When Brodie got the package, he was, admittedly, a bit confused. When he’d signed up as a tester for an underwear company, he’d been hoping for something a bit more exciting than, well, this. Inside the package was just a single pair of basic looking y-front briefs, in mock packaging. The label said they were part of a product line called “Dad Gear” from some company called Arctos. It certainly didn’t make him anymore excited to wear them, but his contract said that he had to test them out for 24 hours, and then submit his review online.
He pulled the briefs on, and was surprised that they were so comfortable. They had seemed a bit baggy at first, but the elastic helped keep them up well, and he stood there for a second, just…enjoying the feel of it, before wandering off towards the couch, completely forgetting to put on more clothes. It was the weekend, and he had a long list of chores to do–instead, he sat down in front of the TV, flipped channels, and settled on a sports channel, watching it raptly for half an hour, before getting up, going to the kitchen, and returning with a beer and some snacks that he started chowing down on.
Brodie woke with a start, hours later, in the middle of the night, still on the couch. The TV was on, now showing some late night infomercial, and he realized that he had to piss like a racehorse. He tried to get up from the couch, but it was…a struggle for some reason that he couldn’t quite pin down. Eventually, he managed to force his way up, tromped into the bathroom to piss, and then made his way back to the sofa, where he sat back down in his comfortable dent. As he sat, he let off a fart, and he chuckled to himself–then started flipping channels.
There wasn’t a whole lot on, but he found another sports something, a feature on wrestlers, and he found himself getting horny, watching the burly fellows grapple with each other. Before too much longer, he’d blown a wad right into the underwear, and not too long after that, he was snoring again, gut growing larger, more tattoos filling in across his body, forgetting all about his younger days. His review was, needless to say, incredibly positive, if also a bit lewd. He also went ahead and ordered some more products from the Daddy Gear line–it was right up his alley after all, just the perfect demographic.
“Morning Pete,” Tatum said with a smirk, as his flatmate walked into the kitchen with a groggy look on his face, scratching his gut.
“Mornin’,” Pete said back, and went to the fridge, “Fuck, is there any of that pizza left from last night? I’m starving.”
“Nah man, you polished off both pies. I only got a couple of slices.”
“Are you kidding me? There was so much…”
“Guess you were hungry.”
“God, I need to get back to the gym, I can’t keep eating like shit and not even try and work it off again…” he let out a sigh of disgust at himself, hauled out some frozen potatoes and some eggs, and started working on making himself breakfast.
All the while, he was wearing the wifebeater. The same wifebeater he’d been wearing for close to two weeks–which coincidentally, was the last time Pete had shaven his face and also the last time he’d been to the gym. It was also two weeks since Tatum had put Pete under trance for the first time, using a hypno program he’d gotten off the net. He’d expected Pete to realize what was going on at some point, but he was still fucking clueless, and Tatum’s cock was raging hard in his boxers, watching his roommate walk through the kitchen, reeking of cum, because he’d spent the last two weeks serving as the apartment’s honorary cumrag, without even realizing it.
“Hey Pete, before you get to cooking, I got a load for you.”
Without missing a beat, Pete turned around from the counter, got down on his knees, chest puffed out, and stayed still, while Tatum got up from the table in the kitchen, already stroking his cock. Pete stayed perfectly still, like his mind had shut off, until Tatum had pumped out another load onto his wifebeater, and when he was finished, he stood back up, turned back around, and resumed making breakfast like nothing at all had happened.
Tatum’s cock had hardly dropped, however. He’d hated his roommate–how fit he was, how clean he was, how high and mighty, how he’d looked down on Tatum, especially for being a fag. Now he had him right where he wanted him, and he had a few more changes in mind for his roommate, before he was done.
Want to read more? There’s a second part that continues the story on my discord server for patrons!
