I had anything to say about it.”

“Fuck Gary, you hear what your Daddy is sayin’ about you?” Marty said.

“No, I’m not…I’m not…” Gary said, but watched as the image in the portrait began to change–and to his horror, he could feel his own body begin shifting to match it. Gary, as he had gotten older, had spent his time maintaining his physique as well as he could, and he had quite a reputation as a silver fox. But now, the silver was beginning to fade, and his body began to expand with fat. He pushed back with his hands, trying to stop it, trying to cling to his old self, but he was finding it harder and harder to think, as his mind slowed to a crawl.

“Don’t fight it, pig, you know it’s what you deserve. It’s what you want,” Marty said. “Just a short, obese, hairy, stinking piggy. Not many good genes on that side of the family. You got your daddy’s tiny dick for one thing–hell, we tried to measure it once, but couldn’t really get a good read because of how fat you both are. Hair all over. Your fucking musk could peel paint off the wall, and it doesn’t matter if you shower or not, it comes back in just a few minutes. We don’t mind of course, as family, it doesn’t bother us. All that hair though, and you’re still balding at…how old are you? Twenty two? Ugly fuckin’ mug too, but that can’t be helped. Not many women were willing to have sex with that pigdad of yours. We found one willing, but he couldn’t even get inside her–we had to inseminate. We paid her plenty, of course, but even she thought you were the ugliest baby she’d ever seen. Never wanted to see you again, if she could help it.”

Gary could only watch in horror as everything Marty said came true. He lost a few more inches in height, even as his weight exploded–ending up at five foot six and nearly four hundred pounds of mostly fat. His skin was coated with hair, aside from his hair, which was balding, the rest of it buzzed short. The thick beard on his face did some to conceal his ugly looks, but you couldn’t hide the big nose and ears, the thick brow, the crooked teeth. His clothes had disappeared, but that wasn’t shocking. Pigs didn’t get to wear clothes in the house, and it wasn’t like Gary got to leave that often. Between the stink rolling off him, and his ugly looks, the family decided it was best if the pig just stayed home and took care of the family. 

“But every generation has to have their pig, right? Yer Daddy was my pig, and that means you get to be my boys’ pig. That excites you, of course. Getting to service two big, burly sadists like them, day and night, doing whatever sick, twisted things they want to you. They’ve been training you real well for the last couple of years. Just last month, they finally managed to fit both of their fists inside you at the same damn time. You make my boys so damn happy, and you’re happy doing what you do best, being a stupid, ugly pig cocksucker for your whole damn family.”

Unable to help himself, Gary gave a snort, remembering how happy he’d been, feeling histwin cousin’s fists deep inside him, pummelling his prostate until his little cock jizzed all over his gunt. Across the room, uncle Marty had been busy working over his Daddy with a paddle, working out some sadistic aggression on his ass, turning it bright red. Every once in a while, Keith would shudder and grunt, adding to the pool of cum drooling off the fuck bench he was strapped to. 

“You like being a pig, don’t you Gary?”

“Yeah Uncle Marty, of course I do.”

“You like being your family’s fist hole? Their urinal? Their ashtray? You like how we treat you like a fucking garbage can and cum dump? You love being humiliated.When my boys brought home that tattoo gun, you begged them to use it on you, to mark you as theirs forever. Of course, the only place they could tattoo you where anyone would see it was your face, since the rest of you was so hairy…”

Crude writing appeared across Gary’s face, scrawled there by his cousins over the last few months. Gary didn’t mind. He loved being marked by them, owned by them. What else was there for a pig like him to do anyway? Too stupid to work, too horny all the time to do anything other than beg for sex, he thanked his lucky stars every day that he had been born into a family that understood what a pig like him needed, and treated him right.

“Open pig.”

Gary did as ordered, opened his mouth, and Marty tapped the hot ash from his cigar into his mouth, then shoved his nephew down to his knees. “Open up boy, let me help you wash that down.”

