The bell over the door rang, and Wade looked up from the porn magazine he was flipping through behind the counter, over at the man who had come through the door. He smiled behind the magazine, while the young man made a show of walking around the store, looking at some things. He’d ask about what he was really looking for soon enough. Eventually, he made his way up to the counter, reached into his pocket, pulled out a little bottle and set it on the counter. The side of the bottle had a picture of a cartoon pig on it, with the words “Hog Musk” next to it.
“Hey man, I was…in here a few weeks ago, and I bought some of this stuff,” the young man said, “I…how long does it usually…last?”
“What do you mean?” Wade said, “that’s a bottle of leather cleaner.”
“No, I…” the young man rubbed his face with one hand, and scrunched his eyes up, like he was trying to focus. “How…long are they good for? Like, fresh?”
“Depends on how often you open the bottle,” Wade said, “How…often have you opened it up.”
The young man looked a bit shifty, “I…I guess I might need another one.”
Wade nodded, got a bottle off the shelf behind him. The young man paid for it and left. Wade just smiled and went back to his magazine. He’d be back soon enough.
The bell over Wade’s door rang. He was in the middle of restocking the condoms, looked up, and it took him a moment to realize it was the same young man from a few weeks earlier. He was bigger for one thing–more muscular. The first time he’d come into the shop, he’d been in good shape–lean and slender, obviously a little vain. It looked like he’d switched up his workout a bit, because he was bigger. Thicker all over, with a layer of scruff across his face.
“Hey, can I help you?” Wade asked, and went to the counter, the young man skipping the pretext and heading right for him. He got close, and Wade caught a whiff of the musk rolling off the young man as well–he smelled like a locker room that hadn’t been cleaned in a few days at this point, but the young fellow didn’t even seem to notice.
I had two gear related suggestions from Patrons this month, which I’ve turned into a couple of sketches.
In the first, a strange science experiment gone awry has caused a young man’s skin to start tearing apart revealing something–or someone–else underneath. Skintight gear seems to keep the monster within at bay, but for how long?
In the second, a strange chain email offers to make a young man the perfect football jock. It turns out the email had a more…permanent idea in mind, as the man finds his very flesh being corrupted and twisted into football gear he’ll never be able to take off again.
If you’re a $5 patron or more, you already have access! If you’d like to see these, and other sketches, stories, and stuff I’ve posted to Patreon, there’s never a better time to support me! You can find out more information here.
I have a series of Christmas vignettes that I’m working on this month! I don’t know how many I will get done–the goal is always twelve with these sorts of things, but you know, we’ll see how things go. All of these are based on Patron suggestions, and as such, they’ll get access to them all first! If you’re a patron at the $5 level or more, you can find the full version of this story here. They’ll all start to go public after Christmas for everyone else. In the meantime, have a teaser…
Jesse went into the apartment’s living room on Christmas morning, not really expecting much. He lived alone, and hadn’t really had the time this month to decorate anything. He hadn’t even bothered to go get a tree or anything either. He had a few presents on his table from some college friends and family members around the country who had sent him things at least, but that could wait until after his morning coffee.
But as the pot brewed, and he inspected the small pile, something stood out that he didn’t recognize at all. It was a very small present, wrapped in simple brown paper, and the tag on it didn’t have a name–all it said was that it was from his Secret Santa. His office had already done a secret santa this year though, and he had the socks to prove it. While the coffee finished brewing, he figured he might as well solve this mystery quick–he tore into the paper, and was left with a can of chewing tobacco sitting in his hand.
He just looked at it in confusion. Who in their right mind would have given him this? He didn’t even smoke, much less use chewing tobacco, the entire idea was vile to him. But as he was about to put it down, there was a puff of smoke in the middle of the room, and a strange creature appeared before him. Jesse had no idea what he was looking at–the creature was quite short, no more than three feet tall, and covered in green fur from head to toe. The thing was naked as well, with a stubby cock leaking green tinted precum on the floor of his living room, the beast grinning at him, baring all of it’s sharp teeth in the process.
This was the Christmas Imp. A rather fateful mistake by Santa Claus when he tried to use genetic engineering to make a more perfect elf, he instead ended up with a rather filthy minded monster–one Santa had managed to keep looked away for quite a few years now. However, the imp had escaped in the midst of a rather hectic year at the North Pole, and was now ready to fulfill a few Christmas wishes of his own, though his ideas tended to be a bit…filthier than was traditional for Christmas. “Go on boy,” the imp rasped, one clawed hand toying with his cock, “It’s a special can that Daddy made just for you…”
Jesse wanted to run–he wanted to do pretty much anything other than twist off the top of the can of tobacco and look inside. He didn’t know what chewing tobacco was supposed to look like, but he was pretty sure that the scummy, pasty goo on top of the leaf wasn’t supposed to be there. What in the hell was it? He tried to pry his gaze away from the imp, but he couldn’t. His fingers pushed their way into the gooey leaf, and as he did, he realized what the substance was–it was cum. Someone had cum on top of the leaf, and closed the lid again. It made his stomach turn in disgust, but he couldn’t stop himself as he put the cummy leaf in his mouth, between his teeth and lip.