I can tell you this at least, being a parole officer comes with some decent perks. It’s a whole lot easier, for one thing, sitting in an office and just trying to keep guys from going back to prison again–although that can be a challenge in its own way. See, prison is easy, in a lot of ways. You don’t have many choices in prison, and so, when you get out, it can be…paralyzing, for some guys, to try and figure out what to do with yourself. It can leave some of them in a particularly fragile state–and I’m proud to say that my parolees have one of the lowest rates of recidivism in the district. You might say that I know how to give a guy…purpose.
Sure, they can come in here, acting tough, looking like they know how the world works, but I can see what makes them tick, what they’re afraid of. Some of them just need a kind word, and a good push in the right direction, to grow up and be decent people this time around. Others, well, they didn’t end up in prison usually because of something they did. They ended up in prison because they were too weak to say no, or think for themselves, or because they were scared. Those ones are harder, guys like Garrett here–or Spike, as he likes me to call him.
I knew he was going to end up back in prison if I didn’t do something, you see. He was too weak, to easily swayed by the people around him, and the people he was around, they didn’t want what was best for him, not like me. Fuck, one visit to my office, and I barely had to do much more than talk gently to him, and he was out, doing everything I told him to do, just because I could make him feel good. Well, no one has to worry about Spike now, I make sure he won’t be getting into anymore trouble, and he much prefers being my dog, to being a person–you could ask him yourself, if he could talk much anymore.
But being human is behind him. No, he spends his days naked in my house, napping, playing with his toys, waiting by the door for me to come home so we can play together–so I can fuck him, really, because he knows he’s not the alpha in this little pack. No–he’s lucky all the same though, to have a master like me, holding the leash. If he was free, who knows what trouble he’d get himself into?
Fuck, look at my boys there, coming along so damn nicely. You should have seen them just a couple of months ago when they showed up at the gym. New in town, they said, they were roommates, and they’d moved here together to make a fresh start in a new city. Not gay, much to my surprise–well, maybe a little, to start with. After all, I’ve never met a man who isn’t a little gay.
I kept myself friendly for a while, offering them advice, a little bit of support, mentorship and spotting when they needed it, dropped a few hints that I’d been known to coach guys and help them make some great progress. Progress into what, is the question of course, but not one I’ve ever known a guy to ask–especially not after they listen to a few of my files.
I knew I couldn’t get one without the other–so I decided to work on them both, at first. Fixing their memories, bit by bit, encouraging them to grow…closer to each other. The tattoos were an idea I suggested to them both, a way to push them closer, show that they were brothers–and soon, in their minds, they weren’t just bros–friends and roommates–they were actual brothers. Then, they were even more than that.
From one day to the next, I could tell it had happened–that after years of something smoldering between them, they had finally done it–and they’d loved it. They couldn’t stop looking at each other, smelling each other–the hardons in their gym shorts obvious to anyone from across the room–and now that they’d fallen for each other, I started making them fall for me.
And now, here we are, one happy family. Me, their coach and father, and them, two dumb, horny musclebears obsessed with each other’s musk. We just went and got their tattoos finished last week, and after that, I’m going to set up a platform for them online to start bringing in the cash–after all, they needed to focus more on their workout, and their old jobs–and lives–had to go. A couple weeks after that, and I’ll start renting them out–probably only as a pair I think, until I can work in a bit more independence. They can’t fucking stand to be away from one another, is the issue–totally co-dependent. I mean, I designed them that way, of course, but the way they even finish each others sentences sometimes can be a bit, well, creepy–and clients don’t usually want creepy. Still, I’m keeping an eye out for new acquisitions as always–you know me, I can’t go too long without a project, or I start to get bored–and no one wants to see me when I’m bored.
Hey everyone! It’s a new month, and that means there’s a brand new suggestion box open for all of my patrons at the $5 dollar level and up. Is there a story you’d like to see me write, a fetish you’d want me to focus on, or a kind of character that turns you on? Let me know! I can even take photo inspirations over on my discord channel, open for patrons only. Here’s one of the stories I wrote for patrons last month, inspired by one such photo–if this is something you’d like to get in on, sign up on my page over here at the $5 tier or higher!