Marty started pissing all over his nephew, watching the young pig chase the stream all over, the rest of it dribbling down into his hairy body. The rest of the family gathered around–even Keith–and added their own piss, baptizing the newest, and youngest member of the family as one of their own. Marty could feel the magic thrumming around him and through him–this was the last one, he could already feel it beginning to seal, but he had gotten what he wanted. He pushed Gary down, climbed on top of him, and drove his cock into his loose hole, Gary grunting with excitement as his uncle took him for the first time, for the hundredth time, he didn’t know. All he knew anymore was that he was a horny, cockhungry pig, and he was here to service his family as they required. Gary’s hole wasn’t tight, but Marty was so horny he didn’t last long. He exploded deep in Gary’s hole, and felt the magic contract and solidify around all of them. Looking up, the portrait was still there, but perfectly stable now–but a piece of artwork, nothing more. 

“Come on boys, let’s get these pigs downstairs. I think we’re just getting warmed up, right?”

Everyone hollered in agreement, and dragged Keith and Gary down to the basement, for their nightly ritual. None of them could be happier, of course, especially Marty, whose own memories were fading away, and had disappeared by dawn. He had what he’d always wanted, a loving family. A perverted, stinking, roughneck family of pigs, sure, but a family all the same.

State of the Author, January 2021

Hey all,

Alright, it’s been a few months since my last update, and I just wanted to say again, thank you all for your patience and your support as I worked through a few various side projects and miscellaneous ideas, as I tried to figure out what in the hell I wanted to do next. First, some good news: I have a new story up over on Patreon, which I’ll post over here next week once. It’s a sign that things are finally rolling for me, and I’m confident that I have a good idea of where I’m looking to go next, so here’s a little on where my head is at, what I’m going to be working on for the next while, and some other little things.

2020 was rough. Looking back on what I managed to get done, I don’t really know when or how it happened. Ruts are difficult, and when you’re in one, especially when you’ve been writing this stuff for as long as I have, it becomes very difficult to try and figure out how to force yourself out of it. I don’t know if I would characterize what I was pushing through for the last few months as a rut, but it’s similar. 

Part of the issue for me, is that I’ve been really wanting to devote myself to something longer and more robust than the short fiction and captions I’ve been putting out lately, but at the same time, I know that short content is popular. That said, each time I tried to sit down and conceptualize a “novel” it never seemed to pop out like that. It would come out as an RPG, or as a twine story, but as I pushed down those avenues, those didn’t really fit right either and were leaving me frustrated as well. 

There were a few things that lit a couple of lightbulbs for me this year. One of those was the story “Precinct 17”, which did a lot to expand some of the Pigtown lore, and felt like it was part of something much larger than just a little story. I starting poking at it, thinking on ways to expand it, but none of the stories really felt like they were coming together. At the same time, I’ve been kicking around a lot of ideas for some more City of Bears content, but in all honesty, CoB requires a level of optimism and joy that I’m finding in short supply right now. This is a time for Pigtown. Another light bulb that went off was the “Frat Daddy,” interactive I did over the summer, which succeeded in feeling more like an actual interactive story, than a TF simulator. I liked how open ended it felt, that it wasn’t necessarily interested in driving towards an obvious conclusion, but merely opening up possibilities. If one storyline closed, another couple seemed to pop up behind it to be developed. I liked the serial nature of it, and it reminded me of years ago, when I used to put out smaller entries of stories on a regular basis. There were always problems with that model, of course, but I also miss it. 

The last few months I’ve just been kicking all of this around, seeing what it felt like, and what it didn’t feel like. What I felt like making, most of all. What felt like something I could put out into this current world that might make a little bit of sense to me. I managed some other projects along the while, a good chunk of captions over November, a series of Christmas tales in December. Around New Year’s I started sketching something out, it felt right, I’ve been enjoying writing it, and I’m happy to announce that for the next while, I’m going to be working on something I’ll be calling “The Pigtown Chronicles” for now. It’s a long form serial in the Pigtown setting, and I’ll be posting entries three days a week for now, with more or less depending on how my buffer is looking.

As always, patrons are going to get early access to entries. I’ll probably run early access at least a week ahead, but might push it to two weeks. In the future, once I get the serial up and running and readers get a feel for it, I’ll be soliciting ideas and requests from the upper tiers, and using that input to shape characters and storylines as the serial progresses, and possibly offering commissions for specific content, if people are interested in that, but all of these plans are mostly tentative. More important to me, is delivering something regularly that I feel like I can commit to, and that you all will find enjoyable. 

