The Pigtown Chronicles: Chapter 3.5 – Side Effects

Parker swore that it had been a normal workout–usually a couple of hours from when he started stretching to his cool down cardio. When he looked outside though, he was confused to see that it was night already, and he had been lifting weights for close to five hours straight, cycling through arms, back, legs, chest, core and back again, over and over, desperate to try use up the energy that was suddenly thrumming through him. He was a bit addled at first, soaked in sweat, trying to piece together the hours that he had apparently spent here without even realizing it. Not long after that, he realized that more than a few of the men around were staring at him, some lustfully, but more than a couple just looked confused or concerned. He wasn’t quite sure why, until he turned again, saw himself in one of the mirrored walls of the gym, and did his best not to let his own jaw hit the floor at the sight.

The workout clothes that he had on, which he liked a little tight, so they could better show off his bulge and physique, were about to tear themselves off his body, if he flexed a bit too hard. In fact, one of the straps on his tank top had done just that at some point, revealing one massive, hairy pec with a nipple on the end of it larger than some men’s cocks–and was it leaking? He reached over with one hand, and sure enough, it was. That was enough to send him into the locker room for a moment, so he could get a better handle on what he was looking at. 

He went around the corner to the sinks, and there, he realized that he hadn’t just grown more muscular over the course of a single afternoon, he’d also grown taller. The sinks that usually hit right at his waist, now met the middle of his thigh, and he needed to stoop down slightly just to get a look at his face in the mirror. “God damn, what the fuck,” he said, looking at his thickly bearded face, heavier jaw and bro…the receding hairline. He ran a hand through his usually thick hair, only to watch a good chunk of it fall away, leaving him with a substantial bald patch. He splashed some water on his face, tried to stop himself from hyperventilating, got out his phone, and called Hugh–but the dealer didn’t answer.

“God fucking damn it,” he said, face feeling flushed, looked down, and saw another reason the guys had been staring at him. He’d been so focused on his face and upper body, he hadn’t bothered to notice that his cock was simply massive–long enough that the head and a couple inches of the shaft were hanging out of the leg of his shorts, only half hard, and drooling the same viscous, milky substance his pecs had suddenly started producing. He dropped his shorts, and his balls were swollen to easily the size of a bowling ball–he held them in his hands, and he could feel them aching. Not just aching. They were churning. Fuck, how long had it been since he’d last cum? The skin of his scrotum was pulled taut–he couldn’t even feel his testicles inside them. It was like they were swimming in the goo now flowing out of him.

“God, some guys are such fucking freaks, they’ll shoot themselves up with anything. What do you think that fucker’s on, anyway?”

“Who the fuck knows, some of the shit on the street these days can be real fucking shady. Steroids, sure–who hasn’t done them? But I sure as hell don’t want to look like that.”

“Did you catch a whiff of him? Dude fucking reeks too.”

“I bet–looks like he’d be better suited in a fucking barnyard.”

Parker’s face flushed red. They were fucking talking about him, they had to be. The shame he felt surprised him. He loved seeing guys stare at him, but this…what the fuck was happening to him? He needed to get to the hospital or something, needed to figure out what the hell this stuff even was. He went to take leave, only for the shorts he was wearing to finally give up the fight, tear open from crotch to waist, and his massive genitals spilled out, the sudden drop causing a massive burst of milky cum to ooze their way out of the head, making a sizable puddle on the floor. Parker hefted his monstrous package, but just pressing on the swollen sack made even more of the gunk spew all over his hands, and the smell of it, fuck, it smelled a bit rank, but it was making him kind of horny too.

Maybe it was just a minute or two, but when Parker came back to himself, he had both hands wrapped around his cock, milking it with long strokes, grunting and moaning like some fucking animal, just flooding the floor with his precum. He regained a bit of control, just in time for the two men who had been talking about him to round the corner, heading for the showers, and stopped dead in their tracks. “Fucking, hell, what the fuck is that stench?” one of them said, throwing his elbow across the face.

“Christ, you fucking pervert!” the other said, but Parker could see something happening to them both, their eyes going a little glassy. The other one gave a little snort, got down, crawled towards the puddle of precum he’d just made and started lapping it up. The first put up a little resistance, tried to run–but Parker had had enough. He grabbed him, dragged him back, and flung him face first into the puddle with his friend, watched him try to resist for a moment, but he soon gave in and started licking as much of it up from the filthy gym floor as he could. Parker didn’t quite know why he was doing this, but he was so…so full. He needed someone to empty him, didn’t he? He got down on his knees with them, grabbed the back of their heads, and pulled them to his teats, both of them sucking down Parker’s milk right from the source, and as they did, he could see them both changing. 

Their guts grew first, filling up with Parker’s milk, but it soon became obvious that it wasn’t just a full belly–they were actually getting fatter. Their hair was next, both on their heads and their bodies, falling away into the puddle below them. Parker felt something happen to his cock–it moved in a way he didn’t quite understand, in a way he couldn’t even really control, slithering between him and one of the men latched onto his pec, like it was seeking something out. It found it, the head of his cock swallowing up the man’s cock, and it started sucking on it, and both he and Parker let off a moan in unison. He could feel it, feel himself draining the man’s vitality, his muscles, even his youth, his now hairless face growing a bit wrinkled, his muscles atrophying as they were sucked out and added to Parker’s own massive frame. The other man tried to pull away in horror, but his mouth wouldn’t let him detach from the other nipple. When his cock was finished, and had sucked away the man’s cock and balls until the only thing that remained was a piss hole buried in his new fat, the now larger cock snaked over to the second man, and repeated the process, draining him completely dry as well. When he was finished, he stood back up, the two men’s mouths coming away from his tits with a loud sucking sound, and he looked down at them, barely even recognizable as men now, just two short blobs, their mouths sucking up everything they could of their new master from the floor under them. 