Service Beast
It’s just a store, you try and tell yourself, but you’re still nervous all the same. The space is big–too big, and too bright and white. It’s unnatural. The smells are too clean or perhaps just non-existent, without the manure and grass you’ve become so used to lately. There are also too many people, and all of them are staring at you–some of them shake their head in disgust or shame, while others–the teenagers mostly–just point and laugh. You can understand why, of course. You’re huge, for one thing–nearly seven feet tall at this point, and almost five hundred pounds of fat and muscle hanging on your frame. The hair is the other thing–your entire chest, back and belly coated in a thick pelt of brown hair, all of it easily visible through the straps of your muddy overalls–the only clothes you wear anymore. You’re beard is tangled, your hair long and bleached a bit from the hours and hours spent out in the sun this summer. You’re only…22? 23? But you look like you’re at least forty, if not fifty now. This is the first time you’ve been inside a building other than the barn and stable in months, and even though the aisles are wide, you still feel much too confined–for the first time, you’d rather be back on the farm, in the fields doing your work, rather than…this place. A place you…swear you recognize, but finding all of those old memories is so difficult now. You suppose that’s why Master feels so confident bringing you here now.
The mobility cart he’s sitting in jolts forward, and the lead in his hand, connected to the collar around your fat, hairy neck, jerks you forward as well. “Keep up, you stupid lug–get two of those and put them in the cart.”
You look at the boxes he’s indicating, grab two, and set them in the basket in front of him, and then you continue onward–you fetching and carrying from the shelves, while Master barks orders at you in public, treating you like a slave and a idiot while everyone in town watches–and while you know the truth, but can’t say it. You can’t seem to say much of anything, anymore. You’re too afraid to speak, ever since you lost your words last week–or maybe it was the week before that. It seems like the only thing that comes out of your mouth are the grunts, loos, and squeals of the beasts to care for and sleep with back at the farm. Anything more than a simple sentence just dissolves–and the thought along with it, as soon as you start.
You hadn’t always looked like this–though you were having a harder and harder time remembering that, from day to day. You’d been young and slim and muscular–not this fat, hairy stupid beast of burden he had warped you into, starting the day you got on the farm, after taking the job offer you’d found on the internet, looking for some summer employment. Master liked to play the part of the crippled invalid, but you knew the truth–he was ancient, yes, but as a wizard, he didn’t need the cart, or even you, to get the farm work done. But centuries of power had warped him, and he’d grown bored. You were just another amusement, at the end of the day, for the old wizards perverse desires.
“Come on, you stupid thing–help me get to the bathroom. I have something I need to take care of.”
You gulp, and help him up as he feigns a limp, and help him into the restroom. This room feel even smaller than the rest of the store, with the too bright halogen lights, and the small stalls. Master goes into the handicapped stall, and tugs you in as well–to help him out.
“Get down, you fucking beast, fuck, watching you lumber around like some stupid fucking ape–you’re just an animal, you know that? You’re my fucking service animal–how does it make you feel, knowing that you’re just a simple pet now?”
He opened up the fly of his jeans, and you got down–you didn’t know if you were gonna have to suck or drink, but you knew something was coming. It was piss, first. He fired before you even had your mouth around the head of his cock, but you scrambled and recovered, only a bit of piss running down into your beard as you drank down his full bladder. Once he’d finished with that, he started fucking your face, telling you what a good service pig you were, doing such good work–that as long as you were useful, he’d keep you around for a while longer, before turning you into just another member of his livestock, and replacing you with some new fellow.
You sucked, hard, and were rewarded with a load of Master’s cum shot across your beard. You knew better than to try and clean it up–Master hated it when you showed any concern like that. He wanted you to be humiliated–and he wanted you to accept it. Your task finished, you up, Master put himself back together, but before you could make it out of the bathroom, you froze–it was coming, and out on the farm, who really cared?–but not…not here, you could stop it, you could control it…
You stumbled for the urinal, tugging on the lead, but it was too late. Piss was flooding the front of your overalls, running down your thick hairy legs, pooling in your boots and across the floor. You were just mooing in panic, like one of the bulls on the farm, horrified, but unable to stop yourself, and Master just…laughed. Laughed at your soaked overalls, and tugged you back out into the store, and kept shopping–expanding the list, just so he could make you wander around with your cold overalls, making sure everyone saw you, making sure everyone knew exactly what you were, what kind of beast you were.