A serial presents some additional challenges, making it a bit harder for folks to pick up in the middle of the series, especially as the story develops. As someone who reads a lot of webcomics, I am well aware of how confusing it can be to drop into the middle of a substantial story arc with no idea of what’s going on, having to go back in the archive and start from the beginning. So, I’ll be collecting and organizing the individual entries for patrons as downloadable files as I finish sets of them, so people who join late have an easy way of downloading and catching up. 

For now, starting on Monday, Wednesday and Friday, I’ll be posting the first entries over on Patreon, and I’ll follow up by posting them here a week later. I have a feeling you all will probably enjoy it. For the first few weeks, I’m going to give patrons at all tier levels early access to the series, but once we’re through the introduction, I’ll go back to giving early access to folks at the $5 level and up. If you’ve been waiting for a good time to join my Patreon, this might be it! You can find out more here.

And of course, thanks as always for reading, and for your patience.

Patreon Teaser – The Cursed Elf

Hey all, I’ve been doing some short flash fiction Christmas tales for folks over on Patreon! I’m gonna post a couple of them here for the next few days, but if you want to read them all, you’ll have to head over here! Supporters at the $5 level or higher get access to those, and a bunch of other stuff in the archive. Here’s part one of a little tale about a cursed Elf on a Shelf, enjoy!

Dec 1st.

Mitch blinked awake and checked the clock–not too long after midnight. He wasn’t quite sure what had awoken him, but he did need to take a piss, so he got up out of bed without disturbing his wife, and walked to the bathroom attached to their room. It was too early to even try and aim, so he turned around and sat down, took a long piss, and as his vision adapted to the light, he noticed something odd. There, on the counter with its legs dangling off, was one of those…elf things. The elf on a shelf, right? 

Linda had bought one when they’d first come out for Jeremy, their son who was in college now. She’d changed locations every day, Jeremy had needed to hunt for it, and it helped encourage good behavior, since it was allegedly reporting back to Santa each night. But they hadn’t used it since he was ten or so–almost a decade ago? Why on Earth had she gotten it out now?

Looking at it again, he noticed something else odd about it. It didn’t seem particularly…jolly. The elf had been thin, with a big grin. This one though seemed fat, its clothes dirty looking, with a mischievous sneer across its face. 

“Ya just gonna stare at me, Mitch, or are ya gonna say hello?”

He nearly popped up off the toilet when he heard the voice come from the elf. Then the thing…moved. It got up on the counter, a hairy belly poking out from under the ratty shirt it had on…and was that…a bulge? “What…what the fuck are you?”

“I’m an elf. A bad elf, I suppose Santa would say. Had a pretty good gig for a while, you know? Report on the kids, have a little fun with their dads, harmless! Got fired, stuck me in one of those damn dolls! Well, good news is, I still have my Christmas magic left, and look at you, sexy fella. I’ll be happy to keep an eye on you for the next twenty five days.”

Mitch tried to say something else, but a strange beam shot out of the elves eyes and into Mitch’s own, and his hands flopped down at his side, eyes gleaming, smile wide. 

“That’s it, Mitch. You just relax and let me take care of everything. Aren’t you horny, Daddy? Don’t those big balls of yours just need release?”

The elf hoped over onto Mitch’s thigh, as his cock was beginning to stand upright, his balls sagging lower into the bowl of the toilet. The elf wrapped both arms around his cock and started pumping it, making Mitch groan. 

“That’s it, just stokin’ off, like guys do. You love masturbatin’, don’t you Mitch? Bet you love it more than fucking, you pervert. Looking at porn every chance you get, whacking off in the bathrooms at home, at work. You don’t care if anyone hears you, do you Mitch? Wouldn’t getting caught be kind of…exciting?”

Mitch’s groans got louder and louder, until the bathroom door opened, his wife standing in the doorway as Mitch stroked himself off, shooting a huge load all over the floor in front of him, while Linda just stared, horrified. He looked around for the elf, but the little fucker was nowhere to be found. He tried to sputter an explanation, but she just said that if he wanted to be gross, he could sleep on the couch for the rest of the night, and went back to bed.

Confused and a little scared, Mitch went downstairs and made a little bed on the couch. He didn’t even get settled in before he saw a pair of eyes gleaming at him from a high shelf. Before he could stop himself, he was drifting off into some of the filthiest dreams of his life–at least, until the next night, and the night after that, the elf assuring Mitch this would be a Christmas season he’d never forget.