He, on the other hand, was even larger. His head was mere inches from the ceiling, the rest of his clothes fell away from him as he stood up and flexed, and he tore the rags away from him. There was no reason to hide this body now–he was superior to every other man, how could he have ever doubted himself before? One of the thralls below turned around and raised its hole, now loose and more than capable of taking its master’s cock, but before he could accept the invitation and fuck the thing, there was a cramp in his arm, and then in his guts that made him double over in pain. 

He didn’t know what could be causing it, but his whole body was screaming out for…for something. Something it needed. He stumbled over to his locker, fumbled it open, and carefully extracted the extra vial of BHB he’d taken from Hugh. Manipulating the syringe with his massive body was difficult, especially with the muscle spasms, but he managed to get himself injected, and after a couple of scary minutes, he felt the pain recede, and the horniness flood through him all over again–but that could wait. Hugh’s place wasn’t too far from here, and if that was how his body was going to react to withdrawal, he couldn’t afford to go without a dose again.

When the staff came to investigate the smell in the men’s locker room, after the emergency exit had been tripped, they found the strange pool of goo, the tattered remains of three sets of men’s workout clothes, and nothing else. Parker was busy strutting his way through the darkness of pigtown, his two thralls lumbering and wobbling their way after him, stopping one after another to slurp up their master’s precum that was still seeping its way onto the sidewalk. It was time, now, to have another little chat with Hugh, and after that, it was time to settle things with Samuel once and for all, and show him who was really the boss in this relationship.

The Pigtown Chronicles – The House of Brand

I had intended to get back to posting regular chapters of The Pigtown Chronicles last month, but due to some financial constraints, I took on a few extra commissions instead, which I am just now wrapping up. However, one of those was this one, which the commissioner requested take place in The Pigtown Chronicles setting, and he was gracious enough to let me explore a part of that setting which I was worried I wouldn’t be able to get to for a little while in the main story arc.

As a little gay history lesson, just as there were houses for drag queens and for vogue, there were also leather houses and leather clubs that served a similar purpose–mentoring young men interested in leather and BDSM, providing family for those who didn’t have any of their own, and support network for elders in the community. Pigtown has its houses as well, sometimes feuding, sometimes cooperating, all of them with their own quirks and talents that their members learn to harness and control. Here’s an introduction to one such house–The House of Brand.

Like my earlier post, “Miles’s New Boss“, this episode also stands alone, and so can be read without having to know the full back ground of the earlier arcs. Enjoy!

Alex checked the address again, and looked up at the rather sizable house he was standing in front of, wondering if this was really the place. Alex had been dipping in and out of Pigtown for the last few months, ever since hearing a few rumors about the new clubs, bathhouses and sex shops that had been popping up in what had been a fairly boring industrial district of the city not too long before. Alex was in his early thirties, and trying to make up for lost time. He’d been living with his rather conservative family up until a few years ago, when he finally moved away and came out of the closet, hoping to live the life he’d been denying himself, but in all honesty, he felt like he’d missed his chance.

Going into these clubs, looking at all of these hot daddies and the young cubs they were with, Alex felt like he didn’t belong in either camp. He certainly looked more like a daddy, with his slight paunch, furry chest, receding hairline and beard, but mostly, he felt envious of the young cubs. How excited they were, trying new things, eager and anxious and full of vitality. He wondered if he’d wasted his relative youth on a family that wouldn’t even speak to him again, if they knew where he was now. Most of his encounters with men in Pigtown had felt like misfires. If he paired up with a cub, he often felt like they were both fumbling, the younger man wanting him to take the lead, but Alex lacking the experience to know how. If he went home with a bear, the result was usually a bit more exciting, but he couldn’t help but feel like he was missing something with them that he couldn’t quite explain. Despite the missteps, something kept drawing him back, first on the weekends, then most nights a week, then almost every night. Something was there, something he needed to find, but it kept eluding him. Then, he met Chris.

It had been at The Hideaway, which was quickly becoming a staple of Alex’s regular nights in Pigtown. He would have a few drinks at the bar and then wander the maze–sometimes watching, sometimes participating, always yearning, until he woke up back home, without any memory of getting there. Chris had arrived with a small contingent of leather men and boys, ended up breaking off at some point, and sitting next to Alex at the bar, where he’d struck up conversation with him. Alex had told him his story, and to his surprise, the man had listened, and at the end, offered him a suggestion.

“The house I belong to is opening up for prospects. I think it might be what you’re looking for,” Chris said.

“A house?”

Chris nodded. “Think of it…as a club, or a family. Chosen family. A group of men who are stronger together than we were separate. Helping each other grow here.”

“Sounds like a cult, or a frat.”