At last, you left, loaded the groceries into the back of the truck, climbed into the back with them, and Master drove off, back towards the farm–back home. Back home, where a beast like you belonged.
When I found out that my new neighbor was a cop…well, let’s just say I knew I had found my next target. He was a handsome fella, tall, with a shaved head and horseshoe stache, twice divorced, hated faggots, a real man’s man, or at least, he was. I had a feeling he’d be having a change of heart soon enough.
I got to know him, and befriended him easily enough. Me, the salt and pepper daddy, disarming charm, strong handshake and intriguing stare. I took a few weeks to get to know him, delve a bit, see how…amenable he was going to be. His apartment was always a bit of a mess–aside from one thing. He always took exceptional care of his uniforms–he respected them more than he respected himself, in fact.
The first time I took him under, with the help of a sedative I slipped into his beer, I just let him sleep, relaxed, while I went in and tried his uniform on. I was a bit bigger than him, but I could make it work–and I was so hard, thinking about my plans, that it was very hard resisting the urge to blow my load right in the crotch, and leave it there for him to find later. I did keep wearing it while I took him deeper, telling him how handsome I looked in his uniform, how manly it made me. How every man in a uniform deserved his respect, and his complete obedience.
Next, I started breaking him down. He was a slob. He was weak. He found himself starting to look at gay porn on the internet, these cop videos, and he’d…crave them, being stripped of his uniform and forced to service his fellow men in blue, knowing that he didn’t really deserve to wear the uniform at all, deep in his heart, because he was beginning to suspect that he might just be a faggot. After all, what real man would let a woman leave him twice? He’d never been able to perform, never been able to control them…because he was the one who should have been controlled the entire time.
I haven’t had him service me while he’s awake yet, but we’re close. Every day, I come over and put him under, I get into his uniform, and make him service me in his grungy, filthy, cum-coated underwear. He’s started to put on weight recently–not something I told him to do, but it makes him look even more worthless, so I’m encouraging it, that as he wrecks his body, he’s going to look less and less like the real man he always though he was, and more and more like the cum hungry faggot he’s going to be from now on.
He’s probably going to quit the force soon. He’ll lose too much of his nerve, he won’t be able to see himself as one of the officers surrounding him…but I know he won’t lose his appreciation for the uniform. After all, he’ll believe he lives next door to a handsome, rough daddy cop–one who loves having the fat faggot from next door over to worship and service him, cleaning his boots everyday, and going back home with a load of cum in his ass every night. Eventually, I’ll wipe out all trace from his memory that he had ever even been a cop, and I’ll help him find a history more…fitting for a worthless faggot like him…but that’s for the future. For now, I’m just enjoying my faggot cop’s lips around my cock, and looking forward to all the fun we’re going to have.
Kenny just didn’t understand where they all had come from, and so suddenly. He’d planned on having a nice vacation here with his girlfriend at a upscale resort, somewhere he could relax, work on his tan, and of course fuck her (and maybe a couple maids too) a few times a day. But the first day, he noticed a couple of fat chubby fellows rolled up, got a room, and spent all day down at the pool,their disgusting bellies hanging out for everyone to see, absolutely shameless.
That didn’t really bother him that much, but the next day, and the day after that, there were more. After a couple of days, there were more fat, hairy men by the pool, and in the restaurant stuffing themselves silly, than there were normal people–and he was starting to get a bit freaked out. Especially when he caught a couple of them making out in the stairwell, tearing their clothes off each other, and he had to skirt past them to get downstairs.