A Winter Update

Hey everyone. I just wanted to give everyone an update on what’s been going on, since it’s been pretty quiet around here for the last month, after the flurry of captions I posted for October. This is an update I’ve been needing to write for a while now, but haven’t quite found the right words to use, and it also contains some admissions that I’ve been struggling to accept, but which need to be said in the interest of transparency.

First things first, the obvious: this has been a terrible year. Between the pandemic, and the election, and work, and so much other personal stuff going on, I’ve struggled with maintaining the kind of energy and connection the erotic I need in order to put out stories on a regular basis. Honestly, the fact I’ve managed to put out anything at all this year is surprising to me, and especially over the last month, I’ve been teetering on the edge of a pretty severe burnout. The kind of burnout that makes me consider setting aside the writing for a substantial amount of time. As of now, I’m not planning on doing that, but that would be Difficult Admission #1: I’m really fucking tired.

For my writing to work, for me to feel inspired, and engaged, there needs to be some sort of future. The erotic relies on anticipation, and this year has been one long series of the future closing in on itself. As cases spike, as it looks like the incoming administration is preparing to do fuck all about the mess we’re in, as I read article after article detailing the human misery and destruction going on all over the place, its been increasingly difficult to maintain the sort of fantasy that makes the writing possible in the first place. The despair is real, and constant, and not something I can just shut off. Writing from a position of anger isn’t strange to me, but the anger has been dwindling, and what remains is a big pile of hopelessness that I don’t quite know how to work through as of now.

It hasn’t helped that the income I pull in from Patreon has gone from hobby money to money I have to count on to make sure my bills get paid. Over the last year, it’s become clear that Patreon is slowly going to be weeding out adult accounts from its service, and it’s probably only a matter of time before mine comes under scrutiny as well. This could be paranoia, but after seeing what happened with gay spiral stories, I consider the paranoia to be well founded. Turning your hobby into a revenue stream sounds like a dream come true, but honestly, it can also suck the life out of it, as you find yourself worrying more about what is going to be popular/worth spending money on, and less about what sort of writing and projects interest you personally. I appreciate every patron, don’t get me wrong. The fact that I’ve found this much support is amazing. But the pressure to provide immediate, monthly rewards for patrons, in order to reward/entice people to support me runs up hard against a lot of the substantial projects I want to work on, leaving me tugged between short stuff like suggestions and captions that are popular but eat up a lot of time, and longform stories, twine projects, and other things that I’m desperate to work on but don’t produce any sort of immediate, tangible reward for people who support me. I’m hardly the first creative person to struggle with this push and pull, but there’s no real easy way to navigate it, especially with my depleted energy. But this would be difficult admission #2: As much as I appreciate the support I get from folks on Patreon, the pressure of maintaining that income tends to discourage my creativity, rather than enhance it.

There’s no easy way forward through any of this, of course. I have no intention of shutting down my Patreon or anything drastic like that, though I will probably be revamping it somewhat early next year. Rather than committing to a set of rewards each month, things like the suggestion box, interactive stories, captions on discord and the like are going to be more sporadic. I won’t be able to promise patrons some sort of exclusive content each month, but I will do my best to make sure they receive at least something extra as often as I can. But I really want to believe that if you’re supporting me on there, you’re doing so because you appreciate all of the work I do, whether its short stuff or the more complex twine projects, novellas and the like. If that means that some people lose interest in backing me…well, they probably would have already dropped me sometime over the last year, given my lackluster output, compared to prior years.

Mostly though, I want to thank you all for reading, for your support, for everything, really. Stay safe, hopefully things will begin to look up soon, though I have a feeling we’re all going to be struggling with this for a long while yet. I have no intention of stopping this anytime soon, so don’t worry about that, but I feel that it’s important to let you all know where I’m at.

(Caption) Halloween Nightmares VII

October Caption Challenge (31/31)

Success! This caption uses a photo from @bowserpig over on twitter, and seemed a good one for Halloween proper.

It didn’t seem fair. Bowser had been working on this costume since last year, ordering the bits and pieces from various folks in the community, and now that his orc costume was all set and ready to go…there was nowhere to go, thanks to the pandemic. He sighed, looking at himself in the mirror. He did look good, and at least he could always show off some photos on the internet. Besides, there was always next year, right?