“More, you need it all, Daddy made it special…” the imp rasped at him…
If you want to read more, and see the other entries as I finish them, support me on Patreon at the $5 level or more!
Posted a Thanksgiving themed story for Patrons today, based on a couple of suggestions! Here’s the first couple of parts as a bit of a teaser.
Grant turned into the driveway of his brother’s house, and heaved a short sigh, trying to keep the tension in his chest from growing even tighter. It was Thanksgiving, and that meant a three hour drive out of the city, back to his hometown where his brother and father still lived after all of these years. It wasn’t that Grant didn’t like seeing his family, really. He liked seeing his brother, Marshall, and his brother’s wife, Martha–she was always a good time. His two nephews,Marshall Jr. (everyone called him Junior, mostly) and Will loved him. He was the cool uncle after all, from the big city. They loved hearing about what was going on in his life there, though Grant had to edit out the…gayer parts for the sake of the rest of the family, even though both of them were in their twenties at this point. It was his dad, Hugh, that made Grant really nervous. While they had long since made a sort of peace around Grant’s sexuality, it was, well, difficult all the same, do deal with his dad’s judgemental attitude. Things were usually alright, but he could never be sure. At least his mom usually helped keep things civil–she had always loved Grant, and he was somewhat certain that the only reason his dad was at all soft with him was because of her.
He pulled into the driveway and got out of his car, and was surprised to find a truck parked there that he didn’t recognize. The nephew’s beaters were parked off around the garage, so it wasn’t theirs. His Marshall and Martha usually parked in the garage. His dad’s car was there too–so who was the extra guest? He went inside, and found his answer pretty quickly, when Jimmy introduced himself.
He was a new neighbor of the family, lived alone, had moved in a couple months before. He worked around town as a handyman, and it was hard not to like him, in all honesty. He had a firm handshake, a nice laugh, and was quite handsome–a bit older and more hairy than Grant’s type, but he could appreciate him all the same.
He got swept up in the conversation, and with his nephew’s pestering him to see his new car, that it took him half an hour to notice the rather glaring omissions. Martha wasn’t there, and neither was his mom. It was just the boys of the family, plus Jimmy. Grant asked his brother about it, and he just deflected with a strange non-answer, and no one else would say much about it either, not even his dad. It was all…rather strange.
It wasn’t too long after that realization, after the boys had gone back inside, and Grant had decided to slip off for a cigarette before dinner. His dad hated smoking, after losing his dad and brother to lung cancer, that Grant had always been very careful to never smoke around him. He was surprised when Jimmy made a sudden appearance beside him, with his own cigarette in hand.
“So how was the drive over?” Jimmy asked, making small talk.
Grant told him a bit about the trip, and found the conversation moving around to family, and holidays.
“You live alone?” Grant asked.
“Yeah, just me! Moved here from the city this year, and I gotta say, I love it out here. Everything moves a bit slower, you know?”
Grant nodded. He’d always thought boring was a better word than slow.
“How about you? No one with you, I see. Guess that makes us the pair of bachelors, don’t it?”
Jimmy gave him a little nudge, and Grant wasn’t sure if that was code or not. “I guess so,” he hedged, not sure how much Jimmy knew about him. If he was from the city, he doubted that Jimmy would care he was gay, but…well, best to be on the safe side.
“You visit often?”
“Not really. My work keeps me busy.”
“Too bad. You have a really great family here, you know? You should be thankful.”
“Yeah, I know,” Grant said, thinking about all the arguments he’d had with his dad. Not as rough as it could have been, he supposed, but it was raw.
“Well, you know what they say,” Jimmy added, taking a last drag off his cigarette, “gobble, gobble, buddy.”
Grant just looked at him, confused, but Jimmy didn’t say anything else, and headed into the house. He took a long drag off his cigar, trying to figure out what in the world that could possibly mean, and then shrugged.
Jimmy took one last look at Grant as those magic words of his took hold, Grant’s slender physique rounding out slightly as he stood around the side of his house, the thick cigar clamped in his jaw, the short beard sprouting across his face. Grant reached around shoved his hand down the back of his jeans and scratched his ass without a second thought, and Jimmy smirked. This would be a great family soon enough–one that Jimmy would be more than happy to be a part of too.