His girlfriend was equally disturbed, but he hadn’t seen her all day at this point, and he was down at the pool again, but he was…severely outnumbered. Still, he was so…tired all of a sudden. He knew he should get up, that he didn’t want to sit here, staring at the fat, jiggling, hairy old men jumping around, and laughing, and playing, and kissing and sucking…that he should tear his eyes away, but he couldn’t. Everything was getting fuzzy, and then it felt like he just fell asleep for a moment, and when he jolted up a second later, he was incredibly disoriented.
Everything was the same, but…he felt different. He rubbed his belly, hanging over the waistband of his swimsuit, felt like it…shouldn’t be there, but then, what else would he look like. He looked out at the men around him, licked his lips, feeling his short cock getting hard buried in his flab, feeling the stubble around his mouth still growing out. He…wondered where his bear had gotten off to…but a moment later, someone he recognized stepped out onto the patio–a tall, burly younger bear, with a massive cock held in a tight speedo. His bear, of course, with the perfect cock for plowing his horny hole into total submission. He hauled himself up and waddled over to him, they kissed for a while, but it wasn’t long before he was bent over the steps of the pool, his bear behind him, fucking him deep while the rest of the bears cheered them on, and he knew this was going to be a vacation he’d remember for the rest of his life.
“Dude, I think something’s wrong with my ass–does…does it look bigger to you?”
TJ put one foot up on the coffee table, and pointed his ass towards Ben–and his fellow frat brother shielded his eyes in confusion when he looked up. “What the hell man, put some pants on.”
“They don’t fit–I…I took some stuff I got online, and I thought it would bulk me up, but it just fucked up my ass!”
“And what the hell made you think I’d want to see it? Go to the doctor or something!”
“I…I don’t know. I just wanted to show someone, and…and there’s other stuff going on too, like…oh fuck, one’s coming, I–” TJ was interrupted by his own fart blasting from between his cheeks, hard enough to make them shake a slightly, and before Ben could react, the smell hit him. It was pungent and thick, but also…somehow enticing, and his jaw dropped a bit, a little drool accumulating at the corner of his mouth.
“Fuck–I…maybe I should take a closer look,” Ben mumbled, and got off the chair he’d been sitting it.
“Whoa, Ben, you…you ok man?” TJ said, noticing his bro’s eyes had glazed over, and that…something else seemed a bit off to him too. But before he could do anything, Ben shoved his face between the massive cheeks of TJ’s ass and started eating him out–and it felt so good that TJ just moaned, moved over to the sofa while Ben just kept eating, another fart blasting from his ass right into Ben’s face, but they both just moaned in pleasure.
It was TJ who looked back after a few minutes, saw that the hair on the top of Ben’s head had turned silver, and freaked out enough to pull his ass away. Ben…wasn’t looking like Ben anymore. His face was slicked with drool, his hair receding and turning silver, a thick bushy beard growing around his mouth. “Wait boy, daddy…daddy ain’t done with that ass yet–don’t you want daddy’s cock in ya? Gotta make sure that hole is good and loose first, right?”
Ben stood up, a thick gut hanging off him, and a massive cock swinging between his legs. TJ tried to get away, but Ben grabbed hold of his hips, dragged him back, and kept eating. Soon, TJ was moaning and shivering again, and Ben knew he was ready, and impaled the boy on his cock–all thoughts of his prior youth wiped away–and when another frat bro happened upon the scene, and the stench in the room, it wasn’t long before TJ had a whole bevy of dirty daddies passing around his wide ass for fun.
“I’m afraid that it was all in the contract you signed, yes. I am aware that it can come across as quite the shock, but after a few days, as things normalize, you will settle in, and things will feel normal, for the most part.”
The gentleman who has a few questions about his loan that defaulted recently
“Well yes, I’m sure the offer was too good to be true. You see, most loan services operate on existing forms of collateral, but our unique firm, for clients with poor credit, such as yourself, use a more…unorthodox form of collateral. That is, if you fail to repay your loans, we leverage your future earnings and wealth–which is to say, we age you far enough such that you would have made the money needed to repay us, in whatever work you do, and once that amount is reached, the deal is considered settled.”