Chris laughed at that, but didn’t deny either accusation. He just slipped Alex a business card, gave him a kiss on the cheek, and slipped off into the maze, where the rest of his group had already gone. Alex hesitated, wondering if he should follow him. He finished his drink, worked up the nerve, and followed into the dark, but for the rest of the night, he didn’t find any of them, anywhere, and woke up panting in his bed, as if from a nightmare.

There in his pocket, though, was the card. House of Brand, with an address, and on the back, a date and time. It wasn’t much of an invitation, but there on the street, he flipped it over in his hand, figuring it would have to do, marched up to the door, where a leather clad bear was waiting. He gave Alex a glance up and down as he approached, and from the slight frown on his face, he seemed a little suspicious of him. However, when Alex showed him the card and told him he’d received it from Chris, the man welcomed him to the house, tied a strip of dark green cloth around his right arm, and welcomed him as a potential prospect of the house. 

Inside, the large house seemed a bit rundown, just like the outside. Well worn, he supposed. The scents on the air were musk, almost like a locker room, and tobacco smoke, both fresh and stale. He could hear the sounds of men talking and laughing nearby, followed them, and entered a sizable ballroom, full of leather clad men. The doorway he’d entered through was up a short flight of stairs, giving him a good position to survey the room, and already, he was intimidated. He nearly turned around to leave before getting too deep into something he neither understood, nor was certain he wanted any part of, but when he turned, Chris was there, smoking a cigar, waiting with a few other men who had green cloth tied around their arms, but on the left side.

“I was wondering if you were going to stand me up,” Chris said, came up, and gave him a little kiss.

“I don’t…what is this, exactly?” Alex asked.

“This is the House of Brand. A group of like minded men who have come together to be larger than something they can be alone. A family, I like to think. Come on, let me introduce you around.”

Chris wrapped one arm around his waist, walked him down the steps and into the crowd. Many of the men gave Chris the same, somewhat skeptical look as the man at the door when he’d approached, but they all were welcoming and generally congenial. As Alex encountered a few more men with the green cloth on their right arm, like him, he began to understand why. All of the other prospects, also escorted by an older bear with a cloth tied on the left, were generally young cubs eagerly pawing at any man they came across, obviously eager to ingratiate themselves with the men of the house by any means possible. The display made Alex a little embarrassed on their behalf, and he found himself wondering whether he ought to be doing something more. When he had a moment alone with Chris, he tried to ask him more about what this event was all about, but just as he felt he was going to get an answer, the lights dimmed. Everyone looked to the entrance doors, where a dignified old leatherman was climbing the steps. Chris leaned over and whispered, “The Housefather, Darren.”

“Welcome Prospects!” Darren said, “Tonight, the House of Brand will select the most worthy of you to join our ranks. Nominators bring your prospects to the center of the room, so we may begin our evaluations.”

The men in the crowd hooted and hollered, and Chris tugged Alex to the middle of the crowd, where a large stage had been erected in the center, and on it, what looked to be a complete dungeon. Other prospects were climbing up onto the stage, and Alex reluctantly climbed up as well, clearly feeling out of place as the oldest of them all, the misfit. Some of the others paired off, kissing and fondling one another while the men of the house catcalled them. Others stepped forward alone, dancing for the crowd, basking in the attention of the men, and Alex shrank back, not sure what, exactly, he was even performing for. He slipped back behind some of the dungeon equipment, only to find Chris standing there, grinning. 

“Chris, I don’t understand. I’m not…a cub. I don’t look anything like them. I don’t even know what all of this place is!”

“Boy, you need to relax. I know what’s there, in your heart,” Chris said, moving closer  to him, taking a long drag off his cigar, wrapping one hand around the back of his head and feeding Alex his smoke, feeling him melt against him. He pulled his lips away, wrapped both arms around Alex and buried him in his furry chest. “Just let Daddy show you who you can be here, what kind of family we are.”

The world was spinning. Alex looked down at himself, and was a bit confused. Something seemed a bit…off. His chest was slightly less hairy, his gut a little thicker and softer, his cock a bit shorter, but most of all what caught him off guard was the sudden fire in his chest. It was like the smoke had condensed inside him into a little cinder burning there, spreading warmth all through him, and when Chris turned him around and pushed him back into the collection of cubs there, he slammed into one, pressed his lips to him, and kissed him–and it felt…right.

He felt right. He felt young, and horny, and anxious, and terrified, and eager, a whole flurry of emotions spinning through him, and he pulled the cub close, groping him, kneading his gut, the other doing the same to him while the men around them shouted and cheered for them to continue. 

Chris came up behind him, ran a hand up and down Alex’s crack, fingering his hole with one leather gloved finger, and pushed inside. Alex gasped, feeling how tight his hole was around it, how he could squeeze it, and then, he looked up and saw another Nominator on stage with the cub before him, running his own hands over the boy he’d chosen. “Giving yours a makeover? It takes more than a glamour to satisfy the housefather you know,” he said to Chris.

“Oh, just some encouragement. Trust me, I know this one is worthy.”