Well, the dream imp thought it was a shame too. It was a nice attempt, really, but the orcs he was familiar with, from some of the deeper regions of the hellscape, were rather rougher. He wondered what they might think of the costume, in fact. The imps time on the surface was coming to an end, it only had energy left for one last dream–and so, when Bowser went to sleep on Halloween night, the imp pulled him into a dream, and down deep into its own realm, where he found himself standing in a rather alien environment.

There was no sun, but there was light. Nothing was growing that he could seen, just dessert and stone as far as he could make out. Looking down at himself, he was somewhat surprised to find himself in the same costume he’d had on earlier. The ground shook, just slightly, and some massive, green skinned figures came around a pile of boulders, led by a little imp floating in the air. 

“Look at this human I found, fellas–he thinks he’s an orc!” the imp said, and cackled.

Bowser took a couple of steps back, but came up against a sizable rock. The orcs he was staring at were…well, they weren’t unlike the images he’d seen in fairytales and stories, but they were decidedly more…intense. If they’d been standing upright, they’d have been close to nine feet tall, but they were hunched over, more like gorillas. Their skin was green, but a bit paler than he might have expected, and the teeth…massive tusks growing out and curling around. They came a bit closer, scowling at him and his mimicry, and he smelled them on the stale, quiet air. It was enough to make him gag, and go a bit weak at the knees.

“A human, dressed like an orc?” one of the beasts said, giving a snort.

“If he wants to be an orc so badly, we can help with that.”

“He’s all yours, if you want. All you have to do is take the deal I offered,” the imp said.

One of the orcs gave a derisive snort, but nodded. The imp gave a little aerial bow, and disappeared into the aether, leaving Bowser alone with the two orcs beneath the Earth. 

“Mmm…I haven’t tasted human in ages,” one of them said, came close, and licked the side of Bowser’s face, “Are you sure we can’t just eat him?”

“The slightly larger one gave a grunt. “What do you think, little human? Do you want us to eat you, or would you like us to make you a proper orc?”

Bowser swallowed hard. “Orc…please…”

“Then you’d best eat up,” the orc said, grabbed hold of Bowser’s head in one passive palm, and shoved him under his hairy green gut. The cock waiting for him was studded up and down with bone–Bowser didn’t know if it was decorative or not, but all of it went down his throat, scraping the sides of his mouth and tongue, and the beast started fucking him, barely giving him space to breathe. With a little repositioning, the other orc hauled up Bowser’s legs and drove his own cock into his ass–pumping load after load of orc cum into Bowser’s belly.

He lost himself in the pain, which soon became pleasure, and rapture. With each load, he felt his belly begin to swell, his muscles growing stronger and brawnier, new teeth and tusks pushing out the fake ones he’d gotten for his costume. Already his human life was beginning to fade away, his memories of the surface. Once he’d grown large enough, he shoved the orcs off of him, climbed on top of one of them, and drove his own cock into the hole, while the other kissed him, their tusks grating against each other as they did. He gave a roar, and spilled what little remained of his humanity deep in his orc brother’s guts, and the three of them collapsed into a sweaty heap among the rocks. 

Some nightmares, it seems, can become the wildest of dreams–depending on who dreams them.

(Caption) Mind the Return Policy

October Caption Challenge (30/31)

You couldn’t get into the best Halloween parties on campus without a costume, which was a challenge for Jeff, since he didn’t have much in the way of cash to spend on anything extravagant. Some guys he knew could pull together a decent costume with just some trash and duct tape, but he’d never been that creative. Looking on the internet for ideas, he saw a good one–go buy some clothes from a workwear store and go as a construction worker. The next day, you can just return them, and you aren’t out a dime–so long as they stay clean of course.

It seemed like an easy solution. There was a little workwear shop near campus, owned by a gruff looking older fellow, who, when Jeff checked out with the gear, just gave him a scowl, like he knew exactly what he was up to. “You need a copy of the return policy?” he asked. Jeff just shook his head, bundled everything up and left the store.

The party was great. Even more amazing, the clothes were good as new the next day, aside from their missing tags, of course. But that wouldn’t be an issue he was sure. He went back to the store with the clothes in hand, and told the older fellow he wanted to return them. He even had the receipt and everything. 

The older fellow scoffed, and his sneer turned into a bit of a smile. “Sorry fella, I can’t take back gear that you’ve worked in,” he said. 