Grant snuffed out his cigar after a few more minutes, and went inside. His dad was sitting in the living room watching TV from the couch–that was usually where he stayed for the whole holiday. He avoided him for the moment. He didn’t want his dad to smell the smoke on him and have a total shitfit about him smoking, like he did a couple years before. Instead, he grabbed a beer from the fridge, saw his brother, both his nephews, and Jimmy out in the backyard, discussing a game of football. Figuring that was better than nothing, he went outside onto the porch, and decided to watch.
In the end, Jimmy ended up with Junior on one team, with Marshall and Will on the other. Jimmy started with the ball, and wanted to be the quarterback, with Junior receiving. They designated the end zones, and then started the game–with Jimmy calling out, “Gobble, gobble, hike!”
The change hit all of them in earshot, not that any of them noticed much of anything. Grant, from the sidelines, was the only one to be struck with a little sense of confusion, as he watched the men of his family all change slightly. Junior seemed to grow a bit thicker, his frame growing more muscular as he ran off to receive the ball. Will chased after him, but had a hard time keeping up as his gut swelled a bit. Marshall grew a bit too, with more muscle and fat on his body, but also quite a bit of hair appearing down his forearms as he counted down the seconds out loud, until he could try and sack Jimmy.
The game continued, and each time Jimmy had the ball to throw it, he would call out “gobble, gobble,” again, and all of the men would shift a bit more. Marshall was soon sporting a buzzcut with a thick horseshoe mustache. Will was growing taller and even more muscular, his head shaved down, with a thick beard on his face. Will was shorter and rounder now, a thick goatee around his mouth and quite a bit of hair on his chest, under his dirty, grass stained overalls that he always wore. On the sidelines, Grant just watched, packing on more and more weight with each gobble, another cigar appearing in his hand that he started smoking without even really thinking about it, his own beard growing longer, one hand working it’s way down the front of his grungy jeans to massage his cock, spurting a bit of precum whenever there was a nice tackle out in the yard.
Grant lost it, however, when Marshall got a good sack in on Jimmy, pinning him down on the ground, thrusting against him, his well worn leather chaps and boots shoved against Jimmy’s ass…and Grant hurriedly forced himself upright, and went inside, passing his father, and went into the bathroom, where he sat down on the toilet, and jacked off, replaying that in his mind, removing Jimmy and Marshall’s clothes, thinking about his brother’s tattooed body pinning him down, working his big cock into his ass, growing, spitting, biting…
He lost his load all over his hand, the floor, and his jeans. After panting for a couple of minutes to catch his breath, he stood back up, hauled his jeans back up by the suspenders, without even really caring about the wet patch he’d managed to shoot all over the inside of them. He didn’t understand what had come over him, really. He’d always thought his brother was hot, of course, especially in his biker leathers that he was always wearing, but seeing him pin Jimmy down…fuck, that was a real nice show.
He got up off the toilet, and spent a couple of minutes looking at himself in the mirror, trying to piece together what seemed so…off about his reflection all of a sudden. Was it his hair? He’d been balding for years now, and had never done much to cover it up. It was long, with quite a bit of grey, a little stringy and greasy, but then he never had much time to wash it. His greying beard was much the same–down to his chest at this point, but he liked the look of it too much to consider cutting it. He’d been growing it for years now, hadn’t he? Was it his clothes? No, those were the same he always wore too. A t-shirt from some truck stop somewhere. It was old, but then most of his clothes were. He lifted up an arm and saw a hole in the armpit, his pit hair sticking out, and he gave it a scratch, then sniffed his fingers, the scent making his cock jump slightly. He had on a pair of ragged looking jeans, held up by some suspenders that had long since lost some of their elasticity, but they still kept his pants up well enough. Everything was…right, but then why did it feel like he was looking at a stranger in the mirror all of a sudden?
He shook his head, trying to clear it, but it was a bit thick somehow. It probably wasn’t worth worrying about, in any case, but for some reason, his hands wouldn’t stop shaking, and his heart was pounding. The only thing he could think to do, was to go out, get a beer, chug it, and get another one. Best to just focus on enjoying the holiday, and time with the family. Everything would sort itself out in the end.
Patrons who are on my discord server get exclusive access to all of my caption stories as I write them! This one is in three parts–here’s the first one for you. If you’d like to become a patron and support my writing, you can find out more info here!