Looking around, Alex saw that the other nominators had joined them on stage. Some were working with the boys they’d chosen, some were inspecting the others, toying with them, using them. A pair had strapped one boy to a cross and were flogging his back while the boy cried out, another had two boys worshipping his cock, fighting over it, eager to earn the privilege of taking his load. Together, Chris and the other nominator bent the cubs over, pushing them onto their hands and knees, still kissing, and got down on their knees, cocks out and hard, eager for the boy’s holes.

“Why don’t we switch?” the other nominator said.

“And give you first fuck at the hole I chose? Why should I?” Chris shot back.

“The goal is to be impartial. If it’s as good as you say, wouldn’t you want a brother to partake?”

Chris grinned, and gave a mock bow. The two swapped places, and the other got on his knees behind Alex and pushed the head of his cock against his hole. “Let’s see how the boy takes it, eh?”

He slid in, and Alex groaned in excitement. The pain was there–he wasn’t exactly an experienced bottom, by any means, but he could feel this eagerness inside him, something that had always been there, but tamped down by years of regret and fear burst forth. He opened up and felt the man behind him moan in surprise. “Fuck, he does have a good hole, how the fuck do you always know, Chris?”

“Years of experience,” Chris said, and slid his cock into the other cub’s hole. It was more of a struggle, but Alex did his best to distract the young man, encourage him, keep him more horny than nervous, and it wasn’t long before the two daddies were pounding the boys in tandem, shoving their faces together while the cubs kissed, and after a few minutes, they both pulled out, and swapped. Alex, though, had an idea–he rolled over onto his belly and slid under the other cub, taking his cock in his mouth, and sucking, the other cub getting the hint and sucking his as well. The other men all cheered at the cub’s ingenuity, and Chris smiled–right again. He grabbed hold of Alex’s ankles and hauled them into the air, on either side of the other cub’s head, and pushed his cock into his hole. No wonder the other cub had struggled a bit–Chris was quite a bit thicker than the other daddy had been, but Alex knew he could take it. Wanted to take it. It wasn’t long before they all blew their loads in quick succession–first the other cub, then the other Nominator, Chris, and finally Alex, who flooded the cub’s mouth with a massive load. The other cub rolled off and they swapped their loads while the rest of the room looked on, the show slowly coming to a conclusion, and when all the prospects had been freed from the predicaments around them, they were lined up, sweating, heaving, and most of all, thrilled.

Their number had dwindled. A few had decided they’d bitten off more than they could chew, and had fled the stage. Another couple were dismissed–their performance had been deemed unsatisfactory for one reason or another, but Alex remained. The last thing he recalled clearly was the housefather, Darren, tapping a chunk of ash off his cigar and into his hand, before swatting it against Alex’s ass, where it burned. He screamed, but Chris was there, holding him in shock, telling him how proud he was of him, that he was home now, and kissed him, fed him smoke, and everything faded to nothing after that.

Alex awoke slowly, the heat of the night before now turned cold in his body, leaving him with any number of aches and pains that he didn’t quite regret, but which he also did not appreciate. He opened his eyes, and found himself looking at an unfamiliar wall–and sat up to get his bearings. It was the first time he hadn’t gone to his own home after a night in Pigtown. He’d begun to assume that he’d always end up back there, and so the fact that he was somewhere else was more unsettling than he’d expected. There was a window near the bed, and he looked out, and saw the same street from the night before–he was still in the House of Brand then, perhaps in Chris’s quarters.

It smelled like Chris, at least. He could smell the cigar, and his musk, and there were the leathers he’d been in the night before tossed over the back of a chair–though there was no sign of his own clothing anywhere. He’d lost it in the course of the night’s event, most of it after Chris had changed him because none of it had quite fit right. He was no longer quite sure he’d even changed at all, really, but then, the whole evening had been such a rush he wasn’t sure what had happened at all. There was full length mirror hanging on the wall, and he went over to look at himself, and scowled at his reflection.

Some of it was right, and some of it was not. His hairline was receding, but not quite as much as before. He looked a bit shorter, but without something familiar to judge against, it was difficult to know for sure. He seemed to have gained a little paunch, and his body hair wasn’t quite as thick. He turned around to look at his back, and let out a little gasp when he saw his ass. There on the right cheek, where the housefather had slapped his ass with that hot cinder was a mark–but not a burn. It was more like a brand, a scar, really, in the shape of a little ball of fire. He reached his hand back to feel it, and it was tender, but didn’t feel fresh.

He was interrupted by the sound of a door opening elsewhere in the suite, and a moment after that, Chris entered the bedroom, towel slung over his shoulder, clearly fresh out of the shower. “You’re awake!” he said, “How are you feeling? You must have some questions. I wanted to be here when you woke, but risked taking a shower first.”

“What…what the fuck is this?” Alex said, indicating the mark on his ass. “Where the hell did it come from?”

“That’s the mark of an initiate,” Chris said, “The housefather felt that you had demonstrated potential, and inducted you into the house. We all have one, myself included.” He turned around, and sure enough, there was a brand on his own ass as well, though his was much more detailed and spread across both cheeks. There on the right side, just as on Alex’s, was the same little fireball, though it was surrounded by scars resembling a crossed cigar and flogger, among other things. “I am currently at the rank of Master, which gives me the honor of nominating prospects and training initiates, if they are accepted. You will be living in my quarters until you become an acolyte.”