Jeff started to object, but felt the world shift around him a bit, in a way he couldn’t quite explain. “What are you talking about?” he managed to say, “They’re good as new.”

“Buddy, look in the mirror, that shit is filthy.”

Jeff walked over and looked in the mirror hanging on the outside of the dressing room, and just stared at his reflection in confusion. For one thing, why was he wearing the clothes he’d bought? He’d…he’d had something else on, hadn’t he? From…school? Everything was fuzzy all of a sudden. It had been a costume, hadn’t it? But he hadn’t…done anything for Halloween, he was too tired from working all day at the site. 

“No, what the hell, I…what the fuck did ya do to me?”

“Look, best I can offer is an exchange. It’s no surprise ya wanna return them, I mean…I’m surprised ya even managed to squeeze into those to get here.”

The same sensation as before, but this time, it was centered on him, inside him. Looking down, Jeff watched as his body swelled larger and larger, packing on fat, the suspenders pushed to the side, his t-shirt riding up as a massive, hairy gut spilled out, the button at the top of his pants popping open.

“I…I mean…I don’t understand…” he stammered, gripping his gut in disbelief, but already the memory was fading, of being any other way.

“No worries Jeff,” the owner said, “You’re familiar with our return policy. Seems like ya come in here every month, after outgrowing the last set of clothes I sell you. It’s like you enjoy being a fat, hairy, stinking pig or something.”

Jeff grunted, as the hefty owner pushed up against him. “I…I uh…look, I’ll just…just take the clothes…”

“No, you’re gonna get in the dressing room, bend over like the horny asspig you are, and I’m gonna fuck that loose hole of yours. Then, we’ll get you dressed in something closer to your size eh? Don’t you want me to breed that hole of yours, you fat hog?”

Fuck, he did, didn’t he? That afternoon, Jeff was back at the site, in his new clothes. They were better, with a little room to grow at least, but that was just a challenge as far as he was concerned. In a few weeks, he’d be bursting out of these as well, and head on back to Wade’s shop to make a new exchange. He was so happy he’d found that shop–really, his return policy was the best in town.

(Caption) What is Lost, Can be Freely Claimed

October Caption Challenge (29/31)

“Come on Simon, magic? Really?”

“Sure Marty! Just fuckin’ trust me, alright? The plan’ll work. You wanna live in this shithole the rest a yer life?”

“Ya know I don’t.”

“Well then work with me here. So we lure a couple a rich guys from the city, one a those gay couples, and have them stay here for a week.”

“Here? Why the fuck would they wanna stay at a run down shithole like our place?”

“Easy–it’s called AirBnB.”

“Come on babe, doesn’t it look quaint?”

“It looks dirty.”

“I want to get out of the city though.”

“I know, I know, look, just book it, alright? But I reserve the right to demand a refund.”

“Alright, so they stay here–how’s that help us, Marty?”

“Well, they first they lose their luggage, you see…”

“It’s not the end of the world, the airline said they’ll have it to us by the end of the week.”

“We’ll be leaving by the end of the week, Gregory! What in the world am I supposed the wear? My plane clothes all week?”

“Well, you are the one who said that you wanted to get out of the city and into the country, maybe living a little simpler could help. I mean, did you really need two suitcases for a week here?”

“Yes! Of course I did!”

“Alright…”

“Only thing is, when you lose something, according to magic, that creates…an opening. Something else can slip in and replace it. If you don’t claim it, well, that means it’s up for grabs.”

“So…we just gotta give them something else? Like what?”

“We got all kinds a stuff, Simon! And with a little spell here and there, they won’t even miss their garbage luggage.”

“I can’t wear it anymore, Gregory–oh look! Someone didn’t clean out the closet. Oh, but it’s not the most…well…chiq, is it?”

“What, coveralls and rubber boots aren’t your style? Fuck, this place is a dump, I can’t believe I let you talk me into this.”

“Let me just…hmm…it fits pretty well, actually.”

“Oh my god, I have to get a picture of this. Chadwick, in coveralls–the guys back home are going to fucking freak out.”

“Oh haha, fine, you can get a picture, but only if you put on something too.”

“No fucking way.”

“Come on! It’s pretty comfy…”

“Oh fine, but I’m just trying it on, ok? Nothing more.”

“So they put on our stuff, and…then what?”

“Then we wait.”

“Fuck Greg, you…fuckin stink today.”