“I can see that, yes, you are rather…well, it says here your initial age was 23, correct? And it was a car loan? Yes–well, there are late fees to consider. You did take that refinance offer, and when your account is late, we are allowed by law to increase the interest rate to 28. percent–again, all of this was in your contract.”
“Ah, the weight–yes, well, you see, we do you a favor really. In our process of calculating your age of sufficient repayment–or ASR as we call it in house–we do our best to keep your life on a tight budget, so that we can minimize your ASR. In your case, a cheap diet of fast food was added to deduct seven years from your ASR, and given your unemployment, we did find it necessary to find you work to provide income, working as a retail associate for a big box store of some sort–I’m sure you’ll remember better than we can. We also minimize relationships and progeny–I’m sure you can understand why, children are so expensive! In your particular case, modifying your sexual orientation to gay was the easiest way to keep costs down–for young men like yourself, it usually is.”
“Now, now, it isn’t so bad, really. Your loan is gone, right? You do have a substantial amount of new credit card debt of course–it dropped your ASR by six years if we loaded up a few for you. You really should be thanking me, by the way. When I got your file, the suggested ASR was 78! 54 really is much more reasonable, isn’t that right, Mr. Harthrow? Now, why don’t you thank me in the way you do best, eh?”
“Oh come now, I can see that you remember, you old slut. You suck me off every week in here–you have for years at this point. If you want, I can give you those extra twenty years or so, you know…”
“That’s what I thought–now come on daddy, get sucking.”
“You know Mikey, there’s a rumor goin’ around school these days.”
Mikey looked over at Jay and Ken, his two friends in the senior class at their high school. It was a small town, and not a big class, so if there was a rumor going around, chances were that everyone was going to know about it in a day or two.
“Oh, what’s it this time?”
Jay and Ken exchanged a look, and then Jay said, “Rumor is that yer a faggot.”
“What the fuck did you say?”
Ken just shrugged his shoulders, “That’s what Becky told me last night when we went out.”
“I heard the same thing from Alison, and Marshall.”
“Well it’s not fucking true, I can tell you that much, and I know who fucking started it too, that little fucking shit Marcus I bet. I roughed him up a couple of days ago, and he was gettin’ all pissy with me, saying I’d be sorry or something, but this is just stupid. You know I’ve fucked bitches.”
“Yeah, I know they say that they fuck you.”
“Bro, what the fuck? Do you not fucking believe me? You’re gonna take the word of a bunch of fuckers at school over me?”
They cut through a construction site on the way home, deserted at this point, since the funding to finish the project dried up. Before Mikey could do anything, Jay shoved him against the side of a car parked there, out of sight of the road. “Quit fucking with us, Mikey–is it fucking true?”
“What, that I’m a faggot? Of course not!”
“I heard the only reason you hang out with us is because you want our cocks,” Ken said.
“That’s–what the fuck has gotten into you two?”
“There’s pictures, Mikey, of some…big fucker plowing your ass.”
Jay pulled out his phone, and showed Mikey the photo–and sure enough…it was him, getting fucked by a huge cock, in the middle of a moan, and as soon as Mikey saw it…he could remember it. Remember how he’d begged for it, how good it had felt…
“He’s got a fuckin’ hard on, Jay!”
“I fuckin’ d-do not!”
“Fuckin’ faggot, all this fuckin’ time–well you want this cock? I’ll fucking give it to you, ain’t that right Ken? We both will–take turns with your ass…yeah, fuck…”
The video was everywhere the next day, Mikey up on the hood of the car, Jay behind him, fucking him, while Ken jacked off, watching. Nobody was as smug as Marcus though–because Mikey couldn’t turn anyone down, not anymore–and he begged Marcus for his cock in the bathroom, hating himself, but even he knew the truth now. He was just a faggot–and that was all he was ever going to be from now on.
Bracken's Corner 