“I–I can’t live here! I have an apartment, a job–”

“You had an apartment and a job. Now you have a house, brothers, and a purpose that no job can give you. I know, I…well, I assume I had one at some point, but that feels so long ago now. I suppose you could still leave, if you want,” Chris said, stepping away from the door and holding up his hands, “I understand that this is…more than you may have expected, but there is a reason I invited you. There’s a reason you were selected. There were twenty nominees last night, and the housefather only accepted four, including you. I want you to know what you’d be giving up, if you decided to leave.”

Alex looked at the doorway, then at his reflection, and then went and sat down on the bed. “Alright. What did you do to me last night? Why do I look different?”

Chris chuckled. “Do you mind if I smoke?” he said, but lit a cigar before Alex could signal he was fine with it. “It would be easier to just show you, I think,” he said, taking a breath of smoke, coming over to where Alex was sitting. He wrapped a hand around the back of his neck, making Alex throb, and fed him a lungful of smoke like he had the night before. Again, Alex could feel the heat of it, the rush, but slower this time, more considered. It wasn’t the smoke that was suffusing him, but a warmth through his entire body, and when Chris pulled away, he could see in the mirror the reflection of the cub he’d become the night before. “That’s…how I did it. If you stay, you’ll learn that trick yourself, in time.”

“Is…it a drug or something?”

“No, you’re seeing a version of yourself that I see,” Chris said, pulling him up from the bed, pulling him in front of the mirror, and hugging him from behind, rubbing his hands all over Alex’s chubby torso, nuzzling the back of his neck with his beard. “When you see it yourself, when you believe it, I won’t have to feed you smoke to make it happen. You’ll…do it yourself, in a sense, when you find your own heat.”

“That…doesn’t make sense,” Alex said, resisting the urge to moan and push himself back against Chris’s cock.

“This is Pigtown, boy, it makes perfect sense,” He bit down on Alex’s neck, a little harder than usual, and Alex pulled away, a bit surprised. “Sorry, you’re so hot you get me excited. If you don’t cool off a bit, I’ll have you down in the dungeon before breakfast.”

“I’m not into the whole…BDSM thing, really,” Alex said, “I mean, I like the leather and everything, but–”

“Have you done anything like that before? With anyone?”

Alex shook his head.

“There’s a reason I invited you, you know. You aren’t the first initiate I’ve trained, and while I don’t think you’ll be the last, as soon as I got to know you, got a taste of you, I knew you were meant for this, meant for me. That you understand it, even if you don’t know you do. Let me show you.”

Chris came closer, tweaking Alex’s nipples in his fingers, twisting them, tugging them, then he took an inhale of smoke, leaned down, sucked one of Alex’s meaty nipples into his mouth, and bit down. Alex hollered in surprise, felt a searing heat through his chest, and when he tugged his chest away, he saw something new. A ring had appeared in his nipple, already healed, and he looked down in disbelief as Chris smiled, toying with it. “Looks good on you, doesn’t it? But wouldn’t it look better if it was symmetrical?”

He pushed Alex against the wall, toying with both, and Alex was aware, suddenly, of how hard he was, how hot he was, sweating in the room though he’d woken up and it had felt a bit chilly. He gave a little nod, surprising even himself, and Chris bent down, bit the other nipple, and this time, expecting the pain, he could anticipate it, the heat that rushed through him, that spread through them both, and when Chris pulled away, he kissed him, hungry and hot and fevered. The next thing he knew Chris was lying down on the bed and he’d climbed up on top of him, Chris’s cock sliding into his hole like a red hot poker spearing him, his own cock throbbing and aching as Chris toyed with his new rings. Chris came after a couple of minutes, filling Alex’s hole with a load of cum, and Alex came as well, spraying his cum across Chris’s chest where it steamed slightly on his skin.

“Fuck, you’re so fucking hot,” Chris said, “I’ve never seen someone push so much heat out so soon, you’re a little fucking heater, boy.”

Alex collapsed back on the bed, sweating and shaking, and Chris pulled him close. He was so hot, and yet the heat comforted him, and with a little breathing, Chris helped him cool down, ease back into himself, and after a few more minutes, he felt the heat soften, and he pulled away from Chris, embarrassed and unsure of what had just come over him, only for Chris to reach out and pull him close again.

“You felt it, didn’t you? The heat?” Chris said.

“I…I don’t know what I felt.”

Chris held up a finger from where they were laying down on the bed, snapped his fingers, and Alex let out a little jump when he saw sparks. There, dancing at the tip of his finger, was a little flame. With his free hand, he grabbed Alex’s wrist, lifted his hand, and touched the flame to his finger. He felt it, the slight burn, but it was no more than the sensation of the sun, the flame growing brighter between their two fingers. “I knew you’d be a natural.”

Alex pulled his finger away, and for a moment, he saw the flame split, feeding off his own heat, but he stamped it out. He stamped it out like he’d stamped out so much in his life, all of those years spent with his family, beating out any light, horrified any of them would see a spark, terrified in the dark and the cold and now he was warm, and he could barely express the relief that threatened to overwhelm him.

“I know that you’ve been hurt. We all have. That’s what draws us here, to the flame. Family, lovers, strangers, the world. We know what it means to ache, and sting, and scar over. But we heal ourselves and each other here. We’re a family, and you’re a part of us. You’ve been looking for us for so long, and I know it doesn’t feel that way now, but when you’re a master yourself, you’ll look back, and recognize the little flame you’d been tending all your life, waiting to bring it here, to join it to ours.”