“Well yeah–why the fuck wouldn’t I?”

“No, I mean, you don’t…usually stink, do you?”

“Come on Chad, of course we fuckin’ stink.”

“No, I mean…fuck, what was I thinkin’ about?”

“Go get me another beer man, I just wanna relax before we gotta go back tah work on Monday.”

“But we’re supposed tah leave in two days, right Greg?”

“Leave where?”

“I…I thought…”

“Dumbass, what are you fuckin’ thinkin’ for?”

“I dunno.”

“Get me that beer, then get yer ass over here, I’m fuckin’ horny as hell this mornin’.”

“We wait?”

“Yeah, we wait.”

“For what?”

“For the magic to work, stupid!”

“Don’t yell at me Simon.”

“Look, they forget who they are, they take our place, and then they renounce their old lives, which means we can have them! We take their stuff, and bang–brand new lives.”

“Why the fuck would they give up their good lives for our shitty one?”

“Look. I promise it’ll work, just trust me.”

“What the fuck ya want?”

“Just some lost luggage from the airport…for a Gregory Morse and a Chadwick Anderson?”

“Ain’t no one here by those names. Ya must have the wrong address.”

“Oh–so you’re renouncing your right to these worldly goods?”

“What the fuck ya sayin’? Yeah, sure, whatever. Get the fuck off mah property.”

“Yes sir, have a good day Sir.”

…….

“Who was that Greg?”

“No one important. Come here, Daddy’s fuckin’ horny boy…”

“Oh fuck Daddy, you fuckin’ reek tahday.”

“Yeah I do you fucker–come on, one more day a vacation, then it’s back tah fuckin’ work. I wanna spend it fuckin’–outside.”

“What?”

“Yeah, gonna throw ya around a mud puddle, get ya real fuckin nasty, then plow that hole a yers.”

“Oh fuck Daddy, that sounds fuckin’ hot.”

Well go on then boy, let’s get started.”

(Caption) Five Lost to Pigtown

October Caption Challenge (28/31)

Something had changed in the city lately, Matt thought. It was seedier, he kept seeing these sorry, dirty looking guys roaming around the junkyard where he worked. He thought they were derelicts at first, but that didn’t seem quite accurate. They only seemed to come out in the dark, for one thing, and more than once, he saw a manhole cover slide back into place as he passed by an alley. Were they living in the sewers? He didn’t really want to know, but it creeped him out all the same. 

All day long now, he felt like someone was watching him as he kept the bits and pieces of cars and trucks organized, and helped folks find the bits they were looking for. One evening, he lost track of time while he was out in the tire storage area, and didn’t notice the sun setting until he shuddered from the chill. He closed up and went to leave, when he heard a rustling inside–had someone gotten in behind him? 

He opened back up, poked around, and towards the back, sheltered by a stack of old tires, he found one of the grungy fellows there, sitting in some filthy work gear, cock hanging out, smoking a cigar. Matt yelled at him, and the guy startled and jumped behind the stack, almost like an animal, like he was terrified. Confused, Matt came closer, to where the cigar was still smoking on the ground, trying to figure out what was going on. He caught a whiff of the smoke, and coughed–it was…strong, to say the least. It made his eyes water, his head swim. He sat down where the man had been, trying to clear his head, but before he could, the fellow had slipped back out, picked up the cigar, and pushed it into Matt’s mouth.

That first inhale was a punch to the gut. Coupled with the stink rolling off the man in front of him, all he could do was gag–but the cigar refused to fall from his mouth, for some reason. He…he needed it, didn’t he? He took another inhale–that one wasn’t so bad. The greasy fellow got down in front of him, pulled out Matt’s cock, and started sucking on it. Matt looked down at himself, at his clothes, at his…filthy, nasty clothes. They hadn’t been that dirty, had they? A moment ago? He took another draw on the cigar, looked at the cinder on the end. Almost reading his mind, the man opened his mouth, and Matt knocked the ash off into the man’s mouth. He went back to sucking, and Matt moaned from the sensation of ashy grit on his member, and took another suck on the cigar.

They looked for Matt for a few days, but he never turned up for work. He hadn’t even clocked out, the day he disappeared. However, the owner did see someone that looked…a bit like him, in a mass of filthy bodies down an alley. Those damn derelicts–where the hell are they all coming from? It seems like they’re breeding around here, or something.