I couldn’t believe the fucking nerve of my fucking brother, texting me out of the blue like that. I should back up a bit, I guess. He was always the black sheep of the family, four years older than I was, and he’d always hated me. Resented me is a better word I guess. Even in my earliest memories, he was always a bully, picking on me, setting me up to take the fall for shit I didn’t do, but our parents always sided with me, which probably only served to piss him off even more. When he was a teenager, shit went even more sideways–he started drinking a lot, falling in with some guys at school that were real pieces of work, probably got involved in some drug shit though I never saw any proof. He dropped out–well, he was expelled–my parents kicked him to the curb when he was 17, and that was that for a while. My dad always had a soft spot for him and kept in touch, hoping he would turn things around, but nothing ever worked, and I mostly pushed him out of mind as I went off to college. The last time I saw him, a year ago, was for my grandmother’s funeral–he looked like garbage, stank to high heaven, couldn’t even be bothered to dress up. He came because he needed money, and thought he was getting some! Even that was enough to turn my dad against him too, and that was the last I heard from him, until I got the text today, asking me for money!
He wanted 200 dollars. I told him to fuck off. Before I could block his number though, he sent me a nasty fucking insult, calling me a “faggot brownnoser,” with a little tongue emoji to go with it. It was enough to set me off really, but what could I do? I got dressed and headed into work–I’d gotten a summer internship at a local tech firm that was going really well, and I couldn’t let my brother fuck that up for me.
Still, I felt…weird all morning. Angry, sure, but like something else was off, something I couldn’t really explain. I got an email from my boss before lunch, asking me to come by so we could discuss some details of my project, and I went to his office…and that was where it happened.
My boss didn’t even wait for me to get into the office before he stood up, dropped his pants and underwear, and bent over the side of his desk. “Well come on then, you faggot brownnoser,” he said, “Get to fucking work.”
I wanted to tell him to eat shit, go right to HR and report his ass…but instead, something took hold of me, and I got down and started eating out his hole, right there in his office, my cock hard as a rock, while he kept berating me, telling me what a worthless fuck I was, that the only reason he kept me around at all, was because I loved eating out dirty holes like his. I was horrified, but I couldn’t stop–and he made me sniff his underwear, tell him how much I loved the smell of the brown streak in the back of his briefs, all the while stroking my own cock.
He turned around and shot his load across my face, and I came in my pants–then he kicked me out of his office, telling me he wanted me back after he’d had his afternoon shit, and I fled. I was so fucking humiliated, I didn’t know what to do–but I sure as hell wasn’t going to go back there. I packed my bag and left the building–horrified at myself, the words still ringing in my mind–and I realized it was the same thing my brother had called me. It couldn’t be possible I told myself–it was just some fucked up dream. I needed to get something to eat, calm down, and call HR–but my brother’s curse was just getting started.
There were, it turned out, some things that massive amounts of money couldn’t buy. Albert was in his mid fifties, and his heart was failing him. Albert was rich, but he had a problem–he had a congenital defect that meant he couldn’t get a transplant–no matter how much he paid the doctors to tell him otherwise. He was struggling along as best he could, on medications and a pacemaker, but at his weight and age…the prognosis did not look good. But Albert hadn’t become a rich man by giving up–and he certainly wasn’t about to give up on this now, not with his very life at stake.
He turned to the black market instead, but again, he found himself thwarted by his own body’s weaknesses. Even shady surgeons wouldn’t touch him–it was simply too risky. That, in the end, is what led him here, to this little veterinarian clinic out in the middle of nowhere. It turned out that there was a possible solution to his problem–at least, an experimental one. Doctors had been testing out replacing human hearts with pig hearts as transplants, but the trials were in the very early stages. Still, where there was medicine, and money, certain hoops could be jumped through, and this vet came highly recommended–as highly recommended as one could come off the black market.
The conditions had been strict. Albert had to come alone, and he could tell no one where he was going. If he survived the procedure, and all was well, in three weeks he’d return to his life, all the better. If not…well, this was the only chance, wasn’t there? The clinic was run by a single doctor, who served the entire county–Dr. Pontiac. He was a muscular fellow, hairy with a large beard, and a rather stern face. He gave Albert his exam, and told him they were good to go–he would do the surgery that night.
Albert had expected a little more prep time, but Dr. Pontiac insisted. He’d just had a carcass come in, perfect shape for what was necessary, presently on ice. It was now, or he would have to wait days, or possibly weeks–and Dr. Pontiac assured Albert that he might not have weeks in his current state. So Albert was stripped down, taken into the operating room of the little veterinary hospital. He could hear the sounds of animals all around him, as Dr. Pontiac and his assistant prepared him for his surgery. Then the mask was over his face, and the last thing he saw before he went under, was Dr. Pontiac smiling down at him, assuring him that when he woke up, he would feel like a brand new animal.