Alex didn’t know when he’d started crying. The tears were hot, they felt like they were boiling from him, and Chris pulled him tight to his chest and just held him, kept him warm, and Alex knew that he couldn’t leave. Chris was right. He belonged here, and Alex didn’t know how he knew that, but he did. After a few minutes, when they’d finally cooled off to room temperature, they got up from the bed, and Chris retrieved a collar from the desk in the room. 

“This is your collar. While you are an initiate, this is all you will wear in the house, unless ordered otherwise.” He took a leash and attached it as well to the ring. “Initiates should not roam the house on their own–it will earn you a rather severe lashing if you’re caught. Usually you will be in my company at all times, unless you’re lent to another Master for a lesson or service.”

“How…long will I be an initiate?”

“As long as you need to be,” Chris said, “Some don’t make it beyond this point. You might say that they end up being unable to take the heat. You though, I think you’ll be an acolyte faster than most.”

“But how long–”

Chris put a finger to his lips, and smiled. “Time isn’t important. The path is. The heat is. Now, you’ve burnt up so much I know you must be as starving as I am. Let’s go get breakfast, and then we’ll introduce you to your new brothers.”

Alex nodded, and followed his new Master out into the hall of the house, naked and shaking, but he was home. Truly home, and he felt his chest bloom with pride and excitement, eager for his new journey to begin.

Flash Commission – Junior Joins the Pig Squad

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Caption: Daddy Issues #1 – Conrad the Disciplinarian

Hey all! For the month of April, I’m taking a break from The Pigtown Chronicles, and will be posting some caption stories instead. We’ll have captions Monday through Thursday, and I’ll be posting some longer stories on Fridays. This week, we have a mysterious force punishing men for their cruel language. Whatever you might feel about others, be careful, they might just come true for yourself.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.

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) Family Blackmail

October Caption Challenge (21/30)

Coming from a rich family has plenty of perks. The trust fund is a big one. I mean, my father expects me to hold down a job, something to show I have some sort of incentive to improve myself. I do have papers verifying a kind of employment as a consultant with a variety of companies downtown, mostly thanks to the many friends I’ve made at the gay clubs since I moved to the city here, away from my father’s estate where he retired. So yes, I work. By which I mean, I fuck my way through piles of drugs, men, and all manner of depravity on a daily basis, because that is how I wish to spend my time and my father’s money. I’m an only child–what other choice does he have?

Well, imagine my surprise when I get an email from him, along with a photo attached:

Yes, that’s me. I counted myself lucky, I suppose. There were many others, far more filthy that he could have found, which would have resulted in something more immediate than the ultimatum he gave me. I was to return home. I would marry a young woman, approved by him, immediately. I would work at his business for the rest of my life, or all of my privileges would be revoked.

Now, I couldn’t have any of that spoiling my fun, of course. Thankfully, quite a few of my contacts in the city had rather…unsavory connections in the world, and I was promised, for something as weightless as my soul, that they could help me with my little problem. I was more than happy to pay up of course, I was hardly convinced that souls existed in the first place, after all. There was a marketplace, I was told, where they could be bought and sold. The things we’ve learned to commoditize. 

The results were quick. I received, two days later, a series of photos, some of them tastefully anonymous, like the one below.

Others far more revealing, and filthy. I had no idea my father could be capable of such filth, to be honest. I was proud of the little hypocrite.

So, I sent them along, telling him that this revelation would be far more damaging to him than the little activities I entertained myself with. Unless he wanted them seeing the light of day, he ought to just keep the trust fund flowing.

My father was horrified. He had no idea when these photos had been taken, no memory of any of this occurring. It didn’t really matter to me whether his denials were true, or whether someone had drugged him, hypnotized him, brutalized him into disgracing himself for a camera. I had my money, and that was all that mattered to me–at least, until I was told that my soul had been sold.

Apparently, souls are very much real, and being in possession of one allows a remarkable level of control. I’m owned by my Master now, and reside in his dungeon as his full time gimp. 

The trust fund is his. He also, apparently, was the one who manipulated my father, and so he pays me visits on occasion as well–it’s the only time my hood is removed, when I get to watch my old father being beaten in the dungeon by my Master, fucked and pissed on and fed the ash from his cigars. I don’t know if he knows its happening to him. I do. Then he is gone, and the hood returns. But I can’t object. My soul is his now. I love him. I could never disparage him. I will serve him for the rest of my life, or until he sells me off again. I hope he doesn’t. I don’t think I could stand to lose him.

(Caption) Uncle’s Property

October Caption Challenge (20/31)

Joe and Harry didn’t like the work they had to do at their uncle’s place. The old farm was falling apart, and it seemed like every time they went over, they were just managing to patch the place up for another month or two. But they didn’t complain, too much, because their uncle was always happy to keep them supplied with plenty of beer, not only after they were done working, but any other time they needed it. It certainly kept them popular with their friends, since they were all a couple of years shy of 21 still.

“Alright boys, let’s call it a day I think,” their uncle Barry said, shirt off, smoking one of his cigarettes, and a bit burnt from a day in the sun.

“Sure thing Unc,” Joe said.

“You boys fancy a beer?” Barry asked.

They both nodded, and followed him back to the garage at his house. Barry pulled a couple of beers out of the fridge there and handed them to his nephews. They were a different brand than what their uncle usually gave them, but they weren’t going to complain. Both of them chugged the first one back while Barry popped one of his own, and watched his two nephews with a grin.

Joe let off a belch, and looked a bit nauseous. “Fuck Unc, where’d you get this? Tastes like piss.”

“Yeah, well, mine tasted like a damn ashtray,” Harry said, feeling a bit dizzy himself.

Barry just chuckled, and both Joe and Harry looked to one another, feeling faint, and that was the last thing they remembered clearly. The next thing Joe knew, he was in Barry’s dirty bathroom on his knees, next to the toilet. He tried to stand up, but he couldn’t get his legs to unbend. He tried to call for help, but he couldn’t make a sound at all. After a few minutes, Barry came in, stood in front of him, and hauled out his cock, proceeding to piss all over him–mostly in his mouth, but also down the front of him as well. 

“Fuck, ya make a handsome urinal boy,” Barry said, shaking his cock and zipping back up. “I’m sure you’re worrying a bit, but don’t worry, I’ll keep you from getting too thirsty.”

“You…you can’t do this,” Joe managed to croak out.

“What, you think ya can stop me? Far as anyone’s concerned, yer just my property now. Just an object. All ya need now is piss, and pretty soon, that brain of yers will shut down, and you’ll forget ya were ever human at all.”

With that, Barry went back out to the sofa and plopped back down. Harry was on his knees next to the couch, face already covered in ash from Barry’s earlier cigarettes. He was trying to fight it, but he was already starting to get…hungry for more ash, eyeing Barry lighting up another cigarette hungrily, licking his ashy lips. Back in the bathroom, Joe found his throat feeling a bit parched now…but he tried to deny it. At least, for now. But the next weekend when their dad visited, and didn’t even recognize them at all, that’s when they knew–they weren’t human anymore, not really. And now that the spell had worked, Barry had a few ideas for some more property he’d need soon enough.

(Caption) A Laundry Mixup

October Caption Challenge 1/31

Overall, the little group of apartments you’d moved into a couple weeks ago wasn’t too bad. The neighbors were nice for the most part, it was close to work, the rent was cheap. But if there was a complaint to be made, it was about the laundry situation. The apartments didn’t have separate washers and dryers–instead, there was a little basement where there were a couple of washers and dryers, all coin operated. It reminded you of being in college, and catching an empty washer could be hard, but generally, Friday nights had been working. You took your load downstairs, only to find Eddie down there putting his clothes in the washer, in his underwear, no less. 

You were surprised he even did laundry, honestly. The guy was a slob, and kind of a jerk. He gave you a gruff hello, and both of you loaded your things separate. The silence was awkward, but temporary, and when you went back down to load your stuff into the dryer, he wasn’t there–he’d probably gotten drunk and forgotten about it. When your stuff is finished, you load it back into your basket, but the whole way back to your apartment, you notice an odd…smell coming from your clothes. You don’t use dryer sheets or fabric softener, because of your sensitive skin, but it doesn’t smell like that. It smells…like it’s not actually clean. The stupid washers are just old, you tell yourself, take your clothes in and fold them while you watch TV–and then you find the source of the smell, and gag.

In amongst your clothes are a pair of the filthiest briefs you’ve ever seen. The front is crusty with cum and piss, and the rear is coated with skid marks. They weren’t yours–did you just dry your whole load of laundry with this nasty shit? No wonder everything smells! You try to throw the briefs away, but your hand can’t let go of them–and to your horror, you press them to your nose, and give them a snort. The next thing you know, you’re sucking as much of the filth from them as you can, your cock rock hard in your slacks, grunting and snorting like a pig. 

An hour passes, and there’s a knock on the door. You crawl over and open it, and find Eddie looming over you, wearing some underwear just as filthy as the ones from the dryer. You can’t stop yourself from shoving your face in his crotch, sniffing and licking, and he laughs. “That’s a good little piggy,” he says, “Let me in now, your Master needs a good cleaning. I haven’t had a good tongue bath in a long while–not since my last pig got evicted a few months back. Guess we’ll see how long you can keep yourself together, but if you’re already this far gone–I don’t think it’ll be too long. Too bad, you’re a cute one.”

A New Recruit at Precinct 27 (Sneak Peek)

Sorry for the long bout of silence! Things have been happening, mostly a lot of commissions, most of which are sizable (and some which are…not fit for public consumption). In any case, that should be changing soon, starting with a new story here. This is a Pigtown story, but it’s also not really about the bar this time around. A while back, riffing off a fellow who did some captions inspired by Pigtown on his tumblr, that turned it into more of a neighborhood, instead of just one bar, I did a little riff using the same idea in a couple of captions. I’ve used the idea in a few stories, but most are unfinished–but I’m pretty happy with this one, and thanks to the commissioner for the nice ideas and being willing to let me run with it! This is a sample of the story, I’ll post the full version publicly next week. If you want to read it sooner, you can find it on my Patreon, if you support me at the $5 level or higher.