Father Nicholas clawed his way out of sleep, and was certain he was choking. What he was choking on he did not know–a dream substance of some sort or other. The dream was already fading from him, impossible to grasp beyond the terror of the nightmare racing through him, pulse dizzying, cloaked in sweat. He forced himself to breathe, finally succeeding with a massive, heaving gasp, coughing and gagging and heaving but nothing came up–which was a surprise itself, given the meal he had enjoyed last night, at the monks’ insistence. He concentrated, forced his breathing and his heart to settle, reaching for some sort of serenity that he knew had to be somewhere inside him–because God was inside him, after all.
As he came down from the nightmare, he tried to recall what he could of the dream, but there was nothing. No images at least–just a cascade of feelings. Terror, mostly. A good dose of shame. Regret, maybe, or something similar, colored with a bit of self-loathing. A hunger. There was hunger too, which seemed absurd to him, to awake hungry after…after that. How strange. How unchristian, really. He could see it, lit by candlelight still, the great hall of the abbey, the long table dressed in a deep red, the chair at the head conspicuously empty but still set, the entire length set with a massive feast, one of the largest that Nicholas had ever seen, perhaps outside of the Vatican on rare occasions. The monks, seated around the table, tearing into the flesh of beasts with such vigor and gluttony and…it was abnormal to say the least. Verging on heresy in its own fashion, in how the monks of this monastery had so readily discarded the vows of chastity and restraint that they were allegedly bound to by God.
Or perhaps, just a feast to celebrate a visitor from Rome. Perhaps just a well meant, but ill advised, celebration, given what he was here to do. Perhaps innocent, all the same. He had approached it with that in mind, assuming that the monks were doing their best to just be kind to him, with perhaps a tinge of bribery–which itself was not unusual, but of all of his temptations, greed had never been him. And so he’d sat there, next to the prior on one side, and one of the many monks on the other, trying to be an island of temperance in a building storm of indulgence and gluttony. It hadn’t lasted, obviously, between the monks urging more and more food on him, one of them even heaping his plate full when he saw he wasn’t helping himself to seconds. Another kept his wine glass full to the brim, though he never managed to catch who was pouring it for him. Without the wine, perhaps he could have controlled himself, but between the drink, and some of the most luscious, simple and delicious fare of the table, he’d…relented, obviously. And now here he was, with a still hard gut packed with food, a headache from the wine, feeling like a fool for giving in like that. It was not a good first impression in either case. He looked like a man who could be swayed with wine and good favor. And they, well, they didn’t look particularly good for it either. He could still see the prior beside him, tearing into the thigh of a chicken with his teeth, the grease coating his lips as he laughed at some joke, eyes on him, and…
He hoped it was all innocent, he did, but something told him that there was more here. A voice, he often called God, but never to anyone else. Believing one had a direct line, in this era, was considered hubris. But inside himself, he felt it all the same. There was something here, something more than the rumors that had brought him here. Something rotten inside this monastery. Fraud and embezzlement, most likely. Something boringly human. The curse of them all, really, and why they needed God more than anything.
Father Nicholas was something between an envoy and a spy. The monks knew full well why he was here–sent by Rome in order to investigate the claims that had been made against the monks by the villagers who lived near the monastery. The villagers had complained that the monks–usually a quiet and chaste order–had in recent months taken to rather…extreme behaviors, the monks passing through town shouting speeches in the square verging on heresy, one of them even going so far as to extoll the virtues of gluttonous appetites. It didn’t help that every single monk had given into corpulence–he hadn’t seen a single monk here under 300 pounds, and several seemed to be pushing closer to 500, in all honesty. And so, Rome had sent him to investigate, and if necessary, determine what steps might be necessary to bring the rogue monks into line. But all he had done so far, in his first day here, was apparently eat and drink himself sick with nightmares.
He shuddered as he slipped out of the bed, his sheets damp with his sweat. The quarters where he found himself were small and modest, most likely identical to those where the monks reside themselves. There was a desk along the wall, a bed, a window full of morning sunshine (he would have missed laud service already–though how any of the monks could get through a service at dawn after the night before mystified him anyway–had they not also missed vespers and compline the night before?) and his luggage stacked neatly in a corner. He took a while to unpack, dress himself in new clothes, but the dream continued to haunt him–he felt…dirty, really. Sinful. He shouldn’t have given into such excess, it was uncharacteristic of him, and brought back rather awful memories that were best left in the dust of the past…
What sorts of horrors lurk in the monastery for our priest to discover? Find out in a week, or help keep my writing going, and support me on Patreon!