When Jordan heard that he was being assigned to Precinct 27 after graduating from the academy, a couple of other trainees pulled him aside and asked what he’d done to get that assignment. From their tone, he couldn’t quite tell if it was a curse or a blessing. When he asked why they seemed surprised, none of them would really give him any details. The only hard fact he could get out of any of them was that the precinct was on the edge of a chunk of the city which was generally called Pigtown, which was a rather unsavory locale, where it was best not to be caught after dark. Jordan, having grown up in the suburbs of the city, hadn’t heard of it, which only seemed to surprise the fellows more. In any case, none of them had been there, or if they had, they weren’t talking about it, so they moved on to other conversation. Jordan learned what they meany by unsavory, however, when he pulled into a parking garage not far from the precinct house, and stumbled upon two guys fucking near the elevator.

He froze. The fellows looked over at him, from the shadows, and one of them was so bold as to beckon him over. Jordan didn’t join them, and if he’d been on duty, he would have hauled them in for public indecency. Instead, a bit rattled, he retreated down to street level, stepped out onto the sidewalk, and found it hard to believe he was still in the same city he’d always thought he’d known. The ground and storefronts were grungy and dirty, the air choked with smoke and exhaust, the streets narrow and full of alleys that seemed to weave around in directions that made no sense. The men passing him on the sidewalk (and it was only men, he realized after a few minutes) were all dressed in leather, denim, rubber, work gear, none of it clean, and some of it rather suggestive, but not as suggestive as what they catcalled him with as he passed by. 

He found his way to the precinct eventually, nearly getting lost in the process. He was certain, somehow, that the streets were moving around him, but that couldn’t be possible, right? In any case, he got there on time, climbed the steps and stepped inside, eager to find somewhere normal after such a strange start to his day, but he quickly discovered that there was a reason precinct 27 had…a reputation with the rest of the cops in the city. 

The building seemed tired. Whether it was because it was simply old, just uncared for, or something else, he couldn’t tell. The tiles of the floor were peeling up and scuffed. The walls had any number of stains on them. The chairs were falling apart, the officer manning the desk had his boots up on the desk in front of him, and he was flipping through a magazine that, Jordan realized as he came closer, looked to be a vintage gay porno rag. He cleared his throat, giving the officer the chance to put the magazine away, but he just looked over the top of it. “What’s up?” he said.

“Uh, hi. My name is Jordan Bethell, I’m a new recruit assigned here? I’m supposed to have a meeting with the commander today at ten.”

The man leered at him. Jordan had never really known what a leer was, until the moment this officer’s nose and lips turned up, upon the news that the precinct had a new recruit. “Sure thing man. His office is on the third floor. Elevator’s broke though, gonna have to climb,” the officer said, pointing to the stairs.

“They gonna fix it soon?”

The man just laughed, and returned to his magazine, groping the crotch of his uniform openly as he reached the centerfold. Jordan backed away, confused, and took the stairs up. He’d be sure to mention the officer’s rather inappropriate behavior when he spoke to the commander. The higher he climbed in the building, the hotter it became, adding ten, then maybe fifteen degrees of heat, despite it being a rather cool Spring day outside. He passed a few officers on the way up, and each of them were walking uniform violations–beards on almost all of them past regulation length, some men who were quite a bit too fat to pass the physical exam, illegal modifications to their uniforms–and he was certain that one of them smelled like alcohol as he passed, and another stank of piss. What kind of operation was the commander running here? He had met a few captains and commanders while he was at the academy, and all of them had seemed rather rigid and sticklers when it came to the rules of how an officer ought to present themselves. Whoever was leading this place–if this is what he let his officers get away with, how could he expect them to look up to him as a leader?

At the top floor, the temperature in the building had to be eighty degrees, and Jordan was already sweating through his undershirt and out onto the crisp, clean button down he’d worn, since he didn’t have his official uniform to change into yet. Those were stored at the precinct, and given to recruits when they arrived. He turned the corner at the top of the stairs, and at the end of the hall, he saw one officer had shoved another up against the wall, and was…making out with him? The other one had his hand down the other officer’s pants and was stroking the man’s cock, making him moan. “What…what the fuck are you two doing?” Jordan asked.

Both officers turned to him, surprised and annoyed at having been interrupted. “Who the fuck are you, askin’?” the larger one asked. He was big, one of the larger men that Jordan had ever seen, and he stalked towards him, footfalls reverberating through the floor, and Jordan stepped backwards, only to stumble into someone else. The officer stopped, stood up straight, and saluted, “Commander,” he said, and the other officer behind him pushed off the wall and saluted as well, “I was just inquiring as to what this…civilian was doing in our precinct.”

“I believe this civilian is Jordan Bethell, our new recruit out of the academy,” the voice behind him said. Jordan turned around, and found himself looking up at Commander Rumwell. He was a few inches taller than Jordan was, his body thickly packed with muscle. Unlike the other officers he’d seen, his uniform was at least worn as it ought to be, but that didn’t stop the older fellow’s musk from forming a thick cloud around him in the heat. Jordan’s nose wrinkled at the smell–it reminded him of the days back in high school after football practice, the air full of sex and hormones and sweat. He shuddered a bit, but wasn’t quite sure why. “We have a meeting, don’t we Jordan? Thank you for your promptness,” the commander said